diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:08:05 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:08:05 -0700 |
| commit | dcec436f940de36b99b5836a0636fbc139ab1d50 (patch) | |
| tree | 9830e8223082c8d038a38cf75ce32be06a211d44 /37471-h | |
Diffstat (limited to '37471-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 37471-h/37471-h.htm | 10470 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37471-h/images/illus-032.jpg | bin | 0 -> 3897 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37471-h/images/illus-035.jpg | bin | 0 -> 5139 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37471-h/images/illus-044.jpg | bin | 0 -> 6989 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37471-h/images/illus-060.jpg | bin | 0 -> 4941 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37471-h/images/illus-107.jpg | bin | 0 -> 4972 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37471-h/images/illus-160.jpg | bin | 0 -> 2801 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37471-h/images/illus-169.jpg | bin | 0 -> 5905 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37471-h/images/illus-171.jpg | bin | 0 -> 5950 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37471-h/images/illus-184.jpg | bin | 0 -> 6183 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37471-h/images/illus-186.jpg | bin | 0 -> 6036 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37471-h/images/illus-187.jpg | bin | 0 -> 5007 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37471-h/images/illus-190.jpg | bin | 0 -> 5836 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37471-h/images/illus-214.jpg | bin | 0 -> 6624 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37471-h/images/illus-ii.jpg | bin | 0 -> 14683 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37471-h/images/illus-iv.jpg | bin | 0 -> 10408 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 37471-h/images/illus-xix.jpg | bin | 0 -> 5784 bytes |
17 files changed, 10470 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/37471-h/37471-h.htm b/37471-h/37471-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f39de60 --- /dev/null +++ b/37471-h/37471-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10470 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mind Amongst the Spindles. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4 { + margin-top: 1.5em; + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + margin: 3em auto 3em auto; + height: 0px; + border-width: 1px 0 0 0; + border-style: solid; + border-color: #dcdcdc; + width: 500px; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +table.toc { + margin: auto; + width: 50%; +} + +td.c1 { + text-align: right; + vertical-align: top; + padding-right: 1em; +} + +td.c2 { + text-align: left; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 2em; + text-indent: -2em; + padding-right: 1em; + vertical-align: top; +} + +td.c3 { + text-align: right; + padding-left: 1em; + vertical-align: bottom; +} + +td { padding: 0em 1em; } +th { padding: 0em 1em; } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: #999; +} /* page numbers */ + + .linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + + .blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + .sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + + .bbox {border: solid 2px;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .gap { margin-top: 1em; } + +/* Images */ + .figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +ins {text-decoration:none; border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} .tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + + +ul.corrections { + list-style-type: circle; +} + +/* Poetry */ + .poem { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + text-align: left; +} + + .poem br { display: none; } + + .poem .stanza { margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; } + + .poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + .poem span.i1 { + display: block; + margin-left: 1em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + .poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + .poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + .signature { + text-align: right; + margin-right: 5%; +} + + .signature2 { + text-align: right; + margin-right: 15%; +} + +li.pad { padding-top: 2.0%; } + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mind Amongst the Spindles, by Various + +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: Mind Amongst the Spindles + +Author: Various + +Editor: Charles Knight + +Release Date: September 18, 2011 [EBook #37471] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MIND AMONGST THE SPINDLES *** + + + + +Produced by Julia Miller, Julia Neufeld and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i"></a></span></p> + + + +<h1><br /><br /><br />MIND AMONGST THE SPINDLES.</h1> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h4>A Miscellany,</h4> + +<div class="center">WHOLLY COMPOSED BY THE FACTORY GIRLS.<br /> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +SELECTED FROM THE</div> + +<h3>LOWELL OFFERING.</h3> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<div class="center">WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY THE ENGLISH EDITOR,<br /><br /> + +AND A LETTER FROM</div> + +<h3>HARRIET MARTINEAU.</h3> + + +<div class="center">BOSTON:<br /> +JORDAN, SWIFT & WILEY.<br /> +1845.</div> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii"></a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 314px;"> +<img src="images/illus-ii.jpg" width="314" height="152" alt="Dow and Jackson's Press" title="" /> + +</div> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Introduction.</span> By the English Editor</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Abby's Year in Lowell</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The First Wedding in Salmagundi</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Bless, and curse not"</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ancient Poetry</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Spirit of Discontent</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Whortleberry Excursion</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Western Antiquities</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Fig Tree</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Village Pastors</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Sugar-Making Excursion</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Prejudice against Labor</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Joan of Arc</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Susan Miller</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Scenes on the Merrimac</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The First Bells</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Evening before Pay-Day</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Indian Pledge</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The First Dish of Tea</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Leisure Hours of the Mill Girls</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Tomb of Washington</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_136">136</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Life among Farmers</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Weaver's Reverie</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Our Duty to Strangers</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span>Elder Isaac Townsend</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Harriet Greenough</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Fancy</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Widow's Son</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Witchcraft</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Cleaning Up</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_170">170</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Visits to the Shakers</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Lock of Gray Hair</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lament of the little Hunchback</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">This World is not our Home</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_185">185</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Dignity of Labor</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Village Chronicle</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ambition and Contentment</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_197">197</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Conversation on Physiology</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 160px;"> +<img src="images/illus-iv.jpg" width="160" height="250" alt="Decoration" title="" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[v]</a></span></p> +<h2>INTRODUCTION, BY THE ENGLISH EDITOR.</h2> + + +<p>In the American state of Massachusetts, one of the New +England states, which was colonized by the stern Puritans +who were driven from our country by civil and religious +persecution, has sprung up within the last thirty years the +largest manufacturing town of the vast republic. Lowell is +situated not a great distance from Boston, at the confluence +of the rivers Merrimac and Concord. The falls of these +rivers here afford a natural moving power for machinery; +and at the latter end of the year 1813 a small cotton manufacture +was here set up, where the sound of labor had not +been heard before. The original adventure was not a +prosperous one. But in 1826 the works were bought by a +company or corporation; and from that time Lowell has +gone on so rapidly increasing that it is now held to be "the +greatest manufacturing city in America." According to +Mr. Buckingham, there are now ten companies occupying +or working thirty mills, and giving employment to more +than 10,000 operatives, of whom 7,000 are females. The +situation of the female population is, for the most part, a +peculiar one. Unlike the greater number of the young +women in our English factories, they are not brought up to +the labor of the mills, amongst parents who are also workers +in factories. They come from a distance; many of them +remain only a limited time; and they live in boarding houses +expressly provided for their accommodation. Miss Martineau,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span> +in her "Society in America," explains the cause +not only of the large proportion of females in the Lowell +mills, but also of their coming from distant parts in search +of employment: "Manufactures can to a considerable degree +be carried on by the labor of women; and there is a +great number of unemployed women in New England, from +the circumstance that the young men of that region wander +away in search of a settlement on the land, and after being +settled find wives in the south and west." Again, she says, +"Many of the girls are in the factories because they have +too much pride for domestic service."</p> + +<p>In October, 1840, appeared the first number of a periodical +work entitled "The Lowell Offering." The publication +arose out of the meetings of an association of young women +called "The Mutual Improvement Society." It has continued +at intervals of a month or six weeks, and the first +volume was completed in December, 1841. A second +volume was concluded in 1842. The work was under the +direction of an editor, who gives his name at the end of the +second volume,—Abel C. Thomas. The duties which this +gentleman performed are thus stated by him in the preface +to the first volume:—</p> + +<p>"The two most important questions which may be +suggested shall receive due attention.</p> + +<p>"1st. Are all the articles, in good faith and exclusively +the productions of females employed in the mills? We +reply, unhesitatingly and without reserve, that <span class="smcap">they are</span>, +the verses set to music excepted. We speak from personal +acquaintance with all the writers, excepting four; and in +relation to the latter (whose articles do not occupy eight +pages in the aggregate) we had satisfactory proof that they +were employed in the mills.</p> + +<p>"2d. Have not the articles been materially amended by +the exercise of the editorial prerogative? We answer,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span> +<span class="smcap">they have not</span>. We have taken <i>less liberty</i> with the +articles than editors usually take with the productions of +other than the most experienced writers. Our corrections +and additions have been so slight as to be unworthy of +special note."</p> + +<p>Of the merits of the compositions contained in these +volumes their editor speaks with a modest confidence, in +which he is fully borne out by the opinions of others:—</p> + +<p>"In estimating the talent of the writers for the 'Offering,' +the fact should be remembered, that they are actively employed +in the mills for more than twelve hours out of every +twenty-four. The evening, after eight o'clock, affords their +only opportunity for composition; and whoever will consider +the sympathy between mind and body, must be sensible that +a day of constant manual employment, even though the +labor be not excessive, must in some measure unfit the +individual for the full development of mental power. Yet +the articles in this volume ask no unusual indulgence from +the critics—for, in the language of 'The North American +Quarterly Review,'—'many of the articles are such as +satisfy the reader at once, that if he has only taken up the +"Offering" as a phenomenon, and not as what may bear +criticism and reward perusal, he has but to own his error, +and dismiss his condescension, as soon as may be.'"</p> + +<p>The two volumes thus completed in 1842 were lent to us +by a lady whose well-earned literary reputation gave us the +assurance that she would not bestow her praise upon a work +whose merit merely consisted in the remarkable circumstance +that it was written by young women, not highly educated, +during the short leisure afforded by their daily laborious employments. +She told us that we should find in those volumes +some things which might be read with pleasure and improvement. +And yet we must honestly confess that we looked at +the perusal of these closely-printed eight hundred pages as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span> +something of a task. We felt that all literary productions, and +indeed all works of art, should, in a great degree, be judged +without reference to the condition of the producer. When +we take up the poems of Burns, we never think that he was +a ploughman and an exciseman; but we have a painful +remembrance of having read a large quarto volume of verses +by Ann Yearsly, who was patronized in her day by Horace +Walpole and Hannah More, and to have felt only the conviction +that the milkwoman of Bristol, for such was their +authoress, had better have limited her learning to the score +and the tally. But it was a duty to read the "Lowell +Offering." The day that saw us begin the first paper was +witness to our continued reading till night found us busy at +the last page, not for a duty, but a real pleasure.</p> + +<p>The qualities which most struck us in these volumes were +chiefly these: <i>First</i>—there is an entire absence of all +pretension in the writers to be what they are not. They are +factory girls. They always call themselves "girls." They +have no desire to be fine ladies, nor do they call themselves +"ladies," as the common fashion is of most American +females. They have no affectations of gentility; and by a +natural consequence they are essentially free from all vulgarity. +They describe the scenes amongst which they live, +their labors and their pleasures, the little follies of some of +their number, the pure tastes and unexpensive enjoyments +of others. They feel, and constantly proclaim without any +effort, that they think it an honor to labor with their hands. +They recognize the real dignity of all useful employments. +They know that there is no occupation really unworthy of +men or women, but the selfish pursuits of what is called +pleasure, without the desire to promote the good of others +by physical, intellectual, or moral exertions. <i>Secondly</i>—many +of these papers clearly show under what influences +these young women have been brought up. An earnest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span> +feeling of piety pervades their recollections of the past, and +their hopes for the future. The thoughts of home, too, lie +deep in their hearts. They are constantly describing the +secluded farm-house where they were reared, the mother's +love, the father's labors. Sometimes a reverse of fortune +falling upon a family has dispersed its once happy members. +Sometimes we see visions of past household joy through +the orphan's tears. Not unfrequently the ardent girl, happy +in the confirmed affection of some equal in rank, looks exultingly +towards the day when she may carry back from the +savings' bank at Lowell a little dower to furnish out their +little farm on the hill side, where the barberries grew, so +deliciously red and sour, in her remembrance of childhood. +<i>Thirdly</i>—there is a genuine patriotism in the tone of many +of these productions, which is worthy the descendants of the +stern freemen who, in the New England solitudes, looked +tearfully back upon their father-land. The institutions under +which these young women live are different from our own; +but there is scarcely a particle of what we have been too apt +to call republican arrogance. The War of Independence is +spoken of as it ought to be by every American, with feelings +of honest exultation. But that higher sentiments than those +of military triumph mingle with the memory of that war, and +render patriotism something far nobler than mere national +pride, may be seen in the little poem which we gladly reprint, +"The Tomb of Washington." The paper called +"The Lock of Gray Hair" is marked by an honest nationality, +which we would be ashamed not to reverence.—<i>Fourthly</i>—like +all writers of good natural taste, who have +not been perverted into mere imitators of other writers, they +perceive that there is a great source of interest in describing, +simply and correctly, what they have witnessed with their +own eyes. Thus, some of the home pictures of these +volumes are exceedingly agreeable, presenting to us manners<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span> +and habits wholly different from our own, and scenes +which have all the freshness of truth in their delineations.—The +old stories, too, which they sometimes tell of past life +in America, are equally interesting; and they show us how +deeply in all minds is implanted the love of old things, +which are tenderly looked back upon, even though they may +have been swept away by what is real improvement.—<i>Lastly</i>—although +there are necessarily in these volumes, +as in every miscellany, some things which are tedious, and +some puerile, mock sentimentalities and labored efforts at +fine writing, we think it would be difficult upon the whole +for a large body of contributors, writing under great indulgence, +to produce so much matter with so little bad taste. +Of pedantry there is literally none. The writers are +familiar with good models of composition; they know +something of ancient and modern history; the literature of +England has reached them, and given a character and direction +to their thoughts. But there is never any attempt to +parade what they know; and we see they have been readers, +only as we discover the same thing in the best educated +persons, not in a display of their reading, but in a general +tone which shows that cultivation has made them wiser and +better.</p> + +<p>Such were the opinions we had formed of "The Lowell +Offering," before we were acquainted with the judgment +pronounced upon the same book by a writer whose original +and brilliant genius is always under the direction of kindly +feelings towards his fellow-creatures, and especially towards +the poor and lowly of his human brethren. Mr. Dickens, +in his "American Notes," thus mentions "The Lowell +Offering," of which he says, "I brought away from Lowell +four hundred good solid pages, which I have read from beginning +to end:"—"Of the merits of 'The Lowell +Offering,' as a literary production, I will only observe,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span> +putting entirely out of sight the fact of the articles having +been written by these girls after the arduous labors of the +day, that it will compare advantageously with a great many +English annuals. It is pleasant to find that many of its +tales are of the mills and of those who work in them; that +they inculcate habits of self-denial and contentment, and +teach good doctrines of enlarged benevolence. A strong +feeling for the beauties of nature, as displayed in the solitudes +the writers have left at home, breathes through its +pages like wholesome village air; and though a circulating +library is a favorable school for the study of such topics, it +has very scant allusion to fine clothes, fine marriages, fine +houses, or fine life. Some persons might object to the papers +being signed occasionally with rather fine names, but this is +an American fashion. One of the provinces of the state +legislature of Massachusetts is to alter ugly names into +pretty ones, as the children improve upon the tastes of their +parents."</p> + +<p>If the separate articles in "The Lowell Offering" bear +signatures which represent distinct writers, we have, in our +selection of thirty-seven articles, given the productions of +twenty-nine individual contributors. It is this circumstance +which leads us to believe that many of the papers are faithful +representations of individual feelings. Tabitha, from +whose pen we have given four papers, is a simple, unpretending +narrator of old American scenes and customs. Ella, +from whom we select three papers, is one of the imaginative +spirits who dwell on high thoughts of the past, and reveries +of the future—one who has been an earnest thinker as well +as a reader. Jemima prettily describes two little home-scenes. +Susanna, who to our minds exhibits natural powers +and feelings, that by cultivation might enable her to become +as interesting an historian of the old times of America +in the days before the Revolution as an Irving or a Cooper,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span> +furnishes us with two papers. The rest are Lisettas, and +Almiras, and Ethelindas, and Annettes, and Theresas; with +others who are contented with simple initials. They have +all afforded us much pleasure. We have read what they +have written with a deep interest. May the love of letters +which they enjoy, and the power of composition which they +have attained, shed their charms over their domestic life, +when their days of mill service are ended. May their epistles +to their friends be as full of truthfulness and good feeling +as their contributions to "The Lowell Offering." May +the success of this their remarkable attempt at literary composition +not lead them to dream too much of the proud distinctions +of authorship—uncertain prizes, won, if won at all, +by many a weary struggle and many a bitter disappointment. +The efforts which they have made to acquire the +practice of writing have had their own reward. They have +united themselves as familiar friends with high and gentle +minds, who have spoken to them in books with love and encouragement. +In dwelling upon the thoughts of others, in +fixing their own thoughts upon some definite object, they +have lifted themselves up into a higher region than is attained +by those, whatever be their rank, whose minds are not +filled with images of what is natural and beautiful and true. +They have raised themselves out of the sphere of the partial +and the temporary into the broad expanse of the universal +and the eternal. During their twelve hours of daily labor, +when there were easy but automatic services to perform, +waiting upon a machine—with that slight degree of skill +which no machine can ever attain—for the repair of the accidents +of its unvarying progress, they may, without a neglect +of their duty, have been elevating their minds in the scale of +being by cheerful lookings-out upon nature, by pleasant recollections +of books, by imaginary converse with the just and +wise who have lived before them, by consoling reflections<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span> +upon the infinite goodness and wisdom which regulates this +world, so unintelligible without such a dependence. These +habits have given them cheerfulness and freedom amidst +their uninterrupted toils. We see no repinings against their +twelve hours' labor, for it has had its solace. Even during +the low wages of 1842, which they mention with sorrow but +without complaint, the same cultivation goes on; "The +Lowell Offering" is still produced. To us of England these +things ought to be encouraging. To the immense body of +our factory operatives the example of what the girls of Lowell +have done should be especially valuable. It should teach +them that their strength, as well as their happiness, lies in +the cultivation of their minds. To the employers of operatives, +and to all of wealth and influence amongst us, this example +ought to manifest that a strict and diligent performance +of daily duties, in work prolonged as much as in our +own factories, is no impediment to the exercise of those +faculties, and the gratification of those tastes, which, +whatever the world may have thought, can no longer be +held to be limited by station. There is a contest going on +amongst us, as it is going on all over the world, between the +hard imperious laws which regulate the production of wealth +and the aspirations of benevolence for the increase of human +happiness. We do not deplore the contest; for out of it +must come a gradual subjection of the iron necessity to the +holy influences of love and charity. Such a period cannot, +indeed, be rashly anticipated by legislation against principles +which are secondary laws of nature; but one thing, nevertheless, +is certain—that such an improvement of the operative +classes, as all good men,—and we sincerely believe amongst +them the great body of manufacturing capitalists,—ardently +pray for and desire to labor in their several spheres to attain, +will be brought about in a parallel progression with the elevation +of the operatives themselves in mental cultivation, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</a></span> +consequently in moral excellence. We believe that this +great good may be somewhat advanced by a knowledge diffused +in every building throughout the land where there is a +mule or a loom, of what the factory girls of Lowell have +done to exhibit the cheering influences of "<span class="smcap">Mind amongst +the Spindles</span>."</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p>We had written thus far when we received the following +most interesting and valuable letter from Miss Martineau. +We have the greatest pleasure in printing this admirable account +of the factory girls at Lowell, from the pen of one +who has labored more diligently and successfully than any +writer of our day, to elevate the condition of the operative +classes. To Miss Martineau we are deeply indebted for the +ardent zeal with which she has recommended the compilation, +and for the sound judgment with which she has assisted +us in arranging the details of a plan which mainly owes +its origin to her unwearied solicitude for the good of her fellow-creatures.</p> + +<blockquote> + +<div class="center"><i>Letter from Miss Martineau to the Editor.</i></div> +<p> </p> +<div class="signature"><i>Tynemouth, May 20, 1844.</i></div> + + +<p><span class="smcap">My dear Friend</span>,—Your interest in this Lowell book can +scarcely equal mine; for I have seen the factory girls in +their Lyceum, and have gone over the cotton-mills at Waltham, +and made myself familiar on the spot with factory life +in New England; so that in reading the "Offering," I saw +again in my memory the street of houses built by the earnings +of the girls, the church which is their property, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[xv]</a></span> +girls themselves trooping to the mill, with their healthy +countenances, and their neat dress and quiet manners, resembling +those of the tradesman class of our country.</p> + +<p>My visit to Lowell was merely for one day, in company +with Mr. Emerson's party,—he (the pride and boast of +New England as an author and philosopher) being engaged +by the Lowell factory people to lecture to them, in a winter +course of historical biography. Of course the lectures were +delivered in the evening, after the mills were closed. The +girls were then working seventy hours a week, yet, as I +looked at the large audience (and I attended more to them +than to the lecture) I saw no sign of weariness among any +of them. There they sat, row behind row, in their own Lyceum—a +large hall, wainscoted with mahogany, the platform +carpeted, well lighted, provided with a handsome table, +desk, and seat, and adorned with portraits of a few worthies, +and as they thus sat listening to their lecturer, all wakeful +and interested, all well-dressed and lady-like, I could not +but feel my heart swell at the thought, of what such a sight +would be with us.</p> + +<p>The difference is not in rank, for these young people were +all daughters of parents who earn their bread with their own +hands. It is not in the amount of wages, however usual +that supposition is, for they were then earning from one to +three dollars a-week, besides their food; the children one +dollar (4<i>s.</i> 3<i>d.</i>), the second rate workers two dollars, and +the best three: the cost of their dress and necessary comforts +being much above what the same class expend in this +country. It is not in the amount of toil; for, as I have said, +they worked seventy clear hours per week. The difference +was in their superior culture. Their minds are kept fresh, +and strong, and free by knowledge and power of thought; +and this is the reason why they are not worn and depressed +under their labors. They begin with a poorer chance for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[xvi]</a></span> +health than our people; for the health of the New England +women generally is not good, owing to circumstances of climate +and other influences; but among the 3800 women and +girls in the Lowell mills when I was there, the average of +health was not lower than elsewhere; and the disease which +was most mischievous was the same that proves most fatal +over the whole country—consumption; while there were no +complaints peculiar to mill life.</p> + +<p>At Waltham, where I saw the mills, and conversed with +the people, I had an opportunity of observing the invigorating +effects of <span class="smcap">mind</span> in a life of labor. Twice the wages and +half the toil would not have made the girls I saw happy and +healthy, without that cultivation of mind which afforded +them perpetual support, entertainment, and motive for activity. +They were not highly educated, but they had pleasure +in books and lectures, in correspondence with home; and +had their minds so open to fresh ideas, as to be drawn off from +thoughts of themselves and their own concerns. When at +work they were amused with thinking over the last book +they had read, or with planning the account they should +write home of the last Sunday's sermon, or with singing +over to themselves the song they meant to practise in the +evening; and when evening came, nothing was heard of +tired limbs and eagerness for bed, but, if it was summer, +they sallied out, the moment tea was over, for a walk, and if +it was winter, to the lecture-room or to the ball-room for a +dance, or they got an hour's practice at the piano, or wrote +home, or shut themselves up with a new book. It was during +the hours of work in the mill that the papers in the "Offering" +were meditated, and it was after work in the evenings +that they were penned.</p> + +<p>There is, however, in the case of these girls, a stronger +support, a more elastic spring of vigor and cheerfulness than +even an active and cultivated understanding. The institution<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[xvii]</a></span> +of factory labor has brought ease of heart to many; and +to many occasion for noble and generous deeds. The ease +of heart is given to those who were before suffering in silent +poverty, from the deficiency of profitable employment for +women, which is even greater in America than with us. It +used to be understood there that all women were maintained +by the men of their families; but the young men of New +England are apt to troop off into the West, to settle in new +lands, leaving sisters at home. Some few return to fetch a +wife, but the greater number do not, and thus a vast over +proportion of young women remains; and to a multitude of +these the opening of factories was a most welcome event, affording +means of honorable maintenance, in exchange for +pining poverty at home.</p> + +<p>As for the noble deeds, it makes one's heart glow to stand +in these mills, and hear of the domestic history of some who +are working before one's eyes, unconscious of being observed +or of being the object of any admiration. If one of the +sons of a New England farmer shows a love for books and +thought, the ambition of an affectionate sister is roused, and +she thinks of the glory and honor to the whole family, and +the blessing to him, if he could have a college education. +She ponders this till she tells her parents, some day, of her +wish to go to Lowell, and earn the means of sending her +brother to college. The desire is yet more urgent if the +brother has a pious mind, and a wish to enter the ministry. +Many a clergyman in America has been prepared for his +function by the devoted industry of sisters; and many a +scholar and professional man dates his elevation in social +rank and usefulness from his sister's, or even some affectionate +aunt's entrance upon mill life, for his sake. Many girls, +perceiving anxiety in their fathers' faces, on account of the +farm being incumbered, and age coming on without release +from the debt, have gone to Lowell, and worked till the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[xviii]</a></span> +mortgage was paid off, and the little family property free. +Such motives may well lighten and sweeten labor; and to +such girls labor is light and sweet.</p> + +<p>Some, who have no such calls, unite the surplus of their +earnings to build dwellings for their own residence, six, +eight, or twelve living together with the widowed mother or +elderly aunt of one of them to keep house for, and give +countenance to the party. I saw a whole street of houses +so built and owned, at Waltham; pretty frame houses, with +the broad piazza, and the green Venitian blinds, that give +such an air of coolness and pleasantness to American village +and country abodes. There is the large airy eating-room, +with a few prints hung up, the piano at one end, and the +united libraries of the girls, forming a good-looking array of +books, the rocking chairs universal in America, the stove +adorned in summer with flowers, and the long dining-table +in the middle. The chambers do not answer to our English +ideas of comfort. There is a strange absence of the wish +for privacy; and more girls are accommodated in one room +than we should see any reason for in such comfortable and +pretty houses.</p> + +<p>In the mills the girls have quite the appearance of ladies. +They sally forth in the morning with their umbrellas in +threatening weather, their calashes to keep their hair neat, +gowns of print or gingham, with a perfect fit, worked collars +or pelerines, and waistbands of ribbon. For Sundays and +social evenings they have their silk gowns, and neat gloves +and shoes. Yet through proper economy,—the economy of +educated and thoughtful people,—they are able to lay by +for such purposes as I have mentioned above. The deposits +in the Lowell Savings' Bank were, in 1834, upwards of +114,000 dollars, the number of operatives being 5000, of +whom 3800 were women and girls.</p> + +<p>I thank you for calling my attention back to this subject.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[xix]</a></span> +It is one I have pleasure in recurring to. There is nothing +in America which necessitates the prosperity of manufactures +as of agriculture, and there is nothing of good in their factory +system that may not be emulated elsewhere—equalled +elsewhere, when the people employed are so educated as to +have the command of themselves and of their lot in life, +which is always and everywhere controlled by mind, far +more than by outward circumstances.</p> + +<div class="signature2">I am very truly yours,</div> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">H. Martineau.</span></div> +</blockquote> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 235px;"> +<img src="images/illus-xix.jpg" width="235" height="100" alt="Decoration" title="Decoration" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> +<h2>MIND AMONGST THE SPINDLES.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ABBY'S YEAR IN LOWELL.</h2> + + + +<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> + + +<p>"Mr. Atkins, I say! Husband, why can't you speak? +Do you hear what Abby says?"</p> + +<p>"Any thing worth hearing?" was the responsive question +of Mr. Atkins; and he laid down the New Hampshire +Patriot, and peered over his spectacles, with a look which +seemed to say, that an event so uncommon deserved particular +attention.</p> + +<p>"Why, she says that she means to go to Lowell, and +work in the factory."</p> + +<p>"Well, wife, let her go;" and Mr. Atkins took up the +Patriot again.</p> + +<p>"But I do not see how I can spare her; the spring +cleaning is not done, nor the soap made, nor the boys' summer +clothes; and you say that you intend to board your own +'men-folks' and keep two more cows than you did last +year; and Charley can scarcely go alone. I do not see how +I can get along without her."</p> + +<p>"But you say she does not assist you any about the +house."</p> + +<p>"Well, husband, she <i>might</i>."</p> + +<p>"Yes, she might do a great many things which she does +not think of doing; and as I do not see that she means to +be useful here; we will let her go to the factory."</p> + +<p>"Father, are you in earnest? may I go to Lowell?" +said Abby; and she raised her bright black eyes to her +father's, with a look of exquisite delight.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Abby, if you will promise me one thing, and that +is, that you will stay a whole year without visiting us, +excepting in case of sickness, and that you will stay but one +year."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I will promise anything, father, if you will only let me +go; for I thought you would say that I had better stay at +home, and pick rocks, and weed the garden, and drop corn, +and rake hay; and I do not want to do such work any +longer. May I go with the Slater girls next Tuesday? for +that is the day they have set for their return."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Abby, if you will remember that you are to stay a +year, and only a year."</p> + +<p>Abby retired to rest that night with a heart fluttering +with pleasure; for ever since the visit of the Slater girls, +with new silk dresses, and Navarino bonnets trimmed with +flowers and lace veils, and gauze handkerchiefs, her head +had been filled with visions of fine clothes; and she thought +if she could only go where she could dress like them, she +would be completely happy. She was naturally very fond +of dress, and often, while a little girl, had she sat on the +grass bank by the road-side, watching the stage which went +daily by her father's retired dwelling; and when she saw +the gay ribbons and smart shawls, which passed like a +bright phantom before her wondering eyes, she had thought +that when older she too would have such things; and she +looked forward to womanhood as to a state in which the +chief pleasure must consist in wearing fine clothes. But as +years passed over her, she became aware that this was a +source from which she could never derive any enjoyment, +while she remained at home, for her father was neither able +nor willing to gratify her in this respect, and she had begun +to fear that she must always wear the same brown cambric +bonnet, and that the same calico gown would always be her +"go-to-meeting dress." And now what a bright picture had +been formed by her ardent and uncultivated imagination.—Yes, +she would go to Lowell, and earn all that she possibly +could, and spend those earnings in beautiful attire; she +would have silk dresses,—one of grass green, and another +of cherry red, and another upon the color of which she +would decide when she purchased it; and she would have a +new Navarino bonnet; far more beautiful than Judith Slater's; +and when at last she fell asleep, it was to dream of +satin and lace, and her glowing fancy revelled all night in a +vast and beautiful collection of milliners' finery.</p> + +<p>But very different were the dreams of Abby's mother; +and when she awoke the next morning, her first words to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +her husband were, "Mr. Atkins, were you serious last +night when you told Abby that she might go to Lowell? I +thought at first that you were vexed because I interrupted +you, and said it to stop the conversation."</p> + +<p>"Yes, wife, I was serious, and you did not interrupt me, +for I had been listening to all that you and Abby were saying. +She is a wild, thoughtless girl, and I hardly know +what it is best to do with her; but perhaps it will be as well +to try an experiment, and let her think and act a little while +for herself. I expect that she will spend all her earnings in +fine clothes, but after she has done so she may see the folly +of it; at all events, she will be more likely to understand +the value of money when she has been obliged to work for +it. After she has had her own way for one year, she may +possibly be willing to return home, and become a little more +steady, and be willing to devote her active energies (for she +is a very capable girl) to household duties, for hitherto her +services have been principally out of doors, where she is +now too old to work. I am also willing that she should see +a little of the world, and what is going on in it; and I hope +that, if she receives no benefit, she will at least return to us +uninjured."</p> + +<p>"O, husband, I have many fears for her," was the reply of +Mrs. Atkins, "she is so very giddy and thoughtless, and the +Slater girls are as hair-brained as herself, and will lead her +on in all sorts of folly. I wish you would tell her that she +must stay at home."</p> + +<p>"I made a promise," said Mr. Atkins, "and I will keep +it; and Abby, I trust, will keep <i>hers</i>."</p> + +<p>Abby flew round in high spirits to make the necessary +preparations for her departure, and her mother assisted her +with a heavy heart.</p> + + + +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> + + +<p>The evening before she left home her father called her +to him, and fixing upon her a calm, earnest, and almost +mournful look, he said, "Abby, do you ever think?"—Abby +was subdued, and almost awed, by her father's look +and manner. There was something unusual in it—something +in his expression which was unexpected in him, +which reminded her of her teacher's look at the Sabbath<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +school, when he was endeavoring to impress upon her mind +some serious truth. "Yes, father," she at length replied, +"I have thought a great deal lately about going to Lowell."</p> + +<p>"But I do not believe, my child, that you have had one +serious reflection upon the subject, and I fear that I have +done wrong in consenting to let you go from home. If I +was too poor to maintain you here, and had no employment +about which you could make yourself useful, I should feel +no self-reproach, and would let you go, trusting that all +might yet be well; but now I have done what I may at +some future time severely repent of; and, Abby, if you +do not wish to make me wretched, you will return to us a +better, milder, and more thoughtful girl."</p> + +<p>That night Abby reflected more seriously than she had +ever done in her life before. Her father's words, rendered +more impressive by the look and tone with which they were +delivered, had sunk into her heart as words of his had never +done before. She had been surprised at his ready acquiescence +in her wishes, but it had now a new meaning. She +felt that she was about to be abandoned to herself, because +her parents despaired of being able to do anything for her; +they thought her too wild, reckless, and untameable, to be +softened by aught but the stern lessons of experience. I +will surprise them, said she to herself; I will show them +that I have some reflection; and after I come home, my +father shall never ask me if I <i>think</i>. Yes, I know what +their fears are, and I will let them see that I can take care +of myself, and as good care as they have ever taken of me. +I know that I have not done as well as I might have done; +but I will begin <i>now</i>, and when I return, they shall see that +<i>I am</i> a better, milder, and more thoughtful girl. And the +money which I intended to spend in fine dress shall be put +into the bank; I will save it all, and my father shall see +that I can earn money, and take care of it too. O, how +different I will be from what they think I am; and how very +glad it will make my father and mother to see that I am not +so very bad, after all.</p> + +<p>New feelings and new ideas had begotten new resolutions, +and Abby's dreams that night were of smiles from her mother, +and words from her father, such as she had never +received nor deserved.</p> + +<p>When she bade them farewell the next morning, she said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +nothing of the change which had taken place in her views +and feelings, for she felt a slight degree of self-distrust in +her own firmness of purpose.</p> + +<p>Abby's self-distrust was commendable and auspicious; +but she had a very prominent development in that part of the +head where phrenologists locate the organ of firmness; and +when she had once determined upon a thing, she usually +went through with it. She had now resolved to pursue a +course entirely different from that which was expected of +her, and as different from the one she had first marked out +for herself. This was more difficult, on account of her +strong propensity for dress, a love of which was freely +gratified by her companions. But when Judith Slater +pressed her to purchase this beautiful piece of silk, or that +splendid piece of muslin, her constant reply was, "No, I +have determined not to buy any such things, and I will keep +my resolution."</p> + +<p>Before she came to Lowell, she wondered, in her simplicity, +how people could live where there were so many stores, +and not spend all their money; and it now required all her +firmness to resist being overcome by the tempting display of +beauties which met her eye whenever she promenaded the +illuminated streets. It was hard to walk by the milliners' +shops with an unwavering step; and when she came to the +confectionaries, she could not help stopping. But she did +not yield to the temptation; she did not spend her money in +them. When she saw fine strawberries, she said to herself, +"I can gather them in our own pasture next year;" when +she looked upon the nice peaches, cherries, and plums +which stood in tempting array behind their crystal barriers, +she said again, "I will do without them <i>this</i> summer;" and +when apples, pears, and nuts were offered to her for sale, +she thought that she would eat none of them till she went +home. But she felt that the only safe place for her earnings +was the savings' bank, and there they were regularly deposited, +that it might be out of her power to indulge in +momentary whims. She gratified no feeling but a newly-awakened +desire for mental improvement, and spent her +leisure hours in reading useful books.</p> + +<p>Abby's year was one of perpetual self-contest and self-denial; +but it was by no means one of unmitigated misery. +The ruling desire of years was not to be conquered by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +resolution of a moment; but when the contest was over, +there was for her the triumph of victory. If the battle was +sometimes desperate, there was so much more merit in being +conqueror. One Sabbath was spent in tears, because Judith +Slater did not wish her to attend their meeting with such a +dowdy bonnet; and another fellow-boarder thought her +gown must have been made in "the year one." The color +mounted to her cheeks, and the lightning flashed from her +eyes, when asked if she had "<i>just come down</i>;" and she +felt as though she should be glad to be away from them all, +when she heard their sly innuendoes about "bush-wackers." +Still she remained unshaken. It is but a year, said she to +herself, and the time and money that my father thought I +should spend in folly, shall be devoted to a better purpose.</p> + + + +<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> + + +<p>At the close of a pleasant April day, Mr. Atkins sat at +his kitchen fire-side, with Charley upon his knees. "Wife," +said he to Mrs. Atkins, who was busily preparing the evening +meal, "is it not a year since Abby left home?"</p> + +<p>"Why, husband, let me think: I always clean up the +house thoroughly just before <i>fast-day</i>, and I had not done it +when Abby went away. I remember speaking to her about +it, and telling her that it was wrong to leave me at such a +busy time, and she said, 'Mother, I will be at home to do it +all next year.' Yes, it is a year, and I should not be surprised +if she should come this week."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps she will not come at all," said Mr. Atkins, +with a gloomy look; "she has written us but few letters, +and they have been very short and unsatisfactory. I suppose +she has sense enough to know that no news is better +than bad news, and having nothing pleasant to tell about +herself, she thinks she will tell us nothing at all. But if I +ever get her home again, I will keep her here. I assure +you, her first year in Lowell shall also be her last."</p> + +<p>"Husband, I told you my fears, and if you had set up +your authority, Abby would have been obliged to stay at +home; but perhaps she is doing pretty well. You know +she is not accustomed to writing, and that may account for +the few and short letters we have received; but they have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +all, even the shortest, contained the assurance that she would +be at home at the close of the year."</p> + +<p>"Pa, the stage has stopped here," said little Charley, +and he bounded from his father's knee. The next moment +the room rang with the shout of "Abby has come! Abby +has come!" In a few moments more, she was in the +midst of the joyful throng. Her father pressed her hand in +silence, and tears gushed from her mother's eyes. Her +brothers and sisters were clamorous with delight, all but little +Charley, to whom Abby was a stranger, and who repelled +with terror all her overtures for a better acquaintance. +Her parents gazed upon her with speechless pleasure, for +they felt that a change for the better had taken place in their +once wayward girl. Yes, there she stood before them, a +little taller and a little thinner, and, when the flush of emotion +had faded away, perhaps a little paler; but the eyes +were bright in their joyous radiance, and the smile of health +and innocence was playing around the rosy lips. She carefully +laid aside her new straw bonnet, with its plain trimming +of light blue ribbon, and her dark merino dress showed +to the best advantage her neat symmetrical form. There +was more delicacy of personal appearance than when she +left them, and also more softness of manner; for constant +collision with so many young females had worn off the little +asperities which had marked her conduct while at home.</p> + +<p>"Well, Abby, how many silk gowns have you got?" +said her father, as he opened a large new trunk. "<i>Not one</i>, +father," said she; and she fixed her dark eyes upon him +with an expression which told all. "But here are some little +books for the children, and a new calico dress for mother; +and here is a nice black silk handkerchief for you to +wear around your neck on Sundays; accept it, dear father, +for it is your daughter's first gift."</p> + +<p>"You had better have bought me a pair of spectacles, for +I am sure I cannot see anything." There were tears in the +rough farmer's eyes, but he tried to laugh and joke, that +they might not be perceived. "But what did you do with +all your money?"</p> + +<p>"I thought I had better leave it there," said Abby, and +she placed her bank-book in her father's hand. Mr. Atkins +looked a moment, and the forced smile faded away. The +surprise had been too great, and tears fell thick and fast from +the father's eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is but a little," said Abby. "But it was all you +could save," replied her father, "and I am proud of you, +Abby; yes, proud that I am the father of such a girl. It is +not this paltry sum which pleases me so much, but the prudence, +self-command, and real affection for us which you +have displayed. But was it not sometimes hard to resist +temptation?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, father, <i>you</i> can never know how hard; but it was +the thought of <i>this</i> night which sustained me through it all. +I knew how you would smile, and what my mother would +say and feel; and though there have been moments, yes, +hours, that have seen me wretched enough, yet this one +evening will repay for all. There is but one thing now to +mar my happiness, and that is the thought that this little +fellow has quite forgotten me;" and she drew Charley to +her side. But the new picture-book had already effected +wonders, and in a few moments he was in her lap, with his +arms around her neck, and his mother could not persuade +him to retire that night until he had given "sister Abby" a +hundred kisses.</p> + +<p>"Father," said Abby, as she arose to retire, when the +tall clock struck eleven, "may I not sometime go back to +Lowell? I should like to add a little to the sum in the +bank, and I should be glad of <i>one</i> silk gown!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Abby, you may do anything you wish. I shall +never again be afraid to let you spend a year in Lowell."</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Lucinda.</span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE FIRST WEDDING IN SALMAGUNDI.</h2> + + +<p>I have often heard this remark, "If their friends can give +them nothing else, they will surely give them a wedding." +As I have nothing else to present at this time, I hope my +friends will not complain if I give them an account of the +first wedding in our town. The ceremony of marriage being +performed by his Excellency the Governor, it would not +be amiss to introduce him first of all.</p> + +<p>Let me then introduce John Wentworth (the last governor +of New Hampshire while the colonies were subject to +the crown of Great Britain), whose country seat was in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +Salmagundi. The wedding which I am about to describe +was celebrated on a romantic spot, by the side of Lake Winnipiseogee. +All the neighbors within ten miles were invited, +and it was understood that all who came were expected +to bring with them some implements of husbandry, such as +ploughs, harrows, yokes, bows, wheelbarrows, hods, scythe-snaths, +rakes, goads, hay-hooks, bar-pins, &c. These articles +were for a fair, the product of which was to defray the +expenses of the wedding, and also to fit out the bride with +some household furniture. All these implements, and a +thousand and one besides, being wanted on the farm of +Wentworth, he was to employ persons to buy them for his +own especial use.</p> + +<p>Johnny O'Lara, an old man, who used to chop wood at +my father's door, related the particulars of the wedding one +evening, while I sat on a block in the chimney-corner (the +usual place for the greatest rogue in the family), plying my +knitting-needles, and every now and then, when the eyes of +my step-mother were turned another way, playing slyly +with the cat. And once, when we yonkers went upon a +whortleberry excursion, with O'Lara for our pilot, he showed +us the spot where the wedding took place, and described +it as it was at the time. On the right was a grove of birches; +on the left a grove of bushy pines, with recesses for the +cows and sheep to retire from the noon-day sun. The background +was a forest of tall pines and hemlocks, and in front +were the limpid waters of the "Smile of the Great Spirit." +These encircled about three acres of level grass-land, with +here and there a scattering oak. "Under yonder oak," +said O'Lara, "the ceremony was performed; and here, on +this flat rock, was the rude oven constructed, where the +good wives baked the lamb; and there is the place where +crotched stakes were driven to support a pole, upon which +hung two huge iron kettles, in which they boiled their peas. +And on this very ground," said O'Lara, "in days of yore, +the elfs and fairies used to meet, and, far from mortal ken, +have their midnight gambols."</p> + +<p>The wedding was on a fine evening in the latter part of +the month of July, at a time when the moon was above the +horizon for the whole night. The company were all assembled, +with the exception of the Governor and his retinue. +To while away the time, just as the sun was sinking behind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +the opposite mountains, they commenced singing an ode to +sunset. They had sung,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">"The sunset is calm on the face of the deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And bright is the last look of Sol in the west;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And broad do the beams of his parting glance sweep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like the path that conducts to the land of the blest,"<br /></span> +</div> + +<p>when the blowing of a horn announced the approach of the +Governor, whose barge was soon seen turning a point of +land. The company gave a salute of nineteen guns, which +was returned from the barge, gun for gun. The Governor +and retinue soon landed, and the fair was quickly over. +The company being seated on rude benches prepared for the +occasion, the blowing of a horn announced that it was time +for the ceremony to commence; and, being answered by a +whistle, all eyes were turned toward the right, and issuing +from the birchen grove were seen three musicians, with a +bagpipe, fife, and a Scotch fiddle, upon which they were +playing with more good nature than skill. They were followed +by the bridegroom and grooms-man, and in the rear +were a number of young men in their holiday clothes. +These having taken their places, soft music was heard from +the left; and from a recess in the pines, three maidens in +white, with baskets of wild flowers on the left arm, came +forth, strewing the flowers on the ground, and singing a +song, of which I remember only the chorus:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">"Lead the bride to Hymen's bowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strew her path with choicest flowers."<br /></span> +</div> + +<p>The bride and bridesmaid followed, and after them came +several lasses in gala dresses. These having taken their +places, the father of the bride arose, and taking his daughter's +hand and placing it in that of Clifford, gave them his +blessing. The Governor soon united them in the bonds of +holy matrimony, and as he ended the ceremony with saying, +"What God hath joined let no man put asunder," he heartily +saluted the bride. Clifford followed his example, and after +him she was saluted by every gentleman in the company. +As a compensation for this "rifling of sweets," Clifford had +the privilege of kissing every lady present, and beginning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +with Madame Wentworth, he saluted them all, from the +gray-headed matron, to the infant in its mother's arms.</p> + +<p>The cake and wine were then passed round. Being a +present from Madame Wentworth, they were no doubt excellent. +After this refreshment, and while the good matrons +were cooking their peas, and making other preparations, +the young folks spent the time in playing "blind-man's-buff," +and "hide and go seek," and in singing "Jemmy +and Nancy," "Barbara Allen," "The Friar with Orders +Grey," "The Lass of Richmond Hill," "Gilderoy," +and other songs which they thought were appropriate to the +occasion.</p> + +<p>At length the ringing of a bell announced that dinner was +ready. "What, dinner at that time of night?" perhaps some +will say. But let me tell you, good friends (in Johnny +O'Lara's words), that "the best time for a wedding dinner, +is when it is well cooked, and the guests are ready to eat +it." The company were soon arranged around the rude tables, +which were rough boards, laid across poles that were +supported by crotched stakes driven into the ground. But +it matters not what the tables were, as they were covered +with cloth white as the driven snow, and well loaded with +plum puddings, baked lamb, and green peas, with all necessary +accompaniments for a well ordered dinner, which the +guests complimented in the best possible manner, that is, by +making a hearty meal.</p> + +<p>Dinner being ended, while the matrons were putting all +things to rights, the young people made preparation for dancing; +and a joyous time they had. The music and amusement +continued until the "blushing morn" reminded the +good people that it was time to separate. The rising sun +had gilded the sides of the opposite mountains, which were +sending up their exhalations, before the company were all +on their way to their respective homes. Long did they remember +the first wedding in our town. Even after the frost +of seventy winters had whitened the heads of those who +were then boys, they delighted to dwell on the merry scenes +of that joyful night; and from that time to the present, weddings +have been fashionable in Salmagundi, although they +are not always celebrated in quite so romantic a manner.</p> + +<div class="signature"> +<span class="smcap">Tabitha.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> +<h2>"BLESS, AND CURSE NOT."</h2> + + +<p>The Athenians were proud of their glory. Their +boasted city claimed pre-eminence in the arts and sciences; +even the savage bowed before the eloquence of their soul-stirring +orators; and the bards of every nation sang of the +glory of Athens.</p> + +<p>But pre-eminent as they were, they had not learned to be +merciful. The pure precepts of kindness and love were not +taught by their sages; and their noble orators forgot to inculcate +the humble precepts of forgiveness, and the "charity +which hopeth all things." They told of patriotism, of freedom, +and of that courage which chastises wrong or injury +with physical suffering; but they told not of that nobler +spirit which "renders good for evil," and "blesses, but +curses not."</p> + +<p>Alcibiades, one of their own countrymen, offended against +their laws, and was condemned to expiate the offence with +his life. The civil authorities ordered his goods to be confiscated, +that their value might swell the riches of the public +treasury; and everything that pertained to him, in the way +of citizenship, was obliterated from the public records. To +render his doom more dreary and miserable,—to add weight +to the fearful fulness of his sentence,—the priests and +priestesses were commanded to pronounce upon him their +curse. One of them, however, a being gentle and good as +the principles of mercy which dwelt within her heart—timid +as the sweet songsters of her own myrrh and orange +groves, and as fair as the acacia-blossom of her own bower—rendered +courageous by the all-stimulating and powerful +influence of kindness, dared alone to assert the divinity of +her office, by refusing to curse her unfortunate fellow-being—asserting +that she was "<span class="smcap">Priestess to bless, and not +to curse</span>."</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Lisetta.</span></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> +<img src="images/illus-032.jpg" width="150" height="155" alt="Decoration" title="Decoration" /> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> +<h2>ANCIENT POETRY.</h2> + + +<p>I love old poetry, with its obscure expressions, its obsolete +words, its quaint measure, and rough rhyme. I love it +with all these, perhaps <i>for</i> these. It is because it is different +from modern poetry, and not that I think it better, that +it at times affords me pleasure. But when one has been +indulging in the perusal of the smooth and elegant productions +of later poets, there is at least the charm of variety in +turning to those of ancient bards. This is pleasant to those +who love to exercise the imagination—for if we would understand +our author, we must go back into olden times; we +must look upon the countenances and enter into the feelings +of a long-buried generation; we must remember that much +of what we know was then unknown, and that thoughts and +sentiments which may have become common to us, glowed +upon these pages in all their primal beauty. Much of which +our writer may speak has now been wholly lost; and difficult, +if not impossible, to be understood are many of his expressions +and allusions.</p> + +<p>But these difficulties present a "delightful task" to those +who would rather push on through a tangled labyrinth, than +to walk with ease in a smooth-rolled path. Their self-esteem +is gratified by being able to discover beauty where +other eyes behold but deformity: and a brilliant thought or +glowing image is rendered to them still more beautiful, +because it shines through a veil impenetrable to other eyes. +They are proud of their ability to perceive this beauty, or +understand that oddity, and they care not for the mental +labor which they have been obliged to perform.</p> + +<p>When I turn from modern poetry to that of other days, it +is like leaving bright flowery fields to enter a dark tangled +forest. The air is cooler, but damp and heavy. A sombre +gloom reigns throughout, occasionally broken by flitting +sunbeams, which force their way through the thick branches +which meet above me, and dance and glitter upon the dark +underwood below. They are strongly contrasted with the +deep shade around, and my eye rests upon them with more +pleasure than it did upon the broad flood of sunshine which +bathes the fields without. My searching eye at times<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +discovers some lonely flower, half hidden by decayed leaves +and withered moss, yet blooming there in undecaying beauty. +There are briers and thistles and creeping vines around, but +I heedlessly press on, for I must enjoy the fragrance and +examine the structure of these unobtrusive plants. I enjoy +all this for a while, but at length I grow chilled and +weary, and am glad to leave the forest for a less fatiguing +resort.</p> + +<p>But there is one kind of old poetry to which these remarks +may not apply—I mean the <span class="smcap">Poetry of the Bible</span>.—And +how much is there of this! There are songs of joy +and praise, and those of woe and lamentation; there are +odes and elegies; there are prophecies and histories; there +are descriptions of nature and narratives of persons, and all +written with a fervency of feeling which embodies itself in +lofty and glowing imagery. And what is this but poetry? +yet not that which can be compared to some dark, mazy +forest, but rather like a sacred grove, such as "were God's +first temples." There is no gloom around, neither is there +bright sunshine; but a calm and holy light pervades the +place. The tall trees meet not above me, but through their +lofty boughs I can look up and see the blue heavens bending +their perfect dome above the hallowed spot, while now and +then some fleecy cloud sails slowly on, as though it loved to +shadow the still loneliness beneath. There are soft winds +murmuring through the high tree-tops, and their gentle +sound is like a voice from the spirit-land. There are delicate +white flowers waving upon their slight stems, and +their sweet fragrance is like the breath of heaven. I feel +that I am in God's temple. The Spirit above waits for the +sacrifice. I can now erect an altar, and every selfish +worldly thought should be laid thereon, a free-will offering. +But when the rite is over, and I leave this consecrated spot +for the busy path of life, I should strive to bear into the +world a heart baptized in the love of beauty, holiness, and +truth.</p> + +<p>I have spoken figuratively—perhaps too much so to please +the pure and simple tastes of some—but He who made my +soul and placed it in the body which it animates, implanted +within it a love of the beautiful in literature, and this love +was first awakened and then cherished by the words of +Holy Writ.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> + +<p>I have, when a child, read my Bible, from its earliest +book to its latest. I have gone in imagination to the plains +of Uz, and have there beheld the pastoral prince in all his +pride and glory. I have marked him; too, when in the +depth of his sorrow he sat speechless upon the ground for +seven days and seven nights; but when he opened his +mouth and spake, I listened with eagerness to the heart-stirring +words and startling imagery which poured forth +from his burning lips! But my heart has thrilled with a +delightful awe when "the Lord answered Job out of the +whirlwind," and I listened to words of more simplicity than +uninspired man may ever conceive.</p> + +<p>I have gone, too, with the beloved disciple into that lonely +isle where he beheld those things of which he was +commanded to write. My imagination dared not conceive of +the glorious throne, and of Him who sat upon it; but I have +looked with a throbbing delight upon the New Jerusalem +coming down from heaven in her clear crystal light, "as a +bride adorned for her husband." I have gazed upon the +golden city, flashing like "transparent glass," and have +marked its pearly gates and walls of every precious stone. +In imagination have I looked upon all this, till my young +spirit longed to leave its earthly tenement and soar upward +to that brighter world, where there is no need of sun or +moon, for "the Lamb is the light thereof."</p> + +<p>I have since read my Bible for better purposes than the +indulgence of taste. There must I go to learn my duty to +God and my neighbor. There should I look for precepts to +direct the life that now is, and for the promise of that which +is to come; yet seldom do I close that sacred volume without +a feeling of thankfulness, that the truths of our holy +religion have been so often presented in forms which not +only reason and conscience will approve, but also which the +fancy can admire and the heart must love.</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Ella.</span></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 225px;"> +<img src="images/illus-035.jpg" width="225" height="100" alt="Decoration" title="Decoration" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SPIRIT OF DISCONTENT.</h2> + + +<p>"I will not stay in Lowell any longer; I am determined +to give my notice this very day," said Ellen Collins, +as the earliest bell was tolling to remind us of the hour for +labor.</p> + +<p>"Why, what is the matter, Ellen? It seems to me you +have dreamed out a new idea! Where do you think of +going? and what for?"</p> + +<p>"I am going home, where I shall not be obliged to rise +so early in the morning, nor be dragged about by the +ringing of a bell, nor confined in a close noisy room from +morning till night. I will not stay here; I am determined +to go home in a fortnight."</p> + +<p>Such was our brief morning's conversation.</p> + +<p>In the evening, as I sat alone, reading, my companions +having gone out to public lectures or social meetings, Ellen +entered. I saw that she still wore the same gloomy expression +of countenance, which had been manifested in the +morning; and I was disposed to remove from her mind the +evil influence, by a plain common-sense conversation.</p> + +<p>"And so, Ellen," said I, "you think it unpleasant to +rise so early in the morning, and be confined in the noisy +mill so many hours during the day. And I think so, too. +All this, and much more, is very annoying, no doubt. But +we must not forget that there are advantages, as well as +disadvantages, in this employment, as in every other. If +we expect to find all sunshine and flowers in any station in +life, we shall most surely be disappointed. We are very +busily engaged during the day; but then we have the evening +to ourselves, with no one to dictate to or control us. I have +frequently heard you say, that you would not be confined to +household duties, and that you dislike the millinery business +altogether, because you could not have your evenings for +leisure. You know that in Lowell we have schools, lectures, +and meetings of every description, for moral and intellectual +improvement."</p> + +<p>"All that is very true," replied Ellen, "but if we were +to attend every public institution, and every evening school +which offers itself for our improvement, we might spend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +every farthing of our earnings, and even more. Then if +sickness should overtake us, what are the probable consequences? +Here we are, far from kindred and home; and +if we have an empty purse, we shall be destitute of <i>friends</i> +also."</p> + +<p>"I do not think so, Ellen. I believe there is no place +where there are so many advantages within the reach of the +laboring class of people, as exist here; where there is so +much equality, so few aristocratic distinctions, and such +good fellowship, as may be found in this community. A +person has only to be honest, industrious, and moral, to +secure the respect of the virtuous and good, though he may +not be worth a dollar; while on the other hand, an immoral +person, though he should possess wealth, is not respected."</p> + +<p>"As to the morality of the place," returned Ellen, "I +have no fault to find. I object to the constant hurry of +everything. We cannot have time to eat, drink, or sleep; +we have only thirty minutes, or at most three-quarters of an +hour, allowed us, to go from our work, partake of our food, +and return to the noisy chatter of machinery. Up before +day, at the clang of the bell—and out of the mill by the +clang of the bell—into the mill, and at work, in obedience to +that ding-dong of a bell—just as though we were so many +living machines. I will give my notice to-morrow: go, I +will—I won't stay here and be a white slave."</p> + +<p>"Ellen," said I, "do you remember what is said of the +bee, that it gathers honey even in a poisonous flower? May +we not, in like manner, if our hearts are rightly attuned, +find many pleasures connected with our employment? Why +is it, then, that you so obstinately look altogether on the +dark side of a factory life? I think you thought differently +while you were at home, on a visit, last summer—for you +were glad to come back to the mill in less than four weeks. +Tell me, now—why were you so glad to return to the ringing +of the bell, the clatter of the machinery, the early rising, the +half-hour dinner, and so on?"</p> + +<p>I saw that my discontented friend was not in a humor +to give me an answer—and I therefore went on with my +talk.</p> + +<p>"You are fully aware, Ellen, that a country life does not +exclude people from labor—to say nothing of the inferior +privileges of attending public worship—that people have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +often to go a distance to meeting of any kind—that books +cannot be so easily obtained as they can here—that you +cannot always have just such society as you wish—that +you"—</p> + +<p>She interrupted me, by saying, "We have no bell, with +its everlasting ding-dong."</p> + +<p>"What difference does it make?" said I, "whether you +shall be awakened by a bell, or the noisy bustle of a farm-house? +For, you know, farmers are generally up as early +in the morning as we are obliged to rise."</p> + +<p>"But then," said Ellen, "country people have none +of the clattering of machinery constantly dinning in their +ears."</p> + +<p>"True," I replied, "but they have what is worse—and +that is, a dull, lifeless silence all around them. The +hens may cackle sometimes, and the geese gabble, and the +pigs squeal"——</p> + +<p>Ellen's hearty laugh interrupted my description—and +presently we proceeded, very pleasantly, to compare a country +life with a factory life in Lowell. Her scowl of discontent +had departed, and she was prepared to consider the +subject candidly. We agreed, that since we must work for +a living, the mill, all things considered, is the most pleasant, +and best calculated to promote our welfare; that we will +work diligently during the hours of labor; improve our +leisure to the best advantage, in the cultivation of the mind,—hoping +thereby not only to increase our own pleasure, +but also to add to the happiness of those around us.</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Almira.</span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE WHORTLEBERRY EXCURSION.</h2> + + +<p>About a dozen of us, lads and lasses, had promised +friend H. that on the first lowery day we would meet him +and his family on the top of Moose Mountain, for the purpose +of picking whortleberries, and of taking a view of the +country around. We had provided the customary complement +of baskets, pails, dippers, &c.; and one morning, +which promised a suitable day for our excursion, we piled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +ourselves into a couple of waggons, and rode to the foot of +the mountain and commenced climbing it on foot. A beaten +path and spotted trees were our guides. A toilsome way +we found it—some places being so steep that we were +obliged to hold by the twigs, to prevent us from falling.</p> + +<p>Three-quarters of an hour after we left our horses, we +found ourselves on the whortleberry ground—some of us +singing, some chatting, and all trying to see who could pick +the most berries. Friend H. went from place to place +among the young people, and with his social conversation +gave new life to the party—while his chubby boys and rosy +girls by their nimbleness plainly told that they did not intend +that any one should beat them in picking berries.</p> + +<p>Towards noon, friend H. conducted us to a spring, where +we made some lemonade, having taken care to bring plenty +of lemons and sugar with us, and also bread and cheese for +a lunch. Seated beneath a wide-spreading oak, we partook +of our homely repast; and never in princely hall were the +choicest viands eaten with a keener relish. After resting a +while, we recommenced picking berries, and in a brief space +our pails and baskets were all full.</p> + +<p>About this time, the clouds cleared away, the sun shone +out in all the splendor imaginable, and bright and beautiful +was the prospect. Far as the eye could reach, in a north +and north-easterly direction, were to be seen fields of corn +and grain, with new mown grass-land, and potato flats, farm-houses, +barns, and orchards—together with a suitable proportion +of wood-land, all beautifully interspersed; and a +number of ponds of water, in different places, and of different +forms and sizes—some of them containing small islands, +which added to the beauty of the scenery. The little village +at Wakefield corner, which was about three miles distant, +seemed to be almost under our feet; and with friend H.'s +spy-glass, we could see the people at work in their gardens, +weeding vegetables, picking cherries, gathering flowers, &c. +But not one of our number had the faculty that the old lady +possessed, who, in the time of the Revolution, in looking +through a spy-glass at the French fleet, brought the Frenchmen +so near, that she could hear them chatter; so we had +to be content with ignorance of their conversation.</p> + +<p>South-westerly might be seen Cropple-crown Mountain; +and beyond it, Merry-meeting Pond, where, I have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +told, Elder Randall, the father of the Free-will Baptist +denomination, first administered the ordinance of Baptism. +West, might be seen Tumble-down-dick Mountain; and +north, the Ossipee Mountains; and far north, might be seen +the White Mountains of New Hampshire, whose snow-crowned +summits seemed to reach the very skies.</p> + +<p>The prospect in the other directions was not so grand, +although it was beautiful—so I will leave it, and take the +shortest route, with my companions, with the baskets and +pails of berries, to the house of friend H. On our way, we +stopped to view the lot of rock maples, which, with some +little labor, afforded a sufficient supply of sugar for the +family of friend H., and we promised that in the season of +sugar-making the next spring, we would make it convenient +to visit the place, and witness the process of making maple-sugar.</p> + +<p>Our descent from the mountain was by a different path—our +friends having assured us, that although our route would +be farther, we should find it more pleasant; and truly we +did—for the pathway was not so rough as the one in which +we travelled in the morning. And besides, we had the +pleasure of walking over the farm of the good Quaker, and +of hearing from his own lips many interesting circumstances +of his life.</p> + +<p>The country, he told us, was quite a wilderness when he +first took up his abode on the mountain; and bears, he +said, were as plenty as woodchucks, and destroyed much of +his corn. He was a bachelor, and lived alone for a number +of years after he first engaged in clearing his land. His +habitation was between two huge rocks, at about seventy +rods from the place where he afterwards built his house.—He +showed us this ancient abode of his; it was in the midst +of an old orchard. It appeared as if the rocks had been +originally one; but by some convulsion of nature it had been +sundered, midway, from top to bottom. The back part of +this dwelling was a rock wall, in which there was a fire-place +and an oven. The front was built of logs, with an +aperture for a door-way; and the roof was made of saplings +and bark. In this rude dwelling, friend H. dressed his food, +and ate it; and here, on a bed of straw, he spent his lonely +nights. A small window in the rock wall admitted the +light by day; and by night, his solitary dwelling was illuminated +with a pitch-pine torch.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> + +<p>On being interrogated respecting the cause of his living +alone so long as he did, he made answer, by giving us to +understand, that if he was called "the bear," he was not +so much of a brute as to marry until he could give his wife +a comfortable maintenance; "and moreover, I was resolved," +said he, "that Hannah should never have the least +cause to repent of the ready decision which she made in my +favor." "Then," said one of our company, "your wife +was not afraid to trust herself with the bear?" "She did +not hesitate in the least," said friend H.; "for when I +'popped the question,' by saying, 'Hannah, will thee have +me?' she readily answered, 'Yes, To——;' she would +have said, 'Tobias, I will;' but the words died on her lips, +and her face, which blushed like the rose, became deadly +pale; and she would have fallen on the floor, had I not +caught her in my arms. After Hannah got over her faintness, +I told her that we had better not marry, until I was in +a better way of living; to which she also agreed. And," +said he, "before I brought home my bird, I had built yonder +cage"—pointing to his house; "and now, neighbors, let +us hasten to it; for Hannah will have her tea ready by the +time we get there." When we arrived at the house we +found that tea was ready; and the amiable Mrs. H., the +wife of the good Quaker, was waiting for us, with all imaginable +patience.</p> + +<p>The room in which we took tea was remarkably neat. +The white floor was nicely sanded, and the fire-place filled +with pine-tops and rose-bushes; and vases of roses were +standing on the mantel-piece. The table was covered with +a cloth of snowy whiteness, and loaded with delicacies; and +here and there stood a little China vase, filled with white +and damask roses.</p> + +<p>"So-ho!" said the saucy Henry L., upon entering the +room; "I thought that you Quakers were averse to every +species of decoration; but see! here is a whole flower-garden!" +Friend H. smiled and said, "the rose is a +favorite with Hannah; and then it is like her, with one exception." +"And what is that exception?" said Henry.—"Oh," +said our friend, "Hannah has no thorns to wound." +Mrs. H.'s heightened color and smile plainly told us, that +praise from her husband was "music to her ear." After +tea, we had the pleasure of promenading through the house;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +and Mrs. H. showed us many articles of domestic manufacture, +being the work of her own and her daughters' hands. +The articles consisted of sheets, pillow-cases, bed-quilts, +coverlets of various colors, and woven in different patterns,—such +as chariot wheels, rose-of-sharon, ladies' delight, +federal constitution—and other patterns, the names of which +I have forgotten. The white bed-spreads and the table-covers, +which were inspected by us, were equal, if not superior, +to those of English manufacture; in short, all that we +saw proclaimed that order and industry had an abiding place +in the house of friend H.</p> + +<p>Mrs. H. and myself seated ourselves by a window which +overlooked a young and thrifty orchard. A flock of sheep +were grazing among the trees, and their lambs were gambolling +from place to place. "This orchard is more beautiful +than your other," said I; "but I do not suppose it contains +anything so dear to the memory of friend H. as his old +habitation." She pointed to a knoll, where was a small +enclosure, and which I had not before observed. "There," +said she, "is a spot more dear to Tobias; for there sleep +our children." "Your cup has then been mingled with sorrow?" +said I. "But," replied she, "we do not sorrow +without hope; for their departure was calm as the setting of +yonder sun, which is just sinking from sight; and we trust +that we shall meet them in a fairer world, never to part." +A tear trickled down the cheek of Mrs. H., but she instantly +wiped it away, and changed the conversation. Friend H. +came and took a seat beside us, and joined in the conversation, +which, with his assistance, became animated and +amusing.</p> + +<p>Here, thought I, dwell a couple, happily united. Friend +H., though rough in his exterior, nevertheless possesses a +kindly affectionate heart; and he has a wife whose price +is above rubies.</p> + +<p>The saucy Henry soon came to the door, and bawled out, +"The stage is ready." We obeyed the summons, and +found that Henry and friend H.'s son had been for our +vehicles. We were again piled into the waggons—pails, +baskets, whortleberries, and all; and with many hearty +shakes of the hand, and many kind farewells, we bade adieu +to the family of friend H., but not without renewing the +promise, that, in the next sugar-making season, we would +revisit Moose Mountain.</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Jemima.</span></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE WESTERN ANTIQUITIES.</h2> + + +<p>In the valley of the Mississippi, and the more southern +parts of North America, are found antique curiosities and +works of art, bearing the impress of cultivated intelligence. +But of the race, or people, who executed them, time has +left no vestige of their existence, save these monuments of +their skill and knowledge. Not even a tradition whispers +its <i>guess-work</i>, who they might be. We only know <i>they +were</i>.</p> + +<p>What proof and evidence do we gather from their remains, +which have withstood the test of time, of their origin +and probable era of their existence? That they existed centuries +ago, is evident from the size which forest trees have +attained, which grow upon the mounds and fortifications discovered. +That they were civilized and understood the arts, +is apparent from the manner of laying out and erecting their +fortifications, and from various utensils of gold, copper, and +iron which have occasionally been found in digging below +the earth's surface. If I mistake not, I believe even glass +has been found, which, if so, shows them acquainted with +chemical discoveries, which are supposed to have been unknown +until a period much later than the probable time of +their existence. That they were not the ancestors of the +race which inhabited this country at the time of its discovery +by Columbus, appears conclusive from the total ignorance of +the Indian tribes of all knowledge of arts and civilization, +and the non-existence of any tradition of their once proud +sway. That they were a mighty people is evident from the +extent of territory where these antiquities are scattered. +The banks of the Ohio and Mississippi tell they once lived; +and even to the shore where the vast Pacific heaves its +waves, there are traces of their existence. Who were +they? In what period of time did they exist?</p> + +<p>In a cave in one of the Western States, there is carved +upon the walls a group of people, apparently in the act of +devotion; and a rising sun is sculptured above them. From +this we should infer that they were Pagans, worshipping +the sun and the fabulous gods. But what most strikingly +arrests the antiquarian's observation, and causes him to repeat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +the inquiry, "who were they?" is the habiliments of +the group. One part of their habit is of the Grecian costume, +and the remainder is of the Phœnicians. Were they +a colony from Greece? Did they come from that land in +the days of its proud glory, bringing with them a knowledge +of arts, science, and philosophy? Did they, too, seek a +home across the western waters, because they loved liberty +in a strange land better than they loved slavery at home? +Or what may be as probable, were they the descendants of +some band who managed to escape the destruction of +ill-fated Troy?—the descendants of a people who had called +Greece a mother-country, but were sacrificed to her vindictive +ire, because they were prouder to be Trojans than the +descendants of Grecians? Ay, who were they? Might +not America have had its Hector, its Paris, and Helen? its +maidens who prayed, and its sons who fought? All this +might have been. But their historians and their poets alike +have perished. They <i>have been</i>; but the history of their +existence, their origin, and their destruction, all, all are hidden +by the dark chaos of oblivion. Imagination alone, from +inanimate landmarks, voiceless walls, and soulless bodies, +must weave the record which shall tell of their lives, their +aims, origin, and final extinction.</p> + +<p>Recently, report says, in Mexico there have been discovered +several mummies, embalmed after the manner of the +ancient Egyptians. If true, it carries the origin of this fated +people still farther back; and we might claim them to +be contemporaries with Moses and Joshua. Still, if I form +my conclusions correctly from what descriptions I have perused +of these Western relics of the past, I should decide +that they corresponded better with the ancient Grecians, +Phœnicians, or Trojans, than with the Egyptians. I repeat, +I may be incorrect in my premises and deductions, but as +imagination is their historian, it pleases me better to fill a +world with heroes and beauties of Homer's delineations, +than with those of "Pharaoh and his host."</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Lisette.</span></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 255px;"> +<img src="images/illus-044.jpg" width="255" height="100" alt="Decoration" title="Decoration" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE FIG-TREE.</h2> + + +<p>It was a cold winter's evening. The snow had fallen +lightly, and each tree and shrub was bending beneath its +glittering burden. Here and there was one, with the moonbeams +gleaming brightly upon it, until it seemed, with its +many branches, touched by the ice-spirit, or some fairy-like +creation, in its loveliness and beauty. Every thing was +hushed in Dridonville.</p> + +<p>Situated at a little distance, was a large white house, +surrounded with elm-trees, in the rear of which, upon an eminence, +stood a summer-house; and in the warm season +might have been seen many a gay lady reclining beneath its +vine-covered roof. No pains had been spared to make the +situation desirable. It was the summer residence of Captain +Wilson. But it was now mid-winter, and yet he lingered +in the country. Many were the questions addressed +by the villagers to the old gardener, who had grown grey in +the captain's service, as to the cause of the long delay; but +he could not, or would not, answer their inquiries.</p> + +<p>The shutters were closed, the fire burning cheerfully, and +the astral lamp throwing its soft mellow light upon the crimson +drapery and rich furniture of one of the parlors. In a +large easy chair was seated a gentleman, who was between +fifty and sixty years of age. He was in deep and anxious +thought; and ever and anon his lip curled, as if some bitter +feeling was in his heart. Standing near him was a young +man. His brow was open and serene; his forehead high +and expansive; and his eyes beamed with an expression of +benevolence and mildness. His lips were firmly compressed, +denoting energy and decision of character.</p> + +<p>"You may be seated," said Capt. Wilson, for it was he +who occupied the large chair, the young man being his only +son. "You may be seated, Augustus," and he cast upon +him a look of mingled pride and scorn. The young man +bowed profoundly, and took a seat opposite his father. +There was a long pause, and the father was first to break +silence. "So you intend to marry a beggar, and suffer the +consequences. But do you think your love will stand the +test of poverty, and the sneer of the world? for I repeat, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +not one farthing of my money shall you receive, unless you +comply with the promise which I long since made to my old +friend, that our families should be united. She will inherit +his vast possessions, as there is no other heir. True, she is +a few years your senior; but that is of no importance. +Your mother is older than I am. But I have told you all +this before. Consider well ere you choose between wealth +and poverty."</p> + +<p>"Would that I could conscientiously comply with your +request," replied Augustus, "but I have promised to be +protector and friend to Emily Summerville. She is not rich +in this world's goods; but she has what is far preferable—a +contented mind; and you will allow that, in point of education, +she will compare even with Miss Clarkson." In a +firm voice he continued, "I have made my choice, I shall +marry Emily;" and he was about to proceed, but his father +stamped his foot, and commanded him to quit his presence. +He left the house, and as he walked rapidly towards Mr. +Grant's, the uncle of Miss Summerville, he thought how unstable +were all earthly possessions, "and why," he exclaimed, +"why should I make myself miserable for a little paltry +gold? It may wound my pride at first to meet my gay associates; +but that will soon pass away, and my father will +see that I can provide for my own wants."</p> + +<p>Emily Summerville was the daughter of a British officer, +who for many years resided in the pleasant village of Dridonville. +He was much beloved by the good people for his +activity and benevolence. He built the cottage occupied by +Mr. Grant. On account of its singular construction, it bore +the name of the "English cottage." After his death it +was sold, and Mr. Grant became the purchaser. There Emily +had spent her childhood. On the evening before alluded +to, she was in their little parlor, one corner of which was occupied +by a large fig-tree. On a stand were geraniums, +rose-bushes, the African lily, and many other plants. At a +small table sat Emily, busily engaged with her needle, when +the old servant announced Mr. Wilson. "Oh, Augustus, +how glad I am you are come!" she exclaimed, as she +sprung from her seat to meet him; "but you look sad and +weary," she added, as she seated herself by his side, and +gazed inquiringly into his face, the mirror of his heart. +"What has happened? you look perplexed."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Nothing more than I have expected for a long time," +was the reply; and it was with heartfelt satisfaction that +he gazed on the fair creature by his side, and thought she +would be a star to guide him in the way of virtue. He told +her all. And then he explained to her the path he had +marked out for himself. "I must leave you for a time, and +engage in the noise and excitement of my profession. It +will not be long, if I am successful. I must claim one promise +from you, that is, that you will write often, for that will be +the only pleasure I shall have to cheer me in my absence."</p> + +<p>She did promise; and when they separated at a late +hour, they dreamed not that it was their last meeting on +earth.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p>"Oh, uncle," said Emily, as they entered the parlor together +one morning, "do look at my fig-tree; how beautiful +it is. If it continues to grow as fast as it has done, I can +soon sit under its branches." "It is really pretty," replied +her uncle; and he continued, laughing and patting her +cheek, "you must cherish it with great care, as it was a +present from —— now don't blush; I do not intend to speak +his name, but was merely about to observe, that it might be +now as in olden times, that as <i>he</i> prospers, the tree will +flourish; if he is sick, or in trouble, it will decay."</p> + +<p>"If such are your sentiments," said Emily, "you will +acknowledge that thus far his path has been strewed with +flowers."</p> + +<p>Many months passed away, and there was indeed a +change. The tree that had before looked so green, had +gradually decayed, until nothing was left but the dry branches. +But she was not superstitious: "It might be," she +said, "that she had killed it with kindness." Her uncle +never alluded to the remark he had formerly made; but +Emily often thought there might be some truth in it. She +had received but one letter from Augustus, though she had +written many.</p> + +<p>Summer had passed, and autumn was losing itself in winter. +Augustus Wilson was alone in the solitude of his +chamber.—There was a hectic flush upon his cheek, and the +low hollow cough told that consumption was busy. Was +that the talented Augustus Wilson? he whose thrilling eloquence +had sounded far and wide? His eyes were riveted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +upon a withered rose. It was given him by Emily, on the +eve of his departure, with these words, "Such as I am, receive +me. Would I were of more worth, for your sake."</p> + +<p>"No," he musingly said; "it is not possible she has forgotten +me. I will not, cannot believe it." He arose, and +walked the room with hurried steps, and a smile passed +over his face, as he held communion with the bright images +of the past. He threw himself upon his couch, but sleep +was a stranger to his weary frame.</p> + +<p>Three weeks quickly passed, and Augustus Wilson lay +upon his death-bed. Calm and sweet was his slumber, as +the spirit took its flight to the better land. And O, it was a +sad thing to see that father, with the frost of many winters +upon his head, bending low over his son, entreating him to +speak once more; but all was silent. He was not there; +nought remained but the beautiful casket; the jewel which +had adorned it was gone. And deep was the grief of the +mother; but, unlike her husband, she felt she had done all +she could to brighten her son's pathway in life. She knew +not to what extent Capt. W. had been guilty.</p> + +<p>Augustus was buried in all the pomp and splendor that +wealth could command. The wretched father thought in +this way to blind the eyes of the world. But he could not +deceive himself. It was but a short time before he was laid +beside his son at Mount Auburn. Several letters were +found among his papers, but they had not been opened. +Probably he thought that by detaining them, he should induce +his son to marry the rich Miss Clarkson, instead of the +poor Emily Summerville.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p>Emily Summerville firmly stood amidst the desolation that +had withered all her bright hopes in life. She had followed +her almost idolized uncle to the grave; she had seen the +cottage, and all the familiar objects connected with her earliest +recollections, pass into the hands of strangers; but +there was not a sigh, nor a quiver of the lip, to tell of the +anguish within. She knew not that Augustus Wilson had +entered the spirit-land, until she saw the record of his death +in a Boston paper. "O, if he had only sent me one word," +she said; "even if it had been to tell me that I was remembered +no more, it would have been preferable to this."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +The light which had shone so brightly on her pathway was +withdrawn, and the darkness of night closed around her.</p> + +<p>Long and fearful was the struggle between life and death; +but when she arose from that sick bed, it was with a chastened +spirit. "I am young," she thought, "and I may yet +do much good." And when she again mingled in society, +it was with a peace that the world could neither give nor +take away.</p> + +<p>She bade adieu to her native village, and has taken up her +abode in Lowell. She is one of the class called "factory +girls." She recently received the letters intercepted by +Capt. Wilson, and the melancholy pleasure of perusing +them is hallowed by the remembrance of him who is "gone, +but not lost."</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Ione.</span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>VILLAGE PASTORS.</h2> + + +<p>The old village pastor of New England was "a man having +authority." His deacons were <i>under</i> him, and not, as is +now often the case, his tyrannical rulers; and whenever his +parishioners met him, they doffed their hats, and said "Your +Reverence." Whatever passed his lips was both law and +gospel; and when too old and infirm to minister to his +charge, he was not turned away, like an old worn-out +beast, to die of hunger, or gather up, with failing strength, +the coarse bit which might eke out a little longer his remaining +days; but he was still treated with all the deference, and +supported with all the munificence which was believed due +to him whom they regarded as "God's vicegerent upon +earth." He deemed himself, and was considered by his +parishioners, if not infallible, yet something approaching it. +Those were indeed the days of glory for New England clergymen.</p> + +<p>Perhaps I am wrong. The present pastor of New England, +with his more humble mien and conciliatory tone, his +closer application and untiring activity, may be, in a wider +sphere, as truly glorious an object of contemplation. Many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +are the toils, plans and enterprises entrusted to him, which +in former days were not permitted to interfere with the +duties exclusively appertaining to the holy vocation; yet +with added labors, the modern pastor receives neither added +honors, nor added remuneration. Perhaps it is well—nay, +perhaps it is <i>better</i>; but I am confident that if the old pastor +could return, and take a bird's-eye view of the situations of +his successors, he would exclaim, "How has the glory departed +from Israel, and how have they cast down the sons of +Levi!"</p> + +<p>I have been led to these reflections by a contemplation of +the characters of the first three occupants of the pulpit in my +native village.</p> + +<p>Our old pastor was settled, as all then were, for life. I +can remember him but in his declining years, yet even then +was he a hale and vigorous old man. Honored and beloved +by all his flock, his days passed undisturbed by the storms and +tempests which have since then so often darkened and disturbed +the theological world. The opinions and creeds, handed +down by his Pilgrim Fathers, he carefully cherished, neither +adding thereto, nor taking therefrom; and he indoctrinated +the young in all the mysteries of the true faith, with an undoubting +belief in its infallibility. There was much of the +patriarch in his look and manner; and this was heightened +by the nature of his avocations, in which pastoral labors +were mingled with clerical duties. No farm was in better +order than that of the parsonage; no fields looked more +thriving, and no flocks were more profitable than were those +of the good clergyman. Indeed he sometimes almost forgot +his spiritual field, in the culture of that which was more +earthly.</p> + +<p>One Saturday afternoon the minister was very busily +engaged in hay-making. His good wife had observed that +during the week he had been unusually engrossed in temporal +affairs, and feared for the well-being of his flock, as +she saw that he could not break the earthly spell, even upon +this last day of the week. She looked, and looked in vain +for his return; until, finding him wholly lost to a sense of +his higher duties, she deemed it her duty to remind him of +them. So away she went to the haying field, and when she +was in sight of the reverend haymaker, she screamed out, +"Mr. W., Mr. W."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What, my dear?" shouted Mr. W. in return.</p> + +<p>"Do you intend to feed your people with hay to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>This was a poser—and Mr. W. dropped his rake; and, +repairing to his study, spent the rest of the day in the preparation +of food more meat for those who looked so trustfully +to him for the bread of life.</p> + +<p>His faithful companion was taken from him, and those +who knew of his strong and refined attachment to her, said +truly, when they prophesied, that he would never marry +again.</p> + +<p>She left one son—their only child—a boy of noble feelings +and superior intellect; and his father carefully educated +him with a fond wish that he would one day succeed him in +the sacred office of a minister of God. He hoped indeed +that he might even fill the very pulpit which he must at +some time vacate; and he prayed that his own life might be +spared until this hope had been realized.</p> + +<p>Endicott W. was also looked upon as their future pastor +by many of the good parishioners; and never did a more +pure and gentle spirit take upon himself the task of preparing +to minister to a people in holy things. He was the beloved +of his father, the only child who had ever blessed him—for +he had not married till late in life, and the warm +affections which had been so tardily bestowed upon one of +the gentler sex, were now with an unusual fervor lavished +upon this image of her who was gone.</p> + +<p>When Endicott W. returned home, having completed his +studies at the University, he was requested by our parish to +settle as associate pastor with his father, whose failing +strength was unequal to the regular discharge of his parochial +duties. It was indeed a beautiful sight to see that old +man, with bending form and silvery locks, joining in the +public ministrations with his young and gifted son—the one +with a calm expression of trusting faith; the countenance +of the other beaming with that of enthusiasm and hope.</p> + +<p>Endicott was ambitious. He longed to see his own name +placed in the bright constellation of famed theologians; and +though he knew that years must be spent in toil for the attainment +of that object, he was willing that they should be +thus devoted. The midnight lamp constantly witnessed the +devotions of Endicott W. at the shrine of science; and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +wasting form and fading cheek told what would be the fate +of the infatuated worshipper.</p> + +<p>It was long before our young pastor, his aged father, and +the idolizing people, who were so proud of his talents, and +such admirers of his virtues,—it was long ere these could be +made to believe he was dying; but Endicott W. departed +from life, as a bright cloud fades away in a noon-day sky—for +his calm exit was surrounded by all which makes a +death-bed glorious. His aged father said, "The Lord gave, +and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the +Lord." And then he went again before his flock, and endeavored +to reconcile them to their loss, and dispense again +the comforts and blessings of the gospel, trusting that his +strength would still be spared, until one, who was even then +preparing, should be ready to take his place.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p>Shall I tell you now of my own home? It was a rude +farm-house, almost embowered by ancient trees, which covered +the sloping hill-side on which it was situated; and it +looked like an old pilgrim, who had crawled into the thicket +to rest his limbs, and hide his poverty. My parents were +poor, toiling, care-worn beings, and in a hard struggle for +the comforts of this life had almost forgotten to prepare for +that which is to come. It is true, the outward ordinances +of religion were never neglected; but the spirit, the feeling, +the interest, in short all that is truly deserving the name of +piety, was wanting. My father toiled through the burning +heat of summer, and the biting frost of winter, for his loved +ones; and my mother also labored, from the first dawn of +day till a late hour at night in behalf of her family. She +was true to her duties as wife and mother, but it was from +no higher motive than the instincts which prompt the fowls +of the air to cherish their brood; and though she perhaps +did not believe that "labor was the end of life," still her +conduct would have given birth to that supposition.</p> + +<p>I had been for some time the youngest of the family, when +a little brother was born. He was warmly welcomed by us, +though we had long believed the family circle complete.—We +were not then aware at how dear a price the little +stranger was to be purchased. From the moment of his +birth, my mother never knew an hour of perfect health. +She had previously injured her constitution by unmitigated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +toil, and now were the effects to be more sensibly felt. She +lived very many years; but it was the life of an invalid.</p> + +<p>Reader, did you ever hear of the "thirty years' consumption?" +a disease at present unknown in New England—for +that scourge of our climate will now complete in a few +months the destruction which it took years of desperate +struggle to perform upon the constitutions of our more hardy +ancestors.</p> + +<p>My mother was in such a consumption—that disorder +which comes upon its victim like the Aurorean flashes in an +Arctic sky, now vivid in its pure loveliness, and then +shrouded in a sombre gloom. Now we hoped, nay, almost +believed, she was to be again quite well, and anon we +watched around a bed from which we feared she would +never arise.</p> + +<p>It was strange to us, who had always seen her so unremitting +in her toilsome labors, and so careless in her exposure +to the elements, to watch around her now—to shield +her from the lightest breeze, or the slightest dampness of +the air—to guard her from all intrusion, and relieve her from +all care—to be always reserving for her the warmest place +by the fire-side, and preparing the choicest bit of food—to +be ever ready to pillow her head and bathe her brow—in +short, to be never unconscious of the presence of disease.—Our +steps grew softer, and our voices lower, and the stillness +of our manners had its influence upon our minds. The +hush was upon our spirits; and there can surely be nothing +so effectual in carrying the soul before its Maker, as disease; +and it may truly be said to every one who enters the +chamber of sickness, "The place whereon thou standest is +holy ground."</p> + +<p>My little brother was to us an angel sent from heaven.—He +possessed a far more delicate frame and lofty intellect +than any other member of the family; and his high, pale +brow, and brilliant eyes, were deemed sure tokens of uncommon +genius. My mother herself watched with pleasure +these indications of talent, although the time had been when +a predilection for literary pursuits would have been thought +inconsistent with the common duties which we were all born +to fulfil.</p> + +<p>We had always respected the learned and talented, but it +was with a feeling akin to the veneration we felt for the +inhabitants of the spiritual world. They were far above us,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +and we were content to bow in reverence. Our thoughts +had been restricted to the narrow circle of every-day duties, +and our highest aspirations were to be admitted at length, as +spectators, to the glory of a material heaven, where streets +of gold and thrones of ivory form the magnificence of the +place. It was different now.—With a nearer view of that +better world, to which my mother had received her summons, +came also more elevated spiritual and blissful views of +its glory and perfection. It was another heaven, for she +was another being; and she would have been willing at any +moment to have resigned the existence which she held by so +frail a tenure, had it not been for the sweet child which +seemed to have been sent from that brighter world to hasten +and prepare her for departure.</p> + +<p>Our pastor was now a constant visitant. Hitherto he had +found but little to invite him to our humble habitation. He +had been received with awe and constraint, and the topics upon +which he loved to dwell touched no chord in the hearts of +those whom he addressed. But now my mother was anxious +to pour into his ears all the new-felt sentiments and +emotions with which her heart was filled. She wished to +share his sympathy, and receive his instructions; for she +felt painfully conscious of her extreme ignorance.</p> + +<p>It was our pastor who first noticed in my little brother the +indications of mental superiority; and we felt then as though +the magical powers of some favored order of beings had +been transferred to one in our own home-circle; and we +loved the little Winthrop (for father had named him after +the old governor) with a stronger and holier love than we +had previously felt for each other. And in these new feelings +how much was there of happiness! Though there was +now less health, and of course less wealth, in our home, +yet there was also more pure joy.</p> + +<p>I have sometimes been out upon the barren hill-side, and +thought that there was no pleasure in standing on a spot so +desolate. I have been again in the same bare place, and +there was a balmy odor in the delicious air, which made it +bliss but to inhale the fragrance. Some spicy herb had carpeted +the ground, and though too lowly and simple to attract +the eye, yet the charm it threw around the scene was not +less entrancing because so viewless and unobtrusive.</p> + +<p>Such was the spell shed around our lowly home by the +presence of religion. It was with us the exhalation from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +lowly plants, and the pure fragrance went up the more freely +because they had been bruised. In our sickness and poverty +we had joy in the present, and bright hopes for the future.</p> + +<p>It was early decided that Winthrop should be a scholar.—Our +pastor said it must be so, and Endicott, who was but a +few years older, assisted him in his studies. They were +very much together, and excepting in their own families, had +no other companion. But when my brother returned from the +pastor's study with a face radiant with the glow of newly-acquired +knowledge, and a heart overflowing in its desire to +impart to others, he usually went to his pale, emaciated +mother to give vent to his sensations of joy, and came to me +to bestow the boon of knowledge. I was the nearest in age. +I had assisted to rear his infancy, and been his constant companion +in childhood; and now our intercourse was to be +continued and strengthened, amidst higher purposes and +loftier feelings. I was the depository of all his hopes and +fears, the sharer of all his plans for the future; and his aim +was then to follow in the footsteps of Endicott W. If he +could only be as good, as kind and learned, he should think +himself one of the best of mankind.</p> + +<p>When Endicott became our pastor, my brother was ready +to enter college, with the determination to consecrate himself +to the same high calling. It seemed hardly like reality +to us, that one of our own poor household was to be an +educated man. We felt lifted up—not with pride—for the +feeling which elevated us was too pure for that; but we esteemed +ourselves better than we had ever been before, and +strove to be more worthy of the high gift which had been +bestowed upon us. When my brother left home, it was +with the knowledge that self-denial was to be practised, for +his sake, by those who remained; but he also knew that it +was to be willingly, nay, joyously performed. Still he did +not know <i>all</i>. Even things which heretofore, in our poverty, +we had deemed essential to comfort, were now resigned.—We +did not even permit my mother to know how differently +the table was spread for her than for our own frugal repast. +Neither was she aware how late and painfully I toiled to +prevent the hire of additional service upon our little farm. +The joy in the secret depths of my heart was its own reward; +and never yet have I regretted an effort or a sacrifice made +then. It was a discipline like the refiner's fire, and but for +my brother, I should never have been even as, with all my +imperfections, I trust I am now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> + +<p>My brother returned from college as the bright sun of +Endicott W.'s brief career was low in a western sky. He +had intended to study with him for the same vocation—and +with him he <i>did</i> prepare. O, there could have been no more +fitting place to imbue the mind with that wisdom which +cometh from above, than the sick room at our pastor's.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">"The chamber where the good man meets his fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is privileged beyond the common walks of life,"—<br /></span> +</div> + +<p>and Endicott's was like the shelter of some bright spirit +from the other world, who, for the sake of those about him, +was delaying for a while his return to the home above.—My +brother was with him in his latest hours, and received as +a dying bequest the charge of his people. The parish also +were anxious that he should be Endicott's successor; and in +the space requested for farther preparation, our old pastor +returned to his pulpit.</p> + +<p>But he had overrated his own powers; and besides, he +was growing blind. There were indeed those who said +that, notwithstanding his calmness in the presence of others, +he had in secret wept his sight away; and that while a +glimmer of it remained, the curtain of his window, which +overlooked the grave-yard, had never been drawn. He +ceased his labors, but a temporary substitute was easily +found—for, as old Deacon S. remarked, "There are many +ministers <i>now</i>, who are glad to go out to day's labor."</p> + +<p>My mother had prayed that strength might be imparted +to her feeble frame, to retain its rejoicing inhabitant until +she could see her son a more active laborer in the Lord's +vineyard; "and then," said she, "I can depart in peace." +For years she had hoped the time would come, but dared not +hope to see it. But life was graciously spared; and the day +which was to see him set apart as peculiarly a servant of his +God, dawned upon her in better health than she had known +for years. Perhaps it was the glad spirit which imparted +its renewing glow to the worn body, but she went with us +that day to the service of ordination. The old church was +thronged; and as the expression of thankfulness went up +from the preacher's lips, that one so worthy was then to be +dedicated to his service, my own heart was subdued by the +solemn joy that he was one of us. My own soul was poured +out in all the exercises; but when the charge was given, +there was also an awe upon all the rest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p>Our aged pastor had been led into his pulpit, that he +might perform this ceremony; and when he arose with his +silvery locks, thinned even since he stood there last, and +raised his sightless eyes to heaven, I freely wept. He was +in that pulpit where he had stood so many years, to warn, +to guide, and to console; and probably each familiar face +was then presented to his imagination. He was where his +dear departed son had exercised the ministerial functions, +and the same part of the service which he had performed at +his ordination, he was to enact again for his successor. The +blind old man raised his trembling hand, and laid it upon the +head of the young candidate; and as the memories of the +past came rushing over him, he burst forth in a strain of +heart-stirring eloquence. There was not a tearless eye in +the vast congregation; and the remembrance of that hour +had doubtless a hallowing influence upon the young pastor's +life.</p> + +<p>My brother was settled for five years, and as we departed +from the church, I heard Deacon S. exclaim, in his bitterness +against modern degeneracy in spiritual things, that +"the old pastor was settled <i>for life</i>." "So is the new +one," said a low voice in reply; and for the first time the +idea was presented to my mind that Winthrop was to be, +like Endicott W., one of the early called.</p> + +<p>But the impression departed in my constant intercourse +with him in his home—for our lowly dwelling was still the +abode of the new pastor. He would never remove from it +while his mother lived, and an apartment was prepared for +him adjoining hers. They were pleasant rooms, for during +the few past years he had done much to beautify the place, +and the shrubs which he had planted were already at their +growth. The thick vines also which had struggled over the +building, were now gracefully twined around the windows, +and some of the old trees cut down, that we might be allowed +a prospect. Still all that could conduce to beauty was +retained; and I have often thought how easily and cheaply +the votary of true taste can enjoy its pleasures.</p> + +<p>Winthrop was now so constantly active and cheerful, that +I could not think of death as connected with him. But I +knew that he was feeble, and watched and cherished him, +as I had done when he was but a little child. Though in +these respects his guardian, in others I was his pupil. I +sat before him, as Mary did at the Messiah's feet, and gladly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> +received his instructions. My heart went out with him in +all the various functions of his calling. I often went with +him to the bed-side of the sick, and to the habitations of the +wretched. None knew better than he did, how to still the +throbbings of the wrung heart, and administer consolation.</p> + +<p>I was present also, when, for the first time, he sprinkled +an infant's brow with the waters of consecration; and when +he had blessed the babe, he also prayed that we might all +become even as that little child. I was with him, too, when +for the first time he joined in holy bands, those whom none +but God should ever put asunder; and if the remembrance +of the fervent petition which went up for them, has dwelt as +vividly in their hearts as it has in mine, that prayer must +have had a holy influence upon their lives.</p> + +<p>I have said that I remember his first baptism and wedding; +but none who were present will forget his first funeral. +It was our mother's. She had lived so much beyond +our expectations, and been so graciously permitted to witness +the fulfilment of her dearest hope, that when at length +the spirit winged its flight, we all joined in the thanksgiving +which went up from the lips of her latest-born, that she had +been spared so long.</p> + +<p>It was a beautiful Sabbath—that day appointed for her +funeral—but in the morning a messenger came to tell us +that the clergyman whom we expected was taken suddenly +ill. What could be done? Our old pastor was then confined +to his bed, and on this day all else were engaged. "I +will perform the services myself," said Winthrop. "I shall +even be happy to do it."</p> + +<p>"Nay," said I, "you are feeble, and already spent with +study and watching. It must not be so."</p> + +<p>"Do not attempt to dissuade me, sister," he replied. +"There will be many to witness the interment of her who +has hovered upon the brink of the grave so long; and has +not almost every incident of her life, from my very birth, +been a text from which important lessons may be drawn?" +And then, fixing his large mild eyes full upon me, as though +he would utter a truth which duty forbade him longer to +suppress, he added, "I dare not misimprove this opportunity. +This first death in <i>my</i> parish may also be the last. +Nay, weep not, my sister, because I may go next. The +time at best is short, and I must work while the day lasts."</p> + +<p>I did not answer. My heart was full, and I turned away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +That day my brother ascended his pulpit to conduct the funeral +services, and in them he <i>did</i> make of her life a lesson +to all present. But when he addressed himself particularly +to the young, the middle-aged and the old, his eyes kindled, +and his cheeks glowed, as he varied the subject to present +the "king of terrors" in a different light to each. Then he +turned to the mourners. And who were <i>they?</i> His own +aged father, the companion for many years of her who was +before them in her shroud. His own brothers and sisters, +and the little ones of the third generation, whose childish +memories had not even yet forgotten her dying blessing. +He essayed to speak, but in vain. The flush faded from his +cheek till he was deadly pale. Again he attempted to address +us, and again in vain. He raised his hand, and buried +his face in the folds of his white handkerchief. I also covered +my eyes, and there was a deep stillness throughout the +assembly. At that moment I thought more of the living +than of the dead; and then there was a rush among the +great congregation, like the sudden bursting forth of a mighty +torrent.</p> + +<p>I raised my eyes, but could see no one in the pulpit. The +next instant it was filled. I also pressed forward, and unimpeded +ascended the steps, for all stood back that I might +pass. I reached him as he lay upon the seat where he had +fallen, and the handkerchief, which was still pressed to his +lips, was wet with blood. They bore him down, and +through the aisle; and when he passed the coffin, he raised +his head, and gazed a moment upon that calm, pale face. +Then casting upon all around a farewell glance, he sunk +gently back, and closed his eyes.</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p>A few evenings after, I was sitting by his bed-side. The +bright glow of a setting sun penetrated the white curtains of +his windows, and fell with softened lustre upon his face. +The shadows of the contiguous foliage were dancing upon +the curtains, the floor, and the snowy drapery of his bed; +and as he looked faintly up, he murmured, "It is a beautiful +world; but the other is glorious! and my mother is +there, and Endicott. See! they are beckoning to me, and +smiling joyfully!—Mother, dear mother, and Endicott, I am +coming!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> + +<p>His voice and looks expressed such conviction of the reality +of what he saw, that I also looked up to see these beautiful +spirits. My glance of disappointment recalled him; +and he smiled as he said, "I think it was a dream; but it +will be reality soon.—Do not go," said he, as I arose to call +for others. "Do not fear, sister. The bands are very +loose, and the spirit will go gently, and perhaps even before +you could return."</p> + +<p>I reseated myself, and pressing his wasted hand in mine, +I watched,—</p> + +<div class="center">"As through his breast, the wave of life<br /> +Heaved gently to and fro."</div> + +<p>A few moments more, and I was alone with the dead.</p> + +<p>We buried Winthrop by the side of Endicott W., and the +old pastor was soon laid beside them. * * * *</p> + +<p>Years have passed since then, and I still love to visit those +three graves. But other feelings mingle with those which +once possessed my soul. I hear those whose high vocation +was once deemed a sure guarantee for their purity, either +basely calumniated, or terribly condemned. Their morality +is questioned, their sincerity doubted, their usefulness denied, +and their pretensions scoffed at. It may be that unholy +hands are sometimes laid upon the ark, and that change of +times forbids such extensive usefulness as was in the power +of the clergymen of New England in former days. But +when there comes a muttering cry of "Down with the +priesthood!" and a denial of the good which they have effected, +my soul repels the insinuation, as though it were +blasphemy. I think of the first three pastors of our village, +and I reverence the ministerial office and its labors,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">"If I but remember only,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That such as these have lived, and died."</span> +</div> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Susanna.</span></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 169px;"> +<img src="images/illus-060.jpg" width="169" height="100" alt="Decoration" title="Decoration" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SUGAR-MAKING EXCURSION.</h2> + + +<p>It was on a beautiful morning in the month of March, +(one of those mornings so exhilarating that they make even +age and decrepitude long for a ramble), that friend H. called +to invite me to visit his sugar-lot—as he called it—in +company with the party which, in the preceding summer, +visited Moose Mountain upon the whortleberry excursion. +It was with the pleasure generally experienced in revisiting +former scenes, in quest of novelty and to revive impressions +and friendships, that our party set out for this second visit to +Moose Mountain.</p> + +<p>A pleasant sleigh-ride of four or five miles, brought us +safely to the domicile of friend H., who had reached home +an hour previously, and was prepared to pilot us to his sugar-camp. +"Before we go," said he, "you must one and +all step within doors, and warm your stomachs with some +gingered cider." We complied with his request, and after +a little social chat with Mrs. H., who welcomed us with a +cordiality not to be surpassed, and expressed many a kind +wish that we might spend the day agreeably, we made for +the sugar-camp, preceded by friend H., who walked by the +side of his sleigh, which appeared to be well loaded, and +which he steadied with the greatest care at every uneven +place in the path.</p> + +<p>Arrived at the camp, we found two huge iron kettles suspended +on a pole, which was supported by crotched stakes, +driven in the ground, and each half full of boiling syrup. +This was made by boiling down the sap, which was gathered +from troughs that were placed under spouts which +were driven into rock-maple trees, an incision being first +made in the tree with an auger. Friend H. told us that it +had taken more than two barrels of sap to make what syrup +each kettle contained. A steady fire of oak bark was burning +underneath the kettles, and the boys and girls, friend +H.'s sons and daughters, were busily engaged in stirring +the syrup, replenishing the fire, &c.</p> + +<p>Abigail, the eldest daughter, went to her father's sleigh, +and taking out a large rundlet, which might contain two or +three gallons, poured the contents into a couple of pails. +This we perceived was milk, and as she raised one of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +pails to empty the contents into the kettles, her father called +out, "Ho, Abigail! hast thee strained the milk?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, father," said Abigail.</p> + +<p>"Well," said friend H., with a chuckle, "Abigail understands +what she is about, as well as her mother would; +and I'll warrant Hannah to make better maple-sugar than +any other woman in New England, or in the whole United +States—and you will agree with me in that, after that sugar +is turned off and cooled." Abigail turned to her work, +emptied her milk into the kettles, and then stirred their contents +well together, and put some bark on the fire.</p> + +<p>"Come, Jemima," said Henry L., "let us try to assist +Abigail a little, and perhaps we shall learn to make sugar +ourselves; and who knows but what she will give us a +'gob' to carry home as a specimen to show our friends; +and besides, it is possible that we may have to make sugar +ourselves at some time or other; and even if we do not, it +will never do us any harm to know how the thing is done." +Abigail furnished us each with a large brass scummer, and +instructed us to take off the scum as it arose, and put it into +the pails; and Henry called two others of our party to come +and hold the pails.</p> + +<p>"But tell me, Abigail," said Henry, with a roguish leer, +"was that milk really intended for whitening the sugar?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Abigail with all the simplicity of a Quakeress, +"for thee must know that the milk will all rise in a +scum, and with it every particle of dirt or dust which may +have found its way into the kettles."</p> + +<p>Abigail made a second visit to her father's sleigh, accompanied +by her little brother, and brought from thence a large +tin baker, and placed it before the fire. Her brother brought +a peck measure two-thirds full of potatoes, which Abigail +put into the baker, and leaving them to their fate, returned +to the sleigh, and with her brother's assistance carried several +parcels, neatly done up in white napkins, into a little +log hut of some fifteen feet square, with a shed roof made of +slabs. We began to fancy that we were to have an Irish +lunch. Henry took a sly peep into the hut when we first +arrived, and he declared that there was nothing inside, save +some squared logs, which were placed back against the +walls, and which he supposed were intended for seats. But +he was mistaken in thinking that seats were every convenience +which the building contained,—as will presently be +shown.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<p>Abigail and her brother had been absent something like +half an hour, and friend H. had in the mean time busied himself +in gathering sap, and putting it in some barrels hard by. +The kettles were clear from scum, and their contents were +bubbling like soap. The fire was burning cheerfully, the +company all chatting merrily, and a peep into the baker told +that the potatoes were cooked.</p> + +<p>Abigail and her brother came, and taking up the baker, +carried it inside the building, but soon returned, and placed +it again before the fire. Then she called to her father, who +came and invited us to go and take dinner.</p> + +<p>We obeyed the summons; but how were we surprised, +when we saw how neatly arranged was every thing. The +walls of the building were ceiled around with boards, and +side tables fastened to them, which could be raised or let +down at pleasure, being but pieces of boards fastened with +leather hinges and a prop underneath. The tables were covered +with napkins, white as the driven snow, and loaded +with cold ham, neat's tongue, pickles, bread, apple-sauce, +preserves, dough-nuts, butter, cheese, and <i>potatoes</i>—without +which a Yankee dinner is never complete. For beverage, +there was chocolate, which was made over a fire in the +building—there being a rock chimney in one corner. +"Now, neighbors," said friend H., "if you will but seat +yourselves on these squared logs, and put up with these +rude accommodations, you will do me a favor. We might +have had our dinner at the house, but I thought that it would +be a novelty, and afford more amusement to have it in this +little hut, which I built to shelter us from what stormy +weather we might have in the season of making sugar."</p> + +<p>We arranged ourselves around the room, and right merry +were we, for friend H.'s lively chat did not suffer us to be +otherwise. He recapitulated to us the manner of his life +while a bachelor; the many bear-fights which he had had; +told us how many bears he had killed; how a she-bear denned +in his rock dwelling the first winter after he commenced +clearing his land—he having returned home to his father's +to attend school; how, when he returned in the spring, he +killed her two cubs, and afterwards the old bear, and made +his Hannah a present of their skins to make a muff and tippet; +also his courtship, marriage, &c.</p> + +<p>In the midst of dinner, Abigail came in with some hot +mince-pies, which had been heating in the baker before the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +fire out of doors, and which said much in praise of Mrs. H.'s +cookery.</p> + +<p>We had finished eating, and were chatting as merrily as +might be, when one of the little boys called from without, +"Father, the sugar has grained." We immediately went +out, and found one of the boys stirring some sugar in a bowl +to cool it. The fire was raked from beneath the kettles, +and Abigail and her eldest brother were stirring their contents +with all haste. Friend H. put a pole within the bail +of one of the kettles, and raised it up, which enabled two of +the company to take the other down, and having placed it +in the snow, they assisted friend H. to take down the other; +and while we lent a helping hand to stir and cool the sugar, +friend H.'s children ate their dinners, cleared away the tables, +put what fragments were left into their father's sleigh, +together with the dinner-dishes, tin baker, rundlet, and the +pails of scum, which were to be carried home for the swine. +A firkin was also put into the sleigh; and after the sugar +was sufficiently cool, it was put into the firkin, and covered +up with great care.</p> + +<p>After this we spent a short time promenading around the +rock-maple grove, if leafless trees can be called a grove. A +large sap-trough, which was very neatly made, struck my +fancy, and friend H. said he would make me a present of it +for a cradle. This afforded a subject for mirth. Friend H. +said that we must not ridicule the idea of having sap-troughs +for cradles; for that was touching quality, as his eldest +child had been rocked many an hour in a sap-trough, beneath +the shade of a tree, while his wife sat beside it knitting, +and he was hard by, hoeing corn.</p> + +<p>Soon we were on our way to friend H.'s house, which we +all reached in safety; and where we spent an agreeable evening, +eating maple sugar, apples, beech-nuts, &c. We also +had tea about eight o'clock, which was accompanied by every +desirable luxury—after which we started for home.</p> + +<p>As we were about taking leave, Abigail made each of us +a present of a cake of sugar, which was cooled in a tin heart.—"Heigh +ho!" said Henry L., "how lucky! We have +had an agreeable visit, a bountiful feast—have learned how +to make sugar, and have all got sweethearts!"</p> + +<p>We went home, blessing our stars and the hospitality of +our Quaker friends.</p> + +<p>I cannot close without telling the reader, that the sugar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +which was that day made, was nearly as white as loaf sugar, +and tasted much better.</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Jemima.</span></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>PREJUDICE AGAINST LABOR.</h2> + + +<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> + +<p>Mrs. K. and her daughter Emily were discussing the propriety +of permitting Martha to be one of the party which was +to be given at Mr. K.'s the succeeding Tuesday evening, to +celebrate the birth-day of George, who had lately returned +from college. Martha was the niece of Mr. K. She was +an interesting girl of about nineteen years of age, who, having +had the misfortune to lose her parents, rather preferred +working in a factory for her support, than to be dependent +on the charity of her friends. Martha was a favorite in the +family of her uncle; and Mrs. K., notwithstanding her aristocratic +prejudices, would gladly have her niece present at +the party, were it not for fear of what people might say, if +Mr. and Mrs. K. suffered their children to appear on a level +with factory operatives.</p> + +<p>"Mother," said Emily, "I do wish there was not such a +prejudice against those who labor for a living; and especially +against those who work in a factory; for then Martha +might with propriety appear at George's party; but I know +it would be thought disgraceful to be seen at a party with a +factory girl, even if she is one's own cousin, and without a +single fault. And besides, the Miss Lindsays are invited, +and if Martha should be present, they will be highly offended, +and make her the subject of ridicule. I would not for +my life have Martha's feelings wounded, as I know they +would be, if either of the Miss Lindsays should ask her when +she left Lowell, or how long she had worked in a factory."</p> + +<p>"Well, Emily," said Mrs. K., "I do not know how we +shall manage to keep up appearances, and also spare Martha's +feelings, unless we can persuade your father to take +her with him to Acton, on the morrow, and leave her at +your uncle Theodore's. I do not see any impropriety in this +step, as she proposes to visit Acton before she returns to +Lowell."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You will persuade me to no such thing," said Mr. K., +stepping to the door of his study, which opened from the +parlor, and which stood ajar, so that the conversation between +his wife and daughter had been overheard by Mr. K., and +also by the Hon. Mr. S., a gentleman of large benevolence, +whose firmness of character placed him far above popular +prejudice. These gentlemen had been in the study unknown +to Mrs. K. and Emily.</p> + +<p>"You will persuade me to no such thing," Mr. K. repeated, +as he entered the parlor accompanied by Mr. S.; "I am +determined that my niece shall be at the party. However +loudly the public opinion may cry out against such a measure, +I shall henceforth exert my influence to eradicate the +wrong opinions entertained by what is called good society, +respecting the degradation of labor; and I will commence +by placing my children and niece on a level. The occupations +of people have made too much distinction in society. +The laboring classes, who are in fact the wealth of a nation, +are trampled upon; while those whom dame Fortune +has placed above, or if you please, <i>below</i> labor, with some +few honorable exceptions, arrogate to themselves all of the +claims to good society. But in my humble opinion, the rich +and the poor ought to be equally respected, if virtuous; and +equally detested, if vicious."</p> + +<p>"But what will our acquaintances say?" said Mrs. K.</p> + +<p>"It is immaterial to me what 'they say' or think," said +Mr. K., "so long as I know that I am actuated by right motives."</p> + +<p>"But you know, my dear husband," replied his wife, +"that the world is censorious, and that much of the good or +ill fortune of our children will depend on the company which +they shall keep. For myself, I care but little for the opinion +of the world, so long as I have the approbation of my +husband, but I cannot bear to have my children treated with +coldness; and besides, as George is intended for the law, his +success will in a great measure depend on public opinion; +and I do not think that even Esq. S. would think it altogether +judicious, under existing circumstances, for us to place +our children on a level with the laboring people."</p> + +<p>"If I may be permitted to express my opinion," said Mr. +S. "I must say, in all sincerity, that I concur in sentiment +with my friend K.; and, like him, I would that the line of +separation between good and bad society was drawn between<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +the virtuous and the vicious; and to bring about this much-to-be-desired +state of things, the affluent, those who are allowed +by all to have an undisputed right to rank with good +society, must begin the reformation, by exerting their influence +to raise up those who are bowed down. Your fears, +Mrs. K., respecting your son's success, are, or should be, +groundless; for, to associate with the laboring people, and +strive to raise them to their proper place in the scale of being, +should do more for his prosperity in the profession +which he has chosen, than he ought to realize by a contrary +course of conduct; and, I doubt not, your fears will prove +groundless. So, my dear lady, rise above them; and also +above the opinions of a gainsaying multitude—opinions which +are erroneous, and which every philanthropist, and every +Christian, should labor to correct."</p> + +<p>The remarks of Esq. S. had so good an effect on Mrs. K., +that she relinquished the idea of sending Martha to Acton.</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> + +<p>The following evening Emily and Martha spent at Esq. S.'s, +agreeably to an earnest invitation from Mrs. S. and her +daughter Susan, who were anxious to cultivate an acquaintance +with the orphan. These ladies were desirous to ascertain +the real situation of a factory girl, and if it was as truly +deplorable as public fame had represented, they intended to +devise some plan to place Martha in a more desirable situation. +Mrs. S. had a sister, who had long been in a declining +state of health; and she had but recently written to Mrs. S. +to allow Susan to spend a few months with her, while opportunity +should offer to engage a young lady to live with +her as a companion. This lady's husband was a clerk in +one of the departments at Washington; and, not thinking it +prudent to remove his family to the capital, they remained +in P.; but the time passed so heavily in her husband's absence, +as to have a visible effect on her health. Her physician +advised her not to live so retired as she did, but to go +into lively company to cheer up her spirits; but she thought +it would be more judicious to have an agreeable female companion +to live with her; and Mrs. S. concluded, from the +character given her by her uncle, that Martha would be just +such a companion as her sister wanted; and she intended in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +the course of the evening to invite Martha to accompany Susan +on a visit to her aunt.</p> + +<p>The evening passed rapidly away, for the lively and interesting +conversation, in the neat and splendid parlor of Esq. +S., did not suffer any one present to note the flight of time. +Martha's manners well accorded with the flattering description +which her uncle had given of her. She had a good flow +of language, and found no difficulty in expressing her sentiments +on any subject which was introduced. Her description +of "Life in Lowell" convinced those who listened to +the clear, musical tones of her voice, that the many reports +which they had heard, respecting the ignorance and vice of +the factory operatives, were the breathings of ignorance, +wafted on the wings of slander, and not worthy of credence.</p> + +<p>"But with all your privileges, Martha," said Mrs. S., +"was it not wearisome to labor so many hours in a day?"</p> + +<p>"Truly it was at times," said Martha, "and fewer hours +of labor would be desirable, if they could command a proper +amount of wages; for in that case there would be more time +for improvement."</p> + +<p>Mrs. S. then gave Martha an invitation to accompany her +daughter to P., hoping that she would accept the invitation, +and find the company of her sister so agreeable that she +would consent to remain with her, at least for one year; assuring +her that if she did, her privileges for improvement +should be equal, if not superior to those she had enjoyed in +Lowell; and also that she should not be a loser in pecuniary +matters. Martha politely thanked Mrs. S. for the interest +she took in her behalf, but wished a little time to consider +the propriety of accepting the proposal. But when Mrs. S. +explained how necessary it was that her sister should have +a female companion with her, during her husband's absence, +Martha consented to accompany Susan, provided that her +uncle and aunt K. gave their consent.</p> + +<p>"What an interesting girl!" said Esq. S. to his lady, after +the young people had retired. "Amiable and refined as +Emily K. appears, Martha's manners show that her privileges +have been greater, or that her abilities are superior to +those of Emily. How cold and calculating, and also unjust, +was her aunt K., to think that it would detract aught from +the respectability of her children for Martha to appear in +company with them! I really hope that Mr. K. will allow +her to visit your sister. I will speak to him on the subject."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She <i>must</i> go with Susan," said Mrs. S.; "I am determined +to take no denial. Her sprightly manners and delightful +conversation will cheer my sister's spirits, and be of more +avail in restoring her health than ten physicians."</p> + +<p>Mr. K. gave the desired consent, and it was agreed by all +parties concerned that some time in the following week the +ladies should visit P.; and all necessary preparations were +immediately made for the journey.</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> + +<p>It was Tuesday evening, and a whole bevy of young people +had assembled at Mr. K.'s. Beauty and wit were there, +and seemed to vie with each other for superiority. The +beaux and belles were in high glee. All was life and animation. +The door opened, and Mr. K. entered the room. +A young lady, rather above the middle height, and of a form +of the most perfect symmetry, was leaning on his arm. She +was dressed in a plain white muslin gown; a lace 'kerchief +was thrown gracefully over her shoulders, and a profusion +of auburn hair hung in ringlets down her neck, which had +no decoration save a single string of pearl; her head was +destitute of ornament, with the exception of one solitary rosebud +on the left temple; her complexion was a mixture of +the rose and the lily; a pair of large hazel eyes, half concealed +by their long silken lashes, beamed with intelligence +and expression, as they cast a furtive glance at the company. +"Ladies and gentlemen," said Mr. K., "this is my +niece, Miss Croly;" and as with a modest dignity she courtesied, +a beholder could scarce refrain from applying to her +Milton's description of Eve when she first came from the +hand of her Creator. Mr. K. crossed the room with his +niece, seated her by the side of his daughter, and, wishing +the young people a pleasant evening, retired. The eyes of +all were turned towards the stranger, eager to ascertain +whether indeed she was the little girl who once attended the +same school with them, but who had, for a number of years +past, been employed in a "Lowell factory." "Oh, it is the +same," said the Miss Lindsays. "How presumptuous," +said Caroline Lindsay to a gentleman who sat near her, +"thus to intrude a factory girl into our company! Unless +I am very much mistaken, I shall make her sorry for her impudence,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +and wish herself somewhere else before the party +breaks up." "Indeed, Miss Caroline, you will not try to +distress the poor girl; you cannot be so cruel," said the +gentleman, who was no other than the eldest son of Esq. S., +who had on the preceding day returned home, after an absence +of two years on a tour through Europe. "Cruel!" +said Caroline, interrupting him, "surely, Mr. S., you cannot +think it cruel to keep people where they belong; or if they +get out of the way, to set them right; and you will soon see +that I shall direct Miss Presumption to her proper place, which +is in the kitchen,"—and giving her head a toss, she left Mr. S., +and seating herself by Emily and Martha, inquired when the +latter left Lowell, and if the factory girls were as ignorant +as ever.</p> + +<p>Martha replied by informing her when she left the "city +of spindles;" and also by telling her that she believed the +factory girls, considering the little time they had for the cultivation +of their minds, were not, in the useful branches of +education, behind any class of females in the Union. "What +chance can they have for improvement?" said Caroline: +"they are driven like slaves to and from their work, for +fourteen hours in each day, and dare not disobey the calls of +the factory bell. If they had the means for improvement, +they have not the time; and it must be that they are quite +as ignorant as the southern slaves, and as little fitted for society." +Martha colored to the eyes at this unjust aspersion; +and Emily, in pity to her cousin, undertook to refute the +charge. Mr. S. drew near, and seating himself by the cousins, +entered into conversation respecting the state of society +in Lowell. Martha soon recovered her self-possession, and +joined in the conversation with more than her usual animation, +yet with a modest dignity which attracted the attention +of all present. She mentioned the evening schools for teaching +penmanship, grammar, geography, and other branches +of education, and how highly they were prized, and how well +they were attended by the factory girls. She also spoke +of the Lyceum and Institute, and other lectures; and her remarks +were so appropriate and sensible, that even those who +were at first for assisting Caroline Lindsay in directing her +to her "proper place," and who even laughed at what they +thought to be Miss Lindsay's wit,—became attentive listeners, +and found that even one who "had to work for a living" +could by her conversation add much to the enjoyment of +"good society."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<p>All were now disposed to treat Martha with courtesy, with +the exception of the Miss Lindsays, who sat biting their lips +for vexation; mortified to think that in trying to make Martha +an object of ridicule, they had exposed themselves to +contempt. Mr. S. took upon himself the task (if task it +could be called, for one whose feelings were warmly enlisted +in the work) of explaining in a clear and concise manner the +impropriety of treating people with contempt for none other +cause than that they earned an honest living by laboring with +their hands. He spoke of the duty of the rich, with regard +to meliorating the condition of the poor, not only in affairs of +a pecuniary nature, but also by encouraging them in the way +of well-doing, by bestowing upon them that which would +cost a good man or woman nothing,—namely, kind looks, +kind words, and all the sweet courtesies of life. His words +were not lost; for those who heard him have overcome their +prejudices against labor and laboring people, and respect the +virtuous whatever may be their occupation.</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3> + +<p>Bright and unclouded was the morning which witnessed +the departure of the family coach from the door of the Hon. +Mr. S. Henry accompanied by his sister and the beautiful +Martha, whose champion he had been at the birth-night party +of George K. Arrived at P., they found that they were +not only welcome, but expected visitors; for Esq. S. had +previously written to his sister-in-law, apprising her of Henry's +return, and his intention of visiting her in company with +his sister Susan, and a young lady whom he could recommend +as being just the companion of which she was in need. +In a postscript to his letter he added, "I do not hesitate +to commend this lovely orphan to your kindness, for I know +you will appreciate her worth."</p> + +<p>When Henry S. took leave of his aunt and her family, +and was about to start upon his homeward journey, he found +that a two days' ride, and a week spent in the society of +Martha, had been at work with his heart. He requested a +private interview, and what was said, or what was concluded +on, I shall leave the reader to imagine, as best suits his fancy. +I shall also leave him to imagine what the many billets-doux +contained which Henry sent to P., and what were the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +answers he received, and read with so much pleasure.—As it +is no part of my business to enter into any explanation of +that subject, I will leave it and call the reader's attention to +the sequel of my story, hoping to be pardoned if I make it +as short as possible. * * * *</p> + +<p>It was a lovely moonlight evening. The Hon. Mr. S. +and lady, Mr. and Mrs. K., and Caroline Lindsay, were +seated in the parlor of Mr. K.—Caroline had called to inquire +for Martha, supposing her to be in Lowell. Caroline's +father had been deeply engaged in the eastern land speculation, +the result of which was a total loss of property. This +made it absolutely necessary that his family should labor for +their bread; and Caroline had come to the noble resolution +of going to Lowell to work in a factory, not only to support +herself, but to assist her parents in supporting her little +brother and sisters. It was a hard struggle for Caroline to +bring her mind to this; but she had done it, and was now +ready to leave home. Dreading to go where all were strangers, +she requested Mr. K. to give her directions where to +find Martha, and to honor her as the bearer of a letter to his +niece. "I know," said she, "that Martha's goodness of +heart will induce her to secure me a place of work, notwithstanding +my former rudeness to her—a rudeness which has +caused me to suffer severely, and of which I heartily repent." +Mr. K. informed Caroline that he expected to see +his niece that evening; and he doubted not she would recommend +Miss Lindsay to the overseer with whom she had +worked while in Lowell; and also introduce her to good +society, which she would find could be enjoyed, even +in the "city of spindles," popular prejudice to the contrary +notwithstanding. Esquire and Mrs. S. approved of Caroline's +resolution of going to Lowell, and spoke many words +of encouragement, and also prevailed on her to accept of +something to assist in defraying the expenses of her journey, +and to provide for any exigency which might happen. +They were yet engaged in conversation, when a coach stopped +at the door, and presently George and Emily entered +the parlor! They were followed by a gentleman and lady +in bridal habiliments. George stepped back, and introduced +Mr. Henry S. and lady. "Yes," said Henry laughingly, +"I have brought safely back the Factory Pearl, which a +twelvemonth since I found in this room, and which I have +taken for my own." The lady threw back her veil, and Miss +Lindsay beheld the countenance of Martha Croly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<p>I shall omit the apologies and congratulations of Caroline +and the assurance of forgiveness and proffers of friendship +of Martha. The reader must also excuse me from delineating +the joy with which Martha was received by her uncle +and aunt K.; and the heartfelt satisfaction which Esquire +and Mrs. S. expressed in their son's choice of a wife. It is +enough to state that all parties concerned were satisfied and +happy, and continue so to the present time. To sum up the +whole they are happy themselves, and diffuse happiness all +around them.</p> + +<p>Caroline Lindsay was the bearer of several letters from +Martha, now Mrs. S., to her friends in Lowell. She spent +two years in a factory, and enjoyed the friendship of all who +knew her; and when she left Lowell her friends could not +avoid grieving for the loss of her company, although they +knew that a bright day was soon to dawn upon her. She +is now the wife of George K., and is beloved and respected +by all who know her. Well may she say, "Sweet are the +uses of adversity," for adversity awoke to energy virtues +which were dormant, until a reverse of fortune. Her father's +affairs are in a measure retrieved; and he says that he +is doubly compensated for his loss of property in the happiness +he now enjoys.</p> + +<p>I will take leave of the reader, hoping that if he has +hitherto had any undue prejudice against labor, or laboring +people, he will overcome it, and excuse my freedom and +plainness of speech.</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Ethelinda.</span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>JOAN OF ARC.</h2> + + +<p>When, in the perusal of history, I meet with the names +of females whom circumstances, or their own inclinations, +have brought thus openly before the public eye, I can seldom +repress the desire to know more of them. Was it choice, +or necessity, which led them to the battle-field, or council-hall? +Had the woman's heart been crushed within their +breasts? or did it struggle with the sterner feelings which +had then found entrance there? Were they recreant to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +their own sex? or were the deed which claim the historian's +notice but the necessary results of the situations in which +they had been placed?</p> + +<p>These are questions which I often ask, and yet I love not +in old and musty records to meet with names which long ere +this should have perished with the hearts upon which love +had written them; for happier, surely, is woman, when in +<i>one</i> manly heart she has been "shrined a queen," than +when upon some powerful throne she sits with an untrembling +form, and an unquailing eye, to receive the homage, +and command the services of loyal thousands. I love not +to read of women transformed in all, save outward form, +into one of the sterner sex; and when I see, in the memorials +of the past, that this has apparently been done, I would +fain overleap the barriers of bygone time, and know how it +has been effected. Imagination goes back to the scenes +which must have been witnessed then, and perhaps unaided +portrays the minute features of the sketch, of which history +has preserved merely the outlines.</p> + +<p>But I sometimes read of woman, when I would not know +more of the places where she has rendered herself conspicuous; +when there is something so noble and so bright in the +character I have given her, that I fear a better knowledge of +trivial incidents might break the spell which leads me to love +and admire her; where, perhaps, the picture which my fancy +has painted, glows in colors so brilliant, that a sketch by +Truth would seem beside it but a sombre shadow.</p> + +<p>Joan of Arc is one of those heroines of history, who +cannot fail to excite an interest in all who love to contemplate +the female character. From the gloom of that +dark age, when woman was but a plaything and a slave, she +stands in bold relief, its most conspicuous personage. Not, +indeed, as a queen, but as more than a queen, even the preserver +of her nation's king; not as a conqueror, but as the +savior of her country; not as a man, urged in his proud +career by mad ambition's stirring energies, but as a woman, +guided in her brilliant course by woman's noblest impulses—so +does she appear in that lofty station which for herself +she won.</p> + +<p>Though high and dazzling was the eminence to which she +rose, yet "'twas not thus, oh 'twas not thus, her dwelling-place +was found." Low in the vale of humble life was the +maiden born and bred; and thick as is the veil which time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +and distance have thrown over every passage of her life +yet that which rests upon her early days is most impenetrable. +And much room is there here for the interested inquirer, +and Imagination may rest almost unchecked amid the +slight revelations of History.</p> + +<p>Joan is a heroine—a woman of mighty power—wearing +herself the habiliments of man, and guiding armies to battle +and to victory; yet never to my eye is "the warrior-maid" +aught but <i>woman</i>. The ruling passion, the spirit which +nerved her arm, illumed her eye, and buoyed her heart, was +woman's faith. Ay, it was <i>power</i>—and call it what ye +may—say it was enthusiasm, fanaticism, madness—or call +it, if ye will, what those <i>did</i> name it who burned Joan at the +stake,—still it was power, the power of woman's firm, undoubting +faith.</p> + +<p>I should love to go back into Joan's humble home—that +home which the historian has thought so little worthy of his +notice; and in imagination I <i>must</i> go there, even to the very +cradle of her infancy, and know of all those influences which +wrought the mind of Joan to that fearful pitch of wild +enthusiasm, when she declared herself the inspired agent of +the Almighty.</p> + +<p>Slowly and gradually was the spirit trained to an act like +this; for though, like the volcano's fire, its instantaneous +bursting forth was preceded by no prophet-herald of its +coming—yet Joan of Arc was the same Joan ere she was +maid of Orleans; the same high-souled, pure and imaginative +being, the creature of holy impulses, and conscious of +superior energies. It must have been so; <i>a superior mind +may burst upon the world, but never upon itself</i>: there must +be a feeling of sympathy with the noble and the gifted, a +knowledge of innate though slumbering powers. The +neglected eaglet may lie in its mountain nest, long after the +pinion is fledged; but it will fix its unquailing eye upon the +dazzling sun, and feel a consciousness of strength in the +untried wing; but let the mother-bird once call it forth, and +far away it will soar into the deep blue heavens, or bathe +and revel amidst the tempest-clouds—and henceforth the +eyrie is but a resting place.</p> + +<p>As the diamond is formed, brilliant and priceless, in the +dark bowels of the earth, even so, in the gloom of poverty, +obscurity, and toil, was formed the mind of Joan of Arc.—Circumstances +were but the jeweller's cutting, which placed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +it where it might more readily receive the rays of light, and +flash them forth with greater brilliancy.</p> + +<p>I have said, that I must in imagination go back to the +infancy of Joan, and note the incidents which shed their +silent, hallowed influence upon her soul, until she stands +forth an inspired being, albeit inspired by naught but her +own imagination.</p> + +<p>The basis of Joan's character is religious enthusiasm: +this is the substratum, the foundation of all that wild and +mighty power which made <i>her</i>, the peasant girl, the savior +of her country. But the flame must have been early fed; +it was not merely an elementary portion of her nature, but +it was one which was cherished in infancy, in childhood +and in youth, until it became the master-passion of her +being.</p> + +<p>Joan, the child of the humble and the lowly, was also +the daughter of the fervently religious. The light of faith +and hope illumes their little cot; and reverence for all that +is good and true, and a trust which admits no shade of fear +or doubt, is early taught the gentle child. Though "faith +in God's own promises" was mingled with superstitious awe +of those to whom all were then indebted for a knowledge of +the truth; though priestly craft had united the wild and +false with the pure light of the gospel: and though Joan's +religion was mingled with delusion and error,—still it comprised +all that is fervent, and pure, and truthful, in the +female heart. The first words her infant lips are taught to +utter, are those of prayer—prayer, mayhap, to saints or virgin; +but still to her <i>then</i> and in all after-time, the aspirations +of a spirit which delights in communion with the Invisible.</p> + +<p>She grows older, and still, amid ignorance, and poverty, +and toil, the spirit gains new light and fervor. With a mind +alive to everything that is high and holy, she goes forth into +a dark and sinful world, dependent upon her daily toil for +daily bread; she lives among the thoughtless and the vile; +but like that plant which opens to nought but light and air, +and shrinks from all other contact—so her mind, amid the +corruptions of the world, is shut to all that is base and +sinful, though open and sensitive to that which is pure and +noble.</p> + +<p>"Joan," says the historian, "was a tender of stables in +a village inn." Such was her outward life; but there was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +for her <i>another</i> life, a life within that life. While the hands +perform low, menial service, the soul untrammelled is away, +and revelling amidst its own creations of beauty and of bliss. +She is silent and abstracted; always alone among her +fellows—for among them all she sees no kindred spirit; she +finds none who can touch the chords within her heart, or +respond to their melody, when she would herself sweep its +harp-strings.</p> + +<p>Joan has no friends; far less does she ever think of earthly +lovers; and who would love <i>her</i>, the wild and strange +Joan! though perhaps, the gloomy, dull, and silent one; +but that soul, whose very essence is fervent zeal and glowing +passion, sends forth in secrecy and silence its burning +love upon the unconscious things of earth. She talks to +the flowers, and the stars, and the changing clouds; and +their voiceless answers come back to her soul at morn, and +noon, and stilly night. Yes, Joan loves to go forth in the +darkness of eve, and sit,</p> + +<div class="poem"><span class="i0">"Beneath the radiant stars, still burning as they roll,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sending down their prophecies into her fervent soul;"</span> +</div> + +<p>but, better even than this, does she love to go into some +high cathedral, where the "dim religious light" comes +faintly through the painted windows; and when the priests +chant vesper hymns, and burning incense goes upward from +the sacred altar—and when the solemn strains and the +fragrant vapor dissolve and die away in the distant aisles +and lofty dome, she kneels upon the marble floor, and in +ecstatic worship sends forth the tribute of a glowing heart.</p> + +<p>And when at night she lies down upon her rude pallet, +she dreams that she is with those bright and happy beings +with whom her fancy has peopled heaven. She is there, +among saints and angels, and even permitted high converse +with the Mother of Jesus.</p> + +<p>Yes, Joan is a dreamer; and she dreams not only in the +night, but in the day; whether at work or at rest, alone or +among her fellow-men, there are angel voices near, and +spirit-wings are hovering around her, and visions of all that +is pure, and bright, and beautiful, come to the mind of the +lowly girl. She finds that she is a favored one; she feels +that those about her are not gifted as she has been; she +knows that their thoughts are not as her thoughts; and then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +the spirit questions, Why is it thus that she should be permitted +communings with unearthly ones? Why was this +ardent, aspiring mind bestowed upon <i>her</i>, one of earth's +meanest ones, shackled by bonds of penury, toil, and ignorance +of all that the world calls high and gifted? Day after +day goes by, night after night wears on, and still these +queries will arise, and still they are unanswered.</p> + +<p>At length the affairs of busy life, those which to Joan +have heretofore been of but little moment, begin to awaken +even <i>her</i> interest. Hitherto, absorbed in her own bright +fancies, she has mingled in the scenes around her, like one +who walketh in his sleep. They have been too tame and +insipid to arouse her energies, or excite her interest; but +now there is a thrilling power in the tidings which daily +meet her ears. All hearts are stirred, but none now throb +like hers: her country is invaded, her king an exile from his +throne; and at length the conquerors, unopposed, are quietly +boasting of their triumphs on the very soil they have +polluted. And shall it be thus? Shall the victor revel and +triumph in her own loved France? Shall her country thus +tamely submit to wear the foreign yoke? And Joan says, +No! She feels the power to arouse, to quicken, and to +guide.</p> + +<p>None now may tell whether it was first in fancies of the +day or visions of the night, that the thought came, like +some lightning flash, upon her mind, that it was for this +that powers unknown to others had been vouchsafed to <i>her</i>; +and that for this, even new energies should now be given.—But +the idea once received is not abandoned; she cherishes +it, and broods upon it, till it has mingled with every thought +of day and night. If doubts at first arise, they are not +harbored, and at length they vanish away.</p> + +<div class="center">"Her spirit shadowed forth a dream, till it became a creed."</div> + +<p>All that she sees and all that she hears—the words to which +she eagerly listens by day, and the spirit-whispers which +come to her at night,—they all assure her of this, that she +is the appointed one. All other thoughts and feelings now +crystallize in this grand scheme; and as the cloud grows +darker upon her country's sky, her faith grows surer and +more bright. Her countrymen have ceased to resist, have +almost ceased to hope; but she alone, in her fervent joy, has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +"looked beyond the present clouds and seen the light beyond." +The spoiler shall yet be vanquished, and <i>she</i> will do +it; her country shall be saved, and <i>she</i> will save it; her +unanointed king shall yet sit on the throne, and "Charles +shall be crowned at Rheims." Such is her mission, and +she goes forth in her own ardent faith to its accomplishment.</p> + +<p>And did those who first admitted the claims of Joan as an +inspired leader, themselves believe that she was an agent of +the Almighty? None can now tell how much the superstition +of their faith, mingled with the commanding influence +of a mind firm in its own conviction of supernatural guidance, +influenced those haughty ones, as they listened to the +counsels, and obeyed the mandates, of the peasant girl.—Perhaps +they saw that she was their last hope, a frail reed +upon which they might lean, yet one that might not break. +Her zeal and faith might be an instrument to effect the end +which she had declared herself destined to accomplish. +Worldly policy and religious credulity might mingle in their +admission of her claims; but however this might be, the +peasant girl of Arc soon rides at her monarch's side, with +helmet on her head, and armor on her frame, the time-hallowed +sword girt to her side, and the consecrated banner +in her hand; and with the lightning of inspiration in her +eye, and words of dauntless courage on her lips, she guides +them on to battle and to victory.</p> + +<p>Ay, there she is, the low-born maid of Arc! there, with +the noble and the brave, amid the clangor of trumpets, the +waving of banners, the tramp of the war horse, and the +shouts of warriors; and there she is more at home than in +those humble scenes in which she has been wont to bear a +part. Now for once she is herself; now may she put forth +all her hidden energy, and with a mind which rises at each +new demand upon its powers, she is gaining for herself a +name even greater than that of queen. And now does the +light beam brightly from her eye, and the blood course +quickly through her veins—for her task is ended, her mission +accomplished, and "Charles is crowned at Rheims."</p> + +<p>This is the moment of Joan's glory,—and what is before +her now? To stand in courts, a favored and flattered one? +to revel in the soft luxuries and enervating pleasures of a +princely life? Oh this was not for one like her. To return +to obscurity and loneliness, and there to let the over-wrought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +mind sink back with nought to occupy and support it, till it +feeds and drivels on the remembrance of the past—this is +what she would do; but there is for her what is better far, +even the glorious death of a martyr.</p> + +<p>Little does Joan deem, in her moment of triumph, that +this is before her; but when she has seen her mission ended, +and her king the anointed ruler of a liberated people, the +sacred sword and standard are cast aside; and throwing +herself at her monarch's feet, and watering them with tears +of joy, she begs permission to return to her humble home.—She +has now done all for which that power was bestowed; +her work has been accomplished, and she claims no longer +the special commission of an inspired leader. But Dunois +says, No! The English are not yet entirely expelled the +kingdom, and the French general would avail himself of +that name, and that presence, which have infused new +courage into his armies, and struck terror to their enemies. +He knows that Joan will no longer be sustained by the +belief that she is an agent of heaven; but she will be with +them, and that alone must benefit their cause. He would +have her again assume the standard, sword, and armor; he +would have her still retain the title of "Messenger of +God," though she believe that her mission goes no farther.</p> + +<p>It probably was not the first time, and it certainly was not +the last, when woman's holiest feelings have been made the +instruments of man's ambition, or agents for the completion +of his designs. Joan is now but a woman, poor, weak, and +yielding woman; and overpowered by their entreaties, she +consents to try again her influence. But the power of that +faith is gone, the light of inspiration is no more given, and +she is attacked, conquered, and delivered to her enemies. +They place her in low dungeons, then bring her before tribunals; +they wring and torture that noble spirit, and endeavor +to obtain from it a confession of imposture, or +connivance with the "evil one;" but she still persists in +the declaration that her claims to a heavenly guidance were +true.</p> + +<p>Once only was she false to herself. Weary and dispirited; +deserted by her friends, and tormented by her foes,—she +yields to their assertions, and admits that she did deceive +her countrymen. Perhaps in that hour of trial and darkness, +when all hope of deliverance from without, or from +above, had died away,—when she saw herself powerless in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +the merciless hands of her enemies, the conviction might +steal upon her own mind, that she had been self-deceived; +that phantasies of the brain had been received as visions +from on high,—but though her confession was true in the +abstract, yet Joan was surely untrue to herself.</p> + +<p>Still it avails her little; she is again remanded to the +dungeon, and there awaits her doom.</p> + +<p>At length they bring her the panoply of war, the armored +suit in which she went forth at the king's right hand to fight +their battle hosts. Her heart thrills, and her eye flashes, as +she looks upon it—for it tells of glorious days. Once more +she dons those fatal garments, and they find her arrayed in +the habiliments of war. It is enough for those who wished +but an excuse to take her life, and the Maid of Orleans is +condemned to die.</p> + +<p>They led Joan to the martyr-stake. Proudly and nobly +went she forth, for it was a fitting death for one like <i>her</i>. +Once more the spirit may rouse its noblest energies; and +with brightened eye, and firm, undaunted step, she goes +where banners wave and trumpets sound, and martial hosts +appear in proud array. And the sons of England weep as +they see her, the calm and tearless one, come forth to meet +her fate. They bind her to the stake; they light the fire; +and upward borne on wreaths of soaring flame, the soul of +the martyred Joan ascends to heaven.</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Ella.</span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>SUSAN MILLER.</h2> + + + +<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> + + +<p>"Mother, it is all over now," said Susan Miller, as she +descended from the chamber where her father had just died +of <i>delirium tremens</i>.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Miller had for several hours walked the house, with +that ceaseless step which tells of fearful mental agony: and +when she had heard from her husband's room some louder +shriek or groan, she had knelt by the chair or bed which +was nearest, and prayed that the troubled spirit might pass +away. But a faintness came over her, when a long interval<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +of stillness told that her prayer was answered; and she +leaned upon the railing of the stairway for support, as she +looked up to see the first one who should come to her from +the bed of death.</p> + +<p>Susan was the first to think of her mother: and when she +saw her sink, pale, breathless, and stupified upon a stair, she +sat down in silence, and supported her head upon her own +bosom. Then for the first time was she aroused to the consciousness +that she was to be looked upon as a stay and +support; and she resolved to bring from the hidden recesses +of her heart, a strength, courage, and firmness, which +should make her to her heart-broken mother, and younger +brothers and sisters, what <i>he</i> had not been for many years, +who was now a stiffening corpse.</p> + +<p>At length she ventured to whisper words of solace and +sympathy, and succeeded in infusing into her mother's mind +a feeling of resignation to the stroke they had received.—She +persuaded her to retire to her bed, and seek the slumber +which had been for several days denied them; and then she +endeavored to calm the terror-stricken little ones, who were +screaming because their father was no more. The neighbors +came in and proffered every assistance; but when Susan +retired that night to her own chamber, she felt that she +must look to <span class="smcap">Him</span> for aid, who alone could sustain through +the tasks that awaited her.</p> + +<p>Preparations were made for the funeral; and though +every one knew that Mr. Miller had left his farm deeply +mortgaged, yet the store-keeper cheerfully trusted them for +articles of mourning, and the dress-maker worked day and +night, while she expected never to receive a remuneration. +The minister came to comfort the widow and her children. +He spoke of the former virtues of him who had been +wont to seek the house of God on each returning Sabbath, +and who had brought his eldest children to the font of +baptism, and been then regarded as an example of honesty +and sterling worth; and when he adverted to the one failing +which had brought him to his grave in the very prime of +manhood, he also remarked, that he was now in the hands +of a merciful God.</p> + +<p>The remains of the husband and father were at length +removed from the home which he had once rendered happy, +but upon which he had afterwards brought poverty and +distress, and laid in that narrow house which he never more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +might leave, till the last trumpet should call him forth; and +when the family were left to that deep silence and gloom +which always succeed a death and burial, they began to +think of the trials which were yet to come.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Miller had been for several years aware that ruin +was coming upon them. She had at first warned, reasoned, +and expostulated; but she was naturally of a gentle and +almost timid disposition; and when she found that she +awakened passions which were daily growing more violent +and ungovernable, she resolved to await in silence a crisis +which sooner or later would change their destiny. Whether +she was to follow her degenerate husband to his grave, or +accompany him to some low hovel, she knew not; she +shrunk from the future, but faithfully discharged all present +duties, and endeavored, by a strict economy, to retain at +least an appearance of comfort in her household.</p> + +<p>To Susan, her eldest child, she had confided all her fears +and sorrows; and they had watched, toiled, and sympathized +together. But when the blow came at last, when he who +had caused all their sorrow and anxiety was taken away by +a dreadful and disgraceful death, the long-enduring wife and +mother was almost paralyzed by the shock.</p> + +<p>But Susan was young; she had health, strength, and +spirits to bear her up, and upon her devolved the care of +the family, and the plan for its future support. Her resolution +was soon formed; and without saying a word to any +individual, she went to Deacon Rand, who was her father's +principal creditor.</p> + +<p>It was a beautiful afternoon in the month of May, when +Susan left the house in which her life had hitherto been +spent, determined to know, before she returned to it, whether +she might ever again look upon it as her home. It was +nearly a mile to the deacon's house, and not a single house +upon the way. The two lines of turf in the road, upon +which the bright green grass was springing, showed that it +was but seldom travelled; and the birds warbled in the +trees, as though they feared no disturbance. The fragrance +of the lowly flowers, the budding shrubs, and the blooming +fruit-trees, filled the air; and she stood for a moment to +listen to the streamlet which she crossed upon a rude bridge +of stones. She remembered how she had loved to look at it +in summer, as it murmured along among the low willows +and alder bushes; and how she had watched it in the early<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +spring, when its swollen waters forced their way through +the drifts of snow which had frozen over it, and wrought for +itself an arched roof, from which the little icicles depended +in diamond points and rows of beaded pearls. She looked +also at the meadow, where the grass was already so long +and green; and she sighed to think that she must leave all +that was so dear to her, and go where a ramble among +fields, meadows, and orchards, would be henceforth a +pleasure denied to her.</p> + + + +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> + + +<p>When she arrived at the spacious farm-house, which was +the residence of the deacon, she was rejoiced to find him at +home and alone. He laid aside his newspaper as she entered, +and, kindly taking her hand, inquired after her own +health and that of her friends. "And now, deacon," said +she, when she had answered all his questions, "I wish to +know whether you intend to turn us all out of doors, as you +have a perfect right to do—or suffer us still to remain, with +a slight hope that we may sometime pay you the debt for +which our farm is mortgaged."</p> + +<p>"You have asked me a very plain question," was the +deacon's reply, "and one which I can easily answer. You +see that I have here a house, large enough and good enough +for the president himself, and plenty of every thing in it and +around it; and how in the name of common sense and charity, +and religion, could I turn a widow and fatherless +children out of their house and home! Folks have called +me mean, and stingy, and close-fisted; and though in my +dealings with a rich man I take good care that he shall not +overreach me, yet I never stood for a cent with a poor man +in my life. But you spake about some time paying me; +pray, how do you hope to do it?"</p> + +<p>"I am going to Lowell," said Susan quietly, "to work in +the factory, the girls have high wages there now, and in a +year or two Lydia and Eliza can come too; and if we all have +our health, and mother and James get along well with the +farm and the little ones, I hope, I do think, that we can pay +it all up in the course of seven or eight years."</p> + +<p>"That is a long time for you to go and work so hard, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +shut yourself up so close at your time of life," said the +deacon, "and on many other accounts I do not approve of +it."</p> + +<p>"I know how prejudiced the people here are against +factory girls," said Susan, "but I should like to know what +real good <i>reason</i> you have for disapproving of my resolution. +You cannot think there is anything really wrong in my determination +to labor, as steadily and as profitably as I can, +for myself and the family."</p> + +<p>"Why, the way that I look at things is this," replied the +deacon: "whatever is not right, is certainly wrong; and +I do not think it right for a young girl like you, to put herself +in the way of all sorts of temptation. You have no idea +of the wickedness and corruption which exist in that town of +Lowell. Why, they say that more than half of the girls +have been in the house of correction, or the county gaol, or +some other vile place; and that the other half are not much +better; and I should not think you would wish to go and +work, and eat, and sleep, with such a low, mean, ignorant, +wicked set of creatures."</p> + +<p>"I know such things are said of them, deacon, but I do +not think they are true. I have never seen but one factory +girl, and that was my cousin Esther, who visited us last +summer. I do not believe there is a better girl in the world +than she is; and I cannot think she would be so contented +and cheerful among such a set of wretches as some folks +think factory girls must be. There may be wicked girls +there; but among so many, there must be some who are +good; and when I go there, I shall try to keep out of the +way of bad company, and I do not doubt that cousin Esther +can introduce me to girls who are as good as any with whom +I have associated. If she cannot I will have no companion +but her, and spend the little leisure I shall have in solitude, +for I am determined to go."</p> + +<p>"But supposing, Susan, that all the girls there were as +good, and sensible, and pleasant as yourself—yet there are +many other things to be considered. You have not thought +how hard it will seem to be boxed up fourteen hours in a +day, among a parcel of clattering looms, or whirling +spindles, whose constant din is of itself enough to drive a +girl out of her wits; and then you will have no fresh air to +breathe, and as likely as not come home in a year or two +with a consumption, and wishing you had staid where you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +would have had less money and better health. I have also +heard that the boarding women do not give the girls food +which is fit to eat, nor half enough of the mean stuff they do +allow them, and it is contrary to all reason to suppose that +folks can work, and have their health, without victuals to +eat."</p> + +<p>"I have thought of all these things, deacon, but they do not +move me. I know the noise of the mills must be unpleasant +at first, but I shall get used to that; and as to my health, I +know that I have as good a constitution to begin with as +any girl could wish, and no predisposition to consumption, +nor any of those diseases which a factory life might otherwise +bring upon me. I do not expect all the comforts which +are common to country farmers; but I am not afraid of +starving, for cousin Esther said, that she had an excellent +boarding place, and plenty to eat, and drink, and that which +was good enough for anybody. But if they do not give us +good meat, I will eat vegetables alone, and when we have +bad butter, I will eat my bread without it."</p> + +<p>"Well," said the deacon, "if your health is preserved, +you may lose some of your limbs. I have heard a great +many stories about girls who had their hands torn off by +the machinery, or mangled so that they could never use +them again; and a hand is not a thing to be despised, nor +easily dispensed with. And then, how should you like to +be ordered about, and scolded at, by a cross overseer?"</p> + +<p>"I know there is danger," replied Susan, "among so +much machinery, but those who meet with accidents are +but a small number, in proportion to the whole, and if I am +careful I need not fear any injury. I do not believe the +stories we hear about bad overseers, for such men would not +be placed over so many girls; and if I have a cross one, I +will give no reason to find fault; and if he finds fault without +reason, I will leave him, and work for some one else.—You +know that I must do something, and I have made up +my mind what it shall be."</p> + +<p>"You are a good child, Susan," and the deacon looked +very kind when he told her so, "and you are a courageous, +noble-minded girl. I am not afraid that <i>you</i> will learn to +steal, and lie, and swear, and neglect your Bible and the +meeting-house; but lest anything unpleasant should happen, +I will make you this offer: I will let your mother live +upon the farm, and pay me what little she can, till your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +brother James is old enough to take it at the halves; and if +you will come here, and help my wife about the house and +dairy, I will give you 4<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> a-week, and you shall be +treated as a daughter—perhaps you may one day be one."</p> + +<p>The deacon looked rather sly at her, and Susan blushed; +for Henry Rand, the deacon's youngest son, had been her +playmate in childhood, her friend at school, and her constant +attendant at all the parties and evening meetings. Her +young friends all spoke of him as her lover, and even the +old people had talked of it as a very fitting match, as Susan, +besides good sense, good humor, and some beauty, had the +health, strength and activity which are always reckoned +among the qualifications for a farmer's wife.</p> + +<p>Susan knew of this; but of late, domestic trouble had +kept her at home, and she knew not what his present feelings +were. Still she felt that they must not influence her +plans and resolutions. Delicacy forbade that she should +come and be an inmate of his father's house, and her very +affection for him had prompted the desire that she should be +as independent as possible of all favors from him, or his +father; and also the earnest desire that they might one day +clear themselves of debt. So she thanked the deacon for +his offer, but declined accepting it, and arose to take leave.</p> + +<p>"I shall think a great deal about you, when you are +gone," said the deacon, "and will pray for you, too. I +never used to think about the sailors, till my wife's brother +visited us, who had led for many years a sea-faring life; +and now I always pray for those who are exposed to the +dangers of the great deep. And I will also pray for the +poor factory girls who work so hard and suffer so much."</p> + +<p>"Pray for me, deacon," replied Susan in a faltering +voice, "that I may have strength to keep a good resolution."</p> + +<p>She left the house with a sad heart; for the very success +of her hopes and wishes had brought more vividly to mind +the feeling that she was really to go and leave for many +years her friends and home.</p> + +<p>She was almost glad that she had not seen Henry; and +while she was wondering what he would say and think, +when told that she was going to Lowell, she heard approaching +footsteps, and looking up, saw him coming towards +her. The thought—no, the idea, for it had not time +to form into a definite thought—flashed across her mind,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +that she must now arouse all her firmness, and not let Henry's +persuasion shake her resolution to leave them all, and +go to the factory.</p> + +<p>But the very indifference with which he heard of her intention +was of itself sufficient to arouse her energy. He appeared +surprised, but otherwise wholly unconcerned, though +he expressed a hope that she would be happy and prosperous, +and that her health would not suffer from the change +of occupation.</p> + +<p>If he had told her that he loved her—if he had entreated +her not to leave them, or to go with the promise of returning +to be his future companion through life—she could have +resisted it; for this she had resolved to do; and the happiness +attending an act of self-sacrifice would have been her +reward.</p> + +<p>She had before known sorrow, and she had borne it patiently +and cheerfully; and she knew that the life which +was before her would have been rendered happier by the +thought, that there was one who was deeply interested for +her happiness, and who sympathized in all her trials.</p> + +<p>When she parted from Henry it was with a sense of loneliness, +of utter desolation, such as she had never before experienced. +She had never before thought that he was dear +to her, and that she had wished to carry in her far-off place +of abode the reflection that she was dear to him. She felt +disappointed and mortified, but she blamed not him, neither +did she blame herself; she did not know that any one had +been to blame. Her young affections had gone forth as naturally +and as involuntarily as the vapors rise to meet the +sun. But the sun which had called them forth, had now +gone down, and they were returning in cold drops to the +heart-springs from which they had arisen; and Susan resolved +that they should henceforth form a secret fount, +whence every other feeling should derive new strength and +vigor. She was now more firmly resolved that her future +life should be wholly devoted to her kindred, and thought +not of herself but as connected with them.</p> + + + +<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> + + +<p>It was with pain that Mrs. Miller heard of Susan's plan; +but she did not oppose her. She felt that it must be so,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +that she must part with her for her own good and the benefit +of the family; and Susan hastily made preparations for +her departure.</p> + +<p>She arranged everything in and about the house for her +mother's convenience; and the evening before she left she +spent in instructing Lydia how to take her place, as far as +possible, and told her to be always cheerful with mother, +and patient with the younger ones, and to write a long letter +every two months (for she could not afford to hear oftener), +and to be sure and not forget her for a single day.</p> + +<p>Then she went to her own room; and when she had re-examined +her trunk, bandbox, and basket, to see that all +was right, and laid her riding-dress over the great armchair, +she sat down by the window to meditate upon her change of +life.</p> + +<p>She thought, as she looked upon the spacious, convenient +chamber in which she was sitting, how hard it would be to +have no place to which she could retire and be alone, and +how difficult it would be to keep her things in order in the +fourth part of a small apartment, and how possible it was +that she might have unpleasant room-mates, and how probable +that every day would call into exercise all her kindness +and forbearance. And then she wondered if it would be +possible for her to work so long, and save so much, as to +render it possible that she might one day return to that +chamber and call it her own. Sometimes she wished she +had not undertaken it, that she had not let the deacon know +that she hoped to be able to pay him; she feared that she +had taken a burden upon herself which she could not bear, +and sighed to think that her lot should be so different from +that of most young girls.</p> + +<p>She thought of the days when she was a little child; +when she played with Henry at the brook, or picked berries +with him on the hill; when her mother was always happy, +and her father always kind; and she wished that the time +could roll back, and she could again be a careless little +girl.</p> + +<p>She felt, as we sometimes do, when we shut our eyes and +try to sleep, and get back into some pleasant dream, from +which we have been too suddenly awakened. But the dream +of youth was over, and before her was the sad waking reality +of a life of toil, separation, and sorrow.</p> + +<p>When she left home the next morning, it was the first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +time she had ever parted from her friends. The day was +delightful, and the scenery beautiful; a stage-ride was of itself +a novelty to her, and her companions pleasant and sociable; +but she felt very sad, and when she retired at night to +sleep in a hotel, she burst into tears.</p> + +<p>Those who see the factory girls in Lowell, little think of +the sighs and heart-aches which must attend a young girl's +entrance upon a life of toil and privation, among strangers.</p> + +<p>To Susan, the first entrance into a factory boarding-house +seemed something dreadful. The rooms looked strange and +comfortless, and the women cold and heartless; and when +she sat down to the supper-table, where, among more than +twenty girls, all but one were strangers, she could not eat a +mouthful. She went with Esther to their sleeping apartment, +and, after arranging her clothes and baggage, she +went to bed, but not to sleep.</p> + +<p>The next morning she went into the mill; and at first, +the sight of so many bands, and wheels, and springs, in constant +motion was very frightful. She felt afraid to touch +the loom, and she was almost sure that she could never +learn to weave; the harness puzzled and the reed perplexed +her; the shuttle flew out, and made a new bump upon her +head; and the first time she tried to spring the lathe, she +broke out a quarter of the treads. It seemed as if the girls +all stared at her, and the overseers watched every motion, +and the day appeared as long as a month had been at home. +But at last it was night; and O, how glad was Susan to be +released! She felt weary and wretched, and retired to rest +without taking a mouthful of refreshment. There was a +dull pain in her head, and a sharp pain in her ankles; every +bone was aching, and there was in her ears a strange noise, +as of crickets, frogs, and jews-harps, all mingling together, +and she felt gloomy and sick at heart. "But it won't seem +so always," said she to herself; and with this truly philosophical +reflection, she turned her head upon a hard pillow, +and went to sleep.</p> + +<p>Susan was right, it did not seem so always. Every succeeding +day seemed shorter and pleasanter than the last; +and when she was accustomed to the work, and had become +interested in it, the hours seemed shorter, and the days, +weeks, and months flew more swiftly by than they had ever +done before. She was healthy, active, and ambitious, and +was soon able to earn even as much as her cousin, who had +been a weaver several years.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> + +<p>Wages were then much higher than they are now; and +Susan had the pleasure of devoting the avails of her labor +to a noble and cherished purpose. There was a definite aim +before her, and she never lost sight of the object for which +she left her home, and was happy in the prospect of fulfilling +that design. And it needed all this hope of success, and +all her strength of resolution, to enable her to bear up +against the wearing influences of a life of unvarying toil. +Though the days seemed shorter than at first, yet there was +a tiresome monotony about them. Every morning the bells +pealed forth the same clangor, and every night brought the +same feeling of fatigue. But Susan felt, as all factory girls +feel, that she could bear it for a while. There are few who +look upon factory labor as a pursuit for life. It is but a +temporary vocation; and most of the girls resolve to quit +the mill when some favorite design is accomplished. Money +is their object—not for itself, but for what it can perform; +and pay-days are the landmarks which cheer all +hearts, by assuring them of their progress to the wished-for +goal.</p> + +<p>Susan was always very happy when she enclosed the +quarterly sum to Deacon Rand, although it was hardly won, +and earned by the deprivation of many little comforts, and +pretty articles of dress, which her companions could procure. +But the thought of home, and the future happy days +which she might enjoy in it, was the talisman which ever +cheered and strengthened her.</p> + +<p>She also formed strong friendships among her factory +companions, and became attached to her pastor, and their +place of worship. After the first two years she had also the +pleasure of her sister's society, and in a year or two more, +another came. She did not wish them to come while very +young. She thought it better that their bodies should be +strengthened, and their minds educated in their country +home; and she also wished, that in their early girlhood +they should enjoy the same pleasures which had once made +her own life a very happy one.</p> + +<p>And she was happy now; happy in the success of her +noble exertions, the affection and gratitude of her relatives, +the esteem of her acquaintances, and the approbation of conscience. +Only once was she really disquieted. It was when +her sister wrote that Henry Rand was married to one of +their old school-mates. For a moment the color fled from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +her cheek, and a quick pang went through her heart. It +was but for a moment; and then she sat down and wrote +to the newly-married couple a letter, which touched their +hearts by its simple fervent wishes for their happiness, and +assurances of sincere friendship.</p> + +<p>Susan had occasionally visited home, and she longed to +go, never to leave it; but she conquered the desire, and remained +in Lowell more than a year after the last dollar had +been forwarded to Deacon Rand. And then, O, how happy +was she when she entered her chamber the first evening after +her arrival, and viewed its newly-painted wainscoting, +and brightly-colored paper-hangings, and the new furniture +with which she had decorated it; and she smiled as she +thought of the sadness which had filled her heart the evening +before she first went to Lowell.</p> + +<p>She now always thinks of Lowell with pleasure, for Lydia +is married here, and she intends to visit her occasionally, +and even sometimes thinks of returning for a little while to +the mills. Her brother James has married, and resides in +one half of the house, which he has recently repaired; and +Eliza, though still in the factory, is engaged to a wealthy +young farmer.</p> + +<p>Susan is with her mother, and younger brothers and sisters. +People begin to think she will be an old maid, and +she thinks herself that it will be so. The old deacon still +calls her a good child, and prays every night and morning +for the factory girls.</p> + +<div class="signature">F. G. A.</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>SCENES ON THE MERRIMAC.</h2> + + +<p>I have been but a slight traveller, and the beautiful rivers +of our country have, with but one or two exceptions, rolled +their bright waves before "the orbs of fancy" alone, and +not to my visual senses. But the few specimens which +have been favored me of river scenery, have been very happy +in the influence they have exerted upon my mind, in favor +of this feature of natural loveliness.</p> + +<p>I do not wonder that the "stream of <i>his</i> fathers" should +be ever so favorite a theme with the poet, and that wherever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +he has sung its praise, the spot should henceforth be as +classic ground. Wherever some "gently rolling river" +has whispered its soft murmurs to the recording muse, its +name has been linked with his; and far as that name may +extend, is the beauty of that inspiring streamlet appreciated.</p> + +<p>Helicon and Castalia are more frequently referred to than +Parnassus,—and even the small streams of hilly Scotland, +are renowned wherever the songs of her poet "are said or +sung." "The banks and braes o' bonny Doon," are duly +applauded in the drawing-rooms of America; and the Tweed, +the "clear winding Devon," the "braes of Ayr," the +"braes o' Ballochmyle," and the "sweet Afton," so often +the theme of his lays, for his "Mary's asleep by its murmuring +stream," are names even here quite as familiar, perhaps +more so, than our own broad and beauteous rivers. +Such is the hallowing power of Genius; and upon whatever +spot she may cast her bright unfading mantle, there is forever +stamped the impress of beauty.</p> + +<p>"The Bard of Avon" is an honorary title wherever our +language is read; and though we may have few streams +which have as yet been sacred to the muse, yet time will +doubtless bring forth those whose genius shall make the Indian +cognomens of our noble rivers' names associated with all +that is lofty in intellect and beautiful in poetry.</p> + +<p>The Merrimac has already received the grateful tribute of +praise from the muse of the New England poet; and well +does it merit the encomiums which he has bestowed upon it. +It is a beautiful river, from the time when its blue waters +start on their joyous course, leaving "the smile of the Great +Spirit," to wind through many a vale, and round many a +hill, till they mingle</p> + +<div class="center">"With ocean's dark eternal tide."</div> + +<p>I have said that I have seen but few rivers. No! never +have I stood</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">"Where Hudson rolls his lordly flood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seen sunrise rest, and sunset fade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along his frowning palisade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looked down the Appalachian peak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Juniata's silver streak;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or seen along his valley gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Mohawk's softly winding stream;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The setting sun, his axle red<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quench darkly in Potomac's bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And autumn's rainbow-tinted banner<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hang lightly o'er the Susquehanna;"—<br /></span> +</div> + +<p>but I still imagine that all their beauties are concentrated in +the blue waters of the Merrimac—not as it appears here, +where, almost beneath my factory window, its broad tide +moves peacefully along; but where by "Salisbury's beach +of shining sand," it rolls amidst far lovelier scenes, and with +more rapid flow. Perhaps it is because it is <i>my</i> river that I +think it so beautiful—no matter if it is; there is a great +source of gratification in the feeling of whatever is in any +way connected with our <i>humble</i> selves is on that account invested +with some distinctive charm, and in some mysterious +way rendered peculiarly lovely.</p> + +<p>But even to the stranger's eye, if he have any taste for the +beautiful in nature, the charms of the banks of the Merrimac +would not be disregarded. Can there be a more beautiful +bend in a river, than that which it makes at Salisbury Point? +It is one of the most picturesque scenes, at all events, which +I have ever witnessed. Stand for a moment upon the drawbridge +which spans with its single arch the spot where "the +winding Powow" joins his sparkling waters with the broad +tide of the receiving river. We will suppose it is a summer +morning. The thin white mist from the Atlantic, which +the night-spirit has thrown, like a bridal veil, over the vale +and river, is gently lifted by Aurora, and the unshrouded +waters blush "celestial rosy red" at the exposure of their +own loveliness. But the bright flush is soon gone, and as +the sun rides higher in the heavens, the millions of little +wavelets don their diamond crowns, and rise, and sink, and +leap, and dance rejoicingly together; and while their sparkling +brilliancy arrests the eye, their murmurs of delight are +no less grateful to the ear. The grove upon the Newbury +side is already vocal with the morning anthems of the feathered +choir, and from the maple, oak, and pine is rising one +glad peal of melody. The slight fragrance of the kalmia, +or American laurel, which flourishes here in much profusion, +is borne upon the morning breeze; and when their roseate +umbels are opened to the sun, they "sing to the eye," +as their less stationary companions have done to the ear.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> + +<p>The road which accompanies the river in its beauteous +curve, is soon alive with the active laborers of "Salisbury +shore;" and soon the loud "Heave-ho!" of the ship-builders +is mingled with the more mellifluous tones which +have preceded them. The other busy inhabitants are soon +threading the winding street, and as they glance upon their +bright and beauteous river, their breasts swell with emotions +of pleasure, though in their constant and active bustle, they +may seldom pause to analyze the cause. The single sail of +the sloop which has lain so listless at the little wharf, and +the double one of the schooner which is about to traverse its +way to the ocean, are unfurled to the morning wind, and the +loud orders of the bustling skipper, and the noisy echoes of +his bustling men, are borne upon the dewy breeze, and echoed +from the Newbury slopes. Soon they are riding upon +the bright waters, and the little skiff or wherry is also seen +darting about, amidst the rolling diamonds, while here and +there a heavy laden "gundelow" moves slowly along, +"with sure and steady aim," as though it disdained the +pastime of its livelier neighbors.</p> + +<p>Such is many a morning scene on the banks of the Merrimac; +and not less delightful are those of the evening. Perhaps +the sunset has passed. The last golden tint has faded +from the river, and its waveless surface reflects the deep +blue of heaven, and sends back undimmed the first faint ray +of the evening star. The rising tide creeps rippling up the +narrow beach, sending along its foremost swell, which, in a +sort of drowsy play, leaps forward, and then sinks gently +back upon its successors. Now the tide is up—the trees +upon the wooded banks of Newbury, and the sandy hills upon +the Amesbury side, are pencilled with minutest accuracy +in the clear waters. Farther down, the dwellings at the +Ferry, and those of the Point, which stand upon the banks, +are also mirrored in the deep stream. You might also fancy +that beneath its lucid tide there was a duplicate village, +so distinct is every shadow. As, one by one, the lights appear +in the cottage windows, their reflected fires shoot up +from the depths of the Merrimac.</p> + +<p>But the waters shine with brighter radiance as evening +lengthens; for Luna grows more lavish of her silvery beams +as the crimson tints of her brighter rival die in the western +sky. The shore is still and motionless, save where a pair +of happy lovers steal slowly along the shadowed walk which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +leads to Pleasant Valley. The old weather-worn ship at +the Point, which has all day long resounded with the clatter +of mischievous boys, is now wrapped in silence. The new +one in the ship-yard, which has also been dinning with the +maul and hammer, is equally quiet. But from the broad +surface of the stream there comes the song, the shout, and +the ringing laugh of the light-hearted. They come from +the boats which dot the water, and are filled with the young +and gay. Some have just shot from the little wharf, and +others have been for hours upon the river. What they have +been doing, and where they have been, I do not precisely +know; but, from the boughs which have been broken from +<i>somebody's</i> trees, and the large clusters of laurel which the +ladies bear, I think I can "guess-o."</p> + +<p>But it grows late. The lights which have glowed in the +reflected buildings have one by one been quenched, and still +those light barks remain upon the river. And that large +"gundelow," which came down the Powow, from the mills, +with its freight of "factory girls," sends forth "the sound +of music and dancing." We will leave them—for it is possible +that they will linger till after midnight, and we have +staid quite long enough to obtain an evening's glimpse at +the Merrimac.</p> + +<p>Such are some of the scenes on the river, and many are +also the pleasant spots upon its banks. Beautiful walks and +snug little nooks are not unfrequent; and there are bright +green sheltered coves, like Pleasant Valley, where "all +save the spirit of man is divine."</p> + +<p>I remember the first steamboat which ever came hissing +and puffing and groaning and sputtering up the calm surface +of the Merrimac. I remember also the lovely moonlight +evening when I watched her return from Haverhill, and when +every wave and rock and tree were lying bathed in a flood of +silver radiance. I shall not soon forget her noisy approach, +so strongly contrasted with the stillness around, nor the long +loud ringing cheers which hailed her arrival and accompanied +her departure. I noted every movement, as she hissed +and splashed among the bright waters, until she reached the +curve in the river, and then was lost to view, excepting the +thick sparks which rose above the glistening foilage of the +wooded banks.</p> + +<p>I remember also the first time I ever saw the aborigines of +our country. They were Penobscots, and then, I believe,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +upon their way to this city. They encamped among the +woods of the Newbury shore, and crossed the river (there +about a mile in width) in their little canoes, whenever they +wished to beg or trade.—They sadly refuted the romantic +ideas which I had formed from the descriptions of Cooper +and others; nevertheless, they were to me an interesting +people. They appeared so strange, with their birch-bark +canoes and wooden paddles, their women with men's hats +and such <i>outré</i> dresses, their little boys with their unfailing +bows and arrows, and the little feet which they all had. +Their curious, bright-stained baskets, too, which they sold +or gave away. I have one of them now, but it has lost its +bright tints. It was given me in return for a slight favor.—I +remember also one dreadful stormy night while they were +amongst us. The rain poured in torrents. The thick darkness +was unrelieved by a single lightning-flash, and the +hoarse murmur of the seething river was the only noise +which could be distinguished from the pitiless storm. I +thought of my new acquaintance, and looked out in the direction +of their camp. I could see at one time the lights +flickering among the thick trees, and darting rapidly to and +fro behind them, and then all would be unbroken gloom. +Sometimes I fancied I could distinguish a whoop or yell, and +then I heard nought but the pelting of the rain. As I gazed +on the wild scene, I was strongly reminded of scenes which +are described in old border tales, of wild banditti, and night +revels of lawless hordes of barbarians.</p> + +<p>These are summer scenes; and in winter there is nothing +particularly beautiful in the icy robe with which the Merrimac +often enrobes its chilled waters. But the breaking up +of the ice is an event of much interest.</p> + +<p>As spring approaches, and the weather becomes milder, +the river, which has been a thoroughfare for loaded teams +and lighter sleighs, is gradually shunned, even by the daring +skater. Little pools of bluish water, which the sun has +melted, stand in slight hollows, distinctly contrasted with +the clear dark ice in the middle of the stream, or the flaky +snow-crust near the shore. At length a loud crack is heard, +like the report of a cannon—then another, and another—and +finally the loosened mass begins to move towards the ocean. +The motion at first is almost imperceptible, but it gradually +increases in velocity, as the impetus of the descending ice +above propels it along; and soon the dark blue waters are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +seen between the huge chasms of the parting ice. By and +bye, the avalanches come drifting down, tumbling, crashing, +and whirling along, with the foaming waves boiling up +wherever they can find a crevice; and trunks of trees, fragments +of buildings, and ruins of bridges, are driven along +with the tumultuous mass.—A single night will sometimes +clear the river of the main portion of the ice, and then the +darkly-tinted waters will roll rapidly on, as though wildly +rejoicing at their deliverance from bondage. But for some +time the white cakes, or rather ice-islands, will be seen floating +along, though hourly diminishing in size, and becoming +more "like angel's visits."</p> + +<p>But there is another glad scene occasionally upon the +Merrimac—and that is, when there is a launching. I have +already alluded to the ship-builders, and they form quite a +proportion of the inhabitants of the shore. And now, by +the way, I cannot omit a passing compliment to the inhabitants +of this same shore. It is seldom that so correct, intelligent, +contented, and truly comfortable a class of people is +to be found, as in this pretty hamlet. Pretty it most certainly +is—for nearly all the houses are neatly painted, and +some of them indicate much taste in the owners. And then +the people are so kind, good, and industrious. A Newburyport +editor once said of them, "They are nice folks there on +Salisbury shore; they always pay for their newspapers"—a +trait of excellence which printers can usually appreciate.</p> + +<p>But now to the ships, whose building I have often watched +with interest, from the day when the long keel was laid +till it was launched into the river. This is a scene which is +likewise calculated to inspire salutary reflections, from the +comparison which is often instituted between ourselves and +a wave-tossed bark. How often is the commencement of +active life compared to the launching of a ship; and even +the unimaginative Puritans could sing,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">"Life's like a ship in constant motion,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sometimes high and sometimes low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where every man must plough the ocean,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whatsoever winds may blow."<br /></span> +</div> + +<p>The striking analogy has been more beautifully expressed +by better poets, though hardly with more force. And if we +are like wind-tossed vessels on a stormy sea, then the gradual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +formation of our minds may be compared to the building +of a ship. And it was this thought which often attracted my +notice to the labors of the shipwright.</p> + +<p>First, the long keel is laid—then the huge ribs go up the +sides; then the rail-way runs around the top. Then commences +the boarding or timbering of the sides; and for +weeks, or months, the builder's maul is heard, as he pounds +in the huge <i>trunnels</i> which fasten all together. Then +there is the finishing inside, and the painting outside, and, +after all, the launching.</p> + +<p>The first that I ever saw was a large and noble ship. It +had been long in building, and I had watched its progress +with much interest. The morning it was to be launched I +played truant to witness the scene. It was a fine sunshiny +day, Sept. 21, 1832; and I almost wished I was a boy, that +I might join the throng upon the deck, who were determined +upon a ride. The blocks which supported the ship were +severally knocked out, until it rested upon but one. When +that was gone, the ship would rest upon greased planks, +which descended to the water. It must have been a thrilling +moment to the man who lay upon his back, beneath the huge +vessel, when he knocked away the last prop. But it was +done, and swiftly it glided along the planks, then plunged +into the river, with an impetus which sunk her almost to her +deck, and carried her nearly to the middle of the river. +Then she slowly rose, rocked back and forth, and finally +righted herself, and stood motionless. But while the dashing +foaming waters were still clamorously welcoming her to +a new element, and the loud cheers from the deck were +ringing up into the blue sky, the bottle was thrown, and she +was named the <span class="smcap">Walter Scott</span>. It will be remembered +that this was the very day on which the Great Magician +died—a fact noticed in the Saturday Courier about that +time.</p> + +<p>Several years after this, I was attending school in a +neighboring town. I happened one evening to take up a +newspaper. I think it was a Portsmouth paper; and I saw +the statement that a fine new ship had been burnt at sea, +called the <span class="smcap">Walter Scott</span>. The particulars were so minutely +given, as to leave no room for doubt that it was the beautiful +vessel which I had seen launched, upon the banks of the +Merrimac.</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Annette.</span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE FIRST BELLS.</h2> + + +<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> + + +<p>There are times when I am melancholy, when the sun +seems to shine with a shadowy light, and the woods are filled +with notes of sadness; when the up-springing flowers +seem blossoms strewed upon a bier, and every streamlet +chants a requiem. Have we not all our trials? And though +we may bury the sad thoughts to which they give birth in +the dark recesses of our own hearts, yet Memory and Sensibility +must both be dead, if we can always be light and +mirthful.</p> + +<p>Once it was not so. There was a time when I gaily +viewed the dull clouds of a rainy day, and could hear the +voice of rejoicing in the roarings of the wintry storm, when +sorrow was an unmeaning word, and in things which now +appear sacred my thoughtless mind could see the ludicrous.</p> + +<p>These thoughts have been suggested by the recollection +of a poor old couple, to whom in my careless girlhood I +gave the name of "the first bells." And now, I doubt not, +you are wondering what strange association of ideas could +have led me to fasten this appellation upon a poor old man +and woman. My answer must be the narration of a few +facts.</p> + +<p>When I was young, we all worshipped in the great meeting-house, +which now stands so vacant and forlorn upon the +brow of Church Hill. It is never used but upon town-meeting +days—for those who once went up to the house of God +in company, now worship in three separate buildings. There +is discord between them—that worst of all hatred, the animosity +which arises from difference of religious opinions. +I am sorry for it; not that I regret that they cannot all think +alike, but that they cannot "agree to differ." Because the +heads are not in unison, it needeth not that the hearts should +be estranged; and a difference of faith may be expressed in +kindly words. I have my friends among them all, and they +are not the less dear to me, because upon some doctrinal +points our opinions cannot be the same. A creed which I +do not now believe is hallowed by recollections of the Sabbath +worship, the evening meetings, the religious feelings—in +short, of the faith, hope, and trust of my earlier days.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> + +<p>I remember now how still and beautiful our Sunday mornings +used to seem, after the toil and play of the busy week. +I would take my catechism in my hand, and go and sit upon +a large flat stone, under the shade of the chestnut tree; +and, looking abroad, would wonder if there was a thing +which did not feel that it was the Sabbath. The sun was +as bright and warm as upon other days, but its light seemed +to fall more softly upon the fields, woods and hills; and +though the birds sung as loudly and joyfully as ever, I +thought their sweet voices united in a more sacred strain. +I heard a Sabbath tone in the waving of the boughs above +me, and the hum of the bees around me, and even the +bleating of the lambs and the lowing of the kine seemed +pitched upon some softer key. Thus it is that the heart +fashions the mantle with which it is wont to enrobe all nature, +and gives to its never silent voices a tone of joy, or sorrow, +or holy peace.</p> + +<p>We had then no bell; and when the hour approached for +the commencement of religious services, each nook and dale +sent forth its worshippers in silence. But precisely half an +hour before the rest of our neighbors started, the old man +and woman, who lived upon Pine Hill, could be seen wending +their way to the meeting-house. They walked side by +side, with a slow even step, such as was befitting the errand +which had brought them forth. Their appearance was always +the signal for me to lay aside my book, and prepare to +follow them to the house of God. And it was because they +were so unvarying in their early attendance, because I was +never disappointed in the forms which first emerged from the +pine trees upon the hill, that I gave them the name of "the +first bells."</p> + +<p>Why they went thus regularly early I know not, but +think it probable they wished for time to rest after their long +walk, and then to prepare their hearts to join in exercises +which were evidently more valued by them than by most of +those around them. Yet it must have been a deep interest +which brought so large a congregation from the scattered +houses, and many far-off dwellings of our thinly peopled +country town.</p> + +<p>And every face was then familiar to me. I knew each +white-headed patriarch who took his seat by the door of his +pew, and every aged woman who seated herself in the low +chair in the middle of it; and the countenances of the middle-aged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +and the young were rendered familiar by the exchange +of Sabbath glances, as we met year after year in that +humble temple.</p> + +<p>But upon none did I look with more interest than upon +"the first bells." There they always were when I took +my accustomed seat at the right hand of the pulpit. Their +heads were always bowed in meditation till they arose to +join in the morning prayer; and when the choir sent forth +their strain of praise they drew nearer to each other, and +looked upon the same book, as they silently sent forth the +spirit's song to their Father in heaven. There was an expression +of meekness, of calm and perfect faith, and of subdued +sorrow upon the countenances of both, which won +my reverence, and excited my curiosity to know more of +them.</p> + +<p>They were poor. I knew it by the coarse and much-worn +garments which they always wore; but I could not +conjecture why they avoided the society and sympathy of all +around them. They always waited for our pastor's greeting +when he descended from the pulpit, and meekly bowed +to all around, but farther than this, their intercourse with +others extended not. It appeared to me that some heavy +trial, which had knit their own hearts more closely together, +and endeared to them their faith and its religious observances, +had also rendered them unusually sensitive to the careless +remarks and curious inquiries of a country neighborhood.</p> + +<p>One Sabbath our pastor preached upon parental love. His +text was that affecting ejaculation of David, "O Absalom, +my son, my son!" He spoke of the depth and fervor of +that affection which in a parental heart will remain unchanged +and unabated, through years of sin, estrangement, and +rebellion. He spoke of that reckless insubordination which +often sends pang after pang through the parent's breast; +and of wicked deeds which sometimes bring their grey hairs +in sorrow to the grave. I heard stifled sobs; and looking +up, saw that the old man and woman at the right hand of +the pulpit had buried their faces in their hands. They were +trembling with agitation, and I saw that a fount of deep +and painful remembrances had now been opened. They +soon regained their usual calmness, but I thought their +steps more slow, and their countenances more sorrowful +that day, when after our morning service had closed, they +went to the grave in the corner of the churchyard. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +was no stone to mark it, but their feet had been wearing, +for many a Sabbath noon, the little path which led to it.</p> + +<p>I went that night to my mother, and asked her if she +could not tell me something about "the first bells." She +chid me for the phrase by which I was wont to designate +them, but said that her knowledge of their former life was +very limited. Several years before, she added, a man was +murdered in hot blood in a distant town, by a person named +John L. The murderer was tried and hung; and not long +after, this old man and woman came and hired the little cottage +upon Pine Hill. Their names were the same that the +murderer had borne, and their looks of sadness and retiring +manners had led to the conclusion that they were his parents. +No one knew, certainly, that it was so—for they shrunk +from all inquiries, and never adverted to the past; but a +gentle and sad looking girl, who had accompanied them to +their new place of abode, had pined away, and died within +the first year of their arrival. She was their daughter, and +was supposed to have died of a broken heart for her brother +who had been hung. She was buried in the corner of the +churchyard, and every pleasant Sabbath noon her aged parents +had mourned together over her lowly grave.</p> + +<p>"And now, my daughter," said my mother, in conclusion +"respect their years, their sorrows, and, above all, the +deep fervent piety which cheers and sustains them, and +which has been nurtured by agonies, and watered by tears, +such as I hope my child will never know."</p> + +<p>My mother drew me to her side, and kissed me tenderly; +and I resolved that never again would I in a spirit of levity +call Mr. and Mrs. L. "the first bells."</p> + + + +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> + + +<p>Years passed on; and through summer's sunshine and +its showers, and through winter's cold and frost, and storms, +that old couple still went upon their never-failing Sabbath +pilgrimage. I can see them even now, as they looked in +days long gone by. The old man, with his loose, black, +Quaker-like coat, and low-crowned, much-worn hat, his +heavy cowhide boots, and coarse blue mittens; and his +partner walking slowly by his side, wearing a scanty brown +cloak with four little capes, and a close, black, rusty-looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +bonnet. In summer the cloak was exchanged for a cotton +shawl, and the woollen gown for one of mourning print. +The Sabbath expression was as unchangeable as its dress. +Their features were very different, but they had the same +mild, mournful look, the same touching glance, whenever +their eyes rested upon each other; and it was one which +spoke of sympathy, hallowed by heartfelt piety.</p> + +<p>At length a coffin was borne upon a bier from the little +house upon the hill; and after that the widow went alone +each Sabbath noon to the two graves in the corner of the +churchyard. I felt sad when I thought how lonely and +sorrowful she must be now; and one pleasant day I ventured +an unbidden guest into her lowly cot. As I approached +her door, I heard her singing in a low, tremulous tone,</p> + +<div class="center">"How are thy servants blessed, O Lord."</div> + +<p>I was touched to the heart; for I could see that her blessings +were those of a faith, hope, and joy, which the world +could neither give nor take away.</p> + +<p>She was evidently destitute of what the world calls comforts, +and I feared she might also want its necessaries. But +her look was almost cheerful as she assured me that her +knitting (at which I perceived she was quite expeditious) +supplied her with all which she now wanted.</p> + +<p>I looked upon her sunburnt, wrinkled countenance, and +thought it radiant with moral beauty. She wore no cap, +and her thin grey hair was combed back from her furrowed +brow. Her dress was a blue woollen skirt, and a short loose +gown; and her hard shrivelled hands bore witness to much +unfeminine labor. Yet she was contented, and even happy, +and singing praise to God for his blessings.</p> + +<p>The next winter I thought I could perceive a faltering in +her gait whenever she ascended Church Hill; and one Sabbath +she was not in her accustomed seat. The next, she +was also absent; and when I looked upon Pine Hill, I could +perceive no smoke issuing from her chimney. I felt anxious, +and requested liberty to make, what was then in our +neighborhood an unusual occurrence, a Sabbath visit. My +mother granted me permission to go, and remain as long as +my services might be necessary; and at the close of the afternoon +worship, I went to the little house upon the hill. I +listened eagerly for some sound as I entered the cold apartment;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +but hearing none, I tremblingly approached the low +hard bed. She was lying there with the same calm look of +resignation, and whispered a few words of welcome as I +took her hand.</p> + +<p>"You are sick and alone," said I to her; "tell me what +I can do for you."</p> + +<p>"I am sick," was her reply, "but not <i>alone</i>. He who +is every where, and at all times present, has been with me, +in the day and in the night. I have prayed to him, and received +answers of mercy, love, and peace. He has sent His +angel to call me home, and there is nought for you to do but +to watch the spirit's departure."</p> + +<p>I felt that it was so; yet I must do something. I kindled +a fire, and prepared some refreshment; and after she drank +a bowl of warm tea, I thought she looked better. She +asked me for her Bible, and I brought her the worn volume +which had been lying upon the little stand. She took from +it a soiled and much worn letter, and after pressing it to her +lips, endeavored to open it—but her hands were too weak, +and it dropped upon the bed. "No matter," said she, as I +offered to open it for her; "I know all that is in it, and in +that book also. But I thought I should like to look once +more upon them both. I have read them daily for many years +till now; but I do not mind it—I shall go soon."</p> + +<p>She followed me with her eyes as I laid them aside, and +then closing them, her lips moved as if in prayer. She soon +after fell into a slumber, and I watched her every breath, +fearing it might be the last.</p> + +<p>What lessons of wisdom, truth and fortitude were taught +me by that humble bed-side! I had never before been with +the dying, and I had always imagined a death-bed to be +fraught with terror. I expected that there were always +fearful shrieks and appalling groans, as the soul left its clay +tenement; but my fears were now dispelled. A sweet +calmness stole into my inmost soul, as I watched by the low +couch of the sufferer; and I said, "If this be death, may +my last end be like hers."</p> + +<p>But at length I saw that some dark dream had brought a +frown upon the pallid brow, and an expression of woe +around the parched lips. She was endeavoring to speak or +to weep, and I was about to awaken her, when a sweet +smile came like a flash of sunlight over her sunken face, +and I saw that the dream of woe was exchanged for one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +pleasure. Then she slept calmly, and I wondered if the +spirit would go home in that peaceful slumber. But at +length she awoke, and after looking upon me and her little +room with a bewildered air, she heaved a sigh, and said +mournfully, "I thought that I was not to come back again, +but it is only for a little while. I have had a pleasant dream, +but not at first. I thought once that I stood in the midst of +a vast multitude, and we were all looking up at one who +was struggling on a gallows. O, I have seen that sight in +many a dream before, but still I could not bear it, and I said, +'Father, have mercy;' and then I thought that the sky rolled +away from behind the gallows, and there was a flood of +glory in the depth beyond; and I heard a voice saying to +him who was hanging there, 'This day shalt thou be with +me in Paradise!' And then the gallows dropped, and the +multitude around me vanished, and the sky rolled together +again; but before it had quite closed over that scene of +beauty, I looked again, and <i>they were all there</i>. Yes," added +she with a placid smile, "I know that <i>he</i> is there with +them; the <i>three</i> are in heaven, and <i>I</i> shall be there soon."</p> + +<p>She ceased, and a drowsy feeling came over her. After +a while she opened her eyes with a strange look of anxiety +and terror. I went to her, but she could not speak, and she +pressed my hand closely, as though she feared I would leave +her. It was a momentary terror, for she knew that the last +pangs were coming on. There was a painful struggle, and +then came rest and peaceful confidence. "That letter," +whispered she convulsively; and I went to the Bible, and +took from it the soiled paper which claimed her thoughts +even in death. I laid it in her trembling hands, which +clasped it nervously, and then pressing it to her heart, she +fell into that slumber from which there is no awakening.</p> + +<p>When I saw that she was indeed gone, I took the letter, +and laid it in its accustomed place; and then, after straightening +the limbs, and throwing the bed-clothes over the stiffening +form, I left the house.</p> + +<p>It was a dazzling scene of winter beauty that met my eye +as I went forth from that lowly bed of death. The rising +sun threw a rosy light upon the crusted snow, and the earth +was dressed in a robe of sparkling jewels. The trees were +hung with glittering drops, and the frozen streams were +dressed in lobes of brilliant beauty.</p> + +<p>I thought of her upon whose eyes a brighter morn had beamed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +and of a scene of beauty upon which no sun should ever +set, and whose never-fading glories shall yield a happiness +which may never pass away.</p> + +<p>I went home, and told my mother what had passed; and +she went, with some others, to prepare the body for burial. +I went to look upon it once more, the morning of the funeral. +The features had assumed a rigid aspect, but the placid +smile was still there. The hands were crossed upon the +breast; and as the form lay so still and calm in its snowy +robes, I almost wished that the last change might come upon +me, so that it would bring a peace like this, which should +last for evermore.</p> + +<p>I went to the Bible, and took from it that letter. Curiosity +was strong within me, and I opened it. It was signed +"John L.," and dated from his prison the night before his +execution. But I did not read it. O no! it was too sacred. +It contained those words of penitence and affection over +which her stricken heart had brooded for years. It had +been the well-spring from which she had drunk joy and consolation, +and derived her hopes of a reunion where there +should be no more shame, nor sorrow, nor death.</p> + +<p>I could not destroy that letter: so I laid it beneath the +clasped hands, over the heart to which it had been pressed +when its beatings were forever stilled; and they buried her, +too, in the corner of the churchyard; and that tattered paper +soon mouldered to ashes upon her breast. * * * *</p> + +<p>We have now a bell upon our new meeting-house; and +when I hear its Sabbath morning peal, my thoughts are subdued +to a tone fitting for sacred worship; for my mind goes +back to that old couple, whom I was wont to call "the first +bells;" and I think of the power of religion to hallow and +strengthen the affections, to elevate the mind, and sustain +the drooping spirit, even in the saddest and humblest lot of +life.</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Susanna.</span></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 204px;"> +<img src="images/illus-107.jpg" width="204" height="100" alt="Decoration" title="Decoration" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> +<h2>EVENING BEFORE PAY-DAY.</h2> + + + +<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> + + +<p>"To-morrow is pay-day; are you not glad, Rosina, and +Lucy? <i>Dorcas</i> is, I know; for she always loves to see the +money. Don't I speak truth <i>now</i>, Miss Dorcas Tilton?"</p> + +<p>"I wish you would stop your clack, Miss Noisy Impudence; +for I never heard you speak anything that was +worth an answer. Let me alone, for I have not yet been +able to obtain a moment's time to read my tract."</p> + +<p>"'My tract'—how came it 'my tract,' Miss Stingy +Oldmaid?—for I can call names as fast as you," was the +reply of Elizabeth Walters. "Not because you bought it, +or paid for it, or gave a thank'ee to those who did; but because +you lay your clutches upon every thing you can get +without downright stealing."</p> + +<p>"Well," replied Dorcas, "I do not think I have clutched +any thing now which was much coveted by anyone else."</p> + +<p>"You are right, Dorcas," said Rosina Alden, lifting her +mild blue eye for the first time towards the speakers; "the +tracts left here by the monthly distributors are thrown about, +and trampled under foot, even by those who most approve +the sentiments which they contain. I have not seen anyone +take them up to read but yourself."</p> + +<p>"She likes them," interrupted the vivacious Elizabeth, +"because she gets them for nothing. They come to her as +cheap as the light of the sun, or the dews of heaven; and +thus they are rendered quite as valuable in her eyes."</p> + +<p>"And that very cheapness, that freedom from exertion +and expense by which they are obtained, is, I believe, the +reason why they are generally so little valued," added Rosina. +"People are apt to think things worthless which come +to them so easily. They believe them cheap, if they are offered +cheap. Now I think, without saying one word against +those tracts, that they would be more valued, more perused, +and exert far more influence, if they were only to be obtained +by payment for them. If they do good now, it is to the +publishers only; for I do not think the community in general +is influenced by them in the slightest degree. If Dorcas +feels more interested in them because she procures them gratuitously,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +it is because she is an exception to the general +rule."</p> + +<p>"I like sometimes," said Dorcas, "to see the voice of instruction, +of warning, of encouragement, and reproof, coming +to the thoughtless, ignorant, poor and sinful, as it did +from him who said to those whom he sent to inculcate its +truths, Freely ye have received, <i>freely give</i>. The gospel is +an expensive luxury now, and those only who can afford to +pay their four, or six, or more, dollars a year, can hear its +truths from the successors of him who lifted his voice upon +the lonely mountain, and opened his lips for council at the +table of the despised publican, or under the humble roof of +the Magdalen."</p> + +<p>"Do not speak harshly, Dorcas," was Rosina's reply; +"times have indeed changed since the Savior went about +with not a shelter for his head, dispensing the bread of life +to all who would but reach forth their hands and take it; but +circumstances have also changed since then. It is true, we +must lay down our money for almost everything we have; +but money is much more easily obtained than it was then. +It is true, we cannot procure a year's seat in one of our most +expensive churches for less than your present week's wages; +and if you really wish for the benefits of regular gospel instruction, +you must make for it as much of an exertion as +was made by the woman who went on her toilsome errand +to the deep well of Samaria, little aware that she was there +to receive the waters of eternal life. Do not say that it was +by no effort, no self-denial, that the gospel was received by +those who followed the great Teacher to the lonely sea-side, +or even to the desert, where, weary and famished, they remained +day after day, beneath the heat of a burning sun, and +were relieved from hunger but by a miracle. And who so +poor now, or so utterly helpless, that they cannot easily obtain +the record of those words which fell so freely upon the +ears of the listening multitudes of Judea? If there are such, +there are societies which will cheerfully relieve their wants, +if application be made. And these tracts, which come to us +with scarcely the trouble of stretching forth our hands for +their reception, are doubtless meant for good."</p> + +<p>"Well, Rosina," exclaimed Elizabeth, "if you hold out +a little longer, I think Dorcas will have no reason to complain +but that she gets <i>her</i> preaching cheap enough; but as +I, for one, am entirely willing to pay for mine, you may be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +excused for the present; and those who wish to hear a theological +discussion, can go and listen to the very able expounders +of the Baptist and Universalist faiths, who are just +now holding forth in the other chamber. As Dorcas hears +no preaching but that which comes <i>as cheap as the light of +the sun</i>, she will probably like to go; and do not be offended +with me, Rosina, if I tell you plainly, that you are not the +one to rebuke her. What sacrifice have you made? How +much have you spent? When have you ever given anything +for the support of the gospel?"</p> + +<p>A tear started to Rosina's eye, and the color deepened upon +her cheek. Her lip quivered, but she remained silent.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Lucy to Elizabeth, "all this difficulty is the +effect of the very simple question you asked; and I will answer +for one, that I am glad to-morrow is pay-day. Pray +what shall you get that is new, Elizabeth?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I shall get one of those damask silk shawls which +are now so fashionable. How splendid it will look! Let +me see; this is a five weeks' payment, and I have earned +about two dollars per week; and so have you, and Rosina; +and Dorcas has earned a great deal more, for she has extra +work. Pray what new thing shall <i>you</i> get, Dorcas?" added +she, laughing.</p> + +<p>"She will get a new bank book, I suppose," replied Lucy. +"She has already deposited in her own name five hundred +dollars, and now she has got a book in the name of her +little niece, and I do not know but she will soon procure another. +She almost worships them, and Sundays she stays +here reckoning up her interest while we are at meeting."</p> + +<p>"I think it is far better," retorted Dorcas, "to stay at +home, than to go to meeting, as Elizabeth does, to show her +fine clothes. I do not make a mockery of public worship to +God."</p> + +<p>"There, Lizzy, you must take that, for you deserved it," +said Lucy to her friend. "You know you <i>do</i> spend almost +all your money in dress."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Elizabeth, "I shall sow all my wild oats +now, and when I am an old maid I will be as steady, but +<i>not quite</i> so stingy as Dorcas. I will get a bank book, and +trot down Merrimack street as often as she does, and everybody +will say, 'what a remarkable change in Elizabeth Walters! +She used to spend all her wages as fast as they were +paid her, but now she puts them in the bank. She will be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +quite a fortune for some one, and I have no doubt she will +get married for what she <i>has</i>, if not for what she is.' But I +cannot begin now, and I don't see how <i>you</i> can, Rosina."</p> + +<p>"I have not begun," replied Rosina, in a low sorrowful +tone.</p> + +<p>"Why yes, you have; you are as miserly now as Dorcas +herself; and I cannot bear to think of what you may become. +Now tell me if you will not get a new gown and +bonnet, and go to meeting?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot," replied Rosina, decidedly.</p> + +<p>"Well, do, if you have any mercy on us, buy a new gown +to wear in the Mill, for your old one is so shabby. When +calico is nine-pence a yard, I do think it is mean to wear +such an old thing as that; besides, I should not wonder if +it should soon drop off your back."</p> + +<p>"Will it not last me one month more?" and Rosina began +to mend the tattered dress with a very wistful countenance.</p> + +<p>"Why, I somewhat doubt it; but at all events, you must +have another pair of shoes."</p> + +<p>"These are but just beginning to let in the water," said +Rosina; "I think they must last me till another pay-day."</p> + +<p>"Well, if you have a fever or consumption, Dorcas may +take care of you, for <i>I</i> will not; but what," continued the +chattering Elizabeth, "shall you buy that is new, Lucy?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, a pretty new, though cheap, bonnet; and I shall also +pay my quarter's pew-rent, and a year's subscription to the +'Lowell Offering;' and that is all that I shall spend. You +have laughed much about old maids; but it was an old maid +who took care of me when I first came to Lowell, and she +taught me to lay aside half of every month's wages. It is a +rule from which I have never deviated, and thus I have quite +a pretty sum at interest, and have never been in want of anything."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Elizabeth, "will you go out to-night with +me, and we will look at the bonnets, and also the damask +silk shawls? I wish to know the prices. How I wish to-day +had been pay-day, and then I need not have gone out with +an empty purse."</p> + +<p>"Well, Lizzy, <i>you</i> know that 'to-morrow is pay-day,' do +you not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, and the beautiful pay-master will come in, rattling +his coppers so nicely."</p> + +<p>"Beautiful!" exclaimed Lucy; "do you call our pay-master +<i>beautiful</i>?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, I do not know that he would look beautiful, if he +was coming to cut my head off; but really, that money-box +makes him look delightfully."</p> + +<p>"Well, Lizzy, it <i>does</i> make a great difference in his +appearance, I know; but if we are going out to-night, we +must be in a hurry."</p> + +<p>"If you go by the post-office, do ask if there is a letter +for me," said Rosina.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I hate to go near the post-office in the evening; the +girls act as wild as so many Caribbee Indians. Sometimes +I have to stand there an hour on the ends of my toes, stretching +my neck, and sticking out my eyes; and when I think I +have been pommeled and jostled long enough, I begin to +'set up on my own hook,' and I push away the heads that +have been at the list as if they were committing it all to +memory, and I send my elbows right and left in the most approved +style, till I find myself 'master of the field.'"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lizzy! you know better; how can you do so?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Lucy, pray tell me what <i>you</i> do?"</p> + +<p>"I go away, if there is a crowd; or if I feel very anxious +to know whether there is a letter for me, the worst that I do +is to try 'sliding and gliding.' I dodge between folks, or slip +through them, till I get waited upon. But I know that we +all act worse there than anywhere else; and if the post-master +speaks a good word for the factory girls, I think it +must come against his conscience, unless he has seen them +somewhere else than in the office."</p> + +<p>"Well, well, we must hasten along," said Elizabeth; +"and stingy as Rosina is, I suppose she will be willing to +pay for a letter; so I will buy her one, if I can get it. Good +evening, ladies," continued she, tying her bonnet; and she +hurried after Lucy, who was already down the stairs, leaving +Dorcas to read her tract at leisure, and Rosina to patch her +old calico gown, with none to torment her.</p> + + + +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> + + +<p>"Two letters!" exclaimed Elizabeth, as she burst into +the chamber, holding them up, as little Goody in the storybook +held up her "two shoes;" "two letters! one for <i>you</i>, +Rosina, and the other is for <i>me</i>. Only look at it! It is from +a cousin of mine, who has never lived out of sight of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +Green Mountains. I do believe, notwithstanding all that is +said about the ignorance of the factory girls, that the letters +which <i>go out</i> of Lowell look as well as those which <i>come +into</i> it. See here: up in the left hand corner, the direction +commences, 'Miss;' one step lower is 'Elizabeth;' then +down another step, 'Walters.' Another step brings us down +to 'Lowell;' one more is the 'City;' and down in the +right hand corner is 'Massachusetts,' at full length. Quite +a regular stair-case, if the steps had been all of an equal +width. Miss Elizabeth Walters, Lowell City, Massachusetts, +anticipates much edification from the perusal thereof," +said she, as she broke the seal.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I must tell you an anecdote," said Lucy. "While +we were waiting there, I saw one girl push her face into the +little aperture, and ask if there was a paper for her; and +the clerk asked if it was a transient paper. 'A what?' said +she. 'A transient paper,' he repeated. 'Why, I don't +know what paper it is,' was the reply; 'sometimes our folks +send me one, and sometimes another.'"</p> + +<p>Dorcas and Elizabeth laughed, and the latter exclaimed, +"Girls, I am not so selfish as to be unwilling that you should +share my felicity. Should you not like to see my letter?" +and she held it up before them. "It is quite a contrast to +our Rosina's delicate Italian penmanship, although she is a +factory girl."</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Cousin.</span>—I write this to let you know that I am +well, and hope you are enjoying the same great blessing. +Father and Mother are well too. Uncle Joshua is sick of +the information of the brain. We think he will die, but he +says that he shall live his days out. We have not had a letter +from you since you went to Lowell. I send this by Mary +Twining, an old friend of mine. She works upon the Appletown +Corporation. She will put this in the post-office, +because we do not know where you work. I hope you will +go and see her. We have had a nice time making maple +sugar this spring. I wish you had been with us. When +you are married, you must come with your husband. Write +to me soon, and if you don't have a chance to send it by +private conveyance, drop it into the post-office. I shall get +it, for the mail-stage passes through the village twice a week.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">'I want to see you morn, I think,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than I can write with pen and ink;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when I shall, I cannot tell—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At present I must wish you well.'<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="signature2">"Your loving cousin,</div> +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">"Judith Walters</span>."</div> +</blockquote> + +<p>"Well," said Elizabeth, drawing a long breath, "I do +not think my <i>loving cousin</i> will ever die of the 'information +of the brain;' but if it should get there, I do not know +what might happen.—But, Rosina, from whom is <i>your</i> letter?"</p> + +<p>"My mother," said Rosina; and she seated herself at +the little light-stand, with a sheet of paper, pen, and inkstand.</p> + +<p>"Why, you do not intend to answer it to-night?"</p> + +<p>"I must commence it to-night," replied Rosina, "and +finish it to-morrow night, and carry it to the post-office. I +cannot write a whole letter in one evening."</p> + +<p>"Why, what is the matter?" said Dorcas.</p> + +<p>"My twin-sister is very sick," replied Rosina; and the +tears she could no longer restrain gushing freely forth. +The girls, who had before been in high spirits, over cousin +Judy's letter, were subdued in an instant. Oh, how quick +is the influence of sympathy for grief! Not another word +was spoken. The letter was put away in silence, and the +girls glided noiselessly around the room, as they prepared to +retire to rest.</p> + +<p>Shall we take a peep at Rosina's letter? It may remove +some false impressions respecting her character, and many +are probably suffering injustice from erroneous opinions, +when, if all could be known, the very conduct which has +exposed them to censure would excite approbation. Her +widowed mother's letter was the following:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">My Dear Child.</span>—Many thanks for your last letter, +and many more for the present it contained. It was very +acceptable, for it reached me when I had not a cent in the +world. I fear you deprive yourself of necessaries to send me +so much. But all you can easily spare will be gladly received. +I have as much employment at tailoring as I can find time to +do, and sometimes I sit up all night, when I cannot accomplish +my self-allotted task during the day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I have delayed my reply to your letter, because I wished +to know what the doctors really thought of your sister +Marcia. They consulted to-day, and tell me <i>there is no hope</i>. +The suspense is now over, but I thought I was better prepared +for the worst than I am. She wished me to tell her +what the doctors said. At length I yielded to her importunities. +'Oh, mother,' said she, with a sweet smile, 'I am +so glad they have told you, for I have known it for a long +time. You must write to Rosina to come and see me before +I die.' Do as you think best, my dear, about coming. +You know how glad we would be to see you. But +if you cannot come, do not grieve too much about it.—Marcia +must soon die, and you, I hope, will live many +years; but the existence which you commenced together +here, I feel assured will be continued in a happier world. +The interruption which will now take place will be short, +in comparison with the life itself which shall have no end. +And yet it is hard to think that one so young, so good, and +lovely, is so soon to lie in the silent grave. While the blue +skies of heaven are daily growing more softly beautiful, and +the green things of earth are hourly putting forth a brighter +verdure, she, too, like the lovely creatures of nature, is +constantly acquiring some new charm, to fit her for that +world which she will so soon inhabit. Death is coming, +with his severest tortures, but she arrays her person in +bright loveliness at his approach, and her spirit is robed in +graces which well may fit her for that angel-band, which +she is so soon to join.</p> + +<p>"I am now writing by her bed-side. She is sleeping +soundly now, but there is a heavy dew upon the cheek, +brow, and neck of the tranquil sleeper. A rose—it is one +of <i>your</i> roses, Rosina—is clasped in her transparent hand: +and one rosy pedal has somehow dropped upon her temple. +It breaks the line which the blue vein has so distinctly +traced on the clear white brow. I will take it away, and +enclose it in the letter. When you see it, perhaps it will +bring more vividly to memory the days when you and +Marcia frolicked together among the wild rose bushes.—Those +which you transplanted to the front of the house +have grown astonishingly. Marcia took care of them as +long as she could go out of doors; for she wished to do +something to show her gratitude to you. Now that she can +go among them no longer, she watches them through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +window, and the little boys bring her every morning the +most beautiful blossoms. She enjoys their beauty and +fragrance, as she does everything which is reserved for her +enjoyment. There is but one thought which casts a shade +upon that tranquil spirit, and it is that she is such a helpless +burden upon us. The last time that she received a compensation +for some slight article which she had exerted herself +to complete, she took the money and sent Willy for some +salt. 'Now, mother,' said she, with the arch smile which +so often illuminated her countenance in the days of health, +'Now, mother you cannot say that I do not earn my salt.'</p> + +<p>"But I must soon close, for in a short time she will +awaken, and suffer for hours from her agonizing cough.—No +one need tell me now that a consumption makes an easy +path to the grave. I watched too long by your father's bed-side, +and have witnessed too minutely all of Marcia's sufferings +to be persuaded of this.</p> + +<p>"But she breathes less softly now, and I must hasten. I +have said little of the other members of the family, for I +knew you would like to hear particularly about her. The +little boys are well—they are obedient to me, and kind to +their sister. Answer as soon as you receive this, for Marcia's +sake, unless you come and visit us.</p> + +<p>"And now, hoping that this will find you in good health, +as, by the blessing of God, it leaves me, (a good though +an old-fashioned manner of closing a letter,) I remain as +ever,</p> + +<div class="signature">"Your affectionate mother."</div></blockquote> + +<p>Rosina's reply was as follows:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Mother.</span>—I have just received your long-expected +letter, and have seated myself to commence an answer, +for I cannot go home.</p> + +<p>"I do wish very much to see you all, especially dear +Marcia, once more; but it is not best. I know you think +so, or you would have urged my return. I think I shall feel +more contented here, earning comforts for my sick sister +and necessaries for you, than I should be there, and +unable to relieve a want. 'To-morrow is pay-day,' and my +earnings, amounting to ten dollars, I shall enclose in this letter. +Do not think I am suffering for anything, for I get a long +very well. But I am obliged to be extremely prudent, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +the girls here call me miserly. Oh, mother! it is hard to be +so misunderstood; but I cannot tell <i>them</i> all.</p> + +<p>"But your kind letters are indeed a solace to me, for they +assure me that the mother whom I have always loved and +reverenced approves of my conduct. I shall feel happier to-morrow +night, when I enclose that bill to you, than my +room-mates can be in the far different disposal of theirs.</p> + +<p>"What a blessing it is that we can send money to our +friends; and indeed what a blessing that we can send them +a letter. Last evening you was penning the lines which I +have just perused, in my far-distant home; and not twenty-four +hours have elapsed since the rose-leaf before me was +resting on the brow of my sister; but it is now ten o'clock, +and I must bid you good night, reserving for to-morrow +evening the remainder of my epistle, which I shall address +to Marcia."</p></blockquote> + +<p>It was long before Rosina slept that night; and when she +did, she was troubled at first by fearful dreams. But at +length it seemed to her that she was approaching the quiet +home of her childhood. She did not remember where she +had been, but had a vague impression that it was in some +scene of anxiety, sorrow, and fatigue; and she was longing +to reach that little cot, where it appeared so still and happy. +She thought the sky was very clear above it, and the yellow +sunshine lay softly on the hills and fields around it. She saw +her rose-bushes blooming around it, like a little wilderness +of blossoms; and while she was admiring their increased +size and beauty, the door was opened, and a body arrayed in +the snowy robes of the grave, was carried beneath the rose-bushes. +They bent to a slight breeze which swept above +them, and a shower of snowy petals fell upon the marble +face and shrouded form. It was as if nature had paid this +last tribute of gratitude to one who had been one of her truest +and loveliest votaries.</p> + +<p>Rosina started forward that she might remove the fragrant +covering, and imprint one last kiss upon the fair cold brow; +but a hand was laid upon her, and a well-known voice +repeated her name. And then she started, for she heard +the bell ring loudly; and she opened her eyes as Dorcas +again cried out, "Rosina, the second bell is ringing."—Elizabeth +and Lucy were already dressed, and they exclaimed +at the same moment, "Remember, Rosina, that <i>to-day is +pay-day</i>."</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Lucinda.</span></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE INDIAN PLEDGE.</h2> + + +<p>On the door-steps of a cottage in the land of "steady +habits," some ninety or an hundred years since, might, on a +soft evening in June, have been seen a sturdy young farmer, +preparing his scythes for the coming hay-making season. +So intent was he upon his work that he heeded not the approach +of a tall Indian, accoutred for a hunting expedition, +until, "Will you give an unfortunate hunter some supper +and lodging for the night?" in a tone of supplication, +caught his ear.</p> + +<p>The farmer raised his eyes from his work, and darting +fury from beneath a pair of shaggy eyebrows, he exclaimed, +"Heathen, Indian dog, begone! you shall have nothing +here."</p> + +<p>"But I am very hungry," said the Indian; "give only +a crust of bread and a bone to strengthen me on my +journey."</p> + +<p>"Get you gone, you heathen dog," said the farmer; "I +have nothing for you."</p> + +<p>"Give me but a cup of cold water," said the Indian, +"for I am very faint."</p> + +<p>This appeal was not more successful than the others.—Reiterated +abuse, and to be told to drink when he came to a +river, was all he could obtain from one who bore the name +of Christian! But the supplicating appeal fell not unheeded +on the ear of one of finer mould and more sensibility. +The farmer's youthful bride heard the whole, as she sat +hushing her infant to rest; and from the open casement she +watched the poor Indian until she saw his dusky form sink, +apparently exhausted, on the ground at no great distance +from her dwelling. Ascertaining that her husband was too +busied with his work to notice her, she was soon at the +Indian's side, with a pitcher of milk and a napkin filled with +bread and cheese. "Will my red brother slake his thirst +with some milk?" said this angel of mercy; and as he essayed +to comply with her invitation, she untied the napkin, +and bade him eat and be refreshed.</p> + +<p>"Cantantowwit protect the white dove from the pounces<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +of the eagle," said the Indian; "for <i>her</i> sake the unfledged +young shall be safe in their nest, and her red brother will +not seek to be revenged."</p> + +<p>He then drew a bunch of feathers from his bosom, and +plucking one of the longest, gave it to her, and said, +"When the white dove's mate flies over the Indians' hunting +grounds, bid him wear this on his head." * * * *</p> + +<p>The summer had passed away. Harvest-time had come +and gone, and preparations had been made for a hunting excursion +by the neighbors. Our young farmer was to be one +of the party; but on the eve of their departure he had +strange misgivings relative to his safety. No doubt his +imagination was haunted by the form of the Indian, whom, +in the preceding summer he had treated so harshly.</p> + +<p>The morning that witnessed the departure of the hunters +was one of surpassing beauty. Not a cloud was to be seen, +save one that gathered on the brow of Ichabod (our young +farmer), as he attempted to tear a feather from his hunting-cap, +which was sewed fast to it. His wife arrested his hand, +while she whispered in his ear, and a slight quiver agitated +his lips as he said, "Well, Mary, if you think this feather +will protect me from the arrows of the red-skins, I'll e'en +let it remain." Ichabod donned his cap, shouldered his +rifle, and the hunters were soon on their way in quest of +game.</p> + +<p>The day wore away as was usual with people on a like +excursion; and at nightfall they took shelter in the den of +a bear, whose flesh served for supper, and whose skin spread +on bruin's bed of leaves, pillowed their heads through a long +November night.</p> + +<p>With the first dawn of morning, the hunters left their +rude shelter and resumed their chase. Ichabod, by some +mishap, soon separated from his companions, and in trying +to join them got bewildered. He wandered all day in the +forest, and just as the sun was receding from sight, and he +was about sinking down in despair, he espied an Indian hut. +With mingled emotions of hope and fear, he bent his steps +towards it; and meeting an Indian at the door, he asked him +to direct him to the nearest white settlement.</p> + +<p>"If the weary hunter will rest till morning, the eagle will +show him the way to the nest of his white dove," said the +Indian, as he took Ichabod by the hand and led him within +his hut. The Indian gave him a supper of parched corn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +and venison, and spread the skins of animals, which he had +taken in hunting, for his bed.</p> + +<p>The light had hardly began to streak the east, when the +Indian awoke Ichabod, and after a slight repast, the twain +started for the settlement of the whites. Late in the afternoon, +as they emerged from a thick wood, Ichabod with joy +espied his home. A heartfelt ejaculation had scarce escaped +his lips, when the Indian stepped before him, and turning +around, stared him full in the face, and inquired if he had +any recollection of a previous acquaintance with his red +brother. Upon being answered in the negative, the Indian +said, "Five moons ago, when I was faint and weary, you +called me an Indian dog, and drove me from your door. I +might now be revenged; but Cantantowwit bids me tell you +to go home; and hereafter, when you see a red man in need +of kindness, do to him as you have been done by. Farewell."</p> + +<p>The Indian having said this, turned upon his heel, and +was soon out of sight. Ichabod was abashed. He went +home purified in heart, having learned a lesson of Christianity +from an untutored savage.</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Tabitha.</span></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE FIRST DISH OF TEA.</h2> + + +<p>Tea holds a conspicuous place in the history of our country; +but it is no part of my business to offer comments, or +to make any remarks upon the spirit of olden time, which +prompted those patriotic defenders of their country's rights +to destroy so much tea, to express their indignation at the +oppression of their fellow citizens. I only intend to inform +the readers of the "Lowell Offering" that the first dish of +tea which was ever made in Portsmouth, N. H., was made +by Abigail Van Dame, my great-great-grandmother.</p> + +<p>Abigail was early in life left an orphan, and the care of +her tender years devolved upon her aunt Townsend, to +whose store fate had never added any of the smiling blessings +of Providence; and as a thing in course, Abigail became not +only the adopted, but also the well-beloved, child of her uncle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +and aunt Townsend. They gave her every advantage +for an education which the town of Portsmouth afforded; and +at the age of seventeen she was acknowledged to be the +most accomplished young lady in Portsmouth.</p> + +<p>Many were the worshippers who bowed at the shrine of +beauty and learning at the domicile of Alphonzo Townsend; +but his lovely niece was unmoved by their petitions, much to +the perplexity of her aunt, who often charged Abigail with +carrying an obdurate heart in her bosom. In vain did Mrs. +Townsend urge her niece to accept the offers of a young +student of law; and equally vain were her efforts to gain a +clue to the cause of the refusal, until, by the return of an +East India Merchantman, Mr. Townsend received a small +package for his niece, and a letter from Captain Lowd, asking +his consent to their union, which he wished might take +place the following year, when he should return to Portsmouth.</p> + +<p>Abigail's package contained a Chinese silk hat, the crown +of which was full of Bohea tea. A letter informed her that +the contents of the hat was the ingredient, which, boiled +in water, made what was called the "Chinese soup."</p> + +<p>Abigail, anxious to ascertain the flavor of a beverage, of +which she had heard much, put the brass skillet over the +coals, poured in two quarts of water, and added thereto a +pint bason full of tea, and a gill of molasses, and let it simmer +an hour. She then strained it through a linen cloth, +and in some pewter basins set it around the supper table, in +lieu of bean-porridge, which was the favorite supper of the +epicures of the olden time.</p> + +<p>Uncle, aunt, and Abigail, seated themselves around the +little table, and after crumbling some brown bread into their +basins, commenced eating the Chinese soup. The first +spoonful set their faces awry, but the second was past endurance; +and Mrs. Townsend screamed with fright, for she +imagined that she had tasted poison. The doctor was sent +for, who administered a powerful emetic; and the careful +aunt persuaded her niece to consign her hat and its contents +to the vault of an outbuilding.</p> + +<p>When Capt. Lowd returned to Portsmouth, he brought with +him a chest of tea, a China tea-set, and a copper teakettle, +and instructed Abigail in the art of tea-making and +tea drinking, to the great annoyance of her aunt Townsend, +who could never believe that Chinese soup was half so good +as bean-porridge.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> + +<p>The <i>first dish of tea</i> afforded a fund of amusement for +Capt. Lowd and lady, and I hope the narrative will be acceptable +to modern tea-drinkers.</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Tabitha.</span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>LEISURE HOURS OF THE MILL GIRLS.</h2> + + +<p>The leisure hours of the mill girls—how shall they be +spent? As Ann, Bertha, Charlotte, Emily, and others, spent +theirs? as we spend ours? Let us decide.</p> + +<p>No. 4 was to stop a day for repairs. Ann sat at her window +until she tired of watching passers-by. She then started +up in search of one idle as herself, for a companion in a +saunter. She called at the chamber opposite her own. The +room was sadly disordered. The bed was not made, although +it was past nine o'clock. In making choice of dresses, collars, +aprons, <i>pro tempore</i>, some half dozen of each had been +taken from their places, and there they were, lying about on +chairs, trunks, and bed, together with mill clothes just taken +off. Bertha had not combed her hair; but Charlotte +gave hers a hasty dressing before "going out shopping;" +and there lay brush, combs, and hair on the table. There +were a few pictures hanging about the walls, such as "You +are the prettiest Rose," "The Kiss," "Man Friday," and +a miserable, soiled drawing of a "Cottage Girl." Bertha +blushed when Ann entered. She was evidently ashamed of +the state of her room, and vexed at Ann's intrusion. Ann +understood the reason when Bertha told her, with a sigh, +that she had been "hurrying all the morning to get through +the 'Children of the Abbey,' before Charlotte returned."</p> + +<p>"Ann, I wish you would talk to her," said she. "Her +folks are very poor. I have it on the best authority. Elinda +told me that it was confidently reported by girls who came +from the same town, that her folks had been known to jump +for joy at the sight of a crust of bread. She spends every +cent of her wages for dress and confectionary. She has +gone out now; and she will come back with lemons, sugar, +rich cake, and so on. She had better do as I do—spend her +money for books, and her leisure time in reading them. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +buy three volumes of novels every month; and when that +is not enough, I take some from the circulating library. I +think it our duty to improve our minds as much as possible, +now the mill girls are beginning to be thought so much of."</p> + +<p>Ann was a bit of a wag. Idle as a breeze, like a breeze +she sported with every <i>trifling</i> thing that came in her way.</p> + +<p>"Pshaw!" said she. "And so we must begin to read +silly novels, be very sentimental, talk about tears and flowers, +dews and bowers. There is some poetry for you, Bertha. +Don't you think I'd better 'astonish the natives,' by +writing a poetical rhapsody, nicknamed 'Twilight Reverie,' +or some other silly, inappropriate thing, and sending it to +the 'Offering?' Oh, how fine this would be! Then I +could purchase a few novels, borrow a few more, take a few +more from a circulating library; and then shed tears and +grow soft over them—all because we are taking a higher +stand in the world, you know, Bertha."</p> + +<p>Bertha again blushed. Ann remained some moments +silent.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever read Pelham?" asked Bertha, by way of +breaking the silence.</p> + +<p>"No; I read no novels, good, bad, or indifferent. I +have been thinking, Bertha, that there may be danger of our +running away from the reputation we enjoy, as a class. For +my part, I sha'n't ape the follies of other classes of females. +As Isabel Greenwood says—and you know she is always +right about such things—I think we shall lose our independence, +originality, and individuality of character, if we all +take one standard of excellence, and this the customs and +opinions of others. This is a jaw-cracking sentence for me. +If any body had uttered it but Isabel, I should, perhaps, have +laughed at it. As it was, I treasured it up for use, as I do +the wise sayings of Franklin, Dudley, Leavitt, and Robert +Thomas. I, for one, shall not attempt to become so accomplished. +I shall do as near right as I can conveniently, not +because I have a heavy burden of gentility to support, but +because it is quite as easy to do right,</p> + +<div class="center">'And then I sleep so sweet at night.'</div> + +<p>"Good morning, Bertha."</p> + +<p>At the door she met Charlotte, on her return, with lemons, +nuts, and cake.</p> + +<p>"I am in search of a companion for a long ramble," said +Ann. "Can you recommend a <i>subject</i>?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I should think Bertha would like to shake herself," said +Charlotte. "She has been buried in a novel ever since she +was out of bed this morning. It was her turn to do the +chamber work this morning; and this is the way she always +does, if she can get a novel. She would not mind sitting all +day, with dirt to her head. It is a shame for her to do so. +She had better be wide awake, enjoying life, as I am."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" exclaimed Ann, in her usual <i>brusque</i> manner. +"There is not a cent's choice between you this morning; +both are doing wrong, and each is condemning the +other without mercy. So far you are both just like me, you +see. Good morning."</p> + +<p>She walked on to the next chamber. She had enough of +the philosopher about her to reason from appearances, and +from the occupation of its inmates, that she could succeed +no better there. Every thing was in the most perfect order. +The bed was shaped, and the sheet hemmed down <i>just +so</i>. Their lines that hung by the walls were filled "jist." +First came starched aprons, then starched capes, then pocket +handkerchiefs, folded with the marked corner out. Then +hose. This room likewise, had its paintings, and like those +of the other, they were in perfect keeping with the general +arrangements of the room and the dress of its occupants. +There was an apology for a lady. Her attitude and form +were of precisely that uncouth kind which is produced by +youthful artificers, who form head, body and feet from one +piece of shingle; and wedge in two sticks at right angles +with the body, for arms. Her sleeves increased in dimensions +from the shoulders, and the skirt from the belt, but without +the semblance of a fold. This, with some others of the +same school, and two "profiles," were carefully preserved in +frames, and the frames in screens of green barage. Miss Clark +was busily engaged in making netting, and Miss Emily in +making a dress. Ann made known her wants to them, more +from curiosity to hear their reply, than from a hope of success. +In measured periods they thanked her—would have +been happy to accompany her. "But, really, I must be excused," +said Miss Clark. "I have given myself a stint, and +I always feel bad if I fall an inch short of my plans."</p> + +<p>"Yes; don't you think, Ann," said Emily, "she has +stinted herself to make five yards of netting to-day. And +mother says there is ten times as much in the house as we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +shall ever need. Father says there is twenty times as much; +for he knows we shall both be old maids, ha! ha!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I always tell him that if I am an old maid I +shall need the more. Our folks make twenty or thirty yards +of table linen every year. I mean to make fringe for every +yard; and have enough laid by for the next ten years, before +I leave the mill."</p> + +<p>"Well, Emily," said Ann, "you have no fringe to make, +can't you accompany me?"</p> + +<p>"I should be glad to, Ann; but I am over head and ears +in work. I have got my work all done up, every thing that +I could find to do. Now I am making a dress for Bertha."</p> + +<p>"Why, Emily, you are making a slave of yourself, body +and mind," said Ann. "Can't you earn enough in the mill +to afford yourself a little time for rest and amusement?"</p> + +<p>"La! I don't make but twelve dollars a month, besides +my board. I have made a great many dresses evenings, and +have stinted myself to finish this to-day. So I believe I +can't go, any way. I should be terrible glad to."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are very excusable," answered Ann. "But +let me ask if you take any time to read."</p> + +<p>"No; not much. We can't afford to. Father owns the +best farm in Burt; but we have always had to work hard, +and always expect to. We generally read a chapter every +day. We take turns about it. One of us reads while the +other works."</p> + +<p>"Yes; but lately we have only taken time to read a +short psalm," said Emily, again laughing.</p> + +<p>"Well, the Bible says, 'Let him that is without sin cast +the first stone,' or I might be tempted to remind you that +there is such a thing as laboring too much 'for the meat that +perisheth.' Good morning, ladies."</p> + +<p>Ann heard a loud, merry laugh from the next room, as +she reached the door. It was Ellinora Frothingham's; no +one could mistake, who had heard it once. It seemed the +out-pouring of glee that could no longer be suppressed. +Ellinor sat on the floor, just as she had thrown herself on +her return from a walk. Her pretty little bonnet was lying +on the floor on one side, and on the other a travelling bag, +whose contents she had just poured into her lap. There +were apples, pears, melons, a mock-orange, a pumpkin, +squash, and a crooked cucumber. Ellinora sprang to her feet +when Ann entered, and threw the contents of her lap on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +floor with such violence, as to set them to rolling all about. +Then she laughed and clapped her hands to see the squash +chase the mock-orange under the bed, a great russet running +so furiously after a little fellow of the Baldwin family, and +finally pinning him in a corner. A pear started in the chase; +but after taking a few turns, he sat himself down to shake +his fat sides and enjoy the scene. Ellinora stepped back a +few paces to elude the pursuit of the pumpkin, and then, +with well-feigned terror, jumped into a chair. But the +drollest personage of the group was the ugly cucumber. +There he sat, Forminius-like, watching the mad freaks of +his companions.</p> + +<p>"Ha! see that cucumber?" exclaimed Ellinora, laughing +heartily. "If he had hands, how he would raise them so! +If he had eyes and mouth, how he would open them so!" +suiting action to her words. "Look, Ann! look, Fanny! +See if it does not look like the Clark girls, when one leaves +any thing in the shape of dirt on their table or stand!"</p> + +<p>Peace was at length restored among the <i>inanimates</i>.</p> + +<p>"I came to invite you to walk; but I find I am too late," +said Ann.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Oh, how I wish you had been with us! You +would have been so happy!" said Ellinora. "We started out +very early—before sunrise—intending to take a brisk walk +of a mile or two, and return in season for breakfast. We +went over to Dracut, and met such adventures there and +by the way, as will supply me with food for laughter years +after I get married, and trouble comes. We came along +where some oxen were standing, yoked, eating their breakfast +while their owner was eating his. They were attached +to a cart filled with pumpkins. I took some of the smallest, +greenest ones, and stuck them fast on the tips of the oxen's +horns. I was so interested in observing how the ceremony +affected the Messrs. Oxen, that I did not laugh a bit until I +had crowned all four of them. I looked up to Fanny, as I +finished the work, and there she sat on a great rock, where +she had thrown herself when she could no longer stand. +Poor girl! tears were streaming down her cheeks. With +one hand she was holding her lame side, and with the other +filling her mouth with her pocket handkerchief, that the +laugh need not run out, I suppose. Well, as soon as I +looked at her, and at the oxen, I burst into a laugh that +might have been heard miles, I fancy. Oh! I shall never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +forget how reprovingly those oxen looked at me. The poor +creatures could not eat with such an unusual weight on their +horns, so they pitched their heads higher than usual, and +now and then gave them a graceful cant, then stood entirely +motionless, as if attempting to conjecture what it all +meant.</p> + +<p>"Well, that loud and long laugh of mine, brought a +whole volley of folks to the door—farmer, and farmer's wife, +farmer's sons, and farmer's daughters. 'Whoa hish!' exclaimed +the farmer, before he reached the door; and 'Whoa +hish!' echoed all the farmer's sons. They all stopped as +soon as they saw me. I would remind you that I still stood +before the oxen, laughing at them. I never saw such comical +expressions as those people wore. Did you, Fanny? +Even those pictures of mine are not so funny. I thought we +should raise the city police; for they had tremendous voices, +and I never saw any body laugh so.</p> + +<p>"As soon as I could speak, and they could listen to me, +I walked up to the farmer. 'I beg your pardon sir,' said I, +'but I did want to laugh so! Came all the way from Lowell +for something new to laugh at.' He was a good, sensible +man, and this proves it. He said it was a good thing to +have a hearty laugh occasionally—good for the health and +spirits. Work would go off easier all day for it, especially +with the boys. As he said 'boys,' I could not avoid smiling +as I looked at a fine young sprig of a farmer, his oldest son, +as he afterwards told us, full twenty-one."</p> + +<p>"And now, Miss Ellinora," said Fanny, "I shall avenge +myself on you, for certain saucy freaks, perpetrated against +my most august commands, by telling Ann, that as you +looked at this 'young sprig of a farmer,' he looked at you, +and you both blushed. What made you, Nora? I never +saw you blush before."</p> + +<p>"What made you, Nora?" echoed Ellinora, laughing and +blushing slightly. "Well, the farmer's wife invited us to +rest and breakfast with them. We began to make excuses; +but the farmer added his good natured commands, so we +went in; and after a few arrangements, such as placing +more plates, &c., a huge pumpkin pie, and some hot potatoes, +pealed in the cooking, we sat down to a full round table. +There were the mealy potatoes, cold boiled dish, +warm biscuit and dough-nuts, pie, coffee, pickles, sauce, +cheese, and just such butter and brown bread as mother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +makes—bread hot, just taken from the oven. They all appeared +so pleasant and kind, that I felt as if in my own home, +with my own family around me. Wild as I was, as soon as +I began to tell them how it seemed to me, I burst into tears +in spite of myself, and was obliged to leave the table. But +they all pitied me so much, that I brushed off my tears, went +back to my breakfast, and have laughed ever since."</p> + +<p>"You have forgotten two very important items," said +Fanny, looking archly into Ellinora's face. "This 'fine +young sprig of a farmer' happened to recollect that he had +business in town to-day; so he took their carriage and +brought us home, after Nora and a roguish sister of his had +filled her bag as you see. And more and better still, they +invited us to spend a day with them soon; and promised to +send this 'fine young sprig,' &c., for us on the occasion."</p> + +<p>Ellinora was too busily engaged in collecting her fruit to +reply. She ran from the room; and in a few moments returned +with several young girls, to whom she gave generous +supplies of apples, pears, and melons. She was about seating +herself with a full plate, when a new idea seemed to +flash upon her. She laughed, and started for the door.</p> + +<p>"Ellinora, where now?" asked Fanny.</p> + +<p>"To the Clark girls' room, to leave an apple peeling and +core on their table, a pear pealing on their stand, and melon, +apple, and pear seeds all about the floor," answered Ellinora, +gaily snapping her fingers, and nodding her head.</p> + +<p>"What for? Here, Nora; come back. For what?"</p> + +<p>"Why, to see them suffer," said the incorrigible girl. +"You know I told you this morning, that sport is to be the +order of the day. So no scoldings, my dear."</p> + +<p>She left the room, and Fanny turned to one of the ladies +who had just entered.</p> + +<p>"Where is Alice," said she. "Did not Ellinora extend +an invitation to her?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but she is half dead with the <i>blues</i>, to-day. The +Brown girls came back last night. They called on Alice this +morning, and left letters and presents from home for her. +She had a letter from her little brother, ten years old. He +must be a fine fellow, judging from that letter, it was so sensible, +and so witty too! One moment I laughed at some of +his lively expressions, and the next cried at his expressions of +love for Alice, and regret for her loss. He told her how he +cried himself to sleep the night after she left home; and his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +flowers seemed to have faded, and the stars to have lost their +brightness, when he no longer had her by his side to talk to +him about them. I find by his letter that Alice is working to +keep him at school. That part of it which contained his +thanks for her goodness was blistered with the little fellow's +tears. Alice cried like a child when she read it, and I did +not wonder at it. But she ought to be happy now. Her +mother sent her a fine pair of worsted hose of her own spinning +and knitting, and a nice cake of her own making. She +wrote, that, trifling as these presents were, she knew they +would be acceptable to her daughter, because made by her. +When Alice read this, she cried again. Her sister sent her +a pretty little fancy basket, and her brother a bunch of flowers +from her mother's garden. They were enclosed in a +tight tin box, and were as fresh as when first gathered. +Alice sent out for a new vase. She has filled it with her +flowers, and will keep them watered with her tears, judging +from present appearances. Alice is a good-hearted girl, and +I love her, but she is always talking or thinking of something +to make her unhappy. A letter from a friend, containing +nothing but good news, and assurances of friendship, that +ought to make her happy, generally throws her into a crying +fit, which ends in a moping fit of melancholy. This destroys +her own happiness, and that of all around her.'"</p> + +<p>"You ought to talk to her, she is spoiling herself," said +Mary Mason, whose mouth was literally crammed with the +last apple of a second plateful.</p> + +<p>"I have often urged her to be more cheerful. But she +answers me with a helpless, hopeless, 'I can't Jane! you +know I can't. I shall never be happy while I live; and I +often think that the sooner I go where "the weary are at +rest," the better.' I don't know how many times she has given +me an answer like this. Then she will sob as if her +heart were bursting. She sometimes wears me quite out; +and I feel as I did when Ellinora called me, as if released +from a prison."</p> + +<p>"Would it improve her spirits to walk with me?" asked +Ann.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it would, if you can persuade her to go. Do +try, dear Ann," answered Jane. "I called at Isabel Greenwood's +room as I came along, and asked her to go in and see +if she could rouse her up."</p> + +<p>Ann heard Isabel's voice in gentle but earnest expostulation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +as she reached Alice's room. Isabel paused when Ann +entered, kissed her cheek, and resigned her rocking-chair to +her. Alice was sobbing too violently to speak. She took +her face from her handkerchief, bowed to Ann, and again +buried it. Ann invited them to walk with her. Isabel +cheerfully acceded to her proposal, and urged Alice to accompany +them.</p> + +<p>"Don't urge me, Isabel," said Alice; "I am only fit for +the solitude of my chamber. I could not add at all to your +pleasure. My thoughts would be at my home, and I could +not enjoy a walk in the least degree. But Isabel, I do not +want you to leave me so. I know that you think me very +foolish to indulge in these useless regrets, as you call them. +You will understand me better if you just consider the situation +of my mother's family. My mother a widow, my oldest +brother at the West, my oldest sister settled in New +York, my youngest brother and sister only with mother, +and I a Lowell factory girl! And such I must be—for if I +leave the mill, my brother cannot attend school all of the +time; and his heart would almost break to take him from +school. And how can I be happy in such a situation; I do +not ask for riches; but I would be able to gather my friends +all around me. Then I could be happy. Perhaps I am as +happy now as you would be in my situation, Isabel."</p> + +<p>Isabel's eyes filled, but she answered in her own sweet, +calm manner:</p> + +<p>"We will compare lots, my dear Alice. I have neither +father, mother, sister, nor home in the world. Three years +ago I had all of these, and every other blessing that one +could ask. The death of my friends, the distressing circumstances +attending them, the subsequent loss of our large +property, and the critical state of my brother's health at +present, are not slight afflictions, nor are they lightly felt."</p> + +<p>Isabel's emotions, as she paused to subdue them by a +powerful mental effort, proved her assertion. Alice began +to dry her tears, and to look as if ashamed of her weakness.</p> + +<p>"I, too, am a Lowell factory girl," pursued Isabel. "I, +too, am laboring for the completion of a brother's education. +If that brother were well, how gladly would I toil! But +that disease is upon his vitals which laid father, mother, and +sister in their graves, in one short year. I can see it in the +unnatural and increasing brightness of his eye, and hear it +in his hollow cough. He has entered upon his third collegiate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +year; and is too anxious to graduate next commencement, +to heed my entreaties, or the warning of his physician."</p> + +<p>She again paused. Her whole frame shook with emotion; +but not a tear mingled with Ann's, as they fell upon +her hand.</p> + +<p>"You see, Alice," she at length added, "what reasons I +have for regret when I think of the past, and what for fear +when I turn to the future. Still I am happy, almost continually. +My lost friends are so many magnets, drawing +heavenward those affections that would otherwise rivet themselves +too strongly to earthly loves. And those dear ones +who are yet spared to me, scatter so many flowers in my +pathway, that I seldom feel the thorns. I am cheered in +my darkest hours by their kindness and affection, animated +at all times by a wish to do all in my power to make them +happy. If my brother is spared to me, I ask for nothing +more. And if he is first called, I trust I shall feel that it is +the will of One who is too wise to err, and too good to be +unkind."</p> + +<p>"You are the most like my mother, Isabel, of any one I +ever saw," said Ann. "She is never free from pain, yet +she never complains. And if Pa, or any of us, just have a +cold or head ache, she does not rest till 'she makes us well.' +You have more trouble than any other girl in the house; +but instead of claiming the sympathies of every one on that +account, you are always cheering others in their little, half-imaginary +trials. Alice, I think you and I ought to be +ashamed to shed a tear, until we have some greater cause +than mere home-sickness, or low spirits."</p> + +<p>"Why, Ann, I can no more avoid low spirits, than I can +make a world!" exclaimed Alice, in a really aggrieved +tone. "And I don't want you all to think that I have no +trouble. I want sympathy, and I can't live without it. Oh +that I was at home this moment!"</p> + +<p>"Why, Alice, there is hardly a girl in this house who has +not as much trouble, in some shape, as you have. You +never think of pitying them; and pray what gives you such +strong claims on their sympathies? Do you walk with us, +or do you not?"</p> + +<p>Alice shook her head in reply. Isabel whispered a few +words in her ear—they might be of reproof, they might be +of consolation—then retired with Ann to equip for their walk.</p> + +<p>"What a beautiful morning this is!" exclaimed Ann,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +as they emerged from the house. "<i>Malgre</i> some inconveniences, +factory girls are as happy as any class of females. +I sometimes think it hard to rise so early, and work so many +hours shut up in the house. But when I get out at night, +on the Sabbath, or at any other time, I am just as happy as +a bird, and long to fly and sing with them. And Alice will +keep herself shut up all day. Is it not strange that all will +not be as happy as they can be? It is so pleasant."</p> + +<p>Isabel returned Ann's smile. "Yes, Ann, it is strange +that every one does not prefer happiness. Indeed, it is +quite probable that every one does prefer it. But some +mistake the modes of acquiring it through want of judgment. +Others are too indolent to employ the means necessary +to its attainment, and appear to expect it to flow in to +them, without taking any pains to prepare a channel. Others, +like our friend Alice, have constitutional infirmities, +which entail upon them a deal of suffering, that to us, of +different mental organization, appears wholly unnecessary."</p> + +<p>"Why, don't you think Alice might be as happy as we +are, if she chose? Could she not be as grateful for letters +and love-tokens from home? Could she not leave her room, +and come out into this pure air, listen to the birds, and catch +their spirit? Could she not do all this, Isabel, as well as +we?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I do not know, Ann. Perhaps not. You know +that the minds of different persons are like instruments of +different tones. The same touch thrills gaily on one, mournfully +on another."</p> + +<p>"Yes; and I know, Isabel, that different minds may be +compared to the same instrument <i>in</i> and <i>out</i> of tune. Now +I have heard Alice say that she loved to indulge this melancholy; +that she loved to read Byron, Mrs. Hemans, and +Miss Landon, until her heart was as gloomy as the grave. +Isn't this strange—even silly?"</p> + +<p>"It is most unfortunate, Ann."</p> + +<p>"Isabel, you are the strangest girl! I have heard a great +many say, that one cannot make you say anything against +anybody; and I believe they are correct. And when you +reprove one, you do it in such a mild, pretty way, that one +only loves you the better for it. Now, I smash on, pell-mell, +as if unconscious of a fault in myself. Hence, I oftener +offend than amend. Let me think.—This morning I have +administered reproof in my own blunt way to Bertha for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +reading novels, to Charlotte for eating confectionary, to the +Clark girls for their 'all work and no play,' and to Alice +for moping. I have been wondering all along how they +can spend their time so foolishly. I see that my own employment +would scarcely bear the test of close criticism, for +I have been watching motes in others' eyes, while a beam +was in my own. Now, Isabel, I must ask a favor. I do +not want to be very fine and nice; but I would be gentle and +kind hearted—would do some good in the world. I often +make attempts to this end; but always fail, somehow. I +know my manner needs correcting; and I want you to reprove +me as you would a sister, and assist me with your +advice. Will you not, dear Isabel?"</p> + +<p>She pressed Isabel's arm closer to her side, and a tear +was in her eye as she looked up for an answer to her +appeal.</p> + +<p>"You know not what you ask, my beloved girl," answered +Isabel, in a low and tremulous tone. "You know +not the weakness of the staff on which you would lean, or +the frailties of the heart to which you would look up, for aid. +Of myself, dear Ann, I can do nothing. I can only look to +God for protection from temptation, and for guidance in the +right way. When He keeps me, I am safe; when He withdraws +His spirit, I am weak indeed. And can I lead you, +Ann? No! you must go to a higher than earthly friend. +Pray to Him in every hour of need, and He will be 'more to +you than you can ask, or even think.'"</p> + +<p>"How often I have wished that I could go to Him as +mother does—just as I would go to a father!" said Ann. +"But I dare not. It would be mockery in one who has +never experienced religion."</p> + +<p>"Make prayer a <i>means</i> of this experience, my dear girl. +Draw near to God by humble, constant prayer, and He will +draw near to you by the influences of His spirit, which will +make you just what you wish to be, a good, kind-hearted +girl. You will learn to love God as a father, as the author +of your happiness and every good thing. And you will be +prepared to meet those trials which must be yours in life as +the 'chastisements of a Father's hand, directed by a Father's +love.' And when the hour of death comes, dear Ann, how +sweet, how soothing will be the deep-felt conviction that you +are going <i>home</i>! You will have no fears, for your trust will +be in One whom you have long loved and served; and you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +will feel as if about to meet your best, and most familiar +friend."</p> + +<p>Ann answered only by her tears; and for some minutes +they walked on in silence. They were now some distance +from town. Before them lay farms, farm-houses, groves +and scattering trees, from whose branches came the mingled +song of a thousand birds. Isabel directed Ann's attention +to the beauty of the scene. Ann loved nature; but she had +such a dread of sentimentalism that she seldom expressed +herself freely. Now she had no reserves, and Isabel found +that she had not mistaken her capacities, in supposing her +possessed of faculties, which had only to develop themselves +more fully, which had only to become constant incentives to +action, to make her all she could wish.</p> + +<p>"You did not promise, Isabel," said Ann, with a happy +smile, as they entered their street, "you did not promise to +be my sister; but you will, will you not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear Ann; we will be sisters to each other. I +think you told me that you have no sister."</p> + +<p>"I had none until now; and I have felt as if part of my +affections could not find a resting place, but were weighing +down my heart with a burden that did not belong to it. I +shall no longer be like a branch of our woodbine when it +cannot find a clinging place, swinging about at the mercy +of every breeze; but like that when some kind hand twines +it about its frame, firm and trusting. See, Isabel!" exclaimed +she, interrupting herself, "there sits poor Alice, +just as we left her. I wish she had walked with us—she +would have felt so much better. Do you think, Isabel, that +religion would make her happy?"</p> + +<p>"Most certainly. 'Come unto me, all ye that labor and +are heavy laden. Take my yoke upon you; for I am meek +and lowly in heart; and ye <i>shall</i> find rest for your souls,'—is +as 'faithful a saying' and as 'worthy of all acceptation' +now, as when it was uttered, and when thousands came +and 'were healed of <i>all</i> manner of diseases.' Yes, Alice +may yet be happy," she added musingly, "if she can be +induced to read Byron less, and her Bible more; to think +less of her own gratification, and more of that of others. +And we will be very gentle to her, Ann; but not the less +faithful and constant in our efforts to win her to usefulness +and happiness."</p> + +<p>Ellinora met them at the door, and began to describe a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +frolic that had occupied her during their absence. She +threw her arms around Isabel's waist, and entered the +sitting-room with her. "Now, Isabel, I know you don't +think it right to be so giddy," said she. "I will tell you +what I have resolved to do. You shake your head, Isabel, +and I do not wonder at all. But this resolution was formed +this morning, on my way back from Dracut; and I feel in +my 'heart of hearts' 'a sober certainty of waking' energy +to keep it unbroken. It is that I will be another sort of +a girl, altogether, henceforth; steady, but not gloomy; less +talkative, but not reserved; more studious, but not a bookworm; +kind and gentle to others, but not a whit the less +independent, 'for a' that,' in my opinions and conduct.—And, +after this day, which I have dedicated to Momus, I +want you to be my Mentor. Now I am for another spree of +some sort. Nay, Isabel, do not remonstrate. You will +make me weep with five tender words."</p> + +<p>It needed not so much—for Isabel smiled sadly, kissed her +cheek, and Ellinora's tears fell fast and thick as she ran +from the room.</p> + +<p>Ann went immediately to Alice's room on her return.—She +apologized to her for reproving her so roughly, described +her walk, gave a synopsis of Isabel's advice, and her +consequent determinations. By these means she diverted +Alice's thoughts from herself, gave her nerves a healthy +spring, and when the bell summoned them to dinner, she +had recovered much of her happier humor. Ellinora sat +beside her at table. She laughingly proposed an exchange, +offering a portion of her levity for as much of her gravity. +She thought the <i>equilibrium</i> would be more perfect. So +Alice thought, and she heartily wished that the exchange +might be made.</p> + +<p>And this exchange seems actually taking place at this +time. They are as intimate as sisters. Together they are +resolutely struggling against the tide of habit. They meet +many discouraging failures; but Isabel is ever ready to +cheer them by her sympathy, and to assist them by her advice.</p> + +<p>Ann's faults were not so deeply rooted; perhaps she +brought more natural energy to their extermination. Be +that as it may, she is now an excellent lady, a fit companion +for the peerless Isabel.</p> + +<p>The Clark girls do not, as yet, coalesce in their system of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +improvement. They still prefer making netting and dresses, +to the lecture-room, the improvement circle, and even to the +reading of the "Book of books." So difficult is it to turn +from the worship of Plutus!</p> + +<p>The delusion of Bertha and Charlotte is partially broken. +Bertha is beginning to understand that much reading does +not naturally result in intellectual or moral improvement, +unless it be well regulated. Charlotte is learning that +"to enjoy is to obey;" and that to pamper her own animal +appetites, while her father and mother are suffering for +want of the necessaries of life, is not in obedience to Divine +command.</p> + +<p>And, dear sisters, how is it with each one of <i>us</i>? How +do we spend our leisure hours? Now, "in the stilly hour +of night," let us pause, and give our consciences time to +render faithful answers.</p> + +<div class="signature">D.</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE TOMB OF WASHINGTON.</h2> + + +<div class="center">"He sleeps there in the midst of the very simplicities of Nature."</div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There let him sleep, in Nature's arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her well-beloved, her chosen child—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There 'mid the living, quiet charms<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of that sequestered wild.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He would have chosen such a spot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas fit that they should lay him there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Away from all the haunts of care;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The world disturbs him not.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sleeps full sweet in his retreat—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The place is consecrated ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is not meet unhallowed feet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Should tread that sacred mound.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He lies in pomp—not of display—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No useless trappings grace his bier,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor idle words—they may not say<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +<span class="i1">What treasures cluster here.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The pomp of nature, wild and free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adorns our hero's lowly bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gently bends above his head<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The weeping laurel tree.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In glory's day he shunned display,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And ye may not bedeck him now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Nature may, in her own way,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hang garlands round his brow.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He lies in pomp—not sculptured stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor chiseled marble—vain pretence—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glory of his deeds alone<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is his magnificence.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His country's love the meed he won,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He bore it with him down to death,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unsullied e'en by slander's breath—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His country's sire and son.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her hopes and fears, her smiles and tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were each his own.—He gave his land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His earliest cares, his choicest years,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And led her conquering band.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He lies in pomp—not pomp of war—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He fought, but fought not for renown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He triumphed, yet the victor's star<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Adorned no regal crown.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His honor was his country's weal;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From off her neck the yoke he tore—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It was enough, he asked no more;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His generous heart could feel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No low desire for king's attire;—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With brother, friend, and country blest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He could aspire to honors higher<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than kingly crown or crest.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He lies in pomp—his burial place<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than sculptured stone is richer far;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For in the heart's deep love we trace<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His name, a golden star.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wherever patriotism breathes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His memory is devoutly shrined<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In every pure and gifted mind:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +<span class="i1">And history, with wreaths<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of deathless fame, entwines that name,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which evermore, beneath all skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like vestal flame, shall live the same,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For virtue never dies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There let him rest—'t is a sweet spot;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Simplicity becomes the great—But<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vernon's son is not forgot,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though sleeping not in state.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There, wrapt in his own dignity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His presence makes it hallowed ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Nature throws her charms around,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And o'er him smiles the sky.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There let him rest—the noblest, best;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The labors of his life all done—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There let him rest, the spot is blessed—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The grave of <span class="smcap">Washington</span>.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Adelaide.</span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>LIFE AMONG FARMERS.</h2> + + +<p>There is much complaint among farmers' wives and +daughters, of want of time for rest, recreation, and literary +pursuits. "It is cook, eat, and scrub—cook, eat, and scrub, +from morning till night, and from year to year," says many +a farmer's wife. And so it is in many families. But how +far this results from the very nature of the situation, and +how far from injudicious domestic management, is a query +worthy of our attention. A very large proportion of my +readers, who are now factory girls, will in a few months or +years be the busy wives of busy farmers; and if by a few +speculations on the subject before us, and an illustration to +the point, we can reach <i>one</i> hint that may hereafter be useful +to us, our labor and "search of thought" will not have +been in vain.</p> + +<p>Mr. Moses Eastman was what is technically called a +wealthy farmer. Every one in the country knows what this +means. He had a farm of some hundred or more acres, a +large two-story dwelling house, a capacious yard, in which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +were two large barns, sheds, a sheep-cote, granary, and +hen-coop. He kept a hundred sheep, ten cows, horses and +oxen in due proportion. Mr. Eastman often declared that +no music was half so sweet to him as that of the inmates of +this yard. I think we shall not quarrel with his taste in +this manifestation; for it is certainly delightful, on a warm +day, in early spring, to listen to them, the lambs, hens—Guinea +and American—turkeys, geese, and ducks and peacocks.</p> + +<p>Mr. Eastman was unbending in his adherence to the +creed, prejudices, and customs of his fathers. It was his +boast that his farm had passed on from father to son, to the +fourth generation; and everybody could see that it was none +the worse for wear. He kept more oxen, sheep, and cows +than his father kept. He had "pulled down his barns and +built larger." He had surrounded his fields and pastures +with stone wall, in lieu of Virginian, stump, brush, and +board fence. And he had taught his sons and daughters, of +whom he had an abundance, to walk in his footsteps—all +but Mary. He should always rue the day that he consented +to let Mary go to her aunt's; but he acted upon the belief +that it would lessen his expenses to be rid of her during her +childhood. He had all along intended to recall her as soon +as she was old enough to be serviceable to him. But he +said he believed that would never be, if she lived as long as +Methuselah. She could neither spin nor weave as she +ought; for she put so much material in her yarn, and wove +her cloth so thick, that no profit resulted from its manufacture +and sale. Now Deborah, his oldest daughter, had just +her mother's <i>knack</i> of making a good deal out of a little.—And +Mary had imbibed some very dangerous ideas of religion,—she +did not even believe in ghosts!—dress, and reading. +For his part, he would not, on any account, attend any other +meeting than old Mr. Bates's. His father and grandfather +always attended there, and they prospered well. But Mary +wanted to go to the other meeting occasionally, all because +Mr. Morey happened to be a bit of an orator. True, Mr. +Bates was none of the smartest; but there was an advantage +in this. He could sleep as soundly, and rest as rapidly, +when at his meeting, as in his bed; and by this means he +could regain the sleep lost during the week by rising early +and working late. And Mary had grown so proud that she +would not wear a woolen home-manufactured dress visiting,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +as Deborah did. She must flaunt off to meeting every Sabbath, +in white or silk, while <i>chintz</i> was good enough for +Deborah. Deborah seldom read anything but the Bible, +Watts's Hymn Book, "Pilgrim's Progress," and a few tracts +they had in the house. Mary had hardly laid off her +finery, on her return from her aunt's, before she inquired +about books and newspapers. Her aunt had heaps of books +and papers. These had spoilt Mary. True, papers were +sometimes useful; he would have lost five hundred dollars +by the failure of the —— Bank, but for a newspaper he borrowed +of Captain Norwood. But the Captain had enough +of them—was always ready to lend to him—and he saved +no small sum in twenty years by borrowing papers of him.</p> + +<p>How Captain Norwood managed to add to his property he +could not conceive. So much company, fine clothing, and +schooling! he wondered that it did not ruin him. And +'twas all folly—'twas a sin; for they were setting extravagant +examples, and every body thought they must do as the +Norwoods did. Mr. Norwood ought to remember that his +father wore home-made; and what was good enough for +his good old father was good enough for <i>him</i>. But alas! +times were dreadfully altered.</p> + +<p>As for Mary, she must turn over a new leaf, or go back +to her aunt. He would not help one who did not help herself. +Mary was willing, nay, anxious to return. To spend +one moment, except on the Sabbath, in reading, was considered +a crime; to gather a flower or mineral, absurd; and +Mary begged that she might be permitted to return to Mrs. +Barlow. As there was no prospect of reforming her, Mr. +Eastman and his wife readily consented. Mr. Eastman told +her, at the same time, that she must be preparing for a wet +day; and repeatedly charged her to remember that those +who folded their hands in the summer, must "beg in harvest, +and have nothing."</p> + +<p>Mary had often visited the Norwoods and other young +friends, during the year spent at home; but she had not +been permitted to give a party in return. Why, Deborah +had never thought of doing such a thing! Mary begged +the indulgence of her mother, with the assurance that it was +the last favor she would ever ask at her hand. The <i>mother</i> +in her at last yielded; and she promised to use her influence +with her husband. After a deal of cavilling, he consented, +on the condition that the strictest economy should attend the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +expenditures on the occasion, and that they should exercise +more prudence in the family, until their loss was made gain. +So the party was given.</p> + +<p>"You find yourself thrown on barren ground, Miss +Norwood," said Mary, as she saw Miss Norwood looking +around the room; "neither papers, books, plants, plates, +nor minerals."</p> + +<p>"Where are those rocks you brought in, Molly!" said +Deborah, with a loud, grating laugh.</p> + +<p>Mary attempted to smile, but her eyes were full of tears.</p> + +<p>"What rocks, Deborah!" asked Clarina Norwood.</p> + +<p>"Them you see stuffed into the garden wall, there.—Mary +fixed them all in a row on the table. I think as father +does, that nothing is worth saving that can't be used; so I +put them in the wall to keep the hens out of the garden. +The silly girl cried when she see them; should you have +thought it?"</p> + +<p>"What were they, Mary?" asked Clarina.</p> + +<p>"Very pretty specimens of white, rose, and smoky +quartz, black and white mica, gneiss, hornblende, and a +few others, that I collected on that very high hill, west of +here."</p> + +<p>"How unfortunate to lose them!" said Miss Norwood, +in a soothing tone. "Could not we recover them, dear +Mary?"</p> + +<p>"There is no room for them," said Deborah. "We +want to spread currants and blueberries on the tables to be +dried. Besides, I think as father does, that there is +enough to do, without spending the time in such flummery. +As father says, 'time is our estate,' and I think we ought +to improve every moment of it, except Sundays, in work."</p> + +<p>"I must differ from you, Miss Eastman," said Miss Norwood. +"I cannot think it the duty of any one to labor entirely +for the 'meat that perisheth.' Too much, vastly too +much time is spent thus by almost all."</p> + +<p>"The mercy! you would have folks prepare for a wet +day, wouldn't you?"</p> + +<p>"I would have every one make provision for a comfortable +subsistence; and this is enough. The mind should be +cared for, Deborah. It should not be left to starve, or feed +on husks."</p> + +<p>"I don't know about this mind, of which you and our +Mary make such a fuss. My concern is for my body. Of +this I know enough."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes; you know that it is dust, and that to dust it must +return in a little time, while the mind is to live on for ever, +with God and His holy angels. Think of this a moment, +Deborah; and say, should not the mind be fed and clothed +upon, when its destiny is so glorious? Or should we spend +our whole lives in adding another acre to our farms, +another dress to our wardrobe, and another dollar to our +glittering heap?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, la! all this sounds nicely; but I <i>do</i> think that +every man who has children should provide for them."</p> + +<p>"Certainly—intellectual food and clothing. It is for this +I am contending. He should provide a comfortable bodily +subsistence, and educate them as far as he is able and their +destinies require."</p> + +<p>"And he should leave them a few hundreds, or thousands, +to give them a kind of a start in the world."</p> + +<p>"He does this in giving them a liberal education, and he +leaves them in banks that will always discount. But farther +than education of intellect and propensity is concerned, I am +for the self-made man. I think it better for sons to carve +their own way to eminence with little pecuniary aid by way +of a settlement; and for daughters to be 'won and wedded' +for their own intrinsic excellence, not for the dowry in store +for them from a rich father."</p> + +<p>"There is no arguing with you, everybody says; so I'll +go and see how my cakes bake."</p> + +<p>Mr. Eastmam came in to tea, contrary to his usual custom.</p> + +<p>"Clarina, has your father sold that great calf of his?" +he inquired, as he seated himself snugly beside his "better +half."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I do not know, sir," answered Clarina, biting +her lip to avoid laughing.</p> + +<p>"I heard Mr. Montgomery ask him the same question, +this morning; and Pa said 'yes,' I believe," said Miss +Norwood, smiling.</p> + +<p>"How much did he get for it?"</p> + +<p>Miss Norwood did not know.</p> + +<p>"Like Mary, I see," said Mr. Eastman. "Now I'll +warrant you that Debby can tell the price of every creature +I've sold this year."</p> + +<p>"Yes, father; I remember as plain as day, how much +you got from that simple Joe Slater, for the white-faced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +calf—how much you got for the black-faced sheep, Rowley +and Jumble, and for Star and Bright. Oh, how I want to +see Bright! And then there is the black colt—you got +forty dollars for him, didn't you, father?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Debby; you are a keen one," said Mr. Eastman +triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you so, Julia?"</p> + +<p>"I do not burden my memory with superfluities," answered +Miss Norwood. "I can scarcely find room for necessaries."</p> + +<p>"And do you rank the best way of making pies, cakes, +and puddings, with necessaries or superfluities?"</p> + +<p>"Among necessaries in household economy, certainly," +answered Miss Norwood. "But Mrs. Child's 'Frugal +Housewife' renders them superfluities as a part of memory's +storage."</p> + +<p>"Oh, the book costs something, you know; and if this +can be saved by a little exercise of the memory, it is well, +you know."</p> + +<p>"The most capacious and retentive memory would fail to +treasure up and retain all that one wishes to know of cooking +and other matters," said Clarina.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, one may copy from her book," said Mr. +Eastman.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, Mr. Eastman, to spend one's time in copying +her recipes, when the work can be purchased for twenty-five +cents, would be 'straining out a gnat, and swallowing a +camel,'" remarked the precise and somewhat pedantic Miss +Ellinor Gould Smith. "And then the peculiar disadvantages +of referring to manuscript! I had my surfeit of this before +the publication of her valuable work."</p> + +<p>"Ah! it is every thing but valuable," answered Mr. +Eastman. "Just think of her pounds of sugar, her two +pounds of butter, her dozen eggs, and ounces of nutmegs. +Depend upon it, they are not very valuable in the holes they +would make in our cash-bags." He said this with precisely +the air of one who imagines he has uttered a poser.</p> + +<p>"But you forget her economical and wholesome prescriptions +for disease, her directions for repairing and preserving +clothing and provisions, that would be lost without them," +answered Miss Smith.</p> + +<p>"But one should always be prying into these things, and +learn them for themselves," said Mr. Eastman.</p> + +<p>"On the same principle, extended in its scale, every man +might make his own house, furniture, and clothing," said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +Miss Norwood. "With the expenditure of much labor and +research, she has supplied us with directions; and I think it +would be vastly foolish for every wife and daughter to expend +just as much, when they can be supplied with the fruits of +hers, for the product of half a day's labor."</p> + +<p>"Does your mother use it much?" asked Mrs. Eastman.</p> + +<p>"Yes; she acknowledges herself much indebted to it."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't think she'd need it; she is so notable. Has +she made many cheeses this summer?"</p> + +<p>"About the usual number, I believe."</p> + +<p>"Well, I've made more than I ever did a year afore—thirty +in my largest hoop, all new milk, and twenty in my +next largest, part skimmed milk. Our cheese press is terribly +out of order, now. It must be fixed, Mr. Eastman. And +I have made more butter, or else our folks haven't ate as +much as common. I've made it salter, and there's a great +saving in this."</p> + +<p>"There's a good many ways to save in the world, if one +will take pains to find them out," said Mr. Eastman.</p> + +<p>"Doubtless; but I think the best method of saving in provisions +is to eat little," said Clarina, as she saw Mr. Eastman +<i>putting down</i> his third biscuit.</p> + +<p>"Why, as to that, I think we ought to eat as much as the +appetite calls for," answered Mr. Eastman.</p> + +<p>"Yes; if the appetite is not depraved by indulgence."</p> + +<p>"Yes; it is an awful thing to pinch in eating," said Deborah.</p> + +<p>"I never knew one to sin in doing it," said Miss Norwood. +"But many individuals and whole families make +themselves excessively uncomfortable, and often incur disease, +by eating too much. There is, besides, a waste of food, +and of labor in preparing it. In such families, there is a +continual round of eating, cooking, and sleeping, with the +female portion; and no time for rest, recreation, or literary +pursuits."</p> + +<p>"I have told our folks a great many times, that I did not +believe that you lived by eating, over to your house," said +Mr. Eastman. "I have been over that way before our folks +got breakfast half ready; and your men would be out to +work, and you women folks sewing, reading, or watering +plants, or weeding your flower garden. I don't see how you +manage."</p> + +<p>"We do not find it necessary to manage at all, our breakfasts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +are so simple. We have only to make cocoa, and arrange +the breakfast."</p> + +<p>"Don't you cook meat for breakfast?" asked Mrs. Eastman.</p> + +<p>"Never; our breakfast invariably consists of cocoa, or +water, cold white bread and butter."</p> + +<p>"Why, our men folks will have meat three times a day—warm, +morning and noon, and cold at night. We have warm +bread for breakfast and supper, always. When they work +very hard, they want luncheon at ten, and again at three. +I often tell our folks that it is step, step, from morning till +night."</p> + +<p>"Of course, you find no time to read," said Miss Norwood.</p> + +<p>"No; but I shouldn't mind this, if I didn't get so dreadful +tired. I often tell our folks that it is wearing me all out," +said Mrs. Eastman, in a really aggrieved tone.</p> + +<p>"Well, it is quite the fashion to starve, now-a-days, I +know; but it is an awful sin," said Mr. Eastman.</p> + +<p>Miss Norwood saw that she might as well spend her time +in rolling a stone up hill, as in attempting to convince him of +fallacy in reasoning.</p> + +<p>"Clarina," said she, "did you ask Frederic to call for the +other volume of the 'Alexandrian?'"</p> + +<p>"Why, I should think that you had books enough at home, +without borrowing," said Mr. Eastman, stopping by the way +to rinse down his fifth dough-nut. "For my part, I find no +time for reading anything but the Bible." And the deluded +man started up with a gulp and a grunt. He had eaten +enough for three full meals, had spent time enough for eating +one meal, and reading several pages; yet he left the +room with a smile, so self-satisfied in its expression, that it +was quite evident that he thought himself the wisest man in +New Hampshire, except Daniel Webster.</p> + +<p>This is rather a sad picture of life among farmers. But +many of my readers will bear me witness that it is a correct +one, as far as it goes. Many of them have left their homes, +because, in the quaint but appropriate language of Mrs. Eastman, +it was "step, step, from morning till night." But +there are other and brighter pictures, of more extensive application, +<i>perhaps</i>, than that already drawn.</p> + +<p>Captain Norwood had as large a farm as Mr. Eastman. +His family was as large, yet the existence of the female<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +portion was paradisiacal, compared with that of Mrs. Eastman +and her daughters. Their meals were prepared with +the most perfect elegance and simplicity. Their table covers +and their China were of the same dazzling whiteness. Their +cutlery, from the unfrequency of its contact with acids, with +a little care, wore a constant polish. Much prettier these, +than the dark oiled-cloth cover and corresponding <i>et cetera</i> of +table appendages, at Mr. Eastman's. Mrs. Norwood and +her daughters carried <i>system</i> into every department of labour. +While one was preparing breakfast, another put things in +nice order all about the house, and another was occupied in +the dairy.</p> + +<p>Very different was it at Mr. Eastman's. Deborah must +get potatoes, and set Mary to washing them, while she made +bread. Mrs. Eastman must cut brown bread, and send Deborah +for butter, little Sally for sauce, and Susan for pickles. +One must cut the meat and set it to cook; then it was "Mary, +have you seen to that meat? I expect it wants turning. Sally, +run and salt this side, before she turns it." And then, in a +few moments, "Debby, do look to that meat. I believe that it +is all burning up. How do them cakes bake? look, Sally. +My goodness! all burnt to a cinder, nearly. Debby, why +didn't you see to them?"</p> + +<p>"La, mother! I thought Mary was about the lot, somewhere. +Where is she, I wonder?"</p> + +<p>"In the other room, reading, I think likely. Oh! I forgot: +I sent her after some coffee to burn."</p> + +<p>"What! going to burn coffee now? We sha'nt have +breakfast to-day."</p> + +<p>"You fuss, Debby. We can burn enough for breakfast +in five minutes. I meant to have had a lot burned yesterday; +but we had so much to do. There, Debby, you see to the +potatoes. I wonder what we are going to have for dinner."</p> + +<p>"Don't begin to talk about dinner yet, for pity's sake," +said Deborah. "Sally, you ha'nt got the milk for the coffee. +Susan, go and sound for the men folks: breakfast will be +ready by the time they get here. Mary, put the pepper, vinegar, +and salt on the table, if you can make room for them."</p> + +<p>"Yes; and Debby, you go and get one of them large +pumpkin pies," said Mrs. Eastman. "And Sally, put the +chairs round the table; the men folks are coming upon the +run."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother! I am so glad you are going to have pie!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +I do love it <i>so</i> well," said Susan, seating herself at the table, +without waiting for her parents.</p> + +<p>Such a <i>rush!</i> such a clatter of knives, forks, plates, +cups, and saucers! It "realized the phrase of ——," and +was absolutely appalling to common nerves.</p> + +<p>After breakfast came the making of beds and sweeping, +baking and boiling for dinner, making and turning cheese, +and so on, until noon. Occasional bits of leisure were <i>seized</i> +in the afternoon, for sewing and knitting that must be done, +and for visiting.</p> + +<p>The situation of such families is most unpleasant, but it is +not irremediable. Order may be established and preserved in +the entire household economy. They may restrict themselves +to a simpler system of dietetics. With the money and time +thus saved, they may purchase books, subscribe for good +periodicals, and find ample leisure to read them. Thus their +intellects will be expanded and invigorated. They will have +opportunities for social intercourse, for the cultivation of +friendships; and thus their affections will be exercised and +warmed. Then, happy the destiny of the farmer, the farmer's +wife, and the farmer's daughters.</p> + +<div class="signature">A. F. D.</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>A WEAVER'S REVERIE.</h2> + + +<p>It was a sunny day, and I left for a few moments the circumscribed +spot which is my appointed place of labor, that +I might look from an adjoining window upon the bright loveliness +of nature. Yes, it was a sunny day; but for many +days before, the sky had been veiled in gloomy clouds; and +joyous indeed was it to look up into that blue vault, and see +it unobscured by its sombre screen; and my heart fluttered, +like a prisoned bird, with its painful longings for an unchecked +flight amidst the beautiful creation around me.</p> + +<p>Why is it, said a friend to me one day, that the factory +girls write so much about the beauties of nature?</p> + +<p>Oh! why is it, (thought I, when the query afterwards +recurred to me,) why is it that visions of thrilling loveliness +so often bless the sightless orbs of those whose eyes have +once been blessed with the power of vision?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> + +<p>Why is it that the delirious dreams of the famine-stricken, +are of tables loaded with the richest viands, or groves, whose +pendent boughs droop with their delicious burdens of luscious +fruit?</p> + +<p>Why is it that haunting tones of sweetest melody come +to us in the deep stillness of midnight, when the thousand +tongues of man and nature are for a season mute?</p> + +<p>Why is it that the desert-traveller looks forward upon the +burning boundless waste, and sees pictured before his aching +eyes, some verdant oasis, with its murmuring streams, its +gushing founts, and shadowy groves—but as he presses on +with faltering step, the bright <i>mirage</i> recedes, until he lies +down to die of weariness upon the scorching sands, with that +isle of loveliness before him?</p> + +<p>Oh tell me why is this, and I will tell why the factory girl +sits in the hour of meditation, and thinks—not of the crowded +clattering mill, nor of the noisy tenement which is her home, +nor of the thronged and busy street which she may sometimes +tread,—but of the still and lovely scenes which, in bygone +hours, have sent their pure and elevating influence with +a thrilling sweep across the strings of the spirit-harp, and then +awaken its sweetest, loftiest notes; and ever as she sits in +silence and seclusion, endeavoring to draw from that many-toned +instrument a strain which may be meet for another's +ear, that music comes to the eager listener like the sound +with which the sea-shell echoes the roar of what was once +its watery home. All her best and holiest thoughts are linked +with those bright pictures which call them forth, and when +she would embody them for the instruction of others, she does +it by a delineation of those scenes which have quickened and +purified her own mind.</p> + +<p>It was this love of nature's beauties, and a yearning for +the pure hallowed feelings which those beauties had been +wont to call up from their hidden springs in the depths of the +soul, to bear away upon their swelling tide the corruption +which had gathered, and I feared might settle there,—it was +this love, and longing, and fear, which made my heart throb +quickly, as I sent forth a momentary glance from the factory +window.</p> + +<p>I think I said there was a cloudless sky; but it was not so. +It was clear, and soft, and its beauteous hue was of "the +hyacinth's deep blue"—but there was one bright solitary +cloud, far up in the cerulean vault; and I wished that it might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +for once be in my power to lie down upon that white, fleecy +couch, and there, away and alone, to dream of all things +holy, calm, and beautiful. Methought that better feelings, +and clearer thoughts than are often wont to visit me, would +there take undisturbed possession of my soul.</p> + +<p>And might I not be there, and send my unobstructed glance +into the depths of ether above me, and forget for a little +while that I had ever been a foolish, wayward, guilty child +of earth? Could I not then cast aside the burden of error +and sin which must ever depress me here, and with the maturity +of womanhood, feel also the innocence of infancy? +And with that sense of purity and perfection, there would +necessarily be mingled a feeling of sweet uncloying bliss—such +as imagination may conceive, but which seldom pervades +and sanctifies the earthly heart. Might I not look down from +my aerial position, and view this little world, and its hills, +valleys, plains, and streamlets, and its thousands of busy inhabitants, +and see how puerile and unsatisfactory it would +look to one so totally disconnected from it? Yes, there, upon +that soft snowy cloud could I sit, and gaze upon my native +earth, and feel how empty and "vain are all things here +below."</p> + +<p>But not motionless would I stay upon that aerial couch. +I would call upon the breezes to waft me away over the broad +blue ocean, and with nought but the clear bright ether above +me, have nought but a boundless, sparkling, watery expanse +below me. Then I would look down upon the vessels pursuing +their different courses across the bright waters; and as +I watched their toilsome progress, I should feel how blessed +a thing it is to be where no impediment of wind or wave +might obstruct my onward way.</p> + +<p>But when the beams of a midday sun had ceased to flash +from the foaming sea, I should wish my cloud to bear away +to the western sky, and divesting itself of its snowy whiteness, +stand there, arrayed in the brilliant hues of the setting +sun. Yes, well should I love to be stationed there, and see it +catch those parting rays, and, transforming them to dyes of +purple and crimson, shine forth in its evening vestment, +with a border of brightest gold. Then could I watch the +king of day as he sinks into his watery bed, leaving behind +a line of crimson light to mark the path which led him to his +place of rest.</p> + +<p>Yet once, O only once, should I love to have that cloud<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +pass on—on—on among the myriads of stars; and leaving +them all behind, go far away into the empty void of space +beyond. I should love, for once, to be <i>alone</i>. Alone! where +<i>could</i> I be alone? But I would fain be where there is no +other, save the <span class="smcap">Invisible</span>, and there, where not even one +distant star should send its feeble rays to tell of a universe +beyond, there would I rest upon that soft light cloud, and +with a fathomless depth below me, and a measureless waste +above and around me, there would I——</p> + +<p>"Your looms are going without filling," said a loud voice +at my elbow; so I ran as fast as possible and changed my +shuttles.</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Ella.</span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>OUR DUTY TO STRANGERS.</h2> + +<div class="center">"Deal gently with the stranger's heart."—<span class="smcap">Mrs. Hemans.</span></div> + + +<p>The factory girl has trials, as every one of the class can +testify. It was hard for thee to leave</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">"Thy hearth, thy home, thy vintage land.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voices of thy hindred band,"—<br /></span> +</div> + +<p>was it not, my sister? Yes, there was a burden at your +heart as you turned away from father, mother, sister, and +brother, to meet the cold glance of strange stage-companions. +There was the mournfulness of the funeral dirge and knell, +in the crack of the driver's whip, and in the rattling of the +coach-wheels. And when the last familiar object receded +from your fixed gaze, there was a sense of utter desolation +at your heart. There was a half-formed wish that you could +lie down on your own bed, and die, rather than encounter the +new trials before you.</p> + +<p>Home may be a capacious farm-house, or a lowly cottage, +it matters not. It is <i>home</i>. It is the spot around which the +dearest affections and hopes of the heart cluster and rest. +When we turn away, a thousand tendrils are broken, and +they bleed.—Lovelier scenes <i>might</i> open before us, but that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +only "the loved are lovely." Yet until new interests are +awakened, and new loves adopted, there is a constant +heaviness of heart, more oppressive than can be imagined by +those who have never felt it.</p> + +<p>The "kindred band" may be made up of the intelligent +and elegant, or of the illiterate and vulgar; it matters not. +Our hearts yearn for their companionship. We would rejoice +with them in health, or watch over them in sickness.</p> + +<p>In all seasons of trial, whether from sickness, fatigue, +unkindness, or <i>ennui</i>, there is one bright <i>oasis</i>. It is</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">——"the hope of return to the mother, whose smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could dissipate sadness and sorrow beguile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the father, whose glance we've exultingly met—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And no meed half so proud hath awaited us yet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the sister whose tenderness, breathing a charm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No distance could lessen, no danger disarm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the friends, whose remembrances time cannot chill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And whose home in the heart not the stranger can fill."<br /></span> +</div> + +<p>This hope is invaluable; for it,</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i4">"like the ivy round the oak,</span><br /> +Clings closer in the storm." +</div> + +<p>Alas! that there are those to whom this hope comes not! +those whose affections go out, like Noah's dove, in search of +a resting place; and return without the olive-leaf.</p> + +<p>"Death is in the world," and it has made hundreds of our +factory girls orphans. Misfortunes are abroad, and they have +left as many destitute of homes. This is a melancholy fact, +and one that calls loudly for the sympathy and kind offices +of the more fortunate of the class. It is not a light thing to +be alone in the world. It is not a light thing to meet only +neglect and selfishness, when one longs for disinterestedness +and love. Oh, then, let us</p> + +<div class="center">"Deal gently with the stranger's heart,"</div> + +<p>especially if the stranger be a destitute orphan. Her garb +may be homely, and her manners awkward; but we will take +her to our heart, and call her sister. Some glaring faults +may be hers; but we will remember "who it is that maketh +us to differ," and if possible, by our kindness and forbearance, +win her to virtue and peace.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> + +<p>There are many reasons why we should do this. It is a +part of "pure and undefiled religion" to "visit the fatherless +in their afflictions." And "mercy is twice blest; blest +in him that gives, and him that takes." In the beautiful +language of the simple Scotch girl, "When the hour o' +trouble comes, that comes to mind and body, and when the +hour o' death comes, that comes to high and low, oh, my +leddy, then it is na' what we ha' done for ourselves, but +what we ha' done for others, that we think on maist pleasantly."</p> + +<div class="signature">E.</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ELDER ISAAC TOWNSEND.</h2> + + +<p>Elder Townsend was a truly meek and pious man. He +was not what is called <i>learned</i>, being bred a farmer, and never +having had an opportunity of attending school but very little—for +school privileges were very limited when Elder Townsend +was young. His chief knowledge was what he had +acquired by studying the Bible (which had been his constant +companion from early childhood,) and a study of human +nature, as he had seen it exemplified in the lives of those with +whom he held intercourse.</p> + +<p>Although a Gospel preacher for more than forty years, he +never received a salary. He owned a farm of some forty +acres, which he cultivated himself; and when, by reason of +ill health, or from having to attend to pastoral duties, his +farming-work was not so forward as that of his neighbors, +he would ask his parishioners to assist him for a day, +or a half-day, according to his necessities. As this was +the only pay he ever asked for his continuous labors with +them, he never received a denial, and a pittance so trifling +could not be given grudgingly. The days which were spent +on Elder Townsend's farm were not considered by his parishioners +as days of toil, but as holydays, from whose recreations +they were sure to return home richly laden with the +blessings of their good pastor.</p> + +<p>The sermons of Elder T. were always <i>extempore</i>; and if +they were not always delivered with the elocution of an orator,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +they were truly excellent, inasmuch as they consisted principally +of passages of Scripture, judiciously selected, and well +connected.</p> + +<p>The Elder's intimate knowledge of his flock, and their +habits and propensities, their joys and their sorrows, together +with his thorough acquaintance with the Scriptures, enabled +him to be ever in readiness to give reproof or consolation (as +need might be,) in the language of Holy Writ. His reproofs +were received with meekness, and the recipients would resolve +to profit thereby; and when he offered the cup of consolation, +it was received with gratitude by those who stood +in need of its healing influences. But when he dwelt on the +loving-kindness of our God, all hearts would rejoice and be +glad. Often, while listening to his preaching, have I sat +with eyes intently gazing on the speaker, until I fancied myself +transported back to the days of the "beloved disciple," +and on the Isle of Patmos was hearing him say, "My little +children, love one another."</p> + +<p>When I last saw Elder Townsend, his head was white +with the frosts of more than seventy winters. It is many +years since. I presume, ere this, he sleeps beneath the turf +on the hill-side, and is remembered among the worthies of +the olden time.</p> + +<div class="signature">B. N.</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>HARRIET GREENOUGH.</h2> + +<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> + +<div class="center"> +"The day is come I never thought to see,<br /> +Strange revolutions in my farm and me." +</div> + +<div class="signature2"><span class="smcap">Dryden's Virgil.</span></div> + +<p>Harriet Greenough had always been thought a spoiled +child, when she left home for Newburyport. Her father was +of the almost obsolete class of farmers, whose gods are their +farms, and whose creed—"Farmers are the most independent +folks in the world." This latter was none the less absolute +in its power over Mr. Greenough, from its being entirely +traditionary. He often repeated a vow made in early life,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +that he would never wear other than "homespun" cloth. +When asked his reasons, he invariably answered, "Because +I won't depend on others for what I can furnish myself. +Farmers are the most independent class of men; and I mean +to be the most independent of farmers."—If for a moment +he felt humbled by the presence of a genteel well-educated +man, it was only for a moment. He had only to recollect +that farmers are the most independent class of people, and +his head resumed its wonted elevation, his manner and tone +their usual swaggering impudence.</p> + +<p>While at school he studied nothing but reading, spelling, +arithmetic, and writing. Latterly, his reading had been +restricted to a chapter in the Bible per day, and an occasional +examination of the almanac. He did not read his Bible from +devotional feeling—for he had none; but that he might puzzle +the "book men" of the village with questions like the +following:—"Now I should like to have you tell me one +thing: How <i>could</i> Moses write an account of his own death +and burial? Can you just tell me where Cain and Abel +found their wives? What verse is there in the Bible that +has but two words in it? Who was the father of Zebedee's +children? How many chapters has the New Testament?—How +many verses, and how many words?" Inability or +disinclination to answer any and all of these, made the subject +of a day's laughter and triumph.</p> + +<p>Nothing was so appalling to him as innovations on old +customs and opinions. "These notions, that the earth turns +round, and the sun stands still; that shooting stars are nothing +but little meteors, I think they call them, are turning the +heads of our young folks," he was accustomed to say to +Mr. Curtis, the principal of the village academy, every time +they met. "And then these new-fangled books, filled with +jaw-cracking words and falsehoods, chemistry, philosophy, +and so on—why, I wonder if they ever made any man a better +farmer, or helped a woman to make better butter and cheese? +Now, Mr. Curtis, it is <i>my</i> opinion that young folks had better +read their Bibles more. Now I'll warrant that not one in +ten can tell how many chapters there are in it. My father +knew from the time he was eight till he was eighty. Can +<i>you</i> tell, Mr. Curtis?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Curtis smiled a negative; and Mr. Greenough went +laughing about all day. Indeed, for a week, the first thing +that came after his blunt salutation, was a loud laugh; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +in answer to consequent inquiries came the recital of his victory +over "the great Mr. Curtis." He would not listen a +moment to arguments in favor of sending Harriet to the academy, +or of employing any other teachers in his district than +old Master Smith, and Miss Heath, a superanuated spinster.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Greenough was a mild creature, passionless and gentle +in her nature as a lamb. She acquiesced in all of her +husband's measures, whether from having no opinions of her +own, or from a deep and quiet sense of duty and propriety, +no one knew. Harriet was their pet. As rosy, laughing, +and healthy as a Hebe, she flew from sport to sport all the +day long. Her mother attempted, at first, to check her +romping propensity; but it delighted her father, and he took +every opportunity to strengthen and confirm it. He was never +so happy as when watching her swift and eager pursuit of a +butterfly; never so lavish of his praises and caresses as when +she succeeded in capturing one, and all breathless with the +chase, bore her prize to him.</p> + +<p>"Do stay in the house with poor ma, to-day, darling; she +is very lonely," her mother would say to her, as she put +back the curls from the beautiful face of her child, and kissed +her cheek. One day a tear was in her eye and a sadness at +her heart; for she had been thinking of the early childhood +of her Harriet, when she turned from father, little brother, +playthings and all, for her. Harriet seemed to understand +her feelings; for instead of answering her with a spring and +laugh as usual, she sat quietly down at her feet, and laid her +head on her lap. Mr. Greenough came in at this moment.</p> + +<p>"How? What does this mean, wife and Hatty?" said +he.—"Playing the baby, Hat? Wife, this won't do. Harriet +has your beauty; and to this I have no objections, if she +has my spirits and independence. Come, Hatty; we want +you to help us make hay to-day; and there are lots of butterflies +and grasshoppers for you to catch. Come," he added; +for the child still kept her eyes on her mother's face, as if +undecided whether to go or stay. "Come, get your bonnet—no; +you may go without it. You look too much like a +village girl. You must get more tan."</p> + +<p>"Shall I go, ma?" Harriet asked, still clinging to her +mother's dress.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, if pa wishes it," answered Mrs. Greenough +with a strong effort to speak cheerfully.</p> + +<p>She went, and from that hour Mrs. Greenough passively<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +allowed her to follow her father and his laborers as she pleased; +to rake hay, ride in the cart, husk corn, hunt hen's eggs, +jump on the hay, play ball, prisoner, pitch quoits, throw dice, +cut and saw wood, and, indeed, to run into every amusement +which her active temperament demanded. She went to +school when she pleased; but her father was constant in his +hints that her spirits and independence were not to be destroyed +by poring over books. She was generally left to do +as she pleased, although she was often pleased to perpetrate +deeds, for which her school-mates often asserted they would +have been severely chastised. There was an expression of +fun and good humor lurking about in the dimples of her fat +cheeks and in her deep blue eye, that effectually shielded her +from reproof. Master Smith had just been accused of partiality +to her, and he walked into the school considerably +taller than usual, all from his determination to punish Harriet +before night. He was not long in detecting her in a rogueish +act. He turned from her under the pretence of looking +some urchins into silence, and said, with uncommon sternness +and precision, "Harriet Greenough, walk out into the floor." +Harriet jumped up, shook the hands of those who sat near +her, nodded a farewell to others, and walked gaily up to the +master. He dreaded meeting her eye; for he knew that his +gravity would desert him in such a case. She took a position +behind him, and in a moment the whole house was in an +uproar of laughter. Master Smith turned swiftly about on +his heel, and confronted the culprit. She only smiled and +made him a most graceful courtesy. This was too much for +his risibles. He laughed almost as heartily as his pupils.</p> + +<p>"Take your seat, you, he! he! you trollop, you, he! +he! and I will settle with you by and bye," he said.</p> + +<p>She only thanked him, and then returned to her sport.</p> + +<p>So she passed on. When sixteen, she was a very child +in everything but years and form. Her forehead was high +and full, but a want of taste and care in the arrangement of +her beautiful hair destroyed its effect. Her complexion was +clear, but sunburnt. Her laugh was musical, but one missed +that <i>tone</i> which distinguishes the laugh of a happy feeling +girl of sixteen from that of a child of mere frolic. As to +her form, no one knew what it was; for she was always putting +herself into some strange but not really uncouth attitude; +and besides, she could never <i>stop</i> to adjust her dress properly.</p> + +<p>Such was Harriet Greenough, when a cousin of hers paid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +them a visit on her return to the Newburyport mills. She +was of Harriet's age; but one would have thought her ten +years her senior, judging from her superior dignity and intelligence. +Her father died when she was a mere child, +after a protracted illness, which left them penniless. By +means of untiring industry, and occasional gifts from her +kind neighbors, Mrs. Wood succeeded in keeping her children +at school, until her daughter was sixteen and her son +fourteen. They then went together to Newburyport, under +the care of a very amiable girl who had spent several years +there. They worked a year, devoting a few hours every +day to study; then returned home, and spent a year at +school in their native village.</p> + +<p>They were now on their return to the mills. It was arranged +that at the completion of the present year Charles +should return to school, and remain there until fitted for the +study of a profession, if Jane's health was spared that she +might labor for his support.</p> + +<p>Jane was a gentle affectionate girl; and there was a new +feeling at the heart of Harriet from the day in which she +came under her influence. Before the week had half expired +which Jane was to spend with them, Harriet, with +characteristic decision, avowed her determination to accompany +her. Her father and mother had opposed her will in +but few instances. In these few she had laughed them into +an easy compliance. In the present case she found her task +a more difficult one. But they consented at last; and with +her mother's tearful blessing, and an injunction from her +father not to bear any insolence from her employers, but to +remember always that she was the independent daughter of +an independent farmer, she left her home.</p> + +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> + + +<p>A year passed by, and our Harriet was a totally changed +being, in intellect and deportment. Her cousins boarded in +a small family, that they might have a better opportunity of +pursuing their studies during their leisure hours. She was +their constant companion. At first she did not open a book; +and numberless were the roguish artifices she employed to +divert the attention of her cousins from theirs. They often +laid them aside for a lively chat with her; and then urged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +her to study with them. She loved them ardently. To her +affection she at last yielded, and not to any anticipations of +pleasure or profit in the results, for she had been <i>educated</i> to +believe that there was none of either.</p> + +<p>Charles had been studying Latin and mathematics; Jane, +botany, geology, and geography of the heavens. She +instructed Charles in these latter sciences; he initiated her +as well as he might, into the mysteries of <i>hic, hęc, hoc</i>, and +algebra. At times of recitation, Harriet sat and laughed at +their "queer words." When she accompanied them in +their search for flowers, she amused herself by bringing +mullen, yarrow, and, in one instance, a huge sunflower.—When +they had traced constellations, she repeated to them a +satire on star-gazers, which she learned of her father.</p> + +<p>The <i>histories</i> of the constellations and flowers first arrested +her attention, and kindled a romance which had hitherto +lain dormant. A new light was in her eye from that hour, +and a new charm in her whole deportment. She commenced +study under very discouraging circumstances. Of this she +was deeply sensible. She often shed a few tears as she +thought of her utter ignorance, then dashed them off, and +studied with renewed diligence and success. She studied +two hours every morning before commencing labor and until +half past eleven at night. She took her book and her dinner +to the mill, that she might have the whole intermission for +study. This short season, with the reflection she gave during +the afternoon, was sufficient for the mastery of a hard lesson. +She was close in her attendance at the sanctuary. She +joined a Bible class; and the teachings there fell with a +sanctifying influence on her spirit, subduing but not destroying +its vivacity, and opening a new current to her thoughts +and affections. Although tears of regret for misspent +years often stole down her cheeks, she assured Jane that +she was happier at the moment than in her hours of loudest +mirth.</p> + +<p>Her letters to her friends had prepared them for a change, +but not for <i>such</i> a change—so great and so happy. She +was now a very beautiful girl, easy and graceful in her +manners, soft and gentle in her conversation, and evidently +conscious of her superiority, only to feel more humble, more +grateful to Heaven, her dear cousins, her minister, her Sabbath +school teacher, and other beloved friends, who by their +kindness had opened such new and delightful springs of +feeling in her heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> + +<p>She flung her arms around her mother's neck, and wept +tears of gratitude and love. Mrs. Greenough felt that she +was no longer alone in the world; and Mr. Greenough, as +he watched them—the wife and the daughter—inwardly +acknowledged that there was that in the world dearer to his +heart than his farm and his independence.</p> + +<p>Amongst Harriet's baggage was a rough deal box. This +was first opened. It contained her books, a few minerals +and shells. There were fifty well-selected volumes, besides +a package of gifts for her father, mother, and brother.—There +was no book-case in the house; and the kitchen shelf +was full of old almanacs, school books, sermons, and jest +books. Mr. Greenough rode to the village, and returned +with a rich secretary, capacious enough for books, minerals, +and shells. He brought the intelligence, too, that a large +party of students and others were to spend the evening with +them. Harriet's heart beat quick, as she thought of young +Curtis, and wondered if he was among the said students.—Before +she left Bradford, struck with the beauty and simplicity +of her appearance, he sought and obtained an introduction +to her, but left her side, after sundry ineffectual +attempts to draw her into conversation, disappointed and +disgusted. He <i>was</i> among Harriet's visitors.</p> + +<p>"Pray, Miss Curtis, what may be your opinion of our +belle, Miss Greenough?" asked young Lane, on the following +morning, as Mr. Curtis and his sister entered the hall of +the academy.</p> + +<p>"Why, I think that her improvement has been astonishingly +rapid during the past year; and that she is now a +really charming girl."</p> + +<p>"Has she interfered with your heart, Lane?" asked his +chum.</p> + +<p>"As to that, I do not feel entirely decided. I think I +shall renew my call, however—nay, do not frown, Curtis; I +was about to add, if it be only to taste her father's delicious +melons, pears, plums, and apples."</p> + +<p>Curtis blushed slightly, bowed, and passed on to the +school room. He soon proved that he cared much less for +Mr. Greenough's fruit than for his daughter: for the fruit +remained untasted if Harriet was at his side. He was never +so happy as when Mr. Greenough announced his purpose of +sending Harriet to the academy two or three years. Arrangements +were made accordingly, and the week before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +Charles left home for college, she was duly installed in his +father's family.</p> + +<p>She missed him much; but the loss of his society was +partially counterbalanced by frequent and brotherly letters +from him, and by weekly visits to her home, which by the +way, is becoming quite a paradise under her supervision.—She +has been studying painting and drawing. Several well-executed +specimens of each adorn the walls and tables of +their sitting-room and parlor. She has no "regular built" +centre-table, but in lieu thereof she has removed from the +garret an old round table that belonged to her grandmother. +This she has placed in the centre of the sitting-room; and +what with its very pretty covering (which falls so near the +floor as to conceal its uncouth legs), and its books, it forms +no mean item of elegance and convenience.</p> + +<p>Mr. Greenough and his help have improved a few leisure +days in removing the trees that entirely concealed the Merrimac. +By the profits resulting from their sale, he has +built a neat and tasteful enclosure for his house and garden. +This autumn shade-trees and shrubbery are to be removed +to the yard, and fruit-trees and vines to the garden. Next +winter a summer-house is to be put in readiness for erection +in the spring.</p> + +<p>All this, and much more, Mr. Greenough is confident he +can accomplish, without neglecting his <i>necessary</i> labors, or +the course of reading he has marked out, "by and with the +advice" of his wife and Harriet. And more, and better +still, he has decided that his son George shall attend school, +at least two terms yearly. He will board at home, and will +be accompanied by his cousin Charles, whom Mr. Greenough +has offered to board gratis, until his education is completed. +By this generosity on the part of her uncle, Jane +will be enabled to defray other expenses incidental to +Charles's education, and still have leisure for literary pursuits.</p> + +<p>Most truly might Mr. Greenough say,—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">"The day is come I never thought to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strange revolutions in my farm and me."</span> +</div> + +<div class="signature">A.</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 115px;"> +<img src="images/illus-160.jpg" width="115" height="100" alt="Decoration" title="Decoration" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> +<h2>FANCY.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O Swiftly flies the shuttle now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swift as an arrow from the bow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But swifter than the thread is wrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is soon the flight of busy thought;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">For Fancy leaves the mill behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seeks some novel scenes to find.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now away she quickly hies—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er hill and dale the truant flies.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Stop, silly maid! where dost thou go?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy road may be a road of woe:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some hand may crush thy fairy form,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And chill thy heart so lately warm.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">"Oh no," she cries in merry tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I go to lands before unknown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I go in scenes of bliss to dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where ne'er is heard a factory bell."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Away she went; and soon I saw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Fancy's wish was Fancy's law;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For where the leafless trees were seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Fancy wished them to be green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her wish she scarcely had made known,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Before green leaves were on them grown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She spake—and there appear'd in view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright manly youths, and maidens, too.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Fancy called for music rare—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And music filled the ravished air.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then the dances soon began,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the mazes lightly ran<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The footsteps of the fair and gay—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For this was Fancy's festal day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On, on they move, a lovely group!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Their faces beam with joy and hope;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor dream they of a danger nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath their bright and sunny sky.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One of the fair ones is their queen,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span><span class="i0">For whom they raise a throne of green;<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">And Fancy weaves a garland now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To place upon the maiden's brow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fragrant are the blooming flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In her enchanted fairy-bowers.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Fancy now away may slip,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er the green-sward lightly skip,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to her airy castle hie—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Fancy hath a castle nigh.<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">The festal board she quick prepares,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every guest the bounty shares,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seated at the festal board,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their merry voices now are heard,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">As each youth places to his lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from the golden goblet sips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A draught of the enchanting wine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That came from Fancy's fruitful vine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But hark! what sound salutes mine ear?<br /><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A distant rumbling now I hear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, Fancy! 'tis no groundless fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rushing whirlwind draweth near!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Thy castle walls are rocking fast,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glory of thy feast is past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy guests are now beneath the wave,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oblivion is their early grave,<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Thy fairy bower has vanished—fled:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy leafy tree are withered—dead!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy lawn is now a barren heath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy bright-eyed maids are cold in death!<br /></span> + +<span class="i0">Those manly youth that were so gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have vanished in the self-same way!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh Fancy! now remain at home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be content no more to roam;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For visions such as thine are vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bring but discontent and pain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remember, in thy giddy whirl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That <i>I</i> am but a factory girl:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be content at home to dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though governed by a "factory bell."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Fiducia.</span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE WIDOW'S SON.</h2> + + +<p>Among the multitudes of females employed in our manufacturing +establishments, persons are frequently to be met +with, whose lives are interspersed with incidents of an interesting +and even thrilling character. But seldom have I met +with a person who has manifested so deep devotion, such +uniform cheerfulness, and withal so determined a perseverance +in the accomplishment of a cherished object, as Mrs. +Jones.</p> + +<p>This inestimable lady was reared in the midst of affluence, +and was early married to the object of her heart's affection. +A son was given them, a sweet and lovely boy. With +much joy they watched the development of his young mind, +especially as he early manifested a deep devotional feeling, +which was cultivated with the most assiduous attention.</p> + +<p>But happiness like this may not always continue. Reverses +came. That faithful husband and affectionate father +was laid on a bed of languishing. Still he trusted in God; +and when he felt that the time of his departure approached, +he raised his eyes, and exclaimed, "Holy Father! Thou +hast promised to be the widow's God and judge, and a +Father to the fatherless; into Thy care I commit my beloved +wife and child. Keep Thou them from evil, as they +travel life's uneven journey. May their service be acceptable +in thy sight." He then quietly fell asleep.</p> + +<p>Bitter indeed were the tears shed over his grave by that +lone widow and her orphan boy; yet they mourned not as +those who mourn without hope. Instead of devoting her +time to unavailing sorrow, Mrs. Jones turned her attention +to the education of her son, who was then in his tenth year. +Finding herself in reduced circumstances, she nobly resolved +to support her family by her own exertions, and keep +her son at school. With this object, she procured plain +needle-work, by which, with much economy, she was enabled +to live very comfortably, until Samuel had availed +himself of all the advantages presented him by the common +schools and high school. He was then ready to enter college—but +how were the necessary funds to be raised to defray +his expenses?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> + +<p>This was not a new question to Mrs. Jones. She had +pondered it long and deeply, and decided upon her course; +yet she had not mentioned it to her son, lest it should divert +his mind from his studies. But as the time now rapidly +approached when she was to carry her plan into operation, +she deemed it proper to acquaint Samuel with the whole +scheme.</p> + +<p>As they were alone in their neat little parlor, she aroused +him from a fit of abstraction, by saying, "Samuel, my dear +son, before your father died we solemnly consecrated you to +the service of the Lord; and that you might be the better +prepared to labor in the gospel vineyard, your father designed +to give you a liberal education. He was called home; yet +through the goodness of our Heavenly Father, I have been +enabled thus far to prosecute his plan. It is now time for +you to enter college, and in order to raise the necessary +funds, I have resolved to sell my little stock of property, and +engage as an operative in a factory."</p> + +<p>At this moment, neighbor Hall, an old-fashioned, good-natured +sort of a man, entered very unceremoniously, and +having heard the last sentence, replied: "Ah! widow, you +know that I do not like the plan of bringing up our boys in +idleness. But then Samuel is such a good boy, and so fond +of reading, that I think it a vast pity if he cannot read all +the books in the state. Yes, send him to college, widow; +there he will have reading to his heart's content. You +know there is a gratuity provided for the education of indigent +and pious young men."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mrs. Jones, "I know it; but I am resolved +that if my son ever obtains a place among the servants of +the Prince of Peace, he shall stand forth unchained by the +bondage of men, and nobly exert the energies of his mind +as the Lord's freeman."</p> + +<p>Samuel, who had early been taught the most perfect +obedience, now yielded reluctant consent to this measure.—Little +time was requisite for arrangements; and having converted +her little effects into cash, they who had never before +been separated, now took an affectionate and sorrowful +leave of each other, and departed—the one to the halls of +learning, and the other to the power-looms.</p> + +<p>We shall now leave Samuel Jones, and accompany his +mother to Dover. On her arrival, she assumed her maiden +name, which I shall call Lucy Cambridge; and such was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +her simplicity and quietness of deportment, that she was +never suspected of being other than she seemed. She readily +obtained a situation in a weave-room, and by industry +and close application, she quickly learned the grand secret +of a successful weaver—namely, "Keep the filling running, +and the web clear."</p> + +<p>The wages were not then reduced to the present low +standard, and Lucy transmitted to her son, monthly, all, +saving enough to supply her absolute necessities.</p> + +<p>As change is the order of the day in all manufacturing +places, so, in the course of change, Lucy became my room-mate; +and she whom I had before admired, secured my +love and ardent friendship. Upon general topics she conversed +freely; but of her history and kindred, never. Her +respectful deportment was sufficient to protect her from +the inquiries of curiosity; and thus she maintained her +reserve until one evening when I found her sadly perusing a +letter. I thought she had been weeping. All the sympathies +of my nature were aroused, and throwing my arms +around her neck, I exclaimed, "Dear Lucy, does your letter +bring you bad news, or are any of your relatives"——I +hesitated and stopped; for, thought I, "perhaps she <i>has</i> no +relatives. I have never heard her speak of any: she may +be a lone orphan in the world." It was then she yielded +to sympathy, what curiosity had never ventured to ask. +From that time she continued to speak to me of her history +and hopes. As I have selected names to suit myself, she +has kindly permitted me to make an extract from her answer +to that letter, which was as follows:</p> + +<p>"My Dear Son,—in your letter of the 16th, you entreat +me to leave the mill, saying, 'I would rather be a scavenger, +a wood-sawyer, or anything, whereby I might honestly +procure a subsistence for my mother and myself, than have +you thus toil, early and late. Mother, the very thought is +intolerable! O come away—for dearly as I love knowledge, +I cannot consent to receive it at the price of my mother's +happiness.'</p> + +<p>"My son, it is true that factory life is a life of toil—but +I am preparing the way for my only son to go forth as a +herald of the cross, to preach repentance and salvation to +those who are out of the way. I am promoting an object +which was very near the heart of my dear husband. Wherefore +I desire that you will not again think of pursuing any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +other course than the one already marked out for you; for +you perceive that my agency in promoting your success, +forms an important part of <i>my</i> happiness."</p> + +<p>Often have I seen her eyes sparkle with delight as she +mentioned her son and his success. And after the labor and +toil of attending "double work" during the week, very often +have I seen her start with all the elasticity of youth, and go +to the Post Office after a letter from Samuel. And seldom +did she return without one, for he was ever thoughtful +of his mother, who was spending her strength for him. And +he knew very well that it was essential to her happiness to +be well informed of his progress and welfare.</p> + +<p>Nearly three years had elapsed since Lucy Cambridge first +entered the mill, when the stage stopped in front of her +boarding house, and a young gentleman sprang out, and inquired +if Miss Lucy Cambridge was in. Immediately they +were clasped in each other's arms. This token of mutual +affection created no small stir among the boarders. One declared, +"she thought it very singular that such a pretty +young man should fancy so old a girl as Lucy Cambridge." +Another said, "she should as soon think that he would marry +his mother."</p> + +<p>Samuel Jones was tall, but of slender form. His hair, +which was of the darkest brown, covered an unusually fine +head. His eyes, of a clear dark grey, beaming with piety +and intelligence, shed a lustre over his whole countenance, +which was greatly heightened by being overshadowed by a +deep, broad forehead.</p> + +<p>He visited his mother at this time, to endeavor to persuade +her to leave the mill, and spend her time in some less laborious +occupation. He assured her that he had saved enough +from the stock she had already sent him, to complete his education. +But she had resolved to continue in her present +occupation, until her son should have a prospect of a permanent +residence; and he departed alone.</p> + +<p>Intelligence was soon conveyed to Lucy that a young +student had preached occasionally, and that his labors had +been abundantly blessed. And ere the completion of another +year, Samuel Jones went forth a licentiate, to preach the +everlasting gospel.</p> + +<p>I will not attempt to describe the transports of that widowed +heart, when she received the joyful tidings that her +son had received a unanimous call to take the pastoral charge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> +of a small but well-united society in the western part of +Ohio, and only waited for her to accompany him thither.</p> + +<p>Speedily she prepared to leave a place which she really +loved; "for," said she, "have I not been blessed with +health and strength to perform a great and noble work in +this place?"</p> + +<p>Ay, undoubtedly thou hast performed a blessed work; +and now, go forth, and in the heartfelt satisfaction that thou +hast performed thy duty, reap the rich reward of all thy +labors.</p> + +<p>Samuel Jones and his mother have departed for the scene +of their future labors, with their hearts filled with gratitude +to God, and an humble desire to be of service in winning +many souls to the flock of our Savior and Lord.</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Orianna.</span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>WITCHCRAFT.</h2> + + +<p>It may not, perhaps, be generally known that a belief in +witchcraft still prevails, to a great extent, in some parts of +New England. Whether this is owing to the effect of early +impressions on the mind, or to some defect in the physical +organization of the human system, is not for me to say; my +present purpose being only to relate, in as concise a manner +as may be, some few things which have transpired within a +quarter of a century; all of which happened in the immediate +neighborhood of my early home, and among people with +whom I was well acquainted.</p> + +<p>My only apology for so doing is, that I feel desirous to +transmit to posterity, something which may give them an +idea of the superstition of the present age—hoping that when +they look back upon its dark page, they will feel a spirit of +thankfulness that they live in more enlightened times, and +continue the work of mental illumination, till the mists of +error entirely vanish before the light of all-conquering truth.</p> + +<p>In a little glen between the mountains, in the township of +B., stands a cottage, which, almost from time immemorial, +has been noted as the residence of some one of those ill-fated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +beings, who are said to take delight in sending their spirits +abroad to torment the children of men. These beings, it is +said, purchase their art of his satanic majesty—the price, +their immortal souls, and when Satan calls for his due, the +mantle of the witch is transferred to another mortal, who, +for the sake of exercising the art for a brief space of time, +makes over the soul to perdition.</p> + +<p>The mother of the present occupant of this cottage lived +to a very advanced age; and for a long series of years, all +the mishaps within many miles were laid to her spiritual +agency; and many were the expedients resorted to to rid +the neighborhood of so great a pest. But the old woman, +spite of all exertions to the contrary, lived on, till she died of +sheer old age.</p> + +<p>It was some little time before it was ascertained who inherited +her mantle; but at length it was believed to be a +fact that her daughter Molly was duly authorized to exercise +all the prerogatives of a witch; and so firmly was this belief +established, that it even gained credence with her youngest +brother; and after she was married, and had removed to a +distant part of the country, a calf of his, that had some +strange actions, was pronounced by the <i>knowing ones</i>, to be +bewitched; and this inhuman monster chained his calf in the +fire place of his cooper-shop, and burned it to death—hoping +thereby to kill his sister, whose spirit was supposed to be in +the body of the calf.</p> + +<p>For several years it went current that Molly fell into the +fire, and was burned to death, at the same time in which the +calf was burned. But she at length refuted this, by making +her brother a visit, and spending some little time in the +neighborhood.</p> + +<p>Some nineteen or twenty years since, two men, with +whom I was well acquainted, had an action pending in the +Superior Court, and it was supposed that the testimony of +the widow Goodwin in favor of the plaintiff, would bear hard +upon the defendant. A short time previous to the sitting of +the court, a man by the name of James Doe, offered himself +as an evidence for the defendant to destroy the testimony of +the widow Goodwin, by defaming her character. Doe said +that he was willing to testify that the widow Goodwin was +a witch—he knew it to be a fact; for, once on a time she +came to his bed-side, and flung a bridle over his head, and +he was instantly metamorphosed into a horse. The widow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +then mounted and rode him nearly forty miles; she stopped +at a tavern, which he named, dismounted, tied him to the +sign-post and left him. After an absence of several hours, +she returned, mounted, and rode him home; and at the bed-side +took off the bridle, when he resumed his natural form.</p> + +<p>No one acquainted with Doe thought that he meant to deviate +from the truth. Those naturally superstitious thought +that the widow Goodwin was in reality a witch; but the +more enlightened believed that their neighbor Doe was under +the influence of spirituous liquor when he went to bed; +and that whatever might be the scene presented to his imagination, +it was owing to false vision, occasioned by derangement +in his upper story; and they really felt a sympathy +for him, knowing that he belonged to a family who +were subject to mental aberration.</p> + +<p>A scene which I witnessed in part, in the autumn of 1822, +shall close my chapter on witchcraft. It was between the +hours of nine and ten in the morning, that a stout-built, ruddy-faced +man confined one of his cows, by means of bows +and iron chains, to an apple-tree and then beat her till she +dropped dead—saying that the cow was bewitched, and that +he was determined to kill the witch. His mother, and some +of the neighbors witnessed this cruel act without opposing +him, so infatuated were they with a belief in witchcraft.</p> + +<p>I might enlarge upon this scene, but the recollection of +what then took place recalls so many disagreeable sensations, +that I forbear. Let it suffice to state that the cow +was suffering in consequence of having eaten a large quantity +of potatoes from a heap that was exposed in the field +where she was grazing.</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Tabitha.</span></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 280px;"> +<img src="images/illus-169.jpg" width="280" height="100" alt="Decoration" title="Decoration" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> +<h2>CLEANING UP.</h2> + + +<p>There is something to me very interesting in observing +the manifestations of animal instinct—that unerring prompter +which guides its willing disciple into the ever straight +path, and shows him, with unfailing sagacity, the easiest and +most correct method of accomplishing each necessary design.</p> + +<p>But to enter here, upon a philosophical dissertation, respecting +the nature and developments of instinct, is not my +design, and I will now detain you with but one or two instances +of it, which have fallen under my own observation.</p> + +<p>One warm day in the early spring, I observed a spider, +very busily engaged upon a dirty old web, which had for +a long time, curtained a pane of my factory window. Where +Madame Arachne had kept herself during the winter, was +not in my power to ascertain; but she was in a very good +condition, plump, spry, and full of energy. The activity of +her movements awakened my curiosity, and I watched with +much interest the commotion in the old dwelling, or rather +slaughter house, for I doubted not that many a green head +and blue bottle had there met an untimely end.</p> + +<p>I soon found that madam was very laboriously engaged in +that very necessary part of household exercises, called, +<span class="smcap">cleaning up</span>; and she had chosen precisely the season for +her labors which all good housewives have by common +consent appropriated to paint-cleaning, white-washing, &c. +With much labor, and a prodigal expenditure of steps, she +removed, one by one, the tiny bits of dirt, sand &c., &c., +which had accumulated in this net during the winter; but it +was not done, as I at first thought, by pushing and poking, +and thrusting the intruders out, but by gradually destroying +their <i>location</i>, as a western emigrant would say.—Whether +this was done, as I at one time imagined, by devouring the +fibre as she passed over it, or by winding it around some +under part of her body, or whether she left it at the centre +of the web, to which point she invariably returned after +every peregrination to the outskirts, I could not satisfy myself. +It was to me a cause of great marvel, and awakened +my perceptive as well as reflective faculties from a long winter +nap.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> + +<p>To the first theory there was no objection, excepting that +I had never heard of its being done; but then it might be so, +and in this case I had discovered what had escaped the observation +of all preceding naturalists. To the second there +was this objection, that when I occasionally caught a front +view of "my lady," she showed no distaff, upon which she +might have re-wound her unravelled thread. The third +suggestion was also objectionable, because, though the centre +looked somewhat thicker, or I surmised that it did, yet it +was not so much so as it must have been, had it been the +depot of the whole concern.</p> + +<p>Of one thing I was at length assured—that there was to +be an entire demolition of the whole fabric, with the exception +of the main beams, (or sleepers, I think is the technical +term,) which remained as usual, when all else had been removed. +Then I went away for the night, and when I returned +the next morning, expecting to behold a blank—a +void, an evacuation of premises—a removal—a disappearance—a +destruction most complete, without even a wreck +left behind—lo! there was again the rebuilt mansion—the +restored fabric, the reversed Penelopian labor: and madam +was rejoicing like the patient man of Uz, when more than +he had lost was restored to him.</p> + +<p>My feelings, (for I have a large bump of sympathy) were +of that pleasurable kind which Jack must have experienced, +when he saw the castle, which in a single night had established +itself on the top of his bean-pole; or which enlivened +the bosom of Aladdin, when he saw the beautiful palace, +which in a night had travelled from the genii's dominions +to the waste field, which it then beautified; and I felt +truly rejoiced that my industrious neighbor's works of darkness +were not always deeds of evil. But alack for the poor +<i>spinster</i>, when it came <i>my</i> turn to be <i>cleaning up</i>!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 248px;"> +<img src="images/illus-171.jpg" width="248" height="100" alt="Decoration" title="Decoration" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> +<h2>VISITS TO THE SHAKERS.</h2> + + +<h3>A FIRST VISIT.</h3> + +<p>Sometime in the summer of 18—, I paid a visit to one of +the Shaker villages in the State of New York. Previously +to this, many times and oft had I (when tired of the noise +and contention of the world, its erroneous opinions, and its +wrong practices) longed for some retreat, where, with a few +chosen friends, I could enjoy the present, forget the past, +and be free from all anxiety respecting any future portion of +time. And often had I pictured, in imagination, a state of +happy society, where one common interest prevailed—where +kindness and brotherly love were manifested in all of the +every-day affairs of life—where liberty and equality would +live, not in name, but in very deed—where idleness, in no +shape whatever, would be tolerated—and where vice of every +description would be banished, and neatness, with order, +would be manifested in all things.</p> + +<p>Actually to witness such a state of society was a happiness +which I never expected. I thought it to be only a +thing among the airy castles which it has ever been my delight +to build. But with this unostentatious and truly kind-hearted +people, the Shakers, I found it; and the reality, +in beauty and harmony, exceeded even the picturings of +imagination.</p> + +<p>No unprejudiced mind could, for a single moment, resist +the conviction that this singular people, with regard to their +worldly possessions, lived in strict conformity to the teachings +of Jesus of Nazareth. There were men in this society +who had added to the common stock thousands and tens of +thousands of dollars; they nevertheless labored, dressed, and +esteemed themselves as no better, and fared in all respects +like those who had never owned, neither added to the society, +any worldly goods whatever. The cheerfulness with +which they bore one another's burdens made even the +temporal calamities, so unavoidable among the inhabitants of +the earth, to be felt but lightly.</p> + +<p>This society numbered something like six hundred persons, +who in many respects were differently educated, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +who were of course in possession of a variety of prejudices, +and were of contrary dispositions and habits. Conversing +with one of their elders respecting them, he said, "You +may say that these were rude materials of which to compose +a church, and speak truly: but here (though strange it may +seem) they are worked into a building, with no sound of axe +or hammer. And however discordant they were in a state +of nature, the square and the plumb-line have been applied +to them, and they now admirably fit the places which they +were designed to fill. Here the idle become industrious, +the prodigal contracts habits of frugality, the parsimonious +become generous and liberal, the intemperate quit the tavern +and the grog-shop, the debauchee forsakes the haunts of +dissipation and infamy, the swearer leaves off the habits of +profanity, the liar is changed into a person of truth, the +thief becomes an honest man, and the sloven becomes neat +and clean."</p> + +<p>The whole deportment of this truly singular people, +together with the order and neatness which I witnessed in +their houses, shops, and gardens, to all of which I had free +access for the five days which I remained with them, together +with the conversations which I held with many of the +people of both sexes, confirmed the words of the Elder.—Truly, +thought I, there is not another spot in the wide earth +where I could be so happy as I could be here, provided the +religious faith and devotional exercises of the Shakers were +agreeable to my own views. Although I could not see the +utility of their manner of worship, I felt not at all disposed +to question that it answered the end for which spiritual worship +was designed, and as such is accepted by our heavenly +Father. That the Shakers have a love for the Gospel exceeding +that which is exhibited by professing Christians in +general, cannot be doubted by any one who is acquainted +with them. For on no other principle could large families, +to the number of fifty or sixty, live together like brethren +and sisters. And a number of these families could not, on +any other principles save those of the Gospel, form a society, +and live in peace and harmony, bound together by no other +bond than that of brotherly love, and take of each other's +property, from day to day and from year to year, using it +indiscriminately, as every one hath need, each willing that +his brother should use his property, as he uses it himself, +and all this without an equivalent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> + +<p>Many think that a united interest in all things temporal is +contrary to reason. But in what other light, save that of +common and united interest, could the words of Christ's +prophecy or promise be fulfilled? According to the testimony +of Mark, Christ said, "There is no man who hath +left house, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or +wife, or children, or lands, for my sake and the Gospel's, +but he shall receive an hundredfold now in this time, houses, +and brethren, and sisters, and mothers, and children, and +lands, with persecutions, and in the world to come eternal +life." Not only in fact, but in theory, is an hundredfold of +private interest out of the question. For a believer who +forsook all things could not possess an hundredfold of all +things only on the principle in which he could possess <i>all +that</i> which his brethren possessed, while they also possessed +the same in an united capacity.</p> + +<p>In whatever light it may appear to others, to me it appears +beautiful indeed, to see a just and an impartial equality +reign, so that the rich and the poor may share an equal +privilege, and have all their wants supplied. That the +Shakers are in reality what they profess to be, I doubt not. +Neither do I doubt that many, very many lessons of wisdom +might be learned of them, by those who profess to be wiser. +And to all who wish to know if "any good thing can come +out of Nazareth," I would say, you had better "go and +see."</p> + + +<h3>A SECOND VISIT.</h3> + +<p>I was so well pleased with the appearance of the +Shakers, and the prospect of quietness and happiness among +them, that I visited them a second time. I went with a determination +to ascertain as much as I possibly could of their +forms and customs of worship, the every-day duties devolving +on the members, &c.; and having enjoyed excellent +opportunities for acquiring the desired information, I wish to +present a brief account of what "I verily do know" in relation +to several particulars.</p> + +<p>First of all, justice will not permit me to retract a word +in relation to the industry, neatness, order, and general good +behavior, in the Shaker settlement which I visited. In +these respects, that singular people are worthy of all commendation—yea,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> +they set an example for the imitation of +Christians everywhere. Justice requires me to say, also, +that their hospitality is proverbial, and deservedly so. They +received and entertained me kindly, and (hoping perhaps +that I might be induced to join them) they extended extra-civilities +to me. I have occasion to modify the expression of +my gratitude in only one particular—and that is, one of the +female elders made statements to me concerning the requisite +confessions to be made, and the forms of admission to +their society, which statements she afterwards denied, under +circumstances that rendered her denial a most aggravated +insult. Declining farther notice of this matter, because +of the indelicacy of the confessions alluded to, I pass to +notice,</p> + +<p>1st. The domestic arrangements of the Shakers. However +strange the remark may seem, it is nevertheless true, +that our factory population work fewer hours out of every +twenty-four than are required by the Shakers, whose bell to +call them from their slumbers, and also to warn them that it +is time to commence the labors of the day, rings much +earlier than our factory bells; and its calls were obeyed, in +the family where I was entertained, with more punctuality +than I ever knew the greatest "workey" among my numerous +acquaintances (during the fourteen years in which I +have been employed in different manufacturing establishments) +to obey the calls of the factory-bell. And not +until nine o'clock in the evening were the labors of the +day closed, and the people assembled at their religious +meetings.</p> + +<p>Whoever joins the Shakers with the expectation of relaxation +from toil, will be greatly mistaken, since they deem it +an indispensable duty to have every moment of time profitably +employed. The little portions of leisure which the +females have, are spent in knitting—each one having a +basket of knitting-work for a constant companion.</p> + +<p>Their habits of order are, in many things, carried to the +extreme. The first bell for their meals rings for all to repair +to their chambers, from which, at the ringing of the +second bell, they descend to the eating-room. Here, all +take their appropriate places at the tables, and after locking +their hands on their breasts, they drop on their knees, close +their eyes, and remain in this position about two minutes. +Then they rise, seat themselves, and with all expedition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +swallow their food; then rise on their feet, again lock their +hands, drop on their knees, close their eyes, and in about +two minutes rise and retire. Their meals are taken in silence, +conversation being prohibited.</p> + +<p>Those whose chambers are in the fourth story of one +building, and whose work-shops are in the third story of +another building, have a daily task in climbing stairs which +is more oppressive than any of the rules of a manufacturing +establishment.</p> + +<p>2d. With all deference, I beg leave to introduce some of +the religious views and ceremonies of the Shakers.</p> + +<p>From the conversation of the elders, I learned that they +considered it doing God service to sever the sacred ties of +husband and wife, parent and child—the relationship existing +between them being contrary to their religious views—views +which they believe were revealed from heaven to +"Mother Ann Lee," the founder of their sect, and through +whom they profess to have frequent revelations from the +spiritual world. These communications, they say, are often +written on gold leaves, and sent down from heaven to instruct +the poor simple Shakers in some new duty. They +are copied, and perused, and preserved with great care. I +one day heard quite a number of them read from a book, in +which they were recorded, and the names of several of the +brethren and sisters to whom they were given by the angels, +were told me. One written on a gold leaf, was (as I was +told) presented to Proctor Sampson by an angel, so late as +the summer of 1841. These "revelations" are written +partly in English, and partly in some unintelligible jargon, +or unknown tongue, having a spiritual meaning, which can +be understood only by those who possess the spirit in an +eminent degree. They consist principally of songs, which +they sing at their devotional meetings, and which are +accompanied with dancing, and many unbecoming gestures +and noises.</p> + +<p>Often in the midst of a religious march, all stop, and with +all their might set to stamping with both feet. And it is +no uncommon thing for many of the worshipping assembly +to crow like a parcel of young chanticleers, while others +imitate the barking of dogs; and many of the young women +set to whirling round and round—while the old men shake +and clap their hands; the whole making a scene of noise +and confusion which can be better imagined than described.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +The elders seriously told me that these things were the +outward manifestations of the spirit of God.</p> + +<p>Apart from their religious meetings, the Shakers have +what they call "union meetings." These are for social +converse, and for the purpose of making the people acquainted +with each other. During the day, the elders tell +who may visit such and such chambers. A few minutes +past nine, work is laid aside; the females change, or adjust, +as best suits their fancy, their caps, handkerchiefs, and pinners, +with a precision which indicates that they are not +<i>altogether</i> free from vanity. The chairs, perhaps to the +number of a dozen, are set in two rows, in such a manner +that those who occupy them may face each other. At the +ringing of a bell each one goes to the chamber where either +he or she has been directed by the elders, or remains at +home to receive company, as the case may be. They enter +the chambers <i>sans cérémonie</i>, and seat themselves—the men +occupying one row of chairs, the women the other. Here, +with their clean checked home-made pocket-handkerchiefs +spread in their laps, and their spit-boxes standing in a row +between them, they converse about raising sheep and kine, +herbs and vegetables, building walls and raising corn, heating +the oven and paring apples, killing rats and gathering +nuts, spinning tow and weaving sieves, making preserves +and mending the brethren's clothes,—in short, every thing +they do will afford some little conversation. But beyond +their own little world they do not appear to extend scarcely +a thought. And why should they? Having so few sources +of information, they know not what is passing beyond them. +They however make the most of their own affairs, and +seem to regret that they can converse no longer, when, after +sitting together from half to three-quarters of an hour, +the bell warns them that it is time to separate, which they +do by rising up, locking their hands across their breasts, +and bowing. Each one then goes silently to his own chamber.</p> + +<p>It will readily be perceived, that they have no access to +libraries, no books, excepting school-books, and a few relating +to their own particular views; no periodicals, and +attend no lectures, debates, Lyceums, &c. They have +none of the many privileges of manufacturing districts—consequently +their information is so very limited, that their +conversation is, as a thing in course, quite insipid. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +manner of their life seems to be a check to the march of +mind and a desire for improvement; and while the moral +and perceptive faculties are tolerably developed, the intellectual, +with a very few exceptions, seem to be below the +average.</p> + +<p>I have considered it my duty to make the foregoing statement +of facts, lest the glowing description of the Shakers, +given in the story of my first visit, might have a wrong +influence. I then judged by outward appearances only—having +a very imperfect knowledge of the true state of the +case. Nevertheless, the <i>facts</i> as I saw them in my first +visit, are still facts; my error is to be sought only in my +inferences. Having since had greater opportunities for +observation, I am enabled to judge more righteous judgment.</p> + +<div class="signature">C. B.</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE LOCK OF GRAY HAIR.</h2> + + +<p>Touching and simple memento of departed worth and +affection! how mournfully sweet are the recollections thou +awakenest in the heart, as I gaze upon thee—shorn after +death had stamped her loved features with the changeless hue +of the grave. How vividly memory recalls the time when, in +childish sportiveness and affection, I arranged this little tress +upon the venerable forehead of my grandmother! Though +Time had left his impress there, a majestic beauty yet rested +upon thy brow; for age had no power to quench the light +of benevolence that beamed from thine eye, nor wither the +smile of goodness that animated thy features. Again do I +seem to listen to the mild voice, whose accents had ever +power to subdue the waywardness of my spirit, and hush to +calmness the wild and turbulent passions of my nature.—Though +ten summers have made the grass green upon thy +grave, and the white rose burst in beauty above thine honored +head, thy name is yet green in our memory, and thy +virtues have left a deathless fragrance in the hearts of thy +children.</p> + +<p>Though she of whom I tell claimed not kindred with the +"high-born of earth"—though the proud descent of titled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +ancestry marked not her name—yet the purity of her spotless +character, the practical usefulness of her life, her firm +adherence to duty, her high and holy submission to the will +of Heaven, in every conflict, shed a radiance more resplendent +than the glittering coronet's hues, more enduring than +the wreath that encircles the head of genius. It was no +lordly dome of other climes, nor yet of our far-off sunny +south, that called her mistress; but among the granite hills +of New Hampshire (my own father-land) was her humble +home.</p> + +<p>Well do I remember the morning when she related to me +(a sportive girl of thirteen) the events of her early days.—At +her request, I was her companion during her accustomed +morning walk about her own homestead. During our ramble, +she suddenly stopped, and looked intently down upon +the green earth, leaving me in silent wonder at what could +so strongly rivet her attention. At length she raised her +eyes, and pointing to an ancient hollow in the earth, nearly +concealed by rank herbage, she said, "that spot is the dearest +to me on earth." I looked around, then into her face for +an explanation, seeing nothing unusually attractive about +the place. But ah! how many cherished memories came +up at that moment! The tear of fond recollection stood in +her eye as she spoke:—"On this spot I passed the brightest +hours of my existence." To my eager inquiry, Did you +not always live in the large white house yonder? She replied, +"No, my child. Fifty years ago, upon this spot +stood a rude dwelling, composed of logs. Here I passed +the early days of my marriage, and here my noble first-born +drew his first breath." In answer to my earnest entreaty +to tell me all about it, she seated herself upon the large +broad stone which had been her ancient hearth, and commenced +her story.</p> + +<p>"It was a bright midsummer eve when your grandfather, +whom you never saw, brought me here, his chosen and +happy bride. On that morning had we plighted our faith at +the altar—that morning, with all the feelings natural to a +girl of eighteen, I bade adieu to the home of my childhood, +and with a fond mother's last kiss yet warm upon my cheek, +commenced my journey with my husband towards his new +home in the wilderness. Slowly on horseback we proceeded +on our way, through the green forest path, whose deep +winding course was directed by incisions upon the trees left<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +by the axe of the sturdy woodsman. Yet no modern bride, +in her splendid coach, decked in satin, orange-flowers, and +lace—on the way to her stately city mansion, ever felt her +heart beat higher than did my own on that day. For as I +looked upon the manly form of him beside me, as with +careful hand he guided my bridal rein—or met the fond +glance of his full dark eye, I felt that his was a changeless +love.</p> + +<p>"Thus we pursued our lonely way through the lengthening +forest, where Nature reigned almost in her primitive wildness +and beauty. Now and then a cultivated patch, with a +newly-erected cottage, where sat the young mother, hushing +with her low wild song the babe upon her bosom, with the +crash of the distant falling trees, proclaimed it the home of +the emigrant.</p> + +<p>"Twilight had thrown her soft shade over the earth: the +bending foliage assumed a deeper hue; the wild wood bird +singing her last note, as we emerged from the forest to a +spot termed by the early settlers 'a clearing.' It was an +enclosure of a few acres, where the preceding year had +stood in its pride the stately forest-tree. In the centre, surrounded +by tall stalks of Indian corn, waving their silken +tassels in the night-breeze, stood the lowly cot which was to +be my future home. Beneath yon aged oak, which has been +spared to tell of the past, we dismounted from our horses, +and entered our rude dwelling. All was silent within and +without, save the low whisper of the wind as it swept +through the forest. But blessed with youth, health, love, +and hope, what had we to fear? Not that the privations +and hardships incident to the early emigrant were unknown +to us—but we heeded them not.</p> + +<p>"The early dawn and dewy eve saw us unremitting in +our toil, and Heaven crowned our labors with blessings. +'The wilderness began to blossom as the rose,' and our +barns were filled with plenty.</p> + +<p>"But there was coming a time big with the fate of these +then infant colonies. The murmur of discontent, long since +heard in our large commercial ports, grew longer and louder, +beneath repeated acts of British oppression. We knew +the portentous cloud every day grew darker. In those +days our means of intelligence were limited to the casual +visitation of some traveller from abroad to our wilderness.</p> + +<p>"But uncertain and doubtful as was its nature, it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +enough to rouse the spirit of patriotism in many a manly +heart; and while the note of preparation loudly rang in +the bustling thoroughfares, its tones were not unheard +among these granite rocks. The trusty firelock was remounted, +and hung in polished readiness over each humble +door. The shining pewter was transformed to the heavy +bullet, awaiting the first signal to carry death to the oppressor.</p> + +<p>"It was on the memorable 17th of June, 1775, that your +grandfather was at his usual labor in a distant part of his +farm: suddenly there fell upon his ear a sound heavier than +the crash of the falling tree: echo answered echo along +these hills; he knew the hour had come—that the flame had +burst forth which blood alone could extinguish. His was +not a spirit to slumber within sound of that battle-peal. He +dropped his implements, and returned to his house. Never +shall I forget the expression of his face as he entered.—There +was a wild fire in his eye—his cheek was flushed—the +veins upon his broad forehead swelled nigh to bursting. He +looked at me—then at his infant-boy—and for a moment his +face was convulsed. But soon the calm expression of high +resolve shone upon his features.</p> + +<p>"Then I felt that what I had long secretly dreaded was +about to be realized. For awhile the woman struggled fearfully +within me—but the strife was brief; and though I +could not with my lips say 'go,' in my heart I responded, +'God's will be done'—for as such I could but regard the +sacred cause in which all for which we lived was staked. I +dwell not on the anguished parting, nor on the lonely desolation +of heart which followed. A few hasty arrangements, +and he, in that stern band known as the Green Mountain +Boys, led by the noble Stark, hurried to the post of danger. +On the plains of Bennington he nobly distinguished himself +in that fierce conflict with the haughty Briton and mercenary +foe.</p> + +<p>"Long and dreary was the period of my husband's absence; +but the God of my fathers forsook me not. To Him +I committed my absent one, in the confidence that He would +do all things well. Now and then, a hurried scrawl, +written perhaps on the eve of an expected battle, came to +me in my lonely solitude like the 'dove of peace' and consolation—for +it spoke of undying affection and unshaken +faith in the ultimate success of that cause for which he had +left all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But he did return. Once more he was with me. I saw +him press his first-born to his bosom, and receive the little +dark-eyed one, whom he had never yet seen, with new +fondness to his paternal arms. He lived to witness the glorious +termination of that struggle, the events of which all so +well know; to see the 'stars and stripes' waving triumphantly +in the breeze, and to enjoy for a brief season the rich +blessings of peace and independence. But ere the sere and +yellow leaf of age was upon his brow, the withering hand +of disease laid his noble head in the dust. As the going +down of the sun, which foretells a glorious rising, so was his +death. Many years have gone by, since he was laid in his +quiet resting-place, where, in a few brief days, I shall slumber +sweetly by his side."</p> + +<p>Such was her unvarnished story; and such is substantially +the story of many an ancient mother of New England. +Yet while the pen of history tells of the noble deeds of the +patriot fathers, it records little of the days of privation and +toil of the patriot mothers—of their nights of harassing +anxiety and uncomplaining sorrow. But their virtues remain +written upon the hearts of their daughters, in characters +that perish not. Let not the rude hand of degeneracy +desecrate the hallowed shrine of their memory.</p> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Theresa.</span></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/illus-190.jpg" width="200" height="100" alt="Decoration" title="Decoration" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> +<h2>LAMENT OF THE LITTLE HUNCHBACK.</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, ladies, will you listen to a little orphan's tale?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pity her whose youthful voice must breathe so sad a wail;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shrink not from the wretched form obtruding on your view.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As though the heart which in it dwells must be as loathsome too.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Full well I know that mine would be a strange repulsive mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were the outward form an index true of the soul within it shrined;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But though I am so all devoid of the loveliness of youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet deem me not as destitute of its innocence and truth.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And ever in this hideous frame I strive to keep the light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of faith in God, and love to man, still shining pure and bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though hard the task, I often find, to keep the channel free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whence all the kind affections flow to those who love not me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I sometimes take a little child quite softly on my knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hush it with my gentlest tones, and kiss it tenderly;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But my kindest words will not avail, my form cannot be screened,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the babe recoils from my embrace, as though I were a fiend.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I sometimes, in my walks of toil, meet children at their play;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a moment will my pulses fly, and I join the band so gay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But they depart with nasty steps, while their lips and nostrils curl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor e'en their childhood's sports will share with the little crooked girl.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But once it was not thus with me: I was a dear-loved child;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mother's kiss oft pressed my brow, a father on me smiled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No word was ever o'er me breathed, but in affection's tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I to them was very near—their cherish'd, only one.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But sad the change which me befel, when they were laid to sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the earth-worms o'er their mouldering forms their noisome revels keep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For of the orphan's hapless fate there were few or none to care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And burdens on my back were laid a child should never bear.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now, in this offensive form, their cruelty is viewed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For first upon me came disease—and deformity ensued:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Woe! woe to her, for whom not even this life's earliest stage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could be redeemed from the bended form and decrepitude of age.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And yet of purest happiness I have some transient gleams;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis when, upon my pallet rude, I lose myself in dreams:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gloomy present fades away; the sad past seems forgot;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span><span class="i0">And in those visions of the night mine is a blissful lot.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The dead then come and visit me: I hear my father's voice;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear that gentle mother's tones, which makes my heart rejoice;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her hand once more is softly placed upon my aching brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And she soothes my every pain away, as if an infant now.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But sad is it to wake again, to loneliness and fears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To find myself the creature yet of misery and tears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then, once more, I try to sleep, and know the thrilling bliss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see again my father's smile, and feel my mother's kiss.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And sometimes, then, a blessed boon has unto me been given—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An entrance to the spirit-world, a foretaste here of heaven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have heard the joyous anthems swell, from voice and golden lyre,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seen the dearly loved of earth join in that gladsome choir.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I have dropped this earthly frame, this frail disgusting clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, in a beauteous spirit-form, have soared on wings away;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have bathed my angel-pinions in the floods of glory bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which circle, with their brilliant waves, the throne of living light.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have joined the swelling chorus of the holy glittering bands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who ever stand around that throne, with cymbals in their hands:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the dream would soon be broken by the voices of the morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the sunbeams send me forth again, the theme of jest and song.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I care not for their mockery now—the thought disturbs me not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, in this little span of life, contempt should be my lot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I would gladly welcome here some slight reprieve from pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I'd murmur of my back no more, if it might not ache again.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Full well I know this ne'er can be, till I with peace am blest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the heavy-laden sweetly sleep, and the weary are at rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the body shall commingle with its kindred native dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the soul return for evermore to the "Holy One and Just."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Letty.</span></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 174px;"> +<img src="images/illus-184.jpg" width="174" height="100" alt="Decoration" title="Decoration" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> +<h2>THIS WORLD IS NOT OUR HOME.</h2> + + +<p>How difficult it is for the wealthy and proud to realize that +they must die, and mingle with the common earth! Though +a towering monument may mark the spot where their lifeless +remains repose, their heads will lie as low as that of the +poorest peasant. All their untold gold cannot reprieve them +for one short day.</p> + +<p>When Death places his relentless hand upon them, and as +their spirit is fast passing away, perhaps for the first time the +truth flashes upon their mind, that this world is not their +home; and a thrill of agony racks their frame at the thought +of entering that land where all is uncertainty to them. It +may be that they have never humbled themselves before the +great Lawgiver and Judge, and their hearts, alas! have not +been purified and renewed by that grace for which they never +supplicated. And as the vacant eye wanders around the +splendidly furnished apartment, with its gorgeous hangings +and couch of down, how worthless it all seems, compared +with that peace of mind which attends "the pure in heart!"</p> + +<p>The aspirant after fame would fain believe this world was +his home, as day by day he twines the laurel-wreath for his +brow, and fondly trusts it will be unfading in its verdure; +and as the applause of a world, that to him appears all bright +and beautiful, meets his ear, he thinks not of Him who resigned +his life on the cross for suffering humanity—he thinks +of naught but the bubble he is seeking; and when he has +obtained it, it has lost all its brilliancy—for the world has +learned to look with indifference upon the bright flowers he +has scattered so profusely on all sides, and his friends, one +by one, become alienated and cold, or bestow their praise +upon some new candidate who may have entered the arena +of fame. How his heart shrinks within him, to think of the +long hours of toil by the midnight lamp—of health destroyed—of +youth departed—of near and dear ties broken by a light +careless word, that had no meaning! How bitterly does he +regret that he has thrown away all the warm and better feelings +of his heart upon the fading things of earth! How +deeply does he feel that he has slighted God's holy law—for, +in striving after worldly honors, he had forgotten that this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +world was not his home; and while the rainbow tints of prosperity +gleamed in his pathway, he had neglected to cultivate +the fadeless wreath that cheers the dying hour! And now +the low hollow cough warns him of the near approach of +that hour beyond which all to him is darkness and gloom; +and as he tosses on the bed of pain and languishing, lamenting +that all the bright visions of youth had so soon vanished +away, the cold world perchance passes in review before him.</p> + +<p>He beholds the flushed cheek of beauty fade, and the star +of fame fall from the brow of youth. He marks the young +warrior on the field of battle, fighting bravely, while the +banner of stars and stripes waves proudly over his head; and +while thinking of the glory he shall win, a ball enters his +heart.—He gazes upon an aged sire, as he bends over the +lifeless form of his idolized child, young and fair as the +morning, just touched by the hand of death; she was the +light of his home, the last of many dear ones; and he wondered +why he was spared, and the young taken. Though +the cup was bitter, he drank it.</p> + +<p>Again he turned his eyes from the world, whereon everything +is written, "fading away." Yes, wealth, beauty, fame, +glory, honor, friendship, and oh! must it be said that even +love, too, fades? Almost in despair, he exclaimed, "Is there +aught that fades not?" And a voice seemed to whisper in +his ear, "There is God's love which never fades; this world +is not your home; waste not the short fragment of your life +in vain regrets, but rather prepare for that dissolution which +is the common lot of all; be ready, therefore, to pass to +that bourne from which there is no return, before you enter +the presence of Him whose name is Love."</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">"Then ask not life, but joy to know<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That sinless they in heaven shall stand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Death is not a cruel foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To execute a wise command.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis ours to ask, 'tis God's to give.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We live to die—and die to live."<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Beatrice.</span></div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 204px;"> +<img src="images/illus-186.jpg" width="204" height="100" alt="Decoration" title="Decoration" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> +<h2>DIGNITY OF LABOR.</h2> + + +<p>From whence originated the idea, that it was derogatory +to a lady's dignity, or a blot upon the female character, to +labor? and who was the first to say sneeringly, "Oh, she <i>works</i> +for a living?" Surely, such ideas and expressions ought not +to grow on republican soil. The time has been when ladies +of the first rank were accustomed to busy themselves in domestic +employment.</p> + +<p>Homer tells us of princesses who used to draw water from +the springs, and wash with their own hands the finest of the +linen of their respective families. The famous Lucretia used +to spin in the midst of her attendants; and the wife of Ulysses, +after the siege of Troy, employed herself in weaving, until +her husband returned to Ithaca. And in later times, the wife +of George the Third, of England, has been represented as +spending a whole evening in hemming pocket-handkerchiefs, +while her daughter Mary sat in the corner, darning stockings.</p> + +<p>Few American fortunes will support a woman who is above +the calls of her family; and a man of sense, in choosing a +companion to jog with him through all the up-hills and +down-hills of life, would sooner choose one who <i>had</i> to work +for a living, than one who thought it beneath her to soil her +pretty hands with manual labor, although she possessed her +thousands. To be able to earn one's own living by laboring +with the hands, should be reckoned among female accomplishments; +and I hope the time is not far distant when none +of my countrywomen will be ashamed to have it known that +they are better versed in useful than they are in ornamental +accomplishments.</p> + +<div class="signature">C. B.</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 210px;"> +<img src="images/illus-187.jpg" width="210" height="100" alt="Decoration" title="Decoration" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE VILLAGE CHRONICLE.</h2> + + +<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> + +<p>"Come, Lina, dear," said Mr. Wheeler to his little daughter, +"lay by your knitting, if you please, and read me the +paper."</p> + +<p>"What, pa, this old paper, 'The Village Chronicle?'"</p> + +<p>"Old, Lina!—why, it is damp from the press. Not so old, +by more than a dozen years, as you are."</p> + +<p>"But, pa, the <i>news</i> is <i>olds</i>. Our village mysteries are all +worn threadbare by the gossiping old maids before the +printer can get them in type; and the foreign information is +more quickly obtained from other sources. And, pa, I wish +you wouldn't call me Lina—it sounds so childish, and I begin +to think myself quite a young lady—almost in my teens, +you know; and Angeline is not so very long."</p> + +<p>"Well, Angeline, as you please; but see if there is not +something in the paper."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, pa; to please you I will read the stupid old +(<i>new</i>, I mean) concern.—Well, in the first place, we have +some poetry—some of our village poets' (genius, you know, +admits not of distinction of sex) effusions, or rather confusions. +Miss Helena (it used to be Ellen once) Carrol's sublime +sentiments upon 'The Belvidere Apollo,'—which she +never saw, nor anything like it, and knows nothing about. +She had better write about our penny-post, and then we might +feel an interest in her lucubrations, even if not very intrinsically +valuable. But if she does not want to be an old +maid, she might as well leave off writing sentimental poetry +for the newspapers; for who will marry a <i>bleu</i>?"</p> + +<p>"There is much that I might say in reply, but I will wait +until you are older. And now do not let me hear you say +anything more about old maids, at least deridingly; for I +have strong hopes that my little girl will be one herself."</p> + +<p>"No, pa, never!—I will not marry, at least while you, or +Alfred, or Jimmy, are alive; but I cannot be an old maid—not +one of those tattling, envious, starched-up, prudish +creatures, whom I have always designated as old maids, +whether they are married or single—on the sunny or shady +side of thirty."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, child, I hope you never will be metamorphosed +into an old maid, then. But now for the Chronicle—I will +excuse you from the poetry, if you will read what comes +next."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, my dear father, a thousand times. It would +have made me as sick as a cup-full of warm water would do. +You know I had rather take so much hot drops.—But the +next article is Miss Simpkins's very original tale, entitled +'The Injured One,'—probably all about love and despair, and +ladies so fair, and men who don't care, if the mask they can +wear, and the girls must beware. Now ain't I literary? But +to be a heroine also, I will muster my resolution, and commence +the story:</p> + +<p>"'Madeline and Emerilla were the only daughters of Mr. +Beaufort, of H., New Hampshire.'</p> + +<p>"Now, pa, I can't go any farther—I would as lieve travel +through the deserts of Sahara, or run the gauntlet among the +Seminoles, as to wade through this sloshy story. Miss Simpkins +always has such names to her heroines; and they would +do very well if they were placed anywhere but in the unromantic +towns of our granite State. H., I suppose, stands +for Hawke, or Hopkinton. Miss Simpkins is so soft that I +do not believe Mr. Baxter would publish her stories, if he were +not engaged to her sister. She makes me think of old 'deaf +uncle Jeff,' in the story, who wanted somebody to love."</p> + +<p>"And she does love—she loves everybody; and I am sorry +to hear you talk so of this amiable and intellectual girl. But +I do not wish to hear you read her story now—as for her +names, she would not find one unappropriated by our towns-folks. +What comes next?"</p> + +<p>"The editorial, pa, and the caption is, 'Our Representatives.' +I had ten times rather read about the antediluvians, +and I wish sometimes they might go and keep them company. +And now for the items: Our new bell got cracked, in its +winding way to this 'ere town; and the meeting-house at the +West Parish, has been fired by an incendiary; and the old +elm, near the Central House, has been blown down; and +Widow Frye has had a yoke of oxen struck by lightning; +and old Col. Morton fell down dead, in a fit of apoplexy; +and the bridge over the Branch needs repairing; and 'a friend +of good order' wishes that our young men would not stand +gaping around the meeting-house doors, before or after service; +and 'a friend of equal rights' wishes that people might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +sell and drink as much rum as they please, without interference, +&c., &c.; and all these things we knew before, as well as +we did our A B C's. Next are the cards: The ladies have +voted their thanks to Mr. K., for his lecture upon phrenology—the +matrimonial part, I presume, included; and the Anti-Slavery +Society is to have a fair, at which will be sold all +sorts of abolition things, such as anti-slavery paper, wafers, +and all such important articles. I declare I will make a +nigger doll for it. And Mr. P., of Boston, is to deliver a +lecture upon temperance; and the trustees of the Academy +have chosen Mr. Dalton for the Preceptor, and here is his +long advertisement; and the Overseers of the Poor are ready +to receive proposals for a new alms-house; and all these +things, pa, which have been the town talk this long time. +But here is something new. Our minister, dear Mr. Olden, +has been very seriously injured by an accident upon the Boston +and Salem Railroad. The news must be very recent, for +we had not heard of it; and it is crowded into very fine type. +Oh, how sorry I am for him!"</p> + +<p>"Well, Lina, or Miss Angeline, there is something of +sufficient importance to repay you for the trouble of reading +it, and I am very glad that you have done so—for I will start +upon my intended journey to Boston to-day, and can assist +him to return home. Anything else?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, pa! a long list of those who have taken advantage +of the Bankrupt Act, and the Deaths and Marriages; +but all mentioned here, with whose names we were familiar, +have been subjects for table-talk these several days."</p> + +<p>"Well, is there no foreign news?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, pa; Queen Victoria has given another ball at Buckingham +Palace; and Prince Albert has accepted a very fine +blood-hound, from Major Sharp, of Houston; and Sir Howard +Douglas has been made a Civil Grand Cross of the Bath, +&c., &c. Are not these fine things to fill up our republican +papers with?"</p> + +<p>"Well, my daughter, look at the doings in Congress—that +will suit you."</p> + +<p>"You know better, pa. They do nothing there but scold, +and strike, and grumble—then pocket their money, and go +home. See, here it begins, 'The proceedings of the House +can hardly be said to have been <i>important</i>. An instructive +and delightful <i>scene</i> took place between Mr. Wise of Virginia, +and Mr. Stanly, of South Carolina.' Yes, pa, that's the way<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +they spend their time. In this <i>act</i> of the farce, or tragedy, +one called t' other a <i>bull-dog</i>, t' other called one a <i>coward</i>. +Do you wish to hear any more?"</p> + +<p>"You are somewhat out of humor, my child; but are +there no new notices?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, here is an 'Assessors' Notice,' and an 'Assignee's +Notice,' and a 'Contractors' Notice;' but you do not care +anything about them. And here is an 'Auction Notice.'"</p> + +<p>"What auction? Read it, my love."</p> + +<p>"Why, the late old Mr. Gardner's farm-house, and all +his furniture, are to be sold at auction. And here is a notice +of a meeting of the Directors of the Pentucket Bank, to be +held this very afternoon."</p> + +<p>"I am very glad to have learned of it, for I must be there. +Is that all?"</p> + +<p>"All?—no, indeed! Here are some long articles, full of +<i>Whereases</i>, and <i>Resolved's</i>, and <i>Be it enacted's</i>; but I know +you will excuse me from reading them. And now for the +advertisements: Here is a fine new lot of <i>Chenie-de-Laines</i>, +'just received' at Grosvenor's—oh, pa! do let me have a +new dress, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"No, I can't—at least, I do not see how I can. But if +you will promise to read my paper through patiently for the +future, and will prepare my valise for my journey to Boston, +I will see what I may do. Meantime I must be off to the +directors' meeting. And now let me remind you that two +items, at least, in this paper, have been of much importance +to me; and one, it seems, somewhat interesting to you. So +no more fretting about the Chronicle, if you want a <i>new +gown</i>."</p> + +<p>Mr. Wheeler left the room, and Angeline seated herself +at the work-table, to repair his vest. She was sorry she had +fretted so much about the Chronicle; but she did wish her +father would take the "Ladies' Companion," or something +else, in its stead.</p> + +<p>While seated there, her little brother came running into +the room, all out of breath, and but just able to gasp out, +"Oh, Lina! there is a man at the Central House, who has +just stopped in the stage, and he is going right on to Kentucky, +and straight through the town where Alfred lives, +for I heard him say so; and I asked him if he would carry +anything for us, and he said, 'Yes, willingly.' So I ran +home as fast as I could come, to tell you to write a note, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +do up a paper, or something, because he will be so sure to +get it—and right from us, too, as fast as it can go. Now do +be quick, or the stage will start off."</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear me," exclaimed Angeline, "how I do wish we +had a New York Mirror, or a Philadelphia Courier, or a +Boston Gazette, or anything but this stupid Chronicle! Do +look, Jimmy! is there nothing in this pile of papers?"</p> + +<p>"No, nothing that will do—so fold up the Chronicle, quick, +for the stage is starting."</p> + +<p>Angeline, who had spent some moments in looking for +another paper, now had barely time to scrawl the short word +"Lina" on the paper, wrap it in an envelop, and direct it. +Jimmy snatched it as soon as it was ready, and ran out "<i>full +tilt</i>," in knightly phrase, or, as he afterwards said, "<i>lickity +split</i>."</p> + +<p>The stage was coming on at full speed, and he wished to +stop it. Many a time had he stood by the road-side, with +his school companions, and, waving his cap, and stretching +out his neck, had hallooed, "Hurrah for Jackson!" and he +feared that, like the boy in the fable, who called "Wolves! +wolves!" if he now shouted to them from the road-side, +they would not heed him. So he ran into the middle of the +road, threw up his arms, and stood still. The driver barely +reined in his horses within a few feet of the daring boy.</p> + +<p>"Where is the man who is going straight ahead to Kentucky?"</p> + +<p>"Here, my lad," replied a voice, as a head popped out of +the window, to see what was the matter.</p> + +<p>"Well, here is a paper which I wish you to carry to my +brother; and if you stop long enough where he is, you must +go and see him, and tell him you saw me too."</p> + +<p>"Well done, my lad! you are a keen one. I'll do your +bidding—but don't you never run under stage-horses again."</p> + +<p>He took the packet, while the driver cracked his whip; +and the horses started as the little boy leaped upon the bank, +shouting, "Hurra for Yankee Land and old Kentucky!"</p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> + +<p>In a rude log hut of Western Kentucky was seated an animated +and intelligent-looking young man. A bright moon +was silvering the forest-tops, which were almost the only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +prospect from his window; but in that beauteous light the +rough clearing around seemed changed to fairy land; and +even his rude domicile partook of the transient renovation. +His lone walls, his creviced roof, and ragged floor, were +transformed beneath that silvery veil; and truly did it look +as though it might well be the abode of peaceful happiness.</p> + +<p>"I feel as though I could write poetry now," said Alfred +to himself. "Let me see—'The Spirit's Call to the Absent,' +or something like that; but if I should strike my light, and +really get pens, ink, and paper, it would all evaporate, vanish, +abscond, make tracks, become scarce, be o. p. h. Ah, yes! +the poetry would go, but the feeling, the deep affection, +which would find some other language than simple prose, +can never depart.</p> + +<p>"How I wish I could see them all! There is not a codger +in my native town—not a crusty fusty old bachelor—not +an envious tattling old maid—not a flirt, sot, pauper, idiot, or +sainted hypocrite, but I could welcome with an embrace. +But if I could only see my father, or Jimmy, or Lina, dear +girl! how much better I should feel! It would make me +ten years younger, to have a chat with Lina; and, to tell the +truth, I should like to see any woman, just to see how it +would seem. I'd go a quarter of a mile, now, to look at a +row of aprons hung out to dry. But there! it's no use +to talk.</p> + +<p>"An evening like this is such an one as might entice me +to my mother's grave, were I at home. Oh! if she were +but alive—if I could only know that she was still somewhere +on the wide earth, to think and pray for me—I might be better, +as well as happier. Methinks it must be a blessed thing +to be a mother, if all sons cherish that parent's memory as I +have mine—and they do. It cheers and sustains the exile in +a stranger's land; it invigorates him in trial, and lights him +through adversity; it warns the felon, and haunts and harrows +the convict; it strengthens the captive, and exhilarates +the homeward-bound. Truly must it be a blessed thing to +be a mother!"</p> + +<p>He stopped—for in the moonlight was distinctly seen the +figure of a horseman, emerging from the public road, and +galloping across the clearing. He turned towards the office +of the young surveyor, and in a few moments the carrier +had related the incident by which he obtained the paper, and +placed "The Village Chronicle" in Alfred's hand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p> + +<p>He struck a light, tore off the wrapper, and the only +written word which met his eye was "Lina." "Dear +name!" said he, "I could almost kiss it, especially as there +is none to see me. She must have been in a prodigious hurry! +and how funny that little rascal, Jimmy, must have +looked! Well, 'when he next doth run a race, may I be +there to see.'"</p> + +<p>He took the paper to read. It was a very late one—he +had never before received one so near the date; and even +that line of dates was now so pleasing. First was Miss +Helena Carroll's poetry. "Dear girl!" said he, "what a +beautiful writer she is! Really, this is poetry! This is +something which carries us away from ourselves, and more +closely connects us with the enduring, high, and beautiful. +Methinks I see her now—more thin, pale, and ethereal in +her appearance than when we were gay school-mates; but +I wonder that, with all her treasures of heart and intellect, +she is still Helena Carroll.</p> + +<p>"And now here is Miss Simpkin's story of 'The injured +One'—beautiful, interesting, and instructive, I am confident; +and I will read it, every word; but she italicises too +much; she throws too lavishly the bright robes of her prolific +fancy upon the forms she conjures up from New-England +hills and vales. I wonder if she remembers now the +time when she made me shake the old-apple tree, near the +pound, for her, and in jumping down, I nearly broke my +leg. Well, if I read her story, I will try that it does not +break my heart.</p> + +<p>"And here is an excellent editorial about 'Our Representatives'—I +will read it again, and now for the <span class="smcap">items</span>."</p> + +<p>These were all highly interesting to the <i>absentee</i>, and on +each did he expatiate to himself. How different were his +feelings from his sister's, as he read of the cracked bell, the +burned meeting-house, the dead oxen, the apoplectic old +Colonel, the decayed bridge, the hints of the friends of +"good order" and "equal rights." Then there was a little +scene suggested by every card; he wondered who had their +heads examined at the Phrenological lecture; and if the +West Parish old farmers were now as stiffly opposed to the +science. And how he would like to see Lina's chart, and to +know if Jimmy had brains—he was sure he had legs, and +a big heart for a little boy; and he wondered what girls ran +up to have their heads felt of in public; and what the man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +said about matrimony—an affair which in old times was +thought to have more to do with the heart than the head.</p> + +<p>Then his imagination went forward to the fair of the +Anti-Slavery Society, and he wondered where it would be, +and who would go, and what Lina would make, and whether +so much fuss about slavery was right or wrong, and if +"father" approved of it. Then the temperance lecture was +the theme for another self-disquisition. He wondered who +had joined the society, and how the Washingtonians held +out, and if Mr. Hawkins was ever coming to the West.</p> + +<p>Then he was glad the trustees were determined to resuscitate +the old academy. What grand times he had enjoyed +there, especially at the exhibitions! and he wondered where +all the pretty girls were who used to go to school with his +bachelorship. Then they were to have a new alms-house; +and forty more things were mentioned, of equal interest—not +forgetting Mr. Olden's accident, for which "father +would be so sorry." Then there were the Marriages and +Deaths—each a subject of deep interest, as was also the list +of Bankrupts. The foreign news was news to him; and +Congress matters were not passed unheeded by.</p> + +<p>Then he read with deep interest every "Assessor's Notice," +also those of "Assignees," "Contractors," and +"Auctioneers." There was not a single "Whereas" or +"Resolved," but was most carefully perused; and every +"Be it enacted" stared him in the face like an old familiar +friend.</p> + +<p>Then there were the advertisements; and Grosvenor's +first attracted his attention from its <i>big</i> letters. "CHENIE-DE-LAINES!" +said he, "What in the name of common +sense are they? Something for gal's gowns, <i>I guess</i>; and +what will they next invent for a name?"</p> + +<p>But each advertisement told its little history. Some of +the old "<i>pillars</i>" of the town were still in their accustomed +places. The same signatures, places, and almost the same +goods—nothing much changed but the dates. Another advertisement +informed him of the dissolution of an old copartnership, +and another showed the formation of a new one. +Some old acquaintances had changed their location or business, +and others were about to retire from it. Those whom +he remembered as almost boys, were now just entering into +active life, and those who should now be preparing for another +world were still laying up treasures on earth. One, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +had been a farmer, was now advertising himself as a <i>doctor</i>. +A lawyer had changed into a miller, and old Capt Prouty +was post-master. The former cobler now kept the bookstore, +and the young major had turned printer. The old +printer was endeavoring to collect his debts—for he said his +devil had gone to Oregon, and he wished to go to the devil.</p> + +<p>Not a single puff did Alfred omit; he noticed every new +book, and swallowed every new nostrum. "Old rags," +"Buffalo Oil," "Bear's Grease," "Corn Plaster," "Lip +Salve," "Accordions," "Feather Renovators," "Silk +Dye-Houses," "Worm Lozenges," "Ready-made Clothing," +"Ladies' Slips," "Misses' Ties," "Christmas Presents," +"Sugar-house Molasses," "Choice Butter," "Shell Combs," +"New Music," "Healing Lotions," "Last Chance," +"Hats and Caps," "Prime Cost," "Family Pills," "Ladies' +Cuff Pins," "Summer Boots," "Vegetable Conserve," +"Muffs and Boas," "Pease's Horehound Candy," +"White Ash Coal," "Bullard's Oil-Soap," "Universal +Panacea," "Tailoress Wanted," "Unrivalled Elixir," +"Excellent Vanilla," "Taylor's Spool Cotton," "Rooms +to Let," "Chairs and Tables," "Pleasant House," "Particular +notice," "Family Groceries," "A Removal," "Anti-Dyspeptic +Bitters," &c., &c., down to "One Cent Reward—Ran +away from the Subscriber," &c.—Yes; he had +read them all, and all with much interest, but one with a +deeper feeling than was awakened by the others. It was +the notice of the sale of the late Mr. Gardner's House, farm, +&c.</p> + +<p>"And so," said Alfred, "Cynthia Gardner is now free. +She used to love me dearly—at least she said so in every +thing but words; but the old man said she should never +marry a harum-scarum scape-grace like me. Well! it's no +great matter if I did sow all my wild oats then, for there is +too little cleared land to do much at it here. The old gentleman +is dead, and I'll forgive him; but I will write this +very night to Cynthia, and ask her to—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">——'come, and with me share<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whate'er my hut bestows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My cornstalk bed, my frugal fare,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My labor and repose.'"<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="signature"><span class="smcap">Lucinda.</span></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> +<h2>AMBITION AND CONTENTMENT.</h2> + + +<p>It has been said that all virtues, carried to their extremes, +become vices, as firmness may be carried to obstinacy, +gentleness to weakness, faith to superstition, &c., &c.; and +that while cultivating them, a perpetual care is necessary +that they may not be resolved into those kindred vices. But +there are other qualities of so opposite a character, that, +though we may acknowledge them both to be virtues, we can +hardly cherish them at the same time.</p> + +<p>Contentment is a virtue often urged upon us, and too often +neglected. It is essential to our happiness; for how can we +experience pleasure while dissatisfied with the station which +has been allotted us, or the circumstances which befall us? +but when contentment degenerates into that slothful feeling +which will not exert itself for a greater good—which would +sit, and smile at ease upon the gifts which Providence has +forced upon its possessor, and turns away from the objects, +which call for the active spring and tenacious grasp—when, +I repeat, contentment is but another excuse for indolence, it +then has ceased to be a virtue.</p> + +<p>And Ambition, which is so often denounced as a vice—which +<i>is</i> a vice when carried to an extent that would lead its +votary to grasp all upon which it can lay its merciless clutch, +and which heeds not the rights or possessions of a fellow-being +when conflicting with its own domineering will, which +then becomes so foul a vice—this same ambition, when kept +within its proper bounds, is then a virtue; and not only a +virtue, but the parent of virtues. The spirit of laudable enterprise, +the noble desire for superior excellence, the just +emulation which would raise itself to an equality with the +highest—all this is the fruit of ambition.</p> + +<p>Here then are two virtues, ambition and contentment, +both to be commended, both to be cherished, yet at first +glance at variance with each other; at all events, with difficulty +kept within those proper bounds which will prevent a +conflict between them.</p> + +<p>We are not metaphysicians, and did we possess the power +to draw those finely-pencilled mental and moral distinctions +in which the acute reasoner delights so often to display<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +his power, this would be no place for us to indulge our love +for nicely attenuated theories. We are aware, that to cherish +ambition for the good it may lead us to acquire, for the +noble impulses of which it may be the fountain-spring, and +yet to restrain those waters when they would gush forth +with a tide which would bear away all better feelings of the +heart—this, we know, is not only difficult, but almost impossible.</p> + +<p>To strive for a position upon some loftier eminence, and +yet to remain unruffled if those strivings are in vain; to remain +calm and cheerful within the little circle where Providence +has stationed us, yet actively endeavoring to enlarge +that circle, if not to obtain admittance to a higher one; to +plume the pinions of the soul for an upward flight, yet calmly +sink again to the earth if these efforts are but useless +flutterings; all this seems contradictory, though essential +to perfection of character.</p> + +<p>Thankfulness for what we have, yet longings for a greater +boon; resignation to a humble lot, and a determination +that it shall not always be humble; ambition and contentment—how +wide the difference, and how difficult for one +breast to harbor them both at the same time!</p> + +<p>Nothing so forcibly convinces us of the frailty of humanity +as the tendency of all that is good and beautiful to corruption. +As in the natural world, earth's loveliest things are +those which yield most easily to blighting and decay, so in +the spiritual, the noblest feelings and powers are closely +linked to some dark passion.</p> + +<p>How easily does ambition become rapacity; and if the +heart's yearnings for the unattainable are forcibly stilled, +and the mind is governed by the determination that no wish +shall be indulged but for that already in its power, how +soon and easily may it sink into the torpor of inaction! To +keep all the faculties in healthful exercise, yet always to +restrain the feverish glow, must require a constant and vigilant +self-command.</p> + +<p>How soon, in that long-past sacred time when the Savior +dwelt on earth, did the zeal of one woman in her Master's +cause become tainted with the earth-born wish that her sons +might be placed, the one upon his right and the other upon +his left hand, when he should sit upon his throne of glory; +and how soon was <i>their</i> ardent love mingled with the fiery +zeal which would call down fire from heaven upon the heads +of their fellow-men!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> + +<p>Here was ambition, but not a justifiable desire for elevation; +an ambition, also, which had its source in some of the +noblest feelings of the soul, and which, when directed by the +pure principles which afterwards guided their conduct, was +the heart-spring of deeds which shall claim the admiration, +and spur to emulous exertions, the men of all coming time.</p> + +<p>"Be content with what ye have," but never with what ye +are; for the wish to be perfect, "even as our Father in +heaven is perfect," must ever be mingled with regrets for +the follies and frailties which our weak nature seems to have +entailed upon us.</p> + +<p>And while we endeavor to be submissive, cheerful, and +contented with the lot marked out for us, may gratitude +arouse us to the noble desire to render ourselves worthy of a +nobler station than earth can ever present us, even to a +place upon our Savior's right hand in his heavenly kingdom.</p> + +<div class="signature">H. F.</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>A CONVERSATION ON PHYSIOLOGY.</h2> + + +<h3>INTRODUCTION.</h3> + +<p>Physiology, Astronomy, Geology, Botany, and kindred +sciences, are not now, as formerly, confined to our higher +seminaries of learning. They are being introduced into the +common schools, not only of our large towns and cities, but +of our little villages throughout New-England. Hence +a knowledge of these sciences is becoming general. It needs +not Sibylline wisdom to predict that the time is not far distant +when it will be more disadvantageous and more humiliating +to be ignorant of their principles and technicalities, +than to be unable to tell the length and breadth of Sahara, +the rise, course and fall of little rivers in other countries, +which we shall never see, never hear mentioned—and the +latitude and longitude of remote or obscure cities and towns. +If a friend would describe a flower, she would not tell us +that it has so many flower-leaves, so many of those shortest +things that rise from the centre of the flower, and so many +of the longest ones; but she will express herself with more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> +elegance and rapidity by using the technical names of these +parts—petals, stamens, and pistils. She will not tell us +that the green leaves are formed some like a rose-leaf, only +that they are rounder, or more pointed, as the case may be; +or if she can find no similitudes, she will not use fifty words +in conveying an idea that might be given in one little word. +We would be able to understand her philosophical description. +And scientific lectures, the sermons of our best preachers, +and the conversation of the intelligent, presuppose +some degree of knowledge of the most important sciences; +and to those who have not this knowledge, half their zest is +lost.</p> + +<p>If we are so situated that we cannot attend school, we +have, by far the greater part of us, hours for reading, and +means to purchase books. We should be systematic in our +expenditures. They should be regulated by the nature of +the circumstances in which we find ourselves placed,—by +our wages, state of health, and the situation of our families. +After a careful consideration of these, and other incidentals +that may be, we can make a periodical appropriation of any +sum we please, for the purchase of books. Our readings, +likewise, should be systematic. If we take physiology, +physiology should be read exclusively of all others, except +our Bibles and a few well-chosen periodicals, until we acquire +a knowledge of its most essential parts. Then let this +be superseded by others, interrupted in their course only by +occasional reviews of those already studied.</p> + +<p>But there are those whose every farthing is needed to +supply themselves with necessary clothing, their unfortunate +parents, or orphan brothers and sisters with a subsistence. +And forever sacred be these duties. Blessings be on the +head of those who faithfully discharge them, by a cheerful +sacrifice of selfish gratification. Cheerful, did I say? Ah! +many will bear witness to the pangs which such a sacrifice +costs them. It is a hard lot to be doomed to live on in ignorance, +when one longs for knowledge, "as the hart panteth +after the water brook." My poor friend L.'s complaint +will meet an answering thrill of sympathy in many a heart. +"Oh, why is it so?" said she, while tears ran down her +cheeks. "Why have I such a thirst for knowledge, and not +one source of gratification?" We may not know <i>why</i>, my +sister, but faith bids us trust in God, and "rest in his decree,"—to +be content "when he refuses more." Yet a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +spirit of <i>true</i> contentment induces no indolent yieldings to adverse +circumstances; no slumbering and folding the hands +in sleep, when there is so much within the reach of every +one, worthy of our strongest and most persevering efforts. +Mrs. Hale says,—</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">"There is a charm in knowledge, <i>best</i> when bought<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>By vigorous toil of frame and earnest search of thought</i>."<br /></span> +</div> + +<p>And we will toil. Morning, noon, and evening shall witness +our exertions to prepare for happiness and usefulness +here, and for the exalted destiny that awaits us hereafter. +But proper attention should be paid to physical comfort as +well as to mental improvement. It is only by retaining the +former that we can command the latter. The mind cannot +be vigorous while the body is weak. Hence we should not +allow our toils to enter upon those hours which belong to +repose. We should not allow ourselves, however strong +the temptation, to visit the lecture-room, &c., if the state of +the weather, or of our health, renders the experiment hazardous. +Above all, we should not forget our dependence +on a higher Power. "Paul may plant, and Apollos water, +but God alone giveth the increase."</p> + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + +<p><i>Ann.</i> Isabel, before we commence our "big talk," let me +ask you to proceed upon the inference that we are totally +ignorant of the subject under discussion.</p> + +<p><i>Ellinora.</i> Yes, Isabel, proceed upon the <i>fact</i> that I am +ignorant even of the meaning of the term <i>physiology</i>.</p> + +<p><i>Isabel.</i> It comes from the Greek words <i>phusis</i>, nature, and +<i>logia</i>, a collection, or <i>logos</i>, discourse; and means a collection +of facts or discourse relating to nature. Physiology is +divided, first, into Vegetable and Animal; and the latter is +subdivided into Comparative and Human. We shall confine +our attention to Human Physiology, which treats of the organs +of the human body, their mutual dependence and relation, +their functions, and the laws by which our physical +constitution is governed.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> And are you so heretical, dear Isabel, as to class this +science, on the score of utility, with Arithmetic and Geography—the +alpha and omega of common school education?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Yes. It is important, inasmuch as it is necessary that +we know how to preserve the fearfully delicate fabric which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +our Creator has entrusted to our keeping. We gather many +wholesome rules and cautions from maternal lips; we learn +many more from experiencing the painful results that follow +their violation. But this kind of knowledge comes tardily; +it may be when an infringement of some organic law, of +which we were left in ignorance, has fastened upon us painful, +perhaps fatal, disease.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> We may not always avoid sickness and premature +death by a knowledge and observance of these laws; for +there are hereditary diseases, in whose origin we are not implicated, +and whose effects we cannot eradicate from our +system by "all knowledge, all device."</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> But a knowledge of Physiology is none the less important +in this case. If the chords of our existence are +shattered, they must be touched only by the skilful hand, or +they break.</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> Were it not for this, were there no considerations of +utility in the plea, there are others sufficiently important to +become impulsive. It would be pleasant to be able to trace +the phenomena which we are constantly observing within +ourselves to their right causes.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Yes; we love to understand the springs of disease, +even though "a discovery of the cause" neither "suspends +the effect, nor heals it." We rejoice in health, and we +love to know why it sits so strongly within us. The warm +blood courses its way through our veins; the breath comes +and goes freely in and out; the nerves, those subtle organs, +perform their important offices; the hand, foot, brain—nay, +the whole body moves as we will: we taste, see, hear, smell, +feel; and the inquiring mind delights in knowing by what +means these wonderful processes are carried on,—how far +they are mechanical, how far chemical, and how far resolvable +into the laws of vitality. This we may learn by a study +of Physiology, at least as far as is known. We may not +satisfy ourselves upon all points. There may be, when we +have finished our investigations, a longing for a more perfect +knowledge of ourselves; for "some points must be greatly +dark," so long as mind is fettered in its rangings, and +retarded in its investigations by its connection with the body. +And this is well. We love to think of the immortal state as +one in which longings for moral and intellectual improvement +will <i>all</i> be satisfied.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Yes; it would lose half its attractions if we might attain +perfection here.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>E.</i> And now permit me to bring you at once to our subject. +What is this life that I feel within me? Does Physiology +tell us? It ought.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> It does not, however; indeed, it cannot. It merely +develops its principles.</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> The principles of life—what are they?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> The most important are <i>contractibility</i> and <i>sensibility</i>.</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> Let me advertise you that I am particularly hostile to +technical words—all because I do not understand them, I +allow, but please humor this ignorance by avoiding them.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> And thus perpetuate your ignorance, my dear Ellinora? +No; this will not do; for my chief object in these conversations +is that you may be prepared to profit by lectures, +essays and conversation hereafter. You will often be thrown +into the company of those who express themselves in the +easiest and most proper manner, that is, by the use of technical +words and phrases. These will embarrass you, and +prevent that improvement which would be derived, if these +terms were understood. Interrupt me as often as you please +with questions; and if we spend the remainder of the evening +in compiling a physiological glossary, we may all reap +advantage from the exercise. To return to the vital principles—vital +is from <i>vita</i>, life—<i>contractibility</i> and <i>sensibility</i>. +The former is the property of the muscles. The muscles, +you know, are what we call flesh. They are composed of +fibres, which terminate in tendons.</p> + +<p><i>Alice.</i> Please give form to my ideas of the tendons.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> With the muscles, they constitute the agents of all motion +in us. Place your hand on the inside of your arm, and +then bend your elbow. You perceive that cord, do you not? +That is a tendon. You have observed them in animals, +doubtless.</p> + +<p><i>Ann.</i> I have. They are round, white, and lustrous; and +these are the muscular terminations.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Yes; this tendon which you perceive, is the termination +of the muscles of the fore-arm, and it is inserted into +the lower arm to assist in its elevation.</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> Now we are coming to it. Please tell me how I move +a finger—how I raise my hand in this manner.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> It is to the contractile power of the muscles that you +are indebted for this power. I will read what Dr. Paley +says of muscular contraction; it will make it clearer than +any explanation of mine. He says, "A muscle acts only by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> +contraction. Its force is exerted in no other way. When +the exertion ceases, it relaxes itself, that is, it returns by +relaxation to its former state, but without energy."</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> Just as this India-rubber springs back after extension, +for illustration.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Very well, Ellinora. He adds, "This is the nature +of the muscular fibre; and being so, it is evident that the +reciprocal <i>energetic</i> motion of the limbs, by which we +mean <i>with force</i> in opposite directions, can only be produced +by the instrumentality of opposite or antagonist muscles—of +flexors and extensors answering to each other. For instance, +the biceps and brachięus <i>internus</i> muscles, placed in the +front part of the upper arm, by their contraction, bend the +elbow, and with such a degree of force as the case requires, +or the strength admits. The relaxation of these muscles, +after the effort, would merely let the fore-arm drop down. +For the <i>back stroke</i> therefore, and that the arm may not only +bend at the elbow, but also extend and straighten itself with +force, other muscles, the longus, and brevis brachięus <i>externus</i>, +and the aconęus, placed on the hinder part of the arms, +by their contractile twitch, fetch back the fore-arm into a +straight line with the cubit, with no less force than that with +which it was bent out. The same thing obtains in all the +limbs, and in every moveable part of the body. A finger is +not bent and straightened without the <i>contraction</i> of two muscles +taking place. It is evident, therefore, that the animal +functions require that particular disposition of the muscles +which we describe by the name of antagonist muscles."</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Thank you, Isabel. This does indeed make the subject +very plain. These muscles contract at will.</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> But how can the will operate in this manner? I have +always wished to understand.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> And I regret that I cannot satisfy you on this point. +If we trace the cause of muscular action by the nerves to +the brain, we are no nearer a solution of the mystery; for +we cannot know what power sets the organs of the brain at +work—whether it be foreign to or of itself.</p> + +<p>We will come now, if you please to <i>sensibility</i>, which belongs +to the nerves.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> I have a very indefinite idea of the nerves.</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> My <i>ideal</i> is sufficiently definite in its shape, but so +droll! I do not think of them as "being flesh of my flesh," +but as a <i>species</i> of the <i>genus</i> fairy. They are to us, what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +the Nereides are to the green wave, the Dryades to the oak, +and the Hamadryades to the little flower. They are quite +omnipotent in their operations. They make us cry or they +make us laugh; thrill us with rapture or woe as they please. +And, my dear Isabel, I shall not allow you to cheat me out +of this pleasing fancy. You may tell us just what they are, +but I shall be as incredulous as possible.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> They are very slender white cords, extending from the +brain and spinal marrow—twelve pairs from the former, and +thirty from the latter. These send out branches so numerous +that we cannot touch the point of a pin to a spot that has +not its nerve. The mucous membrane is—</p> + +<p><i>F.</i> Oh, these technicals! What is the mucous membrane?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> It is a texture, or web of fibres, which lines all cavities +exposed to the atmosphere—for instance, the mouth, windpipe +and stomach. It is the seat of the senses of taste and +smell.</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> And the nerves are the little witches that inform the +brain how one thing is sweet, another bitter; one fragrant, +another nauseous. Alimentiveness ever after frowns or +smiles accordingly. So it seems that the actions of the +brain, and of the external senses, are reciprocated by the +nerves, or something of this sort. How is it, Isabel? Oh, +I see! You say sensibility belongs to the nerves. So +sights by means of—of what?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Of the optical nerves.</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> Yes; and sounds by means of the—</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Auditory nerves.</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> Yes; convey impressions of externals to the brain. +And "Upon this hint" the brain acts in its consequent reflections, +and in the nervous impulses which induce muscular +contractibility. And this muscular contractibility is a contraction +of the fibres of the muscles. This contraction, of +course, shortens them, and this latter <i>must</i> result in the +bending of the arm. I think I understand it. What are the +brain and spine, Isabel? How are they connected?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> You will get correct ideas of the texture of the brain +by observing that of animals. It occupies the whole cavity +of the skull, is rounded and irregular in its form, full of +prominences, <i>alias</i> bumps. These appear to fit themselves +to the skull; but doubtless the bone is moulded by the brain. +The brain is divided into two parts; the upper and frontal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> +part is called the <i>cerebrum</i>, the other the <i>cerebellum</i>. The +former is the larger division, and is the seat of the moral +sentiments and intellectual faculties. The latter is the seat +of the propensities, domestic and selfish.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> I thank you, Isabel. Now, what is this spine, of +which there is so much "complaint" now-a-days?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> I will answer you from Paley: "The spine, or backbone, +is a chain of joints of very wonderful construction. It +was to be firm, yet flexible; <i>firm</i>, to support the erect position +of the body; <i>flexible</i>, to allow of the bending of the +the trunk in all degrees of curvature. It was further, also, +to become a pipe or conduit for the safe conveyance from the +brain of the most important fluid of the animal frame, that, +namely, upon which <i>all voluntary motion depends, the spinal +marrow</i>; a substance not only of the first necessity to action, +if not to life, but of a nature so delicate and tender, so susceptible +and impatient of injury, that any unusual pressure +upon it, or any considerable obstruction of its course, is followed +by paralysis or death. Now, the spine was not only +to furnish the main trunk for the passage of the medullary +substance from the brain, but to give out, in the course of +its progress, small pipes therefrom, which, being afterwards +indefinitely subdivided, might, under the name of nerves, +distribute this exquisite supply to every part of the body."</p> + +<p><i>Alice.</i> I understand now why disease of the spine causes +such involuntary contortions and gestures, in some instances. +Its connection with the brain and nerves is so immediate, that +it cannot suffer disease without affecting the whole nervous +system.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> It cannot. The spinal cord or marrow is a continuation +of the brain. But we must not devote any more time to this +subject.</p> + +<p><i>Bertha.</i> I want to ask you something about the different +parts of the eye, Isabel. When —— —— lectured on +optics, I lost nearly all the benefit of his lecture, except a +newly awakened desire for knowledge on this subject. He +talked of the retina, cornea, iris, &c.; please tell me precisely +what they are.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> The retina is a nervous membrane; in other words a +thin net-work, formed of very minute sensitive filaments. +It is supposed by some to be an expansion of the optic nerve; +and on this the images of objects we see are formed. It is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +situated at the back part of the eye. Rays pass through the +round opening in the iris, which we call the pupil.</p> + +<p><i>B.</i> What did the lecturer say is the cause of the color of +the pupil?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> He said that its <i>want of color</i> is to be imputed to the +fact that rays of light which enter there are not returned; +they fall on the retina, forming there images of objects. And +you recollect he said that "absence of rays is blackness." +The iris is a kind of curtain, covering the aqueous humor—aqueous +is from the Latin <i>aqua</i>, water. It is confined only +at its outer edge, or circumference; and is supplied with +muscular fibres which confer the power of adjustment to every +degree of light. It contracts or dilates involuntarily, as the +light is more or less intense, as you must have observed. The +rays of light falling on that part of the iris which immediately +surrounds the pupil, cause it to be either black, blue, or +hazel. We will not linger on this ground, for it belongs more +properly to Natural Philosophy. We will discuss the other +four senses as briefly as possible. "The sense of taste," +says Hayward, "resides in the mucus membrane of the +tongue, the lips, the cheeks, and the fauces." Branches of +nerves extend to every part of the mouth where the sense of +taste resides. The fluid with which the mouth is constantly +moistened is called mucus, and chiefly subserves to the sense +of taste.</p> + +<p><i>Ann.</i> I have observed that when the mucus is dried by +fever, food is nearly tasteless. I now understand the reason.</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> <i>Apropos</i> to the senses, let me ask if feeling and touch +are the same. Alfred says they are; I contend they are not, +precisely.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Hayward thinks a distinction between them unnecessary. +He says they are both seated in the same organs, and have the +same nerves. But the sense of feeling is more general, extending +over the whole surface of the skin and mucus membrane, +while that of touch is limited to particular parts, being +in man most perfect in the hand; and the sense of feeling is +passive, while that of touch is active. This sense is in the +skin, and is most perfect where the epidermis, or external +coat, is the thinnest. We will look through this little magnifying +glass at the skin on my hand. You will see very minute +prominences all over the surface. These points are +called papillę. They are supposed to be the termination of +the nerves, and the <i>locale</i> of sensation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>E.</i> Will you <i>shape</i> my ideas of sensation?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> According to Lord Brougham, one of the English editors +of this edition of Paley, it is "the effect produced upon +the mind by the operation of the senses; and involves nothing +like an exertion of the mind itself."</p> + +<p>Of the sense of hearing, I can tell you but little. Physiologists +have doubts relative to many parts of the ear; and +I do not understand the subject well enough to give you much +information. I will merely name some of the parts and +their relative situations. We have first the external ear, +which projecting as it does from the head, is perfectly adapted +to the office of gathering sounds, and transmitting them +to the membrane of the tympanum, commonly called the +drum of the ear, from its resembling somewhat, in its use +and structure, the head of a drum. The tympanum is a cavity, +of a cylindrical or tunnel form, and its office is supposed +to be the transmission to the internal ear of the vibrations +made upon the membrane. These vibrations are first communicated +to the malleus or hammer. This is the first of +four bones, united in a kind of chain, extending and conveying +vibrations from the tympanum to the labyrinth of the +ear beyond. The other bones are the incus, or anvil, the +round bone, and the stapes, or stirrup—the latter so called +from its resemblance to a stirrup-iron. It is placed over an +oval aperture, which leads to the labyrinth, and which is +closed by means of a membranous curtain. These bones are +provided with very small muscles, and move with the vibrations +of the tympanum. The equilibrium of the air in the +tympanum and atmosphere is maintained by the means of the +Eustachian tube, which extends from the back part of the +fauces, or throat, to the cavity of the tympanum. The parts +last mentioned constitute the middle ear. Of the internal +ear little is known. It has its semicircular canals, vestibules, +and cochlea; but their agencies are not ascertained.</p> + +<p>The organ of smell is more simple. This sense lies, or is +supposed to lie, in the mucous membrane which lines the +nostrils and the openings in connection. Particles are constantly +escaping from odorous bodies; and, by being inhaled +in respiration, they are thrown in contact with the mucous +membrane.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Before leaving the head, will you tell us something of +the organs of voice?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> By placing your finger on the top of your windpipe,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +you will perceive a slight prominence. In males this is very +large. This is the thorax. It is formed of four cartilages, +two of which are connected with a third, by means of four +chords, called vocal chords, from their performing an important +part in producing the voice. Experiments have been +made, which prove that a greater part of the larynx, except +these chords, may be removed without destroying the voice. +Magendie thus accounts for the production of the voice. He +says, "The air, in passing from the lungs in expiration, is +forced out of small cavities, as the air-cells and the minute +branches of the windpipe, into a large canal; it is thence +sent through a narrow passage, on each side of which is a +vibratory chord, and it is by the action of the air on these +chords, that the sonorous undulations are produced which are +called voice."</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> Do not the lips and tongue contribute essentially to +speech?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> They do not. Hayward says he can bear witness to the +fact that the articulation remains unimpaired after the tongue +has been removed. The labials, <i>f</i> and <i>v</i>, cannot be perfectly +articulated without the action of the lips.—What subject +shall we take next?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> A natural transition would be from the head to the +heart, and, in connection, the circulation of the blood.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Yes. I will give you an abstract of the ideas I gained +in the study of Hayward's Physiology, and the reading of Dr. +Paley's Theology. The heart, arteries, and veins are the +agents of circulation. The heart is irregular and conical in +its shape; and it is hollow and double.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> There is no channel of communication between these +parts, is there?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> None; but each side has its separate office to perform. +By the right, circulation is carried on in the lungs; and by +the left through the rest of the body. I will mark a few +passages in Paley, for you to read to us, Ann. They will +do better than any descriptions of mine.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> I thank you, Isabel, for giving me an opportunity to lend +you temporary relief.—"The disposition of the blood-vessels, +as far as regards the supply of the body, is like that of the +water-pipes in a city, viz. large and main trunks branching +off by smaller pipes (and these again by still narrower tubes) +in every direction and towards every part in which the fluid +which they convey can be wanted. So far, the water-pipes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +which serve a town may represent the vessels which carry +the blood from the heart. But there is another thing necessary +to the blood, which is not wanted for the water; and +that is, the carrying of it back again to its source. For this +office, a reversed system of vessels is prepared, which, uniting +at their extremities with the extremities of the first system, +collects the divided and subdivided streamlets, first by +capillary ramifications into larger branches, secondly by these +branches into trunks; and thus returns the blood (almost exactly +inverting the order in which it went out) to the fountain +whence its motion proceeded. The body, therefore, contains +two systems of blood-vessels, arteries and veins.</p> + +<p>"The next thing to be considered is the engine which +works this machinery, viz., the <i>heart</i>. There is provided in +the central part of the body a hollow muscle invested with +spiral fibres, running in both directions, the layers intersecting +one another. By the contraction of these fibres, the sides +of the muscular cavity are necessarily squeezed together, so +as to force out from them any fluid which they may at that +time contain: by the relaxation of the same fibres, the cavities +are in their turn dilated, and, of course, prepared to admit +every fluid which may be poured into them. Into these +cavities are inserted the great trunks both of the arteries +which carry out the blood, and of the veins which bring it +back. As soon as the blood is received by the heart from +the veins of the body, and <i>before</i> that is sent out again into +its arteries, it is carried, by the force of the contraction of +the heart, and by means of a separate and supplementary +artery, to the lungs, and made to enter the vessels of the +lungs, from which, after it has undergone the action, whatever +it may be, of that viscus, it is brought back, by a large +vein, once more to the heart, in order, when thus concocted +and prepared, to be thence distributed anew into the system. +This assigns to the heart a double office. The pulmonary +circulation is a system within a system; and one action of +the heart is the origin of both. For this complicated function +four cavities become necessary, and four are accordingly +provided; two called ventricles, which <i>send out</i> the blood, +viz., one into the lungs in the first instance, the other into +the mass, after it has returned from the lungs; two +others also, called auricles, which receive the blood from the +veins, viz. one as it comes from the body; the other, as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +same blood comes a second time after its circulation through +the lungs."</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> That must answer our purpose, dear Ann. Of the +change which takes place in the blood, and of the renewal +of our physical system, which is effected by circulation, I +shall say nothing. We will pass to respiration.</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> Whose popular name is breathing?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Yes. The act of inhaling air, is called inspiration; +that of sending it out, expiration. Its organs are the lungs +and windpipe. The apparatus employed in the mechanism +of breathing is very complex. The windpipe extends from +the mouth to the lungs.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> How is it that air enters it so freely, while food and +drink are excluded?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> By a most ingenious contrivance. The opening to the +pipe is called glottis. This is closed, when necessary, by a +little valve, or lid, called the epiglottis (<i>epi</i> means <i>upon</i>.)</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> And this faithful sentinel is none other than that perpendicular +little body which we can see in our throats, and +which we have <i>dubbed</i> palate.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> You are right, Ellinora. Over this, food and drink pass +on their way to the road to the stomach, the gullet. The +pressure of solids or liquids tends to depress this lid on the +glottis; and its muscular action in deglutition, or swallowing, +tends to the same effect. As soon as the pressure is removed, +the lid springs to its erect position, and the air passes freely. +Larynx and trachea are other names for the windpipe, and +pharynx is another for the gullet. The larynx divides into +two branches at the lungs, and goes to each side. Hence, +by subdivisions, it passes off in numerous smaller branches, +to different parts of the lungs, and terminates in air-cells. +The lungs, known in animals by the name of lights, consist +of three parts, or lobes, one on the right side, and two on +the left.</p> + +<p><i>Alice.</i> The lights of inferior animals are very light and +porous—do our lungs resemble them in this?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Yes; they are full of air-tubes and air-cells. These, +with the blood vessels and the membrane which connects +(and this is cellular, that is, composed of cells,) form the +lungs. The process of respiration involves chemical, mechanical, +and vital or physiological principles. Of the mechanism +I shall say but little more. You already know that +the lungs occupy the chest. Of this, the breast bone forms<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +the front, the spine, the back wall. Attached to this bone +are twelve ribs on each side. These are joined by muscles +which are supposed to assist in elevating them in breathing, +thus enlarging the cavity of the chest. The lower partition +is formed by a muscle of great power, called the diaphragm, +and by the action of this organ alone common inspiration can +be performed. Hayward says, "The contraction of this +muscle necessarily depresses its centre, which was before +elevated towards the lungs. The instant this takes place, the +air rushes into the lungs through the windpipe, and thus +prevents a vacuum, which would otherwise be produced between +the chest and lungs." Expiration is the reverse of this. +The chemistry of respiration regards the change produced in +the blood by respiration. To this change I have before alluded.</p> + +<p><i>Ann.</i> When we consider the offices of the heart and lungs, +their importance in vital economy, how dangerous appears +the custom of pressing them so closely between the ribs by +tight lacing?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Yes; fearful and fatal beyond calculation! And one +great advantage in a general knowledge of our physical system, +is the tendency this knowledge must have to correct this +habit.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> To me there is not the weakest motive for tight lacing. +Everything but pride <i>must</i> revolt at the habit; and there is +something positively disgusting and shocking in the wasp-like +form, labored breathing, purple lips and hands of the +tight lacer.</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> They indicate such a pitiful servitude to fashion, such +an utter disregard of comfort, when it comes in collision with +false notions of elegance! Well for our sex, as we could +not be induced to act from a worthier motive, popular opinion +is setting in strongly against this practice. Many of our +authors and public lecturers are bringing strong arms and benevolent +hearts to the work.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Yes; but to be perfectly consistent, should not the +fashions of the "Lady's Book," the "Ladies' Companion," +and of "Graham's Magazine," be more in keeping with the +general sentiment? Their contributors furnish essays, deprecating +the evils of tight lacing, and tales illustrative of its +evil effects, yet the figures of the plates of fashions are uniformly +most unnaturally slender. And these are offered for +national standards!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>E.</i> "And, more's the pity," followed as such.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> I think the improvements you mention would only cause +a temporary suspension of the evil. They might indeed +make it the <i>fashion</i> to wear natural waists; but like all other +fashions, it must unavoidably give way to new modes. They +might lop off a few of the branches; but science, a knowledge +of physiology alone, is capable of laying the axe at +the root of the tree.—What is digestion, Ellinora?</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> It is the dissolving, pulverizing, or some other <i>ing</i>, of +our food, isn't it?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Hayward says that "it is an important part of that process +by which aliment taken into the body is made to nourish +it." He divides the digestive apparatus into "the mouth +and its appendages, the stomach and the intestines." The +teeth, tongue, jaws, and saliva, perform their respective offices +in mastication. Then the food passes over the epiglottis, +you recollect, down the gullet to the stomach. The saliva is +an important agent in digestion. It is secreted in glands, which +pour it into the mouth by a tube about the size of a wheat +straw.</p> + +<p><i>Alice.</i> I heard our physician say that food should be so +thoroughly masticated before deglutition (you see I have +caught your technicals, Isabel,) that every particle would be +moistened with the saliva. Then digestion would be easy +and perfect. He says that dyspepsia is often incurred and +perpetuated by eating too rapidly.</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Doubtless this is the case. As soon as the food reaches +the stomach, the work of digestion commences; and the +food is converted to a mass, neither fluid or solid, called +chyme. With regard to this process, there have been many +speculative theories. It has been imputed to animal heat, to +putrefaction, to a mechanical operation (something like that +carried on in the gizzard of a fowl,) to fermentation, and +maceration. It is now a generally adopted theory, that the +food is <i>dissolved</i> by the gastric juices.</p> + +<p><i>Ann.</i> If these juices are such powerful solvents, why do +they not act on the stomach, when they are no longer supplied +with <i>subjects</i> in the shape of food?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> According to many authorities, they do. Comstock says +that "hunger is produced by the action of the gastric juices +on the stomach." This theory does not prevail, however; +for it has been proved by experiment, that these juices do not +act on anything that has life.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Alice.</i> How long does it take the food to digest?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Food of a proper kind will digest in a healthy stomach, +in four or five hours. It then passes to the intestines.</p> + +<p><i>Ann.</i> But why does it never leave the stomach until thoroughly +digested?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> At the orifice of the stomach, there is a sort of a valve, +called pylorus, or door-keeper. Some have supposed that +this valve has the power of ascertaining when the food is sufficiently +digested, and so allows chyme to pass, while it contracts +at the touch of undigested substances.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> How wonderful!</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> And "how passing wonder He who made us such!"</p> + +<p><i>Alice.</i> No wonder that a poet said—</p> + +<div class="poem"><span class="i0">"Strange that a harp of thousand strings</span> +<span class="i1">Should keep in tune so long!"</span> +</div> + +<p><i>Ann.</i> And no wonder that the Christian bends in lowly +adoration and love before <i>such</i> a Creator, and <i>such</i> a Preserver?</p> + +<p><i>E.</i> Now, dear Isabel, will you tell us something more?</p> + +<p><i>I.</i> Indeed, Ellinora, I have already gone much farther +than I intended when I commenced. But I knew not where +to stop. Even now, you have but just <i>commenced</i> the study +of <i>yourselves</i>. Let me urge you to read in your leisure hours, +and reflect in your working ones, until you understand physiology, +as well as you now do geography.</p> + +<div class="signature">D.</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 260px;"> +<img src="images/illus-214.jpg" width="260" height="100" alt="End" title="End" /> +</div> + +<p> </p> + +<div class='tnote'><b>Transcriber's Note:</b> Minor typographical errors and inconsistencies have been silently normalized. Archaic and variable spellings retained.</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mind Amongst the Spindles, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MIND AMONGST THE SPINDLES *** + +***** This file should be named 37471-h.htm or 37471-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/4/7/37471/ + +Produced by Julia Miller, Julia Neufeld and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/37471-h/images/illus-032.jpg b/37471-h/images/illus-032.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..75c2a6d --- /dev/null +++ b/37471-h/images/illus-032.jpg diff --git a/37471-h/images/illus-035.jpg b/37471-h/images/illus-035.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..24b68b9 --- /dev/null +++ b/37471-h/images/illus-035.jpg diff --git a/37471-h/images/illus-044.jpg b/37471-h/images/illus-044.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..504cba8 --- /dev/null +++ b/37471-h/images/illus-044.jpg diff --git a/37471-h/images/illus-060.jpg b/37471-h/images/illus-060.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..cc67f1a --- /dev/null +++ b/37471-h/images/illus-060.jpg diff --git a/37471-h/images/illus-107.jpg b/37471-h/images/illus-107.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..67a23a2 --- /dev/null +++ b/37471-h/images/illus-107.jpg diff --git a/37471-h/images/illus-160.jpg b/37471-h/images/illus-160.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f39a679 --- /dev/null +++ b/37471-h/images/illus-160.jpg diff --git a/37471-h/images/illus-169.jpg b/37471-h/images/illus-169.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9ee06a1 --- /dev/null +++ b/37471-h/images/illus-169.jpg diff --git a/37471-h/images/illus-171.jpg b/37471-h/images/illus-171.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..06f8fa1 --- /dev/null +++ b/37471-h/images/illus-171.jpg diff --git a/37471-h/images/illus-184.jpg b/37471-h/images/illus-184.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1f0b85b --- /dev/null +++ b/37471-h/images/illus-184.jpg diff --git a/37471-h/images/illus-186.jpg b/37471-h/images/illus-186.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ffc493d --- /dev/null +++ b/37471-h/images/illus-186.jpg diff --git a/37471-h/images/illus-187.jpg b/37471-h/images/illus-187.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2dc2433 --- /dev/null +++ b/37471-h/images/illus-187.jpg diff --git a/37471-h/images/illus-190.jpg b/37471-h/images/illus-190.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..69851f2 --- /dev/null +++ b/37471-h/images/illus-190.jpg diff --git a/37471-h/images/illus-214.jpg b/37471-h/images/illus-214.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..504f733 --- /dev/null +++ b/37471-h/images/illus-214.jpg diff --git a/37471-h/images/illus-ii.jpg b/37471-h/images/illus-ii.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e361cfa --- /dev/null +++ b/37471-h/images/illus-ii.jpg diff --git a/37471-h/images/illus-iv.jpg b/37471-h/images/illus-iv.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e6423bb --- /dev/null +++ b/37471-h/images/illus-iv.jpg diff --git a/37471-h/images/illus-xix.jpg b/37471-h/images/illus-xix.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3b5de96 --- /dev/null +++ b/37471-h/images/illus-xix.jpg |
