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AUTUMNAL LEAVES 
 
AUTUMNAL LEAVES: 
 
 TALES AND SKETCHES 
 
 PROSE AND RHYME. 
 
 BT 
 
 M iStA 
 
 L. MARIA CHILD. 
 
 I speak, as in the days of youth, 
 In simple words some earnest truth. 
 
 /' NEW YORK: 
 C. S. FRANCIS & CO., 554 BROADWAY. 
 
 BOSTON:— 53 DEVONSHIRE STREET. 
 185V. 
 

 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, 
 
 By C. S. Fe^ncib & Co., 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the 
 
 Southern District of New York. 
 
 %\ 
 
 
Several of the articles contained in this volume 
 have appeared in various periodicals ten or twelve 
 years ago. Others have been recently written, during 
 the hours that could be spared from daily duties. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Eglantine, 9 
 
 A Serenade, 46 
 
 The Juryman, 4*7 
 
 The Fairy Friend, 65 
 
 •Wergeland, the Poet, ....... 72 
 
 The Emigrant Boy, .79 
 
 Home and Politics 96 
 
 To the Trailing Arbutus, 119 
 
 The Catholic and the Quaker, 121 
 
 The Rival Mechanicians, 143 
 
 A Song, 165 
 
 Utouch and Touchu, 166 
 
 The Brother and Sister, 181 
 
 The Stream of Life, . . 200 
 
 The Man that Killed his Neighbours, . . . 203 
 
 Intelligence of Animals, 221 
 
 The World that I am Passing Through, . . . 231 
 
 Jan and Zaida, 233 
 
 To the Nasturtium, . . ..... 268 
 
 The Ancient Clairvoyant, .. . . ,.269 
 
 Spirit and Matter, 291 
 
 The Kansas Emigrants, 302 
 
 I Want to Go Home, 364 
 
THE EGLANTINE, 
 
 21 mwlt f HUB ^tom, 
 
 FOUNDED ON A ROitANTIG INCIDENT, WHICH OCCURRED IN 
 THE FAR "WEST, ABOUT TEN YEARS AGO. 
 
 " A form more fair, a face more sweet, 
 Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. 
 And her modest answer, and graceful air, 
 Show her wise and good, as she is fair. 
 Would she were mine ; and I to-day 
 A simple harvester of hay ; 
 "With low of cattle, and song of birds, 
 And health, and quiet, and loving words." 
 Then he thought of his sister, proud and cold, 
 And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. 
 
 J. G. Whitxter. 
 
 "What a remarkably pretty girl Mrs. Barton 
 has for a nursery maid," said Mrs. Yernon to her 
 daughter. 
 
 " Yes, mamma ; and it seems quite useless for a 
 servant to be so handsome. "What good will it do 
 her V She glanced at the mirror, as she spoke, and 
 seemed less satisfied than usual with her own pretty 
 face. She was thinking to herself, " If I had as 
 
10 THE EGLANTINE. 
 
 mucli beauty as she has, I sliouldn't despair of win- 
 ning a cliike." 
 
 A similar idea flashed across Mrs. Yemon's 
 mind, as she noticed the involuntary appeal to the 
 mirror. Therefore, she sighed as she answered, 
 "Instead of doing her good, it will doubtless prove 
 a misfortune. Some dissipated lord will take a 
 fancy to her ; but he will soon become weary of 
 her, and will marry her to the first good-natured 
 clown, who can be liired to take her." 
 
 "Yery likely," replied Miss Julia; "and after 
 living with a nobleman, she can never be happy 
 with a person of her own condition." The pros- 
 pect of such a future in reserve for the rustic beauty 
 seemed by no means painful to the aristocratic 
 young lady. Indeed, one might conjecture, from 
 her .manner, that she regarded it as no more than a 
 suitable punishment for presuming to be handsomer 
 than her superiors in rank. 
 
 A flush passed over the countenance of her bro- 
 ther Edward, who sat reading at the opposite win- 
 dow ; but the ladies, busy with their embroidery 
 and netting, did not observe it. The lower ex- 
 tremity of their grounds was separated from Mrs. 
 Barton's merely by a hedge of hawthorns. A few 
 weeks previous, as he was walking there, his atten- 
 tion had been attracted by joyful exclamations 
 from their neighbour's children, over a lupine that 
 began to show its valves above the ground. He 
 turned involuntarily, and when he saw the young 
 
THE EGLANTINE. 11 
 
 girl who accompanied them, he felt a little glow of 
 pleasant surprise curl around his heart, as if some 
 entirely new and very beautiful wild flower had 
 unexpectedly appeared before him. That part of 
 the garden became his favourite place of resort ; and 
 if a day passed without his obtaining a glimpse of 
 the lovely stranger, he was conscious of an unde- 
 fined feeling of disappointment. One day, when 
 the children were playing near by, their India-rub- 
 ber ball bounced over into Mrs. Vernon's grounds. 
 When he saw them searching for it among the 
 hawthorns, he reached across the hedge and pre- 
 sented it to their attendant. He raised his hat and 
 bowed, as he did so ; and she blushed as she took 
 it from his hand. After this accidental introduction, 
 he never passed her without a similar salutation ; 
 and she always coloured at a mark of courtesy so 
 unusual from a gentleman to ^ person in her humble 
 condition. The degree of interest she had excited 
 in his mind rendered it somewhat painful to hear 
 his mother's careless prophecy of her future destiny. 
 A few days afterward, he was walking with his 
 sister, when Mrs. Barton's maid passed with the 
 children. Miss Julia graciously accosted the little 
 ones, but ignored the presence of their attendant. 
 Seeing her brother make his usual sign of deferen- 
 tial 23oliteness, she exclaimed, " What a strange per- 
 son you are, Edward ! One would suppose you were 
 passing a duchess. I dare say you would do just 
 the same if cousin Alfred were with us." 
 
12 THE EGLANTINE. 
 
 " Certainly I sliould," lie replied. " I am accus- 
 tomed to regulate my actions by my own convictions, 
 not by those of another person. You know I be- 
 lieve in such a thing as natural nobility." 
 
 " And if a servant happens to have a pretty face, 
 you consider her a born duchess, I suppose," said 
 Julia. 
 
 " Such kind of beauty as that we have just passed, 
 where the pliant limbs move with unconscious dig- 
 nity, and harmonized features are illuminated by a 
 moral grace, that emanates 'from the soul, does seem 
 to me to have received from Nature herself an un- 
 mistakeable patent of nobility." 
 
 " So you knoio this person?" inquired his sister. 
 
 He replied, " I have merely spoken to her on the 
 occasion of returning a ball, that one of the children 
 tossed over into our grounds. But casually as I 
 have seen her, her countenance and manners impress 
 me with the respect that you feel for high birth." 
 
 " It's a pity you were not born in the back- woods 
 of America," retorted his sister, pettishly. 
 
 " I sometimes think so myself," he quietly replied. 
 " But let us gather some of these wild flowers, Julia, 
 instead of disputing about conventional distinctions, 
 concerning which you and I can never agree." 
 
 His sister coldly accepted the flowers he offered. 
 Her temper was clouded by the incident of the 
 morning. It vexed her that Edward liad never 
 said, or implied, so much concerning her style of 
 beauty ; and she could not forgive the tendencies of 
 
THE EGLANTINE. 13 
 
 mind wMcli spoiled Mm for the part slie wished him 
 to perform in the world, as a means of increasing 
 his own importance, and thereby advancing her 
 interests. She had the misfortune to belong to an 
 English family extensively connected with the rich 
 and aristocratic, without being themselves largely 
 endowed with wealth. Cousin Alfred, the son of 
 her father's older brother, was heir to a title ; and 
 consequently she measured every tiling by his stand- 
 ard. The income of the family was more than suf- 
 ficient for comfort and gentility ; but the unfortunate 
 tendency to assume the habits of others as their 
 standard rendered what might have been a source 
 of enjoyment a cause of discontent. 
 
 Their life was a constant struggle to keep up ap- 
 pearances beyond their means. All natural thoughts 
 and feehngs were kept in perpetual harness ; drilled 
 to walk blindfolded the prescribed round of con- 
 ventional forms, like a horse in a bark-mill ; with 
 this exception, that their routine spoiled the free 
 paces of the horse, without grinding any bark. 
 Edward's hberal soul had early rebelled against this 
 system. He had experienced a vague consciousness 
 of walking in fetters ever since he was reproved for 
 bringing home a favourite school-mate to pass the 
 vacation with him, when he was twelve years old. 
 He could not then be made to understand why a 
 manly, intelligent, large-hearted boy, who was a 
 tradesman's son, was less noble than- young Lord 
 Smallsoul, cousin Alfred's school-friend ; and within 
 2 
 
14 THE EGLANTINE. 
 
 the last few weeks, circumstances had excited his 
 thoughts to unusual activity concerning natural and 
 artificial distinctions. As he walked in the garden, 
 book in hand, he never failed to see the beautifal 
 nurserj-maid, if she were anywhere within sight; 
 and she always perceived him. In her eyes, he was 
 like a bright, far-off star ; while he was refreshed 
 by a vision of her^ as he was by the beauty of an 
 opening flower. Distinction of rank was such a 
 fixed fact in the society around them, that the star 
 and the flower dreamed of union as much as they 
 did. But Cupid, who is the earliest republican on 
 record, willed that things should not remain in that 
 state. A bunch of fragrant violets were offered 
 with a smile and received with a blush; and in 
 the blush and the smile an arrow lay concealed. 
 Then volumes of poems were loaned with passages 
 marked; and every word of those passages were 
 stereotyped on the heart of the reader. For a long 
 time, he was ignorant of her name ; but hearing the 
 children call her Sibella, he inquired her other name, 
 and they told him it was Flower. He thought it an 
 exceedingly poetic and appropriate name ; as most 
 young men of twenty would have thought, under 
 similar circumstances. He noticed the sequestered 
 lanes where she best loved to rove, when sent out 
 with the children for exercise; and those lanes 
 became his own favourite places of resort. Wild 
 flowers furnished a graceful and harmless topic of 
 conversation; yet Love made even those simple 
 
THE EGLANTINE. 15 
 
 tilings Ms messengers. Patrician Edward offered 
 the rustic Sibella an Eglantine, saying, " This has a 
 peculiar charm for me, above all flowers. It is so 
 fragrant and delicately tinted; so gracefully un- 
 trained, and so modest in its pretensions. It always 
 seems to me like a beautiful young maiden, without 
 artificial culture, but naturally refined and poetic. 
 The first time I saw you, I thought of a flowering 
 Eo-lantine: and I have never since looked at the 
 shrub, without being reminded of you." She lis- 
 tened, half abashed and half delighted. She never 
 saw the flower again without thinking of him. 
 
 The next day after this little adventure, she re- 
 ceived a copy of Moore's Melodies, with her name 
 elegantly written therein. The songs, all sparkling 
 with fancy and warm with love, were well suited to 
 her sixteen years, and to that critical period in her 
 heart's experience. She saw in them a reflection of 
 her own young soul dreamily floating in a fairy-boat 
 over moon-lighted waters. The mystery attending 
 the gift increased its charm. The postman left it at 
 the door, and no one knew whence it came. Within 
 the same envelope was a pressed blossom of the 
 Eglantine, placed in a sheet of Parisian letter-paper 
 gracefully ornamented with a coloured arabesque of 
 Eglantines and German Forget-me-nots. On it the 
 following verses were inscribed : — 
 
16 THE EGLANTINE. 
 
 TO SIBELLA FLOWER. 
 
 There is a form more light and fair, 
 
 Than human tongue can tell, 
 It seems a spirit of the air. 
 
 She is a flower si belle ! 
 
 The lovely cheek more faintly flushed 
 
 Than ocean's rosy shell, 
 Is like a new-found pearl that blushed, 
 
 She is a flower si belle ! 
 
 Her glossy hair in simple braid, 
 
 With softly curving swell. 
 Might well have crowned a Grecian maid. 
 
 She is a flowxr si belle ! 
 
 Her serious and dove-like eyes 
 
 Of gentle thoughts do tell ; 
 Serene as summer ev'ning skies. 
 
 She is a flower si belle! 
 
 Her graceful mouth was outlined free 
 
 By Cupid's magic spell, 
 A bow for his sure archery. 
 
 She is a flower si belle ! 
 
 And thence soft silv'ry tones do flow, 
 
 Like rills along the dell, 
 Making sweet musi<i as they go. 
 
 She is a flower si belle ! 
 
THE EGLANTINE. 17 
 
 Fairer still is the modest mind, 
 
 Pure as a crystal well, 
 A\ mountain solitude enshrined. 
 
 She is a flower si belle ! 
 
 A note at the bottom of tlie verses explained tliat 
 tlie Frencli word si telle meant so heautiful. The 
 poetr J was that of a young man of twenty ; but a 
 simple maiden of sixteen, who was herself the sub- 
 ject of the lines, saw more beauty in them, than a 
 critic could find in the best inspirations of Shake- 
 speare or Milton. And then to think that a gentle- 
 man, who understood French^ should write verses 
 to her I It was wonderful! She would as soon 
 have dreamed of wearing the crown of England. 
 The next time she met Edward Yernon, her cheeks 
 were flushed more deeply than " ocean's rosy shell." 
 But she never alluded to the book or the verses; 
 for she said to herself, "PerhajDS he did'nt send 
 them ; and then I should feel so ashamed of sup- 
 posing he did ! " The secret was half betrayed on 
 his part ; whether intentionally or unintentionally, 
 she did not know. He began by calling her Miss 
 Flower ; then he called her Sibella ; but ever after 
 the reception of the verses, he said Sibelle. 
 
 They were so reserved toward each other, and 
 Mrs. Barton's children were apparently so much the 
 objects of his attention, during their rambles, that 
 their dreamy romance might have gone on uninter- 
 rupted for months longer, had not a human foot 
 2* B 
 
18 THE EGLANTINE. 
 
 stepped within tlieir fairy circle. Lord Smallsoul, 
 as he rode abroad one day, was attracted by "the 
 flower si helled As his grosser nature and more 
 selfish habits were nnciirbed by the respectful diffi- 
 dence, which restrained Edward's love, he became 
 bold and importunate in his attentions; as if he 
 took it for granted that any rural beauty could be 
 purchased with a nobleman's gold. The poor girl 
 could not stir out of doors, without being liable to 
 his unwelcome intrusion ; the more unwelcome be- 
 cause the presence of the false lover expelled the 
 true one. Edward kept carefully aloof, watching 
 the proceedings of the profligate nobleman with 
 jealous indignation. He painfully felt that he had 
 no right to assume guardianship over the young 
 girl, and that any attempt to do so would bring him 
 into collision with her persecutor; likely to end 
 in publicity by no means favourable to her repu- 
 tation. The rural belle was inexperienced in the 
 world's ways, but she had been trained by a pru- 
 dent mother, and warned against the very dangers 
 that now beset her path. Therefore, with many 
 blushes, she begged Mrs. Barton to excuse her from 
 walking out with the children; confessing tliat 
 Lord Smallsoul sought every opportunity of urging 
 her to go and live with him in Italy, though she 
 never would accept one of the many rich presents 
 he was always offering her. Mrs. Barton warmly 
 commended her, and promised protection. After 
 some conversation, she said, " The children tell me 
 
THE EGLANTINE. 19 
 
 that Mr. Yernon has often joined you in your 
 walks. Did he ever say he was in love with you ?" 
 Sibella promptly replied, "Never. He is always 
 very respectful." "And he has never made you any 
 presents, has he ?" inquired the lady. The maiden 
 lowered her eyes and blushed deeply. She had 
 been trained to a strict observance of the truth ; 
 but she did not know certainly who sent Moore's 
 Melodies ; and heart and conscience both pleaded 
 with her not to say any thing that might involve 
 her friend in blame. After a moment's hesitation, 
 she answered, evasively, " He has sometimes offered 
 me flowers, madam, when he was gathering them 
 for the children ; and I thought it no harm to take 
 them." The book of poems, and the wonderful 
 verses framed in flowery arabesques, remained a se- 
 cret between herself and him who sent them. But 
 Mrs. Barton noticed the sudden blush, and the in- 
 voluntary hesitation ; and she resolved to elicit some 
 information from the children, in a manner not 
 likely to excite their curiosity. 
 
 Lord Smallsoul, who from infancy had been an 
 object of excessive indulgence, was not to be easily 
 baffled in his selfish plans. Night and day, he, or 
 his confidential servant, was prowling about Mrs. 
 Barton's grounds. His assiduities became a posi- 
 tive nuisance, and excited much gossip in the neigh- 
 bourhood. Miss Julia Yernon took occasion to say 
 to Mrs. Barton, " It is really surprising his lordship 
 should make himself so ridiculous, instead of be- 
 
20 THE EGLANTIIS'E. 
 
 stowing his attentions upon beautiful ladies wliose 
 rank in life is nearer to his own. He knows, how- 
 ever, that ladies would scorn to accept such homage 
 as he bestows upon your servant ; and I suppose 
 he is not yet ready to enter into matrimonial 
 bonds." 
 
 Mrs. Barton thought to herself that the dissolute 
 nobleman would receive a very prompt and gra- 
 cious answer, if he invited Miss Julia to enter into 
 such bonds. She, however, suppressed the smile 
 that was rising to her lips, and said, " I don't won- 
 der at his being fascinated by Sibella ; for she is 
 gifted with extraordinary beauty. I am truly thank- 
 ful, on her own account, and for the sake of her 
 worthy parents, that she is discreet as she is lovely. 
 I confess, I should myself rejoice in such a daugh- 
 ter." 
 
 There was a slightly contemptuous motion in the 
 muscles of Miss Vernon's mouth, as she replied, 
 " You appear to think her a paragon. The girl is 
 pretty enough ; too pretty for her own good, since 
 she was born to be a servant. But I cannot imag- 
 ine what attractions she can have for a gentleman, 
 who is accustomed to the distinguished air of ladies 
 of rank." 
 
 " Some people prefer the Eglantine to the Garden 
 Rose," replied Mrs. Barton. " Your brother is ac- 
 customed to ladies of rank ; but I imagine he 
 appreciates Sibella's beauty more highly than you 
 do." 
 
THE EGLANTINE. 21 
 
 " What reason have you for thinking so ?" quick- 
 ly inquired Miss Julia. 
 
 Half mischievously, and altogether imprudently, 
 Mrs. Barton replied, " The children heard him tell 
 her that she was like an Eglantine, which, of all 
 flowers was his favourite ; and they say he always 
 wore an Eglantine in his vest, as long as there was 
 one to be found." 
 
 Up rose Miss Yernon, hastily, and with a haugh- 
 ty toss of the head, said emphatically, " I thank 
 you vei^y much for having told me this. Good 
 morning, madam." 
 
 The amiable neighbour, foreseeing a storm, imme- 
 diately repented of what she had said ; but it was 
 impossible to recall it. She looked out of the win- 
 dow, and saw that Miss Yernon was excited to such 
 a degree as to make her forget the patrician languor, 
 which usually characterized her movements. Obey- 
 ing an impulse, for once in her life, she walked 
 rapidly across the garden to the paternal mansion. 
 As if a case of life and death were impending, she 
 startled her mother with this abrupt annunciation : 
 *' Do go directly to cousin Alfred, and tell him he 
 TTiust devise some means to remove Edward from 
 this neighbourhood, forthwith. You know, he has 
 been promising, for some time past, to secure a 
 suitable situation for him; and unless you see to 
 having it done immediately, you may prepare your- 
 self to have your son disgrace the whole family by 
 marrying a servant." She then repeated what she 
 
22 THE EGLANTINE. 
 
 had just heard, and added: "You know, mother, 
 that Edward never could be induced to pay so much 
 regard to the distinctions of rank, as he ought to 
 do. It would be just hke him to go off to Gretna 
 Green with a servant girl, if he happened to take 
 it into his foolish head that she was a paragon of 
 beauty and virtue." 
 
 Great was the consternation in all branches of 
 the Yernon family ; and their alarm was not a little 
 increased when Edward frankly declared that it 
 would be easy to procure a suitable education for 
 Sibella, and then she would be a desirable com- 
 panion for any gentleman in the land. How his fa- 
 ther glowered at him, how his mother wept, and 
 what glances his sister hurled from her haughty 
 eyes, need not be told. He retreated to his own 
 apartment, and for several days remained there most 
 of the time, revolving plans for the future ; some 
 of them of the most romantic kind. He longed for 
 a secret interview with Sibella, to avow his love, 
 promise eternal constancy, and obtain from her a 
 similar pledge in return. But his nice sense of 
 honour restrained him from taking any step that 
 might cast a shadow upon her. He made several 
 attempts to see her openly, but he was closely 
 watched, and she never appeared ; for Mrs. Barton 
 informed her that the family had taken offence at 
 the attentions he paid her. 
 
 The anxious conferences in Edward's family 
 ended with an announcement from, his father that 
 
THE EGLANTIIs^E. 23 
 
 he must prepare to start for Italy the next week, as 
 travehng companion for a young nobleman, about 
 to make the tour of Europe. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Vernon and her daughter vent- 
 ed some of their mortification and vexation upon 
 Mrs. Barton ; blaming her for keeping such a hand- 
 some servant, to make trouble in gentlemen's fam- 
 ilies. That lady, becoming more and more un- 
 easy at the state of things, deemed it prudent to 
 write a warning letter to Sibella's parents ; and the 
 good mother came to her child immediately. She 
 found her darling in the depths of girlish misery ; 
 alleviated, however, by the happy consciousness 
 that she had nothing to conceal. Weeping on the 
 maternal bosom, she told all her simple story ; not 
 even reserving the secret of the book and the verses. 
 But when her mother said they ought to be re- 
 turned to Mr. Yernon, she remonstrated warmly. 
 " Oh no, mother, don't ask me to do that! If you 
 do, I shall be sorry I told you. I don't know that 
 he sent them. He never said so. The Eglantine 
 made me thinh that he did ; but I am afraid I 
 should seem to him like a bold, vain girl, if he 
 'knew that I thought so." Her mother, being as- 
 sured that no presents had been offered, and love 
 never spoken of, yielded to her argument. She 
 was allowed to retain the precious volume, and the 
 wonderful verses, which were hidden away as care- 
 fully as a miser's treasures. 
 
 Mr. Vernon, the father, had a private conversa- 
 
24 THE EGLANTINE. 
 
 tion witli Mrs. Flower, the morning after lier arrival. 
 He assumed so proud a tone, tliat lie roused a cor- 
 responding degree of pride in the worthy woman, 
 who curtly assured him that her daughter would 
 find no difiiculty in forming a good connection, and 
 would never be permitted to enter any family that 
 objected to her. The gentleman thanked her, with 
 cold politeness, and she parted from him with a 
 very short courtesy. That evening a note came for 
 Miss Sibella Flower. Mrs. Barton placed it in the 
 mother's hand, who opened it and read : 
 
 " Dear Sibelle, 
 
 " Forgive me for venturing to call you so. I 
 am compelled to depart for Italy to-morrow ; and 
 that must be my excuse. I have reflected much 
 upon the subject, and young as I am, I feel that it 
 is my duty not to refase the eligible situation my 
 relatives have procured for me. It has given me 
 great pain to come to this conclusion ; but I console 
 myself with the reflection that some day or other, 
 I shall be free to follow my own inclinations. I 
 can never forget you, never cease to love you ; and 
 I cannot part without saying farewell, and conjur- 
 ing you to cherish the memory of the blissful mo- 
 ments we have passed together. Do ask Mrs. Bar- 
 ton to allow me an hour's interview with you this 
 evening. She and your mother can both be pres- 
 ent, if they think proper. They will see by this 
 
THE EGLANTINE. 25 
 
 request tliat m j views are honourable, and my pro- 
 fessions sincere. 
 
 " Yours, with undying affection, 
 
 "E. Y." 
 
 Mrs. Flower promptly decided to see the young 
 gentleman herself. He was accordingly sent for, 
 and came full of love and hope. But Sibella, who 
 was kept in ignorance of the note, was requested 
 not to intrude upon their conference ; therefore, he 
 saw the mother only. In answer to all his vehement 
 protestations and earnest entreaties, she answered, 
 *' Sibella is a mere child ; and it is my duty to guard 
 her inexperience. Kext to seeing her deceived by 
 false professions, I have always dreaded her marry- 
 ing into a proud family, who would look down 
 upon her." 
 
 " I will go to America, and make a position for 
 myself, independent of my family, before I ask her 
 to share my destiny," replied the enthusiastic lover. 
 
 " I thank you, Mr. Yernon. You have behaved 
 nobly toward my child ; and my heart blesses you 
 for it. But I had a sister, who married above her 
 rank, and I cannot forget the consequences. They 
 were very young when they were married, and 
 never were two young creatures so much in love. 
 She was as good as she was handsome ; but his fam- 
 ily treated her as if she was'nt worthy to black 
 their shoes ; and they had such an influence upon 
 
 him, that he at last repented of the step lie had 
 3 
 
26 THE EGLANTINE. 
 
 taken. She felt it, and it made her very miserable. 
 Yon are yonng, sir ; too yonng to be certain that 
 yonr mind won't change." 
 
 " I know perfectly well that my mind can never 
 change," he replied eagerly. " This is not snch a 
 boyish whim as you seem to suppose. It is a deep, 
 abiding feeling. It is impossible that I can ever 
 change." 
 
 The mother quietly replied, " My sister's husband 
 said the same ; and yet he did change." 
 
 Edward Yernon internally cursed that sister's 
 heartless husband ; but he contented himself with 
 sajdng, " Such love as his must have been very dif- 
 ferent from the feelings that inspire me." 
 
 His intreaties were unavailing to procure an in- 
 terview with Sibella. The prudent mother con- 
 cealed the fact that he had awakened an interest in 
 her daughter's heart. To all his arguments she 
 would only shake her head and reply, " You are too 
 young to know your own mind, Mr. Vernon." 
 
 Too young ! How cold and contemptuous that 
 sounded ! He was not in a state of mind to appre- 
 ciate the foresight and kindness, which strove to 
 shield him from his own rashness. She seemed to 
 him as proud and hard-hearted as his father ; and 
 perhaps pride did help her prudence a little. Yet 
 when he was gone away, the good woman sat down 
 and cried; she sympathized so heartily with the 
 trouble of those young hearts. Sibella sobbed her- 
 self to sleep that night, though unconscious that 
 
THE EGLANTINE. 27 
 
 Edward intended to leave England. He watclied 
 the window of her chamber till the light of her 
 lamp went ont in darkness. " That star will shine 
 for me no more !" he said. He returned slowly to 
 his own room, looked out upon the hawthorn-hedge 
 for a long time, then laid himself down to weep, and 
 dream of green lanes, fragrant with the Eglantine. 
 
 The next morning, Mrs. Elower requested her 
 daughter to prepare for their return home, since 
 there was no other way of relieving Mrs. Barton 
 from the perpetual intrusion of the shameless no- 
 bleman, and his troublesome servant. Gentle as 
 Sibella was, she experienced a feeling of hatred to- 
 ward Lord Smallsoul, who, like an odious beast, had 
 rushed into her paradise, trampling its flowers. 
 She did not dispute her mother's decision, for she 
 felt that it was judicious ; but she also stood at the 
 window a long time, looking out upon the haw- 
 thorn-hedge, associated with so many pleasant mem- 
 ories. Her eyes were moist when she turned and 
 said, " Mother, before we go away, I should like to 
 bid good-bye to some of the old places, where I 
 have walked with — with — the children. You can 
 go with me, if you are afraid of my meeting Mr. 
 Yernon." 
 
 Sadly and sympathizingly, her mother answered, 
 " You cannot meet Mr. Yernon, my child ; for he 
 has gone to Italy." 
 
 "Gone!" she exclaimed; and the sudden pale- 
 ness and the thrilling tone cut her mother's heart. 
 
28 THE EGLANTINE. 
 
 She soothed her tenderly, and, after a while, Sibella 
 raised her head, with an effort to assume maidenly 
 pride, and said, "He never told me he loved me. 
 1 1 sometimes thought he did. But it was very foolish 
 of me. If he cared for me, he would have said 
 good-bye. I will think no more about it." 
 
 The mother was strongly tempted to tell how 
 ardently and how honourably he loved. But she 
 thought to herself, "It would only serve to keep 
 alive hopes destined to end in disappointment." 
 So she put strong constraint on her feminine sym- 
 pathies, and remained silent. They went forth into 
 the green lanes bright with sunshine, but gloomy to 
 eyes that saw them through a veil of tears. When 
 Sibella came to the bush from which Edward had 
 broken the first Eglantine he offered her, she gazed 
 at it mournfully, and throwing herself on the bosom 
 of her best earthly friend, sobbed out, " Oh mother, 
 mother ! I have been so happy here!" 
 
 " My poor, dear child," she replied, " You don't 
 know how sorry I am for you. But these feelings 
 will pass away with time. You are very young ; 
 and life is all before you." 
 
 The maiden looked up with inexpressible sadness 
 in her eyes, and answered, "Yes, mother, I am 
 young ; but life is all behind me." 
 
 ***** 
 
 There is a wide chasm in the story, as there was 
 in Sibella's life. That brief dream of the past 
 would not unite itself with the actual present. 
 
THE EGLANTINE. 29 
 
 She could form no bridge between them. It re- 
 mained by itself; like an island warm with, sun- 
 sliine, and fragrant with Eglantines, in the midst of 
 cold grej waves. Because she herself was changed, 
 all things around her seemed changed. The young 
 men, especially, appeared like a different race of 
 beings, since she had learned to compare them with 
 that poetic youth, who gazed so reverently at the 
 evening star, and loved the wild-flowers as if they 
 were living tilings. He had kindled her imagina- 
 tion, as well as her heart. She perceived a soul in 
 Nature, of which she had been unconscious till he 
 revealed it. Ah, how lonely she was now ! In all 
 the wide world there was not one mortal who could 
 understand what that simple country girl had found, 
 or what she had lost. She herself did not compre- 
 hend it. She only had an uneasy sense of always 
 seeking for something she could never find. She 
 lived among her former associates like one who has 
 returned from an excursion into fairy -land, finding 
 the air of earth chilly, and its colours dim. But 
 employments are Amaranths in the garden of life. 
 They live through all storms, and survive all changes 
 of the seasons. Her duties were numerous and con- 
 scientiously performed ; and through this pathway 
 of necessity, apparently so rugged, she soon arrived 
 at a state of cheerful serenity. 
 
 In a few months, her parents were induced to 
 join a band of emigrants coming to America ; and 
 the novelty of change proved beneficial to her. 
 3* 
 
30 THE EGLANTINE. 
 
 That sunny island in her experience was not for- 
 gotten, but it smiled upon her farther in the distance^ 
 There was a joyful palpitation at her heart, when 
 she found Eglantines growing wild in America, 
 under the name of Sweet-Briar Eoses. She opened 
 the verses which had seemed to her "si belle f 
 The flower was faded, and its sweetness gone ; but 
 memory was redolent of its fragrance. She was 
 never told that Edward Yernon had written two 
 letters to her, after he left England ; and she had 
 almost persuaded herself that his looks and tones 
 were not so significant as they had seemed. She 
 had no materials to form a definite hope; but it 
 became the leading object of her life so to improve 
 herself, that he would have no cause to be ashamed 
 of her, if he ever should happen to come to Amer- 
 ica. In the accomplishment of this project, she 
 was continually stimulated by the example of Amer- 
 ican girls, who obtained the means of education by 
 their own manual industry, and ended by becoming 
 teachers of the highest class. Her parents were 
 delighted with her diligence and perseverance, and 
 did what they could to aid her; never suspecting 
 that the impelling power came chiefly from a latent 
 feeling, which they hoped was extinct. So she 
 worked onwards and upwards, with hands and mind, 
 and soon found pleasure in the development itself. 
 Meanwhile, the beautiful English Flower attracted 
 admirers of various grades. Her parents hoped she 
 would give tlie preference to a merchant of good 
 
THE EGLANTINE. 81 
 
 character, wlio was in very prosperous circumstances. 
 She was aware that such a marriage would be a 
 great advantage to them; and she loved them so 
 much, that she wished her beauty could be the 
 means of bringing them prosperity. She tried to 
 love the worthy merchant ; but her efforts were un- 
 availing. She was always thinking to herself, ■" He 
 never writes poetry to me, and he never tells me 
 about the stars. Ed ward used to gather wild-flowers 
 for me, and bind them so gracefully with wreaths 
 of Ivy. But this gentleman buys hot-house flowers, 
 tied into pyramids on wires. The poor things look 
 so uncomfortable ! just as I shall feel, if I consent 
 to be sold and tied up. Ah, if he were only more 
 like Mr. Yernon ! I should like to oblige my good 
 father and mother." The soliloquy ended with 
 humming to herself: 
 
 " There's nothing half so sweet in life , 
 
 As Love's young dream." 
 
 "When the time came for a definite answer to the 
 merchant, she told her parents she had rather keep 
 school than marry. They looked at each other and 
 sighed ; but they asked no questions concerning the 
 memory of her heart. 
 
 The prospect of owning a farm, combined with 
 an eligible offer for Sibella as a teacher, soon after- 
 ward attracted them to the far West. The grandeur 
 and freedom of l^ature in that new region, the 
 mighty forests, the limitless prairies, the luxuriant 
 
82 THE EGLANTINE. 
 
 vegetation, produced a sudden expansion in tliat 
 youthful soul, trained amid the cultivated gardens 
 and carefully clipped hedges of England. Imagi- 
 nation experienced a new birth in poetry, as the 
 heart experiences religion. All that she had pre- 
 viously kno\7n of beauty seemed tame and cold 
 compared with the wild charm of that improvised 
 scenery. But more than ever she was oppressed 
 with a sense of mental loneliness. Nature was in- 
 spiring, but it had no sympathy with the human 
 soul, which longed for more responsive companion- 
 ship, more intimate communion. The maiden needed 
 a friend, into whose soul the calm sunset of the 
 prairies would infuse the same holy light that pene- 
 trated her own. In such moods, the looks and 
 tones of Edward Yernon came back with vivid dis- 
 tinctness. At times, she longed inexpressibly to 
 know whether he ever had such lively reminiscences 
 of the poor country girl, whom his influence had 
 led into the regions she never dreamed of before. 
 Nature looked at her with the same tranquil smile, 
 and gave no answer. Fortunately, the active duties 
 of life left but few hours for such reveries ; other- 
 wise, the abrupt termination of her long dream 
 might have proved as hazardous, as the sudden 
 wakening of a somnambuhst. A newly-arrived 
 English emigrant visited her father's farr^. He 
 came from Mrs. Barton's neighbourhood, and in the 
 course of conversation chanced to mention that Mr. 
 Vernon's son and daughter were both married. 
 
THE EGLANTINE. 83 
 
 Until that moment, Sibella had not realized the 
 strength of the hope she cherished. She veiled her 
 disappointment from the observation of others ; and 
 her mother had the good sense to forbear saying, 
 "I told you so." No conversation passed between 
 them on the subject ; but when Sibella retired to 
 her sleeping apartment, she gazed out on the moon- 
 lighted solitude of the prairie for a long time, and 
 thought the expression of the scene never seemed 
 so sad. She said to herself, "My mother told me 
 truly. That beautiful experience was indeed a 
 dream of early youth ; and only a dream." 
 
 She was under the necessity of returning to Chi- 
 cago the next day, to attend to her school. In 
 another department of the school, was a teacher from 
 New England, a farmer's son, who had worked with 
 his hands in the summer, and studied diligently in 
 the winter, till he had become a scholar of more 
 than common attainments. He taught school during 
 the week, and occasionally preached on Sunday, 
 not because he was too indolent to perform manual 
 labour, or because he considered it ungenteel. He 
 was attracted toward books by a genuine thirst for 
 knowledge ; and he devoted himself to moral and 
 intellectual teaching, for the simple reason that God 
 had formed him for it. He loved the occupation, 
 and was therefore eminently successful in it. This 
 young man had for some time been in love with 
 Sibella Flower, without obtaining any signs of en- 
 couragement from her. But there is much truth in 
 
Si THE EGLANTINE. 
 
 the old adage about tlie facility of catcliing a heart 
 at the rebound. He never wrote poetry, or spoke 
 eloquently about the beauties of scenery ; for his 
 busy intellect employed itself chiefly with history, 
 science, and ethics. But though he was unlike 
 Edward Vernon, he was gentle, good, and wise ; 
 and, after her morning-dream had vanished utterly, 
 Sibella became aware that his society furnished 
 pleasant companionship for heart and mind. Their 
 intimacy gradually increased, and they finally mar- 
 ried. Being desirous to purchase land and build a 
 house, they continued to earn money by teaching. 
 The desired home, with its various belongings, 
 seemed likely to be soon completed, "without great 
 expense ; for William Wood had all the capabilities 
 of a genuine Yankee. He could hew logs and plane 
 them, make rustic tables, benches, and arbours, and 
 mend his own shoes and saddles, during the inter- 
 vals of preparing lectures on chemistry and astrono- 
 my. In this imperfect existence, there is perhaps 
 no combination of cii'cumstances more favourable to 
 happiness, than the taste to plan a beautiful home, 
 practical skill to embody the graceful ideas, and the 
 necessity of doing it with one's own hands. Those 
 who have homes prepared for them by hired archi- 
 tects, gardeners, and upholsterers, cannot hegin to 
 imagine the pleasure of making a nest for one's self 
 William was always planning bridges, arbours, and 
 fences, and Sibella never saw a beautiful wild shrub, 
 or vine, without marking it to be removed to the 
 
THE EGLANTINE. 85 
 
 vicinity of their cabin. Slie told him all about her 
 early love-dream, and said she should always cherish 
 a grateful remembrance of it, because it had proved 
 such a powerful agent to wake up the dormant 
 energies of her soul. " I am a Wood-Flower now, 
 dear William," said she, playfully; "and, after all, 
 that is no great change for an Eglantine." He 
 smiled, and said he wished he was as poetic as she 
 was. He was poetic in his deeds. His young wife 
 often found a bunch of fragrant wild-flowers on her 
 pillow, when she woke, or in her plate, when they 
 seated themselves at the breakfast-table. He made 
 an arbour for her to rest in, when they rode out on 
 horseback to visit their future homestead. It was 
 shaded with wild vines, and an Eglantine bush was 
 placed near the entrance, filling the whole arbour 
 with the sweet breath of its foliage. The first time 
 Sibella saw it, she looked at him archly, and said, 
 " So you are not jealous of that foolish dream, dear 
 William ? Well, it is customary to plant flowers 
 on graves ; and this shall be sacred to the memory 
 of a dream. Ah, what a bright little cluster of 
 Pansies you have planted here !" " That is what 
 you call them in 0?c? England," said he ; "but in 
 New England we name them Ladies' Delights, 
 though some call them Forget-me-nots. Your ro- 
 mantic Edward preferred the Eglantine ; but this is 
 an especial favourite with your practical William. 
 I like it because it will grow in all soils, bloom at all 
 seasons, and hold up its head bravely in all weathers. 
 
V 
 
 86 THE EGLANTINE. 
 
 If I were like you^ I should say it was tlie efflor- 
 escence of Yankee character." Slie clapped her 
 hands, and exclaimed, "Bravo! William. You 
 are growing poetic. I will name your little favour- 
 ite the Yankee's Flower ; and that will be myself^ 
 you see; for I am the Yankee's Flower." She 
 looked into his honest eyes affectionately, and 
 added, " There is one Yankee character who is a 
 Lady's Dehght." 
 
 GramboUing thus, like children, and happy in 
 childish pleasures, their united lives flowed smooth- 
 ly on, like some full, bright, unobstructed stream. 
 The birth of a daughter was like the opening of a 
 pure lily on the stream. Their happiness was now 
 complete. Their grateful souls asked for nothing 
 but a continuance of present blessings. But, alas, 
 sudden as the rising of a th]7;ivler cloud, a deep 
 shadow fell on their sunny prospect. William was 
 called away a few days on business. He left home 
 full of life and love, and was brought back a shat- 
 tered corpse. He had been killed by an accident, 
 in the rail-road cars. Never had Sibella known 
 any sorrow approaching the intensity of this sor- 
 row. It saddened her to bid farewell to that first 
 love-picture, which never emerged out of the misti- 
 ness of dream-land; but this sober certainty of 
 wedded happiness was such a living true reality, 
 that all her heart-strings bled, when it was wrenched 
 from her so suddenly. Her suffering soul would 
 have been utterly prostrated by the dreadful blow, 
 
THE EGLANTINE. 37 
 
 had it not been for the blessed ministration of her 
 babe, and the necessity of continuing to labour for 
 its future support and education. The body of 
 William was buried in a pretty little grove on her 
 fiither's farm ; and every year the mound was com- 
 pletely covered with a fresh bed of Ladies' De- 
 lights, which his little girl learned to call "Farder's 
 Fower." 
 
 ^ ^ ^ H' w 
 
 Time passed and brought healing on its wings. 
 Sibella never expected to know happi^jiess again, 
 but she had attained to cheerful resignation. Her 
 little girl of three years lived at the farm, under the 
 good grandmother's care. She continued to teach 
 in the city, spending all her vacations, and most of 
 her Sundays, at the old homestead. In her mem- 
 ory lay a sunny island covered with Pansies, and 
 often watered with tears. That other island of 
 Eglantines had floated far away, and had scarcely a 
 moonlighted existence. But one Sunday evening, 
 as she returned from school, she found the little 
 one watching for her, as usual. The indulgent 
 grandmother had just given her an Eglantine blos- 
 som, for which she had been teazing. In her eager- 
 ness to bestow something on her mother, the child 
 thrust it into her face, exclaiming " Mamma's Fow- 
 er !" That simple phrase awoke sleeping memories. 
 Not for years had the blooming lanes of old Eng- 
 land been so distinctly pictured in the mirror of her 
 soul. That night, she dreamed Edward Yernon 
 
S8 THE EGLANTESTE. 
 
 met her in the prairie and gave her a torch-flower 
 he had gathered. The child's exclamation had 
 produced the train of thought of which the dream 
 was born ; and the dream induced her to look at 
 the verses which had long remained unopened. 
 Ten years had passed since they were written. 
 The paper was worn at the edges, and the Eg- 
 lantine blossom was yellow and wrinkled. Still 
 the sight of it recalled the Yery look and tone 
 with which it was offered. The halo of glory with 
 which her youthful imagination had invested the 
 rhymes was dimmer now ; and yet they seemed to 
 hex "si belle r 
 
 The afternoon of that day, she sat with her 
 mother, busily employed trimming a bonnet for 
 their httle darling, who was equally busy under 
 the window, sticking an apron-full of wild-flowers 
 into the ground, to make an impromptu garden. 
 A voice called out, "Sir, will you have the good- 
 ness to give me a little help ? My carriage has 
 broken down." Sibella started suddenly, and the 
 bonnet fell from her hand. " What is the matter 
 with you?" said her mother. "It is merely some 
 traveler in trouble. That bad place in the road 
 yonder must be mended." Sibella resumed her 
 work, saying, " I am strangely nervous to-day." 
 But in the secret chambers of her own mind, there 
 was a voice whispering, " My di^eam ! My dream I 
 Can it be, as some people say, that there is a mag- 
 netic influence on the soul when certain individ- 
 
THE EGLANTINE. 89' 
 
 uals approacli each other?" Presently, lier fattier 
 entered, leading a small boy, " Take care of this 
 little felloWj" said he, " his father's carriage has 
 broken down, ont by the hill." The young widow 
 rose, and greeted the little stranger with such 
 motherly tenderness, that he looked up in her face 
 confidrngly, with a half-formed smile. But she 
 gazed into his eyes so earnestly, that he turned 
 away partly afraid. The little girl offered him her 
 flowers, and they sat down on the floor to play 
 together. It was not long, before the farmer en- 
 tered with the traveler ; a refined looking gentle- 
 man, apparently about thirty years old. The old 
 lady rose to greet him; but Sibella stooped to 
 gather up the ribbons, which had fallen from her 
 trembling hands. Browned as he was by wind and 
 sun, she recognized him instantly. In fact she 
 had already recognized his eyes and smile in the 
 face of his son. She wondered whether he would 
 know her. Was she like an Eglantine now f 
 Having resumed a suf&cient degree of self-com- 
 mand, while picking up the ribbons, she rose, and 
 advanced toward him, with a blush and a smile. 
 He started — uttered an exclamation of surprise — 
 then seized her hand and kissed it. 
 
 "Bless my soul! It's Mr. Yernon! And I 
 didn't know him !" exclaimed Mrs. Flower. " Well 
 this is strange, I do declare !" 
 
 When their mutual surprise had subsided, many 
 questions .about old England were asked and an- 
 
40 THE EGLAKTINE. 
 
 swered. But it was not until after supper tliat 
 their guest spoke of his own plans. Pointing to 
 his son, he said, "I am a lonely man, with only 
 that one tie to bind me to the world. My father 
 and mother are dead ; and as it was for their sakes 
 only that I consented to endure the fetters of over- 
 civilized life, I formed the resolution of coming 
 into these Western wilds, to live Ynih nature in her 
 freedom and simplicity. I was not altogether sel- 
 fish in this movement, for I felt confident it v/as the 
 best way to form a manly character for my son, 
 Ko cousin Alfred will stand in his sunshine here. 
 Come, Edward," said he, "introduce your little 
 friend to me." The boy sprang forward joyfully, 
 and climbed his father's knee. " The little friend 
 must sit on the other knee," said he. "Go and 
 bring her. You are not gallant to the little lady.'^ 
 But the little lady was shy. She hid herself be- 
 hind a chair, and would not be easily persuaded. 
 At last, however, her mother coaxed her to be led 
 up to the stranger gentleman, to see him open his 
 gold watch. He placed her on his knee and asked 
 her name ; and, emboldened by his caresses, she 
 looked up in his face, and answered, "Teena." 
 He glanced inquiringly toward her mother, who, 
 blushing slightly, answered, "I named her Eglan- 
 tina ; but, in her lisping way, she calls herself Tee- 
 na ; and we have all adopted her fashion, except 
 grandfather, who varies it a little by calling her 
 Teeny." A pleased expression went over Mr. Ver- 
 
THE EGLANTINE. 4:1 
 
 non's face, as lie replied, "You did well to name 
 lier for yourself; for she resembles you, as the bud 
 of the Eglantine resembles the blossom." As he 
 spoke thus, the ten intervening years rolled away 
 like a curtain, and they both found themselves 
 walking again in the blooming lanes of old Eng- 
 land. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 Weeks passed, and Mr. Yernon still remained a 
 guest at Flower Farm, as it was called. He entered 
 into negotiations for a tract of land in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and found pleasant occupation in hunting, 
 fishing, and planning his house and grounds. Si- 
 bella and the children often accompanied him in his 
 excursions. The wide-spread prairie, covered with 
 a thick carpet of grass and brilliant flowers, and 
 dotted with isolated groves, like islands, charmed 
 him with its novelty of beauty. " I am perpetu- 
 ally astonished by the profusion and gorgeousness 
 of nature in this region," said he. He gathered 
 one of the plants at his feet, and presenting it to 
 Sibella, asked whether that glowing blossom was 
 not appropriately named the Torch Flower. " What 
 do you think of dreams ?" she replied ; then seeing 
 that he was surprised by the abruptness of the 
 question, she told him she had dreamed, the night 
 before his arrival, that she met him on the prairie, 
 and received a torch-flower from his hand. He 
 smiled, and said, " Its flame-colour might answer for 
 
 Hymen's torch." He looked at her smilingly as 
 4* 
 
42 THE EGLANTINE. 
 
 he spoke ; for he was bolder now than when he 
 wrote the verses. Seeing: the crimson tide mount 
 into her cheeks, he touched the flower in her hand^ 
 and said, "It blushes more deeply than my old 
 favourite the Eglantine." To relieve her embarrass- 
 ment, Sibella began to inquire about Mrs, Barton 
 and her neighbours ; adding, " Among all these 
 questions, I have not yet asked if your sister is 
 living." 
 
 " She is what the world calls living," he replied. 
 *' She has married a wealthy old merchant, who 
 dresses her in velvet and diamonds ; and his lady 
 rewards him by treating him with more indifference 
 than she does her footman. Her acquaintance envy 
 her elegant furniture and costly jewels ; and when 
 they exclaim, ' How fortunate you are ! You are 
 surrounded by every thing the heart can desire V 
 she replies, with a languid motion of her fan, ' Yes, 
 every thing — excejot love.' Julia never forgave 
 me for marrying the daughter of a poor curate ; 
 but she was like yoit, Sibella, and that was what 
 first interested me. If she had lived, I probably 
 should never have seen America ; but after her 
 death, I was lonely and restless. I wanted change. 
 I knew that you had been in this country several 
 years ; but I cannot say you were distinctly con- 
 nected with my plans. You never answered my 
 letters, and I supposed you had long since for- 
 gotten me. But I never saw an Eglantine without 
 thinkiog of you ; and while I was crossing the At- 
 
THE EGLANTINE. 43 
 
 lantic, I sometimes found myself conjecturing whe- 
 tlier I slioiild ever happen to meet you, and wlietlier 
 I should find you married." Long explanations 
 and confessions followed. The authorship of the 
 mysterious verses was acknowledged, and their 
 preservation avowed. The conversation was ex- 
 ceedingly interesting to themselves, but would look 
 somewhat foolish on paper. It has been well said, 
 that "the words of lovers are like the rich wines 
 of the south ; delicious in their native soil, but ren- 
 dered vapid by transportation." 
 
 "Sf -Jf * "3t ^ 
 
 Mr. Yernon chose the site for his new dwelling 
 with characteristic taste. It stood on an eminence, 
 commanding a most lovely and extensive prospect. 
 A flower-enamelled lawn, rich as embroidered vel- 
 vet, and ornamented with graceful trees, descended 
 from the front of the house to a bend in the river. 
 It was all fresh from the hand of Nature. Nothing 
 had been planted, and nothing removed, except a 
 few trees to make room for a carriage-path. He 
 had been advised to build an English villa ; but he 
 disliked the appearance of assuming a style of more 
 grandeur than his neighbours ; and Sibella thought 
 a log-house, with its rough edges of bark, would 
 harmonize better with the scenery. It Avas spacious 
 and conveniently planned, and stood in the midst 
 of a natural grove. Festoons of vines were trained 
 all round it, clustering roses climbed up even to the 
 
44 THE EGLANTINE. 
 
 roof, and t"he air was fragrant witli Eglantines. Tlie 
 arbor, that William liad made, was carefully re- 
 moved tliitlier, and placed in the garden, surrounded 
 by a profusion of Ladies' Delights, in memory of 
 the lost friend. 
 
 It was a fixed principle with Mr. Yernon that no 
 man had a right to live in the world without doing 
 his share of its work. He imported seeds and 
 scions, which he planted and grafted himself, al- 
 ways distributing a liberal portion among his neigh- 
 bours. " My fruit and vegetables will soon command 
 a ready sale in the city market," said he ; " but the 
 proceeds shall go toward a school-fund, and the es- 
 tablishment of a Lyceum. I do not desire that our 
 children should inherit great wealth. Life suffi- 
 ciently abounds with dangers and temptations, 
 physical and mental, without adding that glittering 
 snare for their manhood and womanhood. The 
 wisest and kindest thing we can do for them is to 
 educate equally themselves and the people among 
 whom they are to live." 
 
 " There spoke the same generous soul that chose 
 the poor country-girl for a wife !" she exclaimed, 
 '' What can I ever do to prove the gratitude I feel?" 
 
 Playfully he put his hand over her mouth, to 
 stop that self-depreciation. They remained silent 
 for a while, seated on the grassy slope, looking out 
 upon the winding river and the noble trees. 
 "How much this scene resembles the parks and 
 lawns of old England," said the happy bride. "If 
 
THE EGLANTINE. 45 
 
 it were not for the deep stillness, and tlie absence 
 of human habitations, I could almost imagine my- 
 self in my native land." 
 
 " I like it better than English parks and lawns, 
 for two reasons," he replied. " I prefer it, because 
 it is formed by Nature, and not by Art ; and Na- 
 ture gives even to her quietest pictures peculiar 
 touches of wild inimitable grace. Still more does 
 the scene please me, because these broad acres are 
 not entailed upon noblemen, who cannot ride over 
 their estates in a week, while their poor tenantry 
 toil through life without being allowed to obtain 
 possession of a rood of land." 
 
 Sibella looked at him with affectionate admira- 
 tion, while she replied, " Truly, 'the child is father 
 of the man.' There spoke the same soul that in- 
 vited a tradesman's manly son to spend the va- 
 cation with him, in preference to Lord Smallsoul." 
 
 "T will never reprove my boy, if he brings 
 home the manly son of a wood-sawyer to spend 
 his school vacations with us," rejoined he. " But 
 hark ! Hear our children laudiino^ and shoutinoj ! 
 What sound is more musical ' than the happy 
 voices of children? See the dear little rogues 
 racing over the carpet of wild-flowers ! How they 
 seem to love each other ! God be praised, they 
 are free to enact the parts of Paul and Virginia in 
 this lovely solitude. May no rich relatives tempt 
 them into fashionable life, and make shipwreck of 
 their happiness." 
 
46 A SERENADE. 
 
 A SERENADE. 
 
 Sleep well ! Sleep well ! 
 
 To music's speil; 
 
 Thus hushing thee 
 
 To reverie, 
 
 Like ev'ning breeze, 
 
 Through whisp'ring trees ; 
 Till mem'ry and the lay 
 Float dreamily away. 
 
 Sleep well ! Sleep well ! 
 
 May -dreams bring near 
 
 All who are dear, 
 
 With festal flow'rs 
 
 From early hours ; 
 
 While, softly free, 
 
 This melody 
 Drifts through thy tranquil dream, 
 Like lilies on a stream. 
 
 Sleep well ! Sleep well ! 
 
THE JUKYMAN. 
 
 Soften his hard, cold heart ! and show 
 The power which in forbearance lies , 
 And let him feel that mercy now 
 Is better than old sacrifice ! 
 
 J. G. "Whittier. 
 
 Peter Barker belonged to that numerous class, 
 who are neither better nor worse than other men. 
 Left an orphan in his infancy, the paths of life 
 were rough and lonely at the outset. He had 
 a violent temper and a good heart. The first was 
 often roused into activity, and punished with 
 energy kindred to its own ; the last remained al- 
 most undeveloped, for want of genial circumstances 
 and reciprocated affection. One softening gleam 
 fell upon his early path, and he loved it like the 
 sunshine, without comprehending the great law of 
 attraction that made it so very pleasant. When 
 he attended school in the winter months, he always 
 walked home with a little girl named Mary Wil- 
 liams. On the play-ground he was with her, 
 always ready to do battle with anybody who 
 disobliged her. Their comrades laughed, and 
 called him Mary's beau; and they blushed and 
 felt awkward, though they had no idea what court- 
 
48 THE JURYMAN. 
 
 ing meant. Things liad arrived at this state of 
 half- revealed consciousness, he being fourteen years 
 old, and Mary twelve, when her friends removed 
 to the West, and the warm, bright influence passed 
 out of his life. He never rightly knew whether he 
 was in love with Mary ; but years afterwards, 
 when people talked to him about marrying, he 
 thought of her, wondering where she was, and 
 whether she remembered him. When he drove 
 his cows home from pasture, the blackberry bushes 
 on the way brought up visions of his favourite 
 school-mate, with her clean cape-bonnet thrown 
 back, her glossy brown hair playing with the 
 winds, and her innocent face smiling upon him 
 with friendly greeting. " She was the best and 
 prettiest child I ever saw," he often said to him- 
 self; " I wonder whether she would be as pleasant 
 now." Sometimes he thought of going to the 
 West and seeking her out. But he knew not 
 where to find her ; his funds were small, and his 
 courage fell at the thought ; " Oh, it is many jqslys 
 ago since we were children together. Perhaps I 
 should find her married." Gradually this one ray 
 of poetry faded out of his soul, and all his thoughts 
 fell into the common prosaic mould. His lot was 
 cast with rough people, who required much work, 
 and gave little sympathy. The image of his little 
 mate floated farther and farther away,, and more 
 and more seldom her clear blue eyes smiled upon 
 him through the rainbow-mists of the past, or from 
 
THE JUKYMAN. 49 
 
 the air-castles of the future. In process of time, 
 lie married, after the same fashion that a large pro- 
 portion of men do ; because it was convenient to 
 have a wife, and there was a woman of good char- 
 acter in the neighbourhood, willing to marry who- 
 ever first offered her a respectable home. Her 
 character bore the stamp of harmless mediocrity. 
 She was industrious and patient, but ignorant, dull, 
 and quietly obstinate. The neighbours said she was 
 well suited to him, he was so rough and passionate ; 
 and in the main he thought so himself; though her 
 imperturbable calmness sometimes fretted him, as a 
 rock chafes the lashing ocean into foam. The 
 child that was born to them, they both loved better 
 than they had ever loved ; and according to their 
 light, they sincerely strove to do their duty. His 
 bodily wants were well supplied, often at the cost 
 of great weariness and self-sacrifice ; but their own 
 rude training had given them few good ideas con- 
 cerning the culture of an immortal soul. The 
 infant did more for them, than they for him. 
 Anarelic influences, unseen and unheard amid the 
 hard struggles of their outward life, became visible 
 and audible through the unconscious innocence of 
 their little one. For the second time in his life, a 
 vision of beauty and love gleamed across the rug- 
 ged path of that honest, laborious man. Yague im- 
 pressions of beauty he had constantly received from 
 the great panorama of the universe. His heart 
 sometimes welcomed a bright flower in the sun- 
 5 D 
 
50 THE JURYMAN". 
 
 sMne, or a cluster of lilies on the stream ; lie mar- 
 velled at the splendor of the rainbow, and some- 
 times gazed reverently at the sun sinking to 
 rest in his rich drapery of purple and gold. But 
 these were glimpses of the Infinite ; their beauty 
 did not seem to appertain to hiin ; it did not enter 
 like a magic chann into the sphere of his own 
 existence, as did the vision of Mary Williams and 
 his own little Joe. The dormant tenderness there 
 was in him leaped up at the smile of his babe, and 
 every pressure of the little fingers made a dimple 
 in the father's heart. Like the outbursts of spring, 
 after a long cold winter, was this revelation of in- 
 fancy to him. "When he plodded home, after a 
 hard day's work, it rested him body and soul to 
 have the little one spring into his arms for a kiss, 
 or come toddling along, tilting his little porringer 
 of milk, in eagerness to eat his supper on father's 
 knee. 
 
 But though this new influence seemed to have 
 an almost miraculous power over his nature, it 
 could not quite subdue the force of temperament 
 and habit. As the darling babe grew into boy- 
 hood, he was sometimes cherished with injudicious 
 fondness, and sometimes repelled by bursts of pas- 
 sion, that made him run and hide himself from the 
 over-indulgent father. Mr. Barker had himself 
 been educated under the dispensation of punish- 
 ment, rather than attraction, and he believed in 
 it most firmly. If his son committed a fault, he 
 
THE JURYMAN. 51 
 
 tlioTiglit of no Other cure tlian severity. If a neigli- 
 bour did him an ill turn, he would observe, m pres- 
 ence of the boy, "I will watch my chance to pay 
 him for it." 'If the dog stole their dinner, when 
 they were at work in the woods, he would say, 
 ** Kun after him, Joe, and give the rascal a sound 
 beating." When he saw the child fighting with 
 some larger lad, who had offended him, he would 
 praise his strength and courage, and tell him never 
 to put up with an insult. He was not aware that 
 all these things were education, and doing far 
 more to form his son's character than any thing he 
 learned at school. He did not know it, because 
 his thoughts had never been directed toward it. 
 The only moral instruction he had ever received, 
 had been from the minister of the parish ; and he 
 usually preached about the hardheartedness of 
 Jews two thousand years ago, rather than the 
 errors and temptations of men and boys, who sat 
 before him. 
 
 Once he received an admonition from his neigh- 
 bour Goodwin, which, being novel and unexpected, 
 offended him, as an impertinent interference with 
 his rights. He was riding home with Joe, then a 
 lad of thirteen, when the horse took fri2:ht at a 
 piece of white paper, that the wind blew across the 
 road. Mr. Barker was previously in an ill humor, 
 because a sudden squall of rain had vv^et some fine 
 hay, all ready for the barn. Pursuing the system 
 on which he had himself been educated, he sprang 
 
52 THE JURYMAN. 
 
 to the ground and cudgelled tlie poor beast unmer- 
 cifully. Mr. Goodwin, wlio was passing by, in- 
 quired the cause of so much severity, and remon- 
 strated against it ; assuring him that a horse was 
 never cured of bad habits by violence. He spoke 
 mildly, bu.t Mr. Barker was irritated, and having 
 told him to mind his own business, he continued 
 to whip the poor frightened animal. The humane 
 neighbour turned away, saying, " That is a bad 
 lesson for your son, Mr. Barker." 
 
 " If you say much more, I will flog you, instead 
 of the horse," muttered the angry man. ''It is'nt 
 his horse. What business is it to him f" he added, 
 turninar to his son. 
 
 He did not reflect in what a narrow circuit he 
 was nailing up the sympathies of his child, by such 
 words as those. But when he was reseated in the 
 wagon, he did not feel altogether pleased with him- 
 self, and his inward uneasiness was expended on 
 the horse. The poor bewildered animal, covered 
 with foam, and breathing short and hard, tried his 
 utmost to do his master's will, as far as he could 
 understand it. But, nervous and terrified, con- 
 stantly in expectation of the whip, he started at 
 every sound. If he went too fast, he was reined 
 in with a sudden jerk, that tore the corners of his 
 mouth ; if he went too slow, the cruel crack of the 
 Avhip made him tear over the ground, to be again 
 restrained by the violent jerk. 
 
 The sun was setting, and threw a radiant- glow 
 
THE JURYMAN. 5 
 
 D 
 
 on every tree and little slirub, jewelled by tlie 
 recent shower. Cows grazed peacefully in ver- 
 dant liollows ; birds sang ; a little brook rippled co- 
 sily by tlie wayside ; winds played gently with the 
 flowers, and kissed the raindrops from their faces. 
 But all this loveliness passed unheeded by those 
 human hearts, because they had at the moment no 
 inward beauty to harmonize with nature. Perhaps 
 the familiar landscape seemed quite otherwise to 
 the poor horse, than it would have done, had he 
 travelled along those pleasant paths guided by a 
 wise and gentle hand. 
 
 Had Joseph continued to be little Joe, his eager 
 welcome and loving prattle might soon have tamed 
 the evil spirit in his father's soul that night. But 
 he was a tall lad, who had learned to double up 
 his fists, and tell other boys they had better let 
 him alone, if they knew what was good for them- 
 selves. He still loved his father better than any 
 thing else in the world, but the charm and the 
 power of infancy were gone. He reflected back the 
 vexed spirit, like a too faithful mirror. He was no 
 longer a transparent, unconscious medium for the 
 influence of angels. 
 
 Indeed, paternal affection gradually became a 
 hardening, rather than a softening influence. Am- 
 bition for his son increased the love of accumula- 
 tion ; and the gratification of this propensity nar- 
 rowed his sympathies more and more. Joseph had 
 within him the unexpanded germs of some noble 
 5* 
 
54: THE JUKYMAN. 
 
 qualities ; but "he inherited his father's passionate 
 temperament with his mother's obstinacy ; and the 
 education of such circumstances as I have described 
 turned his energies and feehngs into wrong chan- 
 nels. The remark, "Itis'nt Ais horse; what buvsi- 
 ness is it to Jiim F" heard in his boyhood, expressed 
 the views and habits of his later j^ears. But his 
 mental growth, such as it was, pleased his father, 
 who often said exultingly, " There is no danger of 
 Joe. He knows how to fight his own way through 
 the w^orld." 
 
 Such was their mutual product of character, 
 when Mr. Barker was summoned to a jurj^, in a 
 case involving life or death. He was vexed to be 
 called away from his employments, and had never 
 reflected at all upon the fearful responsibility of a 
 juryman. James Lloyd, the prisoner, was a very 
 young man, and his open, honest countenance gave 
 no indication of capacity for crime ; but he was ac- 
 cused of mui^der, and circumstantial evidence was 
 strong against him. It was proved that a previous 
 quarrel had existed between him and the murdered 
 man ; and that they had been seen to take the same 
 road, the prisoner in a state of intoxication, the 
 night the violent deed was committed. Most peo- 
 ple thought there was no doubt of his guilt ; others 
 deemed the case b}^ no means certain. Two of the 
 jury were reluctant to convict him, and wished to 
 find the evidence insufficient ; the penalty was so 
 dreadful, and their feelings were so much touched 
 
THE JUKYMAN. 55 
 
 by the settled misery of Ms youtliful countenance. 
 Otliers talked sternly of justice, and urged that the 
 Scripture demanded blood for blood. Of this num- 
 ber was Peter Barker. From the beginning, he 
 was against the prisoner. The lawyer who pleaded 
 for him had once been employed in a law-suit 
 against Mr. Barker, and had gained the cause for 
 his client. The juryman cherished a grudge against 
 him for his sarcastic eloquence on that occasion. 
 Moreover, it so happened that neighbour Goodwin, 
 who years ago had reproved his severity to the 
 horse, took compassionate interest in the accused. 
 He often consulted with his lawyer, and seemed to 
 watch the countenances of the jury anxiously. It 
 was a busy season of the year, and the jury were 
 impatient to be at their workshops and farms. Mr. 
 Barker would not have admitted it, even to him- 
 self, but all these circumstances helped to increase 
 his hardness against the prisoner. By such in<)on- 
 ceivably slight motives is the conduct of men often 
 swayed on the most important occasions. 
 
 " If the poor young fellow really did commit the 
 act," said one of the jury, ''it seems likely that he 
 did it in a state of intoxication. I was once drunk 
 myself; and they told me afterward that I had quar- 
 relled with a man, and knocked him down a high 
 flight of steps ; but I had no recollection of it. If 
 I had killed liim, and they had hung me for it, what 
 an awful thing it would have been for my poor 
 (kther and mother. It taught me a good lesson, 
 
56 THE JURYMAN. 
 
 for I was never again intoxicated. Perhaps this 
 poor yonth might profit by his dreadful experience, 
 if a chance were allowed him. He is so young ! 
 and there is nothing bad in his countenance." 
 
 " As for his womanly face," Feplied Mr. Barker, 
 " there is no trusting to that. The worst villains 
 are not always the worst-looking. As for his being 
 intoxicated, there is no telling whether it is true or 
 not. That cunning lawyer may have made up the 
 story, for the sake of exciting compassion ; and the 
 witnesses may be more than willing enough to be- 
 lieve every thing strange in the prisoner's conduct 
 was the result of intoxication. Moreover, it won't 
 do to admit that plea in extenuation ; for then, don't 
 you see, a man Avho wants to kill his enemy has 
 only to get drunk in the first place ? If anybody 
 killed my Joe, drunk or not drunk, I should want 
 him to swing for it." 
 
 By such remarks, urged in his vehement way, 
 he swayed minds more timid and lenient than his 
 own, without being fully aware of what he was do- 
 ings He was foreman of the jury ; and when the 
 awful moment arrived on which depended the life 
 of a fellow being, he pronounced the word " Gruil- 
 ty," in a strong, firm voice. The next mstant his 
 eye fell on the prisoner, standing there so pale, and 
 still, looking at him with such fixed despair. There 
 was something in the face that moved him strongly. 
 He turned quickly away, but the vision was, before 
 him ; always, and everywhere before him. " This 
 
THE JURYMAN. 57 
 
 is weakness," lie said to himself. " I have merely 
 done my duty. The law required it. I have done 
 my duty." But still the pale young face looked at 
 him ; always, and everywhere, it looked at him. 
 
 He feared to touch a newspaper, for he wished 
 not to know when the day of execution would ar- 
 rive. But officious neighbours, ignorant of his state 
 of mind, were eager to talk upon the subject; and 
 when drawn into such discourse, he strove to for- 
 tify his own feelings by dwelling on all the worst 
 circumstances of the case. Notwithstanding all his 
 efforts, the night preceding the execution, he had 
 troubled dreams, in which that ghastly young face 
 was always conspicuous. When he woke, he saw 
 it in the air. It walked beside him as he ploughed 
 the fields, it stood before him on the threshold of his 
 own door. All that the merciful juryman had sug- 
 gested came before him with painful distinctness. 
 Could there be a doubt that the condemned had 
 really committed murder ? Was he intoxicated ? 
 Might he have happened to be intoxicated for the 
 first time in his life ? And he so young ! But he 
 drove these thoughts away ; saying ever to himself, 
 "The law required it. I merely did my duty." 
 Still every thing looked gloomy to him. The even- 
 ing clouds seemed like funeral palls, and a pale 
 despairing face gazed at him forever. 
 
 For the first time in his manhood, he craved a 
 companion in the darkness. Neighbours came in, 
 and described the execution ; and while they talked. 
 
58 THE JURYMAN". 
 
 the agitated juryman beat the fire-brands into a 
 thousand pieces, and spoke never a word. They 
 told how the youth had written a long letter to his 
 mother, and had died calm and resigned. " By the 
 way, perhaps you knew his mother, Mr. Barker," 
 said one; "they tell me she used to live in this' 
 neighbourhood. Do you remember a girl by the 
 name of Mary "Williams ?" 
 
 The tongs dropped from Mr. Barker's hand, as 
 be gasped out, " Mary Williams ! Was he her son? 
 God forgive me ! Was he her son ?'' And the 
 strong man laid his head upon the table and wept. 
 
 There was silence in the room. At last, the lo- 
 quacious neighbour said, in a subdued tone, "I am 
 sorry I hurt your feelings. I didn't know she was 
 a friend of yours." 
 
 The troubled juryman rose hastily, walked to the 
 window, looked out at the stars, and, clearing his 
 choked voice, said, " It is many years since I knew 
 her. But she was a good-tempered, pretty girl; 
 and it seems but yesterday that we used to go to- 
 gether to pick our baskets full of berries. And so 
 she was his mother ? I remember now there was 
 something in his eye that seemed familiar to me." 
 
 Perhaps the mention of Mary's beauty, or the 
 melting mood, so unusual with her husband, might 
 have excited a vague feeling of jealousy in Mrs. Bar- 
 ker. Whatever might have been the motive, she 
 said, in her demure way, without raising her eyes 
 from her knitting, "Well, it was natural enough 
 
THE JUKYMAN. 59 
 
 to suppose tlie young man had a motlier ; and other 
 mothers are likely to have hearts that can feel, as 
 well as this Mary Williams." 
 
 He only answered by shaking his head slowly, 
 and repeating, as if to himself, " Poor Mary ! and 
 so he was her son." 
 
 Joseph came in, and the details of the dreadful 
 scene were repeated and dwelt upon, as human be- 
 ings are prone to dwell on all that excites strong 
 emotion. To him the name of Mary Williams con- 
 jured up no smiling visions of juvenile love; and 
 he strove to fortify his father's relenting feelings, 
 by placing in a strong light all the arguments in 
 favour of the prisoner's guilt. The juryman was 
 glad to be thus fortified, and replied in a firm, re- 
 assured voice, " At all events, I did my duty." 
 Yet, for months after, the pale young face looked 
 at him despairingly from the evening air, and came 
 between him and the sunshine. But time, which 
 softens all things, drifted the dreary spectre into dim 
 distance; and Mr. Barker's faculties were again 
 completely absorbed in making money for his son. 
 
 Joseph was called a fine, promising young man ; 
 but his conduct was not altogether satisfactory to 
 his parents. He was fond of dress and company, 
 and his impetuous temperament not unfrequently 
 involved him in quarrels. On two or three of these 
 occasions, they feared he had been a little excited 
 by drink. But he was, in reality, a good-hearted 
 fellow, and, like his rough father, had undeveloped 
 
60 THE JURYMAN. 
 
 germs of deep tenderness within liim. His father's 
 life was bound up within his ; his mother loved 
 him with all the energy of which her sluggish na- 
 ture was capable ; and notwithstanding the inequal- 
 ities of his violent and capricious temper, the neigh- 
 bours loved him also. 
 
 What, then, was their consternation, when it was 
 rumoured that on his twenty -fourth birth-day he 
 had been arrested for murder ! And, alas ! it was too 
 true that his passions had thus far over-mastered 
 his reason. He wished to please a young girl in 
 the vicinity ; and she treated him coolly, because 
 a rival had informed her that he was seen intoxi- 
 cated, and in that state had spoken over-boldly of 
 being sure of her love. He drank again, to drown 
 his vexation; and while the excitement of the 
 draught was on him, he met the man who informed 
 against him. His exulting rival was injudicious 
 enough to exclaim, "Ho! here you are, drunk 
 again ! "What a promising fellow for a husband !" 
 Unfortunately, an axe was at hand, and, in the 
 double fury of drink and rage, he struck with it 
 again and again. One hour after, he would have 
 given all he ever hoped to possess, nay, he would 
 gladly have died, could he have restored the life 
 he had so wantonly destroyed. 
 
 Thus, Mr. Barker was again brought into a court 
 of justice on an affair of life and death. How dif- 
 ferently all questions connected with the subject 
 presented themselves now ! As he sat beside that 
 
THE JURYMAN. 61 
 
 darling son, tlie pride of liis life, his only liope on 
 earth, oh, how he longed for words of fire, to plead 
 that his young existence might be spared for repent- 
 ance and amendment ! How well he remembered 
 the juryman's plea for youth and intoxication! and 
 with what an agony of self-reproach he recalled his 
 own hard answer ! With intense anxiety he watch- 
 ed the countenance of the jury for some gleams of 
 compassion ; but ever and anon, a pale young face 
 loomed up between him and them, and gazed at 
 him with fixed despair. The vision of other years 
 returned to haunt him ; and Joseph, his best belov- 
 ed, his only one, stood beside it, pale and hand- 
 cuffed, as he had been. The voice that pronounced 
 his son guilty sounded like an awful echo of his 
 own ; and he seemed to hear Mary Williams whis- 
 per, " And my son also was very young." 
 
 That vigorous off-shoot from his own existence, 
 so fall of life and feeling, and, alas, of passion, 
 which misguides us all — he must die! No earthly 
 power can save him. May the All Merciful 
 sustain that poor father, as he watches the heavy 
 slumber of his only son in that dark prison ; and 
 while he clasps the cold hand, remembers so well 
 the dimpled fingers he used to hold in his, when 
 little Joe sat upon his knee and prattled childish 
 love. 
 
 And the All Merciful was with him, and 
 sent influences to sustain him through that terri- 
 ble agony. It did not break his heart ; it melted 
 6 
 
€2 THE JURYMAN. 
 
 and subdued him. The congealed sympathies of 
 his nature flowed under this ordeal of fire ; and, 
 for the first time, he had a realizing sense that every 
 human being is, or has been, somebody'' s little Joe. 
 
 "How kind you are to me!" said the prisoner, 
 in answer to his soothing words and affectionate 
 attentions. 
 
 He replied meekly, " Would I had always been 
 so!" Then turning his face away, and earnestly 
 pressing Joseph's hand, he said, in an agitated 
 voice, " Tell me truly, my son, does it ever occur 
 to you, tliat I may have been to blame for this 
 great misfortune that has befallen you ?" 
 
 " You^ dear father !" he exclaimed, " I do not 
 understand what you mean." 
 
 Still keeping his face turned away, and speaking 
 with effort, Mr. Barker said, " Do you remember 
 once, when I was beating my horse cruelly, (you 
 were a boy of twelve then) neighbour Goodwin re- 
 marked to me, that I was giving a bad lesson to 
 my son ? I was angry with him at the time ; and 
 perhaps that resentment helped to make me hard 
 toward a poor young fellow who is dead and gone ; 
 but his words keep ringing in my ears now. May 
 God, in his mercy, forgive me, if I have ever done 
 or said any thing to lead joxi into this great sin I 
 Tell me, Joseph, do you ever think it might have 
 happened otherwise, if you had had a less violent 
 father?" 
 
 " My poor father !" exclaimed the prisoner, press- 
 
THE JURTMAK 63 
 
 ing his hand convulsively, "it almost breaks my 
 heart to hear you thus humble yourself before me, 
 who so little deserve it at your hands. Only for- 
 give me my violent outbreaks, dear father ! for in 
 the midst of them all, I always loved you. You 
 have always sought to do me good, and would 
 rather have died, than have led me into any harm. 
 But since I have been here in prison, I have 
 thought of many things, that never occurred to me 
 before. The world and all things in it are placed 
 before me in a different light. It seems to me men 
 are all wrong in their habits and teachings. I see 
 now that retaliation and hatred are murder. I 
 have read often, of late, the exhortation of Jesus 
 to forgive our brother his offences, not only seven 
 times, but seventy times seven; and I feel that 
 thus it ought to be with human beings in all their 
 relations with each other. What I have done 
 cannot be undone ; but if it will be any satisfaction 
 to you, rest assured that I did not intend to kill 
 him. I was wretched, and I was fool enough to 
 drink ; and then I knew not what I did. Yiolent 
 as my temper has been, I never conceived the 
 thought of taking his life." 
 
 " I know it, my son ; I know it," he said ; " and 
 that reflection consoles me in some degree. While 
 I have a loaf of bread, I will share it with the 
 
 mother and sister of him you " he hesitated, 
 
 shuddered, and added in a low deep tone — " you 
 murdered." 
 
64: THE JURYMAN. 
 
 "I was going to ask that of you," replied the 
 prisoner; "and one thing more, dear father; try 
 to bear up bravely under this terrible blow, for the 
 sake of my poor patient mother." 
 
 "I will, I will," he answered ; " and now my dear 
 misguided boy, say you forgive your poor father 
 for the teachings of his violent words and actions. 
 I did not foresee the consequences, my child. I 
 did it in my ignorance. But it was wrong, wrong, 
 all wrong." 
 
 The young man threw himself on his father's 
 bosom, and they had no other utterance but tears. 
 
 W • w W W w 
 
 After his only strong link to life was broken by 
 the violent arm of the law, Mr. Barker was a 
 changed man; silent, and melancholy, patient, 
 gentle, and forgiving to all. He never complained 
 of the great sorrow that wasted away his life ; but 
 the neighbours saw how thin and sad he looked, 
 and the roughest natures felt compassion for him. 
 
 Every year, she who had been Mary Williams 
 received a hundred dollar note. He never whis- 
 pered to any mortal that it was sent by the juryman 
 who helped to condemn her son to death; but 
 when he died, a legacy of a thousand dollars to her 
 showed that he never forgot the pale despairing 
 face, that for years had haunted his dreams. 
 
THE FAIRY FRIEND. 
 
 Spirit, who waftest me where'er I will, 
 And see'st with finer eyes what infants see ; 
 Feeling all lovely truth, 
 "With the wise health of everlasting youth. 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 In these rational days, most people suppose that 
 fairies do not exist ; but they are mistaken. The 
 mere fact that fairies have been imagined proves 
 that there are fairies; for fancy, in her oddest 
 freaks, never paints any thing which has no exist- 
 ence. She merely puts invisible agencies into visi- 
 ble forms, and embodies spiritual influences in 
 material facts. It seems a wild fiction when we 
 read of beautiful young maidens floating in gossa- 
 mer, and radiant with jewels, who suddenly change 
 into mocking old hags, or jump off into some slimy 
 pool, in the form of a frog; or like the fair Me- 
 lusina, doomed to become a fish on certain days of 
 the year, and those who happened to see her in 
 that plight could never again see her as the Fair 
 Melusina. Yet who that has grown from youth 
 to manhood, who that has been in love and out of 
 love, has not found the fairies of his life playing 
 him just such tricks ? 
 
 In the fascinating ballet of Giselle, so poetic in 
 6* E 
 
66 THE FAIEY FEIEND. 
 
 conception, and so gracefully expressed in nmsic, 
 there is deep and tender meaning for all wlio have 
 lived long, or lived much. Is not Memory a fairy 
 spirit, like Giselle, dancing round graves, hover- 
 ing between us and the stars, flitting across our 
 woodland rambles, throwing us garlands and love- 
 tokens from the past, coming to us in dreams, 
 so real that we clasp our loved ones, and gliding 
 away when morning gleams on the material world ? 
 Oh yes there are fairies, both good and bad; 
 and they are with us according as we obey or dis- 
 obey their laws of being. One, with whom I made 
 acquaintance as soon as I could run alone, has vis- 
 ited me ever since; though sometimes she pouts 
 and hides herself, and will not soon come back. I 
 am always sad when she is gone; for she is a 
 wonder-working little sprite, and she takes all my 
 wealth away with her. If you were to gaze on a 
 field of dandelions, if she were not at your elbow, 
 you would merely think they were pretty posies, 
 and would make excellent greens for dinner. But 
 if she touches you, and renders you clairvoyant, 
 they will surprise you with their golden beauty, 
 and every blossom will radiate a halo. Sometimes 
 she fills the whole air with rainbows, as if Nature 
 were out for a dance, with all her ribbons on. A 
 sup of water, taken from a little brook, in the hol- 
 low of her hand, has made me more merry than 
 would a goblet of wine. She has often filled my 
 apron with opals, emeralds, and sapphires, and I 
 
THE FAIRY FRIEND. 67 
 
 "was never wear j of looking at them ; but those who 
 had wandered a wav from the fairy, and forgotten 
 her treasures, sneered at my joy, and said, "Fie 
 upon thee ! Wilt thou always be a child ? They 
 are nothing but pebbles." 
 
 Last Spring, my friendly little one guided me to 
 a silver-voiced waterfall at Weehawken, where a 
 group of German forget-me-nots were sitting with 
 their feet in the water. Their little blue eyes 
 laughed when they saw me. I asked what made 
 them smile in my face so lovingly. They an- 
 swered, " Because we hear a pleasant song, and you 
 know what it says to us." It was not I who knew ; 
 it was the fairy ; but she had magnetized me, and so 
 I heard all that was said to her. 
 
 A wealthy invalid passed by, afflicted with dys- 
 pepsia. He did not see the flowers smile, or hear 
 the waterfall singing his flowing melody of love to 
 the blue eyes that made his home so beautiful. 
 He had parted from the fairy long ago. He told 
 her she was a fool, and that none would ever grow 
 rich, who suffered themselves to be led by her. 
 She laughed and said, " Thou dost not know that 
 I alone am rich; always, and every where, ^ich. 
 But go thy ways, vain worldling. Shouldst thou 
 come back to me, I will ask if thou hast ever found 
 any thing equal to my gems and rainbows." She 
 gazed after him for a moment,' and laughed again, 
 as she exclaimed, " Aha, let him try !" 
 
 The gay little spirit spoke truly; for indeed 
 
68 THE FAIRY FRIEND. 
 
 there is notliing so real as her unrealities. Those 
 who have parted from her complain that she made 
 them large promises in their early time, and has 
 never kept them ; bnt to those who remain with 
 her trustfully, she more than fulfils all. For tJiem 
 she covers the moss-grown rock with gold, and 
 fills the wintry air with diamonds. It is many 
 years since she first began to tell me her fine stories. 
 But this very last New Yearns day she led me out 
 into the country, and lighted up all the landscape 
 as I went, so that it seemed lovelier than the rarest 
 pictures. The round bright face of the moon smiled 
 at me, and said, "I know thee well. Thou hast 
 built many castles up here. Come to them when- 
 ever thou wilt. Their rose-coloured drapery, with 
 rainbow fringes, is more real than silken festoons 
 in Broadway palaces." I was glad at heart, and I 
 said to my fairy, " The sheriff cannot attach our 
 furniture, or sell our castles at auction." "No in- 
 deed," she replied. " He cannot even see them. 
 He has forgotten me. He thinks all the gems I 
 show are only pebbles, and all my j)rismatic man- 
 tles mere soap-bubbles." 
 
 This simple little sprite says much richer things 
 than the miracles she does. Her talk is all alive. 
 She is a poet, though she knows it not ; or, rather 
 hecause she knows it not. She tells me the odd- 
 est and most brilliant things; and sometimes I 
 write them down imperfectly, as well as I can re- 
 member them. Matter-of-fact persons shake their 
 
THE FAIRY FRIEND. 69 
 
 heads, and saj, " What on earth does the woman 
 mean ? I never see and hear such things." And 
 grave people raise their spectacles and inquire, 
 " Can you point me out any moral, or any use, in 
 all this stuff?" "There is no sense in it," says 
 one ; " The writer is insane," says another ; " She's 
 an enthusiast, but we must pardon that weakness," 
 says a third, more magnanimous than others. The 
 fairy and I have great fun together, while we listen 
 to their jokes and apologies. The frolicsome little 
 witch knows very well that it is she who says the 
 things that puzzle them ; and she knows the mean- 
 ing very well ; but she never tells it to those who 
 " speer questions." 
 
 She is a philosopher, too, as well as a poet, with- 
 out being aware of it. She babbles all manner of 
 secrets, without knowing that they are secrets. K 
 you were to propound to her a theory concerning 
 the relation between tones and colours, she would 
 fold her wings over her face and drop asleep. 
 But sound a flute, and she will leap up and ex- 
 claim, " Hear that beautiful, bright azure sound I" 
 And if oboes strike in, she will smile all over, and 
 say, ''JSTowthe yellow flowers are singing. How 
 pert and naive they are!" It was she who led 
 the little English girl to the piano, and put a melo- 
 dy of cowslip meadows in her brain ; and as the 
 child improvised, she smiled, and said ever to her- 
 self, " This is the tune with the golden spots." 
 
 But this genial httle fairy is easily grieved and 
 
70 THE FAIRY FRIEND. 
 
 estranged. Her movements are impulsive, she 
 abhors calculators, and allows no questions. If 
 she shows you a shining gem, be careful not to 
 inquire what would be its price in the market; 
 otherwise its lustre will fade instantly, and you will 
 have to ask others whether the thing you hold in 
 your hand has any beauty or value. If she beck- 
 ons into blooming paths, follow her in simple faith, 
 whether she leads to castles in the moon, or lifts 
 up a coverlet of leaves to peep at little floral spirits 
 sound asleep, with their arms twined round the 
 fragrant blossoms of the arbutus. She carries 
 with her Aladdin's lamp, and all the things she 
 looks upon are luminous with transfigured glory. 
 Take heed not to inquire where the path will lead to, 
 whether others are accustomed to walk in it, or whe- 
 ther they will believe your report of its wonderful 
 beauty. Above all, be careful not to wish that such 
 visions may be kept from the souls of others, that 
 your own riches may seem marvellous and pecu- 
 liar. Wish this but for a single instant and you 
 will find yourself all alone, in cold gray woods, 
 where owls hoot, and spectral shadows seem to lie 
 in wait for you. But if with a full heart you crave 
 forgiveness for the selfish thought, and pray earnest- 
 ly that the divine Spirit of Beauty may be revealed 
 to all, and not one single child of Grod be excluded 
 from the radiant palace, then wdll the fairy come 
 to you again, and say, "Now thou and I are 
 friends again. Give me thy hand, and I will lead 
 
THE FAIRY FRIEND. 71 
 
 thee into gardens of paradise. Because tliou liast 
 not wished to shut up any thing, therefore thou 
 shalt possess all things." Instantly the cold gray- 
 woods shine through a veil of gold ; the shadows 
 dance, and all the little birds sing, " Joy be with 
 thee." A spirit nods welcome to you from every 
 cluster of dried grass ; a soul beams through the 
 commonest pebble; ferns bow before you more 
 gracefully than the plumes of princes ; and verdant 
 mosses kiss your feet more softly than the richest 
 velvets of Genoa. 
 
 Trust the good little fairy. Be not disturbed by 
 the mockery of those who despise her simple joys. 
 She said truly, " I alone am rich ; always, and every- 
 where, rich." 
 
WEEGELAND, THE POET. 
 
 The busy bees, up coming from the meadows 
 To the sweet cedar, fed him with soft flowers, 
 Because the Muse had filled his mouth with nectar. 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 Weegelaitd was one of tlie most popular poets 
 Norway has ever produced. He rlijmed with 
 wonderful facility, and sometimes, when a rush of 
 inspiration came upon him, he would write verses 
 during a whole day and night, with untiring rapid- 
 ity, scarcely pa^ising to eat, or to rest his hand. 
 In the poems which expressed his own inward life 
 there was often something above common compre- 
 hension ; but, in addition to those higher efforts, 
 he wrote a great number of verses for the peas- 
 antry, in all the peculiar dialects of their various 
 districts. The merest trifle that flowed from his 
 pen is said to have contained some sparkling fancy, 
 or some breathing of sentiments truly poetic. He 
 was an impassioned lover of nature, and in his 
 descriptions of natural objects was peculiar for 
 making them seem alive. 'Thus in one of his 
 poems he describes the winds coming through 
 clefts of rock, forming a powerful current in the 
 
WEEGELAND, THE POET. 73 
 
 fiord, driving wMte-crested waves before them, 
 like a flock of huge storm-birds. A lawyer, who 
 passes through the current in a boat, imagines the 
 great waves to be angry spectres of the many poor 
 clients whom he has wronged. He throws one 
 ten dollars, another twenty, another fifty, to pacify 
 them. At last, a wondrous tall wave stretches 
 forth his long neck, as if to swallow him. The 
 terrified lawyer throws him a hundred dollars, 
 imploring him to be merciful. Just then, the boat 
 turns a corner of the rock, out of the current. 
 The great wave eagerly bends his long arm round 
 the rock, and tries to clutch him ; then retreats, 
 disappointed at his escape. 
 
 Wergeland had a strongly marked head, full of 
 indentations, like a bold rocky shore. He was an 
 athletic, earnest, jovial man, and enjoyed life with a 
 keen zest. His manner of telling a story was inimit- 
 ably funny and vivacious. While he was settling 
 his spectacles, before he began to speak, a smile 
 would go mantling all over the lower part of his 
 face, announcing that something good was coming. 
 His soul went forth with warm spontaneousness to 
 meet all forms of being ; and this lively sympathy 
 seemed to attract both men and animals toward 
 him magnetically. He was accustomed to saddle 
 his own horse, which stood loose in the barn, 
 among pet rabbits, pet pigeons, pet birds, all sorts 
 of poultry, and a favourite cat. These creatures 
 all lived in the greatest friendship together. They 
 
74 WERGELAND, THE POET. 
 
 kne-w their master's voice perfectly well ; and the 
 moment lie opened the door, they would all come 
 neighing, purring, cooing, singing, crowing, caper- 
 ing and fluttering about him. His cottage was a 
 picturesque place, ornamented with all sorts of 
 mosses, vines, and flowers. Under it was a grotto 
 made of rocks and shells, in which were an old 
 hermit, with a long beard, and various other gro- 
 tesque figures, carved in wood. The grotto was 
 occasionally lighted up in the evening, and the 
 images, seen among flickering shadows, excited 
 great awe in the minds of peasant children. 
 
 This gifted and genial man, who lived in such 
 loving companionship with nature, was called 
 away from the earth, which seemed to him so 
 cheerful, before he had passed the middle term of 
 human life. The news of his death was received 
 with lamentation by all classes in [N'orway. 
 Crowds of people went to Christiana to bid fare- 
 well to the lifeless body of their favorite poet. 
 While in the last stage of consumption, in May, 
 18-i5, he Avrote the following verses, which were 
 read to me by one of his countrymen, who trans- 
 lated them literally, as he went along. Even 
 through this imperfect medium, my heart was 
 deeply touched by their childlike simplicity and 
 farewell sadness. The plaintive voice seemed to 
 become my own, and uttered itself thus, in English 
 rhyme, which faithfully preserves the sense of the 
 original : 
 
WERGELAND, THE POET. 75 
 
 SUPPLICATION TO SPRING. 
 
 Oh, save me, save me, gentle Spring ! 
 Bring healing on thy balmy wing ! 
 I loved thee more than all the year. 
 To no one hast thou been more dear. 
 
 Bright emeralds I valued less, 
 Than early grass, and water-cress. 
 Gem of the year I named thy flower, 
 Though roses grace fair Summer's bower. 
 
 The queenly ones, with fragrant sighs, 
 Tried to allure thy poet's eyes ; 
 But they were far less dear to me, 
 Than thy simple wild anemone. 
 
 Bear witness for me, little flower ! 
 Beloved from childhood's earliest hour ; 
 And dandelions, 'so much despised. 
 Whose blossoms more than gold I prized. 
 
 I welcomed swallows on the wing, 
 And loved them for their news of Spring. 
 I gave a feast for the earliest one, 
 As if a lung-lost child had come, 
 
 Blest harbingers of genial hours. 
 Unite your voices with the flowers ! 
 
76 WEKGELAND, THE POET. 
 
 Dear graceful birds, pour forth your prayer, 
 That nature will her poet spare ! 
 
 Plead with the Maker of the rain ! 
 That he will chilling showers restrain ; 
 And my poor breast no longer feel 
 Sharp needle-points of frosty steel. 
 
 Thou beautiful old maple tree ! 
 Por my love's sake, pray thou for me ! 
 Thy leaf-buds, op'ning to the sun, 
 Like pearls I counted ev'ry one. 
 
 I wished I might thy grandson be, 
 
 Dear, ven'rable old maple tree ! 
 
 That my young arms might round thee twine, 
 
 And mix my vernal crown with thine. 
 
 Ah, even now, full well I ween, 
 Thou hast thy robe of soft light-green. 
 I seem to hear thee whisp'ring slow 
 To the vernal grass below. 
 
 Stretch tliy strong arms toward the sky, 
 And pray thy poet may not die ! 
 I will heal thy scars with kisses sweet, 
 And pour out wine upon thy feet. 
 
 Blessings on the patriarch tree ! 
 Hoarsely he intercedes for me; 
 And little flowers, with voices mild, 
 Beg thee to spare thy sufF'ring child. 
 
WEEGELAND, THE POET. 77 
 
 Fair season, so beloved by me ! 
 
 Thy young and old all plead with thee. 
 
 Oh, heal me, with thy balmy wing ! 
 
 I have so ivorship2)ed thee, sweet Spring ■ 
 
 The following lines, written two days before he 
 died, were addressed to a fragrant, golden-coloured 
 flower whose English name I cannot ascertain 
 
 TO THE GULDENLAK. 
 
 Sweet flower ! before thy reign is o'er, 
 I shall be gone, to return no more, 
 Before thou losest thy crown of gold, 
 I shall lie low in the cold dark mould. 
 
 Open the window, and raise me up ! 
 My last glance must rest on her golden cup. 
 My soul will kiss her, as it passes by 
 And wave farewell from the distant sky. 
 
 Yea, twice will I kiss thy fragrant lip, 
 Where the wild honey-bee loves to sip. 
 The j^r5^, I will give for thy oion dear sake ; 
 The second^ thou must to my rose-bush take. 
 
 I shall sleep sound in the silent tomlx 
 Before the oeautiful bush will bloom ; 
 But ask her the first fair rose to lay 
 On her lover's grave, to fade away. • 
 
78 WERGELAND, THE POET. 
 
 Give her the kiss I gave thee to keep, 
 And bid her come on my breast to sleep ; 
 And, glowing flower, with sweetest breath. 
 Be thou our bridal torch in death ! 
 
THE EMIGRANT BOY. 
 
 'Tis lone on the ■waters, 
 
 When eve's mournful bell, • 
 
 Sends forth to the sunset 
 A note of ftirewell. 
 
 When, borne with the shadow.s 
 
 And winds, as they sweep, 
 
 There comes a fond memory 
 
 Of home o'er the deep, 
 
 Hemans. 
 
 In the old to\\Ti of Kiiclesheim, on the Ehine, is 
 one of those dilapidated castles, which impart such 
 picturesque beauty to the scenery of Grermany, 
 Among the ruins, Karl Schelling, a poor hard- 
 working peasant, made for himself a home. With 
 him dwelt his good wife Liesbet, and two blue- 
 eyed children, named Fritz and Grretchen. A few 
 cooking utensils, and wooden stools, constituted all 
 their furniture; and one brown-and- white goat, 
 was all they had to remind them of flocks and 
 herds. But these poor children led a happier life, 
 •than those small imitations of humanity, who are 
 bred up in city palaces, and diilled to walk through 
 existence in languid drawing-room paces. From 
 moss-grown arches in the old ruins, they could 
 
80 THE EMIGRANT LOY. 
 
 watch boats and vessels gliding over tlie sparkling 
 Ehine, and see broad meadows golden with sun- 
 shine. On the terrace of the castle, the wind had 
 planted many flowers. It was rkhly carpeted with 
 various kinds of moss, tufts of grass, blue-bells, 
 and little pinks. Here Karl often carried his goat 
 to feed, and left the children to tend upon him. 
 There had been a stork's nest on the roof, from 
 time immemorial; and the little ones were early 
 taught to reverence the birds, as omens of blessing. 
 Their simple young souls were quite unconscious 
 of poverty. The splendid Ehine, with all its isl- 
 ands — the broad pasture-lands, with herds peace- 
 fully grazing — ^houses nestling among woody hills 
 — all seemed to belong to them; and in reality, 
 they possessed them more truly than many a rich 
 man, who 
 
 *' One moment gazes on liis flowers, 
 The next they are forgot; 
 And eateth of his rarest fruits, 
 • As though he ate them not." 
 
 On their little heaps of straw, brother and sister 
 slept soundly in each other's arms; and if the 
 hooting of an owl chanced to wake them, -some 
 bright star looked in with friendly eye, through 
 chinks in the walls, and said, " Go to sleep, little 
 ones; for all little children are dear to the good 
 God." 
 
 Thus, with scanty food and coarse clothes, 
 
THE EMIGRANT BOY. 81 
 
 plenty of pure air and blue sky, Fritz and his sis- 
 ter went hand in hand over their rugged but 
 flower-strewn path of life, till he was nearly seven 
 years old. Then came Uncle Heinrich, his mother's 
 brother, and said the boy could be useful to him 
 at the mill, where he worked ; and if the parents 
 were willing to bind him to his service, he would 
 supply him with food and clothing, and give him 
 an outfit when he came of age. Tears were in 
 Liesbet's eyes ; for she thought how lonely it would 
 seem to her and little Gretchen, when they should 
 no longer hear Fritz mocking the birds, or singing 
 aloud to the high heaven. But they were very 
 poor, and the child must earn his bread. So, Avith 
 much sorrow to part with father and mother, and 
 Gretchen, the goat and the stork, and with some 
 gladness to go to new scenes, Fritz departed from 
 the old nest that had served him for a home. 
 Mounted with Uncle Heinrich, on the miller's don- 
 key, he ambled along through rocky paths, by deep 
 ravines and castle-crowned hills, with here and 
 there glimpses of the noble river, flowing on, bright 
 and strong, reflecting images of spires, cottages, 
 and vine-covered slopes. When he arrived at his 
 new home, the good grandmother gave him right 
 friendly welcome, and promised to set up on her 
 knitting-needles a striped blue cap for him to wear. 
 Uncle Heinrich was kind, in his rough way ; but 
 he thought it an excellent plan for boys to eat little 
 and work hard. Fritz, remembering the blossom- 
 
82 THE EMIGRANT BOY. 
 
 carpet of the old castle, was always deliglited to 
 spy a clump of flowers. His uncle told liim they 
 looked well enough, but he wondered anybody 
 should ever plant them, since they were not useful 
 either to eat or wear ; and that when he grew older, 
 he would doubtless think more of pence than posies. 
 Thus the child began to be ashamed, as of some- 
 thing wrong, when he was caught digging a flower. 
 But his laborious and economical relative taught 
 him many orderly and thrifty ways, which after- 
 ward had great influence on his success in life; 
 and fortunately a love for the beautiful could not 
 be pressed out of him. Kind, all-embracing Kature 
 took him in her arms, and whispered many things 
 to preserve him from becoming a mere animal. 
 All day long he was hard at work ; but the blos- 
 soming tree was his friend, and the bright little 
 mill-stream chatted cozily, and smiled when the 
 good grandmother gave it his clothes to wash. 
 The miller's donkey, ambling along through sun- 
 lighted paths over the hills, was a picture to him. 
 From his small garret window he could see the 
 mill-wheel scattering bright chops in the moon- 
 light ; and he fell asleep to the gentle lullaby of 
 ever-flowing water. Other education than this he 
 had not. 
 
 "His only teachers had been woods and rills; 
 The silence that is in the starry sky, 
 The sleep that is among the lonely hills." 
 
THE EMIGRANT BOY. y^ 83 
 
 An aged neigliboiir, cotemporarj witli the grand- 
 mother, took a great liking to Fritz ; and on Sun- 
 days, wlien no work could be done, lie was often 
 allowed to go and take dinner or supper there. 
 The old man had traversed nearly all Germany as 
 a peddler, and had come to die in the old homestead 
 near the mill, where he had worked when a boy. 
 He knew by heart all the wild fairy legends of the 
 country, and, in his character of peddler-guest, had 
 acquired a talent for relating them in a manner 
 peculiarly amusing and exciting to children. In 
 the course of his travels, he had likewise collected 
 many things which seemed very remarkable to the 
 inexperienced eye of Fritz ; such as curious smok- 
 ing-pipes and drinking-cups, and images in all the 
 various costumes of Grermany. But what most at- 
 tracted his attention was an ancient clock, brought 
 from Copenhagen when the peddler's father was a 
 young man. When this clock was in its right 
 mind, it could play twelve tunes, about as simple 
 as " Molly put the kettle on." But the friction of 
 many years had so worn the cogs of the wheels, 
 that it was frightfally out of tune. This did not 
 trouble the boy's strong nerves, and he was pro- 
 digiously amused with the sputtering, seething, 
 jumping, jabbering sounds it made, when set in 
 motion. To each of the crazy old tunes he gave 
 some droll nam^e. '' There goes the Spitting Cat," 
 he would say ; '' now let us hear the Old Hen." 
 
 Father Eudolph called the rickety old machine 
 
84 THE EMIGRANT BOY, 
 
 his Blacking Box ; because he had bought it with 
 the proceeds of a pecuhar kind of blacking, of his 
 own manufacture. He was always praising this 
 blacking ; and one day he said, " I have never 
 told any one the secret of making it ; but if you 
 are a good boy, Fritz, I will show you how it is 
 done." The child could not otherwise than respect 
 what had procured such a wonderful clock; and 
 when he fell asleep that night, there floated through 
 his mind undefined visions of being able, some time 
 or other, to purchase such a comical machine for 
 himself. This seemed a very unimportant incident 
 of his childhood ; but it was the introduction of a 
 thread, that reappeared again in his web of life. 
 
 Fritz passed at the old mill four years of health, 
 happiness, and hard Jabor. For three years, Father 
 Rudolph was an unfailing source of entertainment. 
 Alternately with his comic old songs, and wild 
 legends of fairies and goblins, he imparted much 
 of a traveller's discui'sive observation, and thorough 
 practical knowledge concerning the glossy jet black- 
 ing. At last he fell asleep, and the boy heard that 
 pleasant old voice no more, except in the echoing 
 caves of memory. The good grandmother survived 
 the companion of her youth only a few months. 
 The ancient ballads she used to croon at her spin- 
 ning-wheel, had caught something of the monoto- 
 nous flow of the water, which forever accompanied 
 them ; and Fritz, as he passed up and down from 
 the mill to the brook, missed the quaint old melo- 
 
THE EMIGRANT BOY. 85 
 
 dies, as he would have missed the rustling of the 
 leaves, the chirping of crickets, or any other dear 
 old familiar sound. He missed, too, her kind 
 motherly ways, and the little comforts with which 
 her care siipj^lied him. With the exception of his 
 rough, but really kind-hearted uncle, he was now 
 alone in the world. He had visited Eiidesheun 
 but once, and had then greatly amused Gretchen 
 with his imitations of the crazy clock. But his 
 parents had since removed to a remote district, 
 and he knew not when he should see dear Gretchen 
 again. As none of them could read or write, there 
 came no tidings to cheer the long years of separa- 
 tion. How his heart yearned at times for the good 
 mother and the joyous little sister ! 
 
 But when Uncle Heinrich announced his in- 
 tention of removing to America, the prospect of 
 new adventures, and the youthful tendency to look 
 on the bright side of things, overbalanced the pain 
 of parting from father-land. It is true the last night 
 he slept at the old mill, the moonlight had a fare- 
 well sadness in its glance, and the little stream 
 murmured more plaintively as it flowed. Fritz 
 thought perhaps they knew he was going away. 
 They certainly seemed to sigh forth, "We shall 
 see thee no more, thou bright, strong cliild ! We 
 remain, but thou art passing away !" 
 
 When the emigrants came to the sea-port, every 
 thing was new and exciting to the juvenile im- 
 agination of Fritz. The siiij)S out in the harbor 
 8 
 
86 THE EMIGRANT BOY. 
 
 looked like great wHte birds, sailing throTigli the 
 air. How pleasant it must be thus to glide over 
 the wide waters ! But between a ship in the 
 distance, and the ship we are in, there exists the 
 usual difference between the ideal and the actual. 
 There was little romance in the crowded cabin, 
 with hundreds of poor emigrants eating, drinking, 
 and smoking, amid the odour of bilge-water, and 
 the dreadful nausea of the sea. Poor Fritz longed 
 for the jjure atmosphere and fresh-flowing brook, 
 at the mill. However, there was always America 
 in prospect, painted to his imagination like Islands 
 of the Blest. Uncle Heinrich said he should grow 
 rich there; and a fairy whispered in his ear that he 
 himself might one day possess a Copenhagen clock, 
 bright and new, that would play its tunes decently 
 and hi order. " N'o, no," said Fritz to the fairy, 
 *'I had rather buy Father Kudolph's clock ; it was 
 such a funny old thing." " Very well," replied the 
 fairy, " be diligent and saving, and perhaps I will 
 one day bring Father Eudolph's clock to crow and 
 sputter to thee in the New World." 
 
 But these golden dreams of the future received 
 a sad check. One day, there was a cry of " A man 
 overboard!" It occasioned the more terror, because 
 a shark had been following in the wake of the 
 vessel for several days. Boats were lowered in- 
 stantly ; but a crimson tinge on the surface of the 
 water showed that their efforts were useless. It 
 was not till some minutes after the confusion sub- 
 
THE EMIGRANT BOY. 87 
 
 sided, tliat Fritz perceived his Uncle Heinricli was 
 missing. Terrible had been that crimson stain on 
 the water ; but now, when he knew it was the 
 life-blood of his last and only friend, it made him 
 faint and dizzy, as if it were flowing from his own 
 veins. 
 
 Uncle Heinrich's hard-earned savings were 
 fastened within the belt he wore ; and a bundle of 
 coarse clothes, with a few tools, were all that re- 
 mained of his worldly possessions. The captain 
 had compassion on the desolate child, and charged 
 nothing for his passage, or his food. When the 
 vessel came within sight of port, the passengers, 
 though most of them poor, raised a small fund for 
 him by contribution. But who can describe the 
 utter lonehness of the emigrant boy, when he 
 parted from his ship-companions, and wandered 
 through the crowded streets of 'New York, without 
 meeting a single face he had ever seen before? 
 Lights shone in cheerful basements, where families 
 supped together ; but his good-hearted mother, and 
 his dear little blue-eyed Gretchen — where were 
 they ? Oh, it was very sad to be so entirely alone, 
 in such a wide, wide world I Sometimes he saw 
 a boy turn round to stare at his queer little cap, 
 and outlandish frock ; but he could not understand 
 what he said, when he sung out, " There goes what 
 they call a Flying Dutchman." Day after day he 
 tried for work, but could obtain none. His funds 
 were running very low, and his heart was ex- 
 
88 THE EMIGEANT BOY. 
 
 tremely heavy. As lie stood leaning against a 
 post, one day, a goat walked slowly towards him 
 from a neighboring court. How his heart leaped 
 up to greet her ! With her came back images of 
 the castle on the Ehine, the blooming terrace, his 
 kind father, his blessed mother, and his darling 
 little sister. He patted the goat's head, and kissed 
 her, and looked deep into her eyes, as he had done 
 with the companion of his- boyhood. A stranger 
 came to lead the animal away ; and when she was 
 gone, poor Fritz sobbed as if his heart would break. 
 *' I have not even a goat for a friend now," thought 
 he. " I wish I could get back to the old mill t^gain. 
 I am afraid I shall starve here in this foreiirn land, 
 where there is nobody to bury me." 
 
 In the midst of these gloomy cogitations, there 
 was an alarm* of fire ; and the watchm^en sprung 
 their rattles. Instantly a ray of hope darted 
 through his soul! The soimd reminded him of 
 Father Eudolph's Blacking Box; for one of its 
 tipsy tunes began with a flourish exactly like it. 
 " I will save every cent I can, and buy materials 
 to make blacking," thought he. "I will sleep 
 under the planks on the wharves, and live on two 
 pence a day. I can speak a few words of English. 
 I will learn more from some of my countrymen, 
 who have been here longer than I. Then, per- 
 haps, I can sell blacking enough to buy. bread and 
 clothes." 
 
 And thus he did. At first, it went very hard 
 
THE EMIGRAjS'T BOY. 89 
 
 witli liim. Some days he earned nothing ; and a 
 week of patient waiting brought but one shilling. 
 But his broad face was so clean and honest, his 
 manners so respectful, and his blacking so uncom- 
 monly good, that his customers gradually increased. 
 One day, a gentleman who traded with him made 
 a mistake, and gave him a shilling instead of a ten- 
 cent piece. Fritz did not observe it at the mo- 
 ment; but the next day, when the gentleman 
 passed to his counting-house, he followed him, and 
 touched him on the arm. The merchant inquired 
 what lie -wanted. Fritz showed the coin, saying, 
 "Dat not mine." "Neither is it mine," rejoined 
 the merchant ; " wliat do you show it to me for ?" 
 The boy rejDlied, in his imperfect English, " Dat too 
 mooch." A friend, who was with the merchant, 
 addressed him in German ; and the poor emigrant's 
 countenance lighted up, as if it had become suddenly 
 transparent, and a lamp placed within it. Heaving 
 a sigh, and blushing at his own emotion, he ex- 
 plained, in his native tongue, tbat he had accidently 
 taken too much for liis blacking, the day before. 
 They looked at him with right friendly glances, 
 and inquired into his history. He told them his 
 name and parentage, and how Uncle Heinrich had 
 attempted to bring him to America, and had been 
 devoured by a shark on the way. He said he had 
 not a single friend in this foreign land, but he 
 meant to be honest and industrious, and he hoped 
 
 he should do well. The gentlcmtm assured him 
 8* 
 
90 THE EMIGRANT BOY. 
 
 that they should always remember him as Fritz 
 Shilhng, and that they would certainly speak of 
 him to their friends. He did not understand the 
 joke of his name, but he did understand that they 
 bought all his blacking, and that customers in- 
 creased more rapidly after that interview. 
 
 It would be tedious to follow the emigrant 
 through all the process of his gradually-improving 
 fortune. As soon as he could spare anything 
 from necessary food and clothmg, he went to an 
 evening school, where he learned to read, -Rnrite, 
 and cipher. He became first a shop-boy, then a 
 clerk, and finally established a neat grocery-store 
 for himself Through all these changes, he con- 
 tiaued to sell the blacking, which arrived at the 
 honour of poetical advertisements in the newspapers, 
 under the name of Schelling's Best Boot Polisher. 
 
 But the prosperity- thus produced was not the 
 only result of his acquaintance with Father ."Ru- 
 dolph. The dropped stitches of our life are some- 
 tunes taken up again strangely, through many in- 
 tervening loops. One day, as Fritz was passing 
 through the streets, when he was about sixteen 
 years old, he stopped and listened intently ; for ho 
 heard far off the sounds of a popular German bal- 
 lad, which his grandmother and the peddler often 
 used to sing together. Through all the din and 
 rattle of the streets, he could plainly distinguisJi 
 the monotonous minor cadence, which had often 
 brought tears to his eyes when a boy. He ful- 
 
THE EMIGRANT BOY. 91 
 
 lowed the tones, and soon came in sight of an old 
 man and. his wife singing the familiar melody. A 
 maiden, apparently somewhat younger than him- 
 self, played a tamborin at intervals. When he 
 spoke to her in German, her face kindled, as his 
 own had done, at the first sound of his native 
 tongue in a strange land. " They call me Eos- 
 chen," she replied; "these are my father and mo- 
 ther. We came from the ship last night, and we 
 sing for bread, till we can get work to do." The 
 soul looked simply and kindly through her blue 
 eyes, and reminded him of sister Gretchen. Her 
 wooden shoes, short blue petticoat, and little crim- 
 son jacket might seem vnlgar to the fashionable, 
 and picturesque to the artist; but to him it was 
 merely the beloved costume of his native land. It 
 warmed his heart with childish recollections ; and 
 when they sang again the quaint, sad melody, he 
 seemed to hear the old brook flow plaintively by, 
 and see the farewell moonlight on the mill. Thus 
 began his acquaintance with the maiden, who was 
 afterwards his wife, and the mother of his little 
 Gretchen. 
 
 Of these, and all other groups of emigrants, for 
 many years, he inquired concerning his parents 
 and his sister; but could obtain no tidings. At 
 last, a priest in Germany, to whom he wrote, re- 
 plied that Gretchen had died m childhood ; and 
 that the father and mother had also recently died. 
 It was a great disajjpointment to the aUcctionate 
 
92 THE EMIGEANT BOY. 
 
 heart of Fritz Sclielling ; for tliroiigli all liis ex- 
 panding fortunes he had cherished the hope of re- 
 turniiDg to them, or bringing them to share his 
 comfortable home in the New World. But when 
 he received the mournfi^l news, he had Roschen 
 to love, and her parents to care for, and a little one 
 that twined herself round his heart with fresh 
 flower-garlands every day. 
 
 At thu^ty-five, he was a happy and a prosperous 
 man. So prosperous, that he could afford to live 
 well in the city, and yet build for himself a snug- 
 cottage in the country. ""We can go out every 
 Saturday and return on Monday," said he to Eos 
 chen. "We can have fresh cream, and our own 
 sweet butter. It will do the children good to roll 
 on the grass, and they shall have a goat to play 
 with." 
 
 "And, perhaps, by-and-by, we can go there to 
 live all the time," rejoined Eoschen. "It is so 
 quiet and pleasant in the country ; and what's the 
 use of being richer than enough ?" 
 
 The site chosen for the cottage overlooked the 
 broad, bright river, where high palisades of rock 
 seemed almost like the ruins of an old castle. 
 Fritz said he would make a flower-carpet on the 
 rocks, for the goat to browse upon ; and if a stork 
 would only come and build a nest on his thatched 
 roof, he could almost fancy himself in Germany. 
 At times, the idea of importing storks crossed his 
 mind ; but his good sense immediately rejected the 
 
THE EMIGRANT BOY. 93 
 
 plan. It is difficult to imagine how those vener- 
 able birdSj with their love of the antique and the 
 unchangeable, could possibly live in America. One 
 might as well trj to import loyal subjects, or an 
 ancient nobility. 
 
 When house and barn were completed, the first 
 object was to secure honest, industrious Grerman 
 tenants to till the soil. Fritz heard of a company 
 of emigrants, who wished to sell themselves for a 
 specified time, in order to pay their passage ; and 
 he went on board the ship to see them. A hale 
 man, v^ho said he was about sixty years old, with 
 a wife some five or six years younger, attracted his 
 attention by their extreme cleanliness and good ex- 
 pression of countenance. He soon agreed to pur- 
 chase them ; and in order to prepare the necessary 
 papers, he inquired their names. 
 
 " Karl Schelling and Liesbet Schelling," replied 
 the old man. 
 
 Fritz started, and his face flushed, as he asked, 
 *' Did you ever live in the old castle at Eiide- 
 sheim ?" 
 
 "That we did for several summers," rejoined 
 Karl. 
 
 "Ah, can you tell us any thing of our son 
 Fritz ?" exclaimed Liesbet, eyeing him eagerly. 
 " God bless him wherever he is ! We came to 
 America to find him." 
 
 " Mother ! Mother ! do you not know me ?" he 
 
94 THE EMIGEANT BOY. 
 
 said ; and threw himself into Her open arms, and 
 kissed the honest, weather-beaten face. 
 
 " I see it has gone well with you, my son. Now, 
 thanks be to God, and blessed be His holy name," 
 said Karl, reverently uncovering his head. 
 
 "And where is Gretchen?" inquired Fritz, ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 "The All-Father took her home, to Himself, 
 soon after you came to see us at Kudesheim," re- 
 plied Liesbet. " She was always mourning for the 
 brother, poor httle one ! It troubled us to go away 
 and leave you behind us, without sajdng farewell ; 
 and I feared no blessing would follow it. But we 
 were very, poor, and we thought then we should 
 come to you in two or three years." 
 
 " Don't speak of that," said Fritz. " You were 
 always good parents to me, and did the best you 
 could. Blessings have followed me ; and to meet 
 you thus is the crowning blessing of all. Come, 
 let us hasten home. I want to show you my good 
 Eoschen, and our Gretchen, and Karl, and Liesbet, 
 and Eudolph, and baby Eoschen. My small farm 
 overlooks a river broad and beautifal as the Eliinc. 
 The rocks look like castles, and I have bought a 
 goat for the children to play with. The roof of our 
 cottage is thatched, and if a stork would only come 
 and build her nest there, then dear father and mo- 
 ther might almost imagine themselves again at Eli- 
 desheim, with plenty to eat, drink, and wear. If 
 Father Eudolph's Blacking Box were only here," 
 
THE EMIGRANT BOY. 95 
 
 added he, laughing, I should have ap. but one of 
 my boyish dreams fulfilled. " Ah, if dear Gretchen. 
 were only here !" 
 
 The fairy who whispered to Fritz when he was 
 crossinsr the Atlantic, told him if he were diliirent 
 and saving, she would perhajDS bring him the old 
 clock ; and she kept her promise better than fairies 
 sometimes do ; for it chanced that the heir of Fa- 
 ther Eudolph came to America, and brought it with 
 him. The price Fritz offered for it was too tempt- 
 ing, and it now stands in his thatched cottage. Its 
 carved black case, inlaid with grotesque figures of 
 birds and beasts in pearl, is more wonderful than a 
 picture-book to the children. When any of them 
 are out of health, or out of humour, their father 
 sets the old bewildered tunes agoing, and ihej soon 
 join in a merry mocking chorus, with '' Cluck, 
 cluck, cluck ! Whirr, whirr, whirr ! Eik a rik a 
 ree !" 
 
 Note. — ^The accidental purchase of his parents by a German 
 emigrant actually occurred a few years since; and this story 
 was suggested by the fact. 
 
HOME AND POLITICS. 
 
 FOUNDED ON AN INCIDENT THAT OCCURRED IN NEW YORK, 
 DURING THE EXCITEMENT ATTENDING THE ELECTION OF 
 PRESIDENT POLK. 
 
 O friendly to the best pursuits of man ! 
 Friendly to thouglit, to virtue, and to peace, 
 Domestic life. Cowper. 
 
 At the bend of a pleasant road winding under tlie 
 shade of a large elm, stood a small school-house. It 
 was a humble building ; and the little belfry on the 
 top seem^ed hardly large enough for the motions of 
 the cow-bell suspended there. But it was a pictu- 
 resque featLirc in the landscape. The elm drooped 
 over it with uncommon gracefulness, and almost 
 touched the belfry with its light fohage. The wea- 
 ther-beaten, moss-grown shingles were a relief to 
 the eye of the traveller, weary of prim staring- 
 white houses. Moreover, a human soul had in- 
 scribed on the httle place a pastoral poem in vines 
 and flowers. A white Eose bush covered half one 
 side, and carried its offering of blossoms up to the 
 little bell. Cypress vines were trained to meet 
 over the door, in a Gothic arch, surmounted by a 
 cross. On the western side, the window was 
 shaded with a profusion of Morning Glories ; and a 
 
HOME AND POLITICS. 97 
 
 great rock, that jutted out into the road, was thick- 
 ly strewn with Iceland moss, which in the spring- 
 time covered it with a carpet of yellow stars. 
 
 It was at that season it was first seen by George 
 Franklin, a young New York lawyer, on a visit to 
 the country. He walked slowly past, gazing at 
 the noble elm slightly waving its young foliage to 
 a gentle breeze. Just then, out poured a flock of 
 children, of various ages. Jumping and laughing, 
 they joined hands and formed a circle round the 
 elm. A clear voice was heard within the school- 
 house, singing a lively time, while measured strokes 
 on some instrument of tin marked the time. The 
 little band whirled round the tree, stepping to the 
 music with the rude grace of childhood and joy. 
 After ten or fifteen minutes of this healthy exer- 
 cise, they stopped, apparently in obedience to some 
 signal. Half of them held their hands aloft and 
 formed arches for the other half to jump through. 
 Then they described swift circles with their arms, 
 and leaped high in the air. Having gone through 
 their simple code of gymnastics, away they scam- 
 pered, to seek pleasure after their own fashion, till 
 summoned to their books again. Some of them 
 bowed and courtesied to the traveller, as they 
 passed ; while others, with arms round each other's 
 necks, went hopping a.k)ng, first on one foot, then 
 on the other, too busy to do more than nod and 
 smile, as they went by. Many of them wore 
 patched garments, but hands and faces were all 
 9 ' Q 
 
98 HOME AND POLITICS. 
 
 clean. Some had a stolid, animal look ; but even 
 tliese seemed to sun their cold nature in the rays 
 of beauty and freedom, which they found only at 
 school. The whole scene impressed the young man 
 very vividly. He asked himself why it could not 
 be always thus, in the family, in the school, every 
 where ? Why need man forever be a blot on Na- 
 ture ? Why must he be coarse and squalid, and 
 gross and heavy, while Nature is ever radiant Avith 
 fresh beauty, and joyful with her overplus of life? 
 Then came saddening thoughts how other influ- 
 ences of life, coarse parents, selfish employers, and 
 the hard struggle for daily bread, would overshad- 
 ow the genial influences of that pleasant school, 
 which for a few months gilded the lives of those 
 little ones. 
 
 When he repassed the spot, some hours after, all 
 v>^as still, save the occasional tittering of birds in 
 the tree.. It was sunset, and a bright farewell 
 gleam shone across the moss-carpet on the rock, 
 and made the little flowers in the garden smile. 
 V7hen he returned to the city, the scene often rose 
 before his mind as a lovely picture, and he longed 
 for the artist's skill to re-produce it visibly in its 
 rustic beauty. When he again visited the country 
 after midsummer, he remembered the little old 
 school-house, and one of his earliest excursions was 
 a walk in that direction. A profusion of crimson 
 stars, and white stars, now peeped out from the 
 fringed foliage of the Cypress vines, and the little 
 
HOME AND POLITICS. 99 
 
 front yard was one bed of blossoms. He leaned 
 over the gate, and observed bow neatly every plant 
 was trained, as if some loving band tended tliem 
 carefully every day. He listened, but could hear 
 no voices ; and curiosity impelled him to see how 
 the little building looked within. He lifted the 
 latch, peeped in, and saw that the room was empty. 
 The rude benches and the white-washed walls were 
 perfectly clean. The windows were open on both 
 sides, and the air was redolent with the sweet 
 breath of Mignonette. On the teacher's desk was 
 a small vase, of Grecian pattern, containing a few 
 flowers tastefully arranged. Some books lay beside 
 it, and one had an ivory folder between the leaves, 
 as if recently used. It was Bettine's Letters to Giin- 
 derode; and, where it opened at the ivory folder, 
 he read these lines, enclosed in pencil marks ; 
 " All that I see done to children is unjust. Mag- 
 nanimity, confidence, free-will, are not given to the 
 nourishment of their souls. A slavish yoke is put 
 upon them. The living impulse, full of buds, is 
 not esteemed. No outlet will they give for Nature 
 to reach the light. Rather must a net be woven, in 
 which, each mesh is a prejudice. Had not a child 
 a world "within, where could he take refuge from 
 the deluge of folly that is poured over the budding 
 meadow-carpet ? Reverence have I before the des- 
 tiny of each child, shut up in so sweet a bud. One 
 feels reverence at touching a young bud, which the 
 spring is swelling." 
 
100 HOME AND POLITICS. 
 
 The yonng man smiled with pleased surprise; 
 for he had not expected to find appreciation of such 
 sentiments in the teacher of a secluded country 
 school. He took up a volume of Mary Hewitt's 
 Birds and Flowers, and saw the name of Alice 
 White written in it. On all blank spaces were 
 fastened delicate young fern leaves, and small bits 
 of richly-tinted moss. He glanced at the low ceil- 
 ing, and the rude benches. " This seems not the 
 appropriate temple for such a sjDirit," thought he. 
 "But, after all, what consequence is that, since 
 such spirits find temples everywhere ?" He took 
 a pencil from his pocket, and marked in Bettine's 
 Letters : " Thou hast feeling for the e very-day life 
 of nature. Dawn, noon-tide, and evening clouds 
 are thy dear companions, with whom thou canst 
 converse when no man is abroad with thee. Let 
 me be thy scholar in simplicity." 
 
 He wrote his initials on the page. "Perhaps I 
 shall never see this young teacher, " thought he ; 
 " but it will be a little mystery, in her unexciting 
 life, to conjecture what curious eye has been peep- 
 ing into her books." Then he queried with him- 
 self, " How do I know she is a young teacher ?" 
 
 He stood leaning against the window, looking 
 on the beds of flowers, and the vine leaves brushed 
 his hair, as the breeze played with them. They 
 seemed to say that a young heart planted them. 
 He remembered the clear, feminine voice he had 
 heard humming the dancing-tune, in the spring 
 
HOME AND POLITICS. 101 
 
 time. He tliought of the mosses and ferns in tlie 
 book. " Oh, yes, she must be young and beauti- 
 ful," thought he. '' She cannot be otherwise than 
 beautiful, with such tastes." He stood for some 
 moments in half dreaming reverie. Then a broad 
 sinile w^ent over his face. He was making fun of 
 himself. " What consequence is it to me whether 
 she be either beautiful or young?" said he in- 
 wardly. ''I must be hungry for an adventure, to 
 indulge so much curiosity about a country school- 
 mistress." 
 
 The smile was still on his face, when he heard a 
 light step, and Alice White stood before him. She 
 blushed to see a stranger in her little sanctuary, 
 and he blushed at the awkwardness of his situ- 
 ation. He apologized, by saying that the beauty 
 of the little garden, and the tasteful arrangement 
 of the vines, had attracted his attention, and, per- 
 ceiving that the school-house was empty, he had 
 taken the liberty to enter. She readily forgave the 
 intrusion, and said she was glad if the humble little 
 spot refreshed the eyes of those who passed by, for 
 it had given her great pleasure to cultivate it. The 
 young man was disappointed ; for she was not at all 
 like the picture his imagination had painted. But 
 the tones of her voice were flexible, and there was 
 something pleasing in her quiet but timid manner. 
 Not knowing what to say, he bowed and took 
 leave. 
 
 Several days after, when his rural visit was 
 9% 
 
102 HOME AND POLITICS. 
 
 drawing to a close, he felt the need of a long walk^ 
 and a pleasant vision of the winding road and the 
 little school-house rose before him. He did not 
 even think of Ahce White. He was ambitions, 
 and had well nigh resolved never to marrj^, except 
 to advance his fortunes. He admitted to himself 
 that grace and beauty might easily bewitch him, 
 and turn him from his prudent purpose. But the 
 poor country teacher was not beautiful, either in 
 face or figure. He had no thought of her. But to 
 vary his route somewhat, he passed through the 
 woods, and there he found her gathering mosses 
 by a little brook. She recognized him, and he 
 stopped to help her gather mosses. Thus it 
 happened that they fell into discourse together; 
 and the more he listened, the more he was sur- 
 prised to find so rare a jewel in so plain a setting. 
 Her thoughts were so fresh, and were so simply 
 said ! And now he noticed a deep expression in 
 her eye, imparting a more elevated beauty than is 
 ever derived from form or colour. He could not 
 define it to himself, still less to others ; but she 
 charmed him. He lingered by her side, and when 
 they parted at the school-house gate, he was half 
 in hopes she would invite him to enter. " I expect 
 to visit this town again in the autumn," he said. 
 "May I hope to find you at the little school- 
 house ?" 
 
 She did not say whether he might hope to find 
 her there; but she answered with a smile, "lam 
 
HOME AND POLITICS. 103 
 
 always here. I liave adopted it for my home, and 
 tried to make it a pleasant one, since I have no 
 other." 
 
 All the way home his thoughts were occupied 
 with her ; and the memory of her simple, pleasant 
 ways, often recurred to him amid the noises of the 
 city. He would easily have forgotten her in that 
 stage of their acquaintance, had any beautiful heir- 
 ess happened to cross his path; for though his 
 nature was kindly, and had a touch of romance, 
 ambition was the predominant trait in his charac- 
 ter. But it chanced that no woman attracted him 
 very powerfully, before he again found himself on 
 the winding road where stood the picturesque little 
 school-house. Then came frequent walks and con- 
 fidential interviews, which revealed more loveliness 
 of mind and character than he had previously sup- 
 posed. Alice was one of those peculiar persons 
 whose history sets at naught all theories. Her 
 parents had been illiterate, and coarse in manners, 
 but she was gentle and refined. They were utterly 
 devoid of imagination, and she saw every thing 
 in the sunshine of poetry. "Who is the child 
 like? Where did she get her queer notions?" 
 were questions they could never answer. Tiicy 
 died when she was fourteen ; and she, unaided and 
 unadvised, went into a factory to earn money to 
 educate herself Alternately at the factory and at 
 school, she passed four years. Thanks to her 
 notable mother, she was quick and skilful with her 
 
104 HOME AKD POLITICS. 
 
 needle, and knew wonderfully well liow to make 
 tlie most of small means. Site travelled along un- 
 noticed through, the bj-paths of life, rejoicing in 
 birds, and flowers, and little children, and finding 
 sufficient stimulus to constant industry in the love 
 of serving others, and the prospect of now and then 
 a pretty vase, or some agreeable book. First, af- 
 fectionate communion, then beauty and order, were 
 the great attractions to her soul. Hence, she 
 longed inexpressibly for a home, and was always 
 striving to realize her ideal in such humble imita- 
 tions as the little school-house. The family where 
 she boarded often disputed with each other, and, 
 being of rude natures, not all Alice's unassuming 
 and obliging wnjs could quite atone to them for 
 her native superiority. In the solitude of the little 
 school-house she sought refuge from things that 
 wounded her. There she spent most of the hours 
 of her life, and found peace on the bosom of 
 ISTature. Poor, and without personal beauty, she 
 never dreamed that domestic love, at all resembling 
 the pattern in her own mind, was a blessing she 
 could ever realize. Scarcely had the surflice of 
 her heart been tremulous with even a passing ex- 
 citement on the subject, till the day she gathered 
 mosses in the wood with Greorge Franklin. When 
 he looked into her eyes, to ascertain what theii* 
 depth expressed, she was troubled by the earnest- 
 ness of his glance. Habitually humble, she did not 
 venture to indulge the idea that she could ever be 
 
HOME AND POLITICS. 105 
 
 beloved by bim. But when sbe tbougbt of bis 
 promised visit in autumn, fair visions sometimes 
 floated before ber, of bow pleasant life would be in 
 a tasteful little borne, Avitb an intelHgent com- 
 panion. Always it was a little bome. None of 
 ber ideas partook of grandeur. Sbe was a pastoral 
 poet, not an epic poet. 
 
 George did come, and tbey bad many pleasant 
 walks in beautiful October, and crowned eacb otber 
 witb garlands of brigbt autumnal leaves. Tbeir 
 parting betrayed mutual affection ; and soon after 
 George wrote to ber tbus : "I frankly acknowledge 
 to you tbat I am ambitious, and bad fully resolved 
 never to marry a poor girl. But I love you so well, 
 I bave no cboice left. And now, in tbe beautiful 
 ligbt tbat dawns upon me, I see bow mean and 
 seliisb was tbat resolution, and bow impolitic witbal. 
 For is it not bappiness we all seek ? And bow b appy 
 it will make me to fulfil ^^our long-cberisbed dream 
 of a tasteful bome ! I cannot belp receiving from 
 you more tban I can give; for your nature is ricber 
 tban mine. But I believe, dearest, it is always 
 more blessed to give tban to receive; and wben 
 two tbink so of eacb otber, wbat more need of 
 beaven ? 
 
 " I am no flatterer, and I tell you franldy I was 
 disappointed wben I first saw you. Unconsciously 
 to myself, I bad fallen in love witb your soul. Tbe 
 transcript of it, wbicb I saw in tbe vines and tbe 
 flowers attracted me first ; tben a revelation of it 
 
lOG HOME AND POLITICS. 
 
 from the marked book, tke mosses and the ferns. 
 I imagined yon must be beantiful ; and when I saw 
 von were not, I did not snppose I shonld ever think 
 of you more. But when I heard you talk, your 
 soul attracted me irresistibly again, and I wondered 
 I ever thought you otherwise than beautiful. Rarely 
 is a beautiful soul shrined within a beautiful body. 
 But loveliness of soul has one great advantage over 
 its frail envelope, it need not decrease with time, 
 but ought rather to increase. 
 
 " Of one thing rest assured, dear Alice ; it is now 
 impossible for me ever to love another, as I love 
 you." 
 
 When she read this letter, it seemed to her as if 
 she were in a delightful dream. Was it indeed pos- 
 sible that the love of an intelligent, cultivated soul 
 was offered to her, the poor unfriended one ? How 
 marvellous it seemed, that when she was least ex- 
 pecting such a blossom from Paradise, a stranger 
 came and laid it in the open book upon her desk, 
 in that little school-house, where she had toiled with 
 patient humility through so many weary hours! 
 She kissed the dear letter again and again; she 
 kissed the initials he had written in the book before 
 he had seen her. She knelt down, and, weeping, 
 thanked God that the great hunger of her heart for 
 a happy home was now to be satisfied. But when 
 she re-read the letter in calmer mood, the upright- 
 ness of her nature made her shrink from the prof- 
 fered bliss. He said he was ambitious. Would he 
 
HOME AND POLITICS. 107 
 
 not repent marrying a poor girl, witliout beanty, 
 and without social, influence of any kind ? Might 
 he not find her soul far less lovely than he deemed 
 it ? Under the influence of these fears, she answered 
 him : " How happy your precious letter made me, 
 I dare not say. My heart is like a garden when 
 the morning sun shines on it, after a long, cold 
 storm. Ever since the day we gathered mosses in 
 the wood, you have seemed so like the fairest dreams 
 of my life, that I could not hel|) loving you, though 
 I had no hope of being beloved in return. Even 
 now, I fear that you are acting under a temporary 
 delusion, and that hereafter you may repent your 
 choice. Wait long, and observe my faults. I will 
 try not to conceal any of them from you. Seek the 
 society of other women. You will find so many 
 superior to me, in all respects ! Do not fear to give 
 me pain by any change in your feelings. I love 
 you with that disinterested love, which would re- 
 joice in your best happiness, though it should lead 
 you away from me." 
 
 This letter did not lower his estimxate of the beauty 
 of her soul. He complied with her request to cul- 
 tivate the acquaintance of other women. He saw 
 many more beautiful, more graceful, more accom- 
 plished, and of higher intellectual cultivation ; but 
 none of them seemed so charmingly simple and 
 true, as Alice White. "Do not talk to me any 
 more about a change in my feelings," he said, " I 
 like your principles, I like your disposition, I like 
 
108 HOME AND POLITICS. 
 
 jour thoughts, I like your ways; and I always 
 shall like them." Thus assured, Alice joyfully dis- 
 missed her fears, and became his wife. 
 
 Eich beyond comparison is a man who is loved 
 by an intelligent woman, so full of home-affections ! 
 Especially if she has learned humility, and gained 
 strength, in the school of hardship and privation. 
 But it is only beautiful souls who learn such lessons 
 in adversity. In lower natures it engenders dis- 
 content and envy, which change to pride and ex- 
 travagance in the hour of prosperity. Alice had. 
 always been made happy by the simplest means ; 
 and now, though her husband's income was a mod- 
 erate one, her intuitive taste and capable fingers 
 made his home a little bower of beauty. She 
 seemed happy as a bird in her cozy nest; and 
 so grateful, that Greorge said, half in jest, half in 
 earnest, he believed women loved their husbands as 
 the only means society left them of procuring homes 
 over which to preside. There was some truth in 
 the remark ; but it pained her sensitive and affec- 
 tionate nature, because it intruded upon her the 
 idea of selfishness mingled with her love. Thence- 
 forth, she said less about the external blessings of a 
 home ; but in her inmost soul she enjoyed it, like 
 an earthly heaven. And George seemed to enjoy 
 it almost as much as herself Again and again, he 
 said he had never dreamed domestic cornpanionship 
 was so rich a blessing. His wife, though far less 
 educated than himself, had a nature capable of the 
 
HOME AND POLITICS. 109 
 
 highest cultivation. She was always an intelligent 
 listener, and her quick intuitions often understood 
 far more than he had expressed or thought. Poor 
 as she was, she had brought better furniture for his 
 home, than mahogany chairs and marble tables. 
 
 Smoothly glided a year away, when a little 
 daughter came into the domestic circle, like a flower 
 brought by angels. G eorge had often laughed at 
 the credulous fondness of other parents, but he 
 really thought his child was the most beautiful one 
 he had ever seen. In the countenance and move- 
 ments he discovered all manner of rare gifts. He 
 was sure she had an eye for color, an eye for form, 
 and an ear for music. She had her mother's deep 
 eye, and would surely inherit her quick perceptions, 
 her loving heart, and her earnestness of thought. 
 His whole soul seemed bound up in her existence. 
 Scarcely the mother herself was more devoted to 
 all her infant wants and pleasures. Thus happy 
 were they, with their simple treasures of love and 
 thought, when, in evil hour, a disturbing influence 
 crossed their threshold. It came in the form of 
 political excitement ; that pestilence which is for- 
 ever racing through our land, seeking whom it may 
 devour; destroying happy homes, turning aside 
 our intellectual strength from the calm and healthy 
 pursuits of literature or science, blinding consciences, 
 embittering hearts, rasping the tempers of men, and 
 blighting half the talent of our country with its 
 feverish breath. 
 10 
 
110 HOME AND POLITICS. 
 
 At tliat time, our citizens were much excited 
 for and asrainst the election of General Harrison. 
 George Franklin threw himself into the melee with 
 firm and honest conviction that the welfare of the 
 country depended on his election. But the superior 
 and inferior natures of man are forever mingling 
 in all his thoughts and actions ; and this generous 
 ardor for the nation's good gradually opened into a 
 perspective of flattering prospects for himself By 
 the study and industry of years, he had laid a solid 
 foundation in his profession, and every year brought 
 some increase of income and influence. But he had 
 the American impatience of slow growth. Dis- 
 tinguished in some way he had always wished to 
 be ; and no avenue to the desired object seemed so 
 short as the political race-course. A neighbour, 
 whose temperament was peculiarly prone to these 
 excitements, came in often and invited him to clubs 
 and meetings. When Alice was seated at her 
 work, with the hope of passing one of their old 
 pleasant evenings, she had a nervous dread of hear- 
 ing the door-bell, lest this man should enter. It 
 was not that she expected, or wished, her husband 
 to sacrifice ambition and enterprise, and views of 
 patriotic duty, to her quiet habits. But the excite- 
 ment seemed an unhealthy one. He lived in a 
 species of mental intoxication. He talked louder 
 than formerly, and doubled his fists in the vehe- 
 mence of gesticulation. He was restless for news- 
 papers, and watched the arrival of mails, as he 
 
HOME AND POLITICS. Ill 
 
 would once have watched over the life of his child. 
 All calm pleasures became tame and insipid. He 
 was more and more away from home, and staid 
 late in the night. Alice at first sat up to wait for 
 him ; but finding that not conducive to the comfort 
 of their child, she gradually formed the habit of 
 retiring to rest before his return. She was always 
 careful to leave a comfortable arrangement of the 
 fire, with his shppers in a warm place, and some 
 slight refreshment prettily laid out on the table. 
 The first time he came home and saw these silent 
 preparations, instead of the affectionate face that 
 usually greeted him, it made him very sad. The 
 rustic school-house, with its small belfry, and its 
 bright little garden-plat, rose up in the perspective 
 of memory, and he retraced, one by one, all the in- 
 cidents of their love. Fair and serene came those 
 angels of life out of the paradise of the past. They 
 smiled upon him and asked, " Are there any like 
 us in the troubled path you have now chosen?" 
 With these retrospections came some self-reproaches 
 concerning little kind attentions forgotten, and pro- 
 fessional duties neglected, under the influence of 
 political excitement. He spoke to Alice with un- 
 usual tenderness that night, and voluntarily prom- 
 ised that when the election was fairly over, he 
 would withdraw from active participation in politics. 
 But this feeling soon passed away. The nearer the 
 result of the election approached, the more intensely 
 was his whole being absorbed in it. One morning, 
 
112 HOME AND POLITICS. 
 
 when lie was reading the newspaper, little Alice 
 fretted and cried. He said, impatiently, "I wish 
 yon would carry that child away. Her noise dis- 
 turbs me." Tears came to the mother's eyes, as 
 she answered, " She is not well ; poor little thing ! 
 She has taken cold." "I am sorry for that," he 
 repHed, and hurried to go out and exult with his 
 neighbour concerning the political tidings. 
 
 At night, the child was -unusually peevish and 
 restless. She toddled up to her father^s knees, and 
 cried for him to rock her to sleep. He had just 
 taken her in his arms, and laid her little head upon 
 his bosom, when the neighbour came for him to go 
 to a political supper. He said the mails that night 
 must bring news that would decide the question. 
 The company would wait for their arrival, and 
 then have a jubilee in honour of Harrison's snc- 
 cess. The child cried and screamed, when George 
 put her away into the mother's arms ; and he said 
 sternly, "Naughty girl! Father don't love her 
 when she cries." "She is not well," rephed the 
 mother, with a trembling voice, and hurried out 
 of the room. 
 
 It was two o^clock in the morning before George 
 returned; bnt late as it was, his wife was sitting 
 by the fire. " Hurrah for the old coon !" he ex- 
 claimed. " Harrison is elected." 
 
 She threw herself on his bosom, and bursting 
 into tears, sobbed out, " Oh, hush, hush, dear 
 George I Our little Alice is dead I" Dead! and 
 
HOME AND POLITICS. 113 
 
 the last words lie had spoken to his darling had 
 been unkind. What would he not have given to 
 recall them now ? And his poor wife had passed 
 through that agony, alone in the silent midnight, 
 without aid or consolation from him. A terri- 
 ble weight oppressed his heart. He sank into a 
 chair, drew the dear sulferer to his bosom, and 
 wept aloud. 
 
 ^ ^ * * * * 
 
 This great misfortune sadlj dimmed the glory 
 of his eagerly-anticipated political triumph. When 
 the tumult of grief subsided, he reviewed the 
 events of his life, and weighed them in a balance. 
 More and more, he doubted whether it were wise 
 to leave the slow certainties of his profession, 
 for chances which had in them the excitement 
 and the risks of gambling. More and more seri- 
 ously he questioned whether the absorption of his 
 faculties in the keen conflicts of the hour was the 
 best way to serve the true interests of his country. 
 It is uncertain how the balance would have turned, 
 had he not received an appointment to office un- 
 der the new government. Perhaps the sudden 
 fall of the triumphal arch, occasioned by the death 
 of General Harrison, might have given him a last- 
 ing distaste for j)olitics, as it did to many others. 
 But the proffered income was more than double 
 the sum he had ever received from his profession. 
 Dazzled by the prospect, he did not suf&ciently 
 take into the account that it would necessarily 
 10* U 
 
114 HOME AND POLITICS. 
 
 involve liim in many additional expenses, political 
 and social, and tliat lie might lose it by tlie very 
 next turn of the wheel, without being able to re- 
 tTirn easily to his old habits of expenditure. Once 
 in office, the conviction that he was on the right 
 side combined with gratitude and self-interest to 
 make him serve his party with money and per- 
 sonal influence. The question of another election 
 was soon agitated, and these motives drove him 
 into the new excitement. He was kind at home, 
 but he spent little time there. He sometimes 
 smiled when he came in late, and saw the warm 
 slippers by the fire, and a vase of flowers crown- 
 ing his supper on the table ; but he did not think 
 how lonely Alice must be, nor could he possibly 
 dream what she was suffering in the slow mar- 
 tyrdom of her heart. He gave dinners and sup- 
 pers often. Strangers went and came. They 
 ate and drank, and smoked, and talked loud: 
 Alice was polite and attentive ; but they had noth- 
 ing for her, and she had nothing for them. How 
 out of place would have been her little songs and 
 her fragrant flowers, amid their clamor and tobac- 
 co-smoke! She was a pastoral poet living in a 
 perpetual battle. 
 
 The house was filled with visitors to see the 
 long Whig procession pass by, with richly-ca- 
 parisoned horses, gay banners, flowery arches, 
 and promises of protection to every thing. George 
 bowed from his chariot and touched his hat to 
 
HOME AND POLITICS. 115 
 
 her, as he passed with the throng, and »he waved 
 her handkerchief. "How beautiful! How mag- 
 nificent!" exclaimed a visitor, who stood by her. 
 " Clay will certainly be elected. The whole city 
 seems to be in the procession. Sailors, printers, 
 firemen, every thing." 
 
 " There are no women and children," replied 
 Alice; and she turned away with a sigh. The 
 only protection that interested Aer, was a protec- 
 tion for homes. 
 
 Soon after came the evening procession of Dem- 
 ocrats. The army of horses ; temples of Liberty, 
 with figures in women's dress to represent the 
 goddess; raccoons hung, and guillotined, and 
 swallowed by alligators; the lone star of Texas 
 everywhere glimmering over their heads; the 
 whole shadowy mass occasionally illuminated by 
 the rush of fire-works, and the fitful glare of lurid 
 torches; all this made a strange and wild impres- 
 sion on the mind of Alice, whose nervous system 
 had suffered in the painful internal conflicts of her 
 life. It reminded her of the memorable 10th of 
 August in Paris; and she had visions of human 
 heads reared on poles before the windows, as they 
 had been before the palace of the unfortunate 
 Maria Antoinette. Visitors observed their watches, 
 and said it took this procession an hour longer to 
 pass than it had for the Whig procession. "I 
 guess Polk will beat after all," said one. George 
 was angry and combated the opinion vehemently. 
 
116 HOME AND POLITICS. 
 
 Even after t]ie company had all gone, and tlie 
 street noises had long passed off in the distance, 
 he continued remarkably moody and irritable. He 
 had more cause for it than his wife was aware of. 
 She supposed the worst that could happen, would 
 be defeat of his party and loss of ofl&ce. But an- 
 tagonists, long accustomed to calculate political 
 games with a view to gambling, had dared him to 
 bet on the election, being perfectly aware of his 
 sanguine temperament; and Greorge, stimulated 
 solely by a wish to prove to the crowd, who 
 heard them, that he considered the success of 
 Clay's party certain, allowed himself to be drawn 
 into the snare, to a ruinous extent. All his world- 
 ly possessions, even his watch, his books, and his 
 household furniture, were at stake; and ulti- 
 mately all were lost. Alice sympathized with his 
 deep dejection, tried to forget her own sorrows, 
 and said it would be easy for her to assist him, 
 she was so accustomed to earn her own living. 
 
 On their wedding day, George had given her a 
 landscape of the rustic school-house, embowered 
 in vines, and shaded by its graceful elm. He 
 asked to have this reserved from the wreck, and 
 stated the reason. No one had the heart to refuse 
 it; for even amid the mad excitement of party 
 triumph, everybody said, " I pity his poor wife." " 
 
 She left her cherished home before the final 
 breaking up. It would have been too much for 
 her womanly heart, to see those beloved house- 
 
HOME AND POLITICS. 117 
 
 hold goods carried away to the auction-room. She 
 lingered long by the astral lamp, and the httle 
 ronnd table, where she and George used to read 
 to each other, in the first happy year of their 
 marriage. She did not weep. It would have 
 been well if she could. She took with her the 
 little vase, that used to stand on the desk in the 
 old country school-house, and a curious Wedge- 
 wood pitcher George had given her on the day 
 little Alice was born. She did not show them to 
 him, it would make him so sad. He was tender 
 and self-reproachful; and she tried to be very 
 strong, that she might sustain him. But health 
 had suffered in these storms, and her organization 
 fitted her only for one mission in this world ; that 
 was, to make and adorn a home. Through hard 
 and lonely years she had longed for it. She had 
 gained it, and thanked God with the joy fulness 
 of a happy heart. And now her vocation was 
 gone. 
 
 In a few days, hers was pronounced a case of 
 melancholy insanity. She was placed in the hos- 
 pital, where her husband strives to surround her 
 with every thing to heal the wounded soul. But 
 she does not know him. When he visits her, she 
 looks at him with strange eyes, and still clinging 
 to the fond ideal of her life, she repeats mourn- 
 fully, "I toant my home. Why don't George 
 come and take me home V 
 
 ****** 
 
118 HOME AND POLITICS. 
 
 Thus left adrift on tlie dark ocean of life, George 
 Franklin hesitated whether to trust the chances 
 of politics for another office, or to start again in 
 his profession, and slowly rebuild* his shattered 
 fortunes from the ruins of the past. Having 
 wisely determined in favor of the latter, he works 
 diligently and lives economically, cheered by the 
 hope that reason will again dawn in the beautiful 
 soul that loved him so truly. 
 
 His case may seem like an extreme one ; but 
 in truth he is only one of a thousand similar wrecks 
 continually floating over the turbulent sea of Amer- 
 ican politics. 
 
TO THE TRAILING ARBUTUS. 119 
 
 TO THE TRAILING ARBUTUS. 
 
 Thou delicate and fragrant thing ! 
 Sweet prophet of the coming Spring ! 
 To what can poetry compare 
 Thy hidden beauty, fresh and fair ? 
 
 Only they who search can find 
 Thy trailing garlands close enshrined; 
 Unveiling, like a lovely face. 
 Surprising them with artless grace. 
 
 Thou seemest like some sleepmg babe, 
 Upon a leafy pillow laid ; 
 Dreaming, in thy unconscious rest, 
 Of nest'ling on a mother's breast. 
 
 Or like a maiden in life's May, 
 Fresh dawning of her girlish day ; 
 When the pure tint her cheeks disclose 
 Seems a reflection of the rose. 
 
 More coy than hidden love thou art, 
 With blushing hopes about its heart; 
 And thy faint breath of fragrance seems 
 Like kisses stolen in our dreams. 
 
120 TO THE TRAILING ARBUTUS. 
 
 Thou'rt like a gentle poet's thought, 
 By Nature's simplest lessons taught, 
 Reclining on old moss-grown trees, 
 Communing with the whisp'ring breeze. 
 
 Like timid natures, that conceal 
 What others carelessly reveal ; 
 Reserving for a chosen few 
 Their wealth of feeling, pure and true. 
 
 Like loving hearts, that ne'er grow old. 
 Through autumn's change, or winter's cold ; 
 Preserving some sweet flowers, that lie 
 'Neath withered leaves of years gone by. 
 
 At sight of thee a troop upsprings 
 Of simple, pure, and lovely things ; 
 But half thou sayest to my heart, 
 I find no language to impart. 
 
THE 
 
 CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKER. 
 
 For thee, the priestly rite and prayer 
 And holy day, and solemn psalm ; 
 
 For me, the silent reverence, where 
 My brethren gather, slow and calm. 
 
 J. G. WnimER. 
 
 It was one of Ireland's greenest lanes that wonnd 
 its way down to a rippling brook, in the rear of 
 Friend Goodman's house. And there, by a mound 
 of rocks that dipped their mossy feet in the rivu- 
 let, Friend Goodman walked slowly, watching 
 for his little daughter, who had been spending the 
 day with some children in the neighbourhood. 
 Presently, the small maiden came jumping along, 
 with her bonnet thrown back, and the edges of 
 her soft brown ringlets luminous in the rays of the 
 setting sun. Those pretty curls were not Qua- 
 kerly; but Nature, who pays no more attention 
 to the regulations of Elders, than she does to the 
 edicts of Bishops, would have it so. At the 
 slightest breath of moisture, the silky hair rolled 
 itself into spirals, and clustered round her pure 
 white forehead, as if it loved the nestling-place. 
 11 
 
122 THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKER. 
 
 Jumping, likewise, was not a Quakerly proceed- 
 ing. But little Alice, usually staid and demure, 
 in imitation of those around her, had met with a 
 new companion, whose temperament was more 
 mercurial than her own, and she was yielding to 
 its magnetic influence. 
 
 Camillo Campbell, a boy of six years, was the 
 grandson of an Italian lady, who had married an 
 Irish absentee, resident in Florence. Her de- 
 scendants had lately come to Ireland, and taken 
 possession of estates in the immediate neighbour- 
 hood of Friend Goodman, where little Camillo's 
 foreign complexion, lively temperament, and grace- 
 ful broken language, rendered him an object of 
 very great interest, especially among the children. 
 He it was with whom little Alice was skijDping 
 through the green lane, bright and free as the 
 wind and sunshine that played among her curls. 
 As the sober father watched their innocent gam- 
 bols, he felt his own pulses quicken, and his mo- 
 tions involuntarily became more rapid and elastic 
 than usual. The little girl came nestling up to 
 his side, and rubbed her head upon his arm, like 
 a petted kitten. Camillo peeped roguishly from 
 behind the mossy rocks, kissed his hand to her, 
 and ran off, hopping first on one foot and then on 
 the other. 
 
 •' Dost thou like that little boy ?" inquired Friend 
 Goodman, as he stooped to kiss his darling. 
 
 " Yes, Camillo's a pretty boy, I like him," she 
 
THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKER. 123 
 
 replied. Then with a skip and a bound, whicli 
 showed that the electric fluid was still leaping in 
 her veins, she added, " He's a funny boy, too : 
 he swears you all the time," 
 
 The simple child, being always accustomed to 
 hear thee and thou^ verily thought you was a pro- 
 fane word. Her father did what was very un- 
 usual with him : he laughed outright, as he replied, 
 " What a strange boy is that !" 
 
 " He asked me to come down to the rock and 
 play, to-morrow. May I go, after school?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "We will see what mother says," he replied. 
 " But where didst thou meet Camillo ?" 
 
 "He came to play with us in the lane, and 
 Deborah and John and I went into his garden to 
 see the birds. Oh, he has got such pretty birds! 
 There's a nice little meeting-house in the garden ; 
 and there's a woman standing there with a baby. 
 Camillo calls her my donny. He says we mustn't 
 play in there. Why not ? Who is my donny ?" 
 
 "The people of Italy, where Camillo used to 
 live, call the Mother of Christ Madonna," replied 
 her father. 
 
 "And who is Christ," she asked. 
 
 " He was a holy man, who lived a great many 
 years ago. I read to thee one day about his taking 
 little children in his arms and blessing them." 
 
 " I guess he loved little children almost as well 
 as thou, dear father," said AUce. " But what do 
 
124 THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKER. 
 
 they put his mother in that little meeting-house 
 for?" 
 
 Not deeming it wise to puzzle her busy little 
 brain with theological explanations, Friend Good- 
 man called her attention to a small dog, whose 
 curly white hair soon displaced the Madonna, and 
 even Camillo, in her thoughts. But the new 
 neighbour, and the conservatory peopled with birds, 
 and the little chapel in the garden, made a strong 
 impression on her mind. She was always talking 
 of them, and in after years they remained by far 
 the most vivid picture in the gallery of childish 
 recollections. Nearly every day, she and Camillo 
 met at the mossy rock, where they planted flowers 
 in blossom, and buried flies in clover-leaves, and 
 launched little boats on the stream. When they 
 strolled toward the conservatory, the old gardener 
 was always glad to admit them. Flowering shrubs 
 and gaudy parrots, so bright in the warm sunshine, 
 formed such a cheerfal contrast to her own un- 
 adorned home, that little Alice was never wearj^ 
 with gazing and wondering. But from all the 
 brilliant things, she chose two Java sparrows for 
 her especial favorites. The old gardener told her 
 they were Quaker birds, because their feathers 
 were all of such a soft, quiet color. Bright little 
 Camillo caught up the idea, and said, " I know 
 what for you so much do like them : Quaker lady- 
 birds they be." 
 
 " And she's a Quaker lady-bird, too," said the 
 
THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKER. 125 
 
 old gardener, smiling, as he patted lier on the 
 head ; " she's a nice little lady-bird." Poll Parrot 
 heard him, and repeated, "Lady -bird." Always 
 after that, when Alice entered the conservatory, 
 the parrot laughed and screamed, "Lady-bird!" 
 
 Near the door were two niches partially con- 
 cealed by a net- work of vines ; and in the niches 
 were statues of two wins^ed children. Alice in- 
 quired who they were ; and Camillo replied, " My 
 little sister and brother. Children of the Madonna 
 now they is." His mother had told him this, and 
 he did not understand what it meant ; neither did 
 Alice. She looked up at the winged ones with 
 timid love, and said, "Why don't they come down 
 and play with us ?" 
 
 "From heaven they cannot come down," an- 
 swered Camillo. 
 
 Alice was about to inquire the reason why, 
 when the parrot interrupted her by calling out, 
 "Lady-bird! Lady -bird I" and Camillo began to 
 mock her. Then, laughing merrily, off they ran 
 to the mossy rock to plant some flowers the gar- 
 dener had given them. 
 
 That night, while Alice was eating her supper. 
 Friend Groodman chanced to read aloud something 
 in which the word heaven occurred.' " I've been 
 to heaven," said Alice. 
 
 " Hush, hush, my child," replied her father. 
 
 "But I have been to heaven," she insisted. 
 " Little children have wings there." 
 11* 
 
126 THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKEK. 
 
 Her parents e:^changed glances of surprise, and 
 the mother asked, "How dost thou know that 
 little children have wings in heaven?" 
 
 " Because I saw them," she replied. " They 
 wear white gowns, and they are the children of 
 ' my donny. My donny lives in the little meeting- 
 house in Camillo's garden. She's the mother of 
 Christ that loved little children so much ; but she 
 never said any thing to me. The birds call me 
 lady-bird, in heaven." 
 
 Her mother looked very sober. " She gets her 
 head full of strange things down there yonder," 
 said she. "I tell thee, Joseph, I don't like to 
 have the children playing together so much. 
 There's no telling what may come of it." 
 
 "Oh, they are mere babes," replied Joseph. 
 *^^' The my donny, as she calls it, and her doll, are 
 all the same to her. The children tp^ke a deal of 
 comfort together, and it seems to me it is not 
 worth while to put estrangement between them. 
 Divisions come fast enough in the human family. 
 When he is a lad, he will go away to school and 
 college, and will come back to live in a totally 
 dilierent world from ours. Let the little ones enjoy 
 themselves while they can." 
 
 Thus spake the large-hearted Friend Joseph; 
 but Rachel was not so easily satisfied. " I don't 
 like this talk about graven images," said she. " If 
 the child's head gets full of such notions, it may 
 not prove so easy to put them out." 
 
THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKER. 127 
 
 Truly, there seemed some ground for Eacliel's 
 fears; for whether Alice walked or slept, she 
 seemed to live in the neighbour's garden. Sitting 
 beside her mother in the silent Quaker meeting, 
 she forgot the row of plain bonnets before her, 
 and saw a vision of winged children through a 
 veil of vines. At school, she heard the old green 
 parrot scream, "Lady-bird!" and fan-tailed doves 
 and Java sparrows hopped into her dreams. She 
 had never heard a fairj^ story in her life ; other- 
 wise, she would doubtless have imagined that 
 Camillo was a prince, who lived in an enchanted 
 palace, and had some powerful fairy for a friend, 
 
 ^^^^^^^^ 
 
 It came to pass as Joseph had predicted. These 
 days of happy companionship soon passed away. 
 Camillo went to a distant school, then to college, 
 and then was absent awhile on the Continent. It 
 naturally happened that the wealthy Catholic fam- 
 ily had but little intercourse with the substantial 
 Quaker farmer. Years passed without a word 
 between Alice and her former playfellow. Once, 
 during his college life, she met him and his father 
 on horseback, as she was riding home from meet- 
 ing, on a small gray mare her father had given 
 her. He touched his hat and said, " How do you 
 do, Miss Goodman?" and she replied, "How art 
 thou, Camillo ?" His father inquired, " "Who is 
 that young woman ?" and he answered, " She is 
 the daughter of Farmer Goodman, with whom I 
 
128 THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKER. 
 
 used to play sometimes, wlien I was a little boy." 
 Thus like shadows they passed on their separate 
 ways. He thought no more of the rustic Quaker 
 girl, and with her, the bright picture of their child- 
 hood was like the remembrance of last year's rain- 
 bow. 
 
 But events now approached, which put all rain- 
 bows and flowers to flight. A Eebellion broke 
 out in Ireland, and a terrible civil war began to 
 rage between Catholics under the name of Pike- 
 men, and Protestants under the name of Orange- 
 men. The Quakers being conscientiously opposed 
 to war, could not adopt the emblems of either 
 party, and were of course exposed to the hostility 
 of both. Joseph Goodman, in common with others 
 of his religious persuasion, had always professed to 
 believe, that returning good for evil was a heavenly 
 principle, and therefore safe policy. Alice had 
 received this belief as a traditionary inheritance, 
 without disputing it, or reflecting upon it. But 
 now came times that tested faith severely. Every 
 night, they retired to rest with the consciousness 
 that their worldly possessions might be destroj^ed 
 by fire and pillage before morning, and perhaps 
 their lives sacrificed by infuriated soldiers. At the 
 meeting-house, and by the way-side, earnest were 
 the exhortations of the brethren to stand by their 
 principles, and not flinch in this hour of trial. 
 Joseph Goodman's sermon was brief and impressive. 
 " The Gospel of Love has power to regenerate the 
 
THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKER. 129 
 
 world," said lie ; " and the humblest individual, 
 who lives according to it, has done something for 
 the salvation of man." 
 
 His strength was soon tried ; for the very next 
 day a party of Pikemen came into the neighbour- 
 hood and set fire to all the houses of the Orange- 
 men. Groans, and shrieks, and the sharp sound of 
 shots, were heard in every direction. Fierce men 
 rushed into their peaceful dwelling, demanding 
 food, and ordering them to give up their arms. 
 
 " Food I will give, but arms I have none," re- 
 plied Joseph. 
 
 " More shame for you !" roared the commander 
 of the troop. " If you can't do any thing more for 
 your country than that, you may as well be killed 
 at once, for a coward, as you are." 
 
 He drew his sword, but Joseph did not wink at 
 the flash of the glittering blade. He looked him 
 calmly in the eye, and said, " If thou art willmg 
 to take the crime of rpurder on thy conscience, I 
 cannot help it. I would not willingly do harm to 
 thee, or to any man." 
 
 The soldier turned away abashed, and putting his 
 sword into the scabbard, he mAittered, " Well, give 
 us something to eat, will you ?" 
 
 The hours that followed were frightful with the 
 light of blazing houses, the crash of musketry, and 
 the screams of women and children flying across 
 the fields. Many took refuge in Joseph's house, 
 
 I 
 
130 THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKER. 
 
 and lie did all lie could to soothe and strengthen 
 them. 
 
 At sunset, lie went forth with his serving -men to 
 seek the wounded and the dead. Along the road 
 and among the bushes, mangled bodies were lying 
 in every direction. Those in whom life remained, 
 they brought with all tenderness and consigned 
 to the care of Eachel and Alice ; and, as long as 
 they could see, they gathered the dead for burial. 
 In the evening, the captain of the Pikemen returned 
 in great wrath. " This is rather too much," he ex- 
 claimed. " We did'nt spare your house this morn- 
 ing to have it converted into a hospital for the 
 damned Orangemen. Turn out every dog of 'em, 
 or we will burn it down over your heads." 
 
 " I cannot stay thy hand, if thou hast the heart 
 to do it," mildly replied Joseph. ''But I will not 
 desert my fellow-creatures in their great distress. 
 If the time should come when thy party is routed, 
 we will bury thy dead, and nurse thy wounded, as 
 we have done for the Orangemen. I will do good 
 to all parties, and harm to none. Here I take my 
 stand, and thou mayest kill me if thou wilt." 
 
 Again the soldier was arrested by a power he 
 knew not how to resist. Joseph seeing his embar- 
 rassment, added : "I put the question to thee as a 
 man of war : Is it manly to persecute women and 
 children ? Is it brave to torture the wounded and 
 the dying ? Wouldst thou feel easy to think of it 
 
THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKER. 131 
 
 in thy dying hour? Let us part in peace, and 
 when thou hast need of a friend, come to me." 
 
 After a brief hesitation, the soldier said, "It 
 would be a happier world if all thought as you do." 
 Then, calling to his men, he said, "Let us be off, 
 boys. There's nothing to be done here." 
 
 A fortnight after, triumphant Orangemen came 
 with loud uproar to destroy the houses of the Cath- 
 olics. It was scarcely day-break, when Alice 
 was roused from uneasy slumbers by the discharge 
 of musketry, and a lurid light on the walls of her 
 room. Starting up, she beheld Colonel Campbell's 
 house in a blaze. The beautiful statues of the Ma- 
 donna and the winged children were knocked to 
 pieces, and crashed under the feet of an angry mob. 
 Yines and flowers crisped under the crackling 
 flames, and the beautiful birds from foreign climes 
 fell suffocated in the smoke, or flew forth, frightened, 
 into woods and fields, and perished by cruel hands. 
 In the green lane, once so peaceful and pleasant, 
 ferocious men were scuffling and trampling, shoot- 
 ing and stabbing. Everywhere the grass and the 
 moss were dabbled with blood. Above all the din, 
 were heard the shrill screams of women and chil- 
 dren ; and the mother of Camillo came flying into 
 Joseph's house, exclaiming, "Hide me, oh, hide 
 me !" Alice received her in her arms, laid the 
 throbbing head tenderly on her bosom, put back 
 the hair that was falling in wild disorder over her 
 face, and tried to calm her terror with gentle words. 
 
132 THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKER. 
 
 Others came pouring in, and no one was refused 
 shelter. To the women of Colonel Campbell's 
 household Alice relinquished her own little bed- 
 room, the only corner of the house that was not 
 already filled to overflowing. She drew the cur- 
 tain, that the afflicted ones need not witness the 
 bloody skirmishing in the fields and lane below. 
 But a loud shriek soon recalled her to their side. 
 Mary Campbell had withdrawn the curtain, and 
 seen her husband fall, thrust at by a dozen swords. 
 Fainting-fits and hysterics succeeded each other in 
 quick succession, while Alice and her mother laid 
 her on the bed, and rubbed her hands and bathed 
 her temples. Gradually the sounds of war died 
 away in the distance. Then Joseph and his helpers 
 went forth to gather up the wounded and the dead. 
 Colonel Campbell was found utterly lifeless, and 
 the brook where Camillo used to launch, his little 
 boats, was red with his father's blood. They 
 brought him in tenderly, washed the ghastly 
 wounds, closed the glaring eyes, and left the widow 
 and the household to mourn over him. Late in the 
 night they persuaded her to go to rest ; and, when 
 all was still, the weary family fell asleep on the 
 floor ; for not a bed was unoccupied. 
 
 This time, they hoped to escape the conquerors' 
 rage. But early in the morning, a party of them 
 came back, and demanded that all the Catholics 
 should be given up to them. Joseph replied, as he 
 had done before: "I cannot give up my helpless 
 
THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKER. 183 
 
 and dying neighbours, whether they be Pikemen or 
 Orangemen. I will do good to all, and harm to 
 none, come to me what may." 
 
 " That's impartial, anyhow," said the captain. He 
 took some Orange cockades from his pocket, and 
 added, " Wear these, and my men will do you no 
 harm." 
 
 "I cannot conscientiously wear one," rephed 
 Joseph, "because they are emblems of war." 
 
 The captain laughed half scornfully, and hand- 
 ing one to Alice, said, "Well, my good girl, you 
 can wear one, and then you need not be afraid of 
 our soldiers." 
 
 She looked very pleasantly in his face and an- 
 swered, '"'•1 should be afraid if I did not trust in 
 something better than a cockade." 
 
 The leader of the Orangemen was arrested by 
 the same spell that stopped the leader of the Pike- 
 men. But some of his followers, who had been 
 lingering about the door, called out, " What's the 
 use of parleying? Isn't the old traitor nursing 
 Catholics, to fight us again when they get well ? If 
 he won't serve the government by fighting for us, 
 he will at least do to stop a bullet as well as a 
 braver man. Bring him out, and put him in the 
 front ranks to be shot at!" One of them seized 
 Joseph to drag him away ; but Alice laid a trem- 
 bling hand on his arm, and said, beseechingly, 
 " Before you take him, come and see the wounded 
 Orangemen, with their wives and children, whom 
 12 
 
134 THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKER. 
 
 my father and mother have fed and tended night 
 and day." A pale figure, with bandaged head and 
 one arm in a sling, came forth from an adjoining 
 room and said, " Comrades, you surely will not 
 harm these worthy people. They have fed our 
 children, and buried our dead, as if we were their 
 own brothers." The soldiers listened, and, sud- 
 denly changing their mood, went off shouting, 
 "Hurrah for the Quakers !" 
 
 Some days of comparative quiet followed. Col- 
 onel Campbell was buried in his own garden, with 
 as much deference to the wishes of his widow 
 as circumstances would permit. She returned 
 from the funeral calmer than she had been, and 
 quietly assisted in taking care of the wounded. 
 But when she retired to her little room, and saw 
 a crucifix fastened on the wall at the foot of her 
 bed, she burst into tears and said, " Who has done 
 this ?" 
 
 Alice gently replied, '' I did it. I found it in the 
 mud, where the little chapel used to stand. I. know 
 it is a sacred emblem to thee, and I thought it 
 would pain thee to have it there ; so I have washed 
 it carefully and placed it in thy room." 
 
 The bereaved Catholic kissed the friendly hand 
 that had done so kind a deed ; and tears fell on it, 
 as she murmured, "Grood child! may the Holy 
 Virgin bless thee !" 
 
 Balmy is a blessing from any human heart, whe- 
 ther it be given in the name of Jesus or Mary, God 
 
THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKEE. 135 
 
 or AUali. Alice slept well, and guardian angels 
 rejoiced over her in heaven. 
 
 ******** 
 
 Success alternated between the contending par- 
 ties, and kept the country in a state of perpetual 
 alarm. One week, the widow of Colonel Camp- 
 bell was surrounded by victorious friends, and the 
 next week, she was in terror for her life. At last, 
 Camillo himself came with a band of successful 
 insurgents. During a brief and agitated interview 
 with his mother, he learned how kindly she had 
 been sheltered in their neighbour's house, and how 
 tenderly the remains of his father had been treated. 
 When she pointed to the crucifix on the wall, and 
 told its history, his eyes filled with tears. " Oh, 
 why cannot we of different faith always treat each 
 other thus ?" was his inward thought ; but he 
 bowed his head in silence. Hearing loud voices, 
 he started up suddenly, exclaiming, " There may 
 be danger below !" Following the noise, he found 
 soldiers threatening Friend Groodman, who stood 
 with his back firmly placed against the door of an 
 inner room. Seeing Camillo enter, and being 
 aware of the great influence his family had with 
 the Catholics, he said, " These men insist upon car- 
 rying out the dying Orangemen who are sheltered 
 here, and compelling me to see them shot. Is it 
 thy will that these murders should be committed ?" 
 
 The young man took his hand, and in tones of 
 deep respect answered, " Could you believe that I 
 
136 THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKER. 
 
 would su£fer violence to be done to any under your 
 roof, if I had power to prevent it?" Then turning 
 to his soldiers, he said, "These excellent people 
 have injured no one. Through all these troubled 
 times, they have been kind alike to Pikemen and 
 Orangemen ; they have buried our dead, and shel- 
 tered our widows. If you have any respect for the 
 memory of my father, treat with respect all who 
 wear the peaceful garb of the Quakers." The men 
 spoke apart for awhile, and soon after left the 
 house. 
 
 As Camillo passed by the kitchen door, he saw 
 Alice distributing boiled potatoes to a crowd of 
 hungry children. A soldier stood by her, insisting 
 that she should wear a cross, which was the emblem 
 of the Pikemen. She mildly replied, " I cannot 
 consent to wear the cross, but I hope God will 
 enable me to hear it." The rude fellow, who was 
 somewhat intoxicated, touched her under the chin, 
 and said, " Come, mavourneen, do be a little m-ore 
 obliging." Camillo instantly seized his arm, and, 
 exclaiming, "Behave decently, my lad I behave 
 decently !" he led him to the door. As he went, 
 he turned towards Alice with an expression she 
 never forgot, and said, in a low deep tone, " Words 
 are poor to thank you for what you have done for 
 my mother." 
 
 The next day, when he met Alice walking to 
 meeting, he touched his hat respectfully and said, 
 " I scarcely deem it prudent for you to be in the 
 
THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKER. 137 
 
 roads at this time, Miss Alice. Armed insurgents 
 are everywhere abroad ; and though there is a pre- 
 vailing disposition not to injure the Quakers, still 
 many of our men are too desperate to be always 
 controlled." 
 
 She smiled and answered, " I thank thee for thy 
 friendly caution ; but I trust in the Power that has 
 hitherto protected me.'' 
 
 After a short pause, he said, " Your place of meet- 
 ing is two miles from here. Where is the horse 
 you used to ride ?" 
 
 " A soldier took it from me, as I rode from meet- 
 ing several weeks ago," she replied. 
 
 " You see then it is, as I have said, unsafe for 
 you to go," he rejoined. " Had you not better turn 
 back?" 
 
 With great earnestness she answered, "Friend 
 Camillo, I cannot otherwise than go. Our people 
 are afflicted and bowed down. The soldiers have 
 nearly consumed our provisions. Our women are 
 almost worn out with the fatigue of constant nurs- 
 ing and perpetual alarms. All are not unwavering 
 in their faith. It is the duty of the strong to sus- 
 tain the weak ; and therefore it is needful that we 
 meet together for counsel and consolation." 
 
 The young man looked at her with affectionate 
 reverence. The fair complexion and shining ring- 
 lets of childhood were gone, but a serene and deep 
 expression of soul imparted a more elevated beauty 
 to her countenance. He parted from her with a 
 
138 THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKER. 
 
 blessing, simply and fervently uttered ; but he en- 
 tered the adjoining fields, and as he walked along 
 he kept her within sight until she arrived safely at 
 the place of meeting. While he thus w^atched her 
 unseen, he recollected how often his taste had been 
 offended by the quaint awkw^ardness of the Quaker 
 garb ; and uttering aloud the sequel to his thoughts, 
 he said, " But beautiful and graceful will her gar- 
 ments be in heaven." 
 
 Soon after this intervicAV, he departed with a 
 strong escort to convey his mother and other Cath- 
 olic women into a less turbulent district. AHce 
 bade them farewell with undisguised sadness ; for 
 we learn to love those whom we serve, and there 
 seemed little probability that they would ever re- 
 turn to reside in that troubled neighborhood. 
 
 The next time she saw Camillo, he was brought 
 into her father's house on a litter, senseless, and 
 wounded, as it was supposed, unto death. All the 
 restoratives they could think of were applied, and 
 at last, as Alice bent over him, bathing his temples, 
 he opened his eyes with a dull unconscious stare, 
 which gradually relaxed into a feeble smile, as he 
 whispered, " My Quaker lady-bird." Some hours 
 afterward, when she brought him drink, he gently 
 pressed her hand, and said, "Thank you, dear 
 Ahce." The words were simple, but the expres- 
 sion of his eyes and the pressure of his hand sent 
 a thrill through the maiden, which she had never 
 before experienced. That night, she dreamed of 
 
THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKEE. 139 
 
 winged cMlclren seen through flowering vines, and 
 Camillo laughed when the parrot called her " Lady- 
 bird." 
 
 Sorrow, like love, levels all distinctions, and melts 
 all forms in its fiery furnace. In the midst of sick- 
 ness and suffering, and everj-day familiarity with 
 death, there was small attention paid to customary 
 proprieties. No one heeded whether Camillo were 
 tended by Alice or her mother ; but if Alice were 
 long absent, he complained that she came so sel- 
 dom. As his health improved, they talked togeth- 
 er of the flowers they used to plant on the mossy 
 rock, and the little boats they launched on the 
 rippling brook. Sometimes, in their merriest 
 moods, they mocked the laughing of the old green 
 parrot, and the cooing of the fan-tailed doves. 
 Thus walking through the green lanes of their 
 childhood, they came unconsciously into the fairy- 
 land of love ! All was bright and golden there, 
 and but one shadow rested on the sunshine. When 
 Camillo spoke of the " little meeting-house in the 
 garden," and the image of " My donny," she grew 
 very thoughtful ; and he said with a sigh, " I wish, 
 dear Alice, that we were of one religion." She 
 smiled sweetly as she answered, " Are we not both 
 of the religion of Jesus?" 
 
 He kissed her hand, and said, " Your soul is al- 
 ways large and liberal, and noble and kind ; but 
 others are not like you, dear Alice." 
 
 And truly, when the war had ceased, and Camillo 
 
140 THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKEE. 
 
 Campbell began to rebuild bis demolished dwel- 
 ling, and the young couple spoke of marriage, great 
 was tbe consternation in both families. Even the 
 liberal-minded Joseph was deeply-pained to have 
 his daughter " marry out of Society," as their 
 phrase is ; but he strove to console Eachel, who 
 was far more afflicted than himself. " The young 
 people love each other," he said, " and it does not 
 seem to be right to put any constraint on their af- 
 fection. Camillo is a goodly youth ; and I think 
 the dreadful scenes he has lately witnessed have 
 exercised his mind powerfully on the subject of 
 war. I have observed that he is thoughtful and 
 candid ; and if he does but act up to his own light, 
 it is all I ask of him. He promises never to inter- 
 fere with the freedom of Alice; and as she has 
 adopted most of our principles from her own con- 
 viction, I do not fear she will ever depart from 
 them." 
 
 " Don't comfort thyself with any such idea," re- 
 plied Kachel. " She will have pictures of the 
 Virgin Mary in her house, and priests will come 
 there to say over their mummery ; and small be- 
 ginnings make great endings. At all events, one 
 thing is certain. Alice will lose her membership 
 in our Society ; and that it is which mainly grieves 
 me. She is such a serious, sensible girl, that I al- 
 ways hoped to see her an esteemed minister among 
 
 us." 
 
 "It is a disappointment to me also," replied 
 
THE CATHOLIC A^D THE QUAKER. 141 
 
 Joseph; "but we must bear it cbeerfullj. It cer- 
 tainly is better to have our child go out of the So- 
 ciety and keep her principles, than it would be to 
 have her stay in Society and depart from her prin- 
 ciples, as many do." 
 
 Mary Campbell was more disturbed than Eachel 
 Goodman. In the first paroxysm of her distress, 
 she said she wished she had been killed in the war, 
 rather than live to see her only son married to a 
 black Protestant. 
 
 "Not a black Protestant, dear mother, only a 
 dove-colored one," rejoined Camillo, playfully, 
 Then he kissed her, and reminded her of the story 
 of the crucifix, and told her how noble and gentle, 
 and good and sensible, his Alice was. As he 
 talked, a vision rose before her of the little bed- 
 room in the Quaker's farm-house ; she saw Eachel 
 and Ahce supporting the drooping-heads of poor 
 homeless Catholics, while they offered drink to 
 their feverish lips; and memory melted bigotry. 
 She threw herself weeping into Camillo's arms and 
 said, " Truly they did treat us like disciples of Jesus. 
 I once said to Alice, ^ May the Holy Virgin bless 
 thee ;' and I now say, from my heart, May the Holy 
 Virgin bless you both, my son." 
 
 And so Catholic and Quaker were married, ac- 
 cording to the forms of both their churches. 
 
 The Society of Friends mostly withdrew from 
 companionship with Alice, though they greeted her 
 kindly at their meetings. The Catholics shook their 
 
142 THE CATHOLIC AND THE QUAKER. 
 
 heads and complained that CamiHo Campbell was 
 already half a Quaker. Both prognosticated evil 
 consequences from such a union. But the worst 
 that happened was, Alice learned that there might 
 be superstition in the cut of a garment, as well as 
 in veneration for an image ; and Camillo became 
 convinced that hatred and violence were much 
 greater sins than eating meat on Fridays. 
 
 Note. — ^The course here described as generally pursued by 
 Quakers during the Irish Rebellion, and the effect stated to be 
 produced on the soldiers of both parties, are strictly true. 
 
THE EIVAL MECHAOTCIANS. 
 
 " I AM growing old ; my sight is failing very 
 fast," said a famous watch-maker of Greneva, as he 
 wiped his spectacles to examine several chronome- 
 ters, which his two apprentices laid before him. 
 "Well done ! Yery well done, my lads," said he. 
 *' I hardly know which of yon will best supply the 
 place of old Antoine Breguet. Thirty years ago, 
 (pardon an old man's vanity,) I could have borne 
 away the palm from a hundred like ye. But my 
 sight is dim, and my hands tremble. I must retire 
 from the place I have occupied in this busy world ; 
 and I confess I should like to give up my famous 
 old stand to a worthy successor. Whichever of 
 you produces the most perfect piece of mechanism 
 before the end of two years shall be my partner 
 and representative, if Eosabella and I both agree in 
 the decision." 
 
 The grand-daughter, who was busily spinning 
 flax, looked up bashfully, and met the glance of the 
 two young men. The countenance of one flushed, 
 and his eye sparkled ; the other turned very pale, 
 and there was a painfully deep intensity in his fixed 
 gaze. 
 
 The one who blushed was Florien Arnaud, a 
 
144 THE EIVAL MECHANICIANS. 
 
 yoTitli from tlie Frencli Cantons. He was slender 
 and graceful in figure, witli beautiful features, clear 
 blue eyes, and a complexion fresh as Hjlas, wlien 
 tlie enamored water-nymphs carried him away in 
 their arms. He danced like a zephyr, and sang 
 little airy French romanzas in the sweetest of tenor 
 voices. 
 
 The one who turned pale was Pierre Berthoud, 
 of Geneva. He had massy features, a bulky frame, 
 and clumsy motions. But the shape of his head 
 indicated powerful intellect, and his great dark eyes 
 glowed from under the pent-house of his brows, like 
 a forge at midnight. He played on the bass-viol 
 and the trombone, and when he sang, the tones 
 sounded as if they came up from deep iron mines. 
 
 Rosabella turned quickly away from their ex- 
 pressive glances, and blushing deeply resumed her 
 spinning. The Frenchman felt certain the blush 
 was for him ; the Gcuevaii thought he would wil- 
 lingly give his life to be sure it was for him. But 
 unhke as the young men were in person and char- 
 acter, and both attracted toward the same lovely 
 maiden, they were yet extremely friendly to each 
 other, and usually found enjoyment in the harmon- 
 ious contrast of their different gifts. The first feel- 
 ing of estrangement that came between them was 
 one evening, when Florien sang remarkably well, 
 and Rosabella accompanied him on her guitar. She 
 evidently enjoyed the gracefal music with all her 
 soul. Her countenance was more radiantly beauti- 
 
THE RIVAL MECHANICIANS. 145 
 
 ful than usual, and wlien the fascinating singer rose 
 to go, she begged him to sing another favorite song, 
 and then another and another. " She never urges 
 me to sing with her," said Pierre, as he and Florien 
 retired for the night. " And with very good rea- 
 son," replied his friend, laughing. " Your stento- 
 rian tones would quite drown her weak sweet voice, 
 and her light touch on the guitar. You might as 
 well have a hammer-and-anvil accompaniment to a 
 Canary bird." Seeing discontent in the counten- 
 ance of his companion, he added soothingly, " Nay, 
 my good friend, don't be offended by this playful 
 comparison. Your voice is magnificently strong 
 and beautifully correct, but it is made for grander 
 things than those graceful little garlands of sound, 
 wmch Eosabella and I weave so easily." 
 
 Pierre sprang up quickly, and went to the other 
 side of the room. " Eosabella and I," were sounds 
 that went hissing through his heart, like a red-hot 
 arrow. But his manly efforts soon conquered the 
 jealous feeling, and he said cheerfully, " Well, Flo- 
 rien, let us accept the offer of good Father Breguet. 
 We will try our skill fairly and honorably, and 
 leave him and Eosabella to decide, without know- 
 ing which is your work and which is mine." 
 
 Florien suppressed a rising smile ; for he thought 
 to himself, " She will know my workmanship, as 
 easily as she could distinguish my fairy romanzas 
 from your Samson solos." But he replied, right 
 cordially, " ILoncstly and truly, Pierre, I think we 
 13 K 
 
146 THE RIVAL MECHANICIANS. 
 
 are as mechanicians very nearly equal in skill. But 
 let us both tax our ingenuity to invent something 
 which will best please Rosabella. Her birth-clay 
 comes in about six months. In honor of the occa- 
 sion, I will make some ornaments for the little arbor 
 facing the brook, where she loves to sit, in pleasant 
 weather, and read to the good old grandfather. 
 " I will do the same," answered Pierre ; " onlv 
 
 7 7 .y 
 
 let both our ornaments be machines." They clasped 
 hands, and looking frankly into each other's eyes, 
 ratified the agreement. From that honr, they spoke 
 no more to each other on the subject till the long- 
 anticipated day arrived. The old watch-maker and 
 his grandchild were invited to the arbor, to pass 
 judgment on the productions of his pupils. A 
 screen was placed before a portion of the brook, 
 and they sat quietly waiting for it to be removed. 
 " That duck is of a singular color," exclaimed the 
 young girl. " What a solemn looking fellow he 
 is !" The bird, without paying any attention to her 
 remarks, waddled into the water, drank, hfted up 
 his bill to the sky, as if giving thanks for his re- 
 freshment, flapped his wings, floated to the edge 
 of the brook, and waddled on the grass again. 
 When Father Breguet threw some crumbs of cake 
 on the ground, the duck picked them up with ap- 
 parent satisfaction. He was about to scatter more 
 crumbs, when Rosabella exclaimed, " Why, grand- 
 ftither, this is not a duck ! It is made of bronze. 
 See how well it is done." 
 
\ 
 
 THE RIVAL MECHANICIANS. 147 
 
 The old man took it up and examined it. " Real- 
 ly, I do not think any thing conld be more perfect 
 than this," he said. " How exquisitely the feathers 
 are carved ! and truly the creature seems alive. He 
 who beats this must be a skilful mechanician." 
 
 At these words, Pierre and Florien stepped for- 
 ward, hand in hand, and bowing to their master, 
 removed the temporary screen. On a black marble 
 pedestal in the brook was seated a bronze Naiad, 
 leaning on an overflowing vase. The figure was 
 inexpressibly graceful ; a silver star with brilliant 
 points gleamed on her forehead, and in her hand 
 she held a silver bell, beautifully inlaid with gold 
 and steel. There was a smile about her mouth, 
 and she leaned over, as if watching for something 
 in a Httle cascade which flowed down a channel in 
 the pedestal. Presently, she raised her hand and 
 sounded the bell. A beautiful little gold fish 
 obeyed the summons, and glided down the channel, 
 his burnished sides glittering in the sun. Eleven 
 times more she rana' the bell, and each time the 
 gold fish darted forth. It was exactly noon, and 
 the water-nymph was a clock. 
 
 The watch-maker and his daughter were silent. 
 It was so beautiful, that they could not easily find 
 words to express their pleasure. " You need not 
 speak, my master," said Pierre, in a manly but sor- 
 rowful tone ; "I myself decide in favor of Florien. 
 The clock is his." 
 
 " The interior workmanship is not yet examined," 
 
148 THE EIVAL MECHANICIANS. 
 
 rejoined his amiable competitor. " There is not a 
 better mechanician in all Switzerland, than Pierre 
 Berthond." 
 
 " Ah, but you know how to invest equally good 
 workmanship with grace and beauty," replied the 
 more heavily moulded Genevan. 
 
 ^' Study the Graces, my boy ; make yourself fa- 
 miliar with models of beauty," said old Antoine 
 Breguet, laying a friendly hand upon the young 
 man's shoulder. 
 
 ■ " I should but imitate, and he creates," answered 
 Pierre, despondingly ; '' and worst of all, my good 
 master, I hate myself because I envy him." 
 
 " But you have many and noble gifts, Pierre," 
 said Kosabella,- gently. " You know hovr delight- 
 fully very different instruments combine in har- 
 mony. Grandfather says your workmanship will 
 be far more durable than Florien's. Perhaps you 
 may both be his partners." 
 
 " But which of us will be thine T' thought Pierre. 
 He smothered a deep sigh, and only answered, " I 
 thank you, Rosabella." 
 
 Well aware that these envious feelings were un- 
 worthy of a noble soul, he contended with them 
 bravely, and treated Florien even more cordially 
 than usual. " I will follow our good master's ad- 
 vice," said he ; "I will try to clothe my good 
 machinery in forms of beauty. Let us both make 
 a watch for Rosabella, and present it to her on her 
 next birth-day. You will rival me^ no doubt j for 
 
THE EIVAL MECHANICIANS. 149 
 
 the Graces tlirew their garlands on you when you 
 were born." " Bravo !" shouted Florien, hiughing 
 and clapping his hands. " The poetry is kindling 
 up in your soul. I always told you that you Avould 
 be a poet, if you could only express what was in 
 you." 
 
 " And your soul expresses itself so easily, so flu- 
 ently !" said Pierre, with a sigh. 
 
 " Because my springs lie so near the surface, and 
 yours have depths to come from," replied his good- 
 natured companion. 
 
 ''The worst of it is, the cord is apt to break 
 before I can draw up my weighty treasures," re- 
 joined Pierre, with a smile. "There is no help 
 for it. There will always be the same difference 
 between us, that there is in our names. I am a 
 rock, and you are a flower. I might be hewed 
 and chiselled into harmonious proportions ; but 
 you grow into beauty." 
 
 " Then be a rock, and a magnificent one," re- 
 plied his friend, " and let the flower grow at your 
 feet." 
 
 "That sounds modestly and well," answered 
 Pierre ; "but I wish to be a flower, because " 
 
 "Because what?" inquired Plorien, though he 
 half guessed the secret, from his embarrassed man- 
 ner. 
 
 " Because I think Eosabella likes flowers better 
 than rocks," replied Pierre, with uncommon quick- 
 ness, as if the words gave him pain. 
 13* 
 
150 THE EIVAL MECHANICIANS. 
 
 On New Year's day, the offerings, enclosed in 
 one box, were presented by the good grandfather. 
 The first was a golden apple, which opened and 
 revealed on one side an exquisitely neat watch, 
 surrounded by a garland tastefully wrought in rich 
 damaskeening of steel and gold ; on the other side 
 was a rose intertwined with forget-me-nots, very 
 perfectly done in mosaic. When the stem of the 
 apple was turned, a favourite little tune of Kosa- 
 bella's sounded from within. 
 
 " This is surely Florien's," thought she ; and she 
 looked for the other gift with less interest. It was 
 an elegant little gold watch, with a Persian land- 
 scape, a gazelle and birds of Paradise beautifully 
 engraved on the back. ^When a spring was touched, 
 the watch opened, a little circular plate of gold slid 
 away, and up came a beautiful rose, round which a 
 jewelled bee buzzed audibly. On the edge of the 
 golden circle below were the words Rosa hella in 
 ultramarine enamel. When another spring was 
 touched, the rose went away, and the same melody 
 that sounded from the heart of the golden apple 
 seemed to be played by fairies on tinkling dew- 
 drops. It paused a moment, and then struck up a 
 lively dance. The circular plate again rolled away, 
 and up sprung an inch-tall opera-dancer, with en- 
 amelled scarf, and a very small diamond on her 
 brow. Leaping and whirling on an almost invis- 
 ible thread of gold, she kept perfect time to the 
 music, and turned her scarf most gracefully. Kosa- 
 
THE EIVAL MECHANICIANS. 151 
 
 bella dreAV a long breath, and a roseate tinge man- 
 tled her beautiful face, as she met her grandfather's 
 gaze fixed lovingly upon her. She thought to her- 
 self, "There is no doubt now which is Florien's;" 
 but she said aloud, '' They are both very beautiful ; 
 are they not, dear grandfather ? I am not worthy 
 that so much pains should be taken to please me." 
 The old man smiled upon her, and fondly patted 
 the luxuriant brown hair, which shone like threads 
 of amber in the sun. " Which dost thou think most 
 beautiful ?" said he. 
 
 She evaded the question, by asking, " Which do 
 you V 
 
 "I will tell thee when thou hast decided," an- 
 swered he. 
 
 She twisted and untwisted the strings of her 
 boddice, and said she was afraid she should not be 
 impartial. " Why not ?" he inquired. She looked 
 down bashfully, and miirmured, in a very low voice, 
 " Because I can easily guess which is Florien's." 
 
 " Ah, ha," exclaimed the kind old man ; and he 
 playfully chucked her under the chin, as he added, 
 " Then I suppose I shall offend thee when I give a 
 verdict for the bee and the opera-dancer ?" 
 
 She looked up blushing, and her large serious 
 brown eyes had for a moment a comic expression, 
 as she said, " I shall do the same." 
 
 Never were disciples of the beautiful placed in cir- 
 cumstances more favourable to the development of 
 poetic souls. The cottage of Antoine Breguet was 
 
152 THE EIVAL MECHANICIANS. 
 
 ** In a glade, 
 "Where the sun harbours ; and one side of it 
 Listens to bees, another to a brook. 
 Lovers, that have just parted for the night, 
 Dream of such spots when they have said their prayers ; 
 Or some tired parent, holding by the hand 
 A child, and walking toward the setting sim." 
 
 In the stillness of tlie niglit, tHey could hear the 
 ' ' rushing of the arrowy Rhone." From a neighbour- 
 ing eminence could be seen the transparent Lake 
 of Geneva, reflecting the deep blue heaven above. 
 Mountains, in all fantastic forms, enclosed them 
 round ; now draped in heavy masses of sombre 
 clouds, and now half revealed through sun-lighted 
 vapour, like a veil of gold. The flowing silver of 
 little waterfalls gleamed among the dark rocks. 
 G-rape- vines hung their rich festoons by the road- 
 side, and the beautiful barberry bush embroidered 
 their leaves with its scarlet clusters. They lived 
 under the same roof with a guileless good old man, 
 and with an innocent maiden, just merging into 
 beautiful womanhood ; and more than all, they 
 were both under the influence of that great inspirer, 
 Love. 
 
 Rosabella was so uniformly kind to both, that 
 Pierre could never relinquish the hope that con. 
 stant devotedness might in time win her affections 
 for himself Florien, having a more cheerful char- 
 acter, and more reliance on his own fascinations, 
 was merely anxious that the lovely maiden should 
 
THE EIVAL MECHANICIANS, 153 
 
 prefer his workmansliip, as decidedly as slie did his 
 person and manners Under this powerful stimu- 
 lus, in addition to the ambition excited by the old 
 watch-maker's proj)osal, the competition between 
 them was active and incessant. But the ground- 
 work of their characters was so good, that all little 
 heart-burnings of envy or jealousy were quickly 
 checked by the predominance of generous and 
 kindly sentiments. 
 
 One evening, Eosabella was reading to her grand- 
 father a description of an albino squirrel. The pure 
 white animal, with pink eyes and a feathery tail, 
 pleased her fancy extremely, and she expressed a 
 strong desire to see one. Pierre said nothing ; but 
 not long after, as they sat eating grapes after din- 
 ner, a white squirrel leaped on the table, frisked 
 from shoulder to shoulder, and at last sat up with a 
 grape in its paws. Rosabella uttered an exclama- 
 tion of delight. "Is it alive ?" she said. "Do you 
 not see that it is ?" rejoined Pierre. " Call the dog, 
 and see what he thinks about it." 
 
 " We have so many things here, which are alive 
 and yet not alive," she replied, smiling. 
 
 " Florien warmly praised the pretty automaton ; 
 but he was somewhat vexed that he himself did 
 not think of making the graceful little animal for 
 which the maiden had expressed a wish. Her pet 
 Canary had died the day before, and his eye hap- 
 pened to rest on the empty cage hanging over the 
 flower-stand. "I too will give her a pleasure," 
 
164: THE EIVAL MECHANICIANS. 
 
 tliouglit he. A few weeks after, as they sat at 
 breakfast, sweet notes were heard from the cage, 
 precisely the same the Canary used to sing ; and, 
 looking up, the astonished maiden saw him hop- 
 ping about, nibbling at the sugar and pecking his 
 feathers, as hvely as ever. Florien smiled, and 
 said, " Is it as much alive as Pierre's squirrel ?" 
 
 The approach of the next birth-day was watched 
 with eager expectation ; for even the old man be- 
 gan to feel keen pleasure in the competition, as if he 
 had witnessed a race between fleet horses. Pierre, 
 excited by the maiden's declaration that she mis- 
 took his golden apple for Florien's vf orkmanship, 
 produced a much more elegant specimen of art than 
 he had ever before conceived. It was a barometer, 
 supported by two knights in silver chain-armour, 
 who went in when it rained, and came out when the 
 sun shone. On the top of the barometer was a small 
 silver basket, of exceedingly delicate workmanship, 
 filled with such flowers as close in damp weather. 
 When the knights retired, these flowers closed their 
 enamelled petals, and when the knights returned, 
 the flowers expanded. 
 
 Florien produced a silver chariot, with two spir- 
 ited and finely proportioned horses. A revolving 
 circle in the wheels showed on what day of the 
 month occurred each day of the week, throughout 
 the year. Each month was surmounted, by its zo- 
 diacal sign, beautifully enamelled in green, crimson 
 and gold. At ten o'clock the figure of a young girl, 
 
THE ETVAL MECHAIs'ICIANS. 155 
 
 "wearing Eosabella's usual costume, and resembling 
 her in form and features, ascended slowly from be- 
 hind the wheel, and at the same moment, the three 
 Graces rose up in the chariot and held garlands 
 over her. From the axle-tree emerged a young 
 man, in Elorien's dress, and kneeling offered a rose 
 to the maiden. 
 
 It was so beautiful as a whole, and so exquisitely 
 finished in all its details, that Pierre clenched his 
 fingers till the nails cut him, so hard did he try to 
 conceal the bitterness of his disappointment at his 
 own manifest inferiority. Could he have been an 
 hour alone, all would have been well. But, as he 
 stepped out on the piazza, followed by Florien, he 
 saw him kiss his hand triumphantly to Eosabella, 
 and she returned it with a modest but expressive 
 glance. Unfortunately, he held in his hand a jew- 
 elled dagger, of Turkish workmanship, which An- 
 toine Breguet had asked him to return to its case 
 in the workshop. Stung with disappointed love 
 and ambition, the lipmpestuous feelings so painfully 
 restrained burst forth like a whirlwhind. Quick as 
 a flash of lightning, he made a thrust at his grace- 
 ful rival. Then frightened at what he had done, 
 and full of horror at thoughts of Eosabella's distress, 
 he rushed into the road, and up the sides of the 
 mountain, like a madman. 
 
 ■X- 45- * -x- * « * 
 
 A year passed, and no one heard tidings of liim. 
 On the anniversary of Eosabella's birth, the aged 
 
156 THE RIVAL MECHANICIANS. 
 
 grandsire sat alone, sunning his white locks at the 
 open window, when Pierre Barthoud entered, pale 
 and haggard. He was such a skeleton of his for- 
 mer self tliat his master did not recognize him, till 
 he knelt at his feet, and said, " Forgive me, father. 
 I am Pierre." 
 
 The poor old man shook violently, and covered 
 his face with trembling hands. " Ah, thou wretched 
 one," said he, "how darest thou come liither, with 
 murder on thy soul ?" 
 
 " Murder ?" exclaimed Pierre, in a voice so ter- 
 ribly deep and distinct, that it seemed to freeze the 
 feeble blood of him who listened. "Is he then 
 dead? Did I kill the beautiful youth, whom I 
 loved so much ?" He fell forward on the floor, and 
 the groan that came from his strong chest was like 
 an earthquake tearing up trees by the roots. 
 
 Antoine Breguet was deeply moved, and the 
 tears flowed fast over his furrowed face. "Rise, 
 my son," said he, "and make thy escape, lest they 
 come to arrest thee." 
 
 " Let them come," replied Pierre, gloomily ; 
 " Why should I live ?" Then raising his head 
 from the floor, he said slowly, and with great fear, 
 " Father, where is Rosabella ?" 
 
 The old man covered his face, and sobbed out, 
 " I shall never see her again ! These old eyes will 
 never again look on her blessed face." Many min- 
 utes they remained thus, and when he repeated, 
 "I shall never see her again!" the young man 
 
THE RIVAL MECHANICIANS. 157 
 
 clasped his feet convulsively, and groaned in ag- 
 ony. 
 
 At last the housekeeper came in ; a woman whom 
 Pierre had known and loved in boyhood. When 
 her first surprise was over, she promised to conceal 
 his arrival, and persuaded him to go to the garret 
 and try to compose his too strongly excited feelings. 
 In the course of the day she explained to him how 
 Florien had died of his wound, and how Eosabella 
 pined away in silent melancholy, often sitting at 
 the spinning wheel with the suspended thread in 
 her hand, as if unconscious where she was. During 
 all that wretched night the young man could not 
 close his eyes in sleep. Phantoms of the past flitted 
 through his brain, and remorse gnawed at his heart- 
 strings. In the deep stillness of midnight, h^ seemed 
 to hear the voice of the bereaved old man sounding 
 mournfully distinct, " I shall never see her again !" 
 He prayed earnestly to die ; but suddenly an idea 
 flashed into his mind, and revived his desire to 
 live. Full of his new project, he rose early and 
 sought his good old master. Sinking on his knees 
 he exclaimed, " Oh, my father, say that you forgive 
 me ! I implore you to give my guilty soul that one 
 gleam of consolation. Believe me, I would sooner 
 have died myself, than have killed him. But my 
 passions were by nature so strong ! Oh, God for- 
 give me, they were so strong ! How I Lave curbed 
 them. He alone knows. Alas, that they should 
 have burst the bounds in that one mad moment, 
 14 
 
158 THE EIVAL MECHANICIAN'S. 
 
 and destroyed tlie two I best loved on eartli. Oh, 
 father, can you say that you forgive me ?" 
 
 With quivering voice he replied, " I do forgive 
 3^ou, and bless you, my poor son." He laid his 
 hand affectionately on the thick matted hair, and 
 added, "I too have need of forgiveness. I did 
 very wrong thus to put two generous natures in 
 rivalship with each other. A genuine love of 
 beauty, for its own sake, is the only healthy stimu- 
 lus to produce the beautiful. The spirit of compe- 
 tition took 3' ou out of your sphere, and placed you 
 in a false position. In grand conceptions, and in 
 works of durability and strength, you would al- 
 ways have excelled Florien, as much as he sur- 
 passed you in tastefulness and elegance. By striv- 
 ing to be what he was, you parted with your own 
 gifts, without attaining to his. Every man in the 
 natural sphere of his own talent, and all in har- 
 mony ; this is the true order, my son ; and I 
 tempted you to violate it. In my foolish pride, I 
 earnestly desired to have a world-renowned suc- 
 cessor to the famous Antoine Breguet. I wanted 
 that the old stand should be kept up in all its glory, 
 and continue to rival all competitors. I thought 
 you could super-add Florien's gifts to your own, 
 and yet retain your own characteristic excellencies- 
 Therefore, I stimulated your intellect and imagin- 
 ation to the utmost, without reflecting that your 
 heart might break in the process. God forgive 
 me ; it was too severe a trial for poor human 
 
THE RIVAJj MECHANICIANS. 159 
 
 nature. And do thou, mj son, forgive this in- 
 sane ambition; for severely has my pride been 
 humbled." 
 
 Pierre could not speak, but he covered the 
 wrinkled hands with kisses, and clasped his knees 
 convulsively. At last he said, "Let me remain 
 concealed here for a while. You shall see her 
 again ; only give me time." When he explained 
 that he would make Rosabella's likeness, from 
 memory, the sorrowing parent shook his head and 
 sighed, as he answered, "Ah, my son, the soul in 
 her eye, and the light grace of her motions, no art 
 can restore." 
 
 But to Pierre's excited imagination there was 
 henceforth only one object in life ; and that was to 
 re-produce Rosabella. In the keen conflict of 
 competition, under the fiery stimulus of love and 
 ambition, his strong impetuous soul had become 
 machine-mad ; and now overwhelming grief cen- 
 tered all his stormy energies on one object. Day 
 by day, in the loneliness of his garret, he worked 
 upon the image till he came to love it, almost as 
 much as he had loved the maiden herself Antoine 
 Breguet readily supplied materials. From child- 
 hood he had been interested in all forms of mech- 
 anism ; and this image, so intertwined with his 
 affections, took strong hold of bis imagination also. 
 Kearly a 3'ear had passed away, when the house- 
 keeper, who was in the secret, came to ask for 
 Rosabella's hair, and the dress she usually wore. 
 
160 THE EIVAL MECHANICIANS. 
 
 The old man gave her the keys, and wiped the 
 starting tears, as he turned silently away. A few 
 days after, Pierre invited him to come and look 
 upon his work. "Do not go too suddenly," he 
 said; " prepare yourself for a shock; for indeed it 
 is very like our lost one." 
 
 "I will go, I will go," replied the old man, 
 eagerly. " Am I not accustomed to see all man- 
 ner of automata and androides ? Did I not myself 
 make a flute-player, which performed sixteen tunes, 
 to the admiration of all who heard him? And 
 think you I am to be frightened by an image ?" 
 
 " Not frightened, dear father," answered Pierre ; 
 "but I was afraid you might be overcome with 
 emotion." He led him into the apartment, and 
 said, " Shall I remove the veil now ? Can you 
 bear it, dear father?" 
 
 " I can," was the calm reply. But when the 
 curtain was withdrawn, he started, and exclaimed, 
 " Santa Maria ! It is Eosabella ! She is not dead !'' 
 He tottered forward, and kissed the cold lips and 
 the cold hands, and tears rained on the bright 
 brown hair, as he cried out, " My child ! my 
 child!" 
 
 When the tumult of feeling had subsided, the 
 aged mourner kissed Pierre's hands, and said, "It 
 is wonderfully like her, in every feature and every 
 tint. It seems as if it would move and breathe." 
 
 "She luill move and breathe," replied Pierre; 
 "only give me time." 
 
THE EIVAL MECHANICIANS. 161 
 
 His voice sounded so wildly, and Ms great deep- 
 set eyes burned with sucli intense entliusiasm, that 
 his friend was alarmed. They clasped each other's 
 hands, and spoke more quietly of the beloved one. 
 " This is all that remains to us, Pierre," said the 
 old man. "We are alone in the world. You 
 were a friendless orphan when you came to me : 
 and I am childless." 
 
 With a passionate outburst of grief, the young 
 man replied, " And it was I, my benefactor, who 
 made you so. Wretch that I am !" 
 
 From that time the work went on with greater 
 zeal than ever. Pierre often forgot to taste of 
 food, so absorbed was he in the perfection of his 
 machine. First, the arms moved obedient to his 
 wishes, then the eyes turned, and the lips parted. 
 Meanwhile, his own face grew thinner and paler, 
 and his eyes glowed with a wilder fire. 
 
 Finally, it was whispered in the village that 
 Pierre Berthoud was concealed in Antoine Bre- 
 guet's cottage : and officers came to arrest him. 
 But the venerable old Avatch-maker told the story 
 so touchingly, and painted so strongly the young 
 man's consuming agony of grief and remorse, and 
 pleaded so earnestly that he might be allowed to 
 finish a wonderful image of his beautiful grand- 
 child, that they promised not to disturb him till 
 the work was accomplished. 
 
 Two years from the day of Pierre's return, on 
 the anniversary of the memorable birth-day, he 
 U* L 
 
162 THE RIVAL MECHANICIANS. 
 
 said, "Now, my fatLer, I have done all that art 
 can do. Come and see the beautiful one." He 
 led him into the little room where Kosabella used 
 to work. There she sat, spinning diligently. The 
 beautifully formed bust rose and fell under her 
 neat boddice. Her lips were parted, and her eyes 
 followed the direction of the thread. But what 
 made it seem more fearfully like life, was the fact 
 that ever and anon the wheel rested, and the maiden 
 held the suspended thread, with her eye-lids low- 
 ered, as if she were lost in thought. Above, the 
 flower-stand, near by, hung the bird-cage, with 
 Elorien's artificial canary. The pretty little autom- 
 aton had been silent long; but now its springs 
 were set in motion, and it poured forth all its mel- 
 odies. 
 
 The bereaved old man pressed Pierre's hand, and 
 gazed upon his darling grand-child silently. He 
 caused his arm-chair to be brought into the room, 
 and ever after, while he retained his faculties, he 
 refused to sit elsewhere. 
 
 The fame of this remarkable android soon spread 
 through all the region round about. The citizens 
 of Geneva united in an earnest petition that the 
 artist might be excused from any penalty for the 
 accidental murder he had committed. Members of 
 the State Council came and looked at the breathing 
 maiden, and touched the beautiful flesh, which 
 seemed as if it would yield to their pressure. They 
 saw the wild haggard artist, with lines of suffering 
 
THE KIVAL MECHANICIANS. 163 
 
 cut SO deeply in Hs youtliful brow> and tliey at 
 once granted the prayer of tlie citizens. 
 
 But Pierre liad nothing more to live for. His 
 work in tlie world was done. The artificial energy, 
 supplied by one absorbing idea was gone ; and the 
 contemplation of his own work was driving him to 
 madness. It so closely resembled life that he longed 
 more and more to have it live. The lustrous eyes 
 moved, but they had no light from the soul, and 
 they would not answer to his earnest gaze. The 
 beautiful lips parted, but they never spoke kind 
 words, as in days of yore. The image began to fill 
 him with supernatural awe, yet he was continually 
 drawn toward it by a magic influence. Three 
 months after its completion, he was found at day- 
 light, lying at its feet, stone dead. 
 
 Antoine Breguet survived him two years. Dur- 
 ing the first eighteen months, he was never willing 
 to have the image of his lost darling out of sight. 
 The latter part of the time, he often whistled to the 
 bird, and talked to her, and seemed to imagine that 
 she answered him. But with increasing imbecility, 
 Rosabella was forgotten. He sometimes asked, 
 " Who is that young woman ?" At last he said, 
 *' Send her away. She looks at me." 
 
 The magic-lantern of departing memory then 
 presented a phantom of his wife, dead long agO' 
 He busied himself with making imaginary watches 
 and rings for her, and held long conversations, as 
 if she were present. Afterward, the wife was like- 
 
164 THE EIVAL MECHANICIANS. 
 
 wise forgotten, and he was occupied, entirely with 
 his mother, and the scenes of early childhood. 
 Finally he wept often, and repeated continually, 
 " They are all waiting for me ; and I want to go 
 home." When he was little more than eighty years 
 old, coDipassionate angels took the weary pilgrim 
 in their arms, and carried him home. 
 
A SONG. 165 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 Hush ! hush ! Love lies at rest, 
 Like a bird in her nest, 
 Like dew in a lily's breast, 
 
 Love is sleeping. 
 Roses breathe fragrant sighs 
 Over his drowsy eyes, 
 But, ah, how still he lies ! 
 
 Love is sleeping. 
 
 Drive the honey-bees away ! 
 Let not the sun's bright ray 
 Over his features play ! 
 
 Love is sleeping. 
 Lest his slumbers should fly. 
 Gentle Music draw nigh, 
 With your sweet lullaby ! 
 
 Keep him sleeping ! 
 
 Ha ! his cheek grows warm 
 Under the magic charm. 
 And he moves his white arm ! 
 
 Love is dreaming, 
 His little limbs shiver, 
 His soft eye-lids quiver, 
 Like rays on a river : 
 
 Love is waking. 
 
UTOUCH AND TOUCHU. 
 
 " Nothing left 
 But what you touch, and not what touches you!* 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 " Thou hast the fairy coin, which, in wrong hands . 
 Is merely stones and leaves ; — in thine, true gold," 
 
 J. R. Lowell. 
 
 It was a bright autumnal day, wlien two boys 
 went forth to gather nuts. One was keen-eyed and 
 self-important in his gait. The other had mild, 
 deep eyes, and his motions were like flowers sway- 
 ing to a gentle breeze. Alfred, the keen-eyed, 
 mounted the tree and shook it. "I should like to 
 own a dozen such trees," said he, " and have all the 
 nuts to myself" 
 
 " Oh, see how beautifully the setting sun shines 
 slanting through the boughs, on the trunk, and 
 branches ! It glows like gold !" exclaimed Er- 
 nest. 
 
 "If the sun were like old Midas, that we read 
 about at school, there would be some fun in it," 
 replied Alfred ; " for if it turned all it touched into 
 gold, I could peel off the bark and buy a horse 
 with it." 
 
UTOUCH AND TOUCHU. 167 
 
 Ernest gazed silently at the golden sea of clouds 
 in the west, and then at the warm gleams it cast on 
 the old walnut tree. He stood thus but a moment ; 
 for his companion aimed a nut at his head, and 
 shouted, "Make haste to fill the basket, you lazy 
 fellow !" 
 
 The nuts were soon gathered, and the boys 
 stretched themselves on the grass, talking over 
 school affairs. A flock of birds flew over their 
 heads towards the south. " They are flying away 
 from winter," said Ernest. "How I should like to 
 go with them where the palms and cocoas grow I 
 See how beautifully they skim along the air !" 
 
 " I wish I had a gun," rejoined Alfred ; " I would 
 have some of them for supper." 
 
 It was a mild autumnal twilight. The cows had 
 gone from the pastures, and all Avas still, save the 
 monotonous noise of the crickets. The fitful whist- 
 ling of the boys gradually subsided into dreamy 
 silence. As they lay thus, winking drowsily, Er- 
 nest saw a queer little dwarf peep from under an 
 arching root of the walnut tree. His little dots of 
 bkie eyes looked cold and opaque, as if they were 
 made of turquoise. His hands were like the claws 
 of a bird. But he was surely a gentleman of prop- 
 erty and standing, for his brown velvet vest was 
 embroidered with gold, and a diamond fastened his 
 hat-band. While Ernest wondered who he could- 
 be, his attention was attracted by a bright little 
 vision hovering in the air before him. At first, he 
 
168 UTOUCH AND TOUCHU. 
 
 thouglit it was a large insect, or a small bird ; but 
 as it floated ever nearer and nearer, he perceived 
 a lovely little face, with tender, luminous eyes. 
 Her robe seemed like soap-bubbles glancing in the 
 sun, and in her bonnet, made of an inverted White 
 Petunia blossom, the little ringlets shone like finest 
 threads of gold. The stamen of a White Lily served 
 her for a wand, and she held it towards him, say- 
 ing, in tones of soft beseechment, ^^ Let me touch 
 your eyes !" 
 
 " You had better touch my wand. You will find 
 it much more to the purpose," croaked the dwarf 
 under the walnut root. " Look here ! wouldn't you 
 like to have this ?" and he shook a purse fall of 
 coins, as he spoke. 
 
 " I don't hke your cold eyes and your skinny 
 fingers," replied Ernest. '' Pray, who are you ?" 
 
 " My name is Utouch," answered the gnome : 
 " and I bring great luck wherever I go." 
 
 " And what is your name, dear little spirit of the 
 air ?" asked Ernest. 
 
 She looked lovingly into his eyes, and answered, 
 " My name is Touchu. Shall I be your fi:iend for 
 life ?" 
 
 He smiled, and eagerly replied, "Oh yes! oh 
 yes ! your face is so full of love !" 
 
 She descended gracefully, and touched his eyes 
 with her Lily-stamen. The air became redolent 
 with delicate perfume, like fragrant Violets kissed 
 by the soft south wind. A rainbow arched the 
 
UTOUCH AND TOUCHU. 169 
 
 heavens, and reflected its beautiful image on a mir- 
 ror of mist. The old tree reached forth friendly 
 arms, and cradled the sunbeams on its bosom. 
 Flowers seemed to nod and smile at Ernest, as if 
 they knew him very well, and the little birds sang 
 into his inmost soul. Presently, he felt that he was 
 rising slowly, and undulating on the air, like a 
 winged seed when it is breathed upon ; and away 
 he sailed,- on fleecy clouds, under the arch of the 
 rainbow. A mocking laugh roused him from his 
 trance, and he heard Utouch, the gnome, exclaim 
 jeeringly, " There he goes on a voyage to one of 
 his air-castles in the moon !" Then he felt himself 
 falling through the air, and all at once he was on 
 the ground. Birds, flowers, rainbows, all were 
 gone. Twilight had deepened into dreary even- 
 ing ; winds sighed through the trees, and the crick- 
 ets kept up their mournfal creaking tones. Ernest 
 was afraid to be all alone. He felt round for his 
 companion, and shook him by the arm, exclaiming, 
 *' Alfred ! Alfred, wake up ! I have had a won- 
 derful fine dream here on the grass." 
 
 '' So have I," replied Alfred, rubbing his eyes. 
 "Why need you wake me just as the old fellow 
 was dropping a purse full of money into my 
 hand?" 
 
 " What old fellow ?" inquired Ernest. 
 
 "He called himself Utouch," answered Alfred, 
 " and he promised to be my constant companion. 
 I hope he will keep his word ; for I like an old 
 15 
 
170 UTOUCH AND TOUCHU. 
 
 chap that drops a purse of gold into my hand when 
 I ask for it." 
 
 " "Why, I dreamed of that same old fellow," said 
 Ernest, " but I didn't like his looks." 
 
 " Perhaps he didn't show you the full purse ?" 
 said Alfred. 
 
 "Yes, he did," replied Ernest ; "but I felt such 
 a love for the little fairy with tender eyes and heart- 
 melting voice, that I choose her for my life-friend. 
 And oh, she made the earth so beautiful !" 
 
 His companion laughed and said, " I dreamed of 
 her, too. So you have preferred that floating soap- 
 bubble, did you ? I should have guessed as much. 
 But come, help me carry the nuts home, for I am 
 hungry for my supper." 
 
 W V» TT W W W W 
 
 Years passed, and the boys were men. Er- 
 nest sat writing in a small chamber, that looked 
 toward the setting sun. His little child had hung 
 a prismatic chandelier-drop on the window, and he 
 wrote amid the rainbows that it cast over his paper. 
 In a simple vase on his desk stood a stalk of blos- 
 soms from the brilliant wild flower, called the Car- 
 dinal. Unseen by him, the fairy Touchu circled 
 round his head and waved her Lily-stamen, from 
 which the fine gold-coloured dust fell on his hair in 
 a fragrant shower. In the greensward below, two 
 beautiful yellow birds sat among the catnip-blos- 
 soms, picking the seed, while they rocked gracefully 
 on the wind-stirred plant. Ernest smiled as he said 
 
UTOUCH AND TOUCHU. 171 
 
 to himself, " Gone are tlie dandelion blossoms, wliicli 
 strewed my grass-carpet with golden stars ; and 
 now come these winged flowers .to refresh the eye. 
 When they are gone to warmer climes, tlien will 
 the yellow butterflies come in pairs ; and when 
 even they are gone, here in my oboe sleep the soft 
 yellow tones, ever ready to wake and cheer me 
 with their child-like gladness." 
 
 He took up the instrument as he spoke, and 
 played a slight flourish. A little bird that nestled 
 among the leaves of a cherry tree near by, caught 
 the tones of the oboe and mocked it with a joyous 
 trill, a little sunny shower of sound. Then sprang 
 the poet to his feet, and his countenance lighted up 
 like a transfigured one. But a slight cloud soon 
 floated over that radiant expression. " Ah, if thou 
 only wert not afraid of me !" he said. " If thou 
 wouldst come, dear little warbler, and perch on my 
 oboe, and sing a duet with me, how happy I should 
 be ! Why are man and nature thus sundered ?" 
 
 Another little bird in the Althea bush, answered 
 him in low sweet notes, ending ever with the plain- 
 tive cadence of the minor-third. The deep, tender 
 eyes of the child-man filled with tears. " We are 
 not sundered," thought he. " Surely my heart is in 
 harmony with Nature ; for she responds to my in- 
 most thought, as one instrument vibrates the tones 
 of another to which it is perfectly attuned. Bless- 
 ed, blessed is nature in her soothing power." As 
 he spoke, Touchu came floating on a zephyr, and 
 
172 UTOUCH AND TOUCHU. 
 
 poured over him tTie fragrance of mignonette she 
 had gathered from the garden below. 
 
 Vf * •» -X- 7f * * 
 
 At the same hour, Alfred walked in his conser- 
 vatory among groves of fragrant Geraniums and 
 richly-flowering Cactuses. He smoked a cigar, and 
 glanced listlessly from his embroidered slippers to 
 the marble pavement without taking notice of the 
 costly flowers. The gardener, who was watering a 
 group of Japonicas, remarked, " This is a fine speci- 
 men that has opened to-day. Will you have the 
 goodness to look at it, sir?" He paused in his 
 walk a momentj and looked at a pure white blos- 
 som, with the faintest roseate blush in the centre. 
 *' It ought to be handsome," said he. " The price 
 was high enough. But after all the money I have 
 expended, horticulturists declare that Mr. Duncan's 
 Japonicas excel mine. Its provoking to be out- 
 done." The old gnome stood behind one of the 
 plants, and shrugged his shoulders and grinned. 
 Without perceiving his presence, Alfred muttered 
 to himself, '' Utouch promised my flowers should 
 be unequalled in rarity and beauty." 
 
 " That was last year," croaked ^a small voice, 
 which he at once recognized. 
 
 " Last year !" retorted Alfred, mocking his tone. 
 " Am I then to be always toiling after what I never 
 heepf That's precious comfort, you provoking 
 imp !" 
 
 A retreating laugh was heard under the pave- 
 
UTOUCH AND TOUCHU. 173 
 
 ment, as the rich man threw his cigar away, ex- 
 claiming impatiently, " The devil take the Japoni- 
 cas ! what do I care ? they're not worth fretting 
 about." 
 
 Weeks passed and brought the returning seventh 
 day of rest. The little child, who caused home- 
 made rainbows to flicker over the father's poem, 
 lay very ill, and the anxious parents feared that 
 this beautiful vision of innocence might soon pass 
 away from the earth. The shadows of a Madeira- 
 vine now and then waved across the window, and 
 the chamber was filled with the delicate perfume 
 of its blossoms. No sound broke the Sabbath still- 
 ness, except the little bird in the Althea bush, 
 whose tones were sad as the voice of memory. 
 The child heard it, and sighed unconsciously, as he 
 put his little feverish hand within his mother's, 
 and said, " Please sing me a hymn, dear mother." 
 With a soft, clear voice, subdued by her depth of 
 feeling, she sang Schubert's Ave Maria. Manifold 
 and wonderful are the intertwining influences in 
 the world of spirits ! What was it that touched 
 the little bird's heart, and uttered itself in such 
 plaintive cadences ? They made the child sigh for 
 a hymn ; and bird and child together woke Schu- 
 bert's prayerful echoes in the mother's bosom. 
 And now from the soul of the composer in that 
 far-off German land, the spirit of devotion comes 
 to the father, wafted on the wings of that beautiful 
 15* 
 
174 UTOUCH AND TOUCHU. 
 
 music. Ernest bowed his head reverently, and 
 sank kneeling by the bed-side. While he listened 
 thns, Touchn glided softly into his bosom and laid 
 her wand upon his heart. When the sweet be- 
 seeching melody had ceased, Ernest pressed the 
 hand of the singer to his lip, and remained awhile 
 in silence. Then the strong necessity of supplica- 
 tion came over him, and he poured forth an ardent 
 prayer. With fervid eloquence, he implored for 
 themselves an humble and resigned spirit, and for 
 their little one, that, living or dying, good angels 
 might ever carry him in their protecting arms. As 
 they rose up, his wife leaned her head upon his 
 shoulder, and with tearful eyes whispered : 
 
 " God help us, this and every day, 
 To live more nearly as "we pray^* 
 
 ^ w w vT w w W 
 
 That same morning, Alfred rode to church in his 
 carriage, and a servant waited with the horses, till 
 he had performed his periodical routine of worship. 
 Many-coloured hues from the richly-stained windows 
 of the church glanced on wall and pillar, and im- 
 parted to silk and broadcloth the metallic lustre of 
 a peacock's plumage. Gorgeous in crimson' man- 
 tle, with a topaz glory round his head, shone the 
 meek son of Joseph the carpenter ; and his humble 
 fishermen of Galilee were refulgent in robes of pur- 
 ple and gold. The fine haze of dust, on wliich the 
 
UTOUCH AND TOUCHU. 175 
 
 sunbeams fell, gleamed with a quivering prismatie 
 reflection of their splendour. From the choir de- 
 scended the heavenly tones of Schubert's Ave Ma- 
 ria. They flowed into Alfred's ear, but no Touchu 
 was with him to lay her wand upon his heart. To 
 a visitor, who sat in his cushioned pew, he whis- 
 pered that they paid the highest price for their mu- 
 sic, and had the best that money could command. 
 The sermon urged the necessity of providing some 
 religious instruction for the poor ; for otherwise 
 there could be no security to property against rob- 
 bery and fire. Alfred resolved within himself to 
 get up a subscription immediately for that purpose, 
 and to give twice as much as Mr. Duncan, whatever 
 the sum might be. Utouch, who had secretly sug- 
 gested the thing to him, turned somersets on the 
 gilded prayer-book, and twisted diabolical grima- 
 ces. But Alfred did not see him ; nor did he hear 
 a laugh under the carriage, when, as they rolled 
 home, he said to his wife, "My dear, why didn't 
 you wear your embroidered shawl ? I told you we 
 were to have strangers in the pew. In so handsome 
 a church, people expect to see the congregation ele- 
 gantly dressed, you know." 
 
 But though Utouch was a mocking spirit, Alfred 
 could not complain that he had been untrue to his 
 bargain. He had promised to bestow any thing he 
 craved from his kingdom of the outward. He had 
 asked for honour in the church, influence at the ex- 
 chai/ge, a rich handsome wife, and superb horses. 
 
176 UTOUCH AND TOUCHU. 
 
 He had tliem all. Whose fault was it, that he was 
 continuallj looking round anxiously to observe 
 whether oilier s had more of the goods he coveted ? 
 He had wished for a luxurious table, and it stood 
 covered with the rarest dainties of the world. But 
 with a constrained smile he said to his guests, " Is 
 it not provoking to be surrounded with luxuries 
 I cannot eat ? That pie-crust would torment my 
 sleep with a legion of nightmares. It is true, I do 
 not crave it much ; for I sit at a loaded table ' half- 
 famished for an appetite,' as the witty Madame de 
 Sevigne used to say. Again and again, he asked 
 himself, why all the fruit that seemed so ripe and 
 tempting on the outside was always dry and dusty 
 within. And if he was puzzled to understand why 
 he seemed to have all things, and yet really had 
 nothing, still more was he puzzled to explain how 
 Ernest seemed to have so little, and yet in reality 
 possessed all things. One evening, at a concert, he 
 happened to sit near Ernest and his wife, while 
 they listened to the beautiful Symphony by Spohr, 
 called the Consecration of the Tones. Delighted 
 as children were they, when they began to hear the 
 winds murmur through the music, the insects pipe, 
 and one little bird after another chirp his notes of 
 gladness. How expressively they looked at each 
 other, during the tender lulling Cradle-Song ! and 
 how the expression of their faces brightened and 
 softened, as the enchanting tones passed through 
 the lively allegro of the Dance, into the exquisite 
 
XJTOUCH AND TOUCHU. 177 
 
 melody of the Serenade ! But wlien Cradle-Song, 
 Dance, and Serenade all moved forward together in 
 delightful harmony, a three-fold chord of lovely 
 melodies, the transparent countenance of Ernest 
 became luminous with his inward joy. It was evi- 
 dent that Touchu had again laid her thrilling wand 
 upon his heart. 
 
 "How the deuce does he contrive always to 
 delight himself?" thought Alfred. "I wonder 
 whether the music really is any thing uncommon." 
 
 In order to ascertain, he turned from Ernest to 
 watch the countenance of a musical critic near by ; 
 one of those unfortunate men, who enjoy music as 
 the proof-reader enjoys the poetry he corrects in 
 a printing-ofS.ce. How can a beautiful metaphor 
 please him, while he sees a comma topsy-turvy, or 
 a period out of place ? How can he be charmed 
 by the melodious flow of the verse, while he is 
 dotting an i, or looking out for an inverted s ? The 
 Qritic seemed less attentive to his business than the 
 proof-reader ; for he was looking round and whis- 
 pering, apparently unconscious that sweet sounds 
 filled the air. Nevertheless, Utouch whispered to 
 Alfred that the critic was the man to inform him 
 whether he ought to be delighted with the music, 
 or not. So, at the close of the Symphony, he 
 spoke to him, and took occasion to say, '' I invited 
 a French amateur to come here this evening, in 
 hopes he would receive a favourable impression of 
 the state of music in America. You are an excel- 
 
 M 
 
178 UTOUCH AND TOUCHU. 
 
 lent judge of such matters. Do you tliink he will 
 be satisfied with the performance ?" 
 
 "He may be ^pleased^ sir, but not satisfied^^'' re- 
 plied the critic. " The composition is a very fine 
 one, but he has doubtless heard it in Paris ; and 
 until you have heard a French orchestra, sir, you 
 can have no conception of music. Their accuracy 
 in rh3rthmical time, amounts to absolute perfect- 
 tion." 
 
 "And do you think the orchestra have played 
 well to night ?" 
 
 "Tolerably well, sir. But in the Cradle-Song 
 the clarionet lagged a little, once or twice ; and the 
 effect of the Serenade was injured, because the vio- 
 loncello was tuned one-sixteenth of a note too 
 low." 
 
 Alfred bowed, and went away congratulating 
 himself that he had not been more delighted than 
 was proper. 
 
 The alleged impossibility of having any concep- 
 tion of music unless he went to Europe, renewed a 
 wish he had long indulged. He closed his magnifi- 
 cent house, and went forth to make the fashionable 
 tour. Ernest was a painter, as well as a poet ; and 
 it chanced that they met in Italy. Alfred seemed 
 glad to see the friend of his childhood ; but he soon 
 turned from cheerful things, to tell how vexed he 
 was about a statue he had purchased. "I gave a 
 great price for it," said he, "thinking it was a real 
 antique ; but good judges now assure me that it is 
 
UTOUCH AND TOUCHU. 179 
 
 a modern work. It is so annojing to waste one's 
 money !" 
 
 " But if it be really beautiful, and pleases you, 
 tlie money is not wasted," replied Ernest ; "tliougli 
 it certainly is not agreeable to be cheated. Look 
 at this ivory head to my cane ! It is a bust of Hebe, 
 which I bought for a trifle, yesterday. But small 
 as is the market value, its beauty is a perpetual de- 
 light to me. If it be not an antique, it deserves to 
 be. It troubles me that I cannot find the artist, 
 and pay him more than I gave for it. Perhaps he 
 is poor, and has not yet made a name for himself ; 
 but whoever he may be, a spark of the divine fire 
 is certainly in him. Observe the beautiful swell of 
 the breast, and the graceful turn of the head !" 
 
 " Yes, it is a pretty thing," rejoined Alfred, half 
 contemptously. ''But I am too much vexed with 
 that knave who sold me the statue, to go into rap- 
 tures about the head of a cane just now. What 
 makes it more provoking is, that Mr. Duncan pur- 
 chased a real antique last year, for less money than 
 I threw away on this modern thing." 
 
 " Having in vain tried to impart his own sunny 
 humour, Ernest bade him adieu, and returned to his 
 humble lodgings, out of the city. As he lingered 
 in the orange-groves, listening to the nightingales, 
 he thought to himself, " I wish that charming little 
 fairy, who came to me in my boyish dream, would 
 touch Alfred with her wand ; for the purse the old 
 gnome gave him seem> to bring him little joy." 
 
180 UTOUCH AND TOUCHU. 
 
 He happened to look up at the moment, and there, 
 close by his hand, was Touchu balancing herself 
 tip-toe on an orange-bud. She had the same lu- 
 minous, loving eyes, the same prismatic robe, and 
 the same sunny gleam on her hair. She smiled as 
 she said, "Then you do not repent your early 
 choice, though I could not give you a purse full 
 of money ?" 
 
 " Oh, no indeed," replied he. " Thou hast been 
 the brightest blessing of my life." 
 
 She kissed his eyes, and, waving her wand over 
 him, said affectionately, " Take then the best gift I 
 have to offer. When thou art an old man, thou 
 shalt still remain, to the last, a simple, happy 
 chHd." 
 
THE 
 
 BROTHER AND SISTER. 
 
 But show me, on thy flowery breast, 
 Earth, where thy nameless martyrs rest I 
 The thousands, who, uncheered by praise, 
 Have made one offering of their days. 
 
 Mrs. Hemans 
 
 "Hueea!" exclaimed Jolm Golding to Ms sis- 
 ter Esther. " See wliat Mr. Brown lias bought with. 
 Biddy's eggs !" 
 
 The boy's eyes sparkled, and his hands trembled 
 with delight, while Esther's more serious counten- 
 ance lighted up with a quick smile. 
 
 The treasure John exhibited with such exult- 
 ation, was a worn copy of Goldsmith's Manners 
 and Customs. The title-page declared that it was 
 adorned with plates ; but readers accustomed to the 
 present more beautiful style of publishing would 
 have been slow to admit that the straight, lank 
 figures, daubed with engraver's ink, were any or- 
 nament to the volumes. To the unpractised eyes 
 of John and his sister, they were, however, gems 
 of Art ; and the manner in which they were ob- 
 tained greatly increased their value. The children 
 16 
 
182 THE BROTHER AND SISTER. 
 
 liad received a cake and two little chickens from 
 a neighbour, in payment for picking cranberries. 
 JSTever did chickens give rise to such extensive 
 speculations ; not even the imaginary brood of the 
 famous milk-maid. The chickens would become 
 hens, and the hens would lay eggs, and Mr. Brown, 
 who drove the market-wagon, would sell the eggs, 
 and there were ever so many books in Boston, and 
 who could guess what wonderful stories they would 
 buy with their eggs ? The vision was realized in 
 due time. The chickens did become hens, and laid 
 eggs ; and Mr. Brown listened good-naturedly to 
 John's request to sell them and buy " a book, that 
 had pictures in it, and told about countries a way 
 off." Goldsmith's Manners and Customs came as 
 the fruit of these instructions, and was hailed with 
 an outburst of joy. 
 
 Most boys would have chosen to buy marbles or 
 a drum ; but John's earliest passio^ had been for a 
 book. The subtle influences which organize tem- 
 peraments and produce character, are not easily 
 traced. His intellectual activity certainly was not 
 derived from either of his parents ; for they were 
 mere healthy sluggish animals. But there was a 
 tradition in the neighbourhood, that his maternal 
 grandmother was " an extraordinary woman in her 
 day ; that few folks knew so much as she did ; and 
 if her husband had been half as smart and calcu- 
 lating, they would have been very fore-handed 
 people !" 
 
THE BEOTHER AND SISTER. 183 
 
 The children of the " extraordinary woman " in- 
 herited her husband's inert temperament, but her 
 own energetic character re-appeared in her grand- 
 children ; and they had the good fortune to be born 
 in New England where the moral atmosphere stimu- 
 lates intellect, and the stream of knowledge flows 
 free and full to all the people. Esther was as eager 
 for information, as her more vivacious brother ; and 
 though, as a woman, her pathway of life was more 
 obstructed, and all its growth more stinted, she 
 helped to lead him into broader avenues than she 
 herself was allowed to enter. Being two years older 
 than he, it was her delight to teach him the alpha- 
 bet, as soon as he could speak ; and great was her 
 satisfaction when he knew all the letters in her lit- 
 tle, old primer, and could recite the couplet that 
 belonged to each. They conveyed no very distinct 
 idea to his mind, but Esther's praise made him very 
 vain of this accomplishment. A dozen times a day, 
 he shouted the whole twenty -four, all in a row, and 
 was quite out of breath when he arrived at ; 
 
 " Zaccheus he 
 Did climb a tree, 
 His Lord to see I" 
 
 The mother, who was a kindly but dull woman, 
 took little interest in their childish scrambling after 
 literature ; but she sent them to the town-school, 
 for the sake of having them out of the way ; and 
 she was somewhat proud that her children could 
 
184: THE BROTHER AND SISTER. 
 
 " read joining-hand," as slie called it, earlier than 
 neighbours of the same age. One da}'^, when the 
 minister of the village called, she told John to 
 bring his book about Manners and Customs, and 
 let the minister hear how well they could read. 
 The good old man was much pleased with the 
 bright boy and his intelligent, motherly sister. 
 When their mother told him the story of the eggs, 
 he patted them on the head and said : " That's 
 right, my children. You can't be too fond of your 
 books. They are the best friends in the world. 
 If you ask them, they will tell you about Gverj 
 thing !" This remark, uttered in a very serious 
 tone, made a deep impression. That evening, as 
 brother and sister sat on the door-step, eating their 
 supper of bread and milk, the sun set bright and 
 clear after a transient shower, and a beautiful rain- 
 bow arched the entire heavens. " Oh, Esther, look 
 at that pretty rainbow !" exclaimed John. " Ah, 
 see I see ! now there are two of 'em 1" He gazed 
 at the beautiful phenomenon with all his soul in 
 his eyes, and added: "As soon as we have eggs 
 enough, we will get Mr. Brown to buy a book that 
 tells how rainbows are made, and where they come 
 from." Esther replied, that she did wish the hens 
 would lay three eggs a day. 
 
 When the market-man was commissioned to pur- 
 chase another volume, he declared himself unable 
 to find one that told where rainbows came from. 
 In lieu thereof, he brought Bruce's Travels ; and 
 
THE BROTHER AND SISTER. 185 
 
 an unfailing source of entertainment it proved. 
 Thus month by month their little library increased, 
 and their intellectual craving grew fast by the food 
 it fed on. They gathered berries, picked chips, 
 ran on errands, rose early, and worked late, to ac- 
 cumulate sixpences. 
 
 When this is done merely to obtain animal in-- 
 dulgences, or for the sake of possessing more than 
 others, there is something degrading in the servile 
 process ; but when the object is pursuit of knowl- 
 edge for its own sake, all creeping things become 
 winged. Beautiful it is to see human souls thus 
 struggling with poverty and toil, sustained only by 
 those ministering angels, Hope and Faith ! Those 
 who have life enough to struggle thus, are all the 
 stronger for the contest. For the vigorous intellect 
 it is better to be so placed than to be born in pal- 
 aces. Jean Paul says truly : " Wealth bears far 
 heavier on talent than poverty. Under gold moun- 
 tains and thrones, who knows how many a spiritual 
 giant may lie crushed down and buried ?" 
 
 Esther and her brother were troubled with no 
 ambitious conjectures whether or not they could 
 ever become spiritual giants ; they simply felt that 
 the acquisition of knowledge was present delight. 
 They thought little of hats and shoes, till father 
 and mother said these must be bought with a por- 
 tion of their wages ; but after that, they were 
 doubly careful of their hats, and often carried their 
 shoes in their hands. Thus were they, in their 
 16* 
 
186 THE BROTHER AJTD SISTER. 
 
 ■unconscious earnestness, living according to laws 
 whicli highest reason would prescribe for the whole 
 social fabric. They worked industriously at manual 
 labor, but always with a spiritual end in view ; 
 and that spiritual end was their own chosen re- 
 creation. They practised the most careful econo- 
 my, but it was neither mean nor painful, because it 
 was for a noble use, not for the mere sake of accu- 
 mulation. 
 
 Though the poor parents were obliged to appro- 
 priate a portion of the children's juvenile earnings, 
 there was one little fund that was entirely their 
 own. The two chickens had a progeny of chickens, 
 and these, in process of time, likewise laid eggs. 
 John picked up every stray grain of oats he could 
 find, because he had heard it was a good kind of 
 food to increase eggs ; and busy little Esther saved 
 all the oyster shells she could find, to pound for 
 the hens in winter, when there was no gravel to 
 furnish material for the shells. The cackling of a 
 hen was to them an important event. Esther smiled 
 at her knitting as she heard it, and John, as he 
 plucked the weeds, raised up his head to listen. 
 Hens have been often laughed at for proclaiming 
 all abroad that another egg is in the world ; but 
 John's brood had a right to crow over their mission. 
 Cackle away to thy heart's content, thou brown lit- 
 tle feather- top ! Never mind their jibes and jeers ! 
 Thy human superiors often become world-famous 
 by simply obeying an impulse, which, uncon- 
 
THE BEOTHER AND SISTER. 187 
 
 sciously to themselves, evolves extensive and pro- 
 gressive good ; and tlion art not tlie first prattling 
 egotist, who has worked for far higher results than 
 he had the ability to comprehend. Let him who 
 laughs at thy cackling, measure, if he can, what 
 share thy new-laid egg may have in changing the 
 destiny of man ! It will aid in the culture of a 
 human soul. It will help to develop and stimu- 
 late individual thought. And if generously aimed 
 and fearlessly uttered, may not that individual 
 thought pervade and modify the entire opinion of 
 society ? And is not law the mere record of aggre- 
 gate opinion ? 
 
 Truly the cackling hen brought no such thoughts 
 to simple Esther and her brother John. To them 
 it merely announced that another egg was laid, and 
 thereby another cent gained toward the purchase 
 of a new book. They talked the stories over by 
 the light of the moon, or recited to each other fa- 
 vorite passages from Burns and Bloomfield. When 
 the field-labourers took their noon-day rest, you 
 would be sure to find John hidden away in the 
 shade of a haystack, devouring a book. His zeal 
 attracted the minister's attention, and he often stop- 
 ped to talk with him. One day, he said to the 
 mother, "This boy will make something extraor- 
 dinary. He must get an education. He. must go 
 to college, ma'am." 
 
 " Bless my heart, I might as well think of send- 
 ing him to the moon !" she replied. 
 
188 THE BROTHER AND SISTER. 
 
 But Estlier heard it with a quick blush of pleas- 
 ure and pride ; and henceforth the one absorbing 
 thought of her life was how to assist in sending 
 John to college. Busily she calculated how much 
 could be earned in two years by knitting, and bind- 
 ing shoes, and braiding straw. John listened with 
 rapture to her plans, but his triumph was checked 
 midway by the recollection that his sister could 
 not go to college with him. "Why, Esther, you 
 have always been my teacher," he said. "You 
 learn faster than I do, and you remember better. 
 Why don't women go to college ?" 
 
 " They couldn't be lawyers, and ministers, and 
 judges, if they tZzc?," answered Esther. 
 
 " Why not ?" said John. 
 
 Esther's knowledge and reflection on the subject 
 stopped there, and she simply rephed that women 
 never had done such things. 
 
 " Why, yes, they have," said John. " The Bible 
 says that Deborah was a judge ; and Queen Eliza- 
 beth was more than a judge ; and we read the other 
 day that Isabella of Spain knew how to direct an 
 army, and govern the state, better than her hus- 
 band, King Ferdinand. I am sure I don't see why 
 women slioiddnH go to college." 
 
 The boy, in the eagerness of brotherly love, had 
 started ideas which he was too ignorant to follow. 
 But in his simple question lies the germ of thoughts 
 that will revolutionize the world. For as surely as 
 there is a God of harmony in the universe, so surely 
 
THE BEOTHER AND SISTER. 189 
 
 will woman one day become the acknowledged 
 equal and co-worker of man, in every department 
 of life ; and yet be more truly gentle and affection- 
 ate than she now is. 
 
 But Esther was too young to reflect on such 
 matters. She loved her 'brother, and she wanted 
 him to go to college ; and with unquestioning dili- 
 gence she applied her faculties to the purpose, in 
 every way that was left open for her. She scarcely 
 allowed herself time to eat and sleep, and grudged 
 herself every article of apparel, so zealous was her 
 sisterly love. Poor girl ! there was no one to teach 
 her the physical laws, and she knew not that toil- 
 ing thus perpetually, without exercise for the body, 
 or recreation for the mind, was slow suicide. Month 
 after month she laboured, and seldom spoke of pains 
 in her side, and confused feelingfe in her head. 
 Even her favourite luxury of reading was almost 
 entirely relinquished ; and John had little leisure 
 to read to her such books as were entertaining. 
 The minister had offered to hear him recite Latin 
 and Greek once a week, and he was too busy with 
 the classics, to have time for Voyages and Travels. 
 He often repeated his lessons to his sister, and from 
 his bald translations she here and there gleaned a 
 few ideas ; but this kind of mental effort was little 
 profitable, and less enlivening. Blessed Nature 
 stood ever ready to refresh and strengthen her. 
 The golden dandelion blossoms smiled brightly in 
 her face, and the trees stretched their friendly arms 
 
190 THE BEOTHER AND SISTER. 
 
 over Iter in blessing ; but slie had no time to listen 
 to their kind voices. It would have been difficult 
 to lure her aside from her arduous path, even if 
 she had known that it would lead to an open 
 tomb. 
 
 When an object is pursued with such concen- 
 trated aim and persevering effort, it is almost al- 
 ways attained. John taught school in the winters, 
 and worked at whatever his hand could find to do 
 in the summers. Esther hoarded all her earnings, 
 to add to the Education Fund, as they called it : 
 and their good friend the minister borrowed a hun- 
 dred dollars for them, to be repaid according to 
 their own convenience. At last, the darling hope 
 of many years was realized. John went to college, 
 and soon ranked among the best scholars of his 
 class. His sist^ still toiled, that he might have a 
 suffi-ciency of books and clothing. He studied hard, 
 and taught school during college vacations, and re- 
 turned home at the end of four years, attenuated 
 almost to a skeleton. 
 
 The new milk and cheese-whey, the breath of 
 the cows, and the verdure of the fields, refreshed 
 him, and in some degree restored his exhausted 
 strength. But now he was fretted with the ques- 
 tion, what to do with the education ho had ac- 
 quired with so much hardship. An additional ex- 
 penditure of time and money was required to fit 
 him for either of the professions. He was not 
 stimulated by any strong preference for either of 
 
THE BEOTHER AND SISTEE. 191 
 
 thenij and his generous soul resisted the idea of 
 taxing his sister's strength any farther for his own 
 advantage. The old question of his boyhood re- 
 turned with additional force. Why should she, 
 with her noble nature and admirable faculties, be 
 forever penned up within tlie small routine of petty 
 cares, and mere mechanical efforts ? Why should 
 she not share his destiny, and enjoy with him a 
 more expansive atmosphere for soul and body? 
 To this end he resolved to labour. He would earn 
 money by the readiest means that offered, and de- 
 vote his earnings to her improvement. But Esther 
 said, "If you educate me, dear John, what can I 
 do with my education ? I can do nothing but teach 
 school ; and for that I am sure my health is not 
 adequate. The doctor says I must take as much 
 exercise as possible." 
 
 " The doctor !" exclaimed John. " Why, Esther, 
 you never told me you had been ill enough to con- 
 sult a physician." 
 
 "It is merely a slight difficulty in my lungs," 
 she replied. "I am going to spin on the great 
 wheel this winter ; and I think that will cure me. 
 Do not trouble your' kind heart about me, my dear 
 John. While I have any health and strength, I 
 will never consent to be a burden upon you, how- 
 ever much you may urge it. I do not believe that 
 sisters ought to depend on brothers for support. 
 I am sure it is far better for the characters of 
 women to rely on their own energies. But some- 
 
192 THE BROTHER AND SISTER. 
 
 times I think we have not a fair chance in the 
 world. I often wish, as you do, that it was easy 
 for us to obtain a more liberal education, and cus- 
 tomary to use that education in a freer scope for all 
 our faculties. But never mind, dear brother, the 
 door of your cage is open, and the world is all be- 
 fore you. Go where you will, I know you will 
 never forget the sister, who loves you so dearly. 
 You are destined to go far ahead of me in life ; but 
 your go<!)d heart will never allow you to be ashamed 
 of your poor untutored Esther." 
 
 John folded her close to his heart, and turned 
 away to hide the gathering tears. He was more 
 than ever desirous to do something for the high cul- 
 ture of that generous and affectionate soul. The 
 way to earn a moderate income was soon opened to 
 him. The widowed sister of one of the college 
 professors wanted a private tutor for her sons ; and 
 John Golding was recommended by her brother. 
 Here he came in contact, for the first time, with 
 the outward refinements of life. Charming music, 
 harmonious colours, elegant furniture, and, above 
 all, the daily conversation of a cultivated woman, 
 breathed their gentle and refining influences over 
 his strong and honest soul. At first, he was shy 
 and awkward, but the kindly atmosphere around 
 him, gradually unfolded the sleeping flower-buds 
 within, and without thinking of the process, the 
 scholar became a gentleman. By careful econom}^, 
 he repaid Esther the sums she had advanced for 
 
THE BROTHER AND SISTER. 193 
 
 his education ; but the question was forever re- 
 newed how he should manage to have her share 
 his advantages, without sacrificing her noble spirit 
 of independence. His visits to the old homestead 
 reminded him, sometimes a little painfully, that he 
 was leaving his family far behind him in the career 
 of knowledge and refinement. His father chewed 
 tobacco, without much regard to cleanliness. His 
 kind old mother would cut the butter with the same 
 knife she had used in eating. She had done so all 
 her life, but he had never before noticed it, and it 
 vexed him to the heart to find himself so much 
 annoyed by it now. His serious, gentle sister, was 
 endowed with an unusual degree of natural refine- 
 ment, which is usually a better teacher of manners, 
 than mere conventional politeness. But once, when 
 he brought home one of his pupils, she came out 
 to meet them dressed in a new gown, of dingy blue 
 and brick-red, with figures large enough for bed- 
 curtains. He blushed, and was for a moment 
 ashamed of her ; then he reproached himself that 
 his darling Esther could seem to him in any respect 
 vulgar. The next week he sent her a dress of deli- 
 cate material and quiet colours, and she had tact 
 enough to perceive, that this was a silent mode of 
 improving her taste. 
 
 The most painful thing connected with his own 
 superior culture was the spiritual distance it pro- 
 duced between him and his honest parents. Their 
 relative positions were reversed. Father and mother 
 17 N 
 
194 THE BROTHER AND SISTER. 
 
 looked up with wondering deference to their chil- 
 dren. Like hens that have hatched ducks, they 
 knew not what to make of their progeny, thus 
 launching out on a fluid element, which they had 
 never tried. But he perceived the distance between 
 them far more clearly than they could. He could 
 receive the whole of their thought, but was con- 
 stantly obliged to check the utterance of his own, 
 from a consciousness that allusions the most com- 
 mon to him, would be quite unintelligible to them. 
 " The butterfly may remember the grub, but the 
 grub has no knowledge of the butterfly." With 
 Esther he had unalloyed pleasure of companion- 
 ship ; for though ignorant of the world, and de- 
 ficient in culture, she was an intelligent listener, 
 and it charmed him to see her grow continually 
 under the influence of the sunshine he could bring 
 to her. How he loved to teach her ! How he 
 longed to prove his gratitude by the consecration 
 of all his faculties and means to her use ! 
 
 In little more than a year after he left college, 
 a delightful change came over his prospects. A 
 brother of the widow in whose family he had been 
 tutor, was appointed ambassador to Spain, and 
 through her influence he selected John Golding for 
 his private secretary. Esther, true to her unselfish 
 nature, urged him by all means to accept the offer. 
 " When you were a little boy," said she, " you were 
 always eager to know about countries a great way 
 off. But we little thought then that our cackling 
 
THE BKOTHER AND SISTER. 195 
 
 hens would ever bring yon sncli a golden •oppor- 
 tunity." 
 
 John's satisfaction would have been complete, 
 if he could have taken Esther with him to that 
 balmy clime. But she had many objections to 
 offer. She said her rustic manners unfitted her 
 for the elegant circles in which he would move ; 
 and he replied that she would catch the tone of 
 polished society far more readily than he could. 
 She reminded him that their parents needed his 
 assistance to repair the old dilapidated homestead, 
 and to purchase cows ; and that he had promised 
 to devote to their use the first money he could 
 spare. He sighed, and made no answer ; for he 
 felt that his pecuniary resources were altogether 
 inadequate to his generous wishes. Again the 
 question returned, " Why cannot women go abroad, 
 and earn their own way in the world, as well as 
 men?" The coming ages answered him, but he 
 did not hear the prophecy. 
 
 At last the hour of parting came. Painful it 
 was to both, but far more painful to Esther. The 
 young man went forth to seek novelty and ad- 
 venture ; the young woman remained alone, in the 
 dull monotony of an uneventful life. And more 
 than this, she felt a mournful certainty that she 
 should never behold her darling brother again, 
 while he was cheered by hopes of a happy re- 
 union, and was forever building the most romantic 
 *' castles in Spain." She never told him how very 
 
196 THE BROTHER AND SISTER. 
 
 ill she was ; and he thought her interrupted breath 
 was caused merely by the choking emotions of an 
 over-charged heart. 
 
 He deposited with a friend more money than 
 he could have prevailed upon her to accept, and 
 made a choice collection of books and engravings, 
 to cheer her during his absence. To the last mo- 
 ment, he spoke of coming for her next year, and 
 carrying her to the sunny hills of Spain. With a 
 faint smile she promised to learn Spanish, that she 
 might be able to talk with her brother Don Scol- 
 ardo ; and so with mutual struggle to suppress 
 their tears, the brother and sister, who had gone so 
 lovingly, hand in hand, over the rough paths of 
 life, parted just where the glancing summit of his 
 hopes rose bright before him. 
 
 A letter written on board ship was full of cheer- 
 ful visions of the quiet literary home they would 
 enjoy together in the coming years. The next let- 
 ter announced his arrival in Spain. Oh, the ro- 
 mantic old castles, the picturesque mills, the rich 
 vineyards, the glowing oranges, the great swelling 
 bunches of grapes ! He was half wild with enthu- 
 siasm, and seemed to have no annoyance, except 
 the fact that he could not speak modern languages. 
 " I ought not," said he, " to complain of the college- 
 education for which we toiled so hard, and which 
 has certainly opened for me the closed gateway of 
 a far nobler life than I could probably have entered 
 by any other means. But after all, dear Esther, 
 
THE BROTHER AND SISTER. 197 
 
 milch, of my time and money was spent for wliat I 
 cannot bring into use, and shall therefore soon for 
 get. Even my Latin was not taught me in a way 
 that^nables me to talk freely with the learned for- 
 eigners I meet. By the light of my present expe- 
 rience, I can certainly devise a better plan of edu- 
 cation for my son, if I ever have one. Meanwhile, 
 dear sister, do not work too hard ; and pray study 
 French and Spanish with all diligence ; for laugh 
 as thou wilt at my 'castles in Spain,' I will surely 
 come and bring thee here. Think of the golden 
 oranges and great luscious grapes, which thou wilt 
 never see in their beauty, till thou seest them here ! 
 Think of seeing the Alhambra, with its golden lat- 
 tice-work, and flowery arabesques ! Above all, im- 
 agine thyself seated under a fig-tree, leaning on the 
 bosom of thy ever-loving brother !" 
 
 Poor Esther ! This description of a genial cli- 
 mate made her sigh ; for while she read it, the 
 cold East winds of 'New England were cutting her 
 wounded lungs like dagger-points. But when she 
 answered the precious letter, she made no allusion 
 to this. She wrote playfull}^, concerning the health 
 of the cows and the hens ; asked him to inform her 
 what was cackle in Spanish, for she reverenced the 
 word, and would fain know it in all languages. 
 Finally, she assured him, that she was studying 
 busily, to make herself ready to reside in the grand 
 castle he was building. The tears came to her eyes, 
 as she folded the letter, but she turned hastily aside, 
 17* 
 
198 THE BEOTHEE AND SISTEE. 
 
 that tliey miglit not drop on tlie paper. Never in 
 her life had she been wiUing to let her shadow cross 
 his sunshine. 
 
 It was the last letter she ever wrote. She had 
 sought to crown her brother with laurels on earth, 
 and his ministering angel crowned her with gar- 
 lands in heaven. 
 
 4f -x- * * * * -x- 
 
 Three years afterwards, John stood by her hum- 
 ble grave in his native village. The tears flowed 
 fast, as he thought to himself, " And I once blushed 
 for thee, thou great and noble soul, because thou 
 wert clothed in a vulgar dress! Ah, mean, im- 
 grateful wTetch, that I was 1 And how stinted was 
 thy life, thou poor one ! — A slow grinding martyr- 
 dom from beginning to end." 
 
 He remembered the wish she had so meekly ex- 
 pressed, that women might have a more liberal 
 education, and a wider scope for their faculties. 
 " For thy sake, thou dear one," said he, " I will be 
 the friend and brother of all women. To their im- 
 provement and elevation will I consecrate my tal- 
 ent and my education. This is the monument I 
 will build to thee ; and I believe thy gentle spirit 
 will bless me for it in heaven." 
 
 He soon after married a young woman, v/hose 
 character and early history strongly resembled his 
 beloved sister's. Aided by her, he devoted all his 
 energies to the establishment of a ISTormal School 
 for Young Women. Mind after mind unfolds un- 
 
THE BEOTHER AND SISTEE. 199 
 
 der his brotlierly care, and goes forth to aid in the 
 redemption of woman, and the slow harmonizing 
 of our social discords. 
 
 Well might .iccle brown feather-top cackle aloud; 
 for verilj her mission was a great one. 
 
200 THE STKEAM OF LIFE. 
 
 THE STREAM OF LIFE 
 
 In morning hours, 
 
 Full of flowers, 
 
 Our swift boats glide 
 
 O'er life's bright tide ; 
 And every time the oars we raise 
 The falling drops like diamonds blaze. 
 
 From earth and sky 
 
 Comes melody ; 
 
 And ev'ry voice 
 
 Singeth, " Rejoice !" 
 While echoes all around prolong 
 The cadence of that wondrous song. 
 
 Above each boat 
 
 Bright fairies float, 
 
 Mounting on air 
 
 To castles there. 
 The earth is full of glorious things 
 All tinged with light from rainbow wings. 
 
 Dear Friendship's smile. 
 
 And Love's sweet wile, 
 
 Make Life all bright 
 
 With genial light, 
 And seem to shine with steady ray. 
 That ne'er can change, or fade away. 
 
THE STEEAM OF LIFE. 201 
 
 ******* 
 
 More slowly glides life's eve^iing boat, 
 And withered flowers around it float. 
 The drops fall dark from weary oars, 
 And dismal fogs shroud all the shores. 
 
 Like widowed bird that mourns alone, 
 Sings Music, in her minor tone, 
 Of flowers that blossom but to die ; 
 And echoes answer plaintively. 
 
 Bright fairies change to limping hags ; 
 Their rainbow wings to dingy rags. 
 Dark heavy clouds sail through the air, 
 Where golden castles shone so fair. 
 
 Strong hearts grow faint, and young ones old ; 
 Friendships decline, and Love is cold. 
 Dim twilight changes morn's ideal 
 To fiick'ring shadows, all unreal. 
 
 But joy remains, if we have thrown 
 Fresh flowers to boats around our own. 
 Though currents part us far and wide. 
 Sweet perfumes live from flowers that died. 
 
 Or if our blossoms formed good seeds, 
 Such as the growing future needs. 
 Those little germs perchance may yield 
 Rich waving crops in Time's ripe fields. 
 
202 THE STREAM OF LIFE. 
 
 Though dark the tide we're drifting o'er, 
 It brings us near that brighter shore, 
 Where longing souls at length will know 
 The use of this world's changing show. 
 
 Meanwhile, though sunlight has gone down, 
 Life's ev'ning wears a starry crown. 
 Where weary ones, who look above. 
 May read the letters, " God is love." 
 
THE 
 
 MAN THAT KILLED HIS NEIGHBOUES. 
 
 THE PRINCIPAL INCIDENTS OF THIS STORY ARE FACTS. 
 
 Send thou abroad a love for all who live, 
 
 And feel the deep content in turn they give. 
 
 Kind wishes and good deeds — they make not poor ; 
 
 They'll home again, full laden to thy door. 
 
 The streams of love flow back where they begin ; 
 
 For springs of outward joys lie deep within. 
 
 E. W. Dana. 
 
 It is curious to observe how a man's spiritual 
 state reflects itself in the people and animals around 
 him ; nay, in the very garments, trees and stones. 
 
 Eeuben Black was an infestation in the neigh- 
 bourhood where he resided. The very sight of 
 him produced effects similar to the Hindoo magical 
 tune, called Eaug, which is said to bring on clouds, 
 storms, and earthquakes. His wife seemed lean, 
 sharp, and uncomfortable. The heads of his bovs 
 had a bristling aspect, as if each individual hair 
 stood on ei^P^ith perpetual fear. The cows poked 
 out their horns horizontally, as soon as he opened 
 the barn-yard gate. The dog dropped his tail be- 
 tween his legs, and eyed him askance, to see what 
 
^4 THE MAN THAT KILLED 
 
 humour he was in. The cat looked wild and 
 scraggy, and had been known to rush straight up 
 the chimney when he moved toward her. Fanny 
 Kemble's expressive description of the Pennsyl- 
 vanian stage-horses was exactly suited to Reuben's 
 poor old nag. " His hide resembled an old hair- 
 trunk." Continual whipping and kicking had made 
 him such a stoic, that no amount of blows could 
 quicken his pace, and no chirruping could change 
 the dejected drooping of his head. All his natural 
 language said, as plainly as a horse could say it, that 
 he was a most unhappy beast. Even the trees on 
 Reuben^s premises had a gnarled and knotted ap- 
 pearance. The bark wept httle sickly tears of gum, 
 and the branches grew awry, as if they felt the con- 
 tinual discord, and made sorry faces at each other, 
 behind their owner's back. His fields were red 
 with sorrel, or run over with mullein. Every thing 
 seemed as hard and arid as his own visage. Every 
 day, he cursed the town and the neighbourhood, 
 because they poisoned his dogs, and stoned his 
 hens, and shot his cats. Continual law-suits in- 
 volved him in so much expense, that he had neither 
 time nor money to spend on the improvement of 
 his farm. 
 
 Against Joe Smith, a poor labourer in the neigh- 
 bourhood, he had brought three suits in succession. 
 Joe said he had returned a spade he borrowed, and 
 Reuben swore he had not. He sued Joe, and re- 
 covered damages, for which he ordered the sheriff 
 
HIS NEIGHBOUES. 205 
 
 to seize Ins pig. Joe, in his wrath, called him an 
 old swindler, and a curse to the neighbourhood. 
 These remarks were soon repeated to Eenben. 
 He brought an action for slander, and recovered 
 twenty-five cents. Provoked at the laugh this oc- 
 casioned, he watched for Joe to pass by, and set 
 his big dog "upon him, screaming fnrionsly, " Call 
 me an old swindler again, will you ?" An evil 
 spirit is more contagious than the plague. Joe 
 went home and scolded his wife, and boxed little 
 Joe's ears, and kicked the cat ; and not one of them 
 knew what it was all for. A fortnight after, Reu- 
 ben's big dog was found dead by poison. Where- 
 upon he brought another action against Joe Smith, 
 and not being able to prove him guilty of the 
 charge of dog-murder, he took his revenge by pois- 
 oning a pet lamb, belonging to Mrs. Smith. Thus 
 the bad game went on, with mutual worriment and 
 loss. Joe's temper grew more" and more vindictive, 
 and the love of talking over his troubles at the grog- 
 shop increased upon him. Poor Mrs. Smith cried, 
 and said it was all owing to Reuben Black ; for a 
 better-hearted man never lived than her Joe, when 
 she first married him. 
 
 Such was the state of things when Simeon Green 
 purchased the farm adjoining Reuben's. The es- 
 tate had been much neglected, and had caught 
 thistles and mullein from the neighbouring fields. 
 But Simeon was a diligent man, blessed by nature 
 with a healthy organization and a genial tempera- 
 18 
 
206 THE MAN THAT KILLED 
 
 ment ; and a wise and kind education had aided 
 nature in tlie perfection of lier goodly work. His 
 provident industry soon changed the aspect of 
 things on the farm. Eiver-mud, autumn leaves, 
 old shoes, and old bones, were all put in requi- 
 sition to assist in the production of use and beauty. 
 The trees, with branches pruned, and bark scraped 
 free from moss and insects, soon looked clean and 
 vigorous. Fields of grain waved where weeds had 
 rioted. Persian lilacs bowed gracefully over the 
 simple gateway. Michigan roses covered half the 
 house with their abundant clusters. Even the 
 rough rock which formed the door-step, was edged 
 with golden moss. The sleek horse, feeding in 
 clover, tossed his mane and neighed when his mas- 
 ter came near ; as much as to say " The world is 
 all the pleasanter for having you in it, Simeon 
 Green !" The old cow, fondling her calf under 
 the great walnut tree, walked up to him with se- 
 rious friendly face, asking for the slice of sugar- 
 beet he was wont to give her. Chanticleer, strut- 
 ting about, with his troop of plump hens and 
 downy little chickens, took no trouble to keep 
 out of his way, but flapped his glossy wings, and 
 crowed a welcome in his very face. When Simeon 
 turned his steps homeward, the boys threw up their 
 caps and ran out shouting, " Father's coming !" and 
 little Mary went toddling up to him, with a dande- 
 lion blossom to place in his button-hole. His wife 
 was a woman of few words, but she sometimes said 
 
HIS NEIGHBOURS. 207 
 
 to her neigtibours, witli a quiet kind of satisfaction, 
 "Everybody loves my husband that knows him. 
 They can't help it." 
 
 Simeon Green's acquaintance knew that he was 
 never engaged in a law-suit in his life ; but they 
 predicted that he would find it impossible to avoid 
 it now. They told him his next neighbour was' 
 determined to quarrel with, people, whether they 
 woula or not ; that he was like John Liburne, 
 of whom Judge Jenkins said, "If the world was 
 emptied of every person but himself, Liburne 
 would still quarrel with John, and John with 
 Liburne." 
 
 " Is that his character ?" said Simeon, in his smil- 
 ing way. . "If he exercises it upon me^ I will soon 
 kill him." 
 
 In every neighbourhood there are individuals 
 who like to foment disputes, not from any definite 
 intention of malice or mischief, but merely because 
 it makes a little ripple of excitement in the dull 
 stream of life, like a contest between dogs or 
 game-cocks. Such people were not slow in repeat- 
 ing Simeon Green's remark about his wrangling 
 neighbour. "Kill me! will he?" exclaimed Keu. 
 ben. He said no more ; but his tightly compressed 
 mouth had such a significant expression, that his 
 dog dodged him, as he would the track of a tiger. 
 That very night, Keuben turned his horse into the 
 highway, in hopes he would commit some depre- 
 dations on neighbour Green's premises. But Joe 
 
208 THE MAN THAT KILLED 
 
 Smitli, seeing 'the animal at large, let down the 
 bars of Eeuben's own corn-field, and the poor 
 beast walked in, and feasted as he had not done 
 for many a year. It would have been a great 
 satisfaction to Keuben if he could have brought a 
 lawsuit against his horse; but as it was, he was 
 obli«:ed to content himself with beatinsr him. His 
 next exploit was to shoot Mary Green's handsome 
 chanticleer, because he stood on the stone wall 
 and crowed, in the ignorant joy of his heart, two 
 inches beyond the frontier line that bounded the 
 contiguous farms. Simeon said he was sorry for 
 the poor bird, and sorry because his wife and 
 children liked the pretty creature ; but otherwise 
 it was no great matter. He had been intending 
 to build a poultry yard, with a good high fence, 
 that his hens might not annoy his neighbours ; and 
 now he was admonished to make haste and do it. 
 He would build them a snug< warm house to 
 roost in ; they should have plenty of gravel and 
 oats, and room to promenade back and forth, and 
 crow and cackle to their heart's content ; there they 
 could enjoy themselves, and be out of harm's way. 
 But Eeuben Black had a degree of ingenuity 
 and perseverance, which might have produced 
 great results for mankind, had those qualities been 
 devoted to some more noble purpose than pi'ovok- 
 ing quarrels. A pear tree in his garden very 
 improperly stretched over a friendly arm into 
 Simeon Green's premises. Whether the sunny 
 
HIS NEIGHBOUKS. 209 
 
 state of things there had a cheering effect on the 
 tree I know not ; but it happened that this over- 
 hanging bough bore more abundant fruit, and 
 glowed with a richer hue, than the other boughs. 
 One day, little George Green, as he went whistling 
 along, picked up a pear that had fallen into his 
 father's garden. The instant he touched it, he felt 
 something on the back of his neck, like the sting 
 of a wasp. It was Keuben Black's whip, followed 
 by such a storm of angry words, that the poor 
 child rushed into the house in an agony of terror. 
 But this experiment failed also. The boy was 
 soothed by his mother, and told not to go near the 
 pear tree again ; and there the matter ended. 
 
 This imperturbable good nature vexed Reuben 
 more than all the tricks and taunts he met from 
 others. Evil efforts he could understand, and 
 repay with compound interest ; but he did not know 
 what to make of this perpetual forbearance. It 
 seemed to him there must be something contemp- 
 tuous in it. He disliked Simeon Green more 
 than all the rest of the town put together, because 
 he made him feel so uncomfortably in the wrong, 
 and did not afford him the slightest pretext for 
 complaint. It was annoying to see every thing in 
 his neighbour's domains looking so happy, and pre- 
 senting such a bright contrast to the forlornness of 
 his own. When their wagons passed each other 
 on the road, it seemed as if Simeon's horse tossed 
 his head higher, and flung out his mane, as if he 
 18* o 
 
210 THE MAN" THAT KILLED 
 
 knew lie was going by Eeuben Black's old nag. 
 He often said lie supposed Green covered liis 
 house with roses and honeysuckles on purpose to 
 shame his bare walls. But he didn't care — not 
 he ! He wasn't going to be fool enough to rot his 
 boards with such stuff. But no one resented his 
 disparaging remarks, or sought to provoke him in 
 any way. The roses smiled, the horse neighed, 
 and the calf capered ; but none of them had the 
 least idea they were insulting Reuben Black. 
 Even the dog had no malice in his heart, though 
 he did one night chase home his geese, and bark 
 at them through the bars. Eeuben told his mas- 
 ter, the next day; he swore he would bring an 
 action against him, if he didn't keep that dog at 
 home ; and Simeon answered very quietly that he 
 would try to take better care of him. For several 
 days a strict watch was kept, in hopes Towzer 
 would worry the geese again ; but they paced 
 home undisturbed, and not a solitary bow-wow 
 furnished excuse for a law-suit. 
 
 The new neighbours not only declined quarrel- 
 ling, but they occasionally made positive advances 
 towards a friendly relation. Simeon's wife sent 
 Mrs. Black a large basket full of very fine cherries. 
 Pleased with the unexpected attention, she cor- 
 dially replied, "Tell your mother it was very 
 kind of her, and I am very much obliged to her." 
 Reuben, who sat smoking in the chimney-corner, 
 listened to this message once without any manifes- 
 
HIS NEIGHBOUES. 211 
 
 tation of impatience, except whiffing the smoke 
 tlirougii bis pipe a little faster and fiercer than 
 usual. But when the boy was going out of the 
 door, and the friendly words were again repeated, 
 he exclaimed, "Don't make a fool of yourself, 
 Peg. They want to give us a hint to send a 
 basket of our pears ; that's the upshot of the busi- 
 ness. You may send 'em a basket, when they 
 are ripe ; for I scorn to be under obhgation, espe- 
 cially to your smooth-tongued folks." Poor Peggy, 
 whose arid life had been for the moment refreshed 
 with a little dew of kindness, admitted distrust 
 into her bosom, and the halo that radiated round 
 the ripe glowing cherries departed. 
 
 ISTot long after this advance towards good neigh- 
 bourhood, some labourers employed by Simeon 
 Green, passing over a bit of marshy ground, with a 
 heavy team, stuck fast in a bog occasioned by 
 long continued rain. The poor oxen were entirely 
 unable to extricate themselves, and Simeon ven- 
 tured to ask assistance from his waspish neighbour, 
 who was working at a short distance. Eeuben 
 replied gruffly, "I've got enough to do to attend to 
 my own business." The- civil request that he 
 might be allowed to use his oxen and chains for a 
 few moments being answered in the same surly 
 tone, Simeon silently walked off, in search of a 
 more obliging neighbour. 
 
 The men, who were left waiting with the pa- 
 tient, suffering oxen, scolded about Keubcn's ill- 
 
212 THE MAN THAT KILLED 
 
 nature, and said they hoped he would get stuck in 
 the same bog himself. Their employer rejoined, 
 "If he does, we will do our duty, and help him 
 out." 
 
 " There is such a thing as being too good-natured," 
 said they. " If Beuben Black takes the notion that 
 people are afraid of him, it makes him trample on 
 them worse than ever." 
 
 " Oh, wait a while," replied Mr. Green, smiling, 
 "I will kill him before long. Wait and see if I 
 don't kill him." 
 
 It chanced, soon after, that Reuben's team did 
 stick fast in the same bog, as the workmen had 
 wished. Simeon observed it, from a neighbouring 
 field, and gave directions that the oxen and chains 
 should be immediately conveyed to his assistance. 
 The men laughed, shook their heads, and said it was 
 good enough for the old hornet. They, however, 
 cheerfully proceeded to do as their employer had 
 requested. "You are in a bad situation, neigh, 
 bour," said Simeon, as he came alongside of the 
 foundered team. " But my men are coming with 
 two yoke of oxen, and I think we shall soon 
 manage to help you out." 
 
 " You may take your oxen back again," replied 
 Reuben; "I don't want any of your help." 
 
 In a very friendly tone Simeon answered, " I can- 
 not consent to do that ; for evening is coming on, 
 and you have very little time to lose. It is a bad*^ 
 job any time, but it will be still worse in the dark." 
 
HIS NEIGHBOURS. 213 
 
 " Light or dark, I don't ask your kelp," repked 
 Eeuben, empkaticakj. " I would'nt kelp you out 
 of tke bog, the otker day, wken you asked me." 
 - '■'■ Tjie trouble I kad in relieving my poor oxen 
 teackes me to sympatkize witk otkers in tke same 
 situation," answered Simeon. "Don't let us waste 
 words about it, neigkbour. It is impossible for 
 me to go kome and leave you kere in tke bog, and 
 nigkt coming on." 
 
 Tke team was soon drawn out, and Simeon and 
 his men went away, witkout waiting for tkanks. 
 Wken Reuben went kome tkat nigkt, ke was 
 unusually silent and tkougktful. After smoking 
 a wkile, in deep contemplation, ke gently knocked 
 tke askes from kis pipe, and said, witk a sigk, 
 " Peg, Simeon Green has killed me !" 
 
 "Wkat do you mean?" said kis wife, dropping 
 ker knitting witk a look of surprise. 
 
 *' You know wken ke first came into tkis neigk- 
 bourkood, ke said ke'd, kill me," replied Reuben ; 
 " and ke kas done it. Tke otker day, ke asked me 
 to kelp draw kis team out of tke bog, and I told kim 
 I kad enougk to do to attend to my own business. 
 To-day, my team stuck fast in tke same bog, and 
 ke came witk two yoke of oxen to draw it out. 
 I felt sort of askamed to kave him lend me a kand, 
 so I told kim I didn't want any of kis kelp ; but ke 
 answered, just as pleasant as if notking contrary 
 kad ever kappened, tkat nigkt was coming on, and 
 ke was not willing to leave me tkere in tke mud." 
 
214 THE MAN THAT KILLED 
 
 * " It was very good of him," replied Peggy. '* He 
 is a pleasant-spoken man, and always lias a pretty 
 word to say to the boys. His wife seems to be a 
 nice neighbourly body, too." 
 
 Keuben made no answer ; but after meditating a 
 while, he remarked, " Peg, you know that big ripe 
 melon down at the bottom of the garden ? you may 
 as well carry it over there, in the morning." His 
 wife said she would, without asking him to explain 
 where " over there" was. 
 
 But when the morning came, Reuben walked 
 back and forth, and round and round, with that 
 sort of aimless activity, often manifested by hens, 
 and by fashionable idlers, who feel restless, and 
 don't know what to run after. At length, the 
 cause of his uncertain movements was explained, 
 by his saying, in the form of a question, " I guess 
 I may as well carry the melon myself, and thank 
 him for his oxen? In my flurry down there in 
 the marsh, I did'nt think to say I was obliged to 
 him." 
 
 He marched off toward the garden, and his wife 
 stood at the door, with one hand on her hip, and 
 the other shading the sun from her eyes, to see if 
 he really would carry the melon into Simeon 
 Green's house. It was the most remarkable inci- 
 dent that had happened since her marriage. She 
 could hardly believe her own eyes. He walked 
 quick, as if afraid he should not be able to carry 
 the unusual impulse into action if he stopped to 
 
HIS NEIGHBOURS. 215 
 
 reconsider the question. When he found himself 
 in Mr. Green's house, he felt extremely awkward^ 
 and hastened to say, ''Mrs. Green, here is a melon 
 my wife sent you, and we reckon it's a ripe one." 
 Without manifesting any surprise at such unex- 
 pected courtesy, the friendly matron thanked him, 
 and invited him to sit down. But he stood play- 
 ing with the latch of the door, and without raising 
 his eyes said, "May be Mr. Green ain't in, this 
 morning?" 
 
 "He is at the pump, and will be in directly," 
 she replied; and before her words were spoken, 
 the honest man walked in, with a face as fresh 
 and bright as a June morning. He stepped right 
 up to Eeuben, shook his hand cordially, and said, 
 " I am glad to see you, neighbour. Take a chair. 
 Take a chair." 
 
 " Thank you, I can't stop," replied Reuben. He 
 pushed his hat on one side, rubbed his head, looked 
 out of the window, and then said suddenly, as if 
 by a desperate effort, " The fact is, Mr. Green, I 
 didn't behave right about the oxen." 
 
 "ISTever mind, never mind," replied Mr. Green, 
 " Perhaps I shall get into the bog again, some of 
 these rainy days. If I do, I shall know whom to 
 call upon." 
 
 " Why you see," said Reuben, still very much 
 confused, and avoiding Simeon's mild clear eye, 
 " you see the neighbors about here are very ugly. 
 
216 THE MAN THAT KILLED 
 
 If I had always lived by such neighbours as you 
 are, I shouldn't be just as I am." 
 
 " Ah, well, we must try to be to others what we 
 want them to be to us," rejoined Simeon. "You 
 know the good book says so. I have learned by 
 experience that if we speak kind words, we hear 
 kind echoes. If we try to make others happy, 
 it fills them with a wish to make us happy. 
 Perhaps you and I can bring the neighbourhood 
 round, in time. Who knows? Let us try, Mr. 
 Black ! Let us try ! But come and look at my 
 orchard. I want to show you a tree, which I have 
 grafted with very choice apples. If you like I 
 will procure you some scions from the same stock." 
 
 They went into the orchard together, and 
 friendly chat soon put Eeuben at his ease. When 
 he returned home, he made no remarks about his 
 visit; for he could not, as yet, summon sufficient 
 greatness of soul to tell his wife that he had con- 
 fessed himself in the wrong. A gun stood behind 
 the kitchen door, in readiness to shoot Mr. Green's 
 dog for having barked at his horse. He now 
 fired the contents into the air, and put the gun 
 away in the barn. From that day, henceforth, he 
 never sought for any pretext to quarrel with either 
 the dog or his master. A short time after, Joe 
 Smith, to his utter astonishment, saw him pat 
 Towzer on the head, and heard him say, "Good 
 fellow I" 
 
 Simeoft Green was far too magnanimous to 
 
HIS NEIGHBOUKS. 217 
 
 repeat to any one that his quarrelsome neighbour 
 had confessed himself to blame. He merely smiled 
 as he said to his wife, " I thought we should kill 
 him, after a while." 
 
 Joe Smith did not believe in such doctrines. 
 When he heard of the adventures in the marsh, he 
 said, "Sim Green's a fool. When he first came 
 here he talked very big about killing folks, if they 
 didn't mind their Ps and Qs. But he don't appear 
 to have as much spirit as a worm ; for a worm will 
 turn when its trod upon." 
 
 Poor Joe had grown more intemperate and more 
 quarrelsome, till at last nobody would employ him. 
 About a year after the memorable incident of the 
 water-melon, some one stole several valuable hides 
 from Mr. Green. He did not mention the circum- 
 stance to any one but his wife ; and they both had 
 reasons for suspecting that Joe was the thief The 
 next week, the following anonymous advertisement 
 appeared in the newspaper of the county : 
 
 " Whoever stole a lot of hides on Friday night, 
 the 5th of the present month, is hereby informed 
 that the owner has a sincere wish to be his friend. 
 If poverty tempted him to this false step, the 
 owner will keep the whole transaction a secret, 
 and will gladly put him in the way of obtaining 
 money by means more likely to bring him peace 
 of mind."* 
 
 * This advertisement is a literal copy of one actually pub- 
 lished, and it produced the effects here related. 
 
 19 
 
218 THE MAN THAT KILLED 
 
 This singular advertisement of course excited 
 a good deal of remark. There was much debate 
 whether or not the thief would avail himself of the 
 friendly offer. Some said he would be a green- 
 horn if he did; for it was manifestly a trap to 
 catch him. But he who had committed the dis- 
 honest deed alone knew whence the benevolent 
 offer came ; and he knew that Simeon Green was 
 not a man to set traps for his fellow creatures. 
 
 A few nights afterward a timid knock was 
 heard at Simeon's door, just as the family were 
 retiring to rest. When the door was opened, Joe 
 Smith was seen on the steps, with a load of hides 
 on his shoulder. Without raising his eyes, he said 
 in a low, humble tone, " I have brought these back, 
 Mr. Green. Where shall I put them ?" 
 
 "Wait a moment, till I can get a lantern, and 
 I will go to the barn with yon," he replied. " Then 
 you will come in, and tell me how it happened. 
 We will see what can be done for you." 
 
 Mrs. Green knew that Joe often went hungry, 
 and had become accustomed to the stimulus of 
 rum. She therefore hastened to make hot coffee, 
 and brought from the closet some cold meat and a 
 pie. 
 
 When they returned from the barn, she said, '' I 
 thought you might feel the better for a little warm 
 supper, neighbour Smith." Joe turned his back 
 toward her, and did not speak. He leaned his 
 head against the chimney, and after a moment's 
 
HIS NEIGHBOURS. 219 
 
 silence, lie said in a choired voice, " It was tlie 
 first time I ever stole any thing ; and I have felt 
 very bad about it. I don't know how it is. I 
 didn't think once I should ever come to be what 
 I am. But I took to quarrelling, and then to 
 drinking. Since I began to go down hill, every- 
 body gives me a kick. You are the first man 
 that has ofiered me a helping hand. My wife is 
 feeble, and my children starving. You have sent 
 them many a meal, God bless you ! and yet I stole 
 the hides from you, meaning to sell them the first 
 chance I could get. But I tell you the truth, Mr. 
 Green, it is the first time I ever deserved the name 
 of thief" 
 
 "Let it be the last, my friend," said Simeon, 
 pressing his hand kindly. " The secret shall re- 
 main between ourselves. You are young, and 
 can make up for lost time. Come, now, give me 
 a promise that you will not drink one drop of 
 intoxicating liquor for a year, and I will employ 
 you to-morrow, at good wages. Mary will go to 
 see your family early in the morning, and perhaps 
 we may find some employment for them also. 
 The little boy can at least pick up stones. But 
 eat a bit now, and drink some hot coffee. It will 
 keep you from wanting to drink any thing stronger 
 to-night. You will find it hard to abstain, at first, 
 Joseph ; but keep up a brave heart, for the sake 
 of your wife and children, and it will soon be- 
 
220 THE MAN THAT KILLED, ETC. 
 
 come easy. When you feel the need of coffee, tell 
 my Mary, and she will always give it to yon." 
 
 Joe tried to eat and drink, but the food seemed 
 to choke him. He was nervous and excited. After 
 an ineffectual effort to compose himself, he laid his 
 head on the table and wept like a child. 
 
 After a while, Simeon persuaded him to bathe 
 his head in cold water, and he ate and drank with 
 a good appetite. When he went away, the kind- 
 hearted host said, " Try to do well, Joseph, and 
 you shall always find a friend in me." 
 
 The poor fellow pressed his hand and replied, — 
 " I understand now how it is you kill bad neigh- 
 bours." 
 
 He entered in Mr. Green's service the next day, 
 and remained in it many years, an honest and faith- 
 ful man. 
 
INTELLIGENCE OP ANIMALS. 
 
 " The whole subject of the brute creation is to me one of such 
 painful mystery, that I dare not approach it." — Dr. Arnold. 
 
 " If we deny them soul, we must admit that they have some 
 spirit direct from God, what we call unerring instinct, which 
 holds the place of it." — Sir Isaac Newton. 
 
 Any reflecting person who has lived much in 
 
 the country, and been observant of animals, must 
 have had thoughts similar to those expressed in the 
 above mottoes. Even the smallest and most com- 
 mon animals sometimes give indications of thought, 
 feeling, and memory, almost as remarkable as those 
 related of the " half-reasoning elephant." If we 
 could penetrate into the mysteries of their domes- 
 tic arrangements, and learn of the humming-bird 
 why she makes her little thimble of a nest so ex- 
 actly the color of the tree on which it is placed, 
 and of the mason -bee why he makes his small mor- 
 tared cell to resemble so closely the stones of the 
 wall where he inserts it, we should probably be 
 still more puzzled to define the boundary between 
 instinct and reason. 
 
 Several times in my life my attention has been 
 arrested, and my mind excited to activity, by sin- 
 gular manifestations of intelligence in animals that 
 19* 
 
222 INTELLIGENCE OF ANIMALS. 
 
 came under my observation. A few summers ago, 
 wtien I was living at an old farm-house in New 
 York, I clianced to go into the garret late in the 
 afternoon. The sun was setting in a blaze of 
 glory, and I knelt at the western window, looking 
 out long and lovingly upon the broad expanse of 
 field and meadow, on which he was throwing a 
 shower of gold as he passed away. After a while, 
 my attention was diverted from this beautiful scene 
 by the motions of a wasp, that emerged from a 
 crevice in the old window, and began to nibble off 
 thin, soft slivers of the decaying wood, to be used 
 in constructing her nest. I bent very near to her, 
 trying to ascertain by what process she cut up the 
 materials so dexterously. Suddenly, she stopped 
 working, drew back a little, and appeared to watch 
 me as closely as I watched her. At first, I thought 
 this was a delusion of my imagination ; for I sup- 
 posed her eyes were too small to see me. So 
 I continued gazing at her, waiting to observe what 
 she would do. She remained motionless, in an at- 
 titude that expressed surprise and consternation as 
 plainly as an insect could express them. Presently, 
 another wasp came up from the same crevice, and 
 began to nibble at the rotten wood. The first 
 wasp immediately put out one of her antennae, and 
 pulled the antenna of her neighbour, as I would 
 jog the elbow of a companion, if I wished to call 
 her attention to something extraordinary. The 
 second wasp drew back instantly, in the same atti- 
 
INTELLIGENCE OF ANIMALS. 223 
 
 tude, and, without stirring, appeared to gaze at 
 me fixedly. A third wasp came. One of her an- 
 tennae was cautiously pulled by the second comer ; 
 and she did precisely as they had done. It may 
 seem absurd to say I was troubled by the fixed 
 stare of three wasps ; but there was something so 
 human about their proceedings, that I was troubled, 
 I was in the presence of a mystery. I asked my- 
 self, What am I to them? Do I appear like a 
 vision of some superior being from another world ? 
 From this thought, I came down to the recollec- 
 tion that the sun was gleaming brightly on my 
 eyes, and that, perhaps, their attention had been 
 arrested merely by two great orbs of glittering 
 light. What were they thinking of? Would they 
 finally conclude to attack my eyes ? I turned 
 away suddenly, deeming it imprudent to stay any 
 longer to ascertain that point. I was so much 
 impressed by this little incident, that I frequently 
 related it to my friends; and for years after- 
 ward, I frequently found myself conjecturing what 
 those wasps thought of the apparition by which 
 they were so obviously startled. 
 
 At the same farm-house there were two cats. 
 Tom, who was old, heavy, and cross ; and Mouser, 
 who was remarkably active and nimble. Her 
 hunting qualities were famous throughout the 
 neighbourhood. She kept the premises clear of 
 rats and mice, and visited all the barns and fields 
 in the vicinity for the same purpose. While I was 
 
224 INTELLIGENCE OF ANIMALS. 
 
 there, she had three kittens, which seemed to be 
 the especial objects of Tom's ill nature. When 
 they began to open their eyes and stagger about, 
 they sometimes stumbled over him; for which 
 they were sure to receive a smart box on the ear. 
 More than once, I saw his heavy paw knock the 
 little blundering things topsy-turvy when they 
 came near him. He even kept up a threatening 
 growl if they seemed to be approaching from a 
 distance. Things were in this state, when Mouser 
 came into the kitchen one day, writhing and moan- 
 ing, and giving every indication of great pain. 
 Her body soon began to swell, and her manifesta- 
 tions of suffering grew more and more violent. 
 The family were remarkably kind to animals, and 
 Mouser was such a valuable creature, that they 
 were very desirous to save her life. They knew 
 not whether she had been poisoned, or kicked by 
 the horse, during her frequent visits to the barn ; 
 and of course, they were doubtful what remedies 
 to apply. They put her in a warm bath, and tried 
 to pour catnip tea down her throat ; but their ef- 
 forts were unavailing. In an hour or two, poor 
 pussy was dead. 
 
 While she was in this agonizing extremity, Tom 
 seemed to rouse from his usual state of drowsy 
 indifference. He lay with his head between his 
 paws, watching her earnestly for awhile ; then he 
 rose up and walked round her, evidently much 
 disquieted. When he saw her lying stiff and cold 
 
INTELLIGENCE OF ANIMALS. 225 
 
 on the floor, lie made no whining noise ; but his 
 proceedings seemed to indicate that he knew what 
 had happened. The kittens were nestled together 
 on the platform of the old Dutch "stoop." He 
 went out to them, and began to lick their fur in 
 the most affectionate manner. After that, he was 
 never seen to knock them about, and never heard 
 to growl at them. Their own mother could not 
 have treated them with more tenderness, or sub- 
 mitted to their gambols with more patience. Ap- 
 parently, they mistook the gruff old fellow for their 
 mother ; for they went to him for nourishment, and 
 he made no resistance. Again and again, I saw 
 him stretched on the floor of the " stoop," while 
 the kittens appeared to be sucking with all dili- 
 gence, moving their little paws, as if satisfied and 
 happy. This circumstance, of course, excited sur- 
 prise in the family. One asked another whether 
 it was possible that they obtained milk, or whether 
 they drew blood for their sustenance. Tom never 
 gave any indications of suffering inconvenience 
 from this singular imitation of the maternal of&ce. 
 He must have nourished them in some way ; for 
 they did not learn to lap milk for several days ; 
 yet they lived, and seemed comfortable and thriv- 
 ing. After Tom took upon himself the care of 
 the orphans, he seemed to become really fond of 
 them, and to enjoy the frolics that had formerly 
 made him so angry. The voluntary exercise of 
 benevolence improved his temper wonderfully for 
 
226 INTELLIGENCE OF ANIMALS. 
 
 tlie time being, and evidently made him a much 
 happier cat. 
 
 An intimate friend has often mentioned to me 
 incidents that occurred on his farm, illustrative of 
 brute sagacity. He owned a noble great ox, un- 
 commonly strong, docile, and intelligent. One 
 day, when he and another ox were ploughing 
 swampy land, they sank very deep into a quag- 
 mire. Having made vigorous exertions to extri- 
 cate himself, and finding the utmost exertion of his 
 strength was ineffectual, he quietly waited for hu- 
 man aid. But his companion had an impatient 
 and irritable disposition, to which the lessons of ex- 
 perience could teach no wisdom. He continued to 
 struggle violently, at intervals, and every motion 
 wrenched the neck of his suffering yoke-fellow. 
 The gentle creature bore it patiently for a while ; 
 but at last it became insupportable. His owner 
 was standing completely behind him, leaning on the 
 plough, until more help could be brought to draw 
 them out of the " slough of despond," into which 
 they had fallen. The much-enduring animal turn- 
 ed his long neck slowly round, and fixed his large 
 patient eyes upon the man, with such an earnest, 
 imploring gaze, so human in its expression, that it 
 could never be forgotten. It said, as plainly as a 
 look could say it, "Can you not contrive some way 
 to relieve me from this tormenting companion?" 
 His owner understood the silent appeal, and imme- 
 diately divorced the unhappy couple, by removing 
 
INTELLIGENCE OF ANIMALS. 227 
 
 the yoke from the restless one ; tlins leaving liim 
 free to waste liis own strength, without injuring his 
 more philosophic companion. This happened fif- 
 teen years ago ; but I was reminded of it yester- 
 day, by hearing my friend utter his often-repeated 
 exclamation : "If I live to be a hundred years old, 
 I shall never forget how that ox looked at me." 
 
 The same person often speaks of the sagacity 
 manifested by another ox on his farm. It was late 
 in the evening, and all the animals were safely 
 lodged in the barn, when his attention was arrested 
 by loud knocks in that direction. They continued 
 to be repeated, at intervals of ten or fifteen min- 
 utes, for an hour or more ; and the idea that some 
 vagrant might be in the barn doing mischief, at 
 last induced him to go out with a lantern to ex- 
 amine the premises. Finding nothing unusual, he 
 gave up the search and retired to rest. But the 
 heavy, measured sound continued, and excited cu- 
 riosity to such a degree, that it was impossible to 
 sleep. Another examination of the barn was made 
 with the same result as before; but this time, 
 my friend ensconced himself in a corner, and 
 waited for a recurrence of the mysterious noise. 
 In a few minutes, he saw an ox raise one of his 
 hind hoofs, and strike the floor heavily three times. 
 Supposing the animal must have some cause for 
 dissatisfaction, he examined his stable, and found 
 that the man had forgotten to furnish the usual 
 supply of fresh straw for him to lie down upon. 
 
228 INTELLIGENCE OF ANIMALS. 
 
 His demand for clean sheets was complied with, 
 and no more knockinsfs were heard from him. 
 
 Another agricultural friend owned a colt endow- 
 ed with uncommon beauty and intelligence. He 
 was about a year and a half old when he first saw 
 a string of bells suspended round his mother's neck 
 when she was harnessed for a drive. The novel 
 sound immediately arrested his attention, and 
 seemed to enliven him greatly. He stood with up- 
 lifted ears, watching and listening, till the sleigh 
 had passed out of sight and hearing ; then, giviug 
 a snort and a rear, he capered round the barn-yard, 
 in a state of unusual excitement. When the mare 
 returned, the sound of the bells attracted him from 
 afar, and he appeared to observe them closely wlien 
 they were taken off and laid in the sleigh with the 
 harness. As soon as the man had left them, the 
 playful creature seized them between his teeth and 
 trotted up and down the road, shaking them with 
 prodigious satisfaction. This manner of playing 
 old horse was evidently as entertaining to him, as 
 it is to a boy to imitate the trainers with his feath- 
 ered cap and drum. 
 
 The natural dispositions of animals differ, as do 
 those of mankind; but the intelligence and docility 
 of brutes, as well as of human beings, is wonder- 
 fully increased when they are judiciously reared, 
 and treated with habitual kindness. It is not easy 
 to tell how far the superiority of Arabian horses 
 may be attributed to the affectionate companion- 
 
INTELLIGENCE OF ANIMALS. 229 
 
 ship that exists between tliem and their masters. 
 The whip is a detestable instrument. The evil it 
 produces is immensely disproportioned to the tem- 
 porary convenience it promotes. It compels sub- 
 mission for the time being ; but it stupefies the in- 
 tellect, and infuses malignity into the disposition, 
 whether tried on children, slaves, or animals. The 
 common practice of whipping a horse, to cure him 
 of being frightened by some particular object, usu- 
 ally has the effect of giving him two causes of fear, 
 instead of one. I remember reading of a much 
 more judicious method, in Mrs. Hamilton's Essays 
 on Education, published in England about thirty 
 years ago. A horse of an excellent disposition 
 had been frightened by a drum, when he was a 
 colt, and nothing could overcome his excessive ter- 
 ror of that instrument. The whippings he re- 
 ceived, when he reared and plunged at the sound, 
 rendered his associations with it so exceedingly 
 painful, that his whole nervous system was excited 
 to violent agitation, the instant he heard it ap- 
 proaching. He was finally purchased by a gentle- 
 man, who believed more in the ef&cacy of kind- 
 ness, than he did in coercion. He kept him with- 
 out food till he was hungry, and then spread oats 
 on a drum-head. As soon as he began to eat, the 
 groom began to drum. The frightened animal ran 
 away, and could not be lured back again by the 
 tempting display of provender. He was deprived 
 of food for a still longer time, and the experiment 
 20 
 
230 INTELLIGENCE OF ANIMALS. 
 
 was again tried with similar result. But tlie third 
 time, hunger proved stronger than fear, and he de- 
 voured his oats with the hated noise sounding loud- 
 er and louder in his ears. After being thus ration- 
 ally convinced that a drum would do him no harm, 
 he ceased to be troublesome, and voluntarily walk- 
 ed toward the sound which had become so pleas- 
 antly associated in his memory. 
 
 If men would educate animals in a sensible and 
 patient manner, and treat them with habitual gen- 
 tleness, it would produce intelligence and docility 
 apparently miraculous, and realize on earth the 
 prophecies of the millenium. 
 
PASSING THROUGH THE WOELD. 231 
 
 THE WORLD THAT I AM PASSING THROUGH. 
 
 Few, in the days of early youth, 
 Trusted like me in love and truth. 
 I've learned sad lessons from the years ; 
 But slowly, and with many tears ; 
 For God made me to kindly view 
 The world that I was passing through. 
 
 How little did I once believe 
 That friendly tones could e'er deceive ! 
 That kindness, and forbearance long, 
 Might meet ingratitude and wrong ! 
 I could not help but kindly view 
 The world that I was passing through. 
 
 And though I've learned some souls are base, 
 I would not, therefore, hate the race ; 
 I still would bless my fellow men. 
 And trust them, though deceived again, 
 God help me still to kindly view 
 The world that I am passing through ! 
 
 Through weary conflicts I have passed, 
 
 And struggled into rest at last ; 
 
 Such rest as comes when the rack has broke 
 
 A joint, or nerve, at ev'ry stroke. 
 
 But the wish survives to kindly view 
 
 The world that 1 am passing through. 
 
232 PASSING THEOUGH THE WOELD. 
 
 From all that fate has brought to me 
 
 I strive to learn humility ; 
 
 And trust in Him who rules above, 
 
 Whose universal law is love. 
 
 Thus only can I kindly view 
 
 The world that I am passing through. 
 
 When I approach the setting sun, 
 And feel my journey nearly done, 
 May earth be veiled in genial light, 
 And her last smile to me seem bright ! 
 Help me, till then, to kindly view 
 The world that I am passing through ! 
 
 And all who tempt a trusting heart 
 
 From faith and hope to drift apart. 
 
 May they themselves be spared the pain 
 
 Of losing power to trust again ! 
 
 God help us all to kindly view 
 
 The world that we are passing through ! 
 
JAN AND ZAIDA. 
 
 FOUNDED ON CIRCUMSTANCES WHICH ACTUALLY OCCURRED 
 AT GRilSIK, ISLAND OF JAVA, IN 1854. 
 
 Our life is turned 
 Out of her course, wherever man is made 
 An offering or a sacrifice ; a tool 
 Or implement ; a passive thing, employed 
 As a brute mean, without acknowledgment 
 Of common right or interest in the end ; 
 Used or abused, as selfishness may prompt. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 A NATIVE of the island of Celebes, wlio had been 
 captured by slave-traders, was sold to Mr. Philip 
 Yan der Hooft, of Surabaya, in the north-eastern 
 part of Java. A Hindoo slave was given to the 
 captive for a wife ; and she died, leaving a son two 
 years old. This child Mr. Yan der Hooft gave to 
 his sister Maria, a girl of fifteen, who had taken a 
 great fancy to him when he was a babe. She was 
 amused at the idea of receiving little Jan among 
 her birthday presents, but he pleased her, perhaps, 
 as much as any of them ; not as an article of prop- 
 erty, but as a pretty plaything. He was, in fact, a 
 child of singular beauty. His features were small, 
 20^ 
 
234 JAN AND ZAIDA. 
 
 his limbs finely formed, and his large, dark, Hindoo 
 eyes, even at that age, were tender and almost sad 
 in expression. His sense of sound was exceeding- 
 ly acute. Maria was musical ; and the moment he 
 heard her piano, or guitar, he would di^op his play- 
 things and run into the parlour. There, he would 
 creep under the table, to be out of the way, and sit 
 listening, with all his soul shining through the 
 varying expression of his countenance. Sometimes 
 he was so excited that he would quiver all over, 
 and end by clapping his hands with a loud crow 
 of delight; but more frequently he was moved to 
 tears. Being a general favourite, and the especial 
 pet of his young mistress, he was seldom ejected 
 from the parlour, when he chose to wander there. 
 When Maria was busy at her embroidery frame, if 
 she raised her eyes, she would often see his little 
 dark head peeping in, watching for her to take no- 
 tice of him; and as soon as she said, "Ah, here 
 comes my little brownie!" he would run to her 
 with a jump and a bound, and stand gazing at the 
 bright colours she was weaving into her work. If 
 she was singing or playing when he entered, she 
 would give him a nod and a smile ; and not unfre- 
 quently she seated him in her lap, and allowed him 
 to play on the piano. His fingers were too short 
 to reach an octave, but he would touch thirds con- 
 tinually ; smiling, and laughing, and wriggling all 
 over with delight. Sometimes she amused herself 
 by touching the first and seventh note of the gamut 
 
JAK AKD ZAIDA. 285 
 
 togetlier, and then lie wonlcl cringe, as if she had 
 put her finger in his eye. 
 
 He was but three years old when his mistress 
 married Lambert Yan der Yeen, and removed with 
 him to a country-seat near the neighbouring city 
 of Gresik. Little Jan did not thoroughly like that 
 gentleman, because he was often sent out of the 
 parlour when he came ; and Maria was so engrossed 
 with her lover, that she sometimes forgot to nod 
 and smile when "little brownie" peeped into the 
 room. He was very exclusive in his affections. 
 He wanted to have those he loved all to himself 
 Therefore, though the young man spoke kindly to 
 him, and often gave him sugar-plums, a shadow 
 always passed over his expressive fece, when, run- 
 ning eagerly at the sound of the piano, he looked 
 into the parlour and saw his rival there. 
 
 But after Maria was married, he became, if pos- 
 sible, more of a petted plaything than ever; for 
 her husband was engaged in commercial pursuits, 
 which often took him far from home, and their 
 house, being two miles from the city, was more 
 quiet than her father's place of residence had been. 
 She occupied many of her lonely hours in teaching 
 Jan various infantile accomplishments, and especi- 
 ally in developing his remarkable powers of imita- 
 tion. The birds greatly attracted his attention ; and 
 in. a few months he could mock them so perfectly, 
 that they mistook his voice for their own. He soon 
 did the same with the buzz and whirr of every in- 
 
236 JAN AND ZAIDA. 
 
 sect, and laughed to hear how all the little crea- 
 tures answered him. Nature had made him almost 
 as sensitive to colours, as to sounds ; and whenever 
 his mistress went into the garden, he would run 
 after her to beg for a flower. She liked the sound 
 of his little padding feet, and often smiled to watch 
 his pliant motions and graceful form, clothed only 
 with a large party-coloured bamboo hat, and a gir- 
 dle of broad fringe about his loins. "When the 
 master was at home, he was obliged to find his en- 
 tertainment more among the slaves. They gener- 
 ally liked to sing or whistle to him, and would 
 laugh merrily at his eager attempts to imitate. But 
 some, who had children of their own, envied the 
 high favour he enjoyed, and consequently bore 
 no good will toward him. They did not dare to 
 strike him, but they devised many ways of mak- 
 ing him uncomfortable. Decidedly, he liked the par- 
 lour better than the slaves' quarters. He preferred 
 it in the first place, because he was more attended 
 to there ; and in the next place, because he could 
 hear so many pleasant sounds, and see so many 
 pretty things. He liked the cool straw carpet, and 
 the pale green walls. The big china jars were an 
 object of perpetual delight. He was never weary 
 of putting his little fingers on the brilliant flowers 
 and butterflies, with which they were plentifully 
 adorned. But what excited his wonder more than 
 any thing else, was a folding screen of oriental 
 workmanship, which separated the parlour from 
 
JAN AND ZAIDA. 237 
 
 the dining-room ; for there were gilded pagodas, 
 Chinese mandarins with peacock's feathers in their 
 caps, and two birds-of-paradise, as large as life ; a 
 great deal larger, in fact, than the mandarins or the 
 pagodas. Then it was so pleasant to peep out into 
 the garden, through the vine-embowered lattice- 
 work of the verandah ; to see the blooming roses, 
 and the small fountain's silvery veil ; to inhale the 
 fragrance of the orange blossoms, and listen to the 
 cool trickling of the tiny water drops. All this 
 was in reality his ; for he knew not that he was a 
 little slave ; and it is the privilege of unconscious 
 childhood to own vfhatsoever it delights in. In 
 this point of view, it all belonged to little Jan more 
 truly than it did to Mr. Yan der Veen. No wonder 
 he sighed when the master returned, since it con- 
 demned him, for a time, to a degree of exile from 
 his paradise. Perhaps there was some slight jeal- 
 ousy on the other side, also ; for though the gentle- 
 man was always kind to his wife's favourite, he 
 sometimes hinted at the danger of spoiling him, 
 and the intercourse between them was never very 
 familiar. At first, little Jan was afraid to approach 
 the parlour at all, when he was at home. But on 
 one occasion, when his stay was unusuall}^ pro- 
 longed, his patience became exhausted waiting for 
 his departure. He began by peeping in slyly 
 through the folding screen. Seeing himself ob- 
 served, he ran away ; but soon came again and 
 peeped, and receiving a smile from his mistress, he 
 
288 JAN AND ZAIDA. 
 
 came in timidly, and offering his master a geranium 
 blossom, said, ^^ May little Jan stay?" Maria im- 
 mediately said, " Oh yes, let him stay : he is so 
 happy here." But there was no occasion to plead 
 his cause ; for there was no resisting his pretty 
 looks and his graceful offering. Mr. Yan der Veen 
 patted his head, and he crept under the table to 
 listen to the piano. After that, he never avoided 
 his master, though he still continued to come in 
 timidly, and if not encouraged by a smile, would 
 run off to bring a flower as an admission-fee. 
 
 When he was about four years old, a more dan- 
 gerous rival than a husband appeared. Maria had 
 an infant son, which of course greatly engrossed 
 her attention, and little Jan eyed it as a petted kit- 
 ten does a new lap-dog. His face assumed an ex- 
 ceedingly grieved expression, the first time he saw 
 her caressing the babe. He did not cry aloud, for 
 he was a very gentle child ; but he silently crept 
 away under the table with the flowers he had 
 brought in for his mistress ; and as he sat there, in 
 a very disconsolate attitude, tears dropped on the 
 blossoms. Some of the servants made the matter 
 much worse, by saying, in his hearing, "ISTow 
 missis has a young one of her own, she won't make 
 such a fool of that little monkey." His heart 
 swelled very much; and he ran with all haste to 
 ask Madame Van der Veen if she loved little Jan. 
 When he entered the parlour the fond mother hap- 
 pened to be showing her son to visitors ; and as she 
 
JAN AND ZAIDA. 239 
 
 turned, she held him toward the petted slave, say- 
 ing, " Look at him, Janniken ! Isn't he a little 
 beauty?" "No," replied he, louder than any one 
 had ever heard him speak; "w^??/baby!" and he 
 gave his rival a thrust with his little fist. He was 
 of course sent away in disgrace; and the slave- 
 mothers, seeing him in trouble, greeted him with 
 the exclamation, " Ha, ha, little whistler ! I 
 thought your nose would be put out of joint." 
 
 A clergyman of the Reformed Dutch Church, 
 who witnessed this manifestation of hostility to- 
 ward the baby, adduced it as a proof of the inher- 
 ent depravity of the human heart. But time 
 showed that the depravity was not very deep. Jan 
 felt the bitter pang of being superseded where he 
 loved, but he had a disposition too kindly to retain 
 ill-will. His heart soon adopted the infant, and 
 they became friends and playmates. When little 
 Lambert grew old enough to toddle about, it was 
 the prettiest of all imaginable sights to see them 
 together among the vine-leaves that crept through 
 the green lattice-work of the verandah. The blue- 
 eyed baby, plump and fair, draped in white mus- 
 lin, formed a beautiful contrast to his brown com- 
 panion. They looked like two cupids at play ; one 
 in marble, the other in bronze. But though they 
 were almost inseparable companions, and extreme- 
 ly fond of each other, it came to pass through a 
 process of painful weaning, on the part of little 
 Jan. Many a time he "sighed among his play- 
 
2-10 JAN AND ZAIDA. 
 
 things," wlien lie saw Maria caressing her babe, 
 without noticing that he was in the room. Many 
 a time tears fell on his nep:lected offerino- of 
 flowers. 
 
 He was, however, far more fortunate than most 
 slaves who happen to be petted playthings in their 
 childhood ; for he only passed out of an atmosphere 
 of love into an atmosphere of considerate kindness. 
 His quick ear for all variations of sound continued 
 to be a great source of gratification to himself and 
 his indulgent mistress. His voice was small, like 
 himself, but it had a bird-like sweetness ; and its 
 very imperfections, resulting as they did from 
 weakness and inexperience, imparted an infantine 
 charm to his performances, like the lisping of child- 
 ish prattle, or the broken utterance of a foreigner. 
 When he could sing two or three simple melodies, 
 Madame Yan der Veen gave him a little guitar, 
 and taught him to accompany his voice. The pop- 
 ulation of Java is an assemblage of various nations; 
 and as he listened intently to whatever he heard 
 hummed, whistled, or played, in the parlour or in 
 the slave-quarters, he knew snatches of a great va- 
 riety of tunes when he was six years old. It was 
 his pleasure to twine Hindoo, Arab, Javanese, Eng- 
 lish, and Dutch melodies into improvised fantasias, 
 which resembled grotesque drawings, representing 
 birds and monkeys, flowers, fruit, and human faces, 
 bound together in a graceful tangle of vines. At 
 eight years old, he was often trusted to go to Grre- 
 
JAN AND ZAIDA. 243 
 
 sik on errands. Following his usual liabits of list 
 ening and observing, during these visits to the city 
 he added greatly to his stock of popular airs, and 
 soon learned to imitate all manner of instruments, 
 as he had formerly imitated the birds. Hindoo lul 
 labies, Arab dances, the boat-songs of the Javanese, 
 as they passed up and down the river, English 
 marches, Dutch drinking songs, and Chinese jingle- 
 jangles, he could give a lively version of them all; 
 and he was frequently called into the parlour to re- 
 peat them for the entertainment of company. 
 
 His master said it was time he was taught to 
 labour. Maria assented, but made an arrangement 
 by which duty and inclination were enabled to go 
 hand in hand. She knew that his acutely sensuous 
 nature reveled in perfumes and bright colours; 
 therefore she told the Dutch gardener to take him 
 for an assistant, and teach him all the mysteries of 
 his art. It is never a toilsome employment to rear 
 flowers and train vines ; and in that sunny, fertile 
 region of the earth, light labour is repaid by a lav- 
 ish tribute of fragrant blossoms and delicious fruit 
 all the year round. Jan had an instinctive sense, 
 which taught him what colours harmonized, and 
 what forms were graceful. His mistress often 
 praised his bouquets and garlands, and affection for 
 her stimulated him. to attain as much perfection as 
 possible in the flowery decorations of her room, her 
 table, and her dress. Little Lambert had a great 
 desire to be heljoful, also, in the garden, but the ex- 
 21 Q 
 
242 JAN AND ZAIDA. 
 
 ercise heated him, and he so often pulled up flow- 
 ers instead of weeds, that his mother deemed it ne- 
 cessary to retain him in the house. This arrange- 
 ment made him so restless and unhappy, that Jan/ 
 undertook the responsibility of supplying him witk* 
 flowers in the cool arbours, and keeping strict 
 watch upon his movements. He often decorated 
 him with a multitude of small bouquets, and twined 
 garlands round his broad palm-leaf hat, till he 
 looked like a dwarf May-pole, and then sent him 
 into the house to show himself to his fond mother, 
 who was always ready to feign ignorance, and in- 
 quire what little boy that could be ; a manoeuvre 
 invariably rewarded by an infantile laugh. In the 
 course of one of these floral exhibitions, two hum- 
 ming-birds followed him in the garden walks. His 
 mother, who was watching him through the veran- 
 dah lattice, saw the brilliant creatures circling 
 round her darling's head, thrusting their long bills 
 into the blossoms with which he was decorated; 
 and she clapped her hands in an ecstasy of delight. 
 After that, it was a favourite amusement with Jan 
 to attract the humming-birds and butterflies round 
 little master's hat. The next greatest entertain- 
 ment was to teach him to imitate the birds, and to 
 make him laugh or look solemn while he listened 
 to merry or dolorous music. 
 
 Thus bound together by the pleasant links of 
 love, and flowers, and song, they stood together on 
 the threshold of life, unable as yet to conceive the 
 
JAN AND ZAIDA. 243 
 
 idea of master and slave. But wlien little Lam, as 
 they called him, was six years old, he was attacked 
 by one of the violent fevers incident to the climate, 
 and all the care unbounded affection could lavish 
 upon him failed to save his life. During his illness 
 he was unwilling to lose sight of Jan, who strewed 
 his pillow with flowers, and sang soothing lullabies 
 with unwearied patience. If the invalid dozed 
 under the influence of his drowsy monotonous 
 tones, he was still unable to leave his post ; for the 
 little hand clasped his, as if fearful he would go 
 away. When the spirit of the dear child departed, 
 and the lovely form that once contained it was con- 
 signed to the earth, no one but the father and mo- 
 ther mourned like Jan. The first time they vis- 
 ited the grave, they found it covered with flowers 
 he had planted there. In the house, in the garden, 
 everywhere, he missed the noise of the little feet, 
 which seemed like an echo of his own, so constantly 
 they followed him. For a while, all music was sad- 
 dened to him, because every air he whistled or sung 
 reminded him of some incident connected with the 
 departed playmate. Months afterward, when he 
 found among the shrubbery a wooden toy he had 
 made for him, he sobbed aloud, and all day long 
 the earth seemed darkened to his vision. This ten- 
 der bond between him and the lost one revived all 
 the affectionate interest Madame Yan der Yeen had 
 ever felt for the " little brownie." But the playful- 
 fulness of their intercourse was gone ; being alike 
 
244 JAN AND ZAIDA. 
 
 unsuited to tlie sadness of her spirit, and tlie in- 
 creasing stature of her favourite. 
 
 The young mother drooped under the blow, hke 
 flowers stricken by a black frost, never to revive 
 again. The healing hand of time rendered her 
 placid and resigned, but her former cheerfulness 
 never returned. She became very devout, and all 
 her music was an utterance of prayer. Looking 
 on this life with the eye of one weary of its illu- 
 sions, she steadfastly fixed her thoughts on that 
 world whither her darling had gone. From the 
 youthful soul of Jan the shadow was more easily 
 lifted. Again he revelled in the bright colours, the 
 pungent perfumes, and the varied sounds of that 
 luxuriant region of the earth. Again he began to 
 mock the birds and the boatmen, and to ming-le in 
 dances with the other young slaves. About two 
 years after he lost his best beloved playmate, he 
 met with a companion who more than supplied his 
 place, and who imparted to his existence a greater 
 degree of vivacity and joyfulness, than he had ever 
 known. Walking toward Gresik, one morning, to 
 execute some commission for his mistress, he heard 
 a pleasant voice in the distance, singing a merry 
 tune. The sounds approached nearer and nearer, 
 and they were so lively, that involuntarily his feet 
 moved faster. Presently, a young girl emerged 
 from a clump of tamarind trees, with a basket of 
 fruit on her head ; and the tune stopped abruptly. 
 The expression of her countenance was extremely 
 
JAN AND ZAIDA. 245 
 
 innocent and modest, and though her complexion 
 was of a deeper brown than his own, a blush shone 
 through it, like the glow of wine through a dark 
 bottle in the sunshine. Jan noticed this as she 
 passed; and something, he knew not what, made 
 him remember her face very distinctly, and wish 
 to see it again. He never went to Gresik without 
 thinking of the merry voice in the distance, and 
 never passed the clump of tamarind trees without 
 recalling the bright vision he met there. Many 
 weeks elapsed before he obtained another glimpse 
 of her ; but at last he overtook her with her basket 
 on the way to Gresik ; and this time they did not 
 meet to pass each other ; for their path lay in the 
 same direction. With mutual bashfulness they 
 spoke and answered; and each thought the other 
 handsomer than they had at first supposed. The 
 acquaintance thus begun rapidly ripened into in- 
 timacy. He was not yet thirteen years old, and she 
 was not eleven. But in that precocious clime, Cu- 
 pid shoots at children with a bow of sugar-cane ; 
 and this little maiden carried a store of his arrows 
 in her large lustrous eyes. After that, Jan was 
 seized with redoubled zeal to do all the errands to 
 Grresik ; and it so happened that he often overtook 
 her on the way, or found her resting herself among 
 the tamarind trees. Then her road homeward 
 was, for a mile, the same as his own. Thus they 
 travelled back and forth with their baskets, making 
 the air musical as they went ; as happy as the birds, 
 21* 
 
246 JAN AND ZAIDA. 
 
 and as thouglitless of tlie coming years. During 
 these frequent interviews, he learned that she was 
 a slave ; that her mother was from the island of 
 Bali ; and that her Arab father had given her the 
 name of Zaida. ' Before many months elapsed, 
 Madame Yan der Yeen heard, from the other ser- 
 vants, that Jan was in love with a pretty girl, whose 
 master lived not far from Gresik; and when she 
 questioned him, he bashfully confessed the fact. 
 Then she spoke very seriously to him, and told him 
 how sorry she should be to see him doing as many 
 did around him. She said if Zaida was a good girl, 
 and wished to marry him, she would try to buy 
 her ; and if they would promise to be faithful and 
 kind to each other, they should have a handsome 
 wedding at her house, and a bamboo hut to live in. 
 This almost maternal kindness excited his sensitive 
 soul to tears. She seized that impressible moment 
 to talk to him concerning his duties to God, and to 
 explain how He had made man for a higher destiny 
 than to mate, like the birds, for a season. 
 
 The negotiation for the purchase of Zaida was 
 somewhat prolonged, and she was at last obtained 
 at an unusually high price; for her master took 
 advantage of Madame Yan der Yeen's well-known 
 character for generosity and indulgence to the in- 
 mates of her household. Meanwhile, the gentle 
 lady allowed her slave frequent opportunities of 
 seeing his beloved. Once a week, he took his guitar 
 and spent two or three hours with his singing-bird. 
 
JAN AND ZAIDA. 247 
 
 Every errand to Gresik was intrusted to Mm, and 
 Zaida foand many occasions for going thither at the 
 same hour. Yery beautiful were the scenes through 
 which they passed in those happy days. South of 
 them was a range of mountains, blue and softened 
 in the distance. On the north was the bright sea, 
 with the island of Madura lying like an emerald 
 gem on its bosom. Bamboo cottages, shaded by a 
 mass of luxuriant vegetation, dotted the level land- 
 scape, as it were, with little islands, whose deep 
 verdure formed a lovely contrast with the rich 
 yeUow of the ripened rice fields. Here, the large 
 scarlet blossoms of a pomegranate, beautiful above 
 all other trees, filled the air with fragrance; and 
 there, a tall cocoa-palm reared its great feathery 
 head high above the light elegant foliage of a 
 tamarind grove. Arum lilies held up their large 
 white cups among the luxuriant vines that lay 
 tangled by the wayside. Wild peacocks and other 
 gorgeous birds flitted across their path, glittering 
 in the sunlight, like jewels from fairy land. The 
 warbling of birds, the buzzing of bees, the whiz and 
 the whirr of numerous insects, all the swarming 
 sounds of tropical life, mingled with the monoton- 
 ous tones of boatmen coming down the river Solo 
 with their merchandise, singing with measured ca- 
 dence, 
 
 "Pull and row, brothers 1 pull and row I** 
 
 Only one discordant note disturbed the chorus 
 
248 JAN AND ZAIDA. 
 
 whicli nature sang to love. Near the house where 
 Zaida's master dwelt, there lived a Dutchman and 
 his wife, who were notoriously cruel to their slaves. 
 Zaida recounted some shocking instances of sever- 
 ity, and especially expressed pity for a girl little 
 older than herself, who had formerly belonged to 
 a very kind master and mistress. When they died, 
 she was sold at auction, and had the misfortune to 
 pass into the hands of their inhuman neighbour, 
 whose wife was jealous, and lost no opportunity of 
 tormenting her. When Jan was singing some of 
 the plaintive melodies to which his own taste always 
 inclined him, or when, to amuse the merry Zaida, 
 he imitated Chinese jingle jangles, sometimes the 
 sound of the lash, accompanied with shrieks, would 
 break in upon the music or the merriment, and put 
 their spirits out of tune. Nature had made Jan 
 more sensitive than reflective; and he had been 
 brought up so like a humming-bird among flowers, 
 that he had never thought any thing about his own 
 liabilities as a slave. Now, for the first time, it oc- 
 curred to him, " What if viy master and mistress 
 should die, and /should be sold ?" 
 
 An English family lived very near Madame "V an 
 der Yeen's, and, as both were musical, an intimacy 
 had grown up between them. The father and 
 mother of this family were very strongly opposed 
 to slavery, and not unfrequently discussed the sub- 
 ject. Jan, as he passed in and out of the parlour, 
 waiting upon the guests, had been accustomed to 
 
JAN AND ZAIDA. 249 
 
 hear these conversations as thongh lie heard them 
 not. In fact, he often wished the old Englishman 
 would stop talking, and give his son an opportunity 
 to accompany Madame Yan der Yeen's piano with 
 his flute. But after those lashes and shrieks had 
 waked up his mind to the possibility of auction and 
 transfer, he listened more attentively, and carried 
 with him into riper years the memory of many 
 things he heard. 
 
 When he was fourteen years old, and Zaida was 
 twelve, they were married. Madame Yan der Yeen 
 furnished cake and lemonade for the wedding, and 
 gave gay dresses to the juvenile bride and bride- 
 groom, who looked extremely well in their new 
 finery. Jan had lost something of his childish 
 beauty, but he was still handsome. His yellow 
 complexion was rendered paler by the contrast of 
 his jet black hair and the bright- turban that sur- 
 mounted it. His limbs were slender and flexible, 
 his features small and well proportioned, and his 
 large antelope eyes had a floating, plaintive expres- 
 sion, as if there was always a tear in his soul. 
 Zaida was rounder, and browner, and ruddier. Her 
 dark hair was combed entirely back, and twisted 
 into a knot, ornamented with scarlet flowers. The 
 short downy hairs about the forehead curled them- 
 selves into a little wavy fringe. From her small 
 ears were suspended two large gilded hoops, a 
 bridal present from the old Englishman. From 
 her Arab father she inherited eyes more beautifully 
 
250 JAN AND ZAIDA. 
 
 formed than belonged to her mother's race. The 
 long dark lashes curled upward, and imparted a 
 smiling expression, even in her most serious mo- 
 ments ; and when she was amused, her eyes laughed 
 outright. There was a harmonized contrast between 
 her and her bridegroom, which was extremely agree- 
 able. The young Englishman compared them to 
 the major and minor mode ; and Madame Yan der 
 Yeen said they looked like hope and memory. Per- 
 sonal comeliness is rare among the natives of those 
 islands. Little Zaida was like a ruby among pud- 
 ding-stones. 
 
 A bamboo hut, raised two feet from the ground, 
 and consisting of two apartments, without windows, 
 was their bridal home. It was all they needed in 
 a climate where, more than half the year, all house- 
 hold occupations could be most conveniently per- 
 formed out of doors. There was a broad verandah 
 in front, sheltered from rain and sun by the project- 
 ing roof In front was a grove of orange and lemon 
 trees, and in the rear was a group of plantains, 
 whose immensely long broad leaves and yellow 
 spikes of nodding flowers cast refreshing shadows. 
 
 A grass mat, of Jan's own weaving, and pillows 
 filled with a kind of silky down from a wild plant, 
 answered for a bed. Gourd shells, a few earthern 
 dishes, and a wooden waiter from which they ate 
 their meals, seated on the floor, constituted their 
 simple furniture. The rooms, which received light 
 from the open door, were used only for eating and 
 
JAN AND ZAIDA. 251 
 
 sleeping. The verandah was the place where all 
 their sedentary occupations were pursued. There, 
 Zaida might be seen busy at her spinning-wheel 
 and loom ; there, Jan wove mats and baskets for 
 his master's household; and there stood his gam- 
 bang, a musical instrument, with wooden bars of 
 graduated lengths, which he struck with a mallet, to 
 accompany the simple Javanese melodies that he 
 and Zaida were accustomed to sing together. 
 
 Years passed over their heads without any more 
 serious variations than slight dissensions with the 
 other slaves, occasional illness, and the frequent 
 birth of children. Some of them resembled the 
 father, others the mother ; and some had their ejes 
 obliquely set, like the island ancestry from whom 
 they descended. Some were bright, some dull, 
 some merry and some pensive ; but Madame Yan 
 der Yeen pronounced them all very good children ; 
 and they certainly were trained to be devotedly at- 
 tentive to her. During their first years, it cost 
 nothing to clothe them, for they ran about naked ; 
 and it required almost as little expense to furnish 
 them with food, where rice was so easily cultivated, 
 and plantains, cocoas and oranges grew wild. The 
 warmth of the climate, the lavish bounty of the soil, 
 the improvident habits which every human being 
 must necessarily form, who acquires no property by 
 economy, and the extreme indulgence with which 
 he had always been treated by his gentle-hearted 
 mistress, all conspired to render Jan forgetful of the 
 
252 JAN AND ZAIDA. 
 
 precarious tenure by wMcli lie held tlie external 
 blessings of his mere animal existence. Sometimes, 
 when he went to Gresik, he passed by a slave-auc- 
 tion, and the sight always gave him a pang ; for it 
 brought up a picture of Zaida and her children 
 standing there amid the indecent jests and rude 
 handling of a crowd of men. Sometimes he wit- 
 nessed despotic and cruel treatment of slaves, and 
 still more frequently he heard of such instances. 
 Then came recollections of the lashes and shrieks, 
 that used to interrupt his music and merriment in 
 the days of courtship; and always they brought 
 with them the question, " What if Zaida and our 
 daughters should ever be sold to such people as 
 tliat cruel Dutchman and his jealous wife ?" While 
 any instances were fresh in his mind, he listened 
 attentively to whatever was said about slavery by 
 his master and the English family. From them he 
 learned how the English, during their brief posses- 
 sion of Java, had interdicted slave traffic with the 
 neighbouring islands ; had passed laws forbidding 
 slaves to be sold, except with their own consent ; 
 and had allowed them to hold, as their own, any 
 property they were able to acquire. Mr. Yan 
 der Yeen tried to excuse the Dutch for renewing 
 their slave-trade, by urging that it was a necessity 
 imposed upon them, because there was no other 
 method of procuring servants. The Englishman 
 denied any such necessity. He maintained that 
 the natives of Java were intelhgent, teachable and 
 
JAN AND ZAIDA. 253 
 
 honest, and very willing to render services for 
 money. He highly commended the native princes 
 for never permitting any of their own people to be 
 slaves. He told of one of those princes, who had 
 inherited fifty slaves ; but when the British Govern- 
 ment declared that all should become free, unless 
 publicly registered by their masters, within a speci- 
 fied time, he said, "Then I will not register my 
 slaves. They shall be free. I have kept them 
 hitherto, because it was the custom, and because 
 the Dutch liked to be attended by slaves when they 
 visited the palace. But as that is not the case with 
 the British, they shall cease to be slaves ; for I have 
 long felt shame, and my blood has run cold, when I 
 have reflected on what I once saw at Batavia and 
 Semarang, where human beings were exposed at 
 public sale, placed on a table, and examined like 
 sheep and oxen." The Englishman declared that 
 he lost no opportunity of talking with all classes of 
 people on the subject, and of circulating publica- 
 tions, translated into Dutch, and sent to him from 
 England for that purpose ; and he expressed a 
 strong belief that the Dutch would soon abolish 
 slavery. In these conversations, nothing interested 
 Jan so much as his master's statement, that, accord- 
 ing to existing laws, slaves might purchase them- 
 selves. He resolved to save all the small coins he 
 might receive ; and visions flitted through his brain, 
 of mats and baskets to be made, when his daily 
 tasks were completed. But when he received this 
 22 
 
254 JAN AND ZAIDA. 
 
 information, he already had a brood of children; 
 he despaired of ever being able to collect money 
 enough to buy them; and his anxious thoughts 
 were far more on their account, than on his own. 
 He always solaced himself with the thought that 
 his mistress would not allow them to be sold while 
 she lived, and that she would certainly make pro- 
 vision for them before she died. 
 
 Sixteen years of his married life had passed away, 
 and during all that time such forecasting thoughts 
 had been mere transient clouds fleeting across the 
 sunshine of contentment. But the time came when 
 Mr. Yan der Veen was summoned to Batavia, on 
 account of some entanglement in his commercial 
 affairs; and three weeks afterwards, tidings were 
 brought that he had died suddenly in that un- 
 healthy city. Again Jan saw his mistress bowed 
 to the earth with sorrow ; and it was beautiful to 
 witness the delicate expressions of sympathy, which 
 nature taught him. He moved noiselessly, and 
 spoke softly. He and Zaida sang only religious 
 hymns and soothing tunes,- such as she loved to 
 hear after her little Lam was taken away. His 
 prettiest child, then nearly three years old, was 
 sent every morning with a fresh bouquet of the 
 flowers she loved best. He would never lie down 
 for the night until he believed she was sleeping ; 
 and his first waking thoughts were devoted to her. 
 It soon became known that Mr. Yan der Yeen had 
 died in debt, and that a large portion of his property 
 
JAN AND ZAIDA. 255 
 
 must be assigned to creditors. In this assignment 
 were included many slaves, in various cities, and 
 some belonging to his domestic establishment. Quite 
 a small fortune for the widow was saved from the 
 wreck of his wealth; and in that she expressly 
 stipulated that Jan and all his family should be in- 
 cluded, together with the estate on which she had 
 always lived since her marriage. By this unex- 
 pected turn of affairs, the remote contingency, 
 which had sometimes created temporary uneasiness 
 in Jan's mind, was brought frightfully near. He 
 never again forgot, for a single day, scarcely for a 
 single hour, that he was merely a favoured slave, 
 and that all the lives intertwined with his held 
 their privileges by the same precarious tenure. He 
 never hinted his anxiety to any one but Zaida ; but 
 Madame Yan der Yeen had the thoughtful kind- 
 ness to assure him that she would dispossess her- 
 self of every thing, rather than part with him and 
 his family ; saying, at the same time, that there was 
 no danger of her being called upon to make any 
 such sacrifice, as there was enough property left to 
 enable them all to live comfortably. He deeply 
 and gratefully felt her kindness ; but the shadow 
 of her death fell darkly across the consolation it 
 imparted. Not for the world would he have told 
 her so ; lest the suggestion should increase her mel- 
 ancholy, by making her suppose that even the most 
 attached of her servants, and the only ones she had 
 left, wanted to be free to quit her service. 
 
256 JAN AND ZAIDA. 
 
 Their Englisli neigliboiir, being involved in tlie 
 same commercial difficulties that had deranged Mr. 
 Yan der Yeen's affairs, concluded to sell all his pro- 
 perty in Java, and remove to Calcutta. He and 
 his family spent their last evening with the widow 
 of their deceased friend. While Jan was arranging 
 fruit for their refreshment in the adjoining room, he 
 heard his own name and that of Zaida uttered in 
 low tones, accompanied with the disjointed words, 
 " So much petted" — " the more hard" — " make pro- 
 vision." In her usual soft tones, but so clearly that 
 he heard every word, Madame Yan der Yeen re- 
 plied, " I have thought of all that, my good friend. 
 I will never part with any of them while I live ; 
 and when I die, I will leave them all free." " Why 
 not now?" urged the importunate Englishman. 
 She answered, "My heart is heavy to-night, and 
 business oppresses me ; but I assure you, most sol- 
 emnly, that I will attend to it very soon." She 
 never knew what a heavy load those words re- 
 moved from the soul of her favourite slave. After 
 he heard them, he seemed to step on air. Zaida, to 
 whom the important discovery was forthwith im- 
 parted, was even more elated. They hugged and 
 kissed their little ones that night, with a feeling 
 they had never known before ; and zeal in the ser- 
 vice of their good mistress was thenceforth re- 
 doubled. At the departure of the English family, 
 they gave some gay calico dresses to Zaida and the 
 children, and a violin to Jan. The old gentleman 
 
JAN AND ZAIDA. 257 
 
 put a golden ducat in his hand, saying, " I thank 
 yon, my good fellow, for all your attentions to me 
 and mine. There is a trifling keepsake. May the 
 blessing of heaven go with it, as mine does. I shall 
 remember yon all in my prayers. Farewell, Jan ! 
 Always continue to be faithful and honest." The 
 poor slave had never possessed a piece of gold 
 before, and small as it was, it seemed to him a Gol- 
 conda mine. First, he buried it in the ground, and 
 put a stone over it. Then he was afraid some crea- 
 ture might dig it up in the night. So he sewed it 
 into a pouch, which he fastened securely within the 
 girdle he constantly wore. The cares and anxieties 
 of wealth had come upon him. 
 
 While the carriage was waiting to convey the 
 Englishman away, he walked over to Madame Yan 
 der Veen's, to bid a final farewell. His last words 
 were, " My dear Madame, don't forget the talks we 
 have had together ; especially what we said last 
 night. Since I have lived in Java, I have done my 
 utmost to sow good seed on this subject, and I trust 
 it will spring up and bring forth a harvest, sooner 
 or later. From time to time, I shall send the mag- 
 istrates publications, that will prevent their forget- 
 ing what I have so often urged upon them. A 
 blessing will rest upon this beautiful island in pro- 
 portion as they attend to this. Eemember it in 
 your prayers, my dear friend, and use your in- 
 fluence aright. Don't say it is small. You have 
 seen in your garden how great a growth comes 
 22* R 
 
258 JAN AND ZAIDA. 
 
 from one little seed. My friend, there are respon- 
 sibilities in human society, for which we shall have 
 to answer unto our God. And now, farewell. The 
 voice of the old man will never urge you more. 
 May the blessing of heaven be with you all." 
 
 The tendered-hearted widow wept freely ; for he 
 had been her husband's friend, and the words he 
 spoke were solemn. She resolved to make her will, 
 and have it duly witnessed, that very day. But a 
 visitor came, and after her departure, she felt a de- 
 gree of lassitude, which unfitted her for exertion. 
 The next day, she looked over letters from her hus- 
 band, and brought on headache by inordinate weep- 
 ing. She was indolent, by temperament and by 
 habit, and she was oppressed with melancholy. 
 "Weeks passed on, without any more definite result 
 than a frequent resolution to make her will. She 
 had gone to bed with a mind much impressed with 
 what her English friend said at parting, and trou- 
 bled with self-accusation that she had neglected it 
 so long, when Zaida was summoned to her bedside 
 at midnight, and found her head hot, and her pulse 
 throbbing. In the morning, she was delirious, and 
 looked wildly upon her faitliful attendants without 
 recognizing them. With her incoherent ravings, 
 during the day, were frequently mixed the words, 
 " Jan — Zaida — children — free." The slaves listened 
 tearfully to these broken sentences, and felt fresh 
 assurance that she had provided for them. The 
 physician thought otherwise ; but he merely said 
 
JAN AND ZAIDA. 259 
 
 that sometliing disturbed her mind, and if her life 
 was not spared, he hoped she would have an inter- 
 val of reason before she died. At the sound of that 
 dreadful "2/," Jan rushed out of the room, rolled 
 himself on the floor, and sobbed convulsively. 
 There was no selfishness in his sorrow ; for he had 
 not the slightest doubt that she, who never broke a 
 promise, had cared thoughtfully for the future wel- 
 fare of himself and his family. It was simply the 
 agony of parting from his earliest and best friend. 
 She lingered four days, but reason never returned. 
 Into that brief period was compressed more misery 
 than Jan had experienced during his whole life. 
 Gloomy forebodings brought all the superstitions 
 of the island in their train. The first night his mis 
 tress was taken ill, he shook his head, and said. 
 Ah, Zaida, don't you remember she went to Sura- 
 baya to dine, the very day we heard of master's 
 death ? I told you then it was a very bad sign to 
 go abroad the same day that you hear of the death 
 of a friend." The next night he was startled by an 
 unusual noise, attributed to explosions among the 
 distant volcanic mountains ; and that was regarded 
 as a certain prognostic of impending disaster. The 
 following day was unusually sultry, and in the even- 
 ing he saw phosphoric light quivering over the nas- 
 turtiums in* the garden. He had never witnessed 
 the phenomenon before, and he was not aware that 
 such a peculiarity had been previously observed in 
 that glowing plant. He had no doubt that the 
 
260 JAN AND ZAIDA. 
 
 light came from Spirits, wlio were waiting for Ma- 
 dame Yan der Yeen's soul. On the fourth morn- 
 ing, he saw two crows fighting in the air ; and 
 thenceforth he had no hope. 
 
 The spirit of his beloved mistress departed from 
 her body at midnight. The rainy season was then 
 approaching, attended by the usual characteristic 
 of violent storms. The house trembled with the 
 rolling thunder, and flashes of intensely vivid light- 
 ning illumined the bed where the corpse lay, im- 
 parting, for a moment, an appalling glare to its 
 ghastly paleness. Jan and Zaida were familiar with 
 such storms, but never before had they seemed so 
 awful, as amid the death-loneliness of that de- 
 serted house. A friendly neighbour pitied their 
 grief and terror, and offered to remain with them 
 until after the funeral. It was like tearing Jan's 
 heart out, to see that dear face carried away, where 
 he could behold it no more. Exquisitely sensitive 
 by nature, his whole being was now all nerve and 
 feeling, lacerated to the extremest degree of sufter- 
 ing. She was placed by the side of her little Lam, 
 and there he planted the flowers she had best loved. 
 He laid himself down on the ground, and moaned 
 like a faithful dog, on his master's grave. He 
 thought of the stories others had told him concern- 
 ing his petted childhood ; he remembered her sym- 
 pathy and good advice when he was first in love 
 with Zaida ; he recalled a thousand instances of her 
 indulgent kindness ; the whole crowned by the pre- 
 
JAN AND ZAIDA. 261 
 
 cious gift of freedom. He could not reconcile him- 
 self to the thought that he should never again have 
 her to rely upon. He had no heart for any thing, 
 but to tend the flowers on those graves. 
 
 When this storm of grief began to subside, he 
 consoled himself with the thought, " Whatever hap- 
 pens now, I can never again suffer as I have suffer- 
 ed." More than a week passed, before he heard that 
 Madame Van der Yeen had left no will ; that she 
 had survived all her immediate relatives ; and that 
 the nearest heir to the property resided at Manilla. 
 This was a stunning blow. Zaida reminded him how 
 their good mistress had instructed them to pray to 
 God when they were in trouble ; and many a fer- 
 vent imploring supplication ascended from their 
 humble hut. Jan resolved to plead earnestly with 
 the heir, and he comforted himself with the idea 
 that the physician would tell him how their kind 
 mistress had spoken of their freedom during her 
 illness. But even if his entreaties should prevail 
 with the stranger, where could they live ? Could 
 they be sure of finding employment ? He spent 
 every leisure moment in weaving mats and baskets 
 for sale, and the children were kept busy gathering 
 wild fruits for the market. Those things sold for 
 a very low price, and it would be a long time in- 
 deed before he could acquire a piece of land and a 
 hut by that process. But the gold piece ! He felt 
 of his girdle to ascertain if it was safe. Yes, it was 
 there ; a nest-egg, from which his imagination hatch- 
 
262 JAlSr AND ZAIDA. 
 
 ed a large brood of chickens. Hope struggled witH 
 anxiety for a few weeks, and Zaida, who always 
 looked on the bright side, continually repeated her 
 belief that every thing would turn out well. But, 
 at last, news arrived that the heir did not intend 
 to visit Java ; that he had intrusted the business to 
 an agent with instructions to sell all the property, 
 of every description, and remit the proceeds to him. 
 Poor Jan thought he could never again suffer as he 
 had suffered ; but he was mistaken. This last blow 
 broke him down entirely. A vision of the auction- 
 stand, v/ith his children bid off to different pur- 
 chasers, was always before him. The lashes and 
 shrieks, which had so much impressed his youthful 
 mind, forever resounded in his imagination ; but 
 now the shrieks came from Zaida and their little 
 ones. 
 
 During the three weeks that preceded the sale, he 
 could scarcely eat or sleep. He became emaciated 
 and haggard, to such a degree that all who knew 
 him felt pity for him. The sympathizing feeling 
 was, however, soon quieted by saying to themselves, 
 " It is a hard case, but it cannot be helped. Poor 
 fellow ! I hope they will find kind masters." The 
 physician spoke to many people in Gr^sik and its 
 neighbourhood, declaring there could be no manner 
 of doubt that Madcime Yan der Yeen had fully in- 
 tended they should all be free. He told the agent 
 how her mind was troubled upon the subject during 
 her delirium. He replied that he was very sorry 
 
JAN AND ZAIDA. 263 
 
 the lady had left no will, but it was no affair of his ; 
 he must obey the instructions he had received. The 
 case excited a good deal of interest. Many of the 
 Dutch residents shook their heads when they heard 
 of it, and said, " The English are in the right ; this 
 system is a disgrace and a blight upon our island." 
 All the day preceding the auction, Jan lay moan- 
 ing at the grave of his mistress. All night he 
 wandered round, looking at the flowers in the 
 moonlight. He had tended them so long they 
 seemed to know him, and to nod a sorrowful fare- 
 well. Sadder still it was to look upon the bamboo 
 hut and its enclosure, connected with the garden 
 by a little open-work gate. That bridal home, 
 which his kind mistress had provided for them, and 
 which was consecrated to his memory by so many 
 years of humble happiness, never had it seemed so 
 dear to him as now. There stood the loom, where 
 he had so often seen Zaida at work. There was 
 the gambang he had made for himself, the sounds, 
 of which his departed master and mistress used to 
 love to hear mingled with their voices, softened by 
 the evening air on which they floated across the 
 garden. There hung the old guitar she had given 
 him in boyhood ; and by its side was the violin, a 
 parting present from the young Englishman. Even 
 if he was allowed to retain these, would they ever 
 sound again, as they had sounded there ? As the 
 dawning light revealed each familiar object, a 
 stifling pain swelled more and more within his 
 
264 JAN AND ZAIDA. 
 
 heart. When he saw his children eating what 
 would, perhaps, be their last breakfast together, 
 every gourd shell that contained their little mess of 
 rice seemed more valuable, in his eyes, than crown 
 jewels to a dethroned monarch. Overcome with 
 the struggle, he laid himself down on the mat 
 and sobbed. Zaida, always hopeful, had borne up 
 tolerably well till now; but now she yielded to 
 despair, and rocked backward and forward vio- 
 lently, groaning aloud. Eight children, the oldest 
 a lad of fourteen, the youngest a girl of three years 
 old, sat on the floor weeping, or hiding their heads 
 in their mother's lap. Thus they were found by 
 the man who came to take them to the auction at 
 Gresik. Poor Jan ! how often, in the latter years, 
 had vague preseutiments of this flitted across his 
 mind, when he passed that dreadful place ! He too 
 well remembered the heartless jokes and the fa- 
 miliar handling, which had made him shrink from 
 the possibility of such a fate for his \^dfe and chil- 
 dren. Zaida, indeed, was no longer an object of 
 jealousy for any cruel master's wife. She was not 
 hideously ugly, like most slaves of her age, in that 
 withering climate ; but her girlish beauty had all 
 departed, except a ghost of it still lingering in her 
 large dark eyes. Their light was no longer mirth- 
 ful, but they were still beautiful in colour, and ex- 
 pressed, as it were, the faint echo of a laugh, in 
 their pecuhar outline and long curling lashes. By 
 her side stood a daughter, twelve years old, quite 
 
JAN AND ZAIDA. 265 
 
 as handsome as she was at that age ; and another, 
 of ten, with her father's gazelle eyes, and the golden 
 yellow complexion, which Javanese poets are ac- 
 customed to praise as the perfection of loveliness. 
 The wretched aspect of the father and mother struck 
 all beholders. When Jan mounted the stand, he 
 cast one despairing glance around him, and lingered 
 longest on the smallest lamb of his flock, who was 
 crying with terror, and clinging fast to her mother's 
 skirts. He tossed his arms wildly upward, gave 
 one loud groan, then bowed his head and wept in 
 silence. Poor Zaida hid her face on his shoulder, and 
 the whole group trembled like leaves in a storm. 
 The auctioneer called out, "Here's a valuable lot, 
 gentlemen. Eight healthy, good-looking children. 
 The father and mother still young enough to do a 
 good deal of work, and both of excellent character. 
 Whoever will bid six thousand florins [$2,333] for 
 them may have them ; and it will be a great bargain." 
 It was no comfort to the poor victims to be offered 
 in a lot ; for they might be bought by speculators, 
 who would separate them. Jan listened, with all his 
 soul in his ears. Not a voice was heard. The auc- 
 tioneer waited a moment before he called out, " Will 
 you say four thousand florins, gentlemen ?" No one 
 spoke. " Shall I have two thousand florins ? That 
 is really too cheap." Still all remained silent. 
 
 Jan had never forgotten that his master had said 
 the law allowed slaves to buy themselves. His 
 poverty had hitherto prevented his deriving any 
 23 
 
266 JAN AND ZAIDA. 
 
 consolation from tliat thouglit. But now a ray of 
 hope darted tlirougli liis soul. He raised his droop- 
 ing head suddenly, and a gleam, like the rising sun, 
 passed over his pale, haggard countenance, as he 
 said, eagerly, " I will give a golden ducat." Then, 
 dropping on his knees, he exclaimed, in imploring 
 tones, which intense emotion rendered thrilling, 
 " Oh, gentlemen, doiiH bid over me. It is all I 
 have in the world. Oh, good gentlemen, doiiH bid 
 over me!" Tears dropped from the eyes of many 
 young people ; the agent swallowed hard ; and even 
 the auctioneer was conscious of a choking feeling in 
 his throat. There was deep silence for a while. 
 The interval was very brief; but to Jan's anxious 
 heart it seemed long enough for the world to re- 
 volve on its axis. At last, the sound of the heavy 
 hammer was heard, followed by these words : " The 
 whole lot is going for a ducat. [$2 20 cents.] 
 Going ! going ! gone! to Jan Van der Yeen !" 
 
 It was one of humanity's inspired moments; 
 when men are raised above the base influences of 
 this earth, and see things as Spirits see them in the 
 light of heaven. Hats, turbans, and handkerchiefs 
 waved, and a cheerful " hurra !" met the ears of 
 the redeemed captives. Jan belonged to himself, 
 and owned all his family ! Yerily, the blessing of 
 heaven did go with the Englishman's golden ducat, 
 to a degree far beyond what he dreamed of when 
 he gave it. Jan could hardly credit his own senses. 
 The reaction from despair to such overwhelming 
 
JAN AND ZAIDA. 267 
 
 joy was too mncli for him. His brain was dizzy, 
 and his limbs trembled. When he tried to rise, he 
 tottered, and would have fallen, if Zaida had not 
 caught him in her arms. "Poor fellow! poor 
 fellow !" murmured some of the spectators. A man 
 took off his hat, dropped a florin into it, and passing 
 it round, said, " Give him a trifle, gentlemen, to set 
 himself up with. He has always been a good, in- 
 dustrious fellow, and his mistress meant to provide 
 for him. Give him a trifle, gentlemen !" There was 
 a noise of falling coin. Zaida pulled her husband 
 by the sleeve, and whispered in his ear, "Thank 
 the gentlemen." He seemed like one half awake ; 
 but he made an effort, and said, " Thank you, good 
 
 gentlemen ! May God bless you and your " 
 
 He would have added children ; but his eye hap- 
 pened to rest on his own smallest darling, and the 
 thought that nobody could take her from him now 
 choaked his utterance. He covered his face with 
 his thin hands, and wept. 
 
 "Was the golden ducat all that poor despairing 
 slave owed to the good Englishman ? No ; that 
 was the smallest part of the debt ; for to the moral 
 influence of his conversation, and the books and 
 papers he scattered in the neighbourhood, might 
 mainly be attributed the changing public sentiment, 
 which rendered the crowd silent at that mournful 
 scene, and thus enabled the auctioneer to exclaim, 
 " The whole lot going for a ducat ! Going ! gone ! 
 to Jan Van der Yeen ! Hurra I" 
 
268 TO THE NASTURTIUM. 
 
 TO THE NASTURTimi ; 
 
 WHICH LINN^US DESCRIBES AS EMITTING PH03PH0RESENCB 
 IN THE DARK. 
 
 Glorious flower ! so gorgeously bright ! 
 As if thou wert formed of orient light ! 
 In topaz, and. gold, and velvet array. 
 Like an Eastern Queen on her bridal ds/y ! 
 Rich jewels the Sun to the Earth dropped down, 
 And the Earth gave him back thy floral crown. 
 
 Thy tints, glowing warm as a summer noon. 
 
 Seem painted tones from some amorous tune ; 
 
 And surely thy varying flushes came 
 
 From Italian music's radiant flame ; 
 
 Or, when Apollo touched his golden lyre, 
 
 Earth answered the sounds with thy brilliant fire. 
 
 Thy ardent blossoms were at first unfurled, 
 A love-letter written to all the world; 
 And not by day only, but even by night. 
 The writing shines through with phosphoric light. 
 That letter of love the Tropics sent forth, 
 Sealed full of sunshine, a gift to the North. 
 
 Bright Summer is proud thy garland to wear ; 
 It shines like rich gems in Autumn's pale hair ; 
 And it warms our homes with a sunny glow. 
 When earth has assumed her mantle of snow. 
 Wealth of bright beauty hast thou for thy dower, 
 Resplendent, warm-hearted, tropical flower ! 
 
THE 
 
 ANCIENT CLAIEVOYANT. 
 
 Thou, while listening with thy inward ear, 
 
 The ocean of eternity didst hear, 
 
 Along its coming waves ; and thou didst see 
 
 Its spiritual waters, as they rolled through thee ; 
 
 Nor toiled, in hard abstractions of the brain, 
 
 Some guess of immortality to gain ; 
 
 For far-sought truths within thy soul did rise, 
 
 Informing visions to thine inward eyes. 
 
 R. H. Dana. 
 
 Many centuries ago, a child named Hermotimus 
 was born in tlie genial climate of Ionia. From in- 
 fancy, his hold on material life seemed exceedingly 
 slight. He was a delicate, frail blossom ; 
 
 " By living rays refined, 
 A trembler of the wind ; 
 A spiritual flower 
 Sentient of breeze and shower." 
 
 But the slender thread that bound him to this 
 mortal existence did not break. The babe crawled 
 
270 THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 
 
 from Ills cradle and toddled into tlie fields, where 
 he would sit motionless for hours, by the side of 
 some flower he loved. A grave smile would illu- 
 mine his countenance if a butterfly rested on it, or 
 a passing bird brushed it with her wing. He al- 
 ways expected to see the flower fly, too ; and there- 
 fore he watched it so patiently, as it swayed under 
 their light pressure. In very early childhood, he 
 was remarkable for the keenness of his senses and 
 the vividness of his dreams. He heard distant 
 sounds, inaudible even to the quick ear of his play- 
 mate the hound ; and the perfume of a rose made 
 him faint, before he was old enough to explain why 
 he turned so pale. At vintage time, when proces- 
 sions in honor of Bacchus passed through the village, 
 his mother dared not take him to the show, where 
 all other children were dancing and capering ; for 
 once, when she carried him with her to the rustic 
 festival, he fell into violent fits at the sound of the 
 shrill pipes and the clashing cymbals. His dreams 
 furnished a theme for all the gossips of the neigh- 
 borhood ; for the scenes he witnessed in sleep im- 
 pressed themselves on. his mind with such singular 
 distinctness, that nothing could persuade the child 
 he had not actually seen them. Sometimes, when 
 they gave him his little bowl of goat's milk for 
 supper, he would cry for the lamb with beautiful 
 rose-coloured wool, that had eaten a portion of his 
 milk the night before ; and it was quite useless to 
 try to persuade him that there was no such creature 
 
THE AKCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 271 
 
 as a rose-coloured lamb. To all their assertions, he 
 would answer, with lively pertinacity, " I did see 
 him ! I did see him ; and he did drink from my 
 bowl." As he grew older, he sometimes hummed 
 snatches of tunes, which he said were sung to him 
 by maidens in white robes, with garlands about 
 their heads ; and the melodies were unlike any 
 known in the neighbourhood. Several times, as he 
 walked along the road, he started suddenly at the 
 approach of a stranger, and ran away shuddering. 
 When his companions asked why he did so, he 
 would answer, " Ah, that was a very bad man. He 
 made me feel all over cold." 
 
 It was no wonder that the simple villagers became 
 superstitious concerning such a singular child. 
 Some remembered that, before he was born, his 
 mother had carried offerings into a consecrated 
 grotto, where stood a statue of Apollo ; and that, 
 being overcome by the warmth of the day, she had 
 fallen asleep there. This gave rise to the story that 
 in her dreams she had heard the god playing upon 
 his golden lyre ; that the divine sounds had per- 
 vaded her whole being, and endowed her child with 
 Apollo's gift of prophecy. Others declared that 
 the altar in the sacred grotto had for several years 
 been loaded with her devout offerings, and that she 
 had been heard to say the statue sometimes smiled 
 upon her. Such tokens of approbation from 
 celestial beings were by no means deemed incred- 
 ible ; but they implied that the worshipper was a 
 
272 THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 
 
 favourite with the deity she served. From this be 
 lief it was easy to infer that the extraordinary child, 
 who saw and heard things invisible and inaudible 
 to other mortals, might be a veritable son of Apollo. 
 Some old crones shook their heads mournfully, and 
 said children who received peculiar endowments 
 from the gods generally died young. 
 
 But the little Hermotimus wandered about with 
 his father's shepherds, and was gradually invigor- 
 ated by air and exercise. He no longer fainted at 
 perfumes, or shared his supper with rose-coloured 
 lambs. His mother still noticed a peculiar dream- 
 iness in the expression of his eyes, and when he was 
 alone, she sometimes heard him singing melodies, 
 which came to him from some mysterious source. 
 She kept her thoughts in the privacy of her own 
 heart, but she retained her behef that his remark- 
 able boyhood was the forerunner of something ex- 
 traordinary in manhood. With his improving 
 health, the gossip of the neighbourhood gradually 
 subsided, and was only occasionally revived by 
 some eccentricities in his manners. The change 
 pleased his father well ; for he wanted a son to aid 
 him in the acquisition of wealth, and had no desire 
 to see him become either poet or prophet. He 
 charged his wife never to talk to him about his 
 childish dreams, and he was annoyed by any allu- 
 sions to her sleep in Apollo's grotto. Of course, 
 the lad was aware that things had been said of him, 
 which his mother believed, and his father disliked 
 
THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 273 
 
 to have mentioned. This mystery made him think 
 more about himself, than he would otherwise have 
 done, and increased his tendency to lonely wander- 
 ings and profound reveries. His father did his ut- 
 most to allure him to convivial meetings with young 
 people ; saying to himself that a sharp shot from 
 Cupid's bow was the best thing, to wake him up 
 thoroughly. But the timid youth scarcely ventured 
 to raise his eyes in the presence of maidens, and 
 appeared to take even less notice of their charms, 
 than he did of flowers and birds, and other beauti- 
 ful things. His father thought that a mate as un- 
 like himself as possible would be most likely to 
 counteract his peculiar tendencies. He therefore 
 selected Praxinoe, a buxom merry -hearted lass, who 
 was so healthy, she never had but one dream she 
 remembered in the whole course of her life ; and 
 that was of being at a vintage festival, where she 
 pelted the young men with clusters of grapes, till 
 the wine ran down their chins and made her wake 
 with laughing. Certainly, she would have chosen 
 quite another sort of mate, than Hermotimus with 
 his soft voice and dreamy eyes. But it was the 
 belief in those days, and it has kept its ground 
 pretty well ever since, that women have no right 
 to an opinion of their own. So the parents ar- 
 ranged the affair between them, and the passive 
 young couple were married. 
 
 Praxinoe was energetic and ambitious. She 
 prided herself on the excellent cheeses she made, 
 
274 THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 
 
 and the quantity of grapes she dried for the market. 
 She was always talking of these, and Hermotimus 
 tried to listen patiently, though she unconsciously 
 tormented him to a greater degree than ever his 
 thrifty father had done. Sometimes he even praised 
 her industry, and smiled, in his absent sort of way ; 
 for he had a kind of pleasure in the company of his 
 pretty young bride, as he had in the presence of a 
 lively twittering bird. Had a modern caricaturist 
 made a picture of their wedded life, he would have 
 painted it as the marriage of a solemn young owl 
 with a chattering wren. Hermotimus was often 
 bewildered by her volubility, and her incessant ac- 
 tivity sometimes made him feel weary, as if he had 
 himself been hard at work. He loved to sit for 
 hours in silent thought, meditating on the nature 
 of the soul ; revolving in his mind whether the 
 gods ever did unite themselves with mortals ; and 
 whether those philosophers had spoken truly, who 
 had af&rmed that there was something divine with- 
 in the body, which would lay aside its temporary 
 garment of flesh, resume its native wings, and re- 
 turn to a celestial home, to dwell among immortals. 
 While his thoughts were plunged in such profound 
 meditations, it not unfrequently happened that 
 Praxinoe came to inquire whether he remembered 
 how many cheeses she had sent to market, or how 
 many bushels of grapes were in readiness ; and if 
 he forgot the number she had told him, as he gen- 
 erally did, her cheerful temper became over-clouded 
 
THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 275 
 
 with consciousness that the energy and industry, 
 on which she prided herself, were altogether unap- 
 preciated. It was a hard disappointment for her to 
 bear ; for she loved luxury, and was born to sun 
 herself in the pleasures of this world. Hermotimus 
 would have pitied her if he could ; but he never 
 was in that region where she lived, and he did not 
 know what people enjoyed or suffered there. 
 Praxinoe had as little idea of the worlds through 
 which he wandered; and the glimpses she ob- 
 tained from his occasional remarks were by no 
 means attractive to her. She had much less desire 
 for celestial wings, than she had for fine woolens 
 and glossy silks; and the shadow-land of disem- 
 bodied souls presented to her mind no pleasant 
 pictures of comfortable housekeeping. Her favourite 
 topics of conversation were embroidered mantles, 
 and robes of Tyrian dye ; and if her husband sought 
 to check her, by remarking that such expensive 
 articles could never be obtained by them, she an- 
 swered impatiently, " Why not? People can have 
 what they will. The jjreeks got into Troy, didn't 
 they?" Sometimes she would add, in an under- 
 tone of vexation, " But they were not such Greeks 
 as thou art." 
 
 Undoubted^, he was a vexation to an earth-born 
 woman' — that mild, dreamy, saintly man ! The dis- 
 tance between them inevitably grew wider and 
 wider ; and the process was hastened by changes 
 in the condition of Hermotimus. Though he had 
 
276 THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 
 
 become more healthy in youth, than he was in in- 
 fancy, there had never been a complete union be- 
 tween his soul and body. The inner and outer 
 circles of his being, instead of clasping into each 
 other, touched only at one point, and so remained 
 nearly strangers. At the time of his marriage, he 
 was believed to have outgrown the feebleness of 
 his childhood, and to have lost the power of pro- 
 phecy. But two years afterward, he fell asleep one 
 day in the same grotto of Apollo to which his 
 mother had been accustomed to carry offerings. 
 He came out pale and chill, and was that night 
 seized with a singular kind of fits, which continued 
 to attack him more and more frequently. The old 
 gossip was renewed. The neighbours said his 
 father, the divine Apollo, had kissed him in his 
 sleep, and he would never be like other men. 
 Praxinoe nursed him carefully, for she had a kind- 
 ly heart. But when the fits were on him, he in- 
 spired a degree of awe amounting almost to terror ; 
 for his looks and words impressed her with a strong 
 conviction that he was some .sort of a Spirit, and 
 not a mortal man. At times, he told her the most 
 secret thoughts of her heart, and repeated word for 
 word what had been said to her, when he was out 
 of hearing. He frequently described magnificent 
 cities, gorgeous birds, and beautiful flowers, she 
 had never seen or heard of But what made her 
 shudder more than all else, was the familiar inter- 
 course he described with relatives and friends long 
 
THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 277 
 
 since dead. If she were alone with him, during 
 these strange visitations, he never answered when 
 she spoke, or gave any indication that he was aware 
 of her presence. But there was one person, to 
 whose questions he always replied. In the neigh- 
 bouring city of Clazomenae lived a Pythagorean 
 philosopher, named Prytanes. He heard rumours of 
 the singular childhood of Hermotimus, and of the 
 extraordinary fits that had come upon him in man- 
 hood; and he was desirous to ascertain how far 
 these accounts had been exaggerated. When he 
 made his first visit to him who was called The 
 Sleeping Prophet, he found him lying upon a couch 
 motionless and senseless. He took hold of his 
 hand, and found it cold and rigid ; but a change 
 went over the countenance, like the light which 
 drives shadows across the fields ; and Hermotimus 
 said, " I am glad you have come again ; for, above 
 all things, I have enjoyed our pleasant walks to- 
 gether in the groves, talking of the wings of the 
 soul." This seemed marvellous to Prytanes; for 
 never, to his knowledge, had he spoken with Her- 
 motimus. But when he asked questions concern- 
 ing their conversations, the sleeper revealed to him 
 many thoughts, which he remembered to have 
 passed through his own mind, at various times, and 
 which had seemed to him, at the moment, as if they 
 did not originate in himself, but had come to him 
 from some unknown source ; thoughts which he in 
 fact believed to have been imparted by supernal 
 24 
 
278 THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 
 
 beings. When Prytanes returned to Clazomenae, 
 he gave an account of this wonderful experience, in 
 public discourses to his disciples ; and the fame of 
 Hermotimus spread more and more widely. Priests 
 and philosophers came to listen to his conversations 
 with Prytanes ; and while some went away incred- 
 ulous, others were deeply impressed with awe. 
 From far and near, people brought the diseased to 
 him, begging him to prescribe a cure; and the 
 rumour went round that sometimes, when he merely 
 passed his hands over them, their pains departed. 
 In these days, he would have been called a clair- 
 voyant ; but what we style animal-magnetism had 
 then never been mentioned ; though its phenomona 
 were occasionally manifested, as they always have 
 been, wherever the spiritual and physical circle of 
 man's compound existence is partially disjoined. 
 Scientific causes were then little investigated. 
 Health, beauty, eloquence, poetry, and all other 
 things, were supposed to be direct and special gifts 
 from some god. No wonder then that many be- 
 lieved Hermotimus to be really the son of Apollo, 
 receiving the gift of healing and of prophecy from 
 immediate and continual intercourse with his divine 
 father. 
 
 If the wise and thoughtful were puzzled, it may 
 well be supposed that the busy little Praxinoe often 
 felt as if she were walking among shadows in a fog. 
 Her ambition was in some degree gratified by her 
 husband's fame, and by the distinguished persons 
 
THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 279 
 
 wlio came to visit liim. But, in confidential con- 
 versation with her gossips, she complained that 
 these numerous visitors interrupted her avocations, 
 beside bringing a great deal of dust into the house, 
 and asking for a draught of her fresh wine rather 
 oftener than was convenient. " I admire hospital- 
 ity," she would say ; " and I wish I were rich 
 enough to feast all Ionia, every week, and send 
 each guest away with a golden bracelet. But the 
 fact is, these dreams of Hermotimus, though they 
 are full of palaces and fountains, do not help in the 
 least to build such things ; and he brings home no 
 wine from the beautiful vineyards he describes. 
 Then I can't help thinking, sometimes, that it would 
 be pleasant to know for a certainty whether one's 
 husband were really dead, or alive." 
 
 One thing became daily more obvious to her and 
 to all who saw him. The continual questions he 
 was called upon to answer, and the distant places 
 of the earth he was required to visit, exhausted the 
 little bodily strength he possessed. The priests at 
 the neighbouring temple of ^sculapius said he 
 needed more quiet, and ought to drink a strong 
 decoction of vervain, gathered when the moonlight 
 rested on it. He himself, when questioned, during 
 his miraculous slumbers, declared that the air of 
 the valleys was not good for him. Therefore his 
 friends removed him to a residence among the 
 hills. Praxinoe made no objection; for though 
 her spiritualized mate failed to call forth all the 
 
280 THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 
 
 warmtli of her loviiig nature, she had a friendly 
 feeling for him, and would gladly have done any 
 thing for the recovery of his health. But the 
 change was by no means agreeable to her lively 
 disposition. She liked to live where she could see 
 festive processions passing with garlands, and gaily 
 dressed youths and maidens dancing to the sound 
 of cymbals and flutes. 
 
 News from the city became more rare ; for Her- 
 motimus recovered his health, and with it lost what 
 was called his gift of prophecy; consequently, 
 visitors came less and less frequently. Urged by 
 Praxinoe, the diseased one sometimes tried to ren- 
 der himself practically useful. But his heart was 
 in such occupations even less than it had formerly 
 been. Companionship with philosophers had ex- 
 cited his intellect, and induced the habit of w^atch- 
 ing his own soul with intense interest. He was 
 absorbed in reverie most of the time, and Prj^tane, 
 who came occasionally to see him, was the only 
 person with whom he conversed freely. Their con- 
 versation was more wearisome to Praxinoe than his 
 dreamy silence. She said they might be as wise as 
 owls, for all she knew to the contrary, but that she 
 could see no more sense in their talk, than she did 
 in the hooting of those solemn birds of darkness. 
 In another respect, Hermotimus seemed to her like 
 an owl. His eyes became so nervously sensitive to 
 light, that he winked continually in the sunshine, 
 and was prone to seek the shelter of grottoes and 
 
THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 281 
 
 sliady groves. His cliilclisli habit of vivid dreams 
 returned ; and the explanation of these dreams oc- 
 cupied his thoughts continually. One morning, he 
 told Praxinoe he had dreamed that she held in her 
 hand a crystal globe, that reflected all things in 
 the universe; that she threw it into the flames, 
 where it cracked asunder, and there rose from it a 
 radiant Spirit, with large white wings. She laughed, 
 and said if she had such a globe, she would not 
 break it till she had taken a peep at Corinth, to see 
 the embroidered silks and golden girdles that the 
 women wore there. He was thinking of the winged 
 Spirit, and her remark passed through his ears with- 
 out reaching his mind. Had he listened to the ob- 
 servation, it would have seemed to him very much 
 like looking through the universe to watch a butter- 
 fly. Nothing was interesting to him but the pro- 
 cess of attaining wings to his soul. He thought of 
 this, till the body seemed an encumbrance, and its 
 necessities a sin. He ate sparingly at all times, and 
 fasted often. When he spoke at all, his talk was 
 ever of mortifying the senses, that the soul might 
 be enabled to rise to the ethereal spheres from which 
 it had fallen into this world. Praxinoe was impa- 
 tient with such discourse. " To think of his talk- 
 ing of mortifying the senses !" exclaimed she ; 
 " when he never had any senses to mortify. Why, 
 never since I knew him has he eaten enough to 
 keep a nightingale alive. For my part, I think it 
 
 24* 
 
282 THE ANCIENT CLAIKVOYANT. 
 
 is a blessing to have plenty of good food, and an 
 excellent appetite for it." 
 
 In her present situation, she was not sustained 
 through her trials, as she had been near Clazomense, 
 by the reverence which her husband inspired. Their 
 dwelling was isolated, and in the nearest village 
 were many scoffers and skeptics. She had formed 
 an intimacy with a wealthy dame, named Euco- 
 line; and from her she learned that people said 
 Hermotimus neglected to provide for his family, 
 because he was too indolent to work ; that he in- 
 jured his health by frequent fasts, and made him- 
 self crazy with thinking, merely for the sake of 
 being stared at by the common people ; and as for 
 his pretended visions and prophecies, they were 
 undoubtedly impositions. Praxinoe, who habitual- 
 ly looked outward for her standard of thought and 
 action, was much influenced by these remarks. 
 She had sometimes wept in secret over her cheer- 
 less destiny ; but discontent had been restrained 
 by a reverent sense of being connected with some 
 solemn mystery, which others respected. Now, she 
 began to doubt whether the eccentricities she daily 
 witnessed might not be assumed, from the motives 
 imputed by their neighbours. This -tendency was 
 increased by the influence of Eratus, the gay, lux- 
 urious husband of Eucoline. He professed to be a 
 disciple of Epicurus, but he was one of those who 
 had perverted the original doctrines of that teacher; 
 for while he thought happiness was the only good, 
 
THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 283 
 
 lie believed there was no enjoyment higher than 
 that of the senses. To his volatile mind all things 
 in life afforded subjects for jest and laughter. If 
 he met Praxinoe, on her way to his wife's apart- 
 ments, he would say, " How is the good Hermo- 
 timus, to-day ? Has he gone to talk with the gods, 
 and thrown his body on the couch till he returns ?" 
 These sneers were not pleasant ; and the habit of 
 comparing her situation with that of Eucoline in- 
 creased her discontent. The handsome and healthy 
 Eratus was growing richer every day by his own 
 energy and enterprise. " Such robes as he buys 
 for his wife I" said she to herself, " I can make 
 better wine than she can ; I can weave handsomer 
 cloth ; and I think the gods have endowed me with 
 more beauty ; but I can never hope to wear such 
 robes. Ah, if my good Hermotimus were only 
 more alive I" 
 
 This involuntary comparison did no great harm, 
 until her friend Eucoline chanced to die suddenly. 
 Then the idea came into her head, "If I could 
 marry Eratus, what a noble span we should make ! 
 We might ride in our own chariot,- inlaid with 
 ivory and gold. Perhaps it may happen some day. 
 Who knows ? Didn't the Greeks get into Troy ?" 
 She tried to drive away the pleasing vision, but it 
 would intrude itself;, and worse still, the handsome 
 Eratus often came in person to bring choice grapes 
 and figs, in the prettiest of all imaginable vases and 
 baskets. He was always friendly with Hermo- 
 
284: THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 
 
 timus; and if liis body laad wandered away, car- 
 ried by the soul, which was so generally absent 
 from this material world, the Epicurean would in- 
 quire, in this jocular way, "Where is the good 
 Hermotimus, pretty one ? Has he gone off to con- 
 verse with the gods ? If Yenus had given me such a 
 beautiful companion at home, all Olympus wouldn't 
 tempt me away from her." The gay, graceful, 
 flattering man ! He was a dangerous contrast to 
 her pale silent husband, hiding himself in groves 
 and grottoes, thinking only of obtaining wings for 
 his soul. Eratus was conscious of his power, and 
 betrayed it by expressive glances from his large 
 dark eyes. Sparks fell from them into the heart 
 of the neglected wife, and kindled a fire there 
 which glowed through her cheeks. Her eyelids 
 drooped under his ardent gaze, and she avoided 
 looking at him when he spoke ; but she could not 
 shut out the melting tenderness of his tones. It 
 was a hard trial to poor Praxinoe. Her nature had 
 such tropical exuberance 1 She was born with such 
 love of splendour, such capacity for joy ! and the 
 cruel Fates had cast her destiny in such cold and 
 shady places ! Her pride had sometimes been an 
 evil companion, but it now proved a friend in need. 
 If she could not be the wife of Eratus, she resolved 
 not to give Cupid any more opportunities to shoot 
 arrows from his eyes, or play amorous tunes with ' 
 his musical voice. When she saw the flatterer ap- 
 proaching, she retreated hastily and left an old sex- 
 
THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 285 
 
 vant to receive him, and thank him for the grapes 
 he had brought for Hermotimus. Eratus smiled at 
 the veil she thus endeavoured to throw over his at- 
 tentions ; and to deprive her of the subterfuge, he 
 sent her a golden bracelet and ear-rings, for which 
 she could not thank him in the name of her hus- 
 band. She returned the costlj gift, though affec- 
 tion, vanity, and love of elegance strongly tempted 
 her to retain it. She was a brave woman. The 
 prudes in the neighbourhood, who were accustomed 
 to shake their heads and say she laughed and 
 talked more than was consistent with decorum, 
 never knew half how brave she was. 
 
 This prudent reserve of course rendered her 
 more interesting to the enamored widower. The 
 more he thought of her, the more he was vexed 
 that such a vivacious creature, with mantling com- 
 plexion, laughing eyes, and springing step, should be 
 appropriated by a pale devotee, who took no notice 
 of her charms, and who in fact despised even the 
 most beautiful body, regarding it merely as a prison 
 for the soul. At last, he plainly expressed a wish 
 to marry her ; and he proposed to ask Hermotimus 
 to divorce her for that purpose, which the laws of 
 the country enabled him to do. Praxinoe, with 
 bashful frankness, confessed her willingness, and 
 said she did not think Hermotimus would observe 
 whether she were present or absent. ''If he un- 
 derstands my proposition," replied Eratus, laugh- 
 ing, " he will give me a grave lecture, and tell me 
 
 I 
 
286 THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 
 
 liow the wings of his soul are growing, by with 
 drawing from all the pleasures of this world. Let 
 them grow 1" 
 
 The sudden and alarming illness of Hermotimus 
 arrested the progress of affairs ; for the kindness of 
 Praxinoe overcame all other feelings, and she said 
 she would not leave him to the care of hirelings. 
 He recovered slowly, and again wandered forth 
 into the groves, with feeble steps. Eratus watched 
 him impatiently ; and when at last he seemed suffi- 
 ciently recovered to enter into conversation, he 
 sought an interview. He found him lying on the 
 ground, in one of his favourite groves, cold and rigid 
 as a corpse. He called servants to convey him to 
 the house. Praxinoe manifested no surprise. She 
 said she had not seen him in such a state for two 
 years, but that in former times he would often lie 
 senseless for a long time, and then wake up to tell 
 of wonderful countries he had visited. Day passed 
 after day, and he did not wake. The disciples of 
 skeptical philosophers came and looked at him, and 
 went away laughing with each other about the 
 stories they had heard of his former visions, pro- 
 phecies, and miraculous cures. They concluded 
 their remarks by saying, " It can do no harm to 
 burn his body, whether he is dead or not. The 
 soul he had so much faith in was always longing 
 to get out of prison. It would be conferring a 
 favour upon him to give him a chance to try his 
 wings." 
 
THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 287 
 
 The parents of HerraotimTis were dead. Eratus 
 summoned priests of ^culapius, wlio decidedly 
 pronounced liis slumber the sleep of death; and 
 the relatives of Praxinoe sympathized with his im- 
 patience for the funeral. But she continued to 
 doubt, and insisted upon first sending for the Py- 
 thagorean philosopher, whom Hermotimus had al- 
 ways answered, when he was in those strange 
 trances. The messenger returned with tidings that 
 he had gone to Athens. The funeral-pile was 
 erected, and the good-hearted widow wept to find 
 that the certainty of his death was such a relief to 
 her mind. This consciousness was the more un- 
 pleasant to her, because she said to herself, "If he 
 is in one of those trances, he knows all I am think- 
 ing." When they lifted him from the couch where 
 he had lain so still, she shuddered violently, and 
 exclaimed, " Surely he is not quite so pale as he 
 was !" But they reasoned with her, and said, " He 
 looks just as he has for the last three days." She 
 saw his body placed on the funeral-pile, and when 
 the flames began to curl round it, she listened to 
 hear if there were any audible signs of life. But 
 all was still, save the crackling of the wood ; and 
 in a short time, a heap of ashes was all that re- 
 mained. 
 
 That night, she dreamed that she held a crystal 
 globe in her hands, and threw it from her into the 
 flames. The globe cracked, and a radiant Spirit, 
 with white wine's, rose from it and soared hiixh into 
 
288 THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 
 
 the air. He smiled as Tie passed her, and said, " I 
 foretold this." The countenance looked as that of 
 Hermotimus had sometimes looked in his trances, 
 when he told his friend Prjtanes that he was listen- 
 ing to white-robed maidens, who played on golden 
 harps ; but though similar in expression, it was far 
 more glorious. Did memory cause that dream? 
 Or was it imparted from some other source, beyond 
 herself? She woke trembling and afraid, and with 
 a strong impression that she had seen Hermotimus. 
 This belief excited uneasy thoughts, which she 
 dared not mention, for fear of slanderous tongues. 
 But she secretly confessed to Eratus that she feared 
 her husband was not dead when they burned his 
 body. He replied, "It is foolish to trouble your- 
 self about a dream, my lovely one. It is enough 
 that all who saw him thought he was dead. You 
 know it often puzzled wiser folks than you or I to 
 tell whether he was alive or not. Whatever phan- 
 tom it was that sailed through the ivory gate of 
 dreams, he smiled and seemed happy. Then why 
 be disturbed about it? Life was given for enjoy- 
 ment, dearest." He laughed and began to sing, 
 "I'll crown my love with myrtle;" and his looks 
 and tones drove all phantoms from her thoughts. 
 
 She soon became his wife, and her ambitious 
 hopes were more than realized. Eratus placed a 
 high value on worldly possessions, and knew very 
 well how to obtain them. She never had occasion 
 to remind him that the Greeks entered Troy. 
 
THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 289 
 
 But where there is sunshine, there is always 
 shadow. Her prosperity excited envy; which 
 some manifested by saying, " If every body conld 
 burn a poor husband for the sake of marrying a 
 rich one, other folks could wear silk mantles, too." 
 Kemarks of that kind reached the ears of many 
 who were firm believers in the inspiration of The 
 Sleeping Prophet. They made anxious inquiries 
 concerning the manner of his death ; to which cer- 
 tain envious women answered: "Praxinoe was 
 always a very good neighbour. We have nothing 
 to say against her; though some people thought 
 she was rather free, and not a little vain. The old 
 nurse says Eratus was always sending her presents, 
 long before her husband died ; and some people do 
 think it was very obliging in poor Hermotimus to 
 die, just when he was so much wanted out of the 
 way." These whisperings soon grew into a report 
 that the rich Epicurean had bribed the priests of 
 JEsculapius to pronounce the slumberer a dead man. 
 Of course, some persons were good-natured enough 
 to repeat these rumours to the parties implicated. 
 Finding their solemn assertions of innocence re- 
 ceived with significant silence, or annoying inuen- 
 does, they resolved to remove from the neighbour- 
 hood. Praxinoe had always greatly desired to see 
 Corinth ; and to please her, Eratus chose it for their 
 future residence. In that gay luxurious city, her 
 love of splendour was abundantly gratified with 
 pompous processions and showy equipage. Her 
 25 T 
 
290 THE ANCIENT CLAIRVOYANT. 
 
 beauty attracted attention whenever slie was seen 
 in public, and her husband took pride in adorning 
 her with rich embroidery and costly jewels. In 
 such an atmosphere, the wings of her soul had 
 small chance to grow; but that subject never oc- 
 cupied her thoughts. 
 
 It was generally believed in Clazomense and its 
 vicinity that Hermotimus was not dead when his 
 emaciated body was consumed on the funeral-pile. 
 This idea occasioned a good deal of excitement 
 among those who had been cured of diseases by his 
 directions, or startled to hear their inmost thoughts 
 revealed. His frequent conversations with spirits 
 of the departed had strongly impressed them with 
 the belief that some god spoke through him, while 
 his senses were wrapped in profound slumber ; and 
 no skeptical witticisms or arguments could diminish 
 their faith in the prophet. They erected a temple 
 to his memory, where they placed his ashes in a 
 golden urn; and because his vfife had consented 
 that his body should be burned, while his soul was 
 absent on one of its customary visits to the gods, 
 they never allowed any woman to enter within the 
 consecrated precincts. 
 
SPIEIT AND MATTER. 
 
 A REVERIE. 
 
 Not in another world, as poets prate, 
 
 Dwell we apart, above the tide of things, 
 
 High floating o'er earth's clouds on fairy wings ; 
 
 But our pure love doth ever elevate 
 
 Into a holy bond of brotherhood, 
 
 All earthly things, making them pure and good. 
 
 J. R. Lowell. 
 
 One of the most wonderful things connected 
 with the mysterious soul-power, with which we 
 limited mortals are endowed, is the capacity to rise 
 into the infinite from the smallest earth-particle of 
 the finite. How often some circumstance, trifling 
 as the motions of a butterly, plunges us into a pro- 
 found reverie ! How often, from the smallest and 
 lowliest germ, are thoughts evolved, which go re- 
 volving round in ascending circles, forming a spiral 
 ladder, ascending from earth to heaven ! 
 
 A pair of white-breasted swallows that built a 
 nest in a little bird-box near my chamber- window, 
 sent my soul floating dreamily upward, till it lost 
 its way in wide ethereal regions. The mother-bii^d 
 was a lively little thing, making a deal of musical 
 
292 SPIRIT AKD MATTER. 
 
 twittering at lier work, and often coquetting grace- 
 fullj with her mate. I took an affectionate interest 
 in her proceedings, though I had private suspicions 
 that she was something of a female gossip, in her 
 small way ; for I observed that she watched the 
 motions of other birds with inquisitive curiosity, 
 and often stood at her front- door, prattling with 
 them as they passed by. But they seemed to take 
 it all in good part, and it was no concern of mine. 
 I loved the pretty little creature, gossip or no gos- 
 sip ; and, for many days, my first waking thought 
 was to jump up and take a peep at her. Though 
 I rose before the sun, I always found her awake 
 and active, chattering with her mate, or carrying 
 straws and feathers into her dwelling, to make a 
 bed for their little ones. I should have been half 
 ashamed to have had any very wise person over- 
 hear the things I said to her. She had such 
 "peert," knowing ways, that I could not remem- 
 ber her inability to understand human speech. It 
 always seemed to me that she must be aware of my 
 sympathy, and that she rejoiced in it. 
 
 One bright morning, when I looked out to salute 
 her as usual, I was filled with dismay to see a grisly 
 cat seated on the bird-box, peeping into the door 
 with eager eyes. She had descended from the roof, 
 and was watching for a chance to devour the in- 
 mates of that happy little dwellmg. I always had 
 an antipathy to the stealthy and cruel habits of the 
 feline race ; but I think I never detested any crea- 
 
SPIRIT AND MATTER. 298 
 
 ture as I did that catj for a few minutes. Tlie wish 
 to do her harm, was, however, easily conquered by 
 the reflection that she was obeying a natural in- 
 stinct, as the bird was in catching insects ; but I 
 resolved that neither my dear little Lady Swallow 
 nor her babes should furnish a repast for her vora- 
 cious j aws. So I climbed a ladder, and took down the 
 box, which contained a nest, with two pretty little 
 white eggs. I was distressed with the idea that the 
 hateful cat might have destroyed my favourites be- 
 fore I perceived their danger ; but my anxiety was 
 soon relieved by their approach. They circled 
 round and round the well-known spot, peered 
 about in every direction, perched on the platform 
 where their home had stood, and chattered together 
 with unusual volubility. Again and again they 
 returned, bringing other birds with them, and re- 
 peating the same motions. They were evidently 
 as much astonished, as we should be to wake up 
 in the morning and find that an earthquake had 
 swallowed a neighbour's house during the night. 
 Whether there were scientific swallows among them, 
 that tried to frame satisfactory theories in explana- 
 tion of "die phenomenon, or whether any feathered 
 clericals taught them to submit to the event as a 
 special providence, we can nevcf know. The natu- 
 ral presumption is, that they will always wonder, 
 to the end of their days, what mysterious agency 
 it could have been that so suddenly removed their 
 nest, house and all. As for conjecturing why it 
 25* 
 
294 SPIRIT AND MATTER. 
 
 was done, the mere query was probably beyond 
 tbe range of their mental powers. 
 
 I was watching them all the time, bnt their bird 
 eyes could not see me, and their bird-nerves con 
 veyed no magnetic intimation of my close vicinity. 
 Their surprise and their trouble were partially re- 
 vealed to me by their motions and their utterance ; 
 but, though they were intelligent swallows, they 
 could form no idea of such a fact. I had removed 
 their dwelling to save their lives ; but between 
 their plane of existence and my own there was 
 such an impassable chasm, that no explanation of 
 my kindness and foresight could possibly be con- 
 veyed to them. 
 
 I thought of all this, and longed in vain to en- 
 lighten their ignorance, and relieve their perplexity. 
 The earnestness of my wish, and the impossibility 
 of accompHshing it, suggested a train of thought. 
 I said to myself, perhaps some invisible beings are 
 now observing me, as I am observing these swal- 
 lows ; but I cannot perceive them, because the laws 
 of their existence are too far removed from my own. 
 Perhaps they take a friendly interest in my affairs, 
 and would gladly communicate with me, if I were 
 so constituted that I could understand their ideas, 
 or their mode of utterance. These cogitations re- 
 called to my mind some remarks by the old English 
 writer, Soame Jenyns. In his "Disquisition on the 
 Chain of Universal Being," he says: "The supe- 
 riority of man to that of other terrestial animals is 
 
SPIRIT AND MATTER. 295 
 
 as inconsiderable, in proportion to the immense 
 plan of universal existence, as the difference of 
 climate between the north and south end of the 
 paper I now write upon, with regard to the heat 
 and distance of the sun. There is nothing leads us 
 into so many errors concerning the works and de- 
 signs of Providence, as the foolish vanity that can 
 persuade such insignificant creatures that all things 
 were made for their service ; from whence they 
 ridiculously set up utility to themselves as the stand- 
 ard of good, and conclude every thing to be evil, 
 which appears injurious to them or their purposes. 
 As well might a nest of ants imagine this globe of 
 earth created only for them to cast up into hillocks, 
 and clothed with grain and herbage for their sus- 
 tenance ; then accuse their Creator for permitting 
 spades to destroy them, and ploughs to lay waste 
 their habitations. They feel the inconveniences, 
 but are utterly unable to comprehend their uses, as 
 well as the relatioDS they themselves bear to supe- 
 rior beings. 
 
 "When philosophers have seen that the happiness 
 of inferior creatures is dependent on our wills, it is 
 surprising none of them should have concluded 
 that the good order and well-being of the universe 
 might require that our happiness should be as de- 
 pendent on the wills of superior beings, who are 
 accountable, like ourselves, to one common Lord 
 and Father of all things. This is the more wonder- 
 ful, because the existence and influence of such 
 
296 SPIRIT AND MATTER. 
 
 beings lias been an article in tlie creed of all relig- 
 ions that have ever appeared in tlie world. In the 
 beautiful system of the Pagan theology, their sylvan 
 and household deities, their nymphs, satj^rs, and 
 fawns, were of this kind. All the barbarous na- 
 tions that have ever been discovered, have been 
 found to believe in, and adore, intermediate spir- 
 itual beings, both good and evil. The Jewish re- 
 ligion not only confirms the belief of their exis- 
 tence, but of their tempting, deceiving, and tor- 
 menting mankind ; and the whole system of Chris- 
 tianity is erected entirely on this foundation." 
 
 Dr. Johnson wrote a satirical review of Soame 
 Jenyns, which had great popularity at the time. 
 He passes without notice the fact that men of all 
 ages, and of all religions, have believed that mali- 
 cious Spirits cause diseases, and temj^t men, in 
 many ways, to their destruction ; while benevolent 
 Spirits cure physical and mental evils, forewarn 
 men in dreams, and assist them in various emergen- 
 cies. There was, therefore, nothing very new or 
 peculiar in the suggestion of Mr. Jenyns ; but Dr. 
 Johnson, in his rough way, caricatures it thus: 
 '' He imagines that as we have animals not only for 
 food, but some for our diversion, the same privilege 
 may be allowed to beings above us, who may de- 
 ceive, torment, or destroy us, for the ends only of 
 their own pleasure or utility. He might have car- 
 ried the analogy further, much to the advantage of 
 his argument. He might have shown that these 
 
SPIKIT AND MATTER. 297 
 
 hunters, whose game is man, have many sports 
 analogous to our own. As we drown whelps and 
 kittens, they amuse themselves now and then with 
 sinking a ship ; and they stand round the fields of 
 Blenheim, or the walls of Prague, as we encircle a 
 cock-pit. As we shoot a bird flying, they knock a 
 man down with apoplexy, in the midst of his busi- 
 ness or pleasure. Perhaps some of them are virtu- 
 osi, and delight in the operations of an asthma, as 
 human philosophers do in the effects of an air-pump. 
 Many a merry bout have these frolic beings at the 
 vicissitudes of an ague ; and good sport it is to see 
 a man tumble with an epilepsy, and revive and 
 tumble again; and all this he knows not wh}^ 
 Perhaps now and then a merry being may place 
 himself in such a situation as to enjoy at once all the 
 varieties of an epidemic disease, or amuse his leisure 
 with the tossings and contotrions of every possible 
 pain exhibited together." 
 
 It occurred to me what bearish paws the old 
 Doctor, in his gruff sport, would lay upon modern 
 Spiritualists, if he were about in these days. I 
 smiled to think what an inexhaustible theme for 
 skeptical wit was afforded by the awkward and tedi- 
 ous process of communication employed. But after 
 ( a little reflection, I said to myself, is not the common 
 action of Spirit upon Matter, while we are here in 
 the body, quite as inexplicable ? If we were not 
 accustomed to it, would it not seem nearly as incon- 
 venient and laborious ? The Spirit which dwells 
 
298 SPIRIT AND MATTER. 
 
 within me, (I know not where, or how,) wishes to 
 communicate with a Spirit dwelling in some other 
 body, in another part of the world. Straightway, 
 the five-pronged instrument, which we call a hand, 
 is moved by Spirit, and promptly obeys the impulse. 
 It dips a piece of pointed steel into a black fluid, 
 and traces hieroglyphic characters invented by 
 Spirit to express its thought. Those letters have 
 been formed into words by slow elaboration of the 
 ages. They partake of the climate where they 
 grew. In Italy, they flow smoothly as water. In 
 Eussia, they clink and clatter like iron hoofs upon 
 a pavement. It appears that Spirit must needs 
 fashion its utterance according to the environment 
 of Matter, in the midst of which it is placed. By a 
 slow and toilsome process, the child must learn 
 what ideas those words represent ; otherwise he can 
 scarcely be able to communicate at all with the 
 Spirits in other bodies near him. If they are dis- 
 tant, and Hs Spirit wills to converse with them, it 
 must impel the five-pronged instrument of bone and 
 sinew to take up the pointed steel, and trace, on a 
 substance elaborately prepared from vegetable 
 fibres, certain mystic characters, which, according 
 to their arrangement, express love or hatred, joy 
 or sorrow. If Spirits out of the body do indeed tip 
 tables and rap the alphabet, to communicate with 
 Spirits in the body, it must be confessed that the 
 machinery we poor mortals are obliged to employ, 
 
SPIRIT AND MATTEE. 299 
 
 in order to commnnicate with each, other, is nearly 
 as tedious and imperfect as theirs. 
 
 Ancient oriental philosophers, and some of the 
 Gnostics at a later period, believed in a gradation 
 of successive worlds, gradually diminishing in the 
 force of spiritual intelligence, and consequently in 
 outward beauty. They supposed that each world 
 was an attenuated likeness, a sort of reflected image 
 of the world above it ; that it must necessarily be 
 so, because, in all its parts, it was evolved from that 
 world. They believed that the inhabitants of each 
 world knew of those in the world next below them, 
 and were attracted toward them ; but that the world 
 below was unconscious of the higher sphere whence 
 it emanated. 
 
 Swedenborg teaches that all the inferior grades 
 of being in this world are representative forms of 
 the spiritual state of mankind, and owe their exist- 
 ence to the thoughts and feelings in human souls. 
 Thus if men had no bad passions, there would be 
 no lions and tigers ; and if they were inwardly pure, 
 there would be no vermin. In other words, he 
 teaches that the lower forms of Nature are reflected 
 images of man, as the orientals taught concerning 
 successive worlds ; and in this case also the higher 
 is attracted toward the lower, and wishes to com- 
 municate with it, while the lower remains ignorant 
 of the existence of the higher. I knew something 
 of the swallows, and wanted to talk with them, but 
 they knew nothing of me. 
 
800 SPIRIT AND MATTER. 
 
 Swedenborg teaclies sTiccessive spheres of exist- 
 ence, as did tlie orientals, though in another form. 
 He says Spirits in the sphere nearest to this earth 
 are attracted towards us, and wish to communicate 
 with us ; but that some of them are in a low state, 
 and capable of great duplicity. Many people are 
 satisfied with the theory that these are the Spirits 
 who are believed to be rapping and tipping tables 
 in all parts of the country. Certain it is, many of 
 the phenomena that actually occur cannot possibly 
 be the result of jugglery ; though miracles sometimes 
 seem to be performed by that adroit agency. Can- 
 did minds cannot, I think, avoid the conclusion that 
 Spirit is acting upon Matter in some way not 
 explainable by any known laws of our being. 
 Whether it is Spirit in the body, or out of the body, 
 seems dif&cult to decide. The agents, whoever they 
 are, are obviously nearly on a level with our own 
 spiritual condition ; for they tell nothing which had 
 not been previously known or imagined ; and they 
 do not always tell the truth. 
 
 Minds of mystical tendencies find joy in believing 
 that all inspirations in religion, science, or art, come 
 to us from above, through the medium of minister- 
 ing Spirits, who dwell in higher spheres of intelli- 
 gence and love, and are attracted towards us by our 
 inward state. The fast-increasing strength of evil, 
 which often leads men to think the Devil drives 
 them into some crime, they account for by supposing 
 that the indulgence of wrong thoughts and feelings 
 
SPIRIT AND MATTER. 801 
 
 brings us into affinity witli Spirits below us, wbo 
 are tliiis enabled to influence our souls by the opera- 
 tion of laws as universal and unchangeable as those 
 which regulate the attraction and repulsion of mate- 
 rial substances. 
 
 Kationalists, on the other hand, deem that all 
 mental influences, whether good or evil, may be 
 sufficiently accounted for by the activity of the soul 
 in any particular direction ; that the indulgence of 
 any class of thoughts and feelings renders them con- 
 tinually stronger and stronger, as the pedestrian's 
 leg, or the wood-cutter's arm is invigorated by fre- 
 quent use. 
 
 All these thoughts grew out of the removal of a 
 swallow's nest. They left me where they found me. 
 Temperament, and early habits of thought, inclined 
 me toward mystical theories ; while increasing cau- 
 tion, learned by the experience of many fallacies, 
 beckoned toward the less poetical side of austere 
 rationality. I remained balanced between the op- 
 posite forces, candidly willing to admit the claims 
 of either. I could only bow my head in reverent 
 humility, and say, " On these subjects we cannot cer- 
 tainly know any thing, in this imperfect state of 
 being. Yerily, m3^sterious is the action of Spirit 
 upon Spirit, and of Spirit upon Matter." As I 
 thus dismissed the subject from my mind, a voice 
 from some corner of my soul said, " The swallows 
 did not hnow that you took away their nest, but 
 you didy 
 26 
 
THE 
 
 KANSAS EMIGRANTS 
 
 And unto thee, in Freedom's hour 
 Of sorest need, God gives the power 
 
 To ruin or to save. 
 To wound or heal, 'to blight or bless, 
 "With fruitful soil, or wilderness, 
 
 A free home, or a grave. 
 
 J. G. Whittier. 
 
 " You are silent to-niglit, William," said Alice 
 May to her lover, as tliey walked through a green 
 lane, toward the setting sun. 
 
 " Yes, dearest," he replied, "I have that on my 
 mind which makes me thoughtful." After a pause, 
 he added, " That book I was reading to you, before 
 these golden-edged clouds tempted us out into the 
 fields, has made a very strong impression on me. 
 I never before realized how much depends on the 
 state of mind we are in when we read. The story 
 of our forefathers was all familiar to me ; and I al- 
 ways reverenced the Puritans ; but the grandeur of 
 their character never loomed up before my mental 
 vision as it does now. With all their faults, they 
 were a noble set of men and women." 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGEANTS. 803 
 
 it 
 
 " And wliat has anointed your eyes to see this 
 more clearly than ever to-night?" asked Alice. 
 
 "All the while I was reading, I was thinking of 
 John Bradford's project of going to Kansas ; and, 
 while we have been walking in the fields, my eyes 
 have involuntarily turned away from the glorious 
 sunset clouds, to glance at the neat dwellings dotted 
 all over the landscape ; to the mill whirling spark- 
 ling water-drops into the air ; to the school-house, 
 with its broad play -ground; to the church-spire, 
 gleaming brightly in the sun. All these we owe 
 to those heroic pilgrims, who left comfortable homes 
 in England and came to a howling wilderness to 
 establish a principle of freedom ; and what they 
 have done for Massachusetts, John Bradford and 
 his companions may do for Kansas. It is a glo- 
 rious privilege to help in laying the foundation of 
 states on a basis of justice and freedom." 
 
 " I see that John has magnetized you with his 
 enthusiasm," she replied; "and he has magnetized 
 cousin Kate also. How brave she is, to think of 
 following him, with their little child !" 
 
 " Kate is hopeful by temperament," said Wil- 
 liam; "but I think she is hardly more brave than 
 you are. You are both afraid of a snake and a 
 gun." 
 
 " I was thinking more of the long journey, the 
 parting from" friends, and living among strangers, 
 than I was of snakes and guns," replied Alice. 
 " Then everybody says there are so many discom- 
 
804: THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 forts and hardships in a new country. And the 
 Indians, WilHam! Only think of going within 
 sound of the Indian war-whoop!" 
 
 " The Indians are in a very different state now," 
 he rephed, " from what they were when the Puritan 
 women followed their husbands into the wilderness 
 of this new world. They are few in numbers 
 now. Their spirit has been tamed by accumulated 
 wrongs, and they are too well aware of the power 
 of the United States' government, to make any 
 aggressions upon those who are under its protec- 
 tion. Besides, you know it is my opinion that 
 the Indians never would have made unprovoked 
 aggressions. Who can read Catlin's account, with- 
 out being struck with the nobility of character 
 often manifested by their much-injured race? I 
 am fully persuaded that it is easy to make firm 
 friends of the Indians, by treating them with jus- 
 tice and kindness, and with that personal respect, 
 which they so well know how to appreciate." He 
 pressed her arm to his side, and took her hand 
 within his, as he added, "You seemed greatly to 
 admire that young Puritan bride, who cheerfully 
 left home and friends behind her, and crossed the 
 tempestuous ocean, to brave cold and hunger by 
 her husband's side, in a wilderness where wolves 
 and savages were howling." 
 
 Her hand trembled within his ; for something in 
 the earnestness of his look, and the tender modu- 
 lation of his tones, suddenly revealed to her what 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 805 
 
 was passing in his mind. Slie knew lie was 
 not thinking of cousin John's wife, while he 
 spoke thus of the pilgrim's bride. It was the 
 first time that such a possibility had been sug- 
 gested to her mind; and it made the blood run 
 cold in her veins. After a painful pause, she 
 said, with a forced calmness of voice, "We often 
 admire virtues we are not strong enough to 
 imitate." 
 
 He pressed her hand, and remained silent, till an 
 outburst of tears made him stop suddenly, and fold 
 her to his heart. "Don't weep, my beloved," he 
 said, " I will never require, or even ask, such a 
 sacrifice of you. Such a delicate flower as you are 
 needs to be sheltered from the blast and the storm. 
 But you have conjectured rightly, dearest, that my 
 heart is set upon accompanying these emigrants. 
 I feel that all there is of manhood within me, will 
 be developed by the exigencies of such a career. 
 My character and my destiny will grow more 
 grand with the responsibilities that will devolve 
 upon me. If I remain here, I never shall do half 
 I am capable of doing for myself and for posterity. 
 To speak the plain truth, dear Alice, I have some- 
 thing of the old Puritan feeling, that God calls me 
 to this work. You have promised to be my wife 
 within a few weeks ; but I absolve you from that 
 promise. If you prefer it, I will go and prepare a 
 comfortable home for you in that new region, and 
 endeavour to draw a circle of our mutual friends 
 26* • u 
 
806 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 around me, before I ask 3^011 to leave your New 
 Enoiand home." 
 
 She looked up at him, through her tears, with a 
 half-reproachful glance, which seemed to say, " Do 
 you then suppose there can be any hardship so 
 great, as separation from the one I love best in the 
 world?" 
 
 He understood the mute appeal, and answered it 
 by saying, "Don't be rash, dear Alice. Reflect 
 upon it till next Sunday evening, and then tell 
 me what is your decision. I shall not love you 
 one particle the less if you tell me that years must 
 pass before you can be the partner of my life. JSTo 
 duties, no excitements, no lapse of time, can re- 
 move your image from my heart." 
 
 Few more words were spoken, as they returned 
 homeward, lighted by the crescent moon. It was 
 not until long after midnight that Alice fell asleep, 
 to dream of standing by a wide chasm, vainly 
 stretching her hand toward William, on the other 
 side. 
 
 During the following days, she asked no counsel, 
 save of Grod and her mother. Her mother laid her 
 hand tenderly on her head, and said,*" I dare not 
 advise you. Follow your own heart, my child;" 
 and when she prayed to God, she seemed to hear 
 an echo of those words. She saw William often, 
 but she spoke no word to dissuade him from liis 
 purpose. Had he been going to California to dig 
 gold, she would have had much to say in favour of 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGKANTS. 807 
 
 the humblest home under the protection of the old 
 order- loving Commonwealth ; but he had spoken so 
 seriously of his sense of duty, that her womanly na- 
 ture reverenced the manliness of his convictions ; 
 and she prayed that his courage to dare might bo 
 equalled by her fortitude to endure. It rained 
 heavily on Sunday evening, so that the lovers could 
 not take their accustomed walk ; and the presence 
 of others prevented a confidential interview. But 
 when they parted at the door, Alice slipped a small 
 package into William's hand. When he arrived at 
 home, he opened it with nervous haste, and found 
 a small Bible, with a mark within it. An anchor 
 was embroidered on the mark, with the word 
 Faith beneath it; and his eye w^as caught by 
 pencil lines on the page, encircling the words: 
 "Where thou goest, I will go ; where thou lodgest, 
 I will lodge ; thy people shall be my people, and 
 thy God my God." "God bless her!" he ex- 
 claimed. "Now I can go forward with an un- 
 divided heart." He kissed the anchor again and 
 again, and, bowing his head on his hands, he w^ept 
 as he had not wept since boyhood. To his deep 
 and earnest nature, love and duty were sacred 
 realities. 
 
 Great was the joy of cousin Kate and her hus- 
 band, when it was known that William Bruce had 
 determined to join the band of emigrants, and tliat 
 Alice had acquiesced. William was a young man 
 of such good judgment and stedfast principles, that 
 
808 THE KANSAS EMIGEANTS. 
 
 tliey all felt he would be a balance-wheel in the 
 machinery of any society where he moved. John 
 Bradford was equally good and true, but his tem- 
 perament induced more volubility of speech, and 
 more eagerness of action. When the band of emi- 
 grants heard of William's decision, they said laugh- 
 ingly to each other, "Now we shall have both 
 Moses and Aaron to guide us into Canaan." Kate's 
 widowed mother, and a younger brother and sister, 
 resolved to join the enterprising band. A little 
 nephew of five years old was of the same mind ; 
 and when told that he was too small to be of any 
 use, he declared himself fully able to catch a bear. 
 Alice's father and mother had prospective plans of 
 following their daughter, accompanied by their 
 oldest son, in case those w^ho went before them 
 should send up a good report of the land. Her 
 adhesive affections suffered terribly in this rupture 
 of old ties. But in such natures love takes pos- 
 session of the whole being. She w^ould have sacri- 
 ficed life itself for William. All her friends knew 
 it was harder for her than for others, to go into a 
 strange land and enter into entirely new modes of 
 existence. Therefore, they all spoke hopefully to 
 her, and no one but William ever presented the 
 clouded side of the picture to her view. He did it 
 from a conscientious scruple, lest she should go for- 
 ward in the enterprise with eyes blinded to its dif- 
 ficulties. But the hardships he described in such 
 tender tones, never seemed like hardships. His 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGEANTS. 809 
 
 warnings were always met witli the affectionate re- 
 sponse, "What a proud and happy woman I shall 
 be, dear "William, if I can do any thing to sustain 
 you through the trials you will have to encounter." 
 She never spoke despondingly, never told the fears 
 that sometimes swarmed in her imagination. If 
 she could not strengthen him, she at least would 
 not unnerve him, she said to herself; and as for 
 cousin Kate, she would have been ashamed to ac- 
 knowledge to her what a faint heart was beating 
 within her bosom. Kate, who had earned her own 
 living ever since she was sixteen, and assisted 
 her widowed mother, and educated her younger 
 brother and sister, in a manner well adapted 
 to make them useful and active members of 
 society, was just the woman to emigrate to the 
 West. Sometimes Alice sighed, and wished she 
 was more like Kate. She did not know how 
 many anxious thoughts were concealed under 
 her cousin's cheerful tones, her bright frank 
 smile, and her energetic preparations for depar- 
 ture. 
 
 Thick and fast came in the parting memorials 
 from relatives and schoolmates ; and what showers 
 of tears fell upon them as they were stowed away 
 in the closely packed chests ! That last niglit at 
 the old homesteads, oh, how the memories crowded 
 upon those suffocated hearts ! When Alice stole 
 out in the moonlight, and wept, while she kissed 
 the old elm, from whose boughs she had swung in 
 
810 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 childhood, she did not know that the roots were 
 already moistened with Katie's tears. 
 
 To the experienced and the thoughtful, all wed- 
 dings are solemn occasions ; for when they see the 
 young unmooring their boat from its old fastenings, 
 and floating away so gaily on the sun-rippled 
 stream, they know full well that shadows are 
 ahead, and that many a rock lies hidden under fbe 
 bright waters. The marriage of William and Alice 
 was solemn even to sadness ; for they were to de- 
 part for Kansas on the morrow. The farewell mo- 
 ment had been so dreaded for days preceding, that 
 all felt as if it would be a relief to have the agony 
 over. Alice clung to her parents as the drowning 
 cling. The mother lifted up her voice and wept, 
 and the old father choked, as he strove to say, 
 "Very pleasant hast thou been unto me. God 
 bless thee, my child." But cousin Katie, whose 
 mission it was to strengthen everybody, came up 
 and pressed their hands, and said " Good bye, dear 
 uncle ; good bye, dear aunt. "We'll make a beauti- 
 ful home for you in Kansas ; and Willie and Ally 
 will come to bring you to us." 
 
 As they mounted the wagons, children, who used 
 to attend Mrs. Bradford's school, came up with 
 bunches of violets; and the little nephew, who 
 thought himself such a mighty hunter, called out, 
 " send me a bear !" 
 
 "Oh yes, Georgy," replied Kate. "Will you 
 have him roasted ?" 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 811 
 
 " I want to tie Mm np in the darden^ and feed 
 him," shouted George. But no one heard him. 
 The wagons had rolled away before he finished the 
 sentence ; and those who watched them forgot that 
 any thing else existed. 
 
 The last glimpse of Alice showed her head bowed 
 down on her husband's shoulder, her waist en- 
 circled by his arm. The last tones of Katie's voice 
 had been strong and clear ; and no one but her 
 kind-hearted John saw how the tears rained down 
 on her infant's face, as they rode through their na- 
 tive village. They had never fully realized, until 
 now, how beautiful were the elms in the delicate 
 verdure of spring; how precious were the golden 
 blossoms profusely strewn over the meadows ; how 
 happy and safe the homes seemed to nestle in the 
 scenery. As they passed the church, all turned 
 and looked back at that place of pleasant meetings 
 with relatives, friends and neighbours. 
 
 "They will miss our voices in the choir, dear 
 William," said Alice. 
 
 " Yes," he replied ; " but, by the blessing of Grod, 
 we will sing hymns in the wilderness, and waken 
 musical echoes among the silent hills." 
 
 " And we will sing ' Home Sweet Home' toge- 
 ther," said Alice, with a faint smile. 
 
 "We'll all join in the tune," said Katie; "and 
 John, who is ' up to all sort o' fixens', as the West- 
 erners say, will make some new variations, on pur- 
 pose for the occasion." 
 
812 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 Then came the bustle of depots, tlie whizzing of 
 steam, and visions of fields and hills racing awaj. 
 As usual, the hearts that went recovered serenity 
 sooner than the hearts left behind. The new ex- 
 citement of travelling waked up hope, who shoved 
 memory aside for awhile, and produced from her 
 portfolio a series of sketches, painted in colours more 
 prismatic than Kossiter's. They talked of the ge- 
 nial climate, and beautiful scenery of Kansas, and 
 foretold that it would be the Italy of the western 
 world. 
 
 " I hope it will be like Italy only in its exter- 
 nals," said Kate. " I trust there will be no laza- 
 roni, no monks, no banditti, no despots to imprison 
 men for talking about the laws that govern them." 
 
 " Why do you want to make a new Italy of it ?" 
 inquired Alice. "What better destiny can you 
 wish for it, than to be like our dear New Eng- 
 land?" 
 
 " ISTothing better can be wished for it," rejoined 
 William. " Had I not been deeply impressed with 
 the conviction that the institutions, and manners, 
 and consequent welfare of states, depend greatly on 
 the character of first settlers, I should never have 
 encouraged emigration from the old Commonwealth 
 by my own example." 
 
 " But the climate and scenery of Italy would be 
 an improvement to Massachusetts," said John, " if 
 we could have it without losing the active soul and 
 strong muscle of ISTew England." 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 813 
 
 " Tliat is it exactly, Jolm," rejoined Katie. " We 
 will have it a young New England ; but it sliall be 
 under sunny skies, witli Italian dress." 
 
 Several days passed before the emigrants began 
 to be much aware of the discomforts and fatigue of 
 a long journey. The babies crowed, and seemed 
 to think the huge machine was invented expressly 
 to furnish them with a pleasanter motion than 
 cradle or go-cart ; while maturer minds found 
 amusement in observing the passengers that came 
 and went, and pleasure in the varying scenery, as 
 they were whirled along, past the thriving farms 
 of New York, the tall forests of Canada, and the 
 flower-dappled prairies of Illinois. But after a 
 while, even the strongest became aware of aching 
 bones, and the most active minds grew droAvsy. 
 The excessive weariness of the last days no pen 
 can adequately describe. The continuous motion 
 of the cars, without change of posture ; the dis- 
 turbed night on board steamboats full of crying 
 children ; the slow floating over Missouri waters, 
 ;iow wheeling round to avoid a snag, now motion- 
 less for hours on a sand-bar, waiting for the drift- 
 ing tide, while twilight settles darkly down over 
 uninhabited forests, stretching away in the dim 
 distance. The hurry and scramble of arriving at 
 strange places, farther and farther away from 
 home, and always with a dreary feeling at their 
 hearts that no home awaited them. 
 
 "If I could only make it seem as if we were 
 27 
 
814 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 going anywhere, I don't think I should feel so 
 tired," said Alice, with a kind of weary bewilder- 
 ment in the expression of her sweet countenance. 
 
 Worn out as Katie was, she summoned a cheer- 
 ful smile, and replied, " Keep up a brave heart, 
 Alice, dear. Those who are going nowhere are 
 pretty sure to arrive." 
 
 After eight days' travel, they arrived at Kansas 
 City, in Missouri. There they bade adieu to cars 
 and steamboats, and entered the Indian Territory, 
 closely stowed away in great wagons, covered with 
 sail-cloth, and furnished with rough boards for 
 seats. In some places the road swept along in 
 graceful curves, through miles of smooth open 
 prairie, belted with noble trees, and sprinkled with 
 wild flowers, as copiously as rain-drops from a 
 summer shower. The charming novelty of the 
 scene was greeted with a child-like outburst of 
 delight from all the weary party. Even the 
 quiet, home-loving Alice, clapped her hands, 
 and exclaimed, "How beautiful!" without add- 
 ing with a sigh, " But it isn't like dear New Eng- 
 land." 
 
 William smiled affectionately at her enthusiastic 
 surprise, and said, " Virtuous and industrious peo- 
 ple can build up happy homes in such solitudes as 
 these, dear Alice." 
 
 Anon, they descended into deep ravines, which 
 jolted the rough boards, and knocked their heads 
 together. Through these steep passes the wagons 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 815 
 
 were jerked by patient mules, till thej were 
 brouglit into streams whose uncertain depths made 
 tlie women and children scream ; or into creeks 
 sparkling in the sunshine, whose shallow waters 
 covered holes, easier to pass by leaving the wagons, 
 and jumping from stone to stone. Then scram- 
 bling up another steep bank, they found marks of 
 wheels to indicate a road. They packed them- 
 selves into the huge wagons again, with their 
 baskets and babies, bread and cheese, and went 
 tumbling along with bonnets knocked into cocked- 
 hats, and hats that had lost all appearance of being 
 wide-awake. Katie was conjecturing, now and 
 then, how many bowls and plates would arrive in 
 Kansas unbroken ; while Alice had a foggy idea 
 that they were going nowhere; but there was a 
 rainbow across the fog, because William was going 
 there, too. 
 
 Tired out in mind and body, they came at last 
 to the river Wakarusa, which they crossed slowly 
 at the fording-place, and rode up a bank that 
 seemed steep enough to set the wagons on end. 
 This brought them into fields of grass, dotted here 
 and there with small cabins. To New England 
 eyes it presented little resemblance to a village; 
 but it was called a town, and bore the honoured 
 name of Franklin. A few miles to the left, 
 smoothly rounded hills rose on the horizon, ter- 
 race-like, one behind the other. Between those 
 beautiful hills and the thickly -wooded banks of the 
 
816 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 river, was tlie infant town of Lawrence, the des- 
 tined capital of Free Kansas. 
 
 Here the travellers rested to greet old friends, 
 who had preceded them, and to form plans for the 
 future. They all agreed that a more beautiful nest- 
 ling place for a village had rarely been seen ; and 
 really, considering it was little more than eight 
 months old, it had quite a grown-up look. There 
 were several neat houses, and many cabins, the ap- 
 pearance of which indicated industrious inmates, 
 who would rapidly increase their comforts, and en- 
 large their borders. The bright river made a 
 graceful curve, fringed with trees, which the skill 
 of man could not have arranged so tastefully as 
 nature had done. Hills rose to the horizon in grad- 
 ually ascending series, their verdant slopes lighted 
 up with golden sunshine. One of grander propor- 
 tions than the others, called Blue Mound, was im- 
 mediately singled out by Mr. Bradford as the site 
 of a future Free State University ; and his equally 
 active-minded wife forthwith matured the plan, by 
 proposing that William Bruce should be its first 
 president, and her baby become a professor of some 
 'ology or other. 
 
 " I am afraid we can't wait long enough for Am," 
 replied her husband, smiling. " We shall have to 
 choose you for a professor, Kate; I, for one, will 
 give you my vote." 
 
 The rough hands of the settlers, and their coarse 
 garments, soiled with prairie mud, were offensive 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGEANTS. 817 
 
 to Kate's ideas of neatness, and still more so to the 
 delicate tastes of Alice. But on Sundays, when 
 they were dressed in their best, and met together 
 to read and sing, they looked like quite different 
 people. As they became more acquainted, it was 
 an agreeable surprise to find so large a proportion 
 of them intelligent and well educated. With a per- 
 vading character of sobriety, industry and enter- 
 prise, they seemed to require nothing but time, and 
 a small allowance of that, to build up thriving 
 towns and form a prosperous state. Certainly, the 
 manner of living was rude, for many of them ate 
 their dinner from boards laid across the tops of 
 barrels. The labour also was hard, for there was 
 much to do, and few to do it ; and, as yet, wells 
 were not dug, or machinery introduced. But where 
 all worked, no one felt his dignity lessened by toil. 
 They had the most essential element of a prosper- 
 ous state ; the respectability of labour. The next 
 most important element they also had; for they 
 placed a high value on education, and were willing 
 to sacrifice much to secure it for their children. 
 The absence of conventional forms, and the con- 
 stant exercise of ingenuity, demanded by the in- 
 conveniences and emergencies of a settler's life, 
 have a wonderful effect in producing buoyancy and 
 energy of character. The tendency to hope for 
 every thing, and the will to do every thing desir- 
 able to be done, were so contagious, that Alice was 
 27* 
 
818 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 surprised to discover the amount of her hitherto 
 undeveloped capabilities. 
 
 There was a cabin for sale, built by one of the 
 earliest settlers, who had died of fever. Its pic- 
 turesque situation, on a rising ground overlooking 
 the river, was attractive to Mr. Bradford and his 
 wife, and it became their home. It consisted of 
 one long room with a loft above, from which it was 
 separated by a floor of loosely-laid boards. The 
 long room was converted into two, by a cotton cur- 
 tain running on iron rings; and the loft was di- 
 vided into two apartments in the same manner. 
 When these arrangements were completed, it 
 afforded a temporary shelter for the two families of 
 Katie and Alice, including eight persons. In the 
 absence of closets, it was necessary to hang all sorts 
 of articles from the boards above. A dried salt 
 fish was near neighbour to a very pretty work- 
 basket, and a bag of potatoes was suspended be- 
 tween a new quilt and a handsome carpet-bag. 
 
 " I hope we shall soon be able to stow the salt 
 fish and potatoes away somewhere," said Alice. 
 
 "Oh, never mind!" replied Katie, laughing. 
 "If Hans Christiau Andersen would only come 
 this way, he would make a fine story about the 
 salt fish falling in love with the pretty basket, and 
 becoming thinner every day, because his genteel 
 neighbour preferred the carpet-bag, and took no 
 pains to conceal her disgust of his vulgar appear- 
 ance and disagreeable breath. She listen to the 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 819 
 
 VOWS of a salt fish ? Not slie ! Did'nt he know 
 that her handsome relative, the carpet-bag, from 
 Brussels, had done as good as make proposals to 
 her ? Then the poor fish wonld be stimulated to 
 hunt up a pedigree. He might claim to have de- 
 scended from Jonah's whale. He, on his part, 
 might feel his dignity offended by the neighbour- 
 hood of dirty potatoes. And the potatoes, like 
 sturdy republicans, might tell him they did not care 
 a darn for his pedigree. They should like to know 
 whether he could grow ; if he could'nt, he was an 
 old fogy, and the less he said the better ; for he was 
 among folks that believed in growing, and did'nt 
 believe in any thing else." Alice laughed at her 
 conceits, and said it was a blessing to have such 
 a lively companion in a lonesome place. 
 
 As soon as the first hurry was over, the men of 
 the family converted packing-boxes into shelves for 
 books and utensils, and made divers grotesque- 
 looking stools, with cotton cloth and unpeeled 
 boughs of wood, after the fashion of portable gar- 
 den-chairs. There was talk of a table to be hewn 
 from a black walnut tree ; but as yet the tree was 
 growing, and boards on barrel- tops must answer 
 meanwhile. The salt-cellars were broken when the 
 wagons were pitching down some of the ravines ; 
 but the shell of a turtle, which Kate's brother 
 Thomas had brought among his traps, made a tol- 
 erable substitute. The women missed the smooth, 
 white table-cloths, and the orderly arrangement of 
 
320 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 dishes, to wliicli they had been accustomed; but 
 they agreed with the men, that no food had ever 
 tasted so good as the corn-cakes, venison, and wild 
 game cooked in that humble cabin, where they 
 mutually served each other in love. Then the un- 
 packing of the deep trunks and boxes, bringing to 
 light memorials of old places and dear friends, was a 
 pleasure which only the far-off emigrant from home 
 may realize. Some mutual secrets had been kept, 
 which made little sunny ripples of surprise in their 
 quiet stream of life. Alice's father and mother had 
 packed their photograph likenesses in Katie's 
 trunk, with a charge that they should not be 
 opened till they were settled in their new home. 
 Katie had pressed mosses and ferns from the old 
 well near Uncle May's garden-gate. They were 
 twined with pendant blossoms from the old elm, 
 and woven into a garland round the words, " From 
 the well, whose waters Katie and Allie drank in 
 childhood, and from the old elm- tree from whose 
 boughs they used to swing." She had framed it 
 neatly with cones, gathered in a pine grove, where 
 they had walked together many an hour. These 
 souvenirs of the dear old home so stirred the deep 
 fountains of feeling in her cousin's soul, that she 
 burst into tears. But Katie soon made her laugh, 
 by exhibiting a crockery bear, which little Georgy 
 had packed among the things, to remind them of 
 the living bear he expected to receive fi^om Kansas. 
 Alice said she had a little secret too. She re- 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 821 
 
 treated to her division of tlie room, and brought 
 forth, a pencil-drawing of the house where Katie 
 was born, and where her mother had always lived ; 
 and across the green lane was Uncle May's house, 
 with the old well shaded by the elm. She had a 
 talent for drawing, and the dear familiar scene was 
 brought faithfully before the eye, though a little 
 idealized by the softness of the shading. 
 
 "Dear me!" exclaimed the vivacious Katie. 
 " How can I put it where I can see it often, yet 
 contrive to keep it free from smoke and dust?" 
 She gave a forlorn kind of glance at the unplas- 
 tered walls, through chinks of which glimpses of 
 the sky were visible. The fact was, neither they 
 nor their friends had been aware of the rough con- 
 ditions of a settler's life; and the cousins had 
 brought with them many pretty little keepsakes, 
 which they could find no places for. But it was a 
 rule with them to utter no complaints, to add to 
 the weight of cares already resting on their noble 
 husbands. So the forlorn look quickly gave place 
 to a smile, as Kate kissed her cousin, and said, 
 *' I'll tell you what I will do, Allie dear. I will 
 keep it in my heart." 
 
 "It is a large place, and blesses all it keeps. 
 That I can bear witness to," said John. * * ^ * 
 
 There was need that the women of Kansas should 
 overlook their own inconveniences, and be silent 
 about their own sufferings; for a thunder-cloud 
 was gathering over the heads of the emigrants, and 
 
 v 
 
322 THE KANSAS EMIGRAlSTTS. 
 
 every week it grew blacker and blacker. It needed 
 less quickness of observation than Katie possessed, 
 to perceive, almost immediately after their arrival, 
 that they were surrounded by dangerous enemies. 
 
 Her husband, knowing the reliable strength of 
 her character, did not hesitate to confide to her his 
 anxieties and fears for Kansas. But, as far as pos- 
 sible, they kept danger out of sight in their con- 
 versations with Alice. They had seen proof enough 
 that she was strong in self-sacrifice, with abundant 
 fortitude to endure for those she loved ; but they 
 knew that the life-blood of her soul was in her 
 affections, and that perils in her husband's path 
 would undermine the strength she needed for her 
 own. Her busy hands were almost entirely em- 
 ployed with in-door occupations ; sewing and mend- 
 ing for the whole family, keeping the rooms tidy, 
 and assisting about the daily cooking. If it was 
 necessary to purchase a pail, or pan, or any other 
 household convenience, it was Katie who sallied 
 forth into Massachusetts street to examine such 
 articles as were for sale at the little shanty shops. 
 If water was wanted, when the men were absent, 
 she put on her deep cape-bonnet, and took the pail 
 to the nearest spring, nearly a quarter of a mile dis- 
 tant ; for there was so much work pressing to be 
 done in Lawrence, that as yet there had been no 
 time fomid to construct wells ; and the water of the 
 river became shallow and turbid uiider the summer 
 sun. These excursions were at first amusing fi:om 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 323 
 
 tlieir novelty, and she came home with a lively ac- 
 count of odd-looking Missouri cattle-drovers, and 
 Indian squaws, with bags full of papooses strapped 
 to their shoulders. But gradually the tone of mer- 
 riment subsided ; and when she had occasion to go 
 into the street, she usually returned silent and 
 thoughtful. Fierce-looking Missourians, from the 
 neighbouring border, scowled at her as she passed, 
 and took pleasure in making their horses rear and 
 plunge across her path. In the little shops she often 
 found more or less of these rufiians, half-tipsy, with 
 hair unkempt, and beards like cotton-cards, squirt- 
 ing tobacco-juice in every direction, and interlard- 
 ing their conversation with oaths and curses. Every 
 one that entered was hailed with the interrogatory, 
 "Stranger, whar ar yer from?" If their answer 
 indicated any place north of the Ohio, and east of 
 the Missisippi, the response was, " Damn yer, holler- 
 hearted Yankees ! What business have jou in these 
 diggens ? You'd better clar out, I tell yer." 
 
 On one of these occasions, a dirty drunken fellow 
 said to Kate, "They tell me you are an all-fired 
 smart woman. Are you pro-slave ? or do you go 
 in for the abolitionists ?" 
 
 Concealing the disgust she felt, she quietly re- 
 plied, " I wish to see Kansas a Free State, because I 
 have her prosperity at heart." 
 
 "Damn yer imperdence!" exclaimed the brute. 
 "I should like to see you chained up with one of 
 our niggers. I'll be cussed if I would' nt help to do 
 
324 THE KANSAS EMIGEANTS. 
 
 it." And lie finished by stooping down and squirt- 
 ing a quantity of tobacco-juice into her face. 
 
 There was another Missourian in the shop, a tall 
 burly looking cattle drover, with a long whip in his 
 hand. He seized the other roughly by the arm, 
 saying, " I tell you what, my boy, that's puttin it 
 on a little too thick. I'm pro-slave. K you're for 
 a far fight with the Yankees, Tom Thorpe's the 
 man for yer work. But I'm down on all sich fixens. 
 Let the woman alone !" 
 
 The rowdy drew his bowie-knife, with a volley 
 of oaths, and Katie darted from the shop, leaving 
 her purchases uncompleted. When she returned, 
 she found her mother busy about dinner, and Alice 
 sitting at the window, making a coarse frock. She 
 raised her head and smiled, when her cousin en- 
 tered, but immediately looked out toward Mount 
 Oread. When she first saw that verdant slope, she 
 had- fallen in love with its beauty; then she had 
 been attracted by the classic name, conferred on it 
 by a scholar among the emigrants. There was 
 something romantic in thus transporting the Moun- 
 tain Spirits of ancient Greece into the loveliest por- 
 tions of this new Western World. WilKam often 
 quoted Leigh Hunt's verses, about 
 
 / 
 
 "The Oreads, that frequent the lifted mountains ; 
 ^^ ******* g^jjj Q>QY (Jeep ravines 
 
 Sit listening to the talking streams below." 
 
 Then Governor Eobinson's house, on the brow of 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 825 
 
 tlie hill, was a pleasant object in tlie scenery ; for 
 lie was a courteous and cultivated man, with a good 
 library, always at their disposal. There was so 
 much quiet gentle strength about him, that his pres- 
 ence seemed to ensure protection. The last and 
 strongest reason why Alice loved Mount Oread was 
 that William had taken land a little beyond it, and 
 there was to be their future home, snug as a bird's 
 nest, in a "sunny nook of greenery." He was 
 building a cabin there, and every day she saw him 
 descending toward Lawrence, with the axe on his 
 shoulder; and as he came nearer, she could hear 
 him whistling, "Home, sweet home." She was 
 watching for him now, and hoping he would return 
 in season for dinner. Therefore she had not noticed 
 the flurried manner with which Kate hastened to 
 wash her face, and wipe the tobacco stains from her 
 bonnet. While she was thus employed, the old 
 lady said to her youngest daughter, " Flora, go and 
 call John and Thomas from the field. Dinner is 
 nearly ready." 
 
 " No, mother ! No !" exclaimed Katie. " Never 
 send her out 1 Never /" Perceiving that her quick 
 emphatic manner had arrested the attention of all 
 the inmates of her dwelling, she added in a lower 
 tone, " I will go, myself" 
 
 But her words had aroused a train of thoughts, 
 
 which was becoming more and more familiar to 
 
 Alice. The men in the vicinity often came to ask 
 
 council of Mr. Bradford and Mr. Bruce; and of 
 
 28 
 
826 THE KANSAS EMIGKANTS. 
 
 course their talk was mainly concerning the neigh- 
 bouring state of Missouri. She heard them tell how 
 ruffians and rowdies came over the border with 
 bowie-knives and pistols ^to drive the free citizens 
 of Kansas away from the polls ; to deprive them of 
 liberty to make their own laws, and compel them 
 to be governed by the code of Missouri, which in 
 many ways violated their moral sense. She heard 
 them say that spies from Missouri were in every 
 neighbourhood, watching those emigrants who dared 
 to say any thing in favour of having the soil of Kan- 
 sas free. Why was Katie so flushed and flurried ? 
 Was the danger approaching nearer than she was 
 aware of? She turned anxiously toward Mount 
 Oread, and longed for a sight of William. What if 
 he should not return till after night-fall ? He, whose 
 honest mouth would never utter a word that was 
 false to freedom, whatever might be his personal 
 risk? Unable to keep back the crowding tears, 
 she slipped behind the cotton curtain that screened 
 their sleeping apartment, and kneeling beside their 
 rude couch, she prayed earnestly to God to protect 
 her husband. 
 
 William had not arrived when they sat down to 
 dine, and his wife made various pretences for rising 
 to remove a plate, or bring a cup of water ; but in 
 reality to look out upon Mount Oread. At last, 
 she heard his voice, and rushed out to meet him, 
 with an outburst of emotion that surprised them all. 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 827 
 
 Jolin shook his head mournfully, and sighed as he 
 said, " Poor Alice ! How she idolizes him !" 
 
 Katie had the discretion not to mention her ren- 
 contre with the Border Euffian to any but her hus- 
 band, who grew red in the face and clenched his 
 jSst, while he listened, but immediately subsided 
 into a calmer mood, and said, " We must be careful 
 never to lose sight of the best interests of Kansas, in 
 our resentment at the wrongs and insults we are 
 continually receiving. We will give these lawless 
 rascals no excuse for molesting us, and wait with 
 patience for the American government to protect 
 its unoffending citizens." 
 
 On the afternoon of the same day, a gawky lad, 
 with a '* long nine" in his mouth, and hands in his 
 trowsers pockets, Qame to the door, saying, "The 
 ole woman's tuk wi' fits almighty strong ; and the 
 ole man wants you to cum, and bring along some 
 o' yer doctor's stuff. He's heern tell that yer 
 death on fits." 
 
 Mrs. Bradford had become so accustomed to the 
 South- Western lingo, that she understood '' the ole 
 man" to be the lad's father. She knew very well 
 that he was a Missouri spy, of the lowest order, an 
 accomplice in many villainous proceedings against 
 the free-soil citizens of Kansas. She felt a loathing 
 of the whole family, not unmingled with resent- 
 ment; but she rose quickly to prepare the medi- 
 cines ; thinking to herself, " What hypocrisy it is 
 for me to profess to be a believer in Christianity, if 
 
828 THE KANSAS EMIGEANTS. 
 
 I cannot clieerfully return good for evil, in sucli a 
 case as this." She administered relief to the sufferer, 
 as tenderly as if she had been her own sister ; and 
 the poor woman expressed gratitude for it, in her 
 uncouth way. When Kate remarked that they 
 would feel more kindly toward the Yankees, if 
 they knew them better, she replied, " I allers tole 
 my ole man I wished they wouldn't keep up such 
 a muss. But Lor', what the use o' speakin'. It's 
 jist like spittin' agin the wind." 
 
 That night, Mr. Bradford's horse and saddle were 
 stolen. They never knew by whom ; but they 
 were afterward seen in Missouri. 
 
 In the midst of discouragements and dangers, 
 the brave band of settlers went on with their work. 
 Better stores were erected, and, one after another, 
 the temporary cabins gave place to comfortable 
 stone houses. 
 
 An Emigrant Aid Society had been formed in 
 the North, whose object it was to assist in the 
 erection of mills, school-houses, and other buildings, 
 for the public benefit. Their motive was partly 
 financial, inasmuch as all such improvements rapid- 
 ly increased the value of property in Kansas ; and 
 they were well aware that the outward prosperity, 
 as well as the moral strength of a state depended 
 greatly upon encouraging emigrants to go from 
 communities where they had been accustomed to 
 free institutions, educational privileges, orderly 
 habits, and salutary laws. Their motives in ex- 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 829 
 
 tending a helping hand to these infant colonies, 
 were both morally good and worldly wise. There 
 was no partiality in their management of affairs. 
 Emigrants from the Southern states shared their 
 benefits equally with those from the JSTorth. Set- 
 tlers were pouring in from all sections of the 
 country ; but chiefly from the North and "West, 
 because the hardy inhabitants of those states are 
 always ready for enterprise and toil. Many of them 
 had large families of children, and the small half- 
 farnished tavern, called the Cincinnati House, was 
 quite insufficient to afford them shelter while cabins 
 were prepared for them. In the course of their 
 first summer, John Bradford and his band of pil- 
 grims had the satisfaction of seeing a noble stone 
 hotel, of three stories, rise in Massachusetts street, 
 making the place beautiful with its glazed win- 
 dows, and doors of polished black walnut. 
 
 Unfortunately, the only route to Kansas, by rail- 
 road or steamboat, passed through Missouri. Bag- 
 gage-wagons were continually plundered, and let- 
 ters broken open and destroyed, by the Border 
 Kuffians. Supplies of provisions, purchased by 
 the settlers, or sent to them by their friends, went 
 to enrich their enemies. Money enclosed in letters 
 met with the same fate. Still the settlers of Kansas 
 pursued a pacific course toward their persecutors. 
 They came from communities where laws were re- 
 liable for protection, and, following their old habits, 
 they appealed to the laws ; desirous, at all hazards, 
 28* 
 
830 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 not to involve the country in civil war. This con- 
 scientious patriotism was not appreciated. The 
 banditti on the borders laughed it to scorn ; while 
 the slaveholding gentlemen and statesmen, who 
 used them s^ puppets, to do the disgraceful work 
 they were ashamed to do openly themselves, smiled 
 at the Yankees' reverence for the Union, and suc- 
 cessfully played their old game of practicing on 
 conscientious love of country, in order to tighten 
 the serpent coil of slavery more securely about the 
 neck of freedom. Missourians had voted their 
 own creatures into most of the of&ces of Kansas. 
 Some of them pitched a tent in that Territory for a 
 while, while others did not even assume the ap- 
 pearance of residing there. From such officers of 
 justice the citizens of Kansas could find no redress 
 for the robberies and wrongs continually inflicted 
 on them, by the band of ruffians commissioned to 
 drive them out of the Territory, b}'' any means that 
 would do it most effiictually. Our wrongs from 
 the British government were slight, compared with 
 theirs. Still these Western Colonies refrained from 
 revolution. They sent agents to Washington, with 
 well-attested evidence of their outrageous wrongs. 
 They received fair words, and no relief. Every 
 day it became more evident that the President of 
 the United States was in league with the power 
 that was crushing free Kansas. The Missourians, 
 emboldened by their knowledge of this fact, played 
 their bad game more and more openly. They paid 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGKANTS. 381 
 
 men a dollar a day, with plenty of whiskey, and 
 free passage across the ferries, to go into Kansas 
 and vote down the rights of the citizens. More 
 and more, the conviction grew upon the people of 
 Kansas that they could not trust the government 
 of the United States, and consequently had only 
 their own energies to rely upon. They published 
 a paper called the Herald of Freedom, in which 
 they maintained the right of all American citizens 
 to choose their own magistrates, and make their own 
 laws. They rejected the legislators imposed upon 
 them by the rabble of Missouri, at the point of the 
 bayonet. They declared that a large majority of 
 the settlers were desirous to have Kansas a Free 
 State, and that they would maintain their right to 
 be heard. To this paper, John Bradford and Wil- 
 liam Bruce were constant contributors, and Kate's 
 brother, Thomas, was diligent in setting the types. 
 Of course, the family became odious to those who 
 were bent on driving freedom out of Kansas. 
 
 A Convention of the free-soil citizens of the 
 Territory was called at Topeka. There were rep- 
 resentatives from nearly all sections of the Union. 
 Emigrants from Carolina, Yirginia, and Missouri, 
 agreed with emigrants from Ohio and Massachu- 
 setts, that the introduction of slavery would prove 
 disastrous to the prosperity of the state. They 
 framed a Constitution for Kansas, and chose legis- 
 lators. Some required that free coloured people 
 should be excluded from the Territory, as well as 
 
B32 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 slaves. Others deemed tliat such a regulation 
 would be an infringement upon freedom, and urged 
 that no man could calculate the future bad con- 
 sequences of introducing one wrong principle into 
 the basis of their government. No one urged this 
 point more strenuously, than did William Bruce, 
 in his mild firm way. But Southern emigrants 
 were opposed to that view of the case, and the Con- 
 vention, desirous to concede as far as possible, yet 
 unwilling to introduce such a clause into their Con- 
 stitution, concluded to leave that question to the 
 votes of the people. 
 
 It Was a trying time for the women in Lawrence. 
 The wisest and bravest men were absent in Topeka, 
 which was twenty -five miles further up the river. 
 The Convention excited great wrath in Missouri. 
 They called themselves lovers of "law and order," 
 and denounced those as "traitors'' who dared to 
 make other laws than those imposed upon them 
 with bowie-knives and revolvers. The wildest 
 stories were circulated. The most moderate of 
 them was a rumour that Mr. Bruce insisted upon 
 having "niggers" become members of the legis- 
 lature. This they regarded as the greatest mon- 
 strosity a republican could be guilty of; for they 
 were blind to the fact that hundreds of coloured 
 slaves could be found, who were more fit for the 
 office, than the white ones they had appointed to 
 rule over Kansas. Insults multiplied, and curses 
 and threats grew louder. Every family in Law- 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 883 
 
 rence went to bed each night with the feeling that 
 they might be murdered before morning. 
 
 When the delegates returned, John Bradford 
 thought his wife seemed at least ten years older, 
 than when she came to Kansas, the preceding 
 spring. The baby, who could now toddle alone, 
 had caught the trick of fear, and hid himself, when 
 his father knocked at the fastened door. 
 
 William was alarmed to find Alice so thin and 
 pale, and to see her gentle eyes look so large and 
 frightened. He folded her closely in his arms, and 
 as she wept upon his bosom, he said, " O my wife ! 
 My loving and generous wife ! How I reproach 
 myself for accepting the sacrifice you offered ! Yet 
 had I foreseen this state of things, I never would 
 have consented that you should follow me into 
 Kansas." 
 
 " Don't say that !" she exclaimed nervously. " It 
 will be easier to die with you, than it would have 
 been to live without you. But oh, William, why 
 need they persecute us so ? There are thousands 
 of acres of land uncultivated in Missouri. What 
 makes them covet our land?" 
 
 "Ah, dearest, it is a complicated question, and 
 you don't understand it. They care little for the 
 land, except as a means of increasing their political 
 power. They want more Slave States, to be rep- 
 resented by slaveholders in the councils of the 
 Union ; and they do not want that any more Free 
 States should come into the Union, to balance their 
 
834 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 influence. Therefore tliey are not content with 
 stretching their dominions to the Gulf of Mexico, 
 and seizing Texas. They wish to grasp the 
 Northern Territories also, that they may be secure 
 of keeping the Free States in political subjection. 
 It is a long story, my love. For many years, they 
 have been artfully availing themselves of every 
 means to increase their power. The antagonistic 
 principles of slavery and freedom have come to a 
 death-grapple here in Kansas ; and you, my del- 
 icate little flower, are here to be trampled, in the 
 struggle." 
 
 Alice sighed, and wished she was more like 
 Kate; for then she would not be such a weight 
 upon his spirits. But he declared that he would 
 not for the world have her in any way different 
 from her own dear self. Then they fell to talking 
 about their future home, which was now in readi- 
 ness. Two of Wilham's brothers had arrived with 
 their families. An addition to the cabin had been 
 built for one of them, and the other would live 
 within call. Katie was loth to part from her 
 cousin ; but she said they would be far more com- 
 fortable in their new quarters, and as for safety, 
 there was safety nowhere ; least of all, in Lawrence. 
 
 Gradually they fell into a more cheerful strain 
 of conversation. The husbands spoke hopefully, 
 and really felt so ; for they had strong faith that 
 their beautiful Kansas would become a free and 
 prosperous state. 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 835 
 
 Yarioiis boxes from Massachusetts, directed to 
 William Bruce, had arrived in Kansas Citj. Some 
 of them contained comfortables and blankets for 
 the winter, which Mrs. May had prepared for her 
 darling daughter ; her " stray lamb in the wilder- 
 ness," as she was wont to call her. Could all that 
 mother's thoughts and feelings have been daguerreo- 
 typed on the cloth, while those stitches were taken, 
 it would have been an epic poem of wondrous 
 pathos. What visions of Alice sleeping in her 
 cradle ; of her wakening smile ; of her soft curls 
 waving in the summer breeze, as she came running 
 with a flower ; of her girlish bloom, delicate as the 
 sweet-pea blossom ; of her clear melodious voice 
 in the choir at church; of the bashful blushing 
 ways, that betrayed her dawning love for William ; 
 of the struggle in her soul, when she must choose 
 between him and her parents ; of her parting look, 
 when she turned from the home of her childhood, 
 to follow her husband into the wilderness. In 
 Alice's soul those stitches, by the old, fond, faithful 
 hand, would also waken a poem of reminiscences. 
 How she longed for those boxes, to see what 
 mother had sent her! Above all, for the letters 
 from dear ISTew England ; especially the long letter 
 from mother ! 
 
 It was agreed that William's brothers should go 
 with a wagon to bring them. They reached 
 Kansas city in safety, and the boxes were delivered 
 to them. Passing through Franklin, on their re- 
 
836 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 turn, they found fifty or sixty Missouri ruffians 
 carousing round a rum-shop, built of logs. A 
 man with ragged trowsers and dirty checked shirt, 
 too tipsy to stand alone, was leaning against a 
 corner of the shop, scraping a fiddle, while his 
 comrades sung : 
 
 " "We've camped in the wilderness, 
 For a few days, for a few days ; 
 
 And then we're going home, 
 
 "We've a right up yonder. 
 "We'll vote, and shoot the Yankees, 
 For a few days, for a few days ; 
 
 And then we're going home, 
 
 "We've a right up yonder." 
 
 As soon as this drunken crew espied the bag- 
 gage-wagon, wending its way toward Kansas, they 
 set up a frightful yell, and, making a rush at the 
 horses, called out, "Hallo, stranger! whar are you 
 going ? and what are you toting ?" 
 
 " To Lawrence, with a load of household goods," 
 they replied. 
 
 " That's a damned nest of Yankee abolitionists !" 
 cried one. 
 
 "We're gwine to wipe it out," shouted another. 
 
 "The goods must be overhauled, boys!" bawled 
 a third. 
 
 It was vain to remonstrate, and useless to fight 
 against such desperate odds. They unloaded the 
 wagons, tore open the boxes, and pulled out the 
 home treasures, which would have been so precious 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGEANTS. S3 7 
 
 to Alice. The young men pleaded hard for the 
 letters ; but the mob said they must carry them to 
 the Governor, to see if there was treason in them. 
 
 " The Governor shall be informed of this, and if 
 there's justice to be obtained in the land, we'll have 
 it," said the brothers. 
 
 ''Shut up, you damned rascals!" shouted the 
 rabble. " Git into yer waggin and be off, or we'll 
 stop yer jawing!" 
 
 Poor Alice ! The blessed words, warm from her 
 mother's heart, that would have poured such balm 
 into her own, would be used to light the pipes of 
 Missouri rufQ.ans. The quilts, so neatly made by 
 those dear old hands, would be spread on muddy 
 floors for drunken revels. It was hard to bear ; 
 but she knew this was only one of a thousand 
 wrongs, and she said, " I will never murmur while 
 my dear good William is spared to me." 
 
 From the time of her betrothal, her loving heart 
 had dreamed of a neat little wedded home, cozy 
 and comfortable, with a few simple adornments of 
 pictures and vases. The loosely -built cabins of 
 Kansas, with their rough "cotton-board" floors, 
 brown with prairie mud, had driven away the illu- 
 sion ; but still it hovered there over Mount Oread, 
 and the Mountain Spirits seemed to sing a pro- 
 phetic song of love and peace in a sunny future. 
 She found the new home provided with more con- 
 veniences than the one she had left ; for William, 
 in the midst of all his cares, never forgot her, and 
 29 X 
 
338 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 snatclied an hour, whenever lie could, to work for 
 her comfort. 
 
 It was the morning of a sunny day when they 
 entered their new abode, and all things looked neat 
 and cheerful. WilUam, who was reverential by 
 temperament, viewed all the common duties and 
 afQiirs of life in a religious light. They stood for a 
 moment, hand in hand, gazing at the humble little 
 cabin, with moistened eyes. Then he removed his 
 hat, and lookiug earnestly to heaven, he threw 
 water on the roof, saying, " I baptize thee the 
 Freeman's Home. May the blessing of God de- 
 scend upon thee !" There was a saddened pleasure 
 in thus consecrating their 'encampment in the wil- 
 derness. 
 
 In Lawrence, darker, and darker yet, the storm 
 was lowering. Autumn was coming on with heavy 
 dews, and cold winds from the mountains swept 
 across the open prairie, whistling through the loop- 
 holes of the fragile cabins, as they went. The 
 dampness and the chill brought with them that 
 dreadful demon of the settler's life, fever and ague. 
 The arms of strong men were palsied by it, and the 
 little children looked like blossoms blighted by a 
 sudden frost. The active, generous-hearted Katie 
 found time to run hither and thither with gruel and 
 medicine, though her own little one was shivering, 
 as if his joints would fall asunder. Many a mur- 
 mured blessing followed her footsteps from cabin 
 to cabin, and many a grateful tear fell on her hand, 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGEANTS. 839 
 
 from home-sick souls, sorrowful, even unto deatli. 
 In the midst of this calamity, rumours of invasion 
 by the Missourians increased daily. In John 
 Bradford's cabin all slept so lightly, that the slight- 
 est unusual sound startled them to instant wake- 
 fulness. The distant whoop of Indians on the 
 prairie, and the howling of hungry wolves disturbed 
 them not. They were in cj^read of a more infernal 
 sound than these; the midnight yell of Border 
 Euffians. A few weeks after the departure of 
 Alice, they were waked from uneasy slumbers by 
 that frightful noise, at the very walls of their cabin. 
 Katie rose hastily, and laying her sick child on the 
 floor, covered him with a thick cotton comfortable ; 
 hoping that the rifle-balls, if they whizzed through 
 the cabin, would either fly over him, or lose their 
 force in the wadding. There was a random shot, 
 but the ball stuck in the boards at their bed's head. 
 The next moment the door was burst open by 
 twenty or thirty fierce-looking men, armed with 
 bowie-knives and revolvers. Never, out of the in- 
 fernal pit, was heard such a volley of blasphemy 
 and obscenity, as poured from their foul mouths. 
 The purport of it all was that they had sworn to 
 " wipe out Lawrence ;" and that they had come to 
 shoot this " damned Yankee abolitionist," who had 
 had the impudence to write in the paper that Kansas 
 would yet be a Free State. They attempted to seize 
 Mr. Bradford, but his wife threw herself across 
 him, and said, " If you murder him, it shall be 
 
840 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 througli my heart's blood." They struck her with 
 their fists, they tried to pull her away ; but she 
 clung with a convulsive power that was too strong 
 for them. Her brother, Thomas, was out that 
 night, watching with a neighbour who was " down" 
 with fever and ague ; and it had been previously 
 arranged that young Flora and her mother should 
 remain hidden in the loft, in case of such an emer- 
 gency. ISTo screams ascended to their ears, for 
 Katie had outgrown a woman's weakness. But 
 the listening mother heard the scuf&e below, and, 
 bidding Flora to hide in the darkest corner, she 
 hastened down the ladder, and threw her arms 
 round John and Katie, saying, "You shall kill 
 me first." They cursed her, and spit at her, and, 
 knocking the night-cap from her head, made 
 mockery of her gray hairs. The lurid light of 
 their torch fell on the scene, and all the while, the 
 wailing of the sick child was heard: "Mammy! 
 Johnny's yaid. Mammy ! Johnny's ^faid^ 
 
 How the struggle might have ended, none can 
 tell, had not a tall figure suddenly burst into the 
 room, exclaiming, "Boys! I'm down on all sich 
 fixens. Let the women alone ! I'll be darned if I 
 don't like to see a woman stick to her husband in 
 trouble, if he is a damned abolitionist. Let her 
 alone, I tell ye 1 Wait till the time comes for a 
 far fight. It's all fired mean, boys ! Sich a posse 
 arter one man and two women." Seeing the 
 human wolves reluctant to quit their prey, he 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 841 
 
 branclislied a bowie-knife, and exclaimed, in a 
 thundering voice, "I tell ye wliat, boys, if ye 
 don't let them ar women alone, I'll pitch into yer, 
 as sure as my name's Tom Thorpe !" 
 
 This remonstrance excited a feeling of shame in 
 some of the gang, while others were willing enough 
 to avoid a quarrel with such a powerful antagonist. 
 
 The ruffians, thus adjured, swaggered away, 
 saying, "We a'nt afeerd o' Tom Thorpe, or the 
 devil." They swore frightful oaths, smashed Kate's 
 small stock of crockery, and seized whatever they 
 could lay hands on, as they went. And all the 
 while, the sick babe was wailing, " Mammy ! 
 Johnny's yaid. Mammy ! Johnny's ''faidr 
 
 'Kate took the poor attenuated child in her arms. 
 Those arms, so strong a few moments ago, were 
 trembling now ; and tears were dropping from the 
 eyes that lately glared so sternly on her husband's 
 enemies. Tom Thorpe lingered a moment, and 
 was turning silently away, when she rose, with the 
 child resting on her shoulder, and took his hand 
 in hers. "I thank you, Mr. Thorpe," she said. 
 " This is the second time you have protected me 
 from insult and injury. I will never forget it. 
 And if a helpless Missourian should ever need my 
 aid, though he be the worst of Border Euffians, I 
 will remember Tom Thorpe, and help him for his 
 sake. I am sorry you stand up for slavery ; you 
 seem to have a soul too noble for that. I am sure 
 if you lived in a Free State for a while, you would 
 29* 
 
842 THE KANSAS EMIGKANTS. 
 
 be convinced that slavery has a bad effect on all 
 concerned in it." 
 
 The mother here laid her hand on his arm, and 
 said, " We are a persecuted people, Mr. Thorpe ; 
 persecuted without provocation; and, I believe, 
 something in your own heart tells you so. Grod 
 bless you for what you have done to-night." 
 
 Mr. Bradford, who had been looking through 
 the chinks in the wall, to watch the course the 
 rufiians had taken, now came up to add his thanks, 
 and ask him if he would take any refreshment. 
 
 " Thankee, stranger," said Tom. " I've no 'ca- 
 sion. I've been drovin cattle roun in the Territory ; 
 and I knows that ar yell of theirn. So I thought 
 I'd jist cum and see what they was cuttin up. I'm 
 down on all sich fixens. Allers tole the boys so. 
 Tom Thorpe's fur a far fight, says I." 
 
 Mr. Bradford tried to convince him that the in- 
 habitants of Kansas wished to be peaceable, just, 
 and kind in their dealings witli the Missourians, 
 and with all men ; and that there was no need of a 
 "fair fio'ht," and no excuse for ruf&an violence. 
 And Kate threw in an argument now and then, to 
 aid her husband. But Tom Thorpe had the idea 
 firmly fixed inside his shaggy head, that a " far 
 fight" was somehow necessary for the honor of 
 Missouri, tliough he was unable to explain wh}^ 
 The mighty drover rolled the quid in his mouth, 
 passed a huge hand through his thick mass of 
 hair, and strode out into the darkness, repeating, 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGKANTS. 843 
 
 *' Tom Thorpe's down on all sicli fixens." As he 
 walked along, he muttered to hhnself, "That ar's 
 an almighty smart woman. What a fetchin up 
 she must a had! No such fetchin up in our 
 diggins. I'm pro-slave, myself. But them ar free- 
 soilers use a feller all up. I swar, I bleeve 
 they're more'n half right. I'll be darned if I 
 ^don't." 
 
 Meanwhile, the inmates of the cabin were canvas- 
 sing his merits. As he passed out of the door, Katie 
 said, " There goes an honest kind heart, under that 
 rough exterior I" 
 
 "A little foggy about right and wrong," replied 
 her husband ; " but Avitli instincts like a powerful 
 and generous animal." 
 
 " That's owing to his ' fetchin up,' as they say, re- 
 joined Kate. " What a man he might have made, 
 if he had been brought up under free institu- 
 tions !" 
 
 " Bless your generous soul !" ejaculated John. 
 " But tell me now truly, Katie, don't you begin 
 to be sorry we ever came to Kansas?" 
 
 She raised her eyes to his, and said calmly, 
 " No, John ; never. The more I know of those 
 Missouri ruf&ans, the more deeply do I feel that it 
 is worth the sacrifice of many lives to save this fair 
 territory from the blighting curse of slavery." 
 
 " True as steel ! True as steel !" exclaimed John, 
 giving her a hearty kiss. " How manfully you 
 stood by me !" 
 
844 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 " How womanfully, you mean," slie replied, 
 smiling. 
 
 " I assure you, Kate, it required more courage 
 to refrain from seizing my rifle, than it would have 
 done to discharge its contents among those rascals. 
 Though we stand pledged to avoid bloodshed, I 
 verily believe I should have broken my pledge, if 
 your voice had not pleaded all the time, ' Don't, 
 John! Don't!'" 
 
 " Oh if the government at Washington would 
 only do its duty !" sighed Kate. " How can they 
 trifle thus with the lives of innocent citizens ?" 
 
 "It's worse than that," rejoined her husband. 
 " Their influence protects the wolfish pack. Slavery 
 always has need of blood-hounds to keep down the 
 love of freedom in the human soul; and these 
 Border EufS.ans are its human blood-hounds." 
 
 " I wonder whether Frank Pierce has any small 
 children," said Katie. "If he has, I wish he and 
 his wife could have heard the feeble voice of this 
 little one, in the midst of those shocking oaths 
 and curses, calling out, ' Mammy ! Johnny's yaid.^ 
 God of mercy I Shall I ever forget that sound !" 
 She drew the sleeping child to her heart, with a 
 gentle pressure, and the tears of father and mother 
 fell fast upon him. The grandmother sat apart- 
 with her head leaning on the table, and wept also. 
 
 For two or three weeks after this transaction, 
 there was a lull in the tempest. Missourian wag- 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 345 
 
 oners came into Lawrence often, with loads of 
 apples, potatoes, and flour. They met with honest 
 and kindly treatment. No one sought to take re- 
 prisals for the many loads of provisions plundered 
 from Kansas. The bravely patient people still 
 waited for redress by law. Soon there came news 
 of a peaceable, industrious settler in the neighbour- 
 hood of Lawrence, who had been shot dead by a 
 scouting party of Missoarians, in mere sport, while 
 he was pursuing his avocations. A few days after, 
 a gang of armed rufiians entered the house of a 
 citizen in Lawrence and carried him off, under the 
 pretence of arresting him for treason. On their 
 way, they were met by a company of young men 
 from Lawrence, who had been out to inquire about 
 the recent murder. They hailed the Missourians, 
 and as they could show no legal authority for what 
 they had done, they took their neighbour into their 
 own ranks, to guard him home. They offered no 
 violence, but, in answer to the threats of their en- 
 emies, replied, with a firmness not to be trifled 
 with, " We are all armed ; and we shall take this 
 man home." 
 
 Though their own horses and cattle had been 
 seized and driven off into Missouri, drove after 
 drove, they inquired of their neighbour whether 
 the horse he rode belonged to those who had ar- 
 rested him ; and when he answered in the affirma- 
 tive, they asked him to dismount and return the 
 animal to his owners. Truly the forbearance of 
 
846 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 tliat persecuted people was wonderful ! The United 
 States' government, wliere was vested the only 
 power that could legally protect them, continued 
 to receive their remonstrances and appeals with 
 fair promises and adroit evasions ; while its alliance 
 with the slaveholding interest, in all its machina- 
 tions, was too thinly veiled to be for a moment 
 doubted. In pursuance of this policy, the Presi- 
 dent appointed Governor Shannon to rule over the 
 Territory ; a man in league with the Missourians, 
 and bent upon carrying out their plans, as openly 
 as it was prudent to do. Somehow or other, no 
 outrages upon Kansas could find redress at his 
 hands. The settlers were told to obey the laws, 
 and be good children to their father. President 
 Pierce, and they should be protected. " The laws !" 
 exclaimed they. "Why these are Missouri laws, 
 forced upon us at the point of the bayonet." They 
 were answered, " The President commands you to 
 obey the laws, and if you rebel against his authority, 
 you will be declared guilty of treason!" Mean- 
 while, many a smooth-tongued plotter tried to gain 
 concessions from the friends of freedom ; talking 
 of the value of the Union, the danger of civil Avar, 
 and the policy of bending before the storm ; a fa- 
 vourite piece of advice in the mouths of those politi- 
 cians, who set the storm in motion, and are guiding 
 it in the hollow of their hands ! 
 
 "Was ever a people so hard bested ? Disheartened 
 by sickness ; plundered of provisions ; lying down 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 347 
 
 every night with the prospect of murder before 
 morning ; mocked at by the government of their 
 country; their conscientious scruples appealed to, 
 to keep the peace where there was no peace ; lured 
 into concessions, by fliir promises and false profes- 
 sions ; threatened with a traitor's doom, if they 
 dared to defend their homes ! And all this while, 
 the Free States were looking on with drowsy in- 
 difference. The whig said, with bland self-import- 
 ance, " They'd better obey the powers that be. I 
 am a friend to law and order." The democrat re- 
 fused to read well-authenticated testimony on the 
 subject, and repeated, with blind obstinacy, "I 
 don't believe half the stories ; and if any of them 
 are true, I dare say the free-soil ers are full as much 
 to blame as the Missourians." 
 
 Yerily, they need the trumpet of doom to waken 
 them. And the trumpet of doom they will have^ 
 when wakening comes too late, if their slumber 
 lasts much longer. 
 
 That little city of cabins, nestling among the 
 lonely hills, has called and called in vain for redress 
 and protection. The murders and robberies still 
 go on. The Border Ruffians are assembling their 
 forces at Franklin below, and at Douglass above. 
 In their drunken frankness, they say they will shoot 
 the men, violate the women, kill the children, and 
 burn the houses ; that their commission is to drive 
 all the Yankee settlers out of the territory, by any 
 means, and all means ; and that no man will dare 
 
848 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 to prosecute tliem, whatever tliey may do. The 
 settlers all feel that the hour for self-defence has 
 come. Stacks of Sharpe's rifles stand in the cabins 
 ready loaded. Forts are erected, and breast-works 
 thrown up. Companies of men work at them by 
 turns, all day and all night, by the light of blazing 
 wood. Yolunteers come in from the neighbouring 
 settlements. The Wyandott tribe of Indians offer 
 their aid in case of need ; for they have been justly 
 treated by the Kansas people, and are unwilling to 
 have them " wiped out." Sentinels guard the doors 
 of the Free State Hotel. All night, mounted pat- 
 rols rid© round the settlement. The drummer 
 watches at his post, ready to beat the alarm ; for 
 they have learned that their cowardly, treacherous 
 foes, assassin-like, prefer the midnight hour. Ever 
 and anon, random shots come from ruffians con- 
 cealed in dark corners. AYomen look anxiously at 
 the doors, expecting to see the bleeding bodies of 
 husbands, sons, or brothers, brought in. Governor 
 Kobinson, now General of the forces, still pursues 
 his course of moderation, and orders the men not 
 to fire till the very last extremity. 
 
 There was a small store of powder and percussion- 
 caps in the vicinity, and various plans were devised 
 to bring it in safely, through the scouting-parties 
 of Missourians. " I Avill do it," said Mrs. Bradford. 
 " They will never suspect that women carry such 
 luggage." Another woman in the neighbourhood 
 promptly offered to accompany her, and they 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 349 
 
 started in a wagon for tliat purpose. Tliey were 
 accosted by Missouri scouts, but as their place of 
 destination seemed to imply nothing more than 
 visiting a friend, they deemed it gallant to let the 
 ladies pass unmolested. The kegs of powder were 
 covered by their ample skirts, and brought safely 
 into Lawrence. The young men on guard threw 
 up their caps, and cried, "Hurra! Worthy of the 
 women of '76 !" 
 
 Alice also was brave in her way. She resigned 
 herself patiently to the long and frequent absence 
 of her beloved husband, and no out-of-door work 
 seemed too hard for her to perform. All through 
 the autumn, she and the other women of the house- 
 hold had helped to gather the crops, tend the cows, 
 and feed the horses. When it came William's turn 
 to patrol Lawrence, or to work at the trenches 
 through the night, she never asked him to stay 
 with her. She only gave him a tenderer kiss, a 
 more lingering pressure of the hand, which seemed 
 to say, " This may be our last farewell." 
 
 Upon one of these occasions, he had been absent 
 several days, and she sat at her sewing, longing, 
 longing to hear the sound of his voice. The tramp 
 of a horse was heard. She sprung up, and looked 
 from the little window. William was not there, 
 kissing his hand to her, as he was wont to do. 
 She ran out of the door, and meeting one of his 
 brothers, said, in a disappointed tone, " I thought 
 William had come. He sent word he would come 
 80 
 
850 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 to-day." He answered that it was merely one of 
 the horses that had got loose. But as she went 
 into the house, he looked at his wife, and said, 
 " Poor Alice ! God grant that it may not be as we 
 fear." 
 
 Alas, it was William's horse, that had rushed by 
 so fleetly, without a rider, and with the saddle 
 turned. Too soon they learned that he had been 
 shot in the back by a party of ruf&ans, after he had 
 told them he was unarmed and going home to see 
 his family. He supposed that even Border Ruffians 
 would not be so cowardly as to take his life under 
 such circumstances. 
 
 The day passed without any one's being able to 
 muster sufiicient courage to tell the mournful 
 tidings to his widow. She had long expected it, 
 and she met it with a dreadful calmness. She ut- 
 tered no scream, and shed no tear. She became 
 pallid as marble, and pressed her hand hard upon 
 her heart. She was stupefied and stunned by that 
 overwhelming agony. 
 
 Of all the outrages none had produced so much 
 excitement as this. It was so dastardly to shoot an 
 unarmed man in the back, without provocation! 
 Then Mr. Bruce was universally beloved. His 
 justice and moderation were known unto all men. 
 The Indians knew how to respect those qualities, 
 which they so rarely meet in white men. The 
 Chiefs of the Delawares and the Shawnees came to 
 offer their aid ; and General Robinson received 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGKANTS. 851 
 
 them with that personal respect, which so peculiarly 
 commends itself to Indian dignit}''. As the news 
 spread through the Territory, small bands of volun- 
 teers came in from all directions. There were five 
 hundred armed men in Lawrence. Everj^ cabin 
 was a barrack. The Free State Hotel was crowded 
 with men earnestly discussing what measures should 
 be taken for the public safety. General Eobinson, 
 pale and anxious, moved among them, renewing 
 his advice to be patient and forbearing. Up to this 
 period, the citizens of Kansas had made no aggres- 
 sions on their merciless foes, and had used no 
 violence in self-defence. But it was not easy to 
 restrain them now. Human nature had been 
 goaded beyond endurance, and men were in the 
 mood to do, or die. When he told them Governor 
 Shannon was coming to inquire into the state of 
 things, some shook their heads despondingly, while 
 the more fiery spirits cursed Governor Shannon, 
 and contemptuously asked what good could be ex- 
 pected from Mm. Out on the prairie, troops were 
 being drilled to the tunes of 76. The Wyandotts' 
 were riding in, single-file, sitting their noble steeds 
 like centaurs. The mettlesome Colonel Lane was 
 in his element. He descanted, with untiring volu- 
 bility, on the rights of American citizens, and the 
 cruel circumstances attending the death of Bruce. 
 Men clenched their rifles and drew their breath 
 hard, while they Ustened. There is no mistaking 
 the symptoms. The old spirit of Lexington and 
 
852 THE KANSAS EMIGEANTS. 
 
 Concord is liere ! Tliey had better not trifle with 
 the Puritan blood much longer ! 
 
 Anon, they brought in the body of the murdered 
 man. His countenance was placid, as the sleep of 
 childhood. The widow asked to see him, and ten- 
 derly they brought her to that couch of death. Oh, 
 what a shriek was there ! Father of mercies ! it 
 went up to thy throne. Wilt thou not answer it? 
 In view of that suffocating agony, the soldiers 
 bowed their heads and wept. 
 
 When Governor Shannon, with his escort, came 
 riding across the prairie, there was none to invoke 
 a blessing on him. General Robinson went out to 
 receive him, and some one suggested that the chief 
 magistrate appointed by the President ought to be 
 received with cheers. The door of the room where 
 the murdered body lay was open, and men saw it, 
 as they passed in and out. The sobs of the broken 
 hearted widow were heard from the room adjoining. 
 His reception was very much like that of Eichard 
 Third, who caused the murder of his brother's 
 children. John Bradford went through a formal 
 introduction to Governor Shannon, but Katie turned 
 quickly away, saying, " If he had done his duty, 
 this would not have happened." The brothers of 
 William Bruce turned away also, and said coldly, 
 " We have no faith in that man." The Governor 
 saw plainly enough that the blood of Kansas was 
 up to fever heat, and that it was prudent to cool it 
 down. He was very courteous and conciliatory, 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGEANTS. 853 
 
 and promised to disperse the bands of ruffians at 
 Franklin and elsewhere. General Robinson co- 
 operated with him in these efforts at pacification. 
 He addressed the people in a speech setting forth 
 mutual mistakes and misrepresentations, which he 
 trusted time would correct. He had always shown 
 himself brave in danger, and they 'knew that he 
 was cautious for the good of Kansas, not for his 
 own interest or safety. Most of them yielded to 
 his arguments, and accepted his invitation to a sup- 
 per at the Free State Hotel, in honor of peace re- 
 stored. But some walked away, contemptuously, 
 saying, " Governor SJiam P^ 
 
 The settlers, far and near, formed a procession to 
 escort the body of William Bruce to "its last resting 
 place. Alice kept up her strength to witness all 
 the ceremonies, and only low stifled sobs came 
 from her breaking heart when the coffin was low- 
 ered from her sight. But after that she broke 
 down rapidly. The long-continued pressure of 
 fears and horrors had completely shattered her 
 nervous system. She rejected food, and seemed 
 never to sleep. As she appeared to feel more at 
 home with Katie, than she did with any one else, 
 they concluded to establish her in the humble 
 apartment where she had first lived with William. 
 Pale and silent she had been ever since she lost 
 him ; but gradually a strange fixed expression 
 came over her face, as if the body was vacated 
 by the soul. Soon she was utterly helpless, and 
 80* • T 
 
854 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 Katie fed and tended Iter, as if she were an infant. 
 The winter proved, as tlie Indians had predicted, 
 cold beyond any within the memory of man. The 
 settlers, many of them plundered of all their money, 
 and most of their clothing, suffered cruelly. Not 
 a few of them returned to their homes in Ohio, 
 Pennsylvania, and New England. Indications 
 multiplied that peace would be of short duration. 
 Poor Kate! How she had changed! Thin as 
 a skeleton, with eyes so large and bright! But 
 thinking always of others before herself, she said, 
 " Mother, dear, worse troubles are coming upon us, 
 than we have ever had. John and I have resolved 
 that, living or dying, we will abide by Kansas. But 
 had'nt you, and Flora, and Tom, better return to 
 Massachusetts ?" 
 
 The mother looked at her younger children 
 and awaited their answer. " I have lived through 
 scenes that make men of boys," said Thomas. "I 
 will have a free home, or a gr^ive, in Kansas." 
 
 " And you Flora ?" inquired the mother. 
 
 " The men of Kansas have need of nurses for 
 the sick and wounded," she replied, "I will stay 
 and help Katie." 
 
 " I will abide by my children, my hrave chil- 
 dren," said the mother. " God help us all to do our 
 duty 1" 
 
 Alice sat bolstered in her chair by the fire, un- 
 conscious of the solemn compact. '' Alas," said 
 Katie, " how I wish we could convey her safely 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 855 
 
 to her motlierl but slie is too feeble to be re- 
 moved." 
 
 Emerging from tlie terrible winter of 1855, the 
 returning sunshine brought some gleams of hope 
 to the suffering colony. They hoped that more 
 emigrants would come in, and they knew the fertile 
 soil would yield abundant crops, if there were 
 hands to till it. But the Border Euffians soon 
 dashed the cup of pleasant anticipation from their 
 lips. They swore they would stop all Yankee 
 emigrants from going into Kansas ; and they re- 
 newed their threats to "wipe out Lawrence." 
 Again they made inroads into the Territory, rob- 
 bing the already impoverished settlers, and es- 
 pecially seeking to deprive them of arms. During 
 one of these forays, they seized a woman, whom they 
 suspected of concealing ammunition, and dragged 
 her into the woods, where she was subjected to their 
 brutal outrao-es. 
 
 When Kate Bradford heard of this, her naturally 
 pleasant countenance assumed an expression stern 
 almost to fierceness. "I called them savages j^'' she 
 said, " when they scalped some of their victims ; 
 but I did injustice to the savages; for, in their 
 worst cruelties, they always respected the modesty 
 of women." From that time, she practiced with 
 rifle and pistol, and became expert in using them. 
 A similar spirit was roused in several of the wo- 
 men, who agreed to act under her command, if the 
 emergencies of the tune required it. Circumstances 
 
856 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 had goaded her to this. Her nature was kindly as 
 ever, and she prayed fervently to God that no 
 blood might ever rest upon her hands. All along, 
 she had been sustained by the belief that aid would 
 come to Kansas. She had such pride in American 
 institutions, she could not believe that the govern- 
 ment of her country was in league with such 
 abominations and outrages, until the return of 
 messenger after messenger sent to "Washington, 
 made the damning proof too strong to be resisted. 
 Then her old love of ISTew England increased a 
 hundred-fold ; for all her hopes centred there. 
 The Pilgrims that came over in the May Flower, 
 the men and women of '76, had always been the 
 heroes of her imagination ; and the crisis, in which 
 she now found herself living and acting, rendered 
 their crown of glory more luminous in her memory. 
 " Massachusetts will help us," she was wont to say, 
 witb somewhat of filial pride in the confident tones 
 of her voice. ^''Massachusetts will not look on with 
 indifference, while her emigrant children are driven 
 into a pen-fold to be slaughtered like sheep, by 
 those whom long habits of slaveholding have 
 made familiar with every form of violence and 
 wrong." 
 
 Drearily, drearily, the weeks passed away. Men 
 and women were limping about, with feet that had 
 been frozen during the winter's severest cold. 
 Many had no guns to shoot game, to protect them 
 from the wolves, or from enemies far worse than 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGEANTS. 657 
 
 wolves. Their ammunition liad been stolen from 
 tliem, provisions were intercepted on the way, and 
 every breeze brought rumours that the ruffians were 
 making ready to "wipe out Lawrence.*' I^ews- 
 papers from the North, and letters from friends, 
 were long delayed, and often destroyed on the 
 way. The haggard settlers looked at each other 
 with forlorn helplessness. They had reached the 
 extremest point of desolation. Still John and 
 Katie said, " Massachusetts will help us. Depend 
 upon it, Massachusetts will not desert her children 
 in their utmost need." And other brave hearts 
 responded to the cheering words, saying, "Ohio 
 will help us." " Connecticut will not forget us." 
 " Illinois will come to the rescue." 
 
 They had said this to each other, at the close of 
 one of their darkest days, when lo ! a messenger, 
 sent to Kansas city for letters and papers consigned 
 to a friend there, was seen riding across the prairie. 
 Through various perils, he had brought the pack- 
 ages safely to Lawrence. They were seized and 
 torn open with eager, trembling hands. A crowd 
 of men and women assembled at the printing-office, 
 to hear the news. Mr. Bradford was reading aloud 
 to them, when his countenance suddenly fell. " Go 
 on ! Go on !" cried the anxious listeners. He gasped 
 out," " The Legislature of Texas has voted to give 
 fifty thousand dollars to make Kansas a Slave State." 
 
 " And Massachusetts ? What has Massachusetts 
 done ?" asked Kate, with nervous eagerness. 
 
358 THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 
 
 He lowered his eyes, as one ashamed of his 
 mother, while he answered, " The Legislature of 
 Massachusetts has voted not to give one dollar to 
 make Kansas a Free State." 
 
 . In the midst of all the sufferings that had har- 
 rowed her soul, Katie had always remained cahn 
 and collected. Now, for the first time, she groaned 
 aloud; and, throwing her arms wildly toward 
 heaven, she exclaimed, in tones of bitter anguish, 
 "Oh, Massachusetts! How I have loved thee I 
 How I have trusted in thee 1" Then bowing her 
 head in her hands, she sobbed out, "I could not 
 have believed it." But Massachusetts was far off. 
 The Governor and Legislature of her native state 
 did not hear her appeal. They were busy with 
 other things that came home to their business^ not 
 to their bosoms. 
 
 W W TT w w 
 
 On the 21st of May, 1856, Lawrence was "wiped 
 out." Companies of Ruf&ans encamped around it ; 
 a furious tipsy crew, in motley garments. One 
 band carried a banner with a tiger ready to spring ; 
 the motto, "You Yankees tremble! and aboli- 
 tionists fall?" Another carried a flag marked, 
 " South Carolina," with a crimson star in the centre 
 the motto, " Southern Eights." Over Mount Oread 
 floated a blood-red pirate flag, fit emblem of the 
 Border Ruffians ; and by its side, a suitable com- 
 panion for it now, floated the United States flag. 
 "What cared New England that her six stars were 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGRANTS. 859 
 
 there, in shameful '' Union" with that blood-red 
 flag? 
 
 President Pierce issued a proclamation, which 
 made it treason for the citizens to defend them- ' 
 selves. The best and truest men were arrested and 
 imprisoned as traitors, because they had no respect 
 for the laws passed upon them by a Missouri rabble, 
 with bowie-knives and revolvers. 
 
 The printing-press was broken in pieces ; the 
 types scattered ; the Free State Hotel demolished ; 
 General Robinson^s house, with its valuable library, 
 burned to the ground ; and many of the cabins set 
 on fire. No time was allowed to remove any thing 
 from the dwellings. Trunks and bureaus were 
 ransacked; daguerreotypes and pictures of dear 
 home friends were cut and smashed; and letters 
 scattered and trampled in the mud. The women 
 and children had been ordered out, at the com- 
 mencement of these outrages. Mothers were weep- 
 ing, as they fled across the prairies, and the poor 
 bewildered little ones were screaming and crjdng 
 in every direction. 
 
 What cared New England that her six stars were 
 looking down upon the scene, in shameful " Union" 
 with that blood-red flag? 
 
 Above the noise of tumbling stones, and crack- 
 ling roofs, and screaming children, rose that horrid 
 yell of the Border Ruffians. " Damn the Yankees !" 
 ''Give 'em hell!" 
 
 A figure, tall as Ajax, loom.ed up above the 
 
360 THE KANSAS EMIGKANTS. 
 
 savage crowd, calling out, " I'm down on all sich 
 fixens. Allers tole yer 'twas darned mean to come 
 over into the Territory an vote for these fellers. 
 I'm pro-slave myself. I'd like to see him that 
 dar'd to call me an abolitionist ; but I tell yer 
 what, boys, this ere's cuttin up a little too high." He 
 was interrupted with shouts of, " Hold your jaw I" 
 "Shut up! you damned ole fool!" Still he re- 
 monstrated : " This is a breakin down the rights o' 
 American citizens. You might jist as well smash 
 my ole woman's bureau. Them ar traps are per- 
 sonal property. I'm down on all sich fixens." 
 
 " Pitch into him !" cried the rabble ; and they 
 did " pitch into him," amid yells and laughter. Tom 
 Thorpe was silenced. He learned the uselessness 
 of trying to moderate slavery, or ameliorate murder. 
 
 Katie's first care had been to consign little 
 Johnny to her brother ; and the next was to place 
 the helpless Alice in her mother's arms, to be con- 
 veyed to a hut half a mile off. Then she held a 
 hurried conference with her husband about a suit- 
 able place to conceal some fire-arms for future use ; 
 and snatching up a box of letters and small valua- 
 bles, she fled with Flora, pistol in hand. When 
 Alice had been cared for, as well as the exigencies 
 of the moment would permit, she ran back to aid 
 some of her sickly neighbours, who were breaking 
 down with the weight of their clinging children. 
 Then, swift as an ostrich, the daring woman ran 
 back to Lawrence, to pick up some of the scattered 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGKANTS. 861 
 
 clothes and bedding, wliich lier husband and his 
 neighbours carried off as fast as she could heap it on 
 their shoulders. The Eufhans were so busy with 
 the printing-press and the Hotel, and she watched 
 opportunities so cautiously, that she had rescued 
 many things from the wreck, before they noticed 
 her. They drove her off with oaths and ribald 
 jests. She stood within sight of her blazing home, 
 and her hand was on her pistol. The temptation 
 was strong. But she remembered the oft-repeated 
 words of General Eobinson : " Act onl^^- the de- 
 fensive. Make no aggressions. Keep the cause 
 of Kansas sacred." She only turned upon her pur- 
 suers to say, "You think you* have silenced the 
 Herald of Freedom, because you have demolished 
 the printing-press; but you are mistaken. That 
 trumpet will sound across the prairies yet." 
 
 " What a hell of a woman i" exclaimed one of 
 the mob ; and they laughed aloud in their drunken 
 mirth, while the lurid flame of blazing homes 
 lighted her across the prairies. 
 
 What cared New England that her six stars were 
 looking down upon the scene, in shameful " Union" 
 with that blood-red flag ? 
 
 ■J5- -H- * 4f %f 4f -X- -Jf 
 
 The rapid removal of Alice, and the discomforts 
 of her situation in the empty hut, brought on 
 fever. In states of half wakefulness, she murmured 
 continually, "I want my mother I I want to go 
 home to my mother /" 
 
 oi 
 
862 THE KANSAS EMIGKANTS. 
 
 " Yes, dear, you shall go liome," said -Katie, ten- 
 derly smoothing back her straggling hair. " Who 
 are you?" inquired the sufferer. "I am Katie. 
 Dont you know Katie?" The words seemed to 
 waken no remembrance. She closed her eyes, and 
 tears oozed slowly from them, as she murmured 
 piteously, " I want to go home to my mother ^ 
 
 In this state of half consciousness she lingered 
 two or three days. It was a mild, bright morning, 
 and the terraced hills looked beautiful in the golden 
 light, when she woke from a deep slumber, with a 
 natural expression in her eyes, and asked, " Where 
 am I ?" " You are in Kansas, dear," replied Katie. 
 A shadow passed quickly over the thin pale face, 
 and she pressed her emaciated hand against her 
 heart. Again the eyelids closed, and the tears 
 oozed through, as she answered feebly, "Yes — I 
 remember." 
 
 All was still, still, in the wilderness. The human 
 wolves were for the present glutted with their prey, 
 and Lawrence lay silent in its ruins. Mr. Bradford 
 was in prison, in danger of a traitor's death. The 
 inmates of the hut looked at each other mournfully, 
 but no one spoke. Presently, the invalid made a 
 restless movement, and Katie stooped over her, to 
 moisten her parched lips. She opened her eyes, 
 which now seemed illuminated with a preternatural, 
 prophetic light ; and, for the first time since her 
 husband was murdered, she smiled. '' Oh, Katie," 
 she said, " I have been with William, having such 
 
THE KANSAS EMIGEANTS. 863 
 
 a liapp J time walking over tlie hills ! From Mount 
 Oread, lie sliowed me the prairies all covered with 
 farm-houses and fields of corn. Bells were ringing, 
 and swarms of children pouring into the school 
 houses. All round the horizon were church-spires, 
 and beautiful houses, with windows ghttering in 
 the sunlight. When I told him it seemed just like 
 dear New England, he smiled, and said, ' This is 
 Free Kansas !' Then he pointed to a great Uni- 
 versity on the highest of the hills, and said, ' Little 
 Johnny is President, and the Blue Mound is called 
 Free Mont' " 
 
 " I hail the omen !" exclaimed Kate. The thin 
 lips of Alice quivered tremulously. It was her last 
 smile on earth. 
 
83i I WANT TO GO HOME. 
 
 I WANT TO GO HOME. 
 
 There once wandered with me a beautiful child, 
 With eyes like the antelope, lambent and mild ; 
 And she looked at me long, with an earnest gaze, 
 As I watched the sun sink in a golden haze. 
 
 She knew not the thoughts that were floating away, 
 Through the closing gates of that radiant day ; 
 But a something she read in my dreaming eyes, 
 Of the pale autumn leaves, and the sunset skies ; 
 
 And a chill came over her, she knew not whence — 
 'Twas the shadow of older experience. 
 She looked up afraid at the heaven's blue dome, 
 And murmured, " I'm tired. I want to go homeP 
 
 The child's timid glance, and her quivering tone. 
 Came gliding like ghosts, when my soul was alone; 
 And oft, when I gazed at the heaven's blue dome, 
 She seemed to be saying, " I want to go homeP 
 
 She grew up a M^oman, that lovely young child. 
 With eyes like the antelope, lambent and mild ; 
 But she lived not to see life's drear autumn day 
 Fade slowly in silence and darkness aw\ay. 
 
I WANT TO GO HOME. 365 
 
 In her spring-time of freshness, fragrance, and bloom, 
 Disease stole her roses to strew on the tomb. 
 Then often she looked at the heaven's blue dome, 
 And sighed, " I am tired. I want to go home.'''' 
 
 My autumn of life is fast passing away, 
 Bringing on the long night, and cold winter day ; 
 And I often remember her childish sigh, 
 As she turned from my face to the twilight sky. 
 
 When I sit on her grave, at sunset, alone. 
 Her voice seems to speak in that tremulous tone ; 
 And longing I look up to heaven's blue dome, 
 Saying, " Father ! I'm tired. I want to go home.'''* 
 
 THE EKl). 
 
H 11 
 
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 ^5^ N. MANCHESTER 
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