LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
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 UNITED STATES OF AMEEICA. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 The Library of Congress 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/childofgeniusOOwood 
 
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 A CHILD OF GEMS, 
 
 HP&^'i^i^\^ 
 
A CHILD OF GENIUS, 
 A Sketch Book 
 
 FOR 
 
 WINTER EVENINGS, 
 
 AND 
 
 SUMMER AFTERNOONS. 
 
 jT J. WOOD. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS BY HOOPER. 
 
 NOV 85 '887 c ^ 
 
 HUDSON, MICH. : V^^v*^ J 1^ 
 
 WOOD'S BOOKSTORE. ^ ' "^ 
 
 New York: 
 american nevrn co. | c. t. dillingham, 
 
 V'\ 
 
T5 33«r'\ 
 
 .Ml 1 ^ ^ 
 
 COPYRIGHT 
 
 By J. J. WOOD. 
 
 1887. 
 
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8- 
 
 d 
 
 -(n(^. 
 
 lULlA,— * ^ * * ^ ^ ^ * f 10 marries me 
 Must lead a country life. 
 
 ^ CLIFFORD -THe lile I'd lead! 
 
 O But fools would fly froi it; for fl ! 'tis sweet! 
 
 ^\ > It Ms tlie lieart out, De tUere one to And ; 
 
 ^* And corners in't wnere store of pleasures lodge, 
 
 ^ ¥e neyer dreamed were tnere ! It is to dwell 
 
 Mid smiles tnat are not neigliDors to deceit ; 
 Music, wliose melody is of tne neart ; 
 And gifts, tnat are not made for interest,— 
 Abundantly tiestowed liy Nature's cneeK, 
 And yoice, and Mnd ! It is to liye on life, 
 And MsDand it ! It is to constant scan 
 Tne handiwork of Heayen. It is to con 
 Its mercy, liounty, wisdom, power! It is 
 To nearer see our dod! 
 
 -THE HUNCHBACK. 
 
•^^BEDieAT0RY. 
 
 ,y^^^^^^^^ 
 
 -o^@^-4^.-^^^- 
 
 To friends, everywhere, who have cheered me on my 
 way, this little white-winged messenger of peace and 
 good will is inscribed. May it, like them, live long 
 and prosper, is the hearty wish of — 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Hudson, Mich., Nou., 1887, 
 
C03^TE3>TTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A CHILD OF GENIUS 9 
 
 A DAY'S PLEASURE . • 15 
 
 THE YANKEE SCHOOLMASTER . . . / . 23 
 
 THE OLD CHURCH BELL . . . . . . 28 
 
 THE BRIDGE . 32 
 
 MY GRANDMOTHER'S BOOTS . . . . . 37 
 
 THE PRINCE AND THE POET 43 
 
 JOHN THE PIPER'S SON . .... 56 
 
 THE LOST FATHER , , 62 
 
 TOO LATE 66 
 
 UP HILL AND DOWN DALE 69 
 
 THE ELYSIAN FIELDS ....... 75 
 
 OVER THE GARDEN WALL 83 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF A SAP-BUSH .... 88 
 
 THE ROSE OF ERIN 91 
 
iHILD 0P Q-BNIUS. 
 
 /iy^^ odd character that I knew, and had 
 a peculiar occasion to remember, was 
 an eccentric bachelor of eminent re- 
 spectability and polished* manner, 
 whose attire was faultless and his personal 
 appearance exceedingly nice. He had a 
 large brain development, and was greatly 
 devoted to reveries — shall I say the rev- 
 eries of a bachelor? — and 1 wonder did 
 they give him the delight that the ''Eeveries" of 
 one Ike Marvel gave me ? 
 
 Absorption in thought, which made him oblivious 
 to his surroundings, was his prominent peculiarity. 
 With his hands behind his back, he would stand and 
 
 (9) 
 
10 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 fixedly gaze at the corner of the room for hours at a 
 time. 
 
 A secluded path in the garden was frequented by 
 him, and worn smooth by his ceaseless tread to and 
 fro. One terminus was marked by a stone, upon 
 which he would rest his foot and remain involved in 
 his own reflections by the hour. Some said that he 
 was love-cracked early in life, and all noted his 
 vagaries ; yet he was a gentleman of culture, whose 
 idiosyncrasies could no more be explained than could 
 his entire devotion to leisure, without any visible 
 means of support. 
 
 At stated times he would absent himself from the 
 village on a trip, — ostensibly to the far West, evi- 
 dently on business matters,— and upon his return he 
 would be flush with funds, and liauidate the accounts 
 he was accustomed to run. 
 
 I was a young tradesman then (that M^as fifteen 
 years ago), and as the times were fairly prosperous, 
 so was 1. Among my customers 1 numbered this 
 eccentric bachelor. I was pleased to place any mer- 
 chandise he desired to his account ; and one day, 
 when he approached me for a temporary loan, I had 
 no hesitancy in placing that to his account, too, which 
 
A CHILD OF GENIUS. H 
 
 was now assuming very comfortable proportions, and 
 was looked upon as a nice nest-egg that would come 
 handy by and by. In fact, he was soon gone upon 
 his business excursion, and returned in due time, but 
 there was no sign of liquidation, and various rumors 
 pervaded the air, and were strongly discussed, as to 
 the probable cause of the deficiency in his cash 
 account. 
 
 The source of his income became a matter of de- 
 bate. Some laid it to the rental of a mythical Ne- 
 braska farm, and others to a skillful manipulation of 
 the pasteboards, and that his very absorption was a 
 study of the cards, and that his foreign trips were to 
 ply their use, and in fact, moreover, his suspected 
 financial downfall was brought about in that way. 
 
 Be this as it may, he ofi^ered no excuses. To me 
 he held out the idea that my claim could be amply 
 secured by a bill of sale of the effects in his room, but 
 I did not desire thus to question his ability to settle 
 soon in full. 
 
 The situation with me was one of confidence. 
 One creditor did accompany him, and surveyed the 
 promised possessions that subsequently proved to be 
 the property of the landlady, who, good, easy soul, 
 
12 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 waddled about as fat as a dumpling of her creation, 
 and nursed her rheumatic joints in oily gammon, that 
 her bill was safe on account of the sumptuous ward- 
 robe contained in his trunk ; but when, a few weeks 
 later, he disappeared, she was greatly astonished to 
 find the sole contents of the trunk to be a few worth. 
 less papers. When and how his clothing had dis- 
 appeared has remained a veiled mystery to her to 
 this day. 
 
 The creditors that mourned his departure — the 
 deep damnation of taking himself off — were few, but 
 respectable; that is, he owed them respectable 
 amounts. Vague rumors of his whereabouts came to 
 our village, but time heals all sorrows, and it assuaged 
 the bleeding hearts of his creditors as well, and he 
 was fairly forgotten. 
 
 One day last summer, there came into my place a 
 thin, shrunken shadow, a seedy resemblance of some- 
 thing far away, enveloped in a mismatched suit of 
 clothing that did not have the renowned Hebrew fit, 
 just like paper on the wall, and the antiquated tile 
 that surmounted his head was antedated in style, and 
 had been in glory long, long ago. " The hat, the 
 breeches, and all that, were so queer." It was like 
 
A CHILD OF GENIUS. 13 
 
 Eip Van Winkle come again, and my astonishment 
 was as great as the villagers in the Catskills, when 
 the apparition approached me with a sign of recog- 
 nition. Like a flash it came over me that this was 
 our quondam friend, and so it proved to be. 
 
 Vivacious and as well posted as ever, the old polish 
 shone through the rusts and stains of time. If 1 had 
 ever entertained the idea of collecting my claim, it 
 vanished at once, and I was ready to say to the prod- 
 igal, now that he had returned, all would be fofgiven, 
 when he approached me with an inquiry about the 
 old account, and made a statement that he was just 
 getting his matters into shape, and would amply re- 
 pay me, with interest. 
 
 The vagaries committed by our friend on his sec- 
 ond advent are beyond recounting. He maintained 
 an animated correspondence, carrying in his hand 
 usually some evidently valuable document. I dis- 
 covered, however, that the papers and envelopes 
 that filled his pockets came from the waste baskets 
 of the offices he frequented, and the addresses were 
 as numerous as the designs on a crazy quilt. And in 
 the midst of it all '4ie toiled not, neither did he 
 spin," neither did he pay. He soon disappeared, 
 
14 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 and whatever corner of the earth holds him now, I 
 vouchsafe that he is thoroughly a gentleman of lei- 
 sure, as well as a child of genius. 
 
 The landlady of the Live-and-let-live Inn,— dear 
 old lady that she is — has handed me a package of 
 papers discovered in the bachelor's trunk, that has 
 remained unopened and forgotten in the garret all 
 these years. 
 
 I hate opened them, and found them to be a num- 
 ber of sketches and stories. The landlady thinks 
 they were written by her eccentric boarder ; and she 
 avers, supported by the cook, that she distinctly re- 
 members his chuckling to himself and slapping his 
 thigh in a self-satisfied manner, with evident delight. 
 
 They reckoned this a sure proof that his brain 
 was slightly turned. My inference is, that the sup- 
 posed freaks were merely inspirations. I admit that 
 the slight difference between the two conditions 
 permits the claim of the landlady being possible. Be 
 that as it may, they are offered to the public gaze 
 through the subjoined pages, and if there is any divi- 
 dend from their publication, it shall be divided 
 among the creditors. 
 
A DAY'S PLEASURE. 
 
 )JTOLEN slumbers are the sweetest. I love 
 a bed of a morning, and am reluctantly 
 wooed from its tender embrace, except it 
 be like an occasion that I recall. The 
 lake-dotted State of Michigan furnishes 
 abundant delight for the fisherman. Follow me to 
 Northern Lenawee, where the adjoining waters of 
 Devil's and Bound lakes glisten in the morning sun. 
 
 It has been decided that we shall be early risers 
 for a morning's sport at trolling ; indeed, we are 
 early alert ; it is three o'clock, just in the gray of the 
 morning, and a hushed stillness pervades the landing, 
 broken only by the early twitter of the birds. Our 
 fervor overlooks the dew-dampened boat-seats, and 
 we push from the shore, paying out the line as we 
 near the outer row of rushes, the little silver spoon 
 moving like a thing of Hfe away in our rear. 
 
 Fishing is like trusting to Providence ; we do n't 
 know whether we will get anything or not. We can 
 
 (15) 
 
16 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 feel the whirl of the spoon as the boat is propelled 
 with a steady stroke, carefully guided along the edge 
 of the reeds. A moderate breeze furrows the face of 
 the water. It is a perfect morning for trolling, we 
 have scarcely remarked, when — tug at the line — 
 what is that w^e have struck, a reed ? A half second 
 of decision, and hand over hand we haul in the line, 
 w^hile the boat comes to a halt with the rower alert 
 with his oars. We feel a stronger pull, and are quite 
 sure about it now. It is nearing us, w^hen '^ swish," 
 a great open jaw protrudes from the water and 
 makes a rush for it, while we redouble our exertions. 
 Our prize endeavors to leap from the water and shake 
 himself loose, but he is coming in too fast for that. 
 All is excitement. He is a big one^ The boat swings 
 broadside to, and he attempts to rush beneath it. 
 Beware of his striking the boat and freeing himself! 
 We are just dexterous enough to stay the wary fel- 
 low and land him in the bottom of the boat, a sur- 
 prise to ourselves. 
 
 The excitement and exhaustion of this moment is 
 supreme. We are ready to fall, and do fall on the 
 animate form of that pickerel. He reaches across the 
 boat, and weighs — say six pounds. Now that we 
 
A DAY'S PLEASURE. 
 
 17 
 
 have got him, the mystery is how to keep him, solved 
 by Tom, who whips out his knife and severs his 
 spinal column, and he lies helpless at our feet, and 
 we are in a hurry to have the line out again. 
 
 The morning mists are rising o'er the waters, and 
 the first rosy tint of early dawn is in the east, but 
 we mind it not. It is royal sport, and 
 we bend to our exertions, little heeding 
 the breakfast hour ; and when we pull 
 up to the dock with our string of pick- 
 erel and bass, w^e have a triumphant 
 air, as we consign them to the cook, 
 surrounded by a fisherman - fevered 
 crowd, Avho declare that they 
 must try it themselves. We feel 
 that if they do as well as we have, 
 they Avill have to work 
 for it, and hard work it 
 is, and great sport, too. 
 After breakfast 
 we haA^Q 
 a glori- 
 ous sies- 
 ta, with 
 
18 ■ A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 our cigars, in the shade under the oaks, passing the 
 heat of the day. Our capital prize of the morning 
 makes a princely feast for dinner. In the afternoon, 
 Tom and Millie and Mattie and I, with a bucket of 
 minnows, are prone to try this capitiil bait, conven- 
 iently anchored off the sand-bank, and entice the 
 wily bass and festive perch. 
 
 Mayhap they will not be allured from their watery 
 depths, and we seek the seclusion of Greenwood bay. 
 Shut out from the world as idly at anchor we lay, 
 and our boats hung between heaven and earth, is it 
 a wonder that we have a kindred feeling in those 
 mellow moments? We grow confidential, and the 
 problem of life is solved without reserve, and the 
 good, easy confidence established by the afternoon's 
 chat, makes us better acquainted with the inner mo- 
 tives that impel our mysterious being. We leave 
 the spot with reluctance, and have since recurred to 
 its pleasures many, many times. 
 
 Eound Lake country is terra incognita to us. To- 
 ward evening we hitch up Dolly, — the pony, — which 
 sleek from the stable, ambles thither past pleasant 
 farm homes that smack of thrift. The golden rod is 
 weaving by the wayside, and through a swampy section 
 
A DAY'S PLEASURE. . 19 
 
 pussy willows and the wild rose fringe the way, and 
 we notice it will be a good place to gather cat-tails 
 ])resently. Soon the road winds along the elevated 
 banks of Eound Lake, passing through the anti- 
 quated village of Geneva, with its single store and 
 school-house perched on the hill ; past the old white 
 fort, the sole remaining relic of the hotels that flour- 
 ished years ago, before Devil's Lake became knoAvn 
 as a resort. Geneva was in its glory then. Here 
 the country swains resorted from miles around, to 
 the festive dance, and the semi-fashionable resort 
 boasted of its one noted time when it even celebrated 
 the Fourth of July in regular style, with a grand 
 spread-eagle orator and a fire company from a neigh- 
 boring city as a startling attraction. The}^ boast to 
 this day, the old inhabitants do, that the company 
 never could pump the lake dry, — as though firemen 
 would care much about water the Fourth of July ! 
 
 But we leave the old resort behind us, with its rem- 
 iniscences of landlords' pretty daughters, and the 
 road bears us away from the lake until Ave come to a 
 sign-board, and then we detour to the north, when 
 we catch a glimmer of the lake again through a maple 
 grove. We are on a lower level now. This is Lan- 
 
20 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 don's, ii secluded picnic ground. What sort of a ])lace 
 would this be to come to, with our friends, for a day 
 or a week ? We hail the antediluvian proprietor for 
 information as to accommodations and charges. He 
 comes limping through the gateway. We haA^e to 
 speak very loudly to him., but the gateway to his ears 
 has long since been closed, and our attempt is fruit- 
 less. So we drive on. 
 
 Now the road is by the very edge of the water, 
 through sand aud gravel washed up by the waves 
 that beat that eastern shore, and Dolly pulls with 
 more vigor. The sun is sinking in the west, and 
 the soft, luxuriant, incense-laden breeze wafts to us 
 ^ over the waters, blown from the golden gates of the 
 sun. The fishermen are hurrying homeward. The 
 tinkling cow-bells sound in the distance. Across the 
 lake, in the dusk of evening, the lights of G-eneva 
 glow. It is an hour of enchantTiient. 
 
 We skirt a hill, and the w^ay winds to the west. 
 We are uncertain of its dim outlines faintly marked 
 through the woodland that we enter, — a leafy bower, 
 a veritable lover's lane. Ah ! here might old loves 
 grow new, and our vows again be said, so absorbed 
 in the spirit of the scene are w^e. The fire-fly flits 
 
A DAY'S PLEASURE. 21 
 
 about, and flashes his jack-o'-lantern around us, and 
 the roadway emerges between the two lakes, and we 
 have soon completed the circuit of Eound Ijake, and 
 Dolly's head is turned toward our quarters at Beard- 
 sell's, on Devil's Lake. 
 
 ■The small steam launch, "Little Devil," sounds the 
 signal whistle at the wharf, and we hurry al)oard for 
 a complimentary ride with the proprietor. We are 
 on pleasure bent, and whither shall we go? There 
 is a dance at Allen's, the landing below, and thither 
 we turn the prow. We are sandwiched in, close com- 
 panions, and are a jolly crew as ever sailed. The 
 little engine pulsates and wheezes at regular intervals. 
 Some one starts a familiar air, and all join in the cho- 
 rus. Far over the waters, in the calm evening hour, 
 sound our voices, echoing in the dark outlined forests 
 that line the shore. The starlighted heavens and the 
 placid lake and the darkness is a contemplation of sol- 
 itude broken only by our OAvn voices and the cr}' of 
 the startled night bird. In the midst of our gayety 
 we are surrounded l>y the vast silent night, stretching 
 away into (^ternily. ]^ut the present is ours, and the 
 future in eternity shall bo. 
 
 The lights at Allen's loom u]) ahead, and they sig- 
 
22 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 nal the pilot from the dock where the boat is soon 
 anchored, and we seek the sounds of the violhi under 
 the spacious canvas pavilion. It is a popular ten- 
 cent dance, and we mingle with the gay throng 
 where a pauper is a prince, and the prince jostles the 
 pauper. Paupers are common in America, but the 
 most of them amount to something. 
 
 We '• alamand left " and '' right and left four " and 
 "2^1'omenade all to seats," until the warning whistle 
 of the steamer calls us away from the scene of inno- 
 cent revelry and riot. The little craft soon lands its 
 precious cargo at its own wharf, and we are quickly 
 wooed to sweet slumbers, after a day's pleasure. 
 
 "Let the bell toll! A saintly soul floats on the Stygian River." 
 
 Since a day's pleasure, the boat with Tom and 
 Mattie has drifted bej^ond the lake, through the lim- 
 itless sea, and has anchored in Paradise. Have you 
 seen through the morning mists of heaven the bright 
 bow of promise of immortality ? The mistakes of 
 your life have been many. Beware, oh ! beware — 
 
 " And all should cry, Beware, beware 
 And weave a circle round him thrice. 
 And close their eyes with holy dread, 
 For he on honey-dew hath fed 
 And drunk the milk of Paradise." 
 
THE YANKEE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 lIIE old white school-house, where 
 lot threw a few of my boyhood 
 years, though it stood amid bleak 
 surroundings, is an oasis of life 
 whose foliage refreshes the men- 
 tal man. 
 
 To this common seat of learn- 
 ing, in the Avinter-time, flocked 
 sixty odd youngsters of the dis- 
 trict, ''toiling up the hill of 
 science," as the schoolmaster was 
 wont to say. 
 
 The pedagogue that presided 
 over the destinies of the j^outh 
 of the neighborhood in winter, 
 was a quaint specimen of the 
 true Yankee, capable of teaching 
 school winters, farming a little 
 summers, and rcad}^ to turn a hand at peddling 
 queensware between times. It was said that he 
 
 r23) 
 
24 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 could drive as sharp a bargain over a bit of crockery 
 as any tradesman that ever throve. 
 
 His injunction to us was to "make your mark; 
 even the snake that crosses the road makes his mark," 
 and having said that he kept us well in hand by 
 making us "toe the mark." 
 
 There was a faint suspicion that he enjoyed a pun. 
 He has long since been forgiven for perpetrating one 
 on tobacco. " Locomotives use tobackcr," he said ; 
 ^ They chew, chew to go ahead, and chew, chcAv to 
 back 'er." Such a pun would be fatal now. We sur- 
 vived it. The -'survival of the fittest" ? 
 
 In the vicissitudes of his early h'fe in Ohio ho had 
 been a boat captain on the canal, and had in his serv- 
 ice a lad that had, in the ante hellnin daj^s of which I 
 write, risen to some eminence. He held him up to 
 us as a shining light, little thinking that his embryo 
 hero would become famous as the boy that rose from 
 the tow-path to the White House. 
 
 Among the queer characters of that vicinity Avas 
 Uncle Billy. The particular thing he seemed des- 
 tined to do was to haul red oak wood to the market. 
 Red oak isn't filmed for its excellence. His place 
 got to be called '-'■ Red oak farm." . A peculiar habit 
 
THE YANKEE SCHOOLMASTER.- 25 
 
 of Uncle Billy that we observed as he would be driv- 
 ing by would be a continual ''click," "click," to his 
 team, and an urging shove of the lines in the most 
 nervous manner. The fit of the old gray w^ool hat 
 that hung limp about his face, — the stiffness of the 
 rim having long since been lost, — never did quite suit 
 him. He would give it a half turn, and ere he had 
 driven another rod, hitch it would go again clear 
 around. What w^as gained by the change was not 
 apparent to the observer.' 
 
 The mother of Solon Jones undoubtedly named 
 him after a great man, but h.e never filled expecta- 
 tions. Solon of old might have been wise, and his 
 opinion much sought after; but if the latter-day Solon 
 had an opinion, he generally managed to make it 
 reach both sides of a question, so that, like Jack 
 Bunsby's, "It w^as an opinion as was an opinion." 
 And if his tongue was wound up, w^ith the same pre- 
 caution of Captain Cuttle's watch, "Lord, how it 
 w^ould run !" as we observed when w^e ran across 
 him cutting cord w^ood in the clearing opposite the 
 school-house. 
 
 Down at the foot of the hill was the queer house 
 of Pat Fitts, a veritable pig-sty, that Avould be fash- 
 
26 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 ionable enough now, you know. Pat's clock was a 
 quaint affair — a hole cut in the south side of the 
 house. Sunshine on marks upon the floor denoted 
 the time. Pat's clock run down cloudy daj^s. 
 
 These were some of the friends and neighbors of 
 the Yankee schoolmaster and his pupils. Under his 
 banner w^e flourished. 
 
 Daylight was let into the community by the addi- 
 tion of a large number of books to the old school 
 library. What a view we had of the outside world 
 in Irving's Sketch-book, Trow^bridge's Father Bright- 
 hopes, and kindred volumes! What a field of action 
 they opened up for usl The ambitions of life are 
 formed in school days; their fulfillment and failure 
 fall to later times. 
 
 Under one of the desks in that old school-house 
 lies a slate with a perfect sketch of a newspaper. The 
 heading, '^ The Wolverine Citizen," is in a neat old 
 English text. A bit of poetry adorns a column, fol- 
 lowed by a melancholy love tale. There is a spicy 
 local column, and it is altogether a model newspaper. 
 That youth has an ambition for journalism which he 
 has long since confided to his seat-mate, who has de- 
 veloped similar aspirations; and their waking hourSj 
 
THE YANKEE SCHOOLMASTER. 27 
 
 and dreaming ones too, are devoted to thoughts of 
 how they will fashion their aims so that their ambi- 
 tions will be fulfilled. 
 
 The spelling school, the debating society, and the 
 fugitive magic lantern show are incidents of the 
 winter. The crowning success is the exhibition at 
 the close of the term. A stage with curtains drawn 
 on wires has been improvised. The room has been 
 decorated with juniper from the swamp, and the final 
 night conies, with an appreciative audience, and the 
 successful debut of the youthful actor and the ma- 
 chine poet is assured. 
 
 Eing down the curtain on the Yankee school- 
 master and his pupils. Eing up the curtain of real 
 life, and wc discover from that old school, the bard 
 that sings the homely songs of farm life, and en- 
 chants the world. We discover, in honorable posi- 
 tions in life, in places of trust, a large percentage of 
 the scholars of that country school. We see happy 
 homes, bright children, and the glorious future. All 
 honor to the Yankee schoolmaster and his co- 
 laborers! 
 
TJ^E OLD CHURCH BELL. 
 
 S U M M E E ' S day, 
 thirty years ago, Frank 
 B. and I were truants on 
 a village street together. 
 The bell in the old church tower was just striking the 
 hour of noon, when I proposed to him a jaunt four 
 miles away to m}^ cousin's in the countr}-. 
 
 Filled with the prospect of rural delights, we pur- 
 sued our way, and it was well into the afternoon ere. 
 we arrived at our journey's end, and on inquiry at 
 the old farm-house, found that my cousin, some years 
 rny senior, was down by the spring brook with some 
 neighboring lads. 
 
 Now on a former visit to this same old farm-house, 
 I had been sent of an errand across the farm and 
 fields, and along a secluded section of the spring 
 brook had come across a scene of animate and inani- 
 mate nature that fills me Avith a delightful recollec- 
 tion to this day. 
 
 (28) 
 
THE OLD CHURCH BELL. 29 
 
 No less, as it now seems to me, than a Avhole flock 
 of stately storks and cranes in all the meditative and 
 dignified postures that one might fancy, were there, 
 some on one leg and others with their necks short- 
 ened up like an old man in his dreams. Many were 
 pursuing frogs and minnows, and all were ranged up 
 and down the narrow stream, so that, lest I ^' disturb 
 their ancient and solitary reign," I made a long de- 
 tour after I had feasted my young wonder on a scene 
 rivaling any in the Abyssinian tale of Rasselas in the 
 Happy \^alley. 
 
 Frank E. and I found my cousin and his compan- 
 ions. They were busily engaged in spearing water- 
 snakes with improvised spears, fashioned of wires 
 fitted into long poles; and being suspected as truants, 
 and known to be town boys, we were not met with 
 that particularly warm reception that suited us. 
 
 The afternoon being on the wane, we soon started 
 on our homeward way. A short distance on our re- 
 turn journey, the brook crossed the highway, and we 
 seated ourselves by the road bridge, under the shadow 
 of an old red barn, and hunted crabs — great fellows 
 with tongue-like claws, that went backward with 
 more ease than forward, like some people we know. 
 
30 
 
 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 We Avere walking along wearily enough on our re- 
 turn tri]), when my father drove up in a carriage 
 from town, having an inkhng of the direction of our 
 wandering, and justly, as I now believe, looking on 
 me as the instigator of the tour, took my companion 
 tourist into the vehicle, compelling me to continue 
 the journey according to the original plans and spec- 
 ifications, afoot, while their equipage wheeled away 
 in the dust. It was not far, but 
 the afternoon was gone, and I 
 heard" the bells of evening in the 
 town before I was gathered in un- 
 der the paternal roof. 
 
 From an afternoon's youthful es- 
 capade remains the recollections of 
 the old church bell. At morn- 
 ing, noon, and night, from its 
 lofty perch in the bel- 
 fry, it marked for the 
 villap'ers the divisions 
 
THE OLD CHURCH BELL. 
 
 31 
 
 of the day. For years, old Aleck Hall, the bellman, 
 did faithful service. Long since, the old church bell 
 tolled for him the evening of his life, and he was laid 
 away to be called when the last trump is sounded. 
 
 Years and years ago, the old bell was superseded 
 in secular use by the advent of the town clock. Hele- 
 gated to Sabbath service in tones of gospel melodies, 
 it pleadingly says, Come, come, COME; while on 
 the self-same street of thirty years ago, the hands of 
 the town clock point with certainty, time. and eter- 
 nity for all mankind, in figures so large that " he 
 who runs may read." 
 
THE BRIDGE. 
 
 CINCE the days of Da- 
 ^ vid, mankind has loved 
 
 to seek the cool green 
 waters. We stood 
 by the iron railing 
 ^ on the highway 
 
 "'-^-^-^.-' fQQj^ bridge, and 
 
 our view was directed up the river, surmounted a 
 few rods above us by a substantial stone railway 
 bridge, the arch forming a vignette inclosing the 
 lovely vicAV that attracted our attention. 
 
 The scene is the growth of circumstances. The 
 stone bridge was constructed a few years ago ; then 
 the workmen straightened the tortuous course of the 
 stream beyond, and finally a large wooden tubing, to 
 convey the Avater from the race above to the mill at 
 our left, was placed across the -river under the 
 bridge, forming a graceful waterfall, while the waste 
 water from the mill poured over its gates in a copi- 
 
THE BRIDGE. 33 
 
 ous cascade. Nature then completed the scene. 
 Straight-away the banks have become thickly lined 
 with willows that are mirrored in the glassy waters, 
 and a number of hitherto barren sand-banks have be- 
 come coated with green, and lie in the back-water 
 of the improvised dam, like summer islands in a 
 placid sea. Caught up by the painter's brush, the 
 scene would grace the fairest canvas. 
 
 The spot is historic as well as romantic. Near it, 
 ere the virgin forests were disturbed, the little river 
 was crossed by the trail of the tribes of Baw Beese 
 and Meteau, leading from the head waters at Devil's 
 Lake to Squawfield, a cleared place down the valley, 
 where the dusky maidens raised Indian corn, while 
 their liege lords and masters hunted the game in the 
 fastnesses of the Michigan, forests, or idly lounged 
 about the wigwam. 
 
 There is a legend of the lake: — 
 
 " There 's a lake with a legend attached to its name, 
 Whose cold, dark waves are of world-wide fame ; 
 And the wood stretching back from its steep, craggy bank." 
 
 So the poem goes. The story is that an Indian 
 warrior was about to wed a princess of his tribe, 
 when a stealthy Mohawk stole the bride while she 
 
34 A CHILD OF GENIUS, 
 
 was seeking some red berries in the bushes on the 
 banks of the historic water, with which to deck her 
 regal form at the marriage feast. He sought to es- 
 cape with his prize by the lake, tempestuous and 
 dark, pursued by the warrior in a birchen bark. 
 The chieftain put an arrow through his foe, but the 
 storm-swept lake enveloped and engulfed him and 
 his queen of the forest. 
 
 " Their struggles were vain their lives to save, 
 And they sank, O lake, neath thy cold dark wave." 
 
 The ghost of the Mohawk is presumed to have 
 haunted the locality, gliding from shore to shore in a 
 phantom canoe. The unfettered sons of the forest 
 saw in the storm-cloud, that brought disaster, the 
 hand of the evil one, so to this time remains the. 
 Indian name Michimanitou, signifying lake-of-the- 
 evil-spirit, or in homely English, ''Devil's Lake." 
 
 It was at one of the harvest dances, near half a 
 century ago, that the Pottawattamies were sur- 
 rounded at Squawfield by the regulars from Detroit, 
 and conveyed to the West. It is related of Indian 
 John, the white man's friend, that he had in his 
 possession, when captured, a gun borrowed of a set- 
 tler, and that he returned hundreds of miles to de- 
 
THE BRIDGE. 35 
 
 liver it to its rightful owner, " Smokaman Johi 
 
 Conwine," as he called him. This is an instance of 
 the red man's honor not in accord with some views 
 of their treachery. Baw Beese and a remnant of his 
 tribe escaped to Canada, and the noble chieftain 
 died on the shores of Georgian Bay, an alien from 
 the home of his fathers, but his name lives in the 
 landmarks and history of his country. 
 
 Neighbors were distant in those days. The first 
 bridge over the classic stream was built by two 
 women of the early settlement, whose homes were 
 separated by the Tiffin, a barrier to their visits. At 
 low water they bridged it with single slabs which 
 they themselves carried from the rude saw-mill. Car- 
 penters' horses formed the abutments of this primi- 
 tive foot-bridge, but transit was secured, and regular 
 old-fashioned visits were frequent. 
 
 JSTow on either hand stretches away the pleasant 
 and thrifty village of Lanesville ; Squawfield is rich 
 pasture land. The fruitful valley contains fine farms ; 
 Devil's Lake has become a noted pleasure resort, 
 where the harvest festival is resorted to by tens of 
 thousands. 
 
 The pale-faced pleasure-seeker sees in the storm- 
 
36 
 
 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 cloud the hand of nature ; and when the roll of the 
 white cap on the angry lake has ceased, the sun 
 smiles on a scene of beauty surrounding the lake in 
 the green woods, and over the bridge of the TifBn 
 rolls the wealth of empire, as it speeds with the iron 
 horse on its eastward and westward way. 
 
,f\AND, 
 
 •The only rea- 
 not at this mo- 
 wooden shoes in 
 swearing in Low 
 cause my great, 
 
 son that I am 
 ment wearing 
 Holland, and 
 Dutch, is be- 
 great, great 
 
 grandmother, a young lady of the nobility in the land 
 of dykes and ditches, fell in love with my equally great 
 grandfather, and the match not being countenanced 
 — I suspect it was a desperate case — the young couple 
 fled to New Amsterdam in some of the early suc- 
 cessors to the Half Moon, making the voyage in the 
 course of a few months, and were married. Then 
 the world, that had in the meantime stood still, 
 moved again. It often does stand still for two hearts 
 that wildly beat as one, and when it does start up it 
 has a mighty lively pace. 
 
 JSTot so with my ancestors, however. True, they 
 
 (37) 
 
88 
 
 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 had moved from an old wo]'ld to a new, but my 
 
 great grandfather must 
 have settled down so 
 peacefully m Manhat- 
 tan with his pipe and 
 cabbages, and my great 
 grandmother must have 
 been engaged in keep- 
 ing the floors polished 
 and other household 
 arts new to her, and the 
 Knickerbockers, Scher- 
 merhorns, Ten Broecks, 
 and Joneses must have 
 proved such good neigh- 
 bors, perhaps going to 
 the remarkable extent 
 of returning some bor- 
 rowed articles, — good, 
 kind neighbors, who, if 
 intrusted with a family 
 secret, found some one 
 to help them keep it, — 
 that my ancestors in New Amsterdam became ob- 
 livious to their possessions in Old Amsterdam, 
 
MY GRANDMOTHEH'S BOOTS. 39 
 
 But for this bit of independence manifested by my 
 great grandmother, in marrying the man of her 
 choice, I suppose that at this time I might have been 
 a high and honorable burghmaster, or leastwise the 
 superintendent of a windmill in that distant land. 1 
 imagine myself seated on the sunny side of the wind- 
 mill, dreamily sitting on a bench with my back 
 against the mill and my legs extended. I wear the 
 funniest cap on my head, and have on the queerest 
 blouse, and great barn-door breeches that reach 
 nearly to my armpits, and terminate in a shortage 
 below the knees. 
 
 The wind whirls the spectral arms of the Avind- 
 mill in my care. What care I for affairs of state ? 
 There are no doughty Don Quixotes, bent on knight- 
 errantry, prowling about to assail my charge, under 
 the delusion that it is a foe. My mind is at tran- 
 quillity ; I take phlegmatic puffs at my pipe, and 
 dreamily picture, in the whiffs of smoke, my Frau 
 and the fiaxen-haircd babies. That job would suit 
 a day-dreamer like me. 
 
 Then I picture myself in the elevated position of 
 burghmaster. With what an imperious and lofty 
 manner I wield the scepters of power in my sm:;H 
 
40 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 domain ! With what auo;ust veneration the decisions 
 on the weighty matters brought for my judgment 
 are regarded ! How I sustain the dignity of the high 
 office, with a fat, round belly touching my knees, and 
 my short, dumpy legs barely reaching under the 
 official table. There is terror in the frown over my 
 heavyj iron-bowed spectacles. Over my cup and pipe 
 I am prone to fall asleep, and then the young rogues 
 in my service are wont to do grievous things ; and 
 when I am awakened by the smack of a kiss, I hit 
 the table with a thunderous rap of the fist, and 
 sternly reprove them. I may, some day, give my 
 sanction and blessing to Hans and Laura, but they 
 must have proper regard for my official presence. 
 When I preside at a meeting of the high and honor- 
 able aldermen, I fill the seat with dignity and rule 
 with sternness. These pictures are dispelled by the 
 thought that, of a fact, I am lean and lank, and 
 a ever in America have I aspired even to the dignity 
 and proportions of an alderman. 
 
 Now just why the effort, in my time and genera- 
 Aon, to secure our vast estates in Holland failed, I 
 aave forgotten. It is one of the recollections of child- 
 I.ood. How we listened to my mother, and noted the 
 
MY GRANDMOTHER'S BOOTS. 41 
 
 affirmations of my father. Ah, wealth, you have a 
 golden ring that makes us all luxurious. We are 
 paupers to-day, but Avill be princes to-morrow. Yes ; 
 but then to-morrow is a debtor that seldom pays. 
 Yet there is a glory in anticipation that i^ays to-day ; 
 let us grasp and cherish it while we may. 
 
 I remember the construction of the family tree : 
 how the genealogy was traced in the numerous con- 
 ferences of relatives, and we were located on a branch 
 of the tree, — the great expectations and the assess- 
 ments — let us not forget the assessments. A prom- 
 inent relative had, for a valuable consideration, inter- 
 ested himself in our behalf, and was pushing investi- 
 gations, so it was said, among the old records. A 
 great barrier to the establishment of the lineage and 
 proving our claims to the inheritance was the de- 
 struction, by tire, of the old Dutch church in New 
 York City, by the British, during the Eevolutionary 
 war, and the consequent destruction of the record 
 of the marriage of my ancestors. 
 
 The failure to supply this missing link of evidence 
 is all that prevents my joining the nobility in Europe 
 to-day. Having never been able to obtain a fortune 
 iii Iloliarid, or elsewhere, I am consoled with the 
 
42 
 
 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 thought that my very great grandmother conferred 
 a greater blessing on me by making me a citizen of 
 this great and glorious Republic. 
 
 I have relinquished all claims 
 to my Dutch possessions. 1 sup- 
 pose that if William of Orange 
 had failed, and the efforts of 
 Philip II. had prevailed, they 
 would have been my castles in 
 Spain. Fortune has decreed dif- 
 ferently with both Philip and 
 me. The possessions are not 
 ours. I am forced to this con- 
 clusion. Some may wait for dead men's shoes, but I 
 will never wear my grandmother's boots. 
 
THE PRINCE AND THE POET. 
 
 ^^^ HE dramatis jjersoncB of this re- 
 cital will be, to begin with, a 
 prince and a poet. The scene 
 opens on the business portion 
 of the main street of a village. 
 The first act discloses Mr. Leon 
 Isaacs, the prince, short and 
 fat, florid and jolly, who halts 
 his pony, attached to a red 
 road wagon, in front of a coun- 
 store. Enter street scene, from store 
 Mr. Hieronymus James, poet if 
 please, long and lank, dark and re- 
 ^, bearing first a jointed fishing rod, 
 box of tackle, a canvas satchel, a 
 broad-brimmed straw hat, and sundry fishing sup- 
 plies, which he deposits alongside a similar outfit be- 
 longing to the prince, in the back part of the wagon. 
 The poet being seated in the vehicle, hands the 
 prince a cigar and lights one himself, the pony mean- 
 
 (43) 
 
44 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 time being set in motion toward their destination, 
 ten m.iles away. 
 
 Their evident object is a fishing excursion, and 
 their departure attracts the attention of the dull old 
 street, which is awakened from a mid-summer's leth- 
 argic slumber by any relieving incident. 
 
 The little nag ultimately leaves the village behind, 
 and by proper urging and vigilant reminders, actually, 
 now and then, jogs into a trot. Like previous trav- 
 elers over the same route, they discover that the 
 road lies before them, and that if they go far 
 enough they will, sooner or later, arrive at their 
 destination. 
 
 The route lies through pleasant country roads, 
 past a sleepy hamlet, with its solitary church. The 
 only animated object is the blacksmith's forge, that 
 is all aglow with its ruddy fires. 
 
 The travelers have wisely chosen the cool of the 
 evening for their journey, and the second act opens 
 at a semi-fashionable summer hotel, a long, low, two- 
 story building, with inviting verandas, situated on 
 the shores of one of their interior lakes. 
 
 The travelers are warmly welcomed by mine host 
 of the inn. Their traps are stored in the waiting 
 
THE PRINCE AND THE POET. 45 
 
 room, and the pony placed snugly in quarters in the 
 stable. 
 
 The inner man regaled, the after-supper cigar ig 
 lighted. Enter a bevy of ladies upon the scene — 
 Mrs. Anne Belle Harding, a charming beauty; Mrs. 
 Wells, an entertaining widow; Miss Jessie Ayres, 
 an entertaining school-marm ; Mrs. Ayres, mother oi 
 the two latter ladies and general superintendent in 
 charge of the pleasure-seekers, whose homes are in 
 a distant city. 
 
 By courtesy of the landlady, the prince knows the 
 whole party in two minutes and a half, and is all 
 smiles and favors, while the poet retires behind his 
 reserve, and is evidently bothered with the idea 
 that anything should interfere with the prime object 
 of the excursion — fishing. The prince, however, is 
 quite a fisher of hearts. 
 
 Further addition is made to the party by the en- 
 trance of Mr. Thomas Jones, old and sear and rakish 
 withal, a hulk old enough to have gone to Davy 
 Jones's locker, it is true, and now here he is starting 
 out for a new cruise with his young and doll-like 
 wife, and with her marry ing- her- daughter-off-for- 
 money mother for chief mate. 
 
46 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 It is easily perceived that Mr. Jones is patronizing 
 and offensive, and desires to be regarded as some- 
 thing of a lion, having heralded himself as the first 
 proprietor of a somewhat noted hotel in a great city. 
 He regards these laurels a sufficient guarantee to war- 
 rant his claim for incessant attention and deference. 
 
 He has come to this quiet place to spend a few 
 days of the honeymoon, and brought his mother-in- 
 law along. She is a woman of fifty, aping the airs 
 of twenty, and it is whispered about, ''Why didn't 
 he marry his mother-in-law ? " Perhaps he did better, 
 and married the whole family. They are to leave 
 in the morning, however, and the party will be re- 
 lieved of their affectation. 
 
 The curtain of night goes down on the scene, and 
 the hotel is mantled in darkness. The silence is 
 broken by the wash of waves on the shore, and by 
 loud snores resounding through board partitions and 
 mingling with the fierce cry of the musquito, vainly 
 endeavoring to gain entrance through the net-pro- 
 tected windows, that he may pursue his victim to the 
 death. 
 
 The scenic artist of early dawn has set the scene 
 on a hot, panting, breathless morn. The lake lies 
 
THE PRINCE AND THE POET. 47 
 
 motionless and lifeless as a dead sea. The fisher- 
 man-fevered prince and poet have early arisen, and, 
 with disappointed faces, note the unfavorable con- 
 dition of the lake for their sport. There is surely no 
 good fishing this morning, but they fly in the face of 
 fate, and seek the favorite fishing grounds across the 
 lake. But it is utterly useless, and they give it up. 
 It is the opportunity, but not the time. They con- 
 clude to bide their time. 
 
 They are returning to the landing when they dis- 
 cover that the mother-in-law has hired a boatman, 
 and is trying her luck at fishing, but la ! it is noth- 
 ing like fishing for a son-in-law, and the old lady is 
 discomfited enough. That boatman though, — it be- 
 comes the settled idea of the prince and poet com- 
 bined, that he could catch fish on dry land ! The 
 close condition of the atmosphere has, in the mean- 
 time, engendered rain, great spattering drops of 
 w^iich have begun to sift down upon the water, and 
 the fishermen hastily seek the shore, and none too 
 soon, for the storm is rapidly thickening and growl- 
 ing in intensity. Behind the curtain of the heavens 
 they fire the lightning's flash and shake sheet-iron 
 thunder. 
 
48 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Jones and his party have an early 
 breakfast, and, despite the storm, are making hurried 
 preparations to embark in the little steam launch 
 that is to convey them to the railway station at the 
 head of the lake, four miles away. The severity of 
 the storm has no effect upon Jones and the captain 
 of the craft, a little man, with no spare meat upon 
 his bones, but with a heart in him like the heart of 
 an ox. With large and well-rounded oaths he swears 
 that the storm is no detriment to his making the 
 trip. 
 
 The final exit of Jones and company is while the 
 rest of the guests are at breakfast. He rushes into 
 the dining hall, as if it was the last thing he would 
 do on earth, and hands to one of the waiting girls, 
 whom he imagines has done him a favor, a silver 
 quarter. She smiles, and the guests shout, " Good- 
 by, Jones ! " 
 
 The storm seems to increase in fury, as the little 
 craft makes her way across the raging waters, careen- 
 ing in the wind until they are lost to sight in the 
 storm and wave. The captain afterward averred 
 that it was a perilous passage. 
 
 The prince and poet are finishing their morning 
 
THE PRINCE AND THE POET. 
 
 49 
 
 meal when the latter is startled by a sudden admir- 
 ing smile si^reading over the face of his companion, 
 caused, as he rapidly discovers, by a pretty waiting 
 girl throwing a kiss at him from an adjoining entry- 
 way, — an act that the prince is only restrained from 
 returning by the publicity of his lo- 
 cation. The incident would have 
 utterly disconcerted the poet, but 
 it only added zest to the meal for 
 the prince. 
 
 It is quite evident, also, that the 
 ladies they met the previous evening 
 are susceptible to the charms of the 
 polished prince, Mrs. Anne Belle 
 Harding in pcirticular, and possibly 
 some of the ladies might not be averse to a bashful 
 poet. 
 
 The storm abates, and in the pleasures of the day 
 it is easy to see the preference of the ladies ex- 
 pressed ; and when Miss Jessie Ayres ceases rowing 
 her boat long enough to throw her right hand on 
 that portion of the anatomy commonly credited with 
 containing the heart, and in tragic tones exclaims, 
 ''Be still, sad heart," the prince suggests to the poet 
 
 4 • 
 
50 
 
 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 that it means hinij and slaps him on the shoulder en- 
 thusiastically, saying, "Go in, old boy." But the 
 " old boy " is timid and bashful, and it takes time to 
 thaw out his reserve. Meantime, between fishing 
 and'flirting, the prince is having a jolly time. 
 
 In the evening the poet goes out to set some poles 
 for night-fishing, and Miss Jessie suggests that she 
 would like an eel. Sure enough, in the morning, 
 when Hieronymus examines the set lines, he finds a 
 medium-sized eel attached to one of them. It is con- 
 signed to the cook, and the ladies are informed of its 
 capture. The last vestige of the poet's reserve van- 
 ished over the discussion about how that eel should 
 be cooked. 
 
 When the fishermen took the boat to seek their 
 prey that morning, Miss Ayres informed the poet 
 that she believed she would have that eel made into 
 an eel pie for dinner. ^^ The morning is pro- 
 
 pitious for sport J r\ ^^^^ QTid the jolly fish- 
 
 ermen are quite ^^M^ i^) successful — one 
 
 
THE PRINCE AND THE POET. 51 
 
 very large bass in particular adorns their string, 
 which they keep suspended from the oar locks in 
 the water to keep it fresh. 
 
 After they have become satisfied with the size of 
 their capture, they seek the outlet of the lake, where 
 the pond lilies grow, thinking to lay some trophies 
 at the feet of the ladies. They find some very fine 
 ones, and are poling the boat through the lily pads 
 when the prince exclaims, ^' See that fish ! " and 
 w^hirls the boat in the direction that he is calling at- 
 tention to, captures it, and makes the surprising 
 discovery that it is their own string that has broken 
 loose from contact with the lily pads. So they nar- 
 rowly escape losing the result of the forenoon's labor. 
 
 The handsome lilies are graciously received by the 
 ladies, and the elated fishermen depart for their aft- 
 ernoon's fishing with light and exultant hearts. 
 But when they return, at evening, there is more 
 commotion about the dock and grounds. There has 
 evidently been a large number of new arrivals. A 
 number of boats, with strange faces, are seeking the 
 pleasures of the evening on the lake. Past our 
 friends in grand style there sweeps an elegant four- 
 oared barge, that sets like a canoe on the waters. It 
 
53 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 is light and graceful, with handsome trimmings, and 
 of foreign construction in rich, dark woods, finished 
 in the natural color. vSnugly ensconsed therein, on 
 familiar terms with the occupants, and especially the 
 fair young man, who is the master of the craft, is 
 Anne Belle Harding. It is very plain that the nose 
 of the prince is out of joint. Neither prince nor poet 
 has any such inducement for the company of the 
 charmer as the new-comer. 
 
 The two forlorn fishermen seek their couches early 
 that night, and Cxcorge and his friends, the new ar- 
 rivals, have free SAvay. The old piano is all of a 
 jingle (for the new-comers are musical), and the 
 magnificent voice of George blends with the ladies' 
 voices, and the prince and poet toss restlessly about, 
 unable — from the frivolity in the parlor below — to 
 find sleep. 
 
 Finally the quartet have " sung out," and seek 
 their quarters, much to the relief of the regular 
 boarders, who despair of having quiet. It is, how- 
 ever, practically jumping out of the frying-pan into 
 the fire ; for the parties keep up a running fire of 
 questions and conversation. One of the young la- 
 dies, judged to be George's sister, cries out, " Gawge, 
 
THE PRINCE AND THE POET. 
 
 53 
 
 what have you got in your room?" and " G-awge " 
 takes pains to enumerate that he has •• a basswood 
 bedstead, a chair, a wash-bowl," etc. The last thing 
 heard is '' Gawge, Gawge ! " 
 
 George and his friends are found to be real good 
 fellows, on more intimate acquaintance the next day, 
 and the prince and the ])oet find them '• hale fellows 
 well met" in their fishing sports, and take genuine 
 pleasure in pointing out to them the 
 best fishing grounds, according to their 
 judgment and experience. 
 
 They are solaced for the rivalry 
 among the ladies rather unexpectedly. 
 That evening there is a dance at the 
 landing below, and upon invita- 
 tion of the captain of the steam 
 launch, the whole party 
 embarks, and is conveyed 
 thither. This opens 
 up new fields 
 for the 
 prince 
 to con- 
 ({ u e r ; 
 
54 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 but the poet is content to view the scene of gaiety 
 and hold the hat of the prince, while he ''sails in." 
 The latter is carried by storm, in an unexpected 
 manner. After the first quadrille, a schottishe is 
 announced, and he is approached by a superblj^- 
 tormed woman, the belle of the ball, who requests 
 his company, as there are few fancy dancers present, 
 and they revel in the gay and giddy dance. He 
 would be content to dance all night but for the fact 
 the steamer is ready to depart ; and, as they go, he 
 w^hispers her name, " Mrs. Blank," to the poet, and 
 consoles himself that George is nowhere. 
 
 The next morning witnesses an end to the life of 
 the prince and poet at the watering place. Dobbin 
 is hitched up, and the pleasure-seeking pair take 
 their departure, with the adieus and good wishes of 
 new-found friends showered upon them. They drive 
 down to the landing, where the dance was held the 
 evening before. They meet a lady of their acquaint- 
 ance on the hotel porch, and manage to ask about 
 Mrs. Blank, and find that the lady in question is quite 
 the subject of general conversation, that her advent 
 and history are veiled in doubt, and that there is no 
 little gossip about it anyway. They drive away wiser 
 
 1 
 
THE PRINCE AND THE POET. 55 
 
 (and may we not say better?) for the experience ; 
 and the prince makes the poet swear, by all that is 
 good, that he will never say anything about the ten- 
 der affair to any one. 
 
 An episode occurred as they were emerging from 
 the thicket that skirts the road. They noticed a 
 couple of lair young ladies, whom they had met at 
 the party the previous evening. They were gather- 
 ing red berries from the bushes, like the Indian maid- 
 ens that tradition says formerly frequented the same 
 locality. 
 
 The poet was attracted by the mysterious motions 
 of the prince — was he? — Yes, he was actually throw- 
 ing a kiss at one of the fair ones, and the poet was an 
 eye-witness to the fact that it Avas returned. What 
 an altered demeanor was that of the prince for the 
 balance of their journey ! 
 
 Their steed is soon headed on his homeward way, 
 and the prince returns to the bosom of his family, 
 to his wife and babies, whom he adores. The grand 
 finale is a tableau, — red lights, with Avedding drapery 
 and orange blossoms at the marriage of the poet to 
 his best girl. 
 
JOHN THE 
 
 PHOBVEE would have thought that 
 Sarah Maria would many John, com- 
 monly known as John the Good-for- 
 Naught? Nobody thought he was her 
 style, the great hulking fellow who never 
 went to school of any account, ''John, John, 
 the Piper's son, stole a pig aud home he 
 run! " was the taunt the boys flung at him one day 
 from their rude play ground, on the common sur- 
 rounding the old brown school-house, as John was 
 riding past. 
 
 John complained to his " Dad " about that, and he 
 spoke to Jke's — the ringleader's — father about it. 
 
 (56) 
 
JOHN THE PIPER'S SON. Sy 
 
 The next day Avhen the somber form of the sire of 
 Isaac towered up in the school-room, and he drew 
 from the capacious folds of his great coat a long 
 beech gad, silence prevailed 
 
 The words of the wrathful father fell with fearful 
 force on the stillness : " My son Isaac, I have a pain- 
 ful duty to perform ; I must make an example of 
 you," and he did. Ike buried his face in his hands 
 on the jack-knife carved desk in front of him, while 
 the deliberate blows of the whip rained on him. 
 Some of the example fell on to the boy in the seat 
 with him, but nothing was lost. 
 
 The shame was more cutting to Ike than the 
 blows, however. Every guilty boy felt their strokes 
 just as painfully on his back ; and when the stern 
 old man folded his garments about him and withdrew 
 as silently as he came, an oppressiveness remained 
 behind. There was a feeling that something had 
 happened that forenoon, and Ike was not taunted 
 about it. 
 
 When it came to excursions in the woods or up 
 the river, the boys were always glad enough to have 
 John for a leader. He knew where to find the pig- 
 eons' nests, and the best fishing grounds, and was 
 well up in the arts of wood-craft and sportsmen. 
 
58 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 He had grown to be nothing diffei^ent when the 
 wedding occurred. She was so refined and classical 
 that it was all the more wonder that it happened. 
 But she was spliced up to him, and they went to live 
 in one of Dad's houses, for he had a number that he 
 rented. The match was the one day's wonder and 
 talk of the town, and then it died away. 
 
 So they settled down to life ; but John did n't 
 settle down to anything in particular, only he would 
 take his gun and hound and go down the valley. 
 His arts as a hunter were supreme. He could find a 
 coon in the tallest tree, and follow the fox farther 
 over the hill, and never was so free as when alone in 
 the woods or with boon companions on a hunting ex- 
 cursion. 
 
 He got right down near to nature, and loved the 
 rough valleys and hills. But his arts as a husband 
 were nowhere. It came to be a settled thing that 
 John was shiftless. His wife began to appreciate that, 
 and the question with her was how they were going 
 to get a living. Coon skins stretched on a board in 
 the back yard would n't do it ; fox tails made into 
 feather dusters wouldn't do it; woodchuck hides 
 cut into whip-lashes wouldn't do it, and that was 
 
JOHN THE PIPER'S SON, 59 
 
 about all the visible income ; and to add to her dis- 
 comfiture, John took to drink. 
 
 Boon companions and being a good fellow proved 
 too much for him — the same as it has for many an- 
 other whole-souled fellow. Matters went from bad 
 to worse with them, and the poor crushed wife was 
 compelled to withdraw from the marriage compact, 
 and go home. _0f course everybody had known 
 how it would end, at least that is what they said 
 then. 
 
 Sure enough, in the course of time, John had a no- 
 tice served on him something like this : — 
 
 STATE OF MICHIGAN, ) ^ ^^ 
 
 In the Circuit Court for the r t r^ 
 
 COUNTY OF Lenawee, S^^ Chancery. 
 
 To the Circidt Court for the County of Lenatvee. 
 Humbly complaining showeth unto the court here, etc. 
 
 When they got out of chancery they were no 
 more, that is, as they had been before. The divorce 
 was granted on grounds of non-support. She was 
 appalled by the calamity, and he was stunned by it. 
 
 The first gun that was fired on Sumter woke up 
 John alono; with the rest of the countrv. It was stir- 
 
60 
 
 A. CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 ring times in Lanesville when the first company was 
 raised. With all the glorious pomp and circumstance 
 of war, they drilled on the village 
 green, and all the town, and coun- 
 try too, was out to see them march 
 and countermarch. 
 
 The flying flags and beating 
 drums and shrieking fifes animated 
 the populace and recruits alike. 
 The doughty militia captain in 
 epaulets and cocked hat, pranced 
 before them greater than a general. 
 It was "right dress," "right 
 wheel," and " about face." Great 
 days in Lanesville when the first 
 recruits were raised. 
 
 John was one of the first to sign 
 the roll, and one of the most stal- 
 wart figures in the ranks. In fact, 
 ^^ his commanding figure won him 
 
 the position of color-bearer in the regiment when it 
 assembled at the rendezvous. He was one of the 
 most trusty and daring men in the field. His early 
 
JOHN THE PIPER'S SON. 61 
 
 habits had hiured him to exposure, so that he was 
 "no sunshine patriot or summer day soldier." 
 
 It Avas at Malvern that his bravery in that hail of 
 shot and shell won him his bars. Bravo, John ! in 
 the midst of death he had found a purpose in life. 
 Antietam, Fredericksburgh, Chancellorsville, Gettys- 
 burgh, the Wilderness, and Appomattox marked his 
 career. 
 
 Sarah Maria had not been indifferent to the stirring 
 scenes of strife. She was the central figure in the 
 ladies' aid society in the little village. It is to be ex- 
 pected that some softening influence worked on the 
 hearts of both, for when Captain John Smith came 
 marching home again, from Old Virginia, hurrah ! 
 there was a grand reunion at ' Squire Brown's, on the 
 hill. Dad and Captain John were there, Ike and the 
 rest of the boys that came back — don't let us forget 
 Sarah Maria — and God again joined together what 
 man had put asunder. 
 
 '* A union of hearts and a union of hands. 
 And the flag of our Union forever." 
 
 By the way, John is a deacon in our church now, 
 and Sarah Maria is a useful member of the church 
 and society. 
 
THE LOST FATHER. 
 
 Y grandfather told me, years ago, about 
 the merry blacksmith, who, in the early 
 days of Pegtown, was known as the 
 happy huntsman of the valley. He was 
 jolly alike at the forge or in the forest, and his 
 laughing jest and side-splitting stories were as keen 
 as his eye on the rifle-sights. 
 
 He mingled his good-natured songs with the blasts 
 of the bellows, and the merry time-beats with the 
 blows of his hammer on the anvil, and turned his 
 tunes with the turning of the irons in the forge, the 
 blows of his hammer on the anvil meantime striking 
 oif a shower of sparks before which the barefooted 
 and barelegged youngsters would retreat in dismay 
 But they would come back again. There was a 
 fond fascination for them in the fund of bear and 
 ghost stories the blacksmith was wont to relate to 
 the open-mouthed urchins, until every one of them 
 became such cowards that they ventured out of 
 nights only in fear and trembling that magnified 
 
 (Q2) 
 
THE LOST FATHEH. 
 
 63 
 
 every bowlder into a ghost and every fstump into a 
 man-eater. 
 
 All I knew of the blacksmith was that he had gone 
 to the gold fields of California in the excitement of 
 the years following 1848, leaving his wife and two 
 bright children behind in the 
 newly-founded home in the 
 settlement. The chil- 
 dren, Will and 
 Lucy, were my /^— ^^-^^^^ Our play - 
 
 ^''^^''^'^ /^^^^ r gi'oundwas 
 
 companions. ^^(i^^.M c^ f on the village 
 
 common. I was 
 o f t e n a f r e - 
 quenter of their 
 home, and we grew 
 up together in the village school. 
 
 Letters were luxuries in those days, and my re- 
 membrance is that the high hope of that household 
 was to hear from '^father." The first missives in 
 that rugged and unaccustomed hand breathed a 
 hope that their fortune would be forth-coming. 
 They told of the discomforts of camp life, and how 
 they got along in the '' diggin's." The hopes of the 
 
6-1 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 truistful wife Avere suspended on a slender thread that 
 grew weaker and was broken when the letters 
 ceased entirely. The last rumor that found its way 
 to the village w^as that he had been seen with others 
 flocking to new finds on the Prazer Eiver. That 
 was the last news that came back of that ''father." 
 
 The mother, despairing, grew weary and laid 
 down her burden of life. Will and Lucy were con- 
 signed to the care of a guardian, and the common 
 welfare of the villagers as well, and grew to useful 
 positions in manhood and womanhood. The village 
 grew, and the old homestead became valuable for 
 business property, affording a competence in its dis- 
 posal. With the years to come the brother and sis- 
 ter became reconciled to the loss of their mother. It 
 IS. well we mourn — no life is rounded and complete 
 without sorrow. But it is better that we forget, and 
 let the past mold itself into pleasant recollections in 
 our minds, that Ave may more manfully perform 
 our obligations to the living. 
 
 But the thought Avould come back to them, 
 •'Where is father?" Him they could not forget. 
 Would he come back to them? Children of their 
 own cluster about their happy homes, and 1 hey jour- 
 
THE LOST FATHER. 
 
 65 
 
 ney on to eternity. The old village has sunk into 
 decay and is scarce marked save by name ; but the 
 hope of the return of the lost father will never decay. 
 
 He did come back. One day, by the western train, 
 there came to town a strange, old-fashioned, and 
 weather-beaten man, belted about the waist and 
 rough shod. No one knew him. He 
 sought his children, and with them is 
 passing his declining years. "With his 
 grandchildren upon his knees, he recounts 
 new bear stories and tales of ghosts that 
 stalk on the far-away shores of the Pa- 
 cific. The search for gold had taken him 
 "' far from civilization and the mails, and he 
 delved away after the precious hoard in the hope of 
 returning to make his family happy. The one regret 
 that clouded the joy of the reunion was that the 
 mother was not there to share it with them. 
 
 5 
 
 'f~^^1^^ 
 
 ^Vii^<^:' 
 
TOO LATE! 
 
 former. 
 
 HAYE seen him through the 
 window, bolstered in his great 
 chair. The old man was stern 
 and gray, waiting only for 
 interest and death. For him 
 the latter came too swiftly on 
 apace, and all too slowly the 
 Yet they were the destiny the 
 old man had marked out for himself 
 The ashes of the fires of his love had 
 long since grown cold on the altar of his affection, 
 save for sordid gain. His avarice cried, '' Give, give! " 
 No matter over whose wrecked hopes and downtrod- 
 den fortunes came gain for him, it brought exultation 
 and no pity — business was business. 
 
 For him life was no summer afternoon's jaunt 
 through the green fields. N^ature, in her loveliness, 
 strewed no spring flowers at his feet; and on the 
 cool breezes of the woodland neither, for him, did the 
 birds pipe their lay. Eather with the rude, rough 
 
 (66) 
 
TOO LATE ! 67 
 
 side of life did he struggle in contact with, and arrive 
 at, success by main strength and endurance. 
 
 She who had known his early affections, and 
 might have shared his joys and sorrows, arrived at 
 the idea that life had for her a sorrow of its own, a 
 blighted affection, an ignored existence. His cold, 
 grasping life afforded no satisfaction to her, and 
 snubbed at the beginning, she sank from nonentity 
 to the grave. 
 
 The day came when John Morris lay on his death- 
 bed. He had sent for his son, whom he had ignored 
 and left to shift for himself, and who had sunk, 
 through despair, to degradation. The old man's 
 heart had relented in his last days. 
 
 As the son entered his room, his heart softened 
 still more toward him, — a green place in the old 
 man's life, and there had not been many of them. 
 He opened his arms and cried, '' My son, forgive me 
 for years of neglect; all I h:ive is yours henceforth 
 and forever! " But the son fell on the covers, and 
 cried, '' Alas! father, it is too late; j^our bount}^ 
 comes too late for me; I am a bloated wreck. In 
 my misery I have sought refuge in the cup, and gone 
 down, down, down. My wife and babies have gone 
 
G3 
 
 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 clothed in rags. They may enjoy it now, but I am 
 irrevocably and hopelessly lost. My prospects in 
 life were fair, and I yearned for your succor. 1 had 
 a fair wife and fond children, and all that God en- 
 dows a brave man with —all but your sympathy, 
 father, ^ow, 1 am just ragged ' Bill Morris!' " 
 
 The old man's breast heaved with emotion. The 
 canker had entered his heart. When they looked on 
 him again, the old man was dead. 
 
' UP HILL AND DOW^N 
 DALE. 
 
 ^ YBIL is six, together we are 
 forty-six; quite a respectable 
 number of years on two shoul- 
 We like a quiet jaunt together 
 the fields and woods, and she 
 asks me many questions that are hard to 
 answer. She has fairly budded into 
 childhood, and is fast storing a stock 
 of practical knowledge that will last her 
 a lifetime, and grow in accumulations. 
 
 I answer her questions as best I may, and note 
 with pleasure the quiet surprise and satisfaction 
 evinced by her as she comprehends matters hitherto 
 unknown to her. I am glad to perceive the correct- 
 ness of many of her own observations related to me. 
 All the winter she has reveled in the delights of 
 the snow that fell as pure and undefiled as her gaiety, 
 
 (69) 
 
70 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 and now spring has come. The showers of April 
 have placed the bloom upon the earth. Every green 
 thing is putting forth its kind. The fruit-trees are 
 laden with their blossoms, the tulips have unfolded, 
 and the purple bloom is on the lilac. The maples are 
 disclosing a light shade of green. O'er all the lawn 
 luxuriantly waves, in a million tiny spears, the green 
 blades of grass, that present a smooth, pleasing pros- 
 pect to the eye. The white bloom of the orchards 
 throws a white-veiled wedding halo over the land. It 
 is the old earth that has found a new love in the 
 gaily-decked maiden, Spring, who has come tripping 
 merrily through the forest and over the meadow to 
 greet him. Nature, in her loveliness, has chosen the 
 best colors to deck the scene ; man could not paint 
 them better. 
 
 To-day the rain had ceased, and over the land 
 smiled the glorious sunshine, broken only by the 
 fleecy clouds that sailed in the sky. It was like unto 
 a perfect day, and the young spring-time was putting 
 forth with renewed vigor. It was just the time, 
 withal, for an afternoon's jaunt by Sybil and me up 
 hill and down dale. 
 
 So we sallied forth together, rapidly gained the 
 
trp HILL AND DOWN DALE. 7l 
 
 outskirts of the town, and emerged into the village 
 commons. She knows about them, and asks me about 
 some adjoining fields: ''Why ain't they commons 
 too? " My answer is. Because they are inclosed and 
 occupied and not thrown open to common use. In 
 fact, the very field she points to now, in 7ii7j youthful 
 day was residence property. I narrated to her 
 that here in this secluded place stood the log cabin of 
 an aged grandfather and grandmother, long since 
 dead and gone. Nothing, save a thrifty maple, 
 marks the site of the home of their declining years. 
 In the change of property the ploughman tills the 
 field, not knowing that here was once a happy and 
 humble home, where existed all the hopes and anx- 
 ieties that pervade the human breast ; all are now 
 mingled with the dust, and hope alone is triumphant 
 and unforgotten. 
 
 The low-lying pasture lands and gardens before us 
 Avere in those days a swampy morass, penetrated by 
 the corduroy road, and resorted to by the berry-pick- 
 ers. The conquering hand of man, aided by a liberal 
 tax for a county drain, has been at Avork, and the bit 
 of wilderness has indeed been made to blossom as the 
 rose. 
 
t3 A CHILD OP GENIUS. 
 
 The prospect is fair and pleasing to the eye, and 
 we journey on, clambering over fences, skirting hill- 
 sides, avoiding suspicious-looking cows, and fearing 
 some coltish-looking horses may charge on us, with 
 their native instinct, in a squadron like cavalry. In 
 our exertions we begin to warm up and feel the sun- 
 shine on our backs and the weight of our clothing. 
 Over another fence makes us quite safe. 
 
 We skirt the margins of some yet unclaimed 
 swamps, wherein the brown and sere relics of last 
 year's cat-tails are visible, and notice the white flow- 
 ers of the box-wood trees, beyond our reach because 
 of the water in the swamps. The cat-birds call, and 
 flit about within their marshy precincts. 
 
 The half-cleared woodland lies in a grass-covered 
 slope before us, and is clothed in beauty. It is like 
 green lanes and pastures down through the gap in 
 the fence. The umbrella shaped mandrake grows in 
 profusion, and our pathway is strewn with flowers. 
 The musical and discordant cries of the birds are 
 heard on every hand. Careening like a ship in the 
 air, a w^ide-winged hawk sails above us. As he sails 
 ill majesty, he is attended by convoy or corsair in 
 the small bird whose incessant attentions he can nei- 
 
Up hill and bowN dAL£. t3 
 
 ther repel nor escape if he desires to. Only when he 
 settles momentarily on a dry limb, does his apparent 
 tormentor seem to cease harassing. 
 
 We seat ourselves beneath an oak tree, and my 
 young companion interests herself in gathering some 
 last year's acorns, and noticing their beauty and 
 symmetry. Presently we are up and away, and 
 come to the bluffs of the river. Now our river is bet- 
 ter known as the creek, and it meanders through the 
 bottom-lands in a tortuous course, sometimes faster 
 over gravelly rapids, ofttimes slower in eddies and 
 deep holes under the bank of the bends. In the 
 summer time, under sun and drouth, it shrinks to 
 small proportions ; but it is always pure and fresh ; 
 running, as it does to-day, in the warm sunshine, in 
 ripples over the gravel stones, and hurrying on, on 
 forever. 
 
 We pick up some flat slate stones on its wash- 
 gravel beds, and skip them on its surface. The min- 
 nows swarm in the quiet back-water of the sand-bank, 
 and lying on the gravelly bottom we observe a school 
 of hand-long stone-rollers, which flit here and there in 
 their occasional display of activity. We notice that 
 in swift water it is ofttimes easier for them to swim 
 with the stream, like humanity. 
 
t4 A CHILD Of genius. 
 
 Some cattle are cropping the grass near by, and 
 one of them wanders down by the river side and 
 draws long, refreshing draughts of the living water. 
 When mid-summer comes, the herd will seek seclusion 
 from the heat and insects by retreating to the water* 
 A scene of contentment without a rival is an old coW 
 standing in the deep-running water, ruminating over 
 her cud and giving an occasional switch with her 
 tail at a fugitive fly* 
 
 Sybil discovers that the bottom land is covered 
 with blue violets, and she sets to gathering them and 
 requests iny assistance, but I find that my avoirdu- 
 pois is rather against my bending over, and not what 
 it used to be. Up the hill-side she adds some ferns to 
 her bouquet and on top of the bluff some white flowers 
 and lilies ; so, with shells from the shore and flow- 
 ers from the forest, we march home with laurels for 
 the dear ones we left behind. 
 
T^HE mind of man knows no greater 
 ^ pleasures than those of youth. Later 
 years, with all their triumphs and fulfill- 
 ments, bring also disappointments that 
 tinge with sorrow the pleasures of age. 
 Perhaps it is well that we meet with dis- 
 asters ; for, on the ruins wrought by them, 
 we rise to nobler conceptions of manhood 
 and the fellowship of man in the great 
 brotherhood. They cause us to have a keener 
 relish for the simple joys of our youth. With what 
 fondness we recur to life on the old farm in boyhood 
 days ! The boy on the farm is as happy as a lark, 
 and as free to commune with the better side of na- 
 ture as the songster of the meadows. His knowl- 
 edge of things enlarging by constant contact with 
 the great forces about him, he is a dullard indeed 
 
 (75) 
 
16 
 
 A Child of geniu^; 
 
 who does not have his wits sharpened, and be bettei^ 
 prepared for the battl.e of life, from having been a 
 boy on a farm. 
 
 That boy knew all about the orchard. For him 
 
 the orchard trees blossomed and fruited and ripened 
 in the summer sim. Beyond the orchard a huge 
 willow swayed its languishing foliage. From the 
 bank beneath its shade bubbled the waters of the 
 
THE ELYSIAN FIELDS. 77 
 
 spring, trickling down the ravine out of the half bar- 
 [ rel that received it. How often he has laid his straw 
 hat on the bank and, with his body prone to earth, 
 drank from the fountain-head the cool, clean liquid, 
 and arose refreshed in body and spirit ! 
 
 Up the lane, the great thoroughfare of the farm, 
 the cows in his charge were wont to come of an 
 evening into the barn-yard, following the tinkling 
 bell of their leader. What a center of life the old 
 barn-yard was ! The great straw stack afforded 
 tumbling ground for his idle hours. Beneath the 
 eaves of the brown, weather-beaten barn, the swal- 
 lows had built their tenements of clay, and flitted in 
 and out of the star-like opening in the gable, and the 
 doves winged their flight from their cote. 
 
 With gun on his shoulder in squirrel time, he was 
 wont to go down the lane, through the Elysian fields. 
 That waving corn^ standing in soldierly rows and 
 flapping its green ribbons in the summer breeze, he 
 had in the spring time thought over, and fought over 
 every furrow that had been turned for its reception, 
 as he had marched up and down the field. When the 
 tiny blades had just appeared, and he had marshaled 
 his hosts against the invading forces of weeds, and 
 
A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 rode rough shod through the ranks of green coats 
 with a double-shovel plow, in his mind he had also 
 won battles in other fields of action, where the boy 
 had pictured himself a man. Involved in a day- 
 dream, his vision was a poem of life. What boy has 
 not had them ? The dream of life has extended from 
 then to now, and yet the battle is not won. The 
 heart is filled with a strange un-- 
 rest, a longing not satisfied. 
 
 The lane led him down by the 
 waving grain, with its golden 
 promise. The shadows of shift- 
 ing clouds were chased over its 
 surface by the winds. The per- 
 fume of the clover field filled 
 the air with incense. The 
 great round-topped maple, 
 green of foliage, and with cool, 
 shade, stood afield. 
 The solitary stub that 
 stood in the 
 lane was the 
 watch- 
 tower of 
 
THE ELYSIAN FIELDS. 79 
 
 a marauding hawk, who, from his outpost, watched 
 the fowls of the barn-yard, ready to pounce down 
 upon his unsuspecting victims. This old robber was 
 as big a coward as he was a thief, and a shot at him 
 needed to l?e taken at long range, lest he take alarm 
 and sail away. The coarse cries of the croAvs were 
 provoking, but you can't fool an old crow if y^ou try. 
 The half pasture, half woodland at the end of the 
 lane was to him a picture of pastoral loveliness. 
 Through its soft soil the brook had broken its way, 
 and was spanned by a rude bridge. Minnows chased 
 in its shallows and rapids, and over miniature falls it 
 emptied into a huge box, where the sheep Avere 
 cleaned for shearing. In this sylvan retreat sleek 
 cattle browsed and were startled by his huntsman- 
 like appearance. Farther on in the denser woods, 
 and skirting the fences of the ripening grain-fields, 
 he sought the nimble squirrel with varying success. 
 They were apt to catch sight of him before he did 
 them, and his first knowledge of their presence was 
 often a frisky tail disappearing in the distance on 
 the rail fence, and seeking refuge in some lofty tree. 
 That sturdy oak had long been marked as the home 
 of an ancient fox squirrel, whose activity had pre- 
 served his life through several hunting seasons. 
 
80 
 
 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 Our 
 
 young hunter concluded to sit down and await 
 events, A tramp through the woods, with 
 the twigs and leaves crackling under his feet, 
 forewarned the wary game. Soon, if he kept 
 quiet, a little head appeared around a tree 
 and he heard a familiar barking not far away 
 in the branches, and some venturesome black 
 or gray squirrel skipped along the ground 
 from one tree to another. His 
 game bag well filled, no true 
 huntsman knew better than the 
 boy on the farm how to dress 
 the game in a proper manner. 
 The utmost skill was required 
 not to get a hair on the delicate 
 carcass about to be con- 
 signed with pride to 
 the good mother to 
 be prepared for sup- 
 per. The quarters 
 boiled in gravy made 
 a feast fit for an epi- 
 cure. 
 
 In September, 
 
THE ELYSIAN FIELDS. 81 
 
 when the seed wheat was in the ground, the pigeons 
 darkened the heavens as they flew in long lines over- 
 head. He had become more of a huntsman then, and 
 in the field or margin of the forest sought them, at 
 rest or on wing, Avith great success. They wheeled 
 in their flight with strange fascination and came 
 within range, and he filled many a pot pie with his 
 easy skill 
 
 He had heard it recited at the fireside that at an 
 early day nobler game frequented those forests, when 
 they were more dense. In the garret hung a trusty 
 rifle, with old-fashioned sights and a rude stock. This 
 old firearm had done service in pursuit of the fleet- 
 footed deer. He could scarcely comprehend the sto- 
 ries of buck fever" related with great gusto. 
 
 He had maintained inviolate secrecy about a flock 
 of wild turkeys that resorted to the great swamp in 
 the summei*. In the fall they were roaming about 
 the woods, and in his first contact with them 
 he understood perfectly about "buck fever." He 
 was utterly unable to act. Next time he did better, 
 and the first one killed he shouldered and marched 
 home Avith in trium])h. His sport was not systematic, 
 trained sport, but was just such as a green country 
 
82 
 
 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 boy would have when the Indian summer threw its 
 halo around the earth, and the sky assumed its peculiar 
 smoky haze. The corn was standing afield in great 
 shocks. It was almost a pastime to attack one of 
 these and despoil it of its great golden ears, while the 
 story and jest and badinage went its merry round 
 among the buskers, and the great heaps of yellow 
 corn lay in piles about the Elysian fields. 
 
 Those were the halcyon days. They never will 
 return to you. Great heaps of yellow gold may fill 
 your coffers, but you never can buy back the days of 
 your youth with their unalloyed pleasures. 
 
OVER THE GARDEN 
 WALL. 
 
 UE garden has been crying for rain. 
 This morning the fresh-blowing 
 wind tossed the branches of the great ehn about like 
 waves of the billowy ocean. A robin clinging to the 
 topmost branch rode on the wave like a ship at sea, 
 as the western gale tossed them to and fro. But the 
 winds dispelled the storm, the sun shone out in all 
 
84 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 his glory, and the day has been at midsummer heat. 
 
 This afternoon, however, there is an ominous roll- 
 ing of thunder in the distance, and the low-lying 
 darkness along the horizon portends the storm. The 
 rushing winds sway the foliage, and the strange, 
 rustling voice of nature, borne by the breath of the 
 storm, is broken only by the sharp cry of the birds. 
 The sky becomes overcast, and the first pattering 
 drops of rain come scattering to the earth as a pre- 
 monition of that to come. Nature is hushed, and 
 waits expectant to drink the invigorating draught. 
 
 The great sprinkler of the heavens sifts down the 
 precious fluid in greater profusion, then eases a mo- 
 ment, and then dashes down a larger supply. The 
 vivid flashes of lightning are followed by fearful 
 crashes of thunder overhead that seem to jar the 
 foundations of the earth. 
 
 The Avind subsides, and the calmly falling, wel- 
 come rain is drank up eagerly by the earth in its 
 gladness. The vigor of our garden is renewed, and 
 with the cessation of the storm the cheering notes of 
 the birds are heard, and in the sunlight a glorious 
 rainbow spans the eastern heavens. 
 
 Alongside the garden wall soon will the June roses 
 
OVER THE GARDEN WALL. g5 
 
 flourish — red rose and white. Floating with tnem 
 into the wind come the notes of the flute, viol, and 
 bassoon from the great hall, as the love-sick and 
 crazy youth lingers iu the fancy from the poet laure- 
 ate's passionate tale, his sad heart crying for his love 
 to come into the garden. 
 
 Over the garden wall will clamber the morning 
 glory, gaily swinging its bright-colored bell. On its 
 top the vain peacock is wont to sj^read his gorgeous 
 panoply of the orient. Within the precincts of 
 the garden, companion to the vain-glorious poppy, 
 the gay sunflower doth turn its golden face to the 
 summer sun, and the hollyhock rears its head. 
 Therein a sacred root of pie-plant grows, and sage to 
 savor grandam's sausage and tea as well, and the an- 
 cient and honorable gooseberry ; while the apple, 
 peach, and pear line the borders of the garden fair. 
 
 On the farther limits of the garden grows a fringe 
 of wild-w^ood. Wild flowers spring up in the leafy 
 mold of its retreats. The wild grape has spread over 
 the fence like a green hedge-row. The white blos- 
 soms of the elder and bush and briar flourish there in 
 profusion. The wide-spreading branches of the w^al- 
 nut are laden with nuts, presaging the cheer by the 
 
86 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 winter's fire. Then the wintry blasts may blow 
 without, but to the ruddy glow of our hearth-stone 
 we shall draw near for warmth and comfort. 
 
 Over the trellis of the summer kitchen the grape 
 has wound its way, clinging with small but powerful 
 tendrils, like the affections that entwine about the 
 objects of our adoration, and hold us steadfast to 
 them. The connection of the summer kitchen with 
 the garden is like the relation of the luscious berry to 
 the toothsome shortcake. Granted that it is well 
 supplied with the fresh products of the garden, 
 what a peculiar pride there is in culling the vegeta- 
 bles fresh from our own soil, something raised by 
 the sweat of our own brow ! 
 
 A well-kept garden is like unto a perfect character, 
 inasmuch as it is developed by cultivation. Per- 
 haps you know some particularly amiable lady whose 
 graces of character are distinctly marked. Birth has 
 done something for her, to be sure, as good soil has 
 something to do with the garden ; but cultivation 
 has done more for her, the same as the weeds are 
 carefully eradicated from the garden, and the soil 
 stirred about the tender plants that only the good 
 and useful may thrive. They stand the sunshine, 
 
OVER THE GARDEN WALL. 87 
 
 the storm, and the wind. How strong are the plants 
 that have been beaten and blown about ! The char- 
 acter that has been through the storms and sorrows 
 of adversity is like them. In contrast with them is 
 the succulent growth springing up in the wild-wood 
 retreat, that grow slender of stalk and w^eak of fiber, 
 like a Tveak character easily crushed. 
 
 If this amiable lady is fortunately linked w^ith a 
 helpmeet of equal kindness, great is the impress of 
 the lives of that happy pair in the community where 
 they live. 
 
 Meantime night is approaching, and robin red 
 breast'hops along the ground in search of his evening 
 meal, and drags from his lair the struggling earth- 
 worm. From an apple tree the orchard orioles pour 
 forth their gladsome melody in a flood of song. The 
 brood of white, fluffy chicks, just out, seek the seclu- 
 sion of the mother's wings. Soon will only the sound 
 of the cricket be heard, w^hen the world, too, will 
 have sought the seclusion of darkness and rest be- 
 neath the wings of night. 
 
THE ROMANCE OF A SAP-BUSH. 
 
 ^MONG the best sweets nature has in 
 
 store for us is the sap of the sugar 
 
 maple. The first bright warm 
 
 days of February the groceryman 
 
 brings out the remnant of last 
 
 season's stock of maple sugar, and^ 
 
 melting it over with the addition of the proper amount 
 
 of ^^ muscovado," presents to the palates of the public 
 
 the product of the first run of the season. 
 
 Of course it is not our groceryman that does this, 
 and it is only a popular myth anyway, but that old 
 fiction has been flung about the country so long that 
 1 know, and you know, a woman that believes it. 
 
 Not long after this sugar-making actually begins, 
 thawy days and light freezing night cause the sap to 
 run. The flow is accelerated by the fall of a light 
 snow, commonly called the '^ sugar snow," that melts 
 rapidly, dampening the ground beneficially for the 
 maple. 
 
 The old-fashioned sugar-camp, with its primitive 
 
 (88) 
 
THE ROMANCE OF A SAP-BUSH. 89 
 
 appliances, is a delightful reminiscence of happy days. 
 It was a common center where liberality and hospi- 
 tality were displayed open-handed. The early settler 
 tapped the trees with home-made spiles made of su- 
 mac, with the pith removed. The typical Chinaman 
 of the tea chest, Avith a yoke across his shoulders, 
 and his burden of tea chests balanced on long hooks 
 at either end, is a fair conception of the method of 
 sap gathering. 
 
 " They are going to sugar off down to s to- 
 night," Avas O'pen sesame in those days to the surround- 
 ing swains. You were J^oung then, and still revel in 
 the deFights of the rude shelter in the woods, the 
 ruddy fire in the improvised arch, and the seething 
 caldron of syrup. The bearer of a saucer and spoon, 
 the most delicious flavor on the tongue to your think- 
 ing was syrup waxed on snow. The most enchant- 
 ing thing you knew was a pair of bright eyes that 
 beamed on you. No doubt you thought seriously of 
 them in those days, and they sparkle in your fancy 
 yet. 
 
 But they were not j^our destiny. You revisited the 
 old neighborhood not long since, and found Bright 
 Eyes the mother of two charming children. They 
 
90 
 
 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 are being brought up, and not merely raised, but are 
 being educated in the neighboring town, and you feel 
 that your old flame's mission in the world is being ful- 
 filled. Is yours? You see behind the civilization of 
 that home a strain of culture drifted from old York 
 State and the New England coast. 
 
 The modern sugar-maker has many improved ap- 
 pliances, — metal spiles, a finely - regulated sugar 
 house, pans and purifiers ; — but none of them can 
 rob you of your ideal of years ago. You pore over 
 old ledgers and day-books, and growl because col- 
 lections are slow, but you are still loyal to that old 
 romance of a sap-bush. 
 
THE ROSE 
 ERIN. 
 
 OF 
 
 IITH the railroad a new 
 civilization was coming into 
 the country. The original 
 settlers, the old Pennsyl- 
 vania Dutchmen, who had 
 immigrated to, and settled 
 in, the Hoosier country, 
 were beginning to feel the 
 impulse of the new and 
 keener Yankee blood. 
 
 Even the Celt was there. 
 He came in with his earthly 
 possessions loaded on a don- 
 key cart — bedding, wife, ba- 
 bies, frying-pan, and all, 
 a motley crew that soon 
 set up housekeeping in the 
 shanties on the St. Joe, and 
 the donkey and dump-cart became habitues of the 
 "cut and fill." A genuine store, with a Yankee 
 
 (91) 
 
C):3 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 store-keeper from 'way over the line, in Michigan, 
 was indeed an innovation. 
 
 Even Sunday assumed another air, and the old 
 school-house, that stood down by the swale, was 
 brightened up and did service for a Sunday-school. 
 Some of the attendants might not have cared for it in 
 their former homes, but now they were zealous for it 
 because it smacked of the old home institutions. 
 Colonel Winters, the blufp and hearty old contractor, 
 had a deal to do with it. He said, '' Everything is 
 so new here, and so rough, that we must do some- 
 thing to make us think of home." 
 
 The country was but half cleared up, and the ha- 
 zel brush covered a portion of that. The roads ran 
 in no regular direction, but led most anywhere, and 
 carried you through the woods to some Dutchman's 
 possessions, and ended there. The Hoosier might 
 have numbered his acres b}^ the hundred. The old 
 log house was, perhaps, habitable ; but the large 
 barn, with a hip roof and capacious mows, •was a 
 marvel of architecture and the pride of the Hoosier's 
 heart. The bowl of buttermilk that his frau set be- 
 fore you was without the sweetening that your 
 mother was wont to give you. If you were a 
 
THE HOSE OF ERIN. 93 
 
 boy, you noticed that. They Uved plam, but they 
 amassed wealth and acres. 
 
 But now the " Air-Line ^' was steering its way 
 through their possessions. Traders at the store, 
 from the surrounding country, as a rule, rode horse- 
 back, and tied their steeds to the rude hitching- 
 posts across the road from the store, in a clearing of 
 the hazel brush, and fashioned out of saplings by 
 the hands of the ingenious store-keeper, who was 
 manager, clerk, and man-of-all-work at the same 
 time. 
 
 Huckleberries figured largely as a commodity in 
 the exchange for goods. The Dutch women would 
 ask, ^' Sprechen sie Deutsch?''' and the store-keeper's 
 entire stock of the German vocabulary would only 
 permit him to answer, '•'- Neiny 
 
 Then they would bring forward the children, who, 
 more fortunately, had learned the English tongue at 
 the schools, and they Avould act as interpreters in 
 the financial transactions. 
 
 There were several strata of society thrown to- 
 gether in the, as yet, unnamed railroad town. There 
 were the Yankee-blooded store-keeper's and con- 
 tactor's families and others of that ilk, that might 
 
94 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 be classed as one. Another la^^er was the Hibernian 
 element, and the remaining superstructure of society 
 was the native old Silurian Hoosiers. 
 
 In a new community like this, from necessity^ 
 caste and distinction are laid aside. So the occa- 
 sional dances, gotten up to relieve the tedium of the 
 place, were o^pen sesame to all. A house, conveniently 
 located on the main road, had arrived at the dignity 
 of being called a "hotel," the unfinished and parti, 
 tionless second story of w^hich was the scene of the 
 dancing festivities, where they ''hoed 'er down." 
 
 Saturday afternoon was a great half-holiday, too, 
 and upon the commons sides w^ere chosen, and the 
 male portion of the community joined in an old-fash- 
 ioned game of base ball with great gusto. 
 
 And the Fourth of July — a place in the woods was 
 underbrushed out, alongside the line, and every man, 
 woman, and child joined in a Sunday-school celebra- 
 tion, which was made complete with tables heavily 
 laden with frosted and pyramid cakes. A young 
 lawyer from the county seat, who was an aspirant 
 for Congressional honors, orated in a grandiloquent 
 manner. It was very much in those days as it is 
 now, the lawyers did all the talking and most of the 
 going to Congress. 
 
THE ROSE OF ERIN. 
 
 95 
 
 Such a place could not be long without its love af- 
 fair. Neither was there a lack of belles in its society, 
 — a casus belli. There was Helen, the fair Hibernian 
 lass, a rosy-cheeked beauty, who seemed a waif 
 thrown astray amid the Irish shanties; and there 
 was blithesome Mary, of the Yankee settlement that 
 clustered around the store. 
 
 It was not long ^^ H _,^,^^v". 
 
 in developing ,^^^^W^%^I ^^""^M 
 that where there ^^BflkA ^ \ 
 
 is a cause there will 
 be an effect. Love 
 turns the affairs of the world, 
 and makes even old men silly. 
 The old song is, ''Love Eules the Camp, the Court, 
 and the Grove." The cause in this instance was 
 these two beauties, and the effect was the young 
 surveyor, Coburn. 
 
 He paid attention to both at the dances, and soon 
 the hitherto united people were divided upon the 
 question, not onlj^ as to who would bear away the 
 
96 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 '' prize," for Coburn was looked upon with a great deal 
 of reverence in those parts, his professions being re- 
 garded as a high attainment. 
 
 Which girl would get him, became the absorbing 
 theme ; all shanty-town of course rallied to the stand- 
 ard of fair Helen, and not without cause either, for 
 she was a royal beauty. 
 
 When Patrick lit his pipe, out on the big ''fill," in 
 the morning, and punching the Aveed more compactly 
 into the bowl of the pipe with his finger, gave some 
 short, vigorous puffs with a peculiar smack of the lips, 
 resting his foot on the shovel, he said : '^ Hoi, Moike, 
 did yez go up to the donee last noight, and did yez 
 notice Misther Coburn, the boss of thim surveyors, 
 the foine gentleman that he is, donee with Mistress 
 Helen ? A nice couple they are, too ; good luck to 
 the loikes of um " 
 
 And Michael said: ''A fine little leddy that — a fine 
 wife she would make for Misther Coburn, shure, bet- 
 ter nor that Yankee gurll." 
 
 Up at the- store, an imprisoned gray squirrel was 
 whirling the tin revolving wheel of his cage, anxiously 
 watched by a lonesome boy, Avho longed for far-away 
 Michigan. Several men, who were laying off from 
 
THE ROSE OF ERIN. 97 
 
 the job, were holding down sundry boxes and kegs, 
 and aiming tobacco juice at an imaginary receptacle 
 under the stove, with varying success. 
 
 The silence of some moments was broken by the 
 emphatic exclamation of a Wolverine: — 
 
 '^ I'll be damned if I can see what Coburn finds in 
 that Irish girl to admire." 
 
 Whereat the store-keeper, who is supposed to be 
 on confidential terms with Mr. Coburn, says: ^' I'm 
 going to see about that myself; I'll have a talk with 
 Coburn." 
 
 '' There's no denying she's a purty girl; but Mary, 
 she's a different sort o' beauty," chimed in a long, 
 lank setter. 
 
 Coburn gave forth no sign, and gossip grew hotter. 
 Which would win? that was the absorbing theme 
 that agitated and divided the colony. 
 
 One day, as Coburn was engaged in surveying the 
 boundaries of the line through the woodlands that 
 came up to the grade, he heard a sweet voice, in a 
 pathway of the woods, singing,— 
 
 " Come over the sea, 
 Maiden, with me, 
 Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows; 
 
98 
 
 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 ►Seasons may roll, 
 
 But the true soul 
 Burns the same, where'er it goes. 
 Let Fate frown on, so we love and part not; 
 'T is life where thou art, 't is death where thou art not; 
 
 Then come over the sea. 
 
 Maiden, with me. 
 Come wherever the wild wind blows ; 
 
 Seasons may roll, 
 
 But the true soul 
 Burns the same, where'er it goes.'' 
 
 He recognized the voice as 
 Helen's, and clapping his hands, 
 shouted, " Capital ! " as the 
 young lady emerged from the 
 pathwa}^, unconscious of the 
 nearness of any one. 
 
 " Bravo ! You do well with 
 a love song," he reiterated. 
 
 " Who knew that you were 
 around?" said Helen. ^^I 
 would n't have been so free 
 with my song." 
 
 " Too late to regret it now," 
 said he ; '' besides, I am some- 
 thing of a singer myself." 
 
THE ROSE OF ERIN. 99 
 
 Helen urged him to sing for her, and he sang, — 
 
 " Sweet life, if life were stronger, 
 Earth clear of years that wrong her, 
 Then two things might live longer, 
 
 Two sweeter things than thoy, — 
 Delight, the rootless flower, 
 And love, the bloomless bower, 
 Delight that lives an hour. 
 
 And love that lives a day." 
 
 '' Don't you think love is more constant than that, 
 Mr. Coburn ? " said Helen. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; that's onty the words of the poet for 
 it, and they are often misanthropes," said he. '' Love 
 is the most lasting thing," he added. 
 
 ^^ I should hope so," she replied. 
 
 ^' ]Now that I have entertained you with my song," 
 said Coburn, '' I wish you would help me run this 
 chain," and together they measured the distances 
 with the chain, and many times after that they 
 handled the chain together — who knows but they 
 were measuring the links of a life? And at evening, 
 Coburn would take his fishing rod and stroll downi 
 the river path to a favorite place by the willows, 
 where they threw their shadows into the dark, glassy 
 pool, and cast his line into the water. 
 
100 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 Oftentimes was he accompanied by the little Irish 
 lass, to whom he would relate strange and boyish 
 stories of his school life and struggle to got an edu- 
 cation, and about his plans for the future; how he 
 had been reading law, and hoped to receive his di- 
 ploma, and to hang out his '^ shingle " ; whereat she 
 wanted to know what that meant, and he laughed 
 and explained that it was a lawyer's sign; and he grew 
 more confidential, and said that there were two ways 
 for honor open to the able attorney — the judge's 
 bench and politics. 
 
 Fame and profit might be a long time in coming, 
 he said, and he told her of a bosom friend of his boy- 
 hood days, Avith whom he had mutual aspirations, — 
 how they had planned and studied together, planning 
 for a place in the world. 
 
 His friend had gone into literature, and met with 
 many bitter disappointments. He had tried news- 
 paperwork without achieving any distinction. Ifat- 
 urally of a poetic tendency, his poems did not attract 
 attention. 
 
 One day he sent a homely, rough -shod j^oem of 
 home life to a city paper, and awoke to find himself 
 famous and copied far and wide. All this after years 
 
THE ROSE OF ERIN. 101 
 
 of disappointment and seeming failure. He bad sim- 
 ply found his theme. 
 
 Now his friend was sought after and wealthy. 
 His own ambitions had not been satisfied as yet, but 
 he still had the determination to win. All this was 
 a revelation of a higher life to the quaint little lady 
 by his side, that she had not dreamed of, and made 
 her wonder at the poverty of her own surroundings. 
 
 Daily, at the Yankee settlement, too, Coburn met 
 the charming Mary. That he saw much in her quiet 
 ways to admire, there was no wonder. To a man 
 with his tendencies, a wife like her with her superior 
 education and tact, could but be a helpmeet indeed 
 and in truth. 
 
 Meantime great gangs of men were moving moun- 
 tains of earth. Across the flats of St. Joe the great 
 embankments were only separated by the waters of 
 the river. The trestle-work of the massive bridge 
 would soon connect them. Through the wilderness, 
 w^estward, the pathway for the iron horse was being 
 pushed. 
 
 The summer and early fall were dry, and no mis- 
 take. Everything was drying up. The back-water 
 in the great mill-dams along Fish Creek had disap- 
 
102 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 peared, leaving exposed acres and acres of old stumps 
 and stubs and logs, and great, reeking bottoms, that 
 sent over the surrounding country, like a black fiend, 
 a miasmic mist of death. It shook its filmy fingers 
 far and near, and there was scarce a home in the 
 region but paid homage to its call. Young and 
 blooming childhood and happy youth most often fell 
 its prey. In the Hoosier homes the mortality among 
 children was something appalling, taken as a whole. 
 There were no doctors at hand ; the nearest one was 
 at the Center, ten miles away. His ride was, of 
 necessity, large, and he could not call often. 
 
 Now it was that the superior knowledge and skill 
 of the Yankee store-keeper were brought into req- 
 uisition. Florence Nightingale could not have done 
 more. Here, there, everywhere his presence was 
 needed. The Irish cabins on the river bluffs were 
 invaded by the disease, and the children of some of 
 the Yankee colonists were attacked. If a pulse was 
 low, the store-keaper would fire it up with brandy, 
 shake it in the teeth of the fell malaria. It was a 
 mortal combat by day, continued through the long 
 watches of the night. Sunday-school was no longer 
 held ; the dancing festivities were suspended ; no 
 
THE ROSE OF ERIN. 103 
 
 longer, on the village green, in the half-holiday, did 
 the ball-players resort. 
 
 Finally, one day, word came to the store that 
 Helen had the malady. There was no lack of volun- 
 teers to go and battle with the disease ; but Mary, 
 the good soul, insisted that she was the proper one 
 to go. She was determined about the matter. She 
 met Coburn at the door of the rude habitation by 
 the river — he was already there. There was an anx- 
 ious expression on his face. 
 
 There was an unspoken truce upon the past from 
 the moment their eyes met, a suspension of all 
 earthly things. 
 
 They went into the cabin to do their duty, nobly 
 and heroically, and opposed the harsh disease, step 
 by step ; but it enveloped the form. It was useless. 
 
 A wild Eglantine rose, that Helen had herself 
 found in the forest and planted, screened the win- 
 dow. The roses had blossomed and faded away, and 
 like them Helen was fading and d^nng. 
 
 There was silence in the house the night that 
 Helen died. There were soft, tip-toed steps, and 
 naught but the steady tick, tick, tick, tick of the 
 clock was heard. Outside, the crickets filled the 
 
104 A CHILD OF GENIUS. 
 
 mournful air of the night with their chirpings. Be- 
 low, the river was rushing away in the darkness. In 
 hushed stillness, Nature waited for the death angel 
 to bear a human life on to eternity. Away from 
 kindred and home and friends, across the dark, un- 
 fathomable night, the black- winged angel flies in the 
 solemn, mysterious darkness. When shall we see 
 the morning light? 
 
 Oh, the anguished heart of that poor mother, as 
 she crosses herself to Mary the mother of God! Oh, 
 the grief of that poor father, as he reverences the 
 Saints ! Father and mother are the dearest, truest 
 friends on earth. 
 
 When the last moment was coming, and Helen 
 herself saw it, she took the hand of Coburn and 
 placed it in Mary's, and said, '^ God bless you both ; 
 God bless you both, and keep you. I had a dream of 
 life ; my faith stood in its way ; it is gone now. 
 Good-by." Let us draw a curtain over death. It is 
 better so, if Helen is happy in heaven. 
 
 That old colony is scattered now. The donkey and 
 the dump carts, and the people with mother wit from 
 the Emerald Isle, from whose ranks have risen some 
 
THE HOSE OF ERIN. 105 
 
 of our brightest lights, went on ; for when the road 
 came through, corner lots did not have the value 
 some people imagined they would have, and it would 
 take too many years for the slow-going country to 
 develop anyway to suit the active Yankees ; so they 
 mostly drifted away, and left what there was of the 
 new civilization in the hands of the old settlers. 
 
 Coburn and Mary were married. She has been a 
 true woman and a faithful helpmeet. He has been 
 an able jurist and a righteous judge. The bright 
 little flower of a girl that blossomed and faded on the 
 St. Joe, they will always remember with mutual ad- 
 miration. 
 
I}., 
 
iiiiiniiiiiiiiiSir '^°^*^"^ss 
 
 016 215 398 5