ce saying, he opened the paper, which was so much worn at the folds as O drop into several pieces. and read from It as follows:- Page 180. I 'WAY DOWN EAST; oB, 3ar'raitte Nf ~aut Lt, *it'4 BY SEBA SM IT H. THE OIIGINAL MAJOR JACK DUWNslG. PHILA DELPHIA: JOHN E. POTTER AND COMPANY, 617 SANsOM STREEB Intered according to Act of Congress, in the year 184, by SEBA SMITH, In the Clerk's Office of the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York. CONrENTS. BAPIT^R I.-JOHNG WAPDL~ B'RI'. ~ ~ * n.-YANKERE HRISTMA8 ~ ~ n1.-THE TOUGHn rA I * * IT. —CRISTOPHER CROTCHET.,.-POILY GRAY AND THE DOOCTOR VI.-JERRY GUTTRIDG, TII.-SEATING THE PARISH. TIII.-THE MONET-DIGGERS AND OLD NIX IX.-PETER PUNCTUAL. X.-THE SPECULATOR. XI.-A DUTCH WEDDING. XII.-BILLY SNUB.. XIII.-THE PUMPKIN FRESHT XIV.-A RACE FOR A SWEETHEART. XV.-OLD M.YERS, THE PANTHE XVI.-6TH WOODSUM' WiT * * AOEi ~ ~ ~ 4* ~, * * * * *. 29 *.,.... 0 * * 0 * 16 ~. 0.. 216 ~..... 156 ~...... 166..*.....216 ~..... 286.*... **.. 28f ~...... 819 ~.0 ~ *. 839 *~.., 0. 870 "Z 6b ei Dn (Bast/. CIHAPTER L JOHN WADLEIGH'S TRIAL. The Early Jurisprudence of New England, including a Sketch of John Wadleigh's Trial before Squire Winslow, for Sleeping in Meeting on the Lord's Day; with a brief Report of Lawyer Chandler's memorable Speech on the occasion. TimE pilgrim fathers of New England, and their children of the first and second generations, are justly renowned for their grave character, their moral uprightness, which sometimes was rather more than perpendicular, and the vigilant circumspection which each one exercised over h's neiglhbor as well as hlimjelt. It is true that Connec icut, from an industrious promulgation of her " Blue Laws," has acquired more fame on this score than other portions of the " univer sal Yankee nation," but this negative testimony 6 VWAY DOWN EAST. against the rest of New England ought not to be allowed too much weight, for wherever the light of history does gleam upon portions further "Down East," it shows a people not a whit behind Connecticut in their resolute enforcement of all the decencies of life, and their stern and watchful regard for the well-being of society. The justice of this remark will suffi-:iently appear by a few brief quotations from their judicial records. In the early court records of New Hampshire, in the year 1655, may be found the following entry: "The Grand Jury do present the wife of Mathew Giles, for swearing and reviling the constable when he came for the rates, and likewise railing on the prudenshall men and their wives. Sentenced to be whipped seven stripes, or to be redeemed with forty shillings, and to be bound to her good behavior." Another entry upon the records the same year is as follows: "The Grand Jury do present Jane Canny, the wife of Thomas Canny, for beating her son-in-law, Jeremy Tibbetts, and his wife; and likewise for striking her nusband in a canoe, and giving him reviling speeches Admonished by the court, and to lay two shillings and sixpence." JOHN WAI)LEIGH'S TRIAL. 7 If it is consistent with rational philosophy to draw an inference from two facts, we might here consider it proved, that the pilgrim ladies of 1655 had considerable human nature in them. And from the following record the same year, it would appear also that there were some of the male gender among them at that day, who still exhibited a little of the old Adam. " Philip Edgerly, for giving out reproachful speeches against the worshipful Captain Weggen, is sentenced by the court to make a public acknowledgement three seve al days; the first day in the head of the train band; the other two days are to be the most public meeting days in Dover, when Oyster River people shall be there present; which is to be done within four months after this present day. And in case he doth not perform as aforesaid, he is to be whipped, not exceeding ten stiipes, and to be fined five pounds to the county." The reader cannot but notice in this case, last cited, with what stern purpose and judicial acumen the severity of the penalty is made to correspond with the enormity of the offence. The crime, it will be seen, was an aggravated one. The gentleman against whom the reproachful speeches were uttered was a Captain; and not orly a Captain, but a Worshifful Captaini 'WAY )OWN EAST. Whether Captain Weggen was the commanding officer of the train band, or not, does not appear; but thero was an appropriate fitness in requiring, that the crime of uttering reproachful speeches against any Captain, should be publicly acknowledged at the head of the train band. There the culprit would have to face all the officers, from the captain down to the corporal, and all the soldiers, from the top to the bottom of the company, could point the finger of scorn at him. But as the injured party in this case was a worshipful captain, it was very proper that a penalty of a higher grade should be affixed to the sentence. Hence the withering exposure of the offender to make public acknowledgments on two several occasions, " to be the most public meeting days in Dover, when Ouster Rivserpeople shall be there present." Whatever may be said at the present day, as to the temperance reformation being of modern origin, it may be affirmed without hazard that the good people of New England two hundred years ago, were decided and strenuous advocates of temperance. They were not tee-totallers; they did not prohibit the use of those "creature comforts" altogether; but if any one among them proved to be a wine-bibber, or abused his privilege of drinking, woe be to him, he had to feel the JOHN WAD. EIGII'S TRIAL. 9 force of the law and good government. Witness the following court record in New HIampshire, in 1657: "Thomas Crawlie and Mathew Layn, presented for drinking fourteen pints of wine at one time. Fined three shillings and fourpence, and two fees and sixpence." The good people of the province of Maine in those early days have also left proof, that they were on the side of industrious and good habits and wholesome instruction. Their Grand Juries present as follows: "We present Charles Potum, for living an idle, lazy life, following no settled employment. Major Bryant Pembleton joined with the Selectmen of Cape Porpus to dispose of Potum according to law, and to put him under family government." So it seems there were some men, even in the early days of the Pilgrims, who enjoyed that more preva. lent luxury of modern times, living under famnil& government. Again say the Grand Jury, "tWe present the Selectmen of the town of Kittery, for not taking care that their children and youth be taught their catechism and education according to law." They took good care in those good old times, that tie dealings between man and man should be on I* 1) WAY DOWN EAST. equitable and fair principles, and without extortion. In 1649, the Grand Jury say"Imprimis, we do present Mr. John Winter, of Richmond's Island, for extortion; for that Thomas Wise, of Casco, hath declared upon his oath that he paid unto Mr. John Winter a noble (six shillings and eightpence), for a gallon of aqua vitme, about two months since; and further, he declareth that the said Winter bought of Mr. George Luxton, when he was last in Casco Bay, a hogshead of aqua vitse for seven pounds sterling." The punishment inflicted on Mr. John Winter, for extorting from his customer two hundred per cent. profit on his merchandise, is not stated; but if one Thomas Warnerton, who flourished in the neighborhood at that time, had any agency in fixing the penalty, it probably went rather hard with him; for this latter gentleman must have had a special interest in keeping the price of the article down, inasmuch as it is related of him, that in taking leave of a friend, who was departing for England, "he drank to him a pint of kill-devil, alias rum, at a draught." Juliana Cloyse, wife to John Cloyse, was "preo sented for a talebearer from house to house, setting differences between neighbors." It was the n-is JOHN WiADIEIGH' TRIAL. 11 fortune of Juliana Cloyse that she lived at too early an age of the world. Iad her lot been cast in this day and generation, she would probably have met with no such trouble. Thomas Tailor was presented "for abusing Captain F. Ravnes, being in authority, for theeing and thouing of him, and many other abusive speeches." At a town meeting in Portsmouth, March 12, 1672, " voted, that if any shall smoke tobacco in the meeting-house at any public meeting, he shall pay a fine of five shillings, for the benefit of the town." In a previous year, September 25th, at a town meeting, it was "ordered that a cage be made, or some other means be invented by the Selectmen, to punish such as sleep or take tobacco on the Lord's day, at meeting, in the time of the public exercise." It appears from this record that the town reposed unlimited confidence in the inventive powers of the Selectmen; and it appears also that the energetic order of the town, passed on this occasion, was a few years afterwards successfully carried into practical operation. The following is preserved on the town records, July 24, 1771. " The Selectmen agree with John Pickering to buzld a age twelve feet square, with stocks wit 1in it, and a 12 WAY DOWN EAST. p7Tlory on the top, a convenient space from the weds enl(d f the mceting-/house." hllus far we lave confined ourselves to official records; but some of the unofficial and unwritten records of those days are of equal importance to be transmitted to posterity, one of which it is our present purpose to endeavor to rescue from oblivion. The affair of the cage, with stocks inside, and a pillory on the top, served to wake up the congregation for a wllile, so tllat no one was calught napping or cllewing tobacco in tlle ieeting-lhonse dluring the public exercises for several Sabbaths after this invention of the Selectmen became a "fixed fact" at the west end of the meeting-house. As the novelty of the tlling wore off; however, the terror in some degree seemed to depart with it. There was a visible carelessness on the part of several old offenders, hlo were observed to relax their attention to the services, wearlng very sleepy looks, sometimes yawning, and occasionally putting themselves into unseemly positions, concealilng tle.* ciaces, so that Jhe searclling sc utiny,,f old Deacn WAinslow hinself could not decide tfi certainty whether they were asltep or not. Among these delinquents, John Wadleigh seemeo to be the most conspicuous, often leaning his head so JOHN WADLEIGH'S TRIAL, as to hide his eyes during half sermon time. lie was also gruff and stubborn when questioned on the subject. So marked was the periodical reeling of his ]lead. that Deacon Winslow began to watch him as narrowly as a cat would a mouse. Not that the Deacon neglected the sermon; he always took care of that matter, and for his own edification, as well as an example to the congregation, he steadily kept one eye on the minister, while the other was on John Wadleigh. There began to be sundry shrugs of the shoulders among the knowing ones of the congregation, and remarks were occasionally dropt, such as " Don't you believe John Wadleigh was asleep during half the sermon yesterday?" with the reply, "Why yes, I know he was; but he must look out, or he'll buy the rabbit, for Deacon Winslow keeps his eye upon him, and if he don't make an example of him before long, I won't guess again." It was whispered by some, who were out of the pale of the church, that the Deacon's watchful powers with regard to Wadleigh were a little more acute in consequence of Wadleigh's having over-reached him somewhat in the sale of a cow, at which the Deacon, who prided himself on his sound judgment, it was alleged, always felt alittlt mortified. The Deacon 14 WAY DOWN EAST. however was a very upright specimen of thQe ld puritan race, and it is not probable his sense of justice and right was much warped. True, he manifested considerable zeal in looking after the delinquencies of John Wadleigh, but his " zeal was according to knowledge;" he knew Wadleigh to be a disregarder of the Sabbath, sleepy-headed and profane, and he did therefore feel a zealous and charitable desire to administer to him a little wholesome reproof, provided it could be done in a just, lawful, and Christian manner. He even felt it excusable, to accomplish so good a purpose, to enter into a pious fraud with Parson Moody. IHe had observed that though Wadleigh generally appeared to be asleep at the close of the sermon, yet when the congregation immediately rose up to prayers, he always managed some how or other to be up with them, but with a flushed face and guilty countenance. The Deacon believed, and it was the general opinion, that Wadleigh was asleep on these occasions, and that when the congregation began to rise, it always awoke him. He therefore suggested to Parson Moody, that on the next Sabbath, at the close of the sermon, instead of immediately commencing his prayers, he should sit quietly down three or four minutes, as though he were a little JOHN WADLEIGH'S TRIAL. 15 fatigued, or had some notes to look over, and see whether Wadleigh would not continue to sleep on, while the attention of every one awake would of course be attracted to the Parson. This little plan was tried, but without any very satisfactory result. It added something to the presumptive testimony in the case, but nothing clear and positive. Wadleigb. held his head down about half a minute after the monotonous tones of the preacher's voice had ceased to fall upon his ear, when he started suddenly, rose to his feet, looked round a moment confusedly, and sat down again. At last, however, repeated complaints having been made to the Grand Jury, they saw fit to "present John Wadleigh for a common sleeper on the Lord's day, at the publique meeting," a thing which Deacon Winslow earnestly declared they ought to have done weeks before they did. The Deacon was in fact the most important personage in town, being not only the first officer in the church, but also a civil magistrate, before whom most of the important causes in the place were tried. Of course the offender Wadleigh, when the Grand Jury had once caught him in their net, had a pretty fair chance of having listice meted out to him. The 16'WAY DOWN EAST. jury met early on Monday morning, and the first busiress before them was the case of Wadleigh, against whom a fi'esh lot of complaints had come in. They were not long in finding a bill against him as abose-mcntioned, and a warrant was put into the hands of Bill Cleaves, the constable, to hunt Wadleigh up, and take him before Deacon'Squire Winslow, and summon in the witnesses for his trial. Bill Cleaves tipped his hat to the'Squire as he went by upon. his official duties, and gave him to understand what was going on. Whereupon'Squiro Winslow proceeded to put his house in court-order. having the floor of his large open hall, where he generally held his courts, swept and newly sanded, and things all put to rights. One o'clock was the houi appointed for the trial, for as the neighborhood aL dined at twelve, the'Squire said that would give them an opportunity to go to the work with a full stomach and at their leisure. Accordingly, at one o'clock the parties began to assemble in the hall.'Squire Winslow, who believed that a pipe after dinner was a good settler to tlhe stomach, and always practised accordingly, came in with a pipe in his mouth, his spectacles resting on the *op ot his forehead, and taking a comfortable position JOHN WADLEIG H'S TRIAL. 17 in his chair, placed his feet, where he had a perfect right to place them, being in a land of Lilerty, and in his own house, upon the top of the table. The prisoner, who had been found asleep in his chair at his own dinner table, was taken away suddenly, like Cincinnatus or Putnam from the plough, and brought into court, just as he was, in his shirt sleeves, and placed at the other end of the table, opposite the feet of Gamaliel. Lawyer Chandler, who was always on hand to help the'Squire along in all knotty cases, appeared with book in hand ready to lay down the law and testimony. Lawyer Stebbins was allowed by the courtesy of the court to take his seat by the side of the prisoner to see that he had fair play shown him. Bill Cleaves, the constable, took his seat a little behind the'Squire, crossed his legs, and fell to smoking a cigar with great composure.'Squire Winslow's faithful bull dog, Jowler, whose duty it was to keep order in the house, took his watchful station under the table, directly under his master's feet, ready for any emergency. While the constable's dog, Trip, wh~ had done his part in running down the game ard getting it housed, felt that his duties were over, and caring but little for the court scene, he had stretched himnself upon- the'loor IS WAY DOWN EAST. and was as sound asleep as ever Jchn Wadleigh was in church. The other witnesses and spectators present were too numerous to mention. The indictment was read, and the prisoner called upon to answer, who, at the suggestion of Lawyer Stebbins, replied, "Not guilty;" at which Deacon'Squire Winslow shook his head, and remarked in a low tone, "We shall see about that." The first point made by Lawyer Chandler, was, that the prisoner should prove Mis innocence; and le argued the point with much force and eloquence. It was no easy matter to prove that a man was actually asleep, but it was easy enough for a ian to prove that he was awake. Therefore, from the nature of the case, the burden of the proof ought to iay upon the prisoner. "Now, we charge that on sundry occasions, Wadleigh was asleep in church, against the laws of the town and the well-being of society. Now, if he was not so asleep, let him prove his alibi. A criminal always has a right to an alibi if he can prove it. May it please your honor, I take that ground," said Chandler, "and there I stick; I call upon the prisoner to prove his alibi." Lawyer Stebbins stoutly contended that the alibi could not apply in this case. He had never heard JOHN WADLEIGH'S TRIAL. 19 nor read of its being used in any case except murder And the wisdom of the court finally overruled that it Delonged to the prosecutors to prove the sleep. "Well, if that be the case," said Chandler, "I move, your honor, that Solomon Young be sworn. I had no idea the burden of proof was going to lay on us, but still I've come prepared for it." Solomon Young was sworn, and took the stand Question by Chandler.-Do you know that John Wadleigh sleeps in meeting? Witness.-I guess taint no secret; I don't know anybody but what does know it. Chandler.-Well, do you know it? That's the question. Stebbins objected to the question. It was a leading question, and they had no right to put leading questions to the witness. Chandler.-Well, then, let the court put the questions. Justice Tinslow.- T- at do you know about Joln Wadleigh's sleeping in meeting? Wittness.-I know all about it, taint no secret, I guess. Justice. —Then tell us all about it; that's just what we want to know. 20 WAY DOWN E&ST. Witnesw (scratching his head).-Well, the long and short of it is, John 7adleigh is a hard worken man. That is, he works mnighty hard doing nothing; and that's the hardest work there is done. It'll make a feller sleepy quicker than poppy leaves. So it stands to reason that Wadleigh would naterally be a very sleepy sort of a person. Well, Parson Moody's sarmons are sometimes naterally pretty long, and the weather is sometimes naterally considerable warm, and the sarmons is some times rather heavy-like. "Stop, stop," said'Squire Winslow, "no reflections upon Parson Moody; that is not wuat you were called here for." WIitness.-I don't cast no reflections on Parson Moody. I was only telling what I know about John Wadleigh's sleeping in meeting; and it's my opinion especially in warm weather, that sarmons that are heavy-like and an hour long naterally have a tendency"Stop, stop, I say," said'Squire Winslow, "if you repeat any of these reflect ns on Parson Moody again, I'll commit you to the cage for contempt of court." Wtitness.-I don't cast xno reflections on Palron Moody. I was only telhng what I knew about John Wadleigh's sleeping in meeting. JOHN WADLEIGHIIS TRIAL. 21'Squire Winslow.-Woll, go on, and tell us all about that; you want called here to testify about Parson Moody. Witness.-That's what I'm trying to do, if you wouldn't keep putting me out. And its my opinion in warm weather, folks is considerable apt to sleep in meeting; especially when the sarmon-I mean especially when they get pretty tired. I know I find it pretty hard work to get by seventhly and eighthly in the sarmon myself; but if I once get by there, I generally get into a kind of waking train again, and make out to weather it. But it isn't so with Wadleigh; I've generally noticed if he begins to gape at seventhly and eighthly, its a gone goose with him before he gets through tenthly, and he has to look out for another prop to his head somewhere, for his neck isn't stiff enough to hold it up. And from tenthly up to sixteenthly he's dead as a door nail; till the Amen brings the people up to prayers, and then Wadleigh comes up with a jerk, jest like opening a jack-knife. Stebbins, cross-examining the witness.-Mr. Young, how do you knmo that Wadleigh is asleep on these occasions you speak of? Vitness.-Cause he is; everybody says he is." Xtebbins.-That won't do; we don't want you to 22'WAT DOWN EAST. tell us what everybody says. You must tell khi9 you know he is asleep? Witness.-Well, cause he begins to gape at seventhly and eighthly, and props his head up at tenthly, and don't stir again till the Amen. Stebbins.-Well how do you know he is asleep at that time? Witness.-Cause when I see him settle down in that kind of way, and cover his face up so I can't see his eyes, I know he's asleep. Stebbins.-That's no proof at all; the witness only knows he was asleep because he couldn't see his eyes. Chandler.-Well, this witness has proved that the prisoner exhibited all the outward signs of sleep; now I will introduce one to show that he also exhibited internal evidence of being asleep. Your honor must know that it is a law in physics and metaphysics, and the universal science of medicine, that being deprived of one sense sharpens the other senses in a most wonderful degree. Now I move your honor that my blind friend here behind me, Jonathan Staples, be sworn. Jonathan Staples was sworn accordingly. Cahandler.-Now, Staples, do you know that John Wadleigh sleeps in n:eeting? JOHN WADLEIGtI'S TRIAL. 23 Staples.-Yes, I du. C/wndltr.-Do you know it? Staples.-Yes, I know it. Squire Winslow. —Low do you know it Staples.-Why, don't I hear him sleep every SabCiandler.-What is the state of your hearing? ASta.pls.-It is as sharp as a needle with two tints. Chaander.-Can you always tell by a person's breathing whether he is asleep or awake? Staples. - Jest as easy as I can tell whether I'm asleep or awake myself. Chandler.- -Tell us where you sit in meeting, and how you know Wadleigh is asleep. Staples.-W;Wll, I goes to meeting of a Sabbath, and commonly takes my seat in the seventh seat at the west end of the meeting-house. And John Wadleigh he sets in the sixth seat, and that brings him almost right afore me. All the first part of the exer. cises he has a waking breath, till it gets along into the sarmon, say about seventhly or eighthly, and then he begins to have a sleepy breath; and when it gets along into tenthly, he commonly goes it like a porpus. Squire Winslow.-Do you know him to be asleep at these times i 24 2 WAY DOWN EAST. Staples.-I guess I du; I dont see how I could help it. 1 know him to be asleep jest as well as I know I'm awake. Squire Winslow.-Well, that's sufficient, unless Mr. Stebbins wishes to ask any questions. Stebbins.-Now, Staples, do you pretend to say that you can tell John Wadleigh's breath from the breath (f any other person in meeting? Staples.-Sartainly I do. Aint everybody's breath pitched on a different key? There's as much difference in breathing as there is in speaking. Chandler.-I'm willing, your honor, to rest the cause here. I have a plenty more witnesses as good as these, but I consider the case so clearly proved that it is hardly necessary to bring on any more unless my friend Stebbins should offer anything on the other side which may need to be answered. Stebbins.-I dont consider it necessary, may it please your honor, for me to say a single word. I dont consider that there has been the least particle of evidence offered here yet, to prove that John Wadleigh ever slept a wink in meeting in al! his life. And surely your honor wont convict this man without any proof at all against him. Look at the evidence, sir; what loes it amount to? One man has seen him lean his JOHN WA )LE 0 II S TRIALI. head, and another has heard hin breathe; and that is the sum total. Why, sir, if you convict a man on such evidence as this, no man is safe. Every man, is liable to lean his head and to breathe in meeting. And if that is to be considered evidence of sleep, 1 repeat, who is safe? No, sir; as I said before, I dont consider it necessary for me to say one word on the subject, for there has been no evidence offered to prove the offence charged. Here Lawyer Chandler rose with fire in his eyes and thunder on his tongue. May it please your honor, said he, I am astonished, I am amazed at the hardihood and effrontery of my learned friend, the counsel on the opposite side of this cause. Why, sir, if there ever was a case made out in any court under heaven, by clear, positive, and irresistible evidence, it is this. Sir, I say, sir, evidence as clear as sunshine and irresistible as thunder. Yes, sir, as irresistible as thunder. First, sir, an unimpeachable witness swears to you, that he sees the culprit Wadleigh, the prisoner at the bar, gaping in meeting and exhibiting all the signs of going to sleep then he sees him flatting away and muzzling about to find a prop for his head. Now, sir, men don't want a prop for their heads when they are awake. It's only 2 WAY DOWN EAST. when they are asleep they want.' prop for their heads, sir. Well, now sir, follow the prisoner along a little further, and what do we find, sir? Do we find him wide awake, sir, and attending to the services as a Christian and as a man ought to do? No, sir. We find him from tenthly up to sixteenthly, as dead as a door nail. Them's the witnesses' words, sir, as dead as a door nail. What next, sir? Why, then the witness swears to you, that when tile congregation rise up to prayers, Wadleigh comes up with a jerk, jest like opening a jack-knife. Them's the witnesses' very words, sir. Now, sir, persons that's awake don't get up in meeting in that kind of style. It's only them that's waked up out of a sudden sleep, that comes up with a jerk, like the opening of a jack-knife, sir. What stronger proof do we need, or rather what stronger proof could we have, of all the outward signs of sleep, than we have from this witness? With regal d to the internal evidence of sleep, another witness swears to you that he hears Wadleigh asleep every Sabbath; that he can tell when a person is asleep or awake by his breathing, as easily as he can tell whether he's asleep or awake himself. This witness swears to you that during the first part of the exercises Wadleigh has a waking breath, and when JOUIN WADIEIGI' S TRIAL. 27 the minister gets along to seventhly and eighthly he begins to have a very sleepy breath. Well, sir, when the minister gets to tenthly, the witness swears to you that Wadleigh commonly goes it like a porpus. Yes, sir, so sound asleep, that's the inference, so sound asleep, that he goes it like a porpus. Sir, I will not say another word. I will not waste words upon a case so strong, so clear, and so perfectly made out. If this evidence doesn't prove the culprit Wadleigh to be a common sleeper in meetin on the Lord's day, then there is no dependence to be placed in human testimony. Sir, I have done. Whether this man is to be convicted or not, I clear my skirts; and when posterity shall see the account of this trial, should the culprit go clear, they may cry out "judgment has fled to brutish beasts and men have lost their reason;" but they shall not say Chandler did not do his duty. The effect of this speech on the court and audience was tremendous. It was some minutes before a word was spoken, or any person moved. All eyes still seem. ed to be rivetted upon Squire Chandler. At last Squire Winslow spoke. This is a very clear case, said he; there can be ne question of the prisnner's guilt; and he ib sentenced 28'WAY DOWN EAST. to be confined in the cage four hours, and in the stocks one hour. Constable Cleaves will take charge of tho prisoners nd see the sentence properly executed. YANKEE CHRISTMAS. 29 CIIAPTER 11. TANKEE CHRISTMAS. The autumnal holiday peculiar to New England is ThanksgivingR, while in the middle and southern States the great domestic festival is more generally at Christmas or New Year's. Whether the following historical sketch, therefore, applies with more propriety to Christmas or Thanksgiving, must depend in some degree upon the latitude in which Mr. Solomon Briggs resides. "NEXT Thursday is Christmas," said Mrs. Briggs, as she came bustling out of the kitchen into the long dining-room, and took her seat at the breakfast table, where her husband, Mr. Solomon Briggs, and all the children, being ten in number, were seated before her. If Mrs. Briggs was the last at the table, the circumstance must not be set down as an index to her character, for she was a restless, stirring body, and was never the last anylwhere, without good cause. From childhood she had been taught to believe that the old adage, "the eye of the master does more work than both his hands," applied 9qually well to the mistress. Accordingly, she was 0o'WAY DOWN EAST. in all parts of the house at once, not only working with her own hands, but overseeing everything that was done by others. Indeed, now that we have said thus much in favor o;' Mrs. Briggs, a due regard to impartial justice requires us to add, that Mr. Briggs himself, though a very quiet sort of a man, and not of so restless and mercurial a temperament as his wife, could hardly be said to be less industrious. His guiding motto through life had been — "lHe that by the plough would thrive, Himself must either hold or drive." And most literally had he been governed by the precept. Ie was, in short, an industrious, thriving New England farmer. Ilis exact location it is not our purpose here to disclose. We give our fair readers, and unfair, if we have any, the whole range of New England, from the shore of Connecticut to the Green Mountains, and from Mount Iope to Moosehead Lake, to trace him out. But we shall not point to the spot, lest Mr. Solomon Briggs, seeing his own likeness brought home to his own door might think us impertinent for meddling with famnly affairs. To go back to our starting point-Mrs. Briggs, who had stopped in the kitchen till the last moment, YANKEE CHRISTMAS. 31 In order to see the last dish properly prepared for breakfast, came herself at last to the table. "Next Thursday is Christmas," said she, "and nothing done yet to prepare for it. I do wish we could ever have things in any sort of season." At the mention of Christmas the children's eyes all brightened, from James, the eldest, who was twenty-one, down to Mary, who was but two years old, and who, of course, knew nothing about Christmas, but looked smiling and bright because all the rest did. Mr. Briggs, however, who considered the last remark as having a little bearing upon himself, replied-" That he should think three days was time enough to get a Christmas dinner or a Christmas supper good enough for any common sort of folks." "It would be time enough to get it," said Mrs. Briggs, "if we had anything to get it with; but we haven't a mite of flour in the house, nor no meat for the mince pies, and there aint no poultry killed yet, neither!" " Well, well, mother," said Mr. Briggs, very moderately, and with a half smile, "just be patient a little, and you shall have as much Christmas as you want. There's a bushel of as good wheat as ever was 32'WAY DOWN EAST. ground, I put into a bag on Saturday; James can take a horse and carry it to mill this morning, and in two hours you may have a bushel of good flour. You've g.t butter enough and lard enough in the house, and if you want any plums or raisins, or any suchl sort of things, James may call at Haskall's store, as he comes home from mill, and get what you want. Then Mr. Butterfield is going to kill a beef critter this morning, and I'm going to have a quarter, so that before noon you can have a hundred weight of beef to make your mince pies of, and if that aint enough, I'll send to Mr. Butterfield's for another quarter. And then there is five heaping cart loads of large yellow punkins in the barn, and there is five cows that give a good mess of milk; and you've got spices and ginger, and molasses, and sugar enough in the house, so I don't see as there need be any difficulty but what we might have punkin pies enough for all hands. And as for the poultry, it'll be time enough to kill that to-morrow morning; and if two turkeys aint enough, I'll kill four, besides a bushel basket full of chickens. So now gc on with your birds'-egging, and make your Christmas as fast as you please, and as much of it." When this speech was ended, the children clapped YANKEE CHRISTMAS. 3.3 th6ir hands and laughed, and said, "'never fear father-he always brings it cut right at last." From that hour forth, for three days, there was unusual hurry and bustle throughout the house of Solomon Iriggs. In the kitchen particularly there was constant and great commotion. The oren was hot from morning till night, and almost from night till morning. There was baking of pound cake, and plum cake, and sponge cake, and Christmas cake, and New Year's cake, and all sorts of cake that could be found in the cook book. Then there were ovens full of mince pies, and apple pie., and custard pies, and all sorts of pies. The greatest display of pies, however, was of the pumpkin tribe There were " punkin pies" baked on large platters for Christmas dinner, and others on large plates for breakfast and supper a month afterwards; and others still, in saucers, for each of the small children. In the next place, there was a pair of plum puddings, baked in the largest sized earthen pots, and Indian pudding and custard puddings to match. And then the roastings that were shown up on the morning of Christmas were in excellent keeping with the rest of the preparations. Besides a fine sirloin of beet, two fat turkeys were roasted, two geese, and a half a 2* 34?WAY DOWN EAST. dozen chickens. And then another half dozen of chickens were made into an enormous chicken pie, and baked in a milk pan. A query may arise, perhaps, in the mind of the reader, why such a profusion of food should. be cooked up at once for a single family, and that family, too, not unreasonably large, though respectable in number, for it did not count over sixteen, inclnding domestics, hired help and all. This is a very natural error for the reader to fall into, but it is an error nevertheless. This array of food was not prepared for a single family; but for a numerous company, to be made up from many families in the neighborhood. The truth was, Mr. Briggs was well to do in the world, a circumstance owing to his long course of patient industry and economical habits. Several of his children were now nearly men and women grown, full of life and fond of fun, as most young folks are. Mrs. Briggs also was very fond of society, and a little vain of her smart family of children, as well as of her good cooking. From these, Dremises. a gathering of several of the neighbors at Mr. Briggs's house, to eat a Christmas dinner, and a still larger company of young folks towards night, to Quendl a Christnima evening would not be a very YANKEE CIIRISTMAS. 35 unnatural consequence. Such was the consequence, as we shall presently see. We shall not stop to give a particular account of the dinner, as that was a transaction performed in the daytime, openly and above-board, and could be seen and understood by everybody; but the evening company, and the supper, and the fiolic, as they were hid from the world by the darkness of the night, need more elucidation. We must not dismiss the dinner, however, without remarking that it fullfilled every expectation, and gave entire satisfaction to all parties. A table of extra length was spread in the long dining hall, which was graced by a goodly circle of elderly people, besides many of the middle-aged and the young. And when we state that the loin of beef was reduced to a skeleton; that two turkeys, one goose, and five chickens, vanished in the twinkling ot a case-knife; that the large milk pan, containing the chicken-pie, was explored and cleared to the very blottom; and that three or foul large pu Idings and a c(,oule of acres of "punkin pie" vwre among the tlhings lost in the dessert, we think it has been sufficiently shown that due respect was paid to AlMrs. Briggs's dinner, and that her culinary skill should not bi, called in question. 36 A WAY DOWN EAST. "Now, James, who's coming here to-night." said Susan, the eldest daughter, a bright, blue-eyed girl of eighteen. "Who have you asked? Jest name'em over, will youn' "Oh, I can't name'cm over," said James; "jest wait an hour or two and you'll see for yourself. I've asked pretty much all the young folks within a mile or two; as much as twenty of'em I guess." "Well, hai e you asked Betsy Harlow?" said Susan. "Yes, and Ivory too, if that's wLat you want to know," said James. "Nobody said anything about IT;ry," said Susan, as the color came to her cheek, aid oEc turned to go out of the room. " Iere, Suky, come back her-.," sail James, " I've got something to tell you." "What is it?" said Susan, turning round at the door, and waiting. "They say Ivory is waiti ig on Harriet Gibbs; what do you think of that?" aid James. " I don't be ieve a word of it," said Susan, coloring still more deeply. "Well, Harriet will be here this evening," said James " and then may be you can judge for yourself." " Is hler brother coining with her?" said Susan. YANKEE CIHRISTMAS. 37 "? Somehow, it seems to me I should n't like to get halite so near that old hag, if there's any witchcraft ab.out her." "There's no other house very near," said Bill; " and, besides, I think it's best to go in and see old Mother Newbegin. For if she is a witch, it's no use to try to keep out of the way of her; and if we keep the right side of her and don't get her mad, maybe she may help us a little about finding the money." They approached the house, and as they passed the little low window, they saw by the red light of a pitch knot, that was burning on the hearth, the old woman sitting and roasting coffee, which she was stirring with a stout iron spoon.'They stopped a little and reconnoitered. The glare of the light fell full on the old woman's face, showin: her features sharp and wrinkled, her skin brown, and her eyes black and fiery. Her chin was leaning on or. hand, and the other was busily employed in stirring the coffee, while she was talking to herself with a solemn air, and apparently with much earnestness. Her black night-cap was on, and fastened with a piece of twine under her chin 198'WAY DOWN EAST. and the tight sleeves of her frock sat close to her long bony arms, while her bare feet and bird-claw toes projected out in full view below the bottom of her dress. "I swow," said Asa, "I believe she has got a cloven foot. Let's be off; I should rather go back and sleep in the boat than to go in here to-night." " Poh!" said Bill, "that's only the shadow of her foot you see on the floor; she has n't got any more of a cloven foot than you have Come, I'm going in whether or no." With that he gave a loud rap at the door. "Who's there?" screamed the old woman. < A friend," said Bill. v Well, who be ye? What's your name? I shan't ope. the door till I know who you be."' Bill Stanwood," said the sailor. " Oh, is it you, Bill Come in then," said the old woman unfastening the door, and throwing it open. "So you're after money again, aint ye?" said the old woman, as they entered the house; "and you've brought these two men with you to help you, and that's what you are here for this time of night." "I swow," said Asa, whispering to Bill Stanwood, "let's be off, she knows all about it." " Hold your tongue, you fool," said Bill; "if she THE MONEY-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 199 knows all about us we may as well be here as any where else." Asa trembled a little, but finally took a seat on a bench near the door, ready to run, in case matters should grow desperate. "Well," said the old woman, " if you get the money, you'll have to work hard for it. There's been a good many tried for it before you; and there's been two men here hunting all over the island since you was here before. They dug round in a good many places, and my old man thinks they found some, for they give him half a dollar for fetching their boat back when she went adrift, and he said the half dollar was kind of rusty, and looked as though it had been buried in the ground. But I've no idea they got a dollar. It isn't so easy a matter; Old Nick takes better care of his money than all that comes to." "'Where is your old man," said Bill. "Seems to me he's always away when I come." "The Lord knows where lie is," said the old woman; "he's been out a fishing this three days, and was to a been home last night. I've been down to the,hore three times to day to see if his boat was in sight it could n't see nothin' of him." "Well, aint you afraid he's lost?" said Bill. 200'WAY DOWN EAST. "What! old Mike Newbegin, my old man, lost I No, not he. The wind always favors him when he gets ready to come home, let it be blowing which way'twill. If it's blowing right dead ahead, and he pulls up anchor and starts for home, it will come round in five minutes and blow a fair wind till he gets clear into the harbor." Here Asa whispered to Bill again, declaring his opinion that the old woman was a witch, if nothing worse, and proposing to leave the house and seek shelter for the night somewhere else. But Bill resolutely opposed all propositions of the kind, and Asa, Deing too timid to go alone, was compelled to stay and make the best of it." "Well, come, old lady," said Bill, " you can give us a berth to lay down and take a nap till morning." " Why, yes," said the old woman, " there's room enough in'tother room. If anybody wants to sleep, I always let'em, though, for my part, I can't see what good it does'em. I think it's throwing away time. I don't think there's any need of any body's sleeping more than once or twice a week, and then not more than an hour at once; an hour of sleep is ae good as a month at any time." This strange doctrine about sleep caused Asa't THE MONEY-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 201 knees to tremble worse than ever, as he followed Bill and Jonathan into the other room, where they found a mattress of straw and some blankets, and laid down to rest. P;1l and Jonathan soon fell into a comfortable snore, but Asa thought if there was no sleep for Mother Newbegin there was none for him. At least he felt little inclined to trust himself asleep in the house while she was awake. Accordingly he turned and rolled from side to side, for two long hours, but could get no rest. He sat up in bed. By a crack under the door he perceived there was a faint light still glimmering in the other room. He walked softly towards the door and listened. He could occasionally hear the catlike footsteps of the old woman padding across the floor. Once he thought she came close to the door, and he drew back lightly on his tiptoes to the bedside. He wondered how Bill and Jonathan could sleep so quietly, and stepping to the other side of the room, he seated himself on a chest by a lovw window containing three panes of seven by nine glass, the rest of the space being filled up with boards. Here le sat revolving over in his mind the events of the day, and of the night thus far, and more and more wishing himself safely at home, money or no money The night was still dark and gloomn), bu 9* 202'WAY DOWN EAST. he could now and then see a star as he looked from the little window, andOft tc the east his weary eyes he cast, And wish'i the lingering dawn would glimmer forth at last. And at last it did glimmer forth; and presently the grey twilight began to creep into the room, and trees, and bushes, and rocks, as he looked from the window, began to appear with distinctness. Asa roused his companions, and they prepared to sally forth for their day's enterprise. In leaving the house, they had to go through the room in which they had left mother Newbegin when they retired. On entering this room they found the old woman appearing precisely as they had left her, gliding about like a spirit, apparently busy, though they could hardly tell what she was doing. She seemed a little surprised at their rising so early, and told them if they would wait half an hour she would have some breakfast for them. They gave her many thanks, but told her they haJ provisions with them, and, as their business was important, they must be moving. ( Ah, that money, that money," said the old woman shaking her head; " look out sharp, or Old Nick will make a supper of one of you to-night." THE MONEY-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 203 The party left the house and started for the little harbor. Asa seemed rather wild at this last remark of the old woman, and looked back over his shoulder as they departed, till they had gone several rods from the house. When they reached the harbor, they found the boat and all things as they had left them, and proceeded forthwith to commence the important work of the day. They set their compass at highwater mark at the highest point of the harbor, and took a rod pole and measured off half a mile from that point due south. They then set their compass at this place and measured off fifty rods due east. And here they found the blue stone, as described in the " documents " which Bill Stanwood had received from the pirate. The eyes of the whole party brightened as they came to it. "There'tis," said Bill, "so fur, exact as I told you, aint it?" "Yes, fact, to a hair's breadth," said Jonathan. "Well, now if you can get the fifteen rods brandyway, you'll find the rest jest as I told you," said BilL They then measured of fifteen rods from the blue stone in various directions, and set up little stakes, forming a sort o circle rcund the stone at fifteen rods distance from it. 'WAY DvWN EAST. "Nowo," said Jonathan, " I'll take my mineral rod and walk round on this ring, and if the money is here I shall find the spot." IIe then took his green crotched witch-hazel bough, and holding tile top ends of the twigs in his hand, so that the part where they joined would point upward, began his mysterious march round the circle, while Bill and Asa walked, one on each side of him, at a little distance, and watched the mineral rod. Sometimes it would seem to incline a little one way, and sometimes a little the other, but nothing very remarkable occurred till they had gone about three-quarters round the circle, when the rod seemed to be agitated somewhat violently, and began to bend perceptibly towards the ground, and at last it bent directly downwards. "There," said Jonathan, "do you see that? IMy gracious, how strong it pulls! Here's the place for bargains; drive down a stake." "I swow," said Asa, " I never see the like of that before. I begin to think there's something in it now."' Something in it!" said Bill Stanwood, slapping his hands together; "didn't I tell you if we could only find t-e fifteen rods brandy-way, I wouldn't THE MONEY-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 205 thank King George to be my grandfather? Now, Mr. Rider, jest hand out your brandy bottle. We have n't had a drop to-day; and since we've worked brandyway so well your way, I should like now to work it in Asa's way a little." " I second that motion," said Asa, "for I'm as dry as a herrin'." They accordingly took a social drink of brandy and water, and drank health and success to him who should first hit the pot of money; and having sat down under a tree and eaten a hearty meal from their basket, they returned to mother Newbegin's to prepare for the labors of the coming night. They brought from their boat three shovels, a pick-axe, and a crowbar. The old woman eyed these preparations askance, and as she turned away, Asa thought he could discern on her features the deep workings of a suppressed laugh. The afternoon wore away slowly, for they were impatient to behold their treasures; and twice they walked to the spot, which was to be the scene of their operations, to consult and decide on the details to be observed. They concluded, in order to be sure of hitting the pots, it would he best tc make their excavation at least ten or twelve feet in diameter, and in order to afford ample time to got 206 WAY DOWN EAST. down to tlhel at about midnight, they decided cm commence operations soon after dark. "And now, about not speaking after we begin to dig," said Bill; "how shall we work it about that? for. you know, if one of us happens to speak a word, the jig is up with us." " I think the safest way would be," said Asa, " to cut our tongues out, and then we shall be sure not to speak. Howsoinever, whether we cut our tongues out or not, if you won't speak, I'll promise you I won't; for I've no idea of giving the old feller a chance to carry me off, I can tell you." "Well," said Jonathan, "I guess we better tie some handkerchiefs tight round our mouths, as my wife said, and we shan't be so likely to forget ourselves." This arrangement was finally concluded upon, and they returned to the house. That night they tool; supper with mother Newbegin, and endeavored, by paying her a liberal sum for the meal, and by various acts of courtesy, to secure her good graces. She seemed more social than she had been before, and even, at times, a sort of benevolent expression beamed fron her countenance, which caused Asa to pluck up a comfortable degree of courage. But THE MONEY-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 207 when it became dark, and they shouldered thler tools to depart, the old woman fixed her sharp eyes upon them with such a wild sort of a look, that Asa began to cringe and edge along towards the door, and when she added, with a grave shake of the head, that they bad better look out sharp, or the Old Nick would have them before morning, his knees trembled, and he once more wished himself at home. The party arrived at the spot. And first, according to previous arrangements, they tied handkerchiefs over their mouths. They then measured a circle round the stake, of twelve feet in diameter, and took their shovels and commenced throwing out the earth. The night was still and calm, and though the atmosphere was not perfectly clear, the starlight was sufficient to enable them to pursue their labors with facility. They soon broke ground over the whole area which they had marked out, and diligently, shovelful by shovelful, they raised the gravelly soil and threw it beyond the circle. In half an hour they had sunk their whole shaft nearly two feet, and were getting along so far quite comfortably, with bright hopes and tolerably quiet nerves. No sound Iroke upon the stilness around them, save the sound of fiheir own shovels against the stones and grave', and 208 WAY DOWN EAST. the distant roar of the chafing ocean. But at this moment there rose a N% ild and powerful wind, which brushed down upon them like a tornado. The trees bent and quivered before it, the leaves flew, and dust and gravel, and light substances on the ground, were whirled into the air, and carried aloft and abroad with great rapidity. Among the rest, Asa Sampson's straw hat was snatched from his head and flew away like a bird in the air. Asa dropt his shovel, and sprang from the pit, and gave chase with all his might. After following it about fifty rods, it touched the ground, and he had the good fortune to catch it. lie returned to his companions, whom he found standing awe-struck, holding their own hats on, and rubling the dust fiom their eyes. It was but a few lainutes, however, before the extreme violence of the wind began to abate and they were enabled to pursue their labors. Still the wind was wild and gusty They had never known it to act so strangely, or to cut up such mlad pranks before. Sometimes it would be blowing strongly in one direction, and in one minute it would change and blow as powerfully in the other; and sometimes it would whisk round and round them like a whirlwind, making the gravel they had thrown aut fly like hailstones. Black, heavy, and angry lock THE MONEY-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 209 ing clouds kept floating by, and sometimes theT heard the distant rumbling of thunder. They had never seen such clouds before. They appeared to them like huge living animals, that glared at them, as they flew over, with a hundred eyes. Asa sometimes thought they looked like monstrous great sea-turtles, and he fancied he could see huge legs and claws extending from their sides; and once he was just on the point of exclaiming to his companions, and telling them to look out, or that monstrous turtle would hit them with his claw as he went over; but the handkerchief over his mouth checked him, and reminded him that he must not speak, and he only sank down close to the bank where he was digging. The clouds grew thicker and darker, but instead of adding to the darkness of the night, they seemed to emit a sort of broken, flickering twilight, sufficient to enable them to see the changes in each other's countenances, and to behold objects rather indistinctly at some rods' distance. Each perceived that the others were pale and trembling, and each endeavored, by signs and gestures, and plying his shovel with firmness and resolution, to encourage his fellows to perseverance. It was now about eleven o'clock, and having mea& Fured the depth they hai gone they found it to be 210 WAY DOWN EAST. good four feet. One foot more would bring them to the money; and they fell to work with increased vigor. A; this moment a heavy crash of thunder broke over their heads, and big drops of rain began to spatter down. Though nearly stunned by the report, they recovered in a minute and pursued their labors. The rain increased rapidly, and now began to pour down almost in one continued sheet. Although the earth below them was loose and open, and drank in the water very fast, still so powerfully did the rain continue to descend, that in a short time they found it standing six inches round their feet. One of them now took a pail and dipped out water, while the others continued to shovel gravel. Their resolution seemed to increase in proportion to the obstacles they met, and gravel and water were thrown out in rapid succession. The force of the rain soon began to abate, and they would in a short time have accomplished the other foot of digging, had not the loose soil on the sides of the shaft begun to come in by means of the wet, and accumulate at the bottom faster than they could throw it out. Several times it gained upon them, in this way, to the depth of some inches. While they were battling with this difficulty, and looking up at the bank to see where it would come in THE MONEY-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 211 next, a tremendously great black dog came and stood upon the brink, and opened his deep red jaws, and began to bark with terrific power. They shrunk back from the hideous animal, and raised their shovels to fright him off; but a second thought told them they had better let him alone and stick to their work. They measured their depth again, and found it in some places four feet and a half, and in others almost five. They again plied their shovels with all diligence, and as they stepped to and fro at their work, that deep-mouthed dog kept up his deafening bark, and leaping round the verge of the pit, and keeping on the side nearest them, whenever they approached the side to throw out a shovelful of earth, he would spring and snap at their heads like a hungry lion. Asa seized the pickaxe, partly with a view of defending himself against the dog, and partly for the purpose of striking it down to see if he could hit the pots. IIe commenced driving the sharp point of it into the earth, passing round from one side of the pit to the other, till at last he hit a solid stone; and striking round for some distance they perceived the stone was large and flat. Bill and Jonathan made their shovels fly and soon began to lay the surface of the stone bare. They noticed when they first struck 212 WAY DOWN EAST. the stone that the dog began to bark with redoubled fierceness, and as they proceeded to uncover it, he seemed to grow more and more enraged. As lie did not jump down into the pit, however, they continued to keep out of his reach and pursue their work. Having laid the stone bare, and dug the earth away from the edges, they found it to be smooth and flat, about four feet squaie, and six or eight inches in thickness. They got the crow-bar under one side, and found they could pry it up. They gradually raised it about six inches, and putting something under to hold it, they began, by means of a stick, to explore the cavity beneath it. In moving the stick round amongst the loose sand under the stone, they soon felt four hard round substances, which they were sure must be the four iron pots. Presently they were enabled to rattle the iron covers, which gave a sound that could not be mistaken. At last they got tho stick under one of the cof-ers and shoved it into the pot, and they heard the j -igle of money. Each one took hold of the stick and tried it; there was no nmistake; they all poked the money with the stick, and they all heard it jir.gle. All that now remained was to remove the great stone. It was very heavy, but they seized it with reso] ite determination, and all got THE MONEY-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 213 hJd on one side with the intention of turning it up o. the edge. They lifted with all their might, and were but just able to start it. They however made out to raise it slowly till they could rest it a little on their knees, where it became stationary. It seemed doubtful whether they would possibly be able to raise it on the edge, and it seemed almost equally difficult to let it down without crushing their own feet. To add to their embarrassment, the dog was barking and snapping more fiercely than ever, and seemed just upon the point of springing upon them. At this critical moment, a person came up to the edge of the pit, and bid the dog " Get out." The dog was hushed, and drew back. "I say, neighbors," continued the stranger, "shall I give you a lift there?" " Yes, quick," said Asa, " I can't hold on another minute." The stranger jumped down behind them and put his hand against the stone. In a moment the ponderous weight of the stone was changed to the lightness of a dry pine board, and it flew out of the pit, carrying the three money diggers with it, head over heels, to the distance of two rods. They picked themselves up as speedily as they 214 WAY DOWN EAST. could, and ran for their lives towa ds the houso When they arrived they found mother Newbegin up, as usual, and trotting about the room. They called to her and bcgged her to open the door as quick as possible. As the old woman let them in, she fixed her sharp eyes upon them and exclaimed, " Well, if you've got away alive you may thank me for it. I've kept the Bible open for you, and a candle burning before it, ever since you left the house; and I knew while the candle was shining on the Bible for you he could n't touch you." They were too much agitated to enter into conversation on the subject, and being exceedingly exhausted, they laid down to rest, but not to sleep The night passed wearily away, and morning came. The weather was clear and pleasant, and after taking some refreshments they concluded to repair again to the scene of their labors, and see if the money was still there and could be obtained. Asa was very reluctant to go, "He didn't believe there was a single dollar left." But Bill Stanwood was resolute. Go lie would. Jonathan said " he might as well die one way as another, for he never should dare to go home again without carrying his wife's new gown and morocco shoes." THE MONE.Y-DIGGERS AND OLD NICK. 215 So, after due consultation, they started again for the money-hole. On arriving there, they found their tools and the general appearance of the place just as they had left them. There was the great flat stone, lying about two rods from the pit. And on looking into the pit, they observed, under the place where the stone had laid, four large round holes in the sand, all of which were much stained with iron rust. They got down and examined the place. There had evi. dently been iron vessels there; but they were gone, money and all. "Come," said Asa, "this place smells rather too strong of brimstone; let us be going." 2t6 WAY DOWN EAST, CHAPTER IX. PETER PUNCTUAL. The names used in the following narrative are of course fictitious; but the incidents all occurred substantially as here related, and the parties are respectable gentlemen recently living and doing business in this bustling city of New York. The writer had the account directly from the lips of the principal actor. SOME few years ago, Peter Punctual, an honest and industrious young fellow from Yankee land-I say Yankee land, but I freely confess that is merely an inference of mine, drawn from circumstances of this story itself; but if my readers, after perusing it, do not come to the same conclusion, they may set him down as coming from any other land they please; but for myself, were I on a jury, and under oath, I would bring him in a Yankee. This same Peter Punctual, some few years ago, came into New York, and attempted to turn a penny and get an h )nest living by procuring subscribers to various magazines and periodicals, on his own hook. That is, he would receive a quantity of magazines from a distant publisher, at a PETER PUNCTUAL. 217 discount, and get up his own list of subscribers about the city, and serve them through the year at the regular subscription price, which would leave the amount of the said discount a clear profit in his pocket, or rather a compensation for his time and labor. There are many persons in this city who obtain a livelihood in the same way. Peter's commissions being small, and his capital still smaller, he was obliged to transact his business with great care and circumspection, in order to make both ends meet. He adopted a rule, therefore, to make all his subscribers pay their year's subscription in advance. Such things could be done in those days when business was brisk, and the people were strangers to "hard times." In canvassing for subscribers, one day, through the lower part of the city and in the principal business streets, he observed a store which had the air of doing a heavy business, and ead upon the sign over the door, " Solomon Sharp,.mporter." The field looked inviting, and in Peter went with his samples under his arm, and inquired for Mr. Sharp. The gentleman was pointed out to him by the clerks, and Peter stepped up and asked him if he would not like to subscribe for some magazines. 10 218'WAY DOWN EAST. "What sort of ones have you got there?' said Mr. S. "Three or four different kinds," said Peter, layinlg the specimens on the desk before him-" please to look at them and suit yourself." Sharp tumbled them over and examined them one after another, and at last took up "Buckingham's New England Magazine," published at Boston. "What are your terms for this?" said he; "I don't know but I would subscribe for this." "Five dollars a year in advance," said Peter, "to oe delivered carefully every month at your store or house." " But I never pay in advance for these things," said Sharp. "It's time enough to pay for a thing when vou get it. I'll subscribe for it, if you have a mind so receive your pay at the end of the year, and not otherwise." "That's against my rule," said Peter; "I have all my subscribers pay in advance." " Well, it's against my rule to pay for anything before I get it," said Sharp; "so if you have n't a mind to take my subscription, to be paid at the end of the year, you won't get it at all. That's the long and the short of the matter." PETER P NCTUAL. 219 Peter paused a little, and queried with himself as to what he had better do. The man was evidently doing a large business, and was undoubtedly rich-a wholesale dealer and an importer-there could not possibly be any danger of losing the subscription in such a case: and would it not be better to break over his rule for once, than to lose so good a subscriber. *' Well, what say?" said Sharp; "do as you like; but those are my only terms. I will not pay for a thing before I get it." "On the whole," said Peter, "I have a good mind to break over my rule this time, for I don't like to lose a good subscriber when I can find one. I believe I'll put your name down, sir. Where will you have it left?" "At my house," said Mr. Sharp, which was about a mile and a halt from his store, away up town. The business being thus concluded, Peter took up his magazines, bade Mr. Sharp good morning, and left the store. No further personal intercourse occurred between them during the year. But Peter, who was his own carrier, as well as canvasser, regularly every month delivered the New England Magazine at Mr. Sharp's door. And in a few days after the year expired, he made out his bill for the five dol 220 WAY DOWN EAST. lars, and called at Mr. Sharp's store for the money Hle entered with as much confidence that he should receive the chink at once, as he would have had in going with a check for the like sum into the Bank of the United States, during that institution's palmiest days. He found Mr. Sharp at his desk, and presented him the bill. That gentleman took it and looked at it, and then looked at Peter. "Oh! ah, good morning," said he, "you are the young man who called here on this business nearly a year ago. Well, the year has come round, has it?" "Yes, I believe it has," said Peter. "Well, bills of this kind," said Mr. Sharp, "are paid at the house. We don't attend to them here; you just take it to the houst, any time when you are passing, and it will be settled." " Oh, very well, sir," said Peter, bowing, and left the store. " Doing too large a business at the store, t suppose," he continued, to himself, as he walked up the street, "to attend to little things of this kind. Don't like to be bothered with'em, probably." But Peter thought he might as well make a finish of the business, now he was out; so he went directly to the hlDuse, and rung at the door. The servant girl soon made her appearance. PETER PUNCTLAL. 221 "Mrs. Sharp within 2" said Peter. Yes, sir," said the girl. "Jest carry this bill to her, if you please, and ash heLr if she will hand you the money for it." The girl took the bill into the house, and presently returned with the answer, that " Mrs. Sharp says she doesn't pay none of these'ere things here —you must carry it to the store." "Please to carry it back to Mrs. Sharp," said Peter, "and tell her Mr. Sharp desired me to bring the bill here, and said it would be paid at the house." This message brought Mrs. Sharp herself to the door, to whom Peter raised his hat and bowed very politely. " 1 have n't nothing at all to do with the bills here ~at the house," said the lady;' they must be carried to the store-that's the place to attend to them." "Well, ma'am." said Peter, "I carried it to the store, and presented it to Mr. Sharp, and he told me to bring it to the house and you would pay it here, and that he could n't attend to it at the store." " But he could n't mean that I slould pay it," said Mrs. Sharp, " for he knows I have n't the money." "But he said so," said Peter. " Well then there must be some mistake about it," said the lady. 222? 2WAY DOWN EAST. " I beg your pardon, ma'arn," said Peter, "it's possible there may be," and he put the bill in Ins pocket, bowed, and left the house. "It is very queer," thought Peter to himself as he walked away a little vexed. "I can't conceive how there could be any mistake about it, though it i3 possible there may be. There could n't be any mistake on my part, for I'm sure I understood him. Maybe he thought she had money at the house when she had n't. I guess it will all come out right enough in the end." Consoling himself with these reflections, Peter Punctual thought he would let MIr. Sharp rest two oi three days, and not show any anxiety by calling again in a hurry. IIe would not be so unwise as to offend a good subscriber, and run the hazard of losing him, by an appearance of too much haste in presenting his bills. Accordingly, in about three days, he called again at Mr. Sharp's store, and asked him in a low voice, so that no one should overhear, if it was convenient for him to take that little bill for the maga. zinc to-day. But I told you," said Mir. Sharp, "to carry that bill tc the house; I can't attend to it here." " Yes, sir, so I understood you," said Peter, " and 1 PETER PUNCTUAL. 223 carried it to the house, and Mrs. Sharp said she could n't pay it there, for she had no money, and I must bring it to the store." "Oh, strange!" said Mr. Sharp; "well, she did n't properly understand it then. But I am too much engaged to attend to you to-day; you call o~; call at the house sometime, when I am there." Upon this, he turned to his desk and began tc write with great earnestness, and Peter left the store. The affair began to grow a little vexatious, and Peter felt a little nettled. Still, he supposed that people doing such very large business did find it difficult to attend to these little matters, and doubtless it would be set right when he should call again. After waiting patiently a couple of weeks, Peter called again at Mr. Sharp's store. When he entered the door, Mr. Sharp was looking at a newspaper; but on glancing at Peter, he instantly dropped the paper, end fell to writing at his desk with great rapidity. Peter waited respectfully a few minutes, unwilling to disturb the gentleman till he should appear to be a little more at leisure. But after waiting some time without seeing any prospect of Mr. Sharp's completing the very pressing business before him, he approached him with deference, and asked if it would be conve 224 2WAY DOWN EAST. nient for him to take that little bill for the magazine to-day. Sharp turned and looked at Peter very sternly. " I can't be bothered with these little things," said he "when I am so much engaged. I am exceedingly busy to-day-a good many heavy orders waitingyou must call at the house, and hand the bill to me or my wife, no matter which." And he turned to his desk, and continued to write, without saying anything more. Peter began to think he had got hold of a hard customer: but he had no idea of giving up the chase. He called at the house several times afterward, but Mr. Sharp never happened to be at home. Once he ventured to send the bill again by the girl to Mrs. Sharp, who returned for answer, that she had nothing to do with such bills; he must carry it to the store. At last, after repeated calls, he found Mr. Sharp one day at home. Ile came to the door, and Peter presented the bill. Mr. Sharp expressed some surprise and regret that lie had come away from the store, and forgot to put any money in his pocket. Peter would have to call some other day. Accordingly, Peter Punctual retired, with a full determination to call some other day, and that not very far distart; for it had now been several months that ha PETER PUNCTUAL 225 had been beaten back and forth like a shuttle-cock between Mr. Sharp's store and Mr. Sharp's house, and he was getting to be rather tired of the game. Iaving ascertained from the girl at what hour the family dined, he called the next day precisely at the dinner hour. IIe rung at the door, and when the girl opened it, Peter stepped into the hall. " Is Mr. Sharp in " said Peter. "Yes, sir," said the girl; "he's up stairs. I'll speak to him if you want to see him." "Yes," said Peter, "and I'll take a seat in the parlor till he comes down." As he said this, Peter walked into the parlor and seated himself upon an elegant sofa. The parlor was richly furnished with Brussels carpet, the best of mahogany furniture, a splendid piano, &c., &c.; and in the back parlor, to which folding doors were open, everything appeared with corresponding elegance. A table was there spread, upon which dinner seemed to be nearly ready. Presently the girl returned from the chamber, and informed Peter, that Mr. Sharp said " it was jest the dinner hour now, and he would have to call again." " Please to go and tell Mr. Sharp," said Peter, "that I must see him, and I'll wait till he eomnes dowr," 10* -226 WA Y DOWN E A ST. The girl carried the message, and Mr. Sharp doon made his appearance in the parlor. A frown passed over his brow as he looked at Peter and saw him sitting so much at ease, and apparently so much at home, upon the sofa. Peter rose and asked him politely if it was convenient for him to take that little bill to-day. "No," said Sharp, "it is not; and if it was, I would n't take it at this hour. It's a very improper time to call upon such an errand just as one is going to sit down to dinner. You must call again; but don't call at dinner time; or you may drop into the store sometime, and perhaps I may find time to at tend to it there." " Well, now, Mr. Sharp," said Peter, with rather a determined look, " I can't stand this kind of business any longer, that's a fact. I'm a poor man, and I sup pose you are a rich one. I can't afford to lose five dollars, and I'm too poor to spend any more time ir running after it and trying to collect it. I must eat, as well as other folks, and if you can't pay me the ive dollars to-day, to help me pay my board at my regular boarding-house, I'll stay here and board it out at your table." ",Yol will. will you?' said Sharp, looking daggers PETER PUNCTUAL. 227 and stepping toward Peter. " It you give me a word of your impudence, you may find it'll be a long time before you collect your bill." " It's been a long time already," said Peter, " and 1 can't afford to wait any longer. My mind is made up; if you don't pay me now, I'm going to stay here and board it out." Sharp colored, and looked at the door, and then at Peter. "Come, come, young man," said he advancing with rather a threatening attitude, toward Peter, " the sooner you leave the house peaceably the better." "Now, sir," said Peter, fixing his black eyes upon Sharp, with an intenseness that he could not but feel, "I am a small man, and you are considerable of a large one; but my mind is made up. I am not going to starve, when there's food enough that I have an honest claim upon." So saying, he took his seat again very deliberately upon the sofa. Sharp paused; he looked agitated and angry; and after waiting a minute, apparently undecided what to do, he left the parlor and went up stairs In a few minutes, the servant rung for dinner. Mrs. Sharp came into the dining room and took her seat at the head of the table. Mr. Sharp followed, 228 2WAY DOWN EAST. and seated himself opposite his lady; and between them, and on the right h:i d of 5Mrs. Sharp, sat another lady, probably some friend or relative of the family. When they were well seated, and Mr. Sharp was beginning to carve, Peter walked out of the parlor, drew another chair up to the table, and seated himself very composedly opposite the last-mentioned iady. Mr. Sharp colored a good deal, but kept on carving. Mrs. Sharp stared very wildly, first at Peter and then at her husband. "What in the world does this mean?" said she. " Mr. Sharp, I did n't know we were to have company to dinner." "We are not," said the husband. "This young man has the impudence to take his seat at the table unasked, and says he is going to board out the amount of the bill." " Well, really, this is a pretty piece of politeness," said Mrs. Sharp, looking very hard at Peter. "Madam," said Peter, "hunger will drive a man through a stone wall. I must have my board some. where." No reply was made to this, and the dinner went on without any further reference to Peter at present Mr Sharp helped his wife, and then the other lady PETER PUNCTUAL. 229 and then himself, and they all fell to eating. Peter looked around him for a pla te and knife and fork, but there were none on the table but what were in use. Peter, however, was not to be baffled. He reached a plate of bread, and tipping the bread upon the table cloth, appropriated the plate for his own convenience. HIe then took possession of nie carving knife and fork, helped himself bountifully to meat and vegetables, and commenced eating his dinner with the greatest composure imaginable. These operations on the part of Peter, had the effect to suspend all operations for the time on the part of the rest of the company. The ladies had laid down their knives and forks, and were staring at Peter in wild astonishment. " For mercy's sake, Mr. Sharp," said the lady of the house, "can't we pick up money enough about the house to pay this man his five dollars and send him off? I declare this is too provoking. I'll see what I can find." With that she rose and left the room. Mr. Sharp presently followed her. They returned again in a minute, and Mr. Sharp lai, a five dollar bill before Peter, and told him he would thank him to leave the house. Peter examined the till to see if it was a good one, and very quietly folded it and put it ilto his 230'WATY DOWN EAST.,ocket. He then drew out a little pocket Lnkstand and a piece of paper, laid it upon the table before him. wrote a receipt for the money, which he handed to Mr. Sharp, rose from the table, bowed to the company and retired, thinking as he left the house that he had had full enough of the custom of Solomon Sharp, the importer. Peter Punctual still followed his vocation of circulating magazines. He had no intention of ever darkening the door of Mr. Solomon Sharp's store again, but somehow or other, two or three years after, as he was canvassing for subscribers in the lower part of the city, he happened to blunder into the same store accidentally, without noticing the name upon the door. Nor did he discover his mistake, until he had nearly crossed the store and attracted the attention of Mr. Sharp himself, who was at his accustomed seat at the desk where Peter had before so often seen him. Peter thought, as he had got fairly into the Store, he would not back out; so he stepped up to Mr. Sharp without a look of recognition, and asked if he would not like to subscribe for some magazine6. Mr. Sharp, who either did not recognize Peter, or chose not to appear to recognize him, took the magazines and looked at them, and found a couple he said PETER PUNCTUAL. 331 he would like to take, and inquired the terms. They were each three dollars a year in advance. " But I don't pay in advance for anything," said Sharp. "If you have a mind to leave them at my house, to be paid for at the end of the year, you may put me down for these two." "No," said Peter, "I don't wish to take any subscribers, but those who pay in advance." Saying this, he took up his specimens, and was going out the door, when Mr. Sharp called him back. " Iere young man, you may leave these two at any rate," said he, " and here's your advance," handing him the six dollars. "Where will you have them left?" said Peter. "At my house, up town," said Mr. Sharp, describing the street and number. The business being completed, Peter retired, much astonished at his good luck. He again became a monthly visitor at Mr. Sharp's door, where he reguiarly delivered to the servant girl the two magazines. Two or three months after this, when he called one day on his usual round, the girl told him that Mr. Sharp wanted to see him, and desired he would call at the store. Peter felt not a little curious t,: know 232'WAY D. vVN EAST. what Mr. Sharp might have to say to him; so in the course of the same day he called at Mr. Sharp's store. "Good morning," said Mr. Sharp as Peter entel d;'' come, take a chair, and sit down here." Peter, with a " good morning, sir," did as he was desired. " Ain't you the young man," said Mr. Sharp, with a comical kind of a look, "who set out to board out a subscription to the New England Magazine at my house two or three years ago." "Yes," said Peter, "I believe I'm the same person who once had the honor of taking board at youx house." "Well," said Mr. Sharp, "I want to give y)u a job." " What is it?" said Peter. H' ere, I want you to collect these bills for me, said Mr. Sharp, taking a bundle from his desk, " for I'll be hanged if I can; I've tried till I'm tired." Whereupon he opened the bundle and assorted out the bills, and made a schedule of them, amounting, in the aggregate, tc about a thousand dollars. "There," said he "I will give upon that list ten per cent. commission on all you collect; and on that PETER P. ACTUAL. 233 hst I'll give yca twenty-five per cent. on all yon collect. What say you? will you undertake the job?" "Well, I'll try," said Peter, "and see what I can do with them. How soon must I return them V' "Take your own time for it," said Mr. Sharp; "I've seen enough of you to know pretty well what you are." Peter accordingly took the bills and entered on his new task, following it up with diligence and perseverance. In a few weeks he called again at Sharp's store. "Well," said Mr. Sharp, "have you made out to collect anything on those bills?" "Yes," said Peter. "There were some of the ten per cent. list that I thought it probable you might collect," said Mr. Sharp. "I ow many have you collected?" "All of them," said Peter. "All of them!" said Mr. Sharp; "well, fact, that's much mo-e than I expected. The twenty-five per cent. list was all dead dogs, was n't it? You got nothing on them, I suppose, did you?" "Yes, I did," said Peter. "Did you though? How much?" said Sharp.' I got them all," said Peter. %34 WAY DOWN E.AST. " Oh, that's all a joke," said Sharp. "No, it is n't a joke," said Peter. "I've collected e; 3ry dollar of them, and here's the money," taking out his pocket-book, and counting out the bills. MIr. Sharp received the money with the most perfect astonishment. He had not expected one-half of the amount would ever be collected. Ile counted out the commissions on the ten per cent. list, and then the commissions on the twenty-five per cent. list, and handed the sum over to Peter. And then he counted out fifty dollars more, and asked Peter to accept that as a present; " partly," said he, " because you have accomplished this task so very far beyond my expectations, and partly because my acquaintance with you has taught me one of the best lessons of my life. It has taught me the value of perseverance and punctuality. I have reflected upon it much ever since you undertook to board out the bill for the magazine at my house." "Why yes," said Peter, "I think perseverance and punctuality are great helps in the way of business." "If every person in the community," said Mr. Sharp, " would make it a point to pay all of his bills promptly, the moment they become due, what a vast improvement it would make in the condition of PETER PUNOrUAL. 233 society all round. That would put people in a condition, at all times, to be able to pay their bills promptly." We might add, that Peter Punctual afterward opened a store in the city, in a branch of business which brought Mr. Sharp to be a customer to him, and he has been one of his best customers ever since, paying all of his bills promptly, and whenever Peter requres it, even paying in advance. 236 WAY DOWN EAT?. CITAPTER X. THE SPECULATOR. IN the autumn of 1836, while travelling through a portion of the interior of the State of Maine, I stopped at a small new village, between the Kennebec and Penobscot rivers, nearly a hundred miles from the sea-board, for the purpose of giving my horse a little rest and provender, before proceeding some ten miles farther that evening. It was just after sunset; I was walkling on the piazza, in front of the neat new tavern, admiring the wildness of the surrounding country, and watching the gathering shadows of the grey twilight, as it fell upon the valleys, and crept softly up the hills, when a light one-horse wagon, with a single gentleman, drove rapidly into the yard, and stopped at the stable door. "Tom," said the gentleman to the ostler as he jumpnled from his wagon, " take my mare out, rub hei down well, and give her four quarts of oats. Be spry, now, Tom; you need n't give her any water, for THE SPECULATOR. 237 she sweats like fury. I'll give her a little when I am ready to start." Tom sprang with uncommon alacrity to obey the orders he had received, and the stranger walked toward the house. Ite was a tall, middle-aged gentleman, rather thin, but well proportioned, and well dressed. It was the season of the year when the weather began to grow chilly, and the evenings cold; and the frock-coat of the stranger, trimmed with fur, and buttoned to the throat, while it insured comfort, served also to exhibit his fine elastic form to the best advantage. His little wagon, too, had a marked air of comfort about it; there were the spring-seat, the stuffed cushions, and buffalo robes; all seemed to indicate a gentleman of ease and leisure; while, on tl e other hand, his rapid movements and prompt mannel betokened the man of business. As he stepped on to the piazza, with his long and handsome driving-whip in his hand, the tavern-keeper, who was a brisk young man, and well understood his business, met him with a hearty shake of the hand, and a familiar " Iow are you, Colonel? Come, walk in." There was something about the stranger that strongly attracted my attention, and I followed him intr the bar-room. He stepped up to the bar, laid 238 WAY DOWN EAST. his whip on the counter, and called for a glass of brandy and water, with some small crackers and cheese. "But not going to stop to supper, Colonel? Going farther to-night 2" inquired the landlord, as he pushed forward the brandy bottle. " Can't stop more than ten minutes," replied the stranger; "just long enough to let the mare eat her oats." "Is that the same mare," asked the host, "that you had when you were here last?" "Yes," answered the colonel: " I've drove her thirty miles since dinner, and am going forty miles farther, before I stop." "But you'll kill that mare, colonel, as sure as rates," said the landlord; " she's too likely a beast to drive to death." "No, no," was the reply; " she's tough as a pitchknot; I feed her well; she'll stand it, I guess. I go to Norridgewock before I sleep to-night." With a few more brief remarks, the stranger finished his brandy, and crackers and cheese; he threw down some change on the counter. ordered his carriage brought to the door, and bidding his landlord good night, jumped into his wagon, cracked his whip THE SPECULATOR. 239 and was off like a bird. After he was gone, I ventared to exercise the Yankee privilege of asking " who he might be." "That's Colonel Kingston," said the landlord; "a queer sort of a chap he is, too; a real go-ahead sort of a fellow as ever I met with; does more more business in one day than some folks would do in a year. lie's a right good customer; always full of money, and pays well." "What business or profession does he follow?" I asked. " Why, not any particular business," replied the landlord; "he kind o' speculates round, and sich like." "But," said I, "I thought the speculation in timberlands was over; I did n't know that a single person could be found, now, to purchase lands." " Oh, it is n't exactly that kind of speculation," said the landlord; "he's got a knack of buying out folks' farms; land, house, barn, live stock, hay, and provisions, all in the lump." "Where does he live?" said I. " Oh, he's lived round in a number of places, since he's been in these parts. He's been round in these towns only a year - two, and it's astonishing to see 240 WAY DOWN EAST. how much property he's accumulated. le stays in Monlson most of the time, now. That's where he came from this afternoon. They say he's got a number of excellent farms in Monson, and I'll warrant he's got some deeds of some more of'em with him, now, that he's going to carry to Norridgewock to-night, to put on record." I bade the landlord good evening, and proceeded on my journey. What I had seen and heard of Colonel Kingston, had made an unwonted impression on my mind; and as Monson lay in my route, and I was expecting to stop there a few days, my curiosity was naturally a little excited, to learn something more of his history. The next day I reached Monson; and as I rode over its many hills, and along its fine ridges of arable land, I was struck with the number of fine farms which I passed, and the evidences of thrift and good husbandry that surrounded me. As this town was at that time almost on the extreme verge of the settlements in that part of the state, 1 was surprised to find it so well settled, and under such good cultivation. My surprise was increased, on arriving at the centre of the town, to find a flourishing and br ghtlooking village, with two or three stores, a variety of mechanics' shops, a scl ol-house, and a neat little THE SPECULATOR. 241 cbarch, painted white, with green blinds, and sur mounted by a bell. A little to the westward of the village, was one of those clear and beautiful ponds, that greet the eye of the traveller in almost every hour's ride in that section of the country; and on its outlet, which ran through the village, stood a mill, and some small manufacturing establishments, that served to till up the picture. "Happy town!" thought I, "that hab such a delightful village for its centre of attraction, and happy village that is supported by surrounding farmers of such thrift and industry as those of Monson!" All this, too, I had found within a dozen or fifteen miles or Moosehead Lake, the noblest and most extensive sheet of water in New England, which I had hitherto considered so far embosomed in the deep, trackless forest, as to be almost unapproachable, save by the wild Indian or the daring hunter. A new light seemed to burst upon me; and it was a pleasant thought that led me to look forward but a few years, when the rugged and wild shores of the great Moosehead should resound with the hum and the song of the husbandman, and on every side rich farms and lively vilages should be reflected on its bosom. I had been quietly seated in the village inn but a 11 242 WAY DlOWN FAST. short time, in a room that served both for bar and sitting-room, when a small man, with a flapped hat, an old brown "wrapper," a leather strap buckled round his waist, and holding a goad-stick in his hand, entered the room, and took a seat on a bench in the corner. His bright, restless eye glanced round the room, and then seemed to be bent thoughtfully toward the fire, while in the arch expression of his countenance I thought I beheld the prelude to some impor tant piece of intelligence, that was struggling for utterance. At last, said he, addressing the landlord, " I guess the colonel ain't about home to-day, is he 2" "No," replied Boniface, "he's been gone since yesterday morning; he said he was going up into your neighborhood. Have n't you seen anything of him?" "Yes," said the little man with the goad-stick, " I see him yesterday afternoon about two o'clock, starting off like a streak, to go to Norridgewock." "Gone to Norridgewock!" said the landlord; "what for? He didn't say nothing about going when he went away." "More deeds, I guess," said the little teamster. "He's worried Deacon Stone out of his farm, at last." VfK.I ii I`~ Z- ~............::;:~::-::: ~ ~~r.,ad " Xre l ban't vot D(-atioo c to) fi-UM~, fae g 11 Be V the ) IM- I 2rd 2-VnrtPf THE SPEtULATOR. 243 "He has n't got Deacon Stone's farm, has he?" exclaimed the landlord. "Deacon Stone's farm!" reiterated an elderly, sober-looking man, drawing a long pipe from his mouth, which he had until now been quietly smoking in the opposite corner. " Deacon Stone's farm!" uttered the landlady, with upraised hands, as she entered the room just in season to hear the announcement. "Deacon Stone's farm!" exclaimed three or fou others, in different parts of the room, all turning an eager look toward the little man with the goad-stick. As soon as there was a sufficient pause in these exclamations, to allow the teamster to put in anothe7 word, he repeated: "Yes, he's worried the deacon out, at last, and got hold of his farm, as slick as a whistle. He's been kind o' edging round the deacon this three weeks, a little to a time; jest enough to find out how to get the right side of him; for the deacon was a good deal offish, and yesterday morning the colonel was up there by tlhe time the deacon had done breakfast; and he got them into the deacon's fore room, and shet the door; and there they staid till dinner was ready, and had waited for them an hour, before thpy woild come ut 244 WAY DOWN EAST. And when they had come out, the job was all done; and the deed was signed, sealed, and delivered. I'd been there about eleven o'clock, and the deacon's wife and the gals were in terrible fidgets for fear of what was going on in t'other room. They started to go in, two or three times, but the door was fastened, so they had to keep out. After dinner I went over again, and got there just before they were out of the fore room. The deacon asked the colonel to stop to dinner, but I guess the colonel see so many sour looks about the house, that he was afraid of a storm abrewing; so he only ketched up a piece of bread and cheese, and said he must be a-goin'. He jumped into his wagon, and give his mare a cut, and was out of sight in two minutes." " How did poor Mrs. Stone feel?" asked the landlady; "I should thought she would a-died." " She looked as if she'd turn milk sour quicker t.lan a thunder-shower," said tle teamster: "and Jane went into the bedroom,,:nd cried as if her heart would break. I believe they did n't any of'eml make out to eat any dinner, ar; I thought the deacon felt about as bad as any of'emn, after all; for I never see him look so kind o' riled in my life.'Now Mrs. Stone,' said he to his wife,'you think I've done THE SPECULATOR. 215 wrong; but after talking along with Colonel Kingston, I made up my mind it would be for tile best.' She did n't make him any answer, but begun to cry, and went out of the room. The deacon looked as if lie would sink into the'arth. I-e stood a minute or two, as if he was n't looking at nothing, and then he took down his pipe off the mantel, and sat down in the corner, and went to smoking as hard as he could smoke. " After a while, he turned round to me, and says he,'Neighbor, I don't know but I've done wrong.'' Well,' says I,'in my opinion, that depends upon what sort of a bargain you've made. If you've got a good bargain out of the colonel, I don't see why his money isn't worth as much as anybody's, or why another farm as good as your'n is n't worth as much.''Yes,' said the deacon,'so it seems to me. I've got a good bargain, I know; it's more than the farm is worth. I never considered it worth more than two thousand dollars, stock, and hay, and all; and he takes the whole jest as'tis, and gives me three thousand dollars.''Is it pay down?' says I. Yes,' says he,'it's all pay down. He gives me three hundred dollars in cash; I've got it in my pocket; and then he gives me an order on Saunders' store for 246'WAY DOWN E s r. two h mdi d dollars; that's as good as money, vou know; for we are always wanting one thing or another out of his store. Then he gives me a deed of five hundred acres, of land, in the upper part of Vermont, at five dollars an acre. That makes up three thousand dollars. But that isn't all; he says this land is richly worth seven dollars an acre; well timbered, and a good chance to get the timber down; and he showed me certificates of several respectable men. that had been all over it, and they said it was well worth seven dollars. That gives me two dollars clear profit on an acre, which on five hundred acres makes a thousand dollars. So that instead of three thousand dollars, I s'pose I've really got four thousand for the farm. But then it seems to work up the feelings of the women folks so, to think of leaving it, after we've got it so well under way, that I don't know b-t I've done wrong.' And his feelings came over him so, that he begun to smoke away again as hard as ne could draw. I did n't know what to say to him,:or I did n't believe he would ever get five hundred dollars for his five hundred acres of land, so I got up and went home." As my little goad-stick teamster made a pause here, the elderly man in the opposite corner who had sat THE SPECULATOr. 247 all this time knocking his pipe-bowl on the thumbnai of his left hand, took up the thread of discourse. "I'm afraid," says he, looking up at the landlord, "I'm afraid Deacon Stone has got tricked out of his farm for a mere song. That Colonel Kingston, in my opinion, is a dangerous man, and ought to be looked after." " Well, I declare!" said the landlord, " I'd no idee he would get hold of Deacon Stone's farm. That's one of the best farms in the town." "Yes," replied the man with the pipe, " and that makes seven of the " best farms in town that he's got hold of already; and what'11 be the end of it, I don't know; but I think something ought to be done about it." "Well, there," said the landlady, " I do pity Mrs. Stone from the bottom of my heart; she'll never get ever it the longest day she lives." Here the little man with the goad-stick, looking out the window, saw his team starting off up the road, and he flew out of the door, screaming "HBush whoa! hush!" and that was the last I saw of him But my curiosity was now too much excited, with regard to Colonel Kingston's mysterious operations, and my sympathies for good Deacon Stone, and hi# 248 2 WAY' D( WN EAST. fellow-sufferers, were too thoroughly awakened, ta allow me to rest without farther inquiries. During the days that I remained in the neighbor hood, I learned that he came from Vermont; that he had visited Monson several times within a year or two, and had made it his home there for the last few months During that time he had exercised an influence over some of the honest and sober-minded farmers of Monson, that was perfectly unaccountable. He was supposed to be a man of wealth, for he never teemed to lack money for any operation he chose to undertake. He had a bold, dashing air, and rather fascinating manners, and his power over those with whom he conversed had become so conspicuous, that it was regarded as an inevitable consequence ID Monson, if a farmer chanced to get shut up in a room with Colonel Kingston, he was a "gone goose," and sure to come out well stripped of his feathers. He had actually got possession of seven or eight of the best farms in the town, for about one quartet nart of their real value, It may be thought unaccountable, that thriving, sensible farmers could in so many instances be duped; but there were some extraneous circumstances that helped to produce the result. The wild spirit of spec THE SPECULATOR. 249 llatioln, which had raged throughout the country foi two or three years, had pervaded almost every mind, and rendered it restless, and desirous of change. And then the seasons, for a few years past, had been cold and unfavorable. The farmer had sowed and had not reaped, and he was discouraged. If he could sell, he would go to a warmer climate. These influences, added to his own powers of adroitness and skill in making "the worse appear the better reason," had enabled Colonel Kingston to inveigle the farmers of Monson out of their hard-earned property, and turn them, houseless and poor, upon the world. The public mind had become much excited upon the subject, and the case of Deacon Stone added fresh fuel to the fire. It was in this state of affairs that I left Monson, and heard no more of Colonel Kingston until the following summer, when another journey called me into that neighborhood, and I learned the sequel to his fortunes. The colonel made but few more conquests, after his. victory over Deacon Stone; and the experience of a cold and cheerless winter, which soon overtook them, brought the deluded farmers to their senses. The trifling sums of money which they received in hand, were soon exhausted in providing necessary supplies for their families; and 11* 250 WAY DOWN EAST the property which they had obtained, as principal payment for their farms, turned out to be of little value, or was so situated that they could turn it to no profitable account. Day after day, through the winter, the excitement increased, and spread, and waxed more intense. as the unfortunate condition of the sufferers became more generally known.' Colonel Kingston" was the great and absorbing topic of discussion, at the stores, at the tavern, at evening parties, and sleighrides, and even during intermission at church, on the Sabbath. The indignation of the people had reached that pitch which usually leads to acts of violence. Colonel Kingston was now regarded as a monster, preying upon the peace and happiness of society, and various were the expedients proposed to rid the town of him. The schoolboys, in the several districts, discussed the matter, and resolved to form a grand company, to snowball him out of town, and only waited a nod of approbation from some of their parents or teachers, to carry their resolutions into effect. Some reckless young men were for seizing him, and giving him a public horse-whipping, in front of the tavern at mid-day, and in presence of the whole village. Others, equally' violent, but I~tf THE SPECULATOR. 251 daring, proposed catching him out, some dark evening, giving him a good coat of tar-and-feathers, and riding him out of town on a rail. But the older, more experienced, and sober-minded men, shook their heads at these rash projects, and said: "It is a bad plan for people to take the law into their own hands; as long as we live under good laws, it is best to be governed by them. Such kind of squabbles as you young folks want to get into, most always turn out bad in the end." So reasoned the old folks; but they were nevertheless as eager and as determined to get rid of Colonel Kingston, as were the young ones, though more cautious and circumspect as to the means. At last, after many consultations and much perplexity, Deacon Stone declared one day, with much earnestness, to his neighbors and townsmen, who were assembled at the village, that "For his part, he believed it was best to appeal at once to the laws of the land; and if they wouldn't give protection to the citizen, he didn't know what would. For himself, he verily believed Colonel Kingston might be charged with swindling, and if a complaint was to be made to the Grand Jury he did n't bel eve but they would have him indicted and tried in Court, and give back the people theit 252 WAY DOWN EAST. farms again." The deacon spokefeelingly, an the sul)ject, and his words found a ready response in the hearts of all present. It was at once agreed to present Colonel Kingston to the Grand Jury, when the Court should next be in; session at Norrlagewock. Accordingly, when the next Court was held, Monson was duly represented before the grand inquest for the county of Somerset, and such an array of facts and evidence was exhibited, that the Jury, without hesitation, found a bill against the colonel for swindling, and a warrant was immediately issued for his apprehension. This crisis had been some months maturing, and the warm summer had now commenced. The forest trees were now in leaf; and though the ground was yet wet and muddy, the days began to be hot and uncomfortable. It was a warm moonlight evening, when the officer arrived at Monson with the warrant. lie had taken two assistants with him, mounted on fleet horses, and about a dozen stout young men of the village were in his train as volunteers. They approached the tavern where Colonel Kingston boarded, and just as they were turning from the road up to the house, the form of a tall, slim person was seen in the bright moonlight, gliding fi min the back door, and crossing the garden. THE SPECULATOR. 253 "There he goes!" exclaimed a dozen Monson voices at once; "that's he!-there he goes!" And sure enough, it was he! Whether he had been notified of his danger, by some traitor, or had seen from the window the approach of the party, and suspected mischief was at hand, was never known. But the moment he heard these exclamations, he sprang from the ground as if a bullet had pierced his heart. IIe darted across the garden, leaped the fence at a bound, and flew over the adjacent pasture with the speed of a race-horse. In a moment the whole party were in full pursuit; and in five minutes more, a hundred men and boys, of all ages, roused by the cry that now rang through the village, were out, and joining in the race. The fields were rough, and in some places quite wet, so that running across them was rather a difficult and hazardous business. The direction which Kingston at first seemed inclined to take, would lead him into the main road, beyond the corner, nearly a half a mile of. But those who were mounted put spurs to their horses, and reaching the spot before him, headed him rff in another direction. Ile now flew from field to field, leaping fence after fence, and apparently aiming for the deep forest, on the eastern part of the town. Many of his pursuers were athletic 254 WAY DOWN EAST. young men, and they gave him a hot chase. Even Deacon Stone, who had come to the village that evening to await the arrival of the officer-even the deacon, now in the sixty-first year of his age, ran like a )oy. IIe kept among the foremost of the pursuers, and once getting within about a dozen rods of the fugitive, his zeal burst forth into words, and he cried out, in a tremulous voice: " Stop! you infernal villain!-stop!" This was the nearest approach he had made to profanity for forty years; and when the sound of the words he had uttered fell full on his ear, his nerves received such a shock that his legs trembled and he was no,onger able to sustain his former speed. The colonel, however, so far from obeying the emphatic injunction of the deacon, rather seemed to be inspired by it to new efforts of flight. Over log, bog and brook, stumps, stones and fences, he flew like a wild deer; and after a race of some two miles, during which he was at no time more than twenty rods from some of his pursuers, he plunged into a thick dark forest. Hearing his adversaries close upon him, after he had entered the wood, and being almost entirely exhausted, he threw himself under the side of a largu fallen tree, where he was darkly sheltered by a thick eump of alders. His pursuers rushed furiously OIL THE SPECULATOR. 25g. many of them within his hearing, and some of them passing over the very tree under which he lay. After scouring the forest for a mile round, without finding any traces of the fugitive, they began to retreat to the opening, and Kingston heard enough of their remarks, on their return, to learn that his retreat from the woods that night would be well guarded against, and that the next day Monson would pour out all its force, " to hunt him to the ends of the'arth, but what they would have him!" Under this comfortable assurance, he was little disposed to take much of a night's rest, where he would be sure to be discovered and overtaken in the morning. But what course to take, and what measures to adopt, was a difficult question for him to answer. To return to Monson opening, he well knew would be to throw himself into the hands of his enemies; and if he remained in the woods till next day, he foresaw there would be but a small chance of escape from the hundreds on every side, who would be on the alert to take him. North of him was the new town of Elliotville, containing some fifteen or twenty families, and to the south, lay Guilford, a well-settled farming town; but he knew he would be no more safe in either of those settlercents than he would in Monson. East of 256 WAY DOWN EAST. him lay an unsettled and unincorporated wild to we ship, near the centre of which, and some three or four miles to the eastward of where he now lay, dwelt a solitary individual by the name of Johnson, a singular being, who, from some unknown cause, had forsaken social life, and had lived a hermit in that secluded spot for seven or eight years. He had a little opening in a fine interval, on the banks of Wilson River, where he raised his corn and potatoes, and had constructed a rude hovel for a dwelling. Johnson had made his appearance occasionally at the village, with a string of fine trout, a bear-skin, or some other trophy of his Nimrod propensities, which he would exchange at the stores for "a little rum, and a little tobacco, and a little tea, and a jack-knife, and a little more rum," when he would plunge into the forest again, return to his hermitage, and be seen no more for months. After casting his thoughts about in vain for any other refuge, Kingston resolved to throw himself upon the protection of Johnson. Accordingly, as soon as he was a little rested, and his pursuers were well out of hearing, he crept from his hiding-place, and taking his direction by the moon, made the best of his way eastward, through the rough and thick wood. It is no easy matter to penetrate such a forest in the day THE SPECULATOR. time; and in the night, nothing but extreme despera. tion could drive a man through it. Here pressing his -way through dark and thick underbrush, that constantly required both hands to guard his eyes; there climbing over huge windfalls, wading a bog, or leaping a brook; and anon working his way, for a quarter of a mile, through a dismal, tangled cedar-swamp, where a thousand dry and pointed limbs, shooting out on every side, clear to the very ground, tear his clothes from his back, and wound him at every step. Under these impediments, and in this condition, Kingston spent the night in pressing on toward Johnson's camp; and after a period of extreme toil and suffering, just at daylight, he came out to the opening. But here another barrier was before him. The Wilson River, a wild and rapid stream, and now swollen by a recent freshet, was between him and Johnson's dwelling, and he had no means of crossing. But cross he must, and he was reluctant to lose time in deliberation. He selected the spot that looked most likely to admit of fording, and waded into the river. IIe staggered along from rock to rock, and fought against the cur, rent, until he reached nearly the middle of the stream, when the water deepened and took him from his feett He was but an indifferent swimmer, and the force ot yWAY DOWN EAST. tEe current carried him rapidly down the stream. At'ast, however, after severe struggles, and not without imminent peril of his life, he made out to reach the bank, so much exhausted, that it was with difficulty he could walk to Johnson's camp. When he reached it, he found its lonely inmate yet asleep. He roused him, made his case known to him, and begged his protection. Johnson was naturally benevolent, and the forlorn, exhausted, ragged, and altogether wretched appear. ance of the fugitive, at once touched his heart. There was now."No SPECULATION in those eyes Which he did glare withal," but fear and trembling blanched his countenance, and palsied his limbs. Possibly the hermit's benevolence might have been quickened by a portion of the contents of the colonel's purse; but be that as it may, he was soon administering to the comfort of his guest. In a few minutes he had a good fire, and the exhausted wanderer took off his clothes and dried them, and tried to fasten some of the flying pieces that had been torn loose by the hatchel-teeth limbs in the cedar-swamps. In the meantime Johnson had provided some roasted potatoes, and a bit of fried bear-meat, which he THE SPECULATOR. 259 served up, with a tin dipper of strong tea, and Ringston ate and drank, and was greatly refreshed. They now set tnem selves earnestly to work to devise means of retreat and security against the pursuit of the enraged Monsonites, " who," Kingston said, "' he was sure would visit the camp before noon." Under a part of the floor, was a small excavation in the earth, which his host called his potato-hole, since, being near the fire, it served in winter to keep his potatoes from freezing. This portion of the floor was now entirely covered over with two or three barrels, a water-pail, a bench, and sundry articles of iron and tin-ware. It was Johnson's advice, that the colonel should be secreted in this potato-hole. He was afraid, however, that they would search so close as to discover his retreat. Yet the only alternative seemed between the plan proposed and betaking himself again to the woods, exposed to toil and starvation, and the chance of arrest by some of the hundreds who would be scouring the woods that day, eager as bloodhounds for their prey. Something must be done immediately, for he was expecting every hour to hear the cry of his pursuers; and relying on Johnson's ingenuity and skill to send them off on another scent should they come to hit camp, he concluded to retreat to the potato-hole 260 2WAT DOWN EAST. Accordingly, the superincumbent articles were hastily removed, a board was taken up from the floor, and the gallant colonel descended to his new quarters. 1Tey were small to be sui:e, but under the circumstances very acceptable. The cell was barely deep enough to receive him in a sitting posture, with his neck a little bent, while under him was a little straw, upon which he could stretch his limbs to rest. Johnson replaced all the articles with such care that no ono would have supposed they had been removed foi months. This labor had just been completed, when he heard shouts at a distance, and beheld ten or a dozen people rushing out of the woods, and making toward his camp. He was prepared for them; and when they came in, they found him seated quietly on his bench, mending his clothes. " Have you seen anything of Colonel Kingston?" inquired the foremost of the company with panting eagerness. "Colonel Kingston?" asked Johnson, looking up with a sort of vacant, honest stare. " Yes-he's run for't,' replied the other, "and we are after him. The Grand Jury has indicted him, and t.he Sheriff's got a warrant, and all Monson, and THE SPECULATOR. 261 one half of Guilford, is out a hunting for him. Last night, just as they were going to take him, he run into the woods this way. FHa'n't you seen nothin' of him?" Johnson sat with his mounh wide open, and listened with such an inquiring look that any one would have sworn it was all news to hire. At last he exclaimed with the earnestness inspired by a new thought, "Well, there! I'll bet that was what my dog was barking at, an hour or so ago! I heard him barking as fierce as a tiger, about half a mile down the river. I was busy mending my trowsers, or I should have gone down to see what he'd got track of." The company unanimously agreed that it must have been Kingston the dog was after; and in the hope of getting upon his track, they hurried off in the direction indicated, leaving Johnson as busily engaged as if, like "Brian O'Linn, he'd no breeches to wear, until he had finished repairing his tattered inexpressibles. The fugitive now breathed freely again; but while his pursuers were talking with his host, his respiration had hardly been sufficient to sustain life, and 262 SWAY DOWN EAST. "ccold drops of sweat stood on his trembling flesh." He did not venture to leave his retreat for two days; for during that day and most of the next, the woods were scoured from one end of the township to the other, and several parties successively visited the camp, who were all again successively despatched to the woods by the adroitness of its occupant. After two days the pursuers principally left the woods and contented themselves with posting sentinels at short intervals on the roads that surrounded the forest, and in the neighboring towns, hoping to arrest their victim, when hunger should drive him forth to some of the settlements. Kingston felt that it was unsafe for him to remain any longer under the protection of Johnson, and he knew it would be exceedingly difficult to make his escape through any of the settlements of Maine. Upon due reflection he concluded that the only chance left for him was to endeavor to make his way to Canada. Ile was now a dozen or fifteen miles from the foot of Moosehead lake. There was a foot-path to Elliottville, where there were a few inhabitants. Through this settlement he thought he migE t venture to pass in the night; and he could then g, A few miles to the westward, and meet the road leading from Mc uson to THF SPECULATOR.. 263 the lake.. Once across or around the foot of the lake, he believed he could make his way into the Canada road, and escape with safety. Having matured his plan he communicated it to Johnson, who aided it in the best manner he could by providing him with a pack of potatoes and fried bear-meat, accompanied with an extra Indian "johnny-cake," a jack-knife. and a flint and tinder for striking fire. It was late in the night, when all things were prepared for the journey, and Kingston bade an affectionate adieu to his host, declaring that he should never forget him, and adding, with much originality of thought and expression, that "a friend in need was a friend indeed." He had nearly a mile to go through the woods, before reaching the path that led through the township of Elliotville; and when he passed the Elliottville settlement the day began to dawn. A stirring young man, who was out at that early hour, saw him cross the road at a distance and strike into the woods. Satisfied at once who he was, and suspecting his object, he hastened to rouse his two or three neighbors, and then started toward Monson village with all the speed his legs could give him. Kingston, observing this movement from a hill top in the woods, was convinced that he should be 264 WAY DOWN EAS'r. pursued, and redoubled his exertions to reach the lake. When the messenger reached Monson and communicated his intelligence, the whole village was roused like an encamped army at the battle-call; and in twenty minutes every horse in the village was mounted and the riders were spurring with all speed toward the lake, and Deacon Stone among the foremost. As they came in sight of the Moosehead, the sun, which was about an hour high, was pouring a flood of warm rays across the calm, still waters, and some half a mile from land, they beheld a tall, slim man, alone in a canoe, paddling toward the opposite shore. For a moment the party stood speechless, and then vent was given to such oaths and execrations as habit had made familiar. Something was even swelling in Deacon Stone's throat, well-nigh as sinful as he had uttered on a former occasion, but he coughed, and checked it before it found utterance. They looked around, and ran on every side, to see if another boat, or any other means of crossing the lake could be found; but all in vain. The only skiff on that arm of the lake had been seized by the colonel in his flight. His pursuers were completely baffled. Some were for crossing the woods, and going round the THE SPECULATOR. 265 southwest lay of the lake over the head waters of the Kennebec River, and so into the great wilderness on the western side of the lake. But others said, "No; it's no use; if he once gets over among them swamps and mountains, you might as well look for a needle in a hay-mow!" This sentiment accorded with the better judgment of the party, and they turned about and rode quietly back to Monson-Deacon Stone consoling himself on the way by occasionally remarking: "Well, if the heathen is driven out of the land, thanks to a kind Providence, he has n't carried the land with him 1" 266'WAY DOWN EAST. CAPTER XI. A DUTCH WEDDING. "You can often get over the difficulty, when you can't get over the river," said my friend Jolm Van Ben Schoten. " Why don't you begin your name witn a Sam?" said I " it fwould give it more fulness and roundness; a more musical sound. I do like a full, harmonious name, I don't care what nation it belongs to. Only see how much better it would sound-Sam John Van Ben Schoten-I would make that little addition, if I was you." "Why that is my boy's name," said my friend Jolln Van Ben Schoten. " You Yankees are always one generation ahead of us IIollanders. Wait till my boy grows up, and he'll be just whlat you want. " But don't let us be disputing about names" — Our disputes were always of the good-natured sort, and generally confined to the relative advantages of Yankee enterpri,s and Dutch perseverance A DTU qH WEDDING. 267' Don't let us be disputing about names," said lie, "when you ought to be planning how to pay that note to-morrow. You say your draft has come back protested, and you have no other means of raising the money." This was too true; I had been in a perfect fever all the morning; the return of the draft was most unexpected; those, of whom I had been accustomed to receive accomodations, were out of town, and the note in question would do me much injury by lying over. As a last resort I had applied to my friend John Van Ben Schoten for advice in the matter. "I tell you," said John Van Ben Schoten, "you can often get over the difficulty, when you can't get over the river." "Yes," said I, "but how You can do most any thing if you only know how." " Well," said he, "go into my counting-room and sit down a minute, and I'll tell you how." We went in, and took a seat in the shadiest corner. near the window. John, before sitting down, reached up over his desk and took down his long pipe. IIe then opened a little drawer and filled his pipe with fine dry tobacco, and pulling a lens out of his pocket he stepped into the sunshine to light it. 268 WAY DOWN EA IT. "You don't need that glass," said I, "you just hold your pipe in the sun, and if it don't light in half a minute without the glass, I'll el'gage to eat it." "Tlhere'tis again," said John Van Ben Schoten, " you are a.ways showing the Yankee. Our fathers always lit their pipes with sun glasses, and now you want to contrive some other way to do it. If I knew I could light it in half the time without the glass, still I would use the glass out of respect to my ances; tors." "' ell, come," said I, " this is n't telling me how to get over the difficulty." "Wait till I get my little steam-engine a-going," said John, still holding the glass in the sun. "But have n't you any loco foco matches?" said I, growing somewhat impatient. " No," said John, " I never allow those new-fangled dangerous things to come into my counting room." "But how do you get a fire when the sun don't shine?" said I. "I use a flint and steel," said he, "the safest and sirest way in the world." At last, his pipe began to burn, and John with the utmost complacency sat down in his large arm-chair and began to smoke. A DTUI H WEDDING. *269* "Well, now," said I, "I suppose you are ready to open your mind upon this matter, and tell me if you can contrive any plan to help me over this difficulty." "Whyl, yes," said Joln, " you can oftentimes get over the difficulty, when you can't get over the river. Did you ever knew how Peter Van Iorn got mar ried?" "No," said L "Well, I'll tell you," said John, taking the pipe from his mouth and puffing out a cloud of smoke that almost concealed his head from my view. "Oh, now, don't stop for any of your long yarns," said I; "it is getting toward the close of business hours, and it's very important that this business of mine should be attended to." "You Yankees are always too impatient," said John; "there's never anything lost by taking time to consider a matter. It is driving the steamboat too tast, and trying to go ahead of somebody else, that makes her burst her boiler." At that he put his pipe in his mouth and went to smoking again. "Well, come," said I, " the sooner you begin to tell how Peter Van Iorn got married, the sooner you'll get through with it." 270'WAY DOWN EAST. "I know it," said he, " and if you won't interrupt me, I'll go on." "Yes," says I, " a Dutchman must always have ios own way; go ahead." "Well, then," said John Van Ben Schoton, throwing himself back into the chair, and leisurely blowing the smoke in a long, steady, quiet roll from his mouth; "about a hundred years ago, Peter Van Horn lived at Schenectady, or near where Schenectady now is, for it was a kind of wilderness place then. You've been at Schenectady, have n't you?" "No" said I, " I never have." "Well, it is about fifteen or twenty miles from Albany; you've been at Albany, of course." "No, I have n't," said I. "Not been at Albany?" said John, staring at me with rather an incredulous look; " then you have n't seen much of the world yet." " Why, no," said I, "perhaps not a great deal on this side of it; though I have seen something of the other side of it, and a little of both eends." John laughed, and went on with his story. " Peter Van Iorn lived near Schenectady, on one of the little streams that empty into the Mohawk. His father was one of the first settlers in that region: A DUTCH WEDDING. 271 and the old gentleman broulght up a nice family, a fine set of hardy, industrious fellows; every one of them as steady as a mill horse: no wild oats-they were men before they were boys. The consequence was, they picked up the money and always had a comfortable share of this world's goods. "Well, Peter, he grew up to be a smart young man, and at last he got it into his head, that he wanted to be married. You know how'tis; young men now-a-days are apt to get such notions into their heads, and it was just so in old times. I don't know as Peter was to blame for that; for there was living a little waysup the hill, above his father's, Betsey Van Heyden, a round, rosy-cheeked, blue eyed girl, as neat as a new pin, and as smart as a steel-trap. Every time Peter saw her, his feelings became more interested in her. Somehow, he could not seem to keep his mind off of her. Sometimes, when he was hoeing corn in the field, the first thing he would know, his father would call out to him,'Peter, what do you stand there leaning over your hoe-handle for?' And then he would start, and color up to the eyes, and go lo work. He knew he had been thinking of Betsey Van Ieyden, but how long he had been standing still lie could n't tell. SE9~ WAY D 0 W A T T. "At last tlhitng grew worse and worso, and he found he could tlt live without Betsey Van o1eyden no htow; o ho went and popped tlhe question to her al:d 1etsy sai sshe tws willing ii' moi0ther was r als in them (tdays were remiarkabtly well brought up, in comparivs on of wthat they are now-a-days — O —- after a. while Peter tulstered up cour:age enou.ghl to,go and tiask the old fo:lks, and the old folks, after: taking two days to consider of it, said yes; for, why should n't they Z Peter was one of the most industrious young 1men in: the whlole valley of the:Molttawk. " And now that the road wat all open and plaini before him, cPeter was fior hurrying aheadl e idn't see any us e at all in waiting. ": Betsey was for putting it off tto m onthtls, till she could get another web outt of thie loom; lbut Peter aid.no, the did n't care a snap a bout another web they'd be marrtied 4irst and imake the cloth afterward. Betsey, at last yielded the point; she s id sh did want to make up a feuw articles b)efore they were married, al,~tt;;,-te 8t:.t) 82( tup sr }}lt gt wfolt) \y. w to ld inarttr i but she supposed theIm y mighlt get along without them. So they lintal fifixed on Thltsursda of the following week for the wedding. The work of preparation was soon comm1enr ced, and carried out in a liberal style. lEverything requisite for a grand feast Vwas colloeted, A DUTCH WEDDING. 273 corked, and arranged in apple-pie order. ihe guests were all invited, and Parson Van Brunt was engaged to be there precisely at three o'clock, in order that they might get through the business, and have supper out of the way in season for all to get home before dark. "Thus far, up to the evening before the wedding day, everything looked fair and promising. Peter retired to bed early, in the hope of getting a good night's rest; but somehow or other he never was so restless in his life. He shut his eyes with all his might, and tried to think of sheep jumping over a wall; but do all he could, sleep would n't come. Before midnight the doors and windows began to rattle with a heavy wind. Peter got up and looked out; it was dark and cloudy. Presently flashes of lightning were seen, and heavy thunder came rolling from the clouds and echoing among the hills. In half an hour more a heavy torrent of rain was beating upon the house.'It will be soon over,' thought Peter,'and the air will be beautiful to-morrow, as sweet as a rose; what a fine day we shall have.' "Hour after hour passed away, and the rain still came down in a flood. Peter could not sleep a wink all night. He got up and walked the flocz till day 12* 274'WAY DOWN EAST. light, and when he looked out upon the roads and the fields the water was standing in every hollow and running down the hillsides in rivulets. Nine, ten, and eleven o'clock passed, and still it rained. Peter had been up to Mr. Van Heyden's twice through the rain to see how affairs went on there; the family looked rather sad, but Betsey said she had faith to believe that it would hold up before three o'clock; and sure enough about twelve o'clock, while the families were at dinner, it did hold up, and the clouds began to clear away. " About two o'clock the wedding guests began to assemble at Mr. Van Heyden's, and the faces of all Degan to grow shorter and brighter. All this time it had not entered Peter's head, or the heads of any of the rest of the company, that there might be any difficulty in the way of Parson Van Brunt's coming to their aid in completing the marriage ceremony. They had all this time forgotten that they were on one side of the Tomhenick stream and Parson Van Brunt on the other; that there was no bridge over the stream, and that it was now so swollen by the flood, and the current was so rapid, that it was almost as much as a man's life was worth to attempt to cross it at the usual fording-place, or swim it on horseback. A DUTCH WEDDING. 275 "At last, about half-past two o'clock, Parson Van Brant, true to his promise, was seen riding down the hill on the opposite side of the river and approaching the ford. "Thero he is," said old Mrs. Van Heyden, who had been upon the lookout for the last half hour, "there's the dear good man; now let us all take our seats and be quiet before he comes in." "While they were still lingering at the doors and windows, and watching the parson as he came slowly down the hill, he reached the bank of the river and stopped. He sat upon his horse some minutes, looking first up the stream and then down the stream, and then he rode his horse a few rods up and down the bank, and returned again to the ford. "' What can he be waiting there for?' said Peter;'sure he has seen the river often enough before, that he need n't stand there so long to look at it.' "' I can tell you what the difficulty is,' said old Mr. Van Heyden,' the river is so high he can't get across.' " The truth now fell like a flash upon the minds of the whole company. "' Do you think so i' said Mr. Van Horn. "'I know so,' said Mr. Van Heyden;'you can see from here the water is up the hank two rods WAY DOWN EAST. farther than it commonly is, and must be as much as ten feet deep over the ford just now.' "' What shall we do?' said old Mrs. Van Heyden;'the things will all be spoilt if we don't have the wedding to-day.' Betsey began to turn a little pale. Peter took his hat and started off upon a quick walk toward the river; and presently all the men folks followed him. The women folks waited a little while, and seeing Parson Van Brunt still sitting on his horse upon the other side of the river without any attempt to cross, they all put on their bonnets and followed the men. When they got to the bank, the reason of the parson's delay was as clear as preaching. The little river was swollen to a mighty torrent, and was rushing along its banks with the force and rapidity of a cataract. The water had never been so high before since the neighborhood had been settled, and it was still rising. To ford the river was imoossible, and to attempt to swim it on horseback was highly dangerous. "'What shall we do? said Peter, calling to the parson across the river. "' Well, I think you will have to put it off two or three days, till the river g)es down,' said Parson Van Brunt. A DUTCH WEDDING. 277'"'Tell him we can't put it off,' said cld Mrs. Van HIeyden, touching Peter by the elbow:'for the pies and cakes and things will all be spoilt.' "'Ask him if he don't think his horse can swim over,' said Betsey in a half whisper, standing the other side of Peter. "Peter again called to the parson; told him what a disappointment it would be if he did n't get over, and that it was the general opinion his horse could swim over with him if he would only try. Parson Van Brunt was devoted to the duties of his profession, and ready to do anything, even at the risk of his life, for the good of his flock. So he reined up his horse tightly, gave him the whip, and plunged into the stream. The current was too rapid and powerful for the animal; the horse and rider were carried down stream with fearful speed for a about a dozen rods, when they made out to land again on the same side from which they started. All were now satisfied that the parson could not get over the river. The experiment already made was attended with such fearful hazard as to preclude all thought of its repetition. "' Oh dear, what shall we do?' said Mrs. Van IHeyv den;'was there ever anything so unlucky? 278 WAY DOWN EAST. " Betsey sighed, and Peter bit his lips with vexation Peter's mother all this while had not uttered a sylla. ble. She was a woman that never talked, but she did up a great deal of deep thinking. At last, very much to the surprise of the whole company, she spoke out loud, and said: "'It seems to me, if Parson Van Brunt can't get over the river, he might get over the difficulty somehow or other.' "'Well, how in the world can he do it?' said Peter. "'Why, you jest take hold of Betsey's hand,' said his mother,'and stand up here, and let the parson marry you across the river.' "This idea struck them all very favorably; they did n't see why it couldn't be done. Peter again called to Parson Van Brunt, and stated to him the proposition, and asked him if he thought there was anything in the law or in the Bible that could go against the match if it was done in that way. Parson Van Brunt sat in a deep study about five minutes, and then said he couldn't see anything in the way, and told them they might stand up and take hold of hands. When they had taken their proper positions, and old Mrs. Van Heyden had put her handkerchief to her face to hide the tears that began to start from hex A DUTCH WEDDING. 279 e) es, the parson read over, in a loud and solemn ton 3, the marriage ceremony, and pronounced them man and wife. " Peter then threw a couple of silver dollars across the river, which Parson Van Brunt gathered up and put in his pocket, and then mounted his horse and started for home, while the company upon the other side of the river returned to the house of Mr. Van HIeyden to enjoy the wedding feast." By this time John Van Ben Schoten's pipe had gone out, and he started to the window again with his lens to re-light it. "Well," said I, "I understand, now, how Peter Van Horn got over his difficulty, but I'll be hanged if I can see any clearer how I am to get over mine." "None so blind as them that won't see," said John, turning to his desk and pulling out his old rusty yellow pocket book. He opened it, and counted out the sum of money which I lacked. "There," said he, "go and pay your note, and remember you can sometimes get over the lifficulty when you can't get;ver the river." 280 20WAY DOWN EAST. CHAPTER XIL BJLLY 8 N B. WHEN the biographer has a subject of unusual magnitude and importance to deal with, it becomes him to lay out his work with circumspection, and preserve a careful method in the arrangement. He must dig deep, and lay his foundation firmly, before he attempts to rear his edifice. He must not thrust his hero at once and unceremoniously in the face of his reader, standing alone and erect, like a liberty-pole on the naked common of a country meeting-house. He must keep him for a while in the background, and with a careful and skilful progression drag him slowly up from the dark and misty slough of antiquity, to the full light of day. It is not sufficient to commence with the father, nor even with the grandfather; propriety requires that the ancestral chain should be examined to the very topmost link. Unfortunately for the cause of letters, the origin and early history of the Snubs are veiled in tho deep. BILLY 8NUB. 281 est obscurity. The most indefatigable researches have been sufficient to trace them back but a few generations. Their family name is not found in the list of the hardy adventurers who came over in the Mayflower, nor yet among the early colony planted by Captain John Smith. But though history retains no record of the precise point of time when they migrated to the Western continent, it is certain they were among the early settlers of the New World, and many respectable traditions are extant of their ancient standing and influence in some of the older towns in New England. There is some doubt as to what nation may rightfully claim the honor of supplying the blood that flows in their veins, and it is probable the question at this" late day can never be settled with entire satisfaction. Though the claims of England, France, and Germany, might each and all be urged with so much force as to incline the historian to believe that their blood is of mixed origin, yet the prevailing testimony ought to be considered sufficient to establish the point that John Bull is the father of the Snub family; a conclusion which derives no small support from the general pugnacity of their character. It is much to be lamented that the ancient history of this ancient family is lost 282 2 WAY DOWN EAST. to the world; but, alas? they had no poet, no bisto rian. The ancestors of Billy Snub can be traced in a direct line only to the fourth generation. The greatgrandfather was a lawyer of thrift and respectability; a man of talents and influence; and tradition says, if he was not a younger son, he was the nephew of a younger son of an English earl. It cannot, therefore, with any propriety, be thrown in the face of the Snubs, that "' Their ancient but ign.-le blood Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood." But this Lawyer Snub, whose first name was William, had not the faculty or the talents to bring up his children to maintain the standing and dignity of their father. Iis son William was nothing more than a plain, respectable country farmer, who planted his potatoes, and hoed his corn, and mowed his hay, and milked his cows very much as other farmers do, without ever doing anything to become distinguished in the history of his times. He also was destined to see his posterity still in the descendant, for his son William was a village shoemaker, who sat on his bench, and drew his thread, an 1 hammered his lapstone BILLY N UB. 283 from morning till night, the year in and year out, with the occasional variation of whistling while paring off a shoe, and singing a song of an evening to the loungers in his shop. The tendency in the Snub family, however, was still downwards; even the shoemaker was not at the bottom of the hill, for his son was Billy Snub the newsboy. The direct family line, as far back as authentic history goes, running thus: First generation, William Snub, Esquire. Second generation, Mr. William Snu ), the farmer. Third generation, Bill Snub, the sJ' )emaker. Fourth generation, Billy Snub, t e newsboy. There is a tide in families, as v in as " in the affairs )f men." They rise and fall, t ough not as regu arly, yet as surely as the spring and neap tides of the ocean. And Billy Snub, r ter kicking and floundering about upon the fla at low water, has at last caught the flood, and nere is no knowing to what height of fortune b' may yet be carried. His pos terity will undo',btedly be in the ascendant, and it may not be too much to expect that in a few generalions ah, d, we shall have his Excellency, William 3nub, (,vernor, &c., and perhaps William Snub, the 9;'al th President of the United States. But the WAY DOoWVN; AST. regular chain of history must not be anticipated; and in order to bring Billy fairly and with sufficient clearness before the public, it is necessary to dwell for a few moments upon the history of Bill Snub, the shoemaker, and Sally Snub, his wife. For a few years Bill Snub was the leading shoemaker in a quiet New England village. Indeed, he took the lead from necessity, for he had no competitor; the field was all his own, and being allowed to have his own way, and fix his own prices, he managed to get a comfortable living. Being well to do in tile world, and much given to whistling and singing, his shop gradually became the favorite resort of all the idlers in the village. Bill's importance was magnified in his own eyes by this gathering around him almost every evening, to say nothing of the rainy afternoons. Unconsciously to himself he encouraged this lounging habit of his neighbors by administering to their little idle comforts. In one corner of his shop was a broken chair for an extra seat, in another a square block of timber left from the frame of the new school-house, and in still another corner was a stout side of sole leather, rolled up and snugly tied, which answered very well for a seat for three. A half-peck of apples, and a mug or two of cider, always at Bill's expense, 285 BILLY SNUB. frequently added to the allurements of the place, and Bill's songs, and Bill's jokes, no lnatter how little music or wit they contained, were always applauded. This state of things silently, but gradually, made sad encroachments upon Bill's habits of industry. lis customers were put off from day to day, and when Saturday night came, a bushel basket full of boots and shoes remained in his shop waiting repairs, to say nothing of Sunday new ones that had been promised, but not touched. Many of his customers had to stay at home on the Sabbath, or go to meeting barefoot. The result of all this was, that an interloper soon came into the place, and opened a shop directly opposite to that of Bill. The way was already open for him for a good run of business. Bill's customers, exasperated at their numerous disappointments, discarded him at once, and flocked to the new comer. In a week's time, Iill hIad nothing to do. lie mnilit be seen standing in his shop door, or with his lhe.ad out of the window, hour after hour, watciling Iis old customers as they entered the shop of his rival. IIe wou}.l go home to his meals in ill-humor, and scold his wife for his bad luck. And if little Billy, then six years old, came round him with his accustomed prattle and play, he was pretty sure tc be silenced 286'WAT DOWN EAST. with a smart box on the ear. Things grew worse and worse with him, and in a few months want was not only staring him in the face, but had actually seized him with such a firm gripe as to bring him to a full stand. Something must be done; Bill was uncomfortable. Whistling or singing to the bare walls of his shop, produced an echo that chilled and annoyed him exceedingly. Food and clothing began to be among the missing, and he soon discovered that walkmng the streets did but little towards replenishing his wardrobe; nor would scolding or even beating his wife supply his table. At last, throwing the whole blame upon the place and its people where he lived, he resolved at once to pull up stakes and be off. " And where are you going, Bill?" said his wife, wiping the tears from her eyes, as she saw her husband commence the work of packing up. " It's none of your business, Sall," said the husband gruffly. "But I'm going where there's work enough for all creation; where there's more folks to mend shoes for than you can shake a stick at." " Well, where is it Bill? do tell us;" said Sally in an anxious tone. " If it is only where we can get vic. tuals to eat. and clothes to wear, I shall be thankful." BILLY SNUB. 287 "Well, then," said Bill, " I'm going tc.he biggest city in the United States, where there's work enough all weathers." "Well, that's Boston," said Sally. " No,'taint Boston," said Bill; "it's a place as big as four Bostons. It's New York; I'm going right into the middle of New York; so pack up your duds about the quickest; for I ain't going to stop for nobody." And sure enough, a few mornings after this, among the deck passengers of one of the steamers that arrived at New York, was no less a personage than Bill Snub, the shoemaker, with his wife Sally and his son Billy. The group landed, and stared at every object they met, with a wild and wondering expression, that seemed to indicate pretty clearly that they were not accustomed to sights and scenes like those around them. Indeed, they had never before been in a large town, and hardly out of their quiet country village. Each bore a bundle, containing the whole amount of their goods and chattels, which had been reduced to a few articles of wearing apparel, a box or two of eatables, which they had taken for their journey, and a few tools of his trade, which Bill had had the foresight to preserve in order to begin the world anew 288 WAY DOWN EAST. Bewildered by the noise and bustle, and crowds of people on every side, they knew not which way to turn or what to do. They knew not a person nor a street in the city, and had no very definite object in view. Instinctively following the principal current of passengers that landed from the boat, they soon found themselves in Broadway. Here, as a small stream blends with a large one into which it flows, their company was presently merged and lost in the general throng of that great thoroughfare. They gradually lost sight of the familiar faces they had seen on board the boat, and when the last one disappeared, and they could no longer discern in the vast multitude hurrying to and fro, and down the street, a single individual they had ever seen before, a sense of solitude and home-sickness came over them, that was most overpowering. They stopped short on the sidewalk, and Bill looked in his wife's face, and his wife looked in his, and little Billy stood between them, and looked up in the faces of both.' What are you going to do?" said Sally. "Going to do?" said Bill; "I'm going to hire out; or else hire a shop and work on my own hook." Just at that moment a gentleman brushed past his elbow, and Bill hailed himr BILLY 8NUB. 255 "I say, mister, you don't know of nobody that wants to hire a shoemaker, do ye?" The gentleman turned and glanced at him a moment, and then hurried on without saying a word. I should think he might have manners enough to answer a civil question," muttered Bill to himself, as he shouldered his bag and moved on up the street. Presently they passed a large shoe store. " Ah, here's the place!" said Bill; "we've found it at last. 0, Sall, did you ever see such an allfired sight of shoes? Lay down your bundle, and stop here to the door, while I go in and make a bargain for work. So in Bill went, and addressed himself to one of the clerks. " I say, mister, you've got sich an everlastin' lot ot shoes here, I guess may be you'd like to hire a good shoemaker; and if you do, I'm the boy for you." The clerk laughed, and told him he must ask the boss about that. "Ask the what?" said Bill. "Ask the boss," said the clerk, who began to relish the conversation. "I shan't do no sich thing," said Bill; " i did n't comeon to New York to talk with bossy-calves nor pigs; and if you are a calf I don't want any more to say to 13 290 W A'AY DOWN EAST. yort; but if you want to hire a good shoemaker, I tell you I'm the chap for you." IIere the proprietor of the store, seeing the clerks gathering round Bill, to the neglect of their customers, came forward and told him he did not wish to hire any workmen, and he had better go along. " But I'll work cheap," said Bill, " and I'm a firstrate workman. Here's a pair of shoes on my feet I've wore for four months, and they han't ripped a stitch yet." "But I don't want to hire," said the man of the store, with some impatience; "so you had better go along." But maybe we can make a bargain," said Bill; "I tell ye, I'll work cheap." "I tell you, I don't want to hire," said the man; " so go out of the store." "You need n't be so touchy," said Bill; " I guess I've seen as good folks as you are, before to-day. Come now, what'll you give me a month?" " I'll give you what you won't want," said the man, "if you are not out of this store in one minute." As he said this, he approached Bill with such a menacing appearance, that the shoemaker thought it time to retreat, and hastened out of the door. As he reached BILLY dNUB. 291 the sidewalk, he turned round and hailed the man )f the store again. " I say, mister, hav n't you got a shmemaker's shop you'll let to me?" The man said he had a good room for that purpose. "Well, what do you ask a year for it?" said Bill. "Three hundred dollars, with good security," replied the shopman. "Three hundred dollars! My gracious Come now, none of your jokes. Tell us how much you ask for it,'cause I want to hire." "I tell you I ask three hundred dollars," said the man; " but it's of no use for you to talk about it; you can't give the security." " Oh, you go to grass," said Bill; "I don't want none of your jokes. I've hired as good a shop as ever a man waxed a thread in, for fifteen dollars a year; and if you are a mind to let me have yourn for the same, I'll go and look at it." The man laughed in his face, and turned away to wait upon his customers; and a little waggish boy, who had been standing by and listening to the conversation, paced his finger against his nose, and lookng up askai ce at Bill, exclaimed, " Ain't ye green?" Poor BiL began to tlink he had got among a 292 WAY DOWN EAST. strange set of people, and, shouldering his bag, he marched up Broadway with his wife and Billy at his heels, till he came to ihe Astor IHouse. tere he made a halt, for it looked to him like a sort of place for head-quarters. The building was so imposing in its appearance, and so many people were going in and coming out, and everything around was so brisk and busy, he thought surely it must be just the place t) look for business. So laying down their baggage, he and Sally and Billy quietly took a seat on the broad granite steps. He soon began to ply his inquiries to all sorts of people, asking if they could tell him of anybody that wanted to hire a shoemaker, or that had a shoemaker's shop to let. Most of them would hurry by him without any further notice than a hasty glance; others would laugh, and some would stop, and ask a few questions, or crack a few heartless jokes, and then turn away. After a while a throng of boys had gathered around him, and by various annoyances rendered his position so uncomfortable, that he was glad to escape, and shouldering his baggage, he and his group wandered on with heavy hearts up the street. Most of the day passed in this way without any profitable result, and as night approached they grew BILLY SNUB. 293 weary and desponding. They had no money left to provide themselves with a Lome for the night, though they had provision enough for a meal or two remaining in their wallets. Bill hI;d found it utterly ilnpos-.iible to make any impression upon any one he had met in the city, except so far as to be laughed at. lie could get no one's ear to listen to his -tory, and he could see no prospect of employment. Sally had several times suggested that this great road which they had been up and down so much-for they had been almost the whole length of Broadway two or three times-was not exactly the best road for them to go in, and she did n't think but what they might be likely to do better to go into one of the smaller roads, where the folks didn't look so grand. And, though Bill had been of different opinion through the day, he now began to think that Sally might be right. Looking down one of the cross streets that seemed to descend into a sort of valley, quite a different country appeared to open to thera. They could see old decayed-looking houses, with broken windows and dirty sidewalks; they could see half-naked children, running about and playing in the street; they could see bareheaded women and ragged men lounging about the doors, and numerous swine rooting in the 294 WAY DOWN EAST gutters. The prospect was too inviting to be resisted They felt at once that there they could find sympathy, and hastened down the street. Arriving in the midst of this paradise, they deliberately laid down their luggage on the sidewalk, and seating themselves on the steps of an old wooden house, felt as if they had at last found a place of rest. They opened their bundles and began to partake of a little food. Heads were out of a hundred windows in the neighborhood gazing at them. Children stopped short in the midst of their running, and stood around them; and leisurely, one after another, a stout woman or a sturdy loafer came nigh and entered into conversation. As Bill related his simple story, a universal sympathy was at once awakened in the hearts of all the hearers. They all declared he should have a shop in the neighborhood and they would give him their patronage. Patrick O'Flannegan, who lived in the basement of the old house on whose steps they were seated, at once invited them to partake of the hospitalities of Ihis mansion, saying he had but nine in his family, and his room was large, and they should be welcome to occupy a corner of it till they could find a better home. Of course the invitation was accepted, and the group followed Patrick down the steep dirty steps that led BILLY SNUB. 295 te his damp apartment. The tops of the low windows were about upon a level with the sidewalk, bringing almost the entire apartment below the surface of the ground. The dim light that struggled down through the little boxed-up dusty windows, showed a strawbed in two several corners of the room, three or four rickety chairs, a rough bench, small table, tea-kettle, frying-pan, and several other articles of household comforts. "You can lay your things in that corner," said Patrick, pointing to a vacant corner of the room. " and we'll soon get up some good straw for you to sleep on." In short, Bill and his family at once became domesticated in this subterranean tenement, which proved to be not merely a temporary residence, but their home for years. The limits of this history will not allow space to follow the fortunes of Bill through three or four of the first years of his city life. It must be sufficient to state generally, that though he found kindness and sympathy in his new associates, he found little else that was beneficial. The atmosphere around him w~s not favorable to industry, and his habits in that respect never inproved, but rather grew worse. His neighbors did not work, and why phonld he? His neighbors were fond of listening tw 296 WAY DOWN EAST. his songs, and why should he not sing to them I-Ii neighbors drank beer, and porter, and sling, and gin toddy, and Bill needed but little coaxing to drink with them. And he did drink with them, moderately at first, but deeper and oftener from month to month, and in three years' time he became a perfect sot. The schooling that little Bill received during these three years was eminently calculated to fit him for his future profession. He had slept on the floor, lying down late and rising up early, till his frame was as hardy and elastic as that of a young panther. He had been flogged so much by a drunken father, and had his ears boxed so often by a fretted and desponding mother, that he had lost all fear of their blows, and even felt a sort of uneasiness, as though matters were not all right, if by any chance the day passed by without receiving them. He had lived on such poor diet, and so little of it, that potato-skins had a fine relish, and a crust of bread was a luxury. He had battled with boys in the street till he had become such an adept at fisticuffs, that boys of nearly twice his size stood in fear of him. And he had so often been harshly driven from the doors of the wealthy, where he had been sent to beg cold victuals, that he had come to regard mankind in general as a set of BILLY SNUB. 297 ferocious animals, against whose fangs it was necessary to be constantly on his guard. In short, Billy had been beaten about from post to pillar, and pillar to post so much, and had rubbed his head agai. ist so many sorts of people, that it had become pretty well filled with ideas of the hardest kind. When Billy was about ten years old, he came running in one day in great glee, with a sixpence in his hand, which he had found in the street. As soon as his father heard the announcement of it, he started up, and took down a junk bottle from a little shelf against the wall, and told Billy to take the sixpence, and go to the grocer's on the corner, and get the worth of it in rum. Sally begged that he would not send for rum, but let little Billy go to the baker's and get a loaf of bread, for she had not had a mouthful of anything to eat for the day, and it was then noon. But Bill insisted upon having the rum, and told Bidly to go along anid get it, and be quick about it, or he would give him such a licking as he had not had for six months. Billy took the bottle, and started; but as he left the door, his cheek reddened, and his lip curled with an expression of determination which it had not been accustomed to wear. He walked down the street, thinking of the consequences that would 13* 298 WAY DOWN EAST. result from carrying home a bottle of rum. His father would be drunk all the afternoon, and through the night. His mother and himself would have to go without food, probably be abused and beaten, and when night came, would find no repose. He arrived at the grocer's, but he could not go in. He passed on a little farther, in anxious, deep thought. At last he stopped suddenly, lifted the bottle above his head, and then dashed it upon the pavement with all his might, breaking it into a thousand pieces. "There," said Billy to himself, "I'll never carry any more rum home as long as I live. But I s'pose father'I lick me half to death; but I don't care if he does, I'll never carry any more rum home as long as I live." He brushed a tear from his eye, and bit his lips, as he stood looking at the fragments of the bottle a moment, and then passed on farther down the street. But now the question of what he should do, came home to him with painful force. If he returned back to the house, and encountered his enraged father, he was sure to be half killed. lie wandered on, unconcious where he went, till he reached the Park. IHere he met a newsboy crying papers, with great earnestness and tremendous force of lungs. Billy watched BILL Y N I: B. him for the space of ten minutes, and saw him sell half-a-dozen papers. They contained important news by a foreign arrival, and people seemed eager to get hold of them. A new idea flashed across Billy's mind. Why could not he sell newspapers, and get money, as well as that boy! His resolution was at once formed, with almost the strength and firmness of manhood. It required capital, to be sure, to start with, but luckily he had the capital in his pocket. The rum bottle had been broken, and he still retained the sixpence. He hastened immediately to the publishing office of the paper he had just seen sold. When he arrived there, he found quite a crowd of newsboys pressing up to the counter, and clamorous for papers; for the publisher could not supply them fast enough to meet the demand. Billy edged his way in among them, and endeavored to approach the counter. But he was suddenly pushed back by two or three boys at once, who exclaimed, " What newcomer is this? Here's boys enough here now, so you better be off." Another sung out "Go home, you ragbag, your mother don't know you're out 1" At this, one of the boys looked round that happen. rtX u* I,*.?ro.s A, |1 ->,o f?r _~ c^ 3 t4. A. A C'' ra I* e~:I. ~oy;c; A tr.".S ~.. = An. no C at r,, an s' ~r.; THE PUMPKIN FRESHET. 335 "Aunt Molly she dropped her work, and took her hands out of the dough, and says she,' Mr. Stow, I wonder what's got into you; it must be something more than the short cakes I'm sure, that's put such life into you.' "' To be sure'tis,' says Uncle,'for the short cakes hain't got into me yet.' And then he turned round and give a wink to mother and Major Buck. "'IWell, there now,' says Aunt Molly, says she,'I know you've got some kind of a secret that you've been telling these folks here, and I declare I won't touch the short cakes again till I know what'tis.' "When Aunt Molly put her foot down, there'twas, and nobody could move her. So Uncle Major knew he might as well come to it first as last; and says he,'well, Molly, it's no use keeping a secret from you; but I've got something will make you stare worse than the short cakes.' "'Well, what is it, Mr. Stow?' says Aunt Molly,'out witl it, and let us know the worst of it.' "'Here,' says Uncle Major, says he, pulling out a little paper bundle out of his pocket, and holding it up to Aunt Molly's face;'here, smell of that,' says he. "As soon as Aunt Molly smelt of it, she julmped 336 WAY DOWN EAS F. right up and kissed Uncle Major right before the whole company, and says she,'it's tea as true as I'm alive, it's the real bohea. I have n't smelt any before for three years, but I knew it in a moment.' "' Yes,' says Uncle Major,'it's tea; there's a quarter of a pound of the real stuff. While my grist was grinding, I went into the store, and there 1 found they had some tea; and, thinks I, we'll have one dish for all hands, to go with the short cakes, if it takes the last copper I've got. So I knocked up a bargain with the man, and bought a quarter of a pound; and here'tis. Now, Molly, set your wits to work, and give us a good dish of tea with the short cakes, and we'll have a real thanksgiving; we'll make it seem like old Connecticut times again.' "' Well, now, Mr. Stow, what shall we do?' says Aunt Molly,' for there isn't a tea-kettle, nor a tea-pot, nor no cups and sarcers in the neighborhood.' " And that was true enough; they had n't had any tea since they moved from Connecticut, so they had n't got any tea-dishes. "' Well, I don't care,' says Uncle Major, says he,'we'll have the tea, any how. There's the dishkettle, you can boil the water in that, an I you can THE PUMPKIN FRESHET. 337 steep the tea in the same, and when it's done I guess we'll contrive some way or other to drink it.' "So Aunt Molly dashed round and drove on with the work, and got the short-cakes made, and the boys got the fire made, and they got the cakes down to baking, and about four quarts of water hung on in the dish-kettle to boil for tea, and when it began to boil, the whole quarter of a pound of tea was put into it to steep. Bime-by they had the table set out, and a long bench on one side, and chairs on the other side, and there was two milk-pans set on the table filled up heaping full of short-cakes, and the old folks all sot down, and fell to eating, and we children stood behind them with our hands full, eating tu. And oh, them short-cakes, seems to me, I never shall forget how good they tasted the longest day T live. "After they eat a little while, Uncle Major called for the tea; and what do you think they dii for teacups? Why, they took a two quart wooden bowl, and turned off tea enough to fill it, and sot it on to the table. They handed it up to Major Buck first, as he was the minister, and sot to the head of the table, and lie took a drink, and handed it to Uncle Major Stow, and he took a drink, and then they passed it all cound the table, from one to t'other, and they all took 15 338 WAY DOWN EAST. a drink; and when that was gone, they turned out the rest of the tea, and filled the bowl up, and drinkled round again. Then they poured some more water into the dish-kettle, and steeped the tea over again a few minutes, and turned out a bowlful, and passed it round for us children to taste of. But if it want for the name of tea, we had a good deal rather have water, for it was such bitter, miserable stuff, it spoilt the taste of the short-cakes. But the old folks said if we did n't love it, we need n't drink it; so they took it and drinkt up the rest of it. "And there they sot all the afternoon, eating shortcakes, and drinking tea, and telling stories, and having a merry thanksgiving of it. And that's the way we lived at the time of the punkin freshet in the valley of Oquago." NoTE-The main incidents in this sketch, in relation to the early settlement of Oquago Valley, the " pumpkin freshet," Major Stow's pedestrian journey of forty miles to mill, the bushe: of'she-t, the short-cakes and the tea, are all historically true. & BA(C 3 FOR A SWEETIHEART. 339 CIIAPTER XIV. A RACE FOR A SWEETHEART. IIARDLY any event creates a stronger sensati n in a thinly settled New England village, especially among the young folks, than the arrival of a fresh and blooming miss, who comes to make her abode in the neighborhood. When, therefore, Squire Johnson, the only lawyer in the place, and a very respectable man of course, told Farmer Jones one afternoon that his wife's sister, a smart girl of eighteen, was coming in a few days to reside in his family, the news flew like wildfire through Pond Village, and was the principal topic of conversation for a week. Pond Village is situated upon the margin of one of those numerous and beautiful sheets of water that gem the whole sur-. face of New England, like tile bright stars in an evening sky, and received its appellation to distinguish it from two or three other villages in the sa.me town, which could nut boast of a similar location. When Farmer Jones came in to his supper, about sunset that 340'WAY DOWN EAST. afternoon, and took his seat at the table, the eyes of the whole family were upon him, for there was a peculiar working about his mouth, and a knowing glance of his eye, that always told them when he had anything of interest to communicate. But Farmer Jones' secretiveness was large, and his temperament not the most active, and he would probably hav( rolled the important secret as a sweet morsel under his tongue for a long time, had not Mrs. Jones, who was rather of an impatient and pry;g turn of mind, contrived to draw it from him. "Now, Mr. Jones," said she, as she handed him his cup of tea, "what is it you are going to say? Do out with it; for you've been chawing something or other over in your mind ever since you came into the house." " It's my tobacher, I es'pose," said Mr. Jones, with another knowing glance of his eye. " Now, father, what is ilie use?" said Susan; "we all know you've got something or other you want to say, and why can't you tcl us what'tis." "La, who cares what'ts?" said Mrs. Jones,; "i f it was anything worth telling, we shouldn't have to wait for it, I dare say." Hereupon Mrs. Joues assumed an air of the most A RACE FOR A SWEETHEART. 341 perfect indifference, as the surest way of conrqering what she was pleased to call Mr. Jones's obstinacy, which, by the way, was a very improper term to apply in the case; for it was purely the working of secretiveness, without the least particle of obstinacy attached to it. There was a pause of two or three minutes in the conversation, till Mr. Jones passed his cup to be filled a second time, when, with a couple of preparatory hems, he began to let out the secret. "We are to have a new neighbor here in a few days," said Mr. Jones, stopping short when he had uttered thus much, and sipping his tea and filling his mouth with food. Mrs. Jones, who was perfect in her tactics, said not a word, but attended to the affairs of her table, as though she had not noticed what was said. The farmer's secretiveness had at last worked itself out, ard he began again. "Squire Johnson's wife's sister is coming here in a few days, and is going to live with'em." The news being thus fairly divulged, it left free scope for conversation. " Well, I wonder if she is a proud, stuck-ur piece," said Mrs Jones. 842'WAY DOWN EAST.'I should n't think she would be," caid Susan, "for there aint a more sociabler woman hi the neighborhood than MIiss Johnson. So if she is at all like her sister, I think we shall like her." "I wonder how old she is?" said Stephen, who was just verging toward the close of his twenty-first year. "The squire called her eighteen," said Mr. Jones, giving a wink to his wife, as much as to say, that's about the right age for Stephen. "I wonder if she is handsome," said Susan, wlho was somewhat vain of her own looks, and having been a sort of reigning belle in Pond Villagt, for some time, she felt a little alarm at the idea of a rival. " I dare be bound she's handsome," said Mrs. Jones, "if she's a sister to Miss Jolnson, for where'll you find a handsomer woman than Miss Johnson, go the town through?" After supper, Stephen went down to Mr. Robinson's store, and told the news to young Charles Robinson, and all the young fellows, who were gathered there for a game at quoits, and a ring at wrestling. And Susan went directly over to Mr. Bean's and told Patty, and Patty went round to the Widow Davis' and told Sally, and before nine o'clock, the matter was pretty well understood in ab.)it every house in the village. A RACE FOR A SWEETHEART. 343 At the close of the fourth day, a little before sunset, a chaise was seen to drive up to Squire Johnson's door. Of course the eves of the whole village were turned in that direction. Sally Davis, who was just coming in from milking, set her pail down on the grass by the side of the road, as soon as the chaise came in sight, and watched it till it reached the squire's door, and the gentleman and lady had got out and gone into the house. Patty Bean was doing up the ironing that afternoon, and she had just taken a hot iron from the fire as the chaise passed the door, and she ran with it in her hand, and stood on the door-steps till the whole ceremony of alighting, greeting, and entering the house was over. Old Mrs. Bean stood with her head out of the window, her iron-bowed spectacles resting up on the top of her forehead. her shriveled hand placed across her eyebrows, to defend her red eyes from the rays of the setting sun, and her skinny chin protruding about three inches in advance of a couple of stubs of teeth, which her open mouth exposed fairly to view. "It seems to me, they are dreadful loving," said old Mrs. Bean, as she saw Mrs. Johnson descend the steps and welcome her sister with a kiss. " La me, if there is n't the squire kissing of her tu," 344 WAY DOWN EAST. said Patty; " well, I declare, I would a-waited till 1 got into the house, I'll die if I would n't. It looks so vulgar to be kissing afore folks, and out of doors tu; I should think Squire Johnson would be ashamed of himself." " Well, I should n't," said young John Bean, who came up at the moment, and who had passed the chaise just as the young lady alighted from it. "I should n't be ashamed to kiss sich a pretty gal as that anyhow; I'd kiss her wherever I could catch her, if it was in the meetin-house." Why, is she handsome, Jack?" said Patty. "Yes, she's got the prettiest little puckery mouth I've seen these six months. Her cheeks are red, and her eyes shine like new buttons." "Well," replied Patty, " if she'll only take the shine off Susan Jones when she goes to meetin', Sunday, I sha'nt care." While these observations were going on at old Mr. Bean's, Charles Robinson, and a group of young fellows with him, where standing in front of Robinson's store, a little farther down the road, and watching the scenes that was passing at Squire Johnson's. They witnessed the whole with becoming decorum, now and then making a rnemark upon the fine horse and the A RACE FOR A SWEEThIEART. 345 handsome chaise, till they saw the tall squire bend his head down, and give the young lady a kiss, when they all burst out into a loud laugh. In a moment, being conscious that their laugh must be heard and noticed at the squire's, they, in order to do away the impression it must necessarily make, at once turned their heads the other way, and, Charles Robinson who was quick at an expedient, knocked off the hat of the lad who was standing next to him, and then they all laughed louder than before. Here comes Jack Bean," said Charles, "now we shall hear something about her, for Jack was coming by the squire's when she got out of the chaise. How does she look, Jack?" "Handsome as a pictur," said Jack. " I haint seen a prettier gal since last Thanksgiving Day, when Jane Ford was here to visit Susan Jones." " Black eyes or blue?" said Charles. "Blue," said Jack, "but all-fired bright." "Tall or short?" said Stephen Jones, who was rather short himself, and therefore felt a particular interest on that point. "Rather short," said Jack, "but straight and round as a young colt."'Do you know what her name is?" said Charles 15* S46'WAY DOWN EAST "They called her Lucy when she got out of the chaise," said Jack, "and as Mliss Johnson's name was Brown before she was married, I s'pose her name must be Lucy Brown." "Just such a name as I like," said Charles Iobinson; " Lucy Brown sounds well. Now suppose in order to get acquainted with her, we all hands take a sail to-morrow night, about this time, on the pond, and invite her to go with us." "Agreed," said Stephen Jones. "Agreed," said Jack Bean. "Agreed," said all hands. Tlhe question then arose who slould carry the invitation to her; and the young men being rather bashful on that score, it was finally settled that Susan Jones should bear the invitation, and accompany her to the boat, where they should all be in waiting to receive her. The next day was a very long day, at least to most of the young men of Pond village; and promptly an hour before sunset, most of them were assembled, with a half a score of their sisters and female cousins, by a little stone wharf on the margin of the pond, for the proposed sail. All the girls in the village of a suitable age were there, except Patty Bean. She had undergone a good deal of fidget ng and fussing during the day, to prepare A RACE FOR A SWEETIEART. 347 lor the sail, but had been disappointed. Her new bonnet was not done; and as to wearing her old ilapsided bonnet, she declared she would not, if she never went. Presently Susan Jones and Miss Lucy Brown were seen coming down the road. In a moment, all was quiet, the laugh and joke were hushed, and each one put on his best looks. When they arrived, Susan went through the ceremony of introducing Miss Brown to each of the ladies and gentlemen present. "But how in the world are you going to sail " said Miss Brown, " for there isn't a breath of wind; and I don't see any sail-boat, neither." " Oh1, the less wind we have, the better, when we sail here," said Charles Robinson, "and there is our sail-boat," pointing to a flat-bottomed scow-boat, some twenty feet long by ten wide. " We don't use no sails," said Jack Bean; " sometimes, when the wind is fair, we put up a bush to help pull along a little, and when'tis n't, we row." The party were soon embarked on board the scow, and a couple of oars were set in motion, and they glided slowly and pleasantly over as lovely a sheet of water as ever glowed in the sunsetting ray. In one onur's time, the whole party felt perfectly acquainted 348'WAY DOWN EAST. with Miss Lucy Brown. She had talked in the most lively and fascinating manne; she had told stories and sung songs. Among others, she had gven Moore's boat song with the sweetest possible effect; and by the time they returned to the landing, it would hardly be too much to say that half the young men in the party were decidedly in love with her. A stern regard to truth requires a remark to be made here, not altogether favorable to Susan Jones, which is the more to be regretted, as she was in the main an excellent hearted girl, and highly esteemed by the whole village. It was observed. that as the company grew more and more pleased with Miss Lucy Brown, Susan Jones was less and less animated, till at last she became quite reserved, and apparently sad. She, however, on landing, treated Miss Brown with respectful attention, accompanied her houni to Squire Johnson's door, and cordially bade hr good night. The casual glimpses which the young men of Pont village had of Miss Brown during the remainder of the week, as she occasionally stood at the door, o; looked out at the window, or once or twice when she walked out with Susan Jones, and the fair view they all had of her at meeting on the Sabbath, served but to A RACE FOR A SWEETHEART. 349 increase their admiration, and to render her more and more an object of attraction. She was regarded by il1 as a prize, and several of them were already planning what steps it was best to take in order to win her. The two most prominent candidates, however, for Miss Brown's favor, were Charles obhinson and Stephen Jones. Their position and standing among the young men of the village seemed to put all others in the back-ground. Charles, whose father was wealthy, had every advantage which money could procure. But Stephen, though poor, had decidedly the advantage of Charles in personal recommendations. He had more talent, was more sprightly and intelligent, and more pleasing in his address. From tlhe evening of the sail on the pond, they had both watched every movement of Miss Brown with the most intense interest; and, as nothing can deceive a lover, each had, with an interest no less intense, watched every movement of the other. They had ceased to speak to each other about her, and if her name was mentioned in their presence, both were always observed to color. he second week after her arrival, through the influence of Squire Johnson, the district school was offered to Miss Brown on the other side of the pond, 350 WAY DOWN EAST. which offer was accepted, and she went immediately to take charge of it. This announcement at first threw something of a damper upon thle spirits of the young people of Pond village. But when it was understood tlhat the school would continue but a few weeks, and being but a mile and a half distant, Miss Brown woulJ come nome every Saturday afternoon, and spend the Sabbath, it was not very difficult to be reconciled to the temporary arrangement. The week wore away heavily, especially to Charles Robinson and Stephen Jones. They counted the days impatiently till Saturday, and on Saturday they counted the long and lagging hours till noon. They had both made up their minds that it would be dangerous to wait longer, and they had both resolved not to let another Sabbath pass without making direct proposals to Miss Brown. Stephen Jones was too early a riser for Charles Robinson. and, in any enterprize where both were concerned, was pretty sure to take the lead, except whlere money could carry the palm, and then, of cidlse, it was always borne away by Chariles. As Miss' ucy had been absent most of the week, and was to be it home that afternoon, Charles Robinson llad niadr an arrangement with his mother and sister to hlave littee tea party in the evening, for the purpose A RACE FOR A SWEETHEART. S51 of inviting Miss Brown; and then, of course. he should walk home with her in the evening; and then, of course, would be a good opportunity to break the ice, and make known to her his feelings and his wishes. Stephen Jones, however, was more prompt in his movements. IIe llad got wind of the proposed tea party, althoughl himself and sister, for obvious reasons, had not been invited, and he resolved not to risk tho arrival of MAiss Brown and her visit to Mr. Robinson's before he should see her. She would dismiss her school at noon, and come the distance of a mile and a half round the pond home. IIis mind was at once made up. IIe would go round and meet her at the ichool-louse, and accompany her on her walk. There, in that winding road, around those delightful waters, with the tall and shady trees over-head, and the wild grape-vines twining round their trunks, and climbing to the branches, while the wild birds were singing through the woods, and the wild ducks playing in the coves along the shore, surely there, if anywhere in the world, could a man bring his mind up to the point of speaking of love. Accordingly, a little before noon, Stepheit washed and brushed himself up, and put on his Sunday elothes, and started on his exredition. In order to 352 WAY DOWN EAST. avoid observation, he took a back route across the field, intending to come into the road by the pond, a little out of the village. As ill-luck would have it, Charles Robinson had been out in the same direction, and was returning with an armful of green boughs and wild flowers, to ornament the parlor for the evening. Ile saw Stephen, and noticed his dress, and the direction he was going, and he at once smoked the whole business. Iis first impulse was to rush upon him and collar him, and demand that he should return back. But then he recollected that in the last scratch he had with Stephen, two or three years before, he had a little the worst of it, and he instinctively stood still, while Stephen passed on without seeing him. It flashed upon his mind at once that the question must now be reduced to a game of speed. If he could by any means gain the school-house first, and engage Miss Lucy to walk home with him, he should consider himself safe. But if Stephen should reach the school-house first, he should feel a good deal of uneasiness for the consequences. Stephen was walking, very leisurely, and unconscious that he was in any danger of a competitor on the course, and it was important that his suspicions should not bu awakened. Charles therefore remained perfectly A RACE FOR A SWEr'IIEAnrT. quiet till Stephen had got a little out of hearing, and then threw down his bushes and flowers, and ran to the wharf below the store with his utmost speed. lie had one advantage over Stephen. lie was ready at a nmoment's warning to start on an expedition of this kind, for Sunday clothes was an every day affair with him. There was a light canoe belonging to his father lying at the wharf, and a couple of stout boys were there fishing. Charles hailed them, and told them if they would row him across the pond as quick as they possibly could, he would give them a quarter of a dollar a-piece. This, in their view, was a splendid offer for their services, and they jumped on board with alacrity and manned the oars. Charles took a paddle and stood in the stern to steer the boat, and help propel her ahead. The distance by water was a little less than by land, and although Stephen had considerably the start of him, he believed lie should be able to reach the school-house first, especially if Stephen should not see him and quicken his pace. In one minute after he arrived at the wharf, the boat was under full way. The boys laid down to the oars with right good will, and Charles put ouit all his strength upon the paddle. They were shooting ovei 854 WAY D1OWN EAST. the water twice as fast as a man could walk, and Charles already felt sure of the victory. But when they had gone about half a mile, they came in the range of a little opening in the trees on the shore, where the road was exposed to view, and there, at that critical moment, was Stephen pursuing his easy walk. Charles's heart was in his mouth. Still it was possible Stephen might not see them, for he had not yet looked around. Lest the sound of the oars might attract his attention, Charles had instantly, on coming n sight, ordered the boys to stop rowing, and ho grasped his paddle with breathless anxiety, and waited for Stephen again to disappear. But just as he was upon the point of passing behind some trees, where the boat would be out of his sight, Stephen turned his head and looked round. IIe stopped short, turned square round, and stood for the space of a minute looking steadily at the boat. Then lifting his hand, and shaking his fist resolutely at Charles, as much as to say, I understand you, he started into a quick run. " Now, boys," said Charles, " buckle to your oars for your lives, and if you get to the shore so I can reach the school-house before Stephen does, I'll give you a half a dollar a-piece." A RACE FOR A SWEETHEART. This, of course, added new life to the boys, and increased speed to the boat. Their littie canoe flow over the water almost like a bird, carrying a white bone in her mouth, and leaving a long ripple on the glassy wave behind her. Charles' hands trembled, but still he did good execution with his paddle. Although Stephen upon the run was a very different thing from Stephen at a slow walk, Charles still had strong hopes of winning the race, and gaining his point. He several times caught glimpses of Stephen through the trees, and, as well as he. could judge, the boat had a little the best of it. But when they came out into the last opening, where for a little way they had a fair view of each other-Charles thought Stephen ran faster than ever; and although he was now considerably nearer the school-house than Stephen was, he still trembled for the result. They were now within fifty rods of the shore, and Charles appealed again to the boys' love of money. " Now," said he, " we have not a minute to spare. If we gain the point, I'll give you a dollar a-piece." The boys strained every nerve, and Charles' paddle made the water fly like the tail of a woundA:d shark. W lhen within half a dozen rods of the shore, Charles nrge1 them again to spring with all their mnight, and 356'WAY DOWN EAST. one of the boys making a desperate plunge upon his oar, snapped it in two. The first pull of the other oar headed the boat from land. Charles saw at once that the delay must be %atal, if he depended on the boat to carry him asht'a-. The water was but two feet deep, and the bottom was sandy. lie sprang from the boat. and rushed toward the shore as tfst as he was able to press through the water. lie flew up the bank, and along the road, till he reached the school-house. The door was open, but he could see no one within. Several children were at play round the door, who, having seen Charles approach with Buch haste, stood with mouths and eyes wide open, staring at him. "Where's the schoolma'am?" said Charles, hastily, to one of the largest boys. "Why," said the boy, opening his eyes still wider, " is any of the folks dead?" "You little rascal, I say, where's the school ma'am?" "She just went down that road," said the boy, "two or three minutes ago." " Was she alone?" said Charles. "She started alone," said the boy, " and a man met her out there a little ways, and turned about and went with her' A RAC1O FOA A SWEETHEART. 35T Charles felt that his cake was all dough again, and that lie migllt as well give it up for a bad job, and go lome. Stephen Jones and Lucy Brown walked very leisurely home through the woods, and Cliarles and the boys went very leisurely in the boat across the pond. They even stopped t y the way, and caught a mess of fish, since the boys had thrown their lines into the boat when they started. And when they reacled the wharf, Charles, in order to show that he had been a fishing, took a large string of the filh in his hand, and carried them up to the house. Miss Lucy Brown, on her way home through the woods, had undoubtedly been informed of the proposed teaarty for the evening, to which she was to be invited, and to which Stephen Jones and Susan Jones were not invited; and when Miss Lucy's invitation came, 8io seent word back that bhe was engaged. WAY D)OWN EAST. CHIAPTERP XV. OLD MYE R8. IN a country like ours, of boundless forests, rapidly filling up with a growing and widely spreading population, the pioneers of the wilderness, those hardy and daring spirits who take their lives in their hands, and march, in advance of civilization, into the wild woods, to endure privations among the wild animals, and run the hazard of wild warfare among the savage tribes, form a very peculiar and interesting class. Whether it is a natural hardihood and boldness, and love of adventure, or a desire for retirement, or a wish to be free from the restraints of civilized society, that thus leads this peculiar class of people into the wilderness, it matters not now to inquire. Probably all these 1motives, in a greater or less degree, go to make up tle moving principle. At the lead of this class is the renowned Daniel Boone, whose name will live as long as his Old Kentucky shall find a place on the page of history. lie OLD MYERS. 359 was the great Napoleon among the pioneers of the wilderness. But there are many others of less note, whose lives were also filled with remarkable adventures, and curious and interesting incidents. Indeed. every State in the Union has had more or less of these characters, which go to make up the class. One of these was Old Myers, the Panther; a man of iron constitution, of great power of bone and muscle, and an indomitable courage that knew no mixture of fear. Four times, in four different States, had Myers pitched his lonely tent in the -wilderness, among savage tribes, and waited for the tide of white population to overtake him; and four times lie had " pulled up stakes" and marched still deeper into the forest, where lie mirght enjoy more elbow-room, and exclaim with Selkirk, "I am monarch of all I suriveyMy right there is none to dispute." And now, at the time of which we speak, he had a fifth tine pitched his tent and struck his fire on the banks of the Illinois river, in the territory which afterwards grew up to a State of the same name. Ilaving lived so much in the wilderness, and associated so much with the aborigines, he had acquired much of their habits and mode of life, and by his 360' WAY DOWN EAST. location on the Illinois river, he soon became rather a favorite among the Indian tribes around h11l,. His skill with the rifle and the bow, and his personal feats of strength and agility, were well calculated to excite their admiration and applause. Ile often took the lead among them in their games of sport. It was on one of these occasions that he acquired the additional name of the Panther. A party of eight or ten Indians, accompanied by Mlyers, had been out two or three days on a hunting excursion, and were returning, laden with the spoils of the chase, consisting of various kinds of wild fowl, squirrels, racoons and buffalo-skins. They had used all their ammunition except a single charge, which was reserve/.n the rifle of the chief for any emergency, or choice game which might present itself on the way home. A river lay in the way, which could be crossed only at one point, without subjecting them to an extra journey of some ten miles round. When they arrived at this point, they suddenly came upon a huge panther, which had taken possession of the pass, and, like a skilful general, confident of his strong position, seemed determined to hold it. The party retreated a little, and stood at bay for a while, and consulted what should be done. OLD MYERS. 361 Various methods were attempted to decoy or frighhten the creature from Ills position, bult witlot success. IIe growled defiance whenever they calne in sig't, as much as to say, "i f you want tlis stronghold c)ome and take it!" The animal appeared to be very powerful and fierce. The trembling Indians hardly dared to come in sight of him, and all the reconnoitering had to be done by Myers. The majority were in favor of retreating as fast as possible, and taking the long journey of ten miles round for home; but Myers resolutely resisted. lie urged the chief, whose rifle was loaded, to march up to the panther, take good aim and shoot him down; promising that the rest of the party would back him up closely with their knives and tomahawks, in case of a miss-fire. But the chief refused; he knew too well the nature and power of the animal. The creature, he contended, was exceedingly hard to kill. Not one 31ot. in twenty, however well aimed, would dispatch him; and if one shot failed, it was a sure death to the shooter, for the infuriated animal would sprinll ilpon himl in an instant, and tear him to pieces. For dinilar reasons every Indian in the larty decliled to hazard a battle with the enemy in any shape. At last Myers, in a burst of anger and impatience, 16 WAY DOWN EAST. called them all a set of cowards, and snatching the loaded rifle from the hands of the chief, to the amazement of the whole party, marched deliberately towards the panther. The Indians kept at a cautious distance, to watch the result of the fearful battle. Myers walked steadily up to within about two rods of the pantler, keeping his eyes fixed upon him, while the eves of the panther flashed fire, and his heavy growl betokened at once the power and firmness of the animal. At about two rods distance, Myers levelled his rifle, took deliberate aim, and fired. The shot inflicted a heavy wound, but not a fatal one; and the fiurious animal, maddened with the pain, made but two leaps before he reached his assailant. Myers met him with the butt end of his rifle, and staggered him a little with two or three heavy blows, but the rifle broke, and the animal grappled him, apparently with his full power. The Indians at once gave Myers up for dead, and only thought of making a timely retreat for themselves. Fearful was the struggle between Myers and thle panther, but the animal had the best of it at first, for tley soon came to the ground, and Myers underneath, suffering under the joint operation of sharp'wss an0 feet.h, applied by the most powerful muscles'n fall. OLD MYERS. 36;3 ing, however, Myers, whose right hand was at liberty, llad d(rawn a long knife. As soon as they came to the ground, his right arm beingr free, lie made a desperate plunge at tlhe vitals of tlie animal, and, as his good luck would have it, reached his heart. The loud shrieks of the panther showed that it was a deathwound. lie quivered convulsively, shook his victim with a spasmodic leap and plunge, then loosened his hold, and fell powerless by his side. Myers, whose wounds were severe but not mortal, rose to his feet, bleeding, and much exhausted, but with life and strength to gLive a grand whoop, hllich conveyed the news of his victory to his trembling Indian fiiends. They now came up to him with shouting and joy, and so fill of admiration that they were almost ready to worslip him. They dressed and bound up his wounds, and were now ready to pursue their journey home without the least impediment. Before crossing tlhe river, however. Myers cut off the head of tlhe panther, which lie took home with him, and fastened it up by the side of his cabin-door, where it remained for years. a memlorial of a deed that excited thle admi ration of the Indians in all that region. F'roml that tilme forth they gave Myers that name, and alwaye called him the Panther 064 WX.Y DOWN E 9T. Time rolled on, and the Panther cealtinned to oecuIpy his lhut in the wilderness, on the banks of the Illinois river. a gelceral favorite among tlle savages, anrl eercis:;ing'.'eatt iiltlllence over thlell. At last tlle tile of' \white po),plation agail overtook h;i:, anl lie found himself once more surrounded by wliite neighbors. Still, however, lie seemed loth to forsake tle noble Illinois, on whose banks he had been so long a fixture, anl lie Ileld on, ifrlning a sort of connecting link bletweel tie wliite settlers and tlhe Indians. At lenlrtll ltostilities 1 brke out, wliicll resulted in the mnemorable Black Hawk \War, tlat sr.eadl desolation tlhroughl thlat part of tle country. Parties of Indians committed tlie most wanton and cruel deplredations, often nmurdering old friends and companiolns. with wt1homI thley had lield long conversation. Tie wliite settlers, for some distance round, flocked to tile cabin,of tlhe Panther tr protection. Iis cabin was transforrmed into a sort of garrison, and was filled by nlore tlan a ltundred m1en, women, and children, who rested almost their only 11ope of safety on tle prowvess of tlhe I'anther, and his intluence over tlhe savages. At tlis time a par'ty of about nine lthundred of tro Iroquois tribe were on the banks of the Illinois, about a mile from the garrison of Myers, and nearly oppo, OLD MYERS. ito t he present town )f La Salle. Onb day news was jrouglht to tilt calnll of Myers, that his brotler in-law and wife, and their tlhre children, lIad beer cruelly murdelred by slone of thle Indians. The Pan tlier heard the sad news in silence. The eyes of the peoplle were upon hlil, to see what 1ho wu:lld dot Presently they beheled himl with a dehll'e;ate arnd determined air, putting himself in battle array..He girded on his tomahawk and scalping-knife, ard shouldered his loaded rifle, and, at open mid-day, silently and alone, bent his steps towards the Indian encampment. With a fearless and firm tread, lho marched directly into tlhe midst of thle asselmlyl, elevated his rifle at the hlead of tlie principal chief present, and shot him dead on tile spot. lie then deliberately severed thle head from the trunk, and holding it up by the hair before the awe-struck multitude, he exclaimed, " You have murdered my brotherin-law, his wife and their little ones; and now 1 hlave murdered your chief. I am now even with you. But now mind, every one of you that is found here to-irorrTOW rncming at sunrise, is a dead Indian!" All this was accomplished without the least molesta* tion from the Indians. These people arA' accustomed WAY DOWN EAST. to regard any remarkable deed of daring as the result of some supernatural agency; and doubtless so considered the present incident. Believing their chief had fallen a victim to some unseen power, they were stlupited with terror, and looked on witllot even a thought of resistance. Myers bore off the head in triumph to his cabin, where he was welcomed by his anxious friends, almost as one returning from the dead. The next morning not an Indian was to be found anywhere in the vicinity. Their camps were deserted, and they left forever thleir ancient haunts and tlheir dead, and that part of the State was n, t molested by them afterwards. The last account we have of Old Myers, the Panther, was in 1838. The old man was eighty years of age, but his form was still erect, and his steps were firm; his eyes were not dim, nor his natural force abated. Up to that time lie had remained on the banks of his favorite Illinois. But now the old veteran pioneer grew discontented. The State was rapidly fi:ling up with inhabitants, and the forms and restraints of civilization pressed upon him. The wildness and freshness of the country were destroyed. Ilo looked abroa 1 fromn his old favorite hills, and he saw that it. every direction the march of civilization OLD MYERS. 367 thAd broken in upon the repose of the old forest, and his heart again yearned "For a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumor of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach him more." The old man talked about selling out and once more " pulling up stakes " to be off. "What?" said a neighbor, "you are not going to leave us, Father Myers, and take yourself to the woods again in your old age?" "Yes," said Myers, "I can't stand this eternal bustle of the world around me. I must be off in the woods, where it is quiet, and as soon as I can sell out my improvements, I shall make tracks." The venerable "squatter" had no fee in the land he occupied, but the improvements on it were his )wn, and it was not long before a gentleman appeared who offered a fair equivalent for these, with a right to purchase the soil. The bargain was completed, and the money counted out, and the Panther began to prepare for his departure. "Where are you going, Father Myers?" said the neighbor. 868 )W WAY DOWN EAST. "Well, I reckon," said the old Panther, "I shall go away off somewhere tc the further side of Missouri; I understand tle people haint got there yet, and there's plenty of woods there." lIe proceeded to array himself for his journey. Ile put on the same hunting-shirt which hle wore when lhe killed tle Indian chief. IIe loaded Ins rifle and girded on his tomahawk and scalping-knife; and, having filled his knapsack with such articles as he chose to carry with him, he buckled it upon his shoulders, and giving a farewell glance roind the cabin, lie sallied forth and took the western road for Missouri. When lie had reached a little eminence some rods distant, lie was observed to hesitate, and stop, and look back. Presently he returned slowly to the cabin. " Iave you forgot anything, Father Myers?" said the occupant. "I believe," said the old man, "I rimust take the head of the panther along with me, if you have no objections." "t Certainly," said the gentleman; "any personal matters you have a perfect right to." The old man took down the dried-up remains of the panther's head from the wall, where it had hunn OLD MYERS. for many years, and fastened it to his knapsack Then taking one last lingering look of the premises, he turned to the occupant, and asked if he was willing he should give his "grand yell" before he started on his journey. " Certainly, Father Myers," said the gentleman; "I wish you to exercise the utmost freedom in all personal matters before you leave." At this the old Panther gave a long, and loud, shrill whoop, that rang through the welkin, and was echoed by forest and hills for miles around. " There," said the old man, "now my blessing is on the land and on you. Your ground will always yield an abundance, and you will always prosper." Then Old Myers, the Panther, turned his face to the westward, and took up his solitary march for the distant wilderness. SIC R'WAY DOWN XAST CIAPTER XVI. SETH WOODSUM'S WIFE. As Mr. Seth Woodsum was mowing one morning in his lower haying field, and his eldest son, Obediah, a smart boy of thirteen, was opening the mown grass to the sun, Mr. Woodsum looked up towards his:house, and beheld his little daughter hIarriet, ten years of age, running towards him with her utmost speed. As she came up, he perceived she was greatly agitated; tears were running down her cheeks, anc ahe had scarcely breath enough to speak. "0, father," she faintly articulated, "mother is dreadful sick; she's on the bed, and says she shall die before you get there." Mr. Woodsum was a man of a sober, sound mind, and calm nerves; but he had, what sometimes happens in this cold and loveless world of ours, a tender attachment for his wife, which made the message of the little girl fall upon his heart like a dagger. lie dropped his scythe, and ran with great haste to the SETH WDODSUM 8 WIFE. 371 hcuse. Obediah, who was at the other end of the field, seeing this unusual movement of his father, dropped his fork, and ran with all his might, and the two entered the house almost at the same time. Mi. Woodsum hastened to the bedside, and took his wife's hand. "My dear Sally," said he, " what is the matter?" "What is the matter?" echoed Mrs. Woodsum, with a plaintive groan. "I should n't think you would need to ask what is the matter, Mr. Woodsunm. Don't you see I am dying?" "Why, no, Sally, you don't look as if you was dying. What is the matter? how do you feel?" " Oh, I shan't live till night," said Mrs. Woodsum Rith a heavy sigh; "I am going fast." Mr. Woodsum, without waiting to make further inquiries, told Obediah to run and jump on to the horse, and ride over after Doctor Fairfield, and get him to come over as quick as he can come. "Tell limn I am afraid your mother is dying. If the doctor's norse is away oAl in the pasture, ask him to take our horse mnd come right away over, while you go and catch his." Obediah, with tears in his eyes, and his heart in his mouth, flew as though he had wings added to his feet, ,72 WAY DOWN EAST. and in three minutes' time was mounted upon Old Grey, and galloping with full speed towards Doctor Fairfield's. "My dear," said Mr. Woodsum, leaning hIs head upon the pillow, "how do you feel? What makes yu think you are dying I" And lie tenderly kissed her fGlehlcad as he spoke, and pressed her hand to his bosom. " Oh, Samuel," for she generally called him by his Christian name, when under the influence of tender emotions; "Oh, Samuel, I feel dreadfully. I have pains darting through my head, and most all over me; and I feel dizzy, and can't hardly see; and my heart beats as though it would come througl llny side. And besides, 1 feel as though I was dying. I'm sure I can't live till night; andl what will become of my poor children?" And she sobbed heavily and burst into a flood of tears. Mr. Woodsum was affected. IIe could not bring himself to believe that his wife was in such immediate danger of dissolution as she seemed to apprehend. IIe thought she had no appearance of a dying person; )ut still her earnest and positive declarations, that she should not live through the day, sent a thrill th'rough his veinr and a sinking to his heart that no SETH WOODSUM' S WIFE. 373 language, has power to describe. Mr. Woodsum was as ignorant of medicine as a child; he therefore did not attempt to do anything to relieve his wife, except to try to soothe her feelings by kind and encouraging words, till the doctor arrived. The half hour which elapsed, from the time Obediah left till the doctor came, seemed to ~Mr. Woodsum almost an age. Hie repeatedly went from the bedside to the door, to look and see if the doctor was anywhere near, and as often returned to hear his wife groan, and say she was sinking fast, and could not stand it many minutes longer. At length Doctor Fairfield rode up to the door, on Mr. Woodsum's Old Grey, and with saddle-bags in hand, hastened into the house. A brief examination of the patient convinced him that it was a decided case of hypochondria, and he soon spoke encouraging words to her, and told her although she was considerably unwell, he did not doubt she would be better in a little while. "Oh, Doctor, how can you say so " said Mrs. Woodsumn; "don't you see I am dying? I can't possibly live till night; I am sinking very fast, Dctor, and I shall never see the sun rise again. My heart Bometimnes almost stops its beating now, and my feet 'WAY DOWN EAST. and hands are growing cold. But I must see my dear children once more; do let'em come in and bid me farewell." Here she was so overwhelmed with sobs and tears as to prevent her saying more. The doctor, perceiving it was in vain to talk or try to reason with her, assured her that as long as there was life there was hope, and told her he would give her some medicine that he did not doubt would help her. IIe accordingly administered the drugs usually approved by the faculty in such cases, and telling her that he would call and see her again in a day or two, he left the room. As he went out, Mr. Woodsum followed him, and desired to know, in private. his real opinion of the case. The doctor assured him he did not consider it at all alarming. It was only an ordinary case of hypochondria, and with proper treatment the patient would undoubtedly get better. "It is a case," continued the doctor, "in which the mird needs to be administered to as much as the body. Divert her attention as much as possible by cheelful objects; let her be surrounded by agreeable company; give her a light, but generous and nutritive diet; and as soon as may be, get her to take gentle exercise in the open air, by riding on horseback, or running about the fields and gathering fruits SETH WOODSUM S WIFE. 375 and flowers in company with lively and congenial companions. Follow these directions, and continue Lo administer the medicines I have ordered, and I think Mrs. Woodsun will soon enjoy good health again." Mr. Woodsum fe t much relieved after hearing the doctor's opinion and prescriptions, and bade the kind physician good morning with a tolerably cheerful countenance. Mo st assiduously did he follow the6 doctor's directions, and in a few days he had the happiness to see his beloved wife again enjoying tolerable health, and pursuing her domestic duties with cheerfulness. But alas! his sunshine of hope -.'as destined soon to be obscured again by the clouds of sorrow and disappointment. It was not long before some change in the weather, and changes in her habits of living, and neglect of proper exercise in the open air, brought on a return of AMrs. Woodsum's gloom and despondency, in all their terrific power. Again she was sighing and weeping on the bed, and again Mr. Woodsum was hastily summoned from the field, and leaving his plough in mid-furrow, ran with breathless anxiety to the house, where the same scenes were auain witnessed which we have already described 3T76'N AY DOWN E AST. Not only once or twice, but repeatedly week after week and month after month, these exhibitions were given, and followed by similar results. Each relapse seemed to be more severe than the previous one, and on each occasion Mrs. Woodsum was more positive than ever that she was on her death-bed, and that there was no longer any help for her. On one of these occasions, so strong was her impression that her dissolution was near, and so anxious did she appear to make every preparation for death, and with such solemn earnestness did she attend to certain details, preparatory to leaving her family for ever, that Mr. Woodsum almost lost the hope that usually attended him through these scenes, and felt, more than ever before, that what he had so often feared, was indeed about to become a painful and awful reality. Most tenderly did Mrs. Woodsum touch upon the subject of her separation from heo husband and children. " Our poor children-what will become of them when I am gone? And you, dear Samuel, how can I bear the thought of leaving you? I could feel reconciled to dying, if it was not for the thoughts of leaving you and the children. They will have nobody to take care of them, as a mother would, poor SETH WOODSUM S WIFE. 377 things: and then you will be so lonesome - it breaks my heart to think of it." lere, her feelings overpowered her, and she was unable to proeeed any further. Mr. Woodsun wras for some time too much affected to make any reply. At last summoning all his fortitude, and as much calmness as he could, lie told her if it was the will of Providence that she should be separated from them, he hoped her last hours would not be pained with anxious solicitude about the future welfare of the family.' It was true, the world would be a dreary place to him when she was gone; but he should keep the children with him, and with the blessing of heaven, he thought he should be able to make tlher comfortable and happy. "Well, there's one tiling, dear Samuel," said. Mrs. Woodsum, "that I feel it my duty to speak to you about.' And she pressed his hand in hers, and looked most solemnly and earnestly in his face. " You know, my dear," she continued, "how sad ana desolate a family of children always is, when deprived of a mother. They may have a kind father, and kind friends, but nobody can supply the place of a mother. I feel as if it would be your duty —and 1 could not wh in peace, if I did n't speak of it-I feel, dear WVAT DOWN EAST. Samuel, as if it would be your dulty as soon after I am gone as would appear decent, to marry some gooa and kind woman, and bring her into the family to be the mother of our poor children, and to make your home happy. Promise me that you will do this, and I think it will relieve me of some of the distress I feel at the thought of dying." This remark was, to Mr. Woodsum, rvust unexpected and most painful. It threw an anguisll inlto his lieart, such as lie had never experienced till tllct moment. It forced upon his contemplation a thought that had never before occurred to him. The idea of being bereaved of the wife of his bosom, whonm 1he had loved and cherished for fifteen years with the ardent attachment of a fond husband, had overwhelmed him with all the bitterness of woe; but the thought of transferring that attachment to another object, brought with it a double desolation. Iis associations before had all clottled his love for his wife. with a feeling of immortality. She might be removed from him to another world, but he had not felt as though tlat would dissolve the holy bond that united them. Iis love would soon follow her to those eternal realms of bliss, and rest upon her like a mantle for wer. But tlli new and startling idea of love tbor SETH WO)DSUM' WIFE. 379 another, came to him, al comes to the wicked the idea of annihilation of the soul-an idea, compared with which no degree of misery imaginable is half so terrible. A cloud of intense darkness seemed for a moment to overshadow him, his heart sank wltlin him, and his whole frame trembled with agitation. It was some minutes before lie could find power to speak. And when he did, it was only to beseech his wife, in a solemn tone, not to allude to so distressing a sulject again, a subject which he could not think of nor speak of, without suffering more than a thousand deaths. The strong mental anguish of Mr. Woodsum seemed to have the effect to divert his wife's attention from her own sufferings, and by turning her emotions into a new channel, gave her system an opportunity to rally. She gradually grew better, as she had done in like cases before, and even before night was able to sit up, and became quite cheerful. But her malady was only suspended, not cured; and again and again it returned upon her, and again and again her fiiends were summoned to witness her last sickness, and take their last farewell. And on these occasions, she had so often slightly and delicately hinted to Mr. Woodsum the propriety of his marrying a second wife, that even he could. at last 380 WAY DOWN EAST. listen to the sunggestion with a (leree of indifference whlichl lie hiao mie thlounhlt. lie could never feel. At last, the sober saddenillg days of autumn camo on. Mr. Woodsum was in the midst of' tis " f1ll work," Mwlichl had been several times interrupted by tlese periodical turns of despondency in his wife. One morning he went to his field early, for he had a heavy day's work to do, and liad engaged one of his neighbors to come witll two yoke of oxen anl a plolgh to help hiln "lbreak up " an old mowing field. Ilis neighbor could only lelp him tlat day, and he was very anxious to plolugh the whole field. ile accordingly liad left the children and nurse in the house, with strict charges to take good care of theil otllher. Mr. Woodsumn was driving thle team and his neighbor was holding tile plough, and things \zenl on to tleir mind till about ten o'clock in tlle forenoon, whenll little IIarriet caine runningl to the field, and told ler father that her mlother was " dreadful sick" and wanted him to come in as quick as lie could, for she was certainly dying now. lMr. Woodsumn, witlhut saying a word, drove his team to tie end of itho furr'ow; but he looked to l d tougtl td perpllexd. Althlough he felt persuaded that her danger wtas imaginary, a. it ha.d always proved to be before, stil. SETH WOODSEM' S WIFE. 881 tle idea of the bare possibility that this sickness might oe unto deatll, pressed upoln lhiii withl sulC power. that he laid down his goad-stick, and tellingi lhis neilghbor to let tlhe cattle'breathe awhile, walked d liberately towards tlhe house. Beor le le lad accoinplished the wlhole distance, however, l is own imagination had added such wings to his speedl that lie ifound himself moving at a quick run. lie entered the house, and found his wife as lie had so often ftund her bel.re, in ler own estimation, almost ready to breathe her last. Iler voice was faint and low, and her pillow Uwas wet with tears. She had already taken her leave cf her dear children, and waited only to excllange a few I.arting words witl her beloved husband. Mr. Woodsunl approached the bedside, and took her hand tenderly, as lie had ever been wont to do, but he could not perceive any symptoms of approaching dissolution, different from wllat lie had witnessed on a dozen former occasions. "Now, my dear," said 1Mrs. Woodsum, faint;, "tlhe time has come at last. I feel that I am on my death-bed, and lave but a short time longer to stay witll you. But I hope we shall feel resigned to the will of Ileaven. I would go cheerfully, dear, if it was not for my anxiety about you and the childrer.. 882 WAY DOWN A S T. Now, don't you think, my dear," she continued, with increasing tenderness, "don't you think it would be best for you to be married again to some kind good woman, that would be a mother to our dear little ones, and make your home pleasant for ail of you?" Sle paused, and looked earnestly in his face. " \Well, I've sometimes thought, of late, it nllnlt bo best," said Mr. Woodsun, with a very solemn air. "Then you have been thinking about it," said Mrs. Woodsum, with a slight contraction of the muscles of the face. "Whyl, yes," said Mr. Woodsum, "I have sometimes thouglht about it, since you've had spells of being so very sick. It makes me feel dreadtully to think of it, but I don't know but it migllt be nmy duty." Well, I do think it would," said Mrs. Woodsum, "if you can only get the right sort of a person. Everything depends upon that, my dear, and I hopo you will be very particular about who you get, very." "I certainly shall," said Mr. Woodsumn; "dot't give yourself any uneasiness about that, Iny dear, for 1 assure you I shall be very particular. The persn 1I slhall?prol)a )ly ltave is one of tl e kindest and best tempered w mren in the world." " But have you been thinking of any one in par BETH WOODSUM'S WI FE. 383 ielular, my dear?" said Mrs. Woodsum, with i manifest look of uneasiness. "Why, yes," said Mr. Woodsum, "there is one, that I have thought for some time past, I should probably marry, if it should be the will of Providence to take you fiom,us." " And pray, Mr. Woodsum, who can it be?" said the wife, with an expression, more of eartl than heaven, returning to her eye. " Who is it, Mr. Woodsum? You have n't named it to her, have you?" "Oh, by no means," said Mr. Woodsum; "but my dear, we had better drop the subject; it agitates you too much." "But, Mr. Woodsum, you must tell me who it is; I never could die in peace till you do." "It is a subject too painful to think about," said Mr. Woodsum, "and it don't appear to me it would be best to call names." "But I insist upon it," said Mrs. Woodsum, who had by this time raised herself up with great earnestness and was leaning on her elbow, while liel searchillr glance was readinlg every muscle in her husband's face. " Mr. WVoodsum, 1 insist lupon it!" " ell, then," said Mr. WVoodsum, with a sighl, if you insist upon it, my dear-I have thought if it 'WAY DOW'N EAST. should be the will of Providence to take you from nus to tle lhere no more, I have thought I should inarr: for lyii second w\ife, Hannah Love'joy." A. ear tthly fire once more flashed from Mrs. Woodsumn's eyes-slhe leaped from the bed like a cat; walked across the room, and seated herself in a chair.' What!" shie exclaimed, in a trembling voice almost choked with agitation-" what! marry that idle, sleepy slut of a Hlannah Lovejoy! Mr. Woodsum, that is too much for flesh and blood to bear-I can't endure that, nor I won't. Iannah Lovejoy to be the mother of my children! No, that's what she never shall. So you may go to your ploughing, Mr. Woodsum, and set your heart at rest. Susan," she continued, "make up more fire under that dinner pot." Mr. Woodsuni went to the field, and pursued his work, and when he returned at noon, he found dinner well prepared, and his wife ready to do the honors of the table. Mrs. Woodsum's health from that day continued to improve, and she was never afterward visited by the ternible affliction of hypochondria. THE EJD.