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 ONLY, and is subject to a fine of FIVE 
 CENTS a day thereafter. It was taken out 
 on the day indicated below: 
 
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THEN AND NOW; 
 
 OR 
 
 HOPE'S FIRST SCHOOL. 
 
 -♦«- 
 
 By ZILLAH RAYMOND. 
 
 ■^»-» »»- 
 
 WILMINGTON, N. C: 
 
 JACKSON * BELL, WATER-POWER PRESSES. 
 
 1883. 
 
Entered according to Congrefss, in the year 1883, by Lou. H, Frayser, In the office 
 of Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 
 
0- 
 
 TO MY 
 
 BELOVED FATHER, WHO WITH MY PRECIOUS MOTHER, 
 
 NOW RESTING FROM HER LABORS, 
 
 LAID THE FOUNDATION OF ALL THE EDUCATION WHICH I POSSESS, 
 
 AND OF ALL THE USEFULNESS WHICH I CAN EVER LAY CLAIM TO, 
 
 THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS 
 AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 ■^« ♦ •♦- 
 
 CHAPTER FIRST. 
 
 Page. 
 
 Description of Tratleville and of Hope Caldwell. The letter. 
 
 Preparation for the journey 1 
 
 CHAPTER SECOND, 
 
 Hope's previous history. Her conversation with her mother 7 
 
 CHAPTER THIRD. 
 
 The journey. "Passing Thoughts." The new home 16 
 
 CHAPTER FOURTH. 
 Hope's visit to the church. New and old friends and acquaint- . 
 ances 26 
 
 CHAPTER FIFTH. 
 
 The first day of school. Description of the school house, of pat- 
 rons, and of scholars 33 
 
 CHAPTER SIXTH. 
 
 The Sunday School. Herbert Ransom. The walk 55 
 
 CHAPTER SEVENTH. 
 
 Trials of the teacher. Hope's interest In her work 64 
 
 CHAPTER EIGHTH. 
 
 Hope's visit to the Stuarts. The ride. Rodney Gilbert. A peep 
 behind the curtain. Conversation with Rodney 69 
 
 CHAPTER NINTH. 
 
 The country church. Herbert Ransom's sermon 79 
 
 CHAPTER TENTH. 
 School and school life. An unexpected discovery. An unlooked 
 
 for caller. A plea.sant ride and chat 86 
 
 CHAPTER ELEVENTH. 
 
 Little Violet. The snow. A visitor 102 
 
 CHAPTER TWELFTH. 
 
 The Christmas dinner. Description of the guests. A pleasant 
 tete-a-tete. "Too Late." Rodney's Declaration. The parting. 112 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTEENTH. 
 
 Visitors at the school house. Hope's popularity .-... 133 
 
VI • TABIiE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER FOURTEENTH. 
 
 Mrs. Watkins' conjectures. Aruelia Montcalm. Description of 
 the "old maid's" home 140 
 
 CHAPTER FIFTEENTH. 
 
 Little Violet's illness. Scene in the sick room 153 
 
 CHAPTER SIXTEENTH. 
 
 "The school breaking." Little Violet's death. Rodney's narra- 
 tive of his past life. The storm 158 
 
 CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH. 
 
 Mrs. Leonard's visit to Mr. Watkins' home. Conversation about 
 teaching. Mrs.;;Leonard's loyalty to her husband. "My Fu- 
 ture Home." A comic courtship 176 
 
 CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH. 
 
 More visitors. Miss Rachel Tyler's opinion of people in general. 
 Hope's girl friends. A lover to be proud of. Parting visit of 
 Herbert Ransom 195 
 
 CHAPTER NINETEENTH. 
 
 Amelia's jealousy. Her conduct towards her lover. She seals her 
 own fate. Rodney's departure to the West 211 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTIETH. 
 
 Hope's visit to Wilmington on her homeward route. Her reflec- 
 tions. The return home and subsequent events. The letter. 
 Meeting of the lovers. The betrothal 215 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST. 
 
 Hope's married life. Last scene and conversation "on the bridge." 
 
 Then and Now." 222 
 
 [the end.] 
 
 nrpi 
 
p;r e f a c e . 
 
 In writing a book like this, which we now propose to place before 
 the public, the author labors under peculiar disadvantages. The time 
 and place both being j^resent, the story lacks the illusory charm of 
 distance ; yet, we trust that this lack may be more than compensated 
 by the reflection that the scenes and characters are natural and home- 
 like. In the comic, as well as in the bad character of the book, we 
 have however, strictly avoided personality. They may all be consider- 
 ered as representatives of certain classes of i^ersons rather than descrip- 
 tions of real individuals. Possibly, many teachers can recall to mem- 
 ory a Mrs. Simmons, in the person of some hard working, illiterate, 
 yet ambitious woman ; or a Miss Rachel Tyler — the true and tried 
 friend of the ophan, the useful "old maid aunt ;" or a Mr. Fogyman, 
 the stickler for past customs; or a Mr. Liggins, the coarse, common 
 raised drunkard ; or a Mr. Leonard, the representative of a large class 
 of persons who contrive to worse than bury splendid talents, and shine 
 only to mislead ; we say that many teachers can recall just such peo- 
 ple to mind. That all do not come under their observation during one 
 short session of school, or in one neighborhood, is of course conceded. 
 We have merely brought them all together in this manner, as being both 
 more convenient and more effective. In these days of Normal Schools 
 and Teacher's Institutes, and other facilities, to aid teachers jn their 
 vocation, it would be a work of supererogation, not to say i^resumptiou, 
 in us to offer any suggestion in regard to teaching. We have in our 
 story merely described a youthful, inexperienced country teacher, who 
 nevertherless, from natui'al talent for, and great perseverence in, her 
 calling, might have been considered a little above the average country 
 teacher eigJit years ago, but who would possibly be viewed in a very 
 diiferent light 7ioiu. In this manner we wish to show the improve- 
 ment that has been made in the Old North State during the last eight 
 years — the difference between her Then and her Nov^''. With this ex- 
 planation, we leave ourpittle [[volume in the hands of our readers, 
 trusting that it will receive a fair and impartial perusal. 
 
 ZILLAH RAYMOND. 
 
THEN AND NOW; 
 
 OR hope's first school. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It was toward the close of a sultry day in August. The 
 sun fell with a fierce glare, but little tempered by the 
 api^roach of evening upon the tall pines, the dusty streets 
 and wooden houses of the little village, which we shall call 
 Tradeville. We choose that name because it is peculiarly 
 appropriate, there being no busier place of its size in any 
 locality. Tradeville is in the southeastern part of North 
 Carolina, and is situated on a branch of the Cape Fear^ . 
 near the head of navigation. Its aJgiTTTs neither a beau- 
 tiful nor commanding one, being no more than a sandy 
 reach, somewhat elevated above the level of the river. Two 
 X^arallel roads divide the village. Its dwelling-houses are 
 principally ranged along these roads, some quite near and 
 others at a little distance from them. Besides these^ 
 Tradeville contains a turpentine distillery, some two or 
 three workshops, a restaurant, a boarding-house, a steam 
 saw-mill, some half dozen stores, including a bar-room, and 
 at no great distance from it is a saw and grist mill, moved 
 by water-power. The site of a church is still visible on 
 the outskirts of the little village ; its fiery fate wrapped in 
 mystery, though circumstantial evidence was so strong as 
 to induce many to believe that they almost kneio who were 
 the authors of the crime. Be that as it may, no one was 
 ever brought to punishment for it, nor was the church ever 
 
 A^jtL 
 
2 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 rebuilt in the same place. Tradeville is, therefore, destitute 
 of a house of worship, one a mile distant answering the 
 purpose. Near the site of the old one is the cemetery, its 
 white tomb-stones gleaming through the forest, marking 
 the spot where lie " the loved and lost," The reader can 
 judge from this description that this village does not 
 abound in natural beauty, yet we would not leave them to 
 infer that it is an unattractive place. There is such an air 
 of thrift about it ; the houses, the majority of which are 
 comparatively new, look so home-like and cheerful, with 
 their spacious yards, blooming Howers and evergreen 
 hedges, and there is such a constant tide of people coming 
 and^going, as to give the stranger quite a favorable opinion 
 of the place. It^ roads, or streets, whichever one prefers 
 to call them, are in dry weather extremely dusty, and carts 
 and wagons, bearing the inevitable loads of tar or turpen^ 
 tine, may be daily seen wending their slow Avay to the stores 
 near the river, their contents to be shipped thence on flats 
 or on the little steamer to the nearest port, some forty miles 
 away. The river near the landing is spanned by a bridge, 
 the centre of it forming a draw-bridge, for the convenience 
 of fiats coming from the upper part of the river. This 
 bridge is to us the sweetest spot in Tradeville. It is very 
 pleasant on the afternoon of a sultry day to stand there 
 and gaze on the dark, cool waters, skimmed by birds and 
 insects, and reflecting in their depths the azure sky, the 
 rosy clouds and moss-draped trees. One can see the little 
 boats, lying idle in sheltered coves, or gliding over the 
 water as they are rowed by skilled hands, and on the shore, 
 at a little distance off, people pursuing their various avoca- 
 tions, some weighing turpentine, others coming in or going 
 oat of town, in vehicles of various descriptions, and not a 
 few loafing around, talking politics and imbibing freely of 
 the nectar sold at the bar-room- nectar, though, scarcely 
 "fit for the gods." On the air falls the hum of machinery, 
 and at stated times the shrill whistle of the steam mill, or 
 the blow of the steamer as it nears its landing. There is a 
 
OR hope's first school. 8 
 
 subtle cliarni about running water, whether it be the dash- 
 ing mountain stream, or the more sluggish one of the low- 
 lands, and possibly Hope Caldwell felt the truth of this, 
 for she loved to stand upon this bridge and gaze dreamily- 
 down on the dark river beneath, as though fascinated by 
 its eternal flow. There it was that we first saw her eight 
 years ago, and at first sight we took so deep an interest in 
 her as tojnquire into her past history ; and since then we 
 have followed \x\) her subsequent career, and we intend to 
 give botJi to our readers. But first we will attempt to 
 describe her personal apj)earance, though any description 
 of ours will be utterly inadequate to convey a just imx)res- 
 sion of the singular and indefinable charm which at times 
 was here. Picture to yourself a slight, elegant figure, a 
 little under the medium height of women, surmounted by 
 a perfectly shaped head, covered with lustrous, silken black 
 hair — the face, so far as features are concerned, beyond 
 criticism — pearly teeth, a lovely mouth, a perfect nose and 
 chin, luminous dark eyes and silken lashes — yet, withal, 
 lacking color and plumpness — those two great additions to 
 the most exquisite face and form. Her comjjlexion was 
 generall/' destitute of the rosy tint, so beautiful in youth, 
 and she was very thin, though graceful as a fairy. Add to 
 these detractions from her loveliness, viz : thinness and 
 pallor, that her expression betokened earnest thought 
 rather than gayety or sioeetness, and the reader need not 
 be surprised that people did not usually consider Hope a 
 beauty, though we were captivated b}'- her loolcs, even 
 before we formed her acquaintance. On the August evening 
 when we first met her, she left the bridge immediately after 
 the arrival of the weekly mail, which was brought to the 
 village from the city, some twentj^^ miles distant overland, 
 by a man who drove a wretched looking horse. The j)Ost- 
 ofiice was kept in a store, and thither Hope rexDaired to 
 inquire for the mail. It took sometime for the postmaster 
 to overlook the budget taken from the leathern mail-bag, 
 but when it was all sorted out, he handed her two letters 
 
4 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 and a magazine. With these in hand, she walked rapidly 
 homeward. The house which she called home was a com- 
 mon, unpainted, rather dilapidated-looking one, with 
 nothing to please the eye nor gratify the taste in its exterior 
 appearance. Even the few flowers, which the most assidu- 
 ous care had provoked into growing on the sandy soil, 
 served rather to evoke the sigh of i^ity than to give delight 
 to the beholder. ISTor were the inner appointments of the 
 house one whit more pleasing. The old, worn furniture, 
 which, patch and darn as one might, would still look old 
 and worn—the little ornaments, wrought by female fingers 
 out of the merest trifles, the few, faded pictures, the anti- 
 quated volumes in the old-fashioned book-case, and the 
 vases, with their bouquets of wild flowers, were all true 
 indexes, both to the character and circumstances of the 
 inmates of the dwelling. All betokened refinement and 
 taste, yet at the same time suggested extreme poverty. 
 Hope's mother was sitting on the piazza sewing as our 
 heroine entered the gate. Mrs. Caldwell was a mild, 
 patient-looking lad}^, with dark ej^es and hair, whose whole 
 api)earance indicated that she had seen deep sorrow, but 
 had struggled to bear her burden uncomplainingly, and had 
 learned to be resigned to the will of the Heavenly Father. 
 Hope kissed her good evening, then sat down near her to 
 read her letters, handing her mother the magazine as she 
 did so. Her countenance passed through quite a variety 
 of changes as she i^erused the first one. It was difficult to 
 tell which expression was uppermost, whether that of 
 surprise, joy or perplexity. Yet there was nothing extra- 
 ordinary in the letter. It was simply an apjilication for 
 her services as a teacher. It was written by an old 
 acquaintance of her father, who was authorized by a com- 
 mittee to offer her a certain salary to take charge of the 
 school in their neighborhood. The sum offered was mode- 
 rate, yet to Hope, who was very poor, and who had never 
 earned five dollars in her life, the terms seemed quite 
 
OR HOPE S FIRST SCHOOL. D 
 
 liberal. After reading, she silently handed the letter to her 
 mother. The latter perused it carefully, and when she bad 
 finished it inquired: "Have you any idea of accepting 
 this offer, Hope?" "That depends upon two circum- 
 stances, mother. In the first place, I must have your free 
 consent to it ; in the next, if I leave, you will have to have 
 some trusty person to stay with you — some one wdio is 
 anxious for a home, and who will he a companion for you 
 for a small consideration. But whom can you get V The 
 second letter she read that evening contained a solution of 
 the problem. It was from Mr. Caldwell's first cousin, an 
 orphan girl, named Mary Caldwell, who was, she wrote, 
 "without a home, and wished to stay at Mrs. Caldwell's, 
 She was willing to work, but disliked the idea of hiring 
 herself out, and would gladly do as much work for less 
 wages, if saved the humiliation of being considered a 
 servant. Hope and her mother were well acquainted with 
 her, and liked her very much. "If you are willing for me 
 to leave tJiis settles the question of a comjyanion^'''' said 
 Hope. "You can eniploj^ Mary, giving her her board and 
 a small salary, and as there is so little housekeej)ing to do 
 here, she can take in sewing and make a nice living, and 
 besides, she can help me with my wardrobe before I go 
 away. It really seems providential that we heard from her 
 just now." Hope's mother, having given her consent to 
 this arrangement, the daughter wrote to Mary at once, 
 urging her to come on, and to come immediately. To Mr. 
 Watkins, the gentleman who had written to her in regard 
 to the school, she returned an answer accepting the situa 
 tion. There were no references given and none required on 
 either side, as Hope's father had been an intimate acquaint- 
 ance of Mr, Watkins, though fully ten years had elax^sed 
 since any of the family had heard from him, and how he 
 came to know much about her since her childhood, or aught 
 about her place of abode, was a matter only for conjecture. 
 Hope did not remember him, as she had never seen him 
 
6 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 since her recollection. Her injunction to Mary Caldwell 
 "to come on at once" was so literally complied with, and 
 so industriously did they all bestir themselves after she 
 came, that in ten days from the August evening when we 
 first met Hope Caldwell she was in perfect readiness to 
 leave home and take her school. No one would have 
 guessed what an amount of work it took to remodel old 
 dresses and make them look like new, to fix over old hats 
 into a fashionable shaj^e, and trim them prettily with 
 inexpensive materials, to darn up old laces and make dainty 
 ties of them, to model new collars out of the merest scraps 
 of linen, to turn antiquated white dresses into coquettish- 
 looking aprons, whose every darn was concealed by some 
 extra trimming or a bow of ribbon ; no one, we say, would 
 have guessed the amount of work expended on Hope's 
 wardrobe during the week of preparation for her trip. 
 One new dress and some new trimming for her best hat was 
 all she could afford to p>urcliase just now. For the rest, a 
 graceful form and a tasteful arrangement of what attire 
 she possessed, must supply every deficiency. Her mother 
 had a few articles of jew^elry, which had long been in her 
 family, and from which not even poverty had forced her to 
 part, and these she now, for the first time, placed in Hope's 
 temporary possession. And really, our heroine had no 
 misgivings in regard to her ap];)earance, nor to the impression 
 that she would make on strangers, as she stood before the 
 mirror, in the cheap but exquisitely lifting travelling dress 
 which she was to wear on her trip. Before she leaves, 
 liowever, we will give our readers a brief sketch of herimst 
 life, which will the better prepare them to appreciate her 
 future career. 
 
OR HOPE .S FIRST SCHOOL. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Hope CaldwelTs childhood was passed amid scenes very 
 unlike those amid which we first beheld her. Her father — 
 a prosperous merchant — spared no pains in renderin.s; his 
 home not only comfortable, but elegant, and she was 
 during her early years accustomed to every luxury. But 
 his tenderness for his only child was not allowed to inter- 
 fere with the discipline which he deemed necessary to her 
 future welfare, and the intellectual tasks which she was 
 required to perform, though not quite beyond her reach, 
 were alwa3^s sufficiently hard to render severe effort neces- 
 sary to accomplish them. Naturally studious and ambi- 
 tious, Hope scarcely deemed this a hardship, and when not 
 over fourteen years old she was first in all her classes at 
 school, bearing away prizes from those much older than 
 herself. From the Academy near her home she was sent 
 to a noted institution in another State, where- her talent 
 and industry promised her a high position among her 
 schoolmates. Unfortunately for her, before she had been 
 there many months her father failed in business and was 
 unable to continue her at school after the present session 
 was out. Indeed, his reduced circumstances did not Justify 
 him in giving her any advantages whatever. This was a 
 bitter disai)pointment to her, but she bore up bravely 
 under it. She continued her studies as best she could at 
 home, devoting herself especially to drawing, which was 
 her favoiite study, and for which she had more than ordi- 
 nary talent. But studying without a teacher was very 
 unlike the routine of the schoolroom, and Hope felt the 
 difference. She missed, too, the luxuries to which she had 
 been accustomed from infancy, and altogether her life was 
 sadly changed from what it had once been. It was about 
 two years after her father's failure in business, and while 
 
8 THE]^ AND NOTV : 
 
 slie was still struggling on in this unsatisfactory manner, 
 that Eobert St. George first became acquainted with her. 
 He was young, well-bred and handsome, and in a very 
 short time after their first introduction he began to pay her 
 marked attention, and finally addressed her. In an evil 
 hour Hope listened to his vows of unchanging affection, 
 and gave her heart to the charming stranger. In after 
 years he would have never been her choice, but now, in her 
 young girlhood, he seemed to her perfection. For a time 
 she forgot ambition, forgot poverty, forgot her studies, 
 ceased to remember everything except the blissful reflec- 
 tion that she loved Robert and was beloved by him. For 
 six months she dwelt in a fool's Paradise, she lived for her 
 lover, thought, dreamed and planned for him alone. They 
 were betrothed in the winter, but did not expect to marry 
 within a year after. At the expiration of the spring after 
 their betrothal, Hope received a letter from one of lier 
 schoolmates, announcing her intention of spending the 
 summer at Mr. Caldwell's. Had her father been in pros- 
 perous circumstances our heroine would have hailed these 
 tidings with unalloyed i^leasure. But in the present 
 straitened condition of his affairs it must be owned that 
 the whole family would have been better pleased at the 
 absence of their exi)ected guest than they were with the 
 anticipation of her coming. Still there was nothing left 
 for Hope to do except to urge her to pay the intended 
 visit. Amelia Montcalm, for that was her name, had been 
 someAvhat of a favorite with Hope at school. She was 
 beautiful, stylish and fascinating, and apjoarently a warm 
 friend of our heroine's. Her parents were wealthy, and 
 she had had many advantages. As, radiant with smiles, 
 she alighted from the vehicle in which she had come from 
 the depot, on the evening of her arrival at Mr. Caldwell's, 
 she was, indeed, a vision of rare loveliness, more beautiful 
 than ever, it seemed to her friend. Hope's parents were 
 charmed with her, and wplcomed her, with frank hospi- 
 
OR hope's first siicool. 9 
 
 tality, to their home. Much care and pains had been 
 bestowed upon their present humble residence to make it 
 as pleasant as possible during her sojourn with them. Mrs. 
 Caldwell and her daughter had worked hard to accomplish 
 this object, and Mr. Caldwell had almost exhausted his 
 slender resources in procuring little additional comforts for 
 their guest. Yet a bitter pang of disappointment struck 
 Amelia as she surveyed the home of her friend, with its 
 humble appointments. She had imagined Mr. Caldwell 
 very wealthy, and had anticipated having a gay time 
 during the summer at some grand old country mansion. 
 Great, indeed, was her chagrin at finding everything so 
 different from what she had pictured it. Hope, in her 
 frank way, told her of the change in Mr. Caldwell's 
 fortune, and Amelia's apparent sympathy with her, and 
 her show of delight at all of her surroundings, endeared 
 her more than ever to the heart of her friend. Yet, in her 
 own mind, even now, the selfish girl was planning some 
 excuse to shorten her visit. Before she could invent any 
 plausible one, however, Mr. St. George called upon Hopej 
 and x^melia was introduced to him. Her acquaintance 
 with liini put an end to her thoughts of a speedy depar- 
 ture. She rather fancied Robert's looks and manner, and 
 as she was an accomplished coquette, she thought it 
 probable that she could make a conquest of him. Slie saw 
 at a glance that he and her friend were lovers — were possi- 
 bly betrothed — but this, so far from being an obstacle in 
 her path, rather gave a zest to her little sport, for she was 
 never better pleased than when she could win a young man 
 away from another girl. She felt a little spiteful at Hoj)e 
 for finding her poorer than she had anticipated, and it 
 seemed to her but fair to avenge herself by winning the 
 affections of Robert. But this she found a more difficult 
 matter than she had at first imagined. Hope Caldwell's 
 presence, the sweetness of her manners, her splendid intel- 
 
10 THEN AND NOW 
 
 5 
 
 lect, and the childish innocence of her disposition, would 
 seem sufficient to have saved her from the mortification of 
 seeing any other woman usurj) her place in her lovers 
 aifections. Under ordinary circumstances they would, but 
 Amelia-was fascinating to the last degree. Beautiful as a 
 Peri, with a voice as sweet as a nightingale's, and pos- 
 sessed, too, in no common degree, of those bewitching ways 
 which charm the hearts of men even more than beauty, few, 
 indeed, could stay in her presence long and come away 
 free from her chains. This was more especially the case 
 with very young men. Robert St. George she found more 
 intractable than her victims generally proved. For awhile 
 he seemed steeled to all of her fascinations. But this only 
 made her more determined to enslave him. She wished to 
 have him bound, as it were, to her chariot wheels, a help- 
 less captive. When she found that ordinary means failed 
 to effect this purpose, she did not scruple to feign herself 
 desperately, hopelessly in love with him. Not in so many 
 words, of course, but by a thousand nameless evidences— 
 the tender glances, the double meaning that she gave to the 
 love songs which she sang, to the poetry which she recited, 
 to the most trifling words that she spoke, her blushes and 
 smiles — ah ! who could resist them 'I Robert did resist 
 them all for a long wliile, but at last he could withstand no 
 more. He drifted away from truth, honor and from the 
 girl whom he had once fondly loved. Innocent as Hope 
 was, she was not so destitute of discernment as not to see 
 the true state of affairs at once. When Robert became so 
 absorbed in Amelia's conversation as almost to forget Tier 
 presence, when he listened to Amelia's voice as though it 
 was an angel's, and gazed upon her face with all a lover's 
 tenderness, could Hope .be so blind as not to notice it, so 
 destitute of womanly feeling, as not to groan in the very 
 depths of her heart that she had lost the first love of her 
 life? She was neither blind nor unfeeling, but she was 
 
OR hope's first school. 11 
 
 proud to her heart's core — too proud to avert, even had it 
 been in her power to do so, the dreaded blow which was to 
 destroy the happiness of her young life. Not by word or 
 look would she seek to win her lover back to his allegiance 
 to her. She gave him his freedom unfalteringly, heeded 
 not his feeble apology for his conduct, but, shutting up her 
 grief in her own heart, endeavored to seem her natural self, 
 the more so that she felt that Amelia would triumph in any 
 exhibition of weakness on her part. Suffer as she might 
 she would suffer in secret ; the world should not be the 
 wiser for it. From that terrible summer a blight tell over 
 the life of our heroine. She had realized the falsity of 
 friend and lover; she had made "idols and found them 
 clay," and with her confidence in them had fled her trust 
 in all earthly beings, save her own dear parents. The 
 world was no longer the rosy-hued one of the past, but a 
 dreary abode, overshadowed by leaden clouds, where one 
 must of necessity live, but must live without hope or com- 
 fort. We have said that she had a talent for drawing. 
 Under some circumstances it might have proved a source 
 of profit, as well as of pleasure to her, but now it served 
 only to help banish thoughts of the past from her mind. 
 Her chief aim'/zozo was to procure oblivion of that episode 
 in her life, whose memory she hated above all others. But 
 to forget Eobert and Amelia— his fickleness and her falsity — 
 would be well worth the expenditure of much time and 
 trouble. To this end she worked harder than she had ever 
 done before, devoting every moment that she could spare 
 from her household duties to her favorite study. And 
 constant employment had the effect of deadening the pain 
 of reflection, of causing the bitter memories of the past to 
 wax fainter and fainter. By degrees she resumed some of 
 her former cheerfulness. She was not quite the same — who 
 could be under such circumstances ?— but she was neither 
 despairing nor melancholy. Yet the child-like trust of 
 
12 THEN AND NOAV ; 
 
 earh^ youth had tied. She grew cold and reserved, and 
 utterly indifferent to the society of the other sex. Ambi- 
 tion took the place of love in her heart. She planned off 
 her future as a successful artist, winning both fame and 
 fortune by her talent — wedded to her art, and indifferent 
 to all else save that and the hax^piness of her father and 
 mother. What bright air-castles she built, what gorgeous 
 dreams of the future filled all her mental vision ! A 
 practical person could easily have foreseen the end of all 
 this, could have easily told that ambition in this direction, 
 and under the disadvantages which * surrounded Hope, 
 would only end in disappointment — would only prove a 
 will-'o-the-wisp, leading her astray from the practical 
 duties of life. In future years she might realize this, in 
 afterlife might realize that her one talent had proved rather 
 a curse than a blessing to her, and she might then bitterly 
 regret the loss of much precious time that might have been 
 better spent. But not now could she feel thus. For days, 
 weeks and months she lived an ideal life, working hard, 
 yet as one in a dream. A rude shock from the real, prac- 
 tical world, recalled her to herself and to misery again. 
 Her father was taken very ill, and after one week of 
 suffering died, leaving her mother and herself to bear, not 
 onl}^ the anguish of bereavement, but the hardships of 
 poverty. A house and lot in Tradeville, the same which 
 we have already described, and a life insurance j)olicy for 
 just a sufficient sum to keep them above actual want, was 
 their all. So the years had gone by, bringing with them no 
 new misfortunes and no new pleasures. Hope saw those 
 inferior in natural endowments to herself living in comfort 
 and luxury, and sometimes she rebelled bitterly, but 
 secretly, against her lot. " Why," thought she, in anguish 
 of spirit, ''should other girls, in nowise my superiors, 
 enjoy their lives, be fortunate in all their plans, while every 
 aim of my life has been thwarted ? I believe an unlucky 
 
OR hope's first school. 13 
 
 star presides over ray destiny." Had slie been more 
 tbonglitful she would have perceived that she in part 
 governed her own destiny, as does every one. Her reserve' 
 her exclnsiveness, and the singularity of her disposition, 
 tended to repel those who might otherwise have admired 
 and loved her. But for a long time she was unconscious of 
 this. Out of her studj^ hours she took recreation by long 
 strolls, sometimes accompanied by her mother, at others by 
 a little child of one of the neighbors, and at rare intervals 
 she went visiting or to church. In her walks she studied 
 nature in all of its varied phases, and enriched her cabinet 
 and herbarium by many a gathered treasure. Of course 
 this kind of a life had the effect of rendering her entirely 
 diiferent from other young ladies. She knew less of the 
 world, less of gossip and more of the lore of the past, and 
 though not happy, she was at least free from those tumul- 
 tuous emotions which agitate the bosoms of many who 
 mingle freely in society. Still, with one so young, a life 
 like this was not likely to last. So long as she was sanguine 
 of success in the future, Hope could content herself with 
 this hermit-like seclusion ; but when, after the lapse of five 
 years from the time when she had left school, she had 
 never, in a single one of her sketches, attained to her 
 ideal of perfection, she began to lose lieart. Forms of 
 beauty flitted before her eyes, wanting but the labor of her 
 hand to embody them, yet ever did the attempt prove 
 delusive. She lacked oiDi^ortunity ; unaided talent seldom 
 accomplishes any great result ; the best of artists have 
 generally been assisted and instructed in their art. Hope 
 was no genius, but she possessed talent enough to fill her 
 whole soul with yearnings after the perfect, and to cause 
 others to admire the paintings and drawings whose deficien- 
 cies she bemoaned to herself. After working hard for 
 several hours one day on a sketch, without succeeding as 
 she wished, she threw down her pencil for the time 
 
14 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 completely discouraged. "Would to Heaven," she solilo- 
 quized, "that I had not been cursed with this fatal gift; 
 would that I had been a good seamstress, or housekeeper, 
 or had loved some XDractical duty, instead of being so 
 passionately devoted to what seems destined to allure me 
 on to wretchedness !" For a short time after this she gave 
 herself exclusively to household duties ; she cooked, milked, 
 churned and sewed, and, as she confessed to her mother, 
 she really felt better contented. She began, too, to visit a 
 little oftener, and thus learned to form a different estimate 
 of others. She found herself striving to interest and 
 please others, and was not only successful in her object, 
 but found that the eifort gave her real pleasure. People 
 were glad to have her visit them, the more so that she had 
 heretofore been a little exclusive. An occasional gleam of 
 mirth beautified her face wonderfully, and many persons 
 remarked on her loveliness who had hitherto not regarded 
 her as pretty. It was at this period of her life, when she 
 was about twenty-one years old, that she received Mr. 
 Watkins' letter. Strange to say, it had never occurred to 
 Hope that she could teach, and thus earn her own money. 
 Her time had been so absorbed in her favorite pursuit that 
 this idea had not once suggested itself to her mind. But 
 Mr. Watkins' letter was like a revelation to her. She could 
 teach and earn money, she could make herself useful, she 
 could go among different scenes and among different people; 
 she would strive to render herself just as i^leasant as 
 possible, and she would succeed. She could buy new 
 books and new furniture, she could add to' her mother's 
 comfort, and possibly in a year or two she could make 
 money enough to send herself to school one session more, 
 where she could take drawing lessons again, under a good 
 master, and as time elapsed she w^ould realize all of those 
 longings after fame and fortune which had long been hers. 
 She saw herself in the near future a successful artist, not 
 
OR hope's first school. 15 
 
 only renowned, but in i^rosperous circumstances, liappy in 
 gratified ambition and in the society of her beloved mother. 
 All of these delightful visions passed rapidly through her 
 mind after the reception of Mr. Watkins' letter. It was 
 the "open sesame " to a region of enchantment. A slender 
 foundation, it would appear to others, on which to base 
 such sanguine expectations, but it must be remembered 
 that Hope was young and a stranger to worldly wisdom. 
 She did not look on the difficulties in her path Just now ; 
 she thought only of the pleasure which even a small addi- 
 tion to her very limited means would afford her. She was 
 in such high spirits, as she reflected upon it, that her 
 mother mildly rebuked her for her gayety : 
 
 "I believe you like the idea of leaving home, Hope, and 
 of bidding me adieu." 
 
 "No, no, mother," she exclaimed, impulsively, flinging 
 her arms about her mother's neck, "but I have suffered 
 in my past life, God only knows hoto mucli^ and I am glad 
 to change it." 
 
 Mrs. Caldwell kissed her again and again. "Poor Hope," 
 she said, " I did not dream that you were so discontented. 
 I thought you comparatively hax^py in the midst of your 
 quiet enip)loyments." 
 
 " I did try to be, but Oh, mother, it was so hard to bear 
 it all resignedly." She burst into a flood of tears — the first 
 that she had shed in her mother's presence since her return- 
 from her father's funeral. 
 
 Mrs. Caldwell soothed her with gentle caresses and with 
 words of holy cheer, and she soon had the satisfaction of 
 seeing her not wildly gay, but with a contented smile 
 resting on her countenance. And during the remainder of 
 her stay at home she appeared contented and happy. 
 
16 THEN AND NOW 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It was the night before Hope's departure from home to 
 take charge of her school. Her preparations for her 
 journey were all complete, her trunk packed and a way 
 engaged to convey her to the depot early on the morrow. 
 She expected to take the train there and to proceed on her 
 journey alone. Mrs. Caldwell and Mary, who were much 
 fatigued, retired at an early hour, but Hope was too sad 
 and excited to fall asleep at once. She sat at her window 
 and looked out on the glories of the summer night, but 
 beheld them with gloom}^, discontented feelings. Never 
 had she before realized what a charm invests even the 
 humblest home. Just as she was about to leave hers it 
 suddenly became the dearest i^lace on earth to her. The 
 old, shabby furniture, the sickly flowers, the antiquated 
 volumes in the old-fashioned book- case, the faded-out 
 pictures around the room, the tabby cat, the cow that she 
 milked every night and morning, the lofty pines in sight of 
 her home — all the little mementoes of other and happier 
 daj^s— now seemed to her as so many friends, to whom she 
 Avas bidding adieu, perhaps for the last time. Yet what 
 were these to the society of that dear mother, whose tender 
 care had been hers all of her life ? For a brief while she 
 almost blamed herself for ever even thinking of SQ'p^v^img 
 from her mother. But this regret was but momentar3\ 
 Would not her mother as well as herself be benefited by 
 their brief absence from each other I Could she not secure 
 some comforts to her by the sacrifice ? And of what avail 
 would regret now be ? No ! come what might, her resolve 
 was taken, and she would not swerve from it. "No such 
 word as fail," she murmurred to herself; but even as she 
 spoke the sound of music was wafted to her ears, and sweet 
 
OE hope's first school. 17 
 
 as was the sound, it served, jnst now, to toucli a discordant 
 chord in her natnre. She knew the performers well. They 
 were a young gentleman and lady, supposed to be lovers, 
 who were playing the violin and piano in unison. The 
 thought of their happiness, though no mean envy nestled 
 in lier heart, seemed to intensify her gloomy feelings by 
 sheer force of contrast. Other girls, not more richly 
 endowed by nature than herself, were blessed, having 
 pleasant homes and some one to love and care for them, 
 while she was poor and unnoticed, having no one, save her 
 mother, to take any interest in her. She leaned her head 
 down on the casement and wept bitterly. Tears relieved 
 the burden at her heart, but she reproached herself for 
 being so foolish : 
 
 " I am getting really envious," she exclaimed to herself. 
 ''I must not give up, but endeavor to conquer such 
 feelings, or my disposition will be utterly ruined. I will 
 not give up to gloom and discontent. I will look on the 
 bright side of life, come what may." 
 
 She listened to the music until a late hour— listened with 
 rather softened feelings — yet was still far, very far, from 
 being contented with her lot. Ambition is a foe to happi- 
 ness, and in the heart of our heroine it had long reigned 
 supreme. Until it was exorcised she could never enjoy 
 lasting peace nor satisfaction. 
 
 The morning came, and she rose up from a pillow steeped 
 in tears to begin her journey. There was a sad parting 
 between her and her mother, though she crushed back her 
 tears in that mother's presence — a kindly good-bye to 
 Mar}^, a caressing touch of the hand even to the house-cat, 
 a momentary farewell glance at each familiar object of her 
 home, and Hope turned her steps from its threshold to go 
 forth into the w^orld alone. Alone ! yet not alone, for who 
 can be really alone when followed by the prayers of a pious 
 mother ? Ah ! who, indeed I She had a disagreeable ride 
 
18 Then and now ; 
 
 to tlie depot, which was about twenty miles distant. Her 
 route lay over sandy roads, crossed by black, sluggish 
 creeks, and bounded on either side by interminable forests 
 of j)ine. There were a few scattered farm-houses along the 
 ^ay ; aside from these the prospect was extremely monoto- 
 nous. Her escort — an unlettered country lad, was by no 
 means entertaining ; her reflections were rather gloomj^, 
 and it was with a feeling of intense relief that she saw the 
 railroad, and felt that this, the first part of her journey, 
 was at an end. The train was not yet in hearing ; she had 
 plenty of time to buy her ticket, and was beginning to be 
 a little impatient waiting at the depot, when the shrill 
 shriek of the locomotive was heard, and her escort got on 
 the track and signaled for the train to stop. In a minute 
 it had come to a halt, her baggage was deposited safely on 
 board, and she herself snugly ensconced in the ladies' car 
 near a window. Once fairly on her way, and speeding 
 along swiftly, farther and farther from home and mothei', 
 she felt indescribably lonely. She was going among 
 strangers, going, too, to engage in a profession for which 
 she thought she had no special turn, and one which was 
 entirely new to her. Her heart grew sick and faint at the 
 reflection. For one moment she regretted the step that she 
 had taken, on the next the proverb, "nothing venture 
 nothing have" crossed her mind, and she felt sure that she 
 had acted right in trying to better her condition, even 
 though it cost her present sacrifice. At least, she reflected, 
 it will make home seem dearer to me, and I shall be better 
 contented upon my return ; and, anxious to banish disa- 
 greeable thoughts, she began to amuse herself by looking 
 oat of the car window at the swiftly-moving panorama 
 without. But there was too much monotony in the scenes 
 for them to prove very attractive. Stretches of meadow 
 land, dotted with wild flowers and an endless succession of 
 chipped pine trees, their bodies looking white and ghastly 
 
OR hope's first school. 19 
 
 in the summer sunlight ; such were the prominent features 
 of the landscape, varied occasionally by the transient 
 glimpse of a winding stream or a Heeting view, sometimes 
 of a lowly hut, at others of a comfortable farm-house. At 
 every depot there was a crowd of loafers, both white an^ 
 colored, waiting the arrival of the train, as some relief to 
 the monotony of a thriftless existence. Weary of a pros- 
 pect which had but little interest for her, Hope took a 
 magazine from her valise and began to read. A piece 
 by an author whose nom de plume was familiar to her, 
 attracted her attention. She had read a volume of j)oetry 
 by the same person, which, though seemingly unaiDpreci- 
 ated by the public, was fancied by Jier for its singularity. 
 She had seen but one copy of the book, but retained that 
 in her own possession, won.dering why otliers could not feel 
 its charm as she did. The piece she now read was entitled : 
 "PASSING THOUGHTS; OR, THE VANITY OF LIFE." 
 
 It ran as follows : 
 
 " I have looked abroad o'er all the world, 
 
 Have thought, until my brain grew dizzy witli 
 
 Tlie toil of thinking, of the mysteries 
 
 Which encompass all our being ; the strange, 
 
 Deep problems, which pass unnoticed by 
 
 The multitude, and but serve to mock the 
 
 Few who toil in their solution. From our 
 
 Couch of rest, we in the morning rise, to 
 
 Eat and drink, and work and play, and buy and 
 
 Sell, to see the same scenes, and hear the same 
 
 Sounds we did on yesterday ; and then, we 
 
 Go to sleep again. And this dull routine 
 
 We pursue for years ; varied perchance by 
 
 Some slight change, as marriage to the single, 
 
 Or danger and distress to those who were 
 
 At ease, but with naught to lift us up above 
 
 Eartli, and our earth-born cares — our worldly joys. 
 
 ' Vanity of vanities, saith the 
 
20 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 Preacher,' and rightly hath he said, for the 
 
 World is nothinji; else. Its joys are fleeting 
 
 As a shadow ; its fruits, like those of the sad 
 
 Dead Sea, ' turning to ashes on the lips.' 
 
 By the moth are all its treasures eaten, 
 
 Or else hy rust corrupted. Its fame is 
 
 But as ' sounding brass or tinkling cymbal,' 
 
 And happiness, the gift for which we pine, 
 
 Nowhere is found, though sought for night and day. 
 
 The years go on ; merry or sad, in hcaltli 
 
 Or sickness spent, it matters not ; still, with 
 
 Unceasing flow, tlie sands of life are through 
 
 The hour-glass running, and age is stealing 
 
 Like a thief uj^on us, robbing us of 
 
 All the brightness of our early days ; the 
 
 Lightness of our step, and the magic charm 
 
 Which, though illusory, once made even 
 
 This dim, dull earth an Eden seem. 
 
 The heart grows hard and less trusting ; child-like 
 
 Confidence is lost, and squint-eyed, doubting 
 
 Suspicion takes its place. Experience 
 
 Has taught the folly of a too ready 
 
 Belief in others. The once liberal 
 
 Hand, closed by the selfish lessons of 
 
 Its teacher — worldly wisdom — grips with a 
 
 Tighter grasp the yellow gold. The man 
 
 Worships most devoutly at the shrine of 
 
 Mammon, e'en though the name of Christ he bears ; 
 
 Of Christ, the meek and lowly, who, when once 
 
 Tempted, despised the riches of the 
 
 World, and warned his followers 'gainst the 
 
 Love of Mammon. Oh ! I have learned to 
 
 Hate the world — the world, with all its falsehood ; 
 
 Its smooth tongue, and base, black heart ; its flower 
 
 Crowned cup, brimming with poisoned, but 
 
 With sparkling wine ; its heavenly smile, 
 
 Veiling hate deep as hell ; its Judas kiss. 
 
 Meant but to betray; its cringing bow to 
 
 Yellow gold ; its scorn of jioverty and 
 
 Toil ; its readiness to join all causes, 
 
 Right or wrong, so but the many follow ; 
 
 Its hunting down the weak, till life is fled ; 
 
 Its robbery under the cloak of justice ; 
 
OR HOPE S FIRST SCHOOL. 21 
 
 In short, its long, long list of bitter, deep, 
 
 And damning sins, each black us Erebus, 
 
 All proving that the heart of man is as * 
 
 Scripture hath declared, 'above all things 
 
 Deceitful, and desperately wicked.' 
 
 But more even than I hate the world have 
 
 I learned to loathe myself, so changed 
 
 Am I from the light-hearted boy that once 
 
 I was ; so worn and old before my time. 
 
 For life was not always thus with me. I 
 
 Have known the day when perpetual 
 
 Youth seemed resting on the world ; my way 
 
 Strewn with flowers impearled by morning's 
 
 Dew. The sky o'ershaded by no clouds save 
 
 Those which gave its azure a diviner 
 
 Blue. Earth smiled like Heaven, while vistas 
 
 Of interminable pleasure stretched 
 
 Away before my raptured gaze. My 
 
 Spirit was as bright and buoyant as a 
 
 Young eagle's, when first he learns his power 
 
 To soar beyond the clouds and gaze upon 
 
 The glorious sun uublenching. There was 
 
 Not one, on the broad face of the earth, for whom 
 
 My heart felt a throb of hate or touch of 
 
 Scorn. My being was too full of perfect love. 
 
 Too brimming o'er with purest happiness. 
 
 Now all is changed ; how sadly changed ! 
 
 For I have felt the bitter rod of sore, 
 
 Perchance, deserved chastisement; round my 
 
 Heart have settled the ashes of dark and 
 
 Mighty desolation ; or to approach 
 
 A little nearer truth, xonnAwhat is left 
 
 Of what was once my heart ; for the fierce fire 
 
 Of affliction, in burning up tlie dross. 
 
 Has well nigh consumed the whole of what 
 
 I deemed a large, good heart, and I seem 
 
 To myself worse, worse a thousandfold than 
 
 In the old bright days when life was one long 
 
 Dream of bliss, and I sang for joy like a 
 
 Glad, free bird, winging the air unharmed. 
 
 Now, like the same bird, wounded by huntsman's 
 
 Shot, I creep ofl^ to myself, would I could 
 
22 THEN AND NOW 
 
 5 
 
 Bay to die. So vain is life, so little 
 
 Profit is there in living under the 
 
 Sun ; in lengthening out our mortal days 
 
 To long, long years of wretchedness ; but to 
 
 See the morning star of promise fade from 
 
 Our sky, and dark (douds gather round our eve." 
 
 It was with an interest, not at all excited by any beauty 
 of style or display of talent in tlie author, that Hope 
 read the piece which we have just quoted. The writer 
 seemed to be so like lierself, and expressed in words so 
 nearly the thoughts which had often arisen in her own 
 mind, and there was, too, such an outburst of utter wretch 
 edness depicted in his description of himself, that she felt 
 a strange sympathy for him. That there was much egotism 
 in it was excusable only in the iniserahle. She could un- 
 derstand perhaps better than most others the coraposal of 
 a poem in which self figured so largely. It was like the 
 cry of one racked by physical pain and in too much agony 
 to think of aught but self and selfish needs. She found 
 herself wonderincr if the author's life had been like /^er^, 
 and if not, of what grief was gnawing like a worm at his 
 heart. She felt a vague, dreamy wish that she could in 
 some way " minister to a mind diseased," and " with some 
 sweet, oblivious antidote " charm away the pain that was 
 weighing the si^irit down to earth. While she was tliinklng 
 the train was speeding on its way, and two honrs' travel 
 brought her to the town where she was to change cars. 
 There was the usual amount of bustle and confusion at the 
 depot; friends crowding around the train to meet returning 
 friends, boys with fruits, confectioneries, or newspapers for 
 sale, porters anxious for a job, and the inevitable crowd of 
 loafers, with no business save to kill time. 
 
 Hope was but little accustomed to travelling, and it was 
 a relief to her when she found herself safe out of the crowd 
 and in the parlor of the hotel, where she had to wait for 
 
OR HOPE'S FIRST SCHOOL. 23 
 
 the arrival of the train which she was to take next. She 
 procured her ticket and amused herself as best she could 
 watching the shifting crowd on tlie street ; but felt, 
 "Ah! so alone!" Since morning it seemed to her that 
 she had drifted away from all that she had ever known or 
 cared for. Home was only a few hours travel from her, 
 yet it seemed immeasurably distant. A great gulf appeared 
 to yawn between her and all that she loved. No matter 
 what might happen, she was among strangers now^ — no one 
 knew or cared for her. The coming of the train roused her 
 from her reverie. Hastily gathering up her book and lunch 
 basket, and giving her valise and bundles to a servant to 
 carry, she hurried to the cars, and was not many minutes 
 too early. 
 
 The country through which she. now passed was a little 
 different from that which lay along her morning's route. 
 There were fewer chij)ped pine trees, more farming land ; 
 altogether itw^as a more attractive-looking section tlian that 
 over wiiich she had just travelled. It had none of the 
 grand scener}^ of a mountain region, yet it was pretty and 
 picturesque. 
 
 With a beating heart Hope thought of her meeting so 
 soon with her strange emj^loyer. Though he was an old 
 acquaintance of her father's and stood well in society, yet 
 how could she tell whether she would fancy his ways or he 
 hers \ And even if he was perfection, his family might be 
 quite different from him. Revolving these thoughts in her 
 mind, and getting every moment more and more excited, 
 she felt that she would give much if the dreaded encounter 
 was over. The train blew as a signal to stop — the con- 
 ductor assisted her dow^n the stej), where a kindly-looking, 
 blue-eyed, middle-aged gentleman stood waiting for her, 
 who introduced himself to her as Mr. Watkins, and in a 
 minute all of her fears were set at rest, so cordial and 
 friendly was the manner of her employer. Whatever the 
 
S4 THE?f AND NOW : 
 
 future miglit bring forth, Hoj)e felt assured that she would 
 never be deceived in one with such an open, honest counte- 
 nance as that of Mr, Watkins. A mountain of suspense 
 seemed lifted from her heart ; she felt almost happy. 
 
 "Wait just one moment, Miss Caldwell," said Mr. 
 Watkins. "I will have my buggy round here directly; 
 meanwhile I will introduce you to my little son Willie, 
 and he called a little, fair-skinned, bkie-eyed boy, who was 
 standing off a short distance from him, and said : 
 
 "Willie, this is your new teacher, Miss Caldwell. I 
 want you to stay herewith her until I go to the house after 
 my horse and buggy." 
 
 Willie obeyed this command so cheerfully as to render 
 himself very entertaining to Hope during Mr. Watkins' 
 brief absence. He informed her that "the house where 
 Mr. Watkins had gone was his cousin's ; that they had been 
 waiting nearly an hour for her ; that the shoes he had on 
 were all that he had ; that his brother Jamie, however, had 
 two pair; that his mother had raised one hundred and 
 fifty chickens that year, and that his father had sold thirty 
 dollars worth of watermelons ; also that their grapes were 
 ripe and he would give Jiei^ some as soon as they got home. 
 Hope, though unaccustomed to children, had a natural 
 tact for pleasing them, and the two seemed on such friendly 
 terms upon Mr. Watkins' return that he exclaimed : 
 " Well, I declare, you are fast friends already. I am glad 
 of it;" then, addressing himself to Hope, he said: 
 
 "Now, Miss Caldwell, I will just assist you in the 
 buggy and tie your trunk on behind, and then we will 
 start." 
 
 On the way he pointed out various objects of interest to 
 her. On one side of the road a little battle had been 
 fought during the late civil war, and relics of the struggle 
 might still be found. Hope admired the countr}'-. It was 
 certainl}^ more attractive looking than Tradeville, and her 
 
on KOPECS FIRST scnooL. 25 
 
 first ride through it was quite pleasant, though she was 
 wondering all the time what kind of a woman Mrs. Watkins 
 would prove to be, and whether she would like Tier as well 
 as she did her husband and child. She pictured to herself 
 a staid, matronly lady of forty or thereabouts, possibly 
 pleasant, but not her companion in point of age or feeling. 
 When they reached Mr. Watkins' place, which, though 
 small, was pleasant looking, and which had a lovely flower- 
 garden in front of the house, a girlish-looking, blue-eyed 
 little woman was standing at the gate waiting for them, and 
 before Hope could decide whether she was the cMld or 
 10} fe of Mr. Watkins, she was introduced to her by that 
 gentleman as Mrs. Watkins. With a winning smile the 
 
 » 
 
 lady bade her welcome, invited her in the house, and con- 
 trived in so short a time to make our heroine feel entirely 
 at home, that she lost all thought of the shortness of their 
 acquaintance, and chatted away so merrily as almost to 
 surprise herself. The two children whom Hope had not 
 yet seen soon entered the room. The eldest was a manly 
 little fellow, some ten years old, who had had the misfor- 
 tune to lose his left eye ; the youngest a fair-skinned, blue- 
 eyed, golden-haired darling— a cherub seldom seen out of 
 a picture. Hope fell in love with her at once. 
 
 At supper she was introduced to the last member of this 
 pleasant family circle. He was an employe of Mr. W^at- 
 kins— a young man who clerked for him— a brown-eyed, 
 curly-haired youth, some eighteen years old, whom Hope 
 thought rather handsome and pleasant in manner. 
 
 She spent an agreeable evening with her new friends, and 
 when, after the regular family worshixi was over, she was 
 shown to her room, she could not possibly realize that she 
 had just known them for a few short hours. Though much 
 fatigued, she did not at once fall asleep. The past day 
 seemed so strange to her, the morning so far removed from 
 the night, the various incidents of the day so mingled in 
 
36 THE^ ANt) NOW ' 
 
 lier mind, that it required an effort on her part to believe 
 that it was all real, and not a creation of her own imagi- 
 nation. When at last she sank to sleep, the events of the 
 last twenty-four honrs haunted her dreams, and Mr. and 
 Mrs. Watldns and the little clerk were strangely con- 
 founded with the author of "Passing Thoughts,'' whom 
 she fancied in dreamland, she had met in one of her new 
 friends — she could not tell icliich. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 When Hope awoke the morning after her arrival at her 
 new home, it was with an undefined impression of some 
 cliange having come over her life, but loliat she could not 
 at first imagine. It was not until she glanced around the 
 apartment and surveyed the different articles of furniture 
 in the room that she recalled to mind where she was and 
 the occurrences of yesterday. She lay in bed awhile, 
 thinking over her trip and wondering what the future might 
 have in store for her, but still with no great anxiety con- 
 nected with her musings. She had a restful feeling of 
 being at home and among friends, which before leaving her 
 mother's roof, she did not believe possible for lier to expe- 
 rience among strangers. After she arose, made a careful 
 toilet and straightened up her apartment, as was her habit, 
 she walked out in the flower garden, w^iere some flowers 
 were still in bloom. Her exercise in the open air gave her 
 an appetite for the nice breakfast smoking on the table, 
 which she enjoyed, along with the lively chat around the 
 social board. Mr. and Mrs. Watkins seemed to vie with 
 each other as to which should make the wittiest and 
 
OR hope's first school. 27 
 
 merriest speeches, and their mirth was contagious. Hoi)e 
 found herself laughing gayly, and wondered at the change 
 which had come over her feelings. She soon ascertained 
 that the school would not begin for a week yet, and that 
 she would have i)lenty of time for rest and also to make 
 new acquaintances before entering upon her duties as a 
 teacher. The school-house was to have some rejiairs made 
 to it ere it could be occupied, and it would probablj^ take 
 a week to complete them. All this was told her at the 
 breakfast table. Hope did not regret it, but she had a- 
 great desire to see her school and scholars. 
 
 The week passed away very quietly. The neighbors, 
 though living near, seemed in no haste to call on her, and 
 Mrs. Watkins was busy with her domestic duties much of 
 the time, and had to be out of the room, and so Ho^De was 
 thrown upon her own resources for entertainment. She 
 was at no loss, however. She wrote to her mother ; did 
 fancy work ; arranged and re-arranged her apartment ; 
 read such books as she had brought with her, and con- 
 trived not to get home-sick nor low-spirited, though a ijart 
 of tlie time did not liy by on fairy wing. At meal times 
 they were merry and social enough, and at night after 
 supper the family, together with Hoi)e, would sit out on 
 the piazza in the moonlight and chat and sing until bed- 
 time. The little clerk, whose name was Robert King, was 
 friendly but bashful, and as Hope did not suit a bashful 
 boy very well, it seemed destined that they should be a 
 little distant to each other for some time to come. In the 
 future they might be familiar friends, but it was not her 
 disposition to make the advance toward any nearer ac- 
 quaintanceship with anyone. On the Sabbath Hope went 
 to preaching in the little town about four miles distant 
 from them. The ride thither was very pleasant. The 
 sultry, summer weather had given place to the more agree- 
 able temperature of the early Autumn ; the leaves were 
 
28 . THEN AND NOW 
 
 5 
 
 changing their green color to gorgeous hues of crimson, 
 l)urple and gold, and the deep blue sky seemed to bend 
 lovingly over the richly attired earth. The streams sparkled 
 like silver in the sunlight ; gentle breezes stirred the tree 
 tops ; splendid wild flowers were visible on every side ; an 
 atmosphere of blessedness seemed to pervade everything. 
 Hope could not withstand the sweet influences of the morn- 
 ing. She possessed a nature that was exquisitely suscep- 
 tible to every touch of joy, and she loas passionately fond 
 of beauty, and just now a strange peace and satisfaction 
 filled her whole being ; she was for the time happy. Who, 
 after all, is not blessed, when in the enjoyment of perfect 
 health, of the fresh air and gentle sunshine ? Yet in the 
 toil after wealth or fame, amid the petty cares and struggles 
 of life, how forgetful are we of those glorious gifts which 
 are among the richest of those bestowed upon man by a 
 bountiful Creator. 
 
 A new pleasure was in store for Hop3 when she arrived 
 at the church. The preacher upon this occasion was a 
 gentleman who used to be pastor of the church of which 
 her father was a member, and was one whose voice she had 
 often heard in prayer around the fireside at her father's 
 house. Memories, sad but sweet, were stirred by this un- 
 expected glimpse of one who was so intimately associated 
 with the recollections of her childhood and early youth. 
 His sermon was an able one, but she scarcely hearkened to 
 it. Unconsciously to herself, she was drifting back to the 
 past years of her life ; to the happy time when Fortune 
 smiled upon them ; when her father was yet with them ; 
 when hope was high within her heart, and when she fore- 
 saw ?io cloud in the bright sky of her future. 8he half 
 forgot for a moment the terrible, crushing realities which 
 had taken the place of all the glorious things which a too 
 sanguine imagination had prophesied. Just as she had 
 foreseen the future, so now did she looJi hacJc upon the past 
 
OR hope's first school. . 29 
 
 throngli the delusioe glass of fancy. For, as briglit as it 
 was, compared igUJl her present life, its Howers were not so 
 thornless, nor its patlis so smooth, as she now imagined 
 them to have been. 
 
 After services were over she waited with Mr. and Mrs. 
 Watkins until Mr. Long, for that was the preacher's name, 
 made his way slowly down the aisle to the pew where they 
 sat. She enjoyed his start of surprise and the expression 
 of gladness which passed over his face as, after a mo- 
 mentary gaze he recognized her. 
 
 "My dear Miss Hope !" he exclaimed, " I did not dream 
 of seeing you here to-da3^ I did not observe you while 
 speaking. What fortunate wind has wafted you thither?" 
 
 "I came as a teaclier in Mr. Watkins' neighborhood," 
 she replied. 
 
 " A teacher ! well, I am really surprised. The last time 
 1 saw you, you were a school-girl ; but that has been several 
 years ago. Time flies so rapidly that we do not realize the 
 swiftness of his flight until we witness the changes he has 
 wrought. Well, since we are so near together I hope to 
 see you often. My wife will be charmed to meet with you 
 and will visit you as soon as she can ; but you must not 
 wait for lier, if you have an opportunity of calling on us, 
 for she has a crowd of little ones to look after and has 
 very little time for visiting. I trust that 3'our school may 
 prosper, and that you may like the profession, for I sup- 
 pose it is new to you." 
 
 " Yes, sir, this is my first attempt at teaching." 
 
 " Really ; then you will have more difficulties to contend 
 with than fall to the lot of an experienced teacher. But 
 you need not be discouraged. There are tico sources of 
 strength upon which we can rely with unwavering confi- 
 dence in hours of trials. These are : God and a strong 
 wllir 
 
 These last words haunted Hoi^e ui)on her homeward 
 
80 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 route. She did not lack for determination, but her own 
 heart bore witness to the truth that she did not often go to 
 the Lord for help in her troubles. 
 
 The Sabbath evening brought several visitors to Mr. 
 Watkins', and though at heart Hope did not approve of 
 visiting on the Lord's day, yet she felt less lonely in the 
 presence of visitors. Robert King, whose bashfulness was 
 beginning to wear away, was quite chatty and agreeable ; 
 her girl visitors, whose names were respectively Mary and 
 Hattie Stuart, were verj^ pretty and pleasant, and the two 
 young men who were with them were w^ell bred and rather 
 intelligent. The one who bore the name of Daniel Young 
 was more than ordinarily handsome, and though over 
 thirty years old, did not look a year over twenty-five. 
 The other young man w^as not so handsome, yet our 
 heroine liked him better. There was such an expression of 
 honesty and candor in the clear, blue eyes of Nathan 
 Alison, such a manly look about his face and figure, that 
 one was involuntarily impressed with a firm belief that he 
 was all that his face bespoke for him. 
 
 The conversation that evening turned on a variety of 
 topics. Hope's trip; the difference in the appearance of 
 the country around her i^resent home and that in which 
 Tradeville was situated ; the sermon of the morning ; the 
 beauties of Nature ; the loveliness of the autumnal daj^ 
 were subjects which were all discussed in turn. Then her 
 visitors expressed a wish that Hope would not get home- 
 sick, and advised her to enjoy herself as much as x)ossible 
 at eVery opportunity. 
 
 "You will find this quite a sociable neighborhood. Miss 
 Caldwell," said Hattie Stuart. "There are a plenty of 
 young people around here, and we have j)ic-nics and 
 fishing parties, private theatricals and amateur concerts 
 quite often, and really, though it is a country neighbor- 
 hood, the time passes away quite swiftly. I do hope you 
 may have a good time when you are here." 
 
OR HOPE'S FIRST SCHOOL. 3l 
 
 Hope, tlioiigh generally rather reserved, was too kind- 
 hearted herself, and too grateful for kindness in others, to 
 withstand the interest which her new friends seemed to 
 take in her. She thanked them for their good wishes, and 
 said that "she did not doubt but that she would enjoy her- 
 self if all the people of the neighborhood were as pleasant 
 as those she had already met." 
 
 "You are a young-looking teacher. Miss Caldwell," 
 remarked Mary Stuart ; "1 presume this is your first expe- 
 rience in that line of business, is it not?" 
 
 "^es," answered Hope, "and you cannot imagine how 
 I dread the first day of school. If that were over, I do 
 riot think I should mind the rest." 
 
 " Yes, I can imagine your feelings," said Hattie Stuart, 
 laughing. "Believe me, I would not be a teacher for all 
 the world contains. I would sooner hoe corn and collards 
 for a living. I can remember too well how we girls used to 
 contrive plans to provoke our teachers, and alas ! too often 
 our efforts in that direction proved a brilliant success. I 
 would shudder at the bare thought ol: having my patience 
 so tried." 
 
 "Yes," said Hope, thoughtfully, "I believe myself it 
 requires patience to succeed in teaching ; but does it not 
 to succeed in ezerythlng else of importance f 
 
 "I suppose so," replied the girl, "but 1 never stick at 
 anything long enough to get tired of it." 
 
 "I think we have the same motto, Miss Hattie," said 
 Daniel Young. "Let us eat, drink and be meny, and 
 leave others to toil as much as they see lit." 
 
 '•That may do,''' said Hope, "for those who can afford 
 it, but some are bound to work in order that otliers may 
 enjoy ease P It was as much as to say, " the honey bees 
 must work for the drones." 
 
 Hattie Stuart laughed, as she did at nearly everijihing 
 that was said, but Daniel Young winced a little at Hope's 
 
^2 THEN AND NOW 
 
 speech, as unintentional as was any personal hit or allusion 
 on her part. She was merely looking at the world in a 
 practical point of view— at the toiling masses wearing out 
 soul and body for the ease-loving few to enjoy the fruits of 
 other s labor and hardship. 
 
 Nathan Alison, sturdy young farmer that he was, took 
 Hope's side of the question : 
 
 '' You are right, Miss Caldwell," he said, some are com- 
 pelled to work and endure privation that others may enjo}^ 
 themselves, and yet I think that those who are employed 
 are the happier. The rust of idleness is worse than the 
 wear of toil." 
 
 Conversation on this subject soon flagged, however, and 
 turned on other themes, and after spending quite a pleasant 
 evening, the visitors took their departure, with promises of 
 calling again soon, and with many solicitations to Hope to 
 visit them. 
 
 " I will send brother after you any time you will promise 
 to come," said Hattie. "Come some Saturday or Friday 
 evening and stay till Monday morning, and we will have a 
 nice time. I am very anxious for father and mother, to 
 see you." 
 
 " Thank 3^ou," replied Hope, "I should be most happy 
 to see them, and certainl}^ intend visiting you if I possibly 
 can." Then they made their adieus, and the new 
 acquaintances separated mutually pleased with each other. 
 When they had left and Mr. Watkins and his wife had 
 gone ofl" to their respective employments, Hoj;)e was alone 
 and in deep thought. She reviewed all the events of the 
 j)ast day— her unexpected meeting with her father s old 
 pastor, her acquaintanceship with her newly-found friends, 
 all of the pleasures of this pleasant Sabbath, and she felt 
 thankful for the mercies of the day, and caught herself 
 building up air-castles for the future. All of the agreeable 
 occurrences of the daj^ seemed like a resurrection of a small 
 
OE hope's first school. 33 
 
 part of that liai)piness wliicli she had firmly believed laid 
 in the grave forever, and encouraged her to hope that in 
 the far future there might still be some joy in store for her. 
 What if, after all, every fond dream of the past might be 
 realized, all at least of her anticipations in regard to wealth 
 awdi fame. As for love, she felt assured that never for 
 tliat could there be a resurrection in her heart. Its very 
 ashes had grown too cold for the breath of mortal ever to 
 kindle that sacred flame again. But if wealth, fame, friends 
 were hers she would be perfectly contented. So, at least, 
 she thought .^ and the September sun sank below the horizon, 
 and "twilight grey had in its sober livery all things clad," 
 ere she ceased indulging in the delightful employment of 
 castle-building and rejoined the family at supper. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "Well, Miss Hope," said Mr. Watkins, on the Monday 
 morning when her school was to begin, "I trust you may 
 get on with your scholars without difficulty, but I forewarn 
 you that you may expect many trials and vexations as a 
 teacher, not only from the stubbornness and idleness of 
 scholars, but also from the interference of ignorant or mis- 
 taken parents. I have taught school myself, and know 
 whereof I speak. There is one little child who I expect 
 will be a pupil of yours, with whom I fear you will have 
 considerable trouble. His parents are extremely illiterate 
 people, and belong to the very lowest class, and he has had 
 no training except in evil, and bears the name of being a 
 very bad boy. His father likes me, however, and I hated 
 to see his boy grow up without the slightest chance for an 
 education, and so persuaded him to send Johnnie to school, 
 
34 THEN AND NOW ' 
 
 but I have, on your account^ almost regretted it since, for 
 I fear it will scarcely be good treatment to you to inflict 
 such a nuisance on you." 
 
 " Never mind,'' said Hope, cheerily, " we will first see if 
 nothing can he done to improve him ere giving him up as a 
 reprobate." 
 
 Why was it that from that moment the young teacher 
 determined that if in human power to compass it, Johnnie 
 should prove an honor instead of a disgrace to her school ? 
 It was partly from ambition — from a wish to prove herself 
 equal to the severest task of a teacher ; but it w\as fully as 
 much from a yearning symx^athy for the little offcast, a 
 disposition akin to that of the angels w^hen they rejoice 
 over "one sinner that repenteth more than over ninety and 
 nine just persons who need no repentance. 
 
 Hope never forgot the events of that Monday morning. 
 The school house was about three-quarters of a mile from 
 Mr. Watkins, and her walk thither was delighful. The 
 roads were dry and hard, the weather pleasant, the view 
 along her path, if not picturesque, was at least rural and 
 pretty, and she herself was in good spirits. James and 
 Willie were chatting gaily together, wuth little Johnnie 
 Irving, the little boy of whom Mr. W^atkins had told her, 
 and the three gathered bunches of wild flowers and brought 
 them to her. The walk seemed so short that she was sur- 
 prised when she heard the children exclaim in unison, 
 "Yonder's the school house!" She glanced toward the 
 spot they designated, and there, half-concealed by the 
 large trees in front of it, was the scene of her future trials 
 for the next few months. A tolerably large frame house, 
 with a brick chimney, heavy wooden shutters to the glass 
 windows, and a narrow piazza in front — a house wdiose 
 appearance a coat of paint would certainly have improved 
 very much— such was Hope's school house. There was 
 nothing in its outw^ard asi^ect to absolutely repel one, but 
 
OR hope's first school. 35 
 
 there was equally as little to attract. The interior corres- 
 ponded most charmingly with its outward looks. Walls 
 which had once been white, smoked almost to blackness by 
 a too free use of lightwood in the wide, yawning fire-place, 
 and ornamented by the hieroglyphics of incipient pensmen, 
 heavy, clumsy desks, so awkwardly constructed as more to 
 resemble a contrivance for punishment than a comfortable 
 seat for the "human form divine," a scratched and shabby- 
 looking blackboard, and a platform constructed for the use 
 of embryo orators, "the future Wirts and Henrj^s of the 
 commonwealth;" such was the interior of this ijlace for 
 instruction. Whatever a child might learn here would 
 certainly be from hard study, not from the attractivenes of 
 his surroundings. Only the bare necessities of a scholar's 
 life and hardly that ; no brightness nor beauty to allure the 
 little feet up the steep hill of knowledge. Yet as much as 
 it lacked of what a school-room ought to be, of what it 
 might be, with a very little extra expense, this building was 
 very far superior to the average school-house in the country. 
 
 " You will not lack for light, Miss Caldw^ell," remarked 
 one of her patrons, pointing to the narrow windows, with 
 their diminutive panes of glass, nor for fire either." 
 
 He did not add that the chimney smoked so as at times 
 to have both teachers and scholars in tears. 
 
 " Children is so pampered up now-a-days," said old Mr. 
 Fogy man to her ; '' why, when /went ter school there was 
 jest one long table for all to write at, and not a bench with 
 a back to it in the school-house. I sometimes tells my 
 children I don't know what they'scomin' to." 
 
 A majority of Hope's patrons were, however, liberal- 
 thinking, as well as kind-hearted i^eople, who, if they 
 might err in small matters, were too generous and hospi- 
 table for one to find much fault with them. Mr. Watkins, 
 in particular, seemed disx)osed to do all in his power for 
 her, and strove to render her lot as easy and ^^leasant as 
 
36 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 jjossible. She suf^gested a few additions to the schoo^ 
 furniture, which he i^romised to see to for her. Tliere were 
 some thirty scholars in and around the house, besides some 
 of the patrons of the school. Among the latter w^as a 
 middle-aged woman, whose sallow skin, coarse gray hair, 
 ugly features and awkward figure would have rendered her 
 an extremely unattractive person, even in the most elegant 
 attire, but when her natural homeliness was still farther set 
 off by a blue homespun dress, with plain and not over- wide 
 skirt, a broad old-fashioned linen collar, worked in large 
 scallops and fastened by a huge antiquated breast-pin, a 
 long brown calico apron, hair arranged in a knot about as 
 big as a fifty cent piece, and immense circular ear-rings in 
 her ears, she reminded Hope very much of a comic valen- 
 tine. Before the latter had more than hung up her hat and 
 taken her seat, this lady came down one of the aisles with 
 her boys on either side of her. These boys were white- 
 haired, with complexion resembling the color of dirtj^ 
 tallow, and i^ale, dull-looking blue eyes, looking straight 
 at Hope. They were dressed in a style resembling that of 
 their mother, as near as the difference of sex permitted. 
 Blue checked shirts and a suit of brown homespun, with 
 stout shoes and socks knit at home ; such was their attire, 
 yet they looked quite neat. Their mother stopped before 
 Hope, and with a courtesy which would have done honor to 
 some lady of a century back said : 
 
 "This is Miss Caldwell, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," said Hope, scarcely knowing whether to 
 be amused, vexed or afraid, "that is my name." 
 
 "And mine," the lady returned, "is Simmons— the 
 widder Simmons. I work hard for a livin', I does, and 
 these here are my two sons. My husband was a kind of 
 politicianer, and so, sez he, when my oldest son was named, 
 he shall be called George Washington. That's him," 
 designating the tallest boy, "and the youngest is named 
 
OR hope's first school. 37 
 
 Thomas Jefferson. Who knows, sez he, but that they both 
 may be Presidents some day, for this country is free, sez he, 
 and the x)oor man's child can rise as well as the rich man's. 
 Well, I've tried to do my best since he died, but I can't 
 manage to send them to school but four or five months in 
 the year generally, and we don't get much of the free 
 money here. But I expect to send them this whole session, 
 and what I come to tell you is this : My two boys is very 
 ditterent in their turns. George Washington is very differ- 
 ent in his disposition from Thomas Jefferson. You see 
 I'm their mother, and I understand them. But you can't 
 drive 'na one of them. They both must be coaxed, they 
 must be dealt kindly with, and I wants you to treat them 
 jest as good as if they was the richest boys in the land. 
 But George — lis has a turn for 'rethmetic and he's kinder 
 mischievous, which I don't want you to ptay no 'tention to, 
 'cause it's his disposition, and he don't mean no harm by 
 it, but Tommie is as good a boy as the sun ever shined on, 
 only he don't love books much, which I thinks sensable, 
 sence he hain't been to school much. But I'll try them 
 both awhile, and ef tliey don't get along I'll take them 
 away ; so I'll jest let you know aforehand. Their books 
 is jest such as I had. George's spelling-book was mine 
 when I went ter school, and I hope you won't let the 
 children tear it on tltat account ; and Tommie' s used to be 
 my dear old man's, which I prize jest as much. And 
 when any of the other children mistreats mine I jest ho2)e 
 you will thrash them well." 
 
 It was well for Hope that this scene presented itself to 
 her in so ludicrous a light -touched her sense of the ridicu 
 lous so keenly as to overpower the very natural indignation 
 which she felt at being dictated to by such a person, and 
 that, too, at the very beginning of her school. But view- 
 ing it in this light it was with great difficulty she could 
 prevent herself from giving vent to her feelings by laughing 
 
38 THEN" AND NOW 
 
 outright — the more particularly that she chanced to catch 
 Mr. Watkins' eye about this time and noticed its mis- 
 chievous twinkle. Then, too, her feelings of sympatJiy 
 were aroused in behalf of a poor, lone, hard-working 
 widow, who, in her ignorance and excess of maternal love, 
 had come to let it be known that she meant to have justice 
 done her chiklren. Thinking over the matter thus, Hope 
 lost all thought of anger, and replied to Mrs. Simmons in 
 quite a dignified manner, assuring her that she would cer- 
 tainly do right by the children, and that if there was any 
 fault to find it wcnild be decidedly the best to take them 
 home. The old ladj'^ was so awed by Hope's manner that 
 she said not another word to her, except to " wisli her w^ell" 
 upon her departure. The rest of the patrons who were 
 present, after being introduced to Hope by Mr. Watkins, 
 spoke a few encouraging words to her in regard to the new 
 life she was about to begin, assured her of their interest in 
 the well-being of her school, and their readiness to assist 
 her in any way possible. Hope thanked them for their 
 good wishes, and to their offers of assistance suggested that 
 a "load or two of wood be hauled to the school-house and 
 a plentiful suj^ply of chalk or craj^ons be provided for the 
 children's exercises on the blackboard." These requests 
 they promised should be complied with, and took their 
 departure, leaving the pupils W'Ondering why their teacher 
 should want wood put in place so early in the season. 
 Hoj)e's scholars ranged from seven to eighteen years, and 
 were about as varied a collection as one generally sees at a 
 country school. They were as diverse from each other, and 
 raised under as different influences as though Christendom 
 and Paganism had set the bounds between them. Here 
 were two little children who were interesting in appearance 
 and gifted with more than ordinar}^ intelligence, whose 
 father was a gambler and the keeper of a common bar- 
 room, while their mother w\as intelligent and more than 
 
OE hope's first school. 39 
 
 ordinarily refined. The two oldest girls in school were 
 sisters, one eighteen, the other sixteen years old. They 
 were well formed, good looking girls, but bore unmis- 
 takable marks of having been roughly raised. Their 
 names were Helen and Mary Hartwell. Both were deplo- 
 rably ignorant, they being barely able to read and write a 
 little, and not even knowing the mn]tij)lication table per- 
 fectly. There were three other sisters, who seemed so kind- 
 hearted and affectionate, and withal so pleased with their new 
 teacher, that Hope felt an affection spring up in her heart 
 for them. Then there was a little girl and boy who inter- 
 ested her — the boy from his active ways and intelligent 
 look — the girl from her dark, gips3'isli beauty and modest 
 appearance. They bore the names of Leola Wilkins and 
 Roy Wilkins. A blue-eyed, light-haired, intelligent girl 
 named Ida Hunter, a boy of seventeen, with an honest, 
 pleasant face, wdio walked on crutches, called David 
 Wheeler, a handsome, hazel-eyed little fellow by the name 
 of Harry Ambler, two awkward, red-haired, freckled-faced 
 boys, who rejoiced under the musical cognomens of Sam 
 and Joe Siggins, and a sweet-faced, brown-eyed girl called 
 Katie Powers. Such were a few of the most conspicuous 
 of Hope's scholars, the list terminating with three who 
 were more noticeable for the extreme length of their respec- 
 tive names than for any distinguishing characteristic they 
 possessed. They were called respectiveh^ Euphemia Ann, 
 Octavia Jane and xldolphus Henry Tyler. W^hen told 
 their names Hope wondered to herself why x^eople would 
 impose such burdensome names on poor, helpless children. 
 Of course she had to call her pupils to order before blessed 
 with a knowledge of their names. She then wrote down 
 the name of eacli in her school register, and asked each one 
 some general questions, with a view of ascertaining ti;e 
 advancement of the individual members of her school 
 before endeavoring to classify them. But in tr3ing to 
 
40 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 arrange tliem in classes slie was completely foiled. There 
 were not a dozen text books alike in the school. In spell- 
 ing, Webster' s speller — ' ' the blue- backed spelling book, ' ' as 
 the children called it. took the lead, yet there were other 
 spellers used by the pupils. The readers, it seemed to her, 
 were by every author who had written since the Revolu- 
 tion ; geography hj Smith, Mitchell, Cornell, Monteitli 
 and others ; grammar by as many different authors, ditto 
 arithmetic, liistories and definers ; copy-books were of vari- 
 ous kinds ; some consisted of a few sheets of i^aper, pur- 
 chased at the nearest store and carelessly sewed together. 
 These were intended for copies to be " set" by the teacher. 
 Some were similarly made, but had copies already "set" 
 by previous teachers or by some friend who prided him or 
 herself on writing a prettj^ hand, while some, as their 
 owners proudly announced, upon handing them to her, 
 "were new boughten ones, with copy plate." Hope was at 
 her wits end. She had not expected to do much beside 
 organize her school the first day, but how was she to do 
 this under existing circumstances ? She could not classify 
 her scholars properly, and to hear them all separately 
 would not only be a great deal of useless trouble, but 
 would also occasion a great loss of time. So she wrote 
 down the names of the books slie wanted on little strips of 
 paper, giving each scholar wlio needed books his respective 
 slip to hand to his parents at night, with the further 
 injunction to tell his father or mother, as the case might 
 be, "that she wanted the books just as soon as possible." 
 Then she assigned each scholar his or her respective desks, 
 gave each of the girls certain weeks to sweep the school- 
 room, appointing assistants, in case of absence or sickness, 
 to take their place. For the boys she arranged the weeks 
 for their bringing up water from the spring and bringing 
 in wood in a similar manner. She also laid down certain 
 general rules for the pupils to be governed by. These were 
 
OR hope's first school. 41 
 
 few in number, and she determined that they should be 
 fully carried out. 
 
 " There is one thing that I shall require of you all," she 
 said, "and that is punctuality. When the bell is rung for 
 you to come in school I wish you to come at once. Let 
 there be no tarrying on the way. 1 shall endeavor to be 
 promptly here at my school hour, and shall expect you to 
 do likewise." 
 
 When Hope had, completed all her arrangements she 
 found by consulting her watch, which, luckily for her now, 
 not even bitter jDoverty had induced her to sell, that it was 
 twelve o'clock, the time for her noontide rest of one hour. 
 During this recess she amused herself by watching the 
 children at their sports, and strove, as far as possible, to 
 learn something of the disposition of each while they were 
 comparatively free from the restraints of the school-room. 
 How easy a matter it is at such times to detect the germs 
 of character, which will, if let alone, be fully developed 
 in manhood or womanhood ! But while their teacher was 
 studying the children, they were studying her, and the 
 remarks they made to each other when out of her hearing 
 concerning her would have provoked a smile on her coun- 
 tenance had she heard them. 
 
 "She's too fine ladyfied to suit me," said Helen Hart- 
 well. I noticed her how she opened her eyes when I sj)elled 
 scissors wrong this morning, jest as if I had done nothing 
 but spell all my life. I wish I could see her hoe out a row 
 of corn, I do. I guess she'd lind out how I can do some 
 things better than she." 
 
 "Hush!" said her sister, who was milder-looking and 
 also more prudent than Helen, "you must not talk so. I 
 think Miss Caldwell is very nice looking." 
 
 "Nice looking ! I guess so, when she has nothing to do 
 but put on her clothes in the morning and wear kid gloves 
 to keep her hands white.* I reckon I would be nice looking 
 
42 TSEIT AND KoV ; 
 
 too if I had a plenty of clothes and no more to do than 
 that/' 
 
 To a third person this might not have seemed so evident 
 a truth, as it did to Miss Helen herself, for she was strik- 
 ingly careless in those little niceties of the toilet which 
 betoken the truly refined lady. A clean pocket-handker- 
 chief could never have come in close contact with her neck 
 for any length of time without being lamentably damaged 
 in its appearance, and her hair looked as though it had not 
 been combed in a month. Some of Hope's scholars, how- 
 ever, had a very different opinion of her to that of Helen — 
 were indeed quite charmed with her, and child-like they 
 did not hesitate to express themselves very freely about 
 her when to themselves. The hour seemed all too short for 
 their chat, and when the bell rang for them to come back 
 in school (there had been another bell rung five minutes 
 before for them to wash their hands preparatory to entering 
 the school room), some of the children paid not the slightest 
 attention to it, but lagged behind as long as possible, evi- 
 dently expecting another summons ere they made their 
 appearance. But no such summons came. Hope went on 
 very quietly with her duties, not even speaking a word to 
 the offenders when, full ten minutes heliind time, they 
 sneaked in and took their seats. She tooJc notice of them, 
 however, and when four o'clock came she looked at lier 
 watch and said : 
 
 "All of you children who came in here at the proper 
 time to-day, and I know exactly wiiich of you did so, may 
 now leave the school room, taking care to file out two by 
 two and very quietly. But there are six of you who did 
 not answer to my summons until fully ten minutes after it 
 was given. Those six children will remain in here with me 
 until they have made up the time they have lost. Ten 
 minutes apiece for six children is exactly sixty minutes 
 
OR hope's first school. 43 
 
 that have been lost ; we will stay here that long and spend 
 the time in some useful manner." 
 
 A thrill of astonishment ran through the school at these 
 calmly, yet firmly spoken words. The scholars had before 
 made up their minds that Hope would prove a good, indul- 
 gent teacher, crossing them in nothing — but they now saw 
 their mistake. One look at her pale, determined face was 
 enough to convince the hardiest one of them that she was 
 not a girl to be trifled with. Helen Hartwell, who had 
 wilfully and premeditatedly violated her teacher's rule, was 
 on fire with indignation. Her face turned crimson and her 
 eyes fairly blazed. For one moment she was tempted to 
 give vent to her feelings by a torrent of rebellious words, 
 but an indefinable awe held her in check. Had Hope been 
 one whit less dignified, or even seemed excited in the least, 
 the floodgates of Helen's wrath would have been opened, but 
 there was something in the manner of her teacher so dif- 
 ferent to what she had been accustomed as to completely 
 cower her. Angry as she was, she durst not speak. Nor 
 was Helen the only rebellious spirit there. There were five 
 others who were highly indignant at the thought of being 
 kept in an hour just for losing a few minutes, yet not one 
 of the number dared to express his or her thoughts in 
 words. 
 
 For one hour the young teacher instructed them, jDartly 
 by reading aloud herself, partly by comx')elling them to 
 read, in the Life of Benjamin Franklin, who, she explained 
 to them in the progress of their reading, owed all of his 
 greatness to habits of industry, promptness and sobriety. 
 Before the lesson was over, nearly all of them had become 
 a little interested in the history of one of America's greatest 
 sons, and had half-forgotten the angry feelings which had 
 possessed them when they were first required to remain in. 
 But none of them forgot the lesson Hope had endeavored 
 to impress on their minds, and during that session she had 
 no farther trouble with them in regard to i^unctuality. 
 
44 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 The reader may well believe that she did not enforce this 
 rule without self-sacrifice. It cost her an effort to compel 
 others to obedience, partly from being young and inex- 
 perienced herself, but more because she had no natural 
 love of governing. With some it is a pleasure to rule ; 
 with others it is not. But duty and her ambition to become 
 a good teacher prompted her to exact implicit obedience to 
 all of her rules. 
 
 Mr. Watkins' two children, who had to wait for Hope 
 during her extra hour in the school room, informed their 
 jDarents of the cause of their delay. Mr. Watkins laughed 
 heartily at their recital of it. 
 
 "Never mind your lack of experience. Miss Ho})e; if you 
 can enforce your rules thus quietly with such children as 
 Helen Hartwell and Sam and Joe Liggins, there is no fear 
 of failure on your part. You have taken a different course 
 from any teacher we have had yet. Some have scolded, 
 some have beaten, some have contented themselves with 
 giving demerit marks to the scholars for disobedience to 
 rules ; but while I approve of all tliese punishments, 
 scolding excepted, I really believe j^ou have chosen the 
 wiser course. Some children do not mind wiiipping, some 
 laugh at demerit marks, but there are few indeed who do 
 not hate to be confined in the house after school hours. 
 Let them see, too, that every sin carries its own punishment 
 with it, and the lesson will not be lost on them. Above all 
 though, it w^eakens the authority of a teacher to be 
 capricious in governing, allowing a rule to be violated with 
 impunity to-day and punishing its violation to-morrow. 
 Let a child once see that it is for his own good, and not to 
 gratify angry feelings that you punish him, and he will be 
 the better prepared to obey you cheerfully." 
 
 Hope hearkened to all this good advice, but her patience 
 was put sorely to the test on the morrow. The parents of 
 some few of the children not only refused to buy the books 
 
OR hope's first school, 45 
 
 she had ordered, but the scholars told her little things 
 which were said at their homes concerning the books 
 which were positively exasperating. 
 
 "Mama says," said Helen Hartwell, "that if we ever 
 write as good a liand as the teacher who sot these coi^ies 
 that she'll be x^erfectly satisfied." 
 
 " Pa says," said Sam Liggins, " that these books is good 
 enough for us, and that we'll be smart men if we ever learn 
 all that's in them." 
 
 "Aunt Rachel says," said Euphemia Tyler, " that she 
 ain't in favor of new-fangled ways of teaching, and she 
 believes that the people in old times was better than they 
 is now, any way." 
 
 What could Hope say or do ? A torrent of indignant 
 blood rushed to her cheeks, words of withering sarcasm to 
 her lips ; but she choked back the words and strove desper- 
 ately for calmness. It was sometime ere she could feel at all 
 composed, but she spoke not a syllable until she was so, to 
 the utter astonishment of the children, who had diverted 
 themselves with the idea of seeing her angry. She taught 
 on as best she could that day, listening to the sing-song- 
 reading of the childreu which she could not at once cor- 
 rect ; hearing spelling lessons "in the book and by heart ;" 
 asking questions in arithmetic and overlooking sums 
 wrought out on the slate ; hearing recitations in some three 
 or four different grammars and as many geographies, and 
 filling up six hours with continual labor without any ade- 
 quate result of her toil. For Hope was not one to content 
 herself with merely working for wages ; she was anxious 
 that her scholars should reap the benefit of that labor. 
 That night she informed Mr. Watkins of her morning's 
 experience and also unfolded her plans for the future 
 to him. 
 
 " Sooner than be perplexed and troubled as I am by such 
 an endless round of recitations to no good purpose, I will 
 
46 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 procure the books myself for all who will not get them, 
 and if they pay me well and good ; if not, I will only lose 
 money, not heart and temper." 
 
 Thus she spoke, and Mr. Watkins informed her that he 
 had all the books she required at his store and would sell 
 them to her at cost if she wished it. 
 
 "Still, Miss Hoi^e," said he, 1 cannot say I aj^prove of 
 your plan. People should pay for books for their own 
 children. That which costs them nothing they do not 
 appreciate, and will not thank you for." 
 
 ''I know that very well," she replied. I am not work- 
 ing for thanks either, but simply to please myself in this 
 matter." 
 
 "Very well, you shall have the books on the terms I 
 promised, and at the end of the session you can settle 
 with me." 
 
 So the books were gotten, the children arranged into such 
 classes as Hope deemed best, and she began to feel that her 
 school was at last fairly started. The first week passed 
 away quickly enough, though it was a new era in her life. 
 It was with a sigh of relief that she dismissed the children 
 on Friday evening. Never had she looked forward to a 
 day of leisure as she now did to the morrow. She sympa- 
 thized with the children, who expressed their joy at the pros- 
 l)ect of a day's holiday by shouts, which were audible to 
 their teacher when she was half way home. 
 
 The evening, which was superlatively beautiful, seemed 
 like a foretaste of Elysium, and, released from the trials 
 and vexations of the school-room, Hope's spirits went up 
 like a balloon. Her week of toil had given an exquisite 
 charm to this respite from daily labor. 
 
 "Perhaps, after all," she said to herself, "the pleasure 
 was worth the sacrifice." 
 
 When she arrived at Mr. Watkins' she found a letter 
 there awaiting her. It was from her mother, the first that 
 
OR hope's first school. 47 
 
 she had received since she left home. She read it eagerly, 
 rapturously — her cup of joy seemed full, as she read again 
 and again the words of love penned by a mother's hand, 
 dictated by a mother's heart. Never had that mother 
 seemed so dear to her. Mrs. Caldwell wrote "that she 
 was well, that cousin Mary was with her, and was not only 
 a very j)leasant companion, but also a great help to her. 
 Still she missed her daughter, though she was glad that 
 she had independence enough to wish to earn something 
 for herself. She felt convinced that it was all for the best ; 
 if it had no other good effect, it would be apt to make home 
 dearer to her upon her return." There was also a box for 
 Hope, containing some unfinished drawings, which slie 
 wished to work on during her leisure moments. At the 
 sight of them all the ambitious dreams which for one short 
 week had been almost banished from her mind, "came 
 thronging back again" with even more than wonted power, 
 and she longed for the coming of Saturday, that she might 
 have one day to work at her favorite employment. But 
 scarcely had she begun her task the next morning when 
 Willie knocked at her door, and on being admitted 
 informed her that ' ' Mr. Daniel Young was in the parlor 
 and wished to see her." It was with intense regret that 
 Hope was forced to relinquish her loved emi^loy, even to 
 entertain as handsome a fellow as Daniel Young, but she 
 strove to conquer this feeling, and succeeded so well, in at 
 least not letting it betray her into discourtesy or absent- 
 mindedness, that Mr. Young never dreamed of her expe- 
 riencing aught save pleasure at his coming. She greeted 
 him pleasantly, and crocheting in hand, took a seat oppo- 
 site to him. As she sat there, with fingers busy with her 
 work, conversing quietly, and lending a listening ear to 
 all that her companion said, he would never have thought 
 of her cherishing any ambition save that of a pleasant 
 settlement in life. Her manner on this occasion especially 
 
48 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 pleased him. He was no great lover of talkative women, 
 and admired her way of conversing, speaking just the 
 right thing at the right time, leaving no gaps in the con- 
 versation, yet equally as ready to listen to others as to talk 
 herself. It was this last trait which particularly pleased 
 him. Their chat this morning was quite interesting. He 
 was a finished scholar, a great reader, a thorough man of 
 the world, and HojDe did not hesitate to ask him any ques- 
 tion she wished concerning any subject of which she was 
 ignorant. By^thus ai)pearing to acknowledge him as her 
 sux^erior in some respects, the young girl touched the 
 master chord of his nature — vanity — and he became more 
 interested in her than was his wont with the majority of 
 girls. He said to himself that "Hope Caldwell was 
 decidedly the most interesting girl he had met with for a 
 long while, as well as one of the prettiest." He exerted 
 himself to be entertaining to her, and in spite of her first 
 regretful feelings at being taken from her cherished work, 
 Hope found herself really and thoroughly interested in his 
 chat. After the lapse of an hour he said : 
 
 "Miss Caldwell, time has flown so rapidly since I came 
 here that I have almost forgotten the object of my visit, 
 but I came to see if you would accompany me to Mrs. 
 Stuarfs. Your young friends are very anxious to have 
 you come." 
 
 It required a very vivid recollection of her original inten- 
 tion of finishing her drawing to-day for Hope to refuse this 
 invitation. She pictured to herself all the pleasure she 
 would see with her young friends, and it did seem unrea 
 sonable to deny herself of every enjoyment for that which 
 after all might not profit her. Then came the recollection 
 of other duties which would be neglected by her absence, 
 the neglect of which would make her feel uncomfortable 
 all through the coming week. Thinking over the matter in 
 this light, she came to her decision. 
 
OK hope's first school. 49 
 
 "I cannot go to-day, Mr. Young," she said, " I have 
 some work to do that must be attended to ere I visit any- 
 where. I thank you for your kind invitation, but must 
 decline it for this time. If you choose to come some Sat- 
 urday when I am more at leisure, I will go." 
 
 "Why not defer your work until next Saturday ? I am 
 very anxious for you to go to-day and the young ladies 
 will be disappointed." 
 
 " Don't persuade me," she said, beseechingly ; " were I 
 to leave, knowing that I had left undone things which I 
 ought to do, I would not enjoy my visit. A divided mind 
 always renders me unhappy." 
 
 " I suppose, then, that you cannot carry your work with 
 you ?" glancing significantly at the tidy she was crocheting. 
 
 "No," was her rejily, " that would be impossible." 
 
 " Then, Miss Caldwell, I must take my departure. I am 
 very sorry that I cannot induce you to accompany me to-day, 
 but since such is the case, I will come for you some other 
 time if you will promise to go. Suppose I come next Sat- 
 urday ; will you go then ?" 
 
 Hope hesitated a moment, then replied that she would, 
 provided that no unexpected task detained her at home. 
 " You know how I am situated, Mr. Young. All of the 
 little work I have to do for myself, besides my writing, 
 etc., must be done either on Saturday or at night. So when 
 I leave on Saturday I must make all of my arrangements 
 beforehand, that I may visit with a clear conscience." 
 
 "To be sure, Miss Caldwell, you do not mean to make 
 pleasure entirely subservient to duty, do you ? You know 
 the proverb of w^hat ' all work and no play' will do." 
 
 *'Yes, indeed," she answered, "and I know also the 
 proverb of what ' all play and no work ' will effect, and I 
 must confess that I am very much inclined to think — I 
 speak of course of those who are perfectly free to act as 
 they like — that the rust of indolence renders jnore persons 
 dull than the wear of toil." 
 
50 THEN AND NOW 1 
 
 Mr. Young looked a little mortified. "I believe, Miss 
 Caldwell, you have ascertained my weakness -my beset- 
 ting sin — and feel called upon to re]3rove it." 
 
 "I!'' she exclaimed, in unfeigned surprise. ''You 
 astonish me." 
 
 "Yes," said he, "don't you remember last Sunday — it 
 was the honey bees and the drones, and to-day here it is 
 
 again," 
 
 No," she replied, "you should know better than to 
 think of my rej)roving your sins, when I am scarcely 
 acquainted with you — certainly not well enough to know 
 your disposition. Believe me, if aught savoring of sarcasm 
 fell from my lij)s last Sunday, it was unintentional. 
 There is nothing I dislike more than a sarcastic turn, and 
 if ever I feel called uj)on to reprove my friends, I shall do 
 ^0 plainly^ hnt privately, and in friendship, not in scorn." 
 
 Mr. Young looked at her in utter surprise. He had 
 formed an oi)inion of her last Sunday not very favorable to 
 her sweetness of disposition, though quite flattering to her 
 in regard to her looks and intelligence, and now he found 
 himself utterly mistaken in his judgment of her. Instead 
 of the quick, sarcastic being he had imagined her, who 
 would render back witticism for witticism, and retort for 
 retort, she proved to be, if a less brilliant, a far more 
 amiable person. He saw her t7i,en as one to be admired ; 
 he viewed her 7ioio as one to be loved and sought after. 
 We mean in a general sense, for he had no thought of 
 loving any one, and considered himself proof against 
 female charms. But something in Hope's manner inter- 
 ested him. Her reserve and quietness, her firmness in 
 refusing to leave duty for pleasure, while it vexed him. a 
 little, challenged his admiration for her. He left soon after 
 her refusal. to go with him to Mr. Stuart's, and notwith- 
 standing her solicitations for him to stay longer. 
 
 It must be confessed that it was sometime ere Hope 
 
01^ hope's first school. 51 
 
 could fix her mind upon her work when she again resumed 
 it. She felt half angry with herself for being different 
 from other girls. "Why can I not enjoy myself like 
 others, without one thought or care for the future ? Some- 
 times I wish I was like some other girls, with no turn 
 except for domestic life, or with no thought excejDt of 
 beaux, and dress, and pleasure. And yet, after all, I 
 wonder if their enjoyment is greater than mine.'''' She 
 stopped meditating after this and worked on steadily till 
 dinner, and after dinner until four o'clock. Her work was 
 nearly completed when she was interrupted again. 
 
 "Mrs. Moran and her daughter are in the parlor and 
 wish to see you. Miss Caldwell," said Mrs. VVatkins, as 
 Hope went to the door in answer to her knock and invited 
 her in. The lady's eye fell upon the loainting, which Hope 
 had no chance to conceal, and her face lighted up with un- 
 disguised admiration as she surveyed it. 
 
 " Is this really your work. Miss Caldwell ?" she inquired; 
 "you have talent if it is, and I do not blame you for 
 wishing to devote every spare moment to your art." 
 
 Hoi)e besought her not to speak of it, which she promised 
 to do, though "for her part she said she w^ould feel too 
 proud of such paintings to wish to keep them hid." 
 
 "No," said Hope, " I wish to attain perfection, at least 
 in my own eyes, before my pictures ever meet the j^ublic 
 gaze. I mean to work under a master when my school is 
 out, and then teach again, until I can attend Cooper's 
 Art Institute, and after awhile perhaps I may attain both 
 fame and fortune." 
 
 "You are an ambitious girl," replied Mrs. Watkins, 
 kissing her, " and I, for one, glory in your spirit." 
 
 "Fame is all I ask for," said Hope with a half sigh, 
 which revealed to Mrs. Watkins something of the girl's 
 inner life. With a woman's ready tact, she divined the 
 truth that our heroine had been disappointed in love — had 
 been foiled in her best affections. 
 
52 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 Mrs, Moraii and lier daughter Estelle were extremely 
 pleasant. The daughter was tall, graceful, stylish-looking, 
 with an exquisitely fair skin, and a very lively manner of 
 talking. The mother had a low, sweet voice, a pleasant 
 face, and was ever saying agreeable things, and was, 
 withal, quite intelligent and interesting. 
 
 Something was spoken of Mr. Young. "Isn't he hand- 
 some?" inquired Estelle. 
 
 "Yes, very," replied Hope. "I think him quite pleas- 
 ant, too, as well as the young ladies and gentlemen who 
 were with him last Sunday." 
 
 " Oh, 3^es," said Estelle, "you are speaking of Mary and 
 Hattie Stuart and of Mr. Nathan Alison. He likes you 
 ever so much." 
 
 "Does he?" said Hope absently, then recalling her 
 thoughts in a second, she continued : "I am well pleased 
 with this neighborhood so far, and like all the loeople 
 whose acquaintance I have formed." 
 
 "And how do you like teaching," inquired Mrs. Moran. 
 " I hear this is your first school." 
 
 "I can scarcely tell," replied Hope, " but I try to like 
 it, as I am engaged in it." 
 
 " I admire that disposition very much," said Mrs. Moran, 
 "for some things we are compelled to do, and if we only 
 try to like them, after awhile, what was once a drudgery, 
 becomes an agreeable task." 
 
 She was merely stating a general truth, with a view to 
 encourage Hope, but circumstanced as the latter w^as, she 
 felt a little sensitive in regard to being compelled to teach. 
 Mrs. Watkins remarked the slight shadow on her brow 
 and hastened to dispel it by saying, "that whether Miss 
 Caldwell fancied teaching or not, she should not be allowed 
 to quit the profession, she seemed so eminently fitted for it." 
 
 Hope nervously tried to change the subject to something 
 less personal. Unlike the most of people, she wished 
 
OR hope's first school. 53 
 
 rather to avoid any allusion to her profession than refer 
 to it. The reader may judge from this little incident of 
 how exquisitely susceptible to suffering Hope Caldwell was, 
 and of what an ordeal it was to one of her sensitive turn 
 to fill the place of a country teacher. For the remainder 
 of the evening the time flew by on fairy wings. Estelle 
 was planning off one pleasure after another for Hope and 
 herself, while her mother, in a more quiet manner than the 
 daughter, assured Hope "that if she would but visit her 
 she would do all in her power to make her stay agreeable. 
 You must be sociable, Miss Caldwell, and I think you will 
 like this place. Our young peoj^le are very lively, and 
 nothing delights the heads of the families around more 
 than to promote the pleasure of their children and of their 
 young companions. True[they are poorer, and have it less 
 in their power to live at ease than in the olden days, yet 
 who cares for that, so long as hospitality reigns supreme?" 
 
 Hope replied "that nothing would afford her more 
 pleasure than to visit her new acquaintances at her earliest 
 leisure. But you must remember," said she, "that I have 
 no day but Saturday to be sociable, and even then I have 
 a good deal of work to do." 
 
 Once or twice was Mr. Young's name called in the course 
 of their conversation, and Hope judged that he was a 
 favorite with the young ladies, and probably spoiled by 
 them. She became in consequence just a little prejudiced 
 against him. She was glad that she had not accepted his 
 invitation of the morning, even apart from the neglect of 
 her beloved painting. "No," she thought, "she would 
 assure him by her actions that slie did not value his atten- 
 tion." She little dreamed that already she had, if he was 
 vain, ministered to his vanity by asking information of 
 him. Then she had praised him to Estelle, and should the 
 latter chance to let him know of it, Hoipe, too, would be 
 enrolled on the list of those who considered him superior 
 
64 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 to the generality of men. When Mrs, Moran rose to depart 
 she kissed our heroine, as did Estelle, insisting on her 
 visiting them at the very earliest time possible. "If you 
 can spare no other time I will send for you some evening 
 and you can spend the night with me and I will have you 
 in school betime in the morning," she said. When they 
 left the sun was very nearly down. 
 
 Hope went in and arranged her apartment in perfect order, 
 then went out in the Hower garden to gather bouquets for 
 her vases on the mantel-piece. That night, just before 
 supper, she chanced to glance at the mirror in her room 
 and was amazed at the improvement in her looks. Abso- 
 lutely there was color in her cheeks — a delicate flush, which 
 beautified her face inexpressibly ; her eyes were brighter 
 than usual, her lips scarlet, and the white chrysanthums 
 which she had carelessly arranged in her hair gave an 
 added charm to the already lovely face. Hers was a plain, 
 brown dress, with a frill of lace around the neck and in 
 the sleeves, and unrelieved by ornament, save a bow of 
 pink ribbon at the throat ; yet, fitting her, as it did, to 
 perfection, nothing seemed lacking in her attire. No 
 glitter of jewels nor shimmer of silk or satin would have 
 added one iota to the simple, yet 'graceful dress, which 
 seemed but a part of the graceful creature it adorned. 
 Robert King looked at her with undisguised admiration. 
 " This place suits you, Miss Hoj)e," he said, in his frank, 
 boyish way ; " you have grown ten degrees prettier since 
 you came here. Perhaps it would be best for you to stay 
 here always." 
 
 "Maybe, after awhile, I might take an opposite turn," 
 said she, not offended by, but a little embarrassed at, his 
 bluntness, which, however, she excused on the score of 
 youth. Then the conversation at the table became general, 
 and joke and laugh went round. 
 
 They all sat out on the moonlit piazza after supper, where 
 
" OR hope's first school. 66 
 
 they sang and talked until bed-time. Mrs. Watkins pos- 
 sessed one of those sweet, plaintive voices, v^^hose melody 
 sinks deep in the heart. Her voice seemed but the index 
 of the gentle, amiable disposition of the lady to whom it 
 belonged. Simple ballads or hymns, breathing of pure 
 affection, or of rapt devotion, sounded best as sung by her. 
 And so another Saturday evening found Hope in her new 
 home, better satisfied, stronger, more self-reliant and 
 happier than she had been for many years. The novelty 
 of her life, its busy activity, the pleasure of forming new 
 acquaintances, and her hopeful looking forward to the 
 future, all conspired to render her life more enjoyable 
 than heretofore, notwithstanding its cares. Altogether, 
 she had no cause, so far, to regret her venture. She wrote 
 a letter to her mother that night, after the remainder of 
 the household had retired, giving a full description of her 
 life and of the acquaintances she had formed, of the kind- 
 ness she had met with and of her hopes for the future, 
 ending with with these words : "I hope and trust, dear 
 mother, that this may be the beginning of a new life with 
 both of us, that all of the gloomy past may be forgotten 
 by us, and that we may be both useful and happy in the 
 long years which are to come." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 There was a regular Sunday-school kept up at the little 
 white church near Mr. Watkins', but Hope had not as yet 
 attended it. On the Sabbath morning after the events we 
 have just described, she arose in time to put her room to 
 rights, to take a walk among the flowers and to have a 
 merry chat with Robert King and the children ere the bell 
 
56 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 rang for breakfast. After breakfast there was a general 
 gathering up of Sunday-school books and donning of hats 
 and bonnets, preparatory to attending church; for they 
 expected to remain until after the sermon was over, as 
 there was preaching there that Sunday. Mrs. Watkins, 
 who was conscientiously opposed to keeping a servant in 
 the kitchen cooking while she was listening to the Word of 
 God at church, had all of her dinner prepared beforehand, 
 so that there was nothing to do during the day and no one 
 left at home. 
 
 Maud looked as sweet as a rosebud in her white dress, 
 looped with blue ribbon, and her little straw hat trimmed 
 in blue. Hope was unmistakably attractive, notwithstand- 
 ing her paleness, and Mrs. Watkins was a very pretty little 
 lady, and many a stealthy, admiring glance was cast on the 
 trio as they walked up the aisle. During the Sunday- 
 school exercises Hope strove to keep her mind on the scene 
 before her, but in spite of herself her thoughts would rove, 
 Mary and Hattie Stuart w^ere there, dressed beautifully, 
 together wdth Nathan Alison, Mrs. Moran, Estelle, and last, 
 but not least, Mr. Young. Her scholars, too, were nearly 
 all present. She could not realize that she had taught 
 tliem but for one short week, so familiar had each face 
 grown, though all of them looked much improved by their 
 Sunday apparel. One face she missed from the crowd ; it 
 was that of Johnnie Twining. She felt interested in his 
 welfare and regretted that he w^as not j)resent, and she 
 determined to inquire into the matter and to use every effort 
 to induce him to attend the Sabbath-school. Mr. Watkins 
 came around to her seat and inquired if she would not 
 like to take a class, saying that one of the teachers was 
 absent, and they would be glad if -she would fill the place. 
 Hope's first impulse was to utterly refuse to take any part 
 in the school, for did she not teach five days in the week, 
 and were tliere not laborers enough in the vineyard to 
 
OE hope's first school. 67 
 
 spare her? Then the stern voice of conscience, a voice 
 which she could never wholly disregard, bade her "do what 
 her hands found to do and do it with all her might;" and 
 hearkening to this voice, she replied quietly — so quietly 
 that Mr. Watkins little dreamed of what a sacrifice it was 
 to her: "Yes, sir, I will take a class as an assistant 
 teacher, and if I am needed very much I will teach 
 any way." 
 
 He showed her her class, saying, • ' Miss Hope, when you 
 are absent Mrs. Watkins will take charge of your class. 
 It would not be right for you to feel in duty bound to be 
 here when you already have so little time for rest and 
 recreation." 
 
 The singing pleased her very much. The simple Sunday- 
 school songs sung by so many childish voices sounded in^ 
 expressibly sweet and charming, and our heroine felt an 
 interest that she had never felt before in children. Her 
 one short week of teaching had invested childhood with a 
 new charm to her — had caused her to feel a yearning desire 
 for the improvement of the young. 
 
 The sermon that day was not superior to many she had 
 listened to, save in the extreme earnestness with which it 
 was delivered. The preacher seemed absorbed in his 
 theme — forgetful of himself, studying only the interest of 
 his hearers and their eternal salvation. He seemed very 
 young, his beardless face strangely inconsistent with the 
 deep seriousness of his countenance. Hope listened to 
 him with pleasure, and almost unconsciously was edified 
 by his sermon. 
 
 After preaching was over there was the usual amount of 
 friendly greeting and neighborly gossip which one hears at 
 a country church. Hope's new friends crowded around 
 her in a most cordial manner and exx)ressed their x^leasure 
 in seeing her. Mary and Hattie Stuart rex)roached her for 
 not visiting them the day beforci 
 
58 THEIT AND NOW ; 
 
 "We liad such a nice time last night," said Mary. 
 "Hattie played on the piano, while Mr. Young accom- 
 panied her with the violin, and we absolutely persuaded 
 Mr. Rodney Gilbert to take a part in the concert by 
 blowing the flute, and really we had a pleasant concert." 
 
 "Mr. Rodney Gilbert," repeated Hope mechanically, 
 " I never heard of him." 
 
 " 'No, I sui3i)ose not, and we who know him seldom ever 
 see him, he is so selfish; but he is very wealthy, and is 
 considered quite a catch." 
 
 These words haunted our heroine. Did all the world 
 judge by this standard, wealth and a fortunate combina- 
 tion of circumstances ? It seemed so, indeed, when under 
 the shadow of the church walls, and scarcely out of hearing 
 of the Gospel, one should be held up as a "good catch" 
 because he was wealthy. 
 
 "I tell you what," continued Mary in her gay, off-hand 
 way, little guessing at the thoughts which were passing 
 through Hope's mind, "you will have to do your best to 
 appear to advantage when Mr. ' Gilbert sees you, for Mr. 
 Young has described you to him as being but little less 
 than an angel in your appearance and disposition." 
 
 "I trust," said Hope, a flush of mortiflcation reddening 
 her cheeks, "that if Mr. Gilbert has formed a higher 
 opinion of me than I deserve, that I will never be so un- 
 lucky as to meet him, as I shall feel under restraint while 
 in his company." 
 
 "Never mind," responded Mary laughinglj", seeming to 
 take no notice of her companion' s vexation, ' • you will be 
 sure to see him just because you do not want to," and 
 away she went to another crowd of girls, chatting as gaily 
 with them as though in a ball-room. Mr. Watkins came 
 around to the spot where Hope was standing. He was 
 accompanied by the preacher, whom he introduced to her as 
 Mr. Ransom. Mr. Ransom, though very youthful-looking, 
 
OR hope's FIllST SCHOOL. 59 
 
 was remarkably handsome. He had, too, such a quiet, 
 pleasant way about him, and was withal so destitute of 
 vanity, that Hope liked him at once. He accompanied the 
 family home that day, and in the afternoon, as they sat out 
 on the piazza conversing, she enjoyed his company very 
 much. She found out that as well calculated as he was to 
 arouse his hearers to a sense of their spiritual need while 
 exhorting them in the pulpit, he w^as no less powerful to 
 win them to religion by the charm of pleasant and edify- 
 ing conversation when in the family circle. "Love through 
 all his actions tan," and the gossip and evil speaker were 
 rebuked by his words. Never bitter nor fault-finding, the 
 mantle of his charity was large enough to " hide a multi- 
 tude of sin." "If I have aught against my neighbor, I 
 shall tell him and liiin alone,''^ he was wont to say. 
 "Nothing is gained by speaking of another's fault to 
 others." The consequence of this conduct was to win 
 many to Christ and to gain for himself legions of friends, 
 even among hardened sinners. "Mr. Ransom is a good 
 man," they would say. "He pays his debts punctually, 
 is quiet, and is kind to the poor." "I like him very 
 much," was the expression of opinion among even very 
 worldly people. 
 
 In the course of conversation that evening Rodney Gil- 
 bert's name was mentioned and Robert King remarked 
 that he seemed "very selfish." 
 
 " Selfish !" replied Mr. Ransom ; "he may seein so now, 
 but I who went to college with him never met with a more 
 generous, whole-souled fellow. He was not partial to 
 preachers generally, nor was he fond of attending church, 
 but to me has been uniformly kind. Of late years I hear 
 that he is morose and exclusive, but there is good in him 
 yet, depend upon it. Some day I hope to see him 'a 
 burning and shining light in the church of the living God.' " 
 
 "Charity hopeth all things," was the text that involun- 
 
60 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 tarily came into Hope's mind as he said this, and then she 
 thought " this Kodney Gilbert must be a very distinguished 
 personage in this vicinity, but pshaw ! it is money alone 
 which makes him so ; that is the lever which moves the 
 world nowadays." 
 
 Mr. Ransom's request that they would sing a hymn 
 before his departure recalled her wandering thoughts, and 
 when he had taken leave of the family, Robert King jDro- 
 posed for them all, that is, for Hope, the children and 
 himself to walk down to the mill. "It is such a j^retty 
 place. Miss Hope ; there are some lovely flowers there, apd 
 a spring of mineral water." 
 
 So Hope consented to go. Mr. Twining' s home was 
 between Mr. Watkins' and the mill, and as they pa sed 
 Hope noticed Mr. Ransom' s horse tied at the gate. Glancing 
 in the house, she beheld a scene which was never forgotten 
 by her. The whole room seemed in disorder ; Mr. Twining, 
 with blood-shot eyes and unkempt hair, was sitting on a 
 wooden stool, Mrs. Twining in equally as slatternly a 
 plight on another, while Mr. Ransom had Johnnie drawn 
 close to him, and was conversing with him in so earnest a 
 manner as to render even the child oblivious to passers by, 
 and the little party went on their way unheeded. 
 
 " Do you know what he is there for f inquired Robert, 
 after they had passed. 
 
 "No," she replied, not in particular. Is Mr. Twining 
 one of his members?" 
 
 " One of his members !" repeated her companion, laugh- 
 ingly ; he's one of the greatest sots in this country, and his 
 wife is not much better, but Mr. Ransom is one of the men 
 who cherishes the hope that the vilest sinner can be 
 reclaimed. What he wants now is to get Johnnie Twining 
 in the Sunday-school. His parents, of course, will get 
 interested in his progress, and will be apt to come too. 
 The next thing you know they will be attending church 
 
OR hope's first school. 61 
 
 regularly, and perhaps in the far future the whole family 
 may become Christians. Mr. Ransom is certainly one who 
 does not neglect the poor ; why, sometimes he even lectures 
 the rich for dressing so finely when they attend church, 
 because, he says, it prevents the x^oor from coming." 
 
 ''He is right,'' said Hope, something like a tear glisten- 
 ing in her eye ; it would be well if all ministers copied his 
 example." 
 
 "I don't know," said Robert, it does seem a condescen- 
 sion in a man of Mr. Ransom's talent to go to such a house 
 as Mr. Twining' s, yet this is but one of the many 'visits he 
 pays. It must be a great sacrifice to him," 
 
 " Yet even the Saviour ate with publicans"and sinners," 
 said Hope, "and He has given us an example that we 
 should walk in his steps." 
 
 "Are you a member of the church, Miss Hox^e ?" he 
 inquired. 
 
 "No sir," she replied, "but if I do not perform my duty, 
 at least I have my idea of what it is." 
 
 "So much the worse for you," said he, laughinglj', 
 anxious to change the subject. ' Ye knew your duty, but 
 ye did it not.' " 
 
 "You have read Pollok, have you ?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes, and it gave me the blues for a week after. I 
 believe in enjoying life. Miss Hope, and not troubling our- 
 selves about the future." 
 
 Hope was silent. She was worldly, yet in her inmost 
 heart she cherished the conviction that a Christian is the 
 only truly happy person upon earth, and. sometimes she 
 had thought seriously of becoming one, but the good seed, 
 so far, had been choked with thorns. The walk Robert 
 had chosen was indeed a lovely one. The evening was 
 delightful. It was just cool enough to be pleasant, though 
 the sun had shone with summer fierceness at noon, the 
 trees in yellow and j)urple and scarlet, varied by every tint 
 
62 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 it was possible to conceive of, were gorgeous in the extreme, 
 and the flowers growing along the wayside had all the 
 warmth and richness of color peculiar to autumnal flowers. 
 The mill-dam bore the appearance of a long avenue, over- 
 shadowed by trees of varied kinds and sizes, while the 
 water of the pond stretched away like a mimic lake, 
 reflecting in its depths the azure sky, until, falling over the 
 floodgates in showers of foam, it seemed a miniature 
 cataract. The scene, though neither sublime nor striking, 
 was lovely in the calm hush of the Sabbath evening, and 
 no one could appreciate it more than our heroine. She sat 
 down on a stick of timber left on the mill-dam, and looked 
 away musingly to the sunset sky, now golden with the 
 glow of the departing] monarch of day, and for some 
 minutes she was profoundly silent. 
 
 ''Of what are you thinking?" asked her cortipanion, 
 after watching her for some time admiringly, yet impa- 
 tiently, for he was anxious to hear her talk. 
 
 "I am thinking," said she, without questioning his 
 right to ask such a question, " of how happy life would be 
 were it always as quiet and peaceful as the scene before us." 
 
 " Yes," said he, "but it would lack variety ; we would 
 soon tire of its sameness. You remind me of Mr. Rodney 
 Gilbert, Miss Hoi^e ; he is always moralizing in some such 
 way." 
 
 ''Mr. Gilbert must be a distinguished person around 
 here," remarked Hope, "I have heard him spoken of so 
 often." 
 
 "Yes," replied her companion, a little bitterness per- 
 ceptible in his tone, "he is very well off, you see. He 
 owns the finest plantation and most beautiful house in the 
 county, and has means to come and go as he likes. He has 
 been to Europe several times. All the young ladies around 
 are setting their caps for him." 
 
 ' ' I believe I should hate him were I ever to meet with 
 him," she remarked. 
 
OE HOPE'S FIRST SCHOOL. " 63 
 
 "Why," inquired Robert. 
 
 "Because I imagine liim an intolerably vain, selfish per- 
 son ; one who expects the world to overlook in him faults 
 that would be condemned in a poor man.'' 
 
 "Upon my word,'^ remarked her companion, " I do not 
 know but that you are right, althoijgh I must confess that 
 Mr. Gilbert has always been kind to me ; . has even 
 befriended me once or twice when I was in bitter need," 
 
 "Of course," she replied, "he may not be destitute of 
 good qualities, yet few people indeed can withstand the 
 flattery which the world ever^gives to the fortunate. I 
 scarcely know which is best for the character, to be ex- 
 tremely rich or extremely poor. Extreme wealth is apt to 
 beget an overbearing disposition, and extreme poverty is 
 liable to make one sour, discontented and envious. ■ 'Agur's 
 prayer is a good one, even now." 
 
 " Well," said Robert, "for my part I would much prefer 
 to take the wealth and run all risks." 
 
 " That is quite a natural reflection, yet I say to you that 
 you are already rich." 
 
 "In what respect V inquired her companion. 
 
 "Rich in your youth, in your health, in having a good 
 mind, and in being a man instead of a poor girl. All occu- 
 pations are open to you ; there is nothing to bar your 
 progress except incapacity or wilful neglect of business ; 
 while to a woman but few professions are open, and those 
 few are overcrowded." 
 
 Robert laughed. "Miss Hope, you are like no young 
 lady I ever saw. I believe you always have something im- 
 portant on your mind." 
 
 "Yes," she responded, "I am naturally of an earnest 
 turn, for you know that life itself is ' real and earnest ;' 
 but I trust I am not so earnest as to be boring ; if so, let 
 us change the subject," and for the rest of the way con- 
 
64 ' THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 versation took sucli a different turn, and Hope was so lively 
 and entertaining, that Robert found himself marveling at 
 the versatility of her talents and the changeable turn of her 
 disposition, v^hile she was wondering who Rodney Gilbert 
 was like, and half-wishing to see him, notwithstanding 
 what she had said in regard to hating him. 
 
 CHAPTER YIL 
 
 It did not require two weeks' experience in teaching to 
 convince our heroine that the way of a faithful, conscien- 
 tious teacher is not one strewn with thornless flowers. We 
 have already attempted a brief description of some of the 
 difficulties which beset her during the week when her 
 school began. The Monday afterward was one of sore 
 trial in the school-room. Two days holiday had rendered 
 the children forgetful of their duty, and there was a long 
 list of imperfect lessons, which were laid aside to be 
 studied and recited during the noon recess. This, of 
 necessit}^, forced Hope to remain in the school-room with 
 the delinquents, and during this time some of the scholars 
 who were out at play got into a glorious fight. It was 
 Johnnie Twining who, with dilated eyes and voice half- 
 choked with excitement, ran to inform Miss Hope "that 
 Joe and Sam Siggins, George and Tom Simmons w^ere 
 fighting as hard as ever they could.'' 
 
 "Tell them," said Hope, as calmly as she could, "to 
 come here immediately." 
 
 Away went Johnnie to the scene of action, but returned 
 at once, informing her that " the boys said they wouldn't 
 come, for they did not believe a word he told them." 
 
OR hope's first school. 65 
 
 Donning her hat as quickly as possible, and mastering 
 her excitement, for it could not be denied that she was 
 excited, Hope proceeded to the field of battle. The four 
 lads were in active contest. Sam had thrown Greorge upon 
 the ground and was pounding him with his fists. The 
 boy's tow hair was disheveled, his face bruised and his 
 nose bleeding, but he showed no sign of surrender. Joe 
 and Tom were struggling desperately, neither seeming to 
 have any advantage of the other, though their torn jackets 
 and generally demoralized appearance bore witness to the 
 ferocity with which they had been fighting, and the dis- 
 torted countenance of the whole group betokened the 
 demon raging within. Hope surveyed them for one moment 
 before she spoke. Then, with a calmness which was at 
 utter variance with her feelings, she said : 
 
 "Boys, will you oblige me so much as to desist from 
 this conduct?" 
 
 They stopx:)ed immediately, but stood eyeing each other 
 vengef uUy, ready to renew the battle at the earliest oppor^ 
 tunity. But angry as they were, they stood in awe of 
 Hope. There always seemed to them, though they could 
 not explain it, a reserved force behind her quietly spoken 
 commands. "I'm not afraid of that little, weak woman, '^ 
 each one had said when out of her sight, yet Mr. Liggins^ 
 stentorian voice or Mrs. Simmons' loudest scolding, backed 
 by the stoutest hickory that either could find, had no such 
 power over them as did their teacher's gently si^oken 
 commands. The will to do and to dare was there, and 
 they felt it. 
 
 "It was George Simmons who begun it," said Sam 
 Liggins. " He called me a liar, and I won't take that from 
 anybody." 
 
 "It wan'tj Miss Caldwell, it was Joe and Sam; they 
 called us 'poor bocker' and 'poor white folks,' and we 
 
66 THEN AND NOW 
 
 5 
 
 won't take that, and I did tell liim he was a liar for 
 saying so." 
 
 " Never mind," said she, and now that the difficulty had 
 arisen, she really felt a kind of gladness that she was 
 equal to the emergency — a moral strength and power 
 which did her positive good; "never mind, boys, come 
 with me back to the school-room and I will decide your 
 
 case." 
 
 Eeluctantly enough they followed her footsteps. They 
 were still sullen and full of bitter, revengeful feelings 
 against each other. For some time she investigated the 
 case, examining the witnesses on either side, one at a time, 
 anxious to arrive at the truth. But this she found it very 
 hard to do. The evidence was so contradictory as to 
 require a much sharper lawyer than Hope to judge of the 
 case, though she could see very plainly that both parties 
 were somewhat to blame. She talked to them for awhile, 
 in the gentlest manner, of the evils of discord, of the sin 
 of quarrelling and fighting, relating one or two incidents 
 to them where fatal effects had followed the giving away to 
 passion. 
 
 When in her quiet way of talking she had moved the 
 offenders to real penitence, she concluded by saying: 
 " You boys know it is against the rules of the school to 
 fight, and I am compelled to punish the violation of my 
 rules, however much I may dislike to do so. I do not feel 
 disposed to whip you. though, or to expel you from school, 
 but you must remain in at recess for five days and study 
 the life of some good and peaceable man. I will select 
 that of William Penn." 
 
 "Miss Hope, if you will just give me a good whipping 
 and let me go, I will thank you," said Sam. 
 
 " So will I, so will I," said each of the other boys. 
 
 But she would not consent to this. " No, I will do as I 
 have said," she replied. 
 
OR hope's first school. 67 
 
 Every day, for five days, she read to tbem from the 
 history of tlie great Quaker, requiring them to answer 
 questions on what she read, and instructing them in regard 
 to the meaning of it. She tried to impress upon their 
 minds the important truth that it is easier to win hearts by 
 kindness than to make others submissive to us after we 
 have once gained their ill will by harsh treatment ; told 
 them of how peaceably and happily the Quakers had 
 lived, even when surrounded by savage Indians, because 
 they were good to them, while other colonists who pursued 
 an opposite course had their homes burned down and their 
 own lives and those of their families sacrificed on account 
 of their own folly and wickedness. It was a lesson which 
 was never forgotten by the children. Poor and ignorant 
 they might be, but they had human hearts beating in their 
 bosoms, and Hope had found the key to them. During the 
 remainder of the session there was not another fight in 
 school. Some of the scholars were well trained at home, 
 and had even been to school enough to be pretty well ad- 
 vanced in their studies, but some of them were deplorably 
 ignorant. Johnnie Twining, whom Hoj^e expected to find 
 an unruly child, had so far proved exactly the opposite. 
 He had learned to love his teacher very dearly, and though 
 untrained to a degree that utterly surprised her, was never 
 unruly. But that a child born in a Christian land, and in 
 a stone's throw of the church, should know nothing of 
 God or of his soul — nothing of those great truths which 
 had become so thoroughly a part of her existence that she 
 could not remember when she had learned them— this was 
 a matter of utter astonishment to our heroine. '' We need 
 some one to teach the first principles of religion at home as 
 well as in foreign lands," thought she. That girls fourteen 
 years old knew no more of George Washington than if he 
 were a Chinee, (the historical George Washington we 
 mean, for all knew George Washington Simmons,) had 
 
68 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 never heard of Christopher Columbus, were in utter dark- 
 ness in regard to every matter of history, was a source of 
 very painful surprise to her, yet sometimes it touched her 
 sense of the ludicrous very strongly. The children, it 
 seemed to her, were gifted in saying mirth- provoking 
 things, in making droll remarks which caused her to laugh 
 heartily whenever she thought of them. There was a 
 bright as well as a dark side to her school life. She felt an 
 interest in the progress of the children ; she watched them 
 as narrowly as she had ever done her own work on a 
 favorite sketch. Their dispositions, too, she studied care- 
 fully, and strove to find the key to every heart, for of one 
 thing she was thoroughly convinced — that if a teacher fails 
 to secure the good will, if not the affection of a scholar, 
 there is but a small chance for the latter to learn. There 
 must be perfect respect for a teacher, and kind feelings 
 toward one, ere there is a willingness to study under his or 
 her guidance. " After all," thought Hope, " is not teach- 
 ing a nobler work than painting, or sculjoture ? The one, 
 intended merely to gratify the aesthetic feelings of our 
 nature ; the other, to train up in ' ways of wisdom ' the 
 immortal beings whose everlasting destiny may hinge on 
 the instruction received from their teachers." She felt tlie 
 grandeur of her work, but she felt, too, its heavy responsi- 
 bility. And so struggling on, alternately discouraged by 
 failure or cheered by success in her plans, the second week 
 of her school life passed away. Before the beginning of 
 another week her thoughts were diverted from school and 
 school life by events which we will now relate. 
 
OR hope's first school. 60 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 True to his appointment with Hope, Mr. Young came on 
 Saturday morning to accompany her to Mr, Stuart's. She 
 had contrived, by working diligently at every moment that 
 she could command, to accomplish all the little tasks which 
 she had allotted to herself to do, and it was with a light 
 heart that she rode off with her escort. The air was cool, 
 there was enough frost to render it exhilarating, and the 
 sun shone brightly over the Autumn landscape. Riding 
 swiftly through the bracing atmosphere, and in such 
 pleasant companionship, it was no marvel that the time fled 
 swiftly away, both to Hope and to her escort, and it was 
 with a feeling of slight regret that they came in sight of 
 their place of destination. 
 
 Mr. Stuart's house was a large, white, two -story one, 
 which, from the multitude of its windows and from 
 its long, airy piazzas, gave one the impression that it 
 was an agreeable summer residence, whatever might be 
 its disadvantages in the winter season. It was sur- 
 rounded by n noble grove of oaks, with a cleared place 
 immediately in front of it for the semi-circular flower 
 yard. This, together w^ith the sight of a great variety of 
 house plants in pots on the sunny piazza, left one in no 
 doubt as to the refined tastes of the inmates of the dwell- 
 ing. Mary and Hattie were standing on the steps as Mr. 
 Young drove up. They were arrayed in exceedingly 
 becoming costume and looked as fresh and sweet as two 
 rosebuds. They hurried down the\ steps, and part the way 
 down the paved walk to meet the visitors, kissed Hope 
 affectionately and welcomed her so cordially as to make 
 
70 THEN AND NOW } 
 
 her feel at home at once. After showing Mr. Young into 
 the parlor, they invited her upstairs into a large, airy, 
 well-furnished bed-room, where she laid aside her bonnet 
 and shawl and arranged her hair. Then they all descended 
 to the parlor, w^hich was not only elegantly furnished, but 
 was so exquisite in all its appurtenances as to show tliat 
 refined and cultivated taste had gone hand-in-hand with a 
 free use of means in its adornment. The numerous little 
 embellishments -the work of female fingers, trifling in 
 themselves, yet giving a finishing touch to the whole apart- 
 ment— were not tl)e least of its attractions. The two girls 
 were busy now, one in crocheting a shawl of crimson 
 zephyr, the other in working a cover for a footstool. Hope 
 felt thankful that she had brought some embroidery with 
 her and was not compelled to sit idle while her companions 
 were at w^ork. Tongues, though, were flying as fast as 
 fingers. The girls compared work, each admiring the article 
 the other was making. There was a play of merry chat 
 and badinage, drifting occasionally into more serious dis- 
 course ; but though the young ladies were well educated 
 and intelligent, they were too full of fun to dwell long on 
 any subject which required serious thought. 
 
 During the morning Mr. Young and two gentlemen 
 cousins were the only guests, beside Hojie, and as they 
 were all quite easy in their manner, and sensible enough 
 not to be boring in conversation, the youthful crowd en- 
 joyed themselves very well. Mr. Stuart, a portly, middle- 
 aged gentleman, came in now and then and w^as quite 
 agreeable. His wife, " on household cares intent,'- entered 
 the room but once before dinner. Mr, Young amused the 
 crowd by reading short pieces from a book of poems, while 
 Edgar Stuart, who was a great mimic, had them almost 
 convulsed with laughter at his clever imitations of a very 
 eccentric person in the neighborhood. His frank, hearty 
 manners, overflowing with mirth and fun, were universally 
 popular. 
 
OR hope's first school. 71 
 
 The twelve o'clock dinner was not only an enjoyable one 
 from the richness, j)lenty and variety of its well- cooked 
 viands, but derived an additional relish from the easy flow 
 of conversation during the repast — the laughter and play 
 of wit around the social board. Hope felt that the day was 
 passing all too swiftly. 
 
 After dinner the gentlemen went out on the piazza to 
 smoke and the girls betook themselves to their room. 
 Mary and Hattie, who had sat up late the preceding night, 
 lay down for a short nap, while their companion amused 
 herself by reading Tennyson. After tliey awoke and had 
 re- arranged their toilets, all went down again, and while 
 Hattie and Mary played duets on the grand piano, Hope 
 occupied herself in studying the paintings hung against 
 the wall. "Innocence," represented by a lovely babe, 
 grasping at the flame of a candle, its face radiant with 
 delight, was a splendidly planned and well executed pic- 
 ture. "Aurora," with flying steeds and rosy mantle, on 
 which glittered one or two stars, and attended by the 
 Hours, was, too, a line painting. "Fondly Gazing" pic- 
 tured a mother bending over the couch of her lovely, slum- 
 bering boy, while its companion, "The Empty Cradle," 
 showed the same mother agonizing over the loss of her 
 child, whose empty cradle betokened that he had gone 
 from her sight forever. Hope admired them all very much 
 and again was her ambition to excel in her art awakened 
 with fresh intensity. 
 
 Mr. Young and the two Messrs. Stuart invited the girls 
 to take a ride with them on horseback that evening. Hoj)e 
 w^as but little accustomed to this exercise, but as she had 
 dearly loved it during her father's life time, she made no 
 opi)osition to the request except to tell them that "she 
 had no riding habit." 
 
 " Never mind that," said Hattie Stuart, "I have two and 
 I can lend you one of them, and j^our black hat with 
 plumes will do plenty w^ell to wear." 
 
72 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 So it was arranged that they should go. Mr. Young 
 rode with Hattie, Willie Stuart with his cousin Mary, 
 while Edgar went with Hope. Though feeling a little 
 awkward at first, she soon became accustomed to the exer- 
 cise, and did so well, that her companion complimented 
 her on her skill in riding. 
 
 "I believe you have not been in this part of the country 
 long, Miss Caldwell ?" he remarked. 
 
 " About three weeks," was her reply. 
 
 "I suppose you crossed the Neuse river in coming, but 
 here it is again," said he, as they neared a bridge across 
 that stream. They stood still a moment watching it, but 
 at this point the view was neither picturesque nor interest- 
 ing, though Mr. Stuart informed Hope that "in the Spring 
 it was really delightful to trace its windings, so green and 
 fresh were the trees which fringed its banks." 
 
 "You are something of a poet, I expect," said she, 
 " and are never at a loss to discover beauty in anything." 
 
 "No, indeed," he replied; I am but a plain, plodding 
 farmer, and really feel thankful to Heaven that I am not 
 cursed with so fatal a gift as i)oetry or music." 
 
 "Y^ou surprise me," said she. "Few people would 
 speak in this manner." 
 
 " I have a friend," he replied, "who has taught me a 
 lesson in this respect. I believe that this gift has been the 
 blight of his life. His ideas of perfection are so high, his 
 nature so intensely sensitive, that he suffers where ordinary 
 mortals would enjoy themselves." 
 
 "Yet perhaps he sees pleasure where others do not," she 
 answered. "I would like to see a real, live poet. I never 
 knew one in my life." 
 
 An amused smile swept over Edgar Stuart's face, but he 
 made no reply to this last speech. Somehow they had 
 gotten separated a considerable distance from the rest of 
 the crowd, who had ridden on without stopping, and now 
 
OR hope's first school. 73 
 
 they rode a little faster to get near them. The rapid motion 
 prevented them from talking much, but once more with 
 their companions, there was a merry interchange of words 
 and gay laughter, whose cause could be traced to nothing 
 except that they all felt well and were enlivened by the 
 healthy exercise. Mr. Young, though riding with Miss 
 Stuart, often turned to speak to Hope, until the former 
 lady felt half offended at his indifference to herself. Hope 
 noticed this and appeared so absorbed in Mr. Stuart's con- 
 versation as to give Mr. Young no chance to address her 
 without a breach of etiquette on his part, and so Miss 
 Stuart's equanimity was restored. Mr. Young then deter- 
 mined to pique our heroine by a show of devotion to 
 Hattie, but he was never more baffled in his life. The most 
 skillful observer could not have told that Hope had any 
 favorite in the crowd, if indeed she had. While riding 
 with Edgar, she was all attention to him, but once more at 
 the house, she was chatting and laughing with all alike. 
 Towards sundown the young men rode off to the post- 
 office, a mile distant. 
 
 "I wish Mr. Rodney G-ilbert had come to-day,'' said 
 Hattie Stuart, after they had taken their departure. "I 
 asked him to do so, but he made some excuse about being 
 too busy." 
 
 They were in the parlor now, and Mary Stuart chanced 
 to be standing near a window. "Why, sister Hattie, who 
 is this?" 
 
 A crimson glow mounted to Hattie' s cheeks as she 
 glanced out. " Mr. Gilbert, I do declare," said she. "I 
 am surprised." 
 
 Hope was a little agitated, as she felt sure that 'after such 
 a flattering description being given of her she would cer- 
 tainly appear to disadvantage before Mr. Gilbert. She had 
 probably never looked less attractive than she did uiDon 
 her introduction ,to him. Her very wish to appear well 
 
74 THEN AND NOW ? 
 
 seemed to have tlie contrary effect upon her. She was 
 reserved and diffident, while the Misses Stuart were chat- 
 tering away like magpies. Eodney Gilbert, she observed, 
 was a tall, athletic man, some thirty years old, with dark 
 hair and beard, and piercing gray eyes— not strikingly 
 handsome, yet equally as far from being homely. He was 
 well dressed in black, and wore a diamond ring on his little 
 finger, which from its looks must have been a very costly 
 one. For the brief while that he was in the parlor she re- 
 membered but little except that he seemed very quiet and 
 uninteresting, speaking but one or two words to her, while 
 she spoke as few in return, and it was with a feeling of relief 
 that she saw him go out to rejoin the gentlemen. Two 
 ,young ladies came just as he went out, and Mary and 
 Hattie led the way upstairs for them to remove their hats 
 and cloaks. Thinking their absence limited to a moment 
 or two, Hope remained in the parlor. The bay window, filled 
 (with the exception of a small space just large enough for one 
 seat,) with rare plants, seemed a pleasant i)lace to her, and 
 placing an ottoman there she seated herself. Twilight had 
 gathered in the room, and save the low flicker of the fire- 
 light, it was completely in shadow. After some time Hope 
 grew impatient at the continued absence of the girls, and 
 was about to rejoin them upstairs, when the door opened 
 and Mr. Gilbert and Mr. Young entered the apartment, and 
 without ever glancing toward her, seated themselves before 
 the fire. They were in animated conversation and the un- 
 expected mention of her own name caused her to start in 
 surj)rise and her heart to beat more rapidly. Luckily 
 neither of the gentlemen noticed her presence and she 
 became an unwilling listener to the following conversation : 
 
 "Upon my word, Young," remarked Eodney, " I was 
 never more disappointed in my life than I was to-day." 
 
 "How so?" inquired Mr. Young. 
 
 "Why, I was introduced to Miss Caldwell this evening, 
 
OR IlO'Plil'S FIRST SCHOOL. 75 
 
 and from your description I expected to see a young lady 
 who was perfection itself, and tliongli 1 cannot say she is 
 ugly, yet she fell very far below my expectations. She 
 lacks brightness and color." 
 
 "I judge for myself in regard to beauty, Gilbert, and 
 still think Miss Caldwell lovely." 
 
 " Well, there is no accounting for taste, and, after all, it 
 is best for us not to be rivals," rejoined Mr, Gilbert. 
 
 " Rivals !" echoed Mr. Young, mockingly. " You know 
 me too well for that. Miss Hope is to me a pretty, inter- 
 esting girl, with whom I expect to have a pleasant time, 
 but nothing serious will come of it, you may depend upon 
 that." 
 
 The reader can judge in what an unpleasant position 
 Hope was placed at this time. How fervently did she wish 
 that she had either gone with the other girls, or else had let 
 her presence be known at once to the gentlemen. And how 
 to extricate herself from her present predicament she could 
 not tell. Fortunately for her, at that moment Mr. Stuart 
 called the two, and without noticing her, they left the 
 apartment. Quietly, yet with all possible haste, she made 
 her escape from the parlor and rejoined her girl com- 
 panions, who were not yet sufficiently beautified to go 
 down stairs. She determined to act as though she had not 
 heard words not intended for her ear, had not caught a peep 
 at scenes behind the curtain, but the burning blood rushed 
 to her cheeks, rendering her tenfold more beautiful, and a 
 brighter light flashed in her dark eyes. She could scarcely 
 account for the emotions which caused her heart to beat 
 wildly. "What did she care for the opinion of Mr. Young 
 or of Mr. Gilbert, that their jpraise or dispraise should 
 affect her ? No," she decided, " she was quite independent 
 of the good opinion of either." Yet had she been alone, 
 there is no doubt that she would have indulged in a hearty 
 cryj without reference to the why or wherefore of it. As 
 
76 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 it was, she choked back the bitter feelings and proceeded 
 to array herself in another dress preparatory to supper. 
 For years she had not looked so i^retty. Her dress was 
 one which had been remodeled, but it fitted her so well, 
 and was trimmed with such taste, as to look really elegant. 
 A black cashmere, with satin trimmings, relieved by white 
 lace at the neck and in the sleeves, and a scarlet bow at the 
 throat ; it set off her dark skin to advantage, and the 
 diamond breast-pin fastening her bow was rivaled by the 
 brightness of her eyes. The jetty hair was arranged in 
 heavy i3laits, tied by a scarlet ribbon, and little tendrils 
 nestled around her brow and temples, giving an added 
 sweetness to her face, which, with the vivid coloring lent it 
 by excitement, was perfect. Her companions could not 
 forbear commenting on her aj^pearance and compliments 
 were showered upon her by the girls. Perhaps Rodney 
 Grilbert felt like retracting his opinion in regard to her 
 beauty ; certain it is that he. could not keep from looking 
 at her almost more than politeness demanded, and Mr. 
 Young tried to be very devoted. Strange enough, it seemed 
 to the other girls that these two gentlemen appeared to be 
 less favored by Hope than the others present. Several 
 times in the course of the evening she had an opportunity 
 of saying sarcastic things to them, which she improved to 
 the utmost. To Mr. Young, in particular, she was almost 
 merciless, yet so witty withal, that he admired her even 
 when her cutting speeches wounded him the most. Rodney 
 Gilbert wondered at the change that had come over her in a 
 few brief hours, and could scarcely believe her to be the 
 same being he had met with in the early part of the evening. 
 Gay, brilliant, witty and sarcastic at one moment ; in the 
 next, womanly and pathetic, revealing by occasional flashes 
 a brightness of imagination and depth of intellect quite 
 unusual in a young and pretty girl, it is not to be won 
 dered at that she i:)roved very attractive both to him and to 
 
OR hope's first school. 77 
 
 Mr. Gilbert. The latter little thought that his words, 
 "she lacks brightness and color," were present in her 
 mind whenever he spoke to her, and that the certainty of 
 his indifference to her or to her looks caused her to feel 
 entirely independent of his opinion and gave a dash of 
 recklessness to her feelings which made her show to the 
 very best advantage. 
 
 The evening passed off very pleasantly. There was music 
 and sparkling chat, gay laughter and badinage, checkers 
 and cards. In this last amusement Rodney Gilbert and 
 Hope declined to participate, consequently they were left 
 to entertain each other. She did not admire his manner. 
 "He was eccentric," she decided; ''not very pleasant 
 either." There was a bitterness about him that she did not 
 like — a blase, wearied air, a contempt for the world, and a 
 dissatisfaction for all things "under the sun," which 
 though akin to her own way at times, was not attractive to 
 her. Altogether she was as far from fancying him as he 
 had been her. 
 
 "You do not sing, I believe,Miss Caldwell," he remarked. 
 
 " Not often," she replied ; " my voice is not very strong, 
 and though I love music, I fall so far short of my imagina- 
 tion of a musician that I dislike very much to play and 
 sing for company." 
 
 "I am utterly indifferent to music unless it is of the 
 finest kind," said he wearily, almost rudely, Hope thought; 
 then he rejoined, "most young ladies assume so many 
 airs when asked to perform on any musical instrument, for 
 the amusement of others, that it is really a matter of relief 
 to me when they are through playing, and I hardly ever 
 force my feelings enough to make any such request of 
 them ; but I would really like to hear you." 
 
 " Why f she inquired shortly. 
 
 "lean hardly tell you myself, except that I imagine 
 that you would sing to suit my taste, would express in 
 
78> T'HEN AND NOW ; 
 
 music the real tliouglits and feelings of the heart, instead 
 of some sentimental nonsense about 'music, love and" 
 flowers.' I do detest such trash. Now I think that the 
 • Captive Knight,' or ' Auld Lang Syne,' or ' Auld Robin 
 Graj^' would hardly suffer in your hands. I think the 
 intense pathos— the deep, earnest feeling of such songs as 
 these— would have intenser meaning and cause more thrill- 
 ing emotion when sung by you." 
 
 "Then you are very much mistaken," said Hope laugh- 
 ingly, " for I sing none of those songs. I am no musician, as 
 I told you just now, and must really decline performing for 
 you, but," she continued, " I have heard of your skill in 
 music and would be delighted to hear you." 
 
 "Upon my word, you are cool," he replied. "After 
 refusing positively to gratify me, you in the same breath ask 
 me to oblige you. That is reversing the golden rule. It 
 is making your neighbor return good for your evil, instead 
 of your doing so toward him. Well, be it so ; I will show 
 my Christian character, or obliging disposition, whichever 
 you may choose to think it, by playing and singing for 
 you until you are tired." 
 
 Later in the evening he fulfilled his j)romi8e, and as 
 Hope listened to his rich, mellow voice, with impassioned 
 earnestness ringing in its tones, or else recklessly gay, as 
 the subject required, she found herself moved almost 
 to tears by its music, and no longer marveling that he was 
 difficult to please, nor blaming him for it. He seemed 
 scarcely the same being while singing. The bitter, misan- 
 thropic look was gone, and in its place a mournful, melan- 
 choly expression took j)ossesslon of his countenance. He 
 sang one song which particularly attracted Hope. It was a 
 story telling of fondest love met by the blackest perfidy ; 
 of a ruined life, wrecked by the falsehood of a beloved 
 one. Mr. Stuart said to Hope, who had sat spell-bound as 
 Mr. Gilbert sang : 
 
OE hope's first school. 79 
 
 " I expect Rodney Gilbert is the author of that song, it 
 sounds so much like him." 
 
 " It is beautiful," she murmured, tears glistening on her 
 lashes. To herself she said, "I wonder if that is Mr. 
 Gilbert's experience: if so, it is like mine." For the 
 remainder of the evening she was a little dreamy. Her 
 reflections involuntarily wandered back to the past of her 
 life, and once or twice she found herself struggling to keei3 
 her thoughts on the real, actual present. Rodney had but 
 little more to say to her, and she could scarcely tell 
 whether she liked or disliked him. That there was some 
 mystery about him she felt sure ; no one could ever sing 
 like that without some depth of feeling, yet she disliked the 
 mocking tones that he sometimes assumed, the irony which 
 was apparent in much that he said, his bitter sarcasm and 
 seeming contempt for some things that she felt dear ; and 
 then, too, she mentally accused him of deceit, in trying to 
 flatter her after disparaging her to Mr. Young. " I wish I 
 had not seen him ; he has affected me unj)leasantly, and 
 yet I never heard such superb singing in my life before," 
 she thought; "but he is a vain, sarcastic fellow, and I 
 never expect to really like either him or Daniel Young." 
 And so puzzled and perplexed, she retired to dream over 
 the incidents of the preceding day. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The Sabbath after the events we have just recorded was a 
 lovely day, and the group of young people, who expected 
 to attend the church, some three miles from Mr. Stuart's, 
 were in the gayest spirits — too gay, indeed, for the occa- 
 sion. In some way, Hope scarcely knew how, Mr. Gilbert 
 
80 THEN AND NOW 
 
 contrived to be her escort, and his elegant phseton, drawn 
 by two milk-white horses, was the admiration of the 
 crowd who started off together that morning. The ride 
 was delightful. The morning air was bracing, although 
 the sun shone brightly over the landscape, and it was a 
 luxury but to breathe it. Bathed in the pleasant sunshine 
 and inhaling the wintry air, with pleasant surroundings in 
 every respect, our heroine ceased to remember the trials of 
 the past, and for the time was purely happy. Rodney 
 Gilbert did not converse in such a manner as entirely to 
 dissipate her unpleasant impressions of him, yet she liked 
 him better than she had done the day before. Conversa- 
 tion in this brief ride turned on many themes. Poetry and 
 poets were discussed in turn, and after mentioning several 
 favorite authors, Hope remarked : 
 
 "I have lately read a piece in a magazine entitled, 
 ' Passing Thoughts,' which interested me. I have a volume 
 of poetry by the same author. Do you remember seeing 
 the poem ?" 
 
 "Yes," said he, "I have read it." 
 
 "I do not think it striking in regard to style," she 
 replied, "yet I feel that I would like to know the writer. 
 I sympathize with the feelings expressed in the poem, the 
 weariness of life, the loathing of all that people generally 
 hold dear. Surely some hidden sorrow must have sapped 
 the springs of happiness ere he wrote in such a manner." 
 For a moment Mr. Gilbert looked earnestly, scrutinizingly 
 at Hope— a glance which she remembered afterwards, 
 though not noticing it particularly just then. A smile 
 illumined his dark countenance, beautifying it wonder- 
 fully. 
 
 "Perhaps some day Fate may gratify your wish, but 
 even then you may be disappointed. Authors are not 
 always i)leasant people." 
 
 "I do not imagine the author of 'Passing Thoughts' a 
 
OR hope's first school. 81 
 
 pleasant person, I picture to myself one having a morose, 
 gloomy disposition, who looks on the bitter side of human 
 life, yet who has some noble, redeeming qualities -per- 
 haps generosity, a love of truth, a hatred of oppression 
 and scorn of meanness and hypocrisy." 
 
 An indescribable expression pervaded the countenance 
 of Rodney Gilbert as Hope uttered these words ; his face 
 glowed, his eyes sparkled, with what emotion it would be 
 difficult to determine. During the remainder of the ride 
 he was very quiet, saying but little, and that on common- 
 place topics, and Hope wondered what was the matter. 
 On driving up to the church they were honored by the 
 gaze of many curious eyes, and she was almost discom- 
 posed by it. Once in the house and seated, she felt more 
 at ease. There were but few people there, nearly all of the 
 male and some of the female portion of the congregation 
 being outside in the sunshine. Old ladies, wrapped up 
 warmly in thick shawls, with veils tied over their bonnets 
 around their head and ears to protect them from the cold, 
 were gossipping together, some of them dipping snuff as 
 they conversed. Young girls in their best array, with an 
 expression of conscious beauty on their faces, were laugh- 
 ing and talking' in quite a lively strain, while mothers, with 
 their infants in their arms, were discussing their domestic 
 trials together ; one telling of what a terrible time she had 
 when her youngest child cut its teeth, and another going 
 into a long recital of the trouble she underwent when her 
 little ones took the measles, and so on through the whole 
 gauntlet of suffering to be run in a household of ordinary 
 size. These narrations, though, were evidently of more 
 interest to the narrators than to their auditors. Human 
 sympathy is a plant of a very singular nature. 
 
 The old-fashioned tune of "Ortonville" was raised bv 
 one of the few occui^ants of the church, and as its first 
 notes fell upon their ears the crowd outside began to enter 
 
89 . THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 tlie building, thougli in quite an irregular fashion. The 
 voices by which it was sung were not at all well trained, 
 yet it awoke very sweet emotions in the heart of our 
 heroine. For the time all the bitter experience of her past 
 life seemed swept away by the old-timed melody ; she felt 
 like a new creature. But as the sweet sounds died away 
 she drifted off into idle reverie and her mental vision was 
 hlledwith castles of hope based on an earthly foundation. 
 
 The preacher on this occasion was Mr. Ransom. It 
 seemed to her a long time since the first sermon she had 
 heard him preach, j^et in reality it was but a few short 
 weeks. In the musical tones peculiar to hira he read the 
 opening hymn, prayed a most fervent j)rayer, and then 
 came the Avords of the text: "Whosoever drinketh of 
 this water shall thirst again, but whosoever drinketh of the 
 water that I shall give him, shall never thirst, but the water 
 that I shall give him, shall be in him a well of water 
 springing uj) into everlasting life." 
 
 Mr. Ransom first mentioned the circumstances under 
 which these words were spoken. He drew a graphic word 
 picture of the eastern scene. Listening to him one could, 
 in imagination, behold it ; the hot noonday sun blazing 
 down on Samaria ; the tired God-man sitting down at the 
 well awaiting the return of his disciples with " the food 
 that perisheth," and the plain, matter-of-fact Samaritan 
 woman coming to draw water and wondering at the words 
 that Jesus spake, not comprehending their meaning. It 
 required but little effort to fancy that one heard the con- 
 versation between Jesus and the woman, in which He en- 
 deavored to lead her thoughts away from the water that 
 perishes to that which is springing up into "everlasting 
 life." The preacher explained what was meant by " this 
 water." He compared all earthly things to the water 
 which, if one drink, he shall thirst again. He spoke of 
 the transitory and unsatisfactory nature of worldly enjoy- 
 
OR hope's first school. 83 
 
 merits and their utter inability to satisfy the craving of an 
 immortal soul. We subjoin an extract from his sermon on 
 this subject : 
 
 "To-day is all brightness ; the balmy breezes bear to our 
 delighted senses the perfume of violets ; the first footprints 
 of the Spring have left their impress on field and forest, 
 and nature thrills with the rapture of returning life, and 
 we, in unison with her, feel our pulses beat with gladness. 
 We have enough ; our friends are around us ; no anxious 
 care besets us, and we ask ourselves, ' Why cannot every 
 one be happy on this earth, which is itself so beautiful and 
 so well prepared to make its inhabitants happy V But a 
 change comes : clouds and rain obscure the loveliness of 
 the landscape ; our friends are dead or absent, and we, 
 perchance, sick both in body and mind, and in our gloom 
 and despondency we exclaim, ' This is a wretched life 
 after all, and hardly worth living for.' Oh ! my brethren, 
 does not this XDrove to us that whoever drinketh of this 
 water shall thirst again ? Thirst ! yea, die of maddening 
 thirst ! Witness Alexander weeping for worlds to con- 
 quer ; Napoleon chained, Prometheus-like, to a desert rock 
 and dying with a quenchless thirst of power ; and Lord 
 Byron who, in the eloquent words of Pollok, 
 
 " Drank every cup of joy ; heard every, trump of Fame ; 
 Drank early, deeply drank, then died of thirst. 
 Because there was no more to drink." 
 
 And as these eminent examples of men whom the world 
 calls great, died with unsatisfied longings after the unat- 
 tainable, so now this principle holds good through every 
 rank of life. Everywhere men and women are toiling after 
 the bread which perisheth, after the water which "if a 
 man drink he shall thirst again." To day, in the name of 
 the Saviour, I offer you the water which "if a man drink 
 he shall never thirst, but which shall be in him a well of 
 water springing up into everlasting life." This water is 
 
84 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 given to those alone who believe in Christ and obey His 
 word. Bnt, Christians, you object — have trials, aye, some- 
 times are sorely afflicted ; is there then no longing for ease 
 and peace and happiness, no thirst for the pleasures of the 
 world ? Thank God, they do have trials, thank God, there 
 are moments when they are sorely depressed : yet by His 
 merc}^ even tribulation is not an evil, but the sweet means 
 of filling the heart with entire devotedness to Christ, and 
 of affording a rapture that the world can never know. 
 This water does, then, indeed, "spring up into everlast- 
 ing life ;" earth and earthly things fade from the vision, 
 and the hope of eternal joy is so strong as to cause us to 
 forget the petty cares and sorrows of the way. What are 
 a few discomforts, a little wetting of the rain or blowing of 
 the chilling wind, when at the end of our journey we 
 expect a lovely abode, where we may reside for all time ? 
 And what are our few tribulations when at the end of oiir 
 pilgrimage we expect to dwell in Heaven through eternal 
 ages ? " Springing up into eternal life !" What a promise 
 is this ! Can we realize it, can we grasp it ? Think of 
 the pleasure filling our hearts on meeting with a long absent 
 friend, of the sweet emotion excited by some delicious 
 strain of music, or by the sight of some lovely object in 
 Nature or Art ; think of the bliss of mutual affection, of 
 the joys springing up around the family fireside, or the 
 rai^ture pervading our being at the comi^letion of some long 
 cherished scheme ; then imagine all these separate delights 
 combined in one ecstatic throb of bliss, and even then we 
 would fall far short of compassing the ineffable happiness 
 of Heaven. "Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard, 
 neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive 
 the things \vhich God hath prepared for those wiio love 
 Him." Think, then, you who refuse to partake of "this 
 water of life," of how terrible a thing it will be to hear the 
 sublime harmonies of the redeemed, ringing through the 
 
OR hope's first school. 85 
 
 streets of Heaven, and to feel that "you yourselves are cast 
 out!" Be wise in time, drink now, drink freely of this 
 water which Jesus gives, and it shall be in you a " well of 
 water springing u]) into everlasting life." 
 
 For one hour Hope listened to Mr. Ransom's sermon, as 
 with impassioned earnestness, his whole soul beaming in 
 his eyes, he offered the water of life to the sinner, and 
 even when she heard his words no longer, the impression 
 made by them did not fade away. In after life the seed 
 sown that da}^ in her heart sprang up, yielding an abun- 
 dant harvest. Riding back from church with Rodney 
 Gilbert that afternoon, she was a little abstracted, and he, 
 too, was not very talkative. "Some shadow must have 
 crossed his path," she thought, he was so absent-minded. 
 She was almost glad when they reached Mr. Stuart's gate. 
 Herbert Ransom spent the evening there, and Hox)e had a 
 long, quiet chat with him, revealing to him her newly 
 awakened convictions of sin and her serious thoughts of 
 becoming a Christian ; and she awoke a new interest in her 
 behalf in his sympathetic heart. The evening hours sx3ed 
 pleasantly away. Mr. Ransom had a happy talent of 
 turning the tide of conversation to profitable subjects 
 without a touch of sanctimoniousness, and was a very 
 pleasant person around the fireside. Once or twice in the 
 course of the evening he and Mr. Gilbert exchanged a few 
 words, and Hope noticed that they seemed very intimate 
 friends, and when in his prayer that night the preacher 
 invoked God's choicest blessings on those who were "tossed 
 by tempests and not comforted," as well as on those who 
 had wandered "far off from the fold," she could not help 
 thinking that he had herself and her discontented friend in 
 mind at the time. 
 
86 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Wliile on a visit to tlie neighborliood where Hope Cald- 
 well taught we determined to call upon her at her school- 
 room, as we wished to see whether her plan of instruction 
 pleased us. It was a lovely spring morning, doors and 
 windows were open, letting in the sunshine and fresh air. 
 Teacher and scholars were standing, but with heads reve- 
 rently bowed as we canie to the door, for the morning 
 prayer was being read. Too diffident to pray aloud in her 
 own language, Hope made use of that of others. When 
 the reading was over she came forward, inviting us in and 
 giving us comfortable seats. While she was reading the 
 roll-call we availed ourselves of the oi^portunity thus 
 afforded to take a survey of the school-room and of the 
 scholars. We were struck with the perfect neatness of the 
 house and of the pui^ils. Clean hands and faces, nicely 
 combed hair, shoes properly tied and nails carefully pared 
 was the rule, not the exception. The teacher herself, 
 though dressed with extreme plainness, presented an 
 exceedingly tidy appearance, and her every surrounding 
 betokened neatness and refinement. The little table imme- 
 diately in front of her chair bore the weight of a large 
 dictionary on one side and that of a Bible on the other, 
 while between the books was a glass containing a bouquet 
 of lovely flowers. On the right of her seat was a row of 
 shelves intended for books of reference, and Hope's herba- 
 rium ; on the left a similar row, serving as a dej)ository for 
 every object gathered in her walks to and from school 
 which she thought could interest the children. The bodies 
 of insects, mosses and lichens, some stuffed birds and 
 animals, pebbles, different kinds of wood, etc., filled these 
 
OR hope's first school. 87 
 
 shelves. These we ascertained from her were made useful 
 in the daily "object lesson'' which she was in the habit of 
 giving the pupils. There was one of her own drawings 
 hung just above her chair, which was a subject of con- 
 tinual interest and remark from many of the scholars. In 
 every available spot was placed something to attract the 
 children — something to awaken their ambition and to 
 inspire in them new resolves to be wiser and better. Little 
 simple engravings, cut from discarded magazines or pa^oers, 
 each picture bearing a history, which had been faithfully 
 narrated by the teacher, were hung around the blackened 
 walls. The frames were of such simple and cheap con- 
 struction as to be easily made by Hope. Bits of stiff 
 pasteboard, the frames of broken slates, covered with 
 fancy paper, were some of the materials employed in 
 fashioning them, and they answered every purpose. After 
 the reading of the roll-call she arranged the pupils in two 
 lines facing each other, calling them out by their numbers 
 in order that there might be no confusion in taking their 
 places. Then, while thus arranged, they repeated in unison 
 "The Sovereigns of England" — that epitome of the histor}^ 
 of the kings of that country in verse. This they all knew 
 perfectl.y, and kept perfect time in their repetition of it. A 
 song followed next in order, entitled, "Make Your Mark ;" 
 after which they all returned to their seats. A class in 
 spelling next occupied her attention. " The old blue-backed 
 spelling book" held its own at her school. The lesson was 
 recited " by heart," then some of the words were given out 
 to be written on the blackboard and on slates. " I follow 
 the plan inculcated in "Swan's Speller," she informed me. 
 After the spelling lesson came one in arithmetic. Here she 
 exercised the "memory" in requiring a perfect knowledge 
 of the tables without reference to the book ; the reasoning 
 power in the analysis of every problem ["given the pupil. 
 " The memory," she remarked, "is a good, faithful pack- 
 
88 THEN ANB NOW ; 
 
 liorse, and one whose efficiency is increased by exercise ; 
 yet it must not be allowed to take the precedence of un- 
 derstanding or of reason. Still it certainly gives one great 
 advantage to have a quick and retentive memory, and that 
 can only be gained in the majority of pupils by the most 
 careful training." She gave out some examples not con- 
 tained in their arithmetic to the scholars— little, practical 
 questions — which were calculated to impress the idea deep 
 upon their minds that arithmetic is not a matter of theory, 
 but an every-day affair, required in every walk of life. 
 
 Her teaching geography was unlike what we had been 
 heretofore . accustomed to, and pleased us greatly. "I 
 have," she said to her pupils, "striven to give you a 
 clear idea of what is meant by the natural division of land 
 and water, as also of the meaning of each division. You 
 have been with me in my rambles. In the little streams 
 along our j^athway we have seen capes, islands, straits, 
 isthmuses, and other divisions of land or water. I have 
 shown you hills and valleys, and explained to you what is 
 meant by mountains, by the ocean, etc. I have also 
 taught you how to ' box the compass.' You know what 
 bounds your school-room at every point. Now I shall 
 draw a ma^) of a place with which you are all familiar." 
 In an incredibly short time she had outlined a i)erfect 
 map of the county in which she taught, with all its 
 divisions into townships, and its boundaries, together with 
 its rivers, towns and railroads. The children were all 
 delighted with it and eager to try their hand in drawing 
 one for themselves. They soon had the names of the town- 
 shii^s and of the counties bounding it in their memory, as 
 well as its population, etc. Then she gave them a little of 
 its history, striving to impress these facts upon their youth- 
 ful minds. We felt sure that this lesson was never for- 
 gotten b}^ them. 
 
 A recitation in grammar came next, but she informed us 
 
OR hope's first school. 80 
 
 that she was badly discouraged in this study. " Grammar 
 may help develop the reason by the analysis it requires, 
 but correct speaking is never gained, or at least rarely, if 
 ever gained, save by association with those who cultivate 
 correct habits of speaking. I make it a rule to point out 
 every error which they are guilty of to each and all of my 
 pupils, yet unless theirdaily associates talk grammatically, 
 I almost despair of ever making them do so." 
 
 A reading lesson was the last before the noon recess. 
 Hope was sadly exercised in this. Some of her scholars 
 liad acquired a sing-song way of reading before she had 
 ever taken them in hand ; some read too rapidly ; others 
 did not observe their stops ; with nearly all she had had 
 sore trials, and months of faithful teaching had not eradi- 
 cated the seeds of evil habits acquired before she had ever 
 seen them. "Over and over again is the rule here," she 
 remarked to me. " I sometimes grow almost heartsick at 
 the prospect. Yet I see some improvement. I always 
 require the children to tell me the subject of their lesson, 
 and what is meant by what they read, ere expecting them 
 to read with even ordinary expression. We cannot read 
 well what we do not understand." 
 
 After recess came a dictionary lesson, in which, besides 
 reciting by rote, she required each of her pupils to write a 
 sentence in which some word contained in the lesson was 
 rightly employed. This was to test their knowledge of the 
 real meaning of the words. Writing came next, conducted 
 on the old, mechanical plan of writing after co^^ies, though 
 the teacher was very faithful in seeing that they held their 
 pens correctly and that they took pains in writing. Her 
 X)upils had, she informed me, "improved very much of 
 late." Then came a history lesson. It was a sketch of 
 the life of Christopher Columbus, as contained in the 
 History of the United States. " To-day they will read this 
 history with the name of the person whose history it is ; 
 
90 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 to-morrow I shall read the history and shall require them 
 to give me the name," she informed me. A little while 
 before school was dismissed she read a simple story, re- 
 quiring each scholar to write an epitome of it on his or her 
 slate. "This was a most improving exercise," she said, 
 "and soon gave a scholar not only correct habits of 
 writing and spelling, but even some idea of composition." 
 Some calisthenic exercises, very well performed, ended the 
 day's lesson. 
 
 The reader must remember that w^e are simply describing 
 a teacher who was destitute of all those advantages which 
 N'ormal Schools and Teacher's Institutes now afford the 
 profession. Hope had taken up this calling, as thousands 
 of others do, merely to make a little money ; but once 
 engaged in it, the work was of absorbing interest to her. 
 Teaching she regarded as one of the noblest tasks, second 
 only to the preaching of the Gospel, and her ambition was 
 awakened to fill up the full measure of her duty. She 
 read, thought and studied in order to be better prepared to 
 teach, and in some way, she scarcely knew how, nearly 
 everything reminded her of her scholars. True, at times 
 the regular succession of tasks was a little tiresome to 
 her ; then again the hours sped swiftly away, almost too 
 swiftly. 
 
 Three weeks had elapsed since her visit to Mr. Stuart's 
 before she saw any of the party she had met there, 
 Daniel Young had lately become acquainted with a beauti- 
 ful young lady in a neighboring town, and with character- 
 istic fondness for novelty had devoted himself to her, 
 as if in almost total forgetfulness of Hoi3e. Herbert Ran- 
 som was the first person of that pleasant crowd w^hom she 
 saw. He was to preach on the Sabbath at the little church 
 near Mr. Watkins', and spent the preceding night under 
 the hospitable roof of that gentleman. Hope enjoyed the 
 time passed in his society very much. In the course of 
 
OR hope's fikst school. 91 
 
 their conversation Rodney Gilbert's name was mentioned, 
 and subsequently she spoke of '• Passing Thoughts." 
 
 "I never read that poem," said Herbert, "without 
 regret. No one ever stood a fairer chance of being a bene- 
 factor to his race than Rodney ; of no one did I ever hope 
 more, though I am his junior by several years; yet his 
 poem conveys a just impression of his feelings now. In 
 some way, I scarcely know how, he became soured, and is 
 one who doubts almost everyone, and is, I fear, far from 
 God— a wanderer from the fold." 
 
 "Is Mr. Gilbert," Hope exclaimed, half breathless with 
 surprise, while a crimson glow dyed cheek and brow ; "is 
 Mr. Gilbert the author of ' Passing Thoughts V " 
 
 "Why, did you not know it?" he inquired. 
 
 "Know it! no indeed," said she.. "I never even 
 dreamed of such a thing." 
 
 "I thought," he replied, "that our community was too 
 proud of having a real, live author in their midst not to 
 inform a stranger of it ; but this only fulfills the words of 
 Scripture : ' A prophet is not without honor save in his 
 own country, and among his own kin.' " 
 
 Hope felt vexed. To think that she had expressed her- 
 self so freely in regard to "Passing Thoughts" before 
 Mr. Gilbert, and had expressed, too, so earnest a desire to 
 become acquainted with the author ! She could now un- 
 derstand the meaning of his scrutinizing glance and could 
 appreciate the amused smile which irradiated his face 
 while she was talking to him on that subject. What if 
 he should deem her ignorance assumed — a mere pretence 
 to give her real opinion of his work ? The thought was to 
 her a vexatious one. "It seems to me," she reflected, 
 "that Mr. Rodney Gilbert is destined to be my evil 
 genius, and I wish I had never seen him." 
 
 Mr. Ransom noticed the cloud on her countenance and 
 
 kindly inquired its cause. True to her frank disi^osition, 
 she told him. He laughed. 
 
92 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 "I can understand your feelings," lie said, "yet I can- 
 not say that I am sorry for the occurrence. Rodney per- 
 haps needs to be told his faults, and all unconsciously as 
 you did so, it may effect good." 
 
 "But to think," said she, "of me, a stranger, telling 
 him that I thought him morose and gloomy, and that his 
 style was not to my liking ; it is too bad." 
 
 "I have made just such mistakes," he replied, "and 
 oftentimes have become the best of friends to those with 
 whom my acquaintance began so inauspiciously. The 
 ludicrous associations connected with our dawning intimacy 
 served but to weld the chain of affection faster." 
 
 He smiled mischievously, while a vivid blush mounted 
 even to Hope's brow, and she endeavored to change the 
 subject, in which effort she was kindly assisted b}^ the 
 minister. There was something in Herbert Ransom's dis- 
 position to inspire one with the utmost confidence in him, 
 and as she conversed with him our heroine felt, before the 
 evening was over, that if she ever needed a friend he 
 would be one on whom she could rely. 
 
 On the Sabbath he preached again, and though Hope did 
 not fancy his sermon as well as she had done the last one 
 which she had heard him preach, yet knowing of and 
 trusting in his piety as she did, every word he spoke made 
 a deep impression on her heart. 
 
 All of her recent acquaintances were at church save the 
 one who, though in no agreeable manner, haunted her 
 thoughts. Rodney Gilbert was not there. Daniel Young 
 was j)aying very marked attention to a young lady who 
 had come with him, and though he spoke, their meeting 
 was not altogether as cordial as heretofore. Hattie and 
 Mary Stuart and Estelle Moran greeted her very affec- 
 tionately. 
 
 "Has Mr. Gilbert called on you ?" inquired Hattie. 
 
 "No, indeed," she replied; "I have not thought of 
 such a thing." 
 
OR hope's first school. 93 
 
 "He spoke of doing so," said Miss Stuart, "and I 
 thought perhaps he had been. He admires you very much." 
 
 " I was not aware of it," rei)lied Hope coldly, and the 
 subject was immediately dropped. 
 
 Hattieand Mary went home witli lier, and judging from 
 their conversation, she decided that Mr. Gilbert occupied a 
 large share of their thoughts. She determined within her- 
 self rather to avoid him than to strive to gain his notice. 
 She felt intuitively that should he ever pay her much 
 attention it would put an end to the friendship existing 
 between her and the two girls. Monday was a cloudy 
 day, and she was uncomfortable, both in mind and body. 
 Her head ached and it seemed to her that the children 
 were more than usually idle and trying to the temjier. 
 She struggled against every feeling of impatience for a 
 considerable time, but as one aggravation after another 
 came to try her, she grew angry, for the first time in her 
 school life, and spoke crossly to the children. In five 
 minutes after she was ashamed of herself. How could 
 she, she asked herself, blame the scholars for their con- 
 duct, when she herself had not learned the lesson of self- 
 command ? At recess the refiection still haunted her. 
 She sat down at a desk, bowed her head upon it and, 
 woman-like, gave vent to her feelings by a shower of 
 remorseful tears. A sudden step caused her to look up, 
 and there in the doorway stood the last person whom she 
 expected or wished to see just now, Rodney Gilbert. He 
 seemed half inclined to leave as he noticed her agitation, 
 but changed his mind, went forward, and with a sympa- 
 thizing look on his face, remarked : 
 
 "Excuse me, Miss Caldwell, for intruding upon you, 
 but I could not resist the temptation of calling as I 
 passed." 
 
 Hope shook hands with him as he extended his hand, 
 but could not for three minutes articulate one word. 
 Then she said : 
 
94 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 " I know it seems very foolish in me, Mr. Gilbert, but 
 the truth must be told at all hazards. I was just having a 
 cry because I lost my temper this morning. I hardly felt 
 well enough to teach, and the trial was more than I could 
 bear patiently." 
 
 "I wonder you can endure it at all," said he warmly ; 
 ''but I should not trouble myself about the children. 
 They are as happy now as kings. I stopped to look at 
 their i)lay -houses Just now and they really entertained me 
 very much. You are doing a good work here, Miss 
 Caldwell." 
 
 "Not half so good as I wish to do," a sudden enthu- 
 siasm lighting her face and shining in her eyes ; " yet with 
 all its vexations I sometimes think it is a noble vocation, 
 though accident, and not choice^ caused me to become a 
 teacher, and perhaps were I rich now, I would not teach." 
 
 " What would be if you had your choice ?" he inquired. 
 
 A sudden crimson suffused her cheeks ; it w^as almost 
 like betraying herself to avow her predilection for draw- 
 ing and painting, but after a moment she said : 
 
 " An artist is what I should like to be above all things. 
 I think if I had it in my i^ower to study painting under 
 the best masters and to go to Rome, and if I could embody 
 my ideas and thus attain to my ideal of perfection in 
 painting, I should be perfectly hapi3y." 
 
 " Perfectly happy !" he repeated ; " a woman perfectly 
 happy from gratitied ambition ? You remember the words 
 of one who must have known the depths of the feminine 
 heart— herself a noble woman: 'Thou shalt have fame, 
 Oh mockery !' " 
 
 "Yes," she replied, "I remember it well, but I re- 
 member, too, one greater than she said that ' All is vanity 
 and vexation of spirit' " 
 
 "I believe," said he, with an earnestness that surprised 
 her, "that there are degrees of happiness, even in this 
 
OR hope's first school. 95 
 
 world, and I am inclined to think that love bears away the 
 jDrecedence from fame." 
 
 " Perliaps so/' she replied in a very matter of fact 
 manner, " yet may there not be sham in all V 
 
 Rodney Gilbert was disappointed in her answer. He 
 had expected, as quite usual for him, to hear a blushing 
 denial of any knowledge of love, instead of the common- 
 sense she took of the subiect and the coolness with which 
 she treated it. Hope was a mystery to him, as he was to 
 her. Just then she glanced at her watch. 
 
 "Our conversation is out, Mr. Gilbert, for the r)resent. 
 I will have to ring the bell for school again. I trust the 
 next time you see me I will not be in tears." 
 
 " May they never flow from a more serious cause," said 
 he gallantly, as he took his leave. " Aii rewir, Miss 
 Caldwell." 
 
 It rained after his departure, and the showier had not 
 ceased when the hour for dismissing the scholars arrived. 
 Hope disliked the idea of walking home through the wet, 
 but there was no hope for it. Luckily she had her water- 
 proof, overshoes and umbrella, and she started bravely on 
 through the shower, striving with all her might to keep her 
 skirt from contact with the mud with one hand, while she 
 grasped the umbrella in the other. She had not advanced 
 flfty steps before she heard the sound of horse's feet and the 
 rattle of wheels, and in a moment Rodney Gilbert rode up 
 in his phaeton. He was out of it in a second. 
 
 "Allow me to see you home. Miss Caldwell. I hurried 
 to the school-house to be in time, but you were gone. The 
 boys, too, can go with us." 
 
 Hope would rather have walked than for him to have 
 seen her in her present plight, but she accepted his offer 
 nevertheless. About half w^ay to Mr. Watkins they met 
 that gentleman in his buggy coming for Hope and his 
 children, and just then the sun burst out shining through 
 the drops of rain. 
 
96 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 " You have forestalled me, I see, Mr. G-ilbert ; well, I 
 expect you will not object to my taking Jamie and Willie. 
 I will not take Miss Caldwell, however." 
 
 "No, indeed, I would not submit to that," said Rodney 
 in a jesting tone. 
 
 "You might have to if I should choose to leave you," 
 she replied. 
 
 "You would not be so ungenerous as to do that, I know, 
 and besides, if it does not continue to rain, you will oblige 
 me by going with me to see Miss Estelle Moran, will 
 you not?" 
 
 " I do not know^," she said. " I am hardly tit to see, or 
 rather to visit, a stranger, and besides, I may get to school 
 too late." 
 
 " School again ! Miss Caldwell, take my advice ; do not 
 aspire, in your earl}" youth too, to a martyr's fate, without 
 his crowm, as assuredly will be your lot if you let your 
 work shut you out of all pleasure. May I picture your 
 future if you pursue this course ?" 
 
 She gave a laughing assent. 
 
 " You will spend all your youth in the narrow routine 
 of the school-room, for you will be too absorbed in your 
 work to care for love and marriage ; and w^hen your best 
 days are spent in the vain effort to please peojjle who will 
 pay you the least price they can procure your services for ; 
 when the bloom of youth is gone, j^ou will see yourself 
 edged aside for girls far inferior to you, and your whole 
 future life will be embittered by vain regrets for youth 
 wasted in martyrdom to duty." 
 
 "A terrible picture," said she. " You are worse than 
 Cassandra herself." 
 
 " May I reverse it ?" 
 
 "Certainly ; I should like to see it reversed." 
 
 "Spend your youth as it should be; give yourself all 
 needful recreation ; enjoy your life ; fall in love with some 
 
OR hope's first school. 97 
 
 fellow worthy of. you, and in future years you will have 
 some one to love and take care of you, and will be the 
 guiding star in some pleasant home." 
 
 "Perhaps," she said doubtfully; "but love cannot 
 come at one's bidding, and your picture is not always 
 realized, even when people seem to marry hajipily." 
 
 " Very true ; but I think the chances for happiness much 
 better in a married than in a single life." 
 
 "Let me describe my life as I hope it to be, should I 
 continue in my present profession." 
 
 " I am all attention," he replied. 
 
 "I shall work faithfully on, day after day, feeling thatl 
 am no drone in the great hive of life, but am a faithful 
 worker. I shall live frugally and save up enough each 
 year to enable me to live independently when youth has 
 departed, and my last days I shall spend quietly but in- 
 dustriously, absorbed in books, in painting, in work, 
 thinking and caring naught for who outshines me in 
 society." 
 
 "There is no convincing you; you are a regular phi- 
 losopher, I see. Still I hope for you, as I do for my other 
 lady friends, that you will never be an old maid," said 
 Rodney. " If you wish to do good you can carry out your 
 schemes married as well as single. Marry one as good as 
 my old schoolmate Herbert Ransom, and you will have 
 your hands full assisting him in his good works." 
 
 "No, no ; he seems too lofty in his aims, too lifted up 
 above every-day motives to ever think of loving any one, 
 far less a girl like I am, sinful and weak." 
 
 " A girl like you !" echoing her words. " He might feel 
 I)roud of ever winning your regard." 
 
 A deep, deep blush dyed her cheeks as he said this, and 
 she rej)lied almost scornfully : 
 
 " A truce to compliments, if you please. 1 do not fancy 
 them, and more particularly if I do not deem them sincere." 
 
08 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 " Not sincere ! what reason have you for doubting me ?" 
 " Probably a better one than you can imagine, but one 
 which I should not like to tell you, and that reminds me — 
 what did you think when I told you that I thought the 
 author of ' Passing Thoughts ' was a morose and gloomy 
 person ? I know now who is the author, though I did not 
 know it then." 
 
 "I thought that you spoke truth, though I must own it 
 made me feel quite badly to think that you had so poor an 
 opinion of me." 
 
 "Mr. Gilbert, I cannot help thinking that you speak 
 ironically, yet as I cannot truthfully retract the opinion I 
 then expressed, you will have to make the best of it. I 
 am sorry if it hurt your feeling in any way. I did it un- 
 consciously though, believe me." 
 
 " But you have your wish," said he; "j^ou know the 
 author of ' Passing Thoughts.' " 
 "It is very strange," she replied. 
 "Quite romantic, is it not ?" 
 "Very," said she, absently. 
 
 By this time they had reached Mr. Watkins' gate. The 
 rain had entirely ceased and the brief time before nightfall 
 bade fair to be pleasant, and after a moment's hesitation, 
 Hope decided to continue her ride to Mrs. Moran's. The 
 rest of the way Rodney Gilbert entertained her with 
 accounts of different scenes and incidents of his past life, 
 and proved himself a very entertaining companion. Hope 
 had not thought him handsome before, but when his dark 
 eyes were lighted uj) with animation, and when in smiling 
 he displayed a lovely set of teeth, he was certainly far 
 better looking than the majority of men. 
 
 It was nightfall when they reached Mrs. Moran s. Estelle 
 was in waiting to welcome them and conducted Hope into 
 a room to lay aside her waterproof and hat, and thence 
 into the parlor. Tp Hope's profound astonishment, Daniel 
 
OK hope's fikst school. 99 
 
 Young soon made his appearance, and was as cordial as 
 ever. It was evident that Rodney Gilbert's attention to her 
 had excited his spirit of rivalry. During that evening he 
 was talking to her or promenading, while Rodney was 
 paying especial attention to Estelle. There was music on 
 the piano and singing. Later in the evening Nathan Allison 
 came with a young lady, and these, with Mrs. Moran, 
 formed quite a lively party. Hope, whenever she could, 
 conversed with Mrs. Moran, who was a very pleasant com- 
 panion. The hours sped by swiftly. Daniel Young con- 
 tinued to be unusually agreeable, though Hope could not 
 forget his words that she had overheard, and treated him 
 quite indifferently. Nathan Allison who seemed, Hope 
 thought, in love with Estelle, helped them in singing. 
 They were looking at the album together, and Hope noticed 
 the next morning that the space occuj)ied by Estelle' s pho- 
 tograph was empty, and she judged rightly that the 
 picture had been given him by Estelle. She had ever 
 thought well of him, and could not lieli^ judging that he 
 would prove a most excellent husband to any girl whom 
 he might marry. 
 
 Once during the evening Rodney Gilbert sat beside Hope 
 and looked over a volume containing many charming 
 pictures of scenes in Greece and Italy. He watched her 
 dark eyes glisten and sparkle as she surveyed the picture 
 of the Coliseum. 
 
 "I have wandered among the ruins of the Coliseum by 
 moonlight,", said he, "and words would be entirely inade- 
 quate to describe the marvelous charm which lingers 
 around it. The mind is oppressed with the tide of recol- 
 lection which sweei)S over it, surrounded by this relic of a 
 dead but mighty past." 
 
 "Yet a past which I glory in thinking is forever past, 
 notwithstanding the mystic spell attached to the old 
 
100 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 Romans," she replied. " What is all the glory of Pagan 
 Rome compared with the dazzling splendor of tlie nine- 
 teenth century f ' 
 
 " Past ! Present ! Future ! have they not all a charm of 
 
 their own ?" 
 
 " All but the present. You forget the verse which says : 
 
 ' Still we tread the same causeway, 
 The iiresent's still a cloudy day.' " 
 
 "Yes," said he, " the past has a dim, illusory charm of 
 its own ; the future, a glory thrown around it by a too 
 sanguine imagination ; and the present : are we not quite 
 comfortable this evening ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; we have passed the evening very comfort- 
 ably—music, mirth and social cheer have conspired to 
 render it exceedingly agreeable to me." 
 
 "And the society of Mr. Young— has he not been a 
 decided addition to the pleasure of the evening?" said he, 
 with a scrutinizing look in his eyes. 
 
 "Not more so than every other member of this pleasant 
 company," a spice of coolness in her tones, for she did not 
 like this direct questioning. 
 
 Rodney Gilbert saw the expression half of anger, and 
 hastily changed the subject. 
 
 The hour for retiring came all too early, and the morning 
 sun was shining brightly when Hope awoke. After making 
 her toilet she walked out on the piazza. Mrs. Moran's 
 X)lace was very pleasant, with long piazzas, wide rooms and 
 a superfluity of windows ; with ivy-wreathed trees in the 
 front yards, the ivy forming a festoon from one tree to the 
 other. Then there was a tlower yard, though only a few 
 flowers had survived the November frosts, and Hope 
 thought she had never seen a place better suited to read 
 and dream and meditate. "To dream of what or whom 1" 
 she soliloquized, and then involuntarily she thought of 
 Greece and Rome, and with them of Rodney Gilbert. 
 
OR hope's first school. 101 
 
 Why should he haunt her thoughts'^ She did not really 
 like him, yet something was ever throwing him in her path. 
 "If I believed in an evil genius," thought she, " I should 
 say that Rodney Gilbert is mine." 
 
 "Good morning. Miss Caldwell," said Daniel Young. 
 " Will you accept of a present f and he handed h-er a tiny 
 bouquet — a geranium leaf and a late rosebud. She thanked 
 him, took it and pinned it at her throat with her breast- 
 pin. During the few moments before breakfast he did 
 his best to play the agreeable, but Hope could never 
 forget that he had spoken so carelessly of her, and he felt 
 that there was an insuperable obstacle to their friendship, 
 though very far from guessing the real truth. He ascribed 
 his loss of favor to Rodney Gilbert or Herbert Ransom, he 
 could not tell which. 
 
 Hope's ride to school that morning was a rapid one, and 
 she came very near being out of time. 
 
 "Thank you. Miss Caldwell, for comi^lying with my 
 request," said Mr. Gilbert. "I have had a most enjoyable 
 time." 
 
 " So have I, and my headache is completely cured, 
 thanks to your skill. Fresh air, exercise and pleasant 
 company are the best medicines after all." 
 
 " I should certainly take pleasure in administering these 
 remedies whenever you are afflicted with a similar attack, 
 but I shall not be here for four weeks. lam going to New 
 York, and shall visit a friend in the upi^er part of the 
 State upon my return, and shall not see you again under a 
 month. Good bye." 
 
 He clasped the little hand very tightly when bidding her 
 adieu, and though she said to herself that she neither ad- 
 mired nor liked him, an indefinable sense of loneliness 
 crept over Hope as she caught the last glimpse of his 
 vehicle disappearing in the distance. And her wonted 
 tasks lost some of their interest to her, so much absorbed 
 was she in pondering over the events of yesterday. 
 
102 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Hope worked on with untlagging interest in her school, 
 rising betimes and sitting nj) beyond the usual bed-time of 
 country peoi)le, to accomplish all that she had planned to 
 do. Rodney Gilbert's advice to her, "not to make a 
 martyr of herself," was by no means uncalled for, though 
 destined to be disregarded by her, "A place for every- 
 thing, everything in its place ; a time for everything, 
 everything in its time" — how easy it is to repeat these 
 rules, yet how difficult to invariably observe them our- 
 selves or to enforce their observance in others. Perhaps 
 nothing in her school life gave our heroine more trouble 
 than to require her pupils to carry out this precept. She 
 had strictly forbidden borrowing in her school, believing it 
 to be a habit extremely detrimental to the character, yet, 
 as is the disposition of children, they were waiting for an 
 opportunity every day to break this rule without punish- 
 ment. We will give the reader a descrij^tion of two little 
 scenes in the school-room, one before and one after her 
 making a rule against borrowing. One day before the 
 necessity of such a requirement Avas apparent to her, (for 
 all teachers must learn by experience,) Hope noticed that 
 little Harry Ambler was not, as usual at that hour, cii)her- 
 ing on his slate. 
 
 " What is the matter, Harr^^ ?" she inquired. 
 
 " I haven't any pencil. Miss Hope." 
 
 " No pencil ! what have you done with the one you had 
 yesterday ?" 
 
 " I loaned it to Miss Helen Hartwell and she lost it," 
 said Harry, tears gathering in the brown eyes, both from 
 grief at loss of the pencil and apprehension in regard to 
 
OR hope's first school. 103 
 
 some punishment being inflicted on him for allowing the 
 needed article to be misplaced. What could be done ? 
 For the remainder of the evening Harry had to substitute 
 some other lesson for his ciphering, as no crayons had yet 
 been provided for the blackboard, and Hope then forbade 
 her scholars to borrow jDencil, slate or book from each 
 other thereafter. Shortly after this she noticed another 
 pupil idle who should have been ciphering. It was Mary 
 Hartwell this time. 
 
 "Why are you idle, Mary ?" she asked. 
 
 " Because, Miss Caldwell, I have no pencil, and you will 
 not let us borrow. Violet Leonard would lend me one 
 were it not against the rule." 
 
 "No," said Hope, "I cannot allow that. Study your 
 tables this evening, and to-morrow I will see what can be 
 done." 
 
 So on the morrow she bought a box of crayons and a 
 number of pencils, and armed with these she expected to 
 have peace for some time. But what child does not love a 
 new article better than an old one ? What child is it that 
 will not willingly lose an old book, or slate, or pencil even, 
 if the one by which it is replaced is not of half as good 
 quality as the lost one? It required the utmost strictness 
 in giving out crayons and pencils to the pupils in order to 
 prevent wilful waste. Of course the teacher's patience was 
 sorely tried, yet who could punish a child severely for 
 using the two little w^ords which so many grown people 
 consider a sufficient excuse for every delinquency, "I 
 forgot." 
 
 " I forgot, Miss Hope," said Roy Wilkins, " and put my 
 pencil in my trousers' pocket, the pair I had on last week, 
 and so I left the pencil home to-day." 
 
 "Did I not tell you to leave your pencil in your desk ?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, but if I do somebody gets them." 
 
 That omnipresent "somebod\%'' what a hard fellow he 
 
104 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 is to get hold of ! And as of course the desks had no 
 locks, no one could deny the justice of the charge, yet no 
 one could be brought to punishment for it. Such was the, 
 little vexations which Hope was called on to endure. Small 
 in themselves, yet more trying to the patience than the 
 severest stroke of fate ; the one stinging like a swarm of 
 sand flies ; the other crushing out hope at one blow. But 
 her life was not all darkness. There were times when, 
 sorely tried, she was ready to exclaim with the Psalmist, 
 "Oh that I had wings like a dove, for then would I fly 
 away and be at rest i" but at other times she rejoiced at 
 the thought that she was a teacher, as she felt sure that 
 next to parents, they have the greatest influence over the 
 minds of the young. 
 
 We have mentioned three sisters, without calling their 
 names, toward whom Ho^^e felt an unbidden attachment 
 spring up in her heart. Katharine, Cornelia and Nellie 
 Turnage were kind, tender-hearted girls, who seemed never 
 weary of accommodating their teacher, and of showing her 
 by every act in their power that they loved her, and their 
 present of flowers, brought so frequently when in season, 
 afforded Hope as much real pleasure as though they had 
 bestowed the costliest gifts. Toward her scholars, though, 
 she tried to be strictly impartial. Nor was this a difficult 
 matter to be, for with the majority of them, when one good 
 quality was lacking, its want was amply supplied by 
 another. Then, too, when one had a decided turn for one 
 study, it was very apt to be deficient in something else, 
 and when there was no especial talent for anything, Hoj^e 
 still regarded a pupil with interest, and her sympathy was 
 more deeply awakened in behalf of those seemingly desti- 
 tute of gifts than toward the more favored ones of her 
 school. We have spoken of Johnnie Twining. It was 
 real!}' a joy to her to see what an abundant harvest the 
 good seed sown in his heart was capable of bringing forth. 
 
OR hope's first school. 105 
 
 Poor little untrained boy ! firmness and gentleness com- 
 bined were so new to him as to fill him with wonder and to 
 cause him to yield a ready obedience to the commands of 
 his teacher. He was never weary of bringing her anything 
 which he thought would be of interest to her — sometimes 
 Howers, at others a tiny pine cone, or an acorn, or a 
 pebble, and she would explain to him something of the 
 nature and history of each, to which explanation he would 
 listen with the closest attention. Apart from all pecuniary 
 consideration, was it not worth toiling for to rescue even 
 one such child from ignorance and vice \ The naughty as 
 well as the good boys were all objects of care, attention 
 and deep interest to her. She contrived too, notwithstand- 
 ing her strictness, to gain the love of each and all. But 
 there was one of her i^upils who would have won the affec- 
 tion of almost any instructor, so lovely was she in person 
 and disposition, so charming in mind and manner. Her 
 name was Violet Leonard, and the name seemed a fitting 
 one for the little one who bore it. She was about seven 
 years old, and was as fragile as a flower ; her cheeks some- 
 times aglow with color, and at others as pale as Alpine 
 roses. Her eyes were of a clear, transparent blue, and 
 were full of intellect, while the exquisite shape of her 
 head, the delicacy of her hands and feet, and the almost 
 indescribable exj^ression of her face — an expression de^ 
 noting extraordinary refinement, unusual talent and rare 
 spirituality in one so young -invested her with a wonder- 
 ful charm. Add to this a sweet, plaintive voice which 
 touched the heart at once, and a way of asking questions 
 and of making remarks all too deep for her tender j^ears, 
 and it was not to be marveled at that little Violet twined 
 herself very closely around the heart of her teacher. Hope 
 had heard, too, a bit of Mrs. Leonard's history which in- 
 terested her deeply. She was a most lovely, religious, 
 conscientious w^oraan, so the neighbors said, and when she 
 
* 
 
 106 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 married Mr. Leonard it was considered a most suitable 
 match. He was young, handsome, talented, easy in manner 
 and brilliant in conversation — possessed, too, of consider- 
 able means. Habits acquired in early youth, and the in- 
 fluence of evil associates after his marriage, were his ruin. 
 That which has wrecked so many noble lives, which has 
 blasted so many fond hopes, was his curse also. Intem- 
 perance had gradually blunted every generous feeling of 
 his nature. His j^roperty dwindled away, and at last, 
 much against his wife's wish, he opened a bar-room — "the 
 grog shop at the forks of the road," the children called it. 
 Oar heroine pitied Mrs. Leonard deeply, and her interest 
 in little Violet was enhanced by a knowledge of her mother' s 
 sad lot. Often during recess would A^iolet come in the 
 school-room and, sitting down by her teacher, ask her 
 strange questions of God and Heaven, and of the unseen 
 world — queries too deep for the wisest to solve ; such as if 
 she were to die now would she grow up in Heaven or would 
 she remain a little child ; and if any of the angels lived in 
 the moon and stars. 
 
 "Violet," said Hope one da}^ after this strange ques- 
 tioning, " run out and play, child. Don't trouble yourself 
 with such matters as these now ; wait until you are grown." 
 
 " But suppose," said she, a strange, wistful expression 
 in the blue eyes, "I never live to be grown. I will not 
 And out." 
 
 " Oh yes," replied the teacher, " then you would know 
 
 better than I do, for then you w^ould be in Heaven with 
 God and his good angels," and fearing tlie effect of such 
 deep thought in one so young, she sent her out to play. 
 
 Violet's love for flowers was intense. She could scarcely 
 pass one without wishing to pluck it, and would come 
 laden with them so long as they lasted, and when the frost 
 killed them she grieved over them as if they had been real 
 live pets which had died. Hope was not personally ac- 
 
OR hope's first school. 107 
 
 qiiainted with Mrs. Leonard, as she had not yet called on 
 her. She seldom visited of late years, Mrs. Watkins 
 had informed her. Henry Leonard, Violet's brother, was a 
 handsome, intelligent child, but partook more largely of 
 his father's disi)osition than did his sweet little sister. It 
 was a positive pleasure to teach such a child as she was— 
 she was so studious and so anxious to please her teacher ; 
 but luckily for themselves, unluckily for Hope, the rest of 
 Jier pupils were thorough children in disposition— full of 
 romp and play, and not over anxious to learn. Our heroine 
 made a resolution never to let a day pass without the 
 children imbibing one or more new ideas, and never to let 
 them merely repeat words without some insight into their 
 meaning. For the purpose of developing their powers of 
 observation and capacity for describing anything, she 
 would sometimes require them to give a description of the 
 simplest object, using correct terms and being perfectly 
 true to nature in their delineation. This exercise she found 
 not only useful to the children, but to herself. Every 
 thing she learned was in some way turned to advantage in 
 the school-room and made subservient to the noble end of 
 developing the mental and moral powers of those entrusted 
 to her charge. Even her cherished drawings and paintings, 
 which had before occupied her time and attention, took a 
 a new coloring from her occupation. She planned off a 
 picture entitled, ''The Outcast," in which Johnnie Twining, 
 as she first saw him, should ajipear, and another called 
 " A Little Child Shall Lead Them," in which a child, with 
 the face and form of little Violet, was beckoning to its 
 parents from the skies. 
 
 About three or four weeks after Hope's visit to Estelle, 
 and when December, with its chilling blasts, had ushered 
 in the Winter season, there came a snow — a lovely snow, 
 which was so infrequent an occurrence in this part of the 
 country as to be hailed with astonishment and delight by 
 
108 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 all of the school children. Hope's spirit always rose in 
 the same ratio as the thermometer fell, and she was half 
 wild with joy when she waked np and found the whole 
 landscape dazzling white with its wintry blanket. There 
 would be no school that day, for the children were too un- 
 accustomed to it to wade through the snow to the school- 
 house, and after breakfast that morning she went out in 
 the yard and engaged in the very dignified business of 
 playing snowball with James, Willie and Robert King. 
 Clad in a garnet dress, trimmed in black, her black hair 
 tied with garnet ribbons, her eyes twinkling with merri- 
 ment, and the eifect of the crisp, wintry air apparent in 
 her glowing cheeks, she was a charming object to look 
 upon, and so thought Robert King, and so thought Rodney 
 Gilbert, who chanced to be passing. He had lately returned 
 from his trip, and lifted his hat as he went by. He was 
 even impolite enough to look back at the two, who were 
 pelting each other with snowballs and laughing as though 
 the world was all gladness. "She is a puzzle," was liis 
 reflection : at one time, dignified, almost to sternness, and 
 crying over a pang of conscience which others would 
 scarcely think of ; at another as liappy and careless as 
 a bird set free, and romping like a child ; and withal 
 cherishing ambitious dreams ; I don't know what to think 
 of her. But she looks decidedly jDretty just now." The 
 result of his meditations, whatever they were, was a visit 
 to Mr. Watkins' that very evening. Hope Hushed rosy red 
 when she heard of his arrival. She was busy, however, 
 and did not go into the parlor until her equanimity was 
 restored. She greeted Mr. Gilbert less cordially than he 
 thought necessary, after several weeks absence. Slie 
 inquired how he enjoyed his trip. 
 
 "Pretty well," he replied, " though I am equally well 
 if not better satisfied to be at home again. I wish I could 
 have been in your romi3 this morning. I do not think I 
 
OR hope's first school. 109 
 
 have seen as happy a crowd since I left, as you all 
 seemed." 
 
 •' Well, I was happy, for the time ; i)erfectly happy," 
 she replied. "I think the atmosphere has as much to do 
 with one's happiness as anything else." 
 
 " Yes, I remember what was said when we parted, about 
 fresh air, exercise, and cheerful company being the best 
 medicines, and I think you have been trying them all in 
 my absence ; for I never saw you look so well." 
 
 "lam glad to hear you say so," she replied mischiev- 
 ously, "for you know I lacked brightness and color; 
 and there was great room for improvement in my looks." 
 
 " Lack brightness and color ! Who ever told you that i 
 Did Mr. Young?" 
 
 "Did anyone ever say so?" said she, with a merry little 
 laugh ; "if so, they were certainly never betrayed by Mr. 
 Young." 
 
 "Miss Caldwell, a thousand pardons, but before I knew 
 you well, I said something like that, but I can assure you 
 I have had cause to retract my opinion more than once 
 since, and have long ago regretted my rashly s^Doken words. 
 But you were represented to me as a being more beautiful 
 than common mortals ever are ; and my imagination had 
 invested you with angelic charms. I trust, though, that 
 you will forgive a too free expression of my opinion, when 
 at first you did not seem to reach my ideal." 
 
 "I have nothing to forgive, Mr. Gilbert. How can it 
 possibly affect me, whether you think me pretty or other- 
 wise. I do not wish my friends to like me for my looks, 
 even were they attractive enough to gain friends, yet you 
 must own that the manner in w^hicli I learned your opinion 
 of my personal appearance, was, to say the least, embar- 
 rassing in the extreme." 
 
 And in her candid way she gave him a brief account of 
 how she had overheard the conversation between him 
 
110 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 and Mr. Young, so disparaging to her charms. "I 
 do not wish him ever to know that I heard what he 
 said," she continued, alluding to the latter gentleman. 
 "I do not care a mite for any criticism on my personal 
 appearance, but to be spoken of as one with whom to carry 
 on a pleasant flirtation ; as one to be taken up and thrown 
 away at pleasure, yon must own, is rather hard to bear." 
 
 " I shonld judge so," said Mr. Gilbert. 
 
 He was running over in his mind every word of the con- 
 versation which Hope had so unfortunately overheard, 
 and could not help feeling annoyed. "What must she 
 think of him, as well as of Mr. Young?" He would have 
 now given much to recall his rashly spoken words. Hope's 
 beauty had grown upon him ; had been revealed more and 
 more every time he saw her, until now he could analyze 
 each j)erfect feature, and wonder that he was so blind as 
 not to perceive her loveliness upon their first meeting. "I 
 was a fool," thought he, " to have expressed my opinion 
 of her so soon, and if she is like other women she will 
 never forgive my unflattering words." 
 
 If she cherished any resentment against him, she had, 
 however, a most charming way of concealing it, for she 
 had never seemed so agreeable to him as on this Winter's 
 evening, nor so beautiful. The firelight shed a ruddy glow 
 over cheek, brow and perfect form ; mirth beamed in the 
 bright eyes and parted the crimson lips, revealing the 
 pearly teeth between ; while the whole face was framed in 
 its wealth of curly black hair, setting it off as a handsome 
 frame does a lovely picture. Her manners, too, seemed to 
 Rodney more graceful and fascinating than he had ever 
 before imagined them. Remembering her as he had first 
 seen, and as he now beheld her, he made two comparisons 
 in regard to the difference in her at those two periods. He 
 thought of a splendid instrument of music, when sitting 
 silent and dead in its place, and of the same instrument 
 
OR hope's fikst school. Ill 
 
 when some master hand awoke its silent chords to almost 
 divine harmony, thrilling the whole soul with rapture. 
 Then he compared her to Pymalion's statue, warmed into 
 life. Perhaps she mentally made some such comparison in 
 regard to him. His dark cheek glowed, his eye sparkled, 
 and his conversation, though at times tinged with bitter- 
 ness, was extremely interesting. He had travelled a great 
 deal, and had thought and studied deeply, and in conver- 
 sational power was superior to Daniel Young. In her 
 childish manner Hope asked him questions of the places 
 where he had been, and of books that he had read, of which 
 she was ignorant; and it afforded him pleasure to give her 
 any information which she needed, and which he possessed. 
 Her confession seemed to have broken down the barrier of 
 reserve which had existed between them, and she could 
 now talk to him as to a friend. The hours passed in each 
 other's society fled away so swiftly, on this occasion, that 
 neither could realize how they passed, yet Rodney retired 
 that night with an aching heart. 
 
 " It is wrong," he soliloquized, " utterly wrong in me, 
 I must be firm. It wiH not do. The little witch is very 
 fascinating, yet I must not forget everything for her. No ! 
 I will not." He took a picture from his pocket, looked at 
 it earnestly, and thus continued: "Miss Hope is not so 
 pretty as she, not so elegant, hardly as witty, and has not 
 her wonderful voice, yet I must stay out of her society or I 
 will be a miserable man, and might, too, render her 
 unhappy." 
 
 Pursuant to this resolution, he shiycd away from Mr. 
 Watkins' for several weeks. Hope wondered what made 
 him so whimsical, but she had so much to do as to give 
 her but little time for idle reverie. Then, too, there were 
 many other visitors to divert her mind ; and the time Hed 
 swiftly away. Christmas holidays were now tit hand, to 
 the great joy of teacher and of xuipils. 
 
112 THEN AND NOW 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Christmas day with our heroine was rather a dull one. 
 She gave holiday, of course ; aside from this, and her giv- 
 ing and receiving a few presents, there was little to distin- 
 guish the day from any other, with her. With the chil- 
 dren Santa Claus made amends for all deficiencies. They 
 were half frantic with delight on beholding the well filled 
 stockings hung by the mantel-piece ; and so well did they 
 appreciate the good things therein, that before night Maud 
 was quite sick, and James and Willie were tired of seeing 
 confectioneries. However, on the next morning, all arose 
 in good health and spirits. Hope was invited to a dinner 
 party at Mr. Stuart's, and Charlie Stuart, the brother of 
 Hattie and Mary, whom she had not seen on her former 
 visit to his father's, came after her. It was there that 
 she met with Mr. Rodney Gilbert, the first time that she 
 had seen him since his visit to Mr. Watkins', on that snowy 
 night, of which we have already spoken. He seemed to 
 her, upon their first meeting on this occasion, extremely 
 unsocial, and he had an abstracted look about him, which 
 did not add to his comeliness. Something seemed to have 
 gone wrong with him. Mr. Young was also at Mr. Stuart's. 
 He seemed in as good spirits as ever, and was apparently 
 as fond of Hope's society. 
 
 There were quite a number of guests at Mr. Stuart's on 
 this occasion, many of whom our heroine had never before 
 met. Among these was a Miss Myrtle— Miss Juno Myrtle 
 —a tall, rather graceful looking girl, with bright, black 
 eyes, dark skin, a beautiful suit of glossy black hair, and 
 an air of style about her which rendered her quite attract- 
 ive. Add to this that she was a bright, witty girl, and 
 
OR hope's first school. 113 
 
 almost a marvel in conversational power, considering lier 
 limited chances, and you have as near a description of 
 Miss Juno Myrtle as we can well give. Miss Mary Allison, 
 a cousin of Mr. Nathan Allison, was a young lady rather 
 below than above the medium height of women, with light 
 hair, a fair, ruddy comi)lexion, intelligent blue eyes, a 
 pretty foot, and a very plain, but very neat style of dress- 
 ing. She was a teacher in a high school — a girl of more 
 than ordinary intellect, and one with a warm, tender heart; 
 yet, who was withal, so full of mirth and fun, and so irre- 
 sistibly comic in her speech and manner, as to be the life 
 of any crowd she chanced to be in. Just now she was 
 entertaining a coterie of ladies and gentlemen — her 
 witticisms provoking much good humored laughter from 
 those around her. Ada Crawford, a prettily formed, curly 
 haired, brown-eyed little lady, with a childish love of fun, 
 and a cheerful, light-hearted temperament ; one who saw 
 " the silver lining to every cloud," and looked forward 
 with bright hopes to the future, no matter how dark the 
 I)resent might be, was another one introduced to Hope 
 that day. Her dress and general aj)pearance put our 
 heroine in mind of a sparrow, so exquisitely neat and 
 fitting was her apparel ; so light and petit her general 
 appearance. Her frank way of speaking Hope admired 
 very much. Whatever might be her foibles deceit was not 
 one of them. Nina Harrington, a young girl of sixteen 
 summers, a rosy-cheeked Hebe — the living impersonation 
 of perfect youth and perfect health— came next in order of 
 introduction. Her blue dress, with white lace at the neck 
 and in the sleeves, set off her fair skin and rosy cheeks ; 
 the glossy brown hair was drawn away from the white 
 brow and arranged very plainly, revealing the perfect 
 shape of her head ; the small, pretty feet which her misses 
 dress betrayed, looked even smaller in the kid buttoned 
 shoes, and her appearance, taken altogether, was charming, 
 
114 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 Rachel Bruce, a young lady of medium height, with a 
 slender, graceful figure, soft, dark skin, pretty teeth, and a 
 magnificent suit of black hair, was a girl whom to know 
 well was to love, so sweet and amiable was her disposition. 
 Her maroon-colored dress, trimmed in brocaded velvet of a 
 darker shade, was extremely becoming to her ; and among 
 her dark locks was carelessly placed a geranium, with its 
 red flowers. Cora Cromartie was a tall, queenly looking 
 woman, with complexion like a blusli rose, golden hair, 
 pretty hands, and an air of native grace and freedom about 
 her, reminding one of the movements of a deer. Her cousin, 
 Emma Cromartie, was alike her in complexion and the 
 color of her hair, but much stouter. She was a most lovely 
 young lady. 
 
 Such were the youthful members of the female sex 
 assembled at Mr. Stuart's, besides Mary and Hatty, Estelle 
 Moran and Hope. There was, besides these, a goodly 
 sprinkling of married ladies, and some few single ones n o 
 longer young. Mrs. Ambler, the mother of Harry, Mrs. 
 Powers, Mrs. Turnnage, Mrs. Hunter and Mrs. Wheeler were 
 all there. The most of these ladies were good looking, 
 intelligent and pleasant. As all had either one or more 
 children attending Hope's school, they of course felt both 
 curiosity and interest in regard to the teacher, whom they 
 had never met before. They seemed to vie with each other 
 as to which one should show her the most respect and 
 attention, and she, in turn, was affable and sociable with 
 all. 
 
 "Miss Caldwell," said Mrs. AmblerandMrs. Turnnage in 
 a breath, " you really deserve credit for advancing your 
 scholars so rapidly, when this is your first attempt, too. I 
 feel proud of my children's progress. We all know, too, 
 how difficult it is to manage them at home, and appreciate 
 your efforts to train them well, very much indeed." 
 
OR hope's first school. 115 
 
 " I declare. Miss Caldwell," remarked Mrs. Powers, " I 
 was both amused and provoked when Mr. Powers told me 
 how old Mrs. Simmons talked to you. I thought to 
 myself, she will think strangely of our neighborhood; 
 but you must rememember that at a country school, very 
 often all classes are thrown indiscriminately together. 
 This is the first time Mrs. Simmons ever sent her children 
 to any but a public school. The trustees, in consideration 
 of her poverty and widowhood, agreed to let her boys come 
 for a merely nominal sum, and I suppose she thought, 
 with the jealousy common to some people, that her chil- 
 dren might be treated with injustice by the teacher, and so 
 she determined to give her orders beforehand." 
 
 "In regard to text-books, Miss Caldwell," remarked 
 Mrs. Tiirnnage, "I must say for the patrons of the school, 
 that the teachers have been changed so often, and books 
 accordingly, that some of them— particularly the j)oorer 
 ones — have become comi^letely discouraged, and almost 
 vow, sometimes, that they will never iDurchase a new book 
 for their children whenever an old one will answer the 
 purpose. Then, too, some of the books are torn up and 
 destroyed by the children, so that it is a difficult matter to 
 muster up books enough, of the same kind, to properly 
 classify your pupils." 
 
 "I have tbem all classified now," replied Hoj^e. " The 
 majority of my patrons were quite willing to buy the 
 necessary books, and those who were not 1 furnished my- 
 self, so that now I have no trouble." 
 
 "You don't mean to say you bought the books and 
 gave them away." 
 
 "Certainly," she replied, "this is far better than to 
 work under the disadvantages I would have done with- 
 out." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Hunter, who had not yet spoken, 
 " that beats all ! I would not have done it." 
 
116 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 " Miss Caldwell," remarked Mrs. Ambler, " I was highly 
 amused at Harry, when he told me of the little incidents 
 in regard to the pencils. Poor, little fellow ; it seems that 
 his pencils slip away from him. You must have your 
 patience sorely tried sometimes." 
 
 "I do," replied the teacher, frankly, " but I looked for 
 that in the beginning, and so am better prepared for it." 
 
 "I think," said Mrs. Turnnage, "that you were intended 
 for a teacher." 
 
 Hope smiled a little bitterly. 
 
 "One can make anything that is in human power a 
 success, by simply devoting every energy of the soul to 
 it," she answ^ered. " I never dreamed of being a teacher a 
 year ago, so there was surelj^ no natural bent of my mind 
 toward that profession. Yet, now that I have entered upon 
 it, I think scarcely any calling nobler or grander." 
 
 As she spoke, enthusiasm, which was a part of her very 
 nature, gave a richer glow to the velvet cheek, a brighter 
 light to the dark eyes. 
 
 " What a lovely girl Miss Caldwell is," they all remark- 
 ed, as she went to another i)art of the apartment. I doubt 
 very much whether she well bury herself in a country 
 school house long, when she is so well fitted to shine in 
 society." 
 
 "What a beautiful diamond breast-pin," reriiarked Mrs. 
 Powers, "and that black dress fits her to perfection." 
 
 If such were the remarks made by those of her own 
 sex, one could not wonder that Hope was admired by the 
 gentlemen of the crowd. Besides those whom we have 
 already introduced to the reader, all of whom, except 
 Herbert Kansom, were present, she was to-day formally 
 introduced to quite a number, some of whom we will 
 describe. 
 
 Egbert Lyons was a bachelor, over fifty years old, yet 
 still handsome, whose intelligence, suavity, ease of manner 
 
OR hope's first school. 117 
 
 and extreme politeness would ever give liim a passport in 
 the best society, independent of fortune. He seemed, 
 though a great ladies' man, proof against female attraction 
 any farther than mere admiration went. Perhaps his heart 
 was buried in some love of the past. Be this as it may. no 
 one ever thoiTght of his falling in love. It was too absurd 
 a thing to be dreamed of. A young teacher named Wil- 
 liam Melvin, a slender, keen-eyed, reasonably good looking 
 young man, compared notes with Hope on teaching, to her 
 intense amusement. He was intelligent and good humored, 
 and she imbibed some new ideas from him. 
 
 "Well," said he, after she had related, though guard- 
 edly, some little incidents connected withher life at school, 
 "I can t blame the i')atrons of a school so much, because 
 so often they have such shabby teachers. I have some- 
 times taught a public school, and know a great many 
 public school teachers, and not one in ten is qualified for 
 the profession. So that they teach the requisite number 
 of days and draw their money out of the treasury, they 
 are content. I have known it to be the case where thirty- 
 five, or even as high as forty pupils went to one teacher, in 
 an uncomfortable school house, running the greatest risk 
 in regard to their health, with no uniform text books, 
 with no black board, with no advantages whatever, and 
 the parents thought it all right, because the little ones were 
 going to school free. Doubtless many a little grave, now 
 sodded over, might have never been but for cold caught at 
 such institutions of learning as these. Sometimes it is a 
 matter of utter impossibility for the instructor to hear more 
 than one or two recitations a day from some of the scholars, 
 on account of having so large a number so imperfectly 
 classed. I can assure you, Miss Caldwell, that a great 
 reformation is needed both in teachers and in school houses, 
 more particularly in the country ; and proud as I am of my 
 native State, which in i^oint of natural advantages, I 
 
118 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 believe, is exceeded by no other in the Union, never will 
 North Carolina attain to the lofty eminence which is 
 rightly hers, until her people awake to a just appreciation 
 of the advantages of education. Such, at least, are my 
 sentiments." 
 
 " I ^gree with you," replied his listener. "I w^as utterly 
 surprised at the amount of ignorance which exists among 
 some classes of our society, judging from some of my 
 pupils." 
 
 After this, conversation turned on' other topics, and 
 Hope enjoyed the morning very much. 
 
 One of her new acquaintances was a young gentleman 
 called Jonathan Hull, a tall, large man with big blue eyes, 
 fair skin and black hair, who was of an exceedingly lively 
 turn, and seemed rather a favorite with the girls. He, too, 
 had a chat with her, and the hours sped by so swiftly 
 among all her acquaintances, that dinner was announced 
 ere she had a thought of such a thing. It was Mr. Jonathan 
 Hull who escorted her into the dining room, and her seat 
 at the table chanced to be between his and Mr. Kodney 
 Gilbert's. Mr. Gilbert had spoken to her during the morn- 
 ing, but had had small chance to converse with her ; and 
 now that he was so near her, he was so engrossed in con- 
 versation with Miss Mar}'' Allison as to have no opportu- 
 nity to speak to Hope ; the more i)articularly as Mr. Hull 
 was chatting away to her in such a lively manner that she 
 was compelled to give him her whole attention. She could 
 scarcely have told why herself ; but notwithstanding the 
 presence of such a merry, laughing crowd, a cold chill crept 
 around her heart. No one would have dreamed of such a 
 thing, who looked at her, but for a few moments she was 
 thoroughly miserable. After dinner she started out on 
 the long piazza for a drink of water, when, to her great sur- 
 prise, she espied Mr. Gilbert, seated on one of the long 
 benches there. He was alone — looking "gloomy enough," 
 
OR hope's first school. 119 
 
 she thought. She gave a slight start of surprise as she 
 saw him, but went on to the water shelf. As she turned 
 to go back into the house, she spoke to him: 
 
 "Sitting out here alone, Mr. Gilbert, when such a 
 j)leasant crowd is gathered in the parlor ? I am surprised 
 at you ! '' 
 
 "I am always alone," he replied, "too miserable even to 
 be polite"; and there was a something reckless, despairing, 
 in his tones which caused Hojie's tender heart to pity him, 
 and awakened in her a vain yearning to soothe his sorrow, 
 from whatever source it sprang. She came a little nearer 
 to him ere she spoke : 
 
 " You are not like yourself, Mr. Gilbert ; has anything 
 happened to cause you sadness ? " 
 
 "Nothing, Miss Hope," he replied, "or, at least, noth- 
 ing for which I am not to blame myself. Sit down here 
 and talk with me a little, we shall not be missed from that 
 giddy crowd in the parlor, and your talk may do me 
 good." 
 
 She took the proffered seat, saying as she did so, " Isn't 
 this glorious weather for December ? I almost look to see 
 violets springing up under ray feet." 
 
 " You remind me of Tennyson, when he makes his hero 
 say of Maud : 
 
 " ' From the meadow your walks have left so sweet, 
 That whenever a March wind sighs ; 
 He sets the jewel print of your feet, 
 In violets blue as your eyes.' 
 
 Only your eyes are dark instead of blue." 
 " What a pity I am not a blonde," she exclaimed, "so 
 that those verses might apply to me. Ah ! fair skinned, 
 blue-eyed girls have so much the advantage. Angels and 
 beauties are so generally represented with fa'r skin and 
 golden tresses." 
 
120 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 " I have a picture," said he, "which I will show you 
 sometime, of one as fair as poet or painter ever delin- 
 eated," 
 
 " I used to know a girl of that description," remarked 
 Hope, a slight shade crossing her face as she spoke. 
 
 "And was she not as good as she was beautiful?" 
 inquired Rodney. 
 
 "Yes, if you think Cleopatra or Delilah good, she 
 was," replied Hope, with more bitterness in her tones than 
 he had ever noticed before, "for I think she was their 
 exact counterpart." 
 
 "I am sorry it is so," he remarked, carelessly, "fori 
 had hitherto imagined all fair skinned ladies almost per- 
 fection, and thought that only brunettes like myself had a 
 spice of the evil one in them." 
 
 She eould scarcely tell by his tones whether he spoke 
 ironically or not, but made no reply. 
 
 "Do you know," said she, changing the subject rather 
 abruptly, " that in weather like this I sometimes feel per- 
 fectly happy, and could sit and dream my life away, if 
 stern duties did not await me." 
 
 " Dream of what, or wdiom ?" he inquired. 
 
 A vivid blush mounted to her cheek ; for of late she was 
 conscious that there was one whose image would intrude 
 ui)on her musings. She felt relieved when he continued, 
 without waiting for a reply or seeming to notice her crim- 
 son cheeks. 
 
 "Dame rumor has already given you a central figure 
 round which your meditations may revolve, in the person 
 of my friend, Mr. Young." 
 
 " Mr. Young !" she exclaimed in unfeigned surprise. 
 " Can it be possible that x^eople are so foolish V 
 
 "I see nothing verj^ foolish in that," he remarked 
 drily. 
 
OR hope's first school. 121 
 
 " Perhaps you and others may not, but if he and myself 
 deem it an absurd idea, I don't see why others should not 
 look on it in the same light." 
 
 "And you are nothing to each other, then V he inquired, 
 his eager tones betraying the deep interest he felt in her 
 answer. 
 
 This, and the expression in his dark eyes caused Hope's 
 heart to beat faster, and her cheeks to burn. There was a 
 yearning tenderness in his look, which told her that 
 Rodney cherished a more than ordinary attachment for 
 her ; but she said, stifling down the heart throbs as she 
 spoke : 
 
 " We are nothing to each other, Mr. Gilbert, but friends, 
 and hardly very good friends now." 
 
 "I am sorry that you are not good friends, but am glad 
 that you are not betrothed, for I love " 
 
 He stopped suddenly, for at this crisis Hattie Stuart 
 and Mr. Young came out on the piazza, and directly in 
 front of the bench where they were sitting. 
 
 "Found at last!" exclaimed Hattie, her merry laugh 
 belying the bitterness of her spirit as she noticed the ill 
 concealed embarrassment of the two, " we could not 
 imagine what had become of you." 
 
 "Well," said Rodney, recovering his composure, "I 
 came here for a little fresh air and sunshine, and Miss 
 Hope for some water ; and I determined not to let the 
 opportunity of having a pleasant tete-a-tete pass unim- 
 proved. I move that we all four stay out here awhile, for 
 I dislike the house in this weather." 
 
 Somehow there was now a change of programme. Hattie 
 playfully took a seat on the bench beside Mr. Gilbert, Mr. 
 Young beside Hope, and soon a stranger would have been 
 utterly deceived in regard to these two coux)les. Whether 
 from a wish to be revenged on Mr. Young, for his higlih^ 
 spoken words, by coquetting with him, or from a desire, 
 
122 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 to make Rodney jealous, or from a real change in lier 
 sentiments toward Mr, Young, Hope certainly appeared 
 well pleased in liis comx^any. After a little wliile they left 
 the piazza and went out into the flower garden together. 
 Rodney's stealthy glance in that direction was not unno- 
 ticed by Hattie. 
 
 "Miss Hope and Mr. Young are certainly betrothed," 
 she remarked. "Mr. Gilbert, you should not have let him 
 get ahead of you in the race. It will be hard work making 
 up for lost time." 
 
 "Yes," he replied, with a forced laugh, "but dilatory 
 people always fall behind in the race." 
 
 " She is certainly pretty," said Hattie, "but i:)erhaps 
 there are others equally so." 
 
 "If looks were all " Rodney began, then checking 
 
 himself, abruptly changed the subject. 
 
 Once more that evening he had a chance to chat with 
 Hope for a brief while, but somehow the words he wished 
 to utter were crushed back, and he left her society a 
 wretched, almost desi:)airing man. The winter day, so 
 fraught with social pleasure to the rest of the pleasant 
 party at Mr. Stuart's, was not enjoyed by him. As for our 
 heroine, for the first time in her life she acknowledged to 
 herself that Rodney Gilbert had a share in her affections ; 
 that, morose and gloomy as he was at times, there was still 
 a subtle charm about him which caused her to regard him 
 with feelings of tenderness, which, under all the circum- 
 stances, she was ashamed of. "Why did she care for 
 him?" Again and again did that question occur to her, 
 but was destined to be unanswered. Herbert Ransom 
 seemed a far better man, Daniel Young a much more 
 pleasant one ; yet, in spite of all, her heart went straying 
 after Rodney with strange, inexplicable interest. Perhaps 
 it was partly s^nnpathy for his griefs, from whatever 
 source thej^ sprang. And yet he had never declared himself; 
 
OR hope's first school. 123 
 
 had never betrayed his feelings for her, save in liis i)eculiar 
 manner at times, and for some time had not even called on 
 her. She hated herself for being iinw^omanly and foolish, 
 and for lacking in self respect ; but all this did not drive 
 the unbidden guest, love, from her heart. 
 
 The merry, talking, laughing party at Mr. Stuart's 
 seemed to enjoy themselves immensely. Late in the even- 
 ing, when the crowd made a move to dex^art, the Misses 
 Stuart insisted on the single portion of it remaining, if the 
 married ones were compelled to leave. 
 
 "We are just in the humor for enjoyment now. Stay 
 to-night and we will dance."' 
 
 This proposition was hailed with pleasure by the Juvenile 
 portion of the pleasant party, to whom the winter day had 
 flown away too swiftly. So there was a little dance that 
 night, which gave general satisfaction to all. Though 
 Hope declined Joining with the votaries of Terpsichore, she 
 enjoyed the festive scene very much. Miss Juno Myrtle 
 and Miss Mary Allison, with Miss Estelle Moran and the 
 Misses Stuart, were constantly on the floor. Emma Cro- 
 martie, too, "tripped the light fantastic." The Messrs. 
 Stuart, Mr. Daniel Young, Mr. William Melvin, and at 
 rare intervals, Mr. Gilbirt, all danced. Hope was not 
 lonely, however. Mr. Stuart, the father of her young 
 friends, sat by her, and conversed a part of the time, and 
 also Mr. Egbert Lyon, who proved himself very entertain- 
 ing. Mrs. Stuart, too, chatted with her for some time ; and 
 though Hope did not enjoy the festal scene so well as her 
 young companions, yet she felt well pleased, and in spite 
 of the hidden pain at^her heart, contrived to be merry and 
 sociable. 
 
 During the Christmas holidays she was invited to Join 
 several "surprise parties," and at every one she met 
 with nearly the same crowd whom she had seen at Mr. 
 Stuart's, augmented by a dozen or so other young people. 
 
124 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 Mr. Gilbert was at all of these, and several times seemed 
 on the point of declaring himself to her, but something; 
 changed the tide of conversation every time. She really 
 felt relieved when Christmas was over, and she back in the 
 school again. Work was a help to her excited feelings — 
 an opiate to the pain at her heart. She wondered at Rod- 
 ney's strange conduct. Something whisj)ered to her that 
 he loved her, and yet, what reason could there be for his 
 peculiar manner toward her ; for his melancholy and 
 abstraction ? She could not fathom the mystery, but it 
 annoyed her greatly. 
 
 One lovely Sabbath evening, about six weeks after 
 Christmas, (Rodney had not called on her in that time), 
 Herbert Ransom was spending the evening at Mr. Watkins', 
 after preaching at the little church in the morning. He 
 and Hope were alone for awhile, and in their conversation 
 he spoke of his old schoolmate. 
 
 "I cannot imagine what has come over Rodnev of late. 
 He has been for years somewhat of a recluse, but for the 
 last few weeks, just, too, as I was lioping for better things 
 of him, he is even more gloomy than ever. I can think of 
 but one clew to the mystery. Miss Hope, I trust you will 
 not deem me impertinent, but if you have aught to do with 
 his melancholy, in all seriousness, I beg of you to think of 
 him kindly, and if he ever offers you his hand consider 
 well before you reject it. Believe me, he is a better man 
 than j)eople think ; is honorable and high minded, and 
 did he not have too exalted ideas of perfection — which not 
 realizing he has become somewhat soured — he would have 
 no superior among my acquaintances." 
 
 " You are mistaken, Mr. Ransom. Mr. Gilbert's melan- 
 choly is not attributable to me. He has never addressed 
 me. Indeed, he has not been here for weeks." 
 
 Some girls Herbert Ransom might have doubted, had 
 they made this statement, under the circumstances ; but 
 
OR hope's FIK8T SCHOOL. 125 
 
 he had implicit faith in Hope's truth. She was not one of 
 those girls who deem that falsehood is necessary or Justifi- 
 able in love affairs any more than in the common, every 
 day business of life. 
 
 "If so, and I do not doubt it. Miss Caldwell, I am at an 
 utter loss to divine the cause of his sadness. Here is a 
 paper containing a piece of poetry which he wrote." 
 
 He handed it to Hope, who with strange emotion read 
 the following lines : 
 
 " TOO LATE. " 
 
 " There are words of hope, the funeral knell. 
 The seal of an awful fate; 
 Heaven shut out by an endless hell, 
 Are in these words, " too late.'' 
 • The cloth is spread, the red wine poured. 
 Music breathes its sweetest spell. 
 The guests are there in bright array, 
 As gay as a marriage bell. 
 
 And by and by, at the midnight hour, 
 
 A knock is heard at the gate ; 
 But the haggard guest only hears the words: 
 
 " Stand without, you are "too late." 
 And the warmth, and light, and social cheer, 
 
 The red wine's sparkling foam. 
 The music and mirth are not for him ; 
 
 And he wearily gets him home. 
 
 I have seen a boy, wayward and wild, 
 
 Heeding not his father's word ; 
 But going on in his own sad way, 
 
 As though he had never heard ; 
 Pausing not to think, in his mad career 
 
 Of sin, and shame, and crime. 
 Of the furrows upon his parents' brow. 
 
 And while locks before their time ; 
 
 Until to his awakened sense. 
 
 The awful tidings came: 
 Your father will hear your voice no more ; 
 
 No more will speak your name. 
 
126 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 And when too late, alas ! to fill 
 
 His sire's heart with joy ; 
 I have seen grief come like a mighty flood, 
 
 On the late repentant boj'. 
 
 But turning too late the spirit to cheer. 
 
 Of a parent good and kind. 
 Through all his life will rest a cloud, 
 
 On the boy's remorseful mind. 
 Through the long weeks of the Summer time, 
 
 The earth is athirst for rain ; 
 The heavens are brass, the ground like rock, 
 
 The fields have been tilled in vain. 
 
 The streams are dry, the gasping fish 
 
 Are left on the laud to die ; 
 All things are parched by the blazing sun. 
 
 Shining from a cloudless sky. 
 But when too late to revive the fields. 
 
 Or fill the shrank ears with grain, 
 lu copious showers, o'er hill and dale. 
 
 Descends the wished-for rain. 
 
 Poets lauded almost to the very heaven, 
 
 While cold in death they lie ; 
 Though denied in life a loaf of bread. 
 
 And penuiless left to die. 
 Costly tombs o'er those whose whole life long 
 
 Was one of toil and pain ; 
 All these but prove, that coming too late. 
 
 Good gifts may come in vain. 
 
 But to feel that the love which would have made 
 
 The dim, drear earth a heaven. 
 Is freely ours, but coming too late. 
 
 In mockery seems given. 
 To feel that honor binds us fast, 
 
 In chains as hard as steel. 
 And links our fate with one for whom 
 
 We no aflfection feel. 
 
 While madly strays the heart away 
 
 Toward its rightful mate ; 
 This is indeed to feel the power 
 
 Of these short words, "too late." 
 
OR hope's first school. 127 
 
 '• What could Rodney mean by the last verse?" She 
 was as much puzzled in regard to it, as Mr. Ransom had 
 been in regard to his conduct of late. Of course her 
 thoughts often wandered, during the ensuing week, to the 
 one whom she could not help considering her evil genius. 
 On Sunday he came to Mr. Watkins'. Late in the evening 
 he with the young teacher and the two boys, James and 
 Willie, walked to a stream about half a mile from the 
 house, which was noted for its beauty. The evening was 
 glorious. There was a misty blueness in the atmosi)here, 
 through which the sun fell in golden rays. The woods 
 with their numerous pines, bays and evergreen thickets, 
 did not look desolate ; and the water with the reflected 
 form of shrub and tree in its clear depths, bore an aspect 
 of repose entirely in keeping with the sacredness of the 
 Sabbath evening. Rodney was talkative and pleasant, 
 but Hope noticed a sad look about his eye — an expression 
 as of one who has fought and conquered, but whose 
 victory has been dearly gained. Never had she so longed 
 to know the secret ot his life— the hidden canker which 
 was eating his heart away ; never had she felt such a 
 yearning wish to console him. They walked on, talking 
 quietly until they reached a rustic bridge across the little 
 stream ; there they paused. James and Willie were at a 
 considerable distance from them, gathering acorn caps and 
 other woodland treasures. Hope looked at the water 
 silently, ever and anon casting a pebble or stick in it, and 
 watching it as it floated off. 
 
 *' You are nothing but a child after all, Miss Hope. How 
 came you to have such a strange mixture of qualities in 
 your disposition?" remarked Rodney, with a tender 
 smile; "I never saw anyone like you. I do not know 
 what to think of you." 
 
 "Then do not think at all," said she, lightl3^ 
 
128 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 "That is impossible," he rei^lied ; then with a sudden 
 burst of emotion, " Oh, Hope ! Hope ! Would to heaven 
 I had never seen you ! " 
 
 She was startled at this unexpected avowal. Her face 
 flushed, then turned pale, but recovering her self-possession 
 she said : 
 
 "Mr. Gilbert, why should you speak in this manner? 
 What have I done that you should make such a wish ?" 
 
 " What have you done ? Nothing, except to open my 
 eyes to the fact that a man may lose a lifetime happiness 
 just by being a little too hasty." 
 
 "You speak in riddles, Mr. Gilbert," with a touch of 
 hauteur in her tones, " I do not at all understand you." 
 
 " I will explain myself more fully then," he replied. "I 
 do not know. Miss Hope, whether you have ever deemed 
 that I cherished aught beside friendly feelings for you ; 
 ]3robably never gave the matter a thought ; still I think 
 some explanations are due y«)u." 
 
 "Due me?" she inquired wonderingly ; then changing 
 her tone she continued, I wish you would give me your 
 confidence ; would tell me what hidden grief is preying 
 upon you. I am your friend and can sympathize with 
 your sorrows, even if out of my power to console you." 
 
 " At least you can pray for me," he rejoined. "I have 
 confidence in your prayers, and Herbert Ransom's, and in 
 those of no one else." 
 
 "That I do already," was her reply, hastily adding the 
 words, "as I do for all of my friends." 
 
 "For all of your friends! Am I then just classed 
 among your list of friends 1 " 
 
 "Certainly, you would not have me consider you an 
 enemy, would you?" 
 
 "No, but I do not cherish friendly feelings for you. I 
 love you madly, yet I hardly have the right to tell you so, 
 
OR hope's first school. 129 
 
 for I was engaged to be married when I first saw you, and 
 am now." 
 
 At this most nnlooked-for declaration, Hope turned 
 deadly pale ; but she betrayed her feelings in no other 
 way. Rodney continued : 
 
 "This, Miss Hope, is the canker worm that is eating up 
 my very heart. You cannot realize what a conflict I have 
 undergone since I last saw you. To love one woman, as 
 wildly and devotedly as I do you, and yet be bound in 
 honor to another, whose happiness might be completely 
 sacrificed by my falsity ; this is my fate. Believe me, 
 nothing would have caused me to reveal this but the 
 thought that you might think strangely of me ; might 
 deem me ungentlemanly ; for your woman' s intuition must 
 have told you that several times I was on the eve of declar- 
 ing my love for you, but that something ever hindered me 
 from doing so." 
 
 "Why then, Mr. Gilbert," she inquired, her voice trem- 
 bling a little in spite of her efforts to steady it, "did you 
 ever seek my society ?" 
 
 "Because, I did not realize my danger. At first sight 
 you know I deemed you neither pretty or interesting ; and 
 though I became more and more interested in you at every 
 subsequent meeting, I never dreamed of any serious im- 
 pression being made upon my heart, until that snowy 
 evening when I came to see you. I paid you attention 
 merely because you were a stranger in the neighborhood, 
 and I thought it due you. But after that night I opened 
 my eyes to the truth. I saw myself drifting away from 
 truth, from honor, and from my betrothed ; and yet, so 
 strong was the love I bore you, that when thrown in your 
 society, several times I was on the point of flinging every 
 other scruple to the winds, and of asking you to become 
 my wife, without informing you of my engagement to 
 
130 THEN AND NOW 
 
 5 
 
 another woman. But, bad as I am, I have a horror of 
 falsehood, and I wish you to know all the truth." 
 
 " Mr. Gilbert, of what use is this conversation ; what do 
 you purpose by telling me that you love me, but are 
 betrothed to some one else 1 I think you are wronging 
 yourself and wronging your betrothed, and I see nothing 
 to be gained by the avowal." 
 
 " Nothing, Hope, except that I do not wish you to look 
 upon me as a deliberate villain. I wish you to think at 
 least kindly of me in the long years of the future." 
 
 " That I might do without your telling me so much." 
 
 "Then you do not care for me; your heart is utterly 
 untouched? I ought to rejoice at the thought, and yet so 
 iiitensely selfish is my love that I should rather you would 
 be unhappy than not to care for me." 
 
 " This is most unkind ! ungenerous ! " exclaimed Hope, 
 with crimson cheeks and trembling voice; "I did not 
 deem you, Mr. Gilbert, possessed of such contemptible 
 Vanity." 
 
 "Vanity! Oh! my love, could you look into my heart 
 you would never accuse me so unjustly ! Believe me, I 
 am honorable. I will be all that my betrothed can exjDect 
 if we marry, but my heart does not thrill to the sound of 
 her voice as it does to yours ; her little hand is so lovely 
 that it hardly seems human ; yet it has not the power to 
 fill me with joy by a chance touch as does yours, and I 
 can spend whole days contentedly away from her, while it 
 costs Ine the bitterest self-denial to absent myself from 
 you. Oh! cruel fate that I met with you 'too late,' too 
 late, at least, to strive to gain your heart ! " 
 
 " Moved, in spite of herself, to intense pity for the strong 
 man, whose noule frame was shaken by deep emotion, she 
 sjjoke, but her voice and look were more that of some holy 
 nun than of a loving, sorrowing woman. Raising her hand 
 toward the deep blue sky, she repeated, in solemn tones. 
 
OR hope's first school. 131 
 
 the words of the inspired Apostle: '• Set your affections 
 on things above, not on things on the earth ;" for "here 
 we have no continuing city, but we seek one to come." 
 "Who knows but what seems so dark to you now may 
 seem very bright hereafter ; who knows but what if you 
 had been free you might have thought infinitely more of 
 me than of the Creator?" 
 
 " True," he replied, "and yet it seems to me that if you 
 were mine I should be a thousand times more religious -a 
 thousand times more grateful to God for his mercies." 
 
 She did not tell him so, but she felt that all througli 
 the coming years it would be a consolation for her to know 
 that Rodney had loved her, and would have made her his 
 wife had not honor forbade. But a strange fate had drifted 
 them utterly apart ; she was powerless to console him, for 
 she had as high a sense of honor as he, and would wrong 
 no woman living if she knew it. There was but one course 
 to take. This must be their last meeting. It was a bitter 
 hour to both. The evening sun was setting gloriously ; 
 the scene had lost none of its i^eacef ulness ; yet a storm of 
 grief was raging in the hearts of these two. Rodney, in 
 spite of Hope's attempt to be cold and dignified, had 
 guessed but too truly that his love was returned in all its 
 full intensity, and it seemed worse than death that just as 
 they knew of their mutual affection they would have to 
 separate. Oh ! that God willed that they might die 
 together ! I would rather die with Rodney than live with- 
 out him, was Hope's unspoken thought, as it was his in 
 regard to her. But her decision was made. She would do 
 nothing to tempt him from truth and honor. She would 
 not swerve from the right. Love might never more brighten 
 her path, the "rough and flinty way" must be for her, 
 " the primrose path " for others, but her resolve was the 
 same. Woman-like, she had a curiosity to see the portrait 
 of her riva,l and expressed her wish to Rodney. It was a 
 
132 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 small picture, elegantly framed, wLicli he took from his 
 pocket, and the face it j)ortrayed was as lovely as an angel's 
 dream ; but who can describe her amazement, her horror, 
 when in the portrait she beheld the features of her false 
 friend — the one who had robbed her young life of its 
 brightness — Amelia Montcalm ! Yes, there was Amelia's 
 portrait ; her fair, exquisite face and her halo of golden 
 hair ; how strange it seemed that Rodney did not love her 
 perfectly, when her charms had wiled away Robert St. 
 George's heart from his betrothed! Hope's face turned 
 deadly pale as she glanced at it, so pale, indeed, that Mr. 
 Gilbert feared she would faint, but she was too strong 
 for that. 
 
 "For pity's sake, Hope," he exclaimed, "what is the 
 matter ; you are not like yourself ?" 
 
 " No, I am not myself ; but it is useless to speak of it ; 
 let us return home." 
 
 " I may not see you again for a long time, possibly 
 never, and yet you hasten the moment of parting ! Can 
 you not give me the few brief moments that we might be 
 together? I expect to carry the memory of this hour all 
 through my future life, and sometimes in the twilight, 
 when the quiet and stillness woos to sweet musings, I will 
 think of every word and look of yours, and more particu- 
 larly of everything connected with this, the saddest of all 
 partings. Oh ! my precious love ! I am selfish and mean, 
 even in my devotion to you ! Would to Heaven I had 
 acted more wisely !" 
 
 "You have done no one any intentional wrong, Mr. 
 Gilbert, and unintentional wrongs can be forgiven ; but it 
 will be dishonorable in you now not to banish all thought 
 of every one but the girl who has plighted her troth to you. 
 You must live for her." 
 
 "No!" was his reply; "ambition shall be my idol 
 
 now. My heart is like a heap of dust. I deemed myself 
 miserable before, but I am trebly wretched now !" 
 
OR hope's first school. 133 
 
 She felt intuitively that he would be still more unhappy 
 when united to a woman whom he did not j)erfectly love. 
 But she strove to repress all such thoughts, and absolutely 
 longed for the moment of his departure to come. It was 
 agony to be with him, and yet feel that an impassable 
 barrier was between them. Better that a thousand miles 
 intervened. The reader may well believe that it was no 
 small temptation to Hope to use every art of which she 
 was mistress to induce Rodney to break his troth with 
 Amelia. Every feeling of love and of revenge would have 
 been fully gratified by his desertion of his betrothed for her 
 sake. But so noble and conscientious was she that she 
 would not contemplate such an act for one moment. She 
 dashed the cup of possible joy and triumph resolutely 
 from her lips, and in its stead drained one of wormwood, 
 but she felt that she was doing right, and this thought 
 supported her. Rodney seemed to share in her feelings in 
 regard to their being separate, for upon his return to Mr. 
 Watkins' he ordered his horse, and notwithstanding the 
 entreaties of the family for him to spend the night with 
 them, rode off into the gathering darkness. Hope was 
 glad of the shelter of the night, screening her even from 
 the eyes of friends, for she longed to give vent to feelings 
 but too hardly repressed, and her pillow that night was 
 moistened by a torrent of bitter tears. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The neighborhood in which Hope taught was emphati- 
 cally a farming one. A grove of noble trees surrounded 
 the school-house, but the highway was immediately in 
 front of, and at no great distance from it, and back of it, 
 and on each side, lay wide fields which every year bore 
 
134 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 abundant crops of corn and some cotton. Now, in the 
 early spiring days, when not busy with the children, she 
 would watch the ploughmen, as all day long they followed 
 their patient team, and wonder to herself if they did not 
 grow very weary of their task. Then, when they planted 
 the grain, it seemed to her that it must require faith to 
 believe that the buried seed would ever come to earth 
 again, even though the same miracle was witnessed every 
 year. "It is sown in corruption, it is raised in incorrup- 
 tion."" These words of the inspired Apostle haunted her, 
 and turning to her own work she would marvel if the seed 
 sown by her with such j)atient toil, would ever spring into 
 immortal life. For Hope regarded the mere imparting of 
 knowledge to x^ux^ils as but a small part of a teacher's 
 duty. The heart — the spiritual nature— she regarded as of 
 even more importance than the intellect, and small indeed 
 would have been her satisfaction to know that she was 
 training her scholars but to make them more accomplished 
 in wickedness, but to render them more capable of carrying 
 out plans to mislead or injure others. Shortly after her 
 last interview with Rodney, a description of which we 
 have already given, she took up the idea of having a kind 
 of Commencement — a " school breaking," as it is called in 
 the countrJ^ She had a programme of it already laid out 
 in her own mind, and intended to prepare the children for 
 it pretty soon. One evening, when she was busy hearing 
 a recitation, she saw a train of people passing along the 
 road before the school-house. It was a funeral procession. 
 There was a rough cart, with a small coffin in it, followed 
 by several buggies, some of them rather the worse for 
 wear. The foremost ones contained the mourners. The 
 teacher asked no questions, but her curiosity was strongly 
 excited in regard to it. She felt anxious to know what 
 family had been recently deprived of one of its members. 
 In about an hour the crowd returned, and to her surprise 
 
OR hope's first school. 135 
 
 three of the buggies stopped before the school-house. The 
 children were all agog with excitement at the unwonted 
 spectacle. Helen Hartwell held up her hand. 
 
 " What is it, Helen ? " inquired the teacher. 
 
 " Yonders Ma and a whole crowd of folks comin' to the 
 school-house. They've all got out of the buggies," 
 
 Hope recognized the "Widder Simmons," and invited 
 her and the rest of the party in and gave them seats. 
 They each and all, with the exception of the "Widder," 
 introduced themselves to her upon their entrance. That 
 old lady grasj^ed her hand warmly as she bade her good 
 evening. The other members of the party were resj)ec- 
 tively Mr. Liggins, Aunt Rachel Tyler, Mr. Fogyman, Mrs. 
 Hartwell and Mr. Twining. 
 
 Hope went on with the recitation, but it must be con- 
 fessed with a shade of embarrassment on her countenance. 
 Not being accustomed to frequent visitors, she felt a little 
 discomposed at the unexpected arrival of these. But she 
 struggled against this feeling. Her manner of teaching- 
 surprised and interested them. Though falling far short 
 of the mode of instruction now-a-days, it was superior to 
 that of the average country teacher a few years back. 
 When the recitations were over she drew a house on the 
 blackboard. Then she required her pupils to tell her the 
 name of each separate part of a house and the use of eacli 
 part, as also the materials of which it is composed. She 
 then said : 
 
 "To-morrow we will continue this lesson. We will find 
 out all about it, from the foundation-stone until it stands 
 up among the trees, with its chimneys, windows and doors. 
 In this simple manner she interested the children. They 
 were first attracted by her drawings, then her questions 
 roused their curiosity, and besides she had a talent of 
 throwing a human interest around everything. Her object 
 lessons were indelibly stamped upon the memories of her 
 pupils. 
 
136 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 The company remained until after school was dismissed. 
 When the children had all filed out, and were making the 
 woods ring with their shouts of gladness, they lingered 
 still, seemingly loth to part with Hope, who, for her own 
 part, was anxious to return home. Mr. Liggins, a coarse, 
 red-faced, red-haired man, whose nose betokened a too free 
 use of the bottle, and whose whole face was the living 
 impersonation of sensuality, unmodified by refined train- 
 ing, seemed to feel that he was called upon to say some- 
 thing to the teacher : 
 
 "I likes your teachin'. Miss Hope, in most respects. I 
 likes it very well but for one thing. You ain't tight 
 enough. Boys like mine," waving his hand in a sensa- 
 tional manner towards the unfortunate Sam and Joe, "boys 
 like mine need the hickory two or three times a week to 
 season them. They can't get along without it. Every time 
 mine comes home sez I to them, ' who got a whippin' to- 
 day?' and the answer always comes, 'Nobody.' I 
 don't see how you can get along without it." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Fogyman, "in my time it was no 
 common thing for the teacher to whip eight or ten at a 
 time, and sometimes one boy got five or six whippin' s 
 a day." 
 
 Though feeling it almost beneath her dignity to say any- 
 thing at all to these gentlemen, yet, fearing that her silence 
 might be construed into insult, Hope said "that she did 
 not disapprove of corporal punishment when really neces- 
 sary, but so far had managed to get on very well without 
 it." Her dignity, as well as the use of several words 
 whose meaning they could not fathom, awed both the 
 fault-finders into silence. Aunt Rachel Tyler next spoke : 
 
 " I wish. Miss Hope, you would make the children bring 
 their copies home every Friday, They get stolen some- 
 times here when left Saturday and Sunday. When I went 
 to school paper was paper ; children waskeerful with every- 
 
OE hope's first school. 137 
 
 thing, but now-a-days things is wasted. I tells Euphemia, 
 Octavia and Adolphus that when they comes to work as 
 hard as I do for everything they will be more particular. 
 Pencils, too ! I can't keep them in pencils to save my life. 
 I do not mean to complain, but you know it is aggravatin'." 
 
 Miss Rachel Tyler was a maiden aunt of the three Tyler 
 children, and was a really hard-working, persevering, 
 worthy woman, who had worked for and taken care of the 
 the three as though they were her own. She was a large, 
 but bony woman, every line of whose face and figure 
 betokened energy, decision, as also hard usage. Way 
 back in the sunny days of her girlhood Miss Rachel had 
 been a lover, but the years had come and the years had 
 gone, and still she led a single life, though it must be con- 
 fessed a very useful one. Heaven, only knows what 
 Euphemia, Adolphus and Octavia would have done with- 
 out her. It ought to be forgiven her if she imagined every- 
 thing in the past better than the present, for was not the 
 past inseparably connected with her girlhood and with the 
 one love of her life ? Had Hope known this she would 
 have had more charity for what she deemed fault-finding. 
 It is well for teachers to be acquainted with patrons, as 
 well as scholars, as they cannot always make due allowance 
 without. As it was, Hope passed the matter over the best 
 she could, telling Miss Rachel "that she used every means 
 in her power to make the children careful, for she was as 
 anxious as anyone for them all to keep good order, and 
 not to waste." 
 
 Mrs. Hart well, a stout, florid lady of some forty years, 
 next had her say : 
 
 "Helen tells me, Miss Caldwell, that you keep her in 
 sometimes of evenings. Please let her come home of 
 evenings. I wants her to milk the cows." 
 
 What could Hope answer to this ? Of what avail were 
 her efiiorts to advance the children when she met with such 
 constant interference ? 
 
138 THEN AND NOW 
 
 ? 
 
 Old Mrs. Simmons had nothing to say except in praise 
 of the teacher : 
 
 "George and Asa is gettin' along so well I only wish 
 they could go to school to j'ou till tliey's grown. The 
 other day Tom he had a nice j^am potato — a tremendous 
 one — and was crammin' it away in his trunk, and sez I, 
 ' Tom, what is that for I ' Sez he, ' V m a savin' of it for my 
 dear teacher.' " 
 
 "Yes," laughed Hope, "and I certainly enjoyed it. I 
 am glad to have my scholars love me." 
 
 "Johnnie never gets tired of talkin' about you. Miss 
 Hope," said Mr. Twining, "and he's larnin' right along, 
 too." 
 
 Mr. Twining was not destitute of good feeling, though 
 poor and ignorant, and the words of praise fell sweetly on 
 the ears of the young teacher, after being found fault of. 
 She felt that after all teaching was not an utterly thankless 
 task. And it pleased her even more to be loved by the 
 poorest and most ignorant children than by the highest. It 
 proved conclusively that at least she was not partial to 
 the latter, as so many teachers are accused of being, 
 
 " You must excuse us for comin' all in a crowd like," 
 Baid Aunt Rachel Tyler, as they were about to leave the 
 school-house; "only you see we was comin' from the 
 burial, and thought we would stop a little while, and I 
 wanted to see you 'bout the children's copy-books and 
 pencils." 
 
 " I am glad you came, and hope you will all call again," 
 said the teacher; "but whose funeral is it that you are 
 attending?" 
 
 "It's a little child that got burnt to death; poor Mrs. 
 Beckwith's youngest child. Its mother was washin' and 
 it was standin' around the pot. Its clothes got afire and 
 before they could put it out it got so badly burnt that it 
 died." 
 
OR hope's first school. 139 
 
 "Poor little creature!" exclaimed Hope, "and i^oor 
 mother ! it is dreadful !" 
 
 "Yes," responded Aunt Rachel, " but it is better off." 
 
 " It is better off !" Simple words, uttered by untutored 
 lips, but with a world of meaning in them and brimming 
 full of immortal hope. Somehow our heroine was suddenly 
 attracted by this strange old maid. 
 
 "Til venture to say that she has a good heart," was 
 Hope's thought, "and if in trouble of such a nature as I 
 could impart to anyone, I would go to her." 
 
 " You must come to see us, Miss Hope ; we will be 
 glad to see you," was the invitation she received on all 
 sides. 
 
 "I wonder why it is that I have so many friends," 
 thought Hope, on her homeward route. "They are good 
 to have, yet, lacking the love I crave, the world seems a 
 desert to me. Oh, Rodney ! had you not crossed my path 
 I would now be happy ! But I will not mope nor give way 
 to gloom and despondency." And she strove not to. She 
 dressed with as much care, worked as faithfully and tried 
 to be as cheerful as though the star ot her life had not 
 faded from her sky. She was strong and brave, yet at 
 times her wish to see Rodney rendered life almost insup- 
 portable. But as far as possible she crushed down all such 
 thoughts and feelings and filled up every hour with work. 
 " My life may be saddened, but it shall not be wrecked by 
 disappointed love," was her reflection. C-fod has been too 
 good to me for me to fling away all of His blessings merely 
 because He has not given me all I wish for ;" and we trust 
 that all of our readers, young or old, sentimental or prac- 
 tical, will be prepared to say amen to this pious resolve, 
 as also to do likewise, if placed under similar circumstances. 
 
140 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Mrs. Watkins, though by no means an inquisitive or 
 prying lady, was not entirely destitute of curiosity, and it 
 may well be supposed that it was strongly excited by the 
 conduct of Rodney and Hope. His evident melancholy 
 and sudden departure from her house on that eventful 
 Sabbath evening, his prolonged absence since, and the 
 abstraction of her manner at times, all convinced the lady 
 that there was some mystery about the matter, but what it 
 was she could not tell. She was no stranger to the lore of 
 affection, and had watched these two closely enough to 
 believe that they were lovers, and their strange parting 
 puzzled her. Could it be i^ossible that Hope had discarded 
 him ? She did not believe it, neither did she see any room 
 for a lover's quarrel ; but perhaps, after all, the girl loved 
 some one else better ; it might be Herbert Ransom, the two 
 were together so much and seemed so well suited in every 
 respect. Thus did the good little lady debate to herself, 
 but came to no definite conclusion. It must be borne in 
 mind by the reader that Mr. Gilbert's engagement had, at 
 Amelia's request, been kept a profound secret ; though it 
 must be confessed not at all contrary to Rodney's desire- 
 She was unwilling as yet to resign her belledom, though 
 she could scarcely hope to captivate a more eligible suitor 
 than her betrothed, and he was too thoroughly indifferent 
 about the matter to care. Not even to Hope had he told 
 every particular in regard to his engagement to Amelia. 
 Had he betrayed the whole truth it would have revealed a 
 deliberate scheme to inveigle him into matrimony. Amelia, 
 while in the little town near him the summer before, had 
 heard a glowing description of his wealth, and on a chance 
 
OR hope's fikst school. 141 
 
 visit to his mother's had satisfied herself that the report 
 was true. She was^then betrothed to another gentleman 
 (she had discarded Robert St. Gfeorge and a dozen others 
 long ago), but this was a small obstacle in her path. With 
 a cunning of which she was the perfect mistress, she 
 managed to completely^win the heart of Rodney's mother 
 before attempting'his capture. 
 
 " You will never find so good a girl, my son," said Mrs. 
 Gilbert to him ; "no one is so sweet and kind to me ; then 
 she is rich, stylish and as beautiful as an angel." 
 
 There was no denying her beauty. In all his^travels he 
 had never beheld a fairer being, and shesang as sweetly as 
 a nightingale. Then, too, she was witty, i3erfectly self- 
 possessed in manner, and could be as fascinating as a siren 
 when she willed it. Rodney's mother was anxious for him 
 to marry, and more especially if he could marry such a 
 cirl as Amelia. She had withheld her consent to his mar- 
 riage in his early life to a girl whom he fondly loved, and 
 since then he had grown moody, restless, wandering and 
 wretched. She fondly imagined that wedlock would 
 change his temper, and as Amelia was entirely to her 
 liking she endeavored by every means in her power to 
 induce him to address her. Yielding to her 'persuasions 
 and to the siren charms of a beautiful girl, 'in an evil hour 
 he offered his hand to Miss Montcalm, which, with affected 
 shyness, but with real exultation, she accejited, giving no 
 thought to her betrothed, thus cruelly betrayed by her 
 treachery. Rodney dreamed not that^he would ever love 
 again like he had in the si)ring-tide of his life ; he thought, 
 too, that his mother was correct in her views in regard to 
 his marriage; he admired Amelia's beauty and saw that 
 she was anxious to win his regard, and so had looked 
 forward to his marriage with her in exactly one year from 
 their betrothal, if not with joy, at least] without regret. 
 
142 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 But his acquaintance with Hope had revealed to him the 
 fact that a second love may be fully as deep, if not deeper 
 than the first. On his introduction to her he had neither 
 admired her face nor her manners, but in every subsequent 
 meeting he found himself strong!}^ attracted by her. The 
 ver^^ singularity of her disposition had for him a powerful 
 charm. The strange mixture of child and woman, the 
 determined, conscientious nature, linked with, the playful- 
 ness of extreme youth, the truth and frankness of her 
 disi^osition, her talent and independence, and this admi- 
 rable union of qualities, set off by a face and form which, 
 if not perfectly beautiful, were certainly far above the 
 average woman, had completely enthralled Rodney. He 
 felt at times that he had always known and loved Hope, 
 she seemed so thoroughly a part of his existence. A 
 hundred times did he resolve to break his engagement with 
 Amelia, and a hundred times did a higli sense of honor 
 impel him to act differentl3\ He grew wretched — more 
 miserable than he had ever been before. His friends and 
 acquaintances wondered at the gloom for which they could 
 assign no cause, and his mother was anxious about him. 
 But he confided his troubles to no one. His miserj^ was 
 heightened, yet by a strange contradiction lessened, by the 
 reflection that if Hope loved him she, too, would be ren- 
 dered unhappy. Something in her manner, in her tone of 
 voice, wliile talking to him — in her very looks, had betrayed 
 her feelings for him, all unconsciously to her. He felt 
 quite certain that she cared for him. Sometimes he thought 
 of ceasing to visit her, and he would stay away from Mr. 
 AVatkins' for awhile, but something seemed ever to throw 
 them together, and he learned, but learned "too late," that 
 she was the polar star of his existence. At last, worn-out 
 with the continual conflict, he determined to tell her all, 
 though her plainly expressed opinion of such matters left 
 him no hope of winning her, if she knew the truth, even 
 
OR hope's first school. 143 
 
 if he was dishonorable enough to desert Amelia for her. 
 He hated the idea of her thinking him false or fickle, -how- 
 ever, and so told her the exact state of affairs ; with what 
 result the reader knows already. Perhaps but few girls 
 would have acted as Hope did, and she might not have 
 done so at all periods of her life ; but of late Christian 
 X)rinciples had taken a very de^p root in her heart, and she 
 felt that it would be very wrong to do anything to win 
 another woman's affianced husband, even though that one 
 had injured her very deeply in the past. But it cost her a 
 bitter struggle to carry out her principles. Not until she 
 felt that Rodney's presence would cheer her no longer did 
 she realize the magnitude of her loss. It was comjiara- 
 tively eas}' to speak of the dreary future when he was by 
 her side, his dark eyes gazing fondly upon her, his voice 
 telling her of the love he bore her ; but now that he seemed 
 to have faded out ot her lifej it was at times very hard to 
 endure the thought of a life-time separation from the 
 object of her tenderest regard. During the hours of her 
 school, when her whole attention was needed for the duties 
 of the day, employment served as an opiate to pain, but 
 when the curtains of night were drawn around her, or 
 during the sacred stillness of the Snbbath evening, when 
 slie had full opx^ortunity for reflection, she would often 
 catch herself dreaming of Rodney and wondering where he 
 was and wdiether he ever thought of her now. Her prepa- 
 rations for her school exhibition went on. Even her 
 cherished drawings were neglected in her anxious desire to 
 have it a success. Rehearing dialogues and speeches after 
 school hours, and hearing the scholars rehearse them, 
 l^ractising tableau scenes, making artificial flowers to adorn 
 tlie stage, and devising appropriate mottoes for the same, 
 jogging the memories of her patrons in regard to nrrangv- 
 ments she deemed necessary, going through a workl of toil 
 undreamed of by those who have never tried it, no wonder 
 
144 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 that the bloom on her cheek faded and she grew thinner 
 than ever. Mr. and Mrs. Watkins noticed the change and 
 ascribed it all to Rodney. 
 
 " She has never been the same," said the lady privately 
 to her husband, "since the last day Mr. Gilbert was here. 
 She is too proud to wittingly betray her feelings, yet I can 
 easily see the difference." 
 
 "Can it be possible that he has trifled with her?" 
 inquired Mr. Watkins. 
 
 "I hardly think so," was her reply, " for the last even- 
 ing he was here he looked as sad as if he liad just heard 
 his own death warrant read." 
 
 "At any rate," said he,* "it is reported that he is court- 
 ing a young lady in town who has lately come there on a 
 visit, and I think I shall let Miss Hope know of it. It will 
 be the greatest kindness that I can do her, for she is too 
 proud, I think, to suffer herself to love a man who does 
 not care for her." 
 
 The next morning at the breakfast table he said : 
 
 " Miss Hope, there is now, I hear, the prettiest girl in 
 town who has ever been there. Though this is her second 
 visit there the young fellows are half crazy about her. 
 Mr. Gilbert, they say, is waiting on her." 
 
 " Who is she," she inquired, controlling her feelings by 
 a strong effort. 
 
 "Her name, I think, is Montcalm— Miss Amelia Mont- 
 calm ; probably she is of French descent." 
 
 Mrs. Watkins stole a look at Hope and saw that her face 
 was of an ashen paleness, though she was sipping her coffee 
 as if quite calm. She thought her husband cruel in his 
 kindness, and strove to mend matters, 
 
 "I do not envy the girl who marries Rodney Gilbert," 
 she remarked. " He is rich and somewhat talented, it is 
 true, but sarcastic and hard to ]3lease." 
 
 "I think, so far as 1 can Judge of him," said Hope, 
 
OR hope's first school. 145 
 
 unfalteringly, "that Mr. Gilbert is both noble and true, 
 and I believe he will be kind to his wife if he marries." 
 
 Her words left her hearers more mystified than ever. 
 Could it be possible that she spoke thus to utterly mislead 
 others in regard to her feelings for Rodney, or was she 
 weak enough to defend one who had jilted her? They 
 could not tell, and so wondered in vain in regard to the 
 matter. As for our heroine, she was deeply agitated to 
 know that, under existing circumstances, Amelia was not 
 far from her. She dreaded the idea of meeting her, espe- 
 cially in company with Rodney. The thought was very 
 bitter. One evening soon after this she had started from 
 the school-room en route for home, when the clatter of 
 horses' hoofs behind her caused her to turn her head, and 
 she descried a lady and gentleman approaching whom, 
 upon first glimpse, she recognized as Rodney and Amelia. 
 They checked the speed of their horses as they neared her, 
 and she had a full opportunity to observe them as they 
 passed. Amelia, with her lair face, her golden curls 
 streaming in the wind, the blue riding habit setting off the 
 graceful form to the best advantage, and the blue plume 
 on her hat mingling with her yellow locks, seemed too fair 
 for earth, and her escort looked handsomer than Hope had 
 ever seen him before. Both bowed as they passed, Amelia 
 with a supercilious smile, Rodney profoundly and almost 
 reverently. The young teacher had never suffered a 
 moment of keener distress in her life. The contrast be- 
 tween her and Amelia was so striking in every respect that 
 for awhile she felt almost humiliated. 
 
 "She is beautiful, rich and born under a lucky star, 
 while I am neither jiretty, rich nor fortunate," was her 
 unspoken thought, crushed back by a determined will. 
 Then she wondered why Rodney had chosen to ride along 
 the road which she frequented. Could he not have spared 
 her the mortification of meeting him under such circum- 
 
146 NOW AND THEN 
 
 J 
 
 stances ? or did he wisli to see her, if but for a moment? 
 or could it be possible that he had deceived her after all ? 
 and was her rival the real object of his love ? This last 
 thought she suppressed as disparaging to her lover. 
 "Rodney had not deceived her; the tone of his voice, his 
 looks, his agitation, had betrayed him, even more than 
 his words. Perhaps, though, knowing his attachment for 
 her to be useless, he had striven to love Amelia and had 
 succeeded." She strove to resign herself to this thought, 
 but it would not do. She was tortured by reflections that 
 would come unbidden in her mind. Herbert Ransom was 
 a very dear friend to her during these bitter hours. Intui- 
 tively he seemed to guess at the truth, and in many 
 different ways strove to win her heart from sadness without 
 once intruding on her grief or its source. He never spoke 
 of Amelia now, but oftentimes, when in her company, he 
 dwelt feelingly on the blessedness of affliction, on the 
 passing nature of earthly joy and the stability of Heaven, 
 on the goodness of the Lord in wounding that he may heal, 
 in giving pain but to make pleasure the sweeter. Then he 
 contrived many little ways of diverting her mind; he 
 escorted her to church, carried her to ride of evenings, and 
 managed to win her to cheerfulness. Of course Madam 
 Rumor even noised it around that he was in love with our 
 heroine, and Rodney heard, with an anguish that he could 
 scarcely conceal, that the two were betrothed. In vain 
 reason whispered that it ought not to affect him, as she was 
 already beyond his reach ; the thought awakened all the 
 latent jealousy of his heart, and he was restless and 
 miserable, even while the music of Amelia's voice filled 
 the air, redolent with the perfume of roses, and the blue 
 sky seemed too pure and bright for aught but happiness 
 to rest beneath it. Hope had touched a chord in his nature 
 which no other hand but hers could thrill, but the harmony 
 she could awaken turned to discord in her absence. He 
 
OR hope's first school. 147 
 
 fancied what a different man he would be if she were his, 
 how all the misanthropy engendered by long, loveless 
 years, would be swept away from the chamber of his heart ; 
 of how his better nature would expand under her influence, 
 and his whole being be filled with happy love as in his 
 boyhood, and it maddened him to think of being deprived 
 of her. Oh, for one touch of her hand, for one sweet word 
 of comfort from her lips ! He turned almost with horror 
 from the thought of his union with Amelia. She was 
 beautiful, accomplished, fascinating, yet he knew now why 
 he had not loved her before — she was destitute of heart 'i 
 The evening on which they had overtaken Hope it was not 
 his intention to take that route, but as she expressed a 
 particular desire to go in that direction, he had no alterna- 
 tive but to do as she wished. After seeing the young 
 teacher she remarked *' that she was pretty, and that her 
 face seemed familiar;" and when Rodney told her her 
 name, she rejoined carelessly, " Oh, yes, I knew that I had 
 seen her before; we were schoolmates once." Instantly 
 there flashed into Rodney's mind the memory of Hoi:)e's 
 agitation when she saw Amelia's picture, as also her total 
 silence in regard to their acquaintanceship, and he was 
 convinced that some mystery underlay the whole matter. 
 For the remainder of the way he was almost entirely 
 silent, and Amelia grew pettish and irritated at the too 
 evident abstraction of his mind. She wondered if the 
 sight of Hope did not have something to do with his 
 conduct, and she determined to pry into the matter. 
 Meanwhile the teacher was so occupied with her school 
 duties, as also in receiving and returning calls from her 
 patrons as to give her but little time to think. Mrs. 
 Ambler, Mrs. Powers, Mrs. Turnnage, Mrs. Hunter, and 
 last, but not least. Miss Rachel Tyler, had all visited her, 
 and she felt in duty bound to return their calls. Herbert 
 Ransom offered to accompany her to Miss Rachel's, for he 
 
148 NO^V AND THEN 
 
 was well acquainted with her, she being a consistent 
 member of his church. The other ladies whom Hope had 
 called on were all the wives of w^ell-to-do men, and were 
 X)leasant, sociable and hospitable. Miss Rachel belonged 
 to a rather different sphere, though occupying a respectable 
 position in society. Her chances, though, had been 
 exceedingly narrow, her education limited and her life one 
 of hardship. Her house was four miles from Mr. Watkins' 
 The house was about three hundred yards from the main 
 road. It was a frame house, with but two rooms beside 
 the one back of the main joortion of the dwelling, which 
 answered for a kitchen ; yet Hope was struck with the air 
 of thrift and neatness pervading everything in and around 
 it. The imlings around the yard were in perfect repair, 
 and were newly whitewashed ; the j^ard was tilled with the 
 perfume of flowers and carefully swei:)t, and the lioor of 
 the piazza and two rooms composing the dwelling were 
 scoured until they looked clean enough for Queen Victoria 
 to take her meals on them, and every piece of unpainted 
 furniture in the room was of immaculate whiteness. The 
 window curtains, counterimnes, towels and pillow-slips 
 were all home-made, woven by the industrious Miss Rachel, 
 and against the whitewashed walls hung several pictures — 
 the portraits of General Washington and liis wife, the 
 death of Stonewall Jackson and one or two fancy faces of 
 young girls with a profusion of curls and an abundance of 
 lace around their low-necked, short-sleeved dresses. These 
 last lectures Euphemia, Octavia and Adolphus regarded 
 as models of feminine beauty, and exclamations of "Ain't 
 they pretty ! I do wish I was as pretty as they are !" were 
 quite common with these simple children of nature, as tliej- 
 surveyed them. Poor Miss Rachel had bought thera all 
 from an agent and paid a most exorbitant price for them, 
 but possibly she got the worth of her money, after all, so 
 genuine was her delight in possessing them and in seeing 
 
OR hope's first school. 149 
 
 the cliildren enjoy looking at them. When Hoj^e arrived 
 she was out in the liitchen "fixin' some light bread," she 
 said ; but she made her appearance in a very short time, 
 and seemed much pleased to see Hope. 
 
 "I thought maybe you wouldn't come to see me," was 
 her frank avowal. " I know you have so much more book 
 larnin' than me, and then, too, I'm old and poor, till I 
 thought perhaps you wouldn't think it worth your while 
 to come." 
 
 The young teacher was taken so much by surprise that 
 she scarcely knew what to say, but she told her that it was 
 "not onl}^ a duty, but a pleasure to visit her," and assured 
 her that "she was perfectl}^ charmed with her home." 
 
 "Well, I have managed to keej? things together here, 
 but it has been hard work, Miss Hope. It 'pears to me 
 sometimes that the Lord makes some people jest to work, 
 and I think I must be one of 'em, but I don't mean to 
 complain. I helped my mother raise all her other children, 
 and when I began to think of marrying and having a home 
 of my own, my oldest brother (though all was younger 
 than me) sez : 
 
 "Rachel, I wouldn't marry ; I would send Will Brown- 
 ing adrift; he's a lazy, drinking fellow, and won't make 
 you a good husband. Well, maybe he was right ; anyway 
 I took his advice, and sure enough Will does get drunk 
 and don't make a good husband, but maybe ef he'd 
 married his lirst love and had had a different sort of wife 
 he'd been ditferent." 
 
 Hope was amused, yet touched at this display of 
 womanly weakness in one like Miss Rachel. Evidently 
 the weight of sixty years, the loss of hope, absence, time, 
 nor anything else, had the power to entirely diive fiom 
 remembrance her dream of first love. Its menn)r3- in Miss 
 Rachel's case was lasting as life. 
 
 "Well," Miss Tyler continued, "it was a good thing 
 
150 NOW AND THEN ; 
 
 for brother that I did stay single, for wheu he left these 
 three orphan children I don't know what would have 
 become of them if it hadn't been for me. He just left this 
 place and them to me, and nobody knows what work it has 
 been to get along. Sometimes I help hoe cotton." 
 
 ' ' Help hoe !' ' exclaimed Hope ; " is it possible ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes, indeed, me and these children generally does most 
 all the work. But I've scratched along and gotten a little 
 aforehanded now, and intend to give them all a chance to 
 get an eddication. I feels the need of it myself, and don't 
 want them to be like me." 
 
 "Miss Rachel, you are more useful and have done more 
 good in the world than many educated people that I 
 know." 
 
 "Yes, child, but sposin' I had an eddication, jest look 
 how much good I could do helpin' these children along in 
 their lessons, readin' the Bible to them and singin'. Some- 
 times when I goes to church in town and hears Mrs. 
 Ambler a singin' and playin' on the organ, I think I 
 wouldent begrudge no money ef I could do jest like her." 
 
 "True enough," replied the teacher, but you have im- 
 proved your one talent more than many have their ten." 
 
 " Miss Hope, I don't see why it is, but you ain't a bit 
 like some teachers we've had. Why, Miss Mary Perkins 
 used to lly by here with her beaux, and never even turn 
 her head to speak to me. I didn' t care to send the children 
 to her, she was so proud, though folks said she knew a 
 heap in books. But you seem to know how to feel for 
 poor, ignorant folks like me— not but what I feel myself 
 as good and respectable as anybody," straightening herself 
 up ; "but there's a difference." 
 
 "Yes, there is a difference," replied Hope, "but it is 
 just the difference that to some the Master gives ten, to 
 some live, and to others but one talent, and the one who 
 has ten has ten times the responsibility that the person has 
 
OR hope's first school. 151 
 
 who has but one talent. Shall I then look down on one 
 not so highly gifted as myself, when my gifts render me 
 liable to greater punishment ?" 
 
 "Of course 'taint right, but people does it all the same. 
 Brother Ransom, wont you take this little basket and go 
 get some plums for Miss Hope ? I know she 11 like 'em." 
 
 "That I do," replied she; "but suppose we all go. I 
 want to see your little place." 
 
 She was well rewarded for her pains. The farm was a 
 small one, but carefully tilled and kept in good order. The 
 corn looked flourishing, the cotton the same, and the wheat 
 waving in the breeze was almost ready for the sickle. The 
 garden, which was neatly railed in, bore abundant evidence 
 of the care which had been taken of it. Beans, Irish pota- 
 toes, squashes, tomatoes, okra and other vegetables, had 
 each their appropriate place, and the walks were bordered 
 with "sweet shrub," snow-ball and roses. Raspberry 
 bushes grew in profusion around the palings, and there 
 was a small space allotted to strawberries. Outside was a 
 thin patch of roasting-ears. Then there was a fowl-yard, 
 surrounded by a very high fence, where innumerable fowls 
 were cackling, chucking and gobbling. 
 
 "I sujipose you raise a great many chickens. Miss 
 Rachel ?" inquired Mr. Ransom, 
 
 " Yes sir, I sell enough eggs and chickens every year to 
 buy my sugar, coffee and snuff, besides all our Sunday 
 clothes." 
 
 "Pretty good," he replied ; " you are certainly a good 
 manager. I know a plenty of strong, healthy men, with 
 no more to support them than you have, and with equally 
 as good a start, who don't seem to get along." 
 
 "That's because they don't work, spend their time and 
 money at grog-shops instead of at home, or else their wives 
 don't know how to manage. Some men work hard and 
 their wives waste what they make. Something' s most always 
 
152 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 wrong when people don't get along around here, for every- 
 body can get along who will work and save, if they are 
 health}^ That's one blessin' I enjoy, brother Ransom." 
 
 " And a very great one, my sister ; it is, next to a good 
 conscience and good sense, the greatest of God's gifts to 
 j)Oor fallen man." 
 
 They had reached the orchard by this time, whicli, 
 though a small one, contained several varieties of delicious 
 fruit. The trees were hanging with plums, barely ripe, and 
 it was an easy task to fill the little basket. As they reached 
 the house upon their return, the three children who had 
 been off attending to the sheep and hogs, as also bringing 
 their one milch cow home, came in the j'ard. Great was 
 their delight at beholding their teacher. 
 
 "I am a goin' to bring you a basket of plums every 
 day," said Adolphus, ''until they' re^ gone." 
 
 "I shall certainly be obliged," was her reply, "fori 
 dearlj^ love plums. But you won't have to bring them 
 long, school will be out next week, you know.'' 
 
 "lam so glad," the children exclaimed ; "but not to 
 part with you. Miss Hope. I wish you could stay with us 
 alwaj'^s." 
 
 As they all stood together on the piazza she, with an 
 artistic eye, took in the whole scene. The house was 
 situated on a slight rise, and on either side of the avenue 
 leading to it the soil was in a high state of cultivation. On 
 one side was a field of corn, the green blades contrasting 
 beautifully with the dark soil on which it grew ; on tlie 
 other a field of wheat waved on the evening breeze. A 
 patch of cotton was opi)osite one end of the house, the 
 garden and orchard the other. The sinking sun touched 
 the tree-toiDS which girded the place with his golden beams ; 
 the birds were singing their farewell songs ; everything 
 breathed an atmosphere of repose and peace ; everything 
 bespoke the blessedness of industry and contentment. 
 
OR hope's first school. 153 
 
 "I will never forget this visit so long as I live," said she 
 to Herbert Ransom upon their return; "I have learned 
 many very useful lessons this afternoon. No one loses by 
 visiting the good, no matter how lowly their station." 
 
 " Miss Rachel, though peculiar, is one of ' the salt of the 
 earth,' rejoined he ; few, indeed, are like her." 
 
 Mrs. Hartwell, Mrs. Twining and Mrs. Simmons did not 
 call upon Hope at Mrs. Watkins' house, and from the 
 description she heard of the two former ladies, she did not 
 regret it, as she did not care to cultivate their acquaintance. 
 Poor old Mrs. Simmons, however, she rather liked. There 
 were some of her patrons whose wives she did not see until 
 the day of her school exhibition. That day was both 
 wished for and dreaded, by our heroine. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The roll-call was read in school, and when Violet 
 Leonard's name was called there was no answer. 
 
 " Does anyone know why Violet is not here ? " inquired 
 Hope. 
 
 "She is sick, ma'am," said one of the scholars, "I 
 believe, with diphtheria." 
 
 Diphtheria ! How many families have cause to shudder 
 at that word ; over how many households has it hovered a 
 destroying angel, smiting the little ones with a fatal stroke 
 and leaving desolation in its path ! Hope's heart sank at 
 the sound, a sad foreboding filled her mind. She could 
 scarcely perform her day's duties with ordinary cheerful- 
 ness. She determined to visit Violet at the very earliest 
 opportunity, and the next evening after school, according 
 
154 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 to a previous arrangement, Mrs. Watkins came by in the 
 buggy for lier. 
 
 "I cannot carry James or Willie with me," said she, 
 "and I shall even be careful in changing my clothes after 
 I return home, to prevent my little ones from running any 
 l^ossible risk of contagion ; but I cannot keep away from 
 a neighbor when in distress through selfish fears for my 
 own household/' 
 
 It was only a mile from the school-house to Mrs. Leon- 
 ard's. The residence of that lady was a picturesque- 
 looking one, though evidently not in as good repair as it 
 should be. But the lovely llower-yard betokened the 
 refined taste of its inmates. Hope had heard of Mrs. 
 Leonard as a pretty woman, but she was not prepared to 
 see the girlish-looking beauty who met them at the door 
 with the easy grace of a well-bred woman, though on her 
 face a sad look rested, and a wear}^, anxious expression, in 
 striking contrast with the peachy bloom of the jjlump 
 cheeks and the youthful appearance of the lady. After 
 inviting them in the parlor and chatting for a few moments, 
 she spoke of Violet's sickness, and inquired if they would 
 like to see her ? On being answered in the affirmative, she 
 led the way to another room. 
 
 "I am perhaps unreasonable in my anxiety about 
 Violet," she remarked, as they went; "but diphtheria 
 frightens me quite as much as yellow fever would.' ' 
 
 By Violet's bedside sat a lady whom Hope had never 
 seen before, a tall, elegantly formed lady, with a plain 
 face. She was clad in black robes, and there was an exqui- 
 site neatness about her dress which struck Hope, even at 
 the moment of their introduction. She was introduced to 
 Hope as Miss Hunter. Violet's eyes were strangely bright, 
 and her usually pale cheeks flushed, and Hope thought 
 her more beautiful than she had ever before seen her. She 
 seemed not to wish to talk. Hope had never seen her thus, 
 
OR hope's first school. 155 
 
 and it distressed her to see her so changed. She kissed the 
 sweet little brow and sat down by the bedside, quietly 
 taking the feather-brush to keep away the flies. There 
 was a step in the hall, a familiar step, yet one she had not 
 heard for several days, for Mr. Leonard had not been home 
 since Violet's illness, and the little one's face perceptibly 
 brightened. Mr. Leonard was unmistakably a handsome 
 man, though dissipation had placed its seal on liis counte 
 nance. There was a look of tender anxiety on his face, as 
 he saw his child extended on a couch of illness. He was 
 presented to Hope, bowed courteously, but seemed wholly 
 wrapped up in thoughts of Violet. 
 
 " How long has she been sick ?" he inquired of his wife, 
 and on being informed of the length of her illness he 
 inquired if Dr. Bertram had been sent for. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Leonard, "he has been here twice.'' 
 
 He sat down by the bedside, and taking Violet's two 
 little hands, rubbed them over his face. 
 
 " Papa," she said in a whisper that was still audible to 
 the little party assembled in the sick room, "are you a 
 bad man ? " 
 
 " Why, my child, what a strange question ! I hope not ; 
 but what makes you ask ? " 
 
 "Well, Joe Liggins said so," she replied, "because he 
 said you made his father drunk and won all his money, 
 and then he went home and beat him and beat his mother. 
 He said something bad was going to happen to you, and 
 then I got sick, but I would rather it should be me than 
 you, papa." 
 
 A swarthy glow burned on Mr. Leonard's cheek, a flush 
 of mingled shame and anger, and his eyes flashed as he 
 said : 
 
 "Joe Liggins had better keep his tongue instead of 
 prating about what he has no business. I did not make his 
 father drunk, and if I won his money it was done fairly 
 
156 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 and I did not make him beat his family either. Hope 
 stole a glance at Mrs. Leonard. All of the color had fled 
 from her face, and there was a strong despair there, an 
 utterly reckless look, as of one who, having nothing to live 
 for, has no fear of death. A cold, superstitions fear crept 
 over Hope. She was not much of a believer in temporal 
 punishment, for does not the "sun shine on the good and 
 the evil alike?" Yet it seemed to her that from that 
 moment she believed that Violet's fate was sealed. In 
 mercy to her, as well as in mercy to her father, she would 
 be taken ; for how could such a tender, sensitive little 
 creature ever bear the trials to which she must necessarily 
 be exposed? and perhax)s her death might win her father to 
 righteousness. A mist swam before her eyes at the thought, 
 a sick feeling took possession of her heart. Was it to be 
 the case that she could not even love a child that the little 
 one did not die ? Was she destined to an utterly loveless 
 existence? To describe the tableau after Violet's unex- 
 pected words would require better descriptive powers than 
 we iDOssess. Mr. Leonard's face expressed anger and 
 shame combined ; Mrs. Leonard's was utterly despairing ; 
 Miss Hunter strove to hide her feelings by a veil of polite 
 indiff'erence, while Hope and Mrs. Watkins looked all the 
 sadness they felt — a sadness not unmixed wqtli indignation 
 against Mr. Leonard for bringing sorrow on an innocent 
 wife and child. 
 
 " A man cannot pursue any calling without meeting with 
 opposition on every side," continued he. "Mr. Liggins 
 was just angry because he lost. Had he won it w^ould 
 liave been all right.'' 
 
 Hope noticed the excited look on little Violet's face, and 
 forgetting timidity and the natural embarrassment of a 
 stranger under such circumstances, said : 
 
 "You had better not talk much, Mr. Leonard, as you 
 value the life of your child ; it will excite her too much." 
 
OR hope's first school. 157 
 
 He glared at her for a moment, but she quailed not 
 beneath his glance, and with a muttered oath he strode out 
 of the room. There was profound silence in the ax^artment 
 for a few moments. Mrs. Leonard, overcome by emotions, 
 sunk on her knees beside Violet. Mrs. Watkins and Miss 
 Hunter sat quietly weeping, while Hoi")e, with almost 
 superhuman effort, crushed back the tears, anxious lest 
 Violet should witness them and inquire into their cause. 
 Thus, for a few moments ; then Mrs. Leonard spoke : 
 
 "Excuse me, my friends, but I have grown weak and 
 nervous of late ; trouble has made me powerless to control 
 myself." 
 
 They were all too full to sx)eak, and after a sufficiently 
 long time laad elapsed for them to leave without still more 
 distressing Mrs. Leonard by an abrupt departure, Mrs. 
 Watkins and Hope rose to go. 
 
 " I will come again to see you, Violet," said Hope, "and 
 if you continue sick will be here Friday night to wait on 
 you." 
 
 The little girl lookd steadfastly at her -a wistful look in 
 the clear blue eyes — but said nothing, and kissing her 
 brow Hope turned away with a sick heart. She was true 
 to her promise, returning again on Friday and watching 
 through the long, weary hours with untiring patience, 
 soothing as best she could the couch of her little favorite. 
 In a few days Violet was thought out of danger, and with 
 a lighter heart Hope went on with her preparations for the 
 school exhibition. Busy, anxious days they were," so 
 freighted with absorbing care as almost to drive the thought 
 of Rodney Gilbert from her mind. Who shall deem that 
 intense mental effort and anxiety is only for those who 
 aspire to kingdoms or crowns ( The poor country teacher, 
 laboring for the good of her pupils and anxious to gain a 
 reputation as a successful instructor, may suffer every 
 conflict of hope and fear and feel as intense anxiety to 
 
158 
 
 THEN AND NOW 
 
 accomplish this end, as a general to win a battle, or the 
 hero to gain a throne. And what human being who has 
 not exj^erienced it can tell the almost sickening anxiety 
 which racks the mind, when our own success is partially 
 dependent on the efforts of others ? 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 [This description being very nearly that of a "school- 
 breaking" at which the author was present, we trust that 
 any defect in the picture will be kindly overlooked.] 
 
 The necessary arrangement for accommodating such a 
 crowd as was expected at the "school-breaking" had all 
 been made i^revious to the eventful da^^ itself, and by the 
 most unremitting exertions on her own part, and by the 
 assistance of ladies of the neighborhood, the school-room 
 presented a much more attractive api)earance than usual, 
 A kind of stage had. been improvised for the occasion, the 
 background of which was decorated with evergreens, inter- 
 mingled with flowers and festooned at proper intervals. 
 Pictures were hung in every loop and. over the centre of the 
 stage was susj^ended a rustic hanging basket, filled with 
 trailing vines. The doors and windows were also decorated 
 with evergreens and. approjiriate mottoes. The stage was 
 neatly carpeted and had a row of footlights in front of it, 
 as the exhibition was to take place at night. The girls, all 
 dressed in white, looked quite prett}^ and interesting, but 
 there were some eccentricities in the attire of one or two 
 of the boys. Thomas Jefferson and George Washington 
 Simmons each wore a blue suit, with shining shirt-bosoms 
 
OR hope's first school. 159 
 
 and collars and flaming red neck-ties. This last item of 
 their apparel oif ended Hope's {esthetic nature to sncli an 
 extent that she ventured to suggest a change in it, but the 
 [mortified expressions of their countenances showed so 
 plainly that their hearts were set on these particular arti- 
 cles of their dress, that she determined to let them remain 
 as they were. Josiali and Sam Liggins were well dressed, 
 only their jDantaloons were a trifle too short and their shoes 
 needed blacking. Hope had done her utmost, both by 
 j)recept and example, to inculcate neatness, and to a certain 
 extent good taste in her scholars, but what teacher, how- 
 ever conscientious, can entirely counteract the home 
 influences which surround a pupil ? Instruction can do 
 much, the outer influences of the world can effect much, 
 but after all home example and the lessons instilled in the 
 little ones around the family hearthstone are the most 
 powerful of all. The majority of Hope's pupils, however, 
 presented a remarkably good appearance. They were all 
 seated on long benches upon the stage on this, the eventful 
 night of the exhibition, and to one interested in the well- 
 being and progress of the young, their eager, excited faces 
 and youthful forms were a pleasing spectacle. It suggested 
 thoughts of a future irradiated by the light of intelligence, 
 instead of one darkened by clouds of ignorance. Hope 
 herself read the title of each piece. The first was the 
 "Lord's Prayer," recited by the whole school in unison. 
 As they stood, with heads reverently bowed, and repeated 
 the words which have been handed down to us for eighteen 
 centuries, a hush fell upon the audience — a feeling almost 
 of awe pervaded it. It was childhood speaking to matured 
 years and pointing the way to Heaven. A song came next, 
 whose words of welcome and gladness fell gratefully upon 
 the ears of the hearers. Then David Wheeler came forward, 
 and in his fine, melodious tones and clear enunciation, 
 made the opening address, thanking the audience for 
 
160 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 coming to hear their humble efforts, recalling to mind the 
 memories of the past few months, and indulging in a 
 glowing picture of what he trusted his own future would 
 be, as well as that of his. schoolmates and of the Old North 
 State. He paid a grateful tribute to his teacher and to her 
 efforts in their behalf, and ended with a panegyric on the 
 advantages of education. This speech being David's own 
 composition was much admired, and was rapturously 
 applauded. Music followed. Two young gentlemen of 
 the neighborhood had volunteered to play on the violin, 
 Mrs. Ambler accompanying them on the organ. This gave 
 agreeable variety to the entertainment. A kind of tableau 
 piece, entitled "The Seasons," in which Mrs, Turnnage's 
 three children and Katie Powers personated, respectively, 
 Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, was next in order. 
 There was a little corner of the stage partitioned off by 
 curtains to which the pupils withdrew to make any neces- 
 sary additions to their attire in each piece. Spring was 
 clad in a light green dress, with a crown of half-blown 
 roses on her head ; Summer in a thin white one, with 
 flowers more fully matured, intermingled with early fruits, 
 in her hand and crowning her locks. Autumn, with a 
 many-hued dress, and bearing a basket of ripened grain 
 and luscious grapes, while Winter, with robes drawn 
 tightly around him, a wreath of holly-berries on his head, 
 and snow-flakes thickly strewn over his attire, was well 
 personated by Katie Powers. Even this simple piece had 
 cost Hope some thought, time and trouble. A composition 
 followed — an entirely original one — having for its subject 
 "The Horse." Considering that the author had not known 
 his alphabet at the beginning of the session, the effort, 
 though a crude, was certainly a creditable one. " A Little 
 Boy's Troubles" were next, strikingly told bj^ Harry 
 Ambler, and it was quite amusing to the audience. Katie 
 Tnrnnage then recited "The Voice of Spring" verj' cred- 
 
OR hope's first school. IGl 
 
 itably. Another composition followed and another song, 
 then a second performance by the amateur musicians, and 
 afterwards "The Presidents of the United States" in verse 
 was repeated in unison by all of the scholars. "The 
 World for Sale" was next in order, James Powers, whom 
 we have not before mentioned, being the auctioneer. Roy 
 Wilkins recited "My Funny Uncle Phil" in quite an 
 agreeable way ; then came a very humorous dialogue enti- 
 tled "The Refractory Scholar," provoking i)eals of laughter 
 from the audience. Leola Wilkins next told "Mamie's 
 Wants and Wishes" in sweet, childish tones, which elicited 
 universal admiration. Ida Hunter recited the pathetic 
 story of "Ginevra," and Meta Powers " Before and After 
 Marriage ' ' in quite a dramatic manner. ' ' Dare to Say No, ' ' 
 "The Ten Little Grasshoppers," "Time Enough Yet," 
 "Dimes and Dollars," "Boys' Rights," and other short, 
 pithy pieces were repeated by other pupils. The last and 
 best performance was a half musical, half tableau piece, in 
 which the Christian Graces— Patience, Faith, Virtue, Tem- 
 perance, Knowledge, Hope, Experience, Godliness, Love 
 and Charity, were personated by ten girls, each wearing a 
 shield with her own name inscribed ui:)on it in gilt letters. 
 As a verse explaining the scene was sung Patience entered, 
 bearing a white cross upon her shoulders. Then Faith 
 came and hung a wreath on one arm of the cross ; next 
 Virtue placed one upon the other. Temperance then twined 
 lilies, intermingled with evergreens, about the body of the 
 cross, while Knowledge placed a basket of fruit beneath. 
 Hope, with her anchor, next appeared and pointed upward ; 
 then, as Patience deposited her cross upon the ground. 
 Experience came and assisted her in holding it. Love and 
 Godliness appeared together. Love repeating the words, 
 "Let us love one another;" and lastly, Charity, perso- 
 nated by Leola Wilkins, knelt reverently at the foot of 
 the cross ; Experience raising her up, all the virtues joined 
 
162 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 hands and circled around it. Then all sejDarated, bearing 
 Faith, Hope and Charity in the centre, and as a chorus was 
 sung all the graces left the stage. Charity going last, with 
 the cross upon her shoulders. It was a lovely scene, and 
 made a deep impression upon the spectators. The singing 
 of "The Old North State" terminated the entertainment, 
 Mrs. Ambler playing the accompaniment upon the organ. 
 The whole exhibition was gratifying to the teacher and 
 interesting to the crowd assembled to witness it. True, 
 there were some little incidents so ludicrous as to ];)rovoke 
 a good-humored smile, but these did not mar the effect of 
 the whole. Even Tom and George Simmons, Josiah and 
 Sam Liggins and Johnnie Twining acquitted themselves 
 wonderfully. As for Mrs. Simmons, poor old. lady, when 
 her two, sons had gotten successfully tlirough their speeches, 
 and had read their compositions correctly, she could stand 
 no more. The weight of happiness was too great to be 
 borne, and she sobbed aloud. Had the deceased Mr. Sim- 
 mons' prophecy been fulfilled, and her two boys been 
 elevated to the presidential chair, she could not have been 
 more purely happy. Hope was amused, yet touched ; for 
 a ray of joy penetrated her heart to think that under 
 Heaven she had been the means of gladdening the heart of 
 even one poor old ignorant woman. When the exercises 
 were concluded she felt that a mountain had been rolled 
 from her shoulders, and as friends and i^atrons crowded 
 around congratulating her on her success and compliment- 
 ing the performance of the pupils, she felt repaid for her 
 labor in their behalf. Rodney and Amelia were there, and 
 nothing could have been more embarrassing to Hojie than 
 their presence. She did not know what might be his feel- 
 ings for her now, but she felt sure that in her inmost soul 
 her rival was exulting in the thought of the contrast 
 between their conditions. She, Hope, a poor country 
 teacher, and Amelia the affianced wife of a rich and talented 
 
OR hope's first school. 163 
 
 man. It required all the effort of a strong will to crush 
 back the feeliuf^s that would come to her, despite her better 
 judgment. She felt that she ought to be grateful, but she 
 could not at once feel so. She was solicited to take charge 
 of the school the next session, but she could not bear the 
 thought of being in Rodney's neighborhood, and so would 
 make no arrangement in regard to it. Her one thought 
 was to get away from the crowd, who were enjoying them- 
 selves at the pleasant picnic dinner brought by the scholars, 
 and to be alone. Her intention was to return home the day 
 after the exhibition was over, if possible to make her 
 arrangements to do so. Then came a messenger informing 
 her that A^iolet was again very ill, and she repaired at once 
 to Mrs. Leonard's. One glance at her little favorite con- 
 vinced Hope that she was indeed ill, perhaps more so than 
 even anyone else imagined. There was a sad, weary look 
 on the little face, a wistful expression, as of one longing 
 for the brightness beyond. The same lady whom Hope had 
 met before was sitting by the child, and for three days and 
 nights the two and Mrs. Leonard alternated in watching: 
 over the little one. She suffered greatly at times, but at 
 other times she was quiet and free from pain, and saying 
 all manner of quaint things provoked a smile, even though 
 a sad one, in her watchers. Physicians came and consulted 
 together, and looked puzzled as those who are at their wit's 
 ends, and then, when the heart was growing sick with 
 suspense, they broke the tidings as gently as they could; 
 "the child would die, perhaps not very soon, but there was 
 no hope." Oh, the sadness of the mother's heart, the 
 unutterable feeling that came over her at this sentence ! 
 Mr. Leonard, too, seemed much grieved. Violet, little 
 Violet, so like the flower whose name she bore in her sweet 
 modesty, why could the spoiler not overlook thee in his 
 hunt after victims ? Hope's heart, already weighed down 
 by sorrows of [its own, participated in the grief of the 
 
164 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 parents. She loved the child, loved her deafly, and it was 
 a terrible rellection to feel that nevermore would she see 
 her well and strong, and that very soon she must die. She 
 was ready to exclaim with the Psalmist, "All thy waves 
 and thy billows have gone over me." '' I will never have 
 any one to love," she said, repiningly to herself ; "no one 
 but mother, and perhaps not her long. Everything I love 
 is snatched away from me. I cannot see that it makes me 
 better." Then she reproached herself for feeling so, and 
 contrasted her condition with that of others less favored 
 than herself. ' ' Think even of Mrs. Leonard, with a husband 
 who is wild and dissipated, and her little one dying ! How 
 infinitely sujjerior is my condition to hers ! " There were 
 many presents of hot-house fruits and lovely flowers sent 
 to Violet during her illness, all seeming to come from the 
 same source, but it was not till afterwards that Hope 
 ascertained who sent them. Miss Hunter was a superior 
 nurse. Hope was not deficient in that respect, yet in expe- 
 rience and touch Miss Hunter surpassed her. The days 
 and nights dragged their slow length along, Violet at times 
 brightening up and seeming better, at other times worse, 
 until six daj^s had elapsed, and with agonizing emotion 
 parents and friends felt that the final change was near at 
 hand. She was very patient, speaking sometimes of God 
 and Heaven and of the loved ones she would meet there ; 
 at other times seeming too weary to wish to hear anything, 
 only looking sadly and fixedly away. Just before she 
 died she was free from all pain and spoke affectionately to 
 all, but none told her that she was dying, and the sweet 
 spirit passed into everlasting life as calmly as an infant 
 sinks to sleep. With tearful eyes Hope and Hiss Hunter 
 arranged her for the grave, and no statue of marble was 
 ever lovelier than the dear little corpse in white robes, with 
 pale flowers clasped in her hands. It was a very sad day. 
 Friends came and went, stealing noiselessly about the 
 
OR hope's first school. 165 
 
 chamber of. death, speaking in low tones and stealthily 
 turning back the funeral pall to gaze on the sweet dead 
 features, so like sculptured marble in their repose. A 
 smile lay on the perfect face, a peaceful smile, almost life- 
 like in expression. Miss Hunter was not only a good 
 nurse, but a great comfort in distress, and she and Hope 
 spent much of their time with Mrs. Leonard, endeavoring 
 by sweetest sympathj^ to allay her grief. She was not 
 violent, however. There was a tixed, despairing look on 
 her face, a calmness in her aspect, which was far different 
 from the feelings of her soul. Ever and anon she stole to 
 the side of her darling, placing her hand upon the snowy 
 brow, imprinting kiss after kiss upon it, but shedding no 
 tear, only sighing as though her heart would break. Mr, 
 Leonard was different. His lamentations were loud and 
 violent, but he suffered no one to api^roach him. The day 
 of the funeral the house was crowded with visitors, and 
 Hope could but reflect on the levity and indifference of the 
 majority of those who came to a house of grief, as she 
 noticed how cheerful and in what good spirits the most of 
 them seemed. Mr. Ransom was to preach the funeral 
 sermon. His text was, " He shall gather the lambs in his 
 arms and fold them in his bosom." He dwelt feelingly 
 and pathetically on the care of the Great Shepherd, on his 
 anxiety to see the young of the flock safely protected from 
 storm and danger, on his foreknowledge of the difficult 
 paths of life and his kindness in removing them from a 
 state of trial to the blessedness of Heaven. Much more 
 was spoken in the same manner, his voice, his looks 
 betraying the feelings of his soul, all indicating the most 
 profound sym^Dathy for the bereaved ones. There was a 
 hymn sung in which Hoiie could not join, and services 
 over, the procession was formed to bear away the dear 
 little body of Violet to the famil}^ grave-yard near hy. 
 Slowly and sadly the crowd moved on to the spot where 
 
166 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 reposed the dead ancestors of the little one. It was a 
 pleasant place, neatly railed in, with flowers blooming near 
 the graves and one or two white tombs gleaming through 
 the shrubbery, with cedar-trees near, in whose tojDS the 
 birds sang during the spring days. It seemed a fitting 
 place for the little one to sleep. Hope felt glad that her 
 favorite would be left amid birds and flowers, not in some 
 deserted burial-ground ; for though no harm could come 
 to the little body, yet in imagination she would seem 
 happier than amid utter desolation. The coffin was opened 
 at the grave for all to look for the last time on the little 
 features so soon to be consigned to the dust. Oh ! that 
 last look! how different from all others I what a feeling'Jof 
 awe it inspires in the heart ! Mr. Leonard knelt by the 
 coffin as though he could never leave it, sobbing convul- 
 sivel}', while Mrs. Leonard, pale as marble, stood by him 
 uttering not a sound — a sad-eyed Niobe. At length the 
 father was persuaded away, friends and acquaintances 
 went to look their last on little Violet, the coffin was 
 lowered in the grave, the clods fell with hollow sound upon 
 it, each spadefull of earth shutting out a ray of hope 
 from the heart left to utter gloom. Oh! the unspeakable 
 sadness of the death-parting ! how strange it seems that 
 the heart should ever awake^to happiness after such a sad 
 realization of the utter emptiness of worldly things ! But 
 so it is, and scarcely is the earth smoothed over the grave 
 of some acquaintance ere the world creeps in the heart 
 again, the gay laugh and sportive jest resound upon the 
 air and the memory of the dead is left to oblivion. 
 
 Rodney Gilbert was i:)resent at the burial and returned 
 to the house with the funeral procession. Mr. Watkins 
 and his wife were there, but their' s was a single buggy and 
 would be crowded with three in it, and Hope was anxious 
 to return^ home, as Mrs. Leonard's sister (who had just 
 come to visit her, would render Hope's longer stay 
 
OR hope's first school. 1G7 
 
 unnecessary, and she was already worn out with fatigue 
 and loss of sleep. It was no more than polite that Rodney 
 Gilbert offered Hope a seat in his phaeton, in which he had 
 come alone, j^et she felt reluctant to accept it. A dread 
 stole upon her which she was at a loss to define. Rodney 
 had never been sadder. His mind seemed to dwell on 
 mournful themes, and the expression of his countenance 
 betrayed the mental pain which was with him always. 
 After awhile he said, abruptly : 
 
 "Miss Hope, I have no doubt that you have often 
 thought me a gloomy, morose man, with none of that 
 brightness which is so charming in every one, but bearing 
 about a discontented spirit wdiere it seemed that I should 
 have been happy. It is so ; the gifts which others i)rize so 
 highly are mine ; fortune, health, good standing in society, 
 friends, or at least those who appear so, a good education 
 and a literary turn, besides my being betrothed to one of 
 the most beautiful girls in the State. (This last was said 
 with a bitter smile.) Yet a thousand times have I wished 
 that I had remained as poor as I was in boyhood. But 
 let me tell you my history. My father was a farmer in 
 humble circumstances, and I the pet and pride of his life. 
 What ambitious dreams he cherished for me, poor man ! 
 He had something of a literary turn, and took great pains 
 in instructing me at home, besides giving me the best 
 advantages that the country schools afforded, which, as it 
 chanced, were unusually good in our neighborhood. I 
 was deemed a prodigy at school. At sixteen years of age 
 I could declaim in a most fluent manner. I read Latin and 
 French with ease and had a smattering of Greek. About 
 a mile from us lived a gentleman whose two daughters 
 attended the same school, and for a mile our route hiy 
 together. I carried their books, assisted them over the 
 creeks, laughed, talked and studied with them, helped 
 them to write their compositions, gathered spring flowers 
 
168 NOW AND THEN ; 
 
 with them, until the two seemed as near as sisters to me ; 
 and Mary Argyle ! Oh ! she was a thousand times nearer ! 
 She was the eldest of the two, a lovely girl, bright and 
 intelligent, with sweet, modest, yet free and easy ways, 
 which completely won my boyish heart. I had no hopes, 
 no dreams for the future, with which she was not entwined. 
 While at school I spoke not to her of love, but when my 
 father, who by hard labor and stinting economy had saved 
 money enough to send me to college one year, told me of 
 his plans. I determined to tell her all that was in my 
 heart. June roses were flinging their fragrance on the air, 
 the leaves were dancing in the breezes, the sunshine, warm 
 and tender as my love, was over everything when I told her 
 of my hopes and besought her to become my wife in the 
 future. Oh, what plans I laid for that future ; how I 
 would work and study and strive and delve for her ; of 
 what a home I would have for her, and how happy we 
 would be. During the four years that I was to remain at 
 college (for my father, by mortgaging some of his land, 
 managed to keep me during a portion of the time, and I 
 taught school to help defray expenses) my attachment for 
 Mary knew not the shadow of change. When I was 
 twenty my father died, and just then a distant relative left 
 me his fortune. There was no necessity for me to drudge 
 and toil now. I could take Mar}^ to even a more elegant 
 home than the one I had pictured. Yet my heart was 
 saddened at the thought of my poor father dying just 
 before Fortune had begun to smile upon him. I returned 
 home a graduate from one of the best colleges in our State, 
 with a determination to go one year to the University of 
 Virginia, then to marry Mary and carry her with me to 
 Philadelphia during the time that I studied medicine there, 
 for it was my darling object to become a good physician. 
 Judge of my surprise, ray consternation, my horror, on 
 being informed by my mother that Mary Argyle was no 
 
OR iiope'« first school. 1G9 
 
 fitting wife for me in my position. I am a believer in 
 obeying the Commandments, the one with promise espe- 
 cially. Yet I think that even you will be prepared to 
 excuse me when I tell you that I vowed to let no human 
 being stand in the way of my happiness — to marry Mary 
 if mother never spoke to me afterwards. But I met with 
 opxDOsition where I was not prepared for it. Mary's father, 
 on learning of my mother's opposition, forbade her to 
 become mine, and no argument nor persuasion could induce 
 her to disobey her father. We parted, I loving her more 
 madly than ever, and with a heart full of bitterness for all 
 the hollow world. I became moody, irascible, yet withal 
 a hard student, sometimes giving freely of my means to 
 others ; at other times grudging even a kind word. I 
 traveled a great deal, lived for self, shut out my heart from 
 all kindly influences as far as possible, and was recklessly 
 miserable. Of course, being a wealthy and eligible young 
 man, there was many a young and beautiful girl who might 
 have been mine had I taken the pains to ask her ; but I 
 had gotten soured against all but the one whom it was 
 useless to love. In two years after we parted she married 
 h«r present husband, Mr. Leonard. (Hope started in 
 astonishment.) She has not led a happy life, poor girl, for 
 he is not the man to make a woman haj^py. Little Violet 
 reminded me of how she looked in the old school days. 
 But to continue : Years rolled on, Mary was married, all 
 hope of ever claiming her for mine had died out of my 
 heart. I was weary of the world, weary of life, weary of 
 everything, when Amelia crossed my i^ath. I began to 
 think that perhaps marriage might produce some change 
 in my favor. I never thought to love again. Amelia was 
 beautiful, fascinating, seemingly amiable, and in an evil 
 moment I proposed to her. I found out my mistake when 
 too late to retrieve it ; yet, Hope, you know the skeleton in 
 my closet, the Marah in my heart. Judge me kindly in 
 your future thoughts." 
 
170 NOW AND THEN 
 
 ? 
 
 "I am sorry for you, Mr. Grilbert ; yet I tliink if you 
 will try to make the best of life it will be brighter to you." 
 
 They were at Mr. Watkins' gate now, and further con- 
 versation was stopped for the time, as Rodney would not 
 accept Mr. Watkins' invitation to go in the house. 
 
 " As sure as you live," said Mrs. Watkins, "Miss Hoi^e 
 and Rodney Gilbert love each other, and why they can't 
 make up their minds to marry is a mystery to me." 
 
 "And will remain so," said Mr. Watkins, dryl}', "since 
 neither one seems to wear their heart on their sleeve." 
 
 It had been Hope's intention to return home immediately 
 after her school exhibition, but she was so wearied with 
 her watchings at little Violet's bedside that she thought it 
 best to remain a few days longer to rest ere attempting her 
 homeward journey. Perhaps there was another reason for 
 this. Who can willingly leave the neighborhood of a 
 beloved object, even though every memory of the loved 
 one is a pang ? So unreasoning a passion is love. And yet 
 Hope said to herself that she never wished to see Rodney 
 Grilbert again, that every time that she saw him she was 
 more unhaj)py. 
 
 A young doctor with jvhom she had just beconij 
 acquainted had invited her to accompany him to church, 
 and she wished to go once more before returning home — 
 once more to the church where Rodnev had carried her, 
 where she had begun to think of him, where Herbert 
 Ransom had preached his never-to-be-forgotten sermon, 
 and life had seemed so bright to her. The landscape was 
 lovely enough to her this morning, her escort polite and 
 agreeable, yet everything seemed changed. Her spirit had 
 lost its brightness and elasticity, sorrow oppressed her ; 
 yet none would have guessed it who looked upon her, so 
 full of life and gladness did she seem. Rodney Gilbert 
 was at church ; a glance at the crowd before the door 
 revealed his form and face, but Amelia was not present. 
 
OR HOPE'S FIRST SCHOOL. 171 
 
 Like one in dream, Hope listened to the words of life, 
 listened with a yearning to be benefited by them, yet with 
 thoughts straying afar off— "What business had they in 
 such a place?" Like one in a dream, Rodney Gilbert 
 listened with a feeling in his heart that had the world been 
 different with him he, too, might have been a better man ; 
 that even now a happy heart would make him a purer and 
 more useful member of society. Ah ! we speak of the 
 ministry of sorrow, and truly it has its ministry ; but is 
 not joy an equally powerful agent of good? Is not .sun- 
 shine as necessary as rain ? Yes, we honestly believe that 
 there is many an aching heart, embittered by sadness and 
 neglect, which, under different influences, might have been 
 a satisfied and happy one. receiving and diffusing joy. 
 Should this not teach us to strive to make others happy ? 
 Preaching at last was over, and Hope descended the church 
 steps. She saw nothing of her escort, and to her surprise 
 Rodney Gilbert came up and bade her good morning, 
 saying : 
 
 " Miss Hope, Dr. Jones was called off to see a very sick 
 patient Just after services began, and I offered to carry you 
 home in his place, if you would accept of my services." 
 
 She said "certainly ;" but her heart beat more rapidly, 
 and the blood died her cheeks crimson, then retreated, 
 leaving them as pale as ashes. 
 
 "There is a thunder-storm coming up," said Rodney ; 
 "I trust we maybe able to get to your home before it 
 reaches us." 
 
 He assisted her in his buggy and drove off rapidly, for 
 the clouds were boiling up toward the zenith, overshadow- 
 ing the crystal heavens, and ominous growls of thunder 
 were already heard in the distance, with ever and anon a 
 Hash of lightning. There was little said by either ; both 
 were too intent in watching the gathering storm, which 
 momentarily became blacker and blacker, while streaks of 
 
172 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 zigzag lightning tore the gloomj'^ clouds asunder and was 
 succeeded by the most terrific thunder. Hope was consti- 
 tutionally brave, 3'et she cowered a little amid the mad 
 rage of the elements. The pines, swayed by the wind, 
 seemed every moment just ready to fall upon them ; the 
 rain f)oured down in blinding torrents, and all nature 
 seemed suddenly thrown into maddening confusion. There 
 was a terrific crash as the lightning struck a tree near by 
 them ; the frightened horses plunged madly, broke from 
 the buggy and were gone ; but Hope for one moment was 
 stunned, unconscious of aught that had befallen them. 
 When she became conscious she was in Rodney's arms ; 
 she felt his kisses on her brow, heard herself called sweet, 
 endearing names, and wished, ah ! how vainly, that she 
 could die just then ! But she struggled to free herself, and 
 he said : 
 
 "Miss Hope, you are too weak to walk without assist- 
 ance ; there is a house not over two hundred yards from 
 here ; if we can manage to get there we will be sheltered, 
 at least, until the storm is over ; and I can then procure 
 some way to see you home. They were grotesque-looking 
 objects as slowly and with difficulty through the pouring 
 flood they made their way to Mr. Wilson's small, but com- 
 fortable farm-house, where he and his wife lived alone. 
 Both were drenched with rain, their shoes soaking and 
 muddy, hair disheveled, and they looked like two 
 outcasts ; but the hospitable farmer bade them welcome, 
 and it was not many minutes before Rodney and Hope were 
 arrayed in dry apparel and seated before a comfortable fire. 
 Hope looked pretty but odd in Mrs. Wilson's old-time 
 dress, as did Rodney in Mr. Wilson's, and both laughed 
 merrily as they saw each other for the first time after their 
 change of attire. 
 
 "I had half a mind to put on one of the old lady's caps," 
 said Hope. 
 
 "I wish you had," said Rodney; "I would like to see 
 
OR hope's first school. 173 
 
 the effect ;" then, lowering his voice, " Hoj)e, I am glad 
 of this storm ; we will be together a few hours, at any rate, 
 and oh, it is Heaven, it is happiness to be with you, even 
 for a little while. They were quite alone ; the old gentle- 
 man and lady were busy drying their clothes, and Rodney 
 took advantage of their absence. 
 
 " Hope, darling, there is no use in a man plighting vows 
 at the altar that he cannot keep. I don't love Amelia, I 
 do love you entirely, perfectly. Why make our lives 
 miserable, when they might be so happy ? Be mine ; I 
 cannot live without you." 
 
 "You will have to," she said, quietly, with tears in her 
 voice. 
 
 He knelt before her, caught her hands in his and 
 exclaimed, impetuously : 
 
 "Hope, you never loved me, or you could not be so 
 cruel!" 
 
 " Mr. Gilbert, 1 deemed you an honorable man— one who 
 would not forget his plighted word to any woman. I 
 admired you for your high sense of honor and duty." 
 
 " Hope I " he exclaimed, "look in my eyes and tell me, 
 honestl}^, if you were engaged to a gentleman and should 
 lind that he loved another woman better, would you not 
 rather release him from his troth to you than to marry him, 
 knowing that his heart was another's ? " 
 
 " Yes," she replied, "I would thank him for telling me 
 the truth, yet I would deem him false and fickle." 
 
 " As Amelia may do me," he replied. " It matters but 
 little with me what anyone thinks besides yourself." 
 
 " And what will your mother think of you, Mr. Gilbert ? " 
 
 " Mother ! Ah ! Hope, mother wrecked my happiness 
 once, she shall not do it again without just cause, dearly 
 as I love her. If you were mine little would I care for 
 what the world thought. You are my w^orld." 
 
 ".Rodney," said she, sadly, "it cannot be. If I really 
 
174 NOW AND THEN ; 
 
 thought you could never tear my image from your heart, 
 that your life would be wrecked by my refusing to be your 
 wife, I might agree to do so ; but I do not think that. 
 Three months ago, before my ideas of duty were what they 
 were, I might have accepted your x)roposal ; now I cannot ; 
 we must live apart/' 
 
 "And this is your decision, Hope? Ah! what avails 
 
 the tenderest affection, the most idolatrous love, when a 
 
 ^ woman is obdurate \ My hopes, my heart, my happiness 
 
 for this life are gone ! God grant in mercy that my span 
 
 of life may not be long ! '" 
 
 "You talk wildly, Mr. Gilbert; with your means you 
 can do much in the world. If you really love me will you 
 for my sake use them for the good of others ?'• 
 
 "No, Hope, I cannot promise you this. If 1 marry 
 Amelia I know she wall be extravagant and I shall be an 
 indulgent, if not a loving, husband. She shall never have 
 cause to complain." 
 
 What made Hope love Rodney so madly, knowing his 
 faults as she did \ seeing them, but as though she did not 
 see them. Others seemed nobler and better ; for was not 
 Rodney weak, even in his love for her, and full of faults ? 
 Her love had begun in sympathy for his unhappiness, 
 mingled with admiration for his talent ; it had been 
 strengthened by the singular manner in which their 
 acquaintanceship had progressed, and now his entire 
 devotion to her had sealed her fate. She felt sure that 
 from the ashes of this love no other would arise, that never 
 again would the star of love rise on her pathway. Yet 
 she was resolved to remain as she was, rather than tempt 
 him to swerve from duty. She had felt how bitter it is to 
 lose confidence in a beloved object, and though Amelia had 
 once acted a false part by her, she determined to return 
 good for evil. Notwithstanding the bitter pang of parting 
 with Rodney, there was a sweet consciousness of doing 
 
OE hope's fiest school. 175 
 
 right in her heart, which helped her to endure the pain 
 more bravely. And then, in some respects, it was not 
 quite so bitter as to be jilted. She knew, though, that all 
 through the coming years there would be haunting memo- 
 ries of Rodney ; that his every tender word and tone would 
 come to her recollection again and again ; that the sad 
 thought of "what might have been" would embitter all 
 her future years. The short summer evening, made shorter 
 by the gloom of the tempest, came to a close all too quickly 
 for the lovers, who, though miserable together, were still 
 loth to see the time pass b}^ bringing around the inevitable 
 hour of parting. 
 
 The next morning the earth was brighter than ever, and 
 after bidding adieu to Mr. Wilson and his wife and thank- 
 ing them for their generous hosxntality, Rodney and Hope 
 rode to Mrs. Watkins' in Mr. Wilson's buggy, drawn by 
 one of his horses. Hope was destined to listen to plead- 
 ings that she found it almost impossible to resist, and sorry 
 as she was to part with Rodney, she was glad when she 
 reached Mr. Watkins'. They parted "forever," thought 
 she to herself, as she watched him ride away. She locked 
 her door, sank into a chair and gave vent to a flood of 
 bitter tears. What, after all, if she had done wrong ? 
 What if she might have been destined to be the guiding 
 star of Rodney's life to lead him to a brighter and 
 better future "i 
 
 "No, no; I cannot 'do evil that good may come.' It 
 would be wrong in me to tempt Rodney to break his 
 plighted troth. I must do right if it destroys my happi- 
 ness." 
 
 Through the long, restless night she did not sleep, and 
 when morning dawned she arose with a weight of sorrow 
 on her heart and a sad look in the dark eyes. And with 
 gloomy feelings she began her preparations for the home- 
 Dvard trip. 
 
176 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 "A buggy is at the gate, papa/' said little Willie 
 Watkins. "There are two ladies in it, I think Mrs. 
 Leonard is one of them." 
 
 He was correct in his supposition. Mrs. Leonard and 
 Miss Hunter w^re the visitors. The former lady was in 
 deep mourning for her child. Her sable garments were 
 extremely becoming to her, though it seemed to Hope that 
 she had lost both Hesh and color since the first time that 
 she saw her. She greeted Mrs. Watkins and our heroine 
 most affectionately, and seemed more cheerful than might 
 have been expected under the circumstances. 
 
 " Her husband had gone off on a trip to Charlotte," she 
 said, " and had taken her little son with him. Miss Hunter 
 had agreed to stay with her during his absence, and they 
 both thought it a good time to visit Mrs. Watkins, as they 
 wished to see Miss Caldwell before her departure from the 
 neighborhood." 
 
 Hoi^e thanked them for their thoughtf ulness, and assured 
 them that she appreciated their visit very much. During 
 the long hours of the forenoon conversation did not flag, 
 but all seemed anxious that it should turn as little as 
 liossible on that which was still the subject of all their 
 thoughts— the deatli of little Violet. But once did Mrs. 
 Leonard speak particularly of her. 
 
 " I will never cease to be grateful to you. Miss Hope, for 
 your kindness to my little one. She loved you dearl}^, and 
 her memorj' will ever be inseparably connected with j^our- 
 self in my heart. I could not now bear the thought of her 
 having been roughly dealt with, and thank God, as much 
 as I miss her, I have one comforting reflection — she can 
 never undergo the trials of this life — its heart-aches and 
 pangs ; she is sheltered from them forever." 
 
OR hope's first school. 177 
 
 Hope was too choked up with emotion to answer save 
 with tears, and conversation drifted off to other subjects. 
 Rodney Gilbert's name was spoken once in connection with 
 his attention to Miss Montcalm. 
 
 "Rodney is an old friend of mine," remarked Mrs. 
 Leonard, so calmly and coldly that Hope wondered if love 
 could sometimes die a natural death. "We were school- 
 mates, and he seemed a very promising young man ; but 
 of late his whole nature appears to be changed, with the 
 exception of his generosity. He can never be otherwise 
 than generous. I will always remember his kindness to 
 us during Violet's illness, for I know it was he who sent 
 her so many i^resents. I trust that if he marries it may 
 have a good effect upon him — may sweeten a nature that 
 was originally good, but is now from some cause embit- 
 tered." 
 
 Hope gazed at Mrs. Leonard in astonishment. How 
 could she bear to speak thus of one to whom she had once 
 plighted her troth, whom in all probability she had fondly 
 loved ? Could it be that his memory had faded out of her 
 heart entirely, and did Mr. Leonard now really occupy the 
 niche once filled by him ? It was an enigma to her : she 
 could not puzzle it out. It seemed to her that a thousand 
 years hence she would not wish to say much of Rodney in 
 the presence of company. His memory was so sacred, and 
 she felt, too, so guilty of loving him but too tenderly, that 
 she could not bear to call his name, unless absolutely 
 necessary to do so. After all, she reflected, different 
 dispositions differ so widely that one cannot judge for 
 another. 
 
 " You will not take another school here, I suj^pose ? " 
 said Mrs. Leonard to her, after a brief lull in the conver- 
 sation. 
 
 "No ma'am, I hardly think I shall. It is quite i^robable 
 that I will never tedch in the country again. I wish to go 
 
178 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 somewhere that I can pursue my own studies to advan- 
 tage while I am instructing others. You know how hard 
 it is to do that in the country ?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed," she and Miss Hunter remarked at once ; 
 then the latter continued : 
 
 "I know all about a country teacher's life and will give 
 you my whole history sometime, if you desire it?" 
 
 " That I do," replied Hope ; "but you will have to do so 
 to-day or to-morrow, for I start home the day after." 
 
 "Miss Hope is an artist," said Mrs. Watkins ; "you 
 should see some of her drawings and paintings before she 
 packs them up." 
 
 Accordingly, the next hour was occupied in looking at 
 Hope's treasured sketches — the work of her leisure hours. 
 There were no master pieces among them, yet all indicated 
 talent, all were above ordinary. The ladies were lavish in 
 their praise of them. 
 
 " I tell Miss Hope," said Mrs. Watkins, "that she has 
 no business to teach school at all with such talent as she 
 possesses, although I consider her a capital teacher too." 
 
 "Believe me," replied Hope, "that I consider a good 
 teacher of more practical value than a fine artist ; but I fall 
 as far short of my standard of teaching as of drawing or 
 painting. I really think that to be an efficient teacher 
 requires such a combination of qualities as is seldom found 
 in one person. Just think of it ! A good teacher (I speak 
 in the feminine gender) must be intelligent herself, and 
 must also have the tact of imparting knowledge to others. 
 She must be firm, yet mild, patient, yet not yielding ; must 
 also be attractive to the pupils by a certain winsomeness 
 of manner, which even the best of people do not alwaj^s 
 possess. She must be systematic and neat, and must set a 
 good example in every respect to her pupils. She is their 
 pattern in morals, in religion, in manners, in dress, in every 
 respect. And when, by the most untiring industrj^ she 
 
OR hope's first school. 179 
 
 has managed to instil not only learninj^ in the he<ads, but 
 principles of right, of justice and of truth in the hearts of 
 those entrusted to her charge, she must still be prepared 
 to endure fault-finding and complaint from those who, 
 having never themselves taught, are utterly incapable of 
 appreciating the difficulties which beset a teacher. Even 
 the intelligent patrons of a school (though this has not 
 been my experience) may sometimes unnecessarily wound 
 the feelings of a faithful, conscientious teacher, by thought- 
 less comments on her faults, as if anyone was destitute of 
 them. So that I can truly exclaim, when I think of all 
 this, " ' Who is sufficient for these things V " 
 
 " You are right, Miss Hope," replied her companion ; " 1 
 have taught for twelve years, and under almost every 
 variety of circumstances, and I can say with truth, that not 
 yet have I attained to my standard of a teacher." 
 
 "And has all of your work been in the country;!" 
 inquired Hope. 
 
 " Yes, all of it. I may be almost silly in my attachment 
 to the country, but while I could, in some resi^ects, have 
 enjoyed much greater advantages in the city, I could never 
 relinquish the pleasures of a country life. The fresh air, 
 the rural scenes, the songs of birds, the wild fiowers grow- 
 ing along my path, the grand old woods, where I delight 
 to rove— all of the beauties of nature to be enjoyed "with- 
 out money and without price," are inexpressibly dear to 
 me. So I have remained year after year, teaching first in 
 one neighborhood, then in another, spending the best years 
 of my life in the narrow routine of the school-room, and 
 earning just enough money to kee]3 me up respectably." 
 
 "Why," inquired Hope, "did you not remain in one 
 place? It seems to me that it would be much more 
 agreeable." 
 
 " It certainly would, but it does not fall to the lot of the 
 majority of teachers to stay in the same place for a long 
 
180 NOW AND THEN ; 
 
 time. Human nature craves a clianjsje. After a lapse of 
 years some one is sure to find fault, and in such a case, 
 though many of your patrons may like you. yet the 
 disaffection of some, like the ' dead tiy in the pot of oint- 
 ment,' will render your life so unpleasant that you will 
 gladly seek 'fresh fields and pastures new.' Still my life 
 has not been one of constant change. I once taught three 
 years at a place where I intended to establish a permanent 
 school. To this end I worked hard. I spared neither time 
 nor pains to accomplish it. I am not perfect, I know, yet 
 lack of energy in the school-room is not one of my faults. 
 I was unsuccessful. Some of my patrons clung to me and 
 were never weary of sounding my praises ; but I gained 
 the ill-will of others ; and some other circumstances acting 
 against me, I resigned all thoughts of ever teaching long 
 in one place. I have oftentimes seen the words of the 
 Saviour fulfilled : ' Ye have labored and other men have 
 entered into your labors.' It is hard to toil and see others 
 eat the fruit of your work, to run and see others wear j^our 
 crown ; yet this is often the lot of a country teacher. AVhen 
 a young man or young lady graduates at some noted 
 college who thinks of the seed sown in the old country 
 school-house? No, all of the credit is apjt to be awarded 
 to those who put on the cap-stone of the educational 
 edifice ; all of the praise is given to those who ' put on the 
 finishing-touch.' In this, as in other things, I believe in 
 justice being done to all parties. I think that all should 
 share and share rightfully in the praise.'' 
 
 "I am afraid," said Hope, laughiu^ly, '' that could all 
 3^oung teachers hear you talk there would be a sad lack of 
 instruction, more especially in the country." 
 
 " No danger of that," replied Miss Hunter ; "necessity, 
 the grand lever which moves nearly all the world to labor, 
 will ever fill the ranks of the teacher's array, and once 
 there, ambition will impel many of them to strive to attain 
 
OR nOPE's FIRST SCHOOL. 381 
 
 to a high standard of teaching. Then, some look to a 
 higher source for a reward of their labor. A faithful, con- 
 scientious nature will fill up the measure of its duty, 
 whether the world approves or blames." 
 
 '' Are you an orphan. Miss Hunter V inquired her com- 
 panion. They were alone now, Mrs. Watkins and Mrs. 
 Leonard having gone out in the flower-yard. 
 
 '• Yes, I have been an orphan since my seventeenth year. 
 My father and mother were both killed by an accident on 
 the railroad, and I had no one else to look to for assistance. 
 Luckily for me, I was sufficiently well educated to teach, 
 and from my youth the duties and responsibilities of the 
 school-room have been mine. I grow very weary some- 
 times, the more so when I think that it is more than 
 probable that I will spend the rest of my life as a teacher, 
 yet 1 see so much that is disagreeable in every calling that 
 I have learned to be reconciled to my lot. The greatest 
 trial I have is that I really have no home. Boarding, as I 
 do, I meet with much kindness. I make many friends, 
 the children are almost always fond of me ; yet, after all, 
 I have no permanent abiding place. I spend my vacation 
 among my numerous friends and acquaintances, by whom 
 I am always cordiallyvvelcomed ; yet, after all, I realize 
 the truth of the words, 'There is no place like home.' " 
 
 Curiosity and the deep interest which she felt in her new 
 friend impelled Hope to inquire : 
 
 "Do you never intend to marry. Miss Hunter i! You 
 might then have a home, perhaps a very happy one." 
 
 She was sorry a moment after that she had asked the 
 question. A vivid blush stole over Miss Hunter's pale 
 cheek ; she seemed embarrassed, yet answered unhesi- 
 tatingly : 
 
 "Not unless I can marry my ideal. I would no sooner 
 marry now for a home nor for convenience than when I was 
 just sixteen years old. Love and that alone will ever tempt 
 
182 TlIElSr AND NOW ; 
 
 me to surrender my freedom, as poor a freedom as it is. I 
 have loved but once in my life, and have long since fiang 
 away even the very memory of my idol, and have devoted 
 myself entirely to the duties of my calling, and though I 
 have trials and difficulties, and am destitute of a home, yet 
 I see many married ladies with whom I would not exchange 
 places. Believe me, that the silly fear of becoming an old 
 maid has entailed a life-time of misery on many a woman, 
 for "married and not mated" is the worst life in the 
 world." 
 
 " Yes," resjxjnded Hope ; ' to marry in haste and rej)eht 
 at leisure,' is worse than not to marry at all." 
 
 "I think. Miss Caldwell, that I might ask with more 
 propriety why you do not marry ? It is rumored that 
 three of the most eligible young men around here have 
 been, or are now, paying their addresses to you." 
 
 It was now Hope's turn to be embarrassed : 
 
 "That is a mistake, Miss Hunter; the young men who 
 come here do so through courtesy, not through personal 
 preference to me." 
 
 "Well, of course it is none of my business, but should 
 Mr. Ransom ever address you I would say that no woman 
 could do better than to marry him, for he is almost 
 perfection." 
 
 " I can't bear your perfect beings," replied Hope, impet- 
 uously. "I would sooner love one nearer like myself, 
 even though full of faults; yet," she rejoined, "I do like 
 Mr. Ransom. He is one of my best friends." 
 
 "I can't think, then, w^hy you discarded Mr. Gilbert," 
 said Miss Hunter, mercilessly, though in a laughing 
 manner; "for that, too, is the report ; surely he has ftiults 
 enough." 
 
 A hot Hush mounted to Hope's very temples: "Who 
 could have started such a report'^ Could Rodney have 
 purposely left people under that impression merely to 
 
OR hope's first school. 183 
 
 shield her from the sneers of the world — merely to prevent 
 the impression that she was jilted by him \ " She believed 
 this to be the case, and felt a thrill of gratitude warm her 
 heart at the thought. The idea of either of the other 
 gentlemen loving her seemed preposterous. As secluded 
 as had been her former life, Hope Caldwell was not a 
 woman who viewed ever}' casual attention of a gentleman 
 in a serious light, and it seemed too ridiculous for a 
 moment's thought to regard Herbert Ransom or Daniel 
 Young as lovers. It seemed very singular to her that on 
 several occasions people had given her advice in regard to 
 the young minister, when in truth he had never sought to 
 win her affections— had been kind and pleasant, without 
 even pretending to cherish more than friendly regard for 
 her. She looked upon Mr. Ransom as a very dear friend ; 
 she regarded him as a man of superior piety and intelli- 
 gence, but never for a moment had she even dreamed of 
 the possibility of love between him and herself. Miss 
 Hunter's words, she thought, had shown her how far 
 gossip and the imagination of one's "dear live hundred 
 friends" can transcend the bounds of truth. It did not 
 once occur to her, as it might have done to other and vainer 
 girls, that after all perhaps Herbert Ransom did love her, 
 and was only withheld from addressing her by the belief 
 that his suit would be rejected. This belief would have 
 just now been quite correct, for their many rides and walks 
 and talks had revealed to the young minister a disposition 
 so noble and pure that he had at last fallen more in love 
 than he had any idea of doing, though still without any 
 thought of declaring himself to the object of his regard. 
 He felt persuaded that Rodney Gilbert filled the highest 
 niche in her heart, and he was unwilling to take a secon- 
 dary jjlace. So, all unconsciously to herself, she had won 
 the affections of Herbert Ransom. In her perfect igno- 
 rance in regard to his real feelings for her, she disliked 
 
184 THEN AND NOW 
 
 } 
 
 very much to be teased about him, and tried to change the 
 subject of conversation. Luckily for her, Miss Hunter's 
 thoughts seemed to dwell more on school and on school 
 life than on love or marriage. She entertained Hope by 
 relating to her several little amusing episodes in her school 
 life. She gave a humorous description of the stampede 
 which took place in her school-room on one occasion, when 
 a large but harmless snake was discovered coiled just 
 above her head in the unceiled house. 
 
 "The children," she said, "as well as myself, were 
 awfully frightened, until some of the bravest of the boys 
 managed to get him down and kill him with a stick. When 
 I noticed that it was a harmless species of snake I felt half 
 regretful that I had permitted its destruction, yet so great 
 is my horror of them that I believe it would throw me into 
 a spasm should one accidentally fall upon me, even for a 
 moment. At one place where I taught I used to amuse 
 myself by watching the lizards, which crej)t in the house 
 through crevices between the logs. I enjoyed seeing them 
 catch flies. Then there was a bird which had built her nest 
 on the inside of the roof, and I used to take pleasure in 
 looking at her fly backwards and forwards to feed her little 
 brood. And when the young birds were old enough to fly 
 didn't the children feel interested in them ! I could not 
 find it in my heart to allow them to be disturbed. It is my 
 nature to love all harmless little animals, so that it was a 
 pleasure to have them around me. However, I object to 
 such a very open school-house in the winter. The health 
 is endangered by draughts of air pouring in on teacher and 
 pupils while thej^ are sitting quite still, and more particu- 
 larly if they are accustomed to snug, warm quarters at 
 home. The change may produce sickness, if not death, in 
 some cases. Yet all this discomfort, which is the result, 
 not of selfishness, stinginess or meanness, but of pure 
 neglect, might be remedied by the expenditure of a little 
 
OR hope's first school. 185 
 
 money and a few hour's work. In regard to water, there 
 is sometimes a similar thoughtlessness. Sometimes the 
 curbing of a well is decayed and needs to be replaced by a 
 new one, or a well or spring is wofully in need of being 
 cleaned out, but it is put off from day to day, and pupils 
 and teachers have to drink bad water in consequence, and 
 perhaps are made sick. Patrons, as a rule, do not visit the 
 school-room very often. They seem to be contented if the 
 children appear to be learning well, and do not inquire into 
 all such little matters. Instructors dislike to find fault, 
 more especially ladies, and the more' intelligent and refined 
 they are, the more is this liable to be the case, and seldom 
 complain of any existing evil of this kind more than once 
 or twice. If it is not remedied after that, they struggle on, 
 putting. up with inconveniences until the session is out. 
 And yet the patrons of their school are perhaps just as 
 kind- hearted, industrious, pleasant and clever people as 
 one can find. This fault is but a 'little one,' yet it may 
 cause most disastrous consequences. Just think of the 
 trouble and expense that one single spell of sickness occa- 
 sions, and it really seems incredible that people should not 
 look out for their own health and that of their families in 
 every possible way. Proper ventilation, but no draughts 
 of air, a room sufficiently warmed and lighted, good, pure 
 water, and a plenty of exercise out of doors, I regard as 
 absolutely necessary to the health of pupils. Besides, I 
 always notice to see that mine do not sit still with wet feet, 
 as many children are apt to do. As a large, open fire-place 
 generally falls to my lot at my school-house, I make them 
 stay by that until their shoes are dried. Perhaps I am too 
 careful, but I hold that a teacher is to some extent answer- 
 able for the manner, morals, health and learning of the 
 scholars during the time which they are entrusted to his 
 or her charge/' 
 
186 THEN AND NOW 
 
 "I think so," said Hope; "but I do not believe that 
 all teachers feel this way. No indeed ! Some care only for 
 the money which they expect to get at the termination of 
 the school. I do not say 'earn,' for they do not earn it. 
 No matter what may be the disadvantages which surround 
 teachers, no matter if they are unknown and unappre- 
 ciated, it is no less their duty to strive faithfully for the 
 improvement of their scholars. Nothing can excuse them 
 for neglecting their duties," 
 
 " I agree with you," replied her companion, " I think it 
 right to do the best we can, no matter under what circum- 
 stances we may be placed." 
 
 " Well," said Miss Hunter, "I frankly own to you that 
 my path is now a thorny one. I do not say that no ray of 
 light penetrates the gloom, or anything of that kind. I am 
 not miserable ; yet I have passed the hey-day of my youth, 
 its gorgeous visions have lied, I am homeless and poor. I 
 ■ am not even blessed with good, strong health. I cannot be 
 happy as the world looks at happiness, yet I try to be 
 content. I regard mine as a lofty mission. Next to parents, 
 no one has a stronger inlluence over a child than a teacher. 
 No profession has a wider sphere in its ultimate effects. 
 Great and noble men and women can often recall their 
 instructors to mind with sincerest gratitude. Some of the 
 wisest and best of men in ancient days were teachers. I 
 am proud of my profession, yet am fearful of disgracing 
 it. Oh ! could we realize what a charge is ours I The 
 minds and hearts of those who as yet have their characters 
 unformed put into our hands as clay in the hands of the 
 sculptor, to be moulded by us. Yet comparatively few 
 instructors realize it. A great many persons teach as a 
 step to some other x>rofession, some for money, others 
 because solicited to do so, and not wishing to refuse ; but 
 how few because they love to teach ? I think the very best 
 of teachers love children. They can enter into their feel- 
 
OR hope's first school. 187 
 
 ings, can sympathize with their griefs, can even join their 
 little sports, and children love and obey them all the better, 
 provided a teacher understands the secret of gaining the 
 affections of the little ones, and at the same time of losing 
 none of their respect. Some of the greatest of men loved 
 children dearly, and were delighted to share their innocent 
 games, and our Saviour, with the shadow of death hanging 
 over his devoted head, could yet lay aside all selfish 
 thoughts and feelings ' to take young children in his arms 
 and bless them.' But, Miss Hope, excuse me ; I have said 
 too much. Our conversation has certainly been a singular 
 one for two ladies. You know single ladies, unless they 
 belong to the 'strong minded' order, are thought to talk 
 about very little beside dress and beaux. I am not ' strong 
 minded,' yet my thoughts seem to run too much on my 
 calling, and you, too, being a teacher, I have been betrayed 
 into making quite a little speech." 
 
 "AVell," replied Hoj^e, "your one auditor has certainly 
 paid good attention and been much edified. I trust it will 
 help me if ever I teach again." 
 
 Mrs. Leonard and Mrs. Watkins now entered, bearing 
 bouquets of lovely flowers, and the former lady informed 
 Miss Hunter that it was about to time go, as Mr. Watkins 
 was harnessing up their horse for them. Turning to Hope 
 she said : " 
 
 "I trust you may return to this county soon. Miss 
 Caldwell. I want you to visit me, too, when you do 
 return. Come right along. You need not mind if my 
 husband is a little rough at times. He is always clever 
 and means well, but sometimes, when very much crossed, 
 he may speak a little brusquely, as you once heard him." 
 
 "Hope looked at the lady in silent wonder. After all, 
 was there any accounting for a woman's love ? And could 
 as intelligent a woman as Mrs. Leonard really imagine that 
 she could make her husband appear in an amiable light to 
 
188 ' THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 other ladies ? It was a marvel to our heroine, yet at heart 
 she thought the more of her friend for her loyalty to her 
 husband. For no matter, she reflected, how wrong a 
 liusband may act, it best becomes a wife to be somewhat 
 blind to his faults, and more especially before the world. 
 And after all Mr. Leonard may liave good qualities. Like 
 many other women, Mrs, Leonard had wrecked her happi- 
 ness by marrying an unworthy man, but unlike some, her 
 destiny being fixed, she strove to make the best of it. Like 
 the lovely vine twining around the old, decayed tree, and 
 striving to hide its deformity from every eye, so did she 
 strive to palliate her husband's every fault and endeavor 
 to render his home a Paradise. Would she ever win him 
 back to truth and righteousness ? would he withstand all 
 the gentle influences of his home ''. Oh ! thought Hope, if 
 such a wife as she is, if such a child as Violet was cannot 
 reclaim a man, then I believe that, like Saul of Tarsus, a 
 miracle must be wrought in his favor ere he repent ; the 
 light from Heaven's own gates must shine around him, and 
 the voice of Jesus speak to him as it did to Saul. Figura- 
 tively she was doubtless correct in her views. But she did 
 not express her thought in words. She simply promised 
 Mrs. Leonard to visit her upon her return should she decide 
 to do so. She gave both ladies a cordial invitation to visit 
 her should they ever come to Tradeville, Then adieus 
 were made, and Hope watched her friends until they were 
 out of sight. With a heart saddened by the thoughts of 
 the many partings she had to take, she went to her room, 
 and there, upon the table, she for the first time noticed a 
 magazine, which must have been placed there by one of the 
 children. Mr. VVatkins had just returned from the post- 
 office and had brought it thence with him. As she turned 
 over the leaves again did that familiar nora-de plume greet 
 her eye, and with a rai^idly beating heart she read the fol- 
 lowing lines : 
 
OR hope's first school. 189 
 
 " MY FUTURE HOME." 
 ' I'll have a home some day, 
 
 A home, but not with thee ; 
 That Hweetest of all earthly gifts 
 
 Will never be for me. 
 I'll have a home, and bright and fair 
 
 And gay that home will be. 
 Be bright with pictures and with flowers, 
 
 But not seem bright to me ; 
 For there will not be there 
 My every joy to share ; 
 And Oh, my love, when thou art gone, 
 I feel, indeed, as one alone. 
 
 A giddy throng shall dance around 
 
 As music breathes its strain, 
 And laughter seem to mock the fate 
 
 Of one who loves in vain ; 
 And youthful forms in festal garb 
 
 Shall long the hours to chain. 
 Those fleeting hours, which fly so fast 
 
 And ne'er return again. 
 But when the world is brightest 
 And when my heart is lightest, 
 A yearning vain will come to me. 
 Oh ! that my loved one here might be! 
 
 Oh ! beautiful my bride shall be, 
 
 A queen to grace my home ; 
 Her charms should stay my waudering feet 
 
 And bid me never roam. 
 Her form so light, her face so fair, 
 
 A heart of stone might melt, 
 Yet gazing in her sparkling eyes 
 
 Love still may be unfelt ; 
 For even as she smiles on me 
 My heart will backward turn to thee 
 As Eve once turned her longing eyes 
 Back to the gates of Paradise. 
 
 Well, life is short, and bright or dark, 
 
 What difTerence at its close ? 
 The rich man 'mid his treasures dies. 
 
190 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 The begj^ar 'mid his woes. 
 Tiie happiest or the saddest life 
 
 Is even at the tomb ; 
 OOe lays all earthly joys aside, 
 
 The other earthly gloom. 
 And all alike 'twill be to me 
 When once the pearly gates I see ; 
 For there, Oh ! there, I hope to meet 
 And walk with thee the golden street ! " 
 
 The reader can well imagine the emotions excited in the 
 mind of Hope by the perusal of the verses just quoted. 
 
 " Alas ! " she exclaimed, "it seems so hard to dash the 
 cup of happiness not only from one's own lips, but also 
 from those of another even dearer than yourself ! But 
 Rodney is cruel in his love for me. Wh}'' will he not leave 
 me alone to my fate ? Why ever call to mind tlie joys 
 that I have lost ? Since we cannot marry, why cherish 
 every regret, instead of banishing it from mind ? I wonder 
 if, in the sight of God, it would not be less sinful to break 
 his plighted word than to marry Amelia feeling, as he does 
 now, that he cannot love her ? And yet, Oh ! merciful 
 Father, I can call to mind a woman whom I saw 
 in the days of my childhood who had lost her reason from 
 having been jilted and who had afterwards to be shut up in 
 the walls of an insane asylum on that account. Suppose 
 the like were to happen to Amelia, could I ever be happy 
 again ? No ! though she had no j)ity on me, I will spare 
 her from even the iDOssibility of such a fate ? " 
 
 Thus Hope reasoned, but her mind w^as in almost a 
 chaotic state, and she had to call into exercise all the 
 Ijowers of a will which was naturally very strong to subdue 
 her emotions. It often happens that when our feelings of 
 grief or anger are wrought up to their highest pitch there 
 is no better safety-valve than to have the mind diverted 
 from our woes to the utterly common-place or ridiculous. 
 Perhaps the sympathy of the best friends the had on earth 
 
OR hope's first school. 191 
 
 would not have had so beneficial effect on Hope just now 
 as did the unexpected visit of Mr. Fogyman, who thought 
 "he'd call jest to tell Miss Hope good-bye." He had also 
 brought her a parting gift, being no more nor less than a 
 little old-timed looking basket made of willow. He had 
 made it himself, he said, and thought maybe she'd prize 
 it, it being home-made. Now, as Mr. Fogyman was a 
 widower, a fact which was but lately revealed to Hope, it 
 must be confessed that she rather hesitated in accepting a 
 gift presented, too, in such a manner, and yet could she 
 afford to make an enemy by refusing it? It seemed 
 supremely ridiculous to her, but she thanked him, not- 
 withstanding, saying as she did so, that she prized anything 
 manufactured at home. This little remark opened the 
 floodgates of Mr. Fogyman' s eloquence : 
 
 " That is what I tell my children. Miss Hope ; anything 
 manufactured at home is better than brought here and sold 
 to us. Jest look at my clothes ! How long would Yankee 
 goods stand like this suit has done? My gals wove 'em 
 right at home. Sal can weave five yards of cloth a day and 
 cook three meals. We gets along all right," and lowering 
 his voice a little : " I've got sev'ral thousand in the bank 
 right now, but you're the only one that knows it. Ef I 
 ever marry agin that goes to my wife. The chil'ren knows 
 nothing about it!" 
 
 Hope was sitting out on the j)iazza, whither she had gone 
 to read Rodney's mournful verses when Mr. Fogyman 
 came, and she offered him a seat out there. Mrs. Watkins 
 was in her own room, which opened upon the piazza, and 
 Hope could imagine her amusement, as every word of this 
 conversation fell upon her ears. How she wished that she 
 would come in just now and give her some opportunity to 
 escape. The conversation was getting altogether too confi- 
 dential for her, and she fervently wished that she had not 
 accepted the " old basket." 
 
192 THEN AND NOW 
 
 5 
 
 Mr. Fogyman continued: "I jest wish yon could see 
 my house, Miss Hope ; it is nice enough for anybody, 
 although I helped get out the timber myself, and nearly all 
 of the furniture is home-made. I think that a woman 
 could get along splendid with my children, 'specially ef 
 she knew their dispositions. ("Mercy on us!" thought 
 Hope ; "will none of them ever come out here ? '") I liked 
 your teachin' right well ; the chil'ren all like you, too, 
 'tho I tells them it's heap more like playin' at school than 
 it used to be." 
 
 "I suppose," said Hope, anxious to say anything to 
 divert the subject of conversation, "that times were quite 
 different when you were young ? " 
 
 "Yes, indeed, though I'm not an old man, Miss Hope, 
 not by any means. No ! I'm jest in my prime ; yet times 
 hev changed even sence the war. I believe people was 
 better during the war — more smarter like. Ef they had 
 lived sence like they did then, they'd been rich folks 
 
 now." 
 
 "I guess so," she replied; "but I would hate to live 
 like they did then, even to get rich. 1 would like to dress 
 in silks and satins and have diamonds at command, if I 
 could." 
 
 We are afraid Hope said this more to be contrary to 
 Mr. Fogyman than from any real love of splendor. The 
 old man smiled what was meant to be a most benevolent, 
 yet deprecating smile, as he said : 
 
 "Pride! all pride! Miss Hope! You know tlie Good 
 Book tells us 'not to be high-minded.' " 
 
 "Yes; but people can be high-minded in calicoes or 
 domestics as easily as in silks and satins." 
 
 "Well, I suppose you teach for your money, it comes 
 easy to you, anyway, and you don't mind spending it ; 
 but folks as has to work hard for a livin' has to be more 
 pertickler. ("It comes easy! I wonder, then," thought 
 
OR hope's first school. 193 
 
 she, "whose money comes hard i ") But I 'spose you are 
 not a goin' to teach here any longer, Miss Hope 'i " 
 
 " No, sir, I do not intend to." 
 
 "So I heerd ; and so sez I to the gals maybe ef Miss 
 Hope won't teach she'll agree to except another situation. 
 Now, Miss Hope, I'm well able to take care of a wife, and 
 seein' you are not used to hard work, my gals can take all 
 the drudgery off your hands and you shall live like a 
 lady ; and — 
 
 At this moment Mr. Watkins appeared ui)on the scene, 
 and thanking Heaven for the interruption, the girl hastily 
 excused herself and went into Mrs. Watkins' room. That 
 good lady had laughed until her eyes shone with tears. 
 
 " How unfortunate that Mr, Watkins should have come 
 at such an inappropos time. We might have had a wed- 
 ding before you left," she said, jestingly. 
 
 "Mrs. Watkins, I almost hate old Mr. Fogyman ! I 
 know I'm very wrong, but I can't help feeling so. And as 
 for his old basket, I am going to give it back to him ! It 
 all came of my accepting that ! " 
 
 "No, no, child, he has had this matter in view for some- 
 time, for he inquired of Mr. Watkins what chance he 
 thought he stood. Don't be so troubled about it, Mr. 
 Fogyman is a very respectable, if a very illiterate man, 
 and is really all that he pretends to be." 
 
 "The idea of my being step-mother for Sail" she 
 exclaimed, betwixt laughter and tears ; it is so ridiculous ! " 
 
 " It is, indeed, yet it was the highest compliment that he 
 could pay you, and really you are the first woman that he 
 has ever paid any attention to since his wife's death," 
 
 "Please, Mrs. Watkins, don't let anyone else know 
 about it," pleaded Hope. She thought of Rodney hearing 
 of her droll admirer, and the reflection troubled her. She 
 did not think that it proved how lovely and attractive she 
 was to all. She felt mortified that Mr^ Fogyman ever got 
 
194 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 any chance to say so much to her. She felt almost humil- 
 iated at the idea of a man of his order paying his addresses 
 to her. Yet, after all, she reflected, as ridiculous as he is, 
 there may be worse people in fashionable society. He is 
 honest, industrious and means well, and if he has not had 
 advantages that is not his fault. So I will not trouble 
 myself about it. And I will keep the basket in remem- 
 brance of my rustic lover and of my first school. 
 
 Mr. Fogyman never obtained the chance of finishing 
 what he had to say to her in person, and being but an 
 indifferent scribe, he concluded to let the matter drop. He 
 had good sense enough to perceive that any farther atten- 
 tion from him would be disagreeable to our heroine. As 
 he afterwards remarked to an intimate friend of his : 
 
 " I seed that ' my cake was all dough ' there. Times has 
 changed. Gals used to be glad of a chance of marryin' a 
 man with a four-horse farm, a good house and money in 
 bank ; but now ef theys poor as Job's turkey they hist up 
 their noses unless a feller has book larnin'. But Miss 
 Hope is a good teacher and I'll send my children to her ef 
 she comes back. I haven't got nothin' agin her." 
 
 Mr. Fogyman' s visit, however, had the effect of diverting 
 the mind of our heroine from very painful thoughts and 
 was a "blessing in disguise." Mr. and Mrs. Watkins and 
 Robert King rallied her a good deal in regard to Mr. 
 Fogyman, and their bantering helped to relieve her mind. 
 Laughter is a good medicine when taken in moderation, 
 and mirth is certainly conducive not only to good health, 
 but also to that cheerful frame of mind which is of more 
 value than "great riches.'" 
 
OR hope's first school. 195 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The last day of Hope's stay at Mrs. Watkins' the iiouse 
 was crowded with visitors from early morn till dewy eve. 
 First came Miss Rachel Tyler and her household. They 
 made their appearance before the breakfast dishes were 
 cleared away. They wished to tell Miss Hope good-bye, 
 so Miss Rachel stated, and also to bring her a present 
 which she hoped she wouldn't laugh at. The present was 
 a very pretty bed-quilt, which Miss Rachel and the children 
 had made and quilted with their own hands. 
 
 "Laugh at!" replied Hope; "that I will not, Miss 
 Rachel. I will try to keej) it as long as 1 live for your 
 sake and in memory of my first school. Be assured I will 
 never forget you or the children." 
 
 She made Miss Rachel very happy by the presentation 
 of a little breakfast shawl, which she happened to have in 
 her possession, but had never worn. 
 
 "Well, if that ain't pretty!" exclaimed the old lady 
 and the children in unison, as they stroked the soft wool. 
 I never seed nothing no prettier. I'll always think of you, 
 Miss Hope, when I look at it, for it looks jest like you." 
 
 "Perhaps the garnet ribbon, which Hope was accus 
 tomed to wear, produced this illusion. 
 
 "'Pears to me I hate to give you up jest as bad as if 
 you was kin to me. I never hated to part with nobody 
 much worse." 
 
 Tears, real tears, were shining in Miss Rachel's eyes, and 
 the teacher could not help feeling touched. 
 
 "Never mind," she replied; "we may all meet again. 
 Perhaps I will visit you sometime. I exi^ect to return here 
 some day in the far future." 
 
196 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 "You'd better have stayed when you was here -better 
 have married Mr. Rodney Gilbert and been mistress of that 
 fine house and plantation, I tell you what, Miss Hope, 
 people thinks he's offish and selfish, but he ain't. Many 
 a time he has sent a hand to help me in my crop when I 
 was hard pressed, and he would have helped me a heaj) 
 more ef I had let him. He was mighty kind to me once 
 when I was sick, too ; sent me fruit and ice and nice things 
 a plenty. Then he is so good to his mother. Man}^ a 
 whinin' hippercrit will be sliet oiiten the golden city afore 
 him, and I say that the woman who gits him will git a 
 prize, and right sorry i am that you kicked him." 
 
 " That is a mistaken idea," said Hope ; " people always 
 guess at such things without proof of it." 
 
 "Maybe so, child ; anyhow I don't expect you to tell 
 me ; but you might go farther and do a heap worse." 
 
 Was it strange that Rodney's praises sounded so sweetly 
 to Hope, coming even from Aunt Rachel % It jiroved, 
 after all, that her instincts were right, that there was some- 
 thing noble in her lover's nature, that her idol was not 
 "common clay." The thought afforded her |)leasure, yet 
 it was i)leasure closely allied to pain, for with all this 
 nobility of character was he not lost to her forever, and 
 that by her own act, though not by her own fault I Miss 
 Rachel continued : 
 
 " That young lady he's goin' to see is mighty pretty, 
 Miss Hope, mighty pretty; but she's no more like you 
 than chalk is like cheese ; never any more speaks to a body 
 than if they was niggers. I can't b'ar her ways. I'd be 
 sorry to see Mr, Gilbert marry her. The colored gal what 
 washes for her sez she's the hardest thing to please she 
 ever seed, and then grinds her down to the last cent when 
 she comes to pay her." 
 
 This subject was not agreeable to Hope, and she endea- 
 vored to change it. 
 
OR hope's first school. 197 
 
 " I suppose you will have a teacher here next session, 
 Miss Rachel r' 
 
 " I hope so, for I want to keep the children straight on. 
 They are in a fair way of learnin' now, and I would be 
 will in' to live on bread and water to see them eddicated. 
 I'll strain a p'int and hire lielj^ to let them go to school. I 
 intend Octavia and Eugenia to take music lessons soon." 
 
 ''That's right, give them a good chance and they'll pay 
 you for all of your trouble, for they are well disposed 
 children." 
 
 "Miss Hope, it makes my blood run cold to think of 
 those children ever growin' uj) wrong. Now, there's Sam 
 and Joe Liggins — mere boys like, yet they get drunk now ; 
 take their daddy's whiskey when he's asleep sometimes, 
 and run the risk of a whippin'. Mr. Leonard's got a heap 
 to answer for, Miss Hope, a heap ! He's got a line eddica- 
 tion and used to be rich, and men like Mr. Liggins looks 
 up to him, and instid of settin' them a good example, thar 
 he is a drinkin' himself and a gettin' him to buy that nasty 
 stuff— pizen I calls it, wdiat he sells ; and as ef that wasn't 
 enough, he gets them to i)lay cards and wins their money. 
 Oh ! he's a bad man. Miss Hope, a mighty bad man ! And 
 sich a wife as he's got! An angel, I call her, for I some- 
 times thinks she would jest have to get wings and she 
 would be let right in the pearly gates." 
 
 Never had the truth of what she had ever believed in 
 regard to education impressed itself so forcibly upon the 
 mind of our heroine as now, viz : that unless the heart — 
 the moral nature, is trained along with the intellect, that 
 the mere acquisition of knowledge may prove fully as much 
 of a curse as a blessing. Here were two examples coming 
 under her own observation — that of Miss Rachel, with no 
 book learning, with no advantages whatever, who, with 
 just a simple determination to do right, was leading a 
 useful life in the community and training up her nieces and 
 
198 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 nephew to be blessings to all around them ; while Mr. 
 Leonard, with every gift that nature could afford, with 
 every advantage that fortune could bestow, was no comfort 
 to himself, to his wife, or to any one connected with him, 
 and was a very great disadvantage to the community in 
 which he resided, his talents rendering his influence far 
 more fatal than if he were an ignorant man. Miss Rachel 
 proceeded : 
 
 " Sech carryin' on at Mr. Liggins' sometimes I He beats 
 his poor wife till the blood comes, and his boys too, and 
 still the}^ don' t get no better ; the worst boys I ever seed ! 
 Ef I thought Adolphus would ever do so I would pray God 
 to let him die now. I don't preach much to them, though ; 
 I jest tries to keep them out of bad company." 
 
 "Yes," replied Hoi:>e ; "that is where the ruin of a 
 person generally begins. Bad habits are as contagious as 
 small-pox or 3^ellow fever, and really more to be dreaded. 
 Keep the children in good company, give them useful 
 books to read, let them go to Sunday School and church 
 regularly, give them work enough to do, and also a plenty 
 of amusements, and they are not apt to wander very far 
 out of the right way. There are two things which tend to 
 make bad men and women — one is the lack of work, the 
 other of play. Emjjloyment of a useful nature keeps the 
 mind busy, and the temptation to do wrong is lessoned. 
 But the mind cannot be always at work, and danger creeps 
 in during the hours of relaxation, unless some innocent 
 amusement be provided to keep that ever active brain 
 employed. Many a child has been driven from home for 
 lack of pleasant amusement there. 1 do not believe in 
 always lecturing children. And in our judgment of others 
 we must ever try to bear in mind the fact that there may 
 be some excuse for their conduct. No matter how bad a 
 person is, we may pity while we blame, for we cannot 
 always tell all the causes which led to one's downfall. In 
 
OR hope' 8 FIRST SCHOOL. 199 
 
 my inmost heart I always sympathize with every one who 
 is a wanderer from the right way." 
 
 "Miss Hope, I jest think you've got one of the kindest 
 hearts I ever seed ; who'd ever have thought of making 
 excuses for people like you do ? " 
 
 During all this conversation, which the reader must 
 allow was very serious for a morning's call, Mrs. Watkins 
 was out attending to domestic duties and the children had 
 gone into the flower yard. She now entered the room, and 
 after the usual civilities were passed and she and Miss 
 Rachel had indulged in a short confab tli,e latter arose to 
 take her departure : 
 
 "I've got to go home," she said. It's my ironin' da3^" 
 
 No persuasion could induce her to remain. 
 
 "May the Lord bless you," she said to Hope; "you 
 deserve it if anybody does." 
 
 The children and herself bade the teacher and Mrs. 
 AVatkins a kind farewell, then clambered into the cart in 
 which they had come and drove off". Hope watched them 
 till out of sight, feeling that she had bid adieu to kind 
 friends when she bade them good-bye. Scarcely had she 
 folded up her quilt and put it away ere two other buggies 
 drove up, one containing Mary and Hattie Stuart, the other 
 Estelle Moran and Edgar Stuart. They all seemed in high 
 spirits, and after the customary compliments of the da}" 
 had been passed and they were seated in the parlor, Hattie 
 entered into a glowing description of a ball which they had 
 just attended, inquiring particularly "why Hope did 
 not go." 
 
 "I did not wish to," was her reply. "I received my 
 ticket several days ago, and a young friend of mine offered 
 to see me there, but I did not care for it." 
 
 " Well, you missed a treat ! Such a nice band of music 
 as we had ! And such a pleasant crowd ! " 
 
 " Isn't Miss Montcalm lovely ? " inquired Mary. 
 
200 THEX AND NOW ; 
 
 " She is, indeed," said Hattie ; "and Mr. Rodney Gilbert 
 is so devoted ! " 
 
 Hope understood the motive of these remarks, but sat 
 seemingly as emotionless as a statue of marble. If she 
 was stabbed to the heart by false friends she could at least 
 prevent them from witnessing her agony ; she could "die 
 and make no sign." Hattie and Mary had never forgiven 
 her for appropriating Rodney's attention, even for a brief 
 while, and they took this method of avenging a fancied 
 wrong. 
 
 " Her father is very well off, I believe," remarked Edgar 
 Stuart ; "and I think that she is an only child. Probably 
 her prosj)ective wealth is not the least of her charms. I 
 think she is very pretty, but for my j^art would*be afraid 
 to trust her. She has a lot of deceit in her face." 
 
 Hope wondered if he said this because he thought it 
 would please her, or was he a really good physiognomist? 
 
 " Edgar is always imagining that he can read people's 
 dispositions in their faces!" exclaimed Mary; "for my 
 part, I think Miss Montcalm's expression is perfect." 
 
 " I don't," said the frank young man. " So far as lovely 
 hair, regular features, exquisite complexion and a graceful 
 form go, she is perfection itself ; but haughtiness and 
 deceit are, to my thinking, plainly stamped upon her face. 
 I'll agree that I know nothing about faces if such is not 
 the case. Have you ever seen her. Miss Hojje? " 
 
 " Yes," was her reply; "I know her very well. We 
 were schoolmates for a few months." 
 
 " Then you understand her nature ; you could let us into 
 the secret if you had a mind to," said Edgar, laughingly ; 
 "but of coarse we would not expect it of you." 
 
 "No; if I knew anything disparaging of her I would 
 not take the pains to trumpet it abroad ; but I liked her 
 very much during our school life." 
 
 Here was a mystery for the girls ! Amelia and Hope 
 
OR hope's first school. 201 
 
 schoolmates! yet, to their certain knowledge, no visits had 
 been exchanged between them ! What could be the cause ? 
 K-odnej^ Gilbert, without a doubt ! jealousy and nothing 
 else ! Hope, too, puzzled them. She seemed so composed 
 and cool while they w^ere talking about her rival, so indif- 
 ferent to the subject as to perplex them very much. And 
 although in some respects they really liked her and would 
 have befriended her, yet, with strange inconsistency, they 
 would just now have gloried in seeing her writhe under 
 the tortures of jealousy — would have spared her no pang. 
 They felt that it would be a justifiable revenge for the 
 suffering inflicted on them by Rodney's former attention 
 to her. Of so strange a nature is human friendship in 
 some instances ! Then, too, not only Rodney, but most of 
 the other eligible young men around x^aid her considerabla 
 attention, and envy had taken such full possession of their 
 hearts as to leave but little room for true love to dwell 
 there. Estelle was different in her conduct toward our 
 heroine. She did not torment herself or others by idle 
 jealousy. Rodney Gilbert and Amelia Montcalm seemed 
 interesting topics of conversation to the two sisters. They 
 described her ball dress to our heroine : 
 
 '• It was a pink silk," said Mary, "with an overdress of 
 lace, looped up with lilies of the valle3^" 
 
 "And weren't those pearls exquisite T' said Hattie. 
 Miss Hope, she wore pearl ornaments in her golden hair 
 and on her snow-white neck and wrists, and it did seem to 
 me that an angel could not be more beautiful." 
 
 " She is, indeed, a most charming girl," replied Hope. 
 I really consider her nearer to perfection in face and figure 
 than anyone I ever saw. She and Mr. Gilbert will make a 
 handsome couple." 
 
 "1 don't think him handsome," said Hattie ; "his 
 expression is too sour." 
 
 Hope was forcibly reminded of the fable of "The Fox 
 
202 THEN AND NOW 
 
 and the Grapes," but said nothing. After all, were such 
 trifling speeches worth reply ? Yet, as the largest and 
 strongest animals can be stung well nigh to madness by 
 small insects, so can the noblest natures sometimes be 
 tortured almost to desperation by very insignificant people. 
 Hattie continued after a moment's pause : 
 
 "Mr. Gilbert may have been cross because his sweet- 
 heart was dancing so much with Dr. Jones. She waltzes 
 exquisitely, and so does the doctor, and I suppose that 
 Mr. Gilbert did not fancy their waltzing together so much. 
 At least people thought so. But I think Miss Amelia 
 pretty indej)endent." 
 
 Edgar Stuart was far better natured than his girl cousins. 
 He had been penetrating enough to notice that Rodney 
 Gilbert cherished more than ordinary regard for Hope, and 
 thought, too, that she was by no means indifferent to him, 
 and it had rather puzzled him when affairs terminated as 
 they had. Still he felt intuitively that this conversation 
 was extremely disagreeable to her, and endeavored to 
 change it. 
 
 "Miss Hope, you cannot tell how we all will miss you 
 when you leave this county. I have really enjoyed your 
 company very much." 
 
 "I have certainly had a pleasant time since I came 
 here," she responded; and shall ever cherish in grateful 
 remembrance my many good friends here. I could not 
 have met with more kindness and hosjiitality anywhere." 
 
 " I am delighted that you fancy our part of the county 
 so well, and wish that you would take another school 
 here." 
 
 " I do not expect to return next session. I shall try to 
 get a situation in the city, where I can pursue my own 
 studies to advantage. I cannot do that in the country." 
 
 "No, I presume not, but I imagine that country life is 
 really more enjoj^able. If you want to have a good time 
 
OR HOPE'S FIRST SCHOOL. 203 
 
 in a social way, a i)leasaiit country neighborhood is the 
 pLice for it. But I think that Hattie and Mary have a 
 notion to exchange country for town life." And he began 
 to tease his cousins and Estelle unmercifully. He related 
 several little incidents connected with the ball. Hattie and 
 Mary, he declared, had completely charmed two very fasci- 
 nating young students from the University — Mr. Percy St. 
 Clair and Mr. Albert Hamilton. The last we saw of them 
 they were waving their handkerchiefs as the train sped by, 
 while Mary and Hattie were stifling back the tears that 
 came in their eyes, but which they would not permit to 
 fall."' 
 
 " For shame, Edgar, for making such a draft upon your 
 imagination ! I fear your imaginative power will fail you 
 'if you do not cease from drawing upon it so heavily ! " 
 
 " No danger of that," he replied ; " I think my supply 
 is inexhaustible." 
 
 "But, Miss Hope," said the two girls, "you should 
 have seen him at the ball talking to a girl whom no other 
 gentleman seemed to love to talk to — she was so ugly." 
 
 "Hattie! Mary! you are carrjdng jesting too far now ! 
 That young lady has no superior in conversational power, 
 and is, to my thinking, extremely interesting, and gentle- 
 men do not value her at her true worth simply because she 
 is so modest and retiring that they think her destitute of 
 spirit and liveliness." 
 
 " Hope noticed the sudden color that mounted to cheek 
 and brow as he spoke, and when, two years after this con- 
 versation she heard of his marriage to this same lady, she 
 was not at all suri^rised. The girls laughed teasingly : 
 
 "Just listen at him now! taking Mary Conway's part 
 already ! " 
 
 The reader has perhaps already grown tired of this non- 
 sensical talk. Though all of the girls had had good 
 advantages, they seemed to love to talk nonsense on this 
 
204 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 particular day, and tliis was but a fair specimen of the 
 greater part of their conversation on this occasion . There 
 was one thing, however, which could be said in their favor : 
 not one of them indulged in slang. Their chat was prin- 
 cipally of the ball, of the appearance of the girls, their 
 dress, etc., of how much they enjoyed themselves and of 
 how they hoped to have equally as gay a time at no distant 
 period. Then came in profuse expressions of regret that 
 Hope was about to leave the neighborhood with that drop 
 of wormwood which Mary and Hattie were careful to 
 mingle with the honey of their converse in the shape of a 
 suggestion "that she ought to stay till the wedding of 
 Mr. Kodney Gilbert." 
 
 " I might remain and not get a ticket to it," she replied, 
 with a smile. " When does the happy event take place V 
 
 "Oh, it is not exactly known ; sometime soon, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 Edward, Stuart looked at Hope admiringly, and felt 
 provoked with Hattie and Mary. 
 
 " How little and detestable some women can be in their 
 spite," was his thought ; then he remarked : " Miss Hope, 
 these two girls are nearly dying of envy. Miss Amelia 
 Montcalm and Mr. Rodney Gilbert are their main topic of 
 conversation. I think the two haunt their very dreams." 
 
 This home thrust had the effect of embarrassing the 
 sisters very much, and it completely silenced them so far 
 as any farther mention of Rodney or Amelia was con- 
 cerned. It was a rough but a deserved rebuke. As much 
 as Hope loved the company of friends, she felt unspeaka- 
 bly relieved when the four took their departure, for the 
 Stuart 'girls had not only destroyed the day's pleasure for 
 her, but they had recalled thoughts which she was ever 
 striving to banish from her mind, and which tended to 
 render her very unhappy. After they had gone she went 
 to her room and for sometime sat absorbed in painful 
 
OK hope's fiust school. 20o 
 
 meditation. It was not so much of her lover as of human 
 frailty and of the falsehood of human friendship in many 
 instances: " What had she done that these girls should 
 treat her in this manner ? Could she help bein^^ as she 
 was, attractive to one whom they had tried in vain to cap- 
 tivate t Had she not shunned his society partly on this 
 very account ? And yet they seemed to take delight in 
 saying things to wound her, in continually reminding her 
 that another woman had replaced her in his affections ! 
 Alas I she groaned to herself, I am tempted sometimes to 
 say with the poet : 
 
 "There's nothing true but Heaven." 
 
 And yet have I not good friends? Are not Mrs. Watkins 
 and her husband, Mr. Herbert Ransom, Mrs. Leonard, and 
 a host of others, good, kind, true friends ? Shall I then 
 lose confidence in human nature on account of the spiteful 
 chat of two envious girls 'i No, I will not. I will be more 
 sensible than that." 
 
 Later in the evening Mr. Daniel Young made his appear- 
 ance. Hope had not seen him for sometime. He had of 
 late been more distant than during the first of their 
 acquaintanceship ; but this evening he was particularly 
 cordial and interesting. He had recently returned from a 
 tri^i to the mountains, and gave our heroine a glowing 
 account of all that he saw during his sojourn there. "The 
 Land of the Sky" lost none of its interest to her from his 
 vivid portrayal of its beauty, and she heaved a sigh of 
 regret at the thought that she and her mother were unable 
 to spend the remainder of the summer there instead of at 
 their lowly home in Tradeville. 
 
 " Poverty is a bitter thing," was her unspoken thought ; 
 but she strove to repress it. 
 
 Mr. Young talked on. Sh ? was a good listener, and he 
 took pleasure in conversing with her mainly on this 
 
206 THEN AND NOW : 
 
 account. But she was not wholly silent. " A very inter- 
 esting conversationalist," Mr. Yonng had often styled her. 
 The long hours spent at her own home in the society of the 
 wisest and best men and women of all ages, speaking to 
 her through printed pages" the intimate converse she had 
 held with all that was pure, elevating and lovely in charac- 
 ter, her intense love of the beautiful-andher superiority to 
 all the little spite and rancor which sometimes mar the 
 effect of the most attractive face and figure, rendered her 
 an unusually pleasant companion. Add to this a very 
 independent nature, and the reader need not be deeply 
 surprised when informed that Daniel Young, a favored 
 child of fortune, a man of the world, seemingly proof to 
 all female charms, had at last, in spite of apparent indifl'er- 
 ence, fallen as deeply in love with Hope Caldwell as it was 
 his nature to ba with anyone. The revelation cams like a 
 thunderbolt to her. He had taken her to ride on this the 
 last evening of her stay in the neighborhood, and had 
 conversed on many subjects in his own attractive style, 
 keeping her mind diverted from bitter thoughts, and ren- 
 dering the time passed in his comj^any extremely agreeable. 
 The horse's head was turned homeward ere he made any 
 reference to the subject uppermost in his mind. Without 
 jDreface or warning in any way, in plain, unmistakable 
 terms and in few words, he told her of his love and of his 
 wish for her to marry him. It did not seem at all like 
 Daniel Young. There was no doubting his sincerity in 
 regard to what he declared. There was a tremor in his 
 voice which betokened his emotion ; his every look 
 betrayed him. Hope did not question his truth. But she 
 felt bewildered. It was so unexpected. For a time she 
 said nothing, surprise had seemingly dei:)rived her of 
 speech. 
 
 " Am I to have my answer now or to wait for it, or does 
 your silence give assent. Miss Hope ? " 
 
OR hope's first school. 207 
 
 " You are so sudden ; I was not exi^ecting such a thing," 
 she said ; "give me time to think." 
 
 Then tliere was silence for sometime, a most embarrassing 
 silence. Away down in the cool, green forest was heard 
 the notes of a far-off bird, the sunbeams w^ere gilding the 
 tree-tops, the soft, balmy breeze was stealing to them with 
 refreshment on its wi-ngs ; there seemed a hush on every 
 surrounding. In that brief while our heroine thought 
 deepl}^, as women are bound to think at such times. On 
 her decision to the question just put to her might depend 
 her future joy or woe. She reflected on her own poverty 
 and that of her mother, on her ambitious dreams, whose 
 fulfillment that poverty seemed destined to x>revent, on her 
 future as a single girl, working out her own destiny, 
 exposed to all the difficulties which a lone and dependent 
 woman is compelled to encounter, and doomed, too, to see 
 her mother suffering for lack of comforts to which she had 
 once been accustomed ; this picture presented itself to her 
 view on the one hand ; on the other was a life of ease and 
 comfort, with a husband whom almost any girl might be 
 proud to claim, a well educated, -well-bred gentleman, easy 
 in manner and interesting in conversation, who was fully 
 able to gratify her every wish and to help her to the fulfill- 
 ment of every ambitious dream. How happy such a 
 marriage would render her beloved mother ! Ought she 
 not for that mothers sake accept this offer? But even as 
 she considered the question the thought came to her : 
 " Oh, that Rodney had been free to win my hand ! Oh, 
 that he were here even now ! and with that name the full 
 tide of recollection swept away everj^ other consideration, 
 and she felt that it would be wronging any man to ma.iry 
 him with her heart straying after that lost love. She cou[d 
 not bind herself with any fetters save those weldf^d bj- 
 purest, deepest affection. Her decision made, she did not 
 hesitate to let it be known : 
 
208 THEN AND NOAV ; 
 
 " I am very sorry, Mr. Young — sorry that you have ever 
 mentioned this subject, and feel deeply regretful that I am 
 compelled to decline your kind oifer. It would not be 
 doing you justice to give you my hand without my heart." 
 
 "Can you not defer your refusal awhile ? Can you not 
 learn to love me ? " he asked, in pleading tones. " I know 
 of late that I have seemed somewhat indifferent to you ; 
 but it has been purely because I wished to conquer my 
 affection for you, I was afraid my suit would be useless 
 and strove against my love ; but finding that effort was 
 vain, I determined to tell you all. Let me prove to you 
 how dearly I love you, and my love may yet meet with a 
 return. I will spend my life in your service. You shall 
 have every wish fulfilled if 3'ou consent to be mine." 
 
 She shook her head. " It cannot be, Mr. Young ; let us 
 dismiss the subject." 
 
 When she saw his downcast expression as she spoke 
 these words, her heart was moved to tenderest pity ; but 
 she could not reverse her decision. When he bade her 
 good-bye he requested permission to correspond with her, 
 but this she would not grant, and so he left very much 
 depressed at the unsuccessful issue of his suit. Some 
 women would have gloried in the thought of this conquest ; 
 but a feeling much more of sorrow than of triumph filled 
 the heart of our heroine as she saw him ride away that 
 evening. 
 
 "Mine is a sad destiny," she complained to herself. 
 " Something ever deprives me of the love which I prize, 
 while that which I care not for is laid at my feet." 
 
 Herbert Hansom's company during the remainder of the 
 summer evening was very pleasurable to her, 3^et had he 
 revealed to her what was in his heart it would, if possible, 
 have surprised her more than Daniel Young's declaration. 
 A hundred times in the course of his visit did the tempta- 
 tion come to him to declare himself, at all hazards, and a 
 
OR hope's first school. 209 
 
 linndred times did he battle with that temptation. He felt 
 quite sure that Rodney occupied the higliest niclie in her 
 heart, and was afraid that that thought would destroy his 
 happiness, even were he fortunate enough to win her. No 
 other man would ever be to her what Rodney was. 
 Through her whole life she would have tender thoughts of 
 him, no matter whom she might marry. So thought Her- 
 bert, and believing thus he had fully resolved never to 
 address Hope. This last evening tried that resolution to 
 the utmost. She was prettier than he had ever seen her. 
 Her white dress, set oft' by pink ribbon at the throat and 
 on the sleeves, was becoming to her, and in her hair was a 
 moss rosebud. Her cheeks were flushed, and as she 
 laughed and talked with him the bright expression of her 
 countenance was very charming. To him she was the ideal 
 of whom he had dreamed, the embodiment of all that he 
 considered most lovely. Yet he was perhaps to take his 
 last look of her this evening. 
 
 " I shall miss you very much, Miss Hope, more than 3'ou 
 ever dreamed of," he said. 
 
 " I am so glad ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 "Glad ! and why ?" he inquired, the light of hope leap- 
 ing to his eyes for one moment, and his heart beating 
 wildly. 
 
 "Because," she rejoined, "I am so selflsh as to be 
 willing that others suffer pain sooner than that I should be 
 forgotten." 
 
 " You will be long remembered about here. Your friends 
 will not easily let your memory die. But I wish to keep it 
 alive in a more substantial way. Will you not correspond 
 with me ? " 
 
 She gave her assent, 
 
 "Letters from absent friends are a very great consola- 
 tion, and Hox)e, you may write to me as you would to a 
 brother, will you not i If in trouble in any way and I can 
 be of service to you, do not scruple to let me know." 
 
210 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 " You are very kind," slie murmured ; " the very kindest 
 friend I have in the world except mother." 
 
 "And," said he, that affection which he could not wholly 
 restrain from showing beaming in his eyes, "I want to see 
 my little friend very, very happy." 
 
 His kindness completely overcame her usual self-control. 
 The long rejDressed tide of emotion swept away by his 
 gentle sympathy, she exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Ransom, I wish that I could be happy ! I 
 think it is a duty I owe to my God ! I try to be, but I am 
 so far from it ! All my life long I have striven after some 
 object which has ever eluded my grasp ; my plans have 
 been utterly thwarted, and my life, so far, is a complete 
 failure!" 
 
 " Your life a failure ! No, no, Miss Hope, my dear friend, 
 it is not a failure ! True, you may not, so far, have done 
 much in the world, but during all these years you have 
 been storing up knowledge — have been preparing yourself 
 for a noble mission. That you may not be fortunate, as 
 the world counts fortune, I acknowledge ; but is it not 
 better to be noble, good and true, than just simply to 
 succeed in one's plans, whether they be right or wrong ? 
 Does not God know all of our ways, and will He not order 
 them aright if we will trust in Him T' 
 
 "Yes," she replied ; " but it is sometimes very bitter to 
 be thwarted in every wish, to have all of our fond expec- 
 tations blasted." 
 
 "Your name is Hope, and 'hope is an anchor to the 
 soul;" will you ever remember that, and try to believe 
 that, however dark to-day is, that the future may yet have 
 joy in store for you ? " 
 
 "I will try," was her reply; "but do you know% Mr. 
 Ransom, that I always imagine that you find it so easy to 
 do right that you cannot imagine how difficult a thing it is 
 for one like myself 'i " 
 
OR hope's first school. 211 
 
 " That is a mistaken idea. My life is one of continual 
 contiict. I liave ' to fight and keep my body under sub- 
 jection/ just as better men than I have done. And I have 
 my troubles and heartaches, too ; but I can then go to 
 Jesus. I liave no earthly friend in whom I could confide 
 them all." 
 
 "Not even in meT' she inquired. 
 
 "Not even in you, my dear little friend, because it 
 might make you unhappy. I could trust you, I do trust 
 you ; but you shall never be less happy on my account." 
 
 It all seemed so strange to Hope. She had ever deemed 
 Herbert a being who scarcely knew the meaning of tempta- 
 tion ; who was of so pure and noble a nature that he was 
 not tried as people generally are, and therefore could not 
 sympathize with them. She now ascertained how far she 
 was from the truth. Yet somehow she felt a kindlier, 
 nearer feeling for him than she had ever done before. 
 
 "God bless you ! " he exclaimed, as he bade her good- 
 bye. " May you be very, very happy ! " 
 
 She watched him as he rode away in tlie moonlight, little 
 dreaming of his secret, yet feeling very sad at the thought 
 of so many partings. And the morrow brought her others 
 almost as sad as she started on her homeward trip. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 It may well be sux)l)Osed that as vain and selfish a girl 
 as Amelia would be suspicious and Jealous of Rodney's 
 attentions to any woman, and more espechilly if that 
 
212 . THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 woman was one whom she had treated as she had done 
 Hope, and who, judging by herself, she thought would 
 only be too glad of a chance to retaliate. She had noticed 
 the peculiar expression of her lover's face whenever Hope 
 was mentioned ; had observed the interest he seemed to 
 take in her, and wisely surmised that he cherished for her 
 more than ordinary regard. He himself told her of his 
 escorting Hope home from little Violet's funeral, and Dr. 
 Jones informed her that Rodney saw her home from church 
 in his place. She was on fire with indignation ; she could 
 scarcelj^ control her feelings within the bounds of ordinary 
 politeness before her guests, and Rodney's prolonged 
 absence aroused her naturally jealous disposition almost 
 to i)lirenzy. She really had learned to care more for her 
 betrothed than for any of her other admirers, principally 
 because he seemed so independent towards her, and this 
 preference for another woman set her almost in a fur5^ 
 When Rodney returned, the evening after the storm, to his 
 mother's, she absented herself from the parlor for several 
 hours, thinking to pique hiui by her show of indifference. 
 But, to tell the truth, he felt rather relieved than otherwise. 
 Had he consulted his own inclination he would have really 
 been haj)l)ier just now to be free from an engagement with 
 anyone ; but he did not wish to wreck Amelia's happiness 
 unless he could make his own and Hope's by the sacrifice. 
 He determined if the latter would not marry liim to keep 
 his engagement with his betrothed and make the best of 
 it. He would be miserable, he concluded, whether married 
 or single, so it did not much matter. The absence of his 
 affianced for a few hours was rather pleasant to him, for 
 his thoughts were so full of his lost love that it cost him an 
 effort to be agreeable to anyone. Instead of the reproach 
 which she expected for her seeming indifference, when at 
 last she did make her appearance, Rodney made no inquiry 
 whatever concerning her prolonged stay out of his com- 
 
OR hope's first school. 213 
 
 pany, and this neglect stung lier deeply. She was in no 
 amiable humor. Her vanity was wounded — incurably 
 wounded ; and after several ineffectual attempts to appear 
 her natural self, she at last abruptly inquired : 
 
 " Why did you not come yesterday, Rodney \ " 
 
 " How could I," he replied, "in such a storm \ " 
 
 " Where" did you go ? " she inquired. 
 
 " To a farmer's house— a Mr, Wilson. I had to escort 
 Miss Hope Caldwell home, and we were compelled to seek 
 shelter from the storm at Mr. Wilson's." 
 
 "That is why you stayed so late this morning," she said, 
 with a mocking laugh. " Well, Hope is right good look- 
 ing, but she has had a bitter experience. A girl who has 
 been jilted never loves the same again." 
 
 " Jilted ! Has Miss Caldwell ever been. jilted % " 
 
 "Yes, indeed," was her reply ; "she was engaged, to a 
 very handsome young fellow named Robert St. George. 
 Unluckily for her I visited her that summer, and what 
 does her betrothed do but turn dunce and desert his 
 affianced wife for me. Honestly, I never encouraged him, 
 and had to discard him at last ; and so, like the doc: in the 
 fable, he lost both substance and shadow." 
 
 " Merciful Heaven ! " thought Rodney ; "is there really 
 a Nemesis upon earth ? I could almost think so, and 
 Hope is but little inferior to an angel. What other woman 
 would not have exulted in the thought of triumphing over 
 a rival who wrought such injury to her happiness? He 
 did not fully believe what Amelia said about not encour- 
 aging Robert ; he had seen too much of her coquetry for 
 that ; but he did not dream that she had done so much to 
 entrap her luckless victim. In vain he strove to be agree- 
 able to his betrothed. His thoughts were always straying 
 after Hope. She seemed to him so noble, so pure, so far 
 above all the rest of the world. He began to think that it 
 would be a sin to marry another woman, loving her as he 
 
214 THEN AND NOW 
 
 5 
 
 did, for he felt sure that he could never drive her memory 
 from his mind. Luckily Amelia's jealousy and wounded 
 self-love saved him from the horror of a union with her, as 
 well as from the dishonor of forfeiting his word to a lady. 
 With an intention of piquing him, and thus rendering 
 him more devoted to her, she commenced a flirtation with 
 Dr. Jones. Rodney tacitly encouraged it, and stung to the 
 heart by his iudifl'erence, in a fit of jealous rage she at last 
 wrote him a lettei' dissolving the engagement existing 
 between them. Instead of the pleadings to be reinstated 
 in her favor, which her unlimited power over the hearts of 
 many led her to hope even from him, she received the 
 following lines in reply : 
 
 " Dear Miss Amelia : - Your letter is to hand. I give 
 you back the freedom you covet and give it most cheer- 
 fully, as only a regard for your feelings prevented me from 
 dissolving our engagement before. I have found out my 
 own heart more perfecth^ since we were betrothed, and am 
 convinced that I can love another better, though trusting 
 that we may continue the best of friends. With kind 
 regards, Yours, very truly, 
 
 " Rodney Gilbert." 
 
 ''Fairy Dell, June 16th, 1874." 
 
 "Foiled! foiled!" exclaimed Amelia to herself, when 
 she read this missive. "I will lose the only chance I ever 
 scared for, and Hope alone is to blame for it ! Truly she 
 is avenged now ! " 
 
 As for Rodney, he was overjoyed at the turn which 
 affairs had taken. That day he wrote a letter to Hope tell- 
 ing her all, and beseeching her to give him permission to 
 visit her at once. He renewed his protestations of undoing 
 attachment for her, and besought her to be obdurate no 
 longer, but to make up her mind to become his wife at no 
 very distant period. But days, weeks and months went 
 by and no reply came. Weary and disheartened, he 
 
or^iiopk's fikst school. 215 
 
 resolved to travel. Change of scene might perhaps benefit 
 him. A trip to the far West was decided upon. 
 
 " It may do you good, my son," said his mother, wliom 
 he had never made his confidant in regard to his affection 
 for Hope, "j^ou look wretched. Amelia will have much to 
 answer for." 
 
 He turned away with a bitter smile. It seemed so ridicu- 
 lous to regard her as the author of his misery. Yet what 
 more natural than such a conclusion'^ 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Though not compelled to do so, our heroine decided lo 
 take the busy town of Wilmington on her homeward route. 
 She wished to make some purchases for her mother, and 
 besides had a desire to see the place, which, though not 
 very far from her home, she had never visited. With the 
 firmness which was a part of her disposition she resolved 
 to bury the past, as far as jDOssible, to cast all useless regrets 
 aside and to pursue the path of duty unflinchingly. As 
 she had taken up the profession of a teacher she deter- 
 mined to fit herself for it, to strive every year to become 
 more cajiable of instructing the young, and at the same 
 time she did not give up her cherished idea of becoming 
 an artist at some period of her life. Just now she found 
 that her salary was not sufficient to justify her to incur all 
 the expenses necessary for her to take lessons in drawing 
 or painting, situated as7she was. It then occurred to her 
 that as she had already begun as a teacher she might pos- 
 sibly secure a position in a college and have instruction in 
 her favorite studies in part jiayment for her services. This 
 idea pleased her verj^ much, and as she watched the 
 
216 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 fleeting panorama without while she sat at the car window, 
 her reflections were not all tinged with gloom, although a 
 pang shot through her heart whenever she thought of 
 Rodney, for she felt that neither time, distance nor 
 absence could eA-er eradicate his image from her memory. 
 She strove, though, to think on her blessings, on her 
 exemption from physical pain, on her youth, on the kind- 
 ness received from friends, on the joy of her mother at 
 seeing her again, and she felt thankful to God for all of 
 His mercies. Who, after all, can truly say that they have 
 no cause to be grateful i Her fellow passengers were not 
 numerous, yet even some of them were well calculated to 
 teach her a lesson of gratitude. An old man sat immedi- 
 ately in front of her, who seemed tottering on the very 
 verge of the grave, and the hacking cough he had beto- 
 kened but too truly that even the few days remaining to 
 him would not be exempt from pain and weariness. A 
 mother with a sick infant lying on a pillow in her lap 
 occupied another seat, her pale, anxious features a sure 
 index to her state, both of mind and body. A young man 
 who walked on crutches was another occupant of the car. 
 Toward all these Hope felt an unbidden sympathy spring 
 up in her breast, and involuntarily contrasted her condi- 
 tion with that of each of them, and found the balance of 
 blessings largely in her favor. It was a noisy, busy crowd 
 that surrounded the depot at Wilmington, and she was 
 glad to be well away from it in a hack en route to her 
 boarding-house. Once there she felt more at ease. It was 
 kept by a lady, whose kind, motherly ways made Hope 
 feel at home in a remarkably short time. The scene with- 
 out was pleasing to her ej^es, unaccustomed as she was to 
 the city. The lighted streets and shops, the crowds on the 
 sidewalks, the noisy vehicles forever passing, had all the 
 charm of novelty for her. She had stayed at home so 
 closely, had seen so little of the great world. She did not 
 
OR IIOPK S FIKST SCHOOL. 217 
 
 fall asleep until a late hour that night, but sat at her 
 window, listening to the practice of some amateur musi- 
 cians. The next morning she amused herself watching the 
 scene below her window. Carts were backed up against 
 the sidewalk filled with early fruits, vegetables, poultry, 
 eggs, etc., and around these were gathered an eager, curi- 
 ous, trafhcing crowd. Men and women, both white and 
 colored, were coming and going with market baskets on 
 their arms, either filled or destined to be filled with the 
 contents of the aforesaid carts. The purchasers examined 
 the articles sold "with a critic's eye,' taking them in their 
 hands and striving to get as much value for as little money 
 as they could, while the same spirit was manifest in the 
 sellers of getting as much as possible for their goods. For 
 fully an hour Hope watched them, until the breakfast bell 
 called her from the window. After breakfast she walked 
 down the street to do some shopping. The scene was a 
 lively one on this especial occasion. It was a holiday — 
 the anniversary of the nation's independence, and most of 
 the stores would be closed after the early morning, and the 
 hurrying crowd on the sidewalks seemed disposed to make 
 the best of the day. Many of them were off for an excur- 
 sion down the river. The large steamer near the wharf 
 was already in waiting for tbem, and as, with eager looks 
 and impatient feet they hurried thither, they formed an 
 interesting spectacle to our countrj^ friend. Vehicles laden 
 with merry x>ai'ties were dashing by, going out in the 
 country to eat their lunch among the beauties of nature. 
 The river rijipled and glittered in the sunlight, the little 
 boats skimmed the silvery water like things of life, the 
 vessels, with their tall masts motionless against the back- 
 ground of the deep blue sky, reminded Ilox^e of pictures 
 she had seen, and every surrounding filled her excitable 
 temperament with pleasure. Her vivid imagination invested 
 every object with a x^eculiar charm. '' Here are vessels,'' 
 
218 THEN AND NOW 
 
 5 
 
 slie thought to herself, "from far distant lands, which 
 probably I shall never see. Could they speak what tales 
 they would tell, what recitals of danger and distress, yet 
 ot storms outridden at last, and of ports safely gained ! 
 Can 1 not learn a useful lesson from them — a lesson to give 
 me faith and coiirage to encounter the trials of life, know- 
 ing that after all is over I shall anchor safely at last in the 
 wished-for haven?" The sailors climbing the lofty masts 
 enlisted her warmest sympathy. "Poor fellows!" she 
 thought, " rough, reckless, sinful, uncared for as they are, 
 yet how necessary to the well-being of the world are they ! 
 for where would art, science, progress, education — where 
 would religion itself be without the aid of the common 
 sailor in diffusing them?" Thus she reflected as from a 
 little rise she watched the busy scene at the river. 
 
 Hope's trip home was almost devoid of interest for the 
 remainder of the way. The captain of the boat on which 
 she travelled was kind and gentlemanly, her cabin reason- 
 ably comfortable, and the thought of seeing her mother 
 would have rendered her IndifTerent to her surroundings 
 had such not been the case. She found ever^^thing at home 
 jogging along as usual, and for a few days the intense joy 
 of being once more there and with her truest earthly friend, 
 stilled the regretful feelings which would obtrude upon 
 her at times, in spite of her every effort to repress them. 
 But as weeks elapsed and her life settled into the old 
 grooves once more, the thought of Rodney Gilbert came 
 back. She did not give way to melancholy, she was too 
 brave and strong for that; but her earthly joy had fled. 
 Her lover haunted even her dreams ; with him "the desert 
 would rejoice and blossom as the rose;" without him the 
 world was an utter blank, so far as happiness, but not 
 so far as dut}^ was concerned. Though her heart ached 
 with the burden of its loneliness, she went steadily on in 
 her dreary path, negh'cting no task that devolved upon 
 
OK hope's first sciioor.. 219 
 
 lier, avoiding no cross that God saw fit to lay upon her 
 shoulders. Neither did she forget her i)lans for the future. 
 She secured a position in a high school to be opened in the 
 fall, and already saw a prospect of realizing lier youthful 
 dreams, when, as if God intended to try her in tlie very 
 furnace of affliction, Mrs. Caldwell was taken very ill and 
 for months hovered on the verge of the grave. Of course 
 she had to resign her place, and when again she had the 
 happiness of beholding her mother restored to health she 
 saw no prospect of at once securing such a situation as she 
 desired. The weeks and montlis dragged along, and some- 
 times it seemed to her that she could not live without 
 seeing Rodney or hearing from him. Herbert Ransom 
 wrote to her occasionally, and once mentioned his friend, 
 stating that he had gone oft' to California. That was all 
 the tidings of him she had ever gained. One day, several 
 months after her return home, she called at tli3 postoffice 
 as she was on her way to visit a sick neighbor : 
 
 "Miss Hope," said the postmaster, "you must really 
 excuse me, but here is a letter for you which, by some 
 unaccountable means, got misplaced several months ago, 
 and has just come to light. I hope it is not of much 
 importance." 
 
 ■ She glanced at the superscrii:)tion ; her face turned red 
 and pale by turns ; she murmured some inarticulate words 
 and left the store. The letter was the one which we have 
 already referred to, from Rodney, informing her of his 
 being honorably free from the ties which bound him to 
 Amelia, and of his wish for her to become his wife at an 
 early period. It was dated just three weeks from the time 
 when she had left Mr. Watkins'. Once to herself she tore 
 open the envelope, devoured the contents of the missive, 
 then burst into a flood of bitter tears : 
 
 " Too late ! too late ! " How mournfully did these words 
 ring in her ears ! '' Oh, merciful Heaven ! " she exclaimed. 
 
220 THEN ANB NOW ; 
 
 "how sad to think of a lifetime of happiness llnng awaj^ 
 by one act of carelessness I It would not do to write to 
 Rodney now ; he might be married or dead, and even were 
 he alive and single, she did not know where to direct her 
 letter. She had deemed herself unhappy before, but never 
 had she suffered such exquisite mental anguish as now. 
 She was at least calmly despairing before ; now the conflict 
 between hope and fear was almost more than she could 
 bear. She and Herbert still corresponded. She deter- 
 mined to make some casual inquiry after Rodney. She 
 did so, and after sometime received an answer informing 
 her that Rodney was still in the West and was unmarried. 
 Then she resolved to fold her hands and trust in God for 
 the future. Soon after receiving her letter from Herbert 
 she had occasion to visit the town of whicli we have 
 already spoken. While she was there a distinguished gen- 
 tleman was to lecture, and a young lawyer of her acquaint- 
 ance offered to escort her to the hall where the lecture was 
 to come off. AVhile they were there a gentleman and lady 
 came up the aisle and took the seat in front of her. One 
 glance at the gentleman's face and she recognized Rodney ! 
 Her heart seemed to stand suddenly still, then beat so fast 
 and strong as to be positively stilling ; the color came and 
 went in her cheeks, and her hands trembled. Anxious to 
 avoid the notice of others, she toyed nervously witli her 
 fan, and after awhile to some extent recovered her equa- 
 nimity ; but she never could tell what the lecturer said that 
 night. Her escort, who tried to be entertaining, thouglit 
 her very absent-minded, whicli was quite a just conclusion. 
 As they were going out of the house Rodney chanced to 
 turn and saw her. He bowed courteously, but coldh?-, and 
 passed on. Her heart turned sick and faint, and through 
 the long hours of the night she could not sleep. The next 
 morning, while in her room at the house of a friend, whose 
 acquaintance she had but latel)' formed, but who was a 
 
on iioi'k's fiijst soiiool. 221 
 
 ver}^ dear friend notwithstanding, a card was brouglit to 
 her, bearing the familiar name, " Rodney Gilbert.'' 
 
 "' The gentleman is in the parlor," said the bearer. 
 
 She gave a linishiug touch to her toilet and descended to 
 the parlor. Rodney was its only occupant. He shook 
 hands with her cordially, and after they were seated made 
 some common-place inquiries in regard to her own health 
 and that of her mother's, of how she had been enjoying 
 herself, etc. By a strange stroke of Fate Hope had his 
 letter in her pocket, and as she drew her handkerchief 
 therefrom the letter came with it. Rodney stooped to pick 
 it up, glanced at the direction, and returned it to her. 
 Tlieir eyes met — a reproachful glance in his; in her's an 
 expression of bashfulness, of hope and of fear combined. 
 The faces of both turned crimson : 
 
 '' I received this just a week ago," she explained. " It 
 had been misplaced for months at the postoffice." 
 
 Her regretful countenance betrayed her and gave him 
 courage to sa}' : 
 
 "Is it possible, Hope, that I, perhaps you, too, have 
 endured months of misery from a tritling mischance *" 
 
 "If that is all we need not care so much," was her 
 reply. 
 
 "It is all unless you continue obdnrate, unless j^ou still 
 have scruples about marrying me. I have trampled down 
 pride, almost self-respect, in pa3dng you this visit after 
 your seeming neglect to notice my letter. Darling, can 
 you not reward me for it I Can you not give me your 
 heart and hand ( I have waited so long, so hopelessl}" ; I 
 am so utterly miserable without you. The world is a deso- 
 late wilderness to me uncheered by your presence. Oh ! 
 m}' precious lov»', the time that we have been sepaiated is 
 siirel}' enough of sorrow for one lifetime. Let tliere be no 
 more absence, no more misunderstandings, no more sorrow, 
 unless such as we can share together. 'The time past of 
 
222 THEN AND NOW I 
 
 our life is sufficient for us' to have been apart. Hand in 
 hand let us now tread life's i^athway, whether it be strewn 
 with flowers or be thick with thorns. With you for my 
 companion I ask no more of this world. I can then say I 
 am content. Be my own dear wife, Hope, and make me 
 happy." 
 
 "What need to give her answer'^ What need to 
 tell the i^erfect bliss of these two hearts, already linked 
 together by deep, abiding, mutual affection? They talked 
 on for sometime, loth to part from each other ; and when 
 he left Rodney drew her to him in a close embrace, 
 imprinting a kiss on lips now all his own, and both felt that 
 in all their future lives there would never come to either a 
 happier hour than this of their betrothal. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Eight years have passed away since we first saw Hope 
 Caldwell and Rodney, and we wish to take a last look at 
 both ere bidding them an eternal farewell. We saw them 
 as they Were then; we will view them as they are now. 
 For a little over six 5^ears they have been married, and 
 during that time have enjoyed as perfect happiness as falls 
 to the lot of any here below. Blessed with flne health, 
 abundant means, mutual love and an abiding sense of 
 gratitude to God within their hearts, how could they be 
 otherwise than happy '^ Under Hope's influence Rodney 
 has done much good in the community where he resides. 
 In particular has she interested him in behalf of the cause 
 of education ; they have both given time and means and 
 effort in behalf of that cause. Yet not much of their 
 married life has been spent at home. They have lived a 
 
OK hope's FIRST SCHOOL. 223 
 
 part of their time in New York, a part in Enrox)e, and only 
 a small portion of it, so far, in the neighborhood where 
 Hope once taught. She went to the Centennial with her 
 husband, and the master-piece which she saw there dis- 
 cournged her no little in her aspirations to become an artist. 
 Her own feeble efforts seemed to fall so infinitely below 
 tliein. But believing that we are responsible for the 
 improvement of even one talent, she continued to devote 
 much of her leisure time to her former absorbing avoca- 
 tion. Rodney gave her every advantage in this respect, 
 for he was proud of her talent, and delighted to indulge 
 her every wisli ; he secured the best masters for her, and 
 they resided at Rome sometime, in order to perfect her 
 training, by beholding for herself the innumerable works 
 of the great masters day after day. Of course she has 
 improved very much, and her paintings command their 
 price, though still falling far below her ideal. The money 
 obtained by the sale of them she has so far devoted 
 strictly to charity, bestowing it where she deemed it would 
 effect the most good. Neither wealth, nor the society of 
 the most intelligent and refined people, nor the flatteries of 
 the great and renowned, has weaned her heart from the 
 deep and abiding interest which she takes in every jioor, 
 struggling soul laboring to break the shackles of igno- 
 rance. Her one session of teaching invested all childhood 
 with an enduring charm to her. Unspoiled by the world, 
 she inirsues her useful course, perfectly content in per- 
 forming her duties and in the sunshine of her husband's 
 love. As for Rodney, he is scarcely like the same i)erson 
 that he once was, so genial and pleasant are his manners, 
 so free from all bitterness and so hopeful of the future is 
 he. Perhaps he is not the only man whose wife is the main- 
 spring of both his usefulness and of his happiness. On 
 this, the last time that we ever expected to behold them, 
 the}' were on a visit to Tiadeville. Hope wished to visit 
 
224 THEN AND NOW : 
 
 the place, thongli her mother no longer resided there. 
 Rodney's home sheltered lier now, his own mother having 
 departed this life two years ago. Mary stayed with her 
 during the absence of Hope and her husband. On the 
 last evening of their visit to Tradeville Rodney proposed 
 a walk to the river, 'ihe bridge very naturally suggested 
 itself to their minds as atitting place to take their last look 
 at the waters which it spanned and on the village near by. 
 Standing upon it as she had done eight years ago, and true 
 to her childish nature yet, Hope threw sticks and pebbles 
 into the water and watched them as thej^ were borne away 
 upon its bosom. 
 
 "I wonder if 30U will always be a child, Hope ?" said 
 her husband. But his smile was as fond as it had been 
 while standing on the banks of tlie little stream the first 
 evening he had ever told her of his love. 
 
 "Yes," was her reply ; " I hope so. But do you know, 
 Rodney, that these poor sticks Hoating down the current 
 put very serious thoughts into my head. They remind me 
 of ourselves, floating down the stream of time, carried 
 onward, onward, until we reach the ocean of eternity. 
 Then again, I compare them to poor, tempted creatures, 
 who, when once they begin to drift down stream, never 
 come back, and are at last utterly lost. Do you know that 
 I feel sorry for the very worst of sinners ? Just think of 
 the temptations in the way, and consider the weakness of 
 human nature ; then, too, so many children have no one to 
 teach them the riglit wav." 
 
 CD V 
 
 " You are alwa3^s kind, my darling. That is why I first 
 came to love you, I ex^ct, instead of Amelia, with her 
 fascinations." 
 
 " Poor Amelia ! " exclaimed Hope. "I do not envy her, 
 with all of her charms. I know that she is not half so 
 happy as I am." 
 
 " Nor does she deserve to be," returned he ; "she is too 
 
OR HOPE S FIRST SCHOOL. 225 
 
 utterly heartless to be a good wife for any one, and will 
 possibly end her days as a faded-out belle, or marry some 
 poor wretch for his money. I shudder to think of how 
 near I came to being her husband." 
 
 "God is very good," murmured Hope. "His kind 
 providence brought us together and made us happy ; but 
 Rodney, not even with your precious love and companion- 
 ship, not even with all the comforts of our pleasant home, 
 am 1 perfectly content, unless I could see others happy, I 
 do so long to see the great cause of education — education 
 both of the intellect and of the heart, pervade the length 
 and breadth of this, my dear native State." 
 
 "And I trust that your wishes are true prophets, my 
 love. It is true that as yet statistics do not prove that 
 numerically, at least, the noble cause has gained ground 
 during the last few years, yet what conclusion more reason- 
 able to come to than that, with Normal Schools established 
 in various places for the preparation of teachers in order to 
 render them more efficient ; with Graded Schools in many 
 of the towns, with new and improved methods of teaching, 
 and with a uniform system of text-books recommended by 
 the Legislature, North Carolina is destined to a bright and 
 glorious future in regard to education, and with that, in 
 regard to everj^thing that pertains to her best interests 
 Eight years ago there were none of these improvements. 
 Of course there were many good and faithful instructors 
 and many fine schools, but the majority of what might be 
 termed 'neighborhood schools' in the countrj^ were con- 
 ducted on no fixed plan whatever. Each teacher had his 
 own way of teaching and his own favorite text-books, and 
 as each school changed its teacher quite often, this fact 
 acted much against the progress of a pupil. A child who 
 attends school some four or five months this yeai-, and is 
 then taken home to work in the crop, and who perchance 
 studies under a dozen dift'erent teachers during his school 
 
226 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 life, each employing a different method of instruction, 
 perhaps each preferring different books, such a child, I say, 
 must be a marvel of talent and industry if he gains a 
 thorough understanding even of mere rudiments. Yet in 
 the country a few years ago this was the ordinary way of 
 acquiring an education for all except the most favored. 
 Now, I believe, there is decidedly an upward tendency. 
 Normal Schools have done much for the Old North State. 
 They have opened the eyes of teachers to their own short- 
 comings, and the latter have set to work with a zeal and 
 interest in their calling hitherto unthought of. Then, too, 
 though there will always be shades of difference in different 
 individuals, yet in the methods of instruction much 
 greater uniformity may reasonably be expected than in the 
 past. Teachers' Institutes will, to some extent, effect this 
 object. In short, though we still fall very far below per- 
 fection, yet I believe our now is better than our tlien of a 
 few years back, and I trust that our future will be propor- 
 tionately brighter. Of one thing I feel sure, that, take the 
 State as a unit, and the people in a body, and there is no 
 better place to live in, nor people to dwell among than the 
 State and the people who have hitherto been neglectful of 
 their own true interests." 
 
 "Yes," she said, with eyes suffused with tears of deep 
 emotion ; "yet I hope to see the day when the intelligence 
 and enterprise of its people shall place it far, very far 
 ahead of where it now stands, when its grand natural 
 resources, both of intellectual and of material wealth, may 
 be fully developed. The right kind of education can 
 alone effect this, and that is now accessible to all. But 
 Rodney, there is one agent of good which is perfectly 
 accessible to our people which is yet thought too lightly 
 of, in the country more especially. Sunday-schools might 
 flourish all the time with but little expense or trouble, and 
 no one surely will deny that they do great good when 
 
OR hope's first school. 227 
 
 properly conducted. Not ten miles from here is one, 
 which, by the perseverance and constancy of one man, has 
 been sustained for twenty years. He is seldom, if ever, 
 absent from his post, or if so, has some one to supply his 
 place, and his efforts have been the means of giving some 
 children nearly all of the education which they i)ossess. 
 A grateful neighborhood should award him all due 
 i:)raise." 
 
 "Yet his scholars, I suppose, will be his 'crown of 
 rejoicing ? ' '" 
 
 " I judge so, for I never felt more grateful to God in my 
 life for my having once been a teacher than when I saw 
 David AVheeler stand in the pulpit and heard him preach 
 the 'unsearchable riches of Christ,' and when I knew, too, 
 that soon he expected to spread the glad tidings in heathen 
 lands. Though his school life with me was a short one, 
 yet I fondly hoped that perchance I heli)ed sow some good 
 seeds in his heart, which are thus yielding a rich harvest." 
 
 "I did not tell you, Hope, that I saw Greorge Simmons 
 last week in Raleigh, when I was there." 
 
 "No ; how is he (!" 
 
 "He is well and is carrying on a pros^oerous business. 
 He was out riding, when I saw him, in a fine phaeton 
 drawn by a span of horses, and was in company with a 
 lovely girl. Of course he is not a handsome young man, 
 yet you would be surjirised. at the improvement in his 
 looks. His manners, too, are very easy and pleasant ; and 
 better than all, he enjoys a most enviable reputation. 
 Tom, he told me, was staying on the farm. He is married, 
 and now takes care both of wife and mother, and is, I 
 judge from what Gfeorge told me, getting on very well. 
 The latter inquired, particularly after you." 
 
 " It has been sometime since I have seen my old scholars, 
 and. you did not give me much information in regard to 
 them or to my old acquaintances when you returned from 
 
228 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 your last trip home, and I was thinking too much of mother 
 to inquire about others just then." 
 
 " Did I not ? Then I will make amends now. First and 
 foremost, my old sweetheart, Mrs. Leonard, and Herbert 
 Ransom are to be married very soon." 
 
 '* Is it possible ! how long has it been since her husband 
 got killed?" 
 
 "Three years ago, and if I was left to judge I should 
 say that it would have been better for her and for the com- 
 munity at large had his horse thrown him ten years before." 
 
 " We must not judge, Rodney, it seems to me that even 
 the worst of sinners are entitled to their short day of 
 grace." 
 
 "Well, at any rate, poor Mary is suited now. I used to 
 be awfully jealous of Herbert when he was pajnng atten- 
 tion to you." 
 
 " Well, your jealousy was utterly without reason. We 
 were the best of friends, but nothing more," 
 
 " As I trust you will ever be. It would grieve me to see 
 you otherwise, for I can truly say that he was one of the 
 best friends that I ever had. I shall always feel grateful 
 to him for kind words sjioken in my behalf, when the rest 
 of the world was against me. Thanks to his influence and 
 your own, I think that Johnnie Twining will now do well. 
 His father and mother are now useful members of society. 
 The Tyler children are getting on exceedingly well. 
 They travel around in fine style, andEuphemia and Octavia 
 can both perform nicely on the organ. I expect their good 
 old aunt is perfectly contented." 
 
 "lam so glad!" she exclaimed ; "though I own that 
 I did not think when I commenced teaching school and got 
 my first message from Miss Rachel that I ever would like 
 her." 
 
 " The Hartwell girls, how are they prospering ?" 
 
 "They are married to hard-working farmers, and are 
 
OR hope's first school. 229 
 
 leeding the life of the average farmer's wife in this country. 
 The two Stuart girls have lately married — one to Willie 
 Stuart, the other to Dr. Jones. Robert King is farming, 
 and is, I believe, getting on right well. The Watkins chil- 
 dren are all i)rospering. They are intelligent, too. Not 
 all the good seed which you might attempt to sow in the 
 hearts of Joe and Sam Liggins could live unchoked by the 
 seeds of evil example and evil training at their own homes. 
 Poor fellows ! they are rowdy, drinking men like their 
 unfortunate father. Estelle Moran and a Mr. Hamilton 
 married just three weeks ago. Daniel Young is still 
 single. As for Mrs. Turnnage, Mrs. Ambler, Mrs. Powers, 
 Mrs. Hunter and their children, they are all prett}'- much 
 as they w^ere when you last saw them. The children have 
 had advantages and have improved them ; but time alone 
 will develop their individual character. The education of 
 the intellect does not always make the individual character 
 better or w^orse." 
 
 "Well, I suppose that I will see them all before long, 
 but I will never behold a dearer spot than this bridge. Not 
 the ' bridge of sighs,' in Venice ; not the bridge at London ; 
 not one of those whose memory is linked with grand old 
 historic associations is half ss dear so this one." 
 
 " Why, my little wife, did you and a former lover ever 
 plight your vows here?" he inquired, smilingly confident 
 of having his question negatived. 
 
 "No, indeed," she replied (looking into the eyes which 
 always seemed so beautiful to her), but here I used to stand 
 and dream as I watched the river in its ceaseless liow. I 
 used to say to myself 'I shall never love again ; ambition 
 must take the place of all tender feeling in my heart. At 
 its shrine I will lay down even my life, if necessary-, and 
 when I am resting peacefull}'^ beneath the daisies, when 
 earthl}' pain and earthly joy are alike unfelt by me, happy 
 girls, leaning on the arms of loved ones, shall survey the 
 
230 THEN AND NOW ; 
 
 scenes whicli my hand lias portrayed, and exclaim : " Oil ! 
 that I had her talent ! " little dreaming that it was at once 
 my blessing and my curse, as the j)ossession of talent is so 
 apt to prove !" 
 
 "Tell me, Hope." Rodney exclaimed excitedl}^ "if 
 your choice lay between my love and gratiiied ambition, 
 which would you take? " 
 
 " Which would I take?" she answered, in tones bur- 
 dened with tenderness, as she smiled in her husband's 
 face ; ' ' ask rather which would I choose, life or death ? 
 It would be the death of all my earthly happiness to be 
 deprived of your love ; it would not affect it in the least 
 if I were utterly unknown to the world. T will say, as you 
 once said to me : ' You are my world ! ' " 
 
 " Do you know," said he, "I have sometimes thought 
 that a man run^a great risk in marrying a talented and 
 ambitious woman ; but I see now that I was in error, pro- 
 vided a true woman's heart beat in her bosom." 
 
 "Yes, I supx:)Ose so," she replied abstractedly; "but 
 let me finish telling you wlij^ this bridge is so dear to me." 
 
 " Proceed ; I am all attention." 
 
 "I was standing here eight years ago, when I saw the 
 mail coming— the same mail which brought my letter from 
 Mr. AVatkins. That letter led to our acquaintanceship. 
 Every circumstance connected with that is precious tome." 
 
 "Hope's tirst school was destined to be her last," he 
 smilingly remarked. 
 
 "Yes, and though I did mj^ best I am glad for the sake 
 of others that it was my last. I think one main reason 
 why there has been, and still is, so much ignorance in our 
 land, is on account of the teachers being so deficient." 
 
 " Well, I cannot blame you for the interest you take in 
 the education of the young, and when we go home you 
 have my free and full permission to do all you can in our 
 neighborhood in behalf of the noble cause. But, darling, 
 
OR hope's first school. 231 
 
 look your last on yonr favorite spot, for we must go now. 
 Some clay, perhaps, we may return ; but not soon. Some 
 day, perhaps, Tradeville will be a town, connected with 
 others by railroads, and there will be schools, churches, 
 factories and many improvements here. Then maybe we 
 will visit it aft'ain, but not before." 
 
 'Twas thus Rodney spoke, and for a few brief moments 
 she gazed at the scene, so like it had appeared to her sight 
 years ago. Memory recalled all the joys and sorrows of 
 that period, and tears of happiness tilled her eyes as she 
 thought of them. The sun had set ; one single star 
 gleamed in the sky ; twilight was gathering around them. 
 The sky with its single star ; the dark waters flowing under 
 her feet ; the trees with their drapery^ of funereal moss ; 
 the gloom of coming night, formed a scene which she 
 would not soon forget, hallowed as it was by sweet associ- 
 ations. Plucking a bunch of moss from a tree near by, as 
 a memento of Tradeville, she took her husband's arm and 
 was soon lost to us in the gloaming. As we, with our eyes, 
 followed their retreating footste^DS, we could but contrast 
 Hope's life eight years ago with her present one— her tlien 
 with her noio ; and at the same time we compared the Old 
 North State, as it was eight years back, with what it is at 
 the present time — her then and her noio ; and thus we 
 thought of this title for our simple story. 
 
 THE END.