THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 EDITH HALE: 
 
 A VILLAGE STORY. 
 
 BY 
 
 THRACE TALMON. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & COMPANY, 
 
 No. 13 WINTER STEBBT. 
 
 1856.
 
 \ v 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by 
 
 PHILLIPS, SAMPSON 4 COMPANY, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 S:reot7ped by 
 HOBART * BOBBINS, 
 nw noun tm AID irmorm 
 MMMh
 
 TO 
 
 THIS BOOK 
 
 IS BESPBCirCLLY INSCRIBBD BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 1692610

 
 EDITH HALE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE STUDENT. 
 
 IN the village of Waterbury there were four Gothic cottages 
 standing in a row, and so nearly were they alike in construc- 
 tion and color, it required open-day familiarity, or a careful 
 recollection of some slight peculiarities, to identify one from 
 the other. To one of these was a young girl returning home 
 early on a Saturday evening. She had already passed a 
 handsome mansion, the finest in that vicinity, and which, but 
 a brief while since, had been her own pleasant home. 
 
 A deep sigh escaped from her heart, not so much for the 
 memory of her altered fortunes, as for her afflicted mother, 
 who was all now left to her in the world. She quickened her 
 step, recalling how lonely her mother must be at that hour 
 without her presence, and soon entered one of the cottages, 
 with words of love and encouragement upon her lips.
 
 8 EDITH HALE. 
 
 It was just that time when many persons prefer to waste 
 the moments in the dusky, dreamy uncertainty of twilight, 
 
 " Ere the evening lamps are lighted," 
 
 and, as Edith emerged from the clearer light without into the 
 darkened room, she could discern but imperfectly the figure 
 of her mother, as she thought, sitting in the chair which she 
 usually occupied. Edith believed she was weeping, as she 
 often surprised her of late. Hastening to the side of the 
 chair, she threw her arms about the neck of the one who sat 
 there, and imprinted an earnest, affectionate kiss upon the 
 brow. She now started suddenly, as if she had encountered 
 a peril, and with a voice of affright demanded who was there. 
 
 " Doubtless there is some mistake here," returned a quiet, 
 manly voice. 
 
 " I thought it was my mother," said Edith, overwhelmed 
 with confusion. " What have I done? " 
 
 " No harm, certainly ; you might have done worse," replied 
 the same voice, in a tone of mingled pleasantry and curiosity. 
 
 At this crisis, the door of an adjoining room opened, and a 
 lady entered with lights. 
 
 " This is Mrs. Goodwin," exclaimed Edith. " I thought, 
 surely, I was in our own home." 
 
 She now saw that the person she had mistaken for her 
 mother was a gentleman, and a stranger. But as he was study- 
 ing her attentively, she bestowed only a glance. She vainly 
 essayed to summon words for an apology, the tears rushed 
 to her eyes, and she blushed carnation.
 
 EDITIIHALE. 9 
 
 " If you have got into the wrong pew for once, it is of no 
 consequence," said Mrs. Goodwin, perceiving nothing but a 
 common mistake in the matter. " Let me introduce you to 
 Mr. Wellmont, who has come to preach for us to-morrow 
 Miss Hale, a next-door neighbor of ours," she added to the 
 gentleman. 
 
 Edith merely bowed in return to Mr. Wellmont's courteous 
 salutation, and moved toward the door to effect her escape as 
 easily as possible. 
 
 " Don't leave so soon," continued Mrs. Goodwin, who, 
 being the wife of a deacon, felt it more than usually incum- 
 bent on her to press her hospitalities on such an occasion; 
 " Mr. Wellmont would be glad to make your acquaintance, I 
 dare say." 
 
 Before the gentleman could add his assent, Edith had ex- 
 cused herself briefly, and vanished like a shadow. 
 
 " Beautiful as the angel of a dream ! " thought the young 
 minister, when Mrs. Goodwin had left him once more alone. 
 
 A new and strange delight filled his soul, and he was even 
 yet inspired with the presence of that mistaken caress. A 
 hundred times, that evening, at least, he imagined his neck 
 encircled lovingly, and his forehead pressed by those warm, 
 rosy lips, which he had seen tremulous with surprise and 
 mortification. 
 
 On the next day, which was the Sabbath, the house of 
 worship appeared scarcely less attractive to the people than 
 a flower-garden to insects with parti-colored wings. On every 
 hand they assembled, as if the gate of the temple called Beau-
 
 10 E D I T II II A L E . 
 
 tiful were newly unclosed. A candidate fresh from the 
 theological institution was expected. 
 
 For some time the people had held themselves in readiness 
 for the right one to minister to them in holy things ; but, 
 being somewhat cautious in their selection, the situation yet 
 remained open for the ambition of any aspirant. 
 
 The fame of the new preacher had preceded him by weeks. 
 They had heard how, while struggling with poverty to obtain 
 an education, he used to sacrifice his pride to self-denial, 
 wear a straw hat with broken braids, shut himself in his closet 
 to use the needle, walk thirty miles of a night to visit his 
 widowed mother ; how, later, he had excelled all his fellow- 
 students in his acquirements, and that for his style, which was 
 wonderfully imbued with that charm which moves all hearts, 
 he had received warm encomiums from certain distinguished 
 men, who declared he was much too fine a fellow to wear a 
 black coat, and go in and out upon the " treadmill of a pulpit," 
 with the salary of a few hundred a year. 
 
 Something of this lingered in the thoughts of many who 
 sat waiting for the opening of the services. Something, too, 
 of the new spring hats and shawls was in the thoughts of 
 many more. 
 
 Up a side aisle now came one of those ladies who are to 
 be found more or less over the civilized world. She was a 
 single lady of middle age, and a perfect terror to evil- 
 doers. The children who sat in the pew before her composed 
 themselves into decorum as soon as they heard the rustle of 
 her garments, venting their inward titillation by nudging each
 
 EDITHHALE. 11 
 
 others' elbows, and exchanging glances from the corners of 
 their eyes. Even their elders could not rid themselves of the 
 feeling that they were under the watch-care of Miss Leah, and 
 that she would be first to know it if they dropped off to nap- 
 ping. Altogether, Miss Leah Shaw was such an one as 
 deserves especial prominence among her sex, and it would 
 have seemed befitting to have given her a reserved, central 
 elevation in church, as distinguished worthies sometimes had 
 in Puritan times. She was never so much engrossed with 
 other people, however, as to lose a word of the discourse ; and 
 copious notes were taken in a thin, dark-covered book, which 
 she invariably carried to church. 
 
 This custom was imitated by another lady of the congrega- 
 tion. She was not single, but a wife without children. It 
 was necessary to mention that she had a husband, else but 
 few would have mistrusted the fact ; for Mr. Simon Witherell 
 was a meek man, and shrunk from appearing in his wife's 
 overblowing shadow, except on Sundays, when he walked care- 
 fully into church, and, being seated, covered with his hand 
 the side of his face next the head of the pew. In the midst 
 of hard breathing, sometimes he made such an unusual demon- 
 stration of his individuality as a sudden spring, when the toe 
 of his boot was jogged unceremoniously by his wife's gaiter. 
 In but one office was he her helpmeet ; he carried her note- 
 book to and from church in the dorsal pocket of his coat. 
 
 Amid the various reflections of the congregation which 
 cumbered the air of this Sabbath morning, a hush suddenly 
 pervaded the house. The figure of a stranger advanced up
 
 12 EDITH HALE. 
 
 ' 
 
 the aisle, and, with a gentle tread, ascended the pulpit 
 steps. 
 
 " How handsome he is ! " whispered one young lady to 
 another. 
 
 " He '11 turn half of our young girls' heads," inwardly 
 murmured Deacon Dennis. 
 
 The new speaker began to read ; his voice was solemn and 
 powerful, but he spoke as though much was still in reserve, 
 and he had a habit of looking about him as unconcernedly 
 as though each new face were but a book on his library- 
 shelves. Miss Leah afterward said of this, that she liked 
 the way of a minister looking about upon the faces of 
 his people, and of all things it made her the most uncom- 
 fortable to have a minister look first on one wall and then on 
 the other, on one window and then to the opposite, as though 
 he were trying to spy out cobwebs instead of the sins of the 
 people. 
 
 It was soon evident the young man had power. Others had 
 stood in that place before who had aroused and interested 
 their auditors ; but now the depths of their souls were moved 
 as though troubled by an angel. Yet he displayed none of 
 the tricks of oratory ; made few gestures, but stood like a 
 living statue of Tranquillity, sublimely directing all eyes 
 toward heaven. 
 
 " This ere is what I call preachin' the Gospel," said Father 
 Shaw, father of people in general, and of Miss Leah in 
 particular, as he left the church at the conclusion of the 
 exercises.
 
 EDITH HALE. 13 
 
 
 
 a ies," said Dr. Humphrey, " the young man has not been 
 too highly recommended, I think." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Zephaniah Wilkins, who overheard their con- 
 versation. " Remember that we must lay hands suddenly on 
 no man ; we know nothing of his private character yet. He 
 may prove very unlike what he now appears." 
 
 " Well ! " responded Father Shaw, " I don't care what you 
 think, but I believe its plaguy hard to counterfeit such good- 
 ness as this. I wish to the Lord we had more on 't ! " 
 
 Zephaniah now shook his head and looked gravely wise. 
 This young man belonged to that peculiar class of persons 
 who go up and down the earth as though they possessed a 
 superior gift of discovering secret sin, as did the Fakir el 
 Kebir when he reported that he caused a lamb to bleat in 
 the stomach of the thief who had stolen and afterwards 
 eaten it. 
 
 Edith Hale heard this sermon also, and, as she listened, she 
 forgot all her sorrows, all things save the words of the 
 speaker. But when she left the house of worship, and once 
 more found herself in a world harsh, and chill, and gloomy to 
 her young heart, she thought, 
 
 " Alas ! I now feel the breadth and depth of my afflictions 
 in their bitterest reality ! My dear father gone forever, my 
 mother and myself in poverty, and to-morrow I must go to 
 the factory to labor for my bread ! " 
 
 But when her mother inquired of what she had heard, she 
 replied, in a cheerful tone, 
 
 " One new idea, out of many, I recall. The preacher 
 2
 
 14 EDIT II HALE. 
 
 said that on the mountain of Serendib, in Ceylon, grows a 
 red rose about the size of the palm of the hand, upon tho 
 leaves of which the Mahometans imagine they can read the 
 name of God and the Prophet. The Christian, he said, should 
 read the name of God upon all his works as much upon the 
 serpent who but obeyed the impulses of instinct, as upon the 
 fragrant and beautiful rose. And our afflictions, also, should 
 discover this blessed name to us, as well as our joys."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A NEW LIFE. 
 
 WATEBBUBY was among the most thriving country towns 
 of New England. Situated at a convenient distance from 
 the metropolis, and possessing many natural as well as facti- 
 tious resources for business, in a steadily-increasing growth 
 of years it had come to hold a rank in the community not 
 inferior to any of the places in the vicinity. 
 
 Through the centre of the village flowed a stream of con- 
 siderable width, intersected by several mill-dams, over which 
 the water fell like a sheet of silver, broken at its base into a 
 million globules of sheen. In the sunlight each waterfall 
 seemed a cascade of iridescent stones. The central street of 
 Waterbury spanned this stream by a bridge, above which 
 was one of the waterfalls, with its perpetual volume of sound. 
 Further up the stream were little islands, studded with trees 
 or underbrush, which, in the warm season, were very attract- 
 ive, and suggestive of those fabled isles that are clothed 
 with perennial verdure and delight. Upon the banks stood 
 ancient oaks and elms, often entwined by stout grape-vines, 
 with branches pendent over the water.
 
 EDITH IIALE. 
 
 On the lower side of the bridge, at some distance, a still 
 expanse of water was bounded to the eye by a factory build- 
 ing, which resembled a huge patch-work of stone. In the 
 evening this water was so radiant with the reflections of bril- 
 liant window-panes, that it appeared as if some enchanter had 
 summoned up myriad lights from the halls of a subterranean 
 temple. The low lands below the mill, irrigated by this 
 stream, were very luxuriant, and early in the spring presented 
 a beautiful green most grateful to the eye. 
 
 This valley was rich in wild-flowers, which seemed to those 
 who sought for them more lovely and mellow in tint than all 
 others, as the horses of Nysa, that fed on the beautiful 
 plains of Medea, yielding the best pasturage in the world, are 
 reported by ancient writers to have become cream-colored. 
 
 Near the centre of the village stood the only church of the 
 place, which was in the Gothic style of architecture, with a 
 clock upon the base of the steeple, and a dove holding an 
 olive-branch for the weather-vane. Surrounding the church 
 was an extensive and beautiful lawn, skirted with ancient 
 forest and evergreen trees, and enclosed with an iron paling. 
 At some distance in the rear, upon a low hill of a beautiful 
 outline, and dotted thickly with pines, ever aromatic and 
 melancholy in the deep, solemn sighs of the wind, was the 
 place of burial for the dead. The furthermost base of this 
 hill was skirted by a stream, from which the place derived its 
 name of Iliverbank Cemetery. Leading from the village 
 in various directions were the streets, on which were situated, 
 for a long distance, the places of business and homes of
 
 EDITH HALE. 17 
 
 the inhabitants. Some of these were very tasteful, a few 
 even asserting claim to elegance and rare beauty. 
 
 Very early in the morning, before the darkness had fled, 
 the sharp-toned bell of the factory rang. 
 
 When Edith Hale heard this bell for the first time as a 
 reminder of her own duty, she rose from her troubled dreams, 
 and, with trembling fingers, arrayed herself as quickly as pos- 
 sible, then fell upon her knees in supplication to God for 
 patience and strength. The words of the Psalmist came into 
 her thought : " In the day of my trouble I will call upon Thee, 
 for Thou wilt answer me." 
 
 " Dear Edith, be of good courage ! " said her mother, fold- 
 ing her shawl more closely about her before she went out ; 
 " remember the promises of God to those who put their trust 
 in him." But the mother's tremulous voice betrayed that she 
 had no less need of consolation herself. 
 
 Edith was too troubled for words; she threw her arms 
 about her mother's neck, and kissed her with unwonted fervor. 
 A moment she lingered, as if her mother could shield her on 
 her bosom from harsh contact with the world evermore, as 
 she had dreamed in the hours of her childhood, and the 
 answering heart throbbed with a pain more acute than it had 
 ever known before. The most affectionate mother, who parts 
 with her daughter leaving for the distant school, or the tour 
 of travel, or even for that last journey through the dark val- 
 ley of the shadow of death, knows not such sorrow as the 
 mother of Edith then knew. She had once been a proud 
 woman, born and bred in scenes of affluence and luxury ; and 
 2*
 
 18 EDITH HALE. 
 
 they who have known this pride of life can never wholly for- 
 get it, although it may be subdued by the severest ill-fortune, 
 and, more than all, by the spirit of Him who said, " Blessed 
 are the meek." Such souls are like the Phlegraen fields, that 
 appear but a thin crust of earth covering an internal gulf of 
 liquid fire, from which occasionally the flame bursts forth and 
 asserts its power in fearful magnitude and strength. But all 
 the yearnings of the mother's heart availed not ; for she was 
 poor, hopelessly poor, and no human arm of support appeared 
 for her high-souled, beautiful child. 
 
 Arriving at the factory, whose scenes were unfamiliar, Edith 
 having never been within its walls but once or twice on visits 
 of curiosity, she was stunned by the din so foreign to her 
 sensitive nature. The hundreds of wheels in motion, the 
 complexity of cords, the moving of the wires and great belts, 
 seemed to fascinate the nerves, chords, and sinews, of her own 
 system, and draw them into correspondence of motion. 
 
 " I cannot remain here ! " she said to herself, looking about 
 her fearfully, and shrinking on to a bench in a dark corner. 
 But the memory of her poverty came to her, and of the high 
 wages offered her by her employer, who, out of friendship, 
 had agreed to give her as much as operatives of a long expe- 
 rience receive ; and, by a strong resolution, she drew herself 
 up, and summoned strength to walk forward and ask the 
 overseer to assign her place. 
 
 It happened that this man was a coarse, conceited person, 
 who held himself in higher regard than any other, and who 
 was one of that somewhat numerous class that rejoice at
 
 EDITH HALE. 19 
 
 nothing so much as in seeing others "brought down," and 
 heartily engage in assisting at this levelling process. He had 
 often seen Edith, and, since the change in her circumstances, 
 had striven to make her acquaintance ; but, perceiving that 
 his society was unpleasant to her, had withdrawn himself 
 from her presence in high sense of offended dignity. 
 
 " Want your place, do you, miss ? " he repeated, eying her 
 with an air of triumph. " I thought your place was, like 
 shining brass dogs, before the parlor fire ! Well, come on, 
 and I '11 give you a place where I can keep my eye on ye. 
 We shall be the best of friends bimeby, shan't we ? " and he 
 tapped her familiarly under the chin. 
 
 At this rudeness Edith drew back with the air of an out- 
 raged queen, while the tears quickly rushed into her flashing 
 eyes. But, commanding her voice, she said, with a tone of 
 authority not to be mistaken, " Sir, never offer such- famil- 
 iarities to me again ! If you do, 't will be at your peril ! " 
 
 " Hoity toity ! Does the girl know who I am ? I 'm your 
 overseer, miss ; and 't won't do to have over any of yer high 
 stuff here ! You 've got to do jest as I say, or lose yer placo, 
 that 's all ! " 
 
 " Has it come to this ? " thought Edith. " 0, my God ! better 
 had it been for me if I had never been born ! " But a remem- 
 brance of the great Master came over her heart like a breath 
 of cool wind over a parched, blistering, burning desert ; of Him 
 whose name is " The Mighty God," " The Everlasting Father," 
 " Prince of Peace ; " but who submitted to be buffeted and 
 crowned with thorns, and she felt contrition for her rebellion
 
 20 EDITH HALE. 
 
 In the full light of morning she perceived a small earthen 
 vase on one of the window-seats, in which was growing a 
 fragrant-leaved plant, tipped here and there with the most 
 perfect and delicate white blossoms. It was the care of 
 Borne loving heart, who strove, even within that noisome, 
 uncongenial sphere, to preserve a resemblance of loveliness 
 and Heaven. Edith gazed upon it as one in a dream. 
 Visions of the past were awakened with the sight of those 
 flowers, till she wept. 
 
 " Alas ! " she sighed, " how freely did I once enjoy all the 
 blessings which now I so crave ! But God has forgotten me ; 
 he has left dear mother and myself to struggle with our heavy 
 crosses alone ! " 
 
 She was aroused by the words of a pleasant voice beside 
 her. " These little flowers toil not, neither do they spin ; yet 
 Solomon, in all his glory, was not arrayed like one of these." 
 
 Edith turned quickly, and saw the good-natured face of the 
 girl who worked beside her. 
 
 " You seem rather down-hearted," she continued. " I don't 
 know much how to comfort anybody like you, for I know little 
 enough for myself; but, if there 's anything I can do to help 
 you along here, I '11 be merry as a top in doing it." 
 
 " Thank you," replied Edith, turning to her work a little 
 more cheerfully ; " you have helped me already, by reminding 
 me of that passage which speaks about God clothing the grass 
 of the field, and asks, ' Shall he not much more clothe you, 
 ye of little faith ? ' " 
 
 " 'Twill seem easier in a little while. 'Twas very hard to
 
 EDITH HALE. 21 
 
 me, at first ; but now I mind nothing about it, unless I want 
 to go somewhere." 
 
 " You are very kind ; for I am sure I hinder you very 
 much," said Edith, after receiving considerable assistance from 
 the girl. 
 
 " 0, never mind ; and, then, I am glad to help one who has 
 helped me," was the reply. 
 
 " How is that ? " said Edith. " I don't understand." 
 
 " Don't you remember Maria Weston, who used to sit in 
 the seat below you at school ? That was me. You showed 
 me a great many times about my lessons ; and once, when the 
 teacher, Mr. Gascoe, was about to punish me, and I was half 
 scared to death, you stood right up before the whole school, 
 and, after you had asked leave, you told just how 't was ; and 
 it appeared so different, he let me off with only a talking." 
 
 " I do remember now," Edith replied, considerably bright- 
 ened ; for nothing is so invigorating as the remembrance of a 
 good deed. " And you are that same girl, then ! I thought 
 your countenance was familiar. I think, too, I have seen you 
 in the meetings of our church." 
 
 " Yes," said Maria, in a lower tone, apparently disconcerted 
 at this allusion. " I think, sometimes, I ought never to have 
 joined the church," she added, after a pause. 
 
 Edith was about to interrogate her respecting this singular 
 confession, when the appearance of the overseer precluded 
 further conversation at that time. He stood at a convenient 
 distance, scrutinizing the face of Edith with great freedom. 
 Presently his attention was transferred to Maria ; and, catch-
 
 22 EDITH HALE. 
 
 ing her eye, he winked, drew down his lips with ugly contor- 
 tions to their furthest limit, then laughed, bending low with 
 the gust of his merriment, and, turning suddenly upon his 
 heel, walked away. 
 
 " I tell you what," said Maria, drawing nearer to Edith, 
 "you must look out for Mr. Shattuck, the overseer; he's a 
 queer man, and does some strange things, sometimes." 
 
 " I shall never speak to him ! " said Edith, curling her lip 
 haughtily. 
 
 " That won't do here," said Maria. " You may do such 
 things where you have been, but 'twill go hard to get the 
 overseer out with you in this place. He '11 set a great many 
 more against you, and you '11 get into all sorts of trouble. 
 You know 't is the best way to keep in with folks that have 
 power over you, even if 't is a kind of power you despise." 
 
 But it required great self-conflict before Edith could school 
 herself to regard a man like her overseer without utter dis- 
 gust. As the home of Edith was some distance from the 
 factory, she did not return to breakfast ; in the interval of 
 labor, she ate a slice of cold bread and meat which she had 
 brought with her. But the hours of the long forenoon lagged 
 wearily. Her heart ached in the great change to which she 
 was subjected. Weary to faintness, and dizzy with the 
 incessant noise of the machinery, she felt at times ready to 
 sink down, and resign herself hopelessly to her untoward fate. 
 
 Often her thoughts wandered far away from her task. A 
 glimpse of the trees down in the meadow, as she passed a 
 window, recalled how pleasantly a similar spring day had been
 
 EDITH HALE. 23 
 
 spent but one year ago. Her parents rode with herself out 
 to a farm where some friends lived, two or three miles 
 distant; and she was as happy as her heart could be in 
 rambling over the hills, gathering wild-flowers, and then sit- 
 ting down to the dinner, the delicious dinner of early 
 cowslips, meats, bird's-nest pudding, and the fragrant coffee 
 afterward. And her plays with the merry children up in the 
 large, unfinished attic, her hidings among the barrels of beans 
 and peas, and the grand high swing in the barn ; the search 
 for the hens' nests, and the examination of the first brood of 
 chickens ; and the visit to the old curbless well, where all 
 were first scared and afterwards made merry by the harmless 
 slip of one of the number into the loose soil at the very brink. 
 And then the good, long talk on the way homewards with her 
 father the father who never was to her aught but affection! 
 
 Now, her only prospect was this work in the factory ; to 
 go home and find her mother desolate, her father gone for- 
 ever ! To sit down to the scanty meal, every mouthful of 
 which she should grudge herself as so much deducted from 
 what they were trying to save ; and then to hasten back again 
 and repeat, day after day, this same heart-sickening labor, 
 which tugged at her heart-strings ! 
 
 At this crisis of her reflections, her attention was attracted 
 to some visitors who now entered the room, a gentleman 
 and two ladies, dressed very showily. They were conversing 
 together gayly ; and, as they walked toward where Edith 
 stood, she heard one of the ladies exclaim, in a loud voice, to 
 the gentleman,
 
 24 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " 0, what a nice place to get used to noise ! But here are 
 some pretty girls pretty for low people, you know." 
 
 " Very passable," replied the gentleman, glancing search- 
 ingly about him. " But let us speak lower ; they may hear 
 us, and 'twill do them no good." 
 
 " Get above themselves," said the lady, laughing aloud. 
 
 " Which would be a great pity," continued the gentleman ; 
 " for some are born to work, you know. We are made to 
 differ." 
 
 " I should think so," said one of the ladies, now looking 
 thoroughly contemptuous at the plain dresses of the opera- 
 tives, and gathering the folds of her heavy Cashmere shawl 
 more closely about her. This last speaker was the wife of 
 the gentleman ; the other lady a visitor from the city, who 
 had a curiosity to see the inside of a factory-building. As 
 they came up before Edith, she recognized the man in an 
 instant of sharp, bitter pain. It was Mr. Tyng, for whom 
 her late father had lost all his estate, and finally died of 
 grief at the sudden weight of misfortune. Edith saw that he 
 was clad in the finest broadcloth, and wore a heavy gold 
 chain, from which were suspended several charms of value. 
 
 " We must hurry a little," said he, looking at his large 
 gold watch ; "it is now eleven, and the horses are engaged at 
 half-past. But who is this ? I think I have seen her some- 
 where," he now suddenly observed to the overseer. 
 
 " That is Edith Hale, the daughter of Blanchard Hale, who 
 died some months ago." 
 
 " Possible ? " he exclaimed, his lips whitening. As he ven-
 
 EDITH HALE. 25 
 
 tared one more look, their eyes met. That glance ! On the 
 one side it was the keenest reproach ; on the other, a cower- 
 ing shame, which was quickly succeeded by an accustomed 
 assurance. 
 
 It was recalled years afterward, when next they met, in 
 another place ! 
 
 "Did n't you know that man?" inquired Maria, as soon 
 as the visitors had passed on. 
 
 " I did but too well," replied Edith, her whole frame 
 trembling with emotion. 
 
 " I worked in his family once when his wife was sick," said 
 Maria ; " he talked all sorts of stuff to me, and said I was 
 the handsomest girl he ever saw." 
 
 Edith now looked at Maria with astonishment. But Maria 
 laughed lightly, saying, 
 
 " You need n't look so awfully severe ; more than one man 
 has said that to me, and it did n't harm me, either." 
 
 " Maria," said Edith, very seriously, "you know not what 
 you mean when you say such words as those from a gentle- 
 man do you no harm. They are the words of the tempter, 
 and I warn you away from that horrible gulf into which they 
 lead." 
 
 " He did n't speak to me to-day," said Maria, a little 
 sobered ; " but he would if his wife had n't been with him. 
 He used to make a great deal of me, and has carried me to 
 ride several times, when Mrs. Tyng was away on a visit to 
 her father's. But I don't think I shall ride with him again, 
 if he asks me." 
 
 3
 
 26 E D I T II II A L i: . 
 
 "0, no, dear Maria!" said Edith, with unusual fervor; 
 " don't do anything that has even the appearance of evil. 
 Those who are poor have nothing but their good name ; and a 
 good name is rather to be chosen than great riches." 
 
 " ' Dear Maria ! ' that sounds odd from one like you, Mks 
 Edith ; but I suppose, after all, you did n't mean anything by 
 it," said Maria. 
 
 " Indeed I did," replied Edith. " You have been kind to 
 me, to-day," and her voice faltered ; " and, if you had not, I 
 should wish to befriend you in such a matter as this." 
 
 They were interrupted by the sudden weight of a hand 
 upon the shoulder of each. Both looked around simulta- 
 neously, and saw the broad, dark face of the overseer between 
 them, grinning and ogling, as if writhing with internal ser- 
 pents. Edith moved aside in an instant ; but Maria stood 
 still and laughed heartily. 
 
 " That lady has n't learnt to take a joke," he said to Maria, 
 at the same time passing his arm around her neck. Maria 
 looked toward Edith, not because she wished to, but she was 
 drawn toward her by an impulse irresistible and new. She 
 saw Edith's eye was filled with sorrow and kindly reproof, 
 and it was impossible to withstand that look. She moved 
 away from the man, pretending something about her work 
 was going wrong. 
 
 " You seem dreadfully squeamish about trifles," remarked 
 Maria to Edith, when they were again left by themselves. 
 
 " Such things are not trifles to me," answered Edith. 
 
 " Well, there are plenty of folks that do hold them so,"
 
 EDITH HALE. 27 
 
 persisted Maria, with spirit ; " and good folks, too. I 've 
 seen church-members tucking round other women than their 
 wives, out in public ; and I Ve seen 'em kissing, as though 
 there warn't no more in it than talking. And, if such people 
 do such things and go scot free, I should like to know why I 
 can't ? Is it because I 'm a poor factory-girl ? " 
 
 " " Shall we sin because we think others do ?" asked Edith, 
 much troubled for an answer ; for she knew the allegations of 
 the girl were not far from the truth. " The Master whom we 
 profess to follow has said, ' Blessed are the pure in heart, 
 for they shall see God ; ' and his example and words only 
 should we receive for imitation and obedience." 
 
 " I never thought much about all this before," said Maria ; 
 " and I am sure I thought I could do what others do, who 
 are called such good people." 
 
 " But did your mother never teach you about these 
 things ? " inquired Edith. 
 
 " My mother's dead," said Maria, in a subdued voice. 
 " She died when I was a mere child, and I can't hardly re- 
 member her ; though I just recollect that I was lifted up over 
 the coffin, and how I cried because she would n't speak to me." 
 
 " Have you no sisters ? " pursued Edith. 
 
 " None older than I. My father has got a second wife, 
 and I have got two half-sisters. Father is a still man, and 
 never says anything only the least that can be said : and my 
 mother-in-law seems just like a stranger. She 's very nice 
 and particular about all our work, though ; and, if we don't 
 do everything to suit her the first time, we have to do it all
 
 28 EDITHHALE. 
 
 over till we can suit her, and we don't get any praise, then. 
 But she never tells me anything how to behave with people." 
 " Poor girl ! " thought Edith. " How much poorer is she 
 than myself, with the blessing of my dear, excellent mother ! 
 And I have been repining, while she is happy ! Heaven 
 forgive my ingratitude ! "
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 EXPLORING EXPEDITION. 
 
 AMONG Mr. Wellmont's earliest secular appointments was 
 that of visiting some of the families in the parish, that he 
 might be able to judge more definitely of the people, and the 
 people of him, than in the restraints of public exercises. 
 
 As he was a stranger to almost every family, Mr. Solomon 
 Acre, a young man who abounded in leisure, respectability, 
 and gossip, volunteered his services in accompanying Mr. 
 Wellmont, and making his way easier by introductions, expla- 
 nations, and illuminations. Mr. Solomon was a nephew of 
 the gentleman with whose family Mr. Wellmont was stopping 
 indefinitely, till a boarding-place could be procured. A slight 
 acquaintance had, therefore, been formed between them, which 
 made this arrangement mutually pleasant and beneficial. 
 
 " As we are near one of the principal parishioners," sug- 
 gested Mr. Solomon, in the outset, " we may perhaps as well 
 call first as last, though it may not prove a very pleasant 
 business." 
 
 " How so ? " inquired Mr. Wellmont, suddenly interested. 
 
 " The man is Father Shaw, an odd sort of person ; and, 
 ten chances to one, he .may put you some questions which 
 3*
 
 30 EDITH HALE. 
 
 may prove offensive. But I suppose you are one of those," 
 paid Mr. Solomon, reverently, " to whom the Psalmist refers, 
 when he says, ' Great peace have they that love thy law, and 
 nothing shall offend them.' We all think a good deal of the 
 old man, though," he continued, " because I can't exactly 
 tell why only he is rich and honest, and tremendously plain- 
 spoken." 
 
 Mr. Wellrnont smiled a little peculiarly, but made no 
 observation. They entered the yard, which was enclosed by 
 a hedge of thorn-bush, with tall shrubs inserted at equal 
 distances in imitation of posts, and came in full view of a 
 staid-looking house, without the slightest pretensions to decora- 
 tion, but simply substantial and regular. In each corner of 
 the yard was a tall, scragged elm, under one of which stood 
 a row of bee-hives, partly shaded also by a scrubby apple-tree. 
 Everything was prim to a pain, and there was no trace about 
 the homestead of its ever being garnished with flowers, vines, 
 or pretty shrubs. The path to the door was laid with broken 
 stones, and the sharp, grinding sound of their contact with 
 the tread seemed the key-note to the whole life-chords of the 
 spot. Saving this, there was no sound of life about the 
 premises ; it seemed like a deserted hcme on Sunday. 
 
 This homestead, standing amid the stylish modern resi- 
 dences of the village, Mr. Wellmont likened in his mind to an 
 oM book, ponderous and discolored by long use, within a 
 row of new volumes, elegantly bound in morocco and russia, 
 muslin and gilt, late from the press of the " enterprising 
 publisher."
 
 31 
 
 Mr. Solomon having tapped delicately with his slender 
 cane twice and thrice, gaining strength with each repeated 
 effort, the door was at last opened by Miss Leah, Mhose tall. 
 august figure, sharp features, and keen, searching eye, struck 
 Mr. "Wellniont as the impersonation of vigor. " People may 
 hate me, if they only fear me," said a Roman tyrant ; and 
 the expression of Miss Leah seemed not greatly remote from 
 this. 
 
 Mr. Solomon was evidently afraid of her, and ventured to 
 look up and within, like a cat through a door ajar, into which 
 a passport is no every-day matter ; but he smiled and tried 
 hard to feel at home and on the best terms with the lady, to 
 whom, stepping one side and waving his hand spasmodically, 
 he presented the candidate for Waterbury pulpit. 
 
 Miss Leah returned the salutation of Mr. Solomon with an 
 air of condescension, looked steadily at Mr. Wellmont for a 
 minute, then offered her .hand with great cordiality ; for min- 
 isters were a class to which she confessed inferiority and 
 ministers alone. They were conducted within the parlor with 
 alacrity, for 3I'tss Leah was a little excited. She drew up 
 the largest arm-chair for Mr. Wellmont, directed Solomon to 
 a common chair with her forefinger, then excused herself to 
 speak to her father. 
 
 " A little odd is Miss Leah, you see," observed Mr. Sol- 
 omon, in a confidential tone ; " but she 's a remarkable woman 
 for management, indeed, quite equal to half a dozen ordinary 
 women, or men, for that matter. The young folks fear her 
 more than her father. As the poet says,
 
 32 EDIT II HALE. 
 
 Peculiar, therefore, is her way ; 
 
 Whether by nature taught 
 I shall not undertake to say, 
 Or by experience bought.' " 
 
 Mr. Solomon was very fond of introducing what " the poet 
 says," as people with a romantic temperament, spiced with a 
 little oddity, usually are. 
 
 Mr. Wellmont glanced about him, and saw that the room 
 wore the same aspect as did Miss Leah. The furniture was 
 large, odd, and old-fashioned. The chairs were straight, high- 
 backed, and trimmed with brass nails, reminding one of those 
 seats in the days of chivalry, on which duennas were obliged 
 to sit erect all night, that they might be kept awake to watch 
 their youthful mistresses. The carpet was of a pattern like 
 a draught-board, in black and brown ; and the light was 
 but partially admitted between green and white curtains, so 
 that everything wore a sickly and gloomy aspect. A single 
 picture hung upon the sombre-papered wall ; it was the 
 " Destruction of Sodom," in which the mass of falling flame 
 was the most prominent feature. Several figures of a revolt- 
 ing aspect were ranged along the chimney-piece, on nearing 
 which, Mr. Wellmont discovered, by means of marked slips 
 of pasteboard pinned to their pedestals, they were intended 
 to represent the Persian divinities, Ormuzd and Ahriman, the 
 Egyptian Eikton and a Hindoo Vishnu. Upon the table were 
 several numbers of the Missionary Magazine, a memoir of a. 
 celebrated divine, and a kind of fancy article, which Mr. 
 Solomon observed, but could not make out.
 
 E D I T II II A L E . 33 
 
 Presently Miss Leah reappeared, followed by her father, 
 whom she presented with the air of a Persian satrap giving 
 orders to his troop. Mr. Wellmont's wandering thoughts 
 were instantly recalled by the words, " Solomon ! you well ? " 
 
 Solomon having replied submissively, the old man turned 
 to Mr. Wellmont, and said, " Do you wish to be called Rev- 
 erend ? " 
 
 " I am not yet entitled to that appellation ; and, if I were, 
 I am not ambitious for any such distinction," Mr. Wellmont 
 replied. 
 
 " I wanted to know," said Father Shaw, " for ministers 
 are amazin' puffed up now-a-days ; I tell 'em they 're 
 like young wasps the largest when they 're fust hatched ! " 
 
 " Father ! " now exclaimed Miss Leah, looking extremely 
 serious. 
 
 " "What say ? " replied the old man bluntly, and apparently 
 insensible to the implied reproof. 
 
 " The apostle says, ' Render therefore to all their dues : 
 tribute to whom tribute is due ; custom to whom custom ; 
 fear to whom fear ; honor to whom honor,' " remarked Miss 
 Leah. 
 
 " But the Bible don't say anywhere that ministers should 
 be called Reverend," continued Father Shaw ; " it 's an honor 
 given only to God ' Holy and reverend is his name.' " 
 
 "It is 'a title given to ecclesiastics by long-established 
 usage, I believe," said Mr. Wellmont, who felt that he was 
 expected to say something. 
 
 " Yes, yes," returned Father Shaw, " and it comes from
 
 34 EDITIIHALE. 
 
 priestcraft. It comes from the Catholics ; they call their 
 abbes, and priors, and what not, reverend fathers ; and their 
 abbesses, and prioresses, and monkcsses, reverend mothers. 
 It 's a shame to our Christian church to follow after such 
 abominations ! It 's all Babylon ! I s'pose you think you 're 
 divine, too ! " 
 
 " Why do you make that inquiry ? " said the minister- 
 elect. 
 
 ".'Cause, if you ministers don't think you are, why do ye 
 call one another divines, I should like to know ? " 
 
 " That, also, is a custom sanctioned by the use of ages," 
 replied Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " Well, and it comes from witchcraft; familiar spirits and 
 wizards that peep and mutter, which books call divination. 
 There 's but one being that 's divine Gcd ; but there are a 
 good many prophets who pretend to tell the future, and call 
 themselves divines. People make a great fuss about the Cath- 
 olic mummery ; but we had better look to home afore we find 
 fault with others." 
 
 " So I believe, in your own case,'' thought Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " Father is in the habit of saying just what he thinks," 
 observed Miss Leah, apologetically ; " but those who know 
 him never take it ill of him." 
 
 " It 's no use," said Mr. Solomon, carefully. 
 
 " I don't care whether folks git mad or not, if I only tell 
 the truth," said Father Shaw. 
 
 Miss Leah now introduced a topic of conversation which 
 she thought would be more agreeable to the stranger's feel-
 
 EDIT II HALE. 35 
 
 ings. But Father Shaw soon interrupted them, without cir- 
 cumlocution, by inquiring of Mr. Welluiont how long he had 
 been studying. 
 
 " During the usual time prescribed for a student of theol- 
 ogy," replied Mr. Wellmont, striving to conceal his impatience 
 while going through this introductory course of inquisition. 
 
 " Do you think it 's all done you any good ? " continued the 
 old man. 
 
 " That has been my object," said Mr. Wellmont; " but I 
 do not wish to constitute myself a judge of my success." 
 
 " Well, I don't think it has. The apostles were most all 
 fishermen ; and do you think, with all your fine laming, you 
 can preach as well as they did ? The best preachin' comes 
 when it 's moved by the Spirit, and by a fiery zeal for the sal- 
 vation of men ; when it can't be kept back, more than the 
 powder down in a hole in a rock can be kept from going off, 
 after a coal of fire is dropped on't. Such preachers tell of a 
 salvation without money and without price ; they don't sell it 
 for a pew-tax a year. This ere larnt preachin' is no more 
 like the real Gospel preachin' than anything else gut up is 
 like the nat'ral. You see, the last time I went to Boston, 
 
 where my son lives, he got me to go and see a what is 
 
 that are show called, Leah ?" 
 
 " Panorama, father ; you know I told you how to remem- 
 ber, by ths association of a m\\k-pan and ' in Rama was 
 there a voice heard, lamentation and weeping.' " 
 
 " There was a Panorama of the Creation," continued the 
 old man, " where they had Adam and Eve, Noah and the
 
 36 EDITH HALE. 
 
 ark, and all that, pictured out as big as life a'most ; I dare 
 say you've seen 'em. Well, they made thunder there and 
 rain that sounded like rollin' grind-stones, and throwin' 
 down bushels of beans on sheet-iron, and it warn't no more 
 like real thunder and rain than this new-faiigled preachin' is 
 alongside the apostles' preaching." 
 
 " But, Father Shaw, I heard you say, last Sabbath, you 
 liked the sermons of our new minister 'amazin' well,'" now 
 interposed Mr. Solomon. 
 
 " Well, so I did ; and I han't said anything to the con- 
 trary to-day, have I ? " 
 
 " You have come pretty near it, it seems to me," said Mr. 
 Solomon. 
 
 " I did n't say this ere young man's preachin' is such trash 
 that 's like a soundin' brass and tinklin' cymbal we hear so 
 much on these days. I said I did n't think his laming done 
 him any good, and I stick to 't," said Father Shaw. 
 
 This way of beginning acquaintance, by showing the hard 
 side uppermost, was characteristic of the old man. His 
 friendship was like wine, acrid and unpalatable at first, but 
 improving and mellowing by age. 
 
 " A pity you had n't tried and kept old Mr. Walsh here ; 
 he had n't learning enough to hurt him," observed Mr. Solo- 
 mon, facetiously. 
 
 " I don't think it is a pity," said Miss Leah ; " he was too 
 headstrong for me. When I asked him to preach on some 
 subjects which burdened my mind, he laughed in my face, and 
 said what was quite unbecoming a minister of the Gospel."
 
 EDIT II HALE. 37 
 
 " He said women should n't meddle with what did n't 
 belong to 'em ; but they should larn of their husbands at 
 home," concluded her father, unmercifully. 
 
 Mr. Wellmont now looked at his watch, and observed to 
 Mr. Solomon that, as they had many more calls to make that 
 day, he thought they would leave. 
 
 " Not yet," spoke Father Shaw, in a tone of command ; 
 " I 've somethin' more to say. Young man, if you think of 
 settlin' here, you'll find me one of your best friends, provided 
 you do about right. Now, you think, no doubt, I 'm very un- 
 comfortable, and e'enamost a heathen ; but I Ve gut a heart, 
 nevertheless, that 's true as steel, when it takes a notion. I 
 pity you ; I pity all ministers of these days ; for they 've a 
 dreadful hard time on 't, to please folks." 
 
 " Yes, that indeed," interrupted Mr. Solomon ; " modern 
 ministers can say, with Pope : 
 
 ' What would vou have me do 
 When out of twenty I can please not two ! 
 One likes the pheasant's wing, and one the leg 
 The vulgar boil, the learned roast an egg.' " 
 
 " Solomon, stop till I git done, then you may say over 
 your stuff as long as you want to. I say ministers have a 
 hard time, and it 's 'cause they try to do what they ought to 
 leave undone, and they leave undone what they ought to do. 
 And they 're too strung up, being jealous of what folks think 
 on 'em, and with hatin' more 'n lovin'. I knew a minister 
 once who seemed to set by no varse in the whole Bible so 
 4
 
 38 EDITH HALE. 
 
 much as by that one where David said, ' I hate mine enemies 
 with a parfect hatred.' " 
 
 " I knew him, too," said Mr. Solomon ; " and he had ene- 
 mies enough who hated him." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Solomon ! Now, just preach Christ 
 and him crucified," continued Father Shaw. " Visit the 
 widow and the fatherless, and keep yourself unspotted from 
 the world. Then don't worry about anything or anybody ; 
 but love everybody, and think everybody loves you, and 
 'cordin' to your faith 't will be unto you." 
 
 " Thank you," replied the minister-elect, dryly ; and there 
 was an expression upon his face which was not wholly peace. 
 
 " Well," concluded the old man, as they rose to leave. " if 
 we think of keeping you here, and you get into trouble in 
 mind or money, jest you come to me, and I '11 help you out 
 if I can." 
 
 In another tone did Mr. Wellmont now express his grat- 
 itude ; and it would not have puzzled a child to have seen 
 that he heard this gladly. 
 
 When they had fairly left the house, and gained the open 
 air, Mr. Wellrnont took a long breath ; and the charm 
 with which the ministry had always been invested to him 
 seomed now changed into a curse. He murmured to himself, 
 "A Fetish priest, who bears about in the streets cf African 
 towns a club hung with strings of cowries, broken combs, bits 
 of iron, brass, and nut-shells, is more to be envied and 
 admired than myself, thus going from house to house in a 
 New England parish." But, as he thought of this passage,
 
 EDITIIIIALE. 89 
 
 " Behold I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves : 
 be ye, therefore, wise as serpents, and harmless as doves," he 
 smiled involuntarily, and, in a cheerful voice, inquired of his 
 companion to what family he designed next to introduce 
 him. 
 
 " You observe this fine house at our right," said Mr. Solo- 
 mon. "It is the residence of Mr. Pickering and his family, 
 which consists of a wife and several daughters. They are 
 some of our most stylish people, and are as different from 
 Mr. Shaw and Miss Leah as rainbows are unlike blocks of 
 Quincy granite. We will call here next, if you please." 
 
 Within this house they were admitted by a smart, flippant 
 house-maid, who bowed familiarly to 3Ir. Wellmont, talked 
 with Mr. Solomon as to an old acquaintance, and excused 
 herself from the parlor to speak to " Miss Pickering and the 
 girls." After considerable delay the lady of the house ap- 
 peared, dressed in an extremely youthful mode, although the 
 wrinkles of her face betokened she had seen at least fifty 
 winters. In a high flow of spirits she greeted Mr. Well- 
 mont, and widened the folds of her silk dress, as she seated 
 herself on the sofa beside him, with an air which expressed, 
 " I 'm tlie happiest creature in the world to see you." To all 
 Mr. Wellmont's observations she smiled graciously, and made 
 a great many little rejoinders expressive of her thorough 
 appreciation ; and often she seemed to anticipate his words, 
 before they could be uttered, with exquisite demonstrations 
 of pleasure. Her presence had suddenly filled the room with 
 a trifling, buzzing sound, as when a glittering, fluttering fly
 
 40 EDITH HALE. 
 
 comes in on a warm summer day. Naturalists tell us that a 
 fly walks with equal ease upon a surface rough or smooth, 
 upon the ceiling as upon the floor, on account of a vacuum 
 produced by certain organs attached to the foot ; and, on a 
 similar principle, substituting the word head for foot, it might 
 be accounted for, that whatever topic of conversation, whether 
 deep or shallow, lively or grave, was introduced in the pres- 
 ence of Mrs. Pickering, she always skimmed along with her 
 usual vivacity, apparently never troubled with apprehensions 
 of her incapacity, as one of sounder intellect and more weight 
 of character might have been. She never, indeed, advanced 
 ideas requiring the least depth of reflection ; but, by a variety 
 of gestures and rarefied nothingnesses, she appeared to share 
 largely in the conversation. 
 
 Presently appeared three young ladies, in the most attract 
 ive grouping imaginable, suggestive of the three Graces, 
 or, of the three goddesses, who were metamorphosed into 
 poplars. 
 
 Celesta, the eldest, was presented by Mrs. Pickering as 
 "our book-worm." The second daughter, Claudine, whose 
 name had been modernized from Lucinda, was designated as 
 " the artist." And the third, Julia, as " the musician." 
 
 Mr. Wellmont was soon overwhelmed with conversation, 
 by " the book-worm," upon the latest popular novels ; while 
 Mr. Solomon was engrossed by Claudine in the inspection of 
 a portrait which she had just completed. It being the likeness 
 of a rival admirer of the young lady, Mr. Solomon was 
 unsparing in his criticisms ; and, falling into a lively dispute,
 
 EPITHHALE. 41 
 
 he soon proposed to Mr. Wellmont to take their leave, which 
 that gentleman was not at all unwilling to do. 
 
 Mrs. Pickering pressed her hospitalities extremely, and 
 hoped Mr. Wellmont would quite make their home his own. 
 " At least," she added, " if you remain here, which I do not 
 doubt, as we are all in love with you already." 
 
 When out of the presence of these ladies, Mr. Solomon fell 
 into a fit of abstraction, and seemed suddenly to have lost all 
 his communicativeness ; but, arousing himself at some observa- 
 tion of his companion, he said, as if concluding a reflection, 
 " After all, she is just as different from the rest as an aurora 
 borealis is from the light of a common lamp." 
 
 " Of whom are you speaking ? " inquired Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " A thousand pardons, sir ! I had nearly forgotten in 
 whose presence I was, while I fell into a stream of reminis- 
 cence which was ' moving on with a brown, brown current,' as 
 the poet says. In short, I was in a brown study, and speak- 
 ing of Lucinda," replied Mr. Solomon, with some confusion. 
 
 " The Miss Pickering presented as Claudine ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but her original name was Lucinda ; a good, 
 sensible name it was, and one which I liked vastly, because 
 she was a very different girl, and infinitely more charming, 
 before her name was changed. They thought Claudine 
 sounded more romantic, I suppose. But I lay all such things 
 to the mother, and the lackadaisical book-worm." 
 
 " I infer," said Mr. Wellmont, " from this young lady's 
 being styled ' the book-worm,' that she is a remarkable 
 reader." 
 
 4*
 
 42 EDITIIHALE. 
 
 " Yes, of novels ; but I perceive no indications of those 
 ' looks,' to which, the poet says, 
 
 ' Is sacrificed the dinner for the books.' " 
 
 " The father of these young ladies, I think you men- 
 tioned him favorably ? " inquired Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " Yes ; Mr. Pickering is sound every way ; but he makes* 
 a slave of himself for his family. He began life poor and 
 friendless, and has had to make a hard, strong effort to rise in 
 the world. But he has risen, so that men who have three 
 times the learning and ' unified ' stuff about them go to him for 
 his judgment in business matters, and think highly of him, 
 not only for his good sense, but for his generosity ; for he 's 
 got a heart in him as large as a bushel-basket ; and he makes 
 no more of doing for the poor, and helping on public improve- 
 ments, than some of as make of doing for ourselves. But the 
 way his wife and children (at least, all but one or two) do 
 spend his money ! as if the dollars grew like huckleberries, 
 and had n't been hammered out of his brain and bone and 
 sinew ! One would think they never knew there was such a 
 thing as work. And to see the airs they put on over people ! 
 at least, all but Lucinda, who would be more sensible if 
 she could, and one other, a mere cipher in the family." 
 
 " In what respect ? " inquired Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " 0, they never make anything of her, and avoid all allu- 
 sion to her, as though she were an idiot, or some poor unfor- 
 tunate who was a disgrace to them, because she is so plain in 
 her looks, and won't be drilled into any of their nonsense.
 
 EDITHHALE. 43 
 
 They keep her out of sight as much as they can, and now she 
 is scut away among relations at a distance. When she is at 
 home she will go to church ; and, foul or fair, you are sure to 
 see Mary Pickering in her place beside her father. He seems 
 to think more of her, and would have things different if he 
 could ; but, in all such matters, his wife and Celesta set the 
 copy, and the rest have to write after. After all, a good 
 many in the village like Mary the best of the whole ; but they 
 are of the second set, and it is because she always does so 
 much for them. Lucinda is the belle among our upper 
 ten." 
 
 Mr. Wellmont now directed the attention of his companion, 
 with apparent indifference, to the cottage in which he was 
 beginning to be interested. 
 
 " That," said Mr. Solomon, " is the home of Mrs. Hale, 
 a widow lady, and her only daughter, Edith. The death of 
 Mr. Hale, a most devoted husband and father, and the loss of 
 their fortune a short time since, has left them in deep afflic- 
 tion. Their life is wholly changed, and I heard that Edith 
 went into the factory this week ; but, for all that, she is as 
 pretty a g'ui as there is here in town, except, it may be, 
 Lucinda Pickering.'' 
 
 Mr. Wellmont looked steadfastly away to prevent the dis- 
 covery of a smile at the repeated mention of " Lucinda ; " and, 
 to conceal his sensations, proposed that they should call at tho 
 cottage. 
 
 Mr. Wellmont found Mrs. Hale a middle-aged, sensible- 
 looking woman, with that subdued expression which betokens
 
 44 EDITH HALE. 
 
 familiarity with sorrow and sacrifice ; one of that rare class 
 who, from superior cultivation of mind and the richest graces 
 of the heart, are dignified without severity, self-possessed 
 without assurance, and self-denying without servility. In 
 earlier days of ease and pleasantness she had been beautiful ; 
 now she seemed almost saint-like in her love and matronly 
 care. 
 
 " Such a bearing is never the result of uninterrupted pros- 
 perity," thought Mr. "Wellmont. Mrs. Hale was in feeble 
 health ; it was evident from the frequent cough and the hectic 
 flush which came to her cheek at the least excitement ; but 
 how cheerful and serene she was amid all her sorrows ! as 
 though she could even then see the glory that is prepared for 
 the faithful who endure to the end. Her surroundings were 
 simple and poor ; but all bore the evidence of a culture 
 which was a mystery to Mr. Wellmont. The fact of 
 former wealth did not account for an indescribable air of 
 refinement and superiority which Mrs. Hale cast about her 
 without effort or pretension. There were no remnants of 
 better days, no costly appliances of artificial elegance, to assist 
 this impression. The windows were only graced with a few 
 modest plants, and plain muslin curtains, put back upon com- 
 mon nails ; but with an effect, indeed, unexcelled by costliest 
 damasks. The easy-chair was covered with patch ; the carpet 
 was inexpensive, and much worn, but scrupulously neat ; and 
 the little table, of a curious, old-fashioned pattern, was un- 
 adorned, save with a few choice religious books. As Mr.
 
 EDITH HALE. 45 
 
 Wellmont glanced about him, with a subdued heart, he said 
 to himself, " Peace be to this house ! " 
 
 Mrs. Hale put by her work, upon which her bread de- 
 pended, and by degrees became engaged in conversation, for- 
 getting her situation ; and, as if transported to former prosper- 
 ity, was blessed and blessing, as of old, with all the strength 
 and brilliancy of her highly-cultivated mind. But, when 
 Mr. Solomon inquired for Edith, her face paled, and her voice 
 slightly trembled, as she replied, " She is away at work in the 
 factory. I miss her sadly, now." 
 
 " I thought jer health was never strong," remarked Mr. 
 Solomon. " Fow can she endure such an effort? " 
 
 " I fear he ; health was never more delicate than now," 
 replied the j lother, the tears suffusing her eyes ; " but she 
 never complains, and says the exercise will be beneficial. 
 It is a great change for one so young." 
 
 " She has always been accustomed to school, and very care- 
 fully nurtured," remarked Mr. Solomon to Mr. Wellmont, by 
 way of explanation. 
 
 " Our object is," said Mrs. Hale, " to acquire means to 
 enable Edith to become a pupil of the academy again, that 
 she may be fitted to become a teacher. I should have pre- 
 ferred her taking some way less laborious and trying than 
 this ; but she seemed so anxious to lose as little time as 
 possible, I was induced to consent to her entering the factory, 
 where more could be earned in a given time than in any other 
 situation which offered." 
 
 " You have my most earnest wishes for success, Mrs. Hale,"
 
 46 EDITIIHALE. 
 
 responded Mr. "\Vclhnont, earnestly ; for he was one easily 
 touched with a feeling for others' woes. 
 
 " Thank you. I think we .shall succeed in this undertaking, 
 unless her health should fail," continued the mother. "She 
 studies now till late in the night, in order to progress as fast 
 as possible ; but, as she cannot proceed much further to equal 
 advantage without a teacher, I aui hoping to give her a pleas- 
 ant surprise, by producing money enough to enable her to 
 enter school by the autumn term. Excuse me, however," she 
 added ; " I should not allow such matters to engross the 
 attention of another. I find myself too frequently betrayed 
 into inconsistencies by the influence of my changed manner 
 of life." 
 
 " No apology is necessary, madam," replied Mr. "Wellmont, 
 with fervor. " I feel an interest in yourself and your 
 daughter; and if I can be of any service to you while I 
 remain here, I shall be happy to give it." 
 
 " Fortunate Edith is so young ! " thought Mr. Solomon, who 
 was fertile in suggestions. " He would never think of marry- 
 ing her, though, now she is so poor, if she were old enough 
 to be a minister's wife." 
 
 " I have engaged board here for a few weeks, with the 
 family of Deacon Dennis," continued Mr. Wellmont, in reply 
 to Mrs. Ilale's expressions of gratitude ; " and, meantime, 
 if your daughter wishes assistance in her studies, I will cheer- 
 fully instruct her. I shall be at liberty on Tuesday and 
 Friday evenings after this." 
 
 Other visits were made by Mr. Wellmont on that afternoon,
 
 EDITIIIIALE. 47 
 
 so that lie gathered considerable knowledge of the people to 
 whom he was introduced. But the day waned, and a chill 
 spring wind arose with the nightfall, which, with the moist- 
 ure of the atmosphere, peculiarly affected a temperament like 
 that of Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 He went to a new boarding-place, and was shown to his 
 room, where no cheerful fire awaited him, with the home 
 accompaniments of the arm-chair, the dressing-gown and 
 slippers, arranged by some loving hand ; but, though bearing 
 the distinction of the best guest-chamber, it was drear, pre- 
 cise, and stately enough to recall all the sad associations of 
 a lifetime. But, at the summons of the tea-bell, a pleasant vision 
 flitted before him ; and, with a hopeful smile, he descended to 
 the parlor. He found a table laid with covered dishes, around 
 which, at their several chairs, stood Deacon Dennis, his wife, 
 and daughter Alitha, and two children. By request, Mr. AVell- 
 mont invoked a blessing, in which he thanked Heaven for the 
 bountiful provision of Providence, by which the miracle of life 
 was daily renewed ; and prayed that spiritual food might also 
 be given to nourish and strengthen the soul, which liveth for- 
 ever. 
 
 Much of the true impulses of one's heart may be discerned 
 from the hospitalities of his table ; the generous man dis- 
 tributes from his bounty with a free hand. Deacon Dennis 
 was one of the wealthiest citizens of Waterbury. He had 
 inherited wealth, acquired much more by his own efforts, and 
 received wealth by his wife. Wealth seemed naturally to 
 adhere to him, as it does to a class of persons of a peculiar
 
 48 EDITH HALE. 
 
 organization, whose touch, like Midas', transmutes everything 
 to gold. He was what is termed one of the pillars of the 
 church; for, not only did he discharge the duties of his 
 ecclesiastical office with order and promptitude, and render 
 cringing service to all ministers of his own faith in whose way 
 he fell, but he gave liberally to missionary and educational 
 societies. Rarely was he seen to throw in less than a bank- 
 bill to the contribution-box, and his name figured often in 
 the religious paper of his denomination as the donor of 
 sums to constitute various persons life-members of these 
 societies. But Deacon Dennis was one of those persons who 
 think every thing eaten is so much utterly wasted ; and so the 
 provision for "the daily miracle of life" was scarcely "boun- 
 tifjil," even when his board was graced by the presence of a 
 clergyman. He believed with the Mahometan crier, who 
 says, when he announces the hour of prayer, " Praying is 
 better than food." 
 
 Mrs. Dennis, and the oldest daughter, Alitha, were partic- 
 ular to have all their domestic arrangements as faultless, in 
 neatness and order, as possible. The table was always cov- 
 ered with the snowiest linen, and the glass, china, and silver, 
 were radiant with the polish of cleanliness. But the few 
 dishes were scantily provided, and that with substances but 
 poorly fitted to sustain the strength of active, vigorous people, 
 who did not design to take life in homeopathic doses. The 
 prospect to Mr. Wellmont was but little superior to the eating 
 of the fairies in Herrick's Hesperides :
 
 EDITH HALE. 49 
 
 A little musliroom-table spread; 
 After short prayers, they set on bread, 
 A moon-parched grain of purest wheat, 
 With some small glittering grit, to eat 
 His choicest bits with ; then, in a trice, 
 They make a feast less great than nice." 
 
 Notwithstanding he had secret hopes of some time attaining 
 greatness, and knew that great men were oftenest perfectly 
 indifferent to what they ate, he had a keen sense of the luxury 
 of good, plain, and plentiful food ; and, being one who made 
 great and repeated mental and bodily exertions, it was his 
 conviction that such food was indispensable to his health. 
 By some indefinable impression, he had an uncomfortable 
 feeling, also, that every mouthful he consumed came under 
 the eye of the master or mistress of the house, and that they 
 remembered its exact cost. He saw the two boys, who sat 
 opposite him, pass their plates for renewal with a lurking 
 fear and want of confidence, as if they had been in the habit 
 of being refused, but thought, in the presence of a stranger, 
 they might venture without peril ; and, occasionally, when 
 the deacon was engrossed in conversation, they slipped off a 
 bit from the plates nearest them to their own, with great 
 celerity and caution. Mr. Wellmont, however, was not dis- 
 posed to be scrupulous at everything which did not exactly 
 coincide with his preferences ; and, secretly wishing that his 
 home was in a certain brown cottage, where the social atmos- 
 phere was so much more agreeable, he put on a cheerful face, 
 
 and determined to make the best of whatever came in his way. 
 5
 
 50 EDITH HALE. 
 
 This commendable reconciliation was not a little assisted 
 by frequent calls upon Mrs. Hale, for whom, at every inter- 
 view, his respect increased. Unluckily, he saw but little of 
 Edith, who was seldom present on these occasions ; for she 
 could not readily overcome the mistake which had signalized 
 their introduction. At last, Mr. Wellmont persuaded her 
 mother to promise that she should accept his assistance in her 
 studies, in company with Alitha Dennis. 
 
 On returning from the first of these interviews at the house 
 of Deacon Dennis, she said to her mother : " I am so glad I 
 went ! Mr. Wellmont received me very kindly, so that I 
 quite forgot my humiliations, till Mrs. Dennis, who sat listen- 
 Ing, inquired of me how I liked working in the factory ; and 
 her thin lip curled so haughtily I came near weeping upon 
 the spot. But I forced back my tears, and replied as intel- 
 ligibly as I could." 
 
 " Be very patient, Edith," said her mother. "Out of all 
 this affliction our heavenly Father will bring us in his own 
 good time, and it shall work out for us the peaceable fruits of 
 righteousness. Heaven will be dearer to me, and earth the 
 truer to you." 
 
 " Mr. Wellmont is the most agreeable man I ever knew ! " 
 said Edith, after a lapse of thought. Mrs. Hale lifted her 
 eyes from her work upon the face of her child, as if she would 
 read there the sentiments and emotions of her soul. Edith 
 was unusually flushed with excitement, and the mother could 
 scarcely fail to see how beautiful the radiance of her heart 
 had made her. Her cheeks were like the freshest blush roses,
 
 E D I T II II A L E . 51 
 
 and her dark, thoughtful eyes beamed with a light, as though 
 joy, like a swift-winged angel, had returned through the gate 
 of tears. 
 
 " How is he the most agreeable ? " inquired her mother. 
 
 " He is so unlike our old minister, who made one feel so 
 very insignificant in his presence, that after a while I began 
 to breathe naturally ; and I gathered sufficient courage to ask 
 several questions, all of which he answered by such clear and 
 beautiful illustrations : old truths seemed new, and the plain- 
 est facts were garnished with rare attractions. He has a 
 way, too, of introducing classical allusions with the happiest 
 point. But, more than all this, his smile, and the look of his 
 clear, full eye, so kindly, almost loving ! " But, perceiving 
 her mother's peculiar expression, she stopped abruptly, and 
 blushed deeply. " If such persons only knew the great, the 
 infinite happiness they contribute," she continued, after a 
 moment's composure, " by condescending to those of low 
 estate, they would feel that in so doing there was exceeding 
 great reward." 
 
 "That is true, my dear," replied Mrs. Hale; "but you 
 must not presume upon the kindness of Mr. Wellmont. True 
 good breeding manifests itself more in freedom from presump- 
 tion than in any other way, perhaps." 
 
 Edith sighed heavily ; the bright light went down from her 
 eyes ; and, as the hours wore wearily on, the color faded from 
 her cheeks, and her thoughts were of the curse and bitterness 
 of poverty, that rose ever beside her hopes, like a destructive 
 wind to sweep them away into the depths of darkness.
 
 52 EDITH 1IALE. 
 
 " My child," said Mrs. Hale, as she folded her work for the 
 night, " it is very late ; but we must not forget our devotions." 
 Edith opened the Bible, and, in her clear, sweet voice, read 
 from those blessed truths of the Gospel which ever soothe, 
 strengthen, and encourage. And, when she came to the words 
 "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall 
 tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine," &c., her 
 voice softened into a channel of grief, and the late hardness 
 of her heart, born of repinings and unreconciliation, was sub- 
 dued to love, that blessed love of which she read, in conclusion, 
 " For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, 
 nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things 
 to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall 
 be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ 
 Jesus our Lord."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MINISTER-MAKING AND OTHER MATTERS. 
 
 MR. WELLMONT rapidly won friends, so that at the expi- 
 ration of his time of preaching as a candidate in Waterbury, 
 the church were unanimous in desiring him to settle among 
 them as their pastor. The call was promptly made and 
 accepted. But the young minister was not elated with his 
 ' success ; he was an ambitious man, and had sketched great 
 things for himself prospectively. His ultimate promised 
 land was some flourishing city church ; but he concluded it 
 would be well for him to accept a situation so superior, for 
 the country, as that presented in Waterbury; at least, it 
 would do till a better could be obtained, it would do to 
 practise and experiment upon, till he had won larger expe- 
 rience and reputation. 
 
 The ceremonies of his ordination to the work of the min- 
 istry took place very much like all other ordinations. A 
 large concourse of people were present, including a number 
 of clergymen, with their wives ; and liberal entertainment 
 was provided by the leading members of the parish. One or 
 two things were especially noticeable on this occasion. A 
 5* *
 
 54 E I) I T H II A L E . 
 
 divine somewhat celebrated, from the city, preached the ser- 
 mon, in which he drew very largely from his own experience, 
 much more than from that of the apostles, and the rather 
 preached himself, than Christ and him crucified. He failed to 
 make the very impression he seemed desirous of giving. His 
 individualities, upon recital, fell far below what his hearers 
 had previously imagined ; as it invariably happens, a man stu- 
 diously setting off himself, from the very nature of the case 
 only makes a ridiculous failure. A man of second-rate abilities, 
 though, by dint of various effort, he had acquired a sidewise 
 reputation among the first, he was secretly fearful he should 
 not be always and everywhere appreciated. The speaker's voice 
 was loud and dissonant, and his discourse was very lengthy, 
 which made it doubly tedious. The same spirit seemed to ani- 
 mate him as does that species of falcon found in Africa, which, 
 travellers tell us, is so impressed with the idea of its own 
 powers, that it will sit for half a day perched upon the sum- 
 mit of a tall tree, uttering incessant cries, which the darkness 
 of night is sometimes insufficient to terminate. 
 
 " It is a mystery to me," said Mrs. Humphrey to her hus- 
 band, afterwards, " how Dr. Naylor has acquired such a 
 reputation. I am sure I should judge him as inferior to one 
 third of our country pastors, had I not known who he was." 
 
 " Humbug ! " said Dr. Humphrey ; " have you yet to learn 
 that the largest proportion of great reputation is made out 
 of humbug? A man gets a name by behaving the lion in 
 public, the jackal in private ; he swells immoderately, tickles 
 the self-love of people, flatters their prejudices, ar.d blows
 
 EDITH IIALE. 55 
 
 his own horn on all possible occasions, and, above all, looks 
 out to get under full sail in the most -popular current of the 
 times, as migrating squirrels, when they wish to cross a 
 stream of water, jump on a piece of bark and raise their tails 
 to catch the wind, and the people generally are such fools, 
 such unmitigated asses, they really believe they are following a 
 demigod ! I tell you the race is not to the swift, nor the battle 
 to the strong. In most cases in this world real greatness is 
 never recognized save by a few private individuals oftenest 
 not at all ; like that poor wise man, who by his wisdom deliv- 
 ered the city, yet no man remembered that same poor mau. v 
 
 " But you don't mean to say that the reputations of the 
 clergy are obtained in this way ? " pursued his wife, somewhat 
 alarmed. 
 
 " Of course not ; I suppose I must refer chiefly to those 
 called world's people ; but I do mean that in the upward race 
 for fortune, in whatever profession, those men the most un- 
 scrupulous, full of bombast, respect for themselves and 
 disrespect for others, oftenest get ahead of the true plodder, 
 who pauses to make his footing sure and honorable for the 
 perilous ascent ; and these bags of wind look back upon them 
 from their serene pinnacles, and shout, ' The deuce take the 
 hindmost ! ' or, more classically, as when we doctors want to 
 gild a bad-sounding prescription, ' occupet extremum scabies.'' ' r 
 
 " Wicked man ! " exclaimed Mrs. Humphrey, " to talk thus 
 in connection, even the most remote, with a minister ! " 
 
 " A minister ! " repeated the doctor ; " why not as soon in 
 connection with a doctor of divinity as a doctor of medicine?
 
 56 EDITHHALE. 
 
 One cures or kills the souls, the other the bodies, of men ; 
 where 's such a dignified difference ? The soul is in a poor 
 condition here, for religion or anything else, without a well 
 body. St. Real says, ' He who speaks of a doctor (no matter 
 whether of theology or pathology) does not always speak of a 
 learned man, but only of a man who aught to be learned.' " 
 
 The charge to the people was by a minister of one of the 
 adjacent towns, who was a man not yet in middle life, and 
 was very well followed after for the smoothness of his voice 
 and attractiveness of his manner, in connection with such 
 trifles as some men would never have noticed at all. More- 
 over, he was generally a favorite of the ladies wherever he 
 went ; for he was a kind of pocket edition of a man, elegantly 
 bound and gilt, with a euphonious name outside, in very 
 large letters. His charge was decidedly positive, nothing 
 about it admitting of doubt ; for he was one of those ministers 
 who preach more of what divines call the agenda than the 
 credenda always upon what we are bound to do, rather 
 than what to believe. His mind was of that largely-peopled 
 class, which never soars itself, or carries that of others, 
 above words ; consequently he inspired no exaltation or 
 enthusiasm, none of the higher order of emotions, but 
 simply instructed by exposition and admonition. And so, 
 upon an occasion like this, an inferior part of the exercise 
 was assigned him. This young man, of limited miscellaneous 
 reading and experience, of very narrow views of human 
 nature and the great principles of its right direction, stood 
 there before elderly men of sound sense, and of the wisdom
 
 EDITH HALE. 57 
 
 of the Scriptures and practical life, and told them what to do, 
 in the manner of a teacher directing a class in a primary- 
 school ; told them how to live with their minister from day to 
 day and year to year ; how to accost him, to preserve his feel- 
 ings uninjured; to provide for him, and keep him from moth 
 and rust, as a housewife would keep her woollens and silver. 
 Especially did he dwell upon the reverence due their minister. 
 
 " The times are getting more and more degenerate," said 
 he, flourishing his small, white hands; " and we look to the 
 church to set the great example of respect for those who are 
 the prophets of God, and expound his oracles. ' He that 
 receiveth a prophet in the name of a prophet, shall receive a 
 prophet's reward.' And ' Believe his prophets, so shall ye 
 prosper.' I charge you, my brethren, not to set your faces 
 against him at every fault you imagine you see in him ; for 
 this frequent changing of ministers is a reproach to the 
 religion of Christ. You should not expect him to do or say 
 everything agreeable to each of your several standards ; but 
 rather according to his own standard, which is the truth." 
 
 " Yes, that 's true enough," added Father Shaw, mentally, 
 recalling a verse out of an almanac of the eighteenth 
 
 century : 
 
 " Who seeks to please all men each way, 
 
 And not himself offend, 
 He may begin his task to-day, 
 
 But God knows where he '11 end." 
 
 " But we 'd ruther be told on 't as if we 'd some rights our- 
 selves, and wan't like a tribe of ants in a heap, with a foot 
 set top on us."
 
 58 E DII1I HALE. 
 
 Much more in this wise did this minister deliver, and con- 
 cluded by getting into a furious passion with people in general, 
 which he vented by pounding the pulpit-cushion, and working 
 himself into a ludicrous excitement, that passed among his 
 female friends for " perfectly splendid oratory." 
 
 Not long after this, in progress of the exercises, arose an 
 elderly divine, who represented a leading parish of the city, 
 and offered a prayer, in that calm, fervent spirit, which con- 
 trasted effectively with the preceding exercises. It relieved 
 the soifl ; as the eye rests upon the velvet green sward, dotted 
 with waving trees, in a gentle summer rain, where late all 
 was parched, and harsh, and painful to the sense. It was 
 like the palpable stillness of a deep wood, broken only by the 
 solemn flow of the stream which cleaves its heart, on which 
 can be seen reflections of the humblest wild-flower of its 
 banks, as well as the grand, majestic clouds of the heavens 
 above. Each heart went out with the speaker toward the 
 throne of God, and returned not till laden with adoration, 
 humility, and love. They felt that he who led them now had 
 acquainted himself with the great Mediator, and went not 
 before him as a stranger, with the language of the world. 
 But his words were few, so that the audience unconsciously 
 listened afterwards, as if to catch one more strain of the har- 
 mony of a soul at peace with God. 
 
 The exercises of the day were generally of great interest 
 to the members of the parish, but some were much more 
 interested than others, according to their different temper- 
 aments. Julia Pickering declared it was the most auspicious
 
 EDI T X H HALE. 59 
 
 day of her life ; she sat with, the choir, and led one part, 
 with unbonneted head, dressed in ringlets which fell to her 
 waist. The " book-worm" pronounced it dull it was such 
 a bore to hear all these tedious things the ministers said ; for 
 her part, she would rather remain at home and read the last 
 novel. Claudine subsequently sketched the scene of the or- 
 daining prayer, and exhibited it extensively to her friends. 
 Mr. Solomon Acre said the ministers, with their hands extended 
 on Mr. Wellmont's head, as they were represented, looked like 
 so many people clawing into a grab-bag. Mrs. "Witherell was 
 inexpressibly shocked on being informed of this by Zephaniah 
 Wilkins ; and, the very earliest opportunity, sent Mr. Solomon 
 a tract. The sketch was also shown Mr. Wellmont, who said 
 it reminded him of the ancient practice of stichomancy, 
 which he had seen represented by several persons standing 
 around a vessel, from which, after being shaken, they drew 
 out small slips of paper inscribed from the sibylline books. 
 
 " But our minister's head is full of verses from the Book 
 of books," observed Miss Pickering, much pleased at the 
 correspondence of her idea. 
 
 Deacon Dennis exerted himself so much on that occasion 
 he was quite overcome. It was one of the glorious events 
 of his life, for he loved the society of the clergy to that 
 degree, no privilege could be dearer to him than that of being 
 permitted to follow in their train ; like Dr. Clarke, the trav- 
 eller, who said that, for the sake of Tweddell's society, he 
 would have consented to black his shoes. He swallowed all 
 their words of burning eloquence, as it is asserted by nat-
 
 60 EDITH HALE. 
 
 uralists frogs will swallow fire. The presence of so many 
 ministers as a unity of reverence, what with obsequious 
 attention, supervision, shaking hands at church, and entertain- 
 ing at home, rendered him on the following day unable to 
 leave his room, and he was threatened with a brain fever. 
 His ailing maturing rapidly into sickness, Mr. Wellmont pro- 
 posed to Mrs. Dennis and Alitha to obtain some other board- 
 ing-place, that their unusual cares might in some degree be 
 lightened. With considerable reluctance they at last con- 
 sented ; but the thought of losing so much distinction as the 
 boarding of the minister conferred was a great self-denial. 
 
 Mr. Wellmont regretted the illness of Deacon Dennis, but 
 he was secretly glad of the prospect of a new home. He had 
 lost weight by many pounds since coming to Waterbury, and 
 the cause was not wholly attributable to his increasing labors 
 and responsibilities. A letter written by the young minister 
 to his mother about this time may serve to interpret his feel- 
 ings more perfectly than his outward seeming to the world in 
 which he moved, as it was dictated by the familiar confidence 
 of the son, instead of the dignified restraint of the profession. 
 
 " DEAR MOTHER : From what I have written you, of late, 
 you will not regret to learn that I have changed my boarding- 
 place. My present residence is with the family of Mr. Phan- 
 uel, whose wife only is a member of my church. But Mr. 
 Phanuel, though without any pretensions to religion, is one of 
 my most generous friends. It would seem at present that my 
 condition is improved in all respects. The family arrange-
 
 EDIT II II ALE. 61 
 
 ments are liberal as one could desire, and everything is done 
 for my comfort which can be suggested, so that I am no 
 longer an Erisichthon overshadowed by the wings of the 
 demon of hunger. 
 
 " As this will probably be my home for some time to 
 come, and I know you are always interested in the minutest 
 affairs pertaining to me, I shall give you a few hasty sketches 
 of my surroundings. Mr. Phanuel is one of the most remark- 
 able men I ever saw, which is an assertion of considerable 
 breadth to apply to a citizen of a place like this. Having a 
 very extensive business, he is said to be amassing property 
 rapidly ; consequently he lives in the best house in Waterbury, 
 drives the best horses, and subscribes most liberally to all 
 public and religious interests. But this all is no wise remark- 
 able. It is his genius for progress to which I allude, and 
 which, notwithstanding its proud results, renders him dissat- 
 isfied with everything. Nothing ever quite attains to his 
 standard ; he hourly blames his wife, house, employes, even 
 the most manifest operations of Providence, if they interfere 
 with his designs. He is always apparently in a deep study, 
 and one which bodes no peace. Mrs. Phanuel is a quiet, 
 sensitive, excellent-hearted woman, whose advantages for 
 education I should infer have been limited. Indeed, I have 
 been informed by Mr. Zephaniah Wilkins, who gives me, 
 gratuitously and unasked, all the private histories of people 
 here, that she was born and bred in humble circumstances, but 
 6
 
 62 EDITHHALE. 
 
 that even in this condition her friends opposed her marriage 
 with Mr. Phanuel, as one who was then much inferior to her, 
 being the equivocal son of a degraded father in the lowest 
 walks of life. But he has gained rapidly from that time, and 
 I can see he possesses the elements of a character of great 
 power. His wife has not kept pace with his advancement, 
 having been too closely occupied in striving to please her 
 husband, whom she fears like a tyrant, in taking care of 
 her children, and guiding the affairs of her household. I 
 never compassionated woman more than this amiable, timid 
 wife of a man who is gaining the higher rounds of life 
 with the strides of a giant, and leaving her far behind, 
 without sympathy, love, or consolation. To no one does she 
 evince such inferiority as to her husband ; the very sight of 
 his handsome, athletic figure, his keen, deep-set eyes, the com- 
 pression of his wide, thin lips, oppresses her to absolute noth- 
 ingness. But she loves him to adoration ; none can doubt it 
 who ever heard her speak his name, or saw the tear tremble 
 in her eye when he turns away from her with ill-concealed 
 scorn at her failure to exactly meet his requirements in some 
 domestic arrangements. 
 
 " Yesterday they received company, as is frequently the 
 case, for Mr. Phanuel has the ungrudging hospitality of a 
 Southron. A gay, dashing, intellectual lady was among 
 the visitors, who banished every other woman in her presence 
 into shadow. She could say anything in the most au fait 
 manner, and entertain the gentlemen with conversation upon 
 politics, the last fashionable book, metaphysics, or music,
 
 EDIXHHALE. 63 
 
 one of that class of women who remind us of Lady Blessington 
 and George Sand. She was dressed with great elegance, I 
 suppose (for, though I never notice the details of a lady's 
 attire, I have an impression of the tout ensemble), and was 
 altogether suggestive of the green lizard, which, whenever it 
 sees a man, seems to take pleasure in displaying the brilliance 
 of its eyes and its gorgeously-colored scales. 
 
 " This lady attracted Mr. Phanuel exceedingly, as all could 
 see, and more especially his wife. He never unbends from 
 his frigid dignity enough to actually flirt, or flatter the ladies ; 
 but for once he forgot his scheming, and became moved, ab- 
 sorbed, almost entranced, with the charms of this siren. His 
 eyes followed her superb figure everywhere ; and I thought he 
 had at length found one object for which he could summon no 
 criticism for improvement. Mrs. Phanuel looked on, as the 
 shipwrecked mariner, who sees the haven of all his earthly 
 hopes rapidly receding from his view ; she looked as Iphigenia 
 with the high-headed Electra in pursuit of her with a fire- 
 brand, trembling, scared, unknowing whither to turn for succor. 
 If I had not been a clergyman, I should certainly have donned 
 the character of Orestes, and appeared in her aid. Such 
 women as this fascinating stranger fail to attract me, for I 
 am used to them well. I met hundreds during my college 
 days, and, after falling in love once or twice, and finding my- 
 self a fool to be laughed at by them, I steeled myself with the 
 armor of polite indifference ; and she knew I was not her 
 dupe as well as I did, for all such women are fully conscious 
 where they rivet their chains. She doubtless voted me a
 
 64 EDITH II ALE. 
 
 stupid theologian, who had only a talent for dogmas and 
 clerical reserve. 
 
 "It is said, the mother of Achilles dipped him when an 
 infant in the waters of the Styx, which made him invulnerable 
 everywhere except in the heel, by which she held him ; and, 
 thanks to your watchful care, dear mother, I think I was 
 rendered invulnerable in my boyhood, except in my heart, by 
 which you held me. For I have found one of your sex in 
 this quiet country place who already interests me unusually. 
 She is the only daughter of a widow reduced from former in- 
 dependence to humble circumstances. I sometimes assist her 
 in her studies, and she listens to me with such delicate 
 attention, and expresses her ideas with so much conciseness, 
 yet with unusual intelligence, that well, I have no words 
 that can express the manner of Edith Hale. At least, I know 
 she is the incarnation of purity and beauty. But lam not in 
 love. No ! have no fears for me in this connection. I will 
 say, however, had I a fortune, and were the master of my 
 actions, independent of what the world would say of me, I 
 never saw one whom I should prefer for a life-companion 
 before this young girl. Her mother, a dignified and highly- 
 cultivated woman, reminds me of yourself; so calm, and 
 serene, and thoughtful for one's interests. 
 
 " You ask me : ' My son, have you forgotten your parish ? ' 
 I should have written of this before. The people seem very 
 kind and considerate, and I think they are proud of me. It 
 is somewhat of a task, as many a minister has found it before, 
 to go around among all of them indiscriminately, aud smile,
 
 EDITIIIIALE. 65 
 
 and inquire, and make myself their property. I do it, how- 
 ever, with as good grace as possible ; for I feel desirous to 
 accomplish a great amount of good, and already feel no little 
 interest in the spiritual welfare of many of my people. I 
 know I should be happier were I at the head of a nourishing 
 parish in the city, and feel within a capability for much higher 
 things than I am called upon at present to perform. But I 
 do not have to make half the effort I should feel obliged to in 
 a position of greater responsibility. The committee have 
 agreed upon my salary at seven hundred dollars, and Mr. 
 Phanuel tells me he shall not take any pay for my board ; but 
 adds, ' Don't tell the parish, for they won't think it necessary 
 to give you so much, if they hear of it.' How can I find fault 
 with a man who is so liberal to me as this ? 
 
 " You would like a description of my sanctum sanctorum ! 
 Well, here is my study : A spacious chamber, with windows 
 looking upon one side over a beautiful lawn in front of the 
 house, skirted with grand old trees, which afford a delightful 
 shadow between me and the white houses opposite. And 
 when they sough heavily in the night-winds, I am reminded, 
 between my dreams, waking and sleeping, of those old scyca- 
 mores in our own yard at home, whose deep volume of sound 
 I used to liken, you remember, to the funereal chant of the 
 billows for the dead who were slumbering down in the hollow 
 caverns of the ocean. My windows at the south open on a 
 large garden, which, a little later, will flourish under the care 
 of the gardener. The house is so elevated that I can see in the 
 distance a very fine landscape of water, lowland, and wood, 
 6*
 
 66 EDITHHALE. 
 
 while across one interval the buildings of an adjoining town 
 are visible. Within my room are pictures, lounges, easy- 
 chairs everything to make me comfortable. My books; 
 the portrait of yourself, and my writing apparatus, alone 
 remind me of my old identity. Adjoining my study is my 
 sleeping apartment, and the spot which I have consecrated 
 the altar of my devotions. That is the only place which is 
 truly my home ; there I meet Him whom my soul loveth, who 
 blesses, reproves, strengthens, and forgives." 
 
 As the young minister more fully realized his responsibili- 
 ties, and became, consequently, deeply interested in his people, 
 every unpleasantness connected with his situation was merged 
 into the magnitude of his glorious work. His sermons were 
 inspired with searching power, and his prayers were offered 
 with new fervor. 
 
 Every preacher has some key-note to his religious faith and 
 teachings ; and the theme of Mr. "Wellmont was oftenest the 
 love of God, which he presented in all the beauty and distinct- 
 ness of his own love, and with that effective application which 
 convicted the conscience and touched the heart. Those long 
 hardened by worldly cares, and those devoted to the gayety 
 and pleasure of youthful life, were alike attracted to listen, 
 and, before they had noted whither their interest was tending, 
 their hearts were softened into contrition and tears. He 
 preached nothing to excite mere sensual terror and dread, but 
 won his hearers to look upward, believe, and live. 
 
 Meetings were held in the evening, to which the young and
 
 EDITH HALE. 67 
 
 the old, the man of leisure and the weary laborer, came and 
 gathered manna from heaven ; and the song of praise and 
 rejoicing went up on the still summer air, reminding of that 
 strain of the poetical prophet : " Ye shall have a song, as in 
 the night when a holy solemnity is kept, and gladness of heart, 
 as when one goeth with a pipe to come into the mountain of 
 the Lord." Above all the voices could be heard that of 
 Father Shaw, who not always sung correctly, but sung from a 
 full heart, and the good old tunes suffered little diminution 
 of pathos or power.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 EDITH'S FRIEND. 
 
 IT was a Saturday evening in early June when Edith 
 returned from her labor before the usual time, as was the cus- 
 tom on the last night of the week, and with a heart full of 
 hope in anticipation of the coming hours of blessed rest. 
 There had been a shower that afternoon, and the earth lay 
 bathed in luxuriant beauty, which made it peculiarly grate- 
 ful to those who had been bound to the monotony of toil 
 during the long days of the week. The ground was flecked 
 with the white leaves of the blooms of the trees, brought down 
 by the wind like a light sprinkle of snow-flakes ; the air was 
 full of the melody of the evening birds, and all nature 
 seemed to rejoice in the renewal of freshness and strength. 
 
 Maria Weston walked beside her, with that listless, dreamy 
 air, which, of late, had taken the place of her old light- 
 heartedness ; and when Edith reached her home she paused a 
 moment and said, " See ! the stars are just coming out. 
 How grand is the idea that God has created so many systems, 
 and preserves all their revolutions in perfect harmony ! " 
 
 " Yes ! " replied Maria, yet without looking upward ; " and
 
 EDITH HALE. 69 
 
 I think their Creator is too lofty, and has too many worlds to 
 oversee, to mind such a poor creature as I am." 
 
 " Not a sparrow falls to the ground without his notice ; 
 and are you not of more value than many sparrows ? " said 
 Edith. 
 
 " I know it," pursued Maria ; " but, since I have begun to 
 think, I can't ever make it seem that God cares anything 
 abotit me. Nor can I tell what there is in my soul that seems 
 like a light struggling up through the gloom for something 
 brighter and vnore glorious than I can be ; for my life sweeps 
 it away as a daup wind blows out a lamp, and leaves me in 
 greater darko'j/s than before." 
 
 " Nothing lull keep that light burning so steadily as 
 prayer," rep'ied Edith. 
 
 There wa& a greater yearning for a brighter life in the heart 
 of Maria than Edith imagined. A light, indeed, sometimes 
 shone in her soul till every dark corner was illumined with the 
 brilliance of hope ; as we read that the fungus rhizamorpha 
 vegetates in dark mines, and, lighting up the roofs and 
 walls, overcasts those places with the appearance of an 
 enchanted castle. Whether this light should be found trimmed 
 and burning at the last, or smothered hopelessly out, was a 
 problem time only could solve. 
 
 As Maria walked on to her own home, Edith stood a 
 moment looking after her, with that peculiar impression of 
 calamity which one sometimes feels, without apparent reason, 
 in connection with an object of solicitude. It was as if the 
 angels had parted the curtains of the mysterious future for
 
 70 EDITHHALE. 
 
 an instant, through which she had caught a glimpse of 
 successive vistas of gloom, with pendent stalactites of frozen 
 tears. 
 
 " Your friend, Mary Pickering, has been here this after- 
 noon," said Mrs. Hale, on the appearance of Edith, " and 
 wished you to come to her to-night. I have to call upon a 
 sick friend, and some business to transact in the village, and 
 shall not return till late in the evening ; so I engaged that 
 you should go." 
 
 " I shall be very glad to see her, more especially that she 
 has been away so long," said Edith. 
 
 " She has returned much improved, so that I hardly recog- 
 nized her," said Mrs. Hale ; " but you will soon see her for 
 yourself," she added, in reply to Edith's look of interroga- 
 tion. 
 
 A few minutes later, Edith stood at the door of Mr. 
 Pickering, awaiting an answer to her summons. Many 
 times had she stood thus, but not before since the great 
 changes in her fortune ; and, as she heard the sound of the 
 piano within, and saw the light stream brilliantly between 
 the crevices of the heavy damasks and laces of the parlor- 
 windows, the contrast of her own life associations fell heavily 
 upon her heart. The door was opened by the housekeeper, 
 a correct barometer of the feelings of those whom she 
 represented ; who met her, not with the friendly recognition 
 of old, but stood irresolutely, and waited as for the delivery 
 of an errand.
 
 EDITHUALE. 71 
 
 " Are not the ladies at home ? " inquired Edith, surprised 
 at the singular manner. 
 
 " Yes ; but they are very much engaged this evening." 
 
 " But Mary will see me ; will you show me to her ? " 
 
 " Wait, and I will inquire," replied the housekeeper, turn- 
 ing away. But, presently returning, she said that the girls 
 were all engaged, and wished to be excused. A heavy blow 
 could not have struck Edith's sensitive heart more forcibly. 
 She suddenly divined the whole truth ; and, as she heard 
 the door shut sharply behind her, she raised her hands to her 
 face to repress the gushing tears. The time had been when 
 Mrs. Pickering and her daughters had regarded the society 
 of her parents and herself as an honor which no pains were 
 spared to retain. 
 
 " Edith ! is that you, darling ? " now spoke a voice half- 
 hushed from one of the attic windows. Edith turned, while 
 her hand was upon the gate, and in the moonlight perceived 
 the face of her friend Mary, far out of the window, and 
 with her long hair sweeping down to her waist, not bright 
 and curling, but straight and dark, and suggestive of Night, 
 " the genesis," as the Orphean fragments say, "of sorrow and 
 gloom." 
 
 " Do come in at once," said Mary ; " I never was more 
 glad to see you." 
 
 " I must not," replied Edith. 
 
 " I thought you had come on purpose to stay a while 
 with me ; and I was feeling so lonely, too ! " said Mary, 
 reproachfully.
 
 72 EDITH DALE. 
 
 " I did come to see you ; but Gillis told me you were all 
 engaged, and I would rather not go back now." 
 
 " Well, this is very strange," replied Mary ; " but just wait 
 a minute, and I '11 join you, presently." 
 
 Edith and Mary were friends of a long standing, and had 
 always been on such excellent terms as to share each other's 
 joys and sorrows with more than the love and sympathy of 
 many sisters. Mary had been absent on a long visit at her 
 grandfather's, and their intercourse had, therefore, been inter- 
 rupted ; only brief notes, expressing their mutual friendship, 
 had of late passed between them. In the mean time, Mrs. 
 Pickering and her daughters had passed Edith everywhere, 
 without manifesting any consciousness of her presence. She 
 had thought their changed manner was attributable to mistake 
 or accident ; for she did not fully realize that a large number 
 of people are so weak-minded as to estimate others and grade 
 their notice of them by factitious circumstances. 
 
 The two friends met with kisses and ardent protestations of 
 affection. 
 
 " It is so pleasant to see you once more," said Mary, 
 drawing Edith's hand within her arm ; " and I have so much 
 to tell you of what has happened in my visit, for the best 
 things I saved from my letters to tell you." 
 
 " I am glad you are happy, dear Mary," said Edith, 
 repressing a sigh. 
 
 " I have almost always been so sad ; and I am now, when 
 I think of you. But I know, Edith dear, something must 
 come up soon in your favor."
 
 EDITH HALE. 73 
 
 Edith shook her head sorrowfully. 
 
 " I think so," continued Mary, " because I am so much 
 happier myself than what I was. You know how much I have 
 suffered, all my life ; how the girls have always despised me, 
 and said I ought never to show myself to anybody, I was so 
 foolish and plain-looking ; and how I have been so miserable 
 sometimes, had it not been for you, I should have preferred to 
 walk down into the river, and bury myself from misery ! " 
 
 " 0, not that ! " exclaimed Edith. " It is very painful 
 to hear you talk thus, dear Mary ; tell me something of 
 your visit." 
 
 " Well, I went up to grandfather's because ma was expect- 
 ing company from the city, and, as she was very anxious 
 to have everything appear in the best manner, she thought I 
 had better be away ; and, having scarcely left home before, I 
 was, as you know, not sorry to leave. The visitors were to be 
 a Mr. Raymond, an aged man, of great importance in the 
 commercial circles of Boston, and his son. Mr. Raymond 
 had transacted business with grandfather and father for many 
 years, arid owns estates of which they are in charge ; but he 
 had never been to AVaterbury before. In prospect of his 
 death, he wished to induct his son more thoroughly into his 
 affairs, so that he might hereafter assume his business position. 
 The girls were very much elated at the prospect of such a 
 guest as the young man ; for he is known to be heir pros- 
 pective to immense wealth, and is much esteemed in the 
 most select societies of the city. But, as it happened, the old 
 gentleman thought best to send his son to grandfather's, in- 
 7
 
 74 EDITH IIALE. 
 
 stead of taking him to Waterbury ; for he found his health 
 inadequate to going that distance himself. So the elder Mr. 
 Raymond only came here, very much to the disappointment 
 of our family ; and, after remaining a day or two, returned." 
 
 " Yes," said Edith, " it was the same gentleman, I think, 
 who called upon us with your father. He made very partic- 
 ular inquiries about us, and asked to see father's picture ; 
 accounting for his interest by the fact of having known his 
 parents many years ago. We thought it rather singular he 
 should notice us so much, for he waited till I returned from 
 the factory to see if I resembled my father, he said. And, 
 when he went away, he looked quite saddened." 
 
 " His friends are almost all dead," said Mary ; " and his 
 son told me his father was often low-spirited, and was a sin- 
 gular man about dwelling upon the past. He said he was 
 sometimes so hypochondriacal he would not get any sleep for 
 many successive nights." 
 
 " Then you made the acquaintance of his son," said 
 Edith. 
 
 " 0, yes, indeed; and that is the cream of what I shall tell 
 you by and by. I went up to grandfather's, expecting to be 
 miserable all the while ; for I did n't suppose they would like 
 to have me there more than they do at home. But they were 
 so glad to see me, and talked to me so lovingly, I cried out 
 the very first thing. Then they were distressed to see me feel 
 so badly for no apparent reason, and charged me with home- 
 sickness. I assured them of my content, and presently got 
 cheerful again ; it seemed so good to have them care for me,
 
 EDITH DALE. 75 
 
 and call me their darling Mary ! They live in a grand old 
 house, with such a parcel of queer furniture and antique curi- 
 osities, I had no lack of entertainment. 
 
 " During my visit I was invited to go out often," continued 
 Mary ; " and, at first, I refused ; for, to confess the truth, 
 dear Edith, I was provided with such a scanty and poor 
 wardrobe, I was ashamed to appear before strangers. As you 
 know, I am never allowed to dress nearly as well as my sis- 
 ters ; I either wear their cast-off clothes, or the cheapest new 
 ones ; and ma said I did not require anything more to go away 
 with, they were such a quiet, plain sort of people thereabouts. 
 I soon found it was very different. Then, too, there was Mr. 
 Horace Raymond, who came there on the day after I did, 
 and quite unaccountably prolonged his visit much later than 
 he at first gave out, and in fact until he was summoned home 
 by his father. When I had refused several times to accept 
 his invitations, grandma took me to task to know the reason. 
 I did n't like to tell, for fear she would blame my mother ; 
 but when I was compelled to excuse myself on account of my 
 lack of dress, grandma nodded her head several times in her 
 peculiar way that she has when she gets resolute ; and that 
 very afternoon she took me with her to a large town adjoin- 
 ing, and selected with me a pretty spring silk and a cashmere, 
 which, by her skilful planning, were soon after ready for wear." 
 
 " And so after that you went with Mr. Raymond whenever 
 he asked ? " said Edith, smiling. 
 
 " Not quite that ; but when I did go I was not so much 
 mortified that I could not speak or act myself at all. I had
 
 76 EDIT II HALE. 
 
 scarcely bestowed a thought upon my dress before ; yet, when 
 I found myself received by people with kindness and atten- 
 tion, I wished to look as pleasing to them as I could. And, 
 Edith, I never once felt like going by myself to cry for 
 ill-words, or like taking down my hair for the dreadful head- 
 ache ! " 
 
 " I thought I saw your hair down to-night," said Edith ; 
 " not sad again so soon, dear Mary ? " 
 
 " Not very. But, when I am at home alone, and I hear the 
 music below stairs, and the girls singing or chatting with their 
 company, it is such an old habit of mine to unbind my hair 
 that I may think and cry easier, it is difficult to put it off 
 at once. But I don't think I shall ever feel so miserable 
 again." 
 
 They had walked on through the village, scarcely conscious 
 of their way, when they found themselves opposite a short 
 lane, which led down to a small house with which both were 
 quite familiar. 
 
 " Here we are almost at Mr. Linn's ! " exclaimed Mary. 
 " Let us go in for a few minutes, as it is not late. I shall be 
 especially glad to see them after my long absence." 
 
 " You must not forget to tell me more of Mr. Raymond at 
 another time," replied Edith. 
 
 " Well," said Mary, laughing, though a little confused, 
 " but I am anxious to see our new minister, from what you 
 wrote me of him. Do you continue to like him ? " 
 
 " Very much," said Edith ; " he seems unusually kind, and
 
 EDITH HALE. 77 
 
 has already called upon us several times." But her voice was 
 not now so steady as usual. 
 
 " How peaceful looks the old house, to-night ! " said Mary. 
 " I always think especial good angels guard the home of Mr. 
 Linn." 
 
 Mr. Linn was an aged minister, who, after preaching for 
 more than two-score years, was stricken with a paralytic affec- 
 tion, and from that time had been unable to move without 
 assistance. He had no children, and, owing to working in 
 various places under the unjust system of meagre salaries for 
 untiring labors of love, had not been able to accumulate any 
 property. But his wife had a small annuity now in her own 
 right, which, with the gift of the use of a cottage by Mr. 
 Parker, a prominent business man of Waterbury, and occa- 
 sional assistance from other benevolent persons, afforded them 
 a comfortable provision. 
 
 Having knocked for admission, the door was opened, after 
 considerable delay, by old Mrs. Linn, who only ventured to 
 look between the opening, as in the imperfect light she had no 
 idea of the identity of her visitors. 
 
 " Don't you know us, grandma ? " asked Edith. The old 
 lady now threw wide the door, and, extending both hands, 
 exclaimed, 
 
 " If this is n't Elith ! and Mary, too, I believe ! " 
 
 " Yes," whisperel Mary, " it 's me." 
 
 " I am so glad to see you," continued Mrs. Linn, preceding 
 them within her sitting-room. " Father, here are two young 
 friends called to see us once more," she said, laying her hand 
 7*
 
 78 EDITH HALE. 
 
 upon the old gentleman's shoulder, who sat with his back 
 toward the door, reading from a large book, by the light- 
 stand beside him. Bat, elevating his spectacles, he looked up, 
 and, seeing the two girls before him, smiled, and said, most 
 heartily, " God bless you, my dear children! I thought you 
 had forgotten me." 
 
 " No, indeed ! " exclaimed Mary ; " that would be the last 
 thing we could do, Mr. Linn ; I have been away from home 
 for some time." 
 
 " And I have been away from myself," said Edith, sadly. 
 
 " Dear child ! " exclaimed Mr. Linn, " we have often had 
 you in our hearts, of late." 
 
 " And it is so pleasant to see you both once more ! I don't 
 know what we should do, if it were not for seeing the faces of 
 our friends once in a while," said Mrs. Linn, now emerging 
 from the bedroom, with a clean apron, which she was tying 
 round her wai*t. 
 
 " And how do you find your health now, sir ? " inquired 
 Edith of the old gentleman. 
 
 " Not much changed ; only my pain has rather increased 
 of late, owing to the damp weather, I think." 
 
 " I am so sorry ! " exclaimed Mary. 
 
 " No ; it 's all right. I have just been reading in that 
 blessed book," laying his shrunken hand upon the Bible, " 'As 
 many as I love, I rebuke and chasten.' These afflictions are 
 good for me, children. They make me feel humble before 
 God, and bring me very often to him in supplication. If I 
 had the use of my limbs, and were as well as others are, I
 
 EDITUHALE. 79 
 
 might get to living in my own strength ; and so, by my 
 rebellion, grieve my blessed Lord and Master." 
 
 " Not with your goodness, Mr. Linn," observed Edith. 
 
 " Little do you know how my proud heart once was ! " ex- 
 claimed the old man. " As I sit here, day after day, and 
 year after year, I often think how much I used to believe I 
 could do. I would tell of laboring for the Lord ; of doing 
 this and that for the glory of Christ. But, as soon as he put 
 forth his hand and touched me, I could neither work for 
 myself nor others. Who may stand before the mighty power 
 of God ! Who may add one beam to the glory that filleth 
 the universe ! " 
 
 The girls looked upon the old man with admiring awe ; for 
 he spoke upon his favorite theme. His countenance was 
 radiant with the inward light of his soul, and he seemed 
 transfigured to an angel.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MAJOR OLIA'ER. 
 
 MR. WELLMOXT had acquired a habit of calling upon 
 Father Shaw early, on almost every week, as the old man made 
 no scruples of telling him unreservedly what he thought of 
 his sermons on the preceding Sabbath. Every public man 
 likes to know the impression which he makes upon the minds 
 of men, and sensible people regard it a privilege to be told 
 with candor what judicious observers think of their efforts. 
 Isolated and unguarded indeed is that minister who has no 
 wife to criticize his words and deeds, or numbers no family 
 friend among his parishioners. The wives of some men think 
 all their husbands say is beautiful ; and a critique sound and 
 sensible would be to them as a " lamp despised in the thought 
 of him that is at ease." Other wives never hear anything so 
 satisfactory from their husbands as from others, and delight 
 in nothing so much as a continuous strain of accusation. 
 Father Shaw was the only one on whom Mr. Wellmont de- 
 pended for a knowledge of his labors ; and faithful was he to 
 this dependence, which was never confessed, but tacit and 
 implied.
 
 E D I T II H A L E . 81 
 
 On a Monday morning, not long after his ordination, he 
 dropped in upon Father Shaw, as usual, being on his way to 
 visit a parishioner whom he had missed at church, and who, 
 he was informed, was ill. The place of his destination was 
 about three miles beyond the village, and he had started to 
 walk, designing to make several calls by the way. But Father 
 Shaw would not consent to his walking that distance. 
 
 " You shall wait till I tackle my Hagar inter the chaise ; 
 she 's been standin' in the barn doin' nothin' for a long time. 
 I 've had so much to do I could n't use her, and she needs to 
 stretch her legs," he said, taking his hat, and hastening to the 
 barn. 
 
 During his absence Miss Leah presented herself, and, with 
 her accustomed directness, said : 
 
 " I wish to inquire of you about the state of feeling in 
 this place. I noticed some of the young people were not so 
 attentive in meeting yesterday as they should be, and a few 
 of their parents fail to set a proper example in this respect." 
 
 Mr. Wellmont replied complacently, for he had accustomed 
 himself to her peculiarities ; but he was not unwilling to 
 leave, as he saw her father coming round with the horse and 
 chaise. On going out, Miss Leah followed, with one or two 
 other allusions to duty, mentioning several families on his 
 way which had not been looked after for some time. 
 
 " There ! " said Father Shaw, handing the reins to Mr. 
 Wellmont, " she '11 take you over as slick as a mill, ef you only 
 keep the right side on her."
 
 82 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " But you had better have a care, for she 's rather upish 
 when she has n't been used for a while," said Miss Leah. 
 
 " No, you need n't," said her father ; " Ilagar 's gentle as a 
 cow, ef you manage her right. Some like my Leah, here; 
 stiddy and tame ef you keep in with her, but rather onsartin' 
 ef you raise her dander by cuttin' her the wrong way." 
 
 Miss Leah now walked directly into the house, closing the 
 door sharply behind her, and Mr. Wellmont intimated to 
 Hagar it was time to start. No sooner did she feel the move- 
 ment of the reins, than she started off in high dudgeon, as if 
 " bound to have a time," tossing her head to snuff the wind, 
 and turning it to the right and left, with the apparent intent of 
 eying out every foe in ambush by the way. She was a white, 
 delicate-looking creature, with great symmetry of limb, a mouth 
 as sensitive as a feather, an arched neck, with a mane flowing 
 low and jauntily, and, altogether, nervous to that degree the 
 least motion or sound disturbed her. Mr. Wellmont was not 
 one of those men who love a horse, and so easily acquire the 
 arts and graces of horsemanship. It was all he wished to do 
 to hold the reins, and that often in the most careless manner. 
 He was now, however, considerably aroused, perceiving that 
 the creature he was driving required close attention and 
 skilful management. He would have preferred to ride 
 slowly, in order to inspect the country by the way ; but his 
 wishes were evidently of not the least consideration with the 
 animal, for as soon as he slackened the reins she only went 
 the faster, and when he held stoutly she bore upon the bit 
 and trotted as fast as she could, just missing a gallop.
 
 EDITH HALE. 83 
 
 " To keep the right side of her, as directed," he mused, 
 " is impossible, for I can't even find it at all, much less keep 
 it. I have whipped her on the right side, the left, and be- 
 hind, but it all makes no difference. I say, as Cuddie said 
 of his 3Iause, ' Stop her wha can ! ' " 
 
 Scarcely had he concluded this thought, when he found the 
 chaise had suddenly struck against the underbrush by the 
 wall, and Hagar was leering and curveting about, apparently 
 uncertain whether to go on or to turn about. 
 
 " What now ? " he exclaimed, looking about on the opposite 
 
 side, and seeing nothing unusual. "Has the no, the 
 
 angel got into this horse ? " Perceiving that exclamations were 
 of no avail in the case, he alighted, and, taking Hagar by the 
 head, succeeded in leading her by. A new difficulty now 
 arose to regain his seat in the chaise, for she was bent 
 upon making up for lost time. As often as he attempted to 
 mount, he was forced back by the wheel ; but, keeping the 
 
 reins stoutly in his hand, he test escaped being left behind. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 At this juncture he perceived a young man advancing on foot, 
 
 and, waiting for him to come up as well as he could, obtained 
 his assistance, so that he was able to proceed. After a half- 
 mile, which was made with great rapidity, the road led over 
 the brow of a hill of some length, and in the ascent the 
 creature slackened into a reasonable speed. But, Mr. Well- 
 mont happening to sneeze pretty loudly, she took fright, and 
 started off again down the hill faster than ever. Draw- 
 ing the reins so that her head was twisted awry, with her 
 tongue protruding over the bit, and bracing his boots against
 
 84 EDITH II ALE. 
 
 the dashboard, with the expression of his countenance in 
 keeping, the aspect of his situation was not only slightly 
 ludicrous, but extremely critical. 
 
 Fortunately, at u short distance ahead, he saw a house at 
 which he designed to stop; and, aiming llagur directly into 
 tlie yard, brought her up at last, trembling und panting, at a 
 post. On seeing a horse driven thus furiously, some half a 
 dozen heads were planted before the windows, and the children 
 ran out in the greatest bewilderment ; but, ascertaining the 
 fast horseman was their minister, the wonder suddenly sub- 
 sided into awe, and all quickly scampered out of sight. 
 
 Within this house Mr. Wellmont met some persons who in- 
 terested him, so that he prolonged his call beyond his limit. 
 He was just rising to go, when he saw a carriage pass the 
 windows which greatly resembled that in which he rode. 
 Going quickly out, he perceived that Hagar had gone ; but, 
 to do her justice, she was carrying the chaise along quite 
 leisurely, with the reins hanging loosely on either side. He 
 now started off to overtake her by surprise ; and, as he came 
 carefully up, he spoke very softly and confidently. But the 
 creature evidently thought he was driving the jest too far ; 
 and at that instant, shaking her head knowingly, she set off 
 again, leaving her driver far behind. Mr. Wellmont fol- 
 lowed after, and what might be his precise reflections then 
 and thus, is yet unrevealed. Ministers are but men, and may 
 be presumed to have feelings, as well as others. Perhaps he 
 prayed ; if so, his prayer was heard j for he had not pro- 
 ceeded far before he saw, at some distance ahead, that all was
 
 EDITH HALE. 85 
 
 well ; for some persons had run out from a shop by the way, 
 and succeeded in mastering her. 
 
 " Quite providential, this escape," observed Mr. Wellmont, 
 as he came up, to the man who held his horse. 
 
 " Yes, I reckon 't is," replied the stranger. " I had such a 
 time myself, a while ago, only we got thrown out ; and, what 
 was the most wonderful, if my horse had run two rods further, 
 we should have been thrown on to a sharp rock I, and my 
 wife, and baby ; but, most providentially, we were thrown 
 right down into the soft mud." 
 
 Mr. Wellmont succeeded in reaching Major Oliver's 
 place, the limit of his ride, without further trouble of con- 
 sequence ; and, when he alighted at last, he felt very much as 
 Mahomet may be supposed to have felt when he rode on 
 his white horse, Alborak, to the third heaven in one night. 
 
 " I wish they had asses, instead of horses, in these parts, 
 as they had in Scripture times^ for Balaam could not have 
 been half so much disturbed, wnen his ass spoke, as I have 
 been to-day," said Mr. Wellmont to himself, as he was hitch- 
 ing Hagar stoutly to a post. 
 
 The place at which he stopped was the residence of a man 
 of middle age and a bachelor ; one of whom Byron says, 
 
 " He pays no rent, and has best right 
 
 To be the first of what we used to call 
 ' Gentlemen farmers.' " 
 
 The situation was retired, but located with singular beauty. 
 Around, at a short distance, were brave green hills, clothed
 
 86 EDITH HALE. 
 
 with waving grasses, and skirted here and there with orchard- 
 trees in full bloom ; while on one side was a range of lofty 
 wood, into which paths were broken to its inner recesses. 
 Between this and the grounds before the house was a lux- 
 uriant valley, through which ran a winding stream, losing 
 itself to the sight further down in a ravine amid the clumps 
 of trees. Bordering this valley was a row of silver-leaf trees, 
 interspersed with evergreens. At the southern side could be 
 seen a fine prospect of the buildings of a neighboring town. 
 Before the house were hedges of unchecked growth, over- 
 shadowed by tall lindens and sycamores. On every side 
 were clusters of fruit-trees, with their blushing and snowy 
 blossoms, giving the appearance of one vast garden of 
 flowers. 
 
 The exterior of the house impressed Mr. "Wellmont as a 
 combination of oddity, carelessness, and an elegance at once 
 massy and barbaresque. It was extensive, but, apparently 
 having been built at different times, presented no idea of 
 unity, but rather seemed a mass of irregularities. There were 
 gables, coignes, balconies, porticoes, stoops, and nooks, of 
 various descriptions. Portions of the building were of a soft 
 roseate stone-color, other parts of a deep brown, while the 
 window-sashes were black, with shutters of a deep green. 
 Everything about the premises seemed to have been arranged 
 with an eye to singular contrasts. 
 
 The door was opened to Mr. Wellmont by a smart Irish 
 boy, who, with an indefinite number of flourishes, conducted 
 the visitor to a receiving-room upon the north, which was
 
 EDITIIIIALE. 87 
 
 so darkened by the thick foliage of the trees and shrubs 
 about the windows, that at first the objects within were 
 scarcely definable. Though nearly the noon of the day, it 
 seemed a deep, perpetual twilight. While the servant had 
 gone to make report to his master, Mr. Wellmont amused 
 himself by glancing about him, for he soon discovered the 
 apartment was very singular in its arrangement. In the 
 centre of the room was an octagonal table, with curious 
 legs, of a fluted pattern, terminating in large brass claws, 
 and all connected by pieces of wood intertwisted with ser- 
 pents' heads. Upon this table was a cigar-holder of faience, 
 painted with designs of a Swiss dancing scene. There were 
 also, lying carelessly, as if recently used, pipes of a curious 
 Turkish pattern, with heavy cords, and tassels of crimson and 
 gold color. On two sides of the room the walls were covered 
 with book-cases, crowded with^j^umes, pamphlets, and news- 
 papers, arranged, evidently, without regard to proportion 
 or order, and looking here and there as if, at the merest 
 touch, they would totter to the floor. Beneath a bay-win- 
 dow with heavy mullions was a rude cage, containing gray 
 squirrels, looking as much out of keeping there, with the gay 
 tapestry carpet and rose-colored silken curtains, as a tuft of 
 coarsest wood-moss amid the choice exotics of a conservatory. 
 Upon the wall over the chimney-piece was a picture of a battle- 
 scene, and under this Mr. Wellmont saw upon the mantel 
 a mysterious-looking box, partly of glass and partly of wood, 
 from which he thought he heard a low, singular sound. 
 Upon approaching it, and looking more attentively, he saw
 
 88 EDITH HALE. 
 
 nothing within the glass but its flooring of cotton, and some- 
 thing which resembled a frog's leg. Placing his hand uncon- 
 sciously against the box, he was suddenly startled so that he 
 sprang backward with a leap, on seeing the head of a snake 
 thrust out within the glass from an aperture in the wood. The 
 snake, a huge, black creature, advanced with great boldness 
 and complacency. For a moment the minister and the snake 
 eyed each other attentively, when the latter ran out his red 
 forked tongue rapidly several times, and then withdrew him- 
 self from sight without further ceremony. 
 
 At this juncture the boy returned, offering to show Mr. 
 Wellmont to the major, who was in his private room. Through 
 various windings and turnings he followed, till he was ushered 
 into a large, lofty room, into which the full noonday sun shone. 
 The major sat before a smouldering fire, in his ordinary 
 dress-clothes (though a morning-gown hung within view), with 
 his back to the fire, and his head resting upon his folded arms 
 upon the back of his chair. On seeing Mr. Wellmont, he 
 arose, and, handing him his own chair, which proved a large 
 fauteuil, took another, and now sat with his face to the fire, 
 and with his limbs extended and resting on the shelf 
 above. 
 
 " How is your health to-day, sir ? " inquired Mr. Wellmont, 
 more definitely, after the first salutations. 
 
 "Oil 'm getting along ! decidedly mending ! No notion 
 of putting on night-cap and gown and going to bed ! " replied 
 the major, negligently, glancing from his half-closed eyes. 
 
 " Have you a fever ? " inquired Mr. Wellmont.
 
 EDITH HALE. 89 
 
 " A fever ! by no means, sir ! Do you think I should ever 
 have a fever ? " But, perceiving that Mr. Wellmont looked 
 as though he had made a discovery that he was talking with 
 a man a " little out," he added, emphatically, " There are no 
 fevers only what the doctors make." 
 
 " In your opinion, sir ! " said Mr. Wellmont, smiling. 
 
 " In my opinion ! Yes ; I know there are no fevers only 
 what are brought on by taking medicines ! " 
 
 "But do you take no medicines?" inquired Mr. Well- 
 mont. 
 
 " Never ! I would as soon take poison ; I mean the stuff 
 the doctors give. I have taken enough in the first part of my 
 life for all the rest. I tell you, sir, the doctors are a cursed 
 set every one of them only, perhaps, the surgeons ! " 
 
 " You have no opinion of consulting physicians, then," ob- 
 served Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 The major now stared at his visitor in earnest, rising from 
 his chair and folding his arms behind him. " After all, you 
 don't know me ! " he said, as if musing to himself. " I '11 
 tell you about it," he added, resuming his seat again. 
 
 " When I was about sixteen, I was ailing, and my mother, 
 being a famous hand for doctors, sent for them far and near 
 young ones and old ones, hot ones and cold ones, and all sorts. 
 And they dosed me, those infernal doctors did, with calomel, 
 and arsenic, arid lobelia, and the Lord only knows what not. 
 They kept on and on, plastering, blistering, physicking, vomit- 
 ing, and bleeding, till the strangest thing was, I had n't died. 
 But I had a strong constitution, the Olivers all have 
 8*
 
 90 EDIT II HALE. 
 
 strong constitutions, so I merely lived, while, all the time, 
 not one of their poisons came near hitting my complaint. One 
 night, after there had been a council of doctors over my case, 
 two were sitting in my room before the fire. It was cold and 
 stormy without ; but warm with oak-wood coals, and plenty 
 of wines and brandy, within ; so their tongues flowed without 
 reserve. They thought I was too insensible to hear them, I 
 suppose ; but in this they were mistaken. 
 
 " The stories of their experience they told, sir ! The 
 accounts of the experiments they made upon their helpless 
 victims ! More shocking than all, the influence which they 
 boasted they gradually acquired over silly women by their 
 fiendish arts ! My (rod ! it made my blood leap in my veins 
 to hear them. It made it leap so that I recovered, from that 
 night, without any more of their attendance." 
 
 " There are notoriously bad men in every profession," now 
 interposed Mr. Wellmont ; " but that should not prevent us 
 from forming a correct judgment of the majority." 
 
 " What I have said, I have said ! " retorted the major. 
 " There are, doubtless, well-disposed doctors, like our Dr. 
 Humphrey, but they are fools about curing people. They guess 
 and experiment ; if they hit the nail on the head, 't is well ; if 
 not, 't is all the same." 
 
 " But what means do you employ in sickness? " 
 
 " I am seldom sick, although I was injured then beyond 
 repair. When I am attacked, however, I abstain from eating 
 a mouthful till I get better ; take warm baths, perhaps ; some 
 harmless physic or astringent, as the case may require. But
 
 E D I T H II A L E . 91 
 
 it is better to try, if possible, and live so as to prevent sick- 
 ness. I never eat anything but meat, vegetables, fish, and 
 one or two kinds of wholesome fruit preserved ; it 's these fancy 
 breadstuffs and pastries that ruin people's health, assisted by 
 imprudent exposures." 
 
 " In that point, I agree with you," said Mr. "Wellmont ; 
 " but you cannot fail to believe that remarkable cures have 
 been effected by physicians ? " 
 
 " Nonsense ! asking your pardon, sir. These famous drugs, 
 which are pretended to bring about such great cures, are about 
 as potent as those which the French swallowed in the time of 
 an eclipse of the sun, in the seventeenth century, which were 
 vaunted by their inventors as remedies against the eclipse 
 disease. Why don't doctors cure themselves and their fami- 
 lies, if they can cure others ? I have known some of them 
 die of the very disease they pretended to cure. Garrick said 
 a good thing, when speaking of Sir John Hill, a writer of the 
 last century, an apothecary, and a great inventor of quack 
 medicines, who at last died of the gout, although he professed 
 to cure that disease. He said, 
 
 ' For physic and farces, his rival there scarce is ; 
 His farces are physic, his physic a farce is.' 
 
 " We may better do as the barbarians," continued the 
 major, " who wear scrolls containing verses from the Koran, 
 as a charm against injury, or as the Romans suspended from 
 the necks of their children their bulla, to avert the effects of 
 the evil eye, than to dose ourselves with these poisonous
 
 92 EDITH HALE. 
 
 medicines. Or more reasonably may we derive greater profit 
 from careful observation of nature, as the Kamktschadales 
 watch the bears when wounded, to sec what leaves they 
 gather with which to cure the wound, and what method they 
 pursue for recovery when otherwise diseased." 
 
 " But the study of medicine is a science," observed Mr. 
 Wellmont, " which holds an importance equal, and, perhaps, 
 superior, to other sciences ; it does not admit of comparison 
 with the practices of superstition, or animal instinct." 
 
 " 0, yes ! I have read bodks upon books upon the science 
 of medicine; upon hygiene, dietetics, pathology, nosology, 
 semiotics, diagnostics, prognostics, therapeutics, pharmacy, 
 clinics, and the whole jaw-breaking set of mummery ! It all 
 amounts to tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee; and the whole 
 should be classed under one .generic term of toxicology, which, 
 as you know, treats entirely of poisoning. Solomon was the 
 wisest man, and the best physician who ever wrote upon 
 medicine. He said, after he had examined all the lying 
 vanities of earth : ' Then I commended mirth, because a man 
 hath no better thing under the sun than to eat, and to drink, 
 and be merry.' Now, that was the most sensible prescription 
 ever written for the benefit of man." 
 
 " It hardly reached the diseases of the body, however." 
 
 " Indeed, sir, it did ! A merry heart and a contented mind, 
 wholesome eating and water drinking, assist more in the 
 making of a healthy body than anything else. And I 've 
 noticed there are few things which make one so unhealthy as 
 hatred. Those persons who are always peaking about after
 
 EDITH HALE. 93 
 
 other's faults, and who try to take such care of the whole 
 world, as a natural result neglect themselves, and are almost 
 invariably dyspeptic and jaundiced." 
 
 Mr. Wellmont was compelled to laugh, despite himself, and 
 the major continued, in another strain : " One reason, out of 
 several, why I never married, was the fear I should get a 
 woman who would have a doctor's horse forever hitched at my 
 posts. Such women are plentiful, you know, sir ; and they 
 are perfect bugbears to me ; these delicate, spleeny creatures, 
 who love their dear family physician infinitely better than 
 their husband, and would be mad enough to pull his hair if 
 he attempted to say the doctor could by any possibility do 
 wrong. I had no idea of leaving offings so that when I came 
 home and went to my room, I should find a smooth-tongued, 
 keen-eyed fellow holding my wife's wrist in his fingers, and 
 gazing into her eyes to see a reflection of himself, while he 
 impressed that same image on her heart ; and, then, seeing him 
 poke about among my shelves, and knowing altogether more 
 about my household affairs than I did myself. How so many 
 men submit to these things, I can't divine. They have less 
 spirit than I have, or they would pitch them out of their doors, 
 heels uppermost." 
 
 " As is usual with radical people," said Mr. Wellmont, 
 " you have merely represented one side of the picture, and 
 that in some of its darkest lights. If you had ever seen a 
 friend, apparently on the border of the dark valley, providen- 
 tially restored to health by the skilful treatment of a physi- 
 cian, you could not find heart for such words of accusation
 
 94 EDITH HALE. 
 
 against a profession generally so valuable to the human family. 
 In short, sir, I do not wonder that you are a bachelor." 
 
 The summons for dinner was now heard, and the conversa- 
 tion upon this topic was dropped. 
 
 The major conducted Mr. Wellmont into the dining-room, 
 which was a small room, with windows at one side opening 
 into a conservatory, filled with vines and plants, some of which 
 were luxuriously in flower. The walls were covered with 
 plain green hangings, bordered deeply with daffodils and moss- 
 roses. Upon the floor was a fine rice-straw matting, covered 
 at the centre with a cloth in imitation of the Japanese car- 
 pets, of a blackened blood-color, inwrought with silver flowers. 
 The sideboard was adorned with calabash dishes, cut-glass, 
 and plate, engraved handsomely and highly polished. 
 
 When dinner was concluded, the major inquired of Mr. 
 Wellmont if he would not like to go out and see his farm, and 
 what he had got upon it. 
 
 " Very much ; but you are ill to-day, and :> 
 
 " I am well enough to go out of doors, for I never keep 
 myself from the open air when I can help it." As they went 
 to the hat-tree for their hats, the major said, as he tried Mr. 
 Wellmont's hat (an invariable custom of his with his gentle- 
 man visitors, having a very large head himself), " I should 
 like to go hatless always, if fashion would by any means pro- 
 tect me from ridicule." 
 
 " You may remember," said Mr. Wellmont, " that the 
 Emperor Hadrian always walked without a hat, in all seasons 
 of the year."
 
 JEDITUUALE. 95 
 
 " I hope he was not bald," replied the major. 
 
 " I presume not, from the fact of his going with uncov- 
 ered head ; for baldness was very mortifying to a Roman." 
 
 " You see my evergreen hedges," remarked the major, on 
 going down his yard ; " they are scarcely trimmed at all. I 
 like to see everything growing in its natural luxuriousness." 
 As they passed the hedge, several fowls walked leisurely away 
 from under the branches and followed the major toward the 
 granary, their numbers increasing at every step, till a whole 
 troop, of almost every variety, had gathered closely about 
 him, expecting plentiful rations at the earliest opportunity. 
 The major stopped, and laughingly said to Mr. Wellmont, who 
 was looking on with intereg|^" These are my companions ; 
 they all take me to be one of themselves." 
 
 Having scattered grain bountifully, he caught a fair-sized 
 chicken and perched it upon his shoulder, suffering it to eat 
 kernels from his mouth and hands. 
 
 The lambs, pigs, and calves, were exhibited in order, all of 
 which the major evidently regarded with great pride and affec- 
 tion. They were made to display several feats in proof of 
 their docility and intelligence. 
 
 " I have a kind of millennium on my place," said he ; " my 
 creatures all love each other, and, if I get a new one, I soon 
 teach it to act in harmony with the rest. I never strike them, 
 or suffer my help to do so ; but I make them understand that 
 I love them, and they thrive and fatten upon this treat- 
 ment." 
 
 Mr. Wellmont was next shown the orchards, and made to
 
 96 EDITH HALE. 
 
 listen to voluminous explanations of the kinds of fruit-bearers, 
 the manner and season of engrafting, and a variety of other 
 kindred matters. 
 
 " Just yonder," said the major, pointing to an enclosure 
 beyond his garden, "is the burial-place of my family. 
 Around that monument sleep my father and his fathers 
 before him, my mother, and all her children except myself." 
 
 " And have you no relatives living, then, to inherit your 
 estate ? " inquired Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " One only a nephew ; but I have not decided about his 
 being my heir." 
 
 " I trust he is not unworthy ; but pardon the freedom of 
 my remark," said Mr. Wellmont, who had conceived an un- 
 usual interest in the affairs of the eccentric major. 
 
 " No, he is not unworthy, I think," said the major ; " but 
 I shall wait to prove him well before I decide. It is a 
 principle of mine to leave a young man to depend upon 
 himself, and try him thoroughly with the world. My nephew 
 was a poor boy, apprenticed out, never went to college ; 
 but he has got to be a famous lawyer and politician." 
 
 " You surely do not refer to the distinguished Hugh Oliver ? " 
 said Mr. "Wellmont. 
 
 " The same," replied the major, with evident pride. " I 
 have never helped him much, but I have watched him ; and, 
 if he comes out right at last, he will yet get paid for making 
 an effort." 
 
 " He already honors you much, and I predict he will 
 yet attain to some of the highest honors in the gift of his
 
 EDITHKALE. 97 
 
 country ; for he is not a demagogue, but a sound, able, con- 
 scientious advocate of what he deems right principles, at 
 least, I infer this from his public acts and his speeches," said 
 Mr. "Wellmont. 
 
 Much more did they converse in this manner, when, after 
 concluding their inspection of the grounds, they returned to 
 the house. On entering the library, the major said : " I have 
 one book which I esteem more highly than any other except 
 the Bible. I wish you to examine it." 
 
 Mr. Wellmont was puzzling himself whether a book with 
 such a distinction would be the works of Seneca, Confucius, or 
 " The Saint's Rest," when the major announced, with sober, 
 earnest admiration, " The ^listory of Waterbury." Sup- 
 pressing a smile, he took the proffered book for examination, 
 and began turning the leaves, where his eyes fell upon the 
 generations of Joneses, Howes, Greens, etc., and a few remarks 
 at the close containing local anecdotes, such as of the first 
 inhabitant who was struck by lightning, and of a boy who ran 
 away from the Indians and fell into a well. 
 
 " I love to read when all these people, whom I have so 
 long known, were married and born ; and of the dead," said 
 the major, as he wag turning to his own family record. " You 
 see my family are very ancient," he continued ; " my first 
 ancestors came to England with William the Conqueror. I 
 like the idea of ancient descent, and I think the Olivers are 
 traced back very clearly." 
 
 " In this respect," observed Mr. Wellmont, " you resem- 
 9
 
 98 EDITH HALE. 
 
 ble the Poles, who carry back their pedigree to a grandson 
 of Xoah." 
 
 " My ancestors were a very celebrated people," pursued 
 the major, " and I have many relics of their greatness." 
 He now went to a cabinet, and, unlocking the doors, took 
 out several mysterious-looking boxes, which he also un- 
 locked. 
 
 " There is a tooth which my great-grandfather had drawn 
 from his head, a head that held more wisdom than a pha- 
 lanx of ordinary men ; he was a great man in the province 
 under the king. Singular, is n't it ? " 
 
 " It is, certainly," said Mr. Wellmont. ' 
 
 " The fact is, it 's a monstrous tooth ! Did you ever hear 
 of one like it ? " 
 
 " I have read," said Mr. Wellmont, " in the grave of the 
 giant of Bashan was found a tooth that weighed four and a 
 half pounds." 
 
 The major was a little nonplussed at this. " But that 
 was in the days of the antediluvians," he said, after a 
 moment's hesitation. 
 
 " And when the Portuguese plundered Ceylon," continued 
 Mr. "Wellmont, " in a temple of magnificent structure they 
 found a singular tooth, enclosed in a casket of pure gold, for 
 the redemption of which the natives offered seven hundred 
 ducats." 
 
 "No money would tempt me to part with this," re- 
 marked the major, as he returned it carefully to its place. 
 
 " There are some spoons on which are the coat of arms of
 
 EDITH HALE. 99 
 
 the family. They belonged to my grandfather, who was a 
 member of Congress, and a great patriot ; and here," said the 
 major, throwing open the doors of an inner glass case with a 
 great flourish, " is a tea-set, for which my grandfather sent to 
 China, and had them made after his own design, with the 
 initials of himself and wife." 
 
 " A classical idea, indeed ! " said Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " It is an illustrious idea ! " exclaimed the major. " I don't 
 know about its being classical." 
 
 A pride of ancestry was evidently the major's weak point, 
 and Mr. Wellmont knew well how to humor it. 
 
 " I should have been a great man, myself, perhaps," said the 
 major, as he turned away 'item these ancestral relics, " only it 
 was too much work when I was young. I had rather stay at 
 home, master my creatures, tame foxes, weasels, and the 
 like, and think philosophy, than go to college and strive 
 among all sorts of men for a place in the world. All this 
 feverish ambition to do something wonderful is sheer folly. 
 The best way to live, as I have already said, is to take one's 
 comfort by the easiest possible method which is honest. 
 
 " You remind me of the words of the inscription upon the 
 statue of Sardanapulus," said Mr. Wellmont, who, by ..the 
 by, seemed even more than usually possessed with his natural 
 spirit of making learned allusions on this occasion. " The 
 hands of the statue, were crossed, as in the act of clapping. It 
 is this : ' Sardanapalus, son of Anacyndaraxes, built Archialus 
 and Tarsus in one day. But do you, stranger, eat, drink,
 
 100 EDITH 11ALE. 
 
 and be merry, as all other human pursuits are not worth this ! ' 
 alluding to the clapping of the hands." 
 
 " That is it ! " returned the major, with animation. " So 
 doiiitf, my life has passed happier than any king's. I don't 
 think a man lives who enjoys himself better than I do." 
 
 " I should not suppose you would enjoy such a household 
 companion-* as that I saw upon the chimney-piece in your 
 receiving-room," rejoined Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " 0, that snake ! Yes ; I like him vastly. I call him Sati, 
 and I believe the devil knows his own name. You know I 
 have an undoubted right to call him ' devil ; ' for the first one 
 of which we have account was a snake." 
 
 " Sati in the Sanscrit means pure," said Mr. Wellmont. 
 " I hope you do not trust so much to his purity as to ever 
 permit him to leave his cage ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I let him out often ; and he goes about the room, 
 poking his head into every crevice and cranny, and, some- 
 times, into the tops of my boots." 
 
 " Ugh ! " shuddered Mr. Wellmont. " You are almost as 
 bad as the people of Wydah, who worship snakes and have 
 them all about their apartments. To have such a hideous 
 thing as that about me ! Ugh ! he ran out his tongue several 
 times at me when I was in there." 
 
 " Snakes never like ministers ; he knew the difference 
 between you and me," said the major, now thoroughly filled 
 with laughter. Mr. Wellmont was confounded with the con- 
 tagious merriment of the strange man before him. 
 
 "0 dear!" said the major, subsiding a little; "this is
 
 EDITH HALE. 101 
 
 sanitary. It exceeds being packed in wet blankets. I am well 
 henceforth." 
 
 Many more curious things did the major display to his 
 guest, and could have fully engrossed his interest had he 
 remained till night; but, recollecting an engagement at an 
 evening meeting, Mr. Wellmont took his departure at an 
 early hour. 
 
 The capricious Hagar started decently on her way home- 
 ward, so that Mr. Wellmont was allowed a little time for 
 reflection. " Just the place, that of the major's," he mused, 
 " I would like for my own. It would be almost a paradise to 
 me. As he has so few heirs, if I manage well, he may remem- 
 ber me in his will." Then he fell to pondering on what he 
 should say that evening at the meeting ; and he wondered' if 
 he should see a certain interesting face, in a mourning bonnet, 
 among those who would attend. Just then, as he was pass- 
 ing the lane which led from Mr. Linn's, he saw a young lady 
 coming up, whom he recognized as Edith Hale. 
 
 He slackened the horse, and invited her to ride home. 
 She blushed, hesitated, and declined. But Mr. Wellmont 
 would not receive her excuses ; he alighted, not without con- 
 siderable difficulty, for the horse was very impatient at the 
 interruption, and assisted her to the seat, and, by unusual 
 agility, was able to resume his own place. There was some- 
 thing very exhilarating in his situation, and Mr. Wellmont 
 became conversational at once. As he gazed down and saw 
 her sweet face roseate with blushes, her large, dark eyes so 
 sad in their expression, yet animated with high resolve and 
 9*
 
 102 EDITH HALE. 
 
 intelligence, and heard her musical voice, suggestive of 
 a heart full of beautiful emotions, he thought, " I regret 
 that she is in such poverty; for she is certainly the most 
 charming young lady I ever met, and seems perfectly well- 
 bred." 
 
 He inquired for her mother. " My mother's health is fail- 
 ing very rapidly, I fear," she replied, in tremulous tones ; 
 " her misfortunes affect her seriously, and I dare not think 
 what may be the result." 
 
 Mr. Wellniont spoke words of consolation and S} T mpathy ; 
 for he was reminded of the death of his own father, of his 
 mother's struggles afterwards, and how he was enabled at last 
 to rise above all these afflictions, as he now believed. He 
 recounted incidents in his experience by which he had been 
 encouraged and directed ; and there is always exceeding inter- 
 est attached to such allusions from one who has established a 
 superiority of position. As they thus conversed together, 
 their hearts were attracted by mutual sympathies ; and that 
 mysterious magnetic influence which arises between persons in 
 the dawning of love was rapidly acquiring power and ascend- 
 ency over the ceremonies of a formal acquaintance. Edith 
 might have won too many glances of thrilling admiration to 
 recall afterwards in tranquillity, had they not suddenly arrived 
 at her home, all too soon, as both inwardly thought. 
 
 Hagar was wayward again at this bringing up at a strange 
 door when hastening home, and with difficulty Mr. Wellmont 
 was able to retain the least command. Edith, trembling with 
 fear, placed her foot upon the step of the chaise, when the
 
 EDITH HALE. 103 
 
 restive animal began to rear and plunge, going backward and 
 forward, till it seemed impossible to assist her to alight. At 
 the moment she attempted to descend the horse sprang for- 
 ward, so that Edith lost her balance, and, in spite of Mr. 
 Wellmont's efforts, she was thrown upon the ground, and the 
 wheel passed rapidly over her body. The horse, escaping 
 from all control, ran off in the direction of Father Shaw's. In 
 an agony of apprehension, Mr. Wellmont found Edith insen- 
 sible, while a stream of blood was issuing from her mouth, and 
 her face was livid as the hue of death. He took her quick ly 
 in his arms, and carried her to her mother.
 
 CHAPTEK VII. 
 
 A GLOOM WITH A SINGLE KAY OF LIGHT. 
 
 NATURE never sympathizes with human woe. Within a 
 kingdom of her own she sits, in royal robes, and sings, and 
 blooms, and expands in strength, regardless of that mightier 
 realm of mind which surrounds and permeates her heart like 
 light. As Edith lay with her hands crossed upon her bosom, 
 the hue of life gone from her cheeks, and the strength crushed 
 out of her frame, so lately elastic with youthful vigor, the birds 
 of summer carolled merrily in the old trees about the cottage, 
 the squirrels played in and out the wall at the foot of 
 the garden, and the flowers opened anew their beauty to the 
 day. But how still, how oppressively solemn, was the sick 
 room, where life and death strove for mastery ! Still, save 
 the sobs of the broken-hearted mother, who through all the 
 late fearful hours of insensibility had ministered, watched, 
 agonized, and prayed over her child, with the outward seem- 
 ing of composure; but when Edith, an hour before, had un- 
 closed her eyes once more, recognized her, and whispered the 
 single word " Mother," her heart yielded to its pent grief, and 
 she had wept without restraint.
 
 EDITH HALE. 105 
 
 Edith had lapsed into a slumber after a terrible struggle 
 with pain, and her mother knelt beside the bed, and, with 
 uplifted hands, cried to God in her heart, " Why hast thou 
 forsaken me ? " She had borne the many trials of her life, one 
 great grief after another, with the submissive faith and forti- 
 tude of one who grounds every hope upon the Rock of Ages ; 
 but this last blow which had fallen upon her darling child 
 seemed too great to bear. It was a fearful dream, whose 
 waking was yet a more fearful reality. Edith must wrestle 
 with her pain alone ; and she must stand by, behold, and yet 
 could in no wise become a substitute. No human love, save a 
 mother's equally strong ashers, could compass the depth of 
 her agony. 
 
 She was aroused from her grief by the quiet entrance of 
 Dr. Humphrey, who had scarcely left the sufferer from the 
 first. As he examined his patient, his face brightened, and 
 he whispered to Mrs. Hale, "Better, decidedly better; we 
 may have a single hope now." 
 
 " Heaven be praised ! " responded the mother, the tears 
 raining anew down her sunken cheeks. 
 
 " I have summoned a celebrated surgeon, upon my own 
 responsibility, to meet me here to-day," continued the doctor ; 
 " and I am in hopes he will agree with me that she has sus- 
 tained no serious injury." 
 
 " 0, doctor ! your kindness is overpowering ! I can never 
 repay you ! " exclaimed Mrs. Hale, fervently. 
 
 " Not a word, madam, not a word ! " And he went out 
 again, brushing the tears from his eyes.
 
 106 EDITH II ALE. 
 
 Once more did the mother strive with her wasting grief 
 alone ; and many of her old sorrows, whose bitterness had 
 sunk into her hearl years agone, returned again with new 
 freshness and power (for we are so constituted that a new trial 
 takes to its embrace every former one), and she saw before 
 her those whom she had long loved, but who were dead, or 
 were to her as silent as though in reality dead. The poor 
 widow had no relatives to soothe and sympathize with her. 
 Between her and those of her kindred blood a great barrier 
 stood, through which she could not pass, or even look. Yet 
 how often against that gate of brass had smote her heart 
 with prayer and tears ! A warm, deep, ardent love flowed 
 through her soul toward those with whom she had shared the 
 pleasure and blessing of a common paternal home; but for 
 years no answering love had come, no word of friendliness had 
 been exchanged. 
 
 " Was ever one afflicted as I am ? " she cried, in the ful- 
 ness of her agony. How many have uttered this wail of 
 woe ! From how many hearts yet unborn must go up these 
 words ! 
 
 A gentle tap at the door once more recalled her to herself; 
 and, on going out she admitted Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " I have seen Dr. Humphrey," he said, " and he told me 
 she was better. I could not stay away." 
 
 As he entered the sick room a slight breeze rustled the 
 curtains of the window, which sound awoke Edith ; and, as he 
 saw her look upon him with recognition, he took her hand 
 within his own, and pressed it to his lips. A new light awoke
 
 EDITH HALE. 107 
 
 in her sad eyes, and a faint color came to her cheeks ; but as 
 suddenly it faded. She closed her eyes to shut in the tears 
 that were stealing softly down to her boBom, and she trembled 
 with a returning sense of overcoming fear. 
 
 " Would to Heaven," said he, very much moved, " I could 
 bear myself the pain you suffer through my unfortunate 
 agency ! " 
 
 " Not that," murmured Edith very faintly, " but my dream ! " 
 
 " You can forgive me, Edith ? " inquired Mr. Wellmont, 
 bending lower over her. 
 
 She replied with a look of peace, while a smile of kind- 
 liness rested upon her pale face ; he seemed actuated by a 
 
 . 
 sudden impulse, and ben^nis lips almost to hers ; but, quickly 
 
 checking himself, he stood again erect and silent, retaining her 
 hand within his own, upon which he gazed abstractedly, as if 
 lost in thought. 
 
 " Is there nothing I can do for you ? Anything in my 
 power will not be too much for you to require," he said, at 
 length, to Mrs. Hale, who sat weeping convulsively. 
 
 " Pray for her," whispered Edith, brokenly ; " my pain is 
 nothing to hers." 
 
 Mr. Wellmont knelt in that room of sorrow, and offered 
 prayer for those stricken ones ; prayer so fervent, so kind, and 
 so true to their sufferings and necessities, that it seemed to 
 call down spiritual blessings, and make the path of trust and 
 patience more perfect to their recognition. Mrs. Hale thanked 
 Heaven for raising up such a friend in the time of the deser- 
 tion of those who had once been dearer than friends.
 
 108 EDITH HALE. 
 
 After this, hearing the steps of another visitor in the 
 next room, Mrs. Hale went out ; and Mr. Wellmont, as if 
 struck with some new.recollection, went to his hat, from which 
 he took a rare and beautiful bouquet, and placed it in Edith's 
 hand. She was too weak to raise the flowers ; but her glance 
 upon them expressed more than many words. 
 
 " They are cut mostly from some flowering plants which 
 were sent me by my mother, a few weeks since," he said. 
 " They were very dear to me, and therefore I bring them to 
 you." He paused, for his voice had deepened into peculiar 
 tenderness. It was a moment of tremulous bliss to Edith. 
 With the melody of those words of love sounding in every 
 chamber of her soul, she could have died like the breath of an 
 jEolian harp. 
 
 " Holy and fervent love ! had earth but rest 
 For thee and thine, this world were all too fair." 
 
 Much more Mr. "Wellmont would have said, as it seemed by 
 the expression he wore, had not Mrs. Hale reappeared with a 
 visitor, whom he did not at first recognize in the dim light of 
 the room ; but he soon heard a voice, with a rustle of silks, 
 which he knew belonged to Mrs. Witherell. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Wellmont! you, indeed! I declare you 
 frightened me ! " Then to Mrs. Hale she said : " I know you 
 told me some one was in here ; but I did n't understand. I 
 thought it was a lady, of course ! " 
 
 On going up to Edith, in her usual loud, assured voice, 
 Mrs. Witherell inquired how she felt, expressing much
 
 EDITH HALE. 109 
 
 commiseration, which, for the most part, seemed addressed to 
 Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " A great change," she observed to Edith, who was suffer- 
 ing new pain from the excitement produced by seeing one who 
 so thoroughly aroused and disturbed her, " from that horrid 
 factory to this still room, with so many in to see you." 
 
 " Not a pleasant or desirable change, by any means, Mrs. 
 Witherell," said Mr. "Wellmont, with a flush upon his brow. 
 
 " 0, I suppose the pain more than balances the pleasure of 
 so many attentions ! " she continued, glancing at the bouquet ; 
 " but I am one of those who think it a duty to look on the 
 bright side." 
 
 Mrs. Hale saw how rapidly Edith was getting worse, with 
 painful apprehensions ; but she durst not ask Mrs. Witherell 
 out ; for she seemed to hold it a condescension to come in at 
 all, and the poor cannot be scrupulous about such things. 
 Mr. Wellmont immediately took his departure, and Mrs. 
 Witherell sat down, with an evident determination of making 
 herself comfortable, loosening her bonnet-strings, and using 
 her fan violently, filling the room with a continuous, unpleas- 
 ant sound. Then, as she conversed, inquiring every par- 
 ticular about Edith's accident, she contrived to examine the 
 various articles of the room with careful scrutiny. Mrs. Hale 
 discovered this, and with new discomfort followed the glances 
 of Mrs. Witherell's eyes, and so spied a little dust upon a 
 moulding, one or two articles out of place, and several shreds 
 upon the braided carpet. She was also painfully reminded 
 of her poverty by means of this examination, for she could not 
 10
 
 HO EDITH HALE. 
 
 wholly forget the great contrast between her present style of 
 living and that of her past life. 
 
 In the few minutes of her call, Mrs. "Witherell's vision 
 seemed quite equal to that of the butterfly, on whose eye 
 Leeuwenhoek counted thousands of facets, each of which 
 was a full organ of sight. Edith became momentarily more 
 excited, and Mrs. Hale more anxious, when, to her relief, Dr. 
 Humphrey again appeared ; and, divining how matters were 
 at a glance, he whispered, almost savagely, " What is all this 
 fuss here for ? Don't you know Edith's life depends on her 
 being kept quiet ? " 
 
 " Is the case very critical, doctor ? " inquired Mrs. Wither- 
 ell, with her blandest smile. 
 
 " Very critical ! " he exclaimed ; " would n't you think your 
 case critical if the wheel of a chaise had gone over you, my 
 dear madam ? " 
 
 "I suppose I should," replied Mrs. Witherell, laughing 
 nervously ; then added, as she saw Mrs. Hale's distress : " It 
 is always my way, I may say my misfortune, to laugh when 
 anything ill happens. Before now, when my Simon has fallen 
 and hurt him, I have laughed till it seemed I never could 
 stop." 
 
 " I tell you all, this room must be still, still as a well," 
 said the doctor, holding wide the door. 
 
 " Well, I '11 go ! " said Mrs. Witherell. " But I had nearly 
 forgotten that I brought over something for Edith." As she 
 went out to the adjoining room for her package, Edith became 
 quite expectant ; for precious, indeed, is such a remembrance
 
 EDITH HALE. Ill 
 
 to the sick, and more especially to one in need. Mrs. Hale's 
 countenance fell as she saw Mrs. Witherell return with a 
 book. " I thought you would want something to read to 
 Edith, by and by," she said, " and I suppose you have n't 
 many books. It is the life of Luther, a most excellent and 
 instructive work. Just see that it does not get injured, and 
 return it at your leisure." 
 
 " There is an account of the Diet of Worms in it, is n't 
 there ? " inquired Dr. Humphrey, who could not resist the 
 temptation. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Witherell, " I believe there is ; though 
 it is some time since I read the book myself." 
 
 " Well, I '11 tell you," said the doctor, in a tone too low for 
 other ears than those for which his words were intended ; " it 
 is my honest opinion a diet of something else perhaps 
 blanc-mange, or a jelly would be more acceptable here." 
 
 " 0, you funny man ! " exclaimed Mrs. Witherell, regard- 
 ing the whole thing as an excellent joke. " But I must say 
 one thing more before I go," she added, going back to Edith, 
 who now lay moaning with pain. " I wish to caution you, and 
 you, Mrs. Hale, to be careful of appearances. Don't let too 
 many gentlemen in here, especially single gentlemen. If 
 Edith should lose her good name, it would be far worse than 
 losing her life." And thus she at last withdrew. 
 
 Many days of pain and tears went wearily by before Edith 
 became perceptibly better ; but gradually she gained a little 
 strength, and at last Dr. Humphrey gave his opinion that 
 she would quite recover in time. The bone which had been
 
 112 EDITH HALE. 
 
 broken in her shoulder had been successfully united; and 
 this proved to be the most serious injury. 
 
 Mary Pickering had persuaded her father to permit her to 
 remain with her friend continually ; and she had been a most 
 affectionate nurse to Edith, and a careful assistant to Mr?. 
 Hale. But, among the many who had shown their friendli- 
 ness in various offices of love during this season of distress, 
 no one had manifested a more earnest and constant interest 
 in Edith's case than Mr. Wellmont. When she had so far 
 gained strength as to be able to listen to reading, he came 
 almost daily with an entertaining book from his library, and 
 read aloud, pausing often to converse upon some topic of 
 interest suggested by the reading, or to explain an allusion to 
 the classical myths or historical facts with which his listeners 
 were unacquainted. At such times his manner was most at- 
 tractive and impressive, but always dignified, though devoid 
 of clerical restraints. 
 
 These hours were more precious to Edith than she was then 
 aware. The suffering she had endured seemed scarcely too 
 great a sacrifice for such exceeding pleasure as the society of 
 Mr. Wellmont afforded. The mother, well knowing the intri- 
 cate labyrinth of the human heart, observed these things until 
 she trembled for Edith's future peace ; and, when they were 
 quite by themselves, she ventured very kindly to caution her 
 not to let her heart presume too far upon this condescension. 
 Edith opened her sad eyes, as if at a loss to comprehend 
 her meaning. 
 
 " I mean, my darling," said Mrs. Hale, " in plain words,
 
 EDITH HALE. 113 
 
 that, having seen more of the world than you have, I fear, by 
 the interest you manifest in Mr. Wellinont, that he is becom- 
 ing too necessary to your happiness, especially if you must 
 by and by resign him to another." 
 
 " llesign him to another ! " repeated Edith. " He is not 
 mine to resign ; and, then, if he were, to what other do you 
 refer ? " 
 
 " I know of no one," said Mrs. Hale. " But that does not 
 relieve you of the necessity of being very careful not to have 
 him too much in your thoughts ; for, my dear child, you must 
 know that a man like Mr. Wellmont would never think of 
 uniting his destiny with our family." 
 
 No," said Edith, slowly and painfully; " and yet," she 
 d, " I have heard of great men selecting wives from as 
 humble life as mine. It is a maxim, ' Equality is no rule in 
 Love's grammar.' " 
 
 " Have you thought well of the great disparity between 
 Mr. Wellmont and yourself? " The mother's voice faltered. 
 " Heaven knows what you might have been, my child, had 
 justice been done me by my family, and your father not been 
 so cruelly defrauded. But I do wrong," continued Mrs. Hale ; 
 " God knows what is best for each of his children." 
 
 " Yes, dearest mother," said Edith, " if 1 had been en- 
 dowed with the advantages which many possess, I might have 
 been a simpleton, or so inflated with pride and vanity as never 
 to have been beloved. As it is, I have many dear friends 
 whose love I could ill afford to exchange for such a compen- 
 sation."
 
 114 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " I trust, Edith, you will be guarded in this matter of 
 which I have spoken," concluded Mrs. Hale. "You may 
 think you are perfectly secure now ; but I have seen so many 
 hearts wounded in a similar way, I cannot think of you with- 
 out fear. You will be alone in the world soon, and God 
 grant " the mother could not go on now. The idea of 
 separation was nothing new to her ; but Edith's look of dis- 
 tress appealed to her heart too strongly for her to over- 
 come. The thought came bitterly, " Had she so long strug- 
 gled with disease, and Edith deceived herself with fallacious 
 hope as to the inevitable result ? " 
 
 " I know you will get better soon," said Edith. " You have 
 over-exerted yourself for me, of late ; but, now that I am 
 regaining my health so rapidly, I shall soon be able to take 
 the place of nurse, and you will be yourself again." 
 
 " No ! " replied the mother, sadly ; " it is vain for me to 
 encourage you or myself any longer. The disease with which 
 I have long contended is overcoming me at last, and what I 
 have to do must be done quickly." 
 
 A short time after this, Mr. Wellmont came again, and 
 conversed so cheerfully and pleasantly, that Edith forgot her 
 mother's warning, and was not less interested than' ever. Be- 
 fore her illness, he had commenced instructing her in Latin, 
 and she was now so far recovered that the lessons were 
 resumed. Her progress had been rapid and thorough, so that 
 she had become able to translate in one of the advanced works 
 by the assistance of her teacher ; and, as they sat together, 
 Edith rendering the words and Mr. Wellmont looking after,
 
 EDITH HALE. 115 
 
 often glancing at the face of his pupil, so pale, yet so beauti- 
 ful with blushes when a word chanced to be stumbled over 
 falsely ; her brown, luxuriant hair put softly from her spirit- 
 ual forehead, and her large, dark eyes, radiant with love, yet 
 ever sad and reflective, it was no marvel that the mother, who 
 observed it all, was troubled. Edith was gifted with a voice 
 of peculiar sweetness ; it was not quick-toned and sonorous, 
 like the gay carol of a bird, but so calm and purely melodious 
 that the listener was wiled into a deep and serene enjoyment. 
 As Mr. Wellmont listened, he recalled a couplet from Horace : 
 
 " Both tongues united sweeter sounds produce, 
 Like Chian mixed with the Falernian juice." 
 
 Edith passed a moment to consult her lexicon, and he fell to 
 comparing the merits of their Latin author with those of 
 Milton. After several criticisms, as an example of Milton's 
 felicity of style and correspondence to his idea in point, he 
 repeated, with great impressiveness, betraying the language of 
 his own sentiments : 
 
 " For while I sit with thee, I seem in heaven, 
 And sweeter thy discourse is to my ear 
 Than fruits of palm-tree pleasantest to thirst 
 And hunger both, from labor at the hour 
 Of sweet repast ; they satiate, and soon fill, 
 Though pleasant ; but thy words, with grace divine 
 Imbued, bring to their sweetness no satiety ! ' ' 
 
 Edith resumed her reading without venturing to lift her
 
 116 EDITH HALE. 
 
 eyes above her book ; for, in that moment, she would not have 
 betrayed a consciousness or embarrassment for worlds. 
 
 That afternoon, Mr. Wellrncnt received a letter from his 
 mother, which, for the first time in his life, occasioned him 
 unpleasant reflections. It was read and re-read, till every 
 word had burned itself into his heart. Long did he pause 
 to think, as each time he read these sentences: 
 
 "My son, the manner in which you write of that young girl 
 you call Edith Hale alarms me. When you first mentioned her 
 name in your letters, I felt unpleasantly, although you defended 
 yourself from any especial interest in her. But of late you 
 write of her with an earnestness which cannot result from the 
 ordinary sentiments a minister feels for any afflicted member of 
 the parish. Is it possible, my dear Paul, that one so educated 
 and accustomed to the refinements of life can take pleasure 
 in the society of a poor, unsophisticated factory-girl ? Perish 
 the thought, for the most distant allusion overwhelms me with 
 unspeakable grief! You may be disposed to reply that she 
 possesses many superior graces of intellect and manner. 
 When a man is in love he always sees perfections in the 
 object which are only the reflection of his own imagination, 
 and have no real existence ; as in the optical illusion of mi- 
 rage, which causes remote objects to appear inversed, as if 
 thrown from a mirror. 
 
 " But, if you persist that you are correct in this position, 
 is it wise for you to marry one who is in the lowest grade of 
 poverty, so that you will ever be obliged to provide her entire 
 support, and that of her mother besides ? Where, then, in
 
 EDITH HALE. 117 
 
 my declining years, is my prospect of a home with you, my 
 son ? With pain do I ask you to recall all the long, strait- 
 ened past of your life, wherein I have watched over you, and 
 labored for you to the extent of my ability, suffering alwa} r s 
 from feeble health, but regarding no sacrifice too great for 
 your good ! And now, when you have just begun to live for 
 yourself, and to attain a position among your fellow-men, 
 will you peril your influence among your people, who, believe 
 me, will never submit to the selection of such an one from 
 among them vO fill the high position of the wife of their min- 
 ister ? Will ycu insult the families of your associate clergy, 
 by introducing among them an uncongenial person, but lately 
 graduated from a factory ? Will you (though, perhaps, the 
 least consideration of all) wound my feelings beyond all cure, 
 blight all my high hopes for you, and deprive me of my latest 
 consolations, by thus immolating yourself on such an unwor- 
 thy altar ? No ! I know my son too well to believe this 
 distressing supposition for a moment. When next you write, 
 reassure me, my dear Paul, that you have no such intentions, 
 that I may be once more happy and hopeful in your behalf." 
 
 Again, in recurring to the subject of her son's marriage, 
 she wrote : " I have long hoped you would find a companion 
 worthy of yourself, who would prove a blessing to your parish 
 and your home. If possible, choose a wife who has property 
 in possession or prospective ; for a minister has but a poor 
 prospect in life, if he have not other resources for support, in 
 case of any exigency, than the precarious dole of a fickle- 
 minded parish. Your wife should also be thoroughly edu-
 
 118 EDITH IIALE. 
 
 cated at the best schools, and refined by intimacy with the 
 most correct society, in order to contribute to your happiness, 
 and to satisfy you, through all coming life, that your choice 
 was well made."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MEETING AND PARTING. 
 
 MR. WELLMONT was never indifferent to the words of his 
 mother, and this letter occasioned him long and painful reflec- 
 tion. It unclosed his eyes to a truth of which he was scarcely 
 aware before, that his sentiments towards Edith had grown 
 into a love too strong to throw away lightly. 
 
 Yet the arguments of his mother fell upon his heart with 
 the weight of conviction. To increase his discomfort, for 
 troubles never come singly, one or two leading persons of his 
 church took occasion, about this time, to inform him that it 
 was whispered he was too attentive to Mrs. Hale and Edith 
 for mere friendship. They added, too, that they did not 
 believe it was possible he could think of marrying a poor girl 
 like her, who had worked in the factory ; it would be a disgrace 
 to the parish, and a scandal to the clergy. 
 
 Mr. Wellmont felt all this keenly, for he had no disposition 
 to brave the opposition of the world in an affair of the heart. 
 But more than all was he influenced by the plea of his 
 mother respecting his duty to secure a provision for her future 
 years. That she might ever suffer because he was unable to
 
 120 EDITH HALE. 
 
 give her assistance, was a thought he could not cherish for. a 
 moment. He remembered that he had made no pledge to 
 Edith, spoken no unmistakable word of love; and he soou 
 began to reason with his heart upon the necessity of resigning 
 its passion to higher interests and aspirations. And now for 
 weeks and months of bitter self-conflict he was one of the 
 most miserable of men. 
 
 As he continued the discharge of his pastoral duties in 
 Waterbury, he became acquainted with different members of 
 the clergy in the vicinity. Two of these, who had some busi- 
 ness to transact with him connected with a denominational asso- 
 ciation, met him in his study, one afternoon, and lingered to 
 discuss some private matters pertaining to the experience of 
 their profession. 
 
 " It is surprising how very conceited the people are becom- 
 ing ! " remarked Mr. Lund, who was a heavy, sombre-looking 
 man, and carried great reserve with him, speaking always 
 in that tone which is supposed by many to be a sign of unusual 
 holiness. 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Mr. Wellmont, by way of eliciting informa- 
 tion ; " I was hardly aware of the fact, though my experience 
 is not commensurate with yours." 
 
 " I am very much troubled to keep my parishioners in their 
 place ;" and he now threw himself back in his chair, looking 
 thoroughly formidable ; " they do not scruple to come to me, 
 at all times, with unreasonable requests, and put themselves 
 forward, upon assumed rights, altogether too much. I wish I 
 lived in the days of the old standing order, when the people
 
 EDITH HALE. 121 
 
 truly and humbly reverenced their minister, and went to him 
 for spiritual and even temporal direction, as obedient servants 
 to their master." 
 
 " I have little difficulty on this point," observed Mr. Swin- 
 ton, " for my people are generally unobtrusive and respectful, 
 excepting one or two only, whom I manage by throwing them 
 something else to bite when they snap at me ; as, some great 
 political or moral question of the day ; and, if that don't work 
 the right way, I bring them into good-humor by playing upon 
 their weak points." 
 
 " Much may be effected by that course, I know," observed 
 Mr. Wellrnont, smiling. 
 
 " That is what I never descend to ! " remarked Mr. Lund, 
 looking down, in imagination, upon his people, with an air of 
 one of the " shaggy Centaurs of the hills." " I make my people 
 know, in the first place, and always, that I shall not preach 
 to please the n, neither shall I act to please them. If I think 
 anything is duty, I shall do it ; if I think any doctrine should 
 be preached, I shall preach it, let it hit who or where it will. 
 I bring them much more into their places, and I keep them 
 there," here he struck down his hand heavily upon the table, 
 " than I should in any other way. I glory in telling a 
 man his faults, or a church its faults," continued Mr. Lund, 
 1 ' if I am slain for the truth's sake. I have left six parishes 
 already because I preached the truth ; and I am ready to leave 
 six more, if need be." 
 
 " You are getting earnest, brother Lund," said Mr. Swinton. 
 
 " 'T is time, and high time, we were all earnest ; let us do 
 11
 
 122 EDITH II ALE. 
 
 whatsoever our hands find to do, with sill our might, while the 
 day lasts." 
 
 " I think brother Lund is right in his premises, but not in 
 his conclusions," said Mr. Wellmont. " That we should preach 
 the truth without fear of man is certainly commanded us ; 
 but we should not necessarily conclude that the truth must be 
 presented in a strength and proportion to all people alike, 
 without respect to different temperaments and prejudices ; 
 neither should the Gospel of peace be preached as though the 
 hearers were to be driven by force. In this connection, I am 
 reminded of what an aged minister whom I once knew used 
 to say : ' It is better to say canan to the people than st'l'oy ;' 
 and I think the spirit of that homely precept will go further 
 and better, every way, than so much use of whips and threats. 
 It is allied too nearly to barbarity, this violence, and taking 
 the kingdom of heaven by force in this way. A traveller 
 tells us that in Khavaresm, one of the Turkish cities, in every 
 mosque a whip was hung up, with which every person who 
 absented himself from worship was soundly flogged by the 
 priest, besides being fined in five dinars. Now, such a spirit 
 as that is not the one for us." 
 
 " I will tell you something of my management," said Mr. 
 Swinton, who was a dapper, exquisite man, with a prevailing 
 vein of sentiment in his organization ; " I intend to preach 
 the truth, because woe is me if I preach any other gospel ; 
 but this necessity does not demand that I should preach so as 
 to offend two thirds of my people, and gradually, but certainly, 
 destroy all my influence. As I said, I sometimes make
 
 EDITH HALE. 123 
 
 merchandise of people's foibles. For instance, some time 
 since I learned, by one of those benevolent individuals who 
 esteem it a pleasure and a duty to enlighten me about what 
 people say of me, that a certain prominent lady of my church 
 had taken serious offence at something I had said in a meet- 
 ing, and that she was dispensing her displeasure very freely 
 among the ladies in general. I knew that this would not do 
 at all, for the voice of one leading woman goes further in 
 favor of, or against, a minister, than the votes of half a dozen 
 men. Shortly after this, occurred a meeting of our Ladies' 
 Sewing Society, and I made it convenient to attend early in 
 the afternoon, which is contrary to my custom. I entered the 
 parlor where sat the ladies, chatting and sewing as busy as 
 bees, in my happiest style (allow me to say) ; and, after speak- 
 ing to every one present, I selected my seat beside that lady 
 who was so displeased with me, and endeavored to make myself 
 as agreeable as possible. At first, she was rather chilly ; but 
 I soon moderated the atmosphere by several clever observa- 
 tions. Then I called for sewing, and the ladies about me 
 
 began to laugh immoderately ; but, as I persisted, Mrs. L 
 
 (my enemy) passed me a basket of work, from which I selected 
 a square of patch-work, inquiring directly if the square did 
 not represent an album bed-quilt, secretly intended as a gift 
 
 to their pastor. Mrs. L was very good-humored at this, 
 
 and when I asked her to thread my needle was in perfect 
 ecstasy. So I sewed and conversed, keeping the ladies in 
 excellent spirits, and gradually attracting all in the room 
 about me till I was completely enclosed by beauty and fra-
 
 EDITH HALE. 
 
 grance, like a rose-bug in the heart of a hundred-leaved rose ! 
 I assure you I had no more enemies among the ladies after 
 that, for I made every one of them thread my needle once at 
 least, awkwardly pulling out the thread for that express pur- 
 pose. They all examined my work when it was finished, and 
 declared it a perfect performance, though I knew it was done 
 execrably. What was more, brethren, when the bed-quilt to 
 which that square belonged was finished, it was presented 
 to their ' beloved pastor ;' although they had originally in- 
 tended to sell it, and add the proceeds to their charity funds. 
 As I linger in bed of mornings, I often look at that square, 
 which was placed exactly in the centre of the quilt, and think 
 that was one of the happiest hits of my life ! " 
 
 " You have a wife, Mr. Swinton," said Mr. Lund, very 
 seriously ; "I wish to inquire if she accompanied you to that 
 society meeting." 
 
 " She was away then on a visit out of town," replied Mr. 
 Swinton, rather reluctantly. 
 
 " I have heard that she is out of health, and suffers occa- 
 sionally from alarming nervous attacks," continued Mr. 
 Lund. 
 
 " Yes ! " said Mr. Swinton ; " but I can't see what connec- 
 tion that has to the subject in point." 
 
 " Can't you ? "Well, I will make it a subject of prayer that 
 the eyes of your understanding may be opened," rejoined Mr. 
 Lund, with deepening solemnity. 
 
 " After all," thought Mr. Wellmont, " Mr. Lund means 
 well, it is evident, but errs from a lack of judgment, and
 
 EDITH HALE. 125 
 
 knowledge of human nature, in his vocation as a public teacher 
 of the truth ; this reproof to Mr. Swinton I like, and it dis- 
 covers that there is, at least, one vein of pure gold in his 
 character." But, desirous of changing a subject which seemed 
 to be growing into unpleasantness, he said to his friends, 
 " I have got along very amicably with the people in this 
 place thus far, and I have already formed many pleasant 
 attachments." 
 
 " I see but two things which you lack," said Mr. Swinton, 
 " a parsonage and a wife ; and I think I can put you in the 
 way to obtain both, independent of your parish, which is always 
 desirable. I know a lady who, I think, would do nicely for 
 you, though she has not been exactly educated for a minister's 
 wife. She is a cousin of mine, and the daughter of a wealthy 
 merchant of the city of K, ." 
 
 At this suggestion a shadow crossed Mr. Wellmont's brow, 
 and the figure of Edith Hale, in all her grace and truthfulness, 
 arose unbidden before his mind ; and it was difficult to waive 
 the picture aside. 
 
 " I am not an adept in such matters, and, really, you must 
 excuse me," he said to Mr. Swinton. 
 
 " It is amusing, certainly, to hear one with your conversa- 
 tional talent talk in that way ; one so well provided as to 
 have a clever epigram or a classical titbit at every turn ! 
 But, if I must indoctrinate you into the mode of procedure in 
 such cases, allow me to repeat, in the language of another, 
 what you can first*address to the lady. In fact, it is quite in 
 your own style : 
 
 11*
 
 126 EDITH HALE. 
 
 ' Hear me exemplify love's Latin word, 
 As thus : Hearts joined amore : take a from thence, 
 Then more is the perfect moral sense ; 
 Plural in manners, which in thee do shine 
 Saint-like, immortal, spotless, and divine ! 
 Take m away, ore in beauty's name 
 Craves an eternal trophy to thy fame.' " 
 
 " Thank you," said Mr. Wellmont, with a smile of hidden 
 meaning. " I will try and profit by your instructions. How- 
 ever, I have no ambition to be another Frauenlob, of whom, 
 excuse me if I say, you have already reminded me. In fact, 
 it strikes me he will very nearly prove your archetype." 
 
 " How so ? I don't comprehend," rejoined Mr. Swinton. 
 
 " Have you never read of Henry Von Missen ? " said Mr. 
 Wellmont. " He received as an honor, so the account goes, 
 the name of Henry Frauenlob, because the principal theme of 
 his songs was the virtues of the fair sex. For this reason he 
 was so highly esteemed by the ladies of his time that they are 
 said to have carried his body with their own hands to the 
 grave, which they bathed with their tears, and around which 
 they poured so much wine as to inundate the whole floor of 
 the church. I think the ladies of your time will express the 
 juice of roses for their libation at your demise, as your lan- 
 guage shows your heart to be always wandering among the 
 flowers. 
 
 " I am no match for you in a contest of this sort," said Mr. 
 Swinton ; " so I will close my remarks, as we have it in our 
 sermons, by arranging that you must exchange with me on
 
 EDITH HALE. 127 
 
 the Sabbath after next, and I will contrive to have this lady 
 meet you at my house." 
 
 Mr. Wellmont hesitated, and examined his note-book to 
 ascertain if he had any engagement to conflict with the pro- 
 posed arrangement, for he was more than half inclined to offer 
 an excuse; but Mr. Swinton rallied him upon his bachelor 
 propensities, and was so earnest in the matter, that he finally 
 obtained a reluctant consent. 
 
 Meanwhile, as the young minister thus sat and communed 
 with his friends, in the little brown cottage, under the majestic 
 maple-trees and fragrant balm-gileads, Edith sat, and watched 
 by her mother. Mrs. Hale had failed rapidly of late, so that 
 she was obliged to remain in her room altogether ; but, un- 
 willing to take to her bed, lest it might alarm Edith, she sat 
 during the day in her arm-chair, supported by pillows, and 
 working on some light sewing, when able. On this afternoon, 
 the weather being unusually oppressive, she had found herself 
 too weak to sew, and she remained quite motionless in her 
 chair. The thin, pale hand which lay upon her bosom 
 seemed now clasped invisibly by the angel of the dark valley, 
 and her eyes were looking far away into the blessed land, 
 from which the veil was fast being removed 
 
 She had thus sat for some time, when she roused herself, 
 and said : " Edith, my dear, while I have strength I must tell 
 you yet something more. You know already some of the 
 circumstances of my marriage with your father ; how I was 
 disowned by my family, so that they never held communica- 
 tion with me from that time. But I have never thought it
 
 128 EDITH HALE. 
 
 wise to detail to you all my sufferings in this connection. If 
 my mother had not died in my girlhood, the bitterness of my 
 fortune would have been mitigated by her love and interces- 
 sion with colder and harder hearts." 
 
 " But what occasioned so much opposition ? " interrupted 
 Edith. " My father was always good and noble-spirited." 
 
 " I will tell you, briefly. My father was one of the wealth- 
 iest men in Boston. He was proud, exact, and unflinching in 
 all his purposes, to such a degree that his family regarded him 
 with absolute fear. By his desire we were surrounded with lux- 
 ury, provided with the most expensive masters for the acquire- 
 ment of our education and accomplishments, and allowed 
 every privilege deemed consistent with our rank. 
 
 " My sister inherited the -disposition of our father, and 
 became one of the proudest of women. Her heart was 
 never reached save through the avenues of worldly inter- 
 est. But my noble brother was the reverse, always con- 
 siderate and generous. After the death of our excellent 
 mother his health began to decline, and he was sent on the 
 tour of Europe. He sailed from New York, to which place I 
 accompanied him, where I remained some time after, on a 
 visit to the family of an aunt. Here I met your father, who 
 was then a principal clerk in the extensive mercantile house 
 of my uncle. He had entered the city, I was told, a poor 
 orphan-boy, without money or friends, in search of his for- 
 tune; and, chancing to attract the attention of my uncle by 
 the performance of some valuable but accidental service for 
 him, was received into his employ, in which situation he soon
 
 EDIT1I HALE. 129 
 
 won unusual favor for his honesty and diligence. We became 
 in love with each other. He told me the tale of his previous 
 life, which was clouded by many sorrows, and I loved him 
 none the less. But, when this came to the knowledge of my 
 father, he was enraged, and bade me at once discontinue all 
 acquaintance with the poor upstart, as he called him. This I 
 could not do ; for, unworldly as I was, his poverty and obscur- 
 ity seemed no sufficient cause for such a course. We were 
 married, and my husband lost his situation in the result. 
 This was a source of much anxiety and trouble ; but we strug- 
 gled along through many privations, to which I was all 
 unused, forbearing to apply to my father for assistance, 
 because I knew well he would be inexorable in his displeas- 
 ure ; and, as I had thwarted him in his design of marrying 
 me to a man of wealth and position, I was also too proud to 
 humble myself thus before him. In time we overcame our 
 difficulties, and your father acquired a considerable fortune. 
 Weary of city life, we came here to Waterbury, and settled 
 in a beautiful place, which attracted our attention while pass- 
 ing it on a journey. We thought to spend our days here in 
 ease and quietness ; but we were defrauded by a false-hearted 
 friend, and, when your father died, and we were compelled 
 to move into this cottage, which had been tenanted by one of 
 our laborers, our accumulated misfortunes hastened a tendency 
 to disease in my system, which I inherited from my mother. 
 But I know it is all for the best. If my dear brother were 
 only living now, I could leave you in peace. But I will trust 
 God for your protection."
 
 130 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " I remember you once spoke of receiving news from him 
 after his departure. Did you never hear but once before you 
 learned his death ? " inquired Edith. 
 
 " Only once did our family hear directly. He was on the 
 Mediterranean, and sent a letter by a ship homeward bound. 
 After that the news came that the vessel in which he sailed 
 was found without a soul on board, and rifled of all its cargo ; 
 it was supposed that they were all captured and killed, while 
 the cargo was taken as plunder. Since then I have never 
 felt as before ; and often from my sleep I have been startled, 
 thinking my brother had come to me again. 
 
 " But what I began especially to tell you," resumed Mrs. 
 Hale, brokenly, amid her tears, " was that, when I am gone, 
 and you have recovered your health, in a convenient time you 
 should go to Boston, and make yourself known to your aunt, 
 who is now the only surviving member of my family. After 
 the death of my father, she received all his estate (except one 
 dollar, given to disinherit me), which, with the property of 
 her husband, made her the mistress of immense wealth. But 
 I have since heard that her husband proved himself to be 
 very unprincipled and dissipated, and has made great inroads 
 upon their property. At the time you were obliged to enter 
 the factory, I wrote to her, stating our circumstances, and 
 appealing to her compassion ; but no answer was returned. 
 A personal interview might possibly dispose her to regard }-ou 
 more favorably than she has me in my misfortunes ; but, if 
 she repulses you, don't be discouraged, liemember, if you 
 trust in God, ha will be more gracious t you than any earthly
 
 EDITH HALE. 131 
 
 friend." Her voice became weaker, and she was compelled 
 to pause. At length, summoning all her strength to the effort, 
 she continued : "There is one revelation connected with your 
 father's history, dear Edith, which I have delayed telling you 
 for obvious reasons ; but now it is best that the secret should 
 not die with me. Of this no one in this vicinity is aware ; so 
 you need fear no disgrace." 
 
 " Disgrace ! " repeated Edith, with surprise, and half 
 imagining the mind of her mother wandered. " What circum- 
 stances connected with my father can be associated with that 
 word ? " 
 
 " There was a shadow upon him from his birth ! But, ! 
 it fell not upon my heart, obscured no love of mine ! Your 
 father was good and true always. Revere his memory, for he 
 was worthy of your love and reverence. I cannot tell you 
 more at this time," she said, in reply to Edith's look of inter- 
 rogation. " Xow, kiss me darling ; I am much fatigued, and 
 wish to sleep a while. Until I awake, you may sit in the 
 next room, where it is lighter, and more cheerful." 
 
 As Edith kissed her mother, she was startled at the chill 
 rigidity of her face ; for the room was partially darkened, and 
 she had observed no change, 
 
 " Are you not worse, mother ? " she exclaimed. " Let me 
 call one of the neighbors." 
 
 "No, dear; I would rather be alone. I shall be better 
 when I awake. One more kiss." 
 
 EJith embraced her long and fervently, and, with a sad 
 heart, went out and sat by herself. Presently she saw Sirs.
 
 132 EDITH HALE. 
 
 Linn coming around the yard, and approaching the door. 
 The old lady's black bonnet was never more -welcome to 
 Edith's eyes ; and, dropping her work, she went out to meet 
 her. 
 
 " I am very glad you have come ! " Edith exclaimed, " for 
 I was feeling unusually lonely." And the tears came to her 
 eyes. 
 
 " I have been down into the village," said Mrs. Linn, " and 
 it is so warm I found I must rest me before reaching home ; 
 and I wished to see how your mother was to-day." 
 
 " Mother is not so well this afternoon ; she has just gone 
 to sleep. I have felt very anxious about her, all day ; but I 
 suppose it was because of an unpleasant dream last night," 
 Edith replied. They then talked of Mr. Linn, and of various 
 matters, till a half-hour was consumed, when Mrs. Linn 
 observed that she felt sufficiently rested, and she thought she 
 would leave for home. 
 
 " I will go in and see if mother has not waked," said 
 Edith. " She would regret not to see you, it is so seldom you 
 can come." But, scarcely had she entered her mother's room, 
 before she called Mrs. Linn, in a voice of alarm. 
 
 " She is so still and pale, I am afraid she has fainted ! " 
 she said, hastily putting away the curtains to admit the air. 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Linn, after examining her closely, " your 
 mother has not fainted ; she is dead ! " 
 
 " Dead ! " repeated Edith ; " it is impossible ! " 
 
 " Yes, dear Edith, she has gone ! But, be consoled with
 
 EDITH HALE. 133 
 
 the thought of the trouble she has left, and the peace and rest 
 into which she has now entered." 
 
 Edith was so overcome that she sank down like one stricken 
 with a heavy blow. Her senses were paralyzed with grief, 
 and her heart wailed with a pain she had never known before. 
 At length, arousing herself with a strong effort, she took the 
 cold hand that had so often folded hers, and pressed it to her 
 lips, saying to herself, " 0, how thankful I am that I was 
 always obedient to my mother ! " 
 
 Precious, indeed, was this consolation to the orphan Edith 
 now, which she would not have exchanged for the richest 
 
 inheritance, if it were linked with the thought that she had 
 
 \ 
 wounded her mother's heart with the injuries of perverseness 
 
 and ingratitude. 
 
 12
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE NEW PRECEPTOR. A CASE OF DESPERATION. 
 
 THE academy at "VVaterbury had been vacated for the last 
 quarter, owing to the illness and departure of the preceptor. 
 But, as the winter months approached, it was announced by 
 the trustees that a gentleman of very superior attainments had 
 been secured, and that the school was about to be reopened 
 under the most auspicious circumstances. Deacon Dennis, 
 the acting member of the board, had met the future teacher, 
 in one of his business visits to Boston, at the house of a 
 mutual acquaintance. Having alluded incidentally to the 
 place of his residence, the gentleman, he said, seemed vastly 
 interested, asking him a variety of questions about the peo- 
 ple ; and, coming at length to the Pickerings, he was more 
 than ever minute in his inquiries. Finally, on learning that 
 there was an academy, he had offered himself as the teacher 
 for one term. 
 
 " It is most unaccountable," said the deacon, " why he 
 should wish to leave his home in Boston to teach in a country 
 place in the winter season. I was told that he is the only 
 son of a very wealthy man, and has qualifications sufficient t
 
 EDITH HALE. 135 
 
 be a professor in a college ; but, to the surprise of his friends, 
 he seemed determined to come ; and, knowing it to be such 
 a rare chance for us, I engaged him at once." 
 
 When this intelligence had circulated through the village, 
 great was the excitement about the new preceptor ; and many 
 young ladies, who had abandoned all thoughts of attending 
 school again, now remembered that there were studies which 
 they would like to pursue further, or to review more thor- 
 oughly. Never before had such a number of pupils entered 
 their names for a single term. 
 
 It was a day of unusual interest that brought the arrival 
 of the new teacher ; and many were the conjectures as to 
 what family he would select for his boarding-place. Deacon 
 Dennis, Mr. Pickering, in behalf of his wife and daughters, 
 and several other persons, solicited the honor ; but when the 
 stranger came, and was allowed his choice, he accepted the offer 
 of Mr. Pickering without hesitation, alleging as his reason a 
 slight acquaintance which existed between that family and his 
 father. 
 
 On the evening succeeding his instalment in their home, 
 Mary came in to her friend Edith in such a state of excite- 
 ment, that Edith was nearly alarmed at her appearance. 
 
 " Is n't it wonderful ! " exclaimed Mary, the color deep- 
 ening into beauty on her olive cheeks, " I have found the 
 preceptor is none other than Horace Raymond, whom I met at 
 grandfather's, last spring ! I might have known before that it 
 was he, if I had thought to inquire ; for I suppose our family 
 knaw. I thought I should have fainted when I saw him for
 
 136 EDITH HALE. 
 
 the first time at the tea-table ; for I was not asked to meet 
 him in the parlor with the girls. Such a look as he gave me 
 when our eyes met ! and he was just about to speak, when 
 ma directed me, by a glance, and a whisper from Julia, to go 
 out to the kitchen and help Gillis make preparations in Mr. 
 Raymond's chamber. I was so delighted, though, to find it 
 was really he, that I forgot my disappointment, and went 
 about so gladly that I felt like walking in the air. 
 
 " But, after tea, Julia said to me, ' Moll, Mr. Raymond 
 says he became acquainted with you at grandfather's. We 
 were mortified to death at the thought of his getting an idea 
 of our family from such a countryish, simple thing as you 
 are, and we all agree that you must keep out of sight ; and 
 don't you come to the table again with us, while he is here.' 
 
 " ' I am going to attend the academy this term, I sup- 
 pose ? ' I ventured, with a swelling heart. 
 
 " ' You, who are not fit to class with common-school chil- 
 dren, think of going to the academy ! ' she exclaimed, with a 
 look of disdain. 
 
 " ' But I was promised I might, if I would go without new 
 dresses last summer, and not let father know about it,' said I, 
 feeling so badly I could scarcely keep from sobbing aloud. 
 
 " ' You will not go,' she said, 'so you might as well con- 
 tent yourself first as last ; it would be such a disgrace to us 
 to have Mr. Raymond know that we had one in our family so 
 awkward and stupid ! ' 
 
 " I went to my chamber, and cried; for it was the severest dis- 
 appointment I ever felt, dear Edith. The prospect of attend-
 
 EDITH HALE. 137 
 
 ing school again had beguiled many a sad hour, and more 
 especially did I wish to go, now that Mr. Raymond was to be 
 our teacher. Then I thought of you, my ever good friend, 
 and I stole out of the back door, making my way down by 
 the garden, that my sisters might not again be offended at the 
 sight of me. And who should I meet at the garden-gate but 
 father and Mr. Raymond ! They were looking at some rare 
 plants which father had been protecting for the winter, and it 
 was so nearly dark, I thought they would not notice me. I 
 was hurrying by, when Mr. Raymond stepped forward, and, 
 taking my hand within both of his own, spoke to me so 
 kindly, and looked down into my face so like himself, that I 
 was overcome with confusion. 
 
 " 'What ! in tears, Mary, when I have just come?' he said, 
 in a low tone. I was utterly beyond the power of speech ; 
 for the thought of what Julia had just called me was every 
 moment in my mind, to oppress me with my unworthiness. 
 
 " I made a movement to go, but he retained my hand, look- 
 ing into my eyes so searchingly, just as he can upon occasion, 
 that, despite all my efforts at control, I know I must have 
 appeared very singularly to him. 
 
 " ' I shall see you in my school, Mary, to-morrow,' he said. 
 I shook my head, for I could not reply. I think I looked so 
 disappointed he must have guessed my thoughts ; for, said he, 
 turning to father, ' Is not this daughter, Mr. Pickering, to be 
 one of my pupils ? ' 
 
 " ' I don't know as she is sufficiently advanced,' replied 
 father, with hesitation. 
 12*
 
 138 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " ' I am somewhat acquainted with her mind,' said Mr. 
 Raymond, ' and I shall regret that I ever came to Waterbury 
 if I am not to have the pleasure of assisting her to progress 
 in her studies.' 
 
 " ' I think she may go, then,' said father. 
 
 " ' Certainly,' said Mr. Raymond ; ' I shall depend on her 
 constant attendance.' 
 
 " I hurried away, only too joyful at my changed prospect. 
 And, now, dear Edith," concluded Mary, " I am going to 
 make such an effort to get along in my studies, and to conceal 
 my ignorance as much as possible ; for I should be so morti- 
 fied to have Julia's words about my disgracing the family 
 prove true ! " 
 
 " Do not be too anxious upon that point," said Edith, 
 smiling. " I predict that you will be the last of your family 
 to do that. I will assist you in whatever way it is possible 
 for me ; and, with such a vigorous determination to improve, 
 you cannot fail of success." 
 
 " Dear me ! if I only knew as much as my sisters ! " said 
 Mary, regretfully. 
 
 " I would rather you would be as you are," rejoined Edith. 
 " But what studies do you propose to take, this term ? " 
 
 The two girls sat together, and discussed all their plans, till 
 late that evening, imagining many beautiful fabrics of wis- 
 dom which were to be woven in the golden hours of the future ; 
 and both were more hopeful than ever before. 
 
 " I saw Mr. Wellmont to-day," said Edith, as Mary was 
 about to leave her, " and he seemed remarkably sad and ab-
 
 EDITH HALE. 139 
 
 stracted. Bat he spoke to me so kindly of my lost mother, 
 and the home of the blessed who die in the Lord, that I was 
 consoled more than ever since her death." 
 
 She did not tell Mary that his manner was changed to a 
 melancholy reserve, which seemed entirely foreign to his nature, 
 and the cause of which she could not divine ; that, when he was 
 about to turn away, he held her hand so much longer than was 
 necessary, and wore such a look of pain, then left her so 
 abruptly, that she was startled ; and that his sorrowful face 
 had haunted her memory since. These were thoughts which 
 Edith could not impart to her friend. 
 
 After the death of her mother, Edith seemed to acquire new 
 strength, and maturity of character, with which to meet the 
 exigencies of life. The tribulation through which she had 
 been brought had wrought out for her that " patience," " ex- 
 perience," and " hope," which are the result of no other earthly 
 refining. And, perhaps, too, the blessing of Him, who has 
 promised to be a father to the orphan, was more richly than 
 ever her support and resource. She was determined, by 
 the grace of God, to go forward in the strife of the world, 
 and, if possible, win for herself a place which should the 
 more nearly correspond with the yearning aspirations of her 
 nature. 
 
 And now she entered upon her new pupilage with the ardor 
 of her energetic spirit, sparing herself no effort, no sacrifice 
 of which her health was capable. Within the first week, the 
 school became so numerous, and the consequent duties multi- 
 plied so rapidly, that Mr. Raymond found it necessary to call
 
 140 EDITH HALE. 
 
 upon the trustees for an assistant. As it was desirable to 
 select one from among the pupils, he waited cautiously to 
 ascertain which one of all the school was the most capable 
 and suitable every way. He finally made choice of Edith 
 for the situation. To this the trustees strongly objected at 
 once. 
 
 " That will never do," said they ; " our children must 
 not come under a girl like her ; for she cannot be qualified to 
 assist in their instruction." 
 
 " I speak advisedly," rejoined Mr. Raymond ; " and it were 
 better if all were as well qualified as Miss Hale. I have 
 watched her carefully; I have compared her with other 
 pupils ; and I am certain she is thoroughly versed in many 
 of the studies here taught ; and her acquirements, united with 
 her grace and dignity of manner, render her fitted for what 
 we require." 
 
 The trustees demurred some time ; but they saw the deci- 
 sion of the man with whom they now dealt ; they felt his 
 superiority of judgment in such a matter, and they durst not 
 venture to remonstrate further. 
 
 Edith did not accept the situation without great reluctance, 
 for she feared that a majority of the school would be offended; 
 which, in fact, proved to be the case ; and many would have 
 left, with a keen sense of outraged dignity, had they not become 
 too much interested in the new teacher to willingly forego the 
 privileges of attending upon his instruction. Besides, the 
 school was decidedly the fashion, and the malecontcnts could 
 not well be out of it without loss in various ways.
 
 EDITH HALE. 141 
 
 Mrs. Pickering, soon understanding the strict principles 
 of Mr. Raymond, concerning the duty of justice toward 
 all, in domestic as well as public life, as a matter of 
 policy so far relaxed her severity toward Mary as to permit 
 her to sit with the family at the table ; although, if she had 
 not been allowed to go to the academy by her father, who had 
 carried his point, for once, under the influence of Mr. Ray- 
 mond, this concession never would have, been made. But the 
 sisters would not hear of her being introduced into the parlor 
 with themselves and their companions ; and, whenever Mary 
 was inquired for, they gave out that she did not like society 
 she was so very bashful, and they really could not tell whether 
 they should ever persuade her to do like other folks. 
 
 Julia was very much interested in the new preceptor ; and, 
 as he seemed to have an interest in their family, she soon in- 
 dulged hopes of winning his particular regard. Tndeed, he 
 would have been besieged unmercifully, had not Celeste at 
 that time been violently in love with a gentleman whom she 
 had met on a visit in a neighboring town ; having found, at 
 last, a hero quite equal, she deemed, to any of the heroes of 
 the myriad novels she had read. Claudine had recently 
 become engaged to the young man whose picture so much 
 annoyed Mr. Solomon Acre, upon his introduction into her 
 studio, in company with Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 The intelligence of Claudine's engagement reaching Mr. 
 Solomon, he took occasion to ask counsel of Mr. Wellmont, 
 at the earliest opportunity. Announcing that he had come to 
 talk upon " a very important subject, involving the problem
 
 142 EDITH HALE. 
 
 of his destiny," his pastor expressed his satisfaction that his 
 attention had become more firmly fixed upon religious subjects. 
 " I don't exactly refer to that at present," said Mr. 
 Solomon. " I am suffering unler an affliction, and I come to 
 you for consolation ; though, in fact, I am past all consolation , 
 and, now I think of it, I wish I had remained away, for, 
 
 as the poet says, 
 
 ' A malady 
 
 Preys on my heart, that medicine cannot reach 
 Invisible and cureless.' " 
 
 " However, he has not forgotten, in his grief, whatever it 
 be, what ' the poet says,' " thought Mr. Wellmont. It was 
 some time before he could ascertain the nature of Mr. Sol- 
 omon's affliction, for he seemed quite at fault to express 
 himself intelligibly. At length, out of many disjointed frag- 
 ments, he put together the whole fact that the engagement 
 of Claudine Pickering conflicted so much with his own 
 long-cherished plans in relation to that young lady, that 
 he was now experiencing the severest disappointment of his 
 life. 
 
 " It is a case about which I am scarcely fitted to advise," 
 said Mr. Wellmont. " I remember reading some excellent 
 maxims touching disappointed affection. Terentius said, on a 
 similar occasion, ' From henceforth I blot out of my memory 
 all thoughts of womankind, and " 
 
 " Stay ! " interrupted Mr. Solomon ; " maxims can do me 
 no good. You might as well repeat to a dying sinner a
 
 EDITII HALE. 143 
 
 passage upon the doctrine 'of election, or to a drowning man 
 some of the laws of hydrodynamics. I am past maxims ! " 
 
 "Have you fully avowed your affection to Miss Pick- 
 ering, and she is aware of the suffering she now inflicts ? " 
 inquired Mr. Wellmont, desirous of touching some available 
 point. 
 
 " No," replied Mr. Solomon ; " and that is what makes 
 me inconsolable. I delayed talking with her closely upon 
 the subject, inferring she understood my sentiments towards 
 her as well as I did myself. I was there to see her, evening 
 after evening; talked, played, and rode with her, and she 
 might have known to what all my attentions tended." 
 
 " Not if you did not explicitly tell her. Perhaps she grew 
 impatient," said Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " And for neglecting that one all-important question," con- 
 tinued Mr. Solomon, " I have got to be a miserable victim 
 all my life ! But I '11 shorten it I shan't suffer long," he 
 added, looking fierce and unnatural. 
 
 " My dear friend," interposed Mr. Wellmont, " let me 
 entreat you not to threaten such a sinful deed as self- 
 destruction. Consider, for a moment, the awful significance 
 of your words." 
 
 Mr. Solomon lifted his hands tragically, as he exclaimed, 
 
 " ' 0, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, 
 Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew ! 
 Or that the Everlasting had not fixed 
 His canon 'gainst self-slaughter ! ' 
 
 " I had an uncle," he continued, " who was disappointed
 
 144 EDITH HALE. 
 
 in love, and he has done all manner of ridiculous things ; but 
 I shan't make myself a fool brooding over trouble." 
 
 " Rather," said Mr. Wellmont, " determine to arise and 
 go forth into the world, where you may win a place among 
 men which shall compensate for the slight loss you now 
 sustain." 
 
 " Sir ! slight loss do you call the loss of my whole heart, 
 without hope of receiving another in exchange ? " 
 
 " Doubtless the loss seems great to you," said Mr. Well- 
 inont ; " but it may prove the foundation of incalculable 
 gain. Some of our greatest men, in their early lives, were dis- 
 appointed in love ; to which circumstance they afterwards 
 attributed the impetus of their subsequent rapid elevation 
 to positions of power and influence. Let me advise you, my 
 friend, to leave this place immediately, and go where you 
 will have no associations to recall your present pain." Mr. 
 Solomon shook his head. " You. have few ties to bind you 
 here," continued Mr. Wellmont, " and new scenes will take 
 your attention away from yourself, which is what you now 
 require. Seek some distant place for your home, from which 
 I shall expect to hear, in time, the most honorable tidings of 
 your success and advancement in life. In fact, from the time 
 of my early acquaintance with you, Mr. Acre, I have thought 
 you fitted for a sphere more enlarged than you had pre- 
 scribed for yourself here. You have talents that have never 
 been summoned to the active conflict of life, and they have 
 slumbered too long in the haunts of ease. What you may 
 yet become, by devoting all your energies, in the fulness of
 
 EDITH HALE. 145 
 
 their power, to the highest and truest purposes of life, you 
 have not dreamed. Too long have you been content with 
 gathering flowers in the shady vales ; you have forest-trees 
 of oak yet to hew in your way ; you have torrents to 
 stem; sublime heights to climb, on whose summits you 
 shall proudly stand and bless God for the circumstance 
 that sent you forth, ay, drove you as with a whip of 
 knotted cords, girded with a new and strong panoply 
 with which to battle with life, and finally become victorious. 
 Yes, you will one day look back to this time as the most 
 fortunate of your life." 
 
 " Spare me ! spare me ! " ejaculated Mr. Solomon, with a 
 look of deprecation. 
 
 " I must tell you, freely, my friend, what I think ; for I 
 really feel no little interest in your welfare. I recall what 
 Sylla, the dictator, said of Caesar, when he was nothing but a 
 ' slipshod boy : ' 'In him lies couchant many a Marius ! ' 
 Although this may not be fully applicable in your case, it is 
 in part. In you, as I have said, lie dormant faculties which 
 may prove the elements of a true man. There is nothing 
 more foolish than to think one must become a fool because of 
 anything so trifling as a disappointment of the heart. We 
 must learn to discipline our hearts to trial and sacrifice of all 
 kinds." 
 
 " Ah ! it is easier for one to preach who has never expe- 
 rienced, than to practise afterward," said Mr. Solomon. 
 
 " Yes," rejoined Mr. Wellmont, " that is true ; but I know 
 of what I speak. ' If thy right hand offend thee, cut it off 
 13
 
 146 EDITH HALE. 
 
 and cast it from thee ; for it is profitable for thee that one of 
 thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body 
 should be cast into hell.' It will be incomputably more 
 profitable for you to make this one sacrifice of your affec- 
 tions manfully, rather than to commit such a rash, sinful act 
 as to destroy your whole life by a single blow, or by becoming 
 a living spectacle of a mind destroyed, which is even worse 
 than death. 
 
 <; I have now fresh in my memory an example of this : 
 The other night, before the first snow-storm of the season, 
 I was walking home from a visit to one of my parish- 
 ioners, congratulating myself upon the cheerful prospect 
 which awaited me within my comfortable rooms, for, 
 as you remember, the appearance of the earth was com- 
 pletely sad and desolate; the winds were howling mourn- 
 fully and searchingly from the intervals between the bleak 
 hills, bringing that peculiar chilling sensation which ushers 
 in a storm ; large flakes of snow were occasionally dropping 
 from the dreary sky, and the darkness was coming thickly on, 
 when I saw approaching slowly a figure which I could not at 
 first determine whether it were animal or human. As I rapidly 
 advanced, I perceived it was a man in a miserable attire, and, 
 altogether, one of the most wretched-looking objects I ever 
 saw. His outer garment, which was intended for a coat, was 
 composed of patches of various shapes and hues, terminating 
 in tatters which hung to his heels ; his hands were clasped 
 behind him, holding a small bundle tied with many strings, 
 and from his neck hung a kind of apron which once might
 
 EDITH HALE. 147 
 
 have been white, the effect of which was certainly grotesque at 
 first view. Upon this garment had been painted, in some way, 
 the most singular caricatures of men, women, and animals, 
 around a centre, in which was the head of a woman, radiating 
 certain yellow lines, intended to represent the rays of the 
 sun. 
 
 " I spoke to him. He had not, seemingly, noticed me 
 before, but now raised his head and discovered a face on which 
 was the impression of unmitigated misery ; his eye was dark, 
 but sunken and hopeless in expression, and his beard had 
 grown till it lay upon his breast. ' Have you any tobacco, 
 sir ? ' he inquired. Little anticipating such a rejoinder to my 
 address, I was thrown off rny guard for an instant, and prob- 
 ably betrayed my astonishment. ' Have you any tobacco ? ' 
 he repeated, sternly. I replied that I had none. ' Not even 
 a little ? ' he pursued. ' No ! ' ' Then I must soon perish,' 
 he said, bowing his head again upon his bosom. ' I have asked 
 everybody, for a long way back, and have got none yet ; I 
 can't go much longer without.' ' Don't you know that tobacco 
 is vile stuff, and is the only thing that will poison a crocodile ? ' 
 ' It cures me of all ills,' he returned, meekly. I glanced 
 about to devise some expedient for his succor, and, perceiving 
 we were nearest to the house of Father Shaw by the back 
 road, I bade him follow me, and I would show him where he 
 could get something better than tobacco. He followed me 
 listlessly, and I soon brought him within Miss Leah's com- 
 fortable kitchen, which was savory with the pleasant odors of 
 a good, substantial winter supper. Miss Leah was consider-
 
 148 EDITH II A L E . 
 
 ably surprised at first, and demurred somewhat about receiving 
 suck an object ; but I stated the case so piteously, that the nat- 
 ural kindness of her heart became enlisted, and I knew I had 
 brought my protege to safe quarters. Father Shaw came in, 
 and began to investigate matters at once. ' What on airth 
 do ye wear such a bad-looking apron as that for ? ' he asked. 
 ' It 's my phylactery, and it keeps off the evil eye,' replied the 
 man, solemnly. ' Your what ? I should think 't was your 
 factory where yer 'd manufactured all the dragons and devils 
 that is telled on in Revelations. And is that are the mother 
 of abominations, in the middle of all them things ? ' 
 
 " ' Speak low,' said the poor man ; ' that is my lady-love, 
 and I 've made a vow to wear her on my heart till the resur- 
 rection, when God shall come with a writ of habeas corpus 
 and bring us all to judgment.' However this may seem in 
 the relation, he wore such an an air of dejection, and spoke 
 so sadly, the tears came to my eyes, despite myself, and I 
 exclaimed inwardly, ' Who has made us to differ ? ' 
 
 " ' Been crossed in love, I guess,' said Father Shaw to me. 
 ' Yes, yes,' responded the hapless stranger ; ' 't was all a 
 cross. She was cross, her father was cross, and it came 
 across me without even a cross-bill, till I crossed over the 
 legal bonds, and have wandered up and down cross-roads ever 
 since, cross-questioned and cross-examined by all I meet.' 
 ' Thankful am I,' said Miss Leah, ' that I was never in love ;' 
 and she bestirred herself about the table in a manner that 
 indicated a thirst for justice from some quarter. A cup of 
 warm tea and some food revived the poor creature consid-
 
 EDITH HALE. 149 
 
 erably. There ! ' said he, at length, raising the teaspoon by 
 way of emphasis, ' you all conclude that is, you come to 
 the conclusion according to the statutes that I was always 
 just what I am now. But no ! Great God ! thou knowest 
 what I was, what I am, what I shall be ! I know, too, 
 that I was once a man ; now I am a fool ; some day I shall 
 be an angel or devil, I can't say legally which.' He then 
 commenced singing a love-song, in a tone more suggestive of 
 melancholy than the most plaintive dirge. I could not endure 
 it, and I left him with Father Shaw, who said he would 
 take care of him that night, and give him a warm coat in the 
 morning, with some stout boots." 
 
 During this recital Mr. Solomon had paid profound atten- 
 tion, and several times had started in his chair, as if about 
 to interrogate Mr. Wellmont. He now arose to his feet, and, 
 in a tone of suppressed anxiety, said, 
 
 " Did that man give you his name? " 
 
 " No," replied Mr. "Wellmont, " I did not inquire. Father 
 Shaw might have learned, however." 
 
 " Well, sir, I know who it was. The description tallies 
 exactly. The apron the language the eye all belong 
 to no one else. It was my uncle ! " 
 
 " Is it possible ? " said Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " Yes ; and, merciful Heavens ! what a sinner I am to have 
 closed my eyes upon him all this time ! I have despised and 
 made merry about him, when I have thought of him hitherto. 
 I have called him impatiently a poor wretch, because he made 
 himself such a victim to a woman. Xow, I am brought to 
 13*
 
 150 EDITH HALE. 
 
 know something of his trial myself. Can you believe, Mr. 
 Wellmont," he continued, " that that object of charity and 
 compassion was once a capable, intelligent, and highly-respected 
 
 citizen of the city of H , doing a good business as a young 
 
 lawyer, and giving promise of becoming one of the first men 
 in the state ? My grandfather had but two sons. The eldest 
 was my father, who settled as a merchant in a country village ; 
 but upon his death, which occurred shortly after that of my 
 mother, I was placed in charge of my maternal uncle, Deacon 
 Goodwin, of this place. My uncle Frederic was liberally 
 educated, and progressed rapidly in his career, until an 
 engagement existing between him and a daughter of one of the 
 first families in the city of his residence was broken, the 
 reason of which I never clearly learned. My uncle took the 
 affair heavily to heart, and gradually fell off from his business, 
 until he became deranged. -He was taken to the hospital for 
 the insane, but, escaping several times, he was at length put in 
 charge of a family connection, and I suppose he is allowed to 
 wander about as he wills, to save trouble and expense ; for 
 the bank in which most of his property was invested failed, a 
 few years since. I am sorry to say I have neglected looking 
 into the matter, and I fear he has suffered from my unkind 
 omission." 
 
 " You have thus been brought most providentially to see 
 your duty," said Mr. Wellmont, " and I trust it will not be 
 in vain. God has afflicted you that you might have pity for 
 the afflictions of others; and, instead of rebelliously giving 
 yourself to a fate like that of your uncle, I trust you will
 
 EDITH HALE. 151 
 
 try to elevate not only yourself, but others, and so merit 
 the richest blessings Heaven ever bestowed upon mortals." 
 
 " Yes ! " said Mr. Solomon, reflectively ; " one fool in the 
 family is enough, without another of the same sort. I will 
 try to do what I can for myself and him. I know one thing 
 I shall always feel more comfortable in the thought that it is 
 I who am the injured. If I had encouraged her to think I 
 loved her, and then, after winning her affections, had left her 
 to bear her disappointment alone, I should think torment was 
 too good for me ; for it is a thousand times worse for a man 
 to treat a poor, defenceless, delicate woman ill, than for a 
 woman to turn against a man. The weaker sex have n't so 
 much self-reliance, I suppose, as we have." 
 
 It was now Mr. Wellniont's turn to pale and flush with 
 secret emotion. These words, unwittingly spoken, touched a 
 chord of his heart that vibrated with a keen remorse. He 
 knew, though others did not, that he had taught Edith 
 to think he loved her ; he had loved her in truth, he loved her 
 Btill ; and yet upon the writing-desk before him was a letter 
 just written to another, in which he had asked to have the time 
 of his marriage appointed. He had made a great sacrifice ; 
 but the question could not be waived " Had God required 
 that sacrifice, or had his own pride, and the pride of the world 
 in which he moved ? "
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 HORACE RAYMOND was one of those instructors who have the 
 tact of infusing a vital, expanding interest among their pupils. 
 Under his tuition and training, the dullest gradually awoke 
 into new light, and those who were predisposed to be ambi- 
 tious became eager and untiring aspirants for excellence. He 
 was like a successful general, who, by a few magnetic words, 
 arouses his soldiers to do and to dare to the utmost limits. 
 He excelled, because he was a master ; he succeeded, because 
 he made no rules which applied indiscriminately to all. His 
 principle was that no two pupils must be subjected to precisely 
 the same treatment, for the simple reason that no two minds 
 are organized upon the same scale, or endowed with the same 
 capabilities, and, therefore, must not be supposed able to 
 receive and give ideas in the same ratio. Even in the case 
 of some who did not equal their class-mates by reason 
 of negligence, -he made secret allowance for the natural 
 temperament, which, perhaps, was sluggish or weak, and, 
 consequently, unable to accomplish that amount of labor 
 which could be performed by another of more active and
 
 EDITH HALE. 153 
 
 and powerful faculties. But none were left to their own 
 errors. His grand watchword, Industry, must be responded 
 to by every pupil. He believed and taught that patient labor 
 would accomplish the most surprising results. The words of 
 Sallust, that " Men want industry more than time or abilities," 
 he often repeated to his pupils. 
 
 A new world of hope and effort was thus opened to Mary 
 Pickering, who had so long been neglected, and taught to 
 believe herself inferior. Her previous education having 
 been almost entirely derived from solitary reading, her first 
 efforts which required action upon her independent judg- 
 ment were crude and discouraging. With every hindrance 
 she was ready to believe that all the assertions of her ignor- 
 ance and incapacity were truths ; and, perhaps, would have 
 faltered and stopped by the way, had it not been for the influ- 
 ence of her teacher. 
 
 " Never be disheartened at failures," said he ; " for it 
 is our failures that at last bring us above mediocrity. They 
 stand out along our way as statucd contrasts to our successes. 
 No man who has attained a degree of perfection, in whatever 
 art, can look back upon his course, and not discover that his 
 errors, by the very mortification and patience and hard 
 discipline they summoned to their correction, served the most 
 effectually to advance him toward the grand result. Little 
 can we see from the single germ what shall be the product ! 
 Who would have once predicted from the wild brier all the 
 beautiful varieties of the rose ; from the common almond-tree, 
 the delicious peaches and nectarines ; from the black thorn,
 
 154 EDITH HALE. 
 
 the royal products of the plum ; from the crabs and wildings, 
 the staple luxury of apples of every flavor ? Who that now 
 beholds upon the walls of a library in Sienna some straight, 
 stiff, Gothic figures in fresco, which are the earliest works of 
 Raphael, is not impressed with man's capacity for improve- 
 ment, when he contrasts these with the artist's glorious master- 
 pieces of St. John in the Desert, the Madonna dclla Sedia, the 
 Martyrdom of St. Stephen, or the Transfiguration ! " 
 
 These words were not without their effect. They fell upon 
 the minds of his pupils with a power which was wholty irre- 
 sistible. 
 
 During the few months of his residence among them, he 
 produced a thorough revolution ; but in none was this more 
 evident than in the mind of Mary Pickering. Edith was 
 faithful in her assistance, and Mary constant in her efforts, 
 and she gradually progressed at a rate which astonished 
 even herself. The amount of knowledge she had acquired 
 from reading, by a course of systematic discipline soon 
 came into exercise, and assisted her so largely, that she was 
 enabled to overtake and outstrip many who commenced seem- 
 ingly in her advance. 
 
 At the close of the term, a day was devoted to the public 
 exhibition of the exercises of the academy ; and a day of unu- 
 sual interest it was to the people of AVaterbury, and to repre- 
 sentatives of many places and schools in the vicinity. Several 
 members of the clergy were present, especially invited by Mr. 
 Wellmont, who from the first had interested himself in the 
 school, and upon his first acquaintance had been friendly to
 
 EDITH HALE. 155 
 
 Mr. Raymond. Indeed, tho intelligent teacher had won 
 friends from almost every family in the place. Even Father 
 Shaw, who was prone to look with suspicion upon young men 
 who " set themselves up to teach others," especially if they 
 came with such high recommendations as did Horace Raymond, 
 came at last to like him ; and Miss Leah was heard to say 
 that she should think he would be a minister, for he had 
 too much sense in his head to be anything less. In the after- 
 noon the large hall was packed densely with curious spectators : 
 for the business men of the village had been allured from their 
 usual places ; the young men came as a matter of course 
 where so many interesting girls were assigned a part in the 
 exercises ; and a large class of ladies, not strictly interested in 
 book matters, came because there was much to see, and it was 
 fashionable to be there. This pleasant assemblage of parents 
 and friends spoke favorably for the place, indicating that there 
 was a great degree of cooperation with intellectual pursuits. 
 
 The exercises proceeded with increasing interest, notwith- 
 standing, as is usual in such cases, several who had devised 
 great things for themselves were chagrined at the calm but 
 cert? in triumph of others whom they had previously regarded 
 as iheir inferiors ; for Mr. Raymond had unusual skill 
 in a-sisting the diffident and unassuming to bring out the 
 full extent of their resources. Julia Pickering and Mary 
 furnish an instance in point. Julia possessed no depth of 
 character, and had always been a superficial scholar, really 
 knowing very little of what she professed to know ; and in 
 such an emergency as this came off but poorly, with only the
 
 156 EDITH HALE. 
 
 merit of reciting the words of the author, being at a total loss 
 when questioned by the committee for examination. But 
 Mary answered with a real appreciation of the subject, and 
 betrayed a depth of reflection which attracted the attention 
 of all. Several topics which Julia had failed to explain, or 
 had treated in such a mistaken way as to excite compassion 
 for her ignorance, had been given to Mary, who replied intel- 
 ligently and fully, quite unconscious, apparently, of the admi- 
 ration she thus gained. 
 
 Even to the very few who most loved her, it seemed she 
 had never looked before as on this occasion; and to those who 
 regarded her with dislike her new appearance was a marvel. 
 Her dark eyes were beaming with pleasurable emotion ; her 
 clear, olive complexion was deepened into rare beauty ; and 
 her finely-shaped head was bound with shining, heavy masses 
 of her brown hair, witaout ornament. Her figure was erect, 
 slender, and graceful, and there was a charm about her manner 
 so naive and appealing to affection, as if almost doubtful of 
 her claim, that was much more winning than the most piquant, 
 assured airs of her sister. She was attired with great sim- 
 plicity, even homeliness ; but it made no difference no one 
 cared to look at her di-ess. 
 
 In the most advanced classes, and especially in the lan- 
 guages, Edith bore the palm of excellence from many who 
 were older and of far higher pretensions than herself. Her 
 own classes who had received her instruction gave her much 
 credit. The pallor of her face contrasted strikingly with her 
 mourning dress ; but how sweet, though sad, was her voice !
 
 EDITH HALE. 157 
 
 the voice never heard by Mr. Wellmont without reminding him 
 of loveliness and of heaven ! Thenceforth it was to him as a 
 threnody for something lost. Her beauty, always undisputed, 
 was on this occasion heightened by her sadness and statuesque 
 tranquillity ; and, when excitement had summoned blushes to 
 her cheek, it rivalled a snow-wreath in the glow of sunset. 
 
 Among the latest of the exercises was a composition by 
 Edith, which was pronounced, by the best judges present, as a 
 rare and most creditable effort for a school-girl of her years. 
 Its sensible logic, correct English, and beauty of imagery, could 
 not fail of winning praise, and its pathos touched many hearts 
 to tears. Its theme was the somewhat peculiar one of 
 " Cotton" And, no sooner had she commenced the first sen- 
 tence thus, " We find our word cotton was originally derived 
 from Khoten, a province of Kashgar, in Asia," than she 
 absorbed the undivided interest of the audience, which was 
 never suspended till the end. Such a fearless, though indirect 
 allusion to her former employment, exhibiting the deep inde- 
 pendence of her character, and her capacity to defend the idea 
 of inferior labor, disarmed criticism at once, and for a time, 
 at least, allayed the envy excited by the distinctions she had 
 won for herself. She did not treat the topic simply histori- 
 cally, but it was adorned with the most refined and excursive 
 allusions with which the fabric is ever associated ; from the 
 gossamer-like muslin which floats around the aerial figure of 
 the ball-room, or the person of the youthful bride, to the plain 
 robe that shrouds the inanimate forms of those whom we fol- 
 14
 
 158 EDITH HALE . 
 
 low with mourning to the grave. Among the most conspic- 
 uous of the concluding addresses was that of Mr. "Wellmont, 
 in which he employed a fine sentence from Edith's theme, to 
 bring out a sentiment of his own ; and this laudatory mention 
 decided the popularity of her effort. 
 
 The last exercise was the general singing of a parting 
 hymn, written by Edith. This was the ostensible parting ; but 
 the real separation was another thing. The pupils, without 
 exception, esteemed their teacher as his superior merits 
 deserved ; and they would have been inconsolable had he not 
 promised to return at the expiration of a few weeks' vacation. 
 
 Julia Pickering had used every effort and blandishment 
 to win his especial regard, and she believed that he would 
 at least ask a correspondence with her during his absence. 
 But, though he had uniformly treated her with the most per- 
 fect politeness, he gave uo sign of what her heart so earnestly 
 craved. He would have remained a day or two longer after 
 the close of his school, to meet several pleasant appointments 
 with his pupils, had he not been suddenly ^ummoned away 
 by a message from home, announcing that his father was 
 dangerously ill. And so, amid the haste of his departure, 
 Julia was left a victim of hope deferred. But Mary, whose 
 shrinking heart had kept her by herself when he made his 
 adieus to the family, had been especially summoned to his 
 presence, and distinguished by a confidential communication. 
 
 When he had gone Julia yielded to a passionate outburst 
 of tears, and, enraged with disappointment and mortification, 
 commanded Mary to retire with her to her own room. She
 
 EDITH HALE. 159 
 
 then ordered her to disclose what Mr. Raymond had said to 
 her in the moment of his parting. Mary had formerly sub- 
 mitted to her sisters, whatever restrictions they might impose 
 on her; but of late her character had acquired new 
 strength, and the idea that she had some right of her own had 
 begun to dawn upon her mind. She therefore replied, trem- 
 bling with the weight of the new responsibility she was 
 assuming, 
 
 " If you had asked me in kindness, Julia, I would have 
 told you ; as it is, I refuse to do so." 
 
 " Refuse ! " repeated Julia, as if unable to comprehend the 
 meaning of that word from one whom she had treated as an 
 inferior. 
 
 " I do," replied Mary, firmly, but calmly. 
 
 The chagrin attending Mr. Raymond's departure had proved 
 sufficient to transform Julia into an impersonation of anger ; 
 but this new rebuff heightened her passion, so that she was 
 scarcely conscious of her own words. Having always been 
 a prime favorite with her mother, she had no idea of thus 
 being baffled, and by a sister who had been educated 
 to co'wer before her. A long hour she consumed in harsh 
 invective and command, to effect her purpose. At last Mary 
 became so agitated that she entreated her sister to desist. 
 Her sensitive heart was sinking beneath the accumulated 
 abuse ; for, all unused as she was to self-defence, she had no 
 protection for herself. An appeal to her other sisters, or her 
 mother, she knew would be useless ; and she had little or no 
 access to her father. The appearance of Julia terrified and
 
 160 EDITH HALE. 
 
 overwhelmed her; and, falling upon her knees before her, 
 she cried, 
 
 " 0, Julia ! spare me ! spare me ! Let me go from you ! " 
 
 "Never," said Julia, clenching more strongly the door- 
 key, " until you tell me what I require." 
 
 Mary looked up, and saw her eyes flashing with anger, her 
 lips compressed with determination, and she felt that further 
 appeal was hopeless. Yet she was firm in her own refusal 
 to yield up that one precious secret to such unwarranted 
 extortion. A nature like hers could not long endure such 
 a struggle. A quick, sharp pain smote her heart, communi- 
 cating at once with her excited brain. She tried to weep, but 
 all command of herself was gone ; and her last recollections 
 were of the unkind words of Julia, bringing new misery and 
 darkness with every moment. 
 
 When Mary returned to consciousness, she found herself 
 in her own room, with the housemaid waiting at her bed- 
 side. The shadows of evening had stolen in unawares ; 
 and, to her bewildered senses, the whole apartment was 
 dense with gloom. But her heart, also darkened, was 
 illumed with a single ray of hope, as of pure, white light, 
 associated with the last words of Horace Raymond. Through 
 all the weary, wakeful hours of that night, in spite of the wretch- 
 edness occasioned by the repeated recurrence of the injuries 
 she had received, those words were uppermost in her mind. 
 
 In the morning she was decidedly ill ; but no one of the 
 family came to inquire for her. Late into the hours of the 
 day she was aroused by the presence of her father, who was
 
 EDITH HALE. 161 
 
 so alarmed at her appearance, that he despatched a summons for 
 Dr. Humphrey without delay. With the physician came Mrs. 
 Pickering, who was very profuse in her attentions to him, and 
 to please him gave some little notice to Mary. Mr. Pick- 
 ering was reassured, by the opinion of Dr. Humphrey, that 
 Mary had nothing more than a slight illness, occasioned by 
 over-exertion, which might be cured by sufficient rest and 
 freedom from excitement. Leaving a light sedative medicine, 
 and some of his characteristic encouraging words, which were 
 in most cases more potent than drugs, he went away. Mrs. 
 Pickering lingered long enough to censure Mary severely for 
 what she termed her feigning sickness to attract attention, 
 adding that she had been made quite too much of recently ; 
 but she could not deceive her, as she did her father. 
 
 This was one more pang to Mary ; for, to be thought a 
 deceiver, in addition to her real ills, was worse than the pain of 
 sickness. Left to the solitude of her own thoughts, she rapidly 
 grew worse, her fever increased, and her mind began to pic- 
 ture to itself numberless unreal impressions. Hour after hour 
 she lay suffering for a draught of water, or the most trifling 
 attentions. Once, on hearing the housemaid pass her door, she 
 called and attracted her notice ; but, in reply to her wishes, 
 she was told that peremptory orders had been given to let her 
 wait upon herself. With tears she reiterated her supplications 
 in vain, and finally asked to have Edith sent for to her assist- 
 ance. This Gillis promised to do. 
 
 Mary was revived at the prospect of seeing her friend ; and 
 she soon was entirely absorbed in the pleasant anticipation, 
 14*
 
 162 EDITH HALE. 
 
 even counting the minutes which must elapse in the mean 
 while. 
 
 After considerable delay, just as Mary was fully expecting 
 to meet the dear face which always smiled upon her, Gillis 
 returned alone, saying that she had been ordered not to let 
 any one go to her room. 
 
 This disappointment completed the work already begun. 
 In the evening, when her father returned with Edith (who had 
 hastened to her at the first moment she had heard of her 
 ailing), the consolation came too late. Mary was delirious 
 with a high fever, and had no correct knowledge of anything 
 about her. In vain did Edith, by every manifestation of 
 affection, implore her to recognize her; in vain were her 
 father's kind words and tears. 
 
 The only answer was, " Edith can't come, and I have no 
 water to drink ! Just one cup ! 0, no ! She will never come 
 to me ! " 
 
 Dr. Humphrey, when again called, shook his head sadly, 
 and said he had not properly estimated her case, or, as was 
 most probable, a great change had transpired during the day, 
 and regretted he had not been summoned sooner. 
 
 It resulted in a protracted and dangerous illness, during 
 all which time Edith was unremitting in her attentions 
 an angel of gentleness and care. Meanwhile Mrs. Pick- 
 ering kept within her own room, upon the plea of nervous 
 indisposition. The sisters, who belonged to that class who 
 have a fear of nothing so much as of sickness and death, 
 would not have entered Mary's apartment upon any consider-
 
 EDITH HALE. 163 
 
 ation, lest it might have resulted in some kind of injury to 
 themselves ; and, beside, Julia had especial reasons of her 
 own for not appearing there, for the true secret of her sister's 
 illness was known only to the sufferer and herself. Mary had 
 raved piteously about that fearful scene with Julia, but no one 
 imagined she was speaking truth. 
 
 The crisis of her illness was watched by Dr. Humphrey, 
 her father, and Edith ; and when at last a word of hope 
 was whispered by the kind-hearted physician, amid his 
 tears, Edith was almost overcome with the excess of her 
 emotion, and prayed fervently to Heaven that Mary might 
 yet live in the light of happier days. 
 
 Mary returned to the consciousness of life like a frail plant 
 trampled to the earth, bearing the likeness of death, but 
 revived a little by the cooling breath of a shower. Her 
 spiritual nature was dominant over the earthly to such a 
 degree that her senses seemed refined to the most perfect 
 sensitiveness ; and had it not been for the affectionate 
 attendance of her friend, the delicate chords of her being, 
 long rudely stretched by unloving hands, would have been 
 broken forever. The doctor entertained fears at this time 
 of the derangement of her mind, and so had cautioned the 
 family against every species of action in her presence that 
 might occasion excitement. 
 
 Mary had begun to acquire strength a little more rapidly, 
 when Edith was obliged to leave her for a day, to attend an 
 examination of candidates for teachers, in a neighboring 
 town, where she had succeeded in engaging a school for
 
 164 EDITH HALE. 
 
 the ensuing season, by the recommendation of Mr. "VTellmont. 
 She would willingly have deferred the engagement, but, as 
 this could not be, she carefully introduced the subject to Mary, 
 and inquired which of her sisters she should ask to take her 
 place during her absence. The invalid was pained at the 
 prospect, for her dread of her family was unconquerable ; 
 but, concealing her feelings, she entered into the spirit of 
 Edith's arrangements with as much heart as she was able. 
 None of her sisters, however, were found willing to undertake 
 the service, and Gillis was assigned to the place. 
 
 But when the morrow came, and Gillis had left Mary for 
 a few minutes, to attend to some of her household duties. 
 Julia entered the room of her sister, and, entirely contrary 
 to her usual manner, condescended to be quite gracious, and 
 even inquired if there were not some assistance she could 
 render her. Mary was startled at her appearance there, 
 scarcely knowing what reply to make. She was about to 
 murmur her acknowledgments, when Julia approached her 
 bed, and, producing something which she held up within her 
 hands, said, 
 
 " Guess, Moll, what I 've got here ! " 
 
 " I can't tell," replied Mary, faintly smiling. 
 
 " It is a letter," said Julia, her eyes sparkling. 
 
 Mary instantly thought to herself that it must be a letter 
 to her from Horace Raymond, that expected letter upon 
 which her imagination had so much dwelt, and that Julia, 
 regretting her late unkindness, had brought it in person. 
 
 " Look there," continued Julia , holding the envelope so
 
 EDITH HALE. 165 
 
 that she might see only the word " Waterbury " upon the 
 outside ; " can you tell that writing ? " 
 
 Mary knew it well knew it in an instant ; for no one 
 ever wrote like Horace llaymond. 
 
 " 0, yes," she replied, extending her hands eagerly. " Do 
 give it to me quickly ! " 
 
 Julia drew backward, retaining the letter, and glancing 
 silently at Mary, who was trembling with excess of joyful 
 emotion. 
 
 " Are you certain it is for you? " she at length inquired. 
 
 " Yes ; he told me he would write, and I expected a letter 
 long before," replied Mary, with great simplicity. 
 
 " Ah ! that indeed ! " pursued Julia, in her wonted tone, 
 which caused Mary to start with her old fear, and look upon 
 her bewilderingly. " So you can tell me now without drivel- 
 ling upon your knees for an excuse ! " 
 
 " ! Julia, how can you tantalize me so ? " cried Mary, 
 turning very pale. 
 
 " Well, look once again ! " and she now displayed the 
 entire face of the envelope. " Does that read like your name, 
 or mine ? " 
 
 When Mary discovered that the letter was addressed to 
 Julia, she only faltered, brokenly, " Was there no letter for 
 me ? " and, receiving a triumphant " No " in reply, clasped 
 her hands over her face to conceal her emotion, and lay per- 
 fectly motionless. Julia expected to see her weep and moan, 
 but she awaited the sounds of grief in vain.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 EXAMINATION BEFORE THE SCHOOL-COMMITTEE. 
 
 TIIERE are few positions so trying to a young girl entering 
 the world upon her individual responsibility as that of appear- 
 ing before a select committee for examination as to her 
 qualifications for a school-teacher. That our free schools 
 should be zealously guarded from being committed to unwor- 
 thy and incapable instructors, is certain ; but that such 
 guardianship is frequently exercised under the influence of 
 prejudice, false notions of requirements, and a desire to 
 exhibit superiority in contrast to helplessness, is equally 
 certain. For how frequently, at the present day, are appli- 
 cants for schools tortured and rejected, because they fail to 
 answer some foolish quibble, or describe a course of travel 
 as ambiguous as a selenographic chart, and which would 
 do credit to a Humboldt or Sir John Franklin, when, perhaps, 
 they possess many of the best requisites for the vocation, 
 serenity of temper, clear judgment, and grace of manners ; 
 while some flippant, conceited candidate for teaching, without 
 experience or knowledge of human nature derived from books 
 or observation, but who can glibly answer said quibble, and
 
 KDIT1I HALE. 167 
 
 accomplish the given task, obtains preference for the train- 
 ing of young mind*, for whom systematic habits of thought 
 are of infinitely greater importance than the minutiae of 
 text-books \vhich are changed every few years. 
 
 In such a situation the most self-assured are baffled, and the 
 naturally diffident and distrustful receive a shock more pow- 
 erful than that from any galvanic battery. A timid, trem- 
 bling applicant for a certificate, before a body of several 
 ministers, who will be as astute, powerful, and formidable, as 
 is possible, reminds one of the accounts of human sacrifices 
 in the Egyptian temple of Isis. 
 
 The place at which Edith met this ordeal was at Birhamp- 
 ton, a town adjacent to Waterbury, at the house of the Rev. 
 Mr. Swinton, whom the reader has already met in the study 
 of Mr. \Tellmont. But Mr. Swinton was not the chairman 
 of the committee. The important personage who conducted 
 affairs was the Rev. Hyliscus Crabtree, the pastor of the most 
 powerful society of the place, and apparently at home in 
 his position. He was a lofty, cold, unimpressible man, who 
 stood in the world like a grave-stone, in memory of death 
 and of his own name. He had a great reputation, that 
 most convenient antecedent to all independence, and so 
 could well afford to stand aloof upon the pedestal of his dig- 
 nity. It was known that the family of Crabtree to which he 
 belonged had produced numerous ministers upon the direct 
 stalk, or collateral branches ; that he, the Rev. Hyliscus, had 
 received his education, which was reputed to be immense, at
 
 168 EDITH 1IALE. 
 
 two colleges, in a law-office, in the study of an eminent divine, 
 and in a theological institution. 
 
 Pope, in his Moral Essays, when enumerating the different 
 callings of the sons of a family, says : 
 
 " Will sneaks a scrivener, an exceeding knave ; 
 Is he a churchman ? then he 's fond of power." 
 
 Whatever might have been the characteristics of the other 
 twigs of Crabtree, it is undeniable that a fondness for power 
 distinguished this one. His power over the community in 
 which he lived was of that nature that he could have pro- 
 pounded any rule in religious and practical life to his people 
 without dispute ; could act and think for them without gain- 
 saying, and had become almost an embodiment of their religion. 
 
 The third member of the committee was Rev. Mr. Pin- 
 ney, a small man, with a small voice, and representing a 
 small society. The remaining member was a layman, who 
 was one of those men especially esteemed by ministers, and 
 who consequently attained to his office through their influence. 
 
 There was also in Mr. Swinton's parlor a lady, who sat 
 aside, by a window, engaged in some fancy-work. At the 
 entrance of Edith, notwithstanding her embarrassment, her 
 attention had been arrested by this lady's cool scrutiny of 
 herself, and by the peculiar expression of her countenance 
 that followed, which Edith felt was not only pointed 
 with curiosity, but disdain. She was attired with great ele- 
 gance, and was evidently disposed to rate everybody by 
 her own standard. When the committee had all assembled,
 
 EDITH HALE. 169 
 
 this lady observed to Mr. Swinton, with a peculiar smile, that 
 she would retire from the room, if necessary ; for which he 
 declared there was no necessity, and, turning to the clergy- 
 men, said : " This lady is from a city ; and I should like to 
 have her witness some of our proceedings here in the country, 
 if there are no objections." - 
 
 " Certainly, madam ; we should like to have you remain," 
 said Mr. Crabtree. 
 
 Edith having arrived earlier in the day than the other 
 applicants, she was first summoned before the committee. It 
 was their custom to devote a day to the examinations, so that 
 each person might appear separately ; and they were now 
 fresh for the work. She was first requested to read a page 
 from a History of Missions, on which were a variety of diffi- 
 cult names of persons and foreign stations, selected by Mr. 
 Crabtree. Edith was a very fine reader, usually ; her voice 
 was adapted to clear and distinct expression ; and her sensi- 
 tive appreciation of the subject, combined with a certain 
 natural taste, enabled her more than creditably to inter- 
 pret the author. But, having, on this occasion, to read, as it 
 were, for a given amount of approbation, in presence of such 
 critical listeners, she lost her self-possession, at first, and read 
 in manner quite unworthy of herself. But Mr. Swinton 
 sat smiling all the while, and each time she had strug- 
 gled to the end of the sentence nodded encouragingly ; for 
 it was quite in his vein to secure the good graces of every 
 one, partly from a love of popularity, but more, perhaps, 
 from a natural kindliness of heart. But all this kindnesa 
 15
 
 170 EDITH HALE. 
 
 was lost upon Edith. She saw only the large, solemn figure 
 of Mr. Crabtree, whose presence, to her mind, swallowed up 
 all the others', as did the fat kine of Pharaoh's dream devour 
 the lean. 
 
 She was next exercised in orthography, in which she made 
 no mistakes. 
 
 " I shall now ask you some questions in primary instruc- 
 tion," said Mr. Crabtree. " Among the abbreviations are 
 some of which I find many teachers ignorant, but which must 
 be known and taught, to attain the true standard. We always 
 find, in certain common legal instruments, a form like this : 
 ' Middlesex, ss.,' or any other county, with that annexed 
 abbreviation. Now, what does ' ss.' stand for ? " 
 
 " For solicit, I believe," answered Edith. 
 
 " I know that is the vulgar error ; but it is tyne it was 
 more generally corrected," said Mr. Crabtree, glancing about 
 upon the other members of the committee, who were looking 
 scarcely less puzzled than Edith. " It stands for scilicet, a 
 Latin word, " 
 
 " "Which signifies ' truly,' ' to wit,' " said Edith, who was 
 very well versed in the rendering of Latin. 
 
 Mr. Crabtree frowned. He had not supposed that Edith 
 knew anything of what he was about to say ; and he did not 
 like missing the eclat of his point. " It signifies ' You may 
 be sure,' " he added, curtly. 
 
 Mr. Pinney, and Mr. Lee, the layman, looked, for all the 
 world, as though the Latin word had no other intelligence for 
 them than " slice it," or " silly set."
 
 EDITH HALE. 171 
 
 " Xmas ? " pursued Mr. Crabtree. Edith could not tell ; 
 and she began to feel very much confused. 
 
 " It is an abbreviation of Christmas," said Mr. Crabtree. 
 
 " Xn ? " Edith was at a loss again. 
 
 " Means Christian." 
 
 " I did not know as the word Christian was ever abbrevi- 
 ated," ventured Edith. 
 
 " Xeither did I," said Mr. Swinton, smiling, " only in cases 
 where the word is used to designate particular graces." 
 
 " It is upon the list of abbreviations in common use," said 
 Mr. Crabtree; " and I might ask many more, which, I pre- 
 sume, you could not tell," he added. 
 
 Edith sat pale and trembling with fear, till she could see 
 three Rev. Hyliscus Crabtrees, instead of one. 
 
 " We shall next examine your knowledge of geography," 
 said the chairman ; " and in this branch we are very partic- 
 ular, as we attach great importance to having our teachers 
 thoroughly conversant with the location, statistical resources, 
 and general knowledge of the places of the world, that the 
 pupils committed to their instruction may be extensively and 
 thoroughly trained in this point. Mr. Swinton, will you 
 proceed to open the geographical questions ? " 
 
 Edith now felt like the mariner who sees his ship 
 between two enormous mountains of ice, each approaching 
 nearer and nearer to his destruction. She was making a 
 rapid effort to recall the boundaries of as many states as 
 possible, when Mr. Swinton interrupted her thoughts by ask- 
 ing, " What place in the east is the most renowned for the
 
 172 EDITII HALE. 
 
 incomparable fragrance of the rose-water there manufac- 
 tured ? " 
 
 Edith blushed -to the hue of the deepest blush-roses which 
 ever came to distillation ; for she had not the slightest inform- 
 ation on the question. 
 
 " It is Nisiben, in Mesopotamia, I believe," said Mr. Swin- 
 ton, who, perceiving her embarrassment, wished to relieve it 
 as quickly as possible. 
 
 " Which State in the Union has the least compass of terri- 
 tory ? " next inquired Mr. Pinney, of the small society. This 
 being promptly answered, Mr. Crabtree looked to Mr. Lee for 
 the next question, who said he thought of nothing at that 
 moment to ask. He would have a question the next time. 
 
 " Where is the Strait of Bab-el-Mandel, and from what is 
 the name derived ? " now asked Mr. Crabtree. 
 
 Edith stated the location promptly ; but the derivation she 
 could not tell, and remarked that she should think that ques- 
 tion was not embraced within the province of Geography. 
 
 Mr. Crabtree sat in severe silence for a moment, lost in 
 contemplation of the idea of a young, ignorant girl presuming 
 to criticize a question from a man like himself. " If she had 
 belonged to my people she would have been wiser," he 
 thought ; " as it is, I will show her that the Rev. Hyliscus 
 Crabtree knows why he speaks." 
 
 " The derivation of names is among the most important 
 branches of knowledge," he said to Edith, elevating his 
 eyes to the ceiling, and occasionally glancing down, as a 
 condor, sitting upon the heights of the Andes, casts his eyo
 
 EDITH HALE. 173 
 
 upon his prospective prey in the vale below. " If you are 
 unable to instruct in this, you cannot instruct at all as you 
 should. The name Bab-el-Mandel is from the Arabic for 
 the ' Gate of Tears ; ' and was of old applied to the strait, 
 from the belief that those who issued through it could never 
 return." 
 
 The tears now came to Edith's eyes, as if in correspondence 
 to Mr. Crabtree's " derivation ; " but through them she saw, 
 in a moment of misery, the lady who sat listening, striving to 
 draw Mr. Swinton into a smile, in return for her derisive 
 laugh. That look was long afterward remembered by its 
 victim ; for there are few trials more poignant to bear than 
 the mirth of others at our woe. 
 
 " What are some of the distinguishing characteristics of 
 the Caucasian countries ? " now inquired Mr. Swinton, in a 
 manner which he intended to be very bland and familiar. 
 Edith hesitated. " fror instance, of Circassia ? of Schir- 
 van ? " he added. Edith, a little brightened, replied that 
 Georgia and Circassia, provinces of Caucasus, were famous 
 for the strength and symmetry of the frames of the inhab- 
 itants. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Swinton, dallying a little with his watch- 
 key ; " and you might have added, that the women of those 
 countries are the most beautiful in the world. That is geo- 
 graphical. However, private opinion might differ," bowing 
 to Edith and his lady friend, with especial animation. Mr. 
 Crabtree now frowned again, and looked upon his associates 
 with unmitigated reproof. Mr. Pinney laughed a very little 
 15*
 
 174 EDITH HALE. 
 
 laugh ; and Mr. Lee did not know exactly what it was proper 
 to do. 
 
 " Can you tell me anything of Schirvan, Miss Hale ? " con- 
 tinued Mr. Swinton. 
 
 Of Schirvan Edith was wholly oblivious, having only, in 
 connection with the derivation of names, an unpleasant asso- 
 ciation with an obnoxious disease. 
 
 " This region," said Mr. Swinton, " from the abundance of 
 its beautiful flowers, is called the Paradise of Hoses. Here 
 is also the temple of fire, and the fountains of white naphtha 
 and black naphtha ; which latter supplies many countries with 
 a certain substance called lamp oil." 
 
 This last was spoken carefully by Mr. Swinton, as if in fear 
 of soiling his tongue. 
 
 " And Sovropol, the capital of another province of Cauca- 
 sus," continued Mr. Crabtree, " is the location of a Scottish 
 missionary station." 
 
 Mr. Swinton bowed assent ; but it was doubtful if he had 
 treasured so deep a memory of the missionary station, as of 
 the roses and feminine loveliness. 
 
 " Which is the longest river in the world ? " inquired Mr. 
 Pinney, opening his eyes with the evident determination to be 
 something, after all, and extending his dapper limbs to their 
 utmost capacity. This being answered, Mr. Lee ventured 
 to inquire, in deference to the clergy present, " How many 
 houses of public worship are there in London ? " 
 
 " That question," said Mr. Crabtree, " is good for some oc-
 
 EDITH HALE. 175 
 
 casions ; but it is hardly explicit enough for this. Will you 
 proceed to supply its place by another ? " 
 
 " What people of the world have a practice, when they are 
 dying, of taking hold of a cow's tail ? " 
 
 Mr. Swinton now laughed outright, and Mr. Crabtree looked 
 upon his layman in consternation. As Edith could not tell, 
 Mr. Lee said it was the Brahmins, who believed that by so 
 doing the cow would assist them to cross the river of fire, 
 which lies, according to them, between this world and the 
 other. He considered it a very important question, and he 
 regretted that it could not be answered. 
 
 He had been reading a work on the heathen of India, and 
 he had been astonished beyond measure at the revelations 
 therein made. 
 
 " Speaking of that," said Mr. Swinton, " reminds me of a 
 foolish thing, too good to be kept in this connection. A little 
 girl, the daughter of one of my relatives from the city, once 
 on a visit here, went to ride with me, and, in her surprise at 
 the novelty of the horse so near her, asked, ' Will the cow's 
 tail bite me ? ' I think I should be inclined to put a similar 
 query, were I in the condition of the Brahmins." 
 
 " Pshaw ! " ejaculated Mr. Crabtree, and proceeded to ask 
 another derivation at once, to restore the atmosphere to a 
 suitable frigidity, after so much nonsense. 
 
 " From what does the palace of the Tuilleries derive its 
 name ? " As Edith made no attempt to answer, after a long 
 pause, he said, " From tuile, a tile ; because the spot on which 
 it is erected was once used for the manufacture of tiles."
 
 176 EDITH HALE. 
 
 Mr. Crabtree saw that Edith was thoroughly discomposed ; 
 but, remembering her objection to his first derivation, he was 
 determined not to flinch ; for his temperament required seven- 
 fold restitution for offence. 
 
 " What two bays are at the eastern extremity of the Afri- 
 can coast, and from what do they derive their name ? " he 
 continued. " Can't tell ? A simple question ! They are 
 the two Syrtes, so famous in classical history ; and their 
 name comes from the frequent dragging, or shifting, of their 
 channel." 
 
 " Were you in despair of heart," said Mr. Swinton, " and 
 wished to banish yourself from the scene of your sorrows, to 
 the Sahara Desert, or, as it is sometimes called, the Sahara 
 Bela-ma (the sea without water), what direction would you 
 take? and at what points would you touch in your progress?" 
 
 With considerable hesitation, Edith proceeded to reply as 
 intelligibly as she could ; and, by Mr. Swinton's assistance, 
 was conducted at last, after a variety of stops, to the goal of 
 her sorrows. 
 
 " What is the kebla, or praying-point of the Mahometans ? " 
 inquired Mr. Pinney. 
 
 " Toward Mecca," said Edith; "and may I inquire," she 
 continued, with a sudden revival of all her energies, while her 
 dark eyes flashed her indignation through her tears, looking 
 alternately from Mr. Crabtree to Mr. Pinney, " if your pray- 
 ing-point, before meeting here to examine a poor girl for her 
 qualification for the means of obtaining a livelihood, who 
 carries an honorable certificate of preparation from several
 
 EDITH HALE. 177 
 
 learned persons, was in the direction of that Being who 
 has said, ' Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain 
 mercy ' ? " 
 
 At this, Mr. Pinney was overpowered, and retired within 
 his shell of dignity, like a little tortoise with a live coal upon 
 its back. Mr. Swinton nodded in triumph to his lady friend. 
 But Mr. Crabtree grew very red in the face, and seemed, for 
 the first time in his life, at a loss to know how to proceed ; 
 for, from his knowledge of woman, he thought he had already 
 said enough to put Edith in her place. 
 
 " Now," said Mr. Swinton, in a brisk manner, as though a 
 sudden wind had sprung up, " we will proceed briefly to ex- 
 amine you in arithmetic. Meanwhile, Mr. Lee ventured to 
 whisper to Mr. Crabtree that one so irreverent as that girl 
 ought to be banished from the room. " Wait," replied Mr. 
 Crabtree, emphatically. 
 
 The questions, now chiefly conducted by Mr. Swinton, were 
 all answered promptly and correctly ; for Edith had laid aside 
 a portion of her terror after reaching the ultimatum of human 
 patience. She was answering thus spiritedly, when Mr. 
 Crabtree interrupted with, " From what is the word carat 
 derived ? " 
 
 Edith replied, with unabated promptness, she did not 
 know. 
 
 Mi 1 . Crabtree felt quite above explanation this time, when 
 Mr. Swinton remarked, " You will oblige us by giving the 
 derivation, Mr. Crabtree ; for I presume no one present knows 
 but yourself."
 
 178 KDITH HALE. 
 
 " It comes from kuara, a kind of bean, by which gold 
 powder was originally weighed in the East," vouchsafed Mr. 
 Crabtree, icily. 
 
 " It would be of great service to me, sir," said Edith, " if 
 you would tell me who first invented arithmetic." 
 
 " I came here to ask questions, not to answer them," said 
 Mr. Crabtree, growing redder. 
 
 " I believe I have read somewhere," said Mr. Swinton, " that 
 arithmetic first attained any degree of perfection among the 
 Greeks ; but to what particular person the science of numbers 
 owes its origin, I am unable to tell." 
 
 She was then examined in grammar, principally by Mr. 
 Crabtree, who, notwithstanding her superior knowledge of 
 that branch, succeeded in puzzling her till she could be puz- 
 zled no further. Mr. Swinton looked at his watch, and said 
 the time allowed for the examination had passed. 
 
 " I shall ask one question more," said Mr. Crabtree, who 
 seemed unwilling to lose the latest opportunity for the display 
 of his knowledge : ' Who first invented the alphabet ? " 
 
 Edith cast a look of appeal to Mr. Swinton ; her last hope 
 was slipping away from beneath her grasp. 
 
 " It is necessary a teacher should know this, as well as the 
 other questions we have asked," said Mr. Crabtree, "in order 
 that pupils may be taught something more than what is found 
 in school-books. It is of vast importance that a child, before 
 learning its letters, should be told that the alphabet was " 
 
 " I now recollect," spoke Edith, with a sudden dawn of
 
 EDITH HALE. 179 
 
 intelligence upon the subject, " that Cadmus is said to have 
 first introduced letters into Greece." 
 
 " Plato lays down," continued Mr. Crabtree, at the same 
 time letting his hand fall upon the table, emphatically, " that 
 the alphabet was invented by Thoth, secretary to the Egypt- 
 ian king, Thamus ; and I regard such authority as indis- 
 putable." 
 
 " Indeed ! " interposed Mr. Swinton, with a very bland smile ; 
 " I must now beg leave to differ from you, Mr. Crabtree, or 
 Plato. This young lady is correct, I think. The other day, 
 alighting upon the fact, that, in the language of the Indians, a 
 rose is signified by the word ertel, I went on to think of the 
 origin of letters, by a natural association of ideas. Upon re- 
 ferring to ancient and honorable authority, I found that the 
 alphabetical characters were brought out of Phoenicia, by Cad- 
 mus, in the time of the judges of Israel. They then num- 
 bered only sixteen letters. Two hundred and fifty years after 
 this, four letters more were added by Palamedes, in the time 
 of the siege of Troy ; though s'ome give out that Epicharmus 
 invented two of these letters. After the siege of Troy, six 
 hundred and fifty years, if I remember correctly, Simonides 
 invented the other four letters. If I arn tedious," he added, 
 " I bog pardon. But I wished to communicate what little I 
 knew upon the point at issue, although I must say that I con- 
 sider it of less consequence that a little abecedarian should 
 kno. r this, than the letters themselves, with the answers to 
 such .questions as, ' What town do you live in ? ' and ' How 
 many senses have you ? ' "
 
 180 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " It is to be hoped they will not have the sense called 
 nonsense^ said Mr. Crabtree, to Mr. Swinton, in a low aside, 
 intended for a reproof. 
 
 " Yes, yes," softly rejoined Mr. Swinton, in excellent humor; 
 " but there is one other sense, which persons who have studied 
 a long life sometimes lack, although it is considered very 
 common." 
 
 " You may now leave this room until you are recalled to 
 hear our decision respecting your qualifications," said Mr. 
 Crabtree, in a loud tone, to Edith. 
 
 This deliberation continued an unusual length of time, dur- 
 ing which Edith was a victim of anxiety and dread. " If I 
 am rejected as not qualified, it will be such a mortification to 
 have the fact come to the knowledge of my friends to 
 Mr. Wellmont, who recommended me ! " she reflected. " And, 
 then, it would be a great misfortune to lose the opportunity 
 of teaching the school, which will leave me without prospect 
 of the means of obtaining a livelihood." 
 
 As she had failed to answer so many of the questions 
 asked her, she had strong fears of rejection ; but Mr. Swin- 
 ton' s kind manner inspired her with a faint hope. One 
 thought dwelt uppermost in her mind ; it was that, whatever 
 might be said in her disparagement by the committee in their 
 deliberations, it would be in hearing of that lady who had 
 looked upon her so derisively ; and how could she enter her 
 presence again, and, perhaps, hear her rejection announced 
 before her ! To some persons this would have been the last 
 consideration, or a matter of perfect indifference ; but Edith
 
 EDITH HALE. 181 
 
 was greatly, and unhappily, influenced in her presence, by 
 some mysterious reason for which, she could not account. 
 As she sat in Mr. Swinton's back parlor alone, the image of 
 the lady, with her cold, haughty eye, and the expressive 
 curve of her lip, haunted her continually. " If Mr. "Well- 
 mont were only here, I should feel that I was protected," 
 she said to herself. 
 
 At length Mr. Lee entered the room ; her heart beat vio- 
 lently in agony, and with difficulty she followed him, as he 
 said, in a hard tone, " You are requested to come now and 
 hear the decision respecting you." 
 
 She returned to the parlor mechanically, and took her posi- 
 tion beside a chair, just behind the lady. 
 
 " You may sit down," said Mr. Crabtree. But Edith did 
 not move, being too rigidly preoccupied. 
 
 " We have considered your case," began Mr. Crabtree, in 
 a terribly austere manner, " thoroughly, jointly, carefully ; and 
 the majority of this committee think " 
 
 " Yes ; the majority, and not all ! " interrupted Mr. Swin- 
 ton ; while Edith was now so dizzied that she grasped the back 
 of the chair against which she stood for support. 
 
 " That you are not qualified to teach the school for which 
 you have engaged yourself. You are young, and possibly, in 
 time, you may become qualified to be a teacher. At present, 
 we recommend you to attend school as a scholar." 
 
 Edith next heard a rustle of the lady's silk dress, as she 
 turned in her chair to discover how the victim would bear the 
 last infliction, and she heard something which was said hiir- 
 16
 
 182 EDITH HALE. 
 
 riedly by Mr. Swinton, about his being in favor of somebody, 
 or something ; but she was too confused to retain any distinct 
 consciousness, save those words, "you are not qualified! " which 
 echoed again and again to her ears. The committee then held 
 a whispered consultation for a few minutes, in which 3Ir. 
 Swinton was very active, while Edith, arousing herself to conceal 
 her emotion, prepared to leave the room. " TVait a moment, 
 if you please," said Mr. Swinton. And now her attention was 
 newly arrested by a miniature which the lady just before her 
 held within her hand, held it carefully, admiringly, as 
 though it possessed some talismanic potency. Was it possi- 
 ble that her sight deceived her ? She brushed her eyes quickly 
 with her cold fingers, and then leaned forward with breathless 
 interest. Yes ; she could not mistake ; it was the picture of 
 Mr. AVellmont ! A new emotion replaced every other. But 
 Mr. Swinton now came to conduct her out, and, when well 
 beyond the hearing of the other members of the com- 
 mittee, expressed his disapprobation of the decision, and 
 asserted he had made vigorous efforts to counteract and 
 reverse it. 
 
 " I am certain," said he, " that many of the questions asked 
 by Mr. Crabtree were extraordinary ; indeed, I may call them 
 excrescences ; and I regard your failure to answer them as 
 no test of your acquirements." Edith was too much troubled 
 for words ; the tears would come, despite her efforts to restrain 
 her emotion. " If 1 can yet do anything for you," added Mr. 
 Swinton, " I shall be most happy to exert myself in your 
 behalf. And I shall tell Mr. Wellmont, the next time I see
 
 EDITH HALE. 183 
 
 him, that his recommendation has lost none of its truth in my 
 estimation." 
 
 Edith murmured her thanks. 
 
 " Dear me ! " exclaimed Mr. Swinton, as she was about to leave 
 the door, " how I wish I could think of something to say which 
 would comfort you ! for I know just how you feel like a 
 beautiful rose that has been held to the olfactory organs of a 
 snuff-taker, and then crushed rudely in fragments between his 
 soiled fingers ! Now I think of it, to divert your attention, I 
 have a mind to disclose a pretty piece of news ; it cannot fail 
 to interest you, as you are one of Mr. Wellmont's friends, I 
 see by his recommendation." And Mr. Swinton stepped a 
 little nearer to Edith, as he said, in a low but animated voice, 
 " This lady you saw in my parlor is engaged to marry Mr. 
 Wellmont ! So, you have been favored with the first sight of 
 the future wife of your minister ! No great loss without some 
 small gain, you know ! " 
 
 At these words, so harmlessly intended, yet so barbed with 
 fresh pain to Edith, she turned very pale, but smiled to con- 
 ceal her suffering, and even found strength to falter a hope 
 that Mr. Wellmont and the parish might be blessed in his 
 union ; and then, once more expressing her gratitude to Mr. 
 Swinton, left his presence.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY. 
 
 EDITH found that, by reason of her long detention at her 
 examination, she had missed the regular morning conveyance, 
 by which she had designed returning to Waterbury, and she 
 must now remain till evening, or walk a distance of five miles. 
 She decided upon the latter alternative ; for, in her present 
 state of mind, the prospect of extreme fatigue was preferable 
 to that of inactivity. The first mile of her walk was accom- 
 plished rapidly, under the pressure of the excitement attend- 
 ing her late disappointment. But this feeling gradually 
 gave place to a severe consciousness of all that she had 
 lost; and as she proceeded wearily upon her way, with her 
 pale face bathed in tears, she exclaimed to herself, " It is 
 true of me, as saith the Scripture, I will hedge up her way 
 with thorns, and make a wall that she shall not find her paths.' 
 For some cause, perhaps for that curse which is promised to 
 children's children, I am afflicted above measure ;" for she 
 now remembered the words of her mother, a short time pre- 
 vious to her death, concerning a shadow upon her father from 
 his birth. Utterly exhausted, she sat down under the shadow
 
 DITH HALE. 185 
 
 of a tree, and abandoned herself to grief. Nature around her 
 was serene and beautiful, clad in the spring verdure, but its 
 quietude fell upon her heart as a solemn mockery. She 
 was so much depressed and absorbed in her own bitter re- 
 flections, that she soon became unconscious of all surrounding 
 objects. 
 
 In the midst of her gloom, a figure as of an angel arose 
 upon her imagination, with a countenance radiant with hal- 
 lowed hope. It was like her sainted mother ! Then came 
 into her memory, as though whispered by the invisible, " I 
 will refine them as silver is refined, and will try them as gold 
 is tried : they shall call upon my name, and I will hear them." 
 She thus remained a long time within the realm of a beauti- 
 ful day-dream, when her attention was recalled by the sound 
 of carriage-wheels in the distance, and she arose to go on. 
 
 A slight rustle behind her attracted her notice, so that she 
 glanced round in'the direction from which the noise proceeded. 
 A huge snake was winding himself about the trunk of the 
 tree against which she had but lately rested, and was evident- 
 ly, from the repeated motions of his head by way of observa- 
 tions, making progress toward some object of prey. Startled 
 almost beyond control, she stood breathlessly watching the 
 monster, till she espied the object of his search, a nest of 
 young birds. And now the air was filled with the piercing 
 cries of the mother-bird, who had returned, and was circling 
 rapidly about the tree, while the birds from all directions 
 came at her call, and united their screams, flying around the 
 16*
 
 186 EDITH HALE. 
 
 head of Edith, as if imploring her to go to the rescue. The 
 young birds, awakened to a sense of danger, were lifting their 
 little heads towards their mother in the most pitiful manner ; 
 and when the snake had gained such a position as to thrust 
 his venomous head from a branch above their nest, the cries 
 of all the birds were so heart-rending, that Edith overcame 
 her fear, and determined to impress the first available object 
 near, to battle against the enemy. 
 
 The carriage had advanced without her notice, so greatly 
 had she been absorbed by the scene ; and she was first aware 
 of its proximity by a voice making some inquiry respect- 
 ing the serpent. Perceiving that it was a gentleman, she 
 asked his assistance. He quickly alighted from his carriage, 
 and, with a few vigorous blows of his whip, brought the snake 
 to the ground, while the birds flew about him with the most 
 joyful demonstrations. The creature, tenacious of life, sprang 
 forward, and in the struggle with his captor wound over his 
 hand, but another blow stretched him lifeless at his feet. 
 The gentleman smiled as he made sure of his work, yet, with- 
 out looking up, said to Edith, " I hope I shall not gain so 
 unfavorable opinion as did Paul in Melita, when he threw the 
 viper from his hand." Then, turning towards Edith, and, 
 studying her countenance a moment, he said, " That ugly 
 serpent has been instrumental, it seems, of introducing us, quite 
 contrary to the customs of society. Will you accept of a ride 
 towards Waterbury, or were you proceeding in the other 
 direction ? " 
 
 Edith replied that she was also going towards Waterbury ;
 
 EDITH HALE. 187 
 
 and she accepted his offer, but not without considerable con- 
 fusion. 
 
 Edith soon forgot her embarrassment in the presence of 
 the stranger. She perceived that he was no ordinary person ; 
 for he was one of those men who are termed distinguished- 
 looking, and no one could meet him without an impression of 
 his superiority. He was neither young nor handsome, though 
 not yet in what is termed middle age ; his features were too 
 prominent to be symmetrical, and his figure rather dignified 
 than graceful. His complexion was of that olive cast which 
 marks the Italians, yet devoid of its voluptuous and glowing 
 softness; it was marked, instead, with that severity which 
 indicates the influences of the rugged clime of the north. 
 The mouth was rather wide, and eloquent with expression, 
 betraying great firmness of purpose, and curling with a touch 
 of satire. The Gjecian chin, curved upwards, did not modify 
 this indication of character. His eyes were dark, and deeply 
 set beneath a heavy, almost fierce-looking brow, and so bril- 
 liant, yet steady in their light, they impressed with fear, 
 rather than mildness. His person was tall and erect, and 
 he was attired rather negligently, with a slight dash of 
 eccentricity. 
 
 He inquired of Edith if she had any acquaintance in Bir- 
 hampton. She replied that she had not ; having only met 
 the gentlemen composing the school-committee of that town, 
 from which meeting she was now returning. 
 
 " Ah ! " said he, with awakened interest, " you have then 
 been arraigned upon an examination for a teacher ? I thought
 
 188 EDITH HALE. 
 
 I perceived, at first, traces upon your countenance of a recent 
 unpleasant encounter with something more formidable than a 
 snake." 
 
 Edith could not continue the badinage ; for the subject, 
 bringing a recurrence of her troubles, impressed her too seri- 
 ously. The stranger observed her look of pain, and, after a 
 moment's silence, said, in a tone of kindness, " I am consid- 
 erably interested in schools and all that pertains to them, 
 although they are not in my line of business ; and, having 
 known something of the unpleasantness of such examinations, 
 allow me to inquire if, in the result of your interview this 
 morning, you have reason for regarding that committee as 
 friendly to you." 
 
 " I have not," replied Edith, with decision ; " save one 
 of the gentlemen, whom I should mention as an exception." 
 
 " Xot one of the clergymen, then, I presume?" he con- 
 tinued. 
 
 " Yes," said Edith ; " I refer to the Rev. Mr. Swinton, of 
 the Second Church ; but he was unable to influence the 
 others." She could not trust herself to say more. 
 
 The gentleman comprehended the cause of her distress, 
 and, with sensitive consideration, he changed the topic of con- 
 versation to that of general literature. This embraced the 
 new books of the season, upon which subject Edith was suf- 
 ficiently well advised to speak with interest. Thus she soon 
 beeanie engaged in an animated conversation, and her obser- 
 vations upon several works were so apposite as to elicit his 
 admiration and respect.
 
 EDITH HALE. 189 
 
 But when he spoke, outpouring some of the treasures of 
 his own resources, seemingly inexhaustible, Edith was inspired 
 with more than admiration even awe ! He was like one 
 to whom all books are familiar ; but his familiarity was not 
 always friendship. To him a book was but a thing for his 
 especial criticism, and no author was entirely faultless. His 
 mind was adorned with these works which he had dissected 
 with his satire, as it is related the apartment of one of the 
 African kings is paved, and the walls and roof hung over, 
 with the skulls of his own victims in war. 
 
 Pages of meaning, such as issue from ordinary minds, he 
 expressed in a few words, original, lucid, and_ forcible. As 
 Edith listened with rapt attention, she said, at last, by an 
 effort overcoming her diffidence, " Excuse me, sir, but my 
 opinion of you is not very unlike the Melitans of Paul, at 
 present." 
 
 " How so ? " he inquired. 
 
 " I refer to when the Scripture says, ' They changed their 
 minds.' " 
 
 He smiled, and, looking admiringly upon her face, which was 
 blooming a beautiful blush-rose, rejoined, " Thanks for your 
 opinion ; but do not, like the Melitans, remember me as a god 
 rather as a friend. Although I am a stranger, allow me to 
 give you a little advice derived from experience in the trials 
 of life. From the ashes of some plants a large proportion 
 of the oxide of iron may be extracted ; so from the ashes of 
 your disappointed hopes, whatever they may be, derive the 
 iron of resolution and persevering faith. Never be wholly
 
 190 EDITH HALE. 
 
 cast down, whatever misfortunes may come ; for, as the Bible 
 says, ' If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength 
 is small.' From your garb of mourning I infer that you 
 have suffered before to-day ; but let that suffering only fit you 
 for nobler and truer duties. If you have met with opposition 
 this morning, plume your wings for a higher flight than ever 
 before ; for, as you know, birds in flying require a wind that 
 blows against them, and the more contrary the wind the 
 higher can they rise. 
 
 ' Like a ball that bounds 
 
 According to the force with which 't was thrown ; 
 So, in affliction's violence, he that 's wise, 
 The more he 's cast down, will the higher rise.' 
 
 By thus mastering obstacles, you may at last reach the 
 third heavens ; for the great Giver of all things has promised 
 the highest reward to those who overcome to the end." 
 
 They had now entered the village, and Edith expressed her 
 gratitude less by words than her countenance, as the stranger 
 assisted her to alight. " 0, that I had courage to ask his 
 name ! " she said ; but the words died away upon her lips, 
 as she looked once more upon his dark, piercing eyes. The 
 gentleman bowed benignly as he drove away, and left a mem- 
 ory of his countenance, in that latest moment, which was not 
 soon forgotten. 
 
 " I know nothing of him, nor ever shall see him again," 
 said Edith, sadly, to herself. 
 
 She found Dr. Humphrey in attendance upon Mary, who
 
 EDITH HALE. 191 
 
 had remained in a state of insensibility for some time after her 
 unhappy interview with Julia. But the doctor had succeeded, 
 at last, in partially restoring her to health ; and with the 
 introduction of old Mrs. Linn at her bedside, who had ven- 
 tured to leave her husband till Edith's return, he felt more 
 at ease about her. She was now lying asleep, and so very 
 pale that Edith was startled, till Dr. Humphrey reassured her. 
 Her hair was unbound, and fell all about the pillow just as 
 Edith had so often seen it when Mary was troubled. " Poor, 
 dear Mary ! Would I had remained with you ! " said 
 Edith, carefully removing a heavy tress from her forehead. 
 
 " Nobody knows what that dear child has suffered," whis- 
 pered Mrs. Linn. " I sometimes think it is strange that one 
 in the family must suffer so much more than all the rest ; 
 but He who permits it knows what is best." ' 
 
 During the greater part of the succeeding night Edith sat 
 awake by the bedside of Mary ; but, falling into a light sleep 
 about midnight, she was disturbed by a sound which seemed 
 to proceed from the yard without. She arose hastily, and 
 glanced from the window. The figure of a man was gliding 
 along the lawn, and he stopped occasionally, as if expecting 
 the appearance of some person. 
 
 She was just proceeding to alarm the household, supposing 
 some marauder was waiting for the accomplice in his depre- 
 dations, when she saw the figure spring forward and receive 
 into his arms a female. A few minutes later, she heard the 
 sound of carriage-wheels proceeding from the house, and the 
 scene of romance by moonlight closed.
 
 192 EDITH HALE. 
 
 The next morning Celesta was missing from the breakfast- 
 table, and, on going for her to her chamber, no trace of her 
 remained, save a novel, open to a passage of selcctest love, 
 and turned down upon the pillow of her bed, and a note 
 addressed to her father, announcing that she had fled to be 
 wedded to him whom alone her heart could ever love. She 
 had chosen that manner of leaving home in preference to any 
 other; and, although such a step might cause him infinite 
 surprise, she devoutly trusted that time and reason would 
 overcome any unpleasantness which might result from her 
 departure. 
 
 " Fudge ! " said Mr. Pickering, on reading this ; " she need 
 not have troubled herself to get married in that manner. I 
 never opposed her marrying the man, for I kno.w nothing 
 against him ; but he is an object of pity, now, at any rate." 
 
 Mrs. Pickering professed to be inconsolable, and averred 
 that for some time past she had been troubled with a presen- 
 timent of some remarkable event happening to the house. 
 She was more than compensated for the loss, however, by the 
 prospect of such an accession to the family as Mr. Raymond ; 
 for, since the receipt of her letter, Julia had given out that 
 she was as good as engaged to him. To consummate her 
 triumph, Mr. Pickering came home a few days later, with a 
 letter, which he read aloud to his wife and Julia, in the greatest 
 good humor. 
 
 It was from Horace Raymond, who, after announcing the 
 death of his father, and the fact that he should be prevented 
 from teaching the next term in Waterbury, in consequence
 
 EDITH IIALE. 193 
 
 of assuming his father's business, asked Mr. Pickering for 
 the hand of his daughter in marriage. " She must have 
 inferred, by my last letter, which was direct and explicit, that 
 such was my intention," it ran ; " and, although etiquette may 
 suggest that the acquaintance should be prolonged before 
 marriage, the state of my affairs makes it at present^ difficult 
 for me to leave home ; and my affection, and the desire to 
 perfect her education by introducing her to the superior 
 advantages of the city, render it desirable that the union take 
 place as soon as possible, if with 3-0111- permission." The 
 letter also stated that he should visit them within a short time, 
 and would receive his answer in person. 
 
 "Nothing could better please me than to have Mr. Ray- 
 mond in my family," _said Mr. Pickering ; " but it is a mys- 
 tery to me, Julia, how you ever won him. I used to think, 
 if he loved either of you, it was Mary, poor child ! but his 
 attention and kindness to her was because she was your sister, 
 I suppose." 
 
 " Just think, papa, of that elegant man, with his splendid 
 fortune, fancying such a girl as our Mary for a wife ! " exclaimed 
 Julia, with ineffable scorn." 
 
 " Well, I am little used to such affairs," rejoined her father, 
 " and I suppose I might have known better if I had stopped 
 to think. However, Mary is more of a girl than people gener- 
 ally give her credit for being. How well she appeared at the 
 close of the academy ! " 
 
 " She thinks quite too much of herself, since she commenced 
 17
 
 194 EDITH HALE. 
 
 attending that school," said Julia ; " and I shall soon bring 
 Horace to conduct himself towards her more becomingly." 
 
 And now Julia had acquired great accession of importance 
 in the family, and even in the village ; for the intelligence 
 of her approaching marriage was rapidly circulated. All 
 wondered at Mr. Raymond's choice ; for one so artificial and 
 devoid of solidity of character seemed unsuitable, even to the 
 most unobserving, for such a thoroughly-educated and excel- 
 lent man as he appeared. 
 
 " Things allers go by contraries in love matters," said Father 
 Shaw, speaking of the contemplated marriage. 
 
 "But even the wisest men are such fools about marry- 
 ing ! " said Miss Leah ; " they are sure to choose wives whose 
 brains are no better than a cobweb, and who are so silly 
 they ought to shame their husbands every time they open their 
 mouths." 
 
 Every mantua-maker and seamstress was engaged for the 
 preparation of the trousseau ; and it was confidently whis- 
 pered, by Julia's few intimate friends, that the most magnif- 
 icent wedding that ever was witnessed in Watcrbury would 
 come off. 
 
 It was not to be expected that all this would escape the 
 ears of the invalid Mary. Edith, divining the state of her 
 friend's affections at this crisis, strove by every means to 
 shield her from the knowledge ; but a friend happening in to 
 see Mary, by a single question concerning Julia's engagement 
 disclosed the whole affair to her. But it came not upon her 
 now as a crushing blow, for she had expected as much since
 
 EDITH HALE. 195 
 
 that hour when Julia had triumphantly shown her the letter 
 addressed to herself. From the time of her subsequent 
 recovery of her self-possession, she had striven to conquer the 
 weakness of her heart, and school herself to greater endurance. 
 This was the first secret she had withheld from Edith ; 
 it was too sacred to be intrusted to any keeping, save that of 
 Him who knoweth the hearts of all. 
 
 She brought herself now to speak with perfect tranquillity 
 to Edith of the approaching marriage of her sister. Sur- 
 prised at this new and beautiful revelation of character, Edith 
 folded her to her heart more tenderly and closely than ever. 
 From the trying experiences of her life she knew well how 
 to sympathize with her friend; but she had prayed for 
 strength to subdue the pangs of disappointment to silent and 
 calm endurance, and her prayer had not returned unto her 
 void. 
 
 " Yes, dear Edith," said Mary, in reply to her inquiry, 
 " I can feel that it is all right now as it i.s, though I cannot 
 see clearly the mysterious purpose of our destiny. But I 
 have come to feel that he who governs them is my best 
 friend, and can do me no evil. 
 
 " Mr. Raymond was my first friend, after yourself, who 
 met me upon a common ground of kindness and love as I 
 thought ; but I was mistaken in that. As he was so superior 
 to other men, I worshipped him. When my idol was taken 
 from me, I was rebellious, for I had been trampled so long 
 that I suppose I was more tenacious of my transient eleva- 
 tion. I was so ill, and' weak-hearted, too, how could I bear
 
 196 EDITH HALE. 
 
 it all as I should have done ? But, as I lay apparently in- 
 Bensible, and utterly powerless to act for myself, I was so 
 awed and stricken at the idea of losing my mind entirely, that 
 I vowed to God, if he would restore me to a full possession 
 of my faculties, I would devote them all to him. He heard 
 my prayer ; and I now daily pray that I may be able to keep 
 that vow. In the strength of this new grace, which has been 
 given me from heaven, I feel that I can endure any sacrifice 
 without repining. And, more than all, I can, for the first 
 time, forgive all those who have trespassed against me. Even 
 toward Julia, who has always shown the most unkindness 
 to me, I can feel no enmity. And, dear Edith, I can say, as 
 did the apostle, ' I know that this shall turn to my salvation 
 through your prayer, and the supply of the spirit of Jesus 
 Christ.' " 
 
 By all the love and faith of Edith's heart did she encour- 
 age Mary to persevere in the blessed work she had begun ; 
 and the good thus bestowed upon her was returned to her 
 many fold. Other blessings were also bestowed upon Edith, 
 as an encouragement for her resolution to persevere amid all 
 her crosses and trials. 
 
 Within that week she received a letter from Mr. Swinton, 
 stating that on the day following her examination he had been 
 waited upon by a stranger, who had made minute inquiries 
 respecting " the young lady who had been rejected by the 
 school-committee." As several had been rejected, he was at 
 length made to understand that Edith was the one to whom 
 the gentleman referred, by his representing her as the one who
 
 EDITH HALE. 197 
 
 resided in "Waterbury, and who wore mourning. The stranger 
 said that he had it in his power to recommend a teacher to 
 assist in a celebrated private school, and, if she was consid- 
 ered as qualified by him, he could direct her to a person who 
 would engage her. 
 
 " And I am most happy to announce to you," continued 
 Mr. Swinton, " that if you acquiesce in the proposal, you are 
 engaged to teach for the ensuing term, for I spared no pains 
 in your behalf. I endeavored to ascertain the name of the 
 person who manifested such a generous interest for you, but 
 this he refused, giving no account of himself, save that, as 
 he was proceeding to the residence of a relative in these 
 parts, he overtook you by the way, and conveyed you home. 
 I congratulate you upon your excellent fortune, for the situa- 
 tion is every way greatly preferable to that which you lost. 
 And that your way through all future time may be hedged 
 with roses, is the prayer of your obedient servant, 
 
 "Z. E. L. SWLVTOX." 
 
 Edith found enclosed the directions by which she was to 
 proceed, written by the stranger for Mr. Swinton. AVith 
 gratitude and joy she lost no time in securing the situation. 
 
 On the following Sabbath, which was the last day before 
 her departure, she entered the church in the morning, when 
 but few people were assembled, a custom especially dear 
 to her from old associations, and, collecting her thoughts 
 for devotion, awaited the opening of the services. The or- 
 ganist was playing a favorite tune, time-worn, yet ever
 
 198 EDITH HALE. 
 
 beautiful and hallowed. The majestic music, with its alter- 
 nate beauty and pathos, she likened to hoary mountains, 
 whose heights, broken into fantastic forms, divide the clouds, 
 and are clothed to their base with luxuriant grasses and 
 arborescent ferns, interspersed with gigantic palms. Down 
 from these solemn summits she saw angels, white-robed and 
 glorious, descend with harmonious step, and, looking upward, 
 fold their silver wings before their faces. 
 
 These imaginations were somewhat assisted by the impres- 
 sion of the surrounding world without. The tall old oaks, 
 elms, and sycamores, bordering the mall of the village, some 
 of the branches of which shaded the church-windows, in the 
 strong breezes of the spring morning filled all the air with 
 deep, recurrent sound ; while the great pile of clouds, moving 
 across the sky, were occasionally visible above and among 
 the trees. 
 
 The sound of the bell overhead brought many memories 
 of the blessed days when she had sat there between her be- 
 loved parents and marvelled about heaven and the angels. 
 She was reminded, too, of that morning when their minister 
 had first ascended those pulpit-steps, and her impression of his 
 appearance ; then of the sad changes that had come to her 
 since. 
 
 While she thus mused, the congregation had assembled, and 
 her attention was at length attracted by the appearance of Mr. 
 Wellmont advancing up the aisle with a lady, whom he seated 
 in the pew reserved for the minister's family. Immediately 
 this lady became the cynosure of every eye, and the details
 
 EDITH HALE. 199 
 
 of her dress and appearance were imprinted upon the memory 
 of every other lady present. All saw that she was dressed 
 showily. Her white bridal hat was of the costliest materials, 
 and was adorned airily with exquisite laces, such as had never 
 been seen before in TVaterbury. And her shawl was so elegant 
 that no one could decide upon its fabric. 
 
 It had already been rumored in the village that the wife 
 of Mr. "Wellmont was the daughter of a wealthy merchant 
 of a distant city, who had been introduced to him by her 
 cousin, Mr. Swinton. The minds of the people were divided 
 upon the circumstances of her history. Some of the most 
 fashionable portion were delighted at the prospect of such an 
 acquisition to their society ; but many of the plain, elderly 
 people hoped, if she were a rich man's child, she would not 
 bring any grand airs or modes among them, to make the young 
 people envious, extravagant, and worldly. 
 
 As Edith observed with the rest, she said to herself, " Yes, 
 he has chosen well; for, at least, it seems fitting that Mr. 
 "VVellmont should wed such splendor and reputation as this, 
 rather than one of my poverty and insignificance. Alas. ! I 
 should never have indulged such an expectation had he not 
 shown me repeated manifestations of interest ; but the folly 
 ef construing them as indicating love, against which my dying 
 mother warned me, merits the punishment that I now receive."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 MBS. WELLMONT. 
 
 THE induction of the wife of Mr. Wellmont to the new 
 duties of society was quite an event in Waterbury. The 
 wife of their former minister had been a meek, unassuming 
 woman, who had gone in and out among them as nearly with- 
 out reproach as it is possible for one in the position. She had 
 dressed in great simplicity, guarded her words so as to give 
 offence to none, and manifested no disinclination to submit 
 all her affairs, public and domestic, to the supervision and 
 friendly advice of those persons of the parish who had a 
 decided talent for such occupation. The general impression 
 of this excellent woman was, therefore, that she had been 
 very much elevated in attaining the position of a minister's 
 wife, and she never could be thankful enough. They were, 
 consequently, ill-prepared for the advent of a lady among 
 them like Mrs. Wellmont. 
 
 The first weeks of her residence in the place, she boarded, 
 with her husband, in the family of Mr. Phanuel, until suitable 
 arrangements could be made for housekeeping. A few of 
 the most prominent people of the society had called upon her ;
 
 EDITH HALE. 201 
 
 and, when Mr. Wellmont had been present, they had received 
 no particularly unfavorable impression of their interview, for 
 he possessed a happy faculty of rendering conversation ani- 
 mated and interesting without apparent effort. But the people 
 could generally discern very little of their minister's wife. 
 She appeared to them at such a distance, giving an impression 
 of something lofty and unattainable, attired richly and 
 showily, like those tropical mountain-palms, whose trunks are 
 profusely decorated. They felt it not to be that loftiness 
 which results from a chilling and abiding consciousness of 
 superiority, but rather an accomplished indifference, spiced 
 occasionally with satire. 
 
 When Miss Leah Shaw called upon Mrs. "Wellmont, she 
 divided her attention between some embroidery on which 
 she always seemed engaged within doors and little Bessie, 
 the youngest child of Mr. Phanuel, while Mr. Wellmont was 
 left to sustain the conversation. As Miss Leah had long been 
 accustomed to universal attention and deference, this recep- 
 tion was very displeasing to her. Miss Leah had come to 
 give Mrs. Wellmont an especial invitation to meet with the 
 Dorcas Benevolent Society ; and stating, with her u,sual accu- 
 racy, the principal object, and other business matters con- 
 nected with said society, expected her approbation of such a 
 valuable body, and her consequent active pooperation. 
 
 When Mrs. Wellmont heard the name of the society 
 announced, she actually laughed, with a glance at her husband 
 of unfeigned sarcasm. 
 
 "Mrs. Wellmont is not yet acquainted with our good
 
 202 EDITH HALE. 
 
 objects, Miss Shaw," remarked Mr. Wellmont, striving to 
 mitigate the impression which he felt that his wife was unfor- 
 tunately making upon a person of so much consequence in the 
 parish. " When she becomes better initiated, she will fully 
 appreciate their interests." 
 
 " Come here, pet," said Mrs. Wellmont, at this juncture, to 
 little Bessie. " Is not this dog I am working pretty ? See 
 how green are its eyes, and pink the tip of its nose ! Bow ! 
 wow ! " making a gesture as if the dog were springing at 
 the child. Little Bessie was highly animated with the play, 
 but not more so than Mrs. Wellmont ; so that it was with 
 difficulty that Mr. Wellmont could proceed to converse. No 
 words can do justice to the emotions of Miss Leah under such 
 circumstances. But it did not matter to Mrs. Wellmont, who 
 had no idea of taking the trouble to please a person with such 
 an unfashionable aspect. 
 
 " We will be sure to attend your meeting, Miss Shaw," 
 remarked Mr. Wellmont, as she arose to leave ; " and, in the 
 mean time, accept our most hearty wishes for the success of 
 your benevolent efforts." 
 
 Miss Leah walked home even more stiffly than ever ; and, 
 with tearful eyes, she said to herself, " If the care of the cause 
 of Zion is to be shared with that woman, how will its ways 
 mourn ! Mr. Wellmont is an excellent man ; but, what 
 promise have we in such a minister's wife ? " 
 
 " My dear Bertrade ! " said Mr. Wellmont, when they had 
 retired to their private parlor, " could you not have been a
 
 EDITH HALE. 203 
 
 little more gracious to Miss Shaw ? I am fearful she left us 
 quite wounded." 
 
 " If such a woman as that is one of your first ladies, it 
 would be a curiosity to see the last ! " rejoined Mrs. Well- 
 mont. " She was so comical in her old-maidish ways, espe- 
 cially when she marched up to me, so quick and straight, after 
 her introduction, and delivered a long tirade of welcome to 
 the parish, her parish, I should infer, she thinks ! When 
 she paused to take breath, I had a mind to ask her if that 
 were all, or had she forgotten a sentence ! " 
 
 Mr. YVellmont's feelings were now scarcely less injured than 
 were those of Miss Leah ; but he forbore to make further 
 comment, taking a book from his library, and sitting down 
 to read. But, as he read for an hour and turned no leaves, 
 it is scarcely probable that his reflections were concentrated 
 upon what he read. He was at length aroused from his 
 revery by his wife, who began humming an opera-tune, and 
 ended by saying, " If you take the liberty to criticize me, I 
 may presume I have an equal privilege with you." 
 
 Mr. Wellmont lifted his eyes from his book, in curiosity. 
 
 " I notice your manner, on various occasions, is decidedly 
 ill-bred. I should know, in fact, that you had not been 
 accustomed to society in high life. At the table, for instance, 
 you carry your food to your mouth with your knife, instead 
 of your fork ; so that I have looked several times to see if 
 you had not wounded your lips. You pour your coffee and 
 tea into and drink from the saucer, instead of the cup ; and
 
 204 EDITH HALE. 
 
 several times you hare wholly forgotten to use your napkin. 
 Such ways are positively shocking ! " 
 
 " Positively shocking, certainly ! " said Mr. Wellmont, 
 trying to smile, but failing in the attempt. 
 
 " "T is folly, only, and defect of sense, 
 
 Turns trifles into things of consequence.' " 
 
 "These are not trifles, in my eyes, I assure you, as you 
 might have known from the fact of my mentioning them. 
 And it seems it is a light matter, in your regard, to hurt my 
 feelings ; while it is of the greatest importance that a person 
 like that Miss Leah be pleased, who, like her Scripture name- 
 sake, is ' tender-eyed,' and otherwise beautiful in person, as 
 well as manner ! " 
 
 " No, no, Bertrade ! " said Mr. Wellmont, now taking a 
 seat beside her. " You must know well I mean nothing of 
 the kind. I only wish that you would be a little more care- 
 ful to please our people ; for a minister and his family are 
 not independent, like others." 
 
 " It will be discovered here," retorted the lady, tapping her 
 embroidered white slipper violently upon the carpet, " that 
 one minister's wife is not made to cringe to such people, if 
 others usually are ! " 
 
 " Xow, my dear, these airs of yours are of no sort of con- 
 sequence with me or my people ; so you had better put them 
 away with your finest wardrobe at once, and leave them for 
 city use. Just be natural, be true to the religion of the 
 meek and lowly Jesus, and the aspect of things about you will
 
 EDITH HALE. 205 
 
 be very different to you. Certainly you will appear different 
 to others, and infinitely more amiable," said Mr. Wellmont, 
 in good-humor. 
 
 " Pray, sir, be aware that you are not schooling a servant ! 
 I have not been used to homilies ! " replied his wife, in no 
 wise softened. 
 
 Mr. "Wellmont looked upon the woman beside him, whom 
 he had chosen to be his companion and helpmeet for all the 
 remainder of his life, with profound astonishment and melan- 
 choly prescience. In the brief interviews of their courtship 
 she had not discovered this phase of character : the claws had 
 been effectually concealed by the velvety guise of politeness. 
 How often, in his college days, had he boasted to his compan- 
 ions of his knowledge of human nature, as a protection 
 against an unaniiable or undesirable companion for a wife ! 
 He now thought of the gentle, noble, and interesting girl, 
 whose only fault had been a want of position and fortune, and 
 the contrast between her and this petted child of affluence 
 smote him to the heart. 
 
 " It is not only for this month, or the next, but for a life ! " 
 he groaned, in the bitterness of his spirit, as he appeared to 
 resume his reading. But the reading, nay, the very presence 
 of his wife, would not contribute now to calm his excited feel- 
 ings. He retired alone to meditate and pray, as usual when 
 in seasons of perplexity ; and, as usual, the blessings which he 
 sought were not withheld. Peace, calm and holy, for- 
 bearance, and, above all, that charity " which suffereth long, 
 18
 
 206 EDITH HALE. 
 
 and is kind," gradually possessed his soul with renewed 
 fervor. 
 
 " She is unused to the country," he said, " and these new 
 people and customs are not quite consonant with her temper- 
 ament ; but she will assimilate herself to them in time. I 
 recollect that, at first, I was not at all favorably impressed 
 with Miss Shaw, myself." 
 
 A short time after this, Mr. "NVellmont called, with his wife, 
 upon the families of Deacon Dennis and Mr. Pickering ; and 
 he observed that she was very well entertained, and evidently 
 quite pleased with Mrs. Pickering and her daughters Claudine 
 and Julia. Mrs. Wellmont was much caressed and admired 
 by these ladies ; but their attentions were received by her as a 
 matter of course, but yet very graciously. 
 
 " I think I shall like the Dennises well, and the Pickerings 
 very much," she said to her husband, afterwards. 
 
 " I am very glad, my dear ; and, doubtless, you will find 
 many others equally agreeable, and even more valuable," he 
 replied. 
 
 " Yet it is to be hoped," he mused, " my wife will not be 
 one of those ladies who have ' dear intimates ' and ' especial 
 favorites.' It will not do at all for the wife of a minister. 
 Confidential friends, of some kind, I suppose she must have, 
 as she is young and without experience ; but I hope, of all 
 others in my parish, they will not be the Pickerings, with 
 their airiness, or the Dennises, with their pride." 
 
 He durst not advise in this matter, however, after his 
 experience of the danger of such a proceeding.
 
 EDITH HALE. 207 
 
 The meeting of the Dorcas Benevolent Society came. Mr. 
 Wellmont proposed to his wife that they should attend at an 
 early hour, that he might have ample opportunity of present- 
 ing her to the ladies ; to which Mrs. Wellmont replied, with a 
 look of disdainful compassion at his ignorance of the customs 
 of fashionable society, " he might go, if he chose, directly 
 after dinner ; but she should not appear there till about a 
 half-hour before tea." 
 
 " My dear Bertrade," remonstrated Mr. Wellmont, " al- 
 though such may be the mode of some particular persons in 
 the circle to which you have been accustomed, it will not 
 answer here. Miss Shaw will be offended if we adopt such 
 formality." 
 
 " Miss Shaw again set up for my standard ! " interrupted 
 Mrs. Wellmont. " It had been better to have selected her 
 for your wife, instead of one so much inferior in knowledge of 
 Waterbury etiquette as myself ! " 
 
 Mr. Wellmont was wounded again ; for, naturally sensitive, 
 and desirous of love and peace with all, he was not one of 
 those men who can hear hard words unmoved. He loved to 
 be loved ; whereas, some men are careless whether they are 
 loved or hated. His mother had guided him to manhood 
 with a loving, even hand ; and he had acquired from her 
 influence a cheerful temper, disposed to look upon the bright 
 side of everything, and make the best of the other side when 
 it came. To this new phase of character discovered by his 
 wife, however, he was all unused ; and this capricious harsh- 
 ness grated upon his soul, by nature harmonious and delicately
 
 208 EDITH HALE. 
 
 organized, not less than the ear of an exquisite musician is 
 disturbed by the discord produced by an unskilful hand. 
 Escaping from the irksome companionship, he went out for a 
 short walk, scarcely conscious whither he directed his steps. 
 He returned by way of the cemetery, where he paused a few 
 moments for reflection. The pines were as odorous and 
 melancholy as ever, and a late rain had left all nature in tears. 
 It had also darkened the wood of the trees, the iron pales, 
 and the hard paths, so that they wore a deeper cast of gloom. 
 The grass was growing silently and solemnly above the closed 
 eyes of the dead. Violets, each with a tear trembling in its 
 heart, pale wind-flowers and silvery mosses, hung meekly 
 along the ridge of earth which marked the graves, like the 
 fringes of angels' robes. The stream which flowed beside the 
 ground down into the green meadows below, even as the 
 fabled tenth arm of the ocean, with its sources, flowed around 
 the earth from the palace of rocks and descended into the lower 
 regions, was swollen to a deep and solemn murmur, running 
 swiftly and darkly under the heavy shadows of the pines. 
 
 " Here the dead sleep peacefully," thought Mr. Wellmont ; 
 " no more disturbed by the cares, and sorrows, and passions, 
 of life. It is well to lie down thus in the bosom of the earth 
 when our work is done." Thoughts of the unfitness and 
 insignificance of worldly vexations naturally recurred to his 
 mind. " How soon will it all have passed, this busy, cark- 
 ing life, and then I shall look back and marvel that I was 
 ever overcome or daunted by such trifles as now disturb the 
 tranquillity of my soul !" he said. " My chief efforts should
 
 EDITH HALE. 209 
 
 be to seek, by the grace of God, to prepare myself and the 
 souls committed to my care for the great and last change ; 
 not to selfishly strive to build up my own fame and happiness. 
 Here I feel that the pride of earth vanishes to nothing ; and, 
 over all, arises the aspiration for that glorious benediction, 
 ' Come, ye blessed of my Father. * * * Inasmuch as ye 
 have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye 
 have done it unto me.' For this henceforth let me ardently 
 strive, and whatever obstacles I meet may I overcome with 
 love, forbearance, and faith ! " Thus early was the bright and 
 strong hope of earthly happiness, of which he had passionately 
 dreamed in the morning of life, returned unto him sullied and 
 broken, never to be beautiful more ! But, instead, the hope 
 of spiritual peace was growing brighter and stronger until 
 the perfect day. Ah ! woe to the disappointed heart which 
 has no such hope ! 
 
 lie had unconsciously reached a small lot, in a retired 
 location, enclosed by a young hedge of evergreens, with a 
 plain white stone to mark two graves. Some old association 
 arrested his steps. He turned, and read upon the stone : 
 
 " In memory of Blanchard and Edith Hale. Erected by 
 Edith. The sufferings of this present life are not worthy to 
 be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. 
 Awake and sing, ye that dwell in the dust ! " 
 
 The eyes of Mr. AVellmont suffused with tears as he mur- 
 mured, "Though dead, that blessed woman yet speaks to 
 me, in her old, heavenly manner, words of consolation and 
 hope." Long did he linger about that spot, as one in a dream ; 
 18*
 
 210 EDITH HALE. 
 
 and not till he had prayed and gathered strength to meet the 
 world, did he turn away. On returning to his home, he 
 found his wife dressed, and waiting for him to accompany 
 her to the meeting of the society. 
 
 " I began to think you had gone and drowned yourself, in 
 despair of pleasing the ladies of the Dorcas Benevolent," she 
 said to him. 
 
 " I scarcely dare to look at you, Bertrade, you are so 
 dazzling in full dress," he smilingly rejoined. 
 
 " Am I ? " she said, in excellent humor ; for nothing could 
 better please her than this compliment. 
 
 " I would suggest, however, " he began ; but, losing 
 courage, he stopped. 
 
 " What now, my lord ? Are not my curls disposed in 
 order ? Is my mouchoir too much perfumed ? Or, shall I 
 add those exquisite earrings my cousin Frank bestowed as a 
 bridal gift?" 
 
 "0, nothing of the kind ! I only feared that you were 
 too finely dressed ; that brocade with laces is very showy, with 
 your jewels, at least, for such a place as this," he said. 
 
 The lady bit her lip with vexation. " You would prefer to 
 have me copy Miss Shaw ? " 
 
 In silence Mr. Wellmont commenced his preparations, 
 which were soon completed, and he announced himself ready 
 to attend her. 
 
 " You look like a scavenger, with your collar awry, and 
 your hair unbrushed ! " remarked Mrs. Wellmont.
 
 EDITH HALE. 211 
 
 " I quite forgot my hair ! " said Mr. "Wellmont, returning 
 to the mirror. 
 
 " I have n't forgotten it, by any means," his wife rejoined ; 
 " for that was what I fell in love with, at first. I am likely, 
 however, to fall out again, by the way you keep it of late. 
 But men grow careless after marriage, as I have often heard." 
 
 " I must not expect to retain a love founded upon a fancy 
 so uncertain," said Mr. Wellmont, in his usual good-humor. 
 '' Bad looking hair is rather characteristic of a good head 
 under it ; and care of the chevelure is no mark of excellence. 
 It is said that the foretops of all Dr. Johnson's wigs were 
 burned off by the use of the candle in reading." 
 
 " How tiresome ! " exclaimed his wife, petulantly. " I 
 believe you are always quoting some dull things from some 
 dull book just when it would be least expected of you. You 
 do not open your mouth without letting out these long strings 
 of brilliant sentiments, just as a conjurer blows out ribbons 
 of fire. Why can't you enter into my spirit a little ? " 
 
 Mr. Wellmont was evidently very much amused at some 
 thought now suggested. His wife observed him with un- 
 feigned curiosity ; but he seemed at a doubt about the expe- 
 diency of saying what he would. Suppressing a laugh, he 
 ventured, however : 
 
 " You remember how the devils entered into the herd of 
 swine, and what was the consequence ? I was thinking, if I 
 entered into your way of acting and speaking, or into your 
 ' spirit,' as you call it, we shall both be compelled to run 
 violently down a steep place "
 
 212 EDITH HALE. 
 
 ," said Mrs. Wcllmont, interrupting him, quickly, 
 " I dare say, though you would have me believe you in jest, 
 liiat you was never more in earnest. And this discloses what 
 you think of me ! How sorry I am that I had not accepted 
 the poorest of the dozens of offers of marriage I received before 
 yours ! " 
 
 " Neither you nor I are in earnest now, my dear," said Mr. 
 Wellmont, " and I am willing to offer apologies for my heed- 
 less words." 
 
 To this Mrs. Wellmont vouchsafed no reply, and they were 
 soon on their way to the residence of Father Shaw. But 
 here, again, a fresh difficulty arose. Mrs. Wcllmont com- 
 plained of the damp walking, and of the danger of soiling 
 her dress and shoes. " I have always been accustomed to 
 papa's carriage; and how shocking this seems, to walk in 
 full dress ! " she said, with an air of dejection. 
 
 " Mr. Phanuel offered to carry you in his chaise, if you 
 would like to go any time before half-past three ; but he was 
 going away, and could not wait longer than that time," said 
 Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " Why did n't you tell me, then ? " asked Mrs. Wellmont, 
 tartly. 
 
 " I thought the information would be useless, after you had 
 expressed a decided determination to be fashionably late. 
 However, it is not far, my dear, and I dare say no harm will 
 come to you from the walk," he replied, with a desire to 
 smooth the troubles away as fast as they came, yet feeling it
 
 EDITH HALE. 213 
 
 was a little painful, after all, to be blamed by his wife for 
 conforming to her caprices. 
 
 The society had wondered much at the tardiness of the 
 minister and his wife ; at least, that portion who had no par- 
 ticular charity for people who lived in all things according to 
 fashion. But Mrs. Pickering, who had herself come late, 
 said they should not expect such ladies as Mrs. Wellmont to 
 attend earlier. 
 
 " But, if all come in this way, how much shall we be likely 
 to accomplish ? " said Miss Leah. " We never expect a min- 
 ister's wife to do any work in our meetings, to be sure ; but 
 we expect that she will be first, to set a good example, and 
 show, by her presence, that she cooperates heartily with us." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Wellmont were met at the door by Miss 
 Leah, who looked solemnly reproachful at the minister's wife, 
 for to her were all such delinquencies now attributed. After 
 waiting for Mrs. Wellmont to unshawl above stairs, she was 
 conducted into the parlor, in which all the ladies sat, expect- 
 ant and curious. The ceremony of an individual presentation 
 ensued, Mrs. Wellmont performing her part as if it were all 
 very fatiguing, and quite superfluous, at the conclusion of 
 which, after staring coolly about her, as though each person 
 were but a chair or a footstool, she selected her seat in the 
 neighborhood of Claudine Pickering and Alitha Dennis. Mr. 
 Wellmont paused to inquire after the families of each ; and, 
 dispensing kindly words and smiles all about him, was wel- 
 comed with the same by every one. Alitha and Claudine 
 were well satisfied with Mrs. Wellmont's distinction in their
 
 214 EDITH HALE. 
 
 favor, and exerted themselves to be as agreeable as possible. 
 With those to whom Mrs. Wellmont thought it worth the 
 while to be agreeable she could condescend to unusual famil- 
 iarities, and even affect a manner quite childish, which she 
 thought was the perfection of naivete. 
 
 A few minutes before the serving of tea, Father Shaw made 
 his appearance. Mr. Wellmont addressed him with great 
 heartiness (for he had come to like the plain-spoken old man 
 as much as he had at first underrated him) ; but it was not 
 without a little anxiety in his eye that he conducted him to 
 his wife. Mrs. Wellmont regarded him with a mixture of 
 surprise and fear, such a fear as a superficial mind always 
 feels in the presence of sound common sense, without any 
 meretricious surrounding. There was a plain, steady look, 
 not wholly devoid of wit, in his eye, which disquieted her, des- 
 pite her accustomed nonchalance with plain people, and told 
 of an independence of the opinion of others quite equal to her 
 own, though based upon a widely different principle. Father 
 Shaw cordially extended his hand to her, which being just 
 touched, he drew back suddenly, and, after scrutinizing his 
 palm, said : 
 
 " Wat 's the matter now, ma'am ? Have I got anything on 
 my hand that had n't ought ter be there ? " 
 
 Mrs. Wellmont stared with unaffected surprise. 
 
 " I thought so, 'cause ye jest touched my fingers as if they 's 
 kivered with pizen. Xow, I like to shake hands, as if a body 
 that 's got a heart had met a body that 's got a heart. But, 
 I suppose, 'tan't the way perlite folks do now-a-days." Then,
 
 EDITH HALE. 215 
 
 contrary to all expectation, he manifested his intention of 
 continuing his acquaintance with Mrs. Wellmont on that 
 occasion, by saying to Claudine Pickering, " Will you be so 
 good, Cindy, as to give up your chair to me ? There 's a 
 better one t' other end of the room, by my Leah, there. I 
 want to talk with this ere woman a minute or so ! " 
 
 A general titter now ran round the room, and curiosity was 
 excited as to what was coming now ; for they knew Father 
 Shaw so well as to be certain that it would be something 
 worth bearing. 
 
 " I 've hearn," he began, " that you 're a mighty fine lady, 
 and have come from gentlefolks' quarters. I suppose you 're 
 larnt in a deal of stuff; but I want to know ef you 've got a 
 good kitchen eddication." 
 
 " I never thought much about it," said Mrs. Wellmont, 
 blushing ; " we had servants at home to keep that part of the 
 house in charge." 
 
 " I dare say," said Father Shaw, pinching the top of his 
 nose between his eyes, as was his custom when not suited , 
 " but, let me tell ye, ef ye don't know nothing about such 
 things as belong to keepin' a house, ye '11 get along dreadful 
 shiftless-like, at best. A minister needs a wife who 's a par- 
 feet kitchen gineral, and can cut down all holler afore her, else 
 every bit the people put in at the doors will go out at the 
 sink dreen. Ef she 's help, it don't mend the matter a mite ; 
 it only makes things wuss; for there 's no sort of critter so 
 destroying as a hired gal without the woman's eye on her.
 
 216 EDIT1I II ALE. 
 
 One on 'cm will make way with more than a corn-barn full 
 of rats ! " 
 
 Mrs. Wellmont now wore an expression of unmitigated 
 scorn, and drew up her dress, as if in fear of contact with 
 such a barbarian. 
 
 " It is too bad that he should show off so before her, when 
 we wish to let her know that we are something here ! " whis- 
 pered Mrs. Pickering to Mrs. Dennis. Mr. Wellmont essayed 
 to change the topic of conversation, but in vain. 
 
 " Can you make a good pudding, and salt it right ? Or do 
 you know, ma'am, how to boil a cabbage, or to roast a spare- 
 rib to a turn ? " continued Father Shaw. 
 
 " I never tried," said Mrs. Wellmont, curtly, yet without 
 well knowing how to be angry, so many ladies were laughing 
 about her. 
 
 " Well, you ought ter try right off, afore you set up at 
 housekeeping yourself; and, ef you can't git anybody to show 
 you, you come to me, and I '11 show you myself. You need n't 
 look so scornful, for I know more about such things than a 
 dozen women all in a row. Arter my wife died, I cooked a 
 sight ; and some I spiled, and some I made about half right ; 
 and bimeby I got so I could cook like all natur', as well as 
 the best on 'em, furzino." 
 
 " I know you cook sometimes now, father," said Miss Leah, 
 " but it isjvrorth one's while to make up their mind to eat 
 after you ! " 
 
 " Don't you meddle, Leah ! You 're so mighty partikelar,
 
 EDITH H ALE. 217 
 
 nothing ever offers to come up to you, not even a man who 
 wants to get a wife ! " 
 
 At this juncture, Miss Leah disappeared from the room. 
 
 " There are some things ef a minister's wife don't know 
 how to do she '11 come out at the leetle end of the horn at 
 last," resumed the old man. " She must know how to cook, 
 to dress babies and make 'em mind, and go round among folks 
 in such a way as to make 'em all think a deal of her. There 's 
 one thing more, ma'am, that 's very valerble : can you make a 
 good long prayer about the heathen, and niggers, and every- 
 thing, afore folks ? " 
 
 Father Shaw was very serious himself; but a laugh now 
 burst out, like removing the stopper from a yeast bottle. 
 Mrs. Wellmont could have replied in truth, to his last inter- 
 rogatory, "I never tried;" but, for wise reasons, she was 
 silent. Mr. Wellmont moved uneasily in his chair, looked at 
 his watch, and thought hard for something to say, but did not 
 succeed in the effort. To throw off her embarrassment, Mrs. 
 Wellmont made some observation to Mrs. Pickering. 
 
 "Won't you speak a little louder, ma'am ?" said Father 
 Shaw. " I an't hard of hearing, though I 'ni old enough to 
 be ; but I see you 've got a way of talking so low and minc- 
 ing, a body has to strain their ears with all their might to 
 hear a word. I s'pose 'tis the fashion, an't it?" turning to 
 Mr. Wellmont. " It 's a mighty poor one ! I like to hear 
 women speak as ef they 'd some sense and spice in 'em, and 
 warn't afraid of being hurt. I don't want they should holler, 
 19
 
 218 EDITH HALE. 
 
 or talk very loud ; but I can't bear to hear them talk as ef 
 Iheir mouths were in a bag of cotton." 
 
 " If it is the fashion, it prevails among barbarians as well 
 as with us," observed Mr. Wellmont ; " for travellers tell us, 
 in some African kingdoms the court fashion requires that the 
 voice be scarcely audible." 
 
 " Well, I thought 't was a kind of a fiat, nigger way of 
 talking ; it don't seem sensible to me, and I know such women 
 as John Adams' wife, and Hannah Adams, and Molly Stark, 
 and all the smartest ones of the country, never talked in no 
 such foolish way. I speak on 't 'cause all our gals are foller- 
 in' arter the fashion, jest as they do arter everything that 
 comes along, and it makes me ache to hear them wispin', lisp- 
 in', diddlin' with their words, as ef they 's ashamed on 'em, 
 as much as a puppy is when there 's something fastened on ter 
 his tail." 
 
 Miss Leah now reappeared and announced that the tea was 
 prepared, and for the time Father Shaw's catechizing was sus- 
 pended. 
 
 The ladies stood about the supper room, while a table, well 
 filled, was in the centre, from which the younger ladies 
 helped. A smaller table was prepared for Mr. and Mrs. 
 Wellmont and Father Shaw, around which they could be 
 seated. This arrangement Mrs. Wellmont declined ; she pre- 
 ferred standing with the Pickerings to sitting with Father 
 Shaw. After the invocation of a blessing by Mr. Wellmont, 
 the active operations of serving were commenced. Several 
 ladies attentively waited upon Mrs. Wellmont, notwithstand-
 
 EDITH HALE. 219 
 
 ing which, she seemed in danger of privation. She was very 
 particular about the making of her tea, and everything else 
 pertaining to the satisfaction of her appetite, and made no 
 scruple in manifesting it. It was observed she made no use 
 of those simple courtesies which gracefully acknowledge and 
 repay assistance, but received all attentions without the merest 
 expression of gratitude. 
 
 " Just hear him, now," whispered Claudine to Mrs. Well- 
 niont, indicating Father Shaw, who was drinking from his 
 saucer, with loud inhalations ; "he does n't eat so politely as 
 your husband.'' 
 
 Mrs. Wellmont laughed lightly. " But my husband is not 
 perfect in that particular, as I haw already told him," she 
 observed. 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Claudine, very much interested ; " we all 
 think, here, he is perfect in everything." 
 
 " You don't know him as well as I do," said Mrs. Well- 
 mont, affecting to joke, but in reality annoyed to hear her 
 husband's praise instead of her own. She was one of those 
 wives who make no scruple of blaming their husbands to their 
 dear confidential friends. 
 
 Miss Leah was a superior country housekeeper, and her 
 provision on this occasion was liberal and excellent. But 
 Mrs. Wellmont ate with unusual daintiness, as though quite 
 unused to such an entertainment. And this was the fact ; for, 
 at her father's fashionable home, she had never sat down to a 
 tea-table furnished 'with anything more than very thin slices 
 of bread and cake.
 
 220 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " It seems so odd," she said to Claudine, " to see no silver 
 about a table, except the spoons. No service of plate or glass ; 
 not even silver forks, or a basket for the cake. And I see no 
 finger-bowls." 
 
 " La, no ! I dare say many of these people never heard of 
 such a thing." 
 
 Several of the elderly people regarded Mrs. Wellmont nar- 
 rowly ; the result of their scrutiny was apparently not very 
 satisfactory, for they shook their heads and exchanged volumes 
 of meaning through their spectacles, and behind their hands 
 placed to their lips, becoming thus unwittingly copyists of 
 Soloman's famous picture of " Scandal," at the Exhibition 
 of the British Institution. But it was all the same to the 
 object of their remarks, who was one of those young persons 
 to whom the old folks are of no sort of consideration. 
 
 In the evening the young gentlemen came, like flies attracted 
 by sweetmeats, and all the lower rooms were filled. Mr. 
 Wellmont would have chosen to leave at an early hour, but 
 he saw that could not be, for his wife had soon become quite 
 animated, in the centre of a select circle. Mr. Solomon 
 Acre had always been a prominent personage in these meet- 
 ings ; but, much to the regret of the ladies, young and old, he 
 had left the place. Other ladies, who felt humble and neg- 
 lected, sat apart with their sewing, and talked in low voices 
 of the diseases of themselves, children, and neighbors, or of 
 the last female prayer-meeting, while occasionally they glanced 
 at the charmed circle, with sad eyes, and wondered within 
 their hearts if they should ever, in eternity, git among the
 
 EDITH HALE. 221 
 
 highest, and, like others around them, be happy and fortunate. 
 Mrs. Dr. Humphrey, who was a lady of superior intelligence 
 and refinement, as beautiful in heart as in mind and person, 
 and of such an undisputed position in society that wherever 
 she went, there, as Seneca said, was the honored place, saw 
 something of this intuitively, and left a gentleman, with whom 
 she had been conversing, to join this group. Believing in 
 that somewhat gone-by, forgotten doctrine, that many who 
 are first shall be last, and the last first, she recognized no 
 superior attractions in Mrs. Wellrnont and her set. She 
 inquired of each after her welfare, not with a kind of compas- 
 sionate sense of duty, but in a thorough genuine kindness that 
 went direct to their hearts. 
 
 Perceiving Miss Leah enter the room with a face a little 
 anxious and weary, she transferred her attentions to her, to 
 inform her, for encouragement, how well she had succeeded 
 that day, and how happy her guests were in consequence. 
 Mrs. Humphrey did not use flattery, for she was above that ; 
 but she grew happier and more beautiful daily, in the glorious 
 work of trying to make everybody, without distinction, as 
 happy as possible around her. And, for this, Providence, 
 true to its promises, blessed her richly, and her children after 
 her. 
 
 The old ladies, very much comforted and enlivened after 
 their three cups of strong hyson, made their knitting-needles 
 and their fingers fly cheerfully, without stopping to care for 
 such nonsense and vanity as aristocracy. How happy they 
 looked as they told stories of the past, and gossiped about the 
 19*
 
 222 EDITH HALE. 
 
 present and future, of what strange things happened in 
 their courting-dajs, and were happening now, in the courting- 
 days of the young folks ! Not less pleased among themselves 
 were the old gentlemen, with Father Shaw in their midst, 
 talking about the huskings and trainings of old times, and 
 interlarding it all frequently with interjectional parentheses 
 of the difference in the merry-makings now. Mr. Wellmont 
 was sitting in a corner with Deacon Goodwin and Dr. Hum- 
 phrey, elucidating a religious topic. On the whole it was a 
 time which is set down with a white stone. 
 
 " I tell you Mrs. Wellmont is a rusher ! " whispered one of 
 the gentlemen of the select circle to Mr. Squiers, as the even- 
 ing waned apace. 
 
 " A queer one," replied the young lawyer, with a curious 
 look ; " I should think, however, there should be some amend- 
 ment, or special statutory provision, to the constitution under 
 which she acts." 
 
 " I should hardly have thought she would have been the 
 choice of Mr. Wellmont for a wife," said the other. 
 
 " 0, I give it as my judgment," replied Mr. Squiers, " in 
 the process of getting a wife, Mr. Wellmont was not so much 
 satisfied with the writ of capias ad satisfaciendum, which 
 secured the lady herself, as with the writ levari facias, which 
 secured the estates of the lady." 
 
 " She is not handsome, certainly." 
 
 " No ; but she has a certain air of superiority, of indiffer- 
 ence, or what we legal people call contempt of court, which is 
 quite impressive ; though she does not appear as well as Miss
 
 EDITH HALE. 223 
 
 Dennis, who seems to have learned that lesson not less im- 
 portant to a lady in society than to a judge in court, to 
 abide by precedents." 
 
 " Alitha has also goods and chattels enough in prospect to 
 make it worth the while to carry on a long process of court- 
 ship," interposed Zephaniah Wilkins, who had a rare faculty 
 of making people uncomfortable, and moreover suspected that 
 the young lawyer had an interest in the direction of Alitha 
 and the deacon's property. 
 
 And so the hours of the meeting passed, closed at last by a 
 short, fervent, and appropriate prayer, by Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " You seem to be very well acquainted with the women 
 here," observed Mrs. Wellmont, a little nervously, to her 
 husband, on their way home, " and one of them has already 
 testified to me that they think you perfection itself." 
 
 Mr. Wellmont was fatigued, dispirited, and not happier in 
 the prospect of conjugal love from his wife's appearance that 
 evening ; he therefore replied, in a manner which he sincerely 
 repented immediately after, that it was of little importance 
 to him what they or his wife thought of him ; and was pun- 
 ished by a fit of sullen silence in Mrs. Wellmont, which con- 
 tinued till the next day at dinner, when the appearance of a 
 favorite dish on Mr. Phanuel's table broke the spell.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MYSTERIES UNRAVELLED. 
 
 EDITH had scarcely become initiated into her new duties, 
 when she received intelligence which changed the tenor 
 of her thoughts, and was destined to largely influence her 
 plans for the future. It came from her friend, Mary Pick- 
 ering. An extract ran thus : 
 
 " You will not marvel, dear Edith, at the deep, irresistible 
 tide of joy that now flows through my heart, when I tell you 
 some of the events which have transpired with me since you 
 left. Mr. Raymond came, as was expected ; but, contrary to 
 all the plans, he came not for Julia, but for me. It happened 
 in this way : Horace received a letter from Julia, shortly 
 after his return home, apparently to make some inquiries in 
 regard to school-books necessary to purchase for the next 
 term, but in reality to elicit a response of friendship from 
 him. It came to him in the midst of the most engrossing 
 engagements, in attendance upon his dying father. He, how- 
 ever, took time to write hastily and briefly to Julia and myself 
 at one sitting. But the letters were scarcely concluded, when 
 he was summoned to attend to business, the purport of which
 
 EDITH HALE. 225 
 
 you will presently understand. His father's death transpired 
 immediately after. He concluded, when here, from the fact 
 of no letter having reached me, in the anxieties and abstrac- 
 tion of that event, the letter written to Julia was sent only, 
 while mine was mislaid or lost. He has since written me 
 that he has found the letter among papers then hurriedly put 
 aside, and has ascertained that a letter of business to a mer- 
 cantile correspondent was sent away by his servant, instead 
 of the one addressed to me. 
 
 " When Horace subsequently addressed father, asking for 
 the hand of his daughter in marriage, in consequence of the 
 definiteness of his previous letter to me, it never occurred to 
 him that the object of his preference could be mistaken. And 
 Julia naturally fell into the error, having already conceived 
 strong hopes of gaining his favor, from the friendliness of his 
 letter to her. She now experiences a bitter disappointment, 
 and I compassionate her deeply. I believe that ma designs 
 sending her on a journey for the present. 
 
 " At my especial request, our marriage will be delayed 
 until you conclude your present engagement, when I hope we 
 shall be reunited, not soon to be separated again, unless at 
 your own will, or that of Providence. 
 
 " I send you a communication written by the late Mr. Ray- 
 mond, which Horace desired me to enclose with my letter to 
 you, and the nature of which he has disclosed to me. I will 
 not linger now to comment upon your good fortune, lest I rob 
 you of one half the pleasure of the surprise. I will conclude
 
 22ti EDIT1I HALE. 
 
 by saying that this intelligence respecting you, my ever dear 
 friend, renders my present happiness complete." 
 
 The enclosed paper read as follows : 
 
 " For the benefit of the wronged, and for the relief of my 
 soul in the prospect of death, I now disclose a circumstance 
 of my early life, which, with its results, has since clouded all 
 my days. When I was a young man a great many years 
 ago I loved a girl by the name of Blanche Hale. She was 
 an orphan dependent upon an uncle, while I was the only 
 son of one of the wealthiest citizens of Boston. When my 
 father learned of my love, he forbade it. He swore, if I 
 married the penniless girl, he would make a will and give all 
 his estate to my sister. I had not less spirit than himself. 
 If I had known I should have been shot to the heart for it, I 
 would have married Blanche. She loved me as I loved her, 
 although I was sometimes madly jealous of rivals, for she was 
 so beautiful that many loved her. One in particular, who had 
 long been envious of my good fortune, annoyed me contin- 
 ually. In my impetuosity, to secure myself against all pros- 
 pect of losing Blanche, I obtained her consent to a secret 
 marriage, though not without much persuasion, for she ab- 
 horred deception, and was as good as she was lovely. I fore- 
 saw that my father could not live long, for he was suffering 
 under a dangerous disease ; and I thought, if I waited cau- 
 tiously, all would eventually result according to my wishes. 
 
 " We went privately, and without attendants, to a distant 
 state, and were married by the first magistrate I found ; from 
 whence we returned, and lived at our several homes as be-
 
 EDITH HALE. 227 
 
 fore, my absence being satisfactorily accounted for to my 
 father by the fact of having business for him in the same 
 direction, which I transacted. As I appeared to acquiesce 
 with the command to forsake Blanche, I came again into 
 favor with my father, and he now wished to see me advan- 
 tageously settled, as he called it, before he died. He had set 
 his heart upon my marrying the daughter of his partner in 
 business, a girl who, like her family, possessed no attrac- 
 tions but money. I did not openly thwart his wishes; and 
 it was soon currently reported that I was about to marry this 
 girl. This report reaching the ears of Blanche, she was 
 overcome with grief, until I reassured her. Presently there 
 was a prospect of my becoming a father, and I prepared to 
 remove Blanche to the home of a relative at some distance, 
 before the fact should obtain publicity. But she had not 
 left her uncle's before my father, most fortunately, as I im- 
 piously thought, died suddenly, and left me the master of my 
 own actions. Overjoyed at my fortune, I was about to remove 
 her to my own home, and openly acknowledge our marriage, 
 when the former suitor of Blanche, divining my intentions, 
 boasted to me, with the face of a friend, of her inconstancy 
 to me. I was stung almost to madness ; but I doubted his 
 word, and challenged him to a duel. ' I accept the chal- 
 lenge,' he answered, with a smile of triumph, ' if you persist 
 in offering it after reading this ; ' and he produced a letter 
 from Blanche, addressed to him with the same familiarity she 
 had written to me since our marriage, alluding to the child.
 
 228 EDITH HALE. 
 
 of which he was the father, and otherwise substantiating his 
 assertions. 
 
 " I said no word in reply. I left him with my heart sud- 
 denly frozen to ice. I never saw Blanche again after this, 
 for all my former love had changed to unmitigated hate. She 
 wrote to me repeatedly, but I returned her letters unopened. 
 She once came to my house, and implored the servants, even 
 on her knees, to show her to me. But my orders were per- 
 emptory that she should be expelled from the house, and they 
 were strictly obeyed. I stood just above stairs, and heard 
 her great sobs as she went out. My God ! I can hear them 
 now ! I have heard them by day and night since ! 
 
 " Her disgrace became public. As a last refuge, she now 
 openly asserted her marriage to me, which I firmly denied, 
 with well-feigned astonishment. I knew that no proofs to 
 the ' contrary could be obtained, otherwise I should have 
 adopted a different course. I. had previously taken care to 
 ascertain if our marriage had been entered upon record by 
 the magistrate who had married us ; and, finding that he had 
 neglected so doing until the prescribed time had expired, the 
 expediency of denying my marriage was first established in 
 my purposes. I had retained the legal certificate of our 
 marriage in my own possession, and, on being informed of her 
 treachery, had destroyed it. In her implicit trust in me, at 
 the time of our hasty marriage among strangers, she had 
 neglected even to ask the name of the magistrate who had 
 married us, and to eeek him personally was then impossible 
 for her. The world believed me, and branded her with
 
 EDITU HALE. 229 
 
 infamy, for my character had always stood fairly, and in such 
 cases judgment is given in favor of the strongest. Even her 
 uncle deserted her in this extremity, and expelled her from 
 his house. She then went to the home of a relative at some 
 distance, and, shortly after giving birth to her child, died. 
 
 " I immediately went abroad. My mother had been dead 
 for years, and I left my sister in charge of my father's part- 
 ner, who was her guardian. As this man had been very 
 much angered at my refusal to marry his daughter, he con- 
 trived after my departure to effect a marriage between my sister 
 and his son, who was a coarse, uneducated, small-souled man, 
 and altogether unsuited for one of her refined and sensitive 
 nature. I knew nothing of these designs until she wrote to 
 inform me of her marriage, and it was then too late to inter- 
 fere. I have always reproached myself for leaving my sister 
 to the care of others ; for the suffering I afterwards learned 
 she endured in consequence was another rebuke for my im- 
 petuosity of action. Before I returned she died of a linger- 
 ing disease, having given birth to several children, who, all 
 save one, died in their infancy and this one proved an im- 
 becile. So the property left to my sister by my father fell 
 into the entire keeping of this Rufus Sykes, her husband, who 
 clutched it with the grasp of a miser, and has since proved 
 himself only worthy of contempt. 
 
 " I remained abroad many years, unwilling to return to the 
 scene of my former disappointments, ever miserable, and some- 
 times driven by my reflections almost to despair. In Rome, 
 one winter, I met an American family with whom I became 
 20
 
 230 EDITH HALE. 
 
 intimate. Among the family was a daughter, a refined, gentle 
 girl, who betrayed her regard for me from the first. Her 
 father, understanding my undoubted position as a man of 
 property, was very courteous to me, and strove to effect a 
 union between his daughter and myself. I had lost all faith 
 in woman ; but the truthful tenderness and unaffected goodness 
 of this young girl appealed at last to my respect. I never 
 could be in love again ; but the idea that, in the event of my 
 sudden death, the remainder of my father's estate would also 
 fall to this Sykes' possession, made me willing to marry, for 
 this man I had always thoroughly hated. After my marriage, 
 I returned with my wife to my home, and plunged myself into 
 my business affairs, to withdraw my memory from the past as 
 much as possible. I would not retain a business connection 
 with my father's former partner, and, after much difficulty, the 
 partnership was dissolved. Notwithstanding my efforts, I 
 could not bring my mind to tranquillity, and I came to indulge 
 the hope of purchasing peace by interesting myself actively in 
 objects of benevolence which fell under my observation. 
 
 " One bitter winter night, on returning home from my 
 counting-room, I discovered a child crouching on my door- 
 steps, and crying piteously. I took her within, and found 
 that she was almost perished with cold and famine. After 
 taking care that she was newly-clothed and fed, in answer to 
 my inquiries I learned that she had only a father, who was 
 sick in a miserable room, in one of the most wretched por- 
 tions of the city ; and when she repeated his name, great 
 Heavens ! it was a "name I remembered but too well. I was
 
 EDITH HALE. 231 
 
 about to send her home with a servant, when a certain inde- 
 finable desire to meet my old rival and enemy urged me to 
 return with her in person. I found him in his wretchedness, 
 but in such a situation that I could scarcely feel any emotion 
 other than pity. He was lying upon a heap of straw, beside 
 which the storm beat in through the broken window-panes, and 
 between the crevices of the building, while he lay prostrate 
 with disease, and emaciated almost to a skeleton. He did 
 not know me ; but when I spoke my name, distinctly and 
 sternly, he started wildly, and began to mutter about Blanche 
 Hale. Then I saw oozing from his mouth a stream of blood. 
 In his excitement he had broken a blood-vessel, and seemed 
 dying. I left him to summon a physician to his aid. When 
 he had partially recovered, he told me, in broken whispers, 
 that Blanche Hale had been innocent of all the guilt he 
 had charged upon her ; that the letter he showed me as her 
 own, addressed to him, was a forgery. He had possessed 
 himself of one of her letters to me, by bribing a servant in 
 her uncle's house, and so discovered the secret of her mar- 
 riage. ' You can find the original letter now in the bottom 
 of that old box, there,' he said, pointing with his skeleton 
 finger towards the only article of furniture in the miserable 
 room ; and then continued, though very much exhausted, ' God 
 only knows how much I have suffered since that guilty deed. 
 Everything has gone against me. And I die now the most 
 miserable of deaths. My poor child ! ' He could say no 
 more, for the blood flowed freely again ; but he cast on me a 
 look which I have remembered to this hour. I answered it
 
 232 EDITH HALE. 
 
 by saying, ' You are forgiven by me, and I will be a father to 
 your child.' He closed his eyes to shut in the tears, and never 
 opened them again. He died before morning, and I was after- 
 wards faithful to my promise to befriend his child. 
 
 " My next effort, after awakening from the shock which 
 this discovery had occasioned, was to make the only reparation 
 left me for the great wrong the innocent had suffered. I went 
 to the place in which Blanche had died, and sought for her 
 child. I learned that it was a boy of some fifteen years, and 
 was apprenticed to a mechanic in a neighboring town. After 
 having sought out the mother's grave, and, with tears, such as 
 I had never shed before since my childhood, repeated my vow 
 to protect the injured child, I renewed my efforts in secret. 
 But when I reached the place to which I had been directed, 
 the boy was gone. He had run away but a week before. By 
 a neighbor of his master I learned that he had been misused, 
 tasked heavily, often severely beaten for slight offences, 
 and always provided scantily with food and clothing. How 
 my heart groaned within me to hear this ! and my self-accus- 
 ings daily became more poignant. I next used every possible 
 endeavor, as God is my witness, to discover the lost boy ; but 
 in vain. After a long, fruitless search, I settled into a disap- 
 pointed, broken-hearted hypochondriac. My first child by my 
 second wife, a noble boy, whom I. had worshipped, had died a 
 few months before these events. And my wife, who was con- 
 stantly afflicted by my increasing irritability and gloom, 
 became a prey to sorrow and that subtle disease, consumption,
 
 EDITH HALE. 2o3 
 
 which steals its victim unawares, and, after giving birth 
 to another son, sunk gradually to the grave. 
 
 " I felt that my retribution had come, never to leave me for 
 a moment ; for the thought of the child of poor Blanche 
 became to me an abiding sorrow. Years and years of misery 
 dragged on, while I heard no more of the child, whom I knew 
 must, if living, have come to manhood. 
 
 " But when I went to Waterbury, a short time since, Mr. 
 Pickering invited me to go to the cemetery in that place to 
 see a new family monument he had recently erected. I went, 
 and, while examining the ground, I accidentally read the 
 record of the death of Blanchard Hale. The name struck 
 me powerfully in a moment, and I recalled the fact that this 
 was the name of him for whom I had been searching for 
 so many wretched years ; and the age corresponded exactly. 
 Concealing my emotion, I made the most careful inquiries 
 concerning the deceased, and learned that he had resided in 
 Waterbury only about ten years, having removed thither from 
 New York. 
 
 " I then discovered why I had missed of my object in my 
 search ; for, though I had examined the records of this state 
 and the state in which he was born, for many years, to dis- 
 cover his location, I had not thought of pursuing my investi- 
 gations in New York ; and, for the last fifteen years, I had 
 given over all efforts as useless, believing he was dead. 
 Upon the representation of being partially acquainted with 
 the father of the deceased, I obtained an interview with his 
 widow, and found her the most accomplished and amiable of 
 20*
 
 234 EDITH HALE. 
 
 women. I saw my grandchild, and with difficulty was pre- 
 vented from discovering myself. This I could not do ; for I 
 had suffered so long and silently, my sorrow seemed buried 
 in my own heart too deeply to bring forth to the stare and 
 reproach of others. I learned their misfortunes, and resolved 
 to befriend them as soon as I could decide upon the most 
 practicable method. Xot long after this, my son came to me 
 with a desire to teach school one quarter in Waterbury ; and, 
 ontrary to his expectations, I expressed no objections, taking 
 care to recommend this mother and daughter to his partic- 
 ular notice, upon the plea of an old obligation I was under 
 to the deceased husband and father, and requesting him to 
 mention in his letters to me anything of interest which might 
 occur respecting them. In his first letter he wrote that the 
 mother was dead, and the daughter at present suitably pro- 
 vided for by the benevolence of friends. I then resolved to 
 make my will, and name this girl one of my heirs ; but, 
 before doing this, I have judged it best to write out this state- 
 ment at different times, when I have been sufficiently capable, 
 that my son may clearly understand why I shall divide my 
 estate between him and another." 
 
 Subjoined to this was the following from Horace Raymond : 
 " When my father had written thus far, he was stricken 
 with the disease which finally terminated his life. On being 
 summoned home, I found him in a state of insensibility, or, at 
 least, imperfect consciousness. In moments of delirium he 
 talked of ' a great wrong ' he had committed, of ' the curse 
 of an injured wife,' etc. But, as the hour of his death
 
 EDITH HALE. 235 
 
 approached, by that miracle of dissolution his consciousness 
 seemed to return with all its former clearness and vigor. 
 Summoning me to his bedside, he directed me where to find 
 the paper of which the foregoing is a copy, which being pro- 
 duced, he said, with deep regret, ' 0, that I had been spared 
 to write my will ! that I could have died with a surety of 
 having done all I could for those who have suffered on my 
 account ! Not foreseeing that I should die so soon, I did not 
 hasten the arrangement of my affairs as I should have done. 
 But I trust, my son, that you will perform what I now tell 
 you, without a legal obligation.' Of this I assured him sol- 
 emnly, and he continued, ' Remember to always provide for 
 the child of Blanchard Hale, late of Waterbury, in all 
 respects the same as though she were your sister. And when 
 she attains the age of her majority, I desire you to settle 
 legally one third of all my estate upon her and her heirs for- 
 ever. Do this, and you will prosper.' These were his last words. 
 I need hardly add, dear Edith, that it will be my pleasure 
 to faithfully execute my father's commands respecting you." 
 When Edith had concluded reading this, had unlocked, as 
 it were, the mysteries of the past, over which she had so much 
 pondered, and beheld, with one swift, tumultuous glance, the 
 brilliant prospect now unclosing before her, 
 
 " With wild surprise, 
 As if to marble struck, devoid of sense, 
 A stupid moment motionless she sat." 
 
 Then she thought of those beautiful psalms which exhort
 
 236 EDITH HALE. 
 
 the heart to praise God for all his mercies and wonderful 
 works to the children of men, and calm and holy thoughts, in 
 harmony with the inspired praises, possessed her soul. Not 
 for days or weeks could she fully realize the great change 
 which had come to her destiny ; for she had been of late so 
 much accustomed to disappointment and the straits of pov- 
 erty, it was not possible to put away the burden at once. And 
 when she recalled the memory of the trials her parents had 
 endured, the great sorrows that had gone over their souls, 
 and left them earth-worn and weary, she could only feel 
 humbly and quietly glad at her own superior good fortune ; 
 for she knew that she, like them, might be called to endure 
 yet other and trying vicissitudes, incident to human life.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SHADOWS. 
 
 IT was the early summer again the second summer of 
 Mr. Wellmont's residence in Waterbury. His wife's father 
 having purchased the residence of Mr. Phanuel, upon that 
 gentleman's removing from the place, and intimating that it 
 was to be a gift to himself and wife, he sat within his own 
 house now, and from the window of his study beheld the flow- 
 ers bloom in his own garden. The dew which lay upon their 
 hearts in the morning and evening he likened to tears, which, 
 with a rude breath of wind, or a grasp of a ruthless hand, 
 rained to the ground. They were emblems of his own heart. 
 How had he planned to improve and adorn and enjoy a home 
 he might call his own ! And when came the prospect of this 
 beautiful spot gliding so easily into his possession, it had 
 seemed to him another Tempe, irrigated by the silvery and 
 musical Peneus, and bounded to the view by the grand, hoary 
 heights of Olympus and Ossa, the harmonious whole clothed 
 in perpetual loveliness. All internal vexations were to be 
 entirely submerged in the enjoyment of this rare external 
 beauty, which was to receive the imprint of his possession.
 
 238 EDITH IIALE. 
 
 But the ownership being in right of another, and that other 
 an exacting, imperious wife, the scene suddenly, and ere he 
 was aware, lost half its attractiveness. The Olympus and 
 Ossa of his imagination were soon 'hooded with snows, and 
 cloaked with avalanches ; and the stream was dark and sullen 
 in its course under the black shadow of jagged precipices. 
 As with the wandering children of Israel, God gave his request, 
 but sent bitterness into his soul. 
 
 One morning, as Mr. Wellmont sat with his wife, thought- 
 fully turning the leaves of a book of engravings, while she 
 pulled the threads from a finished piece of embroidery, he 
 said, " My dear, I have been thinking for some time it would 
 be pleasant to receive a visit from my mother, now that we 
 are housekeeping for ourselves." He concluded this by a 
 constrained breath, as if he had made quite an effort. 
 
 " I am expecting considerable company from the city, this 
 season, and I am sure your mother would be quite de trop," 
 replied Mrs. Wellmont, with a frown. 
 
 " My mother ! " exclaimed Mr. Wellmont ; " can you speak 
 thus of one dearer to me than life. one who has hitherto 
 thought nothing too much to sacrifice for my good, and who 
 is always to me a cherished object of love and reverence ! " 
 
 " What an air of offended pride ! " exclaimed his wife, with 
 sarcasm ; " but this is the way of some men, who worship 
 their relations, and depreciate their wives, I am sure ; " then 
 she added, with a broken voice, " I wish I had remained at 
 home, where I should have been regarded with consideration, 
 at least."
 
 EDITH HALE. 239 
 
 " Xow, Bertrade," said Mr. Wellmont, somewhat relenting, 
 and beginning to feel that he was no longer the injured party, 
 " you do not suppose I intended that I loved only my mother, 
 because I spoke thus of her ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do, sir ! " sobbed Mrs. Wellmont, 
 
 Thereupon ensued a domestic scene upon which we drop the 
 curtain, only pausing to say that the mother was not invited 
 to make her visit, although the invitation was looked for con- 
 fidently in every letter. 
 
 The clouds having dispersed, and the shower ceased, Mr. 
 "Wellmont became cheerful again, with a rainbow over his 
 head, and, while his wife went to give directions for the din- 
 ner, he walked in his garden. 
 
 " It is certainly agreeable to see all these beautiful plants 
 growing on one's own land," he mused, " and to walk under 
 the shadow of one's own trees, which promise an abundant 
 yield of fruit. After all, I suppose I may have been unthank- 
 ful, as all of us are prone to be when we attain the accom- 
 plishment of our desires. If Bertrade be too fashionable for 
 the wife of a minister, or too inexperienced for a good house- 
 keeper, so that she cannot manage to get up a decent meal 
 with the help of a ' well-recommended cook,' I must content 
 myself with the other and brighter side. Love and charity 
 shall excuse her worldliness, and sunshine shall be the dessert 
 with a poor dinner." 
 
 At dinner that day, however, his resolution was* tested 
 thoroughly. His favorite roast was done to a crisp ; another 
 dish was so little cooked it required the teeth of an antedilu-
 
 240 EDITH HALE. 
 
 viau to masticate it ; and a third was so highly seasoned it 
 could not be eaten at all. The handsome table furniture 
 could not quite balance these difficulties with Mr.s. TTellrnont, 
 who said she would discharge her maid-of-all-work, and obtain 
 another. 
 
 " That," said her husband, " is more easily said than done. 
 Nothing do country housekeepers find so difficult to obtain as 
 good help. You already have experienced the truth of this ; 
 for we have had three girls in as many weeks, and no one of 
 them has been capable of getting a good dinner." 
 
 " How do other people do ? " inquired Mrs. "\Vellmont. 
 
 " Generally the mistresses assist in the preparation of their 
 food ; else they must make up their minds to close their eyes 
 against all sorts of domestic evil, and eat whatever is set 
 before them, asking no questions for conscience' sake." 
 
 " Well, I shall never come down to working in my roast- 
 ing, smoking, steaming kitchen, for the sake of watching a 
 servant ! It is enough for me to think what is best to do, and 
 then give directions. If I can't get better servants, I '11 break 
 up and board," concluded Mrs. Wellmont. 
 
 As had now become frequently the case, Mr. Wellmont 
 sought refuge from his domestic perplexities in his study, and 
 his wife at her piano or embroidery. But the minister was 
 in no mood for writing a sermon to-day ; so, with a book in 
 his hand and a sigh in his heart, he sat by his window and 
 became 'absorbed in reflection. Hours were thus wasted before 
 he was aware, for his memory had been wandering back 
 through the vista of the years when life had seemed to his
 
 EDITH HALE. 24.1 
 
 imagination like a hanging garden of the East ; and his soul 
 elevated with hope, in which flourished and bloomed the 
 selectest flowers of fancy. But he had grasped at shadows, 
 and found only hard, leaden realities. He thought of the 
 words of David, " Surely every man walketh in vain show : 
 surely they are disquieted in vain ;" and he remembered, too, 
 that passage, " Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than 
 a house full of sacrifices with strife." Alas ! it had been 
 better if these reflections had come to him before it was too 
 late! 
 
 Suddenly arousing himself, he went below stairs, and again 
 entered the presence of his wife, in the effort to convince him- 
 self that his unhappy reflections were as a dream which would 
 soon pass away. 
 
 The salutation he received, was, " See, Mr. Wellmont, your 
 footprints on my beautiful carpet ! you must have neglected 
 your boots after leaving the garden this morning. And I have 
 just discovered some horrid marks upon my sofa, which you 
 suffered your kitten to scratch last evening ! " 
 
 " Of both your allegations I am ignorant ; though I sup- 
 pose I must plead guilty," said Mr. Wellmont, with a smile. 
 
 "I shall go frantic to see my furniture ruined in this way ! " 
 continued Mrs. Wellinont, with increasing disaffection, while 
 her eyes were nervously riveted upon the marks she had 
 pointed out. 
 
 " The example of Sir Isaac Newton is a good one to recall 
 under such trying circumstances," observed Mr. Wellmont, 
 with a slight spirit of humor lurking about his eyes. " When 
 21
 
 242 EDITH HALE. 
 
 his little pet dog, Diamond, had destroyed the labor of 
 several years, by upsetting a candle on his desk, he only 
 exclaimed, ' 0, Diamond ! Diamond ! you little know the 
 mischief you have done.' It is hardly wise to grow frantic 
 over an injury so much less than that sustained by the philos- 
 opher." 
 
 " You need not trouble yourself to preach to me, if you do 
 to other people ! " replied Mrs. Wellmout, not at all mollified 
 by her husband's reproof; " I think too much of my things 
 to see them so injured, and smile about it. Let me go to 
 your library, and turn down the pages of your books, and 
 stain and mark over their margins, fly-leaves, etc., and then 
 see if you feel better than I do now ! My carpets are ele- 
 gant, and cost me too much care to have me see them 
 destroyed." 
 
 " One would infer," said Mr. Wellmont, " that our house- 
 hold gods were indeed the idols of your worship, and should 
 not be touched with sacrilegious hands. I recommend, in 
 order to go out of doors and return with feet that shall not 
 soil these preciously covered floors, we be provided with a 
 couple of mules on which to ride ; and, to dignify the ani- 
 mals, they shall be shod with golden shoes, as were the 
 mules which were used by the Emperor Nero and his wife 
 Poppsea." 
 
 " It signifies nothing to me what Nero or Poppy used," 
 said Mrs. Wellmont ; " but this reminds me of what I was 
 about to tell you before. I must have a saddle horse to ride 
 this summer."
 
 EDITH HALE. 243 
 
 " You cannot be in earnest, Bertrade," answered Mr. Well- 
 mont, very much astonished. 
 
 " Indeed, I mean just what I say. I always ride horse- 
 back when I am in the country in the summer." 
 
 " What would my parishioners say to see the wife of their 
 minister riding past their buildings upon horseback ? They 
 would think you had gone mad, and had started on a crusade 
 to the Holy Land. And I myself would fear that in the 
 perils of such an adventure you might, in reality, go to the 
 same place." 
 
 " I care not what such people as these think of me," ex- 
 claimed the lady contemptuously ; " it is quite the fashion to 
 ride horseback. Besides, I heard Mrs. Pickering's daughters 
 say they intended to do so, this season." 
 
 " Most probably you said so first." 
 
 " Well, and what then ? " 
 
 " If you set this mode here, Bertrade, I '11 give you my 
 opinion in the beginning, that I shall receive intimation that 
 my ' usefulness is at an end ' in this parish, before winter," 
 said Mr. Wellmont, with anxiety. 
 
 " That would be no great misfortune ; for I should much 
 prefer to spend the fashionable season in the city. In fact, 
 now I think of it, winter will be insupportable in such a 
 place as this." 
 
 "0, Bertrade!" exclaimed Mr. Wellmont, "how little 
 you understand my feelings ! " 
 
 " Not less than you understand mine," rejoined his wife. 
 
 These words were too true. Neither understood the other ;
 
 ii-14 EDITH HALE." 
 
 and both would have been vastly happier with those of their 
 own temperament and manner of life. 
 
 " What a waste of sensibility over a reasonable recrea- 
 tion ! " exclaimed Mrs. Wellmont, after an irksome silence. 
 
 " Are you not aware, my dear," said Mr. Wellmont, " that 
 this custom, like many another, is regarded quite diversely 
 in different sections of the country ? In some locations it is 
 a common manner of travelling for convenience, so com- 
 mon it excites not even curiosity. In some, it is the pre- 
 vailing fashionable pleasure ; in others, as in this vicinity, 
 I assure you it would occasion a great deal of remark ; and, 
 for the wife of their minister, it will not do at all." 
 
 "It will do," answered his wife, emphatically; "and, if 
 you don't choose to assist me, I shall see old Father Shaw, 
 to-morrow, about his white Hagar. She is a beautiful creat- 
 ure, a very angel of a horse ; and Mrs. Pickering told me 
 he wished to sell her, because she was too spirited for one of 
 his age." 
 
 " I hope she will not carry, likewise, the Angel of Death, 
 who is usually represented upon a pale horse," said Mr. 
 Wellmont ; " but, if you are really determined in this, I will 
 iee about the purchase myself; and I will get a handsome 
 chaise to match, which will be a much pleasanter way of 
 riding." 
 
 " I should make an interesting spectacle riding about 
 in a chaise alone ! " said Mrs. Wellmont, with provoking 
 obtuseness. 
 
 " But I expected to sit beside you ; at least, leaving it to
 
 EDITH HALE. 245 
 
 your own choice to carry the reins, or whip, or both. Let 
 me tell you now, however," added Mr. Wellmont, " that you 
 know not with what you are engaging, when you get that 
 horse. I rode after her once, and she came near killing 
 me." 
 
 He did not tell her how much nearer she came killing the 
 one who rode with him. Nevertheless, it was all distinctly 
 in his memory. 
 
 " Fie ! " said Mrs. Wellmont ; " a coward ! I could man- 
 age her with two fingers, I know ; for I never rode after a 
 horse yet that frightened me. I would not give anything for 
 a horse that had no spirit." 
 
 "Well, I'll try for her, then," said Mr. Wellmont, re- 
 signedly; for he knew further opposition would be useless, 
 and he did not like to have his wife think him in reality a 
 coward. 
 
 " You need not speak as though there were doubt about 
 getting her," observed Mrs. Wellmont ; " for I am willing to 
 give more than any one else would about here. I will say 
 you may go as high as three hundred and fifty, or four 
 hundred." 
 
 " Father Shaw would not think of asking one half those 
 sums," rejoined Mr. Wellmont, laughing. 
 
 " Our carriage-horses at home cost six hundred apiece," 
 said his wife. 
 
 " And Bucephalus, the horse of Alexander the Great, was 
 bought for about ten thousand dollars," continued Mr. Well- 
 21*
 
 246 EDITH HALE. 
 
 mont; "but neither your instance nor mine is a suitable 
 example for a poor country minister." 
 
 " There it comes again ! everything must be modelled to the 
 idea of your being a minister. Can't think, speak, dress, or 
 act, in anything as one desires, because, forsooth, you are a 
 minister. There is no servitude like it. In fact, our house- 
 servants at home were much more independent than I am 
 here." 
 
 " That is no reproach," replied Mr. Wellmont, with a sub- 
 dued voice ; " the very meaning of the word minister is one 
 who serves. What did the great Exemplar say of this ? 
 ' Whosoever will be great among you, let him be your minis- 
 ter ; and whosoever will be chief among you, let him be your 
 servant. Even as the Son of man came not to be minis- 
 tered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for 
 many.'" 
 
 " I never thought of it in that way, before," said Mrs. 
 Wellmont ; " our city ministers are reverenced little short 
 of idolatry, and are elevated to the highest seats everywhere 
 they go. I always thought it a fine thing to marry a min- 
 ister. But I wish now " she stopped, blushed, and sighed ; 
 for the expression that rested on her husband's face was too 
 painfully serious to escape her notice. 
 
 " 0, Bcrtrade ! " groaned Mr. Wellmont ; " this is the 
 greatest trial of all my life to be instrumental of causing 
 so much unhappiness to another, and that other a wife ! " He 
 was too much affected to say more.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " LET HER SAIL." 
 
 SUMMER deepened into autumn ; and, with the exodus of the 
 flowers, and many of the singing birds, went Mrs. Wellmont's 
 gay visitors to their city homes, leaving that lady more dis- 
 satisfied with the country and a parsonage than ever. Mr. 
 Wellmont had striven as manfully as possible to resist and 
 overcome all the untoward influences with which he had been 
 surrounded, and submit himself silently to his disappoint- 
 ments. Arduously he had labored for his people, alone and 
 unaided, save by the Spirit who ever helps the infirmities of 
 those who feel their need ; and the people had said, mean- 
 while, one to another, " How spiritual our minister is becom- 
 ing ! Nearer and nearer the glories of heaven he gets every 
 Sabbath ! This is the more surprising," they added, " as he 
 is in the midst of so much domestic worldliness." 
 
 Feeling never so much away from home as in the presence 
 of his wife and her friends, he had banished himself almost 
 entirely to the solitude of his study, save the time devoted to 
 his pastoral duties ; and thus he had made great progress, 
 spiritual and intellectual. For this, a nature so sensitive
 
 248 EDITH HALE. 
 
 and naturally yielding to all the sweet influences of affec- 
 tion, as his, must pay its price. As a plant, under the dark 
 shadows of an angled wall, struggles vainly against the chill 
 and gloom, and when the worm enters its roots begins to 
 wither slowly on its topmost leaves, the shadow of disease 
 settled upon his pale, deeply-veined brow, abstracting strength 
 from his voice, and energy from his system. But, with the 
 return of the bracing days of autumn, and a hope of more 
 quiet at home, he gathered new health, and seemed more like 
 himself again. The earth, with its manifold beauties, had 
 something of its olden joy for him, and a keener susceptibility 
 to the friendliness of his people inspired him with greater 
 encouragement than he had felt since the time of his marriage. 
 It was a morning of all perfections, such as is known only 
 in September, when Mr. Wellmont performed the marriage of 
 Mr. Raymond and Mary, in the home of Mr. Pickering. 
 Without, long bars of sunshine striped the imbrowned lawn, 
 between the heavy shadows of the trees. Apples were falling 
 with a pleasant sound, while the peaches lay in delicious plen- 
 teousness upon the ground, or freighted the branches of the 
 trees like pendent globes, half ruby, half gold. The grapes, 
 purple and golden, which hung about the trellises in full, 
 ripening clusters, were scarcely less luxurious than those in 
 the pictures of the fruit of Eschol. Under the silver-leaf 
 trees the leaves, with their white linings uppermost, lay 
 thickly, like the pavement of Odin's silver palace ; and some 
 of them, floating down the brook which ran beside the garden, 
 flashed in the sunlight like silver stars.
 
 EDITH HALE. 249 
 
 But within, more beautiful than all, was the bride. Not 
 beautiful as the term is sometimes used ; but in peace, and 
 purity, and love, as a meek-eyed Madonna, or as Hlyn the 
 Gentle, who kisses away the tear from the eye of the unfortu- 
 nate. She wore no ornament, save a few bright autumn 
 leaves wreathed within the braids of her dark hair. From 
 these a gossamer veil depended like a mist. 
 
 Often had the mother thought Mary the least hopeful of 
 all her daughters, the heir-prospective of an inferior destiny. 
 She had always been the poorest specimen of the art of the 
 artificial mother ; as Rivarol, the French satirist, called the 
 junior Buffon " the worst chapter in the natural history of 
 his father." Now, the pride of Mrs. Pickering had reached 
 its highest aim in this same neglected, unattractive daughter. 
 
 Mr. Wellmont, on this occasion, was unusually disturbed. 
 The habitual equanimity of his soul was gone. His voice was 
 sad and uncertain, his brow was even paler than usual, and 
 his thin hands trembled as he raised them in prayer. After 
 the ceremony he had few pleasant words or apposite anecdotes 
 for each, as was his custom. And wherefore ? There was 
 one present whom he could never meet without emotion. 
 Now his emotion was pain ; for the presence of Edith had 
 awakened all the memories of the past, when the hours of 
 love had filled his life with beauty. Edith had never appeared 
 more self-possessed and calm. Accidentally meeting Mr. 
 Wellmont, she addressed him with graceful composure, in- 
 quired if he were suffering from ill-health, and concluded by 
 asking him to present her to his wife.
 
 250 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " I s'pose I must go and congratulate the bride," said 
 Father Shaw, as he saw one after another addressing Mary. 
 " Raymond I must call you now," he said. " "Well, I 'm right 
 glad to see you lookin' so smilin'. You desarve a good hus- 
 band, and I guess you Ve gut the article ! " 
 
 " Thank you, Father Shaw," rejoined Mary. 
 
 " I hope you '11 both be happy as clams till your shell of 
 mortality breaks, and you quit for the 'tarnal world. But 
 there 's one thing I want to say about this ere love, there 's 
 so much nonsense telled of now-a-days," he continued, looking 
 alternately from Mary to Mr. Raymond. " You must n't 
 expect love will prove what you think now 't is. This ere love 
 is plaguy onsartin. It 's like arsenic. That are, you know, 
 in some states, is a valerble medicine, and makes some of the 
 best paints and things we have ; but, in some other states, it 's 
 the deadliest pizen, and will kill a body without fail. And 
 so, in some states, love is a good thing, and does a deal of 
 sarvice in the world ; but, ef it an't used right, it 's as bad 
 as pizen, and will kill a body's heart so dead nothin' can cure 
 it agin. Now, you, Mister, don't be such a fool as to think 
 you '11 make your wife love you more by beginnin' to tell her 
 how many other women have loved ye, and callin' such and 
 such women you see about mighty handsome, and how much 
 more Miss So-and-so knows than she, and goin' round with a 
 long face at everything she does that don't quite suit yer nod- 
 dle. Ef you do arter this sort, you '11 find yer love turnin' to 
 pizen, quick, I '11 tell ye. The times are gittin' shockin' 
 wicked with married folks, as well as some others."
 
 EDITH HALE. 251 
 
 " That is jour opinion, then, Father Shaw," now inter- 
 rupted Mr. "Wellmont, who, seemingly with a wish to divert 
 his thoughts, came and sat near the old man. 
 
 " Yes," continued Father Shaw, without looking at Mr. 
 Wellmont, " and of ministers, too ! " 
 
 " Have a little mercy," said Mr. Raymond, smiling in good- 
 humor, for he well understood the peculiarities of Father Shaw. 
 " Ministers should not be spoken lightly of. They should 
 rather be dignified with honorary titles, as was St. Thomas 
 Aquinas, who acquired such a great reputation he was called 
 the anyelic doctor, the eagle of divines, the anyel of the schools, 
 and the fifth doctor of the church." 
 
 " As for ' angelic doctor,' " said Father Shaw, " I 've no 
 objection to that are ; for most all women now think the doc- 
 tors of divinity angelic ; and some men do. But them other 
 names are about as sensible as most of titles gi'n to ministers. 
 Some on 'em, these days, ought ter be called the hawk of 
 divines, some the snipe of dicines, and so on. As for Mr. 
 Wellmont, here, I don't think he desarves any such name. 
 Ef I did think so, though, I would n't say what I have said. 
 But, as I was tellin' about vartue : it 's a great deal wuss 
 about such things than it used to be when I was young. 
 People that is, some people don't make northin' of lovin' 
 other folks now arter they 're married ; as ef there was some- 
 thin' mighty smart in 't, and as ef what belongs to other folks 
 is a great sight better than what 's a body's own. But these 
 ere ways lead, soon or later, right to the biggest torment of 
 some kind or other that ever was heard on, even if they an't
 
 252 EDITH HALE. 
 
 found out ; for there 's One who sees inter all hearts. And, 
 Mary," continued the old man, " I hope you'll be a maracle 
 among wives ; for women are 'bout as bad, generally, as men. 
 ' Who can find a vartuous woman ? ' asked one of old." 
 
 " But, Father Shaw, you are not one without faith in the 
 goodness of his fellow-creatures, I hope ? " interrupted Mr. 
 Wellmont. 
 
 " No ; I have a deal of respect for good folks, and 'spe- 
 cially for good women ; and I b'lieve they an't skass, neither. 
 I meant that where there is evil doings, women, as a gineral 
 thing, are as much to blame as men. Mary, here, is one of 
 my children, and I talk to her jest as I think." 
 
 " Yes, Father Shaw," answered Mary, pleasantly, " I am 
 always grateful for your good advice." 
 
 " I an't agoin' to keep you harkin' to an old man like me 
 any. longer, such a time as this," he added; "so, God bless 
 you, child, and your husband, and make yer both jest as 
 happy all the days of yer life as you are now, and bring yer 
 round to heaven at last ! " 
 
 " Don't leave us so soon," said Mary and Mr. Raymond. 
 
 " Yes ; I feel kinder bad to think you 're goin' away where 
 I shan't see your face as I have done," he answered, shaking 
 Mary's hand heartily. " And I '11 go home, and go to work 
 in my shop, to drive the thoughts on 't away, ef I can. A 
 weddin' is allers as solemn to me as a funeral." 
 
 Mr. Raymond invited him cordially to visit them in their 
 future home, adding, as an inducement, that he would make 
 every effort to render such a visit pleasant.
 
 EDITH HALE. 253 
 
 " I dare say," said Father Shaw ; " but I don't like to go 
 to Boston, of late years. The noise makes me dizzy-like ; and 
 to see all that bustling harum-scarum so thick everywhere 
 makes it seem as ef I was in Tophet, and everybody was using 
 a drum-stick. How you can stay in such a place all the 
 time, I don't know. I tell my son so ; but he only laughs, 
 and says I an't used to such things. I 'm sartin I never 
 want to be. Good-by." As he turned away the tears came 
 to Mary's eyes : for, until that moment, she had not. realized 
 how dear were her few old and tried friends. 
 
 Mrs. Wellmont had either omitted to recognize Edith as 
 the rejected applicant for the school in Birhampton, or, under 
 the more favorable auspices in which she now appeared as a 
 relative of Mr. Raymond, found it expedient to be unusually 
 gracious to her on this occasion. Mr. Wellmont, observing 
 them in conversation, and having some curiosity about the 
 nature of such an interview, approached their vicinity and 
 listened, while he was apparently engrossed in examining the 
 books upon the table. He heard his wife say, in reply to 
 some remark of Edith : " I never have read it ; for, between 
 company and embroidery, I don't get time to read. Besides, 
 ladies who read much are always horribly humdrum and blue." 
 Edith opened her large eyes a little wider. 
 
 " That style of dress in which Claudine appears to-day is 
 perfectly lovely ! " exclaimed Mrs. Wellmont, rapturously, in 
 the next breath. " That lace upon her collar is real Valen- 
 ciennes, as I live ! I declare I did not think they could tell 
 one nice lace from another, here in this country place ! " 
 22
 
 254 EDITH HALE. 
 
 Edith next inquired if she liked residing in Waterbury. 
 
 " 0, between us," she answered, " I have a dull time of it, 
 at the best. Though I Ve contrived to wear off the long, 
 heavy days, by one thing and another, in the way of amuse- 
 ment. I ride horseback often, my favorite exercise ; and 
 every time the folks have run to the windows and out of the 
 doors to see me, as though I had been riding on an elephant 
 through the streets. It was really amusing ! " 
 
 Mr. Wellmont could listen no longer. With a flush of 
 pain upon his face, he joined them to inform his wife that he 
 had an engagement which rendered it necessary for him to 
 leave immediately. Edith displayed no triumph in this hour 
 of her ascendency. She had not a disposition for coquetry ; 
 and, if she had been disposed to make Mr. Wellmont conscious 
 of his errors of the past, the settled mortification he betrayed 
 was sufficient retribution. 
 
 At the departure of the bridal party for the tour of travel, 
 an hour later, Mrs. Pickering, by an effort, shed a few tears 
 upon her richly embroidered handkerchief, and, throwing her 
 arms with vehemence about the neck of her son-in-law, en- 
 treated him ever to remember her as the dear, devoted mother 
 of himself and wife ; after which she partially swooned, and 
 was carried off to her room. The father could say nothing ; 
 but he imprinted an affectionate kiss upon Mary's brow, and 
 turned away to conceal his tears. 
 
 The appearance of Mrs. Wellmont before Edith rebuked 
 Mr. Wellmont more certainly than would the most pungent 
 and clear essay upon the moral necessity of conscientiousness
 
 EDITH HALE. 255 
 
 in affairs of the heart. He was aware of this truth before ; 
 but, in presence of the one whom, of all others, he had 
 injured, the inferiority of his wife in all the true graces of 
 character was thoroughly demonstrated. Her sarcastic com- 
 ments upon the people about them he felt were not only 
 exceedingly injurious to his position, but unbecoming a true 
 lady. This, however, had become such a habit of hers, that 
 he lived in continual apprehension of serious evil ; for he well 
 knew upon no other point are people so sensitive as that of a 
 charge of awkwardness, or the absence of the savoir faire. 
 Nothing was more difficult, he had already found, than to 
 improve or influence his wife in any particular. But, after 
 a long and painful reflection upon these matters, he was deter- 
 mined to risk her displeasure, and venture one more note of 
 warning. 
 
 " It would be of great service to yourself, as well as to me, 
 Bertrade, if you would not speak with such incautious freedom 
 of people about us," he said, upon a favorable opportunity. 
 
 " Indeed ! " she rejoined, with flushing brow. " Has Miss 
 Leah visited you with any more respectful suggestions ? Or, 
 has that long-nosed Zephaniah Wilkins been ' peaking ' about 
 here .on a new track ? " 
 
 " You do Miss Leah injustice to intimate that she ever said 
 anything to me derogatory of you," replied Mr. Wellmont; 
 " and it is unnecessary for any one to inform me of what is so 
 evidently imprudent and injurious to our usefulness here, as 
 are the remarks which you dispense so freely about you, with- 
 out pausing to look on whom they fall. Then you must be
 
 256 EDITH HALE. 
 
 aware of a higher principle of accountability for thus using 
 the reputations of people." 
 
 " What a speechment ! " rejoined his wife; "quite in the 
 vein hypocalorum ! " 
 
 " In the vein of sincerity and seriousness," continued Mr. 
 Wellmont. 
 
 " Must I come humbly to you, sir, and repeat what I have 
 to say to get a right to speak before others, or shall I go to 
 Zephaniah Wilkins ? " 
 
 " I deal in no pragmatic sanctions, or anything of the kind, 
 as you well know, Bertrade," said Mr. "Wellmont. 
 
 ." You might as well deal in Greek to me," said Mrs. 
 Wellmont, in a very low voice, not designed for her husband's 
 ear. 
 
 " If I know myself at all," continued Mr. Wellmont, " I 
 am no tyrant to any one. I would sooner die than prove 
 myself such an infliction to my wife, of all others. But, in 
 all kindness, I must warn you of the consequences of this 
 imprudence." 
 
 " Must ! " retorted Mrs. Wellmont, ironically ; "I am 
 thinking you will get a great reward for your pains ! " She 
 now seated herself at her piano, and began playing a quick- 
 step with great spirit ; but, suddenly breaking off and turning 
 about to confront her husband, said, " Is there anything more, 
 sir, upon which your soul is laboring on my account ? If so, 
 let it be told now, once for all ; for I have also to say, with no 
 less dignity than your own, that I will not submit to so much 
 censure upon my actions ! "
 
 EDITH HALE. 257 
 
 " Yes, there is something more, Bertrade," answered Mr. 
 Wellmont ; " your persisting in riding horseback. While 
 your company from the city remained, I forbore to interfere. 
 But now it is my duty to tell you " 
 
 " This is beyond endurance ! " interrupted Mrs. Wellmont. 
 " Be assured I shall not take any notice of such squeamish- 
 ness. Indeed, I have been advised by my own friends not to 
 sacrifice everything because I have been so unfortunate as to 
 marry a minister." 
 
 Mr. Wellmont said no more, but retired by himself to 
 prepare for a prayer meeting which was appointed for the 
 evening. 
 
 " Surely," he said, as he seated himself before his Bible, 
 " the preparation of the heart of man is from the Lord ; else, 
 with so many hindrances, I should utterly fail. But, let my 
 cry be ever, as was that of the crusaders of old to the Holy 
 Land ' God wills it ! ' " 
 
 How often does man respond " God wills it ! " to the 
 afflictions which are the natural result of his own previous 
 wilfulness, and thus shield himself from responsibility ! 
 
 Mrs. Wellmont was so much vexed at these reproofs of her 
 husband, that she could find no relief for her perturbation until 
 she sat down and wrote a letter to her cousin Frank, a confi- 
 dential beau of many years' standing, detailing the privations, 
 provocations, and all the other aggravations of her lot as 
 the wife of a country minister, concluding by a half-score of 
 tender regrets that she had so unwisely placed herself in 
 such a situation. Having thus partially relieved her mind, 
 22*
 
 258 EDITH HALE. 
 
 she put on one of her equestrian suits, and, selecting a bridle 
 she had been recently embroidering, went to the stable to 
 mount Hagar for a horseback ride. As she rode down the 
 yard, she looked up, and, perceiving her husband at the study 
 window, with a defiant toss of her head galloped away with 
 unusual animation. 
 
 Mr. Wellmont could scarcely resist the magnetism of so 
 much impertinence, although in the very fervor of an exposi- 
 tion of a chapter of the Acts. With a bitter smile, he said 
 to himself not exactly anything so unclerical as " Let her 
 slide ! " but, instead, a line from Homer, 
 
 " Yet, if the gods demand her, let her sail ! " 
 
 At the first turn of the street Mrs. Wellmont encountered 
 Zephaniah Wilkins. She quickly drew up, and motioned him 
 to her side. With a look of mysterious solemnity she said, 
 " See here ! they say there is a menagerie over in Birhamp- 
 ton. Do you think they have anything there that attracts so 
 much attention as I do here, on horseback ? " 
 
 Before he had time to think of an answer, she had swept 
 by, leaving him only the satisfaction of gazing after her 
 retreating figure. 
 
 " If that woman were only my wife," he muttered, with 
 acerbity, " I would train her so that she should not be seen 
 against my will more than once ! " 
 
 A pity that all refractory women could not be " trained " 
 by such men as Zephaniah Wilkins ! 
 
 Dashing up to the post-office, Mrs. "Wellmont threw her
 
 EDITH HALE. 259 
 
 letter within the open door, and requested a boy who stood 
 there to put it in the mail. Never did she attract more 
 notice than now, as she rode through the village. On all 
 sides she saw in secret gratification, with half an eye, the 
 people pausing to gaze after her. In consonance with her 
 feelings, she carried herself regally, permitting a few long 
 curls, that had escaped from her jaunty cap, to float unconfined 
 over her shoulders, pushing her veil aside so that it floated 
 attractively in the breeze, and flourishing her dainty whip 
 with a hand encased neatly in a glove of rose-colored kid. 
 From her variety of riding dresses she had selected for this 
 time a black velvet skirt, with a bodice of white satin, lined 
 and deeply trimmed with ermine, which all contrasted effect- 
 ively with the milk-white Hagar. 
 
 As she passed the house of Father Shaw, the horse turned 
 to stop at the old home, upon which she received a smart 
 hint to proceed, and obeyed in high spirit. Miss Leah, who 
 was sitting at one of the front windows and saw it all, lifted 
 her hands in unmitigated horror, exclaiming in a jeremiade 
 upon the degeneracy of the times. In the door of his shop 
 her father stood and shook his head decidedly, while he said, 
 " It won't do ! Mr. "Wellmont preaches well, is a real good 
 man every way in the world, but he must take that ere 
 woman off to the city ; for it looks as bad here to see such 
 things, as it did to John when he see a woman set on a beast 
 full of names of blasphemy, and having seven heads and ten 
 horns." 
 
 Onward, in triumph and indifference, proceeded the subject
 
 260 EDITH HALE. 
 
 of these various comments, till she had quite left the village. 
 Coming at length into a strip of road more solitary than that 
 over which she had passed, she slackened the speed of Hagar, 
 and soon became absorbed in her own reflections. Nothing 
 can be truer to the real character of a person than his secret 
 thoughts, undisturbed by outward impressions, whether they 
 be heart communings upon one's own bed, or upon horseback, 
 as was the position of Mrs. Wellmont. She was recalling 
 some of the brilliant hours of her past life, when triumphs 
 had clustered thickly about her like diamonds in the crown 
 of a queen ; the hearts she had broken, like glass goblets 
 shivered in a challenge ; the lady rivals she had crushed, like 
 roses robbed of their bright leaves, one after another, and then 
 thrown down, to be trampled by careless steps and forgotten in 
 the earth. 
 
 " After all," she said, " I threw myself away on a poor 
 country minister ! I, with all my beauty, fashion, and wealth ! 
 How it happened I can scarcely understand. At first sight, I 
 admired him. There was something about his hair, fine blue 
 eyes, and musical voice, so diiferent from the beaux who 
 usually paid me homage, I was fascinated. Then, too, I was 
 foolish enough to regard his position as a minister with pride ; 
 but I little dreamed what all that signified. His manifest 
 polished politeness, which I can now see was the result of 
 indifference, piqued and interested me, so that I was fain to 
 appear entirely different from myself to please him. I 
 affected seriousness, wisdom, and every sort of nonsense; and 
 now, when I see that he never really cared a fig for me,
 
 EDITH HALE. 261 
 
 
 
 and it is an impossible thing that he ever should, I get my 
 full pay for all my deception. No wonder some of my friends 
 said there never was a more unsuitable match than mine. I 
 have bound my once free life with inevitable chains, not of 
 gold, that would be endurable, but of rusty, grating iron, 
 and they gall me to the heart." 
 
 The horse had now reached a part of the way which was 
 shaded heavily on either side by a dense and lofty wood. 
 Through this Mrs. Wellmont had often rode ; but never 
 before had it struck her with such a sense of loneliness. The 
 road ran in a straight direction for some distance ahead, so that 
 she could look forward and see the hills and meadow lands 
 beyond the wood, illumined by the golden light of the setting 
 sun ; but this more cheerful prospect failed to relieve the 
 uncomfortable impression of density which was shed from 
 the dark old trees around her. The slightest rustle among 
 the underbrush, or the motion of a squirrel along the tree- 
 trunks, disturbed her so much, that a cold, shuddering awe 
 crept over her soul. 
 
 " 'When the sun sets, shadows, that showed at noon 
 But small, appear most long and terrible ; 
 So, when we think fate hovers o'er our heads, 
 Our apprehensions shoot beyond all bounds ; 
 Owls, ravens, crickets, seem the watch of death ; 
 Echoes, the very leaving of a voice, 
 Grow babbling ghosts, and call us to our graves." 
 
 An indefinable impression of evil brooded over Mrs. Well- 
 mont, and, urging Hagar to proceed, she said to herself,
 
 2G2 EDITH HALE. 
 
 
 
 scarcely daring to look within the trees, lest she might see 
 something to startle her anew, " How foolish in me to come 
 so far alone to-night ! but I dare not go back through this 
 gloomy way now." The woods were nearly cleared, and she 
 formed a resolution to return by another and more open road, 
 when suddenly Hagar stopped fully, and, raising her ears, 
 breathed furiously, refusing to proceed. 
 
 Mrs. Wellmont looked hurriedly on either side of the 
 way to discover the cause, but nothing unusual could be 
 seen. Had Hagar partaken of her fear without cause ? She 
 would urge her on, and inspire her with new courage. She 
 spoke to hdr with spirit, and applied the whip. At the same 
 moment, glancing ahead, she saw it was something past her 
 knowledge a monster, white and awful, just emerging into 
 view along the road ! 
 
 An overmastering fear smote her to the heart. The danger 
 of her situation, alone in that solitary spot, unknowing whither 
 to turn for aid, she comprehended at once. Hagar, trembling 
 violently, now turned backward in the direction she had come, 
 and started off at alarming speed. Perceiving the imminent 
 risk of falling from her seat, Mrs. Wellmont clung convul- 
 sively to the neck of the horse, too much overcome with 
 affright to think of any other expedient for her safety. 
 Soon approaching a descent, steep and circuitous, in an increas- 
 ing sense of peril, she tightened her grasp, and made a faint 
 effort to regain her control. But this only inspired Hagar to 
 new exertions. Downward furiously they were dashing over 
 the pebbles, which, under the sharp foot-fall, seemed sud-
 
 EDITH HALE. 263 
 
 denly changed to a path of fire, when the horse stumbled and 
 fell headlong. 
 
 Swifter than light Mrs. Wellmont's last recollection came, 
 that she had been thrown to the ground, and was dying.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 CHANGES. 
 
 THAT evening, the people of the village of Waterbury 
 beheld a long train of singular wagons approaching, preceded 
 by an elephant, under a white cover, and guided by the keeper. 
 
 "When, behold! a sudden sandquake and between the earth and 
 
 moon 
 
 Rose a mighty host of shadows, as from out some dim lagoon : 
 Then our coursers gasped with terror, and a thrill shook every man, 
 And the cry was Allah Akbar ! 'tis the Spectre Caravan ! " 
 
 With less fear, but with scarcely less astonishment, did 
 many of the villagers behold the menagerie, some of the 
 features of which looked not far from spectral, in the white 
 shrouds of tent cloths, and the solemn progress of the pro- 
 cession. As the train approached, one of the wagons, drawn 
 by eight ponies, attracted especial attention. Within this, it 
 was surmised by the curious spectators, was something more 
 precious and wonderful than all ; for two of the keepers sat 
 in the foremost part, and held some object with evident solic- 
 itude and care. Just behind, in the rear of this wagon, was
 
 EDITH HALE. 265 
 
 a high, cage of monkeys, covered, but not sufficiently to pre- 
 vent the discovery of their faces from various small apertures. 
 Many of the people left their places of business for obser- 
 vation, while the children crowded on either side, divided 
 between awe and merriment at the marvellous spectacle. The 
 strangers were closely surrounded, till they halted at the hotel. 
 Here one of the keepers informed the landlord that they 
 carried with them a lady, whom they had taken up by the 
 way, insensible, if not dead. She had been thrown from a 
 horse, they said, which had taken fright at the sight of the 
 elephant ; and, after running with violence, had fallen so as 
 to be killed immediately. Concluding that the lady came 
 from that direction, they had brought her thus far. 
 
 Eager and fearful was now the investigation of the identity 
 of this lady. But it did not require a second glance to dis- 
 cern that she was none other than Mrs. "Wellmont. 
 
 The sensations of the people, at this singular discovery, 
 are better imagined than described ; or, in the language of 
 story-tellers from the time of the father of anecdotes, they 
 "beggared description." Mrs. Wellmo"nt was immediately 
 conveyed to her home, and placed in charge of Dr. Hum- 
 phrey, while a messenger was despatched to summon her 
 husband, who had just entered the prayer meeting in the 
 vestry of the church. Mr. Wellmont came with a heart full 
 of unspeakable emotion. After inquiring minutely about the 
 circumstances connected with the event, he said, within him- 
 self, " I can but exclaim, as the soldier said to Marius, 
 when he was struck, ' Behold the sword which thyself has 
 23
 
 266 EDITH HALE. 
 
 forged ! ' I knew that such sentiments as she entertained 
 towards this people, and the want of a sense of responsibility 
 for her example which she manifested, were bringing her 
 swiftly toward calamity; for nothing is truer than ' a haughty 
 spirit goeth before a fall.' " 
 
 His subsequent reflections, however, affected himself most 
 poignantly ; for, to one constituted like him, with so much of 
 the sense of propriety, such a remarkable contre-temps seemed 
 to him nothing short of positive disgrace. With these feel- 
 ings, how could he stand in the pulpit on the Lord's day, and 
 again address his congregation, in whose thought he believed 
 the adventure of his wife would be ever present ? 
 
 It was ascertained that Mrs. Wellmont had not been se- 
 riously injured; but, in the opinion of Dr. Humphrey, the 
 nature of her injuries would oblige her to be an invalid for 
 some time. Some manifestations of sympathy were oifered ; 
 but, for the most part, they were rather ambiguous. Mrs. 
 Welhnont's very few particular friends regarded it unpopular 
 now to be actively upon a side which was battered with so 
 much ridicule. " When thou doest well by thyself, all men 
 will praise thee," says the proverb ; and it is equally true of 
 one phase of human nature, that, when one does ill by one's 
 self, all will unite in condemnation. Many were so unfeeling 
 as to speak very freely of the affair ; and it became a current 
 saying among some of the people that Mrs. Wellmont had at 
 last created as much sensation as even she could desire ; hav- 
 ing rode through the village with an elephant in the van, and 
 monkeys in the rear !
 
 EDITH HALE. 267 
 
 Zephaniah Wilkins appeared to derive a triumphant satis- 
 faction from this state of things, for Mrs. Wellmont had 
 never been under his patronage; and he lost no time in bring- 
 ing these remarks to the knowledge of Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 Some men in Mr. TVellmont's situation would have con- 
 cealed their chagrin under the guise of indifference, or a calm 
 resignation. But the more he thought of it, the more keenly 
 did he suffer, till his imagination was continually haunted by 
 the picture of his wife's misadventure, as she thus became 
 the compassion of all, and the jest of many. On the suc- 
 ceeding Sabbath he was too ill to preach, and his pulpit was 
 supplied by one of those preachers who hold themselves in 
 readiness to meet the exigences of their fellow laborers. 
 
 Mrs. Wellmont would have suffered for the want of friendly 
 attentions at this period, had it not been for Miss Leah. That 
 lady, whom Mrs. Wellmont had so often stigmatized as " the 
 stiff old maid," now proved her best and most generous friend, 
 generous in truth, because she aided her efficiently with her 
 own personal efforts. At first, Miss Leah offered her atten- 
 tions with cautious hesitation ; but when she found that she 
 was indispensably useful, she volunteered to spend the greater 
 portion of every day with Mrs. Wellmont, contributing to her 
 comfort in numberless ways. At the same time she con- 
 tinued her charge of her father's house as before, doing all so 
 nicely and thoroughly, by extra and systematic effort, that 
 Mrs. Wellmont could not have supposed such capability pos- 
 sible, had she not resorted to the idea that " Miss Leah had 
 always been used to work as much as a servant."
 
 268 EDITH HALE. 
 
 Among the people who called upon Mrs. Wellmont in her 
 convalescence, was her cousin, Mr. Swinton. 
 
 " We read," said Mr. Swinton, in one of his characteristic 
 flourishes, " that when Venus heard that Adonis was mor- 
 tally wounded, she hurried to his assistance ; and, in her 
 haste, her foot was wounded by a rose-bush, the flowers of 
 which, formerly white, from that time took the color of blood. 
 When she reached the spot, she found him lifeless on the 
 grass ; and, to alleviate her grief, and preserve his memory, 
 she transformed him into an anemone ! Now, my dear Ber- 
 trade, with a slight change, as, for instance, instead of Ve- 
 nus your humble servant, and in place of Adonis yourself, 
 though not quite mortally wounded, this little mythological 
 episode is somewhat to the present point. I find, however, 
 that you are already transformed into a snow-white lily ; for 
 nothing so much does the extreme pallor of your face resem- 
 ble ; though I am reminded of the exclamation in Coleridge's 
 Christabel : 
 
 ' Her face, call it pure, not pale ! ' " 
 
 " I appeal to your ministerial candor, if Mr. Wellmont 
 look not most like the lily pale, with a shade of the gosling- 
 green of melancholy," rejoined Mrs. Wellmont. 
 
 " He is certainly rather unearthly-looking, at present, 
 and " 
 
 " You would say of me," interrupted Mr. Wellmont, with 
 a faint attempt at humor, "as a French satirist said of Cham- 
 fort, ' He is nothing more than a sprig of lily grafted on a 
 poppy -head ! ' "
 
 EDITH HALE. 269 
 
 " 0, no, my dear sir, you are only inhaling the essence of 
 sympathy that's all; you will revive presently," said the 
 man of roses. 
 
 " Such a pity I ever came to this horrid country place ! " 
 exclaimed Mrs. Wellmont, impatiently, twisting the satin 
 loops of her wrapper. " In the time I have been here I 
 have met with all sorts of perplexities ; and now I positively 
 aver I will not remain here. I will go home as soon as I 
 am able." 
 
 " Xo danger of not leaving here ; for the people are not 
 less anxious to have us go," replied her husband. 
 
 " You mistake entirely," observed Mr. Swinton. " From 
 my personal knowledge, I can testify you are very much 
 beloved here." 
 
 " Yes, he is, by a few prosy, stupid ignoramuses, I dare 
 say ! " rejoined Mrs. AVellmont. 
 
 " Bertrade ! " said Mr. Wellmont, with great seriousness, 
 " I hoped your recent misfortune would have shown you the 
 danger of judgment for idle words." 
 
 Mrs. AVellmont was upon the point of rejoining in high 
 spirit, when Mr. Swinton interposed. " Come, my friends," 
 said he, " I made this match, and I have, therefore, an interest 
 that it shall end well." 
 
 " 'T was a match unusually well tipped with phosphorus ! " 
 said Mrs. Wellmont. 
 
 " Exceedingly brilliant, I admit," rejoined Mr. Swinton, 
 with a hearty laugh. 
 23*
 
 270 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " And so very fiery, that I am in danger of getting my 
 fingers burned," continued Mr. Wellniont, with a smile. 
 
 " Come, come ! " said Mr. Swinton, " it 's getting warm 
 here; let us introduce a little of the oil of conciliation to heal 
 the burns." 
 
 " Some of your sweet oil, perfumed with the attar of roses, 
 would be agreeable just now," said Mrs. Wellmont. 
 
 " I wish I had, for your husband, some of that oil which, 
 as the Psalmist says, ' maketh the face to shine,' he is looking 
 so lugubrious," rejoined Mr. Swinton. 
 
 " I would prefer," said Mr. Wellmont, " that Bertrade 
 would learn to regard the reproof of the righteous, as did the 
 Psalmist when he called it ' an excellent oil which shall not 
 break my head.' " 
 
 " I have come near breaking my neck already, and do not 
 choose to run any more risks," retorted Mrs. Wellmont. 
 
 " I shall certainly be obliged to take my departure," 
 observed Mr. Swinton, at this juncture. 
 
 " In constant danger of an explosion, are you not ? " asked 
 Mr. Wellmont, who had rallied his spirits considerably. 
 
 " 0, no ! I have no fears of anything either of you can 
 say ; but I must confess, my dear friends, the responsibility 
 of preserving peace here is momentarily becoming heavier." 
 
 " Since you are bold enough to intimate that you have no 
 apprehension of the effect of our words," said Mr. Wellmont, 
 " I must say that you, Mr. Swinton, remind me of a flea " 
 
 " A flea ! " interrupted Mr. Swinton ; " I, a minister of
 
 EDITH HALE. 271 
 
 the Gospel, remind you, a minister of the Gospel, of a. flea! 
 0, degenerate ! " 
 
 " What would the people say," observed Mrs. Wellmont, 
 " could they hear you two ministers now ? I guess they would 
 shorten their long faces a trifle ! " 
 
 " I was about to say," resumed Mr. Wellmont, " that 
 Latreille mentions a flea who dragged a silver cannon on 
 wheels that was twenty-four times its own weight. This can- 
 non was charged with powder and fired, without the flea mani- 
 festing the least alarm. And this was brought to my mind 
 by your alleged burden of responsibility in our behalf, and 
 yet not confessing alarm at our random shots." 
 
 " Ridiculous ! " exclaimed Mrs. Wellmont ; " well may you 
 blame me for ' idle words ' ! " 
 
 " We gentlemen never allow our wives the liberty we take 
 ourselves," said Mr. Swinton ; " for instance, I should not 
 allow my wife to kiss another man, but I shall take the 
 liberty of kissing you, Bertrade, now that I am about to 
 leave." 
 
 The brow of Mr. Wellmont suddenly flushed now ; there 
 was a sacredness about the idea of his wife which he could 
 not have thus desecrated without displeasure. He looked upon 
 her with secret curiosity, to observe how she received such 
 familiarity. " Mr. Swinton is her cousin, but what matters 
 that?" he thought, 
 
 Mr. Wellmont was not a man who held kissing a common 
 article of exchange. 
 
 " By the way, cousin," said Mrs. Wellmont, " how is your
 
 272 EDIT1I HALE. 
 
 wife getting on now ? I had almost forgotten to inquire for 
 her." 
 
 " She is about as ever ; absorbed with her housekeeping 
 and babies," he said. 
 
 "Has she improved upon that old melancholy at all? I 
 iised to think, when I was at your house, it made her dull," 
 continued Mrs. Wellmont. 
 
 " I can't say as she has improved in anything," said Mr. 
 Swinton, affecting to joke ; "she is more nervous than ever, 
 and I can scarcely look at her without the tears coming to 
 my eyes. I think I shall shut up house in the spring, and let 
 her go home to her father's for a while, with the children." 
 
 " And you will board in blessed independence? " said Mrs. 
 Wellmont, laughing. 
 
 " Exactly. But, in the language of another," said Mr. 
 Swinton, turning toward Mr. Wellmont, " may I taste the 
 nectar of her lip? " 
 
 " I leave her at perfect liberty," said Mr. Wellmont, 
 coldly. 
 
 " For the first time ! " observed Mrs. Wellmont. 
 
 " You don't intend to say, Bertrade," said Mr. Swinton, 
 " that this kiss will be for the first time ! You would not try 
 to make your husband believe that ! " 
 
 " Worse and worse ! " thought Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 His wife laughed violently. " What a funny man ! " she 
 exclaimed. 
 
 " Well, I must go," said Mr. Swinton, rising suddenly, and 
 putting his arm about Mrs. Wellmont, while he kissed her.
 
 EDITH HALE. 273 
 
 With another flourish, which he intended for a closing 
 address, he bowed himself out. Mr. Wellmont also left the 
 room, but his countenance expressed very different emotions 
 from that of Mr. Swinton. 
 
 Shortly after this, Mrs. Wellmont observed to her husband 
 that she had a serious subject upon her mind, which troubled 
 her very much, and she would like his advice. Such words 
 from the lips of his wife astonished Mr. Wellmont. He half 
 surmised that her accident had affected her brain. A possi- 
 bility that this disciplinary period might effect some beneficial 
 change in her manner of feeling was also suggested to him. 
 His speculations were soon terminated by Mrs. Wellmont say- 
 ing, " I have been thinking where is the best spot in which to 
 bury poor Hagar. She must have a suitable grave." 
 
 Mr. Wellmont was disappointed, but, not wishing to be 
 always censorious, he answered, " Perhaps she might be 
 interred at the foot of the garden, under the walnut trees by 
 the summer house. The noble horse of the Cid was buried 
 under the trees before the convent in which were his master's 
 remains." 
 
 Mrs. Wellmont never could agree with her husband ; so she 
 determined that Hagar should be laid, next day, in a shady 
 plat by the spring, upon the other side of the garden. 
 
 Within the following week, Mr. Wellmont left the village 
 for an indefinite absence, the object of which no one, not even 
 Zephaniah Wilkins, precisely knew, though it was surmised 
 that he had gone to obtain another situation. He had thought 
 of Mr. Phanuel, who was now residing in the city of L ,
 
 274 EDITH HALE. 
 
 and to him was his destination directed. Mr. Phanuel received 
 him with cordiality, as much, in fact, as he was capable of 
 showing any man, heard the relation of his troubles, and set 
 himself about at once to devise some way for his assistance. 
 After some consideration, he said, " I think I can get you 
 introduced to a church here in the city, which at this time 
 is destitute of a pastor. It is not exactly the church for you, 
 but I know of no better at present." 
 
 " Of what kind of people is it composed? " inquired Mr. 
 Wellmont. 
 
 " It is a new church, made up of a variety of elements, like 
 all churches. They have never agreed upon a pastor since 
 their organization, about a year since. But, if they can be 
 brought to unite upon such a man as you, I think they might 
 become powerful in time." 
 
 " I must congratulate you," said Mr. Wellmont, at the 
 conclusion of their conversation upon this matter, " upon your 
 present home, so well appointed in all respects. It must be 
 very pleasant to your wife and family, as well as to your- 
 self." 
 
 " I supposed you already knew that my wife no longer 
 lives with me," said Mr. Phanuel. 
 
 Mr. Wellmont started with surprise. 
 
 " Impossible ! " he exclaimed, upon the impulse of the 
 moment. 
 
 " Not at all," responded Mr. Phanuel, decidedly. " It was 
 not very fitting to bring such a woman into this sphere," he 
 added, with a sneer.
 
 EDITH HALE. 275 
 
 " I thought Mrs. Phanuel a most excellent person, sir," 
 said Mr. Wellmont, in greater surprise. 
 
 " People are often deceived about these things," continued 
 Mr. Phanuel. " That she was a most ordinary woman you 
 must have seen." 
 
 Mr. Wellniont had opened his lips in remonstrance ; but 
 Mr. Phanuel waved his hand impatiently, and went on. 
 
 " My relations know her well, and they all hate her. I, 
 too, know something of her, it is to be presumed, and I say 
 that I have no idea of her being around in my sight longer. 
 I am tired of her humdrum, plain ways. She is old-fashioned 
 and ugly. Then, too, if she is at the head of my house, good 
 heavens ! what would the world here think of me ? " 
 
 Mr. Wellmont sighed heavily, and the perspiration suddenly 
 started to his brow. 
 
 " Her character has been irreproachable, has it not ? " he 
 inquired, cautiously. 
 
 " I suppose so," answered Mr. Phanuel, reluctantly; "but 
 her goodness is a sort that is in no danger of being tempted." 
 
 He stopped that he might laugh, loudly, but coldly, as 
 hail-stones sound when they strike against the window- 
 pane. 
 
 " Faugh ! " he added, " she 's just the sort that 's called 
 good, merely because they an't capable of getting any higher 
 name." 
 
 " Goodness is never to be underrated," commented Mr. 
 Wellmont, in a low voice. 
 
 " Every man is the best able to judge of what he is about,'
 
 276 EDITH HALE. 
 
 said Mr. Phamiel ; " and, when I am once decided in a course 
 of action, I am apt to go forward without let or hindrance. 
 But we will waive this subject, which is not agreeable to me, 
 if you please," he added. 
 
 " Do you recollect a lady whom you met once at my house 
 in Waterbury, the one you compared to an author George 
 Dust, or some such name?" inquired Mr. Phanuel, to change 
 the topic. 
 
 " I remember one of your visitors reminded me of an 
 authoress who goes by the name of George Sand," replied 
 Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " That 's the lady," said Mr. Phanuel ; " she resides next 
 door to us, and is in here frequently. A splendid woman ! " 
 
 Mr. Wellmont was silent. What words could he find to 
 say ? Certainly not the words which were uppermost in his 
 heart, to a man who had always conducted toward him so 
 munificently, and had just given a new proof of his friend- 
 ship. Mr. Phanuel nest drew from his pocket a large roll 
 of bank-bills, and commenced counting from them aloud, till 
 he had reached the number of one hundred. 
 
 " There," said he, offering the sum to Mr. Wellmont, " take 
 that as a free gift from an old friend. You will require some 
 money to spend here in the city, and I am one who believes 
 in remembering the ministers of God." 
 
 Mr. Wellmont at first refused, with acknowledgments ; but, 
 on being urged, he pocketed the money, and whatever reproofs 
 he felt toward the man, together. 
 
 " You will make my house your home during your stay
 
 ED ITU HALE. 277 
 
 here," concluded Mr. Phanuel. " My carriage shall be at your 
 service at any time." 
 
 By means of Mr. Phanuel's influence Mr. Wellmont was 
 invited to preach on the following Sabbath at the New Stone 
 Church, as it was called. All the noblest energies of his 
 soul were summoned to the effort, and he succeeded in bring- 
 ing forth a strength of material and beauty of expression 
 that convinced all of his resources, and won entire approba- 
 tion. He was immediately engaged to preach for them on the 
 two succeeding Sabbaths, at the expiration of which time, he 
 gave such universal satisfaction, that he received an unani- 
 mous invitation to settle over them as their pastor. 
 
 The call was accepted with eagerness, for Mr. Wellmont 
 now saw a prospect of an honorable field of labor in a city 
 parish, a goal to which he had been aiming from his en- 
 trance into the ministry. One Sabbath was reserved on 
 which to preach his last discourse in Waterbury, pursuant to 
 requesting a dismission of that church and society. A fare- 
 well sermon, properly so called, he did not deliver ; that kind 
 of climacteric effort did not harmonize with his ideas of a minis- 
 ter's departure from a place which he had respected and loved. 
 He did not wish to recapitulate Avhat he had done, thus to 
 suggest to the people what he had left undone ; he had no 
 reproofs to administer for duty neglected, or improperly per- 
 formed ; nor careful intimations of what should be their future 
 course with another minister. 
 
 His sermon was listened to with universal grief and regret, 
 for Mr. Wellmont had been unusually esteemed in Waterbury ; 
 24
 
 278 EDITH HALE. 
 
 and, had it not been for the numerous foibles of his wife, 
 they would have been almost inconsolable. As it was, his 
 request for a dismission was granted without a remonstrance, 
 although several took occasion to tell Mr. Wellmont, emphat- 
 ically, that no one had ever expressed dissatisfaction with 
 him, and it was with unfeigned sorrow they contemplated the 
 idea of a separation. He thanked them, and, at the last, 
 loved his people far better than he had at first anticipated was 
 possible. 
 
 But it was with pleasant anticipations he thought of his 
 new people, so much superior, in all respects, he believed, to 
 those with whom he had been associated in Waterbury. 
 
 " I shall be no more troubled with many annoyances in- 
 cident to the position of a country pastor," he reflected. 
 " Everything in future will be on a broader plan." 
 
 Upon the sale of his residence, Mr. Wellmont made a dis- 
 covery very important to him that it was not his own, for 
 which to receive payment. His wife's father appeared at this 
 juncture, and claimed the whole value received, notwithstand- 
 ing he had always understood it was a gift to them. No legal 
 conveyance ran in his name ; and Mr. Wellmont could make 
 no appeal, for had he not received the use of the place from 
 the time of its purchase ? He had used his salary as fast as 
 received, and sometimes in advance, to meet the expenses of 
 his wife's extravagant housekeeping and other demands ; and 
 he had been obliged to use the gift of Mr. Phanuel in the 
 liquidation of a long-standing debt. Consequently he found 
 himself at this time in a very straitened condition. The
 
 EDITH HALE. 279 
 
 new parish had agreed to give him a moderate salary for 
 the first year ; at the conclusion of which, if possible, they 
 were to make an addition of a couple of hundred dollars. 
 They could not afford to give as much as many of the parishes 
 in the city, they said, because the expenses of their begin- 
 ning, the past year, had been heavy to meet. Nothing 
 was said, however, by the church committee about the pay- 
 ment of any portion of his salary till the expiration of the 
 first six months ; and Mr. Wellmont, secretly condemning the 
 meagre salaries which ministers receive, wrote to his mother 
 to ask her to loan him a small sum of her own slender 
 income, instead of sending her a remittance for former obliga- 
 tions, as he had fondly hoped. To do this was exceedingly 
 painful for him ; but he saw no alternative, for he could not 
 think of taxing Mr. Phanuel's generosity further, and to sell 
 any of his wife's furniture would be impossible. At the con- 
 clusion of the residence in Waterbury, Mrs. Wellmont re- 
 turned with her father to visit her former home, and recruit 
 her health and spirits ; and Mr. Wellmont was invited, most 
 opportunely, by Mr. Phanuel, to reside with him until his 
 wife should be able to join him in the establishment of a new 
 house. 
 
 The days which Mr. Wellmont spent at this period in Mr. 
 Phanuel's family were not all sunshine, although they had 
 begun auspiciously. Little Bessie, the youngest child, had 
 always been a prime favorite with him ; and now, on every 
 opportunity, she made no scruple of pouring her childish 
 griefs into his ear. " I want my dear mamma ! " was her con-
 
 EDITH HALE. 
 
 tinual request in private ; for she had learned, by a bitter ex- 
 perience, that these words must never be spoken in presence of 
 her father. The two other children at home were older, and 
 had naturally imbibed more of the spirit of their father ; they 
 were engrossed with new occupations and pleasures of town 
 life ; they had also been carefully moulded, by relatives un- 
 friendly to their mother, to believe all that their father said 
 against her. Ah ! woe to relatives who would poison the hearts 
 of children with hatred for their own, best-beloved parent, 
 the mother who has borne them upon her heart through years 
 of care, and tears, and pain ! 
 
 One evening, when Mr. Phanuel had gone out, Mr. Well- 
 mont was surprised in the library by the sudden appearance 
 of little Bessie, in her nightcap and gown, exclaiming, in the 
 most joyful manner : 
 
 " Dear mamma has come ! O ! don't you think ! dear 
 mamma has come ! Do come and see her ! " She danced 
 about, shouting and clapping her little hands, with every 
 evidence of childish joy ; but, suddenly recollecting herself, 
 she ran off, saying, " 0, I am so glad ! " 
 
 Mr. Wellmont, "tery much astonished at this demonstration, 
 went out of the room into the adjoining parlor, where he 
 stood undecided what course to pursue. In another moment, 
 Pierson, Mr. Phanuel's oldest child, a lad of a dozen years, 
 entered, and said : 
 
 " Mrs. Phanuel is here, sir ! Will you go and order her 
 to leave this house ? My father is out, and something must 
 be done."
 
 SDITH HALE. 281 
 
 " Is it possible I hear aright ? " exclaimed Mr. "Wellmont. 
 " Can you speak thus of your own mother, who has given you 
 birth, nursed you upon her bosom, and devoted herself to you 
 with the most self-sacrificing affection?" 
 
 At this reproof the boy's face flushed with anger. 
 
 " My father has taught me how to speak, sir," he replied. 
 
 At this juncture a most piercing shriek fell upon their ears, 
 succeeded by loud cries of supplication, proceeding from one 
 of the upper apartments of the house. On reaching the 
 nursery, Mr. Wellmont beheld Mrs. Phanuel kneeling upon 
 the floor, and clasping Bessie frantically to her heart, while 
 the housekeeper was endeavoring to force the child from the 
 mother's arms. A sister of Bessie was standing aside, and 
 ejaculating passionately to Bessie to "come away from that 
 woman in a moment." 
 
 " Anna ! " spoke Mrs. Phanuel, with a voice of suppressed 
 but mastering emotion. " Is this all a dream? Is it possible 
 you have so soon learned to despise your mother ? You will 
 live to look back upon this moment with repentance. My 
 son," continued the mother, on seeing Pierson enter the 
 room, " come to me. You surely have not forgotten how well 
 you loved your mother ! " 
 
 But he stood proudly aloof, looking down upon the form 
 of his mother unmoved. 
 
 " 0, God ! " cried Mrs. Phanuel, " they have all learned to 
 scorn me ! They all desert me now, but this lamb of my 
 bosom ! She shall never leave me ! " 
 
 " Dear mamma," responded little Bessie, while she kissed 
 24*
 
 282 EDITH HALE. 
 
 her mother, fondly, "I want to go home with you, and not stay 
 any more in this great, noisy place. I want to go where I 
 can sleep with you every night, and have you hold my hand 
 on your bosom, just as you used to. Won't it be nice ? " 
 
 " You shall live with me always, dear child ! " replied the 
 mother, embracing her again and again. "0, I thank 
 Heaven that one has not been taught to hate me ! " she 
 added, fervently. 
 
 A heavy voice was now heard in the hall below, and a 
 hurried tread upon the stairs. Mr. Phanuel brushed by Mr. 
 Wellmont, who stood just without the door, and, in a tone of 
 awful anger, said, " Woman ! why are you here ? Begone, 
 this moment, or I shall send for help to compel you to go ! " 
 
 Thus they remained for a moment, each looking upon the 
 other, while all the children began to cry aloud. Little Bes- 
 sie clasped her arms about her mother's neck, saying, " You 
 won't go, dear mamma, till I get ready to go with you, will 
 you ? " 
 
 " Mr. Phanuel ! my husband ! " said Mrs. Phanuel, at 
 length, with great effort, " tell me how I have done wrong, if 
 wrong I have done. In all the time I have lived with you I 
 have tried to do the best in my power. Have I not ever been 
 a faithful, humble wife to you, and a devoted mother to our 
 children in sickness and health ? " 
 
 " Dear, dear mother ! " now cried Anna, relenting at the 
 sight of her mother's woe, and throwing herself upon her knees 
 before her, " I do pity you ! " 
 
 " Anna ! " spoke her father, sternly, " leave this room !
 
 EDITH HALE. 283 
 
 And you, Pierson, leave ! Mrs. Burt," turning to the house- 
 keeper, " take Bessie away with you ! " 
 
 " I can't, sir ! " replied the housekeeper ; " I 've been try- 
 ing some time, and she won't let Bessie go ! " 
 
 " Won't ! " exclaimed Mr. Phanuel, at the same time going 
 to his wife, and with one effort wrenching the child from her 
 grasp. 
 
 The shrieks of little Bessie as she was carried out filled all 
 the house. The mother sat silent and motionless as a statue, 
 clasping her hands strongly over her heart, as if to shut down 
 its throbs of agony. Mr. Wellmont now advanced within the 
 room, faintly hoping his presence would be of some avail in 
 quelling this fearful tempest of passion. Perceiving him for 
 the first time, Mrs. Phanuel stretched forth her hands implor- 
 ingly. Her lips moved, but no word was heard. 
 
 " I trust," said Mr. Wellmont, looking with constraint 
 towards Mr. Phanuel, and then to his wife, " that peace may 
 yet be reestablished between you. Consider, for a moment, 
 the fearful responsibility you are taking upon yourself. 
 ' What God has joined together let not man put asunder ' has 
 been pronounced over you in the presence of God and of wit- 
 nesses. You have lived together for years, and children have 
 been born unto you " 
 
 " I make no pretensions to religion," interrupted Mr. 
 Phanuel ; " neither do I expect advice, unless I ask it." 
 
 " I judge no man," resumed Mr. Wellmont; "but I here 
 lift my voice against what appears to be this great sin before 
 God. I wash my hands of any countenance of it henceforth
 
 284 EDITH HALE. 
 
 and forever. I must do it." There were burning tears upon 
 his pale cheeks, and his whole frame trembled with emotion. 
 
 " Have I not always been a firm friend to you ? " asked 
 Mr. Phanuel. 
 
 " You have," replied Mr. "Wellmont ; " but that must not 
 mislead me into unjust judgment against the innocent and 
 oppressed." 
 
 " The innocent and oppressed ! " retorted Mr. Phanuel, 
 scornfully. But he had not finished speaking when he per- 
 ceived Mr. Wellmont draw back in apparent horror, and with 
 a gesture direct his attention towards his wife. 
 
 A fearful change was marked upon the countenance of Mrs. 
 Phanuel. Within her eye burned an unnatural fire, which 
 showed at once that the calm, settled light of reason had 
 gone out from her brain. A rigidity held her muscles, as if 
 theif last tension had been reached ; and the beating of her 
 heart was so violent that every pulsation shook her whole 
 frame. 
 
 Nothing is more awe-inspiring, more thoroughly saddening, 
 than the eye in which madness is seen. It is like looking 
 upon a lake of burning naphtha in comparison with a well of 
 clear, cold, and still water. All law which has had power, 
 all government save the impulse of a direct will, is put away ; 
 and there can be no common ground of action upon which the 
 least certainty may be reposed. The eye of the crazed wife 
 burned upon Mr. Phanuel now, without a transfer of its 
 glance for an instant. For the first time did the man of iron 
 heart quail before woman !
 
 EDITH HALE. 
 
 How could lie look upon that eye and not feel his heart fail 
 within him ? for therein he read the great wrongs of the 
 past with the characters all reversed, and written, as it were, 
 with a pen of fire upon stone. He could not look long ; and 
 he stood there motionless, with his eyes fixed upon the floor, 
 as was his habit when lost in calculation. At length he spoke, 
 as if falling upon a favorable expedient : 
 
 " Come, Eliza, come from this room, and Mrs. Burt shall 
 show you where you can get some rest till morning." He 
 knew that the voice of command was no longer of avail. 
 
 She did not move, but remained like a statue in her kneel- 
 ing position, with her hands still clasped over her heart. 
 
 " If you will do this, you need not leave here," he con- 
 tinued, calculating the chances of his success. She gave no 
 heed. 
 
 " Or you may leave in the morning, and Bessie shall go 
 with you. Bessie shall go with you" he repeated, to gain 
 her attention. He had struck the right chord now. The 
 name of her darling child was more potent over the broken 
 heart and brain than aught else. Drooping her eyelashes, 
 she arose listlessly, and suffered herself to be conducted 
 whither Mr. Phanuel directed. 
 
 A poorly furnished room in the attic story, with no window 
 but a sky-light, was assigned for her reception ; the door of 
 which Mr. Phanuel locked without, placing the key in his own 
 charge. He descended to the parlor, where clear burning 
 waxen candles and a bright coal fire shed over the splendid 
 furniture a luxurious glow. Mr. TVellmont stood at one of
 
 286 EDITH HALE. 
 
 the windows, behind the rich draperies, gazing abstractedly 
 without upon the darkness thick and black. 
 
 " It is a dreary night," observed Mr. Phanuel, as he drew 
 up a large chair for himself before the fire. 
 
 Mr. Wellmont thought of the attic chamber overhead, and 
 was too much overcome to reply. Mr. Phanuel transferred 
 his attention to the evening paper. It proved, in fact, a 
 dreary night, abroad and within. The cold of winter had 
 commenced, and a storm was gathering in the sky. There was 
 no moon, nor were stars visible, and the winds were wild and 
 mournful. Sleep was a stranger to the inmates of the house 
 through the long hours ; for at intervals, until morning, were 
 heard from the lonely attic chamber the most piercing shrieks 
 of despair, such as one seldom hears in a life. In the morn- 
 ing it rained ; but Mr. Phanuel ordered a close carriage and 
 swift horses to his door, and went for his wife, accompanied 
 by Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 On opening the door they found the room was empty. It 
 was as silent and undisturbed, save a singular arrangement of 
 chairs in the centre, as though no one had been within it for a 
 week. No trace of Mrs. Phanuel was found. 
 
 A second thought, however, convinced Mr. Phanuel that 
 escape was impossible save by the sky-light, which the ar- 
 rangement of the chairs suggested. By introducing a portable 
 staircase from an adjoining closet, he was enabled to lift the 
 window and look without. 
 
 " Great heavens ! " he said, under his breath, " there she is
 
 EDITII IIALE. 287 
 
 on the extremity of the roof! " And he looked down upon 
 Mr. "Wellmont, aghast. 
 
 Apparently regardless of danger, she sat with her head 
 uncovered, her hair wetted through by the rain, and stream- 
 ing in the air unconfined, and with a sheet wound carelessly 
 about her shoulders. She was looking away through the 
 storm, and singing a fragment of " Home, sweet home," in 
 a voice which would have softened a heart of adamant to 
 tears. 
 
 " Eliza ! " said Mr. Phanuel, " come here, quickly, for 
 Heaven's sake ! " 
 
 " I shall never come ! " she answered, looking steadfastly 
 away, as if waiting. " I am going to fly off to the clouds as 
 soon as I have made an end of singing ! " 
 
 She then sang softly, and with a clear sweetness : 
 
 " A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, 
 Which, seek through the world, is not met with elsewhere." 
 
 " What can be done ? " inquired Mr. Phanuel of Mr. Well- 
 mont, impatiently, contemplating the thwarting of his scheme. 
 " To advance would be perilous. Perhaps we had better 
 leave her to descend at her own will." 
 
 " I have got my mantle all ready," she continued, to ap- 
 pearance entirely absorbed in herself. Folding the sheet more 
 closely about her, she rose suddenly to her feet, and ran 
 lightly along the steep roof to the opposite edge. Mr. Well- 
 mont closed his eyes to shut out the fearful scene. He
 
 288 EDITH UALE. 
 
 expected momentarily to miss her from that dangerous 
 spot. 
 
 " See ! the chariot of fire is coming ! " she now exclaimed, 
 pointing afar. " Is Bessie ready ? Dear lamb ! she will go 
 home with me, at last ! " 
 
 " We cannot let Bessie go out there in the rain," now spoke 
 Mr. "Wellmont, struck with a new hope ; " she would take 
 cold, and be ill." 
 
 " "Would she ? " said Mrs. Phanuel, for the first time 
 attentive to them. 
 
 " Certainly," added Mr. Phanuel. " If you will come 
 down into the house, you shall ride away from the street with 
 Bessie." 
 
 " Well, then, I will go down," she said, submissively. 
 
 " Xow, Mr. Wellmont," said Mr. Phanuel, aloud, when he 
 had entered the attic, "just assist Mrs. Phanuel away." He 
 motioned him to take her arm on one side, while he secured 
 her on the other. 
 
 " Where is my darling ? " inquired Mrs. Phanuel, when 
 they had descended to the front hall, and she saw the coach- 
 man waiting. 
 
 Mr. Phanuel requested Mr. Wellmont to go for Bessie, and 
 see that she was arrayed properly for a ride. Mr. Wellmont 
 complied. 
 
 " 0, 1 shall have her once more all to myself! " exclaimed 
 the poor mother, while a ghastly smile for a moment lighted 
 up her haggard features. " She shall rest on this bosom, she 
 shall " Her words were forcibly interrupted.
 
 EDITH II ALE. 289 
 
 When Mr. Wellmont returned with Bessie, dressed in her 
 riding hat and cloak, the carriage had gone from the door on 
 its way to the lunatic asylum. 
 
 " Only a stratagem, after all," thought Mr. Wellmont, with 
 bitterness ; " he might at least have permitted her to have 
 parted with Bessie." 
 
 But the disappointment to little Bessie, who had been told 
 she was to go with her mother, was intense. Her pleas to 
 see her "dear mamma" were heart-rending. She soon 
 became so absorbed with grief, that nothing could divide her 
 attention or alleviate her distress. 
 
 At last, her cries became so violent, a flow of blood came 
 from her nose and mouth, and, utterly exhausted, she sank 
 down in her nurse's arms and fell asleep. 
 
 Mr. Phanuel, on his return, found Bessie very ill of a fever, 
 and delirious. The most skilful physicians were summoned, 
 and entreated by the father to spare the life of his child ; for, 
 with all his wonted sternness, his children were very dear to 
 him, and the pet Bessie was especially beloved. The case was 
 pronounced a critical one, and from the first but little hope 
 was given of effecting a recovery. For days she lay contend- 
 ing with disease, again and again beseeching her father, in her 
 childish plaint, to let her go with her " dear mamma." 
 
 " My hot head would feel so good up close to her neck, and 
 she would kiss me and make me well ! " she would cry. Some- 
 times she imagined herself in her old home, and talked lovingly 
 of the birds, the flowers, and of her own dear little kittens in 
 their basket under the primroses. Then she would think her 
 25
 
 290 EDITH HALE. 
 
 mother was coming to meet her, extending her little hands for 
 an embrace. At such times her father was forced to leave 
 the room, and it was now a question of doubt, if the past 
 were again to come up, whether he would repeat the part he 
 had heartlessly acted. 
 
 The presence of Mr. Wellmont seemed the only consolation 
 left to the little sufferer, and whatever he told her she obeyed 
 without a murmur. 
 
 The dreaded crisis, which was to decide the result of her 
 illness, approached. 
 
 " She cannot, must not die ! " said Mr. Phanuel, with the 
 same air of authority with which he gave all his orders. " I 
 have already planned a brilliant life for her ; she is a beauti- 
 ful child, and my youngest born." 
 
 " She is the Lord's, nevertheless," rejoined Mr. "Wellmont ; 
 " the Giver hath a right to take her away, though it seems 
 very grievous in our eyes." 
 
 " Pray for her life, sir," said Mr. Phanuel, almost sternly ; 
 " if it be true that the prayer of the righteous availeth much, 
 spare no supplication in her behalf." 
 
 Mr. Phanuel could not now leave the room for a moment. 
 All day he stood by the bed of his child, with fearful gloom, 
 anticipating the hour which was to bring peace or agony. 
 
 She had lain for the last hours in insensibility, but with 
 the coming of evening she revived, and seemed partially sen- 
 sible of the presence of those about her. 
 
 With a sweet smile, looking upon her father, she said, 
 
 " Dear mamma will come again and kiss me, won't she ? "
 
 EDITH HALE. 291 
 
 " She is better ! She will live ! " said Mr. Phanuel. 
 
 The physician, who was examining her attentively, shook his 
 head; for he saw the unmistakable death-shadow settling 
 over the little face. 
 
 " Impossible ! " exclaimed her father, twining unconsciously 
 her fair hair over his fingers; " she is certainly more like her- 
 self, is she not, Mr. Wellmont ? " 
 
 " The expression of her eye is peculiar," he replied. Bend- 
 ing lower over her, he asked, 
 
 " Can you see me now, dear Bessie? " 
 
 " I can't ! it is so dark here all at once ! " she answered, 
 raising her tiny hands to his face, and suffering them to fall 
 about his neck. 
 
 " It is night, is n't it ? Shall I say, ' Now I lay me ' ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear child, if you like. God hears you," said Mr. 
 Wellmont, now taking both her hands in his own. 
 
 She began in her own natural voice of childish sweetness, 
 but, soon becoming exhausted, her words sunk to a whisper, 
 and she seemed to sleep. A few minutes later, a slight strug- 
 gle passed over her face, and, waking with the cry, " Dear 
 mamma ! do come, take little Bessie ! " she expired.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 MR. LOOMEY. 
 
 THE parish of Waterbury did not hasten in the selection of 
 a pastor to fill the vacancy made by the departure of Mr. 
 Wellmont. One and another candidate presented himself 
 and departed, without discovering a sign to detain him. But 
 at length there came one who straightway impressed the people 
 that he was not an ordinary man, or one with whom any could 
 deal carelessly. The Rev. Mr. Loomey seemed the impersona- 
 tion of dignity and solemnity ; like some characters in fiction, 
 who, under the author's pen, become abstract qualities, rather 
 than pictures of human beings with passions for both good 
 and evil. 
 
 Dean Swift, as witty as he was ecclesiastical, says, " So- 
 lemnity is the cover for a sot." A greater than Dean Swift 
 calls those who disfigure their faces with this solemn sadness 
 hypocrites. Some, however, are constitutionally solemn, and 
 would seem utterly wanting in sympathy with the lively side 
 of life. Such persons obtain a reputation for wisdom and 
 respectability, and are generally much feared and respected. 
 Among this latter class was numbered the Rev. Mr. Loomey,
 
 EDITH HALE. 293 
 
 upon his early presentation to Waterbury. He was not a 
 young man, neither could he be properly called old, although 
 he was so dignified that no one thought of asking him his age. 
 His hair was yet a fresh brown, with occasional hues of gold ; 
 but it was quite gone about the crown of his head, which was 
 red and shining. His hair was cut close, and arranged so 
 that his round head looked even rounder than it might other- 
 wise have looked ; inclining to a curl, it would have given an 
 impression of good-humor, had it not been for his unusually 
 serious face. His countenance was decidedly florid, looking 
 like a cloud behind which the sun is struggling to come out. 
 His eyes passed for black, but they were a greenish gray, 
 shaded with very dark lashes. But their full light was almost 
 always concealed by spectacles, assisted by habitually falling 
 eyelids. His mouth was the very acme of solemnity ; when 
 he spoke it became a yawning grave of all earthliness, of all 
 life's dearest hopes. 
 
 On ascending the pulpit for the first time, he came near 
 falling upon his face, by reason of a false step. This was 
 construed into a bad omen by certain observers. 
 
 The first sermon of Mr. Loomey was upon sin, its heinous- 
 ness, and consequent judgment. The theory of Pope, that 
 there is something venerable and oracular in unadorned gravity 
 and brevity of expression, seemed to have entered largely into 
 the formation of his style. But the sermon contained good 
 doctrine and practical truth. Miss Leah found occasion to 
 take notes more than ordinarily, and Mrs. Witherell wrote 
 every moment which was not devoted to rapt admiration of 
 25*
 
 294 EDITH HALE. 
 
 the speaker. The young people, for the most part, were held 
 in perfect awe at the spectacle of such an amount of solemnity. 
 His prayers were very long; but, as it was the custom of the 
 people to remain sitting during that exercise, no unpleasant 
 consequences ensued. A great contrast was Mr. Loomey to 
 Mr. Wellmont, and not an unfavorable one to many of the 
 people, especially the elderly portion, and those who had 
 suffered indignities from Mrs. Wellmont. 
 
 " Just such a man as we need to influence our young peo- 
 ple," remarked Deacon Dennis to Deacon Goodwin. 
 
 " Yes, no one can object to such a good man as Mr. Loo- 
 mey evidently is," was the reply. 
 
 Consequently, Mr. Loomey was engaged to preach for 
 several Sabbaths, and each succeeding Sabbath he impressed 
 more and more with the weight of his character for dignity 
 and solemnity. 
 
 Quite contrary to custom, Father Shaw refused to express 
 his opinion of this minister ; when interrogated, he said he 
 would wait and see more, before he told what he thought. 
 When the time came to decide in regard to inviting Mr. 
 Loomey to the pastorate of Waterbury, it was generally agreed 
 that he was the man for them ; he had enjoyed experience in 
 his vocation, and he seemed a man in all respects superior to 
 the other candidates whom they had heard. What opposition 
 really existed was withheld, on the principle that it was dan- 
 gerous to oppose a man of such deep solemnity. 
 
 Mr. Loomey did not accept this call without considerable 
 demur. He said he had several invitations to preach in other
 
 EDITH HALE. 295 
 
 places, where there were large? and more flourishing congre- 
 gations. But finally he concluded to remain, as his health 
 was not adequate to a more laborious field, provided the com- 
 mittee of business would add a couple of hundred dollars to 
 the salary. There was some opposition to this ; but, as the 
 wealthier portion made no objections, the demand was met. 
 Mr. Loomey had no wife. He informed those who mentioned 
 the subject that he was never married, and should not marry. 
 He should devote all his talents, time, and interest, to the 
 people of his care. By many this was set down to his great 
 advantage. They were in no danger of a pastor's wife, who 
 might prove a drawback ; and the young people generally 
 thought a minister was much more agreeable if he were with- 
 out a wife. After looking about the village thoroughly, Mr. 
 Loomey decided to make his home with Mrs. Witherell, for 
 the reason of the absence of children in the family. Mrs. 
 Withercll, being very active in the affairs of the church and 
 society in general, and also being on intimate terms with 
 Zephaniah "Wilkin-, Mr. Loomey was not at a loss for any 
 local knowledge, or other assistance, he required. 
 
 The watch-word of Mr. Loomey soon came out ; it was a 
 good word, embracing many good principles Reform. It 
 is also, like many other words, ambiguous, and capable of 
 being labelled upon almost any parcel of sentiments and 
 actions. First he began with minutiae. Upon the Sabbath 
 succeeding his engagement to remain with them, he publicly 
 requested the congregation to arise and remain standing dur- 
 ing every prayer in the Lord's house.
 
 296 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " This sitting position," said he, " I consider very disre- 
 spectful to the Being whom we address, and to him who 
 addresses the throne of grace in your behalf. You will, 
 therefore, in future, arise and stand during the holy exercise 
 of prayer. You have hitherto," he continued, " risen and 
 turned your bodies to see those who take part in the singing 
 of the sanctuary, a practice which I consider very disor- 
 derly and worldly. I wish it hereafter to be discontinued." 
 
 " Well," said Father Shaw to Dr. Humphrey, at the close 
 of that morning's exercise, " ef he allers prays as long as 
 that are prayer was this mornin', I guess ome of the heels 
 will ache afore night like all natur. How pale and sunken- 
 like the women looked when he gut over the world as far as 
 Incly; and when he gut on ter Africa, I thought for sartin 
 some on 'em would have gin out and dropped down." 
 
 " It is unfavorable to health to remain standing so long in 
 one position," replied the doctor ; " but I think we had better 
 conform to his wishes, and not fall out by the way. It is but 
 a small matter." 
 
 " I never cared northin' about gittin' up and seein' the 
 singers myself," Father Shaw went on, "but I kinder guess 
 some of our folks will miss seein' and bein' seen. It's all 
 the pay our singers git ; and, ef they can't be looked at, it 's 
 kinder hard." 
 
 As might have been predicated of such a movement, a great 
 many of the choir were offended ; for it is always observable 
 that those persons who have that most excellent gift of music 
 are especially sensitive. This feeling was by no means allayed
 
 EDITH HALE. 297 
 
 on the following Sabbath. In the course of the long morning 
 prayer, the congregation were aroused from their devotions, 
 bj the sudden cessation of words from Mr. Loomey. On 
 looking up, they saw that his eyes were unclosed, and fastened 
 with a look of solemn reproof in the direction of the choir. 
 He stood thus for an awful interval of a moment, when he 
 resumed his prayer. After the conclusion, he sat down and 
 buried his face in his handkerchief, till the awe of the people 
 began to subside into curiosity ; then he arose slowly, and 
 said his soul had been inexpressibly shocked by hearing, from 
 some member of the choir, a whisper during prayer ; and, 
 when he had looked in that direction, a young woman had so 
 far forgotten the respect due to the place and person as to 
 smile ! He hoped he should see nothing further of such 
 indecorum ; for it so distracted his thoughts from the sacred 
 message he had to deliver, it was well nigh impossible for him 
 to proceed. 
 
 It would have been better for Mr. Loomey if there had been 
 in his congregation some such person as Sir Roger de Cover- 
 ley, who was in the habit of doing such things in church as 
 " to call out to one John Matthews, when he was kicking his 
 heels for a diversion, not to disturb the congregation." 
 
 Mr. Loomey summoned strength, however, to announce his 
 subject, which he said particularly concerned the female por- 
 tion of his congregation. It was upon their apparel. He 
 had noticed much vanity and vexation of spirit umong the 
 people, and he felt it his duty to preach against it. His text 
 was this :
 
 298 EDITH IIALE. 
 
 " In that day "the Lord wilt take away the bravery of their tinkling 
 ornaments about their feet, and their cauls, and their round tires like 
 the moon ; the chains, and the bracelets, and the mufflers ; the bon- 
 nets and head-bands, and the tablets, and the earrings, the rings and 
 nose-jewels ; the changeable suits of apparel, and the mantles, and 
 the wimples, and the crispiug-pins ; the glasses and the fine linen, 
 and the hoods and the vails." 
 
 At the conclusion of the reading of this text, there was a 
 slight movement throughout the congregation. But the min- 
 ister looked around with so much solemnity, the ladies, at 
 least, subsided into gravity much sooner than seemed possible 
 under the circumstances. As the gentlemen had felt that 
 their purses and personal comfort were more or less sacrificed 
 to the demands for feminine dress, they were curious, and 
 predisposed to listen with attention to what might be said. 
 
 The sermon was divided under several heads. These also 
 embraced subdivisions. Under the head of mourning attire, 
 he spoke largely. 
 
 " It is often," he said, " a mockery, these long black 
 veils, and other garments of mourning, crape, and serge. The 
 heart, beneath so much outward appearance of lamentation, 
 is often silently content, or rejoicing at a death which leaves 
 the person a recipient of new benefits in greater or less pro- 
 portion. Away with pretences ! " he cried, in exaltation ; 
 " away with all pretences ! And the angels and glorified 
 saints respond Amen and Amen ! " 
 
 In this strain he continued till that part of his subject was 
 exhausted ; every word of which inflicted a wound upon some
 
 EDITH HALE. 299 
 
 heart among his hearers. There were those present who 
 mourned for the loss of friends dearer to them than all else 
 of earth, who felt that the showy fabric of the mode would 
 ill accord with the sentiments of their hearts. They were, 
 too, perfectly willing that others, who felt differently, should 
 act in accordance with their feelings. 
 
 Lastly, he came to the expenditure for dress in connection 
 with our responsibility to G od for the time, talents, and means, 
 given us. 
 
 " Instead of lavishing so much upon the arraying of your 
 poor, mortal bodies, destined to decay and become food for 
 worms," he said, " the expense should be saved to contribute 
 to the support of the Gospel, in your own parish, in your own 
 country, and in efforts to convert and enlighten the heathen. 
 For this, ' in that day,' you will be called to the most solemn 
 account." 
 
 These words undoubtedly exerted a good influence, as must 
 every good thing said, soon or late ; for, that they were good, 
 no one felt disposed to dispute. But their effect would have 
 gone much further and deeper, had not the eyes of his hearers 
 rested upon the clothing of the reformer's own person. The 
 fabric of which his coat was composed was the finest and 
 richest broadcloth ; his vest was of the costliest pattern ; and 
 he wore a heavy gold watch, of a material and workmanship 
 not often excelled among the convenient appliances of a cler- 
 gyman. To all this, however, no serious objection could be 
 offered ; for it was a principle with Mr. Loomey, as with 
 many purchasers, that the best articles are the cheapest in
 
 300 EDITH HALE. 
 
 the end ; a rule which has as many exceptions as there are 
 applications, but a very convenient one as a subterfuge for 
 extravagance. 
 
 About such a sermon it was not surprising that many com- 
 ments were exchanged among the people. The gentlemen 
 generally praised it, especially in hearing of their lady 
 friends. Dr. Humphrey said that he preferred that the ladies 
 should be allowed their own way in what concerned them so 
 exclusively as their dress. Such encroachments upon their 
 privileges did not accord with his chivalrous temperament. 
 
 " It will most likely be more profitable for you to have 
 the ladies fashionably expose themselves to disease," retorted 
 Zephaniah Wilkins, who had overheard his remark. 
 
 In reply, the doctor cast upon him one of his keen, peculiar 
 smiles, and said only, "You are a pleasant young man ! " 
 
 This occurred within the post-office ; and, as several were 
 standing by, a loud laugh ensued. Zephaniah, feeling the 
 current set against him, as it invariably did, walked away as 
 fast as possible. 
 
 " Don't be in a hurry," called Father Shaw after him. 
 "To see you run off so, makes a body think of one of them 
 are foxes that had a firebrand tied on ter his tail by Samson 
 to set fire into his enemies' corn." 
 
 Not long after the delivery of this sermon, Mrs. Witherell 
 was called to the funeral of her father ; and, as she had been 
 particularly influenced by the remarks of Mr. Loomey upon 
 mourning, she was determined to be foremost in setting a good 
 example. It was in the opening of spring, when the ladies
 
 EDITH HALE. 301 
 
 lay aside their heavy hats, and other garments, for those of a 
 lighter and plainer material. Mrs. Witherell appeared at the 
 funeral under a hat blooming with green and cherry ribbon. 
 A brilliant green shawl graced her shoulders, topped off with 
 a collar embroidered in scarlet silk. In her bag and shoes 
 were flame colored strings. She compelled her husband to 
 replace his whole suit of " meeting black " for one of colors 
 and bright buttons. This was very unpleasant for poor Simon; 
 but he had no alternative. Always shrinking from observa- 
 tion, in absorbing consciousness of his own inferiority, on the 
 Sabbath succeeding the funeral he walked to church looking 
 more sheepish than ever. Mrs. Witherell had purposely come 
 late ; and it was observed by some lads in the vestibule, as 
 Simon was smoothing down his refractory locks, preparatory 
 to entering the church after the first prayer, that his wife 
 pulled from his coat-pocket a yellow silk handkerchief, about 
 one half in sight, so that, as he went up the aisle, no mistake 
 might be made about his mourning. 
 
 Among other sermons, intended for reform, delivered by 
 Mr. Loomey, was one upon fictitious literature. Never before 
 were such stinging reproofs to novel readers heard by the 
 people of Waterbury. To novels were attributed a great pro- 
 portion of the wickedness and misery of the age. He seemed 
 doing valiant battle with the ghost of a yellow covered novel, 
 which, after rending to fragments, he hurled at the head of 
 the prince of evil. 
 
 Many people liked this sermon. Persons who were 
 more than suspected of flagrant violation of moral duties liked 
 26
 
 302 EDITH HALE. 
 
 it exceedingly. And some persons of excellent life, who 
 conscientiously believed the words of the minister were just 
 what were needed, liked it. Among these was Miss Leah, 
 who nodded several times approvingly, and looked about in 
 triumph upon the young people, whom she had in vain warned 
 of the consequence of light reading. Mrs. Witherell was in 
 ecstasies. She would never read a novel ; as soon should a 
 serpent come within her house as such a book. Zephaniah 
 "Wilkins proceeded at once to have the sermon printed.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 NEW AND OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 AFTER their establishment in their new home, Edith and 
 Mary had many plans to arrange for the future which opened 
 before them. One morning, when they had met in the bou- 
 doir, a small, luxurious room, especially refitted by Mr. 
 Raymond for their reception, Edith seemed more thought- 
 ful than usual. Silently she looked from the window upon 
 the distant harbor shining in the sun like golden glass, on 
 which were moving the white winged ships. Between the 
 curtains the early light came in winsomely across her brow, 
 stooping, in the interval, to lavish another hue of brilliancy 
 upon the flowers, imbedded like gems in the deep moss 
 ground of the carpet. Mary, in a becoming morning gown 
 of rose color, with pearl satin borderings, was arranging 
 flowers brought from the adjoining conservatory in the vases 
 upon the marble leaves about the room. When all was dis- 
 posed to her liking, she took her harp from the corner, and, 
 sitting down amid the cushions of a divan, suffered her fingers 
 to wander carelessly over the strings. 
 
 " Very thoughtful in Horace to bring me this, was it not?" 
 she observed to Edith.
 
 304 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " Yes ; a gift among the many like a lulling breath of 
 summer wind among all beautiful fruits and flowers." 
 
 " I must show my appreciation by learning rapidly to 
 play as well as possible. To-day I commence receiving 
 lessons." 
 
 " I have been thinking," said Edith, " that I must also 
 begin to work in earnest for the future. I have shaped for 
 myself many plans, and I must not pause by the attractive 
 way. My next effort shall be to search out the residence of 
 my aunt, of whom I have told you, and obtain an interview, 
 if possible, according to the instructions of my mother before 
 her death. It is a painful work, but one which must not longer 
 be delayed." 
 
 " Horace will assist you in this," said Mary ; " and I will 
 hope for your success." 
 
 At breakfast Edith mentioned the matter to Mr. Ray- 
 mond, inquiring if a lady by the name of Regleton were 
 within the circle of his acquaintance. 
 
 " Yes ; Mrs. Regleton, of Ashton avenue, the wife of 
 Alpheus Regleton," he replied. 
 
 " That is the lady ! Describe her, if you please." 
 
 " A lady of fashion and position ; a great patron of the 
 most popular shops ; the mother of two children, one of 
 whom is a belle among her set, the other a dissipated exqui- 
 site, or, more properly, a roue, and the wife of one of the most 
 prodigal livers in town." 
 
 " Do you know anything of the private, the real character 
 of this lady ? " exclaimed Edith, with earnestness.
 
 EDITH HALE. 305 
 
 " Nothing. How can we know any truth of the actual life 
 of people here ? The outside of those whom we meet in 
 fashionable society is like show-cakes, gilded, iced, and orna- 
 mented over, so that we can no more test the real flavor of 
 the one than the other example, by passing them on exhibi- 
 tion. Therefore it is that I like the dwellers in the country, 
 who are less artificially ' got up.' No marvel it is to 
 me that in ancient days it was not lawful to eat the shew- 
 bread." 
 
 " Only for the priests," said Mary. 
 
 " Yes," continued Mr. Raymond ; " some priests of modern 
 times like the shew-cakes, provided they are rich." 
 
 " You remind me," said Edith, " of what Tennyson says : 
 
 ' But if I praised the busy town, 
 
 He loved to rail against it still ; 
 
 For, ground in yonder social mill, 
 We rub each other's angles down, 
 And merge, he said, in form and gloss, 
 
 The picturesque of man and man.' 
 
 For myself," she continued, with animation, " it was always 
 a bright dream of my life that I might one day enjoy the 
 varied advantages of a noble city like this. I am certain I 
 shall like to reside here." 
 
 "I am glad, if you are pleased," said Mr. Raymond; 
 " but what do you know of this Mrs. Regleton, Edith ? " 
 
 " She is my mother's sister." 
 
 " Had I heard that earlier, I could have reserved some of 
 26*
 
 306 EDITH HALE. 
 
 my comments upon the lady," said Mr. Raymond, with a 
 smile ; " though the old saying, ' It is not best to spoil a story 
 for relations' sake,' holds good yet." 
 
 " There is no occasion for apologies," said Edith. " Cir- 
 cumstances of an unpleasant nature prevented my mother 
 from having any intercourse with her sister after her mar- 
 riage ; but it was her request that I should visit her at the 
 earliest opportunity." 
 
 " I will conduct you to her residence to-day, if you like, 
 at the fashionable visiting hour. I would prefer to have you 
 begin well, for the lady is severe in her exactions where 
 fashion is concerned," remarked Mr. Raymond. 
 
 Edith found her aunt's residence one of the most superb 
 in the city. As she crossed its threshold, her heart misgave 
 her. But a thought of her mother, who she believed watched 
 over her in all her ways, brought new courage. After wait- 
 ing a long time for the appearance of her aunt in the receiv- 
 ing room, the servant who had taken her name returned, 
 Baying that Mrs. Regleton was very much engaged. 
 
 " Tell her," said Edith, " that I have business of import- 
 ance, and would like a short interview, if possible." 
 
 At last Mrs. Regleton appeared. She was attired negli- 
 gently, but in the richest fabrics, and bore her full, heavy 
 figure, with an attempt at hauteur. There was one thing 
 peculiar about her appearance ; it was a bloom upon the 
 Grecian extreme of her nose. In a man perhaps this would 
 not have be'en particularly noticeable. As it was, it became 
 the most prominent feature of her face. Her cheek was
 
 EDITH HALE. 307 
 
 " like a rose in the snow." This was evidently the result of 
 the art of the toilet ; but, as evidently, the nose had received 
 its color from after-dinner libations. Edith could scarcely 
 believe this woman to be her aunt, although her mother had told 
 her there never was a resemblance between her sister and her- 
 self. Mrs. Regleton seated herself at a dim distance, while 
 she fastened her cold gray eye upon Edith without speak- 
 ing, taking no trouble to open the business, whatever it 
 might be. 
 
 " I came," began Edith, her voice slightly trembling, 
 "because my mother desired that I should see you." Her 
 eyes filled with tears, and she could not make further expla- 
 nation. 
 
 "Your mother ! " repeated the lady, in a harsh, heavy voice ; 
 " who is your mother ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Hale, your sister, madam, was my mother. I sup- 
 posed you already knew of her death." 
 
 The rose upon the lady's cheek did not fade now ; but her 
 Iip3 were a little paler, and the color upon her nose came out 
 more distinctly than ever. She said nothing, and there 
 seemed nothing more to be paid, for the lady sat as though 
 her sensibilities had been petrified. There seemed danger of 
 her falling asleep. At length she arose with the same dumpish 
 motion with which she had entered the room, pulled the bell, 
 and sat down again, lifting her eye-glass in the direction of 
 Edith. 
 
 " My mother thought " began Edith ; but, perceiving the
 
 308 EDITH HALE. 
 
 lady's eye-glass beside that crimson nose levelled upon her, 
 she lost heart, and stopped. 
 
 "Thought what?" inquired her aunt, lowering her glass. 
 
 " She thought perhaps you might feel differently towards 
 me, when she was gone." The servant entered at this mo- 
 ment to answer the summons of the bell. Mrs. Regleton 
 looked at her watch. 
 
 " I am going out," she said. " Tell John to bring around 
 the carriage in fifteen minutes." 
 
 " You are used to poverty, I suppose, as was your mother 
 after she married," now observed her aunt, glancing upon 
 Edith's plain mourning attire. 
 
 " My mother lived in good circumstances until a short time 
 before my father's death," replied Edith, in her natural, calm 
 manner. " He was unfortunate, since which we both were 
 called to many trials." 
 
 There was another pause, broken at length by Mrs. Re- 
 gleton. 
 
 " Employment is what you want of me, I suppose ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 It was evident she did not intend to waste more sen- 
 sibility than words. " My daughter is in want of a maid ; 
 but that would not do. She will have a French woman." 
 This she said to herself rather than to Edith, as she produced 
 her tablets, from which she read, with her masculine voice, 
 " Plain sewing for myself," " Embroidery for Hada," " A 
 chambermaid "
 
 EDITH HALE. 309 
 
 " I am not in need of assistance of that kind, at present," 
 interrupted Edith, as soon as she had recovered from the sur- 
 prise occasioned by the comprehension of her aunt's purposes 
 towards her. 
 
 Mrs. Regleton lifted her eyes upon Edith with an expres- 
 sion as nearly like astonishment as her dull face was capable 
 of betraying. 
 
 " Not want work ! " she exclaimed, gruffly. 
 
 " The time has been when it was different with me ; but I 
 am grateful that time is not now," replied Edith. 
 
 " You don't live here in the city, then ? " pursued the 
 lady. 
 
 " I remain here at present." 
 
 " How is this ? " inquired her aunt. " You have no rela 
 tions to help you. Under whose protection are you ? " 
 
 These words might have been used to express a friendly 
 interest in her welfare,' but her tone was significant with sus- 
 picion. Edith blushed to the temples as she heard this impli- 
 cation. She was silent, not knowing how to put aside her 
 resentment, which was attributed by her aunt to a conscious- 
 ness of guilt. 
 
 " I am under the protection of Him who has never forsaken 
 me through all my afflictions, and I trust never will ! " she 
 answered, as she rose to leave. 
 
 " Stay," said her aunt, imperatively ; " I have more to say. 
 Sit down again, till I collect myself." 
 
 Withdrawing a gold snuff-box from her pocket, she took 
 several nasal inhalations from between her fingers, which had
 
 310 EDITH HALE. 
 
 been inserted within the box. Mrs. Regletou never resorted 
 to this practice in company, but the presence of Edith sho 
 considered of no consequence. 
 
 " You are young and ignorant," began the lady, when she 
 had sufficiently regaled herself with the perfumed rappee ; 
 " your mother, it seems, is dead, and " 
 
 " Yes ; she was the child of the same parents as yourself," 
 interrupted Edith, with some spirit. 
 
 Mrs. Regleton waved her hand impatiently. 
 
 " You are like your mother," she said, in reply to this ; 
 " you have a will which, if you do not crush down, will prove 
 your ruin." 
 
 " I am proud," said Edith, as she stood erect, with flashing 
 eyes, that now looked unflinchingly upon her aunt, " to be told 
 I am like my mother. She was good, pure, noble, all that 
 the good revere and love : not like those who caused her, in 
 life, many a pang for their neglect. She has gone to her 
 reward, and her enemies cannot despoil her of that, God be 
 praised ! " 
 
 In the hearing of these words, spoken with a tone which 
 carried power and conviction with it, her aunt was awed, des- 
 pite herself. The pale, trembling girl, whom she had but late 
 regarded as a suppliant before her, seemed suddenly trans- 
 formed into her accuser and superior. 
 
 " You may go now," she murmured, with a feeble motion 
 of her burly head. 
 
 " Do you think," returned Edith, " I would wish to remain 
 in the presence of one who could malign my mother ? No !
 
 EDITH HALE. 311 
 
 it is needless for you to give me the permission. Nothing 
 could induce me to remain in this house another moment." 
 
 " Well said, since the choice is not left to you," observed 
 her aunt. 
 
 " I envy nothing in your possession," said Edith, as she 
 went out ; " least of all do I envy you the conscience you 
 riust ever carry with you." 
 
 Edith walked rapidly away, as if she could not soon enough 
 put distance between her and the woman whom she was com- 
 pelled to acknowledge her aunt. Once more in the presence 
 of Mary, the tenderness of her heart returned ; she burst into 
 tears. 
 
 " Dear Edith," exclaimed Mary, " do not feel so distressed. 
 What has happened ? " 
 
 When Edith could sufficiently control herself, she related an 
 exact account of the interview with her aunt, concluding with 
 a passionate declaration of her gratitude that she was not 
 dependent for her bread upon one so utterly unfeeling. 
 
 " She did not imagine that you had friends who loved 
 you," replied Mary ; " but such a reception was very trying 
 in any circumstances. You must recall some of that excel- 
 lent advice you used to give me, when I was so much afflicted 
 under injuries. ' It will come out right, if you will only be 
 patient, and trust in Him who is able to do more abundantly 
 than you can ask or think,' you would say ; and your words 
 proved true, so soon in my life, too ! " 
 
 When Edith had reflected upon this little episode of her 
 life, in the solitude of her heart, she saw that she had repent-
 
 312 EDIT II HALE. 
 
 ance to offer for not sufficiently commanding herself; and, 
 recalling a higher principle from the holy example, prayed to 
 be more lowly and patient in future. 
 
 Edith now took the preliminary steps for attending school, 
 and more thoroughly perfecting her education. The best 
 advantages were free to her, and, with the advice of Mr. Ray- 
 mond, arrangements were soon made which promised that for 
 which she had long been struggling. Upon an evening shortly 
 preceding her new pupilage, she was sitting with Mary, and 
 discussing her plans for the future, when they were interrupted 
 by the entrance of Mr. Raymond. 
 
 " Come Mary, Edith," he said, rubbing his hands actively, 
 as was his habit when pleased, " I 've a lion below stairs to 
 show you." 
 
 "Who? what?" inquired Mary, not a little surprised. 
 
 " It is an old friend of mine, who has called to see you 
 Hugh Oliver, the distinguished lawyer and politician, and 
 nephew to Major Oliver, of Waterbury, whom you know." 
 
 " I will be excused," now spoke Edith ; " he will not care 
 to see me." 
 
 " No," said Mr. Raymond, " I shall not admit your excuse. 
 He is a single man, and who knows what may come of it ? " 
 
 Edith could not be persuaded, however, for she was a little 
 wilful upon occasion ; and so Mary was compelled to descend 
 to the drawing-room without her. A few minutes later she 
 returned to Edith, saying that Mr. Oliver desired especially 
 to see Miss Hale, if convenient, and he hoped he should not 
 be disappointed.
 
 EDITH KALE. 313 
 
 " To see me ! " exclaimed Edith ; " he does not know me. 
 There is some mistake, for I never saw him in my life." 
 
 " He is determined to see you, nevertheless,"/said Mary ; 
 " so you may as well capitulate at once." 
 
 " This is a singular affair," said Edith. 
 
 " It may, as Horace suggested, prove a double one ulti- 
 mately," rejoined Mary. 
 
 With some confusion and much surprise, Edith this time 
 obeyed the summons. Mr. Oliver arose and advanced to meet 
 her with evident interest. Her first glance upon his dark, pierc- 
 ing eyes struck her speechless. For a moment she felt like 
 falling to the floor. Perceiving her embarrassment, Mr. Ray- 
 mond exerted himself to accomplish a familiar introduction. 
 
 " We have met before," said Oliver, with his own singular 
 impressiveuess. " You recollect me, Miss Hale ? " he added, 
 looking down upon her more searchingly than before. 
 
 " I do, perfectly," she replied, accepting the seat which Mr. 
 Raymond offered her opportunely at this moment. Usually 
 Edith was self-possessed before company, but now her face 
 was roseate with blushes, and she could scarcely trust her 
 voice to speak. 
 
 " I was not at all advised of this," said Mr. Raymond. 
 " Why, Edith, did you not tell me that you knew Mr. 
 Oliver ? " 
 
 " I was not myself aware of the fact before,'' replied Edith. 
 
 " An enigma here," returned Mr. Raymond. 
 
 Oliver smiled a rare and peculiar smile. 
 
 Recovering herself a little, Edith said, with an effort, 
 27
 
 314 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " After I entered upon my situation in W , my first 
 
 endeavor was to learn the name of the stranger by whose 
 generous assistance it had been obtained. The account of this 
 favor, for which I was under such obligations, I have already 
 told you. But I found that he had directed that all knowledge 
 of himself should be kept from me. Now I need no longer 
 wonder, as before. The mystery is solved." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Mr. Raymond. Turning to Oliver, he 
 added : "I owe you a debt of gratitude for this favor to one 
 who is a near and dear relative to me." 
 
 " Nothing of that, if you please," rejoined Oliver, 
 " The principal of the institution who received my rec- 
 ommendation, Miss Hale, is a friend of mine ; and I re- 
 quested he would not disclose my name if you inquired, 
 because I wished . Well, the reason is of no con- 
 sequence " 
 
 " Knowing that you have a habit of doing good deeds 
 without permitting your name to go with them, I can readily 
 divine the reason," interposed Mr. Raymond. 
 
 " Do not give me such credit," rejoined Oliver. " I pre- 
 sume a liking for making observations in my own way influ- 
 enced me, chiefly. I was about to say," he continued, to 
 Edith, " that intending, if possible, to renew my acquaintance 
 with you at some future time, I made minute inquiries of my 
 friend the principal respecting your success in that situation, 
 all of which were answered most favorably. But, after you 
 left "W , I lost track of you, until recently I learned, by
 
 EDITH HALE. 315 
 
 my uncle in Waterbury, that you resided here in the city, 
 with my friend Raymond." 
 
 Edith now blushed deeper than before, if possible. These 
 words fell with a keen pleasure upon her ear ; for she had 
 often wondered if the stranger had bestowed a second thought 
 upon her, as, meanwhile, he had been so frequently in her 
 thoughts. 
 
 Hugh Oliver was brilliant and conversational on this even- 
 ing ; so much so, that his old friend, who knew him well, was 
 surprised. His manner, in the society of ladies, most frequently, 
 was so reserved that he seemed phlegmatic and austere. With 
 his clients he was popular ; by his personal friends, loved 
 and honored ; and, in mass-meetings, or other assemblies of 
 fervid politicians, he was almost worshipped. Sometimes, 
 when his whole soul was absorbed in business, or in the prep- 
 aration for some great occasion, he was taciturn and ungenial 
 to all who came in his vray. Again, he would bring forth a 
 repartee, with unerring aim, as a privileged jester of ancient 
 time, and become the soul of the company. His friends, who 
 valued him for his superior talents, had learned to accom- 
 modate themselves to his moods. 
 
 Hugh Oliver had his imitators, or those who aspired to be, 
 as has every man of mark. But the peculiar intrinsic worth 
 and brilliancy of his character was his own, and defied the 
 ingenuity of copyists. He could mingle with and seemingly 
 be one of them ; but never could they become like him. He 
 could descend to the level of their wit, but never could they 
 rise to the height of his wisdom ; as the diamond, by a
 
 316 EDITH II A L F. . 
 
 powerful chemical process, may be reduced to gaseous prod- 
 ucts, but no degree of art or science can change these prod- 
 ucts into diamond. 
 
 Edith listened to his words with rapt admiration, as, after 
 a slight apology, he turned to Mr. Raymond, and spoke of an 
 address which had lately been delivered upon a public occa- 
 sion, and which was a topic of conversation among gentlemen 
 at that time. Occasionally, however, as he conversed, his 
 eye rested upon Edith with an expression of interest, which 
 summoned anew the blushes to her cheek, and robbed her of 
 all her usual steadiness of nerve. She was half angry with 
 him for this power, and more displeased with herself for her 
 lack of self-control ; so that, when he turned again, and 
 addressed some observation to her, she was ungracious enough 
 to leave it to Mary to sustain her part of the conversation. 
 
 But Oliver, by a skilful remark or two, brought on an 
 account of his ride with Edith from Birhampton, enlarging 
 upon the adventure with the snake. He represented Edith 
 as almost overcome with fright, nearly expiring on the spot, 
 except for his timely presence ; all which he detailed with a 
 most provoking enjoyment. Mr. Raymond shared the joke, 
 and protested he had no idea before that Edith was such a 
 little coward. Edith could not remain silent as she heard this. 
 Oliver knew that nothing will kindle a lady into vivacity so 
 soon as to impeach her courage. Then ensued quite a scene. 
 Edith forgot her embarrassment, and appeared to advantage ; 
 for a woman of discernment and spirit is always interesting 
 when natural and a little piqued.
 
 EDI Til HALE. 317 
 
 Oliver observed her with ill disguised admiration. At last 
 he arose to leave, saying that he had overstaid his time by an 
 hour. The cordial invitation of Mr. Raymond and Mary to 
 visit them frequently he promised to accept, to which Edith 
 manifested only a polite indifference, while her heart was 
 really beating high with emotion. 
 
 After his departure, Mr. Raymond rallied Edith upon the 
 evident attention she had received from Oliver, concluding 
 with, " But, dear Edith, I warn you not to fix your heart upon 
 him ; for I see he is just the ideal of your imagination." 
 
 "Thank you! Your advice is good," said Edith ; "but, 
 why is it needful ? Is the gentleman vowed to celibacy ? " 
 
 ' Report whispers that he is to wed your cousin, Hadassa 
 Regleton." 
 
 Edith started ; the color faded from her cheeks. 
 
 " I can hardly give credit to the rumor," continued Mr. 
 Raymond ; " for I should suppose she is not the girl who 
 would share such affections as his." 
 
 " What kind of a girl is she ? " inquired Edith, laboring to 
 suppress her interest. 
 
 " What is called ' splendid,' a beauty, and a belle. She 
 likes him, indisputably, as what girl who knew him would 
 not ? " 
 
 " Have you ever seen him bestow attention upon her ? " 
 pursued Edith. 
 
 " Yes, at our soirees, to which he is sometimes persuaded to 
 come, though but seldom ; for he does not like such society. 
 He is not usually attentive to the ladies ; but Hada Regleton 
 27*
 
 318 EDITH HALE. 
 
 will make a man attentive to her, if possible. The secret of 
 his civility, I presume, is her being the daughter of one of the 
 most influential men in his political party ; and, as Oliver is a 
 rising man, who aims at place and power, he knows it would 
 not be very politic to offend llegleton." 
 
 " I thought you spoke unfavorably of my aunt's husband," 
 said Edith. 
 
 " What, then, my little innocent ? Don't you know that 
 some of the worst and most dissipated men in the country are 
 among.the prime movers of political parties ? Oliver himself 
 is known to be a man of principle, and about as conscientious 
 a politician as there is, of these times ; but he cannot turn his 
 back upou every man who is not, if he wishes to gratify his 
 ambition. He would find himself alone, suddenly." 
 
 Edith looked very thoughtful. 
 
 " Oliver may marry Hada, after all ; for there is no know- 
 ing how men like him will marry. You may, with greater 
 certainty, calculate upon anything else in the world," concluded 
 Mr. Raymond. 
 
 The result of Edith's reflections upon this was, a vow to 
 Heaven never to begin to love again until her love had been 
 explicitly sought, and by one whose motives were thoroughly 
 tested.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 CASE OF CONDESCENSION. 
 
 IT was the custom of the new minister of "Waterbury to 
 exchange frequently ; but the circle of his acquaintance among 
 the clergy, for the most part, seemed widely dissimilar to 
 that of Mr. Wellmont. Every minister brought a message 
 of remarkable pointedness toward idiosyncrasies, occurrences, 
 or supposed misdemeanors among the people. To conclude 
 that this resulted from coincidence or spiritual intuition alone, 
 was too great a tax upon credulity. 
 
 These ministers, generally, were from sections about which 
 Waterbury people had no personal interest, and appeared like 
 mineralogical specimens and petrifactions, produced by Mr. 
 Loomey for the curiosity rather than for the edification of his 
 parish. A complaint against these exchanges reaching Mr. 
 Loomey, by means of Zephaniah Wilkins and Mrs. Witherell, 
 the next exchange announced was the Rev. Dr. Xaylor. 
 
 " Not that I make this arrangement to please my people," 
 said Mr. Loomey, in a comment upon the fact, to Deacon 
 Dennis, " but, chiefly, for my own convenience. I wish to be 
 absent for a week or two in the city, and, having some ae-
 
 320 EDITH HALE. 
 
 quaintance with Dr. Naylor, an exchange for one Sabbath 
 has been arranged." 
 
 The Indians used to mark the month of the arrival of wild- 
 geese with the title of the " goose moon ; " and it would have 
 been no more than befitting to have honored the visits of this 
 city clergyman with some such distinguishing appellation. As 
 the people had not forgotten that this divine had graced the 
 pulpit of Waterbury on a former occasion, they were not 
 wholly unprepared for the honor in reserve for them. His 
 sermon began in this way : 
 
 " For many years have I been the pastor of a church and 
 congregation in the city. For the last year I have been 
 abroad ; by abroad I mean on the continent ; by that I mean 
 Europe, countries such as Italy, Germany, &c. I now 
 appear before you with the wisdom and experience of all 
 these years of varied observation and knowledge, having also 
 read as many books upon all sides of theology as any other 
 minister or man living. And I am going now to expound 
 to you the oracles of God ; by oracles, I mean the Scriptures, 
 or divine communications, and I trust I shall succeed in 
 making you understand me. I am not used to the country, 
 and know not the spiritual food which should be set before 
 you ; but, if you will give me your attention, and make an 
 effort to understand me, my labor will not be in vain." 
 
 Having delivered this preface, he read from his notes an 
 introduction to his text, after which, at length, was announced 
 the text. By that time, some of the people began to ex- 
 change glances. Some looked frigidly offended at these
 
 EDIT II HALE. 321 
 
 implications of country ignorance ; and some were so absorbed 
 with curiosity as to what would come next, they did not pause 
 for reflection. Father Shaw gave a very loud, sonorous ahem ; 
 Major Oliver extended his limbs along on the seat of his 
 pew, and peered out from one eye toward the pulpit, alter- 
 nating with a shrewd look about him with the other. Dr. 
 Humphrey's face revealed a variety of emotions. He 
 seemed to think that the minister was afflicted with a 
 disease of the brain ; or, as the goatherd thought of the 
 valiant knight of La Mancha, " the apartments of this poor 
 gentleman's skull were but indifferently furnished." A few, 
 however, looked upon this city divine as upon an oracle. 
 
 As he proceeded with his discourse, he would deliver a sen- 
 tence, then pause to explain the simplest ideas in connection, 
 continually expressing the hope that the people would not 
 misunderstand him, and as frequently as possible introducing 
 an allusion to the amount of his intellectual resources and 
 honors, especially since his return from Europe. It was 
 plain that the original sermon, though a fair one, was by no 
 means extraordinary ; and it was so much interlarded with 
 explanatory remarks to meet the ignorance of those to whom 
 it was addressed, that the proportion and effect of the whole 
 was destroyed. Usually Dr. Xaylor's style of speaking was 
 somewhat as Blair said of Lord Shaftesbury's " ever in 
 buskins ; " but, addressing this people, it seemed that he was 
 following the advice which Cromwell gave to his soldiers 
 " fire low." He fired so low, however, that he hit their heels, 
 instead of their hearts or heads.
 
 822 EDITH HALE. 
 
 All his instructions and admonitions were delivered to his 
 hearers with the denominative of " you," instead of " we." 
 " You arc sinful," &c. " You must make this and that en- 
 deavor." &c. Once, in allusion to himself, he said, " I, though 
 a minister and a vicegerent of God, am mortal like your- 
 selves." This he evidently regarded a great concession. In 
 his frequent mention of the distinguished places which he had 
 visited " in Europe," and the people with whom he had 
 enjoyed an intimate acquaintance, or to certain books with 
 which he was familiar, he spoke as though they had never 
 been heard of by those whom he now favored with the sound 
 of his voice ; or, if heard of, as indistinctly and imperfectly 
 as of the sacred places, gods, and books, of the Hindoos ; and 
 to "the city" he gave as much distinction as a Moslem to 
 Mecca. 
 
 Alexander declared that the Celts were great boasters; " a 
 character," adds his biographer, "which, from the Scordisci 
 down to the Gascons and the modern Celts of Ireland, they 
 most undoubtedly have deserved." A genuine Irishman, how- 
 ever, would give up beaten at boasting beside this inflated 
 doctor of divinity. 
 
 " Poor man ! " said Dr. Humphrey, in conversation with 
 a few friends, after this sermon of such singular importance, 
 " he belongs to that numerous class who think that the knowl- 
 edge, refinement, and sense of the world, is necessarily derived 
 from associations with the city, while the ' extra touches ' of 
 superiority are the result of ' going to Europe.' " 
 
 " He evidently thinks us all a set of fools," rejoined one.
 
 EDITH HALE. 323 
 
 " There was no respect lost," said Major Oliver, " for he 
 can't think us more foolish than we think him, though he has 
 been to Europe, and always preached in a city." 
 
 " Xo, no," now broke in Father Shaw, " he an't a fool, 
 though he 'pears plaguy like one. I can see he 's cunnin' in 
 him ; ef there warnt, he would n't show so much contrivance 
 to set himself up over other folks, and strain so hard to make 
 'em feel like underlins. He 's like a man with two faces, 
 one back, t' other forrard. One on 'em is an ass's face, t' other 
 a fox's, and the ass's comes fust. But, ef a body '11 look 
 sharp, he can see right through it, to the cunnin' that 's 
 behind, in no time. Xo, that are minister an't a fool," con- 
 cluded Father Shaw, with a sagacious shake of his head. 
 
 " It takes you to discern the difference," rejoined Major 
 Oliver ; "for there is nothing that makes a public speaker 
 seem more like a fool than to talk about himself all the time, 
 for fear he won't be appreciated." 
 
 " He reminded me," said Dr. Humphrey, " of what Shaks- 
 peare's Bottom said of his dream : ' Methought I was 
 there is no man can tell what. Methought I was, and me- 
 thought I had. But man is but a patched fool, if he will 
 offer to say what methought I had. The eye of man hath 
 not heard, the ear of man hath not seen ; man's hand is not 
 able to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report* 
 whnt my dream was; it shall be called Bottom's dream, 
 because it hath no bottom.' " 
 
 An allusion to Shakspeare always kindled Major Oliver,
 
 324 EDITH HALE. 
 
 for, in his youthful days, that author's works were his sole body 
 of philosophy, almost of divinity. 
 
 " I '11 tell you," he said, " another character this divine is 
 also like. When he hoped so fervently that we might under- 
 stand him, as though there were danger of his knowledge and 
 formidable honors overpowering us, he was like Snug, who, 
 when about to act the part of the lion, came out, fearing his 
 audience might be frightened out of their wits, and told them 
 ' Not to quake and tremble when Lion rough in wildest rage 
 doth roar, for it was only Snug the Joiner, dressed up in a 
 lion's skin.' Some one should have offered an explanation 
 of this Naylor dressed up in a lion's skin." 
 
 " Betwixt Bottom and Snug," said Dr. Humphrey, " the 
 great city divine is sufficiently explained." 
 
 " How dare you allow yourselves such freedom when speak- 
 ing of a minister?" interrupted a carping voice, at this junc- 
 ture. They turned simultaneously, and saw Zephaniah 
 Wilkins. " I have heard all you have said here," he now 
 commenced. 
 
 " Indeed ! a great matter," rejoined Major Oliver. 
 
 " I am astonished at such irreverence in persons professing 
 godliness," continued the conscience-keeper in general. 
 
 " Young man," said Father Shaw, " it must be hard work 
 for yer to live, there 's allers such a lot of evil right under yer 
 nose." 
 
 " ' What ! is not every mortal free to speak ? 
 
 I '11 give my reasons, though I break my neck ! ' " 
 
 concluded Dr. Humphrey, just as Dr. Naylor emerged from
 
 EDITH HALE. 325 
 
 the church. With lofty looks, as though occupied in astro- 
 nomical calculations, and entirely above sublunary matters, 
 he held his way, little imagining the people were not all staring 
 upon him with awe and admiration, as the slightest return 
 they could make for his wonderful condescension in appearing 
 for a single Sabbath in a country village. 
 
 In the afternoon his discourse was upon the Christian 
 ministry, from that passage, " an holy priesthood, to offer up 
 spiritual sacrifices, acceptable to God by Jesus Christ." 
 His ideas upon this subject were a little novel, whether origin- 
 ating purely from himself, or from his illimitable observation 
 and reading. After the priesthood had been sufficiently 
 glorified, as chosen of God to minister and especially to rule 
 in holy things, he alluded to some of the sacrifices which they 
 had made, exhibiting the temper of their Master. Among 
 these, he adduced instances of the labors of the ministry among 
 the poor, which would have been approved as " acceptable 
 sacrifices," had he not dwelt with such lofty and chilling 
 emphasis upon " the poor," whom he evidently regarded as 
 embracing the inferior class exclusively. 
 
 " I dare say," said Father Shaw, afterward, in relation to 
 this, " the man has been a poor boy, and has had to work for 
 his daily porridge ; for, I 'm an old man, and in all my days 
 I never see folks talk so about ' the poor,' and ' work,' and 
 draw such lines 'twixt people, but what some time or other in 
 their lives they, or their daddies, had to work as tight as ever 
 they could to keep themselves out of the poor-house. Ye 
 never hear a body who is raal gentlefolk, and knows what 's 
 28
 
 326 EDITH HALE. 
 
 what, and no mistake, talk so ; for they know it 's only marcy, 
 and not merit, that makes them better off than their poor feller- 
 critters, and in the next shift of God's fortin they may be 
 blown clear down ter the foot of the hill, while the poor folks 
 may be carried up." 
 
 Dr. Naylor's presentiment proved prophetic ; he entirely 
 failed of being appreciated by the country congregation, not- 
 withstanding his labors to prove his superiority. 
 
 Not long after this, Dr. Humphrey was visited by an old 
 friend who was a clergyman of another denomination, a de- 
 vout and exemplary man, whom he invited to attend with 
 him an evening meeting for prayer and conference in the 
 vestry. A good number were present, for, owing to the active 
 efforts of a few devoted people, an unusual degree of interest 
 in religious things prevailed at this time. A half hour after 
 the time appointed for the commencement of the meeting 
 passed by without Mr. Loomey's appearance, and as his 
 tardiness was a habit to which they had become accustomed, 
 the stranger minister was invited by Father Shaw to open the 
 exercises. He was heard with serious attention, for he evi- 
 dently spoke as he was moved by the spirit of truth. His 
 religion was the old fashioned, experimental religion of the 
 Gospel, and not simply a theology born of modern isms, 
 which, issuing from the brain instead of the heart, is utterly 
 powerless to touch the heart. The Bible was the exhaustless 
 mine in which he had sought diligently for treasures; and he 
 had found pure gold, from which he had shapen the ornaments 
 of his spirit. Every word he uttered fell upon the hearts with
 
 EDITH HALE. 327 
 
 power, convincing of sin, of righteousness, and of judgment ; and 
 his short, fervent, and appropriate prayer seemed to call down 
 blessings divine upon the waiting listeners. 
 
 All the words were so indicative of a universal sympathy 
 with the faith and needs of all the true followers of the great 
 3Iaster, that no one had thought of the speaker's belonging to 
 another denomination. And, to do the majority of that peo- 
 ple justice, they were never disposed to regard such differences 
 with the tenacious prejudices which, tradition informs us, have 
 sometimes existed among Christians of different denominations. 
 But when Mr. Loomey appeared, and saw another standing 
 in his place who was not after his own order, he at once 
 betrayed displeasure, which he could not or did not care to 
 conceal. 
 
 Without noticing the minister, he arose before the -meeting 
 and expressed openly his disapproval of their not waiting for 
 his coming. 
 
 " I feel wounded," he said, " even as was Jesus when he 
 came and found his disciples asleep, and reproved them; 
 ' What ! could ye not watch with me one hour ? Ye should 
 have watched and prayed that ye might not have entered into 
 temptation ! ' ' Other remarks he added, which expressed so 
 much feeling, no one could fail to see that he had for once, at 
 least, forgotten his usual dignity, and was exhibiting the 
 appearance of an angered man. When he had concluded, 
 Father Shaw arose and said : 
 
 " Instid of our bein' like the disciples who were found 
 asleep, we was, in fact, wide awake, and watching for you to
 
 328 EDITH HALE. 
 
 come ; though, we gut along so well, arter this ere minister 
 begun, we 'd 'bout furgut to watch for you. We was havin' a 
 good meetin', and we felt our hearts drawn out towards this 
 man ; and I, for one, don't care a snap ef he 's 'listed under 
 jest such a banner as mine, or not. At any rate, Christ and 
 him crucified is on his banner, and that 's all I want to know. 
 But " Here the old man paused, looked hard at a nail in 
 the floor a minute, then, casting about him one of his queerest 
 looks, proceeded, " This ere makes me think, instid of our 
 Lord and his disciples, of that are time when the sons of God 
 came to present themselves afore the Lord, and Satan, he 
 came also amongst 'em. Now, I don't say that Satan has come 
 in here, but I do say that it 'pears as ef a spirit contrary to 
 that of the Lord had come. And the best thing we can do is, 
 to pray.it out as fast as we can." 
 
 An unusual sensation now pervaded the vestry-room, and 
 smiles were exchanged freely. Behold how great a matter a 
 little fire kindleth ! These few plain words of Father Shaw 
 fell down on that assembly like burning coals. No one, how- 
 ever, felt actually burned, but Mr. Loomey ; he was afire in a 
 moment. 
 
 " I am astonished beyond measure at the wicked spirit I 
 see here manifested," he replied; " it is a spirit of disorder, 
 of sin, of the depths of evil," he paused for shortened breath ; 
 he took off his spectacles, and laid them aside rashly ; he sat 
 down, but arose almost as soon, and continued, "I shall not 
 say much on this occasion ; it is not proper to lay open our 
 hearts before strangers and aliens from the commonwealth of
 
 EDITH HALE. 829 
 
 Israel. But, be assured, this shall not be the end of this 
 matter ! " and he looked at Father Shaw as though he would 
 gladly have pitched him into a red hot furnace, in less than a 
 thought. 
 
 The stranger minister now arose, and, in a tone of sincere 
 feeling, " regretted that ho had unintentionally been an 
 instrument of wounding another, and that other a laborer in 
 the great vineyard of the Lord. He said when he found 
 himself among Christians of whatever denomination, with 
 whom he had fellowship as followers of Christ, it was his 
 habit and privilege to join with them in the worship of the 
 God over all, blessed forever ; as he hoped it would be his 
 unspeakable glory to do in heaven hereafter. But, if in so 
 doing, on this occasion, he had been an instrument of dissen- 
 sion among brethren, he was unfeignedly sorry j" and, taking 
 his hat, he walked calmly out. 
 
 Thereupon Zephauiah Wilkins began in favor of Mr. Loo- 
 mey, and insinuated even more than usual against " certain 
 members of the church," who were pestilent and disorderly. 
 He was now in his element, it was clear ; for he had at 
 last found a nail on which to hang up a reproof, tangible and 
 durable. After speaking at length, in his own peculiar style, 
 he said that he perfectly approved of Mr. Loomey's saying 
 that the matter should not end in that way. He, for one, 
 would sustain him hi obtaining whatever redress he should 
 think proper to demand ; for certain members of that church 
 had been suffered, caiite too long and unconscionably, to deal 
 in universal freedom against the ministers of the church, and 
 28*
 
 330 EDITH HALE. 
 
 the Aarons and Hurs who would stay up their hands. Deacon 
 Goodwin put forth some endeavors to mediate between the 
 excited feelings of the parties, but they were ineffectual. 
 But those present, who were in the habit of being prominent 
 in important matters of the church, did not see clearly the 
 wisdom of taking part in such a singular difficulty. After 
 this, of course, the religious exercises of the meeting could 
 not be continued, and, with a variety of emotions, the people 
 dispersed to their several homes. 
 
 By the next day, an account of the meeting had circulated 
 throughout the village, and it was as currently reported that 
 Mr. Loomey was making preparations for some unusual event.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE COUNCIL. 
 
 ALL this resulted in an Ecclesiastical Council. Clergymen 
 and laymen of the same denomination in the vicinity were 
 invited te attend, and take part in the deliberations of this 
 body. 
 
 It was also a motley one, though embracing only those who 
 were members of that church, and kindred churches; there 
 were short ministers and long ones, solemn and serene ones, 
 handsome and plain ; and so it became scarcely less an object 
 of curiosity, to the reflecting observer, than the figures of 
 ecclesiastical personages in one of the rooms of the Roman 
 Tribune, with their faces of agate, eyes of opal, coats and 
 robes of lapis-lazuli, legs of jasper, and sandals of porphyry. 
 They looked the impersonations of various ideas, rather 
 than so many mortal beings ; and were as clearly defined in 
 their bearing from the active men of the business world, as 
 transcendental philosophy is from natural philosophy. Mr. 
 Loomey had generally summoned only those whom he thought 
 to be after his own heart ; hence there was a class of clergy- 
 men hardly represented at all.
 
 332 EDITH HALE. 
 
 As yet no one of them had any definite idea for what they 
 had been assembled. They only knew that differences existed 
 between Mr. Loomey and certain members of his church. 
 
 After a prayer by the Rev. Mr. Lund, in which he expressed 
 his opinion to Heaven with freedom concerning the minister's 
 trials, the hardness of people's hearts, and the judgments con- 
 sequent, the Rev. Mr. Crabtree was chosen chairman, and Zeph- 
 aniah Wilkins secretary. The allegations, for the consideration 
 of which the council had been summoned, were then read : 
 
 " Rev. Mr. Loomey and others against Moses Shaw and 
 others. 
 
 " First : Moses Shaw has been so irreverent and" unchari 
 table as, in a meeting for conference and prayer, to associate 
 the idea of his pastor with that of Satan. 
 
 " Second : J. R. Humphrey and Clement Oliver have been 
 so irreverent and uncharitable as to compare a reverend divine, 
 who had been invited by their pastor to preach in exchange 
 for him, to Shakspeare's Bottom and Snug. 
 
 " Third : Moses Shaw, J. R. Humphrey, Clement Oliver, 
 and others, have, on various occasions, and in reference to 
 spiritual things, manifested gross disrespect for the opinion of 
 their pastor, and of certain useful members of the church, 
 thereby exerting a baleful influence, and sowing sedition 
 among the followers of the truth." 
 
 This was read by Zephaniah, in his own nice, peculiar man- 
 ner. He was a finical-looking man, with a straight figure, 
 straight black hair, always brushed smoothly on either side of
 
 EDITH HALE. 333 
 
 its division in the middle, and with a straight nose, save the 
 extremity, which suddenly turned upward, like a fish-hook 
 which had been somewhat bent out by use. Possessing 
 illimitable confidence in and respect for Zephaniah Wilkins, 
 he stood up before all that assembly, and read these accusa- 
 tions against men of such " dark brown years " with great 
 promptitude and nice emphasis. 
 
 These accusations produced no slight sensation among the 
 audience. Some of the ministers looked graver than before. 
 Mr. Crabtree, the chairman, elevated his eyes to the carved 
 centre-piece on the ceiling of the church, as if in momentary 
 expectation of a glimpse of the Evil One through the 
 little aperture. Mr. Swinton actually laughed before he 
 was aware, but suddenly leaned forward under the desk- 
 cushion and drank from a glass of water which had been 
 prepared for the accommodation of the ministers, who were 
 expected to have a dry time before they got through with 
 business of so much importance. When he again emerged to 
 the view of the people, he was all composed decently and in 
 order ; but there was a certain look upon his face, which, like 
 one of gutta percha, betrayed its capacity for strange expres- 
 sions at the slightest pull of the risibilities. 
 
 Mr. Loomey opened the meeting with lengthy remarks. 
 He had completely recovered his habitual dignity and solem- 
 nity, and appeared on this occasion with all the heroism of 
 one who has been called to pass through as many hairbreadth 
 escapes and severe afflictions as was the apostle Paul. He 
 animadverted, with zeal and precision, upon the trials he had
 
 334 EDITH HALE. 
 
 endured, since coming to Waterbury, from the irreverence of 
 some of the members of the church in setting a general ex- 
 ample of insubordination to the minister. This occupied at 
 least an hour. Another hour he consumed in bringing proofs, 
 scriptural and otherwise, of the necessity of enforcing the most 
 stringent church government for the protection of the clergy 
 in carrying out the rule of the churches solemnly committed 
 to their care. He concluded by appealing to all present, who 
 were conscientiously in favor of good order as laid down in 
 the Scripture, and of the punishment of the seditious by 
 public example, to sustain him on that occasion. 
 
 One of the ministers inquired if the scriptural commands 
 for such cases of difficulties had been followed in this instance. 
 To this Mr. Loomey said it was impracticable, in the present 
 case, to visit the offenders : they would have added sin to sin, 
 by gross irreverence to a minister of God ; and, to avoid 
 altercation as much as possible, he had deemed it the wisest 
 course to lay the matter before individuals capable of adjust- 
 ing the difficulty at once. In this he alleged that many of 
 the church had upheld him ; and he called upon his deacons, 
 and others whom he regarded as his friends, to express their 
 minds. 
 
 Deacon Dennis had such reverence for all the ministers of 
 his faith, that he would almost have been willing to have died 
 for one of them, if called upon. He therefore spoke with ear- 
 nestness against the accused, and said that those that had the 
 disposition to compare such a good and devoted man as their 
 pastor to the Evil One, or to compare any minister of God to
 
 EDITH HALE. 335 
 
 heathenish characters with bad names, could not possibly have 
 the spirit of truth abiding in them. He was in favor of 
 expressing decided disapprobation of such conduct; for, if 
 such examples were countenanced, the rising generation would 
 all be left to go to the state prison and to perdition. One or 
 two others immediately seconded these remarks. 
 
 Mr. Loomey made several efforts, personally and by proxy, 
 to get Mr. Pickering to speak in his favor. Mr. Pickering 
 paid largely for the support of the ministry, and had many 
 under his influence ; but he seldom spoke in public, and, on 
 this occasion, the appearance of such a congregation awed 
 him beyond the possibility of opening his lips before them. 
 Besides, he was not wholly in favor of Mr. Loomey. 
 
 After this, witnesses were called, questions were asked, 
 records read, and remarks interpolated by Mr. Loomey and 
 his friends, always foremost of which was Zephaniah Wilkins. 
 Various were the schemes employed by Mr. Loomey. Some- 
 times he affected to be indifferent as to the result of the 
 council, being sure that the cause of truth and justice must 
 ultimately prevail. 
 
 And so the first day was consumed. The accommodation 
 of so many ministers was a matter of some calculation. That 
 they might as much as possible be in the company of Mr. 
 Lcomey for private conference, Mrs. Witherell received them 
 to the limits of the capacity of her establishment. She was 
 necessitated, in consequence, to ask Mr. Loomey to take a 
 bed-fellow in the person of one of the clergymen. He was 
 overwhelmed with the idea ! It was a desecration of his
 
 336 EDITII IIALE. 
 
 personal sanctity ! He said : " I will willingly set my weary 
 body upon a cane-seat chair and read rny Bible all night ; 
 bnt share my bed with any human being never ! " In 
 reporting this to her friends subsequently, Mrs. AYitherell 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Dear me ! I don't think I ever felt so bad in my life as 
 as I did when I found I had so wounded his feelings. And, 
 when I saw his very eyelids tremble with emotion, I could 
 have fallen at his feet, and implored his pardon with tears. 
 He has ways of his own, but he is one of the best men, 
 indeed, I may say the very best of men I ever knew ; and to 
 think how he has been used here among those for whom he is 
 laboring so hard ! What will become of his enemies I don't 
 dare to think ! " 
 
 On the following day, after Mr. Loomey had alluded to the 
 indignities he had received, Father Shaw arose before the 
 assembly. No one could fail to be impressed by his appear- 
 ance. 
 
 His graces were not factitious, made up of liberal privi- 
 leges and endowments. He was what God had made him, not 
 man. His brain was full of sound common sense ; and his 
 heart obeyed its dictates for the most part in the channel of 
 right feeling. 
 
 As he arose there, he seemed the study of the sculptor, 
 who writes his work with the chisel upon stone, rather than 
 of the artist, with his pencil of exquisite shading and tint- 
 ing. His hair, swept away from the top of his head by 
 the ravages of time, in wavy lines of silver, dashed here and
 
 EDITH HALE. 337 
 
 there with deeper shades of a paly green, fell on either side 
 to his shoulders. His eye was blue, kindly and benevolent 
 in expression, with certain lines about the corners, corres- 
 ponding with the curved lips, that betokened a capability for 
 mirth, and appreciation of the ludicrous. But when he was 
 aroused, the light of an earnest, independent soul shone 
 steadily within it, which no other eye could behold unmoved. 
 He was of medium height, perfectly erect, and, although 
 moulded after a primitive order, always appeared in an attire 
 which was of good quality, and scrupulously neat. Looking 
 about him calmly for a moment, he thus began : 
 
 " Friends and brethren : I 'm fetched up here on a charge 
 of want of reverence for my minister. Perhaps ye think that 
 what I said was in the spleen of the time, and that I shall be 
 brought to see my own shame. There 's one Bein' who can 
 make me bow down to the dust afore him, and ondy one. I 
 an't sorry for a word I Ve said about any minister ; and, if I 
 live and I think there 's occasion, I shall say a deal more. 
 Thanks be to God, I live in a land of freedom ! I '11 be 
 drawn through a knot-hole, I '11 be burnt ter the stake, I '11 
 be chopt up into mince-meat, afore I '11 submit to any man 
 so as not to speak out my mind when I think it ought to be 
 spoken. My father afore me fought for his liberty on the 
 field of battle, and I loaded his gun for him ; but now I 'in 
 old enough to load my guns and fire too. I know the Gospel 
 is a gospel of peace ; but what 's a body goin' to do ef all 
 can't agree to be peaceable and on equal terms? Shall one 
 man cringe to another, so that there '11 be peace ? I shan't, 
 29
 
 838 EDITH HA LE. 
 
 for erne, to a man about half as old as I am, when he lets off 
 such a sperit of evil ! " 
 
 "I call the speaker to order!" now interrupted Mr. 
 Loomey. 
 
 " Well, you 've a right to, and so have I a right to take no 
 notice on 't," responded Father Shaw. He continued : " Let 
 me jest put a case about this ere. A boy, with a great con- 
 sate of himself, goes to college, and then inter one of them 
 are institutions called the Schools of the Prophets. I guess, 
 ef the ancient prophets had to go inter such schools as them, 
 they 'd rather go through lions' dens, and red-hot furnaces, 
 and great fishes' bellies. They study books made up by men 
 who are called great philosophers ; but they are 'bout as 
 much philosophers as that are one that spent so much time 
 afore a shop, contrivin' how a calf got through a hole, 'cause 
 the tail of one hung out there for a sign. They larn, too, 
 to despise all common people, as they call 'em, all such old 
 fellers as I am, all kinds of work, and everything on airth, 
 only what they think is as good as they are ; for there an't 
 nothin' better. They study a deal, too, how to govern people, 
 and keep 'em in their places, as they say. Least of all do 
 they study the Bible. Well, they come out knowin' no more 
 'bout real life than a man that 's allers lived in a balloon. 
 Some on 'em go to Garmany, and study a spell more, which 
 only makes a bad matter wuss. Then they set themselves up 
 for ministers, and call those that go to hear 'em preach ' my 
 people,' and all that ere. They straight begin their trainin' 
 business, and order round people as if they 's so many mer-
 
 EDITH HALE. 339 
 
 chines, old men, too, who 've studied the Seripturs all 
 their days, and have forgut more than they ever knew. Ef 
 they won't cringe to 'em, they must be hauled up, as I am 
 now, and then turned out of the church. I 'in in favor of 
 eddication ; though, perhaps, ye think I an't, by what I 've 
 paid. The more a man knows, the better, ef it 's the right 
 kind of knowledge. I don't care how much time a body 
 spends in college, or anywhere else, ef he won't come out and 
 undertake to drive the whole world arterwards, and scream, 
 everywhere he goes, ' Attention, all creation ! here 's some- 
 body to cringe to ! ' 
 
 " When ye git together at yer solemn feasts and yer 'socia- 
 tions, ye say, ' What 's the reason we don't prosper and 
 flourish as we used to ? ' Our churches are all goin' down ; 
 our ministers don't stay long in a place, and we 're running 
 out year by year. Why don't the sheep foller arter the 
 shepherd as they used ter ? Now, I remember readin' some- 
 where that the shepherds in old times used to make music 
 by blowin' on reeds, and pipes, and such are, so that the 
 flock loved to follow 'em. Well, let the shepherds now-a- 
 days go afore the sheep with their music, and they won't 
 have to go behind with their whips ; there won't be any 
 stragglers, nor no buntin' ; they '11 all go on as slick as a 
 mill. The prophet Isaiah said : ' The darter of Zion is left 
 as a cottage in a vineyard ; as a lodge in a garden of cucum- 
 bers ; as a besieged city. To what purpose are the multitude 
 of j'our sacrifices unto me ? saith the Lord. When ye come 
 to appear afore me, who hath required this at your hand to
 
 340 EDITH HALE. 
 
 tread ray courts ? ' Now, there 's jest the pint. These ere 
 ministers, arter they 've studied and studied their brains all 
 out with high notional nonsense, and are so arbitrary, as ef 
 nobody knew nothin' but the ten commandments 'cept them- 
 selves, they '11 scold and fume away at the world, which jogs 
 right on without stoppin' to look at 'em ; they '11 complain of 
 not bein' taken care on, and sustained, and all that ere. ' But 
 who hath required this at yer hands ? saith the Lord. Bring 
 no more vain oblations : incense is an abomination unto me ; 
 the callin' of assemblies I cannot away with ; it is iniquity, 
 even the solemn meetinV Jest as our solemn meetin' was 
 turned to be the other night." 
 
 " I call the speaker to order ! " now spoke Zephaniah 
 Wilkins. 
 
 Father Shaw turned and looked for an instant upon Zeph- 
 aniah ; but he resumed, without deigning other notice : " I 
 don't believe in such calls to preach. The Bible expressly 
 speaks against all such work. It says : ' I have not sent 
 these prophets, but they ran ; I have not spoken to them, yet 
 they prophesied.' How did Christ and his apostles do ? In 
 the fust place, they were humble ; they did n't set themselves 
 up over anybody else, and this ere is the way to get exalted. 
 The more a man 'sumes for himself, the less other folks will 
 give him. They were moved by the spirit of love, and had n't 
 time nor heart to sec ef other folks reverenced 'em enough. 
 The apostle Peter says : ' Feed the flock of God which is 
 among you, takin' the oversight thereof, not by constraint, but 
 willingly ; not for filthy lucre, but of a ready mind ; neither
 
 EDITH HALE. 341 
 
 as bein' lords over God's heritage, but bein' samples to the 
 flock.' I 've allers, all my life, marked it, when minis- 
 ters, or anybody else in the church, 'sume the most holiness 
 and sanctipocrisy to themselves, settin' up as lords, you may 
 look out for " 
 
 " This must be stopped ! " again interrupted Mr. Loomey, 
 arising suddenly, while he took off his spectacles and laid them 
 down angrily on the desk before him. 
 
 " It is to be hoped," said the chairman, " that all will bear 
 in mind the solemnity of the time and place ; and that the 
 wishes of Mr. Loomey, the pastor here, may be regarded." 
 
 " Yes," continued Father Shaw, " so far as they are in 
 accord with what 's right. I know I 've spoke a long time, 
 but I 've a word more. I don't want you all to think I 've no 
 respect for any of the men that are ministers. I 've seen and 
 known ministers I 've liked as well as ever I liked any man ; 
 they had been to college, and to them are Prophet schools, 
 too, but they feared God and worked righteousness ; some- 
 how they had n't got sp'iled, and they warn't plagued any for 
 want of reverence or love, that 's sartin. Xow, this I mean 
 just as much as I mean all the rest I 've said. I 'm a man 
 who tries to tell the truth, and don't want to smooth anythin' 
 over with plaster for the sake of pleasin' folks in power ; 
 and, when I think I see the sperit of Satan manifested, I 
 shall say so, let it hit who or where it will. As one said in 
 ancient time, ' I am old and gray-headed, and I have walked 
 before you from my childhood unto this day. Behold, here 
 29*
 
 342 EDITH HALE. 
 
 I am ; witness against me before the Lord, and before his 
 anointed.' " 
 
 He sat down, somewhat exhausted. A sensation pervaded 
 the house ; Mr. Crabtree seemed stunned in the very height 
 of his power. But before he had time to recover himself, 
 or certain others to put away their smiles, Dr. Humphrey, 
 the second person arraigned in the accusation, arose. 
 
 " My friends," said he, " I think I need say nothing in 
 vindication of my character, as I am well known to a majority 
 of those present. I am charged with irreverence in making 
 comparison between a minister and Shakspeare's Bottom. I 
 make no retractions. I still think this prescription pretty 
 nearly hit the disease, though I have no prospect of effecting 
 a cure. I was the principal agent in the difficulty which 
 sprang up at the meeting about which so much has been said 
 here, as the minister who displeased Mr. Loomey and a few 
 others would not have entered the meeting at all had it not 
 been for my urgent invitation. In regard to this, I say that, 
 although I am accused of irreverence, I have a great respect 
 for good ministers of other denominations of Christians, as 
 well as my own. I have no idea that heaven is a small, nar- 
 row place, just large enough to admit the good of my own 
 sect only, but the good of all sects under the sun. I hope 
 I am not uncharitable when I say that my opinion of any 
 man who manifests a spirit entirely contrary to this is that 
 he is not possessed- of the Spirit of God. I have been read- 
 ing of late since so much has been said hereabouts of 
 the gentleman of the cloven feet an ancient theological
 
 EDITH HALE. 343 
 
 book, called the World Bewitched, which endeavors to dis- 
 prove the inspired account of the influence of the devil over 
 mankind. It was written by Belthazar Bccher (observe the 
 surname is spelt with but one e), a minister of Amsterdam. 
 But neither this book, nor any book, can make me deny that 
 the devil does drop in upon us on occasion ; sometimes even 
 into the best places as well as the worst, in which he is pre- 
 sumed to be most frequently. There are times when larger 
 and older communities seem as much bewitched as Belthazar 
 Becher thought the whole world was." 
 
 " This irreverence," now spoke Deacon Dennis, " should 
 not be suffered. In behalf of my injured pastor and this 
 church, I call the speaker to order." 
 
 " It is quite new to me," proceeded the doctor, " to hear 
 so much about irreverence ; and it strikes me as rather a 
 singular note of warning to fall upon the ears of those who are 
 without the pale of the Ilomish Church. The Duke of 
 Wellington once wrote to a man in a precarious position 
 of authority, 'The less you claim, the more you will have.' 
 That was given by a titled man, and under a realm of crowns 
 and sceptres. Think you it is less applicable to a people in 
 a country like ours? Now, sirs, especially you that have 
 summoned this council, you have heard what I have to say 
 briefly, what expiation do you require of me ? If I should 
 acknowledge that I repented of any act I have done, or word 
 I have said, touching which this council has been called, I 
 should deserve to be condemned to wander on foot over the 
 world till this mortal should put on immortality."
 
 344 EDITH HALE. 
 
 Major Oliver directly followed with, " I have but a word 
 to say. It is this : I am charged with irreverence in com- 
 paring a reverend divine to Shakspeare's Snug. If the coat 
 fits, let it be put on ; and I remain of the opinion that it is 
 a pretty snug fit." 
 
 The three accused having concluded, the visage of Mr. 
 Loomey, like Nebuchadnezzar's against Shadrach, Meshach, 
 and Abednego, was changed, and he looked about him with 
 an air, as much as to say, " You have heard for yourselves ; 
 judge between me and them." 
 
 After a whispered consultation with one or two ministers, 
 Mr. Oabtree announced that the public meeting would be 
 adjourned till the afternoon, when the result of the delib- 
 erations of the council would be made known. In the mean 
 time various were the conjectures as to what would be the 
 result, and many preferences and opinions as to what it should 
 be were exchanged. No one was allowed to be present from 
 the church of "Waterbury not even Mr. Loomey; so all 
 curiosity had to pause for its gratification until the appointed 
 time. But Zephaniah Wilkins, Mrs. Witherell, and some 
 others, looked complacently, as if they knew more about how 
 affairs would terminate than they chose to tell. 
 
 When at last the time came, the members of the council 
 appeared, and the report was read ; it was most unexpect- 
 edly and singularly devoid of condemnation of the accused 
 party, or of any party, recommending the greater exercise 
 of mutual forbearance and charity, to the end that brotherly 
 love might continue. There were, indeed, exhortations ex-
 
 EDITH HALE. 345 
 
 pressed that the members of that church might bear in mind 
 that the great Head of the church had given some to be pas- 
 tors and teachers, for the perfecting of the saints, for the 
 work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ, 
 and that such shall be esteemed very highly in love for their 
 work's sake. But this was the extent of the implied reproofs. 
 
 Mr. Loomey betrayed his thorough disappointment at once. 
 Had all his efforts in calling that council been in vain ? Was it 
 possible, after what there had been said, that the arbiters could 
 not recommend the expulsion of these refractory members, 
 unless they would ask forgiveness before the congregation ? 
 
 To let the matter pass in that way was impossible. For 
 a half an hour he spoke of his trials with great bitterness, 
 and even insinuated that the council had been actuated by 
 unworthy motives in bringing in their decision. He called 
 upon all his true and firm friends to bear witness of his 
 persecutions. Zephaniah Wilkins arose to speak, but Father 
 Shaw had preceded him. 
 
 " I 'm in favor of peace," he said ; " and, from what this 
 ere council has brought in, I know they are. I 'd no idee 
 they would show so much Christian charity as they do ; for 
 now I '11 say this much I know I 've said things here, 
 though they 're true, yit they 're hard to be swallered down 
 by ministers as the hottest potater that was ever roasted. I 'm 
 willin' to go on, right ahead, and not look back. We can't 
 alter a thing that 's done ; all we Ve gut to do is to look out 
 for the futur'. I Ve nothin' agin anybody here, and anybody 
 is a plaguy fool that '11 hold on to anythin' agin me. I must
 
 346 EDITH HALE. 
 
 say one thing more, though, ef I knew I was goin' to give 
 up the ghost the next minute. All these ere things makes me 
 think an amazin' sight of when Balak, the son of Zipper, 
 King of Moab, arose and warred agin Israel, and sent and 
 called Balaam to come and cuss the people. But Balaam 
 could n't do nothin' agin the Lord, ef he did whip his ass so 
 that it spoke right out. ' How shall I cuss whom God hath 
 not cussed ? ' he said, at last, when he found how 't was. ' And 
 Balak said unto Balaam, What hast thou done unto me ? 
 I took thee to cuss mine enemies, and behold, thou hast 
 blessed them altogether ! ' It says, too, that Balak's anger 
 was kindled agin Balaam, and he smote his hands together." 
 
 Father Shaw resumed his seat, amid numerous smiles. Dr. 
 Humphrey and Major Oliver both expressed their hearty 
 desire for future union among the members of the church, in 
 a few explicit and friendly words. Several of the clergymen 
 also made brief addresses, in a very conciliatory spirit, par- 
 ticularly Mr. Swinton, who, as usual, contrived to introduce 
 some fragrant allusion to roses, and the gentler sex who were 
 present. 
 
 After a concluding prayer, which dismissed the assembly, 
 Father Shaw went to all the ministers and shook hands heart- 
 ily, wishing them the blessing of Israel's God, and also that 
 they would all go to his house and have a supper. 
 
 " I killed my fatted calf aforehand," he said ; " and I 
 thought ef nobody would come to eat it, I 'd be the prod- 
 igal myself. Ef ye go to makin' scuses, and say ye can't
 
 EDITH HALE. 347 
 
 come, I shall go out into the lanes and byways and call in 
 everybody I can find." 
 
 But the ministers were not disposed to excuse themselves, 
 at least, the majority of them. Notwithstanding Mr. Loomey 
 received a particular invitation from Father Shaw, he took 
 himself off to his own place as solemnly as possible, with 
 Zephaniah Wilkins on one side of him, and Mrs. 'Witherell 
 on the other. Father Shaw extended his invitation also to 
 Major Oliver and Dr. Humphrey, and the two deacons. Dea- 
 con Dennis demurred a little about going; but the thought 
 of all the ministers who would be present, and the prospect 
 of the good cheer, decided him. Deacon Goodwin compro- 
 mised the matter by supping with Father Shaw, and visiting 
 Mr. Loomey in the evening. Dr. Humphrey was called away 
 to visit a patient, but Miss Leah prevailed on his wife to be 
 his representative, as she saw that the vivacity of that lady 
 would be an indispensable assistance to her in the entertain- 
 ment of so many guests. 
 
 The ministers all seemed in excellent spirits. Mr. Crabtree 
 fortunately was not present ; they had, therefore, no iceberg 
 among them. Their professional dignity, in a great measure, 
 was laid aside, and the atmosphere soon became thoroughly 
 comfortable ; for nothing has a more pacifying effect, after 
 discussion, than a generous feast. 
 
 When all had eaten, Father Shaw brought forward a small 
 basket, which he said held something for each of the ministers 
 to carry to his wife. 
 
 " You see," said he, " you 've been gone two days ; and
 
 348 EDITH HALE. 
 
 they '11 be lonesome and cross-like without ye, by the time ye 
 git home. They '11 say, ' I want ter know ef ye had to stay 
 so long for that old Shaw's sass ? I hope ye turned him out 
 of the church, at last.' Now, jest take these ere, with my 
 ' good luck ' to 'em." 
 
 And he passed around the basket, which was found to 
 contain bank-notes. The ministers laughed heartily at the 
 pleasant surprise, and expressed their thanks. 
 
 " Stop," said Major Oliver, when the basket was exhausted 
 of its contents ; " I am a bachelor, and I must not be less 
 chivalrous to the ladies than Father Shaw. Here 's a bank- 
 bill of a respectable denomination, which I would like to 
 have changed and divided equally." 
 
 After some delay, it was accomplished, and the gifts were 
 pocketed amid new expressions of gratitude.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 IN WHICH VARIOUS MATTERS ARE DISCUSSED. 
 
 EDITH had now entered upon her new school-life. In the 
 first week of her pupilage, a young lady, apparently of about 
 her own age, was assigned for her seat-mate. This young lady 
 did not settle into her position without availing herself of the 
 common school-girl privilege of a cool and careful scrutiny of 
 her companion. She then opened one of her books to the first 
 blank leaf, to search for her name ; but, not finding it, put 
 the direct inquiry of Edith, with an attempt at indifference. 
 Receiving the desired information, she rejoined : 
 
 " I am Miss Cybel Crabtree, and my father is the minister 
 of the first church in Birhampton." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Edith, with new interest ; " I have some 
 knowledge of your father." 
 
 " You have heard him preach ? " 
 
 " No ; I met him on the occasion of an examination of 
 school-teachers." 
 
 " Did you ever teach school in Birhampton ? " pursued the 
 young lady, coolly. 
 
 " I was engaged to teach there ; but, on being examined, 
 30
 
 350 EDITH HALE. 
 
 your father rejected me," replied Edith, in a straightforward 
 manner, somewhat puzzling to Miss Cybel Crabtree. 
 
 " I thought you came from Boston. One of the teachers, 
 who could not remember your name, told me that was your 
 place of residence," said Miss Crabtree. 
 
 " My home is in the city at present ; but I formerly resided 
 in a town adjoining your own," responded Edith. 
 
 " How is that ? Did your father remove to the city ? " 
 continued Miss Crabtree. 
 
 " My parents are both dead." 
 
 " Are you derived from a high family ? " Miss Cybel was 
 evidently determined to ascertain the exact position of her 
 companion. 
 
 " I am derived from a very ancient family," said Edith, 
 strongly reminded of the " derivations" of the Rev. Hyliscus 
 Crabtree ; " and, as far as I can learn, its members were once 
 unusually high." 
 
 "Where did they come from, originally ?" pursued Miss 
 Cybel. 
 
 " From the place to which they all returned, the dust of 
 the earth. The first of the family resided a short time in 
 Eden ; but, on being expelled for bad conduct, had to work 
 for a living, a curse which they entailed on all their pos- 
 terity." 
 
 At this Miss Cybel colored slightly ; but, unwilling to lose 
 her aim, after a pause, she resumed her interrogations : 
 
 " From the fact of your being a pupil in this institution, I
 
 EDITH HALE. 351 
 
 infer that your parents left you with the means of enjoying 
 superior privileges ? " 
 
 " On the contrary, I found myself in poverty. After the 
 death of my father, I was obliged to work in a factory as a 
 cotton-spinner," Edith answered, unflinchingly. 
 
 It was not her habit, nor did it accord with her sensitive 
 nature, to allude to her past humiliations and afflictions in the 
 presence of others ; but she felt now that she was questioned 
 from unworthy motives, and she had spirit enough to quench 
 suck curiosity with a straightforward honesty which she knew 
 would be effectual. 
 
 Miss Cybel drew her tall figure up loftily, removed her 
 dress as far as possible from Edith, and carried all her text- 
 books to the furthest end of the desk. She troubled Edith 
 with no more questions. The next day Miss Cybel Crabtree 
 answered to her name on the opposite side of the hall. 
 
 Miss Crabtree's father had taken great care that as much as 
 possible of his own vast knowledge, derived from various 
 schools, should be crammed into his daughter's brain, that she 
 might bear the full honors of the family's " derivations." She 
 had ambition, not ambition which resolves to achieve for 
 itself a success based upon merit alone, but one which expects 
 distinction as a right. This resulted naturally from her 
 education and associations. 
 
 She had never been taught that broad and beautiful prin- 
 ciple of love for others, which falls from a mother's lips on the 
 heart of a child as the fresh rain of heaven upon a delicate 
 young plant. There was no genial sweetness gathered within
 
 352 EDITII HALE. 
 
 her heart, like honey-dew in the petals of a flower. The cold, 
 icy-hearted mother had no sunny side, save for her own. Her 
 children were her idols. Like the mother of Zebedee's chil- 
 dren, nothing was ever too much or too good for them ; and 
 this even at the expense of the dearest interests of others. 
 Upon their hearts she had impressed a lesson of thorough 
 selfishness, with the frequent parenthetical reminder, " You 
 are minister's children." With but very few the children 
 of the first families, so called had they associated at all. 
 When one of her daughters married, she ever afterwards, in 
 the presence of others, spoke of and to her by the title of 
 Mrs. ; which would not have been noticeable, had she not, in 
 addressing other young married ladies of her parish, omitted 
 the title. But, where there is an absence of character that is 
 sufficient to retain respect, to be observant of titles is the best 
 thing one can do. 
 
 " A fool, indeed, has great need of a title ; 
 It teaches men to call him count, and duke, 
 And to forget his proper name of fool." 
 
 It was, therefore, with no little surprise and annoyance that 
 Miss Cybel Crabtree observed Edith attracting daily more 
 attention than herself. To Edith's explanations and remarks 
 the teachers attended with undisguised respect, and so came 
 to confer with her in preference to any of her class-mates. 
 Miss Cybel redoubled her efforts, and alluded frequently to 
 her father. She would affect to entirely disregard Edith, and, 
 selecting some of the most aristocratic of the pupils, make
 
 EDITH HALE. 353 
 
 merriment over her. With a very few of her own temper- 
 ament this, for a time, obtained favor ; but Edith's universal 
 kindness of heart and sweetness of manner soon established 
 her position beyond dispute. As Edith made no parade of 
 her newly acquired honor and prospective wealth, it was some 
 time before Miss Cybel became aware of her mistake in 
 respect to her real position in the world. 
 
 During the subsequent vacation Edith was prevailed upon 
 by Mr. Raymond and Mary to accompany them occasionally 
 within the social circle to which Mary, as the bride of one of 
 the most prominent men, had already been introduced and 
 graciously received. On one of these occasions they attended 
 a soiree at the house of a lady who was a leader in society. 
 She attracted the literati about her ; for she invariably pur- 
 chased all their books, read them sufficiently to talk volubly 
 about them, and, what was better, praised them in hearing of 
 the authors themselves. Others, who made no pretensions to 
 authorship, but who were reckoned intelligent readers, she 
 bade to the " feast of reason and flow of soul." 
 
 Edith was somewhat awed in presence of so many distin- 
 guished people; and, retiring to an obscure corner of tho 
 drawing-room, was pleased and interested in silent observa- 
 tion. Mr. Eaymond had taken Mary to examine a rare col- 
 lection of engravings, and, unperceived, Edith had become 
 separated from them. She had not sat thus many minutes 
 before her attention was arrested by the appearance of Hugh 
 Oliver. He was standing by the piano, at which sat a young 
 lady turning music leaves abstractedly, while her attention 
 30*
 
 354 EDITH HALE. 
 
 was evidently engrossed by him. His arms were folded across 
 his breast, and he leaned negligently against a pillar, glancing 
 from his partially closed eyes upon the young lady with whom 
 he was conversing. 
 
 " It is no marvel he is chained to that particular spot," 
 thought Edith, with a trembling, foreboding heart, " that 
 young lady is so beautiful ! " 
 
 Edith gazed almost breathlessly upon her delicately moulded 
 features; the perfect distribution of color upon her face, like a 
 flush of sunset upon a pure white cloud ; her long, luxuriant 
 hair, that swept her neck and bosom in curls ; and her eyes, 
 of a soft, languishing blue, which undisguisedly looked love 
 upon Oliver. She was attired with elegance. Her slight, 
 erect figure was set off by a white satin bodice, embroidered 
 in orange colored wreaths. The skirt was a purple velvet, 
 studded with golden bees about the border. She arose to 
 reach another music-book, and, looking coquettishly under 
 Oliver's eyelids, suffered her hand to rest a moment upon his 
 arm, while she murmured a few words. 
 
 At this juncture Edith's attention was diverted by the 
 appearance of Mr. Raymond, who had returned in search of 
 her. 
 
 " We missed you suddenly," he said. " I have something 
 in the next room, rare and beautiful, to show you. But, what 
 is this which has come over you, all at once ? " he added, in a 
 tone of alarm. " You are pale ! Are you going to faint? " 
 
 " No, no ! " replied Edith, with great emotion ; " but, tell 
 me, who is that lady at the piano ? "
 
 EDITH HALE. 355 
 
 " That is Hada Regleton, your cousin," replied Mr. Ray- 
 mond ; " and there is Hugh Oliver beside her. I must go 
 and speak to him." 
 
 " If you please, first lead me from here," said Edith. 
 
 Notwithstanding her desire to escape, Oliver's eye had 
 fallen upon them, and in that moment he came up. He soon 
 placed chairs for them, with the evident design to remain. 
 
 " Excuse me," said Mr. Raymond ; " Mrs. Raymond is 
 awaiting me. If you will entertain Miss Hale while I am 
 away, it will be a favor." 
 
 " Not at all," said Oliver, smiling, with awakening interest ; 
 " I shall be the debtor myself." 
 
 Usually in his presence Edith was embarrassed, so that she 
 seldom appeared with her natural grace of manner ; and much 
 more now, as she thought of Hada Regleton. 
 
 " You derive interest from this scene, I presume," observed 
 Oliver, familiarly. " No one can fail to be amused, at least, 
 by observing such a peculiar assemblage." Edith bowed 
 assent. 
 
 " May I inquire if you are acquainted with any of these 
 people ? " he continued. Edith replied that she had only been 
 presented to a few by Mr. Raymond. 
 
 " There, by the chimney-piece, is the author of ' Cashmere, 
 a poem.' A nervous, impassioned man, who sees every- 
 thing, everybody as though the eyes of Argus were scat- 
 tered about him, instead of on the tail of the peacock." 
 
 " Not the character I should associate with a poet," re- 
 joined Edith, with a smile.
 
 356 EDITII HALE. 
 
 " You think, I suppose, that poets should be melancholy, 
 dreamy, absent, with falling hair, upward-rolling eyes, and 
 with their delicate white hands resting upon their hearts, 
 beating to remarkably fine emotions ? Authors seldom cor- 
 respond to the characters which their readers picture of them 
 from their works. There is scarcely a greater mistake than 
 this, as you will learn by observation of these persons about 
 us. There is a gentleman who is conversing with that knot 
 of ladies. Observe the sparkle of his eye, the keen relish 
 of life which he betrays in the light of their smile. You 
 would now think him one who would be a charming compan- 
 ion, the very life of the circle, wherever he goes. That is 
 the author of ' The Lament of the Soul.' " 
 
 " Is it possible ? " returned Edith ; " when he strings dis- 
 mal, die-away verses upon a thread of hopeless melancholy, 
 which one would conclude he was ultimately designing to wind 
 about his own neck, in the character of a suicide ! " 
 
 " Yes ! " said Oliver, looking upon Edith with the old look 
 of admiration ; " and here is a lady in a muslin dress, who 
 reminds me of Arachne, who wove a web representing the 
 sins of Jupiter so skilfully, that Pallas first struck her on 
 the head with her shuttle, and afterward changed her into 
 a spider. The most prominent characteristic of this authoress 
 is the art of individualizing ; and she is scarcely less skilful 
 than Arachne in weaving out the sins of people into her 
 works." 
 
 " Does she, also, share the fate of the goddess ? " inquired 
 Edith.
 
 EDITH HALE. 357 
 
 " I rather think she carries an aching head, occasionally, 
 from the blows of those whom she angers. She has, un- 
 doubtedly, done much good ; but, like all plain dealers, has 
 few friends. Just beyond, you observe a lady who is sur- 
 rounded by glad faces, and received at every turn with smiles 
 and caresses ; at least, by all those that do not envy her too 
 much to show their appreciation. Especially is she admired 
 by the gentlemen." 
 
 " She is one of the simplest-dressed here present, and cer- 
 tainly is not beautiful," said Edith. 
 
 " Xo ; but she has a mind adorned with brilliancy and 
 worth, like the borders of the pagoda of the Burmese Rath, 
 which are studded with amethysts, emeralds, diamonds, rubies, 
 tourmalines, and I forget the half, with drops of amber 
 and crystal interspersed. She has been delving in dark mines 
 for these precious gems ; and when, occasionally, as now, she 
 brings them forth to the light of the world, she dazzles and 
 attracts more than all the gayly and expensively dressed 
 ladies about here." 
 
 " I thought the gentlemen were attracted by the latter class," 
 remarked Edith. 
 
 " Not sensible men," said Oliver. 
 
 " It is worth the while, then, for ladies to make an effort to 
 know something beside how to be fashionable ? " 
 
 " Which you had begun to doubt. I, for one, like women 
 of sense, who will talk, dress, and act sensibly, provided they 
 are not decidedly blue" 
 
 " There would be more women of this class," said Edith,
 
 358 EDITH HALE. 
 
 "were it not the fault of gentlemen, who generally are 
 beguiled with glitter." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but ladies are scarcely less beguiled, as we 
 can prove by observing how closely and fondly is that gentle- 
 man in military dress surrounded. And here, very near us, 
 is a kind of amateur author, who appears under a mantle 
 which cost, at least, a thousand dollars ; -he complains of ill- 
 health, and calls that appendage a necessity. The jewelry 
 upon his person would count up to ten thousand dollars, I pre- 
 sume ; perhaps more, for he wears diamonds. The ladies 
 admire him very much, as you can see here, on this occasion." 
 
 " What is the character of his writings? I have no slight 
 curiosity to know," said Edith. 
 
 " Decidedly opposed to the vanities and pride of life. He 
 writes solemnly against extravagance, and in favor of self- 
 denial ; and by those who know nothing of him personally is 
 reckoned a great philosopher almost a cynic." 
 
 At this moment they were interrupted by a gentleman, 
 who came up, and, bowing once and twice very low, said to 
 Oliver : 
 
 " I have the honor of wishing you a very good-evening 
 a charming evening in such intrinsic society as you appear to 
 enjoy yourself at present." 
 
 " The time passes pleasantly," said Oliver. 
 
 " Yes ; we find an homogeneous assembly of intellects of 
 the first water, and of the highest sublime altitude, on this 
 occasion in multijugous frequency. To contemplate all these 
 people exceeds the mysteries of unranoscopy."
 
 EDITH HALE. 359 
 
 On being presented to Edith, he said : " I hope, my dear 
 mademoiselle, you are not defatigated with all the varied bril- 
 liancy of these noctilucous people." 
 
 Edith opened her large eyes a little wider, but did not 
 attempt to reply. 
 
 " Directly after these present scenes were inchoate," con- 
 tinued the gentleman to Oliver, " I made an earnest endeavor 
 to withdraw myself; but I have almost become oblivious of 
 my original design. Will you do me the great favor to 
 inform me the time? Unfortunately, I left my horologe 
 behind me." 
 
 Oliver complied, with as good a grace as possible. 
 
 " Indeed ! so late, my dear sir ! " he rejoined. " I must 
 defalcate myself immediately," and, bowing low again, walked 
 away, carrying himself so singularly erect, and his head so 
 much bent backward, he seemed to have been made for the 
 express purpose of enjoying " the mysteries of uranoscopy." 
 
 " That man," said Oliver, " is easily made out. To speak 
 in his own vein, his multiloguence consists of sesquipedalia 
 verla words a foot and a half long." 
 
 " And of equally ' sublime altitude,' " said Edith. 
 
 " There is an authoress," said Oliver, indicating a lady of 
 middle age, with a face of unusual interest, though devoid of 
 beauty, " who is not in. quite so much haste as the personage 
 whom we have just seen. She never hurries. She is writing 
 a work upon which she has labored carefully for six consecu- 
 tive years ; and she told me, a day or two since, it would not 
 be ready for the press in at least two years more."
 
 360 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " She deserves immortality for her patience," said Edith. 
 
 " She chooses the right course to win it," observed Oliver ; 
 " seized with the cacoethes scribendi, these writers who hurry 
 through their books, to keep pace with the mad spirit of the 
 age, fail of doing any degree of justice to themselves. Not 
 less true at this day are the words of Cervantes : ' There are 
 some who compose and cast off books as if they were toss- 
 ing up a dish of pancakes.' The greatest works, of all ages, 
 which have attained immortal fame, were the ripe result of 
 long thought and patient execution. Says Longfellow, that 
 most polished master of his art : ' The secret studies of an 
 author are the sunken piers upon which he is to rest the 
 bridge of his fame, spanning the waters of oblivion.' " 
 
 " Without these," said Edith, " books are like the blos- 
 soms of the coffee-tree, which last only twenty-four hours." 
 
 " And with these," continued Oliver, " a single book may 
 be composed of numerous beauties, each of which is sufficient 
 to be expanded into a book of itself, like the ' browneae ' of 
 the tropics, which bear several hundred beautiful flowers in a 
 single thyrsus." 
 
 A coarse, grum voice, at this juncture, addressing Oliver, 
 caused Edith to start, and look about her with a new interest. 
 Oliver arose, addressed the lady to whom the voice belonged, 
 and then announced " Mrs. Regleton " to Edith. The lady, 
 being very near-sighted, spoke to Edith without recognition ; 
 but the next moment a new thought evidently arrested her 
 memory.
 
 ED I I II II ALE. 361 
 
 " What did you give as the lady's name ? " she inquired 
 of Oliver, approaching a little nearer to Edith. 
 
 It was repeated, with the additional information that sho 
 was a relative of JMr. Raymond, and a resident in his family. 
 
 Mrs. Kegleton flushed deeply, so that the tip of her nose 
 radiated crimson streaks in all directions over her face. She 
 made some slight observation to Oliver, and turned away. 
 Oliver saw that Edith was much moved by this encounter ; 
 but, too considerate to venture upon his friendship so far as to 
 make particular inquiries, merely asked if Mrs. Regleton were 
 an acquaintance. 
 
 " She is not," replied Edith, with a tremulous tone ; " but 
 I have met her before." 
 
 Directly after, she observed Mrs. Regleton meet her daugh- 
 ter, and, after a brief communication between them, Hada 
 turned and gazed searchingly upon Edith. Her eye burned 
 with anger upon her, as she saw her in company with Hugh 
 Oliver. With a scornful toss of the head she moved across 
 the room in their direction. But Edith, making some slight 
 apology to Oliver, who was not an inattentive observer of this 
 scene, was gone before Hada had joined him. 
 
 " Hugh Oliver is conversational to-night, is he not ? " said 
 Mr. Raymond, as Edith came to him. 
 
 " I should infer so," replied Edith. 
 
 " He is in one of his genial moods, then ; sometimes he 
 talks only in monosyllables." 
 
 " Very gentlemanly, that," rejoined Edith. 
 
 " 0, we never expect lions to be like other animals. You 
 31
 
 362 EDITH HALE. 
 
 must go to the dandy, brainless and sprightly, for your 
 exquisite." 
 
 " I must disagree with you, now," said Edith. " A true, 
 large-souled gentleman, should rather be compared to " 
 
 " Giraffes ? " interrupted Mr. Raymond, with a provoking 
 smile ; " who stand so loftily and statuesque, we can but just 
 sec them looking down coolly upon us ; and, but for a slight 
 movement about their mouths, we should mistake them for 
 stuffed models." 
 
 " That represents no real gentleman," said Edith. 
 
 " The elephant, then ? Because he is a most humble servant, 
 to the ladies in particular, willingly loaning his back for 
 a vehicle for their convenience ; and he is, also, indisputably 
 ' large-soled.' " 
 
 Shortly after this, the party prepared to leave. Mr. Ray- 
 mond and Mary being detained by the hostess a moment, 
 Edith waited in the ante-room. A familiar voice at once fell 
 upon her ear. She turned, and saw Oliver in conversation 
 with Hada Regleton, who was evidently about leaving, also. 
 She held her velvet cap, and trifled abstractedly with it, as 
 she spoke with great spirit. Uuperceived herself, Edith could 
 scarcely fail to hear their words. 
 
 " Is your informant one in whom you should have confi- 
 dence ? " asked Oliver. 
 
 " Certainly. She is one of my own maids, and has for- 
 merly lived in Waterbury, the same place from which this 
 girl came. She told me all these things which I have told
 
 EDITH HALE. 363 
 
 you ; and she has seen her working in a factory with her 
 own eyes." 
 
 Edith now turned very pale ; a pain swiftly coursed through 
 her heart ; her lips were parted with a breathless interest. 
 
 " And, what is more," continued Hada, " this Edith Hale 
 has been disappointed in love, actually slighted." 
 
 " How know you that, Miss Regleton ? " said Oliver, 
 sternly. 
 
 " My maid told me all about it. She was presumptuous 
 enough to fall in love with a young student, or minister, of 
 some sort, who spoke to her now and then. The first she 
 knew he had married a splendid woman of fortune ; and, as a 
 kind of salvo to his conscience, he got her a school some- 
 where to teach, to keep her off the almshouse, or the lunatic 
 hospital." 
 
 Edith started forward with the purpose of speaking for 
 herself; but Mr. Raymond came that instant. 
 
 " Come, Edith, we will go now," he said, taking her arm 
 within his own. 
 
 She stood motionless, as if she had suddenly been stricken 
 into stone. Mr. Raymond looked upon her inquiringly ; but 
 her face was already turned away. She saw her cousin 
 continue her relation, with a curve of her delicate lip, and a 
 toss of her head, till the ringlets ran like serpents over her 
 bosom. Her cloak, of delicate swan's down, which she had 
 just thrown on, she had suffered to fall from her shoulders, 
 and she winsomely asked Oliver's assistance. Edith looked 
 no more.
 
 364 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " I am quite ready," she said to Mr. Raymond, with a 
 strong effort suppressing her emotion. 
 
 A few days after, Hugh Oliver called at Mr. Raymond's 
 especially to see Edith. But she excused herself. Both Mr. 
 Raymond and Mary insisted in vain. 
 
 " I have good reason," she said, " and I am decided." 
 
 He called again, and yet other times ; but she continued to 
 deny herself, until he ceased to come altogether. 
 
 All this caused Edith many a pang ; and often in solitude 
 she wept bitterly. Her only consolation was, that she was 
 saving herself from a greater infliction ultimately.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 RETURN TO WATERBUKY. 
 
 EDITH was sitting with Mary, one afternoon at the close of 
 summer, engaged upon some sewing, which she had laid aside 
 for the leisure hours of this vacation, and conversing upon 
 topics of mutual interest, when one of the servants appeared 
 with a letter for his mistress. On opening it, Mary found 
 the signature to be that of her mother. But, as her mother 
 had never in her life written to her before, and as she was 
 one of those women who seldom write anything, this letter 
 was wholly a novelty to her. She devoted a long time to its 
 reading; but, finally arousing, as from a dream, she read 
 aloud to Edith, for she had so long habituated herself to 
 seek her confidence, she could not keep silence now. The 
 following is the substance of the letter : 
 
 " MY DEAREST CHILD : I suppose you are just as happy as 
 
 you can be in your new home ; but you must not forget your 
 
 dear sisters, who think of you often, and say a great deal 
 
 about you. Celesta, dear, poor child ! is very unhappy. She 
 
 81*
 
 366 EDITH HALE. 
 
 is now at home with her baby. His name is Frederick Cler- 
 mont Urban Clare, and he has got three teeth. Celesta named 
 him after people she got out of novels. His father calls him 
 Micah ; but he is a brutish man, and turns out not to agree 
 with Celesta in anything. He burnt every novel she had, 
 before they had been married two months. How strange 
 things go in this world ! Now, how well qualified Celesta is 
 for your place ; for she knows all about high life, and likes 
 to associate with genteel people so well ; while you would 
 have just suited her husband. But things always turn out 
 wrong in this sinful state below. Celesta is appreciated by 
 some people, though ; for a young doctor, over where she 
 lives, makes a great deal of her, and has been to visit her 
 several times since she came home. She is n't very well, and 
 he prescribes for her. He is an elegant man, and has such a 
 tender sympathy for her, that he has carried her to ride sev- 
 eral times. She says now, since she sees how much she is 
 thought of, that she is sorry she ever saw her husband. 
 
 " Mr. Skerry keeps putting off to marry Claudine, and, all 
 we can do, we can't fetch him to the point. It mortifies her 
 dreadfully; for all her young friends are marrying, these days. 
 Alitha Dennis was married last week to Mr. Squiers, the 
 lawyer, here. Mr. Loomey married them ; but he is so spirit- 
 ual, he objects to marrying people very much. I heard he 
 talked with Deacon Dennis a good while against letting his 
 children marry ; and he preached last Sunday upon this text : 
 ' I say, therefore, to the unmarried and widows, it is good 
 for them if they abide even as I.'
 
 EDITH HALE. 367 
 
 " For my part, I am always glad -when I see a girl well 
 married. And this makes me think of Maria Weston. I 
 suppose you have n't heard about her. It is very shocking to 
 think how she has turned out. After her father died, last 
 year, she hadn't nobody to look after her; and she's been 
 made so much of by some of our first people, it ruined her. 
 The folks where she boarded have turned her away, and no- 
 body in all the place would take' her in but old Mr. and Mrs. 
 Linn. How they can have her there, I don't know. No one 
 knows who her seducer is. 
 
 " I was going to say before, about Claudinc, that I 'm sorry 
 now she used Solomon Acre as she did. We hear lately, in 
 the place where he went to off West, he 's doing great things. 
 He 's bought a lot of land, and speculated on it, so he 's made 
 a fortune. To think how she might have had him, and all 
 his money, just as easy as nothing ! I tell her to turn off Mr. 
 Skerry ; but she won't, because, she says, she loves him. But 
 I should think she had seen enough of such love in Celesta. 
 Julia has gone with Sarah Dennis to school, nt Violet Vale 
 Seminary. It takes a sight of money to get her along there, 
 and she teases for more in almost every letter. The worst of 
 it is, your father is in a dreadful state in his business, though 
 he would n't like to have me tell you. I 've been thinking of 
 writing you this long, long time ; but now I felt as though 
 I could n't put it off any longer. He 's driven so hard for 
 money, he says he must wind up soon. I 'm sure I have alwa}'s 
 been just as economical as I could be, and so have the girls. 
 I know it cost a great deal for your sickness last year; so, if
 
 d68 EDITH II A L K . 
 
 you could only persuade your husband to help your father 
 now, it would be no more than right, certainly. And I think 
 we lost a good deal by your father doing that business for old 
 Mr. Raymond. I never heard him say so, to be sure ; but, 
 from that time, he has seemed very much pinched. If your 
 husband gives you any money to spend, you had better save it 
 to send to Julia or Celesta ; for they both need a great many 
 things which their father can't get them. You have a sense 
 of duty, I know ; so I am satisfied that my advice will not be 
 lost upon you. I hope you will ever use your husband so that 
 he will not get out with you, and I dare say we shall all like 
 him very much. I think it would be a good thing for Celesta 
 to go and spend several months with you ; for you know you 
 were always a favorite sister of hers. And we shall all come 
 just as soon as it is convenient. * * *." 
 
 When Mary concluded, she saw Edith in tears ; for the 
 intelligence concerning Maria Weston had fallen heavily 
 upon her. 
 
 " Poor Maria!" she exclaimed, " I always feared this. 0, 
 that I had warned her more frequently and earnestly than I 
 did ! I must go and see her within this week, before the com- 
 mencement of next term, or I shall always reproach myself.'' 
 
 " Spoken like yourself, dear Edith," said Mary. " It is 
 not too late for you, who have a strong influence over her, to 
 do her great good. But what do you think of this letter 
 altogether ? " she added. 
 
 " It is a curious olla podrida. Perhaps I should not speak
 
 EDITH HALE. 389 
 
 with so much freedom ; but I must tell what I think, if I 
 speak at all, in reply to your question." 
 
 " It strikes me somewhat oddly to read these friendly words 
 from my mother for the first time in my life." 
 
 " It is nothing remarkable that your family should be 
 friendly now. Don't you remember how it was with Job ? " 
 
 Edith took the Bible from the etagere beside her, and, 
 turning to the place to which she had alluded, read aloud : 
 " ' The Lord gave Job twice as much as before. Then camo 
 there unto him all his brethren, and all his sisters, and all 
 they that had been of his acquaintance before, and did eat 
 bread within his house,' etc. However, it is wise to think as 
 kindly of people as we can, notwithstanding the past ; and to 
 impute to every one the purest of motives, so long as by thus 
 doing we may do more good than evil." 
 
 " Yes," said Mary ; " few things are more ridiculous than 
 when one is in an improved condition, to conclude that the 
 proffered friendship of people results from motives of self- 
 interest, or that those who stand aloof are brooding over 
 their envy." 
 
 As Mary again read that portion of the letter which re- 
 ferred to her father's embarrassments, she was deeply affected 
 in his behalf, and exclaimed, 
 
 " If it be possible that I can be instrumental in his assist- 
 ance, I shall only be too happy that all the predictions 
 concerning me have not proved true."
 
 370 EDITH IIALE. 
 
 She lost no time in interceding with Mr. Raymond, "whose 
 heart was by no means impervious to her plea. 
 
 " We will go immediately and see to these matters our- 
 selves," he said. 
 
 Mr. Raymond had endeavored to persuade Mary to accom- 
 pany him to a fashionable watering-place, and remain during 
 the warm season ; but they had deferred the plan for the 
 future, week after week, in anticipation of Edith's vacation, 
 when they might have the increased pleasure of her com- 
 panionship. But, when that time had come, both Mary and 
 Edith were too happy in the enjoyment of each other's 
 society, without thinking of a more fashionable means of 
 pleasure. Now, therefore, the prospect of a short excursion 
 into the country was regarded by them as a means of peculiar 
 delight. 
 
 On the following day, they left home for Waterbury. Mr. 
 Raymond preferred his own travelling carriage to a public 
 conveyance ; and early in the morning they rode into the open 
 country, while yet the dew bathed all the earth with freshness. 
 Before they were aware, a view of the village of their destina- 
 tion, between the trees, broke on their sight. 
 
 The morning had grown into a golden day, not brazen 
 and oppressive, but serene and beautiful. The quietude of 
 the country made it like a dream of heaven. 
 
 Edith and Mary gradually fell into silence, with the sight 
 of old, familiar scenes of home again. Many sad and dark- 
 ened memories of the past now brooded heavily over their 
 hearts ; and the present seemed suddenly to have been trans-
 
 EDITH HALE. 371 
 
 ferred to some dim, distant future. The phantoms of the 
 olden time held their souls in awe. 
 
 The clock upon the Waterbury church repeated its twelfth 
 stroke as they turned upon the main street, and with those 
 world-calling sounds, so important in the country, Edith and 
 Mary awoke, as from a dream, to the spectacle of people 
 leaving their places of business, and little, glad-hearted 
 children hurrying home to their dinners from the deserted 
 school-room. 
 
 " How natural this all seems ! " exclaimed Edith ; " and 
 yet, in some sense, it has grown unfamiliar ; for, in the single 
 year of my absence, my heart has received so many new 
 impressions, the lines of the past look not as they used to." 
 
 " Nor will they ever again," said Mr. Raymond ; " those 
 lines are broken or crossed by others, more prominent to the 
 mind's eye than those which are beneath ; and the web of 
 life, in which are woven new and more tangled threads every 
 year, no art can restore to its original simplicity." 
 
 It was evening before Edith started for the house of Mr. 
 Linn, for she knew that she could not meet Maria at an 
 earlier time, on account of her labor in the factory. As she 
 approached the old, familiar spot, a chill struck across her 
 heart, which held her almost breathless. She paused a few 
 moments, and sat down upon a large rock by the side of the 
 lane to compose herself. The moon had just risen above the 
 strip of wood that skirted the meadow beyond the house, 
 defining the outlines of the tree-tops distinctly upon the sky. 
 It seemed to glance down upon the old place with solemn
 
 372 EDITU 1IALJ-3. 
 
 cognizance, casting all about it a soft and tranquil light, as 
 though it were holy ground. But even then, unknown unto 
 its aged keepers, who for so many years had lived by prayer 
 and faith, a serpent in human form lurked among the dark, 
 spectral shadows of the old trees which stood just behind the 
 house. None knew it save his victim, whom he had long since 
 wiled within his fatal coils. 
 
 With a loving eye Edith marked the brown well-sweep 
 before the side-door, to which led out the path of broad, 
 even stones, rimmed thickly with moss and grass, where she 
 had trodden so many times in bygone days, and wondered 
 if the silver resonance of a laugh would come up from the 
 crystal depths as musically as then. There, too, were the 
 bee-hives under the apple-trees ; and, a little further on, she 
 could faintly discern the garden-patch whither she had so 
 often gone with old Mrs. Linn to assist her in the weeding 
 of the long, boarded beds of balm, fever-few, sage, and a great 
 many other useful herbs, as well as those in which grew the 
 pansies, pinks, and holly-hocks. An old rock, on which she 
 had cultivated some houseleeks and a nasturtion, she could see 
 standing solemnly under the face of the moon. As she 
 mused, an evening breeze swayed the old trees, and thridded 
 the leaves of the columbine which grew beside, and over the 
 door, even to the low roof, till they trembled and whispered 
 together. It swung also the old gate opening into the meadow, 
 which stood ajar, so that it creaked hoarsely. 
 
 At this juncture, she perceived two figures emerge from 
 the shadow of the trees, and slowly, almost stealthily, advance
 
 EDITH HALE. 373 
 
 up the lane towards where she was sitting. She heard the 
 sound of their voices, as they spoke in a suppressed tone. 
 One of the figures, whom by his voice she distinguished as a 
 man, was evidently urging the other to accompany him, con- 
 trary to inclination. She heard a sad, low voice in reply, 
 which she at once recognized. It was Maria ; but her com- 
 panion she could not identify, for he wore a hat with a wide, 
 slouched brim, which entirely concealed his face ; and, not- 
 withstanding the season, his person was shrouded in a dark 
 cloak, which well-nigh swept the ground. 
 
 " If we go to the cemetery, we can talk together there, 
 and be certain no one will overhear us," said the deeper 
 voice. , 
 
 Edith started involuntarily from the shadow in which she 
 sat, as they were about to pass, and outstretched her hand to 
 Maria. Her face was turned to the full light of the moon, 
 and Maria knew her at once. 
 
 " Can this be you, Miss Edith ? " she cried, sinking upon 
 her knees before her, and bursting into tears. 
 
 " Yes, Maria," said Edith ; " go with me back to the 
 house, will you not ? I have come on purpose to sec you." 
 
 She looked about, to confront her companion ; but he had 
 walked on swiftly, and, in a moment more, with a single bound 
 had cleared the wall by the way, and was proceeding hurriedly 
 in a direction away from the village. 
 
 " Did you see him, so as to know who it was ? " asked 
 Maria, anxiously. 
 
 " No," said Edith. 
 82
 
 " 374 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " Heaven be praised ! My disgrace is nothing to what his 
 would be," rejoined Maria. 
 
 Edith drew Maria's arm within her own, and led her to 
 the house ; for she was so overcome she was scarcely able to 
 walk alone. 
 
 " I will go to your room first," said Edith ; " afterwards I 
 will see Mr. and Mrs. Linn." 
 
 In Maria's chamber Edith found a light burning, and every- 
 thing indicated that she had but late gone out. On the table 
 lay an open Bible. 
 
 " That is right," said Edith, pointing toward the book ; 
 " you cannot have a better friend." 
 
 " I see Mr. and Mrs. Linn read a great deal in the 
 Bible," said Maria, " so I try to read it ; but it don't do me 
 any good." 
 
 Edith looked upon her in sad surprise. 
 
 " I feel so guilty ! " added Maria, with deep emotion. 
 
 " The Bible is the book for us all and we are all sinners," 
 said Edith. 
 
 " If I could only pray," said Maria, " I should n't feel so 
 badly ; but I can't. It seems as though the heavens were shut 
 against me." 
 
 " We should never, under any circumstances, neglect 
 prayer. ' The Lord's hand is not shortened that it cannot 
 save, neither his ear heavy that it cannot hear,' " said Edith, 
 in a voice of tenderest pity. 
 
 Maria covered her face with her hands, as she said, in a
 
 EDITH HALE. d/0 
 
 tone which seemed a wail of a broken heart, " 0, that I could 
 hide myself from God ! " 
 
 Edith turned the leaves of the Bible, until she read, with 
 kindred passages, " ' The Lord your God is gracious and 
 merciful, and will not turn away his face from you, if ye 
 return unto him.' Will you not try to do this, Maria ? " 
 
 " It is too late now ! " she said. 
 
 " I will pray with you, dear Maria," said Edith; and the 
 two girls, so widely different in all things, knelt side by side, 
 while the voice of fervent prayer ascended to heaven. That 
 was a sacrifice well-pleasing to God, a sacrifice but few, 
 though kindly and benevolent, would make, and it was 
 sealed by the recording angel in imperishable letters of 
 gold! 
 
 Maria was moved to many tears, and a peace possessed her 
 heart such as she had not known for a long time of wretch- 
 edness. Afterward, Edith spoke to her of the future before 
 her, warning, advising, and encouraging, in all the fervor of 
 true sympathy. 
 
 " I have but one hope ! " said Maria. She hesitated, as 
 if unwilling, through shame, to reveal it. 
 
 " It is a good one, I trust," said Edith, encouragingly. 
 
 " But one thing lights up the gloomy future before me a 
 promise of marriage from him who has thus led me astray. 
 Were it not for this, I would lie down hopelessly and die." 
 
 " Earnestly do I hope that promise may be fulfilled," said 
 Edith ; " and, if it be possible for me to do anything to assist 
 you in bringing this about, I shall be glad to exert myself
 
 376 EDITH HALE. 
 
 in your behalf, or secure the aid of some friend more pow 
 erful." 
 
 " No, no," replied Maria, anxiously ; " that is impossible 
 No one knows who this man is, or must know. Should I tell 
 his name, all hope would be lost." 
 
 Edith now said she would leave her, as the evening was 
 wearing away. 
 
 "0! no, not yet," sobbed Maria; "though I suppose 
 you are tired. But it seems so pleasant to hear your voice 
 again, and to see you look with pity on me now! God bless 
 you for this act a thousand times, Miss Edith ! Scarcely one 
 of my old friends speaks to me now, except those blessed peo- 
 ple in this house ; they are all goodness to me always." 
 
 " You know," said Edith, " that you cannot expect, in 
 reason, all people to receive you to their friendship as 
 formerly." 
 
 " No," said Maria ; " but there are some people who are 
 respected by everybody, and yet have done as wickedly as I, 
 and worse ; for they are the deceivers, while I have been 
 cruelly deceived." 
 
 " Admitting what you say is true," continued Edith, " you 
 do not think that the public are aware that such are guilty." 
 
 " I suppose not; no." 
 
 " Then such conduct should be attributed to misapprehen- 
 sion and ignorance of the truth, rather than to any worse 
 motive." 
 
 " But I get so near despair when I think of all this ! " pur- 
 sued Maria, clasping her hands tightly. " For one false step,
 
 EDITH HALE. 377 
 
 I, a poor girl, have lost my character forever. I must be 
 thrust down lower and lower, while they, year after year, will 
 ri.se higher and higher, because they are strong, and great, 
 and powerful." 
 
 " Know one thing," said Edith ; " the way of the trans- 
 gressor, whoever he may be, or whatever position he may 
 hold, is hard." 
 
 " If I only knew for a truth," said Maria, recurring to 
 herself again, " that this promise he has made me would soon 
 be fulfilled, I should be too thankful to survive it, it seems 
 to me." 
 
 " I will pray that you be not disappointed in this," said 
 Edith ; " but I advise you to make a friend of some one here, 
 and get legal assistance in bringing it about as soon as 
 possible." 
 
 " That cannot be," said Maria ; " the very thought of such 
 a thing overwhelms me with fear. He has told me, if I let 
 out his name, he would leave me forever ; but, if I would wait 
 patiently till it was possible for him to marry me in some 
 place a good way off, I should not be disappointed. So I 
 have nothing left to do, but to cry, and wait, and hope." 
 
 " Maria," said Edith now, very solemnly, as she took her 
 hand, " I shall not see you again, perhaps, in a long time, for 
 my engagements will be such as to prevent my coming to 
 Waterbury often ; but, whatever befalls you, remember that 
 I am praying for you. I hope you will never again omit to 
 pray for yourself. Do not trust in man, especially in one 
 who has once betrayed you. I am an orphan like yourself, 
 32*
 
 378 EDITH HALE. 
 
 and I speak from a blessed experience when I say, ' our help 
 cometh from the Lord ; ' under his protection only can we 
 dwell safely." 
 
 " If I had only felt this before ! " sobbed Maria. 
 
 " It is never too late, not even at the eleventh hour, to feel 
 the blessed influence of the truth." 
 
 Edith silently laid a purse of money upon the table on the 
 open Bible. 
 
 " You are too good, but I cannot take it," said Maria, 
 decidedly. 
 
 " I will leave it with what I shall give Mrs. Linn." 
 
 " You may give to her, if you like, but not to me. I feel 
 how kind you are." 
 
 By an unconscious impulse, as she was going out, Edith 
 turned and looked once more upon Maria. The poor girl's 
 eyes met hers, while the tears rained down her pale, sunken 
 cheeks, and her hands remained clasped tightly together. 
 Edith could not withstand that look. It seemed to her like 
 a new and sudden revelation of all Maria's anguish, and, for 
 the first time during that painful interview, she wept. No 
 words could she speak now; and, gliding out, she gently 
 closed the door behind her.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A SURPRISE. 
 
 ON the following morning, Mr. Raymond proposed to Mary 
 and Edith that they should ride with him out into the open 
 country. The quiet enjoyment, which he so much desired on 
 leaving the city, seemed somewhat doubtful in the atmosphere 
 of Mrs. Pickering, who exerted herself to win his favor, with 
 all her habitual affectations. Edith could not accept her invi- 
 tation, as she had allotted to herself to spend the morning in 
 the cemetery, around the spot where slept the earthly remains 
 of her parents. So they left her to wander there alone, while 
 they proceeded on their ride. She had not visited this spot, 
 sacred to so many solemn and painful associations, since the 
 brightness of a better fortune had dawned upon her days. 
 She had last left there many sighs and tears, and, as she once 
 more trod the path which led to the home of the beloved dead, 
 a memory, distinct and strong, of all the overwhelming past, 
 struck her heart with gloom and sadness. 
 
 The evergreens about the ground of her own dead had 
 grown rapidly the past year ; and she now set about trimming 
 them to forms of symmetry and beauty. The task was not an
 
 380 EDITH HALE. 
 
 easy one, and the time fled rapidly as she was thus employed. 
 There were also weeds and grasses to put away from the 
 paths, and some other improvements to make. 
 
 At length, considerably wearied, she sat down by the head- 
 gtone, for rest. The stillness of the spot, with the monot- 
 onous chirp of the crickets around, soothed and lulled her 
 senses, until, like a gentle breath of south wind, which sighs 
 itself away among the clouds, she fell asleep. As she slept, 
 her dreams of the past, when she had lived in her old home 
 with her parents, overcast all her face, so lately saddened by 
 mournful thoughts, with a beaming smile. 
 
 There was one who beheld that smile with a sympathetic 
 influence one who could not look on the sleeper unmoved. 
 Just without the enclosure, an eye of admiration took in the 
 loyely picture with a long, enraptured glance. As thus Edith 
 lay, her head resting against the stone, and in part upon her 
 hand, with the uncovered arm draped above the elbow with a 
 light fall of lace, while her cheek was glowing with the late 
 exercise she had taken, and, shaded by her long, dark eye- 
 lashes, contrasted with the white marble beside it, in exceed- 
 ing beauty; her lips were delicately parted, as if inspired 
 with a holy, happy thought ; her hair, escaped from its con- 
 finement in part, fell down in careless ripples over her neck, 
 like the shadow of a cloud upon a pearly sea ; and a few 
 white lilies, she hud gathered that morning, and wound their 
 long stems about the sash of her waist, now drooped over the 
 folds of her mourning-dress, even to her feet. 
 
 A voice now gently broke the silence, pronouncing her
 
 EDITH HALE. 381 
 
 name. She awoke suddenly, and gazed in affright about 
 her. 
 
 " What is it? " she whispered, involuntarily, as she beheld 
 nothing. 
 
 " It is not one who has risen from the dead," said the 
 intruder, now disclosing himself fully to her view. 
 
 " 0, I am so frightened ! " she exclaimed. But she could 
 say no more. Her face had taken a hue that bore but little 
 contrast with the marble, now. 
 
 " Dear Edith Miss Hale, do you not recognize me 
 your old friend ? Speak once again, for the love of heaven ! 
 Have I killed you ? " he said, advancing toward her. 
 
 " No, no ! " she murmured. " But is it a dream? It can- 
 not surely be that you are here." 
 
 " Be assured it is a reality, dear Edith," said Hugh Oliver. 
 " Excuse me for my familiarity ; but you look so white and 
 startled, I am beside myself, I believe." 
 
 Edith could say nothing in reply ; so she remained motion- 
 less, while he sat down beside her, and placed his arm about 
 her form for support. 
 
 " I owe you a thousand apologies for this intrusion," he 
 resumed, after a moment's embarrassment had passed ; " and 
 I will try and explain, if you will be gracious enough to 
 listen. I am at present making a short stop at my uncle's, 
 where Mr. and Mrs. Raymond called this morning, upon their 
 ride ; and we persuaded them to spend the remainder of the 
 day with us, provided you could be induced to join them.
 
 382 EDITH HALE. 
 
 And so I came in person, with ray uncle's compliments, to 
 bring you." 
 
 " I believe I must be excused," replied Edith, in confusion. 
 
 Oliver looked disappointed ; his dark eyes fell upon her 
 searchingly. But, when he saw she wore an expression of 
 timidity, rather than disinclination, he said : 
 
 " Why is it, Miss Hale ? Of late you shun me, alto- 
 gether." 
 
 Edith drooped her head so low, that her face was concealed 
 under her bonnet ; for the tears had rushed to her eyes 
 unbidden. 
 
 " The mystery is, why you should seek me," she said, at 
 length. 
 
 " I do not understand you," said Oliver. 
 
 She looked up hastily, and he saw her emotion with sur- 
 prise. Taking her hand within his own, he held it for some 
 minutes in silence. 
 
 " If you do not go with me," he resumed, " I shall infer 
 that you cannot pardon this intrusion." 
 
 " Then I will accept your agreeable invitation," she replied, 
 making an effort to rise. But he detained her, apparently in 
 no haste to leave. 
 
 " I must first return to the house, where I am stop- 
 ping, which will occupy a few minutes," she said, as an 
 inducement to him to be gone. 
 
 " How beautiful is this place ! " he rejoined. " Here the 
 hollow forms of the world are as a mockery, and heart speaks 
 to heart."
 
 EDITH HALE. 383 
 
 " Yes, if it be possible for the spirits of the dead to com- 
 mune with the living," said Edith. 
 
 " She has wilfully misinterpreted ine," thought Oliver ; 
 " and she loves another, else she would not display so much 
 indifference." 
 
 He arose coldly, and accompanied Edith from the cemetery. 
 He had not been misunderstood ; but Edith's first lesson in 
 worldly wisdom had enabled her to control herself. She 
 believed that Oliver was only using the language of friend- 
 ship to win her regard for the time, and then banish the 
 entire memory of her at convenience. She therefore deter- 
 mined not to let her heart cling with hope upon his atten- 
 tions. But nothing was more difficult than to adhere to this 
 determination. 
 
 After this, during their ride, Oliver was as indifferently 
 polite as even Edith, in her distrust, could have desired. 
 Then, believing she had judged rightly, she threw off her 
 restraint, and became carelessly happy, to appearance. 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Mary, aside to her, after her arrival 
 at Major Oliver's, " you look, for all the world, as if it were 
 nothing that a man like Hugh Oliver had been attending 
 you. He manifested a great deal of pleasure when Horace 
 consented to let him go for you." 
 
 " Gentlemen are all deceitful, save, perhaps, your husband," 
 replied Edith. 
 
 " What a decided misanthrope ! I must try and teach you 
 better," said Mary. 
 
 Edith shook her head. She was received by the major
 
 384 EDITH HALE. 
 
 with great impressiveness. He inquired with interest after 
 her welfare, and spoke of the unmeasured regard in which he 
 had held her parents, particularly her father, with whom he 
 had been chiefly acquainted. 
 
 " Your mother," said he, " I knew only partially ; but I 
 recollect her as a perfectly accomplished woman, in the best 
 sense of the term." 
 
 Edith thanked him amid her tears. 
 
 " She has sensibility, and is easily moved, it seems," said 
 Hugh Oliver, to himself, as he observed her ; " but- the diffi- 
 culty is, I have no power to touch her heart." 
 
 He believed he understood the hearts of all women whom he 
 attempted to study. The truth was, he had so much of his 
 life been an earnest and absorbed thinker and student upon 
 other subjects, he knew but very little of that he professed 
 in this respect. Of one thing he was certain ; no woman 
 should ever be made aware of his love, until he was first 
 convinced her affections were unreservedly his own. But 
 many things of which a person is certain at one period of 
 life become exceedingly problematical at another. 
 
 The major soon asked his guests to his dining-room, to 
 partake of a simple repast, which he always had prepared, to 
 divide the hours between breakfast and dinner. Mr. Raymond 
 and the ladies excused themselves. 
 
 " I shall take no excuse," he rejoined ; " for you have just 
 been riding in this fresh morning air, and a little fruit can do 
 you no injury. Besides, I have no respect for these laws 
 which forbid one, if ever so hungry, to eat a mouthful till the
 
 EDITH HALE. 385 
 
 prescribed time. Come, Hugh, I resign Miss Hale to your 
 care, while I shall attend to Mrs. Raymond and her husband." 
 
 They found the hospitable board was graced with dishes all 
 of glass, as the major never used a service of any material 
 more substantial at this meal. In these were sliced peaches 
 prepared with ice-cream, baked pears and apples, with bowls 
 and pitchers of milk, bread like a light snow-fall, and delicious 
 cakes. A transparent vase, filled with large golden and 
 purple plums, stood in the centre. 
 
 After this repast had been sufficiently discussed, it was 
 proposed by Hugh to take a walk to a high hill in the neigh- 
 borhood of his uncle's house, and observe the fine, extensive 
 prospect from that point. To this all gladly assented ; for 
 the day was not very warm, and the sun had been partially 
 clouded for some hours. 
 
 And so the hours fled on amid the pleasing variety, until 
 our party took leave of their agreeable entertainers. On 
 their return, they called upon Father Shaw and Miss Leah. 
 Father Shaw inquired abruptly of Edith if she were going to 
 be married. 
 
 " Ye see," he commented, " ye went a ridin' 'long by, this 
 forenoon, as park as a bird, with a man that looked as ef he 
 might do for a husband for ye ; and I think there 's somethin' 
 in V 
 
 " 0, no, sir ! " said Edith, " I have no such idea." 
 
 " Yes, yes, that 's the story in all the gals' mouths ; they've 
 no idee of marryin' to the last. But I don't see why they 
 need to be so desateful." 
 33
 
 386 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " I trust that Edith will not throw herself away," observed 
 Miss Leah, in her usual curt manner. 
 
 "There's no use of allers bein' 'fraid of gettin' thrown 
 away ; though I like to see a gal careful, and look well afore 
 she jumps," said Father Shaw. 
 
 " I thank you for your advice," said Edith ; " but I have 
 no occasion to use it at present." 
 
 " Ye can lay it away, then, in a corner of yer heart, till ye 
 want it ; but don't let it be so long as to let the moths eat it." 
 
 Other characteristic remarks the old man made to Mr. 
 Raymond about life in the city, and to Mary, counselling her 
 to be a good mother ; all of which were received with the 
 same kindly spirit in which they were intended. 
 
 The next day, they left Waterbury, on their return ; and 
 their ride was not less replete with interest than before ; for 
 the vacant seat in Mr. Raymond's carriage was occupied by 
 Hugh Oliver, who had accepted an invitation, given the pre- 
 vious day, to return with them to town. 
 
 Arriving home, Edith found a letter addressed to herself, 
 which caused her a variety of emotions. It read thus : 
 
 " This letter, which you have now opened, is from your 
 uncle. You have heard your mother speak of her brother, 
 who left home many years ago, and never returned. I am 
 he. I have come back poor and lame, so I have nothing as 
 an inducement for you to come to me. But, if you wish to 
 see me, you will find me in a little, old house, the way to 
 which I enclose. Yours, &c., 
 
 X PLAISTED."
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 EDITU'S UXCLE. 
 
 THIS letter was to Edith as a voice from the dead. Her 
 heart overflowed with joy that she had found a relative of 
 whom her mother had often spoken so affectionately, and she 
 lost no time in answering its summons in person. The place 
 indicated as the residence of her uncle she discovered, after 
 a circuitous search, in one of the suburbs not far from the 
 city. It was truly a humble spot, but picturesque in location, 
 being so elevated as to command a view of the surrounding 
 cities and of the water. 
 
 With a trembling heart she tapped upon the door. Xo 
 answer being returned, she attempted a second knock, when 
 she heard the window from the attic upraised, and a voice 
 say, " Who is there? " 
 
 " If you are Mr. Plaisted, you will know me as your niece 
 to whom you wrote yesterday," Edith responded. 
 
 " The Holy Prophet ! the Khan of Samarcand ! " exclaimed 
 the voice ; " I will be down there quicker than an ostrich will 
 swallow a red-hot bullet.'* 
 
 As he was opening the door, Edith heard her uncle shout,
 
 388 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " I did n't make out to come so quick as I thought for, child. 
 I am lame." 
 
 When the door was finally opened, Edith saw before her a 
 man, apparently of sixty years, of medium height, white 
 hair falling to his shoulders, with a thick beard cover- 
 ing his bosom, and a stern, intelligent countenance, greatly 
 bronzed. 
 
 "Is this indeed my uncle the brother of my mother!" 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 ." By the beard of the prophet ! I see my sister Edith 
 again just as she looked when I left home, years arid years 
 ago ! " he said, while he studied Edith's countenance with 
 intense interest. 
 
 "It all comes back to me as though 'twere yesterday," 
 he continued, with an effort suppressing his emotion, and in 
 a voice that seemed the echo of years ; " she was young and 
 beautiful, and I loved her well. She has gone, but left 
 her image behind. The great God of gods be thanked for 
 this ! " 
 
 " Dear uncle," said Edith, much moved, " you can scarcely 
 know how rejoiced I am that I have found you. My sainted 
 mother said, on the day she died, ' If my dear brother were 
 only living now, I could leave you in peace ; but I will trust 
 God for your protection.' " 
 
 " How like your mother are your words, manner, every- 
 thing ! " he said, as if this idea took precedence of all others. 
 
 The tears came to Edith's eyes ; for this new revelation of 
 love had come to her with an overwhelming power.
 
 EDITH HALE. 389 
 
 " Then you are really glad to see me, Dithy ? " said her 
 uncle. 
 
 " Dithy ! " repeated Edith, unable to comprehend hi3 
 meaning. 
 
 " Yes ; I used to call your mother Dithy, aud I must call 
 you so ; no other name will do for me." 
 
 " As you please," said Edith ; " but why, dear uncle, 
 should I not be glad to see you, when you are the one whom 
 my mother dearly loved and mourned ? " 
 
 " I am poor, Dithy ; a reason enough, the world through, 
 why you should not care for me. Had I brought home with 
 me gold, diamonds, brocades, and other costly stuffs, such as 
 travellers from the East often bring, it might be worth the 
 while to see me." 
 
 " I hope I am not one who estimates such splendor above 
 pure and fervent love," said Edith. 
 
 " Then you are not like your kinsfolk, Dithy ! " Perceiv- 
 ing that Edith did not comprehend him, he added : " After 
 my arrival in this country, I went first to see my sister Sarah, 
 your Aunt Regleton ; and should n't you suppose she would 
 have been glad to meet once more her only brother, who had 
 been as good as dead for a long time ? " 
 
 " It would seem natural, certainly," replied Edith. 
 
 " But what, think you, she did, after I had made myself 
 known to her ? She neither fainted, nor laughed, nor cried 
 for joy, but merely said, ' Have you come home wealthy, 
 John ? ' I need not say I was somewhat surprised at this 
 question, when I had expected several others first, under the 
 33*
 
 390 EDITH HALE. 
 
 circumstances. It is something to be poor, and something 
 more to own the fact ; but I told her at once that I had been 
 unfortunate, and had no money with which to bribe her friend- 
 ship. ' Another poor relation turned up, then ! ' she murmured, 
 coldly. If an alligator had sprung out from under where I 
 sat, I should not have been more struck with astonishment 
 to find my sister meet me in such a way. ' Only a short time 
 ago,' she went on, ' Edith's child came here, poor, and sup- 
 posing I would help her.' ' Edith's child destitute ? ' I asked. 
 ' Her mother is dead. She married against our father's will, 
 and so was disinherited right enough, too. She died in 
 great poverty, as she might have expected. Her child is a 
 kind of a protegee to a family here in town, I hear. I inquired 
 into it, but could learn nothing satisfucton-.' 'Then father 
 left all his property to you ? ' I said. ' What if he did ? I 
 am not responsible for everybody's misfortunes ; I had no 
 idea of taking in, as an equal to my daughter, the child of a 
 poor, nameless upstart.' ' My misfortunes shall not trouble 
 you,' I put in, rising on my limping leg. ' You should have 
 done better, John, than this,' she said, looking me over 
 scornfully. ' Should I, supposing I could not help what has 
 come upon me ? ' I answered. ' Well,' said she, with a deep 
 breath, ' you are my brother, and I can't see you suifer. 31 y 
 husband may find you some work to do in his store. But you 
 had better, for my sake, no't tell people how it is.' ' Xo,' 
 said I, ' I will be sure and not tell anything to injure you 
 or yours-; but I do not need any help from you at present. 
 I will get work somewhere else.' ' Whatever I do for you
 
 EDITH HALE. 391 
 
 will be a free gift, you know ; as father, supposing you were 
 dead, gave all his estate, without reservation, to me.' ' You 
 are kind,' I replied, and went out of her house with curses 
 on my lips, for a very Arab could not have shown more self- 
 ishness than my own sister. But, Dithy, I have cried, yes, 
 I, who have not felt a tear upon my sunburnt cheeks for long 
 years, have cried as I did when a boy, as I thought this 
 scene all over again and again, here by myself. Sometimes I 
 think it all a dream, and I will go to her again. But, by the 
 Grand Lama, I never can go, if I come to starve for a 
 crust ! " 
 
 " You shall not ever want, dear uncle ! " exclaimed Edith, 
 with earne.st affection ; " it so happens that I have property 
 in prospect, and whatever I have shall be shared with you, 
 willingly." 
 
 " God bless you, child ! " he replied, much moved ; " but I 
 thought you were unprovided for, from what your aunt said." 
 
 " After my father's death, I was quite destitute until 
 recently, when an unexpected event occurred that changed 
 all the current of my life, the circumstances of which I will 
 reserve to tell you at some future time. At my request, my 
 improved prospects have been kept chiefly unknown to others 
 than those immediately interested.'' 
 
 " I thought I would see if you would meet me as Sarah 
 did ; but, if I had known you had not been poor, I believe I 
 should have hesitated to make the experiment. I haye long 
 noticed that good fortune hardens people's hearts. I told 
 you in the beginning how it was with me, that there might be
 
 EDITH HA LE. 
 
 no mistake. I am sorry it is so, for it would have been 
 mighty comfortable to have come home heavy with gold and 
 merchandise ; but this world is a queer place, and long ago I 
 learned we can't have what we want in it." 
 
 Edith took the old man's hand, and pressed it reverently to 
 her lips. After a pause, she said : 
 
 " Xow, dear uncle, you must suppose I am very anxious to 
 know something of your past history in the silent interim 
 between your departure and return. We have had so much 
 to say, I could not inquire before." 
 
 " It is a long story, Dithy," he said, " and made up of many 
 adventures, which I shall tell you in good time ; for every 
 traveller returns rich in experience, if in no other commodity." 
 
 He then rapidly, in his own terse, graphic manner, sketched- 
 the outline of his adventures ; how he had been captured 
 by a pirate on the Mediterranean ; sold as a slave in Constan- 
 tinople, where he remained for some years ; with his merchant- 
 master crossed the Black Sea to Soldain in the Crimea, from 
 whence they proceeded to St. Serai, where he subsequently 
 escaped from his master, and was detained by the khan of 
 those dominions ; how, after writing several lettei-s home, and 
 waiting in vain for a response, and, on account of the war 
 at that time, unable to return, he joined a party of travellers, 
 and wandered over many of the countries of Asia ; was next 
 wounded by Arab robbers, and enslaved again for many 
 ye.ir>, and in their service twice journeyed across the Great 
 Desert ; and, finally escaping once more, he reached a port
 
 EDITH HALE. 393 
 
 from which he embarked for England, and from thence to his 
 native land. 
 
 " How much, during all this, you must have endured ! " 
 exclaimed Edith. 
 
 " Yes, more than I once should have imagined I was 
 capable of. I should have died, or been killed, a hundred 
 times, had I not been ordered to live out my appointed time ; 
 for, whatever I disbelieve, I have no doubt in a fate which 
 will work itself out, despite all things. But I have cursed 
 my fate more times than I have lived years." 
 
 Edith looked sadly surprised now, for her ears were all 
 unused to such words. 
 
 " AVas that quite right, uncle? " she ventured, kindly. 
 
 " Jliglit or wrong, I have done so, and would again in like 
 situations. There is no sense or justice in making a man go 
 through what I have been obliged to." 
 
 " In all the trials I have seen," said Edith, " and I think, 
 for a young girl, I have been called to some affliction, I have 
 tried to remember that it was for the best, that God 
 ordained it for my good and his glory." 
 
 " I know nothing about such doctrine as that," said her 
 uncle, impatiently. 
 
 Edith was still more surprised; the thought occurred to 
 her, " Had her uncle experienced such a long life of vicis- 
 situde without any anchor for his trust, any recognition of 
 the beacon-light above to guide his perilous way ? " 
 
 " Don't look so sober, Dithy," now spoke her uncle, lightly. 
 " I have seen the operation of a great many religions over
 
 394 EDITH HALE. 
 
 the world, and for no one at present do I entertain a pref- 
 erence. There is not much to choose between the practice 
 of going a pilgrimage to M^cca, and there sacrificing forty 
 thousand camels to fill the bellies of the poor, shaving the 
 head, and throwing stones at the devil's eyes, as do the Ma- 
 hometans ; or, of writing a prayer upon a board and licking 
 it off with the tongue, as some of the African tribes worship ; 
 or, abstaining from eating pork and drinking wine, like the 
 Jews ; or, adoring the planets, beasts, birds, fishes, and stones, 
 &c., as do the pagans ; or, laboring through all the senseless 
 forms of worship, like the Christians. What I have seen and 
 heard in Christian churches, pagan temples, Islam mosques, 
 and Jewish synagogues, did not amount to much difference 
 fooleries there were in all, about alike." 
 
 " 0, uncle ! " said Edith, sorrowfully, " these words greatly 
 disappoint me. Is there any Bible like ours ? As one of the 
 inspired prophets said, ' What nation is there so great, that 
 hath statutes and judgments so righteous as all this law, which 
 I set before you ? ' &c. Did your mother never teach you the 
 simple but beautiful prayer of our Lord ? " 
 
 "Yes; but what of that?" 
 
 Edith was sadly at a loss now to express herself as she 
 would ; for it was a new experience to her to meet a mind 
 which had wandered so far from the first principles of her 
 faith. 
 
 " If you see no excellence in such prayer, I am sure, uncle, 
 you must be very unhappy," she said. " It is not possible 
 that you have lived all these years without prayer to God ! "
 
 EDITH HALE. 395 
 
 " Dear child," replied her uncle, " simple child, I must 
 call you, for you have seen nothing of the world, and know 
 comparatively nothing, are not all these peoples of whom I 
 have spoken religious, and do they not all pray to God in 
 their several forms? Yet they all alike sin, die, and perish 
 to the dust. This religion of yours may do for a woman, 
 weak and narrow-minded, to live by ; but I want, my child, 
 that your mind should become liberal, broad as the earth 
 itself, and high as God himself, and not bound down to the 
 mere atoms in the scale of thought." 
 
 " And I Avant, dear uncle, that you should be happy," said 
 Edith ; " for I am quite sure there is little real consolation 
 in such belief as yours. Such principles are no rock on which 
 to ground your trust when the rains descend and the winds 
 of adversity beat against you." Edith paused, too much 
 affected to proceed ; beside, she was afraid to speak what was 
 in her heart. 
 
 " Look here, Dithy," he said, at length, " I have a few 
 trinkets, curiosities I saved to bring home with me ; and these 
 I will show you, of my humble store. So, cheer up, child : 
 it does not become you to mope in this way over Gospels and 
 the like, at. your time of life. Leave such stuff to priests till 
 the days of your gray hairs." 
 
 He limped up the low flight of stairs to the attic above, 
 from which, after considerable delay, he brought down a box. 
 In this he displayed several curious articles, which, he said, 
 were not valuable in themselves, but possessed interest from
 
 396 EDITH HALE. 
 
 local associations, and from their manufacture or natural 
 construction. 
 
 " There is a stone," said he, " I have kept among my ad- 
 ventures, of no great value, but rather beautiful. It was 
 given me by the Great Khan of Tartary, as a curious stone, 
 possessing the art of healing." 
 
 Edith saw that it was a stone of a brilliant red color, an 
 inch square, and of corresponding thickness. 
 
 " It is very beautiful, certainly," said Edith. " What kind 
 of a stone is it ? " 
 
 "0, a mere red, shining stone, as you see. Here are 
 pieces of sandal-wood, both red and white. Here are some 
 other stones, of pretty colors, I picked up in various parts of 
 the world ; of many I have been robbed, but I contrived to 
 save a few. In fact, I have a passion for such collections. 
 Everyman has his whims, you know. Here are some cowries ; 
 some dried kouskous from the banks of the Niger ; a piece 
 of singularly carved ivory ; a root of ginseng ; a Hottentot's 
 pipe. If you have a fancy for any of these things, the 
 pretty stones, for instance, I will give them to you, some day." 
 
 Edith thanked him, and added, with some embarrassment, 
 " If you will receive in exchange some money, uncle." 
 
 " 0, for that matter," said he, " I can get along at present. 
 I hope now to get a situation in some mercantile establish- 
 ment, where my knowledge of foreign affairs will be valuable. 
 If I can earn only a very little, it will be enough, as my 
 wants are simple and few." 
 
 " I had some money left after the death of my mother,"
 
 EDITH HALE. 397 
 
 said Edith, " and it is quite at my own disposal. " If you 
 would take this until I come in possession of my property, 
 dear uncle, I should be glad." 
 
 " Good child ! " said the old man, busying himself closely 
 about his box ; " but you need not assist me at present. I 
 brought home a few valuable bales of merchandise that Jell 
 into my hands at Cathay, the proceeds of which will support 
 me for some time, with my frugal habits. After that is gone, 
 and if I can get me no business, I will let you know, if I am 
 in need. As I have said, I feel sorry that I am not more 
 able to gladden the hearts of my kin, after this long absence." 
 
 " Do not talk thus," said Edith ; " else I shall begin to 
 despair of ever convincing you that I, for one, am rejoiced 
 to see you." 
 
 After looking at some other curiosities of her uncle's col- 
 lection, Edith prepared to leave. But, before going, her uncle 
 requested her to tell him about her present manner of life ; 
 and, as she made some incidental allusions to the past, he was 
 affected, sometimes to grief, sometimes to anger, in which 
 Spanish profanity mingled largely. 
 
 " Well, Dithy, we have got very well acquainted for the 
 first meeting," he said, as she concluded, " and I hope you 
 will not forget to come and see your poor old uncle as often 
 as you can. There 's nothing here to attract a young person 
 away from the great world, to be sure ; but I can tell you 
 some stories, by and by, which may interest you somewhat. 
 Then, too, I shall want to hear all the particulars of your past 
 life with your mother and father." 
 34
 
 398 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " I had nearly forgotten to inquire how it is you manage 
 housekeeping," said Edith ; " have you no one on whom you 
 depend for this ? " 
 
 " ! no ; I am an old, experienced traveller, you know : 
 and I have taken care of myself so long, I am at no loss 
 now. I can cook, make, arid mend, quite to my purpose, I 
 assure you." 
 
 Edith smiled a little incredulously. 
 
 " I am fearful you cannot make yourself comfortable here 
 in this way," she said. " Will you not consent to take 
 lodgings in some pleasant boarding-house, if I will meet the 
 expense ? " 
 
 " No, Dithy ; I take comfort here by myself. After such 
 a wild and wandering life as I have led, I should feel as much 
 out of place, among fine people, as a fish out of water." 
 
 " Then I will come to you as often as possible, and assist 
 you in whatever you will permit me," said Edith, as he offered 
 his storm-beaten cheek for her parting kiss.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 EVEXT3 OF A DAY. 
 
 EDITH faithfully performed her promise, visiting her uncle 
 frequently, and always bringing with her something which she 
 thought would contribute to his comfort. There was a charm 
 in his society which attracted her powerfully; for he seemed 
 like some curious, quaint specimen, brought from a distant, 
 unknown clime. That there was a great lack in his character 
 she felt more and more with every interview ; but her faith 
 in the efficacy of prayer, that this lack might some time be 
 supplied, was simple and childlike, yet far-reaching and 
 powerful. 
 
 Upon a Saturday when she was released from her usual 
 school duties, Mr. llaymond proposed, as he had business in 
 a place some miles out of the city, which would occupy him 
 during the day, that Mary and Edith should accompany him. 
 Mary readily accepted the invitation, but Edith had set upon 
 that day to spend with her uncle. 
 
 " I would gladly go with you," she said, " if I had not 
 promised to make him a visit to-day; I have been so much
 
 400 EDITH HALE. 
 
 occupied, of late, as to prevent me from going to him, and I 
 would not like to disappoint him." 
 
 " Well, then, you must return in good season, to spend the 
 evening with us," said Mary. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Raymond ; " we shall be back in the early 
 evening train, and we will have tea together, after which I 
 will read from the new book I brought in yesterday." 
 
 Edith assisted Mary in her preparations for leaving, as they 
 chatted pleasantly of their several prospects for the day ; and 
 they kissed each other so affectionately when they separated, 
 that Mr. Raymond laughingly said, 
 
 " One would think you were about to be parted a year, 
 instead of a day." 
 
 It was a pleasant picture to Edith as she stood at the win- 
 dow and saw them ride away, and their smiles of love upon 
 her lighted up all her heart with radiance. 
 
 " How beautiful dear Mary looks this morning ! " she said 
 to herself; " and how glad I am so much real, rare happiness 
 has at last fallen to her lot ! I used to think there was no justice 
 in fortune in this world ; but, when I look on these splendid 
 scenes around me, and know that peace presides over all, I 
 almost believe that Heaven bestows superior blessings, even 
 on earth, upon her favored children." 
 
 She reflected much on these things as she took her way to 
 her uncle's cottage ; but, when she saw his gladdened face at 
 her coming, she had no thought but for her happiness at the 
 meeting. 
 
 " Dear uncle ! " she said, " I am afraid you are getting
 
 EDITH HALE. 401 
 
 lonesome ; but I have come to spend the whole day with you, 
 if }*ou like." 
 
 " That is right, Dithy,'' he said. " I was thinking perhaps 
 you were getting tired of coming to see such a poor old man 
 as I. But you are good to come at all, with all your other 
 cares." 
 
 " It is getting to be cold weather," said Edith, " and I wish 
 to try and make some arrangements for your comfort. You 
 know you are unused to our severe climate in winter, and I 
 have been sewing some flannels for you." And she produced 
 several nice garments, which were the result of her own 
 industry. 
 
 The old man looked upon her with loving eyes, but he had 
 no words to reply. 
 
 " Then I must introduce some improvements in your home, 
 here," she continued ; " I hope you will not object to my 
 making it as comfortable as possible." 
 
 " No, child ; but I dare say things appear very different 
 to you and me. Now, that dust upon the table I know you 
 will not let remain there long; but I harbor no ill-will to that 
 sort of thing. It serves me for a tablet on which to cast up 
 accounts." 
 
 " An original idea ! " said Edith. 
 
 " No, child, not new at all ; for you must now the people 
 of some of the countries in the world have their table 
 buffets plated with gold, on which they let the dust accumu- 
 late, so that upon such a surface they may write and draw 
 mathematical figures." 
 34*
 
 402 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " I had no idea that the practice of letting dust remain 
 upon furniture was so respectable," said Edith. " But why 
 do you suffer those unsightly pieces of wood to grace your 
 chimney-shelf, uncle ? " 
 
 " Don't take them away, child," said her uncle ; " they are 
 my lamps." 
 
 "How is that? " asked Edith, in surprise. 
 
 " Can't you tell a pine-knot, Dithy ? I usually go to sleep 
 early ; but, if I happen to want a light, I burn that. I am 
 poor, and can't afford the luxury of oil or gas. Beside, I am 
 used to this way of doing, and like it." 
 
 " I hope you will let me supply you with something better," 
 said Edith. 
 
 " Many a time," continued her uncle, " I have not been so 
 well provided as this. I have often resorted to fire-flies for 
 a light," 
 
 " How could you catch them ? " 
 
 " From a bird, which takes .fire-flies alive and fastens them 
 with moistened clay to the side of its nest, for a light at 
 night." 
 
 " That was rather unmerciful, it strikes me," said Edith. 
 
 "The bird, or me?" 
 
 " Both," Edith replied. 
 
 " One part of the world always make the other serve as fire- 
 flies to light their own nests with. If you could show me any 
 religion that would bring about a better order of things, I 
 would pay some devotion to it. But "you have fire-flies in 
 your Christian nest, as much as in any other."
 
 EDITH HALE. 403 
 
 " I am not quite certain of your meaning, uncle." 
 
 " I mean that you Christians number people who are 
 tyrannical, and who make others subservient to their own in- 
 terests. Before I left this country I remember making 
 observations to this effect; and I dare take an oath, by the 
 beard of the prophet, the state of things here in this respect 
 is not improved a whit." 
 
 " We must not all expect to fill the same sphere in the 
 church, more than in civil organizations," said Edith. 
 
 " True enough," said her uncle ; " but, the difficulty is, 
 that some will assume a sphere that does not belong to them to 
 fill, and the one that catches the most fire-flies for service is 
 the best fellow." 
 
 " I should liken the fire-flies to the public teachers of truth," 
 said Edith, " who give light for all the church about them, 
 and thus, though the most important, perform the most 
 service." 
 
 " I want a religion that is a pure equality," said her uncle. 
 
 " The best way to reform the religion of others is to reform 
 our own," said Edith, in a mild, sweet voice, which softened 
 all the seeming reproof of her words. " If we do not like 
 the devotions of those about us, let us strive for a better in our 
 closets. I have always found that when I was most disposed 
 to question the religion of other people, I was least in the exer- 
 cise of grace myself. Perhaps I speak too severely, dear 
 uncle," continued Edith, kneeling at his feet ; " but, if so, I 
 am in fault, for the very essence of all true religion is charity, 
 which hopeth all things and endureth all things."
 
 404 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " What a little preacher ! " said her uncle, laying his hand 
 upon her head. " For more than twenty-five years I have not 
 listened to a Christian sermon before." 
 
 " I do not wish to preach, dear uncle, but I feel so desirous 
 to have you see more clearly the way, and the truth, and the 
 life, I get too earnest, I believe. But you must forgive me, 
 if I am tiresome." 
 
 " I have nothing to forgive, Dithy," he said, now more 
 solemnly. " You remind me of my mother, who was a 
 blessed woman. Her latest breath was drawn in prayer 
 for me." 
 
 " No prayer of faith is lost," said Edith, reverently. " How 
 beautiful are those words in the vision of John, about the 
 elders who fell down before the Lamb, having harps and 
 golden vials full of odors, which are the prayers of the saints ! " 
 
 As Edith sat there before her uncle, her lovely face 
 animated with intelligence, and with an ardor of pur- 
 pose such as springs in a heart consecrated to holy services, 
 while he, in all his hardiness and eccentricity, was moved 
 unconsciously by the mysterious influence of her words, they 
 were a study for an artist's pencil, and might have been illus- 
 trated emblematically by that rock, mentioned by Hephestiau, 
 which was of such a wonderful nature it was agitated when 
 struck by the stalk of an asphodel, but could not be removed 
 from its place with a great exertion of force. 
 
 Edith was careful never to weary her uncle with words, so 
 she quietly resumed her labors about \he room. Her uncle 
 presently took his cane, and hobbled up stairs to his chamber.
 
 EDITH HALE. 405 
 
 But, not long after, he returned, wearing his hat and over- 
 coat, and, after commending her labors, said that he was going 
 out for a short walk. 
 
 " If you will not be ashamed to be seen out beside a poor 
 
 v 
 
 old man like me," he said, " I wish you would go with me, 
 Dithy ; for, as I am lame, it is not easy for me to walk without 
 assistance." 
 
 Edith readily consented, and, when her uncle had locked 
 the door securely, they went away. 
 
 " It seems almost like a new land to me to see such streets, 
 buildings, and people in such costumes," remarked her uncle ; 
 " I have spent so many years in other climes, that I cannot 
 make it seem natural." 
 
 " How does it compare with that to which you have been 
 accustomed ? " inquired Edith. 
 
 ' Unfavorably, in many respects," said her uncle. " The 
 women whom we meet here look like fragile white lilies, ready 
 to be blown away by the first adverse breath, rather than 
 like gorgeous flowers, which flourish, in the luxuriance of 
 beauty, beneath a tropical sun. I would rather see one 
 of the European or Asiatic beauties than a bevy of these 
 pale Americans." 
 
 "I might tell you stories of the favorite ladies of many an 
 Eastern monarch, of splendors of which you have never 
 even dreamed ; but there is yet another side to each of these 
 pictures, so black, so revolting, that you would rather accept the 
 lot of the humblest girl who walks these streets, than all the
 
 406 EDITH HALE. 
 
 splendor and beauty of the East, with its balance of sin, and 
 terror, and death. True is the Chinese proverb, ' When thy 
 bed is straw, thou sleepest in security ; but when thou stretch- 
 est thyself on roses, beware of the thorns.' " 
 
 " It is better, after all, to be content with our portion," 
 said Edith, with a smile, " if we do not walk the streets like 
 birds of paradise. As the Scripture says, ' Seeing there be 
 many things which increase vanity, what is man the better ? " 
 
 " What is that large building before us, that stands like a 
 fortress, gloomy and impregnable ? " inquired her uncle, as 
 they progressed in their walk. 
 
 " That," replied Edith, " is the state-prison." 
 
 " I remember now," said her uncle. " Suppose we enter 
 its precincts, and look about a little. I have a fancy for visit- 
 ing such places ; they open an interesting book of human 
 nature, from which I read valuable instruction much more 
 than from palaces and temples. And I know something of 
 the life of a prisoner, from experience." 
 
 On being admitted within the plain, gloomy walls, a cold 
 chill crept over the heart of Edith, and she clung more 
 closely to her uncle, as if seeking his protection. They 
 passed out into the spacious yards, with their high, impen- 
 etrable barriers from the world, and saw the prisoners at their 
 labors; while the sounds, heavy, grating, and incessant, of the 
 hammers falling upon the stone, seemed like the records of 
 the moments they wore out in expiation of their crimes, 
 written with an iron pen in the rock forever. The heart of 
 Edith trembled with compassion at the spectacle; but her
 
 EDITH HALE. 407 
 
 uncle, whose eye was familiar and ear practised in the world's 
 harsh scenes, looked on, apparently unmoved. 
 
 They passed on into some of the work -shops. In one of 
 these, where were many convicts engaged upon some mechan- 
 ical labor, Edith's eye fell upon a prisoner, who immediately 
 occupied all her attention. At the second glance, his 
 countenance seemed familiar ; and it was evident that 
 she was also recognized, for his face had suddenly become 
 overspread with a hue of shame, and he turned away as much 
 as possible, that he might escape unnoticed. AVith great 
 emotion she asked her uncle to inquire the name of the 
 prisoner she indicated. 
 
 " That is Abiel Tyng, late of Boston, but formerly of 
 Waterbury, I believe," replied their conductor. 
 
 " It is he ! " responded Edith, in a suppressed voice. 
 
 " Who, child? " inquired her uncle. 
 
 " The man who defrauded my father of all his esta'te, and 
 afterwards with his family flourished upon his ill-gotten 
 gains. For what crime is he here ? " she inquired. 
 
 " For robbery." 
 
 As they passed the prisoner, Edith caught his stolen glance, 
 and the hot blood of shame mounted to his close-cropped hair. 
 But Edith could feel no exultation now. The tears rushed 
 to her eyes, and she entreated her uncle to leave that unhappy 
 scene as quickly as possible. 
 
 " I remember now," said Edith to her uncle, on their way 
 from the prison, " how this Tyng came into the factory at
 
 408 ED IT II II ALE. 
 
 Waterbury, with two ladies dressed iu great elegance, and saw 
 me at my work." 
 
 " He did, indeed ! " said her uncle. 
 
 " Yes ; and in reply to some observation made by one of 
 the ladies respecting the faGtory-girls, he said it would be a 
 great pity if they should get above themselves ; for some were 
 born to work, or something very like." 
 
 " I wonder what he thinks he is born for now," said her 
 uncle. 
 
 " But I cannot feel any other emotion than pity for his 
 wretchedness," said Edith. 
 
 " I can, easily," said her uncle. . 
 
 " Do you think it is right to ? " asked Edith, half timidly. 
 
 " It is natural, any way," said her uncle. 
 
 " But not quite right, I am certain," said Edith. 
 
 When they had returned home, Edith asked if she should 
 not go out and procure something nice for dinner. 
 
 " No," said her uncle ; " I am already well provided, for a 
 poor man. Yesterday I cooked enough to last till to-morrow, 
 with the help of a little heating to-day. You needn't laugh, 
 Dithy," he added, as he saw her mirth at the idea of his 
 housekeeping. " Every traveller in the East learns how to 
 cook the dishes that can tempt an epicure. I only lack 
 material ; though, if I had plenty of money, I could not get in 
 these markets what I want." 
 
 Edith found that her uncle possessed unusual skill in the 
 culinary art, although his seasoning was too outlandish to be
 
 EDITH HALE. 409 
 
 palatable to her ; yet, with some alterations of her own, the 
 dishes proved quite agreeable. 
 
 " Xow, if I only had some of my favorite eating, it 
 would seem like old times," said the old man, as he sat down 
 to the table. 
 
 " Pray, what is it ? " asked Edith. 
 
 " The best thing I ever ate was the baked foot of an 
 elephant. You must have heard it lauded in the records of 
 gastronomy ? " 
 
 " 0, no, never ! " replied Edith, with some repugnance in 
 her expression. 
 
 " Then you know nothing about the finest eating. Another 
 excellent dish is the ortolan, a bird which was formerly sold 
 at such enormous prices to the epicures of Home ; and then 
 the mullet, and some other kinds of fish, served up with 
 frontignac." 
 
 Before Edith had concluded her dinner, her uncle produced 
 a box of dates, and some other dried fruits he had brought 
 from abroad, which she highly praised, very much to his 
 satisfaction. 
 
 After dinner, while her uncle smoked and drank coffee, 
 Edith sat engaged upon her sewing, and talked of her past 
 life, at his request. Then he told stories of his travels, 
 interesting Edith so closely that the afternoon had waned before 
 she was aware. At an early hour she took leave of her 
 uncle and returned home, expecting to meet Mr. Raymond 
 and Mary. But she was disappointed. As the evening train of 
 cars, upon which they were to return, had been due some time, 
 35
 
 410 EDITH HALE. 
 
 she concluded that they must have made a short stop some- 
 where about the city. 
 
 llequesting the housekeeper to defer the tea, she took a 
 book and sat down to read, to consume the time. It was the 
 new book in which Mr. llaymond had promised to read aloud 
 that evening after his return ; and she smiled to herself as 
 she thought that by her punctuality she had anticipated the 
 pleasure. Her reading soon absorbed all her attention, and 
 an hour had well-nigh passed before she recollected why 
 she was waiting. 
 
 At length she began to think it was a little singular that 
 they did not come, as they had engaged to return early, and 
 spend the evening with her. Calling a servant, she inquired 
 if the carriage were sent at the appointed time, and, being 
 told that it had been gone two hours, she began to feel 
 anxiety about their absence. 
 
 " If they do not appear within a few minutes," she said, 
 " I will send to inquire. She tried to frame numerous plau- 
 sible reasons for their failure to return ; but, no sooner was 
 her hope fastened upon one, than its futility became apparent, 
 and it gave place to another, to be also rejected, till her anxiety 
 deepened into a nervous foreboding. She had decided to 
 despatch a messenger to the depot, when she heard the 
 carriage stop at the door ; and, throwing aside her book, 
 she exclaimed : " They have come at last ! O, I am greatly 
 relieved ! " 
 
 Her first impulse was to hasten down and meet them ; but,
 
 EDITH HALE. 411 
 
 devising a little scene for their welcome, she remained where 
 she was, impatiently. 
 
 Presently, hearing footsteps ascending the stairs, she sprang 
 forward to welcome Mary, and tell her how much she had suf- 
 fered in apprehension. But she met only a servant, whose 
 face she perceived at once was blanched with affright. 
 
 " What has happened ? Speak, for the love of Heaven ! " 
 she cried, seeing that some terrible intelligence struggled 
 upon his lips. 
 
 " A dreadful accident has happened to the cars, ma'am, 
 and" 
 
 " O, they are not injured ! Tell me they are safe only 
 detained ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 He shook his head. He heard sounds of hurrying steps 
 below, and a new pallor settled over his face. " Mr. Ray- 
 mond, we hear, is very much hurt, ma'am." 
 
 " And Mary ? " demanded Edith, frantically. 
 
 " Mrs. Raymond has just been brought home." 
 
 Edith could not stop to hear more ; but, rushing past 
 him, hastened below stairs. She suddenly paused, per- 
 ceiving there were strangers assembled. Horror was marked 
 upon their countenances, and they were speaking in that low, 
 suppressed voice that betokens the presence of something 
 fearfully unusual. 
 
 On entering the room in which they stood, her eyes 
 at once took in a form which was laid upon the sofa, about 
 which the garments were crushed to fragments, and reddened 
 with blood. The face was closely covered.
 
 412 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " Where is Mary Mrs. Raymond ? " cried Edith. 
 
 Some one pointed to the form, and whispered, " She is 
 dead ! " 
 
 " Dead ! " gasped Edith. " 0, my God ! This is too 
 much to bear ! " and, with a wail of agony, she fell down 
 helplessly in a swoon.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 REVERSES. 
 
 ONE week, with its seven iron or golden days, how much 
 may it bring of woe or gladness ! One week from the day 
 when Edith went to visit her uncle, she was alone, and sub- 
 merged in grief in that stricken home, with no hope of the 
 return of the companions who were gone. Her misfortunes 
 had proved more heavy than even they had appeared in their 
 first crushing weight. Mr. Raymond had only lingered a few 
 hours, in a state of insensibility, before he was numbered 
 among the dead, with his wife. 
 
 Those solemn words, the inspired dirge for the dead, " Man 
 that is born of a woman is of few days, and full of trouble. 
 He cometh forth like a flower and is cut down ; he fleeth also 
 a shadow, and continueth not," had been read over their 
 remains, and together had they been borne away to the tomb 
 to return no more forever. Edith had passed through all this 
 as one in a dream. The great grief, with its overwhelming 
 excitement, the funeral ceremonies, the words of consolation, 
 the solitude which brooded over her heart like the gloom of 
 night, all held her senses, as it were, paralyzed with sorrow. 
 35*
 
 414 EDITH HALE. 
 
 The friends and strangers, who had sought to soothe 
 her wounded heart, having left her by herself for a season, 
 the extent of her loss was more certainly defined to her. 
 Her first impressions had been poignant ; in the solitude 
 of uninterrupted reflection, her sorrow became deep, abiding, 
 and calm. 
 
 Many times, on this day which brought the week to a close, 
 had she wandered through the rooms which so late had been 
 animated with the sunny presence of the beloved ; everything, 
 on either hand, as in a cemetery, suggestive of death. The 
 boudoir, which was more closely associated with Mary than 
 any other room, her harp, books, chair, work-basket, remain- 
 ing just as she had last used them, seemed now to Edith all 
 overcast with a chilling darkness. Oftenest, by some unac- 
 countable influence, had she lingered in the room in which 
 was the portrait of the elder Mr. Raymond, her grand- 
 father. Now the gloomy, austere face, with its deep eyes, she 
 imagined looked down upon her steadily, till it softened into 
 something of benignity and compassion. 
 
 " My grandfather blessed name ! " she whispered. " 0, 
 that I could have been permitted to love you in life 
 to call one smile of affection to those stern lips ! " 
 
 But the'very thought shapen into words held her breath- 
 less with awe, as she looked upon the face, which again, to 
 her imagination, wore its wonted severity. A storm had been 
 boding in the leaden sky since the morning ; and, toward the 
 wane of day, the rain began to fall against the window-panes, 
 and the harsh, cold winds of November went rustling and
 
 EDITH HALE. 415 
 
 sighing heavily without the house, as if instinct with a human 
 wail of woe. Edith could not wander in the great, desolate 
 rooms, now ; for, with the early gloaming, and the rain, there 
 seemed to have come .in the dusky robes of the dead, and they 
 bru.-hed past her at every step ; while cold, pale hands were 
 laid upon her brow, in a solemn and silent benediction. 
 
 She went to the library, determined to occupy her mind 
 with reading until the hour when the housekeeper should 
 come to receive her instructions for the following day. All 
 remained as Mr. Raymond had last left it. Beside the 
 writing-desk was his favorite volume turned down upon its 
 open page, as if the interrupted reading were to be resumed 
 with the next leisure. Taking it up half unconsciously, she 
 sat down to read. A stronger gust of wind swept by the 
 walls of the house, as if a legion of spirits were cleaving the 
 air with their sable wings. With a trembling heart, she 
 steeled her ear to the sounds, and read on. But, when she 
 came to the words, " Green thorn of the hill of ghosts, that 
 shakes! thy head to nightly winds ! Is there no spirit's windy 
 skirt now rustling in thy leaves ? Often are the steps of the 
 dead in the dark-eddying blasts, when the moon, a dun-shield 
 from the east, is rolled along the sky," she said 
 
 " I cannot read more ! It is too dark without and within 
 my heart." 
 
 And, leaving the chair in which she had seen Horace Ray- 
 mond so often sitting, she went out, and closed the door 
 behind her, pausing, for the first time, to turn the key in the 
 lock. She then went to the room of the housekeeper, who
 
 416 EDITH HALE. 
 
 sat mending, as she always did of a Saturday night, and 
 singing to herself, in a low voice, the hymn beginning with 
 
 " Hark ! from the tombs, a doleful sound ! " 
 
 Edith had ostensibly joined her upon business, but consola- 
 tion was not less her object. This seemed somewhat doubtful; 
 for the woman straightway began to speak of the gloomy 
 night, and the superstitions connected therewith, till she fell 
 upon tales of horror, enough to chill the very life-blood. 
 
 And so, at an early hour, Edith, weary with grief, retired 
 to her pillow. But she could not sink her thoughts into 
 the soft, peaceful lap of forgetfulness. The storm having 
 increased to violence, her mind kept pace with its strong con- 
 fusion, refusing to be led by the angel of the green pastures 
 and the still waters. Woful, indeed, is the first night of 
 storm after the dead have been borne from our homes. 
 On such a night, when we hear the winds shriek and howl 
 over the roof, adown the chimneys, and into every cranny and 
 casement, till the house groans and trembles like a thing of 
 life in agony, we twine our affections more closely around the 
 living whom we love, and bless God that we are not utterly 
 bereft. 
 
 But Edith could not feel this consolation in that desolate 
 home. Hour after hour she lay feverishly wrestling with her 
 thoughts, until toward morning, when the storm abated, she 
 finally slept. But her sleep brought no rest only troubled 
 and fitful dreams of the dead. 
 
 The morning dawned in cold and brilliant calmness. It
 
 EDITH HALE. 417 
 
 was the first Sabbath since the burial of the dead, and, to 
 Edith, a new Sabbath in her existence. At the sound of the 
 church-bells, which struck over the city, her heart failed 
 within her, and she exclaimed, sorrowfully, " I am alone ! I 
 am alone ! " in harmony with the solemn peals. Then she 
 prayed till she remembered the words " Fear thou not, for I 
 am with thee," and grew calm as the holy morning. 
 
 Horace Raymond had been very much beloved, from his 
 youth, by the people with whom he worshipped ; and, on this 
 day, they manifested especially their mourning for his death. 
 There were also many to whom Mary had attached herself; 
 for her character had deepened into rare loveliness. To all 
 those who had known them it was a melancholy day ; but to 
 Edith especially it was gloomy. The hours moved slowly 
 and heavily. With its close came thoughts of the opening 
 week, and its new cares and business. Edith was sitting by 
 herself, and reflecting upon the heavy responsibilities which 
 had fallen to her lot, as meantime evening stole on, when 
 she was aroused by the entrance of the housekeeper, who 
 announced that a gentleman had called, and wished to see her. 
 
 " Did he not send his name? " inquired Edith. 
 
 " He said, when I asked him, it was no matter ; he must 
 see you, at any rate," replied the housekeeper, smiling. 
 
 Edith was not accustomed to company on the Sabbath 
 evening, and she regarded the circumstance as somewhat sin- 
 gular. She thought hurriedly of her few friends, and among 
 them of Hugh Oliver, who, for some unknown reason, had 
 not appeared to offer condolence during the week preceding,
 
 418 EDITH HALE. 
 
 which had not a little contributed to her wakefulness on the 
 past night. 
 
 With a perturbed heart, she descended to the receiving 
 room. She saw that her visitor had arisen from his seat, and 
 was examining the articles about the room with the close 
 scrutiny of one employed in taking an inventory. She 
 advanced with some hesitation ; for, not being able to see his 
 face, she could not divine who could thus be assuming such 
 freedom. 
 
 ' Whom have I the honor of addressing?" she inquired. 
 
 No answer being returned, she presented herself fully 
 before him. The face that now looked upon her was that 
 of a stranger an old man, with bald head, a countenance 
 coarse and harsh, and a stooping, small figure, poorly and 
 slovenly attired. Her next impulse was fear; for she believed 
 that this man was wholly an intruder. 
 
 " This the girl that Horace took home ? " he inquired, 
 rather as a demand than a question, while he eyed her 
 searchingly. 
 
 " I am Edith Hale a relative of the late Mr. Horace 
 Raymond," she replied. . 
 
 " Ye came in so soft and cat-like, and I was so busy here, 
 that I did n't hear ye. Edith Hale is yer name, then ? " 
 
 Edith bowed stiffly. 
 
 " I should ha' been here before now, only I did n't know he 
 was killed till last night." 
 
 " Are you an acquaintance of Mr. Raymond's ? " asked 
 Edith.
 
 EDITU HALE. 419 
 
 " No, I an't, I never wanted to know him ; but I am his 
 uncle old Raymond's only sister's husband." 
 
 The old man now looked upon Edith as if he expected some 
 deference ; but, failing of eliciting any notice from her 
 other than that of wonder, he continued, in a stronger voice, 
 
 " And now I am his heir; his only heir, mind ye ! " 
 
 Edith knew not what answer to make to this, for she thought 
 she was encountering a crazed person. The dark, small eyes 
 of her visitor were fastened upon her with a shrewd, fierce 
 expression, which made her tremble. 
 
 " I conclude you are not aware that my father was a half- 
 brother of the late Mr. Raymond, the oldest child of the elder 
 Raymond?" she said, after a painful pause, in which the old 
 man had been closely scrutinizing the expression of her face. 
 
 " Xo, no ! " he replied, shaking his head wisely, " I guess 
 I an't aware of any such stuff as that ! I don't know nothing 
 about it ; nor I shan't know nothing about it ! " 
 
 " Have you never heard of this before ? " inquired Edith. 
 
 " I 've heard a great many things before, but stories don't 
 take me in. My name is Rufus Sykes, and that man knows 
 what he is about, and nothing can turn him out of any course 
 of his'n." 
 
 " You surely do not doubt my word ? " said Edith, now 
 beginning to comprehend something of the man's design 
 against her. 
 
 " I believe that every word about old Raymond's first mar- 
 riage is a lie ; and you, and all the powers of earth, can't 
 prove that it is n't ! " he said, fiercely.
 
 420 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " But the elder Mr. Raymond left a writing, detailing all 
 the circumstances of his marriage to my father's mother," said 
 Edith. 
 
 " I knew that before," rejoined the old man, with another 
 shrewd shake of the head. 
 
 " And in that writing he expressly ordered that I, my 
 father's only child, on attaining the age of my majority, 
 should receive a certain portion of all his estate. And, now 
 that Horace is dead, I am the only legal heir to the whole of 
 this Raymond property," continued Edith. 
 
 " Was that writing signed and witnessed ? " asked the old 
 man, in a tone that expressed the luxury of triumph. 
 
 Edith hesitated, and turned deathly pale. She now recalled 
 the fact that old Mr. Raymond had not been able to finish 
 this document, and had died without leaving his name upon 
 it. As she had not yet come to the years of her majority, no 
 part of her property had been received. 
 
 " I know all about it," said the old man, " so ye need n't 
 trouble yourself to think of anything to say. I heard the 
 whole story when old Horace Raymond died ; and I knew 
 then, if young Horace should die without leaving wife or chil- 
 dren, or a will, I should get every cent of the Raymond prop- 
 erty for my own child. He has died, and he did n't leave a 
 will, nor wife, nor child." 
 
 " I know it would be the wish of the Raymonds, were they 
 here now," said Edith, " that I should inherit their estate." 
 
 " What if it would ? Dead men can't help what becomes 
 of their money, even if it goes to the ones they 'd least want
 
 EDITH HALE. 421 
 
 to have it go to. I know there never was any love betwixt 
 the Raymonds and I, but that don't alter the matter a whit 
 now. It 's good enough for the old man ! " he added, solilo- 
 quizing ; " he always hated me and my sister. Good enough 
 for him ! He promised to have her and then did n't, and it 
 broke her heart. Good ! I 've got all the money he laid 
 up now ! " 
 
 The tears came to Edith's eyes ; she was utterly at a loss 
 what to say or do, for she had no one to whom to appeal in 
 this emergency. 
 
 " I am certain," she said, at length, " that you must be 
 mistaken in this. I believe that I shall be able to dispute 
 your claim." 
 
 " Dispute it as much as you like ! You may go to any 
 lawyer in this state, and see if you can prove that you are the 
 legal heir to this property, instead of me." 
 
 " I shall try it," replied Edith. 
 
 " Very well," said the old man, " the sooner the better. 
 It matters nothing to me. This place and this property is 
 mine, and you will have to own it is." 
 
 " You cannot," said Edith, " be so determined upon taking 
 advantage of my helplessness ! If you persist in this, and it 
 prove as you say, I shall be thrown upon the world in poverty, 
 when, as you know, I am the only heir to this estate." 
 
 " You ought ter be thankful," he said, " that you 've had 
 
 so much out of the Raymonds here, when you an't any related 
 
 to 'em. Xow, I warn you to leave this house by to-morrow 
 
 night, for I am going to sell it at auction, and everything in V 
 
 36
 
 422 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " You will not certainly deprive me of a home until the 
 case between us is decided at a court of justice ! " exclaimed 
 Edith. " I am an orphan, without brothers or sisters to aid 
 me, and I have a poor, lame uncle, who is looking to me for 
 future support. You cannot find it in your heart to do this 
 great evil ! Think, if you have children, how you would 
 feel to know that they were forced to such an extremity ! " 
 
 " I 've heard that Horace took ye out of poverty. It won't 
 be nothing new to you to be down again. You have had too 
 much here now ; it 's all come right out of me, at last." 
 
 Edith sat down, overwhelmed with grief. 
 
 " You need n't look so hard at me, girl," he continued. " I 
 know what I 'm about ; and, if you knew Rufus Sykes, you 'd 
 know that he 's like an iron bar, he can't be bent. He 's been 
 through a great many rocks, but he 's sure to break wherever 
 he strikes." 
 
 " This business ill becomes the Sabbath. I will see you at 
 another time," said Edith. 
 
 " It 's no use to talk such stuff to me ! I shall come into 
 my own house, here, a Sunday, or any day I take a notion, 
 without asking leave of anybody. I come to-night a purpose 
 to save time, for I don't waste my life away, like the lazy, 
 good-for-nothing gentry. I tell ye, once for all, you must 
 leave this house right away, or be driven out by an officer. 
 After to-morrow, if you are here, I shall charge ye rent. 
 And when ye go, if you take a single article that belonged to 
 the Raymonds away with ye, I shall prosecute ye for it. 
 And now I want a candle, so that I can go round through all
 
 EDITH HALE. 423 
 
 the rooms and see jest what is in 'em. When I once put my 
 eye on a thing, if it an't there next time, I shall know it." 
 
 Edith was so overwhelmed at this singular revelation, that 
 she had no power of remonstrance. Until the next morning, 
 when she could make efforts to ascertain the truth of this 
 man's pretensions, by taking legal counsel, her anxiety was 
 intense. Without experience in business of this kind, she 
 felt reluctant to present her case to a stranger. She remem- 
 bered Hugh Oliver, one of the most distinguished practitioners 
 of law in the city, and an acquaintance who had already 
 manifested great friendliness, to whom she could go ; but her 
 heart forbade it. She had not seen him for some time, and 
 she believed that his former friendship had lapsed into indif- 
 ference, or forgetfulness. As he had not come to her to offer 
 his sympathy after the distressing casualty, of which he could 
 not fail to hear, she would not have the appearance of seeking 
 him. 
 
 With a failing heart she entered the building chiefly occu- 
 pied by the offices of counsellors, and ascended the long flight 
 of stairs. On reaching the passage at the head, she paused a 
 moment, to collect her scattered thoughts to a degree of control. 
 On cither side, for a long way before her, she saw the doors 
 with the names of the attorneys upon the ground glass panes, 
 like black symbols upon ice. At this juncture she heard foot- 
 steps ascending the stairs, and she moved forward within the 
 shadow of an angle of the passage, for she remained too much 
 perturbed to proceed upon her business. As the steps 
 approached, the voices of two gentlemen in conversation fell
 
 424 EDITH HALE. 
 
 upon her ear, one of which she immediately recognized. 
 Turning her head involuntarily, she encountered Hugh Oliver. 
 
 " Is it possible ? " he said, pausing suddenly, and with in- 
 terest. " You were going to see me, were you not?" 
 
 " Xc," said EJith, too much confused to consider what she 
 said, " I came upon legal business, scarcely caring what lawyer 
 I saw." 
 
 " You are in great affliction," continued Oliver, looking 
 sadly upon her, as she stood tearfully in her deep mourning 
 garments. Edith could not reply. " I have but late heard 
 of the painful circumstances of your friends' death, having 
 returned to the city this morning, after an absence of several 
 weeks." 
 
 At these words a momentary gladness sprang up in her 
 heart, but it was quickly succeeded by the old mistrust. 
 
 " Perhaps he thinks me an heiress," she thought ; " but he 
 shall be quickly undeceived." 
 
 Edith did not refuse now to be shown into Oliver's office, 
 and, after some preliminary conversation, stated to him suc- 
 cinctly her difficulty in hand. Oliver examined her papers, 
 asked many questions, and then gave his opinion that it was 
 a doubtful case. 
 
 " But, as there have been decisions in favor of cases scarcely 
 more promising than yours," he added, " I think I should 
 advise you to proceed to litigation with this Sykes. It being 
 a clear case in right, although without substantial evidence in 
 law, there is a hope for you."
 
 EDITH HALE. 425 
 
 " But if I should lose the case," inquired Edith, " I should 
 have to defray the expenses of my suit ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Oliver, " the cost could not be drawn from the 
 defendant." 
 
 " Then," said Edith, " it will be in vain for me to think of 
 litigation ; for I am very poor in my own property, and have 
 not a dollar to spend in that way." 
 
 " That need not deter you, for I will engage to carry on 
 the suit upon my own expense, if you fail of obtaining favor- 
 able judgment," he said, his face flushing slightly, for he felt 
 an embarrassment in offering to confer a favor. 
 
 Edith raised her eyes upon him, through tears, and was too 
 much affected to give words to her acknowledgments. 
 
 " In the mean time, while the suit is in process," said Oliver, 
 who seemed desirous of changing the current of thought as 
 quickly as possible, " may I inquire what course you propose 
 to pursue in regard to your present residence ? " 
 
 " I would rather inquire of you what is best for me to do. 
 This man has warned me to leave the house by to-day ; has 
 he power to oblige me ? " 
 
 " Xo ; but, if you lose the case, he can exact of you rent 
 from the time of his notice to you to leave the premises ; and, 
 as that would be inconvenient, I should advise you to abandon 
 the house at once. Have you no friends in this vicinity, with 
 whom you can reside at present ? " 
 
 " I have an uncle, my mother's brother, who is but late 
 returned from a residence of many years abroad," replied 
 Edith. 
 
 36*
 
 426 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " That is very fortunate for you," said Oliver, " as it will 
 be necessary for me to see you occasionally about your case." 
 
 " My uncle," said Edith, determined that he should derive 
 no false impressions of her circumstances, " has returned in 
 destitution, aud is incapacitated for labor by infirmity ; there- 
 fore I am more anxious to secure my just dues, as I have 
 undertaken to provide for him." 
 
 Oliver sat reflectively now, twirling his pen between his 
 fingers. 
 
 " Were I a friend of longer standing," he began, at length, 
 " I should feel warranted to interest myself in the means to 
 which you look for this support. You have said that you 
 have but little property in your own right ; and, if I can be 
 of any service to you, by a loan, or otherwise " 
 
 He stopped, for, when he raised his eyes to hers, and saw 
 the expression she wore, he added abruptly, 
 
 " You are not disposed to trust much in the disinterested- 
 ness of my friendship." 
 
 " From what do you derive such an opinion? " asked Edith, 
 faintly smiling. 
 
 " From repeated observation." 
 
 " Have I not convinced you," said Edith, " before this, of 
 my appreciation of the great service you have already ren- 
 dered me ? I certainly intended to." 
 
 " I do not refer to that," he said, " but rather to a certain 
 suspicion of the truth of my professions of real interest in 
 your welfare, which you manifest toward me on all occasions, 
 unless thrown off your guard ; I am led to think that this
 
 EDITH HALE. 427 
 
 manner is not natural to you, but rather the result of false 
 impressions of some kind, relating to me. If I speak with 
 too much freedom, you must pardon me." 
 
 " You are not wholly correct," replied Edith, smiling despite 
 herself. 
 
 " At least in the larger part," pursued Oliver. 
 
 " I have no less faith in your professions of friendship than 
 in those of any other man of the world," said Edith. 
 
 " I respect your caution, for I can easily comprehend how 
 a young girl an orphan and unprotected is suspicious of 
 treachery. I only wish you to believe me your sincere friend, 
 both for your own sake, and for the sake of your late friend 
 and protector, whom I long respected and loved." 
 
 Edith was too much moved to reply ; but Oliver knew that 
 he was not quite misunderstood now. As she arose to leave, 
 he said, 
 
 " I will take your future address, Miss Hale, for I may 
 have business which will make it necessary for me to see you 
 before you come in here again." 
 
 Edith hesitated, for she preferred that this information 
 should not be known to Oliver. She did not wish him to visit 
 her, and thus win her affections, to throw them lightly away, 
 as another had done ; and she had seen enough of the world 
 to believe that a man of his high position would never really 
 seek one without family or fortune for a more serious motive. 
 
 " You can address me by letter, simply directed to this 
 city, if you please," she said, at length. 
 
 " But I shall wish to see you personally," said Oliver.
 
 428 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " The case \vill require very close attention, and I shall have 
 business \vith you which cannot well be communicated by 
 letter." 
 
 " In that case," said Edith, " you can make an appointment 
 by writing to me, and I will come here to your office." 
 
 Oliver looked somewhat disappointed at this arrangement ; 
 but Edith had suddenly assumed too much dignity to warrant 
 a cross-examination. 
 
 " I have omitted," added Edith, " to express my gratitude 
 to you for your unexpected kindness to me on this painful 
 occasion, and for your offers of assistance in regard to my 
 future livelihood, which I am not at present in need of accept- 
 ing ; but none the less am I sensible of your generosity." 
 
 Oliver arose and followed her to his door, where he detained 
 her a moment, as he spoke a few words of encouragement and 
 consolation, in his own characteristic manner, which had so 
 much impressed Edith from her first interview with him. He 
 was rewarded by such a look of gratitude and sweetness, that he 
 could not resist the impulse to take his hat and accompany 
 her to the street, leaving his office in charge of his partner. 
 When there, it struck him suddenly as unfriendly to leave her 
 to walk alone to her destination, with her sad heart, amid the 
 jostling crowd ; and, before a second thought, he had offered 
 to attend her back to her home, refusing to hear her unwil- 
 lingness to trouble him further. 
 
 When, finally, he must part with her, his conversational 
 powers seemed to have suddenly fled ; and, pressing her hand 
 rather more than was quite fashionable, he bowed awkwardly,
 
 EDITH HALE. 429 
 
 and walked away in a direction exactly the opposite from what 
 he had intended. And Edith, with an unusual tremor at her 
 heart and flush upon her cheek, was wondering, the remainder 
 of that trying day, in which she went forth from the place 
 of many associations of a pleasant and painful past, why so 
 much sadness had been suddenly lifted from her heart, when 
 sorrow, and care, and privation, all unforeseen, had recently 
 fallen in the path of her life.
 
 CHAPTEE XXVIII. 
 
 WONDERFUL. 
 
 FROM the time of the council affairs did not improve 
 in the parish of Waterbury. The popularity of a minister, 
 always of a precarious nature, seldom regains its former 
 strength when there has been an outbreak of so much mag- 
 nitude, even if the turbulence subside to apparent tranquillity. 
 With increased solemnity Mr. Loomey delivered a number 
 of discourses from various pointed texts of Scripture, eluci- 
 dating the fact of the persecutions and indignities endured by 
 the clergy of his time. The uninitiated hearer would have 
 inferred that Mr. Loomey, the very exemplar of all goodness, 
 was likewise the most abused of men. 
 
 The evening meetings of the Dorcas Benevolent Society, 
 resumed with the winter season, did not receive his favor at 
 this time. They encouraged frivolity and lightness, he said ; 
 and he refused to read the notices of their recurrence from his 
 pulpit on the Sabbath. He would read them at the meeting 
 of the week. 
 
 " That," said Father Shaw, on being told of it by Miss 
 Leah, " is certainly straining at a gnat, when I should n't
 
 EDITH HALE. 431 
 
 wonder ef he was swallowin' some sort of a camel, all the 
 time." 
 
 " He is a minister," said Miss Leah, " and we must not be 
 severe in our judgment." 
 
 " Minister or no minister," said Father Shaw, " I shall 
 speak what I think, as I have these sixty years ; and I say 
 the cause of Zion won't prosper so long as such men as this 
 ere Loomey is among those that takes care on 't. I don't 
 know nothin' really bad ag'in him ; and, mind, I never tell all 
 I think on him. We want the churches all want minis- 
 ters who are in their work with all their hearts, and not part 
 way in 't, while two thirds on 'em is in the world, the flesh, 
 and the devil." 
 
 " They would tell you that they are so poorly off for earthly 
 support," said Miss Leah, " it makes them of necessity more 
 worldly than they would be if they were suitably supplied 
 with the means of a livelihood for themselves and families." 
 
 " Well, when they say that, I an't a mind to dispute 'em 
 at least, a great many ministers. Mr. Loomey, here, has a 
 good salary for a single man, as everybody round knows. But 
 it 's true that ministers, for the chiefest part, don't get paid 
 well enough. One reason is, there 's too many meetin'-houses 
 of the same sort in no great circuit of miles. Another reason 
 is, people get to thinking that ministers are not fed by bread 
 alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth 
 of the Lord ; which is a mistaken idee. They can't find money 
 in fishes' mouths, as Peter did, and they need things got by 
 money as much as other folks. I 've allers been in favor of
 
 432 EDITH HALE. 
 
 givin' a minister a good salary, and then pickin' only the 
 best ; such, I mean, as the Scriptur tells, and no other." 
 
 " Many churches are not able to give a good salary," said 
 Miss Leah. 
 
 " A great many churches are abler than they think for ; for 
 it 's cheaper in the end to hire a good minister, and then pay 
 him. And then, where there rally is a poor society, 't would 
 be much more doin' God's sarvice for rich people to give to 
 such ere, than to help send so many missionaries off among 
 the heathen. Let one half of the money that 's sent in this 
 way out of our country, to the Lord only knows where, be 
 saved at home for our own poor pastors and churches, and 
 we might have a better state of things 'mongst us." 
 
 " It is certainly a matter we should consider with serious 
 reflection and prayer," said Miss Leah. 
 
 " I stick to 't," said Father Shaw, " that ministers, as a 
 gineral thing, are to be pitied nowadays, as [ told Mr. Well- 
 mont once ; for, with all their faults, they an't well-off enough 
 to be envied." 
 
 " Mr. Wellmont was a good man," said Miss Leah, with a 
 sigh. "We now realize more fully what we lost when he 
 left us." 
 
 " Yes ; but he warn't matched right. You harness up a 
 good, stiddy horse with an upish colt, and there '11 be high 
 times kicking and runnin', and all sorts of mischief to the 
 load that 's behind." 
 
 Father Shaw's pity for ministers was brought into requisi- 
 tion sooner than he had foreseen. He was at work in his
 
 EDITH HALE. 433 
 
 shop, one winter afternoon, not long after this conversation, 
 when he was visited by Miss Leah in an appearance some- 
 what remarkable for one of her usual precise and orderly 
 manner. 
 
 " What 's the matter, Leah ? " asked her father, looking 
 upon her in surprise. 
 
 But Miss Leah was too much overcome to speak for some 
 minutes. She sat down on one of the old rush-bottomed 
 chairs of the shop, and, folding her hands stiffly over her very 
 long black-silk apron, actually burst into tears. After all, she 
 looked not much grieved. 
 
 Father Shaw stood up, with his hammer in hand, a picture 
 of astonishment, and looking scarcely less formidable than 
 Thor with his hammer Miolner. 
 
 "Why don't you tell what 'tis that's happened?" de- 
 manded Father Shaw again. 
 
 o 
 
 "It has come, at last!" sobbed Miss Leah, using her 
 handkerchief freely. 
 
 " What 's come ? " 
 
 As Miss Leah vouchsafed no explanation, Father Shaw 
 continued, 
 
 " Has the cider come to vinegar ? or the cream come to 
 butter? or what upon arth is it that's come the devil 
 himself?" 
 
 " My day is come," spoke Miss Leah. 
 
 " I don't know any more now about it than ever," said her 
 father, striking his hammer upon a nail, with emphasis. 
 
 Miss Leah drew herself up, and even condescended to turn 
 37
 
 434 EDITII HALE. 
 
 around and bestow a patronizing glance upon the little look- 
 ing-glass behind her, which had hung in that same spot for 
 more than thirty years. As she withdrew her eyes somewhat 
 reflectively, she said, in a deep voice, which startled Father 
 Shaw anew : 
 
 " Yes ; a very strange circumstance has come about." 
 
 " How ye talk! wuss and wuss! " exclaimed Father Shaw, 
 angrily. " Have you turned to be crazy, or a fool ? " 
 
 " I have had an offer of marriage, father ! " now announced 
 Miss Leah. 
 
 " Is that all ? " rejoined her father, with a most provoking 
 indifference, after intelligence of such rare importance. " I 
 thought, for sartin, some dreadful thing had befallen ye." 
 
 " Father ! how can you make so light of a matter of such 
 consequence ? " said Miss Leah, in her most solemn manner. 
 
 " You've made dark on't here long enough, and it's high 
 time I made light of such nonsense." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " repeated Miss Leah, in a tone of rebuke. 
 
 "I don't care what 'tis," said Father Shaw, bestirring 
 things about him, with evident impatience. 
 
 "Didn't you know he had been here, father?" Miss 
 Leah's voice was softer now. 
 
 " He ? Who ? How should I know who he is ? " 
 
 " Father ! " said Miss Leah, solemnly and reverently, " it 
 is a minister!'" 
 
 " Not a minister offered himself to you, Leah ? " rejoined 
 Father Shaw, in a voice which betrayed as much interest as 
 even Miss Leah could desire.
 
 EDITH HALE. 435 
 
 " It is even so. I knew that all my past life of sacrifice 
 and strife for the right would not end in nothing. My 
 reward is at the door, knocking now." 
 
 " Well,'' said Father Shaw, sternly, " if it comes in the 
 shape of a minister, I won't let him in. He may knock till 
 he wears his knuckles out, afore I '11 open my door. I 'd a 
 plaguy sight druther you 'd marry a man that 's driven nails, 
 and sich like, all his life, like me, than to marry a minister. 
 I 've no opinion of 'em for husbands, at all. They 're allers 
 poor as church-mice ; allers have no continuin' city, and for 
 everlastin'ly in trouble." 
 
 " Everybody is called to more or less trouble," said Mi.ss 
 Leah. " The more need have they who endure so many 
 crosses of some one to help them along in life." 
 
 " I an't a-goin' to help 'em in that way," said her father. 
 " I shan't let any of my hard arnings go to support one of 
 them are lazy-bones." 
 
 " 0, father !" said Miss Leah, "but a short time since, 
 you were telling me what a hard time good ministers had, 
 and now " 
 
 She could not go on ; but, rising with great stateliness, 
 with her handkerchief to her mouth, walked out of the shop 
 into the house. 
 
 " Xow, what in plague has all this come for ? " said Father 
 Shaw, to himself, as he drove his hammer vigorously. " My 
 Leah get married ! at this time of life, too ! What would 
 become of me ! and, more 'n all, what would become of 
 her, ef she should really marry a minister ! "
 
 436 EDITH HALE. 
 
 The next question hud suggested itself several times 
 before, but he felt too much disturbed to ask it 
 
 " Who is this ere minister, that's been such a fool as to 
 offer himself to Leah ? Ef I 'd only kept in a little, I s'pose 
 she 'd ha' told me," he added. 
 
 In the evening, when he- went in to his supper, Miss Leah 
 had nearly recovered her habitual appearance, though her face 
 was considerably flushed, which might possibly have resulted 
 from her having prepared the meal over an oak-wood fire ; 
 and, when she poured the tea, her hand was not so steady and 
 direct with the straightforward purpose as usual. 
 
 Father Shaw did not condescend to allude to what had 
 passed ; neither did Miss Leah. 
 
 " I guess it 's a-goin' to storm," he remarked, as he poured 
 his tea. 
 
 " 0, no ! " said Miss Leah ; " I think it will be pleasant 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " Humph ! " thought Father Shaw. " Everything is mighty 
 pleasant, all at once ; but it an't pleasant to me." 
 
 " I met Maria Weston, as I was goin' to the store, to-day, 
 and she looked amazin' pale and poorly," he said, after a long 
 pause. 
 
 " Poor child ! I pity her," replied Miss Leah, in an un- 
 usually softened tone. 
 
 " So I 've said, all along ; but you never said so afore." 
 
 "Well," said Miss Leah, a little nervously, stirring the 
 spoons, as though looking for something, " I still think she
 
 EDITH HALE. 437 
 
 has done very wrong. But it is a hard case, and I hope 
 you will try and exert your influence to have people use her 
 as mercifully as possible, consistent with the dictates of con- 
 science." 
 
 Father Shaw looked upon her in surprise. But a short 
 time previous, she had expressed herself in the most decidM 
 manner against the erring girl. Miss Leah, as all who had 
 known her long and well could testify, was not unkind at 
 heart, but she was often betrayed into very strong righteous 
 indignation. 
 
 But now all things to Miss Leah appeared anew, in the 
 reflection of that soft, auroral light, which, at this late hour, 
 had fallen upon her soul. The harshness and angular points 
 of her nature were being smoothed away by a magical influ- 
 ence ; for 
 
 " Such is the Dower of that sweet passion, 
 That it all sordid baseness doth expel." 
 
 Love made her generous, tender, and forgiving even to a 
 poor, fallen girl, who, but late, had won her mercy only from 
 strict conscientiousness. 
 
 On the next day, which proved to be bland and pleasant, 
 as Miss Leah had foreseen, Father Shaw was summoned into 
 the sitting-room, to meet a visitor the reverend visitor, who 
 had made an appointment with Miss Leah to come. It was 
 a comfortable room, although wearing strong characteristics 
 of the minds who presided there. In the large fireplace (for 
 Father Shaw was a decided enemy to all stoves) burned sev 
 87*
 
 438 EDITH HALE. 
 
 eral hickory logs, on one side of which dozed a handsome cat, 
 of ancient respectability in the family. Through the windows 
 opening to the south streamed the winter sun across a few 
 trim-looking house-plants, down to the plain carpet, of home 
 manufacture. The rocking-chairs on either side of the fire- 
 place were large, old-fashioned, and cumbrous, composed of 
 wood enough to fashion half a dozen slender chairs of the 
 modern pattern. In one of these chairs ^at Father Shaw. 
 In the opposite one, Mr. Lund, the minister, who once said, 
 
 " I have left six parishes already, because I preached the 
 truth ; and I am ready to leave six more, if need be." 
 
 " I don't see what upon arth is the reason that you ministers 
 most on ye, at least are allers in such a peck of trouble," 
 said Father Shaw, when he had listened rather ungraciously to 
 his visitor, for a half-hour. 
 
 " I have had a very hard time in life," said Mr. Lund ; " it 
 seems to me never a man had a harder about here. I com- 
 menced life strong in faith, and believing I was called to do a 
 great work in the world. I thought, as I looked about me, 
 and saw so much gin and error in the world, I could be an 
 instrument in accomplishing a great change where I labored. 
 But I have been persecuted, deceived, and disappointed. And 
 last year, when my wife died, and left me and my seven chil- 
 dren, I felt that the sum of my calamities was footed. The 
 very .money which you and Major Oliver gave me, at the 
 time of the council here, I took to defray my wife's funeral 
 expenses."
 
 EDITH HALE. 439 
 
 " What did you put it to that use for?" inquired Father 
 Shaw. 
 
 "I had no other money; my society refused to pay me, 
 and I was about leaving." 
 
 " Why did n't you stay ? " said Father Shaw. 
 
 " I was n't liked generally, for the reason that I spoke the 
 truth as my conscience dictated." 
 
 " Well," said Father Shaw, " I 've allers spoke out what 
 I thought was truth, and I an't any worse off now than I 
 ever was. You should have set out on your own hook in 
 life, as I did, and preached to people whenever ye felt like it, 
 as I have." 
 
 " I have lived to see half a century," continued Mr. 
 Lund ; " and, on looking back on all the calamities I 've 
 gone through, I sometimes think it had been better for me 
 if I had never been born." 
 
 " Like enough," said Father Shaw ; " and it sartainly 
 would have been better for you ef you had n't been a min- 
 ister, for such ere men as you and I should n't begin to git 
 a livin' by bein' dependent on other folks. We an't gut 
 smooth, oily tongues enough. I s'pose, ef I had set out to be 
 a minister, I should have put people out so much, wherever 
 I went, I should have been flat on the ground by this 
 time." 
 
 Mr. Lund sat silently now, with his long fingers in his sil- 
 vered hair, and his chin resting upon his palm. As he 
 looked on the bright coals he sighed, and the tears stole out 
 till they trickled down over his white cravat.
 
 440 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " Well," said Father Shaw, at last, after pinching the top 
 of his nose between his thumb and forefinger vigorously, " I 
 don't see what ye 're drivin' at." 
 
 Mr. Lund now dropped his hand, and, in a voice somewhat 
 constrained, said, " I came to ask your consent to marry Miss 
 Leah." 
 
 " Pshaw ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Lund, misconceiving the ejaculation, 
 " Miss Shaw, I mean. I conversed with her upon the subject 
 yesterday, several hours, and she seemed not unfavorable to 
 my proposals.'' 
 
 " What are yer proposals ? Where in creation have ye 
 gut a place to take a wife to ? " inquired Father Shaw. 
 
 " It don't agree with me to preach," said Mr. Lund, " and 
 I have thought it would be much better for me to work on a 
 farm." 
 
 " What do you know about farmin' ? and where are you 
 goin' to farm ? " 
 
 " I know all about it, for I was brought up on a farm. I 
 thought, as you could n't well spare Miss Leah, and as you 
 have some land here you mostly let every year, perhaps we 
 might make some arrangement " 
 
 Mr. Lund faltered, for he felt that he was venturing upon 
 slippery ground. The examination of his qualifications for a 
 minister did not disturb his equanimity so much as this 
 interview. 
 
 " The seven children ! " said Father Shaw, after looking 
 hard into the fire for some time.
 
 EDITH HALE. 441 
 
 " My oldest is married, and my two next are going to be ; 
 my fourth child is away as a teacher, almost the year round ; 
 the youngest is with an aunt who has adopted her for her own ; 
 and my son John I thought I should want on the farm, while 
 my Jane might help Miss Leah. They are handy, good chil- 
 dren, and never make trouble." 
 
 " It seems you 'ye gut it all cut and dried," said Father 
 Shaw. 
 
 " I hope you will make no objections to this, as your 
 daughter seems interested in my behalf; and we all know that 
 her judgment is second to no woman's in the land." 
 
 " Umph ! woman's judgment an't good for much when 
 an offer to marry is consarned. Leah allers thought a deal 
 of ministers, while I never did." 
 
 " But I propose to be a farmer, for the most part," said 
 Mr. Lund. 
 
 " Ef you was an out-and-out minister, I would not hear a 
 word to 't." 
 
 " But, now, you will give your consent ? " continued Mr. 
 Lund, anxiously. 
 
 " How do you think two such folks as you and I are goin' 
 to live under the same ruff?" 
 
 " We have always lived under the same heaven ; and 
 expect, at last, to live in the same home." 
 
 " It seems to me it 's an amazin' foolish thing for you to 
 think of marryin' agin. I did n't, arter my wife died." 
 
 " But you had Miss Leah to take care of you ; and that 
 is all I ask now."
 
 442 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " You 're too old to work on a farm, when you an't been 
 used to workin'." 
 
 " I am not so much older than Miss Leah as to make a 
 disparity of years between us. Let us see ; your son in 
 Boston is the youngest. How old is your daughter, now ? " 
 
 " She 's of age ask her," said Father Shaw, with one of 
 his curious looks. 
 
 " I think I '11 go and talk with Miss Leah about these 
 things," said Mr. Lund, looking very much encouraged. " I 
 conclude I may tell her that you will not withhold your 
 consent ? " 
 
 " Tell her what you 're a mind to," said Father Shaw ; 
 " you 're both on ye plaguy fools ! " 
 
 After Mr. Lund went out, Father Shaw sat a long time 
 looking into the fire. At last, he said to himself, as he heard 
 the sound of cheerful voices in the next room, " He tells 
 such a grievous story, I s'pose I shall have to take pity on 
 him. He 's allers had a good character, and, ef he 's been 
 unforternate, he an't to be despised 'cause he 's a minister. 
 I 'm gittin' old, and bime-by I shan't want to have so much 
 care of my things ; and, ef he 's a mind to do what 's right, I 
 don't know, on the whole, but it will be a purty good thing for 
 me. Then, when I come to die, Leah would be better off 
 here with somebody to take care on her. One thing I 'in sure 
 on ; she '11 find her match in this ere man ; she can't make 
 him train as she does other folks, and I 'm glad on 't. And 
 he '11 find, too, I guess, that she 's a leetle different from 
 women in general. One has got jest about as much care in
 
 EDITH HALE. 443 
 
 'em as t' other. So I guess, on the whole, I '11 make up my 
 mind to make the best on 't ; though it 's provokin' to think 
 that a body that 's ever been in a pulpit should git a grip on 
 one half of my property, at last, arter all I 've said about the 
 ministers." 
 
 A few days after these events, Miss Leah visited Maria 
 Weston for the first time since her disgrace. She did not 
 come with reproof, as the trembling girl had concluded, on 
 being summoned to meet her ; but she spoke such friendly 
 words, that Maria felt more truly repentant than ever before. 
 She had once been a pupil in a Sabbath-school class taught 
 by Miss Leah, and that time of her innocence and happi- 
 ness was distinctly recalled before her memory. Miss Leah 
 said little ; but that little fell upon Maria's heart with a 
 touching power, for kind words were especially dear to her 
 now that she so seldom was noticed by others. 
 
 Had she been addressed harshly and reproachfully, she 
 could have steeled her heart and brooded over her wrongs 
 in a rebellious silence. Now, she was overcome entirely. 
 Unknown to Maria, Miss Leah left a sum of money with 
 Mrs. Linn to defray her expenses for some time, in case her 
 own resources failed. That night, Maria sat beside her 
 babe, and cried all the long, cold hours, as she had done 
 many a night before. She could not lay her head upon her 
 pillow, for it seemed lined with thorns, which pierced even 
 to her burning brain. So long and painfully had she dwelt 
 upon her disgrace and her sin, all things around her now
 
 444 EDITH HALE. 
 
 seemed as a reproach; and more than all the forbearing 
 kindness of those whom she respected and feared. 
 
 Sometimes her fearful reflections were interrupted by the 
 quick sobs of her infant boy as he slept, disturbed by 
 some dream, while the tears escaped from between the 
 soft, light lashes, and moistened the little face. Then she 
 would strain him to her bosom, and murmur low, soothing 
 words. 
 
 " Maria will take care of little Iddy," she would mur- 
 mur softly, while she clasped the tiny hands within her 
 own. 
 
 The child had never been named, for Maria anxiously 
 waited for the time when, far away from present scenes, it 
 should bear the name of its father, as had been often promised 
 to her. But she called the babe oftenest " Iddy," from an 
 association with the outcast Ishmael, which had thus been 
 shortened to a familiar word. Maria loved her child as she 
 had never loved earthly thing before, notwithstanding the 
 sorrow and shame. Every silken hair of its head was most 
 precious in her eyes ; and for its weal she would willingly 
 have sacrificed her very life-blood. 
 
 Chancing to glance on the wall of the room before her, hex- 
 attention was at once arrested. Although the lamp burned 
 low, and so flickeringly as to cast a pale, spectral light over the 
 chamber, she saw distinctly the shadow of her infant's head, 
 and above it a larger shadow, as of some uncertain object hov- 
 ering there unsteadily. She started and looked wildly around 
 upon her child, but nothing unusual appeared. Still she saw
 
 EDITH HALE. 445 
 
 the large shadow moved upon the wall, sometimes up the 
 ceiling till it stood directly over her own head, then swiftly 
 darted back again upon the shadow of the little sleeper, as if 
 it pressed heavily over it till it was blotted out. A recollec- 
 tion of a tale in an old book she had read in her childhood, 
 about vampires extracting the blood of little children, unseen 
 by human eye, rushed over her mind with a chilling power. 
 
 She sprang up, and was about to snatch the child in her 
 arms, when she heard a low knock upon the window, just 
 behind her bed. She stood still in affright a moment ; but a 
 second knock, with the sound of a suppressed voice,_ caused 
 her to go to the window without farther demur. Putting 
 aside the curtain, she saw a figure standing upon the roof of 
 the shed, which joined the house in that .spot, while a lantern, 
 partially shaded by one hand, was held before. 
 
 " Open this window a minute ; I have something to tell 
 you," said a low voice. 
 
 Maria durst not disobey that voice ; so, throwing a shawl 
 over her child, she raised the window a little way, while her 
 heart was beating almost audibly. 
 
 " I was scared near to death when I first saw your shadow," 
 she whispered. 
 
 " I did n't dare wait till morning," said the voice, " for 
 fear somebody would know it ; and I happened to think of 
 this window." 
 
 " 0, dear ! I haven't slept a wink to-night, I've felt so 
 wretchedly. I wish I was dead ! " 
 
 " I dare say ; for I ,saw Leah Shaw go away from here 
 88
 
 446 EDITH HALE. 
 
 yesterday, and I could n't wait till I had seen and warned you 
 once more. Did she ask you questions ? " 
 
 " No ; she was very kind, and offered to do anything for 
 me she could." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; and next she will want you to make a clean 
 breast of the whole affair to her. But now I tell you again 
 to be on your guard." 
 
 " Have you made up your mind when to go away from 
 here with me and our poor child ? " asked Maria, trembling 
 violently, for it was certain she stood very much in awe of 
 that muffled figure there. 
 
 " No ; and don't you keep continually asking me about it. 
 I know my own business best, and it won't do for you to 
 attempt, even think, to dictate me," said the whispering 
 voice, coming in almost hissingly, like the noise of a snake. 
 
 Maria began to sob heavily. 
 
 " Hush ! they '11 hear you. Attend to me, and not so much 
 to yourself. If they want you to go to any of their houses, 
 don't you go. You '11 only be come over with their salve, and 
 make a fool of yourself. And, if you once speak the first 
 word that will make them think it is me, remember you are 
 ruined forever. I shall never see you again, and I shall deny 
 everything, and of course nobody will believe you. You have 
 not a friend that will stand by you. So, you see, you had 
 better submit to what I say as quietly as possible. When I 
 get ready to take you away, I- shall go, and not before." 
 
 " I don't see how I can get along in this way much longer," 
 said Maria. " The money you gave me before I was sick i
 
 EDITH HALE. 447 
 
 all gone but the last dollar ; that I have saved day after day, 
 afraid to use it ; and these good people here can't afford to do 
 anything for me without pay." 
 
 " You can go to work again in the factory, by this time." 
 
 " How can I ? " said Maria, very sadly. " There would be 
 nobody to take care of the baby, if I was gone. Mrs. Linn 
 has as much as she can do to get along with her work and 
 take care of her husband, with what help I can get time to 
 give her." 
 
 " Hang the baby ! " said the voice, impatiently. 
 
 Maria started as though the angry exclamation had been 
 intended in its full significance. 
 
 " 0, dear ! " she moaned ; " it 's a poor little thing, and 
 ought n't to suffer for the sins of its parents, I 'm sure. I 
 try to take just as good care of it as I can, with Mrs. Linn 
 telling me how ; but sometimes I am afraid it will freeze to 
 death, for I did n't dare spend my last money to buy any 
 more wood, as I 'in saving it to help go towards my board. 
 If I could get anything to do here, I would work day and 
 night ; but people don't have much work to put out in this 
 place ; and, when they do, they think I can't do it well, with 
 my baby." 
 
 " The child will have to be put in an asylum ; then you can 
 go to work again." 
 
 " In an asylum ! " repeated Maria. " You always said you 
 would take us both away from here, and then we should all 
 have a home together ! " 
 
 Here she began to cry again bitterly.
 
 448 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " Hush ! " said the voice. " I meant it would be a good 
 thing to send it away till I got ready to leave here with 
 you." 
 
 " I never, never can have my poor little Iddy torn away 
 from me to be put out where he will have nobody to love him ! 
 We '11 both die first ! " 
 
 " I suppose you will threaten, just to get me to support you 
 here without work." 
 
 " I '11 do anything I can God knows I will ! but, if I 
 can't get work to do, it seems hard to leave me and your child 
 to suffer." 
 
 Maria spoke this with hesitation, for she durst not dwell 
 with emphasis upon her wrongs. 
 
 " I Ve got a few dollars by me now," said the other, " and I 
 will let you have them if you '11 promise to be saving, for you 
 won't get any more money from me for a long time. I have 
 other uses for it. Don't you burn more wood than you can 
 possibly help. It is coming spring, when you can do without 
 altogether; and you must avoid buying milk, or any such 
 thing. You can drink water, and so can the child, with such 
 other stuff as Mrs. Linn gets up. But remember carefully 
 what I have said about their coming here and questioning 
 you. Once let a word out, and you are done ! " 
 
 " I '11 try and do the best I can," sobbed Maria ; " but it 
 would be such a great comfort to me, when I am here so un- 
 happy, to have you tell some time when you think we may 
 be married."
 
 EDITH HALE. 449 
 
 " I have told you I did n't know when," said the voice, 
 angrily. " Shut down your window now." 
 
 Maria hesitated, for she would fain have obtained the least 
 consolation in her misery. Was no word of pity, of en- 
 couragement, to fall upon her ear, she thought, after all hef 
 suffering ! 
 
 _V few pale streaks of the dawn were visible along the 
 eastern horizon, and, as the figure turned away to cliinb down 
 the roof, a cock in a neighboring barn crew loudly. Once, 
 twice, thrice, it crowed, and the figure had stolen out of the 
 yard without pausing to even look back toward the poor, 
 trembling girl again. 
 
 Maria closed the window, with a heavy groan, and found 
 herself in darkness and gloom ; for a draught of air had 
 extinguished her feebly-burning lamp. Ltterly exhausted, 
 she threw herself upon the bed beside her child, and soon fell 
 into an unquiet slumber. 
 38*
 
 CHAPTEK XXIX. 
 
 ME. WELLMONT. 
 
 MR. WELLMONT continued to increase his popularity in his 
 new sphere of labor ; for he had become a man who united the 
 persuasive power of an orator to the wisdom of a tactician 
 and the genial friendliness of a Christian. But he was called 
 to many trials resulting from the opposing tastes of his wife. 
 Wherever she appeared among his people, he expected she 
 would pull down what he was laboring to build up, and other- 
 wise neutralize his influence. He secretly trembled whenever 
 she opened her lips, as was shown by his asides, " Don't, my 
 dear," " Be careful, Bertrade, or you will wound their feelings," 
 " Pray, recollect yourself, and not be so imprudent," &c. 
 
 Woe to the peace of that husband or wife who must 
 endure the perpetual misery of a life with a companion whose 
 unguarded words and acts compel such involuntary cautions 
 on all occasions ! 
 
 But Mrs. Wellmont was not the occasion of all the inqui- 
 etude experienced by her husband at this time. He had been 
 disappointed in his new people. He missed the sterling truth 
 and plain common sense of Father Shaw, the high intellect-
 
 EDITH HALE. 451 
 
 ual cultivation of Dr. and Mrs. Humphrey, the old-school 
 hospitality and courtesy of Major Oliver, and the general 
 intelligence of many members of Waterbury church. He 
 had thought these characteristics too common to demand con- 
 sideration ; but, when he found that not a man of his new 
 society was thoroughly conversant with any kind of literature, 
 and that there was not generally a sensible appreciation of his 
 best discourses, he began to correct some of his long-estab- 
 lished impressions. They were almost entirely men deeply 
 engrossed in business, and came into the solemn feasts with 
 brains busied with the thousand details of money-making, 
 so that they had no preparation for the reception of the sub- 
 lime philosophy or the poetry of the Scriptures. They wanted 
 only sound and searching practical truth, from which warnings 
 might be derived by every man for his neighbor ; and that 
 a large and flourishing church might be built up as speedily 
 as they could build a block of buildings, or sell one hundred 
 thousand dollars' worth of goods. Some of Mr. Wellmont's 
 most elaborately prepared sermons met with no response from 
 a major portion of this people, who aroused from their naps 
 at the delivery of a period in a higher voice, and thought 
 it was all very fine. But, when he more directly appealed 
 to the feelings of his hearers, without so much pausing to 
 establish a laborious and logical conviction of the truth in 
 hand, he gained signal attention. 
 
 Mr. Wellmont was surprised to find that the solidity of 
 mind manifested by those who led in the social religious exer- 
 cises was generally inferior to that exhibited in the meetings
 
 452 EDITH HALE. 
 
 to which he had been accustomed. They delivered their re- 
 marks in a polite, unobjectionable style of language, just as 
 they addressed their customers at their places of business ; 
 but never was there heard anything which indicated acquaint- 
 ance with the best authors of religious or other literature. 
 Indeed, this was the utmost that could be expected from men 
 who struggled unflinchingly, day and night, to make a fortune, 
 pausing only to read the daily papers, or the organ of their 
 denomination, occasionally a political speech, and, perhaps, 
 a missionary magazine one Sunday evening out of four, or 
 a few pages of some religious book. 
 
 But all this was more than compensated in Mrs. Well- 
 mont's estimation. Her elegant furniture and wardrobe were 
 now not "wasted on the desert air." Xeither were her aristo- 
 cratic tendencies. She could find a plenty of ladies who could 
 talk and act to her heart's content. Time, however, made Mr. 
 "Wellmont acquainted with another and worthier class among 
 his people those who preferred plainness and sobriety of 
 living. These were the pillars of his church, on whom he 
 leaned for counsel and real friendship, and without whom 
 he would have found his situation far from enviable. 
 
 That this people, as a whole, was a fair sample of .all city 
 parishes, Mr. Wellmont learned by observation was not the 
 case ; but, being so newly gathered from various sources, it 
 could not be expected to harmonize at once. But Mr. "\Vell- 
 mont had already accomplished much good among them, in 
 gradually weakening the distinctions among the people, under 
 the influence of fervent piety ; for nothing so much estab-
 
 EDITH HALE. 453 
 
 lislies a democracy in a church as the operation of vital 
 religion. In such a state, the mere conventionalities of life 
 dwindle into insignificance. 
 
 As Mr. Wellmont reviewed his labors, he was grateful for 
 the success that had crowned his efforts, notwithstanding all 
 discouragements ; but he could not close his eyes to the truth 
 that his untiring labors had greatly reduced his health. 
 
 It was with something of his old emotions of pleasure that 
 'he received, about this time, a letter from Waterbury, bring- 
 ing with it a delightful reminder of spring in the country, and 
 of the pure, wholesome kindness of a social atmosphere. It 
 was from Miss Leah, who desired him to come to her father's, 
 and unite her in marriage to the Rev. Mr. Lund. She had 
 also invited Mr. Loomey to be present ; but she declared her 
 wish that the ceremony should be performed by himself. 
 
 " I will go," said Mr. Wellmont, and he felt happier than 
 for a long time before. He invited his wife to accompany 
 him, though without the least expectation of her compliance. 
 With a satirical laugh, she replied that she had no idea of 
 attending such an affair as the wedding of a Waterbury old 
 maid. 
 
 " Besides," she added, with a later reflection, "on the 
 evening you propose to leave, Mr. Phanuel receives company 
 to meet his future bride. I would not fail of being there ; 
 and certainly I should think that you would like to go, just 
 to see that I say nothing unbecoming your wife." 
 
 " I have no desire to go to Mr. Phanuel's, now," replied 
 Mr. Wellmont.
 
 454 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " I presume not, as you are so unused to his elegant style. 
 The splendor of his new mansion bewilders you, and you turn 
 with a sigh to the memory of ' the cot beneath the hill,' in 
 which you first saw the light," rejoined Mrs. Wellmont. 
 
 " No, not so much does his splendid home sadden me, as 
 the memory of the past connected with his family," said Mr. 
 Wellmont, apparently undisturbed by his wife's sarcasm. " I 
 never enter the presence of that man, but what I recall the 
 picture of a heart-broken wife, forcibly carried away to a 
 mad-house ; of little, beautiful Bessie dying of grief for the 
 separation j of my entering the rnad-house, a few weeks later, 
 to see the corpse of the mother the most awful and utterly 
 despairing face of death on which I ever gazed ; the hands 
 locked so closely, with the nails torn into the flesh, no human 
 force could wrench them apart ; the long, dark hair, which I 
 remember was once so beautiful and abundant, nearly all 
 pulled out of the head, hair by hair ; and her last words, 
 ' Take me home to my children ! ' seemingly chiselled upon the 
 fallen, rigid lips " 
 
 <l Pray, cease, if you have pity for me ! " interrupted Mrs. 
 Wellmont. " You are so cruel, if you like ! " 
 
 " If the relation of these things seem cruel to you, Ber- 
 trade, how, think you, the hard, actual experience of all this, 
 and much more never known to the world, fell upon the sensi- 
 tive heart of the victim ? " 
 
 " But Mr. Phanuel has always been very gentlemanly and 
 kind to us," continued Mrs. Wellmont, somewhat subdued by 
 her husband's words.
 
 EDITH KALE. 455 
 
 " True ; I am aware of his great liberality, and for which. 
 I hope I am not ungrateful. Therefore it is I do not turn 
 my face utterly away from such a man, as I should feel 
 tempted to do, were it otherwise. 1 feel, too, a deep interest 
 in the future welfare of his children, so early deprived of the 
 good influences of a mother, and taught to desecrate her 
 memory." 
 
 " They will have now another mother, much more accom- 
 plished than their own, and learn to forget the first." 
 
 " That woman," said Mr. Wellmont, " is perfectly heartless. 
 I saw it the first time I met her as a visitor at 31 r. Phan- 
 uel's, in Waterbury. In all points of real excellence she is 
 inferior to his late wife, and cares no more for those children 
 than for their father." 
 
 " I hear she seems very much attached to Mr. Phanuel," 
 said Mrs. Wellmont, in a low voice. 
 
 " I know it is not so, although such may be the appear- 
 ance ; for she is a woman of cultivated intellectual tastes, 
 and likes men of brilliant talent. But Mr. Phanuel's money 
 is too great a temptation for her to resist. She will marry 
 him because a better chance of disposing of herself does not 
 occur." 
 
 " You may go your way, and I will go mine," concluded 
 Mrs. Wellmont. " I dare say you will be happier at old 
 Father Shaw's than you would be with me at Mr. Phanuel's." 
 
 As Mr. Wellmont seldom found leisure for absence, he con- 
 cluded to return by way of his mother's home. He had not 
 seen his mother for some time, and he yearned to hear her
 
 456 EDITH HALE. 
 
 voice once more. In her last letters to him she had betrayed 
 despondency, and he feared that her affairs had become much 
 embarrassed. Never had he found himself able to repay all 
 the loans received from her ; for the sums he had occasionally 
 saved for this purpose he had been ultimately obliged to ex- 
 pend in housekeeping, which his wife had rendered monthly 
 more expensive. A small amount of money, which now re- 
 mained to him, he rejoiced in being able to take with him for 
 her. He could not find words to tell his wife of his intention 
 to visit his mother, for he felt in no mood to endure the sar- 
 castic comments she would be likely to offer. Little had he 
 once dreamed that a day like this would come, when he 
 could not speak his mother's name, sacred to him by all love 
 and reverence, without being wounded. Once, since his res- 
 idence in the city, his mother had made him a short visit ; 
 and he had been so much pained by her reception from his 
 wife, he could never ask to have the visit repeated. 
 
 " I hope, Bertrade, you will get along happily in my ab- 
 sence," said Mr. Wellmont, when he was about to leave, not 
 knowing well what to say, yet wishing to have the parting 
 friendly. 
 
 " Of course I shall," replied Mrs. Wellmont, without lift- 
 ing her eyes from her embroidery. Still he lingered with his 
 hand upon the door, waiting for a single kind word to carry 
 with him. 
 
 " Is there anything from the country you would like to 
 have me bring you ? " he continued, in a gayer tone.
 
 EDITH HALE. 457 
 
 " Nothing ; unless it be some of the verdancy of the people 
 about there." 
 
 Mr. Wellraont dropped his head, and his shoulders bent 
 slightly, as though they were anticipating another fall of an 
 invisible lash. He had first thought his wife in her severe 
 jesting mood; now he felt that she had spoken the grave truth. 
 
 " I hope you will ever bear in mind, Bertrade," he said, 
 very sadly, " it is a cause of abiding regret to me that I have 
 been the means of bringing you into so much unhappiness. 
 If you should outlive me, I hope you will be happy enough 
 to make up for all the sacrifice " 
 
 " Don't be so croaking ! " interrupted Mrs. Wellmont ; 
 " you will certainly miss the cars, if you wait here." 
 
 He looked upon her once more through his tears ; but, re- 
 ceiving no encouragement for his meditated parting kiss, went 
 out with a sorrowful " good-by," broken in two by the shut- 
 ting of the door. 
 
 Mr. Wellmont had nearly reached Waterbury, when he 
 unexpectedly encountered an old friend. The first words he 
 heard were, 
 
 " My dear reverend sir ! This is too much pleasure ! I am 
 overjoyed to see you ! In the language of the poet, 
 
 ' I could weep, 
 
 And I could Laugh ; I am light and heavy welcome 
 A curse begin at the very root of his heart, 
 That is not glad to see thee ! ' " 
 
 He turned in surprise, and saw before him Mr. Solomon 
 Acre, not pale and haggard, as might have been predicated
 
 458 EDITH HALE. 
 
 from his last interview, but round and ruddy, and as full of 
 poetry and heartiness as ever in his life. 
 
 " This meeting is certainly not less a pleasure to me," said 
 Mr. Wellmont ; " and the more so that I find you in such 
 excellent appearance. How does this happen ? " 
 
 " Thank yourself, sir ! That good advice of yours acted 
 like a charm, a 'sovereign balm,' I would say. My eyes 
 were opened with the eye-salve of reason ; since which time, 
 I have seen all things in a new light. Everything which 
 once was bottom upward looks now in propria persona. 
 And I have been prospered by your primal instrumentalit}-." 
 
 " I heard, some time after your departure," said Mr. 
 Wellmont, " of your finding a favorable location. Did you 
 continue there ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I settled my uncle with me, and in time he got 
 quite comfortable, what with good care, and painting virgins 
 upon a plenty of white linen aprons, and working in a garden 
 of mine. He 's now another man." 
 
 " And you have the happiness of thinking you have done 
 him this good," said Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " I 've done myself good, too ; for I reckon I am doing a 
 right smart business out there. Own acres and acres of west- 
 ern land ; been speculating in townships, and not in house-lots 
 only, as they do in these parts. Don't wish to boast ; for, as 
 the poet says : 
 
 ' Who knows himself a braggart, 
 Let him fear this, for it -will come to pass, 
 That every braggart shall be found an ass.'
 
 EDITH HALE. 459 
 
 But, then, you know it is comfortable, after past misfortune, to 
 find one's self in a mending condition." 
 
 " Have you been to Waterbury ? " inquired Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " Yes ; and I visited Lucinda Claudine, I should have 
 said." 
 
 Mr. Wellmont looked inquiringly, to encourage him to pro- 
 ceed. 
 
 " She an't married, and, what 's better, an't likely to be, as 
 I can discover." 
 
 " You have hope yet, then? " 
 
 " No, I thank you ! The western girls are a heap smarter 
 and finer every way than these delicate Yankee ladies ; they 
 an't afraid of anything work, spiders, or catamounts." 
 
 Mr. Wellmont said nothing, but smiled a little. 
 
 " Mr. Pickering, they say, is running against the breakers 
 in his business, and would have given up long ago had it not 
 been for his son-in-law ; but, now he 's dead, he will have to 
 wind up soon. His family are so extravagant, that he earns 
 money to put into a 'bag with holes.' Good heavens, Mr. Well- 
 mont ! " now suddenly exclaimed Mr. Solomon, interrupting 
 himself, " you look out of health. I was so glad to see you, 
 and, being a little near-sighted, I did n't notice how pale and 
 thin you are. What is the matter with you ? " 
 
 " I am a little out of health at present, but not so much so 
 as I was a few months since," replied Mr. Wellmont. 
 
 " You must give up labor for a while," said Mr. Solomon, 
 without withdrawing his anxious gaze. " Won't your people 
 send you abroad ? "
 
 460 EDITH HALE. 
 
 Mr. Wellmont shook his head. 
 
 " I am not able to undertake so long a journey, in health 
 or means," he replied. 
 
 " I'll plan for you," continued Mr. Solomon, reflectively; 
 " go home with me to the west. The change of scene and air 
 would mend you wonderfully. Ask leave of absence, and I 
 will bear all your expenses." 
 
 " Your kindness merits my heartfelt gratitude," said Mr. 
 Wellmont, much affected. 
 
 " Say nothing of that. 
 
 ' 0, call not to my mind -what you have done ! 
 It sets a debt of that account before me, 
 Which shows me poor and bankrupt even in hopes ! ' ' 
 
 " I should be glad of a change, certainly, and I will think 
 of your proposition," said Mr. Wellmont. " You will stop 
 here with me ? " he added, as he saw that they had now 
 reached Waterbury. 
 
 " I have to go further. Where shall I meet you again?" 
 replied Mr. Solomon. 
 
 Arranging a place of meeting within the following week, 
 they separated, while Mr. Solomon exclaimed after Mr. Well- 
 mont, as the cars moved on, " God bless you, and give you a 
 good Sunday to-morrow ! " 
 
 He was answered by a bow and a smile, which he did not 
 soon forget. 
 
 As Mr. Wellmont arrived once more at the home of Father 
 Shaw, he recalled his impressions the first time he had
 
 EDITH HALE. 461 
 
 come there, in comparison to what he now experienced, and 
 deduced the common-sense conclusion that it is not wise to 
 judge of the true worth of people by first appearances. 
 
 Father Shaw met Mr. Wellmont as he would a beloved son. 
 He even wept over him when he saw how changed was his 
 personal appearance under the inroads of disease. Miss Leah 
 was a little nervous and anxious, but else very much as she 
 used to be. Something very nearly akin to. pride she discov- 
 ered when she presented a daughter of Mr. Lund to Mr. 
 Wellmont. A matronly dignity and affection had already 
 come over her, and it was evident that she thought these 
 children the prettiest she had ever seen. 
 
 " I 'd no idee," said Father Shaw, " that my Leah would 
 ever be married. It fell on me dreadful amazin'; for I 
 did n't think such an old maid could ever git a body to have 
 her." 
 
 " I should have thought your consent would have been the 
 most difficult to get in this case, as Mr. Lund is a minister, 
 Father Shaw," said Mr. Wellmont, with a significant smile. 
 
 " I know he is," said the old man, pinching the top of his 
 nose, "but what is to be must be, you know; and, ef it's 
 ordered that I must have one of them are in my family, I '11 
 try and make the best on 't ; but I '11 tell you what, it 's plaguy 
 hard work to." 
 
 " Ah, well ! " said Mr. Wellmont, " I have no doubt but 
 this union will prove a blessing to all concerned." 
 
 At the ceremony there were none present but family friends. 
 Mr. Loomey had left home, to remain over the Sabbath in tho 
 39*
 
 EDITH HALE. 
 
 next parish. Nothing unusual occurred, save the silence of 
 Father Shaw. For the first time in his life, on any such 
 occasion, he had no words. 
 
 The following day was one of the beautiful Sabbaths of 
 spring. Mr. Wellmont beheld the morning light with unspeak- 
 able peace, for he had been dreaming of his mother, and his 
 heart was yet glowing with the memory of the meeting. He 
 had beheld her in the vision of sleep, as with the gladness of 
 his youth, and heard her words, " My son, you have come 
 home to me, at last ! " and then she had changed into the like- 
 ness of the sainted mother of Edith Hale. He had reached 
 forth his hand to hers, when he awoke, and with difficulty 
 persuaded himself it was all a dream. 
 
 " In a short time," he reflected, " I shall have met my 
 blessed mother, and the hours will seem long until then." 
 
 Upon the hills, in the background of the village, the cattle 
 were grazing quietly. The birds never sung so sweetly. And 
 the sound of flowing waters in the distance seemed like the 
 tide of life ebbing far out into eternity. 
 
 When the church-bells rang to call the people to worship, 
 Mr. Wellmont aroused from his revery, and went forth to the 
 familiar altar of his ministrations. With less firmness than 
 formerly he ascended the pulpit steps ; and, as he occupied 
 once more his old place, he bowed his head and prayed, less 
 oy language than by the yearning aspirations of his spirit. 
 
 In hearing of the voice that so often had impressed their 
 hearts, the house was solemnly hushed and attentive, and the 
 eyes of many closed through tears. After the other prelim-
 
 EDITH HALE. 463 
 
 inary exercises, Mr. Wellmont announced his text, which was : 
 " And he was transfigured before them : and his face did shine 
 as the sun, and his raiment was white as the light. * * * 
 Then answered Peter and said unto Jesus, Lord, it is good for 
 us to be here." 
 
 " Lard, it is yoodfor us to le here! " repeated Mr. Well- 
 mont, with impressive solemnity. lie was so much affected, 
 he paused a moment to recover himself. He had returned to 
 his old friends, not to claim their admiration for the progress 
 he had made, but with a heart full of love, and their familiar 
 faces moved his soul. Fervently did he desire to be instru- 
 mental in pointing their thoughts heavenward. As he pro- 
 ceeded to address them, the burden of his soul increased, 
 although he strove to suppress his emotion. Every word he 
 uttered came from his heart with plainness and familiarity, 
 yet with a seriousness no listener could resist. 
 
 "While unfolding the magnitude and beauty of his theme, 
 heaven seemed to disclose its exceeding glories to his spiritual 
 vision ; such glories as are only pictured in the sublime visions 
 of the Apocalypse, and in the strains of the divine poet of the 
 fall of man, and which were almost communicated by him to 
 the senses of the absorbed and weeping listeners. 
 
 Well-nigh could they hear 
 
 ' ' heaven opening wide 
 Her ever-during gates, harmonious sound ! 
 On golden hinges moving." 
 
 Suddenly he ceased. A deathly pallor spread over his face 
 like a white cloud !
 
 464 EDITH KALE. 
 
 " My friends ! " he faintly uttered, " I can say no more ! " 
 He sat down, and fell back heavily, with closed eyes. Con- 
 sternation succeeded ; it was thought he had fainted. Dr. 
 Humphrey and some others hastened to him anxiously. They 
 spoke to him, but no sound or motion was returned. He was 
 dead.
 
 CHAPTER XXX, 
 
 PLEASURE AND PAIN. 
 
 WIIEN Edith recounted the state of her affairs to her uncle, 
 he manifested less interest than she had supposed ; and, when 
 she spoke of the possibility of being compelled to resign 
 the home which was rightfully her own, and was so strongly 
 endeared to her by many associations with her deceased 
 friends, he replied, that he should not so much regret the loss 
 on his own account, for he had seen enough of the world to 
 be thoroughly convinced that superior fortune turned people's 
 hearts, even against their best friends. 
 
 " If all this estate should come to you, Dithy," he added, 
 "you would soon give the cold shoulder to your poor old 
 uncle ; and I should be left friendless, alone in this land which 
 is now a strange one to me. I have no home, no friends who 
 own me, but you ; and if " 
 
 He could not proceed, but turned aside to hide his 
 emotion. 
 
 " Dear uncle," said Edith, " I wish I could persuade you 
 to be less distrustful of me. One of my strongest reasons for 
 wishing to get possession of thia property is that I may be
 
 466 EDITH HALE. 
 
 enabled to provide you a more comfortable home, where you 
 will feel secure from want, and will not have to labor in your 
 advanced years; therefore I am more grateful to Mr. Oliver 
 for undertaking my case so generously." 
 
 " Don't trust too much to his generosity," said her uncle ; 
 " men are rarely so magnanimous as this lawyer appears to be 
 without a secret prospect of reward. I dare say he sees 
 further towards the bottom of the case than he tells for, and 
 so plans to enlist your gratitude in season to secure the prize 
 at last." 
 
 Edith was silent ; her uncle's suspicion corresponded so 
 nearly with her own, that she could not attempt to vindicate 
 Oliver's motives. 
 
 " Let it result as it will," she said, after a painful reflec- 
 tion, " I am certain that nothing can influence me to forget 
 the duty and affection which I owe you." 
 
 " We '11 see," returned her uncle, incredulously. " I 've 
 known more of the world than you have." 
 
 "The sorest disappointment that I feel," said Edith, "is, 
 that I cannot, at present, render you the aid I had hoped." 
 
 Her uncle told her that she need not feel anxiety for him 
 at present, as he had secured a situation in a large mercantile 
 house in the city ; and his salary, though small, would be 
 sufficient to provide for his simple wants. He also counselled 
 Edith to expend the little money she had laid by after the 
 death of her parents in the conclusion of her proposed term 
 of attending school, that, in case of her future poverty, she 
 might be thoroughly qualified to earn a livelihood by teaching.
 
 EDITH HALE. 467 
 
 To this Edith assented, and immediately took up her residence 
 at the institution in which she was a pupil ; while her uncle 
 abandoned the cottage for humble lodgings near his business, 
 on account of his lameness, as he informed her, which pre- 
 vented him from walking any great distance without incon- 
 venience. 
 
 On every Saturday afternoon Edith went to see her uncle, 
 to interest herself in his welfare ; but she could not persuade 
 him to return any of her visits. Such an appearance as his, 
 he said, would affect her standing among her fine friends ; and 
 the greatest favor he could render her was to keep entirely 
 out of sight of those with whom she associated. 
 
 " Were I rich, and in sables, and velvets, and diamonds, it 
 would be worth the while for you to show me off," he added, 
 in reply to her renewed invitations ; " but, as it is, Dithy, 
 you are a good girl to take so much pains for me, already." 
 
 Shortly after the opening of the summer term, the matron 
 of the family having been taken ill and removed, another lady 
 came to supply the situation. With school-girls a trifling 
 event is often magnified into an affair of importance, to be 
 discussed until a new one succeeds. In this case the appear- 
 ance of the new matron, who presided at one of the tables, 
 was such as to elicit more than ordinary attention. Her deep, 
 plain mourning garb, the settled dejection of her countenance, 
 which possessed considerable claim to beauty, and her low, 
 sad voice, arrested the notice of the most careless who sur- 
 rounded her. Edith was absent on the day of her arrival, 
 but, meeting her at the tea-table on that evening, she was
 
 468 EDITH HALE. 
 
 struck with a new and unaccountable interest in the stranger. 
 That she strongly resembled some familiar face she was 
 certain ; but, not having yet learned her name, she could 
 arrive at no definite conclusions. The lady seemed absorbed 
 with inward grief, so that the kindness of Edith's heart was 
 at once enlisted in her behalf, and later in the evening she 
 could not resist the impulse to seek her in her private parlor. 
 
 " Excuse me if this be an interruption, but I thought you 
 might feel lonely to-night, it being the first you spend here," 
 said Edith, hesitating to intrude upon the presence of the 
 stranger. 
 
 " You are kind," said the lady, offering her a seat beside 
 her own. 
 
 " I observe you are in mourning, like myself," continued 
 Edith. 
 
 " Yes," replied the lady, brokenly ; " I have lost all now." 
 
 In answer to Edith's look of interrogation, she continued : 
 " The death of an only son, a short time since, has left me 
 a childless widow. He was my pride, my hope in life, but 
 was suddenly stricken down in the midst of a career of use- 
 fulness." 
 
 "Who was your son?" inquired Edith, in increasing 
 interest. 
 
 " He was a settled minister in a distant city, and died while 
 preaching in the pulpit of the parish of his former labors. 
 I had long anticipated much from him, for he was my last 
 earthly hope, and I had spared no sacrifice, no exertions, in 
 his behalf. And, when he completed hig studies and became
 
 EDITH 1IALE. 469 
 
 established in life, I felt that he had more than answered my 
 expectations. I would gladly have gone and lived with him, 
 to have encouraged and aided him ; but, after his marriage, 
 I saw him only once. Alas ! " she stopped, for she was 
 reminded that she was addressing a stranger, and the secret 
 wounds of her heart must not be disclosed. 
 
 " There is his picture," she resumed, opening a miniature 
 under the light of the astral-lamp, " that was taken for his 
 wife just before marriage, but he afterwards sent it to me." 
 
 Edith looked upon that picture long and attentively. It 
 was the same which she had once seen in the hands of another, 
 causing her so much pain. But now her countenance did 
 not change, nor did she exhibit any emotion other than a 
 stranger's curiosity. Yet how lifelike it was, as if it were 
 just ready to address her with words of love ! The flowing 
 hair, the thoughtful, handsome eyes, the smile, half of sadness, 
 half of joy, were all perfect too perfect to be ever seen by 
 the bereaved mother without tears. 
 
 " That is a good likeness," remarked Edith, as she returned 
 the picture. " I knew Mr. Wellmont, your son." 
 
 "Is it possible.?" rejoined Mrs. Wellmont. "Are you 
 from the city in which he resided ? " 
 
 " No, madam ; I formerly resided in Waterbury." 
 
 "And your name? " 
 
 " Is Edith Hale." 
 
 The hue of confusion, such as Mrs. Wellmont's face rarely 
 wore, now mounted rapidly to her brow, while her thin lips 
 were colorless as death. 
 40
 
 470 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " Yon were aware that I was his mother before seeking me 
 here ? " inquired the lady, after a bitter pause ; for the thought 
 that Edith had come to her from motives of mere triumph was 
 now suggested. 
 
 " On the contrary," Edith replied, " I did not learn your 
 name until now." 
 
 The cause of Mrs. Wellmont's emotion was not wholly 
 understood by Edith, for she did not know that Mr. Wellmont 
 had been chiefly influenced by his mother in discontinuing his 
 attentions to her. She was therefore spared an embarrassment 
 which Mrs. "Wellrnont felt keenly. 
 
 " Your son somewhat resembled you," renewed Edith, who 
 attributed the lady's emotion to her overcoming grief. 
 
 " He was like me less in heart than in appearance, and was 
 altogether too pure for earth," said Mrs. Wellmont. 
 
 " Yes, he was a good man," said Edith, as calmly as if speak- 
 ing of an ancient relative. " I recollect him with gratitude, 
 for he assisted me when my circumstances in life were so 
 humble that few in his position would have noticed me at all. 
 As the slightest return I can make, I shall take pleasure 
 in rendering any assistance to you, madam, which is in my 
 power, while I remain near you." 
 
 Mrs. Wellmont could not reply, but her eyes were eloquent 
 with gratitude through tears. 
 
 " I hope you will soon feel at home herewith as," continued 
 Edith, rising to leave, after other conversation. 
 
 " Solitude is better for a mourner," replied Mrs. Well- 
 mont. " This place can never seem like home to me."
 
 EDITH HALE. 471 
 
 Mrs. Wellmont no longer wondered why her son had so 
 loved Edith, for her intelligence and sweetness of manners 
 could not fail to win her admiration. In vain she tried to 
 excuse herself for her unfortunate influence, by a recollection of 
 Edith's former inferior position. Now, in her decline of years, 
 with her health and strength impaired, Mrs. Wellmont found 
 herself in poverty, with no relative on whom to fasten the 
 most distant hope of receiving assistance, for nothing could 
 have been more repugnant than the idea of applying to her 
 son's widow for aid. On this, the first day of her experience 
 of her new life, her prospect had seemed cheerless indeed ; 
 the duties required appeared too onerous for her strength, 
 and too humiliating for her pride; and, had it not been 
 for her necessities, she would have repented her accept- 
 ance of the place. But, now that she had been so kindly 
 encouraged by a stranger, one, too, from whom, of all 
 others, she least deserved kindness, a little brightness 
 gathered over the dark horizon. The thought that one whom 
 her son had loved was near her became a consolation ; and 
 nothing seemed so pleasant now as the prospect of enjoying 
 Edith's society. 
 
 Meanwhile, Edith sat late by her window in the summer 
 night, and communed with her own heart ; for, not to have re- 
 called the past, after what had lately transpired, would have 
 been impossible. She became surprised at the change she 
 had experienced since her acquaintance with Mr. Wellmont. 
 Then it seemed impossible that life would ever wear a bright 
 or hopeful hue for her again. Now she saw that were one in
 
 4/2 EDITH 1IALE. 
 
 all respects like him to meet her with the offer of his affec- 
 tions, it would be in vain. She scarcely realized that the 
 scenes through which she had passed, the expansion of her 
 faculties by association with varied minds of superior cultiva- 
 tion, and with the activity of the world, had brought a differ- 
 ent ideal to her thought; and yet not all an ideal, for there 
 was a living original to the picture. She was content now, as 
 she found that she had been led by a Providence which had 
 proved its wisdom and goodness; though, when she had 
 chosen in wilfulness a way for herself, it had seemed un- 
 searchable and without mercy. 
 
 Edith proved herself a true friend to Mrs. Wellmont, as 
 their acquaintance matured. Beset with many trials in her 
 new situation, her life would have been unpleasant, indeed, 
 had it not been for Edith's love and assistance. 
 
 Whenever Edith could persuade Mrs. Wellmont to go out 
 with her, it was a rare pleasure ; for, being perfectly familiar 
 with the surrounding places, such walks proved very agree- 
 able, as well as beneficial, to her friend. Mrs. Wellmont's 
 natural temperament was averse to the confusion of a city ; 
 and she often spoke mournfully of the quiet and^beauty of the 
 country, in contrast. 
 
 " Then I may abandon all hope of getting you contented 
 with your present home," said Edith, on one occasion, after 
 such a walk. 
 
 " I should be resigned wherever I must needs be," 
 replied Mrs. Wellmont ; " and I am in a great measure 
 consoled for this change in my life by your kind attentions."
 
 EDITH HALE. 473 
 
 -" For my own part," said Edith, " I prefer the city at 
 least two thirds of the year, for its activity and variety ; 
 and I think, by and by, you will become accustomed to town 
 life." 
 
 " Never ! " said Mrs. TVellmont, sadly ; " this unceasing 
 tumult abstracts all peace from my existence. The green 
 fields, the stillness and luxuriant comfort of a retired country 
 home, seem now to me like heaven upon earth." 
 
 " Did I so feel, I would leave here at once," said 
 Edith. 
 
 " I think not, my dear child, if you were in advanced years, 
 with no other way to obtain your daily bread. I am glad and 
 thankful for a home anywhere." 
 
 One Saturday evening, Edith was summoned from Mrs. 
 Wellmont's room, whither she had gone after a day of unusual 
 fatigue, to the parlor,, to meet her uncle. 
 
 " Well, Dithy," he said, upon her appearance, " you did 
 not visit your old uncle this afternoon, as usual." 
 
 " I felt very sorry that I was obliged to be engaged 
 nearly all day," said Edith ; " the term draws to its close, 
 and my duties multiply rapidly. I am glad that you have 
 taken the trouble to come and see me, instead." 
 
 " I could n't stay away very well this time, when I found 
 you did not come." 
 
 " You are very good," said Edith ; " and I hope I shall 
 soon be able to repay some of your kindness." 
 
 " Dear child," said her uncle, with unusual feeling, " we 
 40*
 
 474 EDITH HALE. 
 
 must not trust much in our hopes ; they are unstable as 
 water." 
 
 " True," said Edith ; " but it is pleasant to hope 'when we 
 are planning for the benefit of others, to say nothing of our- 
 selves." 
 
 " Dithy," spoke her uncle, abruptly, after some common- 
 place observations, " you have known what it is to be what 
 the world calls poor ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I have been very poor," replied Edith. 
 
 " What did you trust in, then, child ? " 
 
 " In Heaven," replied Edith, reverently, " as I hope I 
 ever do." 
 
 "Do you think that such a trust a mere speculative 
 faith, a chimera is sufficient to sustain you through what- 
 ever chance may turn up in your lot ? Think well. Life, you 
 know, is made up of all sorts of trouble, sharp as steel, and 
 hard as flint." 
 
 " I know in whom I have trusted," replied Edith. " He 
 has promised to be a father to the fatherless ; to help all 
 those who take him for their portion. ' In all their afflic- 
 tion he was afflicted, and the angel of his presence saved 
 them.' " 
 
 " Well," said the old man, pulling his beard, as he did 
 when peculiarly interested, " I have no objection to your 
 deriving all the happiness from imagination which is possible. 
 Rather a childish business, though ! " 
 
 Edith now looked very sadly upon her uncle, in reply to 
 which he laughed, and called her a good girl with some fool-
 
 EDITH HALE. 475 
 
 ish notions. A moment later, however, his face was composed 
 into the look it had worn at the first, which was, Edith 
 thought, a little new. 
 
 "Well do I remember," said Edith, "in those times of my 
 life when I have been cast into deep affliction, the peace and 
 resignation which have been vouchsafed me in return for my 
 prayer for divine help ; not always in my own way, but 
 ever, as it eventually proved, in the very best way for my 
 good." 
 
 " Dithy, you never have yet been tried in your tenderest 
 point. You have had trouble, great trouble for a child like 
 you. But suppose you thought yourself in possession of a 
 fortune. You had the means of doing well for others and 
 yourself. Everybody admired you, because you were so for- 
 tunate. But you loved one more than all, because you 
 believed him worthy of your love. You should suddenly lose 
 your fortune ; in consequence of which event your friends 
 knew you no more, and he whom you loved deserted you. 
 How, then, would you feel ? " 
 
 " Wherefore do you talk so strangely to-night, dear uncle ? " 
 inquired Edith, paling with a sudden suspicion of hidden 
 meaning in his words. 
 
 " I may as well toll you about it first as last," he returned ; 
 " though the Lord knows I don't like to." 
 
 " About what ? " continued Edith, anxiously. 
 
 " Your law-case has come on again, and " 
 
 " It has not yet been decided ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I was in court, and heard the whole."
 
 476 EDITH HALE. 
 
 Edith clasped her hands upon her uncle's knee, and looked 
 upon him with all the anxiety of her soul in her face ; but 
 she could not ask the important question how her case had 
 resulted. 
 
 " Dear child," said her uncle, taking her hands within his 
 own, " I feel very sorry for you." 
 
 Her eyes fell, for she knew now that she had lost her 
 cause. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " you have divined the truth ; the deci- 
 sion has gone against you." 
 
 Edith uttered no response ; but her whole frame trembled 
 violently, while her uncle drew her nearer to himself, and said : 
 " But don't lay it to heart, Dithy ; we shall live some way. 
 I have got two whole hands, if not feet ; and, while I can 
 earn a dollar, you shall share it with me. I knew, when 
 I first met you to-night, that you had not heard of it, 
 though I supposed your lawyer would have sent you word." 
 
 " When was it decided ? " asked Edith. 
 
 " Yesterday." 
 
 " And a whole day has passed since ! " exclaimed Edith, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " I expected you every hour to-day to come to me, or I 
 should have seen you before," said her uncle. 
 
 " I refer to Mr. Oliver," said Edith, " who told me, the 
 last time I saw him a.t his office, that, as soon as the case 
 was decided, he would come in person to let me know. And, 
 although I had refused to see him here before, I consented 
 that he should come then."
 
 EDITH HALE. 477 
 
 " This man is unworthy of you," said her uncle, impa- 
 tiently, " and I am glad he has shown himself in his true 
 character of fortune-hunter." 
 
 " Was not the case well conducted by him ? " pursued 
 Edith. 
 
 " Yes ; he pleaded remarkably well, I should say, to give 
 every devil his due." 
 
 " Please, uncle, don't speak thus of Hugh Oliver. He has 
 been a good friend to me ; and, if he forsakes me now, I can- 
 not forget his past kindness," said Edith. 
 
 " He 'U forget his kindness, now you have lost your fortune," 
 said her uncle. 
 
 " I have seen so many bitter troubles," almost groaned 
 Edith, " it is very hard to bear this. I must go alone ; you 
 will excuse me this once, dear uncle, I know." 
 
 " Well, Dithy," said he, rising to leave, " I '11 come and 
 see you again soon, and help you lay your plans for the future. 
 Keep up a good heart, dear child," he concluded, kissing her, 
 affectionately. 
 
 Edith was too much troubled to say more. Her heart was 
 full to breaking. 
 
 She went to the solitude of her own room, but not to weep. 
 Edith had naturally a temperament of rebellious passions ; 
 the accustomed loveliness and serenity of her manner were 
 the result of long and careful self-government, by the influ- 
 ence of her mother, and the higher principle of her life. 
 When such fierce trial came, it was well that she had this 
 trust, of which she had spoken to her uncle.
 
 478 EDITH HALE. 
 
 Hour after hour she walked, while she struggled with her 
 sorrow, every step beating the knell of her hopes, so late 
 brilliant and fervid, till all around her had subsided into the 
 pulseless silence of the night. Then she looked forth from 
 her window, through which the moon shone in long, spectral 
 lines, and questioned if the dead, whom she had loved on 
 earth, were looking down in pity on her now. She thought 
 of the friend of her youth, the gentle, affectionate Mary, 
 and how tranquil she was now, freed from the conflict of 
 life. 
 
 " ! that I, too, had died and gone home then ! " she ex- 
 claimed. " A death fearful, awful, like hers, which endured 
 but for a moment, is nothing to a life like mine ! " 
 
 She remembered she had spoken unworthily of herself, and 
 she wept for the first time since the knowledge of her woe. 
 Words of hope and consolation flowed on the tide of her grief, 
 and gradually the unrest of her soul gave place to peace. 
 As in the Indian myth, the spirits of singing stars, who make 
 melody upon the strings of the air in the silent time of night, 
 angels whispered to her in harmony. The church-clock struck 
 the hour of midnight, but she knew it not, for she was lost in 
 prayer. 
 
 When the moon had gone down she lighted her lamp, and, 
 taking a little book given her by her mother, which was a 
 compendium of select passages of Scripture, she read words as 
 sweet as the little book in the vision. Thus she sought con- 
 solation, till the bitterness of the first overwhelming draught
 
 EDITH HALE. 4V 9 
 
 of her cup had passed. And then, like the white-robed 4*jgels 
 which stood before the Lamb, there was a palm in her hand ! 
 
 At last she fell asleep, with praises in her heart. 
 
 The hours of the next day moved on iron hinges. It was 
 the Sabbath, and the silence of the time left Edith unmolested 
 in her reflections. 
 
 In the afternoon, she was considering whether she were 
 able to attend church, when she was informed that her uncle 
 waited to see her. She went to him with surprise, for she 
 knew that visitors were not permitted there on the Sab- 
 bath. 
 
 " I felt troubled about you, dear child," he said, " and I 
 could not stay away after what passed last night. So, being 
 your uncle, and representing it was a very urgent case, I got 
 in to see you. Such rules as these places have ! " he added, 
 impatiently ; " I wonder they don't teach you to think by 
 rule ! " 
 
 " They do, uncle," replied Edith, with simplicity, " but 
 you must be aware of the necessity of rules in " 
 
 " I am aware of no such thing ! " he interrupted ; " I have 
 come to get you to go out with me." 
 
 " Where, uncle ? " 
 
 " Anywhere, so that you go out. You must have a change 
 of air and scene. I knew you would not walk to-day unless 
 I made you." 
 
 " To walk, except to and from church, is against the rule 
 here," replied Edith. 
 
 " The rule again ! I tell you that you must and shall go !
 
 480 EDITH HALE. 
 
 You look as pale and as cold as snow, here on this bland sum- 
 mer day. You will die, in this way ! " 
 
 " I can go with you," said Edith, after a later reflection, 
 " if you will agree to accompany me to church. That will 
 suit me and the rules here." 
 
 " But not me ! " said her uncle, decidedly. " I have not 
 been inside of a synagogue, a chapel, or a steeple-house, since 
 I landed on these shores." 
 
 " Well, I cannot walk with you on any other condition," 
 said Edith, " and I should like to go to church with you very 
 much, dear uncle. You can scarcely refuse me this pleasure? " 
 she added, pleadingly. 
 
 " Be it so then ! " replied her uncle, with a round oath ; 
 " but I 'd as willingly stand on one foot till I had made a hole 
 in a rock, as the Mussulmans say Adam did, or kiss the Pope's 
 great toe a hundred times, as to go to one of your churches 
 and be obliged to hear a priest let off his stuff! " 
 
 They decided upon going to the neighboring city, that the 
 walk might be as long as possible. Edith demurred a little 
 on account of her uncle's lameness ; but he said nothing 
 would hurt him that day, only going inside of a meeting- 
 house. 
 
 Edith led the way to a church into which she had sometimes 
 gone when she resided in that vicinity. The fervency and 
 power of the preacher had always absorbed her attention, 
 and she was anxious that her uncle might receive a favorable 
 impression. 
 
 They were left to remain some time in the vestibule, for
 
 EDITII UALE. 481 
 
 their plain exterior failed to attract the notice of the Bex- 
 ton. At length, after many others had been more fortunate, 
 and conducted to the higher seats, they -were shown to a back 
 pew, in which sat *ome very queer and inferior looking people. 
 For a moment Edith's brow flushed with pain, but better 
 thoughts succeeded. Her uncle dropped his head upon his 
 cane, and seemingly fell asleep. The sound of the organ did 
 not arouse him from his position, as Edith had hoped; neithei 
 did the rising of the great congregation. He remained like 
 one who is determined to make the best of an infliction till it 
 is fairly through. 
 
 The preacher arose, and, in his simple, impressive manner, 
 without preface or preamble, announced his text. In the voice 
 of the speaker it was a poem, set to a melodious strain. He 
 had^not spoken long before Edith saw that her uncle was 
 struggling within himself against the words he heard ; for he 
 moved uneasily upon his seat, and he pulled his long beard 
 impatiently. Whether he or the preacher -would obtain the 
 mastery was the question. As the speaker proceeded, unfold- 
 ing treasure after treasure, new and old, and interspersing all 
 with a beauty and pathos which few could hear insensibly, 
 Edith saw with pleasure that her uncle had become as atten- 
 tive as even she could desire. An unusually striking and 
 effective application had brought him upright, and lighted his 
 dark, stern face with interest. 
 
 When the preacher had concluded his discourse, and called 
 the people to prayer, the old man arose and remained rever- 
 ently, as in unconscious harmony with the spirit of the place. 
 41
 
 482 EDITH HALE. 
 
 At the close of the exercises, Edith was somewhat surprised, 
 on turning to leave the house, to find that her uncle was not 
 disposed to go. 
 
 " I came in to please you, and now you must stay to please 
 me," he said. 
 
 When the congregation had nearly all left the house, he 
 informed Edith that he was going to speak to " that priest." 
 She believed he was beside himself, but she durst not offer any 
 remonstrance. Anxiously she saw him hobbling up the aisle 
 toward the pulpit, every uneven and heavy step sounding 
 loudly through the empty house, and his odd, rough exterior 
 contrasting forcibly with that of the divine. She well-nigh 
 repented that she had come now. 
 
 The preacher met the old man with evident curiosity and 
 surprise, for such an encounter was not familiar to him. Edith 
 was too distant to hear the conversation, but she was reas- 
 sured when she saw that her uncle was received graciously. 
 In reply to his words, the divine, ordinarily grave and some- 
 what reserved, spoke to him with interest, even with defer- 
 ence. Her uncle did not detain him long, and as he turned 
 away Edith saw him transfer a small package from his pocket 
 to the hand of the minister, with a hasty explanation. 
 
 When Edith was joined by her uncle, and they were fairly 
 by themselves in the street, she inquired minutely of the inter- 
 view. 
 
 " I went to him for the purpose," said he, " of seeing how 
 a man of his fine black cloth would meet an odd old fellow,
 
 EDITH HALE. 483 
 
 like me. I wanted to know if he would carry out his religion, 
 which he talks so smoothly about." 
 
 " And you were not disappointed ? " said Edith. 
 
 " No ! " he said, with an oath, which was too foreign to be 
 interpreted ; " that is as good as a priest can be. If he can 
 stand such a test as I put him to, he will do ; he is sea-worthy 
 and heaven-worthy. He asked me to come and hear him 
 again, and call on him at his residence." 
 
 " What was it you gave him, as you left him, if you 
 please ? " 
 
 " Did you see that ? " replied the old man, now some- 
 what embarrassed. " He had done so well, I wanted to give 
 him something. But, curse my poverty ! I had only a few 
 old papers in my pocket, which I brought from abroad. 
 They were curious prayers of the pagans, and some written 
 charms, &c., which I thought he might like to look at, and 
 perhaps use at some time in his figurations." 
 
 At this moment Edith's attention was arrested by the 
 appearance of a lady who was approaching them upon the 
 same side of the street. She was attired in great splendor, 
 and her handsome, haughty face was radiant with smiles as 
 she glanced up into the face of her companion, whom Edith 
 recognized with painful agitation. 
 
 " Observe these people who are meeting us," she said to 
 her uncle, in a low, excited voice. 
 
 Both the lady and gentleman passed them without looking 
 in their direction, although the lady was obliged to draw
 
 484 EDITH HALE. 
 
 away her superb garments to prevent them from brushing 
 those of Edith. 
 
 "What is all this?" asked her uncle, directly. "Child! 
 you tremble like a wounded bird ! " 
 
 " Did you not see him ? " said Edith. 
 
 " See who? I noticed only the woman dressed out like a 
 flaunting sultana." 
 
 " The gentleman was Hugh Oliver, and he was walking 
 with Hada Regleton, your sister's oldest daughter." 
 
 " What was he walking with her for?" asked her uncle, 
 angrily. 
 
 " I can't tell ! " answered Edith, endeavoring to control her 
 emotion ; " the report is probably true that there is an engage- 
 ment existing between them." 
 
 " The fool ! " responded her uncle ; " he thinks to get 
 money there, but he is mistaken. I have learned that Regie- 
 ton is on the verge of ruin. But, if Oliver has a mind to 
 choose such a thing as that, let him take his chance. He will 
 see his blunder when it is too late."
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 EDEN. 
 
 THE next morning, the angel of care rolled away the stone 
 before the door of another week, through which hastened 
 madly the renewed bustle and toil of life. Edith could not 
 avoid reflecting upon the future which now frowned so gloom- 
 ily before her. The thought that she was once more thrown 
 upon her own resources in a cold and indifferent world com- 
 pelled her to consider the course which she must pursue, 
 notwithstanding the engrossing nature of her present duties. 
 
 Before the close of the morning, she was summoned to the 
 drawing-room, to meet a gentleman. The messenger left her 
 before she had inquired the name of her visitor ; but her 
 heart whispered it was Hugh Oliver, who had come at 
 last. 
 
 " After all," she said to herself, "he wishes only to return 
 my papers, and consummate all business between us." 
 
 But the thought that Oliver might be waiting for her in- 
 spired her with thrilling emotion, succeeded by a deathly 
 weight of sadness, as she remembered the change in her for- 
 tune. When she reached the door, she was obliged to pause 
 41*
 
 486 EDITH HALE. 
 
 to collect herself; for her whole frame trembled, and she felt 
 the blushes settling into deepness upon her cheeks. 
 
 Unclosing the door, at length, she entered with hesitancy, 
 when she perceived that Oliver was not there. Her heart 
 turned to ice, and, notwithstanding every effort, the tears 
 rushed to her eyes. Instead of the one whom more than all 
 others she wished to see, awaited a gentleman of sixty -five 
 winters,, smiling and benevolent one of the officials of the 
 trustees of that institution. 
 
 "Are you ill, this morning, Miss Hale?" he inquired, 
 directly. 
 
 Edith faltered an excuse for her appearance ; but soon re- 
 covered herself, as the gentleman was an old friend who had 
 shown her much kindness, and she could scarcely have been 
 better repaid for her disappointment. He had come to invite 
 her to accept a vacant situation in the board of teachers for 
 the next term. 
 
 " Several applications have been made," he said ; " among 
 which is that of the Rev. Hyliscus Crabtree, of Birhampton, 
 in behalf of his daughter, who is in the same class with you ; 
 but we unite in giving you our preference."' 
 
 " I am very grateful, sir, for your offer ; and I will exert 
 myself to discharge the duties expected of me." 
 
 At this moment she discovered a gentleman entering the 
 room, his face partially averted ; but she knew him at once. She 
 stopped in surprise. The trustee was bowing himself out ; but 
 she was sadly inattentive. She saw nothing, remembered noth- 
 ing, now, but the presence of Hugh Oliver. The door closed.
 
 EDITH HALE. 487 
 
 " Miss Hale," said Oliver, rising, and now looking fully 
 upon her with his piercing eyes, " I regret that I have sought 
 you so unseasonably. It seems that I have come here to wit- 
 ness yotir acceptance of an offer of " 
 
 He could not conclude his words ; for he saw a new light 
 in Edith's eyes, which baffled his penetration. Notwithstand- 
 ing her contending emotions, she was smiling so that her 
 whole face was lighted with humor. 
 
 " I have some curiosity to know what these .' duties ' are, 
 which you promise so submissively to discharge," he resumed, 
 quickly divining, from her looks, that he had for once made 
 himself slightly ridiculous in judging upon hasty impressions. 
 " Is he a widower, with as many responsibilities as those set 
 down to the account of the wife of tTolm Rogers ? " 
 
 " I shall not submit to be thus questioned by you," said 
 Edith. 
 
 " I was not prepared for such an encounter as this, when 
 I had planned a meeting with you, Edith, after what has 
 passed very different, to say the least." 
 
 At these words, the smile fled from Elith's face, succeeded 
 by a look of keen suffering. 
 
 " Miss Hale," said Oliver, now seating himself near her, 
 " I am very sorry to inform you that I have lost your case." 
 
 As she did not manifest surprise, he continued, " You may 
 have heard of it before." 
 
 She bowed assent. 
 
 " I cannot say that I regret the decision," resumed Oliver. 
 
 Edith started now ; for such words from the man in whom
 
 488 EDITH HALE. 
 
 she had reposed so much respect and confidence, under the 
 circumstances, overwhelmed her with anguish. She looked 
 upon him for an explanation ; but he sat examining some 
 papers which he had withdrawn from his pocket. 
 
 " Dear Edith," he said, at length, when he saw the tears 
 rushing to her eyes, " you may think my words harsh and 
 unfeeling ; but, had this contested fortune fallen to your pos- 
 session, I could not have told you what is in my heart how 
 very dear you are to me. You would not have believed the 
 truth of my professions of love. I have studied your char- 
 acter sufficiently to know this. I did my best for you, as it 
 was, and trusted that time would vindicate my motives, if you 
 were successful. But I pleaded one suit in vain shall it be 
 so in the other ? " 
 
 Edith yielded to a fresh outburst of tears ; for such words 
 were wholly unexpected. The consolation, late as it came, 
 was doubly sweet now. 
 
 " I should have sought you," resumed Oliver, after an 
 embarrassed pause, "as I promised you, immediately upon the 
 announcement of the decision in court; but I delayed to effect 
 a purchase of your late residence in the city, in time that 
 nothing should be disturbed or removed. I wished, too, not to 
 meet you with the unhappy intelligence of the lost suit, until 
 I could, as a kind of offset, give you a little surprise. I hoped 
 to have settled the business with Sykes, so as to come to you 
 by Saturday; but he was so obstinate and vexatious, that the 
 bargain was not concluded until this morning. And here," he 
 added, producing a paper from his package, " is the legal in-
 
 EDITH HALE. 489 
 
 strument which makes you the undisputed possessor of that 
 house and all it contains." 
 
 " I cannot understand you," faltered Edith, not well know- 
 ing, in her confusion, what reply to make. 
 
 " Nothing can be plainer," said Oliver. " I offer you this, 
 and all that pertains to me ; and, if you have a mind to give 
 me your heart and hand in return, I shall consider the matter 
 as settled." 
 
 " I have heard that you are engaged to marry, already." 
 
 " To whom ? " asked Oliver, with a puzzled look. 
 
 " Miss Regleton." 
 
 " Did you think, ever, that I would marry that cousin of 
 yours ? Now tell me the truth, Edith." 
 
 " May I ask how you knew she was my cousin ? " answered 
 Edith. " She did not tell you the fact ? " 
 
 " Xo ; Mr. Raymond mentioned it to me, casually. She 
 has spoken to me of you, but not as a relative." 
 
 " Nor as a friend," said Edith, with decision. 
 
 " What she said was lost upon me wholly," continued 
 Oliver. " I never had a thought of marrying Hada Regleton, 
 and I have not certainly given occasion for any one to think 
 so. I have of late, especially, avoided her as much as possi- 
 ble. Yesterday, on returning from church, she joined me, 
 having left her father's carriage to walk that way ; but I 
 excused myself as soon as it was convenient." 
 
 There was another pause now, broken at last by Oliver. 
 
 " Edith," he said, " you do not express yourself very con- 
 fidentially to me. Here you sit as silently and coldly as if
 
 490 EDITH HALE. 
 
 it were nothing that my entire happiness depends upon your 
 decision." 
 
 " My appreciation of your kindness is too great to be ex- 
 pressed," replied Edith, with much emotion. 
 
 " Stay," said Oliver, drawing her to his heart ; " those are 
 not the words for which I wait." 
 
 " What would you have me say ? " ventured Edith, blush- 
 ing under her tears. 
 
 Oliver whispered his reply, while he pressed his lips to 
 hers, in one long, rapturous kiss. 
 
 It was a moment of exquisite, nay, almost perfect bliss, 
 such bliss as is not often known on earth. If the world- 
 ling be disposed to laugh or growl a contemptuous " pshaw! " 
 having never known such love, or having forgotten it as one 
 of the follies of his youth, let him pause before darkening such 
 golden light by words without knowledge. Such a scene is a 
 reflection of the first love of Eden a link, strong and bur- 
 nished, which extends far back to the time " when the morning 
 stars sang together." 
 
 " Xow, dearest Edith, tell me all about that widower,' " 
 said Oliver, at length. 
 
 She smilingly complied. 
 
 " I shall not let you accept his ' offer,' " commented Oli- 
 ver ; " you will have other ' duties ' for nest term. So just 
 send in your resignation at the earliest opportunity." 
 
 " I am not certain about that," said Edith. 
 
 " I am ; for you must live with me in our home by that 
 time ; at least, if you will let me live in your house."
 
 EDITH HALE. 491 
 
 " I must not omit to remind you," said Edith, " that I have 
 an uncle who has been unfortunate, and, though not exactly 
 dependent upon me at present, is very dear to me " 
 
 " He shall live with us ; our home shall be equally his own. 
 I recollect hearing you speak of your affection for him, and 
 I know that I shall also esteem him." 
 
 " You are very good," said Edith, affected by his kindness. 
 
 " And you will exert yourself to discharge your duties so 
 that I may not repent my preference in your behalf? " said 
 Oliver, jocosely alluding again to the scene which he had par- 
 tially witnessed. 
 
 " I decline to promise," replied Edith. 
 
 " But not by and by, when the question is put in solemn 
 form ! " 
 
 How much longer they would have remained thus interested 
 in this conversation is uncertain, had not Edith been reminded 
 of the necessity of her presence elsewhere, as it was in the 
 time of the school exercises. 
 
 Oliver reluctantly took his leave, reminding Edith, however, 
 that she must never doubt him hereafter ; to which she con- 
 sented, with the provision that he was not to allude to her 
 " offer " again. 
 
 On the afternoon of that day, Edith had a long interview 
 with her uncle, in which there, were some tears shed, a few 
 strong exclamations pronounced on his part, and many pleas- 
 ant, hopeful words interchanged. 
 
 " Well," said her uncle, when he had heard all, " Oliver 
 has turned out better than I imagined. You have had a
 
 492 EDITH HALE. 
 
 pretty round time of trial, Dithy; and, if a brighter day is 
 breaking over your young head, nobody can rejoice more 
 heartily than your poor old uncle. You must have got help 
 from something which I know nothing of, to have behaved -<o 
 well through the scenes you have passed under my eys. 
 expected yesterday, as much as I ever expected anything, to 
 have found you crazy, or sick, or broken all to atoms some 
 way. But, instead, you wore the same old smile, even after 
 you met Oliver with that dashing sprig of Regleton, only a 
 little sadder, it may be." 
 
 " I take no praise to myself," replied Edith ; " if I do 
 anything well, it is done in the strength of Him who has 
 promised to help those who trust in his name." 
 
 A few days after these events Edith entered the seminary 
 hall at the close of one of her recitations, and saw in the desk 
 of the principal the august figure of the Rev. Hyliseus Crab- 
 tree. It cost her no effort to recognize him. She would 
 have known him years afterward without difficulty, for he had 
 often haunted her memory, sleeping and waking, since her 
 examination before the school-committee of Birhampton. 
 
 The pupils were requested to give attention to a " few 
 remarks " by the reverend visitor. Thereupon the gentleman 
 arose, and, looking over and above the assembly of young 
 ladies with one of his loftiest looks, which appeared to express, 
 " Did ever you see such a man as I am before ? " he began 
 his harangue. Although he spoke with great and studied 
 emphasis, neither bis sentiments nor words were emphatic. 
 He was deliberate, but it was the deliberation of the snail.
 
 EDITH HALE. 493 
 
 When he had made an end, after wearying all his auditors 
 but his daughter, the young ladies were dismissed again to 
 their several classes. But Edith, to her unfeigned surprise, 
 was bidden to the presence of the Rev. Hyliscus Crabtree and 
 the principal. 
 
 " We sent for you," said the latter, after having briefly 
 announced Edith to the reverend gentleman, " to ascertain 
 if you adhere to your decision not to accept the situation 
 offered you as a teacher in the institution. Miss Hale was 
 entitled to our first choice," he observed, by way of explana- 
 tion to Mr. Crabtree, " because she holds the highest rank in 
 the senior class. If she resigns, the application of your 
 daughter will next receive attention." 
 
 " Xew circumstances render it necessary for me to decline," 
 said Edith; "but, if I may be allowed on this occasion to 
 intrude my wishes, I would add that I hope Miss Crabtree 
 may be successful in her application that she may be spared 
 the unhappiness which once a poor girl knew, on being rejected 
 as an applicant for a school in Birhampton, by her father." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Mr. Crabtree, " is this " 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered Edith, perceiving she was recognized, 
 " I am the one to whom I have referred." 
 
 " I had no idea - 1 " he stopped, with a very red face. 
 
 " Thanks to a gracious Providence, and to kind, noble- 
 hearted friencls, among whom I reckon the authorities of this 
 institution," said Edith, " I have been favored since that time 
 with blessings far exceeding the pain and mortification I then 
 experienced. 5 ' 
 
 42
 
 494 EDITH HALE. 
 
 So saying, she left the Rev. Hyliscus Crabtree to his own 
 reflections. 
 
 The next time that Oliver met Edith he produced a letter 
 from his uncle, the major, who was highly delighted that his 
 nephew was about to be married, and entirely approved his 
 choice. He wrote that he should expect Edith to become his 
 guest at the expiration of her engagement at school, when he 
 hoped his home would be prepared for her reception. As his 
 housekeeper had died during the past season, he had been 
 unable to supply her place, and his house was at the mercy 
 of servants at present ; but he should make new arrangements 
 immediately, in honor of her visit. 
 
 Edith listened to this thoughtfully, and when the letter was 
 concluded she said, 
 
 " I think I cau procure a housekeeper for your uncle who 
 would fill the place admirably." 
 
 "You must recollect that the place is retired, and one 
 accustomed to active life might not be contented with such 
 a home," said Oliver. 
 
 " I will manage it, and inform you directly," said Edith. 
 
 When Oliver had left her, Edith went to Mrs. Wellmont. 
 Her face was radiant with pleasure, as she exclaimed, 
 
 " I think I have got a new home in the country for you, 
 where everything is beautiful, quiet, and just to your liking." 
 
 Mrs. Wellmont looked her surprise and curiosity. Edith 
 then proceeded to inform her of all the plans for herself, not 
 omitting her own contemplated marriage. 
 
 " And now," she added, " if you will only go there, Mrs.
 
 EDJTH HALE. 495 
 
 Wellmont, at the close of school I will join you on a visit, 
 and shall we not be happy together in that pleasant country 
 place?" 
 
 Mrs. Wellmont could not reply for her emotion, for never 
 more forcibly than then did she recall her words to her son, 
 when he had written affectionately of Edith : " Where, then, 
 is my prospect of a home with you in my declining years ? " 
 
 Edith thought that her sadness proceeded from a memory 
 of her dependence, and said, 
 
 " Your duties will be light, merely superintendence ; and 
 a home can hardly fail to be pleasant with Major Oliver. I 
 shall take care that you be recommended rightly; but his 
 former acquaintance with your son will be your highest rec 
 ommendation to him, and to all the people of Waterbury." 
 
 >' Dear Edith ! " returned Mrs. Wellmont, with tears, " I 
 have no words to tell you how I value this kindness, which, 
 believe me, I do not merit. Nothing could be more pleasant 
 to me than such a home, and especially among those whom my 
 son so well loved/' 
 
 " Then I will get Hugh to write to his uncle at once," said 
 Edith. 
 
 This plan proved successful ; and Mrs. Wellmont was not 
 more gratified with the prospect of a change in her home 
 than was Edith in its accomplishment.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 LITTLE IDDY AND HIS MOTHER. 
 
 THE last days of the fall of the year bring gloom to all, 
 even to those who are habitually thoughtless. The air is per- 
 meated with a chill ; the leaves, but late so brilliant, lie with- 
 ered and sere upon the ground ; and all nature seems to 
 pause, like a heart in the foreboding of calamity. The clouds 
 hang over the earth like watchers over the bed of the dying ; 
 they watch the death of the year. 
 
 But, if we have hopes warm and bright for the approach- 
 ing winter, this gloom is 'chased away by the first sunbeam 
 that glistens aslant the icicles. We think of our comforts 
 and pleasures, and are thankful, after all, for the cheerful 
 cold season. Alas for those the many who have no com- 
 forts or pleasures in the future of their reflections whose 
 hopes have all withered and died like the leaves ! So thought 
 Maria Weston, as she sat in her low, cold chamber, on a 
 gloomy afternoon in November. All the summer and autumn 
 she had lived upon hope, the one hope which had clung to 
 her through such poignant trials. Now that hope was gone. 
 She had learned a tale from her seducer's own lips that had
 
 EDITH HALE. 497 
 
 blotted out the last ray of light in her heart. He was already 
 married ! 
 
 Each succeeding hour, which brought a memory of her 
 hopeless sorrow, settled the wild excitement of her soul, which 
 
 she had first felt after the knowledge, into a strong, deep calm. 
 
 
 
 She looked forth from her narrow north window upon the 
 
 gloomy earth with a rigid face, for the tears were all frozen 
 to ice in her heart. The little Iddy nestled to her bosom, but 
 she heeded him not. He had grown to be a beautiful babe, 
 with large, melancholy eyes, 
 
 " Like the eyes of those who can see the dead ! " 
 
 About his fair face twined delicate flaxen ringlets, like 
 silken tassels around a tiny ear of grain. His mouth was 
 like a rosebud, within the petals of which buzzes a honey-bee. 
 But Maria thought not of his beauty now, for there was no 
 longer beauty in anything to her. She thought only of shame 
 and disappointment, two grim phantoms that haunted her 
 wherever she looked. His little, soft hand wandered over 
 her cheek unheeded, and his smile brought no return. 
 
 The little Iddy had no toys like other children, neither had 
 he ever been caressed by a warm-hearted grandmother or aunt ; 
 and so he knew not what it was to lie in the downy nest of 
 love, and open his ruby lips for the reception of choicely- 
 selected blessings. Although as beautiful as a pearl, his cradle 
 had been no golden shell. He had often felt cold and hunger, 
 and the angel of tears watched by his hard pillow. His father 
 had refused to provide for him longer, and had declared to 
 42*
 
 498 EDITH HALE. 
 
 Maria his intention of causing him to be removed to an 
 asylum. She feared to leave him now to go to the village, 
 lest she might return and find his place vacant ; for so had 
 she been threatened if she refused her consent to the separa- 
 tion. Her babe was too dear to her to endure this thought for 
 a moment. 
 
 Maria had failed in getting sufficient work for a livelihood 
 as a seamstress, and she felt her disgrace too keenly to expose 
 her destitution to the eyes of the world. Her last money was 
 gone, and her room was cold and desolate. The winds howled 
 mournfully along the chimney, and clattered the casements 
 of the windows. The sky was lowering, and boded a storm. 
 "When Mrs. Linn called her to the evening meal, she 
 answered, as she had frequently done of late, that she did not 
 wish to eat ; and so she remained by the window, and watched 
 the coming on of the night. Presently she descried the 
 lighted lamps in the homes of the village, which, in the 
 glimmering, snowy air, looked like the lights of ships at 
 sea. 
 
 " How happy they must be to-night, in their pleasant 
 homes ! " she exclaimed to herself; " for they are loved and 
 have the comforts of life, and, -more than all, they are not 
 troubled with an ever-present sense of guilt, at least, many 
 of them are not." 
 
 Then she thought of one house in the village, which held a 
 heart guiltier than her own, and the ice of her heart dissolved 
 to burning tears. Her sobs awoke her babe, and he cried
 
 EDITH HALE. 499 
 
 loudly. He was now hungry, and his little hands and face 
 were pinched and blue with the cold. 
 
 Maria hugged him to her bosom under an old shawl, and 
 carried him softly until he slept again. Then she laid him on 
 the bed, and proceeded to light a lamp. The old house-clock 
 struck slowly and solemnly, but never so solemnly before 
 to her. Those sounds called to her soul with an awful dis- 
 tinctness. 
 
 Some time after, Mrs. Linn's footsteps were heard slowly 
 ascending the stairs, and presently she entered Maria's room. 
 She held a candle, and a few sticks of dried herbs, which she 
 had been getting in the adjoining attic. 
 
 " I thought I would just see if you were sick to-night," 
 ,*he said, " as I had to come up after something to make 
 some tea for father. He don't feel so well." 
 
 " No, ma'am, I am not sick," answered Maria. 
 
 " Is Iddy asleep ? " 
 
 She went to the bed and held her candle so that its light 
 fell over the little face. Putting down her herbs, she drew 
 up the clothes more closely about him, and felt of the hand 
 which lay without on the pillow. 
 
 " He is too cold here, child," said Mrs. Linn ; " you 
 must bring him down to our fire, or he will freeze to death." 
 
 " I would rather not," said Maria ; " and I can't afford 
 to keep a fire here longer." 
 
 " Well, now," continued Mrs. Linn, taking a chair and 
 pulling the folds of the shawl she wore together, *' something 
 must be done for you right away. It won't do for you ani
 
 500 EDITH HALE. 
 
 that poor child to suffer here in this way. "Whoever the 
 child's father is, his heart is like a rock, or it would melt at 
 the very thought. Father and I have been talking about it 
 to-day. You must tell who the man is, and then legal steps 
 must be taken for redress." 
 
 Maria sat with her eyes fastened upon the floor. At length 
 she said, as if in the result of new reflections, " You shall 
 know all to-morrow." 
 
 " It 's of no use for" you to keep silence longer," said Mrs. 
 Linn ; " my heart aches for you, and I advise you the same 
 as if you were my own child." 
 
 These words of tender compassion fell upon Maria's heart 
 softly. 
 
 " O, Mrs. Linn ! " she replied, in a tone of startling dis- 
 tinctness, " could you know all I have suffered, the deception 
 I have had to bear, you would pity me more than you do 
 now. I am a poor orphan ; and, had it not been for you, I 
 should be an outcast to-night, homeless and friendless, while 
 he who led me away into sin would live on in luxury and 
 peace. I am a miserable, ruined girl ; but I know that I 
 have been cruelly ruined." 
 
 " Poor child ! " said Mrs. Linn, wiping her eyes under her 
 spectacles, " I knew it must be so." 
 
 " In the last great day all will know it," said Maria. 
 
 She now arose to hush Iddy, who had become partially 
 aroused by their voices, and thus disclosed to Mrs. Linn, 
 behind where she had sat, her trunk open, and the articles 
 which, it had contained laid out upon the floor.
 
 EDITH HALE. 501 
 
 " What are you doing? " said Mrs. Linn. " It is too cold 
 for such work as that." 
 
 " I wanted to look over my things to-night," replied Maria, 
 returning to them hastily, and beginning to restore them to 
 their place. 
 
 " Don't hurry them back on my account," said Mrs. Linn. 
 " I like to see you careful. It is a good sign in young folks 
 to keep their trunks in order." 
 
 " There is n't any good sign about me," said Maria ; " I 
 
 wanted to pack my clothes because " She stopped for 
 
 her grief, and bent lower over her trunk. 
 
 All the articles, some of which she paused to examine, as 
 if recalling old associations, she replaced, save a little box and 
 Testament, which she retained, as if unwilling to shut them from 
 her sight. 
 
 " What have you there that makes you so sober ? " asked 
 the old lady, seeing Maria look within the box. " It' s enough 
 to make a body cry to see you look as if you were taking leave 
 of your best friend." 
 
 " Here," said Maria, discovering the contents of the box 
 to Mrs. Linn, " is a lock of my mother's and father's hair." 
 She then opened a small paper, and disclosed a tiny silken 
 curl. " This," she continued, " I took from Iddy's head 
 shortly after he was born." 
 
 There were also a plain gold ring which had belonged to 
 Maria's mother, a piece of money that Mr. Linn had given 
 Iddy, and a very small mitten of pink yarn.
 
 502 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " Where did you get that fairy thing ? " asked Mrs. Linn, 
 trying the mitten on her thumb. 
 
 " I knit it for my doll when I was a little girl," said Maria. 
 " Alas ! I was innocent and happy then ! " she continued, with 
 bitterness. "0, that I had died in those days, before I came 
 to all this ! " 
 
 Matia took the box again, and, before closing it, looked 
 once more ; but, as she did so, her glance fell upon the mirror 
 on the under side of the lid. She started wildly, as if she 
 had seen a dead face. 
 
 " This Testament,'* said Maria, when she had become more 
 composed, " is one which Edith Hale gave me." 
 
 " That is a blessed girl ; I miss her sadly," said Mrs. 
 Linn. 
 
 " I have never forgot the words she used to say to me," 
 continued Maria, with a sigh which seemed to proceed from 
 the depths of her soul. " I thought, then, when she warned 
 me against the consequences of some of my ways, that she 
 was what is called squeamish and prudish, and I made light 
 of what she said, sometimes ; but now I see that she was 
 right, and I was wrong. Those things seemed nothing then ; 
 but they were the first steps which led me to ruin at last." 
 
 " You are quite right now," said Mrs. Linn ; " some girls 
 think it is smart and charming to be pert and forward, and 
 they are lifted up with attentions such as they ought never to 
 receive for a moment. I always pity them, because they 
 cannot see what is the result of such conduct. But, when 
 they get in that way, it is useless, generally, to say anything
 
 EDITH HALE. 503 
 
 to them. They think kind admonitions only old-womanish 
 notions, fit to be ridiculed and then forgotten.-" 
 
 " It is so pleasant," said Maria, with a voice of deep 
 emotion, " for poor girls to be made of by those who are 
 higher in the world ! And they are foolish enough to think the 
 flattering words are all just what they seem." 
 
 " True, true," said Mrs. Linn ; " I feel that the greater sin 
 lies with those who know better, and take pleasure in this 
 ruin." 
 
 " 0, my poor soul ! " groaned Maria, in a tone which 
 startled Mrs. Linn ; " could all such persons look on what I 
 have gone through, and then see my heart in all its agony 
 to-night, they would shudder they would " 
 
 She stopped, with her eyes fixed on one point of the wall 
 of the room ; her colorless lips closed under her teeth sharply, 
 till they were stained with blood, and she breathed huskily. 
 
 " I have hopes of you, Maria," said Mrs. Linn, now rising 
 and taking her lamp to go down, " and I will pray that a 
 better life may yet be yours." 
 
 " Thank you, Mrs. Linn ; and I wish you would ask Father 
 Linn to remember me to-night in his prayer," returned Maria. 
 But her voice was still so odd that Mrs. Linn looked on her 
 half surprised. Maria's face was turned away, so that she 
 could not see her. 
 
 " I hope you will feel better in the morning, poor child ! " 
 concluded Mrs. Linn. 
 
 " I hope I shall," returned Maria. 
 
 Mrs. Linn had scarcely left her door before a heavy groan
 
 504 EDITU HALE. 
 
 came upon her ear. Afterward, that evening, she heard 
 Maria walking to and fro in her chamber overhead, and the 
 sounds fell so mournfully upon her heart, that she sat by the 
 fire and wept. 
 
 But, when the hour for their devotions came, the steps 
 ceased, and all was still. Fervently did those good people 
 remember the poor, heart-trampled girl in their supplications 
 before the God of all mercy, and thus peace came to their 
 own souls. After prayer, by an impulse which was somewhat 
 habitual to him, notwithstanding his illness, Mr. Linn broke 
 forth into singing, and fell upon the words : 
 
 " Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings ; 
 
 Thy tetter portion trace ; 
 Rise from transitory things, 
 Toward heaven, thy native place." 
 
 The next morning it was seen that a light snow had fallen 
 during the night, so that all the earth was clothed in white. 
 The naked branches of the trees looked toward the sky more 
 gloomily than before, and the remnant stalks of the garden- 
 bushes bowed themselves low with their burden of ice. 
 
 Mrs. Linn looked forth from her bedroom window and 
 thought of the dead, as she had done for many years in con- 
 nection with the first snow-fall of the season, because her 
 only daughter had been laid in the ground the day before the 
 first snow. As Maria did not appear, as usual, to assist her 
 in her morning labors, she concluded that she had slept late 
 in consequence of her last night's excitement, and deferred 
 calling her.
 
 EDITH HALE. 505 
 
 Presently a neighbor came in of an errand, and incidentally 
 inquired if any one were sick there. 
 
 " No ; why ? " said Mrs. Linn. 
 
 " Because, I saw a light burning in one of your chambers 
 twice in the night when I looked out. And the first thing 
 this morning I noticed it was burning; and, if I am not mis- 
 taken, it is n't out yet," he replied. 
 
 " I am afraid Maria is sick," said Mrs. Linn ; " she looked 
 miserably last night, and I have n't heard her stirring yet." 
 
 " You had better go and see, mother," said Mr. Linn. 
 
 The old lady ascended the stairs very slowly, for she was 
 troubled with her rheumatic difficulties on such mornings, and, 
 reaching the top, she paused to recover her breath. Then she 
 delayed a moment, to put in its place a bundle of dried herbs, 
 which had fallen to the floor the last night ; for she was one 
 who never could pass by on the other side when she saw any 
 thing out of order or requiring her care, however in haste she 
 might be. 
 
 On opening Maria's door, she found that there surely was 
 the light burning on the table, but so feebly that it went out 
 with the first current of the air. 
 
 " Are you sick, this morning? It is late, Maria," she said, 
 approaching the bed. Xo answer being returned, she brought 
 down her spectacles over her eyes, and discovered that Maria 
 was not there, neither was her child. 
 
 " What ! " she exclaimed ; " she has not gone ! I thought 
 it was strange, last night, that she should pack her things so 
 carefully." 
 
 43
 
 606 EDITH HALE. 
 
 She raised the curtain to admit the light, that she might 
 see if the trunk were there. But now she stood motionless, 
 with her eyes fixed upon a particular point of that chamber. 
 Her face was as pale as the white kerchief crossed over her 
 bosom. Before her, suspended from a spike in the beam 
 of the ceiling, was Maria, the little Iddy's head falling over 
 her neck, so that the silken curls shaded his face, the small 
 bare feet held within one hand of the mother, and with the 
 other the little form drawn closely to her own, while against 
 his cheek rested her rigid, blood-stained lips ! The rope was 
 fastened around the neck of both, and the death-agony had 
 been shared together ! 
 
 Mrs. Linn paused aghast ; she, who had so many times been 
 called to witness varied forms of woe, was never moved as in 
 that moment. But, gathering strength to reach the stairs, 
 she called the neighbor to join her quickly. Her voice 
 revealed the mastering fear of her soul, and she was obeyed 
 in consternation. 
 
 " Be calm," she said, " and cut that rope as quickly as 
 possible." 
 
 He drew forth his knife, but he could not advance ; the 
 spectacle was too awful, and he staggered to a chair for sup- 
 port. Mrs. Linn was compelled to perform the office herself. 
 It was too late. Death had been in that chamber for hours ! 
 
 The word of alarm spread rapidly, so that in a short time 
 many of the neighbors had gone in with pale faces and hushed 
 voices, but not so many as in cases of ordinary death. Few. 
 comparatively, could behold that horror-stricken scene. They
 
 EDITH II ALE. 507 
 
 wept at home, however ; and parents looked upon their chil- 
 dren with a warning they had never felt before. The young 
 people felt nervously sad, and silently regretted that they had 
 hitherto regarded the erring girl so coldly. 
 
 On looking about the chamber, one of the persons who had 
 come in discovered a paper on the table, covered with writing, 
 and evidently left there by design. As he finished reading it, 
 he uttered an exclamation of astonishment, which arrested 
 the attention of all within hearing. 
 
 " What is it ? " inquired several voices. 
 
 " This is dreadful ! " he returned. " Who could have 
 thought it ? Now I can believe anything ! " 
 
 And he read aloud the last words which the poor girl had 
 written : 
 
 " I cannot live. I shall take my dear child with me, that 
 he may never know sin and shame. The name of his father 
 I tell, that others may not be deceived, as I have been. It 
 is MR. LOOMEY. I forgive him now. May God forgive me, 
 and reward all those who have been kind to me ! MARIA."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 IN the sick chambers of a royal household in Europe are 
 burned tapers of the candleberry myrtle, for the aromatic 
 odors which they emit, permeating the atmosphere with a 
 delicious softness. But, in the sick room where love, pure 
 and fervent, sends forth its genial light, the peace which 
 settles over the heart exceeds all ministration to the senses.- 
 In this light, " which is sweet and pleasant to the eyes," we 
 can catch glimpses of heaven. 
 
 Such had become the sick chamber in which Edith had 
 been called to attend her uncle for months during all those 
 brilliant autumn months, for which so many plans of happi- 
 ness had been sketched. It was now the winter, and the 
 earth was hoar and cold. The north god Tiller, with a silver 
 circle surrounding his chin, and with his imperial skates, had 
 come forth, and asserted his dominion over the Rain-valleys. 
 But Edith looked not on the earth with sad, regretful eyes ; 
 she had been happy in ministering to her uncle, and her heart 
 was glad when she remembered the salutary effects his trial 
 had wrought for him. His rugged, sceptical nature had
 
 EDITH HALE. 509 
 
 yielded to holy influences, and all things were now to him as 
 though wearing the impress of God. 
 
 On one of the bright mornings of the new year, he said, 
 " I have been thinking, Dithy, that you must have secretly 
 got out of patience with your troublesome old uncle. You 
 were enjoying yourself with your friends in the country, just 
 in the blush of all your school honors, and looking forward to 
 your marriage, when you were called to my bedside and con- 
 fined here, till even you, with your good temper, must be ready 
 to wish I had died, or never have lived." 
 
 " Have I ever shown impatience, dear uncle?" said Edith. 
 " If 1 have, it was more than I felt." 
 
 " No, Dithy, you have been an angel of goodness to me. 
 You have done more than I could have asked and less, too, 
 in some sense ; for, when I have requested you to leave me in 
 charge of a nurse, and pursue your former plans for yourself, 
 you have not heeded me." 
 
 " As soon," replied Edith, " could I have deserted a be- 
 loved parent under such circumstances." 
 
 " You shall not be troubled more with me," said her uncle. 
 " I am gaining health and strength rapidly, though I cannot 
 expect to be ever young again. You must leave me, now. 
 
 " When Oliver pays me his customary visit to-day," he 
 added, as he saw her look of surprise, " I shall tell him I 
 will keep you from him no longer. He must owe me a grudge 
 for detaining you so long ; though, to do him justice, he has 
 been as kind to me as a man could ; but I suppose it was all 
 for your sake." 
 
 43*
 
 510 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " We will never be separated, dear uncle, unless it be at 
 your own preference," returned Edith. " Hugh and I have 
 arranged it all how you are to live with us. But I will 
 not reveal more," she added, shaking her head, sagaciously. 
 
 " Well," said her uncle, " I can't understand how you can 
 feel so kindly so like children towards me " His voice 
 failed, and he was silent to hide his emotion. 
 
 By and by he fell asleep, and Edith made her fingers fly 
 with a purpose, as she resumed a piece of work she was pri- 
 vately designing to shape into a gift for her uncle. 
 
 A few days later, Edith and her uncle took up their resi- 
 dence in their future home. On that evening the marriage 
 of Oliver and Edith was to take place, with no guests present, 
 save Major Oliver, Mrs. Wellmont, and the clergyman. Edith 
 was saddened to enter the familiar rooms once more. 
 
 " Is not all here to your liking ? " inquired Oliver. 
 
 "0, yes, your arrangements are perfect ; but I cannot 
 avoid thinking of those who are gone, with whom, so late, I 
 shared this home. Their imprint is left on everything, and it 
 breathes a sad threnody to my heart." 
 
 " If we see that those who dwelt within. these walls before 
 us," said Oliver, " who were girt earth-strong with wealth 
 and power and love, were as nothing before the power of 
 Him who holdeth all things in his hand, let us strive to walk 
 humbly before God!" 
 
 Edith looked up on the face which of all others she most 
 loved and feared, and felt that her happiness was safe in his 
 keeping. But this assurance did not bring freedom.
 
 EDITH HALE. 511 
 
 " Why do you tremble, my bird ? " he said, drawing her 
 nearer to his heart. 
 
 " Because " she began with hesitation ; but, summoning 
 her natural singleness of heart to her aid, continued, " there 
 is no one on earth who causes me such embarrassment nay, 
 downright fear as yourself." 
 
 " Then you do not love me, or, at least, but imperfectly." 
 
 " I have ever spoken the truth to you," said Edith. 
 
 Oliver sat down somewhat abruptly, and made Edith sit by 
 him so near, notwithstanding some faint struggles, that her 
 dark hair shaded his face, as he bent his head to hers, 
 
 " I have a story to tell you," he said ; " only a simple one, 
 but true. There was once a poor boy, whose parents were 
 both dead, and he had scarcely anything but himself and his 
 mother's dying blessing. He went forth into the great world 
 alone, and with a heart tremulous through fear. He was 
 beset with temptations and sorrows, and day after day la- 
 bored closely for only a modicum of life. But, when he was so 
 weary and heart-worn that he could scarcely keep strength to 
 live, he felt his mother's pale hand upon his head, and heard 
 her dying words, ' My son, be ever industrious, and faithful 
 to the highest dictates of your conscience, and you will be 
 blessed, not, perhaps, in your own way, for there may be a long 
 night first.' There was a long and painful night ; but ever in 
 the gloom and straitened passes of the way he heard those 
 words, and he persevered until he issued into the clear light 
 of day. I have spoken of myself. Can you fear me now, 
 dearest?"
 
 512 EDITH HALE. 
 
 " I love you more than ever, if possible," answered Edith, 
 with tears ; " but the old fear remains. It is well ; for a 
 woman was made to reverence him whom she accepts to be 
 her companion and head in life. I believe that when she 
 does not feel thus love is not fervid or strong in her heart." 
 
 " You little metaphysician ! " exclaimed Oliver, " talking so 
 demurely and oracularly of things about which you know 
 nothing ! In less than a year from this time, you will be 
 pulling me about like a child, who knows not the meaning of 
 the word reverence. You will tell my faults with a coolness 
 which defies description, and " 
 
 u There, now," interrupted Edith ; " you have said quite 
 enough of what you know nothing about." 
 
 " A woman will have her will in one way or another ; so 
 I suppose I may as well make up my mind to it first as 
 last." 
 
 " Certainly," rid Edith, merrily ; but she was prevented 
 from saying more by an imprisonment of her lip?. 
 
 Edith now escaped as soon as possible, upon the plea that 
 her uncle was waiting for her in an adjoining room ; and she 
 was followed by Oliver, who could not resist the impulse. 
 
 The invalid uncle was assisted above stairs that he might 
 see the apartments which had been especially arranged for 
 him, as a pleasant surprise. The warm south sunshine came 
 in between the damask and lace curtains, and shed through 
 all the room which was designed for his parlor a mellow 
 cheerfulness. 
 
 " Here is your seat of state," said Edith, gayly point-
 
 ED IT II HALE. 513 
 
 ing to a capacious chair, that looked comfortable enough for 
 a monarch. " Hugh made this purchase on purpose for you, 
 though I assisted in the selection." 
 
 throne,' " said her uncle ; " and quite too good for an old man 
 like me, with a traveller's negligent habits." 
 
 " But what are these, Dithy ? " he asked, as his eye fell 
 upon a pair of beautifully-embroidered slippers, which were 
 set on a velvet cushion before the chair. 
 
 " They are for you, dear uncle," replied Edith. " I know 
 they will fit you ; for I took a pair which you had worn for 
 their model." 
 
 There was a covert, mysterious smile upon her uncle's face, 
 as he held them, and examined them admiringly. 
 
 " Very fine," he remarked, at length ; " I only hope they 
 may prove as fortunate to the giver as did the glass slipper 
 to Cinderella." 
 
 "Do you think, sir, you can be happy here with us?" 
 inquired Oliver, when all the various arrangements for pleas- 
 ure and comfort had been displayed to the old man. 
 
 " Yes, dear uncle," joined Edith, " will it .scern like homo 
 to you ? " 
 
 " God bless you, children ! " he exclaimed ; but he could 
 not say what he would. He sat down in his chair, and cov- 
 ered his eyes with his thin hand. 
 
 " I am weak, yet," he murmured, after a pause, "and I 
 can't control myself as I could once." 
 
 Oliver then led Edith quietly from the room, divining
 
 514 EDITH HALE. 
 
 that her uncle would prefer to be left to his own reflections in 
 that hour. 
 
 Shortly after this, they were summoned to welcome Major 
 Oliver and Mrs. Wellmont. The major was never in better 
 spirits. 
 
 " Indeed, I feel young again," he said ; " I think now I 
 shall live to be a hundred, at least." 
 
 " Philosophers are best when they are old," said his nephew. 
 " I believe you belong to that class." 
 
 " Well, those of your profession are not," rejoined the 
 major ; " for there is an old saying that, ' physicians, like 
 beer, are best when they are old ; and lawyers, like bread, 
 when they are young and new.' But physicians are undoubt- 
 edly best when they are so old they can't practise." 
 
 " At your old war again ? I expected there would have 
 been a truce between you and the doctors before this time," 
 said Hugh. 
 
 " Xever," replied the major, with a flourish of his arm, 
 " until I sleep in the vaults of our illustrious ancestors ! " 
 
 " What if they should abstract your body for dissec- 
 tion ? " 
 
 " Then my spirit would take vengeance. I would compel 
 them to take all the noxious drugs they ever mixed in their 
 deadly conceits. But I came not here," he added, abruptly, 
 " to talk of death and dead bodies ; rather of marriage and 
 the living. And this reminds me that I have something to 
 say to you in private. Mrs. Wellmont, will you retire to the
 
 EDITH HALE. 515 
 
 presence of Edith's uncle, while I remain and confer with my 
 nephew and niece ? " 
 
 After the major had concluded this mysterious parade, and 
 was left alone with his wondering listeners, he subsided as 
 suddenly into embarrassment. He evidently wished to say 
 something which troubled his equanimity unusually. 
 
 " Do you wish to smoke, uncle," said Hugh, on seeing him 
 produce his cigar-holder, and examine it abstractedly. " I will 
 show you where you may be comfortable." 
 
 " Xo, you graceless boy, you know I don't want to smoke 
 now ! You are trying to puzzle me," he replied. 
 
 " If I could think what it is you wish to do or say, I would 
 assist you with pleasure," continued Hugh. 
 
 " By the way,'' said the major, with a design to recover 
 himself before he proceeded upon the business in hand, " I 
 have a piece of news to tell, before I forget it. As I was 
 coming to the city, to-day, I found an old acquaintance from 
 
 L , and he told me that Mr. Wellmont's widow that was 
 
 is just married to Mr. Phanuel." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Edith ; " we heard, some little time since, 
 that he was about to marry another." 
 
 " That lady gave him the slip before going to the altar, 
 having found a man of some distinction who pleased her fancy 
 better. Mr. Phanuel lost no time, then, in securing Mrs. 
 Wellmont. We Watcrbury people have not completed tho 
 erection of a monument over the grave of her first husband 
 yet in our cemetery, and it seems but yesterday since he died. 
 But all this does not reach the point," continued the major ;
 
 510 TDITII HALE. 
 
 " you see, we that is, the elder Mrs. Wellmont and I 
 have been thinking, of late, that it would be a fiue thing to 
 have another wedding take place with yours.'' 
 
 Edith and Hugh exchanged glances of heightened sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " You know we have no minister now in Waterbury, foi 
 that man Loomey absconded very suddenly after the death of 
 poor Maria Weston, taking Mrs. Witherell with him, it js 
 supposed, for she has not been heard of since. But, if he had 
 remained there in good repute, he should never have married 
 me " 
 
 " Married you, uncle?" exclaimed Oliver. 
 
 " Well, I have taken the cork out at last, and I may as 
 well let the whole run out now. You must know that, before 
 Mrs. Wellmont came to live with me, I was getting to be one 
 of the lonesomest bachelors in the world. Some days, the 
 blues were so thick around me, all I could do was to sleep 
 and smoke. I had no heart even to play with Sati, or go out 
 and look at my creatures. But when she came things changed 
 at once. She is such a nice, sensible woman, I took a world of 
 comfort talking with her, and reading to her from my History 
 of Waterbury. She is always interested in all that I am ; 
 and, what 's more, she thinks of the doctors just as I do." The 
 major said this with a keen satisfaction. " I know certain," 
 he continued, " because she was taken sick once, and I said 
 nothing and offered to send for a doctor, but she would not 
 permit it. Then I felt that my fate was decided." 
 
 The major paused, and coughed violently.
 
 EDITH HALE. 517 
 
 " This is news, as good as unexpected ! ;> now spoke Edith. 
 
 " Is the lady willing ? " asked Oliver of his uncle. 
 
 " I have put the question, and she says she will never feel 
 justified in marrying me without the consent of Edith, to 
 whom she owes so much, and of him who is to be her husband. 
 These are her very words," said the major. " So this is my 
 business with you both, at present; though I think it is 
 unnecessary, for I have arranged things so that all my prop- 
 erty will fall to you, when we are both dead, save a few 
 legacies. I did not intend to help you when a boy, Hugh, 
 because I had an idea that I myself should have been a great 
 man, like some of our ancestors, if I had been obliged to set 
 out in life without a dollar." 
 
 " I think," said Hugh, " this contemplated marriage of 
 yours is a most sensible arrangement ; and we will all consider 
 it as settled, if you please." 
 
 Edith went for Mrs. Wellmont, to offer her hearty congratu- 
 lations. 
 
 And so, that evening, there was a double marriage. The 
 clergyman who officiated on the occasion was the one whom 
 Edith had persuaded her uncle to hear. 
 
 Directly after the ceremonies had been performed, Edith's 
 uncle asked to be heard for a few minutes. 
 
 " I have a confession to make," he began, in his usual man- 
 ner, " and, as a priest is here, I shall expect him to shrive 
 me, though what I have to say is to those whom I have sinned 
 against. Ever since I was sick it has been on my mind, and 
 now I must make a clean breast of it. In the first place, 
 44
 
 51 EDITH U ALE. 
 
 from the time I discovered myself to you, Dithy, I have been 
 guilty of lying, almost every word I have spoken." 
 
 Edith began to conclude that her uncle had suddenly lost 
 his senses. 
 
 " But I thought I had a good reason," he continued ; " for 
 when I returned home to this country, as you know, Dithy, 
 1 first went to my sister, and she received me coldly, because 
 she thought I was not wealthy. I was so wounded, I deter- 
 mined on trying another experiment. I said I would see if 
 all my relatives had only a love which could be bought and 
 sold. So I found you out, and I tried you in every way I 
 could think of. You stood the test nobly. I felt so much 
 pity for you, when you lost your law-case, I had a mind 
 to whisper a word of comfort in your ear. But I was 
 prevented by two reasons : one was, I had a curiosity to see 
 how your religion would carry you through such a trying 
 time ; and I also wanted to prove whether your husband, that 
 ia now, would seek you again after you had lost all your 
 prospects of a fortune. Both of you exceeded my expecta- 
 tions. Your religion, Dithy, which I once lightly regarded, 
 I now solemnly declare I truly reverence; for something 
 more than human strength must have enabled you to conduct 
 with such faith and fortitude through the severe trials of your 
 young life. That this grace may be mine henceforth, to fit 
 me for life and death, shall be my daily prayer. Both of 
 you, my dear children, have proved yourselves worthy of my 
 entire confidence. And, for your love and kindness to me,
 
 EDITH II ALE. 519 
 
 when I appeared only a poor, old, troublesome creature, you 
 shall be rewarded with something more valuable." 
 
 He paused, to brush the tears from his eyes. 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Edith, " arc you not destitute, 
 uncle ? " 
 
 " No, child, if being the sole possessor of at least a half- 
 million can entitle me to any other name. What I now say is 
 true. I hope all my deceptions will be forgiven. I was not 
 lame, even, as I pretended, though, since leaving my sick bed, 
 I am so weak, I am in reality unable to walk firmly now. I 
 thought, if I pretended to be so poor, and did not work more 
 actively, I should be as an offence even to the best-hearted ; so 
 I resorted to the appearance of partial incapacity. I had not 
 much conscience then about such things, when I had an end 
 of so much importance in view ; though I have ever been an 
 honest man in all my dealings with the world, and whatever 
 is mine has been rightly obtained. I believe all my preten- 
 sions succeeded. When I displayed to you, Dithy, those 
 1 curious stones ' which I had brought home with me, I saw, 
 at a glance, that you took me at my word. But they were 
 diamonds and other precious stones. The large red one is a 
 ruby of great value. 
 
 " While I was sick, you remember, Dithy," he continued, 
 " that, on summoning a gentleman of my acquaintance to my 
 bedside, I requested you to leave me during the interview. 
 Then I caused you to be legally recorded as the heir of all 
 my estate, providing, in case of my death, that you should 
 allow a moderate annuity to your aunt and her children during
 
 520 EDITH HALE. 
 
 their lives ; for I have ascertained that their once handsome 
 fortune is nearly all wasted. Regleton will soon die of delir- 
 ium tremeus, and the son is too dissipated to long survive 
 his father. While I live I shall take care that my sister and 
 her children do not suffer." 
 
 Had a meteoric stone fallen in the centre of that room, 
 there could not have been more surprise depicted on the 
 countenances of the listeners to this singular development. 
 
 " I think, sir," spoke the clergyman, at length, " that you 
 deceived me once scarcely less perfectly than you have others, 
 when you came to me, upon the conclusion of a Sabbath service, 
 and gave me what you said were prayers and charms of some 
 heathen nations. On returning home, I found the ' heathen 
 prayers and charms ' were all bank-notes. I hope it is not 
 unseasonable to make this statement ; but, as confession seems 
 the order of the occasion, perhaps I may be permitted to 
 ' confess ' my grateful acknowledgments." 
 
 " Since I have taken to reading the Bible, of late," returned 
 the old gentleman, " I find that among the trespass-offerings 
 of the Philistines were five golden mice ; and, as I have tres- 
 passed against you in this deception, I will now make you an 
 offering, though in material only, corresponding to the mice.'' 
 
 He gave the clergyman a purse of gold. 
 
 " Allow me to say that there is one truth which I derive 
 from what I have heard here this evening," observed the 
 clergyman; " it is ever the best course to act from principle, 
 instead of self-interest."
 
 EDITH HALE. 521 
 
 "Then," continued Major Oliver, "we stand a good chance 
 to get back both principal and interest." 
 
 " Yes," replied the clergyman, " I think that has been 
 clearly proved here on this occasion." 
 
 All assented to the truth of this precept in their hearts, 
 but none more truly than the mother of the dead, who had 
 once been actuated by another and more worldly motive. 
 44*
 
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