THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 L O V E'S PROGRESS. 
 
 BY THB AUTHOR OP 
 
 'THE RECOLLECTIONS OF A NEW-ENGLAND HOUSE- 
 KEEPER," "THE SOUTHERN MATRON," ETC. 
 
 " I know not 
 
 How I shall draw her picture; the young heart 
 Has such restlessness of changf, and each 
 Or its wild moods so lovely ! 
 
 Light to thy path, young creature!" 
 
 N. P. WILLIS. 
 
 NE W-YORK: 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF-STREET. 
 
 1 8 4 O'."
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1840, by 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New -York.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 The Baptism . Page 9 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A tranquil Morning. Ruth Raymond a Schoolgirl. Ruth's Confes- 
 sion. Skipping-rope. Ruth's Present. Childhood among Flow- 
 ers. Ruth's Love appears in a Name. Effects of Ridicule. 
 Willie White's Gallantry. His Philosophy. Ruth's first Dream 
 dissolved . 12 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The Naturalist. Ruth's Prejudice. The Cure. Her Sense of Jus- 
 tice disturbed. The Butterfly Race. Ruth's Danger. Change of 
 Feeling. Doubts 17 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Dancing. Monsieur Lagrande. Right Appreciation of Motives. 
 Ruth's Dancing. Her second Preference. An awkward Predica- 
 ment. A Change . 23 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Ruth's Singing. A Mother's Mistake .A Question about Birds. 
 Ruth falls into Extremes. A Glimpse at the Future. Angel 
 Choirs ... . 27 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Young Things.-Ruth too old for Dolls. The Doll Family. A Let- 
 ter. Ruth's Favourite. A solemn Conclusion . . .30 
 
 CHAPTER VII. ( 
 
 The Sleep of Childhood. Its Terrors. A Story from Dr. Gesner. 
 Ruth's Distress. Its Cure .36
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Ruth not a Genius. The promised Prize at School. Dangers of the 
 System. Effect on Ruth. Ruth's Triumph. The Exhibition. 
 Abby Mansfield. Ruth's Mortification and Self-Conquest. The 
 Prize awarded "" . ' . . Page 41 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Friendship's first Grief. The new Friend. Patronage and Love. 
 First reading of Shakspeare. The Kitten Perdita's Danger. Its 
 Rescue 45 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Ruth's Bedroom. Her Library. Love Tokens. Music. Roman- 
 ces. Ruth writes Poetry 52 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The Age of Presumption. Despondency. Religious Love . 57 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Ruth Sixteen. Her Apartment. Seals. Ruth Romantic. Her 
 Mortification. Development of Mind. Invitation to a Ball . 60 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A Funeral Bell. The Village Burial Ruth and a Stranger . 64 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Ruth's Sabbath and Church . *. .68 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Dresses of Heroines in Novels. Heroines of Poetry. Ruth and her 
 Mantuamaker. Progress of Mind. Ruth at the Ball. New Ac- 
 quaintance. An Accident . . . . . . .74 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The Morning Slumberer. The Cape Ann Housemaid. The Morn- 
 ing-call. Sunday-school Project. The Farmer and his Wife. 
 The Intemperate. The Poor and Suffering . . . .84 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Ruth's Reflections at Home. More Experiences of Human Nature. 
 The Sunday-school Opens. Ruth Compensated . . 94
 
 CONTENTS. Vli 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The Sleigh-ride. An Overturn. Excitement. William a Rich 
 Man. An Offer of Marriage Page 100 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 Ruth's Grotto. A Sister's Love. New Sensations . . .104 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Delicate Positions. Ruth's Character unfolds. Glimpses into 
 Hearts 108 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Ruth's Singing. A Letter. The case of Leeds and Whittesby. 
 Ruth Weeps. A Denouement expected . . . .113 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 The Interview. A Thunder-storm. Ruth a Creature to be Loved 
 
 118 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 A Cloud on Ruth's Happiness. A Promise. Death . . . 123 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 Ruth and her Father. The Burial 129 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 The Raymond Fe"te 134 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Clarendon Unhappy. Ruth and her Pastor. A Renewal of Vows 
 
 141 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 The Night succeeding the Ball . . . \ ."- ' . .147 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 The Departure 152 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Clarendon's Visit to the Village. A Letter. An Interview . 158 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 Trenton Falls . ,'. ,-' . . .165 

 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE BAPTISM. 
 
 ONE bleak wintry morning, the inhabitants of a vil- 
 lage -on. the banks of the Hudson were gathering at 
 their church, which stood on the sloping side of a hill. 
 The mountain summits around were crowned with 
 snow, icicles hung glittering from the trees, and the 
 river lay bound in fetters ; but this did not prevent 
 the " assembling themselves together" of the people. 
 Sleigh-bells jingled merrily up the slippery ascent, boys 
 were seen stamping the recent snow from their feet as 
 they entered the porch, while the careful students of 
 comfort deposited footstoves in their pews, with the 
 quick salutation of a wintry day to their neighbours, as 
 they pulled to the doors with an extra effort at close- 
 ness. 
 
 The venerable preacher, who, careless of the frost 
 of the season, entered with the rest, was one of the 
 last of the good old race, now gathered to their reward, 
 who had wrestled body and soul for his country's free- 
 dom. His first prayer was concluded, and, descending 
 from the pulpit, his gray locks falling gently forward, 
 with a tremulous voice he said, 
 
 " Let the child be presented for baptism." 
 
 There was silence in the audience, except where the
 
 10 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 younger members, climbing eagerly on their seats on 
 tiptoe, broke the hush with their unsteady movements, 
 and in the pew of the candidate for baptism. The 
 warm garments that maternal care had wrapped around 
 the sleeping babe were laid aside ; and the mother, ta- 
 king the child in her arms, whose long white robe almost 
 swept the floor, followed with a light tread the more 
 manly footsteps of her husband through the aisle, and 
 stood with him before the pastor. Removing his spec- 
 tacles, and passing his handkerchief over his still serene 
 forehead, he bent forward and thus addressed them : 
 
 " It is fitting that we should dedicate to God the gifts 
 which we receive from him. It is proper that we should 
 invoke the blessing of heaven on the little beings who 
 are just commencing the uncertain career of life. It 
 is right that we should obey an express command of 
 our Master ad Saviour Jesus Christ. Let us not per- 
 form this solemn rite with rashness or indifference. 
 Let us be reminded of our own baptismal vows and 
 Christian obligations. Let us give this child to God 
 with a fixed determination to abide by his gracious will 
 respecting it, and with earnest and hearty prayers for 
 its usefulness and happiness. Frail and feeble, yet 
 precious little being ! I welcome thee into the world, 
 and into the external, visible church of Christ. I ask 
 / of God to bless thee. I ask of thy parents to watch 
 over thy dawning character, to cherish every good and 
 to crush every bad tendency which thy unfolding heart 
 may exhibit. I ask them to train thee up for virtue, 
 for happiness, and religion. Long mayst thou live a 
 blessing to society and to the church. Mayst thou ex- 
 tract every pang from thy parents' bosoms, but never 
 mayst thou plant one there ; and when at length thou
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 11 
 
 art called away from this checkered state, mayst thou 
 be received into the bosom of thy Father and thy God." 
 
 The babe still slept, its mottled hands folded on a 
 breast more tranquil than a waveless sea. Softly the 
 mother laid it in its father's arms, gently the minister 
 touched its soft forehead with the emblematic element, 
 and pronounced in a clear voice the name of Ruth. 
 
 A tender and sweet solemnity dwelt on every parent's 
 heart as the young mother, after the close of the cer- 
 emony, retraced her steps through the aisle, while the 
 children of the church softly struggled to gain a glance 
 of the little being who was now dedicated to God 
 was one of them. 
 
 There were four Ruths in the family of Mr. Ray- 
 mond, the father of the babe ; one a great grandmother, 
 hanging in the hall, faded and soiled, with a dreary- 
 looking gash on the nose from the rudeness of soldiery 
 in the revolutionary war ; near her was her daughter, 
 with a starched white kerchief lying in folds over a rich 
 damask dress, and the hair drawn tightly back from a 
 fine open forehead ; then there was the picture of the 
 present Mrs. Raymond in the parlour, a delicate-looking 
 girl smelling a rosebud ; and lastly Ruth, the babe, a 
 living picture, fresh from the masterly hand of creation, 
 the heroine of my tale. 
 
 There is something almost melancholy in a prospect- 
 ive glance at the life of an infant. What an ocean is 
 to heave from that little rill which is now gliding mer- 
 rily among the green turf of existence !
 
 12 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A tranquil Morning Ruth Raymond a Schoolgirl. Ruth's Confes- 
 sion. Skipping-rope. Ruth's Present. Childhood among Flow- 
 ers. Ruth's Love appears in a Name. Effects of Ridicule.-- 
 Willie White's Gallantry.- His Philosophy. Ruth's first Dream 
 dissolved. 
 
 VERY delicious is the hush of a house after the de- 
 parture of active children to their morning-school. 
 The darkened apartments, and the relaxed steps of 
 hitherto bustling servants as they deposite brooms and 
 brushes in retired closets for the ensuing twenty-four 
 hours, announce the housewife's and mother's holyday. 
 With her children's parting kiss fresh upon her lips, 
 and the echo of their last laugh lingering on her ear, 
 she turns to her needle, while the thousand memories 
 and hopes that make her being spring up in that mind- 
 leisure ; now her voice breaks out into song, and now 
 a prayer nestles at her heart, soothing the thrilling 
 fear that w ill rise in the midst of a parent's most airy 
 visions. 
 
 The morning hours glided thus away as Mrs. Ray- 
 mond sat in her shaded parlour. It was fresh and 
 laughing June ; the earth was green as a Dryad's bower ; 
 and white clouds rolled in fantastic beauty over the 
 mountains, the breath of roses was borne on the breeze, 
 and a few songsters hovered about the elms, whose 
 branches drooped in graceful arches over the portico. 
 
 The clock struck twelve, and soon the quick foot- 
 steps of Ruth Raymond were heard. Her cape-bonnet
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 13 
 
 was tossed aside, with spelling-book and grammar, 
 that " Slough of Despond" to little people, and her pret- 
 ty lips were pressed on her mother's. 
 
 " Who was that little boy I saw across the street as 
 you came in, Ruth ?" said her mother. 
 
 Ruth stopped skipping a rope she had seized on en- 
 tering, and said, " Willie White, mamma ; he comes 
 home my way. I'll tell you something if you will not 
 tell anybody." 
 
 The promise was given, and Ruth whispered in her 
 mother's ear. 
 
 " I cannot hear a syllable, child," said her mother ; 
 " speak louder." 
 
 " But I am afraid you will tell, mamma," said Ruth, 
 with a very conscious look, smoothing down her apron. 
 
 " Certainly I will not," said Mrs. Raymond ; " you 
 may trust your own mother." 
 
 Ruth looked round to ascertain if they were quite 
 alone, and pressed her mouth so close to her mother's 
 ear that the words were lost again. 
 
 Ruth made another effort. " Mind, mamma, you 
 are not to tell anybody. Willie White is my sweet- 
 heart." 
 
 " Who is Willie White ?" said her mother, smiling. 
 
 " I do not know, mamma," answered Ruth ; " but he 
 has pretty curling hair, and a new hat, and comes my 
 way from his school." 
 
 " How often have you seen Willie White ?" said 
 Mrs. Raymond. 
 
 " A good many times, mamma," answered Ruth, be- 
 ginning to skip her rope. 
 
 " You must not speak to strange boys," said Mrs. 
 Raymond ; " it is not proper." 
 B
 
 14 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 " I never speak to Willie White, mamma," said Ruth, 
 with a pretty air of dignity. " He goes his side of the 
 street, and I come mine. He said, my name is Willie 
 White, and I said my name is Ruth Raymond. Just 
 think, mamma, I have kept up the rope twenty times !" 
 
 Mrs. Raymond gazed admiringly on the child. Her 
 round white arms thrown in unconsciously graceful at- 
 titudes, her small feet glancing here and there, her hair 
 springing up and down, all betrayed the mere beauty 
 of childhood ; but as her mother caught a ray from her 
 eyes, their mysterious beauty told of woman. 
 
 Some weeks passed away, and Ruth rushed in from 
 school with sparkling eyes, exclaiming, 
 
 " Willie White has given me this pretty pink, mam- 
 ma ! How sweet it smells. Will you have it ?" 
 
 " Thank you, my darling," said Mrs. Raymond ; " but 
 you forget that I told you not to speak to strange boys." 
 
 " We did not speak, mamma," said Ruth, earnestly. 
 " Willie just came half way across the street and held 
 out the pink, and I went half way and took it. Willie 
 has a nice new jacket on, and I have a new frock. Is 
 not that funny? Will you go and see my anthills, 
 mamma, and give me some sugar for the ants ?" 
 
 Mrs. Raymond laid aside her book, and Ruth, taking 
 her mother's hand, led her to the garden. Children 
 are beautiful objects among flowers. There is some- 
 thing in their slight forms, their elastic tread, their 
 lovely glow, that assimilates them to these delightful 
 creations ; we feel that they are heaven's blossoms. 
 To her mother's eye, nothing was fairer amid the bloom 
 than Ruth. She would almost have yielded to classic 
 lore, and fancied the place peopled with airy beings 
 peeping from tree and shrub to gaze upon the girl, had
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 15 
 
 not a riper religion, a purer philosophy, turned her 
 thoughts to a higher power. X 
 
 " Here are my pets working away," said Ruth, as 
 she stopped and drew her mother's attention to two 
 anthills, side by side. " Now, mamma, you will see how 
 the little people will carry their load up hill." Then 
 crumbling the sugar, she sprinkled it around, and as 
 the ants began to remove their spoil, she clapped her 
 hands and shouted aloud. 
 
 " Mamma," said she, speaking in a lower tone, " do 
 you know what. I call my anthills ? This one I call 
 Ruth, and that biggest one I call Willie White." 
 
 One day Ruth came home from school without her 
 airy step and joyous voice, and her mother saw traces 
 of tears on her face. 
 
 " What is the matter, my love ?" said Mrs. Ray. 
 mond. 
 
 " I hate William White," said Ruth ; and her bright 
 lips pouted in a crimson glow. 
 
 " Ruth, my child, what language !" exclaimed her 
 mother. " You must not hate any one." &, 
 
 But I will hate William White," said Ruth, with a 
 flushed brow and quivering lip. " Sally Swan says his 
 curls look like a lapdog, and and" (Mrs. Raymond 
 could scarcely make out the rest of the sentence for 
 her sobbing) " she says / have a lapdog for my sweet- 
 heart." 
 
 Willie White, imboldened by the acceptance of his 
 pink, one morning selected the ripest bunch of cher- 
 ries on his plate at breakfast and laid them aside. 
 
 " Who are those fine cherries for, Willie ?" said his 
 father. 
 
 Willie blushed up to the eyebrows, and said, "I
 
 16 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 don't know, sir." It was his first untruth ; the tempt- 
 er begins early. Just as Willie came out of his door, 
 Ruth's gate opened, and the little girl appeared. Wil- 
 lie coughed slightly. Ruth seemed very busy arran- 
 ging her books. Willie held up the cherries with a 
 smile ; Ruth saw as though she saw not. 
 
 " Ruth, Ruth Raymond," said Willie, getting cour- 
 age, " will you have these cherries ?" Ruth raised her 
 eyes kindly and hesitated ; but in his zeal to reach her, 
 Willie's cap fell off, and displayed his thick-clustering 
 ringlets hanging bright in the sunbeams. A painter 
 would have sacrificed a fortune for such a picture as 
 Willie presented, when, with his frank, glowing face 
 chastened by modesty, he held out the fruit. But that 
 which would have given Michael Angelo a subject for 
 a seraph brought to little Ruth only the appalling im- 
 age of a lapdog, and with a half frightened look she 
 hastened on, disregarding him. 
 
 Willie was surprised, but followed his young neigh- 
 bour until he saw that her step was clearly an avoid- 
 ing one. 
 
 " If Miss Ruth does not like cherries, I do," said 
 he ; and he philosophically ate them. 
 
 Thus the first pleasant dream of young love was 
 broken ; and ever after that, when Ruth knew that 
 Willie was opposite, she looked straight forward, and 
 the name of Willie White's anthill was changed to 
 Mr. Perkins ; a most vague and heartless baptism.
 
 LOVE'S PROGBESS. 17 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The Naturalist Ruth's Prejudice. The Cure. Her Sense of Jus- 
 tice disturbed. The Butterfly race. Ruth's Danger. Change of 
 Feeling. Doubts. 
 
 RUTH'S attention was diverted from her " love pas- 
 sage" with Willie White by a letter of introduction 
 to her father, announcing Dr. Gesner, a German, an 
 enthusiastic entomologist, who visited the village to 
 pursue his favourite studies in its beautiful retirement. 
 
 The naturalist, of course, dined early with the Ray- 
 monds. His broad face was deeply indented with the 
 smallpox ; his eyes, of a glassy blue, disclosed veins red- 
 dened by midnight study ; his ears were huge, his hair 
 crisp and unmanageable ; he bore about him through 
 the day the odour of onions from his morning meal, and 
 an ocean of snuff lay upon his cravat and shirt bosom ; 
 he spoke the English imperfectly, and the saliva flew 
 to a wonderful distance as he gave out his odd senten- 
 ces ; he talked a good deal of diet and dyspepsy, while 
 laying on his fork for each mouthful a store for one 
 delicate appetite. 
 
 As Ruth saw him load his fork and expand his 
 shark-like mouth, her own opened instinctively, and, 
 forgetting all things else, her head and jaws accompa- 
 nied his movements. 
 
 Mrs. Raymond recalled her, by gently touching her 
 foot under the table ; but the sense of the ludicrous fol- 
 lowed that of surprise, and Ruth glancing at her broth- 
 B2
 
 18 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 er, they began a giggle, that ended only by Ruth's be- 
 ing sent up stairs. 
 
 Yet it was not a week before Ruth was on the doc- 
 tor's knee and by his side, in the true spirit of social 
 intercourse, for he loved childhood ; his mouth seemed 
 to contract, the onion odour was softened, and thus was 
 one of her first prejudices overcome. 
 
 Nor was Ruth soon wearied as he unfolded to her 
 the beautiful and grand in nature, the nicety with which 
 the Creator has adjusted all his works, and how he 
 provides as bountifully for the insect that flutters in 
 summer sunshine as for rolling worlds. And he soon 
 loved the fair creature, who ran across the meadow at 
 every leisure moment to visit his museum, to look 
 through his microscope at the cable-like legs of spi- 
 ders, and feel natural disgust give way before deep 
 admiration of the vast and wonderful in the machinery 
 of insect life. But the butterfly creation was her de- 
 light. How often had she expended her strength in 
 fruitless chases over garden and meadow for them, 
 and sitten down panting and exhausted as they eluded 
 her grasp ; now their gorgeous outspread wings, ar- 
 rested in their ephemeral career, were all before her. 
 
 So far all was well ; but, unfortunately, Ruth burst 
 into the doctor's room on one occasion, when he was 
 about to impale a butterfly which, for size and richness, 
 seemed the very prince of his tribe. Ruth, eager and 
 delighted at first, soon sided with the weaker party. 
 She pleaded for his release, as the naturalist's huge 
 fingers daintily touched the velvet wings, that none of 
 its exquisite down might be removed, while with the 
 right hand he balanced a fine, sharp needle. Too in- 
 tent on his prize to regard Ruth's countenance, he saw
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 19 
 
 not the tears gathering in her eyes as the needle was 
 inserted, and the graceful wings of the prisoner first 
 fluttered in agitation, then flapped slowly, then stiffened 
 in death. Ruth's feelings grew and swelled, and rush- 
 ing from the spot, she vowed that she would never en- 
 ter it again. It was hard to say whether grief or in- 
 dignation was most prominent, as she flew to her 
 mother and related the occurrence ; but at length the 
 tears left her eyes, though her cheeks were wet, and 
 indignation remained. 
 
 " An old, dirty, snuff. taking onion-eater !" said she ; 
 " I wish he may be stuck on a needle as thick as our 
 spit, and six yards long !" 
 
 " Ruth, Ruth," said her mother, sternly, " you forget 
 that you are as cruel now as you think Dr. Gesner to 
 be. Go to your room and compose yourself." 
 
 Ruth went, and the principle of justice began to stir 
 her young thoughts, the most difficult subject, perhaps, 
 in the world, whether we connect it with the high 
 dealings of the Creator, or with the feeble agents of 
 his power. 
 
 A few days after this scene Ruth strolled to the 
 foot of the garden, where a rustic bridge led to a mill, 
 and stood amid a perfect gush of sunset glory. She 
 seemed to muse, but I doubt if, at ten years of age, the 
 aspect of natural beauty operates sensibly on the mind. 
 The glowing sky, the vivid green of the hills and 
 meadows, the hum of insects, the soft glitter of the 
 trickling stream, and the stronger shout of falling 
 waters, the whole rich apparatus of declining day, 
 what are they like to early childhood but the colour, 
 ing of ribands, the toys of the baby house ? The key
 
 20 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 of experience must unlock the associations that give 
 grace and power to natural beauty. 
 
 What were Ruth's thoughts as she seemed to muse 
 on the rustic bridge over that pure stream, surrounded 
 by a sunset that would have bathed Titian's soul in glo- 
 ry ? Scarcely on aught but the leaves and small sticks 
 gathering about the little whirlpool made by the mill, i 
 But a rustling on the bank aroused her, and, looking 
 up, she espied Doctor Gesner panting and puffing, his 
 broad-brimmed hat in his extended hand, ready to 
 strike down a butterfly, which flitted bright, as if it 
 were formed of the glowing clouds around, on its un- 
 conscious way. 
 
 Ruth darted to the bank to rescue the fugitive, and 
 waved her handkerchief to expedite its flight. 
 
 " Oh, ho, you little puss !" shouted the doctor, "you 
 scare my papilio, what you call butterfly. I keep one 
 ver comfortable place for- him in te glass cases, you 
 know, mid de species Equites. Softly, puss !" vocif- 
 erated the doctor, clapping his hand to his forehead 
 and stamping in anxiety, as Ruth continued to wave 
 her handkerchief. Then applying his eyeglass, as he 
 approached the insect resting on a flower, he mumbled 
 over the technical terms, " Asterias, wing-tailed, black, 
 two macular bands, tail fulvous, &c.'&c. Ho, the 
 beauty ! Eh, puss?" and then raising his hat, he 
 stood prepared for a certain blow. 
 
 "You wicked man!" exclaimed Ruth, indignantly, 
 forgetting all respect in her excitement ; " you sha'n't 
 kill him. I wish you may have forty needles stuck 
 through you. I do." 
 
 It is probable that the German may not have under- 
 stood Ruth's words, but her actions were unequivocal.
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 21 
 
 She rushed towards the flower. Starting together 
 again along the bank of the stream, the trio kept the 
 victory for some time doubtful, the doctor's long strides 
 amply making up for Ruth's more youthful elasticity. 
 Sometimes the butterfly turned back or stopped to sip 
 a flower, and the guttural exclamations of the natural- 
 ist sounded in triumph, while his tiptoe step was more 
 cautious, and his hat was depressed among the bush- 
 es ; then, as the fickle insect again took wing, Ruth 
 clapped her hands, and laughed and shouted aloud. 
 
 The pursuers were now about equally distant, when 
 the rover sought a neighbouring shrub. Ruth sprang 
 forward, but her pocket handkerchief, her main weap- 
 on, was caught by the branch of a tree. While she 
 was disengaging it, the doctor trod cautiously forward 
 one, two, three steps, and he was at the spot ; whang 
 went the hat, and the beautiful flutterer fell to the 
 ground. Ruth ran to the rescue, but, just as she reach- 
 ed him, her foot slipped, and she was precipitated into 
 the stream. 
 
 I must do the doctor the justice to say, that he cast 
 but one forlorn look on the insect as it struggled from 
 underneath the hat and soared away, with its gay 
 wings simply ruffled by the encounter, before he threw 
 off his coat and dashed like a porpoise into the water. 
 
 The struggle was violent, for the current set strong- 
 ly towards the mill, and our sweet child of love and 
 hope would have passed away like a dream, had not 
 the energy and presence of mind of the naturalist been 
 wisely exerted. Catching her floating dress, he direct, 
 ed his course to the most sloping part of the bank, and, 
 after many struggles, drew her towards the shore. 
 
 Ruth had sufficient instinct and perception to catch
 
 22 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 at a shrub which bent towards the stream, and thus at- 
 tain a point of safety ; but what was her terror when 
 she perceived her preserver, in attempting to rise, stag, 
 ger back fainting into the water ! A shrill, wild scream 
 brought two men to the spot before it was too late. 
 They rescued the doctor, and bore him to Mr. Ray- 
 mond's. It was many days before he was restored to 
 entire consciousness. Ruth sat by his bedside with a 
 pitying look, or laid a fresh blossom on his pillow, 
 or sang hymns to sooth him ; and when he recovered, 
 her arms were round his neck, and her heart in his 
 bosom. 
 
 " Oh, ho, puss !" said the doctor one day as she ca- 
 ressed him, " somesing was turn your brain to make 
 me loss my papilio, what you call butterfly." 
 
 Ruth hung down her head, and that night again un- 
 settled thoughts of justice, undefined and disturbing, 
 oppressed her as she nestled on her pillow. She pit- 
 ied the butterflies, but she loved the good doctor who 
 had saved her life, and the morning sun awoke her to 
 a knowledge of good and evil.
 
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 23 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Dancing. Monsieur Lagrande. Right Appreciation of Motives. 
 Ruth's Dancing. Her second Preference. An awkward Predica- 
 ment. A Change. 
 
 So Ruth must go to dancing- school to the French 
 gentleman who has opened an untenanted shop in the 
 village, and called it a saloon. 
 
 Whatever judgment may be passed upon dancing as 
 an amusement for the serious and mature, every one 
 must allow its adaptedness to childhood. We all love 
 the active motions of youth ; how agreeable is it to 
 see those motions modulated by music, touched by the 
 sentiment of sound. A dancing child is like a bright 
 rose-tree waved by a breeze. 
 
 Many persons have been surprised at the solemn and 
 affecting thanksgiving offered by Mrs. Siddons, the ac- 
 tress, when she learned, after her wonderful persona- 
 tion of the statue in the Winter's Tale, that her train 
 of tissue had caught on fire, and been extinguished 
 without her knowledge. Others have been surprised 
 at the declaration of the celebrated Mrs. Hamilton, 
 authoress of Treatise on Education, that the most re- 
 ligious moment of her whole life occurred in a ball- 
 room. So, many persons may be astonished that a 
 dancing-master should teach on principle. When Mrs. 
 Raymond presented her blooming Ruth, with new kid 
 slippers and a pretty pink sash, to Monsieur Lagrande 
 at his saloon, he laid his hand upon his heart and said, 
 
 " Believe me, madame, Providence was bring me
 
 24 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 through peril of much waters, to teach true grace to 
 de nation Americane." 
 
 And, after an elaborate account of his system of in- 
 struction, he pressed the point of his fiddle-bow gen. 
 tly, but impressively, on Mrs. Raymond's arm, exclaim- 
 ing, 
 
 " It is not all personne, madame, can teach de art of 
 dance. It is one gift. For me, I am ordained for 
 such office, what you call an apostle of dance," and he 
 looked upward with an air of responsibility. 
 
 Let us who sneer at this apparent presumption be- 
 ware lest a narrow and unphilosophic principle engen- 
 der the sneer. Let us respect even a conscientious 
 pirouette ! 
 
 It was but little labour to teach Ruth to dance. Her 
 flexible form melted to the music like a snow-flake 
 on the wave ; the harmony and she seemed to become 
 one. I could never tell whether a certain expression 
 about her were a consciousness of excelling, or the 
 mere joy of motion, as she floated on with a birdlike 
 sway, her head slightly inclined to one side, her eyes 
 cast down, and a half smile on her lips. I wish I 
 could say it was always thus with Ruth ; I wish that 
 budding child had unfolded every leaf with patient 
 smoothness ; but alas, when the wrong partner asked 
 her for the dance, the rose-leaf was ruffled, a shade 
 crossed her sunny brow like the changing hues of her 
 own hills, while a sullen, pouting lip, and an uncourte- 
 ous withdrawal of her hand, spoke volumes. Oh, 
 Ruth ! Ruth ! this may be accounted for in the spoiled 
 belle of sixteen, but you of eleven, was it thus with 
 you ? 
 
 And why was it that, when that youth you called
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 25 
 
 Frederic advanced with a bow like the bows of other 
 boys, with gloves no fresher, shoes no blacker, and face 
 no handsomer, your eye gleamed with a joyous acqui- 
 escence as you joined the dance. like a feather on the 
 breeze ? 
 
 Ruth never asked herself this question, nor did she 
 know the why. Who does ? Where and what is the 
 charm that speaks from eye to eye, and says we un- 
 derstand each other ? Even the infant has its prefer- 
 ences. Carry one among a group of strangers^ and 
 you will see the grieved lip show alarm and disgust at 
 some, while to others the young disciple of human feel- 
 ing stretches out its arms in wooing confidence. 
 
 Frederic was evidently the favourite of Ruth ; as 
 for Willie White, he danced in another set with a Miss 
 Rhoda something. But the strength of Ruth's new 
 preference remained to be tested. As she was gliding 
 along in the mazes of a quadrille, her foot slipped, and 
 she fell prostrate, not in the graceful position which 
 makes even a fall beautiful, but flat on her back. She 
 scrambled up, and heard among the laughter one well- 
 known note prolonged and louder than the rest. It 
 was Frederic's. With mixed emotions of anger and 
 shame she burst into tears, and, on recovering, whis- 
 pered to a little girl near her, 
 
 " I don't like that old Frederic !" 
 
 In ten minutes her hand was given to a tall, shuf- 
 fling boy with slouching shoulders, at whom she had 
 often jested, and bright was the angry glow on her 
 cheek which dried her lingering tears, and tremulous 
 the voice which said, 
 
 ** Don't you think Frederic Maxwell ought to be 
 C
 
 26 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 ashamed to laugh ? If he gets down on his knees to 
 me I won't dance with him." 
 
 Fortunately for Ruth's resolution, it was the last 
 week of the quarter. Monsieur Lagrande departed to 
 enlighten the heels of another coterie, and Frederic 
 went to a distant academy.
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 27 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Ruth's Singing. A Mother's Mistake. A Question about Birds. 
 Ruth falls into Extremes. A Glimpse at the Future. Angel 
 Choirs. 
 
 " Is that Ruth singing ?" said some morning guests 
 to Mrs. Raymond, as the child, unconscious as a bird, 
 sat at the door-sill watching a dissolving icicle dripping 
 from the eaves of the piazza. " Pray let us hear her 
 sing." 
 
 Mrs. Raymond felt a slight struggle between good 
 sense and vanity, but the latter unfortunately triumph- 
 ed, for she unduly valued Ruth's childish warble and 
 simple hymns. 
 
 Do birds recognise and prize the notes of their fledg- 
 lings, when, released from their nests, they blend their 
 songs with the harmony of nature ? I have sometimes 
 thought of this when the feathered choir have been up 
 and awake amid the branches of a summer forest. Be 
 this as it may, Mrs. Raymond enjoyed the first warb- 
 lings of her singing-bird with maternal fondness. 
 
 " Ruth, love," said she, as the child bounded in, " the 
 ladies wish to hear you sing." 
 
 Ruth blushed and almost retreated, but a gently in- 
 sisting look brought her forward. 
 
 " Come, Ruth," said her mother, " you were singing 
 1 The Mellow Horn.' Imagine yourself quite alone on 
 the door-step again, and sing it for us." 
 
 Vain request ! Ruth felt herself in the presence of 
 strangers without love, and their heedful eyes disturbed
 
 28 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 her. Nerving herself, however, for the trial, she stood 
 stiffly before her mother, and with her hands clasped 
 in front, her face losing all its sweet mobility, began. 
 She had proceeded but a few notes before discovering 
 that the pitch was too high, and, not having self-corn- 
 mand to stop and recommence, endeavoured to aid 
 herself by straining her neck and rising on tiptoe. 
 These instinctive movements failed to help her out ; 
 her face reddened, her veins swelled, and the chorus 
 came out in an attenuated squeak. 
 
 " A little lower, my love," said Mrs. Raymond, who 
 had been gradually elevating her own head, and lifting 
 her own feet in sympathy with Ruth ; " take the pitch 
 a little lower, dear." 
 
 Poor Ruth began louder, but not lower, and the 
 ** Mellow Horn" was anything but mellow. 
 
 Mrs. Raymond, but too sensible of the difficulty, 
 caught her breath, and suggested " Away with Melan- 
 choly" as better adapted to her voice. Ruth looked 
 imploringly, but the ladies exclaimed, " Oh yes, Away 
 with Melancholy ; sing that, dear ; it is very low !" 
 
 And low it was. Ruth took a note as deep 
 " As the Domdaniel caves 
 At the root of the ocean," 
 and having reached 
 
 " Nor doleful changes ring," 
 
 came to a sudden halt, with a perplexed look, and 
 caught a glimpse of one of the ladies diligently stuffing 
 her handkerchief into her mouth. 
 
 Mrs. Raymond wisely patted the little girl on the 
 head, and told her to go and play. And Ruth, the wa- 
 ter standing in her eyes from physical exertion, gladly 
 retreated, to seek companionship with nature, and send
 
 I 
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 29 
 
 her wild notes on the winds. There unseen hands 
 tuned her spirit's harp ; the harp whose tones in after 
 years were to tranquillize, to elevate, or inspire, as the 
 mood of the songster changed from grave to gay ; that 
 harp which was destined to lead the soul to heaven in 
 sacred song, to marry immortal verse to harmony, and 
 to waken love's chastest aspirations. 
 
 What spiritual eyes were gazing from above on that 
 unconscious one ? What group, what celestial choir 
 then began to form, in which her voice should chime 
 immortally ? What if she even heard them as she hur- 
 ried to the green spot where the spring-sun dwelt on 
 the first snowdrop, and looked upward as if listening 
 to some pleasant sound ? 
 
 That evening Ruth sat by her mother's side, on her 
 father's knee ; no word was said of the morning, but 
 her voice rose sweet and clear, for love was her impulse 
 and her reward. 
 
 C 2
 
 30 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Young Things. Ruth too old for Dolls. The Doll Family. A Let- 
 ter. Ruth's Favourite. A solemn Conclusion. 
 
 READER, if you do not love young things, turn away 
 from this chapter, for Ruth and I are going to take a 
 look into her baby-house. It is the last look, but we 
 shall give ourselves up to it with gusto ; besides, we are 
 somewhat tired of grown-up things. Our ancient cat 
 is lazy ; our flowers have gone to seed and smell mus- 
 ty ; the apples on that old mossy tree are sour ; that 
 peach-tree has outlived its time, and become wormy ; 
 the old stone wall is tumbling over ; the town clock is 
 almost too infirm to strike ; the old cow has dried up ; 
 the mare is broken down ; the old man opposite proses, 
 the old lady has no teeth, and we ourselves are getting 
 gray. 
 
 But look now at young things, at that kitten, for in- 
 stance ; did you ever see anything like hdr vivacity and 
 grace as she chases her own tail, until a somerset brings 
 her to her senses? See these rosebuds, fresh, exquisite, 
 opening with such a gush of beauty that I catch my 
 breath for joy. Look at this apple-tree, with its graft- 
 ed fruit, ruddy, ripe, like a young girl's cheek. Let 
 us taste a nectarine from this young tree ; U-i-p, I can 
 scarcely speak for its juicy fulness as I break the 
 glowing skin. Observe our new stone wall, how level 
 and neat ; the very squirrels are baffled by its com- 
 pactness ; hear the clock on the new opposition church ;
 
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 31 
 
 one, two, three ! how clear and young it sounds ! Just 
 sip a bowl of milk from our new cow ; it looks like a 
 draught of melted pearl $ and here is Tibbet, the bro. 
 ken colt. Mount him ; he has no tricks, though he is 
 young ; he will carry you as smooth as a railroad. 
 Eh ! here is a young man too. What lustrous dark 
 eyes, what supple limbs ! Tall and bending as the 
 osier, he has leaped the wall for mere pastime ; and lo, 
 yonder approaches a young maiden, bright as a rose 
 and fresh as a lily ; the very breeze rejoices to play 
 with her fair hair. See her springing step ; she and 
 the young man have met. Mercy on my old eyes ! 
 Betsy, is it you ? You had better go home, my dear. 
 * * * * * 
 
 " Ruth, you are twelve years old," said her mother, 
 gravely, " and it is time for you to give up your dolls. 
 You are really too childish. Your little cousins are 
 coming to see you, and you must give them your toys." 
 
 Ruth stood thoughtfully looking at her baby-house, 
 and every article seemed to assume a new value ; for, 
 though in the waning stage of doll-ism, and except on 
 rainy days almost weaned, yet now her old love revi- 
 ved. On holydays she always commenced what she 
 called a thorough fixing, which fixing ended in a gen- 
 eral overturn of her whole establishment, and she had 
 just begun to upset everything with great zeal. Much 
 has been said of the advantage of dolls in teaching 
 girls to sew ; I cannot class my little Ruth in the rank 
 of those who improved in this department under the 
 reign of doll-ism. Her needle took tremendous licen- 
 ses, while nondescript caps and bonnets grew under 
 her scissors ; but her heart received better lessons. 
 She was surrounded by a world of her own, fanciful I
 
 32 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 know, but still a world dependant on her, and this feel- 
 ing of superiority is one deep fountain of love. 
 
 There is a peculiar air of helplessness about the in- 
 mates of a neglected baby- house that almost excites 
 compassion. Scarcely a doll stands erect ; they lean, 
 and tumble, and stride, or they are flat on their backs 
 looking up at the ceiling, or on their faces helpless, 
 prone, and take many attitudes painful to the lovers of 
 doll-like etiquette in their odd proximities. 
 
 It was on such a scene as this that Ruth now gazed, 
 and it was in this predicament her dolls had been left 
 after the last rainy day. The only figure that pre- 
 served its propriety was a large wax doll from New- 
 York, scarcely injured by time, with its bright blue 
 eyes, flaxen hair, and tinsel dress. Her cognomen 
 was Miss Butterfly. Beside her lay the dancing doll, 
 a purchase from a fair ; it had passed its ephemeral 
 hour of triumph, and now bore a broken leg, an affect- 
 ing lesson on all such skipping propensities. Then 
 there was a large stuffed baby, the antipode of the 
 flat-backed dancer, whose redundant cotton materials 
 oozed out at every pore ; there were some without 
 legs, the squatters, or, perchance, fakirs of the doll, 
 tribe, and others who seemed to have made the vow 
 never to sit. Here might be seen a head bald as if 
 from the scalping-knife ; and there were wigs as 
 changeable in hue as that of a celebrated senator fa- 
 cetiously described by an English lady. There was 
 the once stiff-bodied kid doll, dangling and dropping 
 sawdust at every movement of its flaccid limbs ; there 
 were bodies without heads, and heads without bodies ; 
 a bloodless massacre of the innocents. In one corner 
 was a bedstead too small for its occupants> showing
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 33 
 
 that Ruth was no Procrustean ; for, hanging from under 
 its scanty covering, 
 
 "Some saw a hand, and some an arm, 
 And some the waving of a gown." 
 
 Then there were painted dolls of all sizes classed 
 in families ; among them the three Miss Derbys and 
 their mamma, who had accidentally lost her face. It 
 had pealed off, leaving a white limy surface, on which 
 Ruth had drawn features with a pen ; features by 
 which the Miss Derbys could never have recognise^ 
 their respectable parent. Then there were nond/- 
 script little things made of rags, with inked faces./ 'It 
 was the completion of one of these that brought/ rt ^ 
 Ruth's first pun, who ran shouting to her moti^j " -A- 
 doll I try," which pun Mrs. Raymond was /pt to re - 
 peat until it was somewhat stale. 
 
 Besides this infantile regiment, Ruth was in the hab- 
 it of taking dolls to board at a pin a weeV- Pinned to 
 the hand of one Mrs. Raymond fomtf the following 
 epistle : 
 
 "Dear mamma, i am well anr hope you are the 
 same, i like to board with Mis' Ruth there is twenty 
 five dolls of us counting the o* without a head which 
 stays on the shelf, i don't Uce the Miss Derbys, they 
 are so proud one of ther* spit on me. We have a 
 very serious family, i \^e a serious family, nobody 
 laughs but Miss Ruth. Two of Miss Ruth's dolls is 
 to be married. Dr. Gisner is to be the marrier. Mr. 
 Washington Irving^ to marry Miss Hannah More, 
 and Miss Beauty J* to be bridemaid. 
 
 The marryhg is done. Mr. Irving had new 
 clothes and Miss Hannah More put on a veil. Dr,
 
 34 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Gesner kissed the dolls and said now you are married, 
 and we all laughed except the Miss Derbys and they 
 spit. I am your dutyful daughter, 
 
 " NANCY DOLL. 
 
 " Miss Ruth says you owe a pin for last week's 
 board, and if you don't pay she shall sew you." 
 
 Mrs. Raymond, who rightly attributed this epistle to 
 Ruth, was shocked, as well she might be, with its in- 
 \ccuracy, particularly with the want of capital I's. 
 
 The Miss Beauty, a doll without a nose, alluded to 
 as -ridemaid, was Ruth's favourite. It had been her 
 companion for so long a period that it seemed a part 
 of her, x n d sne devotedly loved this fright, with its blear 
 eyes and leprous -looking complexion. This was the 
 doll she hau talked to ; to this she had fitted garments, 
 and this sht caressed on her pillow. While the ele- 
 gant Miss B.tterfly sat in a state unnoticed and un- 
 loved, Ruth's ow or gladsome song was poured out 
 over Miss Beaui : ' s faded form. Sometimes she was 
 even jealous of thv dashing New-Yorker. 
 
 " You think you^lf very grand, Miss Butterfly," 
 said she, as the uncoircious image sat upright, glaring 
 at her with its blue e^s, " you think yourself very 
 grand because you have u smar t frock, and red cheeks, 
 and curling hair, but I lov, poor Beauty better with 
 her old face ; don't I, Beaut; ?" and she bestowed a 
 kiss on the jagged cheeks of Jer favourite. 
 
 It was with a feeling of peculiar tenderness then 
 that Ruth glanced at Miss Beau*y, who now sat with 
 her face to the wall, one foot rest^g on the shoulder 
 of another of the fraternity. Her tousins came, and 
 she gracefully distributed her little store among them ;
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 35 
 
 but Beauty was quietly withdrawn and placed in a 
 drawer. It was a silent but emphatic triumph of Love. 
 That soiled, marred, disfigured image, which she laid 
 apart in tender sadness, what was it but an emblem 
 full of deep meaning ? It lay alone and in darkness ; 
 it was ridiculed, but she cherished it still. 
 
 And so, Ruth, we have seen you sunder your first 
 juvenile associations. The toys of infancy are scat- 
 tered, the baby-house is closed. By-and-by the toys of 
 girlhood will be thrown away. After that will come 
 the last great change ; you will lie down in the grave, 
 and the broken toys of earth too will vanish.
 
 LOVE S PROGRESS-, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The Sleep of Childhood. Its Terrors. A Story from Dr. Gesmer. 
 Ruth's Distress. Its Cure. 
 
 PAINTERS have sketched and poets have sung the 
 sleep of childhood. The contrast of Ruth's sleep with 
 her waking was lovely. In her day face there was .a 
 restless, flashing charm, which took the gazer by a 
 sweet surprise, and an undulation, a wave in her mo- 
 tions, that conveyed an instantaneous thought of life ; 
 but her repose was statue-like ; sleep took possession 
 of her like an enchantress, and her white night-dress 
 lay still as chiselled marble on her bosom. But who 
 can tell the wild and fearful thoughts that preceded 
 this profound repose ? None but those who, like Ruth, 
 have trembled at the mystery of darkness, and many 
 such there are, for no innocence shuts out this terrible 
 visitation from childhood. The gallant boy, who over- 
 comes difficulties and assails foes in sunshine, cowers 
 with a throbbing heart on his pillow ; and many a young 
 girl, conversant through the day with sights and sounds 
 of gladness, from which one would think her after 
 thoughts would take their colour, glances fearfully 
 through her apartment, hurries over her prayers, and 
 covers up her eyes with the bedclothes, her head al- 
 most glued to her pillow in its nervous pressure. 
 
 As yet the discipline of Ruth's parents had been un- 
 availing to conquer her fear of loneliness at night 
 The signal for rest was to her like a call to a prison.
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 37 
 
 One evening, the closing meal of the day was over, 
 the fire blazed brightly, some pleasant neighbours en- 
 tered, and the little circle, gradually laying aside books 
 and work, gathered around the hearth, and fell into 
 those discussions on supernatural appearances to which 
 the mind insensibly turns from its every-day experience. 
 Each had some anecdote to tell or theory to urge ; and 
 as Ruth sat on her low seat by Dr. Gesner's knee, 
 drinking in the discourse with eager curiosity, he 
 smoothed down her hair with his great hand, and re- 
 lated his experience too. 
 
 " My habits as a naturalist," he said, " have led me 
 into many adventures. Being on a pedestrian excur- 
 sion, I was once overtaken by night in an unfrequented 
 part of my own country, and, while doubtful which way 
 to turn, a storm arose, increasing the wildness of the 
 scene and the perplexity of my feelings. The rain 
 fell in torrents, the lightning glared fiercely, and the 
 thunder went rattling on from cloud to cloud like the 
 war-chariots of the gods. I groped my way from tree 
 to tree, totally uncertain which way to bend my course. 
 As I approached one, a flash of lightning rent it from 
 its topmost bough to the solid trunk, and the electric 
 fluid rushed over me, bringing a momentary suspension 
 of my faculties. On recovering, I passed the tree ; its 
 shivered splinters were revealed by the lightning, stand- 
 ing out in bent and jagged twistings. I hurried on by 
 a kind of impulse, as if the ghost of the stricken tree 
 could pursue me, until another flash of lightning re- 
 vealed to me a solitary building. I was not slow in 
 hastening to its shelter. There appeared to be only 
 one room, with a low, unsashed window, protected 
 from the elements by a shed without. Groping around 
 D
 
 38 LOVE S PKOGEESS. 
 
 the apartment, I felt some straw, seemingly thrown for 
 a bed, beneath the window, and, finding no occupant, 
 took off my dripping garments, clothed myself afresh 
 from my knapsack, and laid down on the straw. Grate- 
 ful for the shelter, I soon fell asleep, and dreamed 
 that I was chasing a huge dragon-fly. My happy and 
 profound rest was broken just before day by a sound 
 near me of such strange and terrific power, that I 
 thought a legion of fiends had assailed me ; a sound 
 accompanied with a blow on my face. I listened in 
 terror. It was repeated, but fierce and deep breathing 
 sounded close to my ear. Though bewildered with 
 my deep sleep, I resolved to meet my fate with bra- 
 very ; and aiming with both hands at the object over 
 me, caught hold of a mass of long, flowing hair. 
 ' Speak,' said I, sternly, ' if you have the spark of 
 man's spirit about you, who are you, and what do you 
 want with an unoffending traveller ?' There was no re- 
 ply, but a kind of moan, a tremendous thrust at the 
 wainscot outside, the same breath of awful and por- 
 tentous power, and the low growl of the departing 
 thunder. 
 
 " I kept my hands clutched to the hair, resolved not 
 to give up my advantage, trusting to my unusual mus- 
 cular strength, until the dawning day should reveal my 
 foe, while thoughts of assassins were but too busy in 
 my agitated brain. Once more I appealed to my pris- 
 oner. 
 
 " ' Speak, man, or whatever you are,' I said, speak. 
 I am but a poor traveller. I have no gold, no silver. 
 Two dragon-flies, five lizards in bottles, and a frog of 
 a new species, which I hope some Society of Natural- 
 ists will name for me, are all my possessions.'
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 39 
 
 " The assassin muttered and jerked, but returned ne 
 answer. Fortunately for me, for the joints of my fin- 
 gers were becoming stiff by long effort, the day began 
 to dawn. I looked with strained and eager sight to 
 my prisoner, and discovered, not the terrible murderer 
 I feared, but the tail of a donkey protruded through the 
 window. 
 
 "You laugh, my beauty," said the doctor, who had 
 told his story in his broken English ; "but if somesing 
 was flap in your face in se darkness, you scare too, Miss 
 Ruth." 
 
 Amid the laughter and frolic occasioned by the doc- 
 tor's story, Ruth was dismissed for the night unusually 
 excited ; the bright lights, the affectionate caress, all 
 forming but too strong a contrast to her lonely room. 
 Darkness and silence soon peopled her imagination with 
 unreal shapes. Conscious of her own weakness and 
 of her parents' resolution to conquer it, she struggled 
 with her feelings and went to bed. She had no sooner 
 tried to close her eyes, than the little circles of light 
 retained on the retina seemed to increase to such a 
 frightful number as if space could not contain them ; 
 then they danced off to a distance, then crowded near, 
 until she felt suffocated, and threw off the bedclothes in 
 terror. Sleep fled away ; and, starting up in bed, she 
 strained her eyes open, when some new imagination, 
 rising in the darkness, made her crouch down again 
 and crush her lids together, until the physical effort 
 was painful. She heard the cheerful voices below ; 
 they seemed a mockery of her sufferings ; and with irre- 
 sistible impulse, she screamed, " Mother, mother." 
 
 Mrs. Raymond came to her, remonstrated, scolded, 
 soothed, and left her. Ruth remained a few moments
 
 40 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 silent, but she wept bitterly, and felt like an outcast ; 
 she could not be still; and, rising softly, stole down 
 stairs and sat at the foot, where she could hear human 
 words. Mr. Raymond found her there, and told her 
 angrily to retire. She went, and thought him hard- 
 hearted. Alas, she did not know that her parents, be- 
 wildered and sorrowful, sat almost in tears by her door. 
 Again she screamed, "Father, mother." Mr. Ray. 
 mond entered her room and chastised her. Ruth, ter- 
 rified and ashamed, wept bitterly, again said her pray- 
 ers, repeated her multiplication table, and at last wept 
 herself to sleep. She did not know that an hour after- 
 ward her father was bending over her now placid sleep 
 in love and prayer. 
 
 The next night, and the next, and the next, the poor 
 trembler crouched down in silence, conquered in body 
 but not in mind. Fear of man will rarely triumph 
 over the imagination ; the dread of darkness and lone- 
 liness usually masters every other. The "banished 
 child will feel her best friends to be her enemies, if no 
 trusting love nestles on her pillow. I am filled with a 
 deep sentiment of melancholy when I contemplate the 
 sufferings of a timid child. Parents, guardians, mould 
 them with love. They are delicate plants that turn to 
 you for life and nourishment; why let their sunny 
 time be overcast with fear ? 
 
 "Suppose," said Mrs. Raymond, soon after this 
 event, " we let Ruth sleep with her sister." 
 
 It acted like a charm. Companionship drove out 
 fear ; sympathy, love was called forth, and Ruth, with 
 her arm around her sister's neck, sank to rest like a 
 summer blossom.
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 41 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Ruth not a Genius. The promised Prize at School. Dangers of the 
 System. Effect on Ruth. Ruth's Triumph. The Exhibition. 
 Abby Mansfield. Ruth's Mortification and Self-Conquest. The 
 Prize awarded. 
 
 RUTH had never been what is called a genius. Up to 
 the age of twelve she had learned her lessons mechan- 
 ically. Dates were her stumbling-block, and were 
 totally unaccompanied by ideas. She was aided in her 
 lessons and recitations by Abby Mansfield, a bright, per- 
 severing girl, who had long sustained the first place in 
 the class without a rival. When Ruth was in her thir- 
 teenth year, it was announced that a public examina- 
 tion would take place at the usual time, on which oc- 
 casion a prize would be given, and the best scholar 
 crowned with a wreath of flowers. Ruth suddenly 
 awoke, and rushed to her books with a diligence and 
 thoroughness that astonished the school. Thought was 
 busy on her brow, her mental energy expanded, and 
 with it a consciousness of her power. But the pro- 
 cess with her heart and affections was less favourable, 
 for she was a rival to Abby Mansfield. The plan of 
 school prizes is one always attended with heart-burn- 
 ing. There should either be no prize, or else so many 
 and so graduated, that every scholar who has any merit 
 either of the head or heart (and who has not some ?) 
 should carry home a little testimonial to prevent the 
 almost infinite distance between the prize and none. 
 How many fine minds are depressed by the almost in- 
 D2
 
 42 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 vidious distinction springing from prizes, and then how 
 many wild and bad passions are let loose ! How much 
 cunning and envy enter on the arena of a school thus 
 constituted ! 
 
 A book was kept by Miss Southward, the teacher, 
 and a mark placed against the name of those who were 
 at the head of their class at the close of a recitation. 
 She who obtained the most was to win the prize. The 
 first day Ruth attained this enviable situation was in 
 the absence of Abby, who was detained at home by in- 
 disposition. A thrill of exultation ran through her 
 whole frame, crushing the soft and tender sympathy that 
 had bound her so long to her friend. From that mo- 
 ment she allowed herself no respite from study until 
 her tasks were accomplished. Abby pursued her 
 course in calm self-possession, while Ruth was now wild 
 with gayety, and then depressed, cold, and thoughtful. 
 Sometimes, as she saw the fluctuating scale of marks, 
 an awfully dark temptation crossed her thoughts, which 
 she repulsed with self-disgust. 
 
 ^ " Oh, Abby," she said often, " if there were only two 
 prizes !" 
 
 Abby smiled kindly. " I wish there were," said she ; 
 "but I am willing this should be yours." 
 ' One day Ruth rushed home glowing and triumphant. 
 " I have more marks than Abby, mamma ; I shall have 
 the prize !" 
 
 " But poor Abby !" said her mother. 
 
 " I know it," said Ruth, despondingly. " Sometimes 
 I feel wicked, mamma, when I think of that prize." 
 
 Mrs. Raymond was silent ; it was her habit to let a 
 good impulse have its way. 
 
 The few remaining weeks flew by, and Ruth still
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 48 
 
 maintained her slight though decided ascendency. Her 
 manners to Abby, though affectionate, were deficient in 
 that rush of confidence where sympathy is perfect. 
 
 The day of exhibition arrived. A formidable circle 
 was placed in regular arrangement around the apart- 
 ment ; while the pupils, dressed in white, the classes dis- 
 tinguished by sashes of different colour, sat on each side 
 and behind their teacher, who presided at a table on 
 which was placed a box containing the prize and 
 wreath. 
 
 Ruth, who was at the head of the class, flushed and 
 agitated, stumbled on the very threshold, and shunned 
 the gaze of the expectant audience. Dates, her old 
 trial, were sadly anachronized, and at last, after stam- 
 mering a while on the most simple proposition, the tears 
 rolled from her eyes, and she stopped short. Abby 
 softly prompted, and then endeavoured to screen her, 
 but to no good effect ; the tears fairly rolled down, and 
 self-possession was gone. Her friend, well grounded 
 in all her studies, recited with the air of one to whom 
 knowledge was familiar ; her voice, full of sweet dis- 
 tinctness, conveyed all that her teacher wished should 
 be understood, while a gentle glow lit up her placid face 
 with spiritual beauty. 
 
 As Ruth listened to her beautiful recitation, a thought- 
 ful mood came over her, which gradually strengthened 
 to an air of determination ; then a bright agitation kin- 
 dled in her eye and burned on her cheek ; and when the 
 class was dismissed to give place to another, she softly 
 stole behind her teacher's chair. 
 
 " Miss Southward," whispered she, while a deeper 
 flush rose even to her brow, " I do not deserve the prize, 
 and I shall feel miserable if Abby does not receive it.
 
 44 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 I have exerted myself for a few months, and she has 
 been your best scholar for years." 
 
 Miss Southward smiled kindly. " Your generous 
 feelings shall be consulted. I have watched you both 
 with great interest, Ruth." And she pressed Ruth's 
 hand as it rested on the back of her chair. 
 
 Ruth breathed more freely. 
 
 " Who is that exquisite creature," said a lady to Miss 
 Southward, " who just spoke to you, with such a rain- 
 bow struggle between tears and smiles ?" 
 
 The exercises were concluded, and there was the 
 usual hush over the audience, when Miss Southward 
 rose and called " Miss Ruth Raymond." 
 
 Ruth started, blushed, and shrank back, but an imper- 
 ative look from her teacher brought her forward ; and 
 Miss Southward threw a medal round her neck, and 
 placed a wreath of flowers in her hair. 
 
 " My dear Ruth," she said aloud, " as my plan will 
 not permit me to bestow two prizes, I authorize you to 
 dispose of this as you will." 
 
 Saying this, she drew from the box another medal 
 and wreath, and laid them in Ruth's hand. Ruth sprang 
 to her friend, gladly and proudly threw the medal on 
 her neck, and placed the crown on her brow, while the 
 two, tearful, blushing, and smiling, stood together, 
 touching monuments of childhood's love.
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 45 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Friendship's first Grief. The new Friend. Patronage and Love. 
 First reading of Shakspeare. The Kitten Perdita's Danger. Its 
 Rescue. 
 
 " WHY is Ruth sorrowful ? She has stolen from the 
 family circle, retreated to her own apartment, and ta. 
 ken from her escrutoire a love-knot of soft brown hair, 
 which lies within a larkspur wreath, tied with blue 
 riband. She has gazed on it sadly and sighed. Why 
 is Ruth Raymond sorrowful ? Abby Mansfield has 
 chosen another bosom-friend. A classmate of her 
 father's has brought his daughter to the village, and. 
 they are seen arm interlacing arm, earnest looks and 
 significant smiles pass between them, and they are 
 whispering those whispers that Abby once shared with 
 Ruth only. They have just gone by the gate with 
 laughter, and Ruth heard their voices as she sat alone 
 in the garden, and saw their white dresses as they 
 passed down the green lane to that very moss-grown 
 stone which Ruth thought was consecrated to her. 
 
 Ruth shook her head thoughtfully as she replaced 
 the little relic of friendship, and said almost aloud, 
 
 " Let her go, if she will. I would not have desert, 
 ed her for a stranger." 
 
 And then, with a step bereft of its elastic spring, she 
 descended the stairs. When near the foot she heard 
 a shout in the piazza, and soon perceived a dirty, trem- 
 bling kitten, followed by the children, who kicked or 
 shrank from it with exclamations of disgust. Ruth
 
 48 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 instantly took it under her protection, warded off the 
 boys, and, finding none of the servants willing to at- 
 tempt its ablution, undertook herself such a process 
 of purification as was given to Tom Jones in the house 
 of Mr. Allworthy. If the kitten had been comely, one 
 might have thought it a reward for her benevolence ; 
 but the streams of Fair Mount would not have had 
 power to change the undefined gray of her coat, nor 
 could all Ruth's training lend an air of feline aristoc- 
 racy to the poor little stranger. But Jove soon began 
 to work in Ruth's heart, or pity, which is akin to love, 
 inspiring an emotion which the sleek, well-fed cat of 
 the household had never obtained from her. Ruth had 
 commenced Shakspeare, and her pet was appropriate- 
 ly named Perdita. It was soothing to her, now that 
 she experiened the first grief of forsakenness, to listen 
 to her kitten's soft breathings, or watch her noiseless 
 tread from room to room, or caress her as the little 
 puss 
 
 " With soft insinuating purr 
 " Brush'd by her ankle with her silken fur." 
 
 The principle of love, to the development of which 
 my story leads, seems to be an attachment to some- 
 thing existing apart from purely natural relations ; a 
 something which even the filial and fraternal bond can- 
 not supply. It may be the beginning of that restless- 
 Bess which signs us as immortal, but it is often lavished 
 on most insignificant objects. Cowper was full of this 
 out-of-door tenderness, and his rabbits have become 
 themes for biography. Byron, maddening against the 
 world, petted a bear ; while the countless parrots, tab- 
 bies, lap-dogs, and canaries, which receive the lavish 
 tenderness of the happy and the sad, show that there
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 47 
 
 is something in the breast which mere consanguinity 
 cannot supply. Thus, when Ruth found a void in her 
 heart, it was not filled up by her brothers and sisters, 
 though they were a winning set of little urchins, but 
 she beguiled herself with Perdita. Glorious were the 
 frolics of those two ; the racing, and climbing, and turn- 
 bling over, until quieter hours came, when the kitten 
 nestled in the lap of her protector, looking gratitude ! 
 Ruth had frowned and scolded down all ridicule of her 
 darling, and her only fear was from a circle of youths, 
 who assembled together, under a lecturer on chemis- 
 try, in the village. Dark rumours went abroad that 
 the feline community were but too often immolated by 
 them on the shrine of science. Ruth shuddered as 
 she listened to the tales of these Torricellian bandits, 
 and clasped her little Perdita closer in her arms. 
 
 I have said that Ruth was reading Shakspeare. Oh 
 that first delicious opening of the mental firmament, 
 when his beams look through to enlighten and to bless } 
 
 Ruth's tasks were over for the day. The stale and 
 musty road of History had been trodden, the eternal 
 jingle of the piano was hushed, and, with book in hand, 
 she retired to the garden, forgetting even Perdita. But 
 Perdita would not be forgotten ; she well knew where 
 Ruth would be, and hastened after her with reproach- 
 ful mewings. There was an apple-tree by the garden 
 wall, on a limb of which was Ruth's favourite seat. 
 It was so low that a stone was her footstool, while her 
 back rested against the body of the tree, a branch of 
 which screened her from the lane. I wish I could 
 paint this bright expanding girl at that very hour, her 
 white hand glittering through the foliage, as her arm 
 entwined the tree, one foot swinging easily, while the
 
 48 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 other rested on the stone ! But I am partial to Ruth, 
 and may overcharge the picture. The scene around 
 her was worthy of her ; mountain and river, blossoms 
 and the skies ! and Perdita too helped out the pic- 
 ture, as she frisked on the gravelled paths below. 
 
 It was Shakspeare's Tempest that Ruth now opened. 
 She glanced at the Dramatis Persona?, and from that 
 to the kitten, which was chasing a dead leaf which a 
 little local whirling wind was carrying along. Ruth 
 cheered on her pet, the leaf was attained, then slight- 
 ed, and she sat looking up in Ruth's face silently. 
 
 Ruth began, 
 
 *' Master. Boatswain ! 
 
 " Boats. Here, master ; what cheer ?" 
 
 Perdita started, and then crouched down ready to 
 spring on a butterfly, which, hovering over an even- 
 ing primrose, seemed to wait its first opening. 
 
 " You little monster," said Ruth, waving off the in- 
 sect, " you are after the papilio. what you call butter, 
 fly, eh ?" 
 
 Perdita yielded to her loss with all kittenly meek- 
 ness, and purred herself to sleep, while Ruth read on. 
 
 And now the scene began to change ; she no longer 
 sat on the old apple-tree amid the garden bloom ; the 
 Hudson glided not on its smooth way ; the mist rose 
 not amid the hills ; the robin's note was unheard. She 
 was on a desert island ; the heavens were darkened ; 
 thunders rolled and lightning gleamed on the clashing 
 clouds ; a solitary ship was seen toiling on the billowy 
 sea ; human beings were in her, noble creatures, whose 
 cry did knock against her very heart. Poor souls, they 
 perished ! Then saw she an old man and a maiden, 
 admired Miranda, the top of admiration ! and then a
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 49 
 
 youth, one might call him a thing divine, for nothing 
 natural one ever saw so noble ! But look ! a smile 13 
 on Ruth's lips (you cannot see her eyes, the lashes 
 shade them so) ; a gentle, answering, kindling smile, for 
 music is in the air. It is no mortal business or sound 
 that the earth owes ; the songster does his spiriting 
 gently. Fine apparition ! my quaint Ariel ! 
 
 Perdita had awaked, and tried her customary arts to 
 attract her mistress in vain. For a space she sat up 
 erect, looking in her face with a suppressed mew ; then 
 rolled over and over on the gravel ; then sprang on the 
 stone, and rubbed against Ruth's foot, even reaching 
 her hand, as it fell heedlessly by her side, until, finding 
 herself utterly unheeded, she climbed the stone wall, 
 whose irregular juttings gave her easy access to the 
 top. There she stood, peeping now at Ruth, now over 
 at the green lane on the other side, when a sudden cry 
 startled the absorbed reader, and she looked yp just in 
 time to see a hand which had clutched the kitten sud- 
 denly withdrawn with its prize. Ruth flung down her 
 Shakspeare, sprang from the tree to the wall, mounted 
 rapidly to the top, and leaped into the lane below. 
 There the figure of a retreating intruder stimulated 
 her, and she ran rapidly on in pursuit. Once she had 
 nearly gained him in the open lane, but he suddenly 
 turned through some shrubbery adjoining. Ruth, still 
 undaunted, kept on, gained another view of him, and at 
 length saw him enter the Lyceum Hall, which had 
 been newly erected in a retired part of the village. 
 Had she paused for thought, her courage might have 
 failed ; but the only image in her mind was Perdita in 
 that hateful air-pump, struggling for life. Pushing on, 
 therefore, she threw open the door with all her force, 
 E
 
 50 LOVE'S PROGRESS* 
 
 and found herself in a hall of large dimensions^ with a 
 group of young men, one of whom was examining 
 with great coolness the quiverings of a cat in' a re- 
 ceiver. Her alarm and modesty would unquestiona- 
 bly have overwhelmed her, had she not at the same 
 moment seen a paw of Perdita peeping from out the 
 waistcoat of the fugitive student. And who was that 
 student ? Willie White ; his curls shorn, all but two 
 that fell becomingly over his temples, while a long coat 
 testified that he was looking up to the ranks of men. 
 It is difficult to say which blushed the more deeply as 
 their eyes met, while Mr. White, in endeavouring to 
 screen Perdita from observation, gave her a squeeze 
 that produced a melancholy and protracted mew. It 
 was absolutely necessary for Ruth to say something, for 
 her appearance and situation were becoming rather 
 alarming. Her comb had fallen out in the chase, leav- " 
 ing her long braided hair streaming down behind, and 
 a rent was visible in her frock, which had caught in the 
 bushes : still there was an elevated and wild grace in 
 her air, which the toilet could not have given. She 
 was about beginning with an apology for her appear, 
 ance, but another mew from Perdita, and a suppressed 
 smile among the young gentlemen, made her angry, 
 and, going up to White, she said passionately, 
 
 u Give me my kitten this moment, sir. You have 
 no right to it." 
 
 There was silence ; the young gentlemen were too 
 much ashamed to be just, and again they smiled, though 
 in perplexity. 
 
 At this moment the first subject of their experiments 
 gave her last convulsive and terrific gasp. Ruth start- 
 ed back in terror ; then doubling her small hand, and
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 51 
 
 almost stamping her foot in her excitement, while a 
 bright red spot flushed in her cheek, she said, in a 
 voice'where sarcasm and indignation mingled, 
 
 " It is a pity that science should make thieves of 
 gentlemen !" 
 
 Perhaps the taunt was displeasing to the young chem- 
 ists, for they still seemed determined to carry off the 
 thing cavalierly. Ruth's quick eye detected the ex- 
 pression of the group, and, feeling that her poor little 
 pet was lost to her, she stood a moment silent, and then 
 slowly turned to go away. She was too proud for 
 tears, but there was a deep, unaffected expression of 
 grief on her countenance that thrilled all their hearts, 
 and the cry, " Give up the kitten, White ! Let her 
 have the kitten !" went round the hall. William, only 
 too willing to perform this act of restitution, laid the 
 panting little creature in Ruth's hands, whispering, 
 
 " Forgive me, Miss Raymond." 
 
 As she received the rescued victim, he met the re- 
 proachful glance of her now tearful eyes. Shaking 
 her head impatiently, she deigned no answer, nor gave 
 a look to the group behind ; but, pressing Perdita close 
 to her, ran as for life until she reached her home. 
 
 Willie White's dreams were perplexed that night by 
 juvenile remembrances of the White Cat and the Beau- 
 tiful Princess ; and when he awoke it was to wonder 
 if Ruth Raymond's smile was as lovely as her an- 
 ger ; while his companions long after remembered the 
 flashing eye and lofty look of disdain with which she 
 asked, 
 
 " la science to make thieves of gentlemen 7"
 
 52 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Ruth's Bedroom. Her Library. Love Tokens. Music. Roman- 
 ces. Ruth writes Poetry. 
 
 RUTH told over and over again to the various mem- 
 bers of the family the tale of Perdita's rescue. Her 
 father looked grave, fearing that some feminine at- 
 tribute had been infringed upon ; her mother felt 
 somewhat triumphant ; the children quarrelled which 
 should have the honour of giving the kitten her supper, 
 and little Walter doubled up his fist as a challenge to 
 all future foes. Ruth retired to her apartment in un- 
 usual excitement. But let us look at that apartment ; 
 two years have passed since we were there in the reign 
 of doll-ism. The large closet, once the baby-house, is 
 now the boudoir ; that is, Ruth calls it so when she 
 dates a letter to a young friend. Now was the reign 
 of girlhood : taste and judgment struggling with old 
 associations, an odd intermingling of the juvenile and 
 the mature. Pictures were Ruth's passion ; and, in 
 lieu of more valuable acquisitions, her wall was mostly 
 covered with daubs and caricatures, though it must be 
 confessed her eye rested with more complacency on 
 the divine expression of a Madonna, which was sus- 
 pended, in strange juxtaposition, next to a stiff, flaunt, 
 ing costume of a fashion of three years standing on a 
 female, with a waist that nature never made. On her 
 dressing-table were accumulated the gifts of years, in 
 the shape of scent-bottles, and boxes of all forms and
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 53 
 
 hues ; while here and there might be seen a relic of the 
 baby-house appropriated to useful or ornamental pur- 
 poses. Her library bore the same marks of inequality. 
 Berquin's Children's Friend, and even Barbauld's Les- 
 sons, which chanced to be well bound, looked out on 
 the shelf beside Mrs. Chapone's Letters ; a Goody Two- 
 Shoes, to which some kindly private associations were 
 attached, peeped out with its dog-eared leaves from be- 
 hind Thomson's Seasons, while a Sunday-school Hymn- 
 book, given her by her venerable pastor, was placed, 
 with its defaced covers neatly pasted, beside a richly 
 gilt Bible, the gift of her fourteenth birthday. 
 
 But the secular book most prized in her collection 
 was a small volume then recently issued, an exquisite 
 altar whereon the young imagination may kindle its 
 early incense Willis's Poems. 
 
 I aim at no criticism, no plummet and line for book- 
 measuring here ; but I ask any one just to place that 
 volume in a young girl's hands, and see how the pulse 
 of poetry will begin to throb, how her eyes will kindle 
 and melt to tears, as some lofty or tender sentiment 
 finds an echo in her bosom. In three months let him 
 look at the book, and he will find it dark with pencil- 
 lines-, those little indexes of mind. 
 
 I have passed over several preferences with which 
 various youths in round jackets had inspired Ruth, as 
 too ephemeral to register ; but there were indications 
 of these things all around her ; initials in pencil, on 
 her panels and books, and initials written with diamond 
 on the window-pane, ineffaceable, alas ! too, for the in- 
 dividual was forgotten ; here was a faded flower care- 
 fully folded up ; there was a picture or toy without 
 any attraction but from its association with the giver } 
 E 2
 
 54 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 on a piece of paper which the housemaid swept out, 
 was written, 
 
 "I shall never forget Saturday night, June 18th. 
 Blissful! blissful!" 
 
 A sprig of arbor vitse shared the same fate ; it went 
 down to the dust unhonoured, with these words attach- 
 ed to it : 
 
 Presented me, February 9th, by J. C. Long as 
 memory retains its empire shall I remember the even- 
 ing." 
 
 Then on books and slips of paper might be seen stale 
 poetical passages with marked italics. 
 
 " Where'er I go, whatever realms I see, 
 My HEART untravell'd fondly turns to thee. 
 The course of true love never did run smooth," &c., &c. 
 
 In the retirement of this familiar room, alone and 
 undisturbed, Ruth's voice began to swell rich and full 
 with her guitar accompaniment ; and as she tested the 
 power of her own tones, Orphean fables seemed real- 
 ized to her imagination ; the summits of the hills 
 around her stood out in clearer lines, the clouds group, 
 ed up in more pillowy masses, and the trees waved in 
 more graceful play. It was here too that romance 
 threw its mysterious foldings around her, shutting out 
 the world, and making the page on which she dwelt the 
 theatre of passion. Here, kindled to an indignation 
 beyond control, she dashed the unoffending volume of 
 the Children of the Abbey on the floor, when Amanda 
 was caught in the snares of a villain ; here she sobbed 
 herself into a headache over the fate of Paul and Vir- 
 ginia ; here she shook with terror at the wild horrors 
 of Maturin ; here she glowed and trembled with Jean- 
 nie Deans ; gasped for breath as the trapdoor fell
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 55 
 
 over the lovely and unconscious Amy Robsart, and 
 turned from the chimney-corner lest she should see 
 Lucy Ashton making mouths and chattering in its re- 
 cess. And it was here that Ruth first surprised herself 
 with her own rhymes. Was it possible, she asked her- 
 self, that she had written three whole verses 1 How 
 delicious was the title ! 
 
 " To the first Violet." 
 
 She trod the room elastically ; it seemed like a 
 dream, yet there it was, " flower and bower," " leaf and 
 brief," " see and tree," palpable to her eye, full of eu- 
 phony to her ear ; and those thoughts, were they born 
 of her, that exquisite image of the violet shrinking like 
 a modest maiden 1 
 
 Ruth copied it in her best hand, went to the door, 
 turned back, and then, gathering resolution, carried it, 
 conscious and blushing, to her mother. Mrs. Ray- 
 mond was delighted, and, encouraged by her mother's 
 praise, she went to her father, who was reading a re- 
 view on the literature of Modern Europe. At first 
 her eyes were cast down, then raised in intense and 
 painful interest as his moved from line to line. He 
 returned her the paper with the least possible shrug 
 of his shoulders, and something of a smile, it might be 
 of approbation, but it looked a little quizzical as he 
 said, 
 
 " The first piece, you say, my dear ; take care of 
 sing-song. Moderate prose is always better than mod- 
 erate poetry." 
 
 Ruth walked quietly and somewhat slowly out of the 
 apartment, and shut that door softly ; but the next and 
 the next were slammed to with increasing vehemence 
 until she reached her own, which she double-locked.
 
 56 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Then came the whirlwind of a first literary mortifica. 
 tion. She stamped up and down the apartment, tore 
 " The first Violet" to fragments, and threw herself on 
 the bed in almost hysterical agony.
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 57 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The Age of Presumption. Despondency. Religious Love. 
 
 THE impetuosity and decision of character which 
 was so interesting in its occasional developments, be- 
 gan to make Ruth less attractive in her domestic rela- 
 tionsl Feeling her power in some things, she claim- 
 ed the right of judgment in all. And this is the pe- 
 riod when it is most difficult to preserve perfect sym- 
 pathy between parent and child; the former forgets 
 too often that infancy has gone, and that Providence 
 itself has given that self-will to youth, whose very mis- 
 takes teach the most profound lessons ; while the child, 
 feeling no longer the want of leading-strings, throws 
 them off impatiently, seeking no substitute in paternal 
 love for paternal care. The age of fifteen is the age 
 of presumption ; but it is one of deep and impassion, 
 ed feeling, of wild transitions, self-abasement, triumph. 
 Few reflect upon the trials of this chrysalis state, when 
 the butterfly spirit of youth throbs and beats against 
 the prison-shell of childhood. At this age of incipient 
 power there is frequently deep despondency. Often 
 when her will was thwarted, and sometimes when it 
 was not, this distrust fell upon Ruth. Her parents 
 seemed tyrannical, her friends to have forsaken her, 
 and she wept in secret with a bitterness that should 
 only belong to sin and experience. These things are 
 necessary to the dark and narrow path by which man 
 enters on the table-land of faith and love; and thus
 
 58 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Ruth, surrounded by friends, flushed with health, felt 
 often unloved and lonely ; and when a common eye 
 saw no grief-cloud on her horizon, breathed a despair- 
 ing wish that the grave might cover her. 
 
 Ruth rose one morning in this state of nervous ex- 
 citement ; she was disrespectful or cold to her parents, 
 tyrannical to the children, and dictatorial to the ser- 
 vants, bearing about with her the air of one who had 
 been aggrieved, without asking sympathy. She strug- 
 gled against her feelings, knowing that her smiles made 
 sunshine in her home ; that they were reflected on her 
 father's brow, and settled in her mother's heart. She 
 busied herself in her studies, and tried to beguile her- 
 self with amusements, but all seemed stale and un- 
 profitable. The day passed away, and she sat alone 
 (for her unsocial mood had driven all away) on the 
 door-sill, where a few years before she had watched 
 the dissolving icicle. It was an autumnal twilight ; the 
 evening gust brought leaf after leaf in faded yellow to 
 her feet, and drove the flitting clouds rapidly by. As 
 the darkness gathered, a sound of music was borne on 
 the air ; that sound the most mirthful when the heart is 
 gay, the saddest when it is sorrowful ; the preceding 
 strain of a violin for the dance. Ruth listened, and 
 slow tears dropped like that once dissolving icicle from 
 her eyes. She was utterly forsaken and forlorn. By- 
 and-by a star or two smiled out through the scudding 
 clouds, and then the moon followed, tinging those clouds 
 with glory. A sudden flash, I know not what, as if 
 from the spear of Ithuriel, came on Ruth's mind, en. 
 lightening and subduing, and a voice seemed to say, 
 " God made thee, and he loves thee." Her tears were 
 checked ; the thought of Deity overshadowed her ; the
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 59 
 
 firmament shrank away ; star after star shrank in the 
 distance, and prayer was on her lips. She rose softly, 
 went to her bedroom, and would have kneeled by her 
 bedside, but the privacy there was not deep enough ; 
 groping her way to a recess behind the chimney, form- 
 ed by a sloping roof, she threw herself on her knees. 
 It was the first prayer of her soul. Sorrow for sin, hope 
 of pardon, struggled on her eloquent lips ; the fountains 
 of religious faith were unsealed and gushed forth, and 
 rested not until the spirit of love descended on her 
 with a seal of peace. Ruth returned to the family. 
 A sweet repose was in her manner, though her eyes 
 bore traces of tears. Her father wondered at the new 
 tenderness of her air, but her mother guessed that she 
 had been with God. - ; '*.?
 
 60 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Ruth Sixteen. Her Apartment. Seals. Ruth Romantic. HOT 
 Mortification. Development of Mind. Invitation to a Ball. 
 
 THE reign of girlhood is over, and Ruth, in brilliant, 
 sensitive sixteen, sits by her toilet, contemplating the 
 changes which her mother's thoughtful affection has 
 made in her apartment ; the new flowing curtains, the 
 well-matched furniture, and the large mirror substituted 
 for the small one, in which she could discern only a 
 modicum of her pretty person ! Ruth rose and walked 
 towards it, then backward ; the image there was certain- 
 ly lovely, and it smiled as it saw that even its feet were 
 visible. As she stood thus, lost in admiration partly of 
 herself and partly of her acquisition, she perceived 
 some one in the glass mimicking her tiptoe movement 
 and making grimaces ; it was her brother Frederic. 
 Ruth blushed, slapped him, half in anger, and locked 
 the door. 
 
 Do you ask how Ruth looked ? Think of your love- 
 liest friend, and you may partially behold her ; for every 
 one said, when talking with Ruth five minutes, " How 
 much Miss Raymond reminds me of some one !" She 
 gave another glance at herself, sat down to her centre- 
 table, and looked around once more to see if aught yet 
 could be done to perfect her arrangement. No picture 
 remained conspicuous but the Madonna ; and Ruth 
 seemed now, from her mother's care, to understand bet- 
 ter than ever the soft loving eye whose fringed lids were 
 bent on her child. She passed a short time over her
 
 LOVE'S PRQGHESS. 61 
 
 work-box, arranging its little elegances, and then, as 
 if a sudden thought moved her, opened her writing-desk 
 and took out her seals. They were just now her pas- 
 sion ; the little horde had increased until she had grad- 
 uated every sentiment from the most bald ceremony to 
 the most tender regard. She threw aside one which 
 bore the scriptural and to me delightful name of Ruth 
 (alas, the owner was ashamed of her oldfashioned pat- 
 ronymic !), and selecting Pour toujours, began the fol- 
 lowing note. 
 
 "DEAR ISABEL, 
 
 " It is an age since I have seen you. Have you for- 
 gotten our walk by the bridge ? ' Have all your oaths 
 and protestations come to this ?' Meet me under the 
 willow at sunset, and love still your 
 
 " RUTHIANA." 
 
 An interruption prevented Ruth from sealing her 
 note, and a gust of wind carried it into the entry, 
 Ruth searched for it in vain, and the next morning, 
 Frederic, who, like some other brothers in the world, 
 seemed to think a sister's feelings but a toy to play 
 with, read it aloud with much gravity, laying a painful 
 stress on the signature. 
 
 The shout that followed was overwhelming ; even 
 Mr. Raymond was inexpressibly diverted, and gave 
 vent to a cachinnation that rang on Ruth's ear with 
 metallic harshness. She bent over her coffee with 
 blushes ; and from that day, when she betrayed any 
 affectation, for Ruth did occasionally show symptoms 
 of that disease, the nickname of Ruthiana was buzzed 
 F
 
 62 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 about the little circle. Thus salutary, though painful, 
 are the unfoldings of domestic intercourse. 
 
 But Ruth, with all her foibles, had an abundant re- 
 serve of sound and valuable good sense. Having pass* 
 ed the drill of elementary teaching, she began to ap- 
 ply her resources and educate herself. She did not, 
 like some girls, rush to romances as a novelty, for her 
 parents had allowed her for several years to read one 
 alternately with a solid book ; thus the great mass of 
 her thoughts were on the latter, which lay long in her 
 hands, while the novels were hurried through for the 
 narrative. It was delightful now to see the use Ruth 
 made of her new liberty. Romance and history were 
 read to illustrate each other, and those works of fancy 
 only selected where authorship claimed literary re- 
 spect. ' Her room began to assume the air of a study, 
 though brightened and polished, of course, by feminine 
 taste. 
 
 But much was Ruth upset in her grave pursuits one 
 day, when a card for her first ball was placed in her 
 hands. Down went her maps, over fell a globe, and 
 as she descended two stairs at a time to show it to her 
 mother, Miss RAYMOND never appeared to her to have 
 stood in such conspicuous letters. An immediate con- 
 sultation was held. 
 
 " Everybody has a new dress for the first ball, mam- 
 ma," said Ruth ; " everybody." 
 
 " What, if they have a frock they have worn only 
 twice ?" said Mrs. Raymond, smiling. 
 
 The white muslin was brought from the drawer, and, 
 after much searching, Ruth certainly detected a small 
 spot on the front breadth ; and the decision was, that 
 Ruth should have a new muslin dress, with a pale pink
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 63 
 
 flower in her hair, and Isabel was to be asked to wear 
 the same. 
 
 Ruth was restless that night, and dreamed that, as 
 she was beginning to Ja/anceJfeto William White at 
 the ball, Perdita peeped out from his waistcoat and 
 mewed.
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A Funeral Bell. The Village Burial. Ruth and a Stranger. 
 
 THERE was something touching and solemn in the 
 obsolete custom of a funeral bell. I have felt its influ- 
 ence in town and country. In a city it recalled me 
 from the rush and hurry of life to muse and think of 
 death. I did not ask the village question, Who is dead ? 
 but the very thought that none of the passers-by knew 
 who had gone to his last account, made human weak, 
 ness show still more frail. In the country, that sound 
 accorded well with the voice of nature ; swelling to the 
 hills, echoed in the valleys, it told its warning tale with 
 tenderer emphasis. 
 
 An old schoolmistress of the village died, and Ruth, 
 with her mother, went to pay the accustomed respect 
 to her remains. They walked contemplatively along, 
 musing or moralizing in serious harmony with the toll- 
 ing bell, until they reached the mansion of the deceas- 
 ed among the first visitors. Her family sat around in 
 quiet sorrow, while ranged in the entry, in a simple 
 uniform of white, with black ribands, stood her pupils. 
 For a time deep silence dwelt in the apartment of the 
 women; then a low hum, as sympathy or curiosity 
 found utterance. As each new-comer entered, the 
 mourners looked down more steadfastly, and the unin- 
 terested glanced up furtively in silence ; then, the whis- 
 pers became more assured, and worldly subjects entered 
 in, in tones modulated and lengthened by the lugubri- 
 ous associations of death. Now the voices from with-
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 05 
 
 out were gradually heard, rising from the suppressed 
 tone of sympathy to social greeting, and once a laugh 
 grated strangely on Ruth's nerves. She had never at- 
 tended a funeral, and her heart beat fast as she saw the 
 long, fresh, looking coffin, with its plated ornaments, and 
 faster still when, following her mother, she looked in, 
 and dwelt on the face of the dead, the pinched and 
 colourless features, the sunken eyes, the thin gray hairs 
 smoothed on the skinny brow, and the cold blue lips. 
 Ruth remembered that those lips had taught her the ru- 
 diments of knowledge, and she sat down in tears. 
 
 The coffin-lid was 'screwed down ; and as the vener- 
 able clergyman, in trembling tones, prayed that her 
 death, who had gone to heaven's portal just before his 
 turn had come, might be sanctified to the young, whom 
 she had taught good knowledge, and to the aged, who 
 had walked thus far with her through this vale of tears, 
 stifled sobs were heard around. The coffin was borne 
 out ; the little girls, wiping their eyes, followed, prece- 
 ding the relatives and near friends, who were called by 
 name, down the lane. The remaining visiters were 
 next invited to walk ; and as they reached the door, 
 the nearest gentleman silently tendered his arm to the 
 lady that came in turn. Ruth, agitated and blinded by 
 sympathetic tears, with downcast eyes, passively took 
 an offered arm. The burial-place was half a mile dis- 
 tant. Ruth's companion was silent, and she could not 
 utter a syllable, though the couple before them talked 
 unrestrainedly. Pausing at a winding road along the 
 base of a hill, the procession assumed an air of roman- 
 tic interest apart from its solemnity, the white-robed 
 girls standing in contrast with the sable-clothed mourn- 
 ers. Ruth's companion looked on them with rapt at- 
 F2
 
 66 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 tention. " There is something very touching," said the 
 young man (Ruth had an instinct that he was young), 
 ** there is something very touching in the spectacle 
 of these innocent children following to the grave one 
 so old." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Ruth, falteringly. 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " Nature has blessed this spot with peculiar beauty," 
 said the young gentleman (for Ruth was sure that 
 he was a young gentleman) ; " one might be willing to 
 die here." 
 
 Another pause. 
 
 " Were you acquainted with this old lady ?" asked 
 the young man. 
 
 Ruth's heart-strings began to loosen at this ques- 
 tion ; self was forgotten, and her childlike spirit re- 
 vived. 
 
 She told about her early school-days ; how, even then, 
 though it was so long ago, Mrs. Ramsay was very aged, 
 and how nicely she used to look in her armchair on 
 the sanded floor, with her mob cap and folded kerchief; 
 and how sorry she was she had ever been roguish and 
 offended her ; and how she knew she must be happy, be- 
 cause she was so good, and how lonely the house would 
 look when old Mrs. Ramsay no longer sat by the door 
 in summer under the honeysuckle arbour, and how she 
 should miss her in the next pew at church, where she 
 had handed her over the hymn-book, with the psalms 
 open, for ten years. 
 
 Ruth was somewhat astonished when they reached 
 the graveyard, and her grief was renewed as the little 
 girls parted on the right and left at the gate, and the 
 procession passed through to the open grave. Then
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 67 
 
 the gentlemen fell back to allow the children and the 
 women to advance, and Ruth lost her companion. 
 
 The children and mourners circled round the grave 
 and wept. But why ? Who should mourn when the 
 ripened shock falls to the ground ? No smiling babe, 
 torn from its mother's bosom, closed there its innocent 
 eyes; no youth, in the flush and glow of existence, 
 treading on life's flowers ; no citizen, faithfully work- 
 ing out his duties, and struggling with its cares. She 
 who had gone had budded, bloomed, ripened, and de- 
 cayed ; her task was done, the servant was called to 
 her wages, the heir to the supper of love. 
 
 On returning from the funeral, Ruth was eloquent 
 in praise of her late companion. 
 
 " I will venture anything, mamma," said she, " that 
 he is the Alfred Clarendon who is one of the junior 
 managers of the ball." 
 
 " Why so ?" said her mother. 
 
 " He looks as if he were," answered Ruth, " or, rath, 
 er, he speaks as if he were, for my eyes were so red I 
 was ashamed to look up at him fully." 
 
 After walking on in silence for some time, Ruth said, 
 with the faintest possible tinge of consciousness in her 
 manner, 
 
 " Do you not think, mamma, that there was something 
 very touching in the aspect of those children following 
 one so old to the funeral ?" 
 
 She had appropriated nearly every word of her 
 partner.
 
 68 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Ruth's Sabbath and Church. 
 
 RUTH rose on the Sabbath following, and hushed 
 earth's cares to rest as they fluttered in her bosom. 
 
 Beautiful Sabbath, soft halcyon on life's turbid wa- 
 ters! how blessingly dost thou come to the weary, 
 how brightly to the gay ! What blue depths thy still- 
 ness lends to the heavens, speaking of infinity : what 
 reposing verdure to the earth, telling of love. Even 
 over the city's cramped habitations, the Sabbath morn- 
 ing clouds fold their white wings and rest, as if waiting 
 for the prayers of thousands to lift them up, or float 
 gently away to yield the upward eye a glimpse of heav- 
 en. Beautiful Sabbath, soft halcyon in life's turbid 
 waters, I bless thee ! 
 
 And Ruth blessed the Sabbath. It was to her a day 
 of love. Restrained, but not depressed, her thoughts 
 turned inward, while her little bark of life lay still in its 
 tranquil harbour. 
 
 She turned from her morning toilet to the window, 
 where a fall of snow in the night had wrought its fairy 
 changes ; the lingering leaves of autumn contrasted 
 glowingly with the sunlit frostwork below and around, 
 and as they dropped in the stillness one by one, with 
 golden and crimson dies, it seemed as if nature, like 
 some tired beauty, threw listlessly off the drapery of 
 her triumphant hours. 
 
 Chilled with the frosty air, Ruth threw her fur cape
 
 LOVE S PEOGEESS. 09 
 
 about her, and traversing her apartment, committed to 
 memory the hundred and third psalm. Its tenderness 
 accorded well with her gentle spirit ; and as the kind, 
 ling verses at the close flowed on like a trumpet-tone, 
 her heart expanded, and she cried aloud with clasped 
 hands and uplifted eyes, " Bless the Lord, oh my soul !" 
 
 But Ruth was mortal, and when the bell rang for 
 church her straw bonnet was tied on with a conscious, 
 ness of becomingness ; and, even when her foot was on 
 the threshold, she ran back to a glass to adjust a blue 
 riband that contrasted with her throat, like one of her 
 own violets on a snowbank, until the voice of her 
 mother chiding her delay, brought her back to religious 
 duty. 
 
 When were we at church before with Ruth ? Not 
 since her baptism, when her eyes were closed in fee- 
 bleness, her heart still as the valley flower where winds 
 come not ; when tiptoe youth stood gazing at the little 
 stranger, and old age knew not whether to feel joy or 
 sorrow that a child was born into the world. 
 
 Ruth's second visit to church was at the age of three 
 years. Clasping her mother's hand, she toiled or leap, 
 ed up the ascent, pausing here and there to gather a 
 flower or pick up a pebble, prattling of infantine no- 
 things until entering the porch. Then, with her little 
 features composed to a pleasant demureness, she was 
 lifted to a three-cornered seat opposite her mother, 
 where she thrust out her new morocco shoes for the 
 benefit of spectators, or knocked them against the bench 
 to their annoyance. The first expedient resorted to 
 by Mrs. Raymond to divert her restlessness, was to 
 give her a bouquet of flowers at the commencement of 
 the sermon, with permission to pull them to pieces.
 
 70 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Ruth was very earnest in this procedure for several 
 Sundays ; and as she arose at " amens," threw a show- 
 er of blossoms from her lap that almost made her a 
 personification of Thomson's Spring. . v;| 
 
 It so chanced that one morning a farmer sat dos-d- 
 dos to Ruth in the next pew, who bore about with him 
 one of the last queues of this generation. Overcome 
 by his entire cessation from physical effort, he fell 
 asleep, and Mrs. Raymond, having provided Ruth with 
 a lap full of flowers, became absorbed in the sermon. 
 The pressure of the top of the pew brought the far- 
 mer's queue to a horizontal position with Ruth's ear. 
 She pushed it gently aside several times, and scratched 
 the tickled extremity ; but, finding the annoyance con- 
 tinue, turned her head round and faced it. It was so 
 closely wound about with black riband from the roots of 
 the hair to the end where it was fastened with a bow, 
 that its whole length, which was about a quarter of a 
 yard, stood out as compact and stiff as a pipestem, ex- 
 cept at the end, which dwindled off to the quantity of 
 a hair-pencil. Ruth eyed it at first with a simple, se- 
 rious kind of curiosity, as it moved in regular play with 
 the somewhat laboured breathing of the sleeper ; at 
 length she ventured just to touch it with her forefinger. 
 At that moment the farmer, who dreamed that a thun- 
 der-gust was rising over his hay-field, gave a perceptible 
 start, and the queue looked so living with its sympa- 
 thetic jerk, that Ruth withdrew her hand and resumed 
 her childish stare. As the dreamer's thunder-squall 
 passed over, the queue and Ruth became more com- 
 posed. She raised her finger again, touched it timidly, 
 and, finding it harmless, ventured to play with its brush- 
 like end; then, with great gravity of countenance and
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 71. 
 
 quietness of manner, took a full-blown tulip from her 
 lap, and thrust the stem through the black bow. 
 
 Mrs. Raymond was interrupted in a most edifying 
 induction of the preacher by an irresistible laugh in 
 the adjoining pew, where some children had been be- 
 guiling their own weariness by looking at Ruth's ex- 
 periments. She followed their eyes to the child, who 
 sat innocently watching the pendulum movements of 
 the ornamented queue. 
 
 Mrs. Raymond's situation was inexpressibly awk- 
 ward. To tell Ruth to remove the tulip, or arise to 
 do it herself, was equally embarrassing. In vain did 
 she shake her head and lift her warning finger ; Ruth 
 was too much absorbed to notice her, and proceeded 
 to add a lily of the valley to this novel flower-vase. 
 As Mrs. Raymond's feelings were raised to actual ag- 
 ony, little Ruth fortunately looked at her, and, perceiv- 
 ing her mother's glance of despair, and thinking she 
 wished for the flowers, removed them with a twitch 
 that fairly awoke the sleeper, and handed them to her 
 with a silent smile. 
 
 When Ruth began to write, and became the happy 
 owner of a silver pencil, her hymn-book bore ample 
 testimony to her industry. When forbidden to draw 
 cats and faces, and particularly the farmer's queue, she 
 began systematically to darken the centre of every let- 
 ter O ; then, as her ideas expanded, she marked and 
 marked again her favourite hymns and verses. By- 
 and-by she began to commit them to memory ; then 
 her voice was heard mingling faintly yet sweetly with 
 the choir ; then passages in the Bible arrested her at- 
 tention ; then the text was remembered ; then a glance 
 at her mother told that some appeal in the sermon was 
 understood and felt ; and last, prayer brooded over her
 
 72 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 with holy wings. Thus, from Sabbath to Sabbath, were 
 golden trains laid for memory and hope ; mines which 
 were to be worked by the undying spirit through all 
 eternity. 
 
 But Ruth is sixteen, and is no longer led up that 
 church-crowned hill. Supporting her mother's enfee- 
 bled footsteps, she enters reverentially the sacred walls, 
 and treads the accustomed aisle. 
 
 Various are the modes of entering church. There 
 is the don't-care manner, and an easy, home-like step, 
 which says all places are alike to me ; there is the 
 conscious manner, which betrays that one is thinking 
 of human eyes instead of that which searches hearts ; 
 there is the worldly manner, with the out-of-door jest 
 or speculation lingering around the lips ; there is the 
 affected manner, lolling this side and that, or mincing 
 with the feet ; there is the bravado manner, a holding 
 tip of the head, and a swinging of the arms, with long 
 strides ; there is the new-dress manner, with all sorts 
 of consciousness ; there is the mourning manner, with 
 the eyes and heart cast down, God only knows with 
 what degree of suffering ; there is the bride manner, 
 where bashfulness and pride alternately prevail ; there 
 is the rapid or high-pressure manner, which dashes on 
 with the sole object of being seated ; there is the side- 
 long manner, where a glance is thrown and withdrawn 
 on the instant ; there is the inquisitive manner, with 
 the look up and about to know who is there ; there is 
 the languid manner, which determines not to be in a 
 hurry, even if the service has begun ; there is the su. 
 percilious manner, which says, stand off, I am (not 
 holier, but) more fashionable or wealthy than thou ; 
 there is the gracious manner (sometimes political), 
 which wishes to be agreeable to everybody j there is
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 73 
 
 the shuffling manner, which pitches itself into a pew as 
 it can ; there is the fidgeting manner, which cannot 
 get easily seated ; there is the stranger manner, which 
 looks about anxiously, and seems rescued when it at- 
 tains accommodation ; there is the decrepit manner, 
 thinking only of its own infirmities ; there is the awk- 
 ward manner, which stumbles in the aisle, goes to the 
 wrong pew, and fumbles at the button on the door. 
 
 Ruth's, my own Ruth's, was the serenely reverential 
 manner. The church was holy ground to her : no 
 worldly whispering desecrated its solemn hour. That 
 hour was strictly God's ; there was enough beside for 
 the world, that was for Him. If she pleaded for mer- 
 cy, or rejoiced in hope in prayer, no one knew, for her 
 face was shaded from intrusive eyes ; if her golden 
 notes mingled with the choir, she cared not who heard 
 but Heaven ; and when the pastor unfolded the will of 
 God, she laid it meekly to her own heart and was still. 
 
 Ruth loved her pastor ; he had touched her forehead 
 with the baptismal element ; his explanatory words 
 and kindly smile had enlightened her Sunday lessons ; 
 and, now that her mind was capable of reasoning, she 
 listened in public with attention, and communicated 
 privately her ignorance and doubts to the good old 
 man, who, though standing on the confines of another 
 world, was not chilled to this. 
 
 Happy Ruth, to love your pastor ; to be able to look 
 up, from year to year, to eyes that beam kindly on you ; 
 to hear heavenly truths from lips endeared by sympa- 
 thy ; to feel almost a partner in the eloquence that 
 thrills the hearts around you ; to be taught immortality, 
 the life for ever, by one with whom you could wish to 
 live eternally. 
 
 G
 
 74 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Dresses of Heroines in Novels. Heroines of Poetry. Ruth and her 
 Mantuamaker. Progress of Mind. Ruth at the Ball. New Ac- 
 quaintance. An Accident. 
 
 PATTERNS of white muslin for Ruth's dress went to 
 and fro with as anxious an investigation as if the com- 
 pany at the ball were to spy her with microscopes ; and 
 the decision being made, Miss Homefield, the best man- 
 tuamaker in the village, was rescued from among a 
 crowd of applicants to cut for the important occasion. 
 
 Novelists have taken great, pride in the wardrobe of 
 their heroines. The hand that Sir Charles Grandison 
 bowed over rested on the richest brocade ; the Evelinas 
 and Cecilias were patterns of good taste ; and Miss 
 Owenson's Glorvina sported a gauze dress of " woven 
 air ;" but who remembers these things ? 
 
 Poets, on the contrary, avoiding this minuteness of 
 description, have, by a few strong and simple intellect- 
 ual touches, conveyed the image of their thoughts to 
 ours with a fidelity that stamps them at once on our 
 memories ; so strongly, indeed, that no friend is more 
 near than these creatures of the imagination. Who 
 cannot see among a thousand, 
 
 " The tender blue" of Medora's " large, loving eye ?" 
 Gulnare too, 
 
 "That form with eye so dark and cheek so fair, 
 And auburn waves of gemm'd and braided hair, 
 With shape of fairy likeness naked foot, 
 That shines like snow, and falls on earth as mute."
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 75 
 
 All the costumes of the novelist would not bring Ger. 
 trude, as Campbell has done, before us in her loveliness, 
 nor show 
 
 " Those eyes affectionate and glad, 
 That seem'd to love whate'er they look'd upon ; 
 Whether with Hebe's mirth her features shone, 
 Or if a shade more pleasing them o'ercast, 
 As if for heavenly musing meant alone ; 
 Yet so becomingly the expression pass'd 
 That each succeeding look was lovelier than the last." 
 
 Scott, almost as an exception, has entered into detail 
 in the dress of the heroines of his poetry ; he had a 
 geographical mind, and loved to locate them ; Ellen, 
 for instance : 
 
 " A chieftain's daughter seem'd the maid ; 
 Her satin mood, her silken plaid, 
 Her golden brooch such birth betray'd ; 
 And seldom was a snood amid 
 Such wild, luxuriant ringlets hid, 
 Whose glossy black to shame might bring 
 The plumage of the raven's wing. 
 And seldom ever breast so fair 
 Mantled a plaid with modest care. 
 And never brooch the folds combined, 
 Above a heart more good and kind." 
 
 Yet, after the snood, and brooch, and plaid are for- 
 gotten, we " gaze on Ellen's eye." 
 
 Wordsworth is singularly happy in making his pic- 
 tures stand out on his poetical canvass. Take any age. 
 
 The girl of fourteen. 
 
 " Sweet Highland girl, a very shower 
 Of beauty is thy earthly dower ! 
 A face with gladness overspread ! 
 Sweet looks by human kindness bred, 
 And seemlmess complete, that sways 
 Thy courtesies, about thee plays."
 
 76 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 A maiden. 
 
 " A dancing shape, an image gay, 
 To haunt, to startle and way-lay." 
 
 Childhood. 
 
 " Her eyes were fair and very fair, 
 Her beauty made me glad." 
 
 Early Infancy. 
 
 " On thy face 
 
 y ' Smiles are beginning like the beams of dawn 
 To shoot and circulate 
 Feelers of love." 
 
 A matron. 
 
 " She was a woman of a steady mind, 
 Tender and deep in her excess of love ; 
 Not speaking much, pleased rather with the joy 
 Of her own thoughts." 
 
 Another. 
 
 " Graceful was her port ; 
 A lofty stature, undepress'd by time, 
 Whose visitation had not spared to touch 
 The finer lineaments of frame and face, 
 To that complexion brought which prudence trusts in, . 
 And wisdom loves." 
 
 Milton felt no want of a wardrobe for his " accom- 
 plished Eve ;" and, though Spenser clothes his delicate 
 Una, in the Faery Queene, it is with such rare simpli- 
 city as to throw back our thoughts on her intellectual 
 purity. At first we see her 
 
 " Under a vele that wimpled was full low, 
 And over all a black stole did shee throw." 
 
 Then 
 
 " In secret shadow, far from all men's sight, 
 From her fayre head her fillet she undight, 
 And lay'd her stole aside. Her angel face 
 As the great eye of heaven shyned bright, 
 And made a sunshine in the shady place."
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 77 
 Then, 
 
 " Fair and fresh as freshest flower in May, 
 And on her now a garment did she weare, 
 All lily-white, withouten spot or pride." 
 
 Perhaps the best, though an unconscious satire on 
 over-dressing a heroine, may be found in the descrip. 
 tion of a ballroom attire in a novel entitled " A Sum- 
 mer at Weymouth." 
 
 ** Sir Edward sent to let the ladies know that he was 
 in the drawing-room, and hoped they were ready ; and 
 the business of the toilet being completed, they descend, 
 ed immediately. Mrs. Moreland led the countess to 
 the admiral, who was in his naval uniform, with a su- 
 perb diamond star, being a Knight of the Bath ; he sa- 
 luted his niece, and admired the delicate taste displayed 
 in her dress, which was white thin satin, covered with 
 British lace, the train and drapery of the same, made 
 with beautiful borders expressly for the purpose ; 
 wreathed with hawthorn blossoms, and looped up with 
 braids of riband-grass, which also formed knots, con. 
 fining small bouquets of violets, primroses, lilies of the 
 valley, and wild roses ; full lace sleeves were drawn up 
 with small wreaths of riband-grass and violets, over 
 armlets of rubies and emeralds, forming a chain, each 
 link fastened with a single brilliant ; a corresponding 
 chain formed the cestus, and ornamented the dress be- 
 neath a full tucker of lace, which, with her lappets, was 
 also made in Great Britain ; her hair, in tasteful puff's 
 and ringlets, was encircled by a wreath of jessamine, 
 in brilliants and emeralds, tied on the left side with a 
 knot of brilliants, which confined three white feathers ; 
 necklace, earrings, and shoe-bows of diamonds, com- 
 G 2
 
 78 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 pleted her dress, which was neat, elegant, and becom. 
 ing." 
 
 But all this time Ruth is standing before her mantua- 
 maker, with the folds of her white muslin flowing 
 about her youthful form. What different associations 
 are called up by that simple manufacture? It is the 
 first ornamental dress of girls ; it is gathered around 
 the widow's face, shading her sorrowing eyes ; and it 
 lies on the cold corpse, covering the altered lip and 
 brow, while the hand that slowly raises it starts as its 
 moving folds give seeming motion to the dead. 
 
 But Ruth moralized not on white muslin. 
 
 M What is the last fashion for dresses, Miss Home- 
 field ?" said she to the demure-looking personage be- 
 fore her. 
 
 " We does not be governed by any particular fash- 
 ion," replied Miss Homefield, with a subdued air. 
 " We studies the expression. There is a great deal, 
 Miss Raymond," she continued, with solemnity, clip- 
 ping with the scissors so closely to Ruth's neck that she 
 winced, " there is a great deal in adopting the cut to 
 the figur. Yours, I should say," and she glanced on 
 Ruth's mantling cheek, " is elegant bloom." 
 
 Ruth looked meekly at the careering scissors, and 
 then triumphantly at her mirror. 
 
 u You seem to have quite a considerable collection 
 of books," said Miss Homefield, just darting up her 
 eyes, without pausing in her occupation. Have you 
 read (a little to the right, if you please) a work that's 
 out about the Missouri lands ? Now it's my notion (a 
 pin, I thank you) that the lands should be drained (this 
 is the Grecian fold, miss) before they are dressed. 
 Books, Miss Raymond (we will put this fold a little 
 lower on the bust), is great enlighteners."
 
 LOVE'S PEOGEESS. 79 
 
 Much to Ruth's surprise, her frock sat exquisitely, 
 and the expression designed to be elegant bloom satis- 
 fied her highly. The pure white of the muslin certain, 
 ly contrasted well with her glowing cheeks and lustrous 
 eyes. A girl never looks prettier than with a mantua- 
 maker, sideling and glancing, advancing and retreat- 
 ing, half in jest, half in earnest, conscious of newness 
 without the temptation to display. ' 
 
 The long-expected evening came, and Ruth, com. 
 tnitted to the especial care of Dr. Gesner, on account 
 of the indisposition of her mother, joined Isabel and her 
 parents. Oh that long interval after dressing, waiting 
 the silly call of fashion, when playfulness is exhausted, 
 when the hour for rest comes on without repose, and 
 even hope is tired of hoping ! Ruth and Isabel fairly 
 yawned in each other's faces, until the carriage wheels 
 roused them, and they sprang up like awakened stat- 
 ues. 
 
 Ruth kissed her father with tenderness, and lingered 
 for a moment to catch her mother's smile, for well she 
 knew their thoughts would follow her : and she sighed 
 as she returned once more to press her mother's cheek, 
 that it looked so pale, and that the parental eye could 
 not watch her still. 
 
 The resources of the village had been exhausted to 
 meet this yearly ball ; and the managers, finding the 
 tavern hall too small for their purpose, had arranged a 
 vacant barn for the reception of their guests. The 
 flooring was planed and chalked, the walls hung with 
 evergreens from the woods, flowers from greenhouses, 
 and variegated lamps from the city. An illuminated 
 arch at the entrance dazzled Ruth by its unexpected 
 brilliancy, and prevented her noticing the manager, who
 
 80 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 advanced, and, detaching her from Dr. Gesner, offered 
 her his arm and conducted her across the building. 
 
 " Beautiful, beautiful," exclaimed Ruth, in the admi- 
 ration of the moment, as the tasteful and brilliant ar- 
 rangement burst upon her. " Who did it all ?" 
 
 The managers must divide the credit," said her 
 conductor. 
 
 Ruth started, and looked up quickly. Their eyes 
 met with a sudden, delicious understanding, and she 
 blushed so deeply, that Miss Homefield's intended ex- 
 pression qf " elegant bloom" was lost ; she ought to 
 have been dressed like a milkmaid. 
 
 " You walked with me to the funeral," said Ruth 
 with her characteristic quickness, as the blush passed 
 away. " How strange !" 
 
 " You walked with me to the funeral," said the young 
 man. " How delightful !** 
 
 " I just wish to guess one thing," said Ruth, with 
 irrepressible earnestness ; " are you not Alfred Clar- 
 endon?" 
 
 " I am," said the gentleman, smiling. " Will Miss 
 Raymond allow me the pleasure of dancing with her 
 in the first set ?" 
 
 Ruth acquiesced, and he left her for his duties as 
 manager. 
 
 " I told mamma so," she said, almost clapping her 
 hands as she turned to Isabel ; " I told mamma his 
 name was Clarendon !" 
 
 The set was called. Ruth had practised a good 
 deal for this ball, and her mirror had seen some antics 
 she would not have betrayed to other spectators. She 
 meant to balancer this way, and dos-a-dos that way, 
 and hold her arms so, and her head so ; but the
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 81 
 
 first burst of the band dispersed all affectation. She 
 gave herself up to the impulses of the moment, to the 
 fascination of sight and sound ; and the joy woulS have 
 been almost frolic had it not been restrained by natu- 
 ral dignity. There was none of the fastidiousness of 
 fashion about her ; whatever seemed to be worth en- 
 joying, she enjoyed ; and, like an unforced plant, turn- 
 ed her branches to the sunshine. 
 
 Ruth was introduced in form to William White. 
 She threw herself back daintily, and he bowed frigid, 
 ly, and they stood opposite each other in the cotillon 
 with a grave and conscious air, until, as Ruth turned 
 him in the dance, a sudden impulse came over her, and 
 in a low but distinct tone, with her eyes raised roguish- 
 ly and then cast down, she said " mew !" 
 
 The effect was irresistible ; not to laugh was to die 
 of convulsions ; the barrier of reserve was thrown 
 down, and they were no longer strangers. This is the 
 peculiar charm of frankness, when modified by pure 
 and chaste manners, that it calls mind in contact with 
 mind, and does the work of years ; but what Ruth 
 gained with William White she lost with the two Miss 
 Longworths in pink satin, who asserted the next day 
 that Miss Raymond ridiculed them publicly. 
 
 Clarendon again sought Ruth's hand in the dance. 
 He trod the measure gracefully enough, but it was in 
 his moments of repose that he was the favourite part- 
 ner ; here Ruth, as he led the way, found herself on 
 higher ground than she had ever attained before. Ef. 
 forts at reasoning, unstudied criticism, and the kinder 
 lore of the affections, fell from her unconsciously; yet 
 demands from another quarter on her good-nature were 
 equally successful, and she often stopped good Dr. Ges.
 
 82 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 ner in a yawn like the opening of a crater as he stood 
 near, until he roused himself, and watched her motions 
 as he would those of a grasshopper, calling her his 
 papilio, a favourite epithet since their race by the riv- 
 er-side. !;; 
 
 And now the social hilarity of the scene reached its 
 height in a Pendleton reel, when, as the band poured 
 forth its fullest tones, and almost the whole company 
 were in motion, glancing like winged birds from side 
 to side, a crash was heard ; the foundation gave way, 
 the floor sank, and the dancers after it. There went 
 the Miss Longworths' pink satins, Miss Kidman's 
 five ostrich feathers, Miss Halway's bird of paradise 
 plume, Miss Abie's blond cape, and Miss Notable's imi- 
 tation ; and Ruth went too, bursting off in her descent 
 the hooks and eyes from Miss Homefield's " elegant 
 bloom expression." The first consciousness that she 
 possessed was that she was sitting on a soft but firm 
 substance, and a guttural sound announed to her that 
 she was making an unintentional divan of Dr. Ges. 
 ner's body. j 
 
 " Oh, dear Dr. Gesner, is it you ?" said Ruth, pa- 
 thetically. 
 
 " Ees, my papilio. Sit easy, if you please, and ask 
 one gentleman, for the loves of Heaven, to take himself 
 off of my leichdom, what you call corn on se toe." 
 
 The various involuntary actors in this scene rose 
 slowly, their gallant array sadly broken. Ruth un- 
 hitched a bunch of Miss Longworth's false curls from 
 Dr. Gesner's button, and brushed his soiled coat with 
 her handkerchief, while he gradually recovered his 
 short and husky breathing. As she stood thus forget- 
 ting herself in bringing him to good-humour, Clareu-
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 83 
 
 don passed, and hurriedly asked leave to inquire after 
 her health to-morrow ; while William White, with 
 jest and laughter, escorted her home. 
 
 When Ruth reached the door of her home, she check- 
 ed the laugh upon her lips, and entered with tiptoe 
 steps, fearing to disturb the repose of her parents ; but 
 their vigilant thoughts were upon her, and the call of 
 " Ruth, Ruth," as she passed their door, purposely left 
 open, arrested her. Her father met her with a kind 
 smile and a surprised look at her brilliant disarray. 
 Entering her mother's apartment, she sat by the bed- 
 side, and, throwing her arms about her, told them the 
 joys and mishaps of the evening. Nothing is lovelier 
 than the sweet temper of a weary girl, who, after an 
 entertainment, or, perchance, disappointment, is over, 
 returns and throws the light of good-humour on her 
 home ; the triumphs of beauty or of genius fade away 
 before this charm ; but when they are all united, the 
 parent may well gaze with the subdued worship of a 
 loving heart on his child. And Ruth was indeed love- 
 lier as she poured out her feelings, her mother's hand 
 in hers, her red cheek resting on her mother's pillow, 
 than when sparkling and graceful she glided amid the 
 dance. Their blessing followed her to her apartment. 
 And there Ruth composed her busy thoughts to life's 
 more holy aims. She had never yet neglected to offer 
 her nightly prayers, and now they seemed to bear her 
 fluttered spirit to sleep with a blessing. 
 C 2
 
 84 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The Morning Slumberer. The Cape Ann Housemaid. The Mom- 
 ing-call. Sunday-school Project. The Farmer and his Wife. 
 The Intemperate. The Poor and Suffering. 
 
 THE morning sun shone brightly, but unheeded, 
 through Ruth's curtains ; her young sister caressed 
 her with her usual endearments, but the twining arm 
 and playful kiss were unfelt ; her brothers rushed to 
 the door, shouting, " Ruth, sister Ruth, wake up and 
 tell us about the ball ;" but she slept on ; her mother 
 came with her soft tread and looked in upon her. 
 The girl's breathing was so tranquil, her look of re- 
 pose so deep, such an utter absence of life's cares 
 dwelt on her, that she had not the heart to wake her ; 
 so, just touching her roselike cheek with her lips, and 
 smoothing away the dishevelled hair from her neck, 
 she sighed softly, whispered " sleep on, poor child," and 
 descended to the breakfast-room. An hour passed 
 away, and Bridget the housemaid was sent to rouse 
 the slumberer. 
 
 " You're a pretty one, Miss Ruth," said Bridget, as 
 she went clumping into the room with her leather shoes, 
 and laid her rough hand on Ruth's shoulder, " to be 
 knocked up by one night's jigging. I reckon you'd 
 be up to a thing or two more if you'd been bred down 
 at Cape Ann. The gals there used to dance the dou- 
 ble shuffle till two in the mornin, and at sunrise were 
 singin over their brooms and washtubs like thrushes. 
 I was the gal, Miss Ruth," continued Bridget, with in-
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 85 
 
 creasing animation, putting her arms akimbo as she 
 saw the corner of Ruth's eye open, " for keeping up 
 the reel. I cut in and out like mad ; Jim Barnstable 
 swore I beat all ; the more shame that he went and 
 courted Sal Capers. She caper ! she was just made 
 for mincing a minuet. A mean feller he to be puttin 
 on his ball-clothes the mornin after the frolic at Cap- 
 tin Wright's barn, and com in and taikin an hour to me 
 as if his mouth was' sweetened with molasses, and then 
 to go and court Sal Capers." 
 
 Bridget had touched a very important string in 
 Ruth's associations. She too was to receive visiters, 
 whose discourse would, perhaps, flow with diviner nee. 
 tar than Jim Barnstable's ; and, raising herself on her 
 pillow, the print of which marked her soft cheek, she 
 asked the hour. 
 
 Ruth had once detested morning calls. It seemed 
 hard to her to set aside her interesting occupations, 
 and give herself up to the commonplaces of that talk 
 which is not long enough to elicit ideas, and yet of 
 sufficient duration to break up most valuable portions 
 of time. But the graceful sweetness of her nature had 
 taught her to study the happiness of others in this usu- 
 ally heartless ceremony. She had learned from her 
 mother to employ herself in some light work, which, 
 while it was a kind of rallying-point for conversation, 
 could be thrown aside at pleasure. If she were em- 
 barrassed, her eyes found rest upon her busy fingers ; 
 and if her guests were dull, their very motion seemed 
 a help. But Ruth gave no heed to her sewing this 
 day ; for, by the time that her truant hair was smoothed 
 to glossiness, and her breakfast hastily despatched, she 
 heard the gate shut to with its well-known swing, and 
 H
 
 86 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 saw her two partners advancing up the foot-path to the 
 house. 
 
 There was, indeed, no need of the needle to be- 
 guile that hour ; her birds, her flowers, her books, her 
 songs, and, most of all, her laughter over the events of 
 the past night, inspired her guests with confidence. 
 Frank and unselfish as Ruth was, she might have been 
 charged with coquetry by those who did not understand 
 her. The desire to please, springing, as it did, from 
 the best fountains of the heart, leads to results like co- 
 quetry ; while her mother feared to check her too anx- 
 iously, lest, by chilling her confidence in others, she 
 should create an unnatural self-observation and reserve. 
 
 " Which of those two young men do you like best, 
 mamma ?" said Ruth, as she stood at the window, and 
 heard the closing swing of the gate, and saw their re- 
 treating forms. 
 
 " Your emphasis implies that you have made up your 
 mind about the matter," said her mother, smiling. 
 Ruth blushed and protested. There was a pause, and 
 Mrs. Raymond changed the conversation. 
 
 " Your enjoyment last night, and the excitement of 
 new scenes," said she, " must not prevent your stud- 
 ying to be useful. I have been called upon by some 
 ladies this morning to aid them in getting up a Sun- 
 day-school. The office assigned me is to apply to 
 those who can afford it, to give subscriptions to pur- 
 chase clothing and books for the poor scholars, and to 
 the indigent to send their children to be instructed. 
 My health is failing, dear, and I must make you my 
 substitute in this benevolent project." 
 
 " Me, mamma !" exclaimed Ruth. " What can I
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 87 
 
 say ? I shall be so frightened if they look cross at 
 me." 
 
 " You must think of your duty, and that will strength, 
 en you. You will have harder duties, Ruth, to bear 
 when I am gone." 
 
 Ruth looked at her mother. There was a paleness 
 on her face that made her tremble. She threw herself 
 on a low seat beside her, and hid her face in her lap. 
 A dread came over her that sickened her very heart, 
 and she could not speak. Mrs. Raymond changed the 
 current of her thoughts by entering into an explana- 
 tion of the project, and the part Ruth was to sustain. 
 
 " Rouse yourself, my daughter," she said, affection- 
 ately. " You must begin your expedition immediate. 
 ]y, and the pure air will do you good. Reflect on all 
 I have taught you, and call up your own thoughts on 
 the way." 
 
 Ruth went up stairs and mechanically tied on her 
 bonnet. Mrs. Fry would never have claimed her as a 
 votary of philanthrophy. Ruth thought only of her 
 mother ; but there is something in nature, in the blue 
 heavens, and the stirring impulses of a frosty air, con- 
 genial to the young. As her feet crushed the frozen 
 snow, she threw care to the winds ; and when she heard 
 the gate fall to behind her, her step quickened and her 
 eye brightened. She began to reflect on her mission, 
 and bent her steps to farmer Morefield's, about half 
 a mile distant. The family were just at dinner, and 
 the farmer, wiping the cider from his mouth, asked the 
 young lady to take a bite. Ruth declined ; but having 
 once entered on her task, her ardent character support- 
 ed her, and she said, though with considerable tremour 
 in her voice,
 
 88 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 " The ladies of the village are anxious to have a 
 Sunday-school. Should you like to subscribe and send 
 your children ?" 
 
 " I will answer about the money part," said the farm, 
 er, good-naturedly, " but my old woman will tell you 
 about the children." 
 
 Ruth took out her subscription paper ; it was mod. 
 est enough ; one dollar per year, and such donations as 
 the liberal could afford. The farmer gave her a dol- 
 lar. 
 
 Ruth looked at the lady, who was just pulling a huge 
 bone from the mouth of one of the expected catechu- 
 mens. 
 
 " Will it be agreeable to you to send your children 
 to church next Sunday, at nine o'clock ?" she said. 
 " The ladies will take great pleasure in teaching them.'* 
 
 " I don't think, Mr. Morefield," replied the lady, with, 
 out looking at Ruth, and swallowing hastily a spoonful 
 of broth, " that we've quite come to charity yet. It's 
 a pity if we can't keep our heads above water a leeite 
 longer !" 
 
 Ruth was half tempted to get up and run ; but she 
 rallied herself, and tried to speak. 
 
 " Don't be in a passion, wife," said the farmer ; " let's 
 hear the young lady. If it's a charity business, miss, 
 we reckon ourselves as well to live as anybody." 
 
 Ruth began with tremour, but soon went on quietly 
 to tell the objects of the Sunday-school ; the motives of 
 teachers ; the aid to parents ; the pleasure to children. 
 Warming with her subject, she related, from her past 
 reading, one or two anecdotes of youths, whose souls, 
 under this religious teaching, had been taught the up- 
 ward way. " My own little brothers and sisters will
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 89 
 
 all attend our school," continued Ruth, beginning to feel 
 the spirit of prosleytism. 
 
 " Do let us go. We want to go," said two or three 
 of the childish group, who had been listening attentive- 
 ly to Ruth's sweet voice, and now pressed round their 
 mother. " Be still, you !" said the mother. " If it 
 isn't charity, you may go and welcome ; and, husband, 
 you mought as well give another dollar to help the 
 young woman out with her business." 
 
 Ruth's eyes glistened with something like a tear as 
 she perceived this reaction, and, taking the dollar grate- 
 fully, she went her way with airy footsteps. The bar- 
 berry bushes and straggling sweet-brier seemed cloth- 
 ed with beauty, and in the lightness of her heart she 
 sang the song she loved. 
 
 The next building in sight was a farmhouse also, 
 but the aspect of all things around was negligent. The 
 owner appeared to be trying to repair, in a rough way, 
 an aperture in the wall, to prevent the encroachment 
 of cattle on his premises. 
 
 Ruth went up to him timidly. " Will you allow me, 
 sir," she said, " to say a few words to you and your 
 family ?" The man looked at her hardly, and she saw 
 the stamp of intemperance in his bloodshot eyes. 
 
 " I don't care if you do," was his gruff reply, ad- 
 vancing, as he spoke, before her, with a tottering step, 
 to his residence. His wife was at the washtub, while 
 several clamorous children were hushed at the sight of 
 a stranger. 
 
 " Suke," said the farmer, " this young miss wants to 
 speak to us !" The woman wrung the water from her 
 hands, and handed a low stool to Ruth, who sat down. 
 
 Ruth saw, by an air of patient sufferance on her face, 
 H 2
 
 90 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 that she was not the person to apply to, and, turning to 
 the farmer, said, 
 
 " Several ladies wish the children of our village to 
 join in a Sunday class. They are to assemble at the 
 meeting-house before the service begins, and learn the 
 Bible and hymns. Will you allow yours to go ?" 
 
 " You may put my children in the meetin-house or 
 behind it," said the farmer, roughly. "I give 'em 
 clothes and victuals, and that's enough." 
 
 Ruth shuddered ; the graveyard was behind the 
 church ; but seeing the drooping, imploring- looking 
 woman, for her sake she took courage and said, 
 
 " You cannot be serious, sir. These children want 
 something more than food and clothing ; they are God's 
 children as well as yours." 
 
 " God may take care of them and be ," said the 
 
 farmer, fiercely. 
 
 The woman started with almost a cry, and Ruth saw, 
 with horror, that the case was hopeless. She turned 
 to the children, who had resumed their play, and asked 
 a bright-looking boy if he would not like to go to meet- 
 ing, and see all the little boys and girls every Sunday 
 morning, and learn about God. 
 
 " I don't care if I do, if sister Nance goes," said the 
 boy, scraping the wall in various fanciful patterns with 
 a rusty nail. 
 
 " Will you go, little Nancy ?" asked Ruth, following 
 the direction of the boy's look to a pretty-eyed girl, 
 whose matted curls fell over cheeks ruddy with health. 
 " You shall have a nice frock and bonnet to wear on 
 Sundays," she added, in a whisper. 
 
 " I'll go if Dick wants me to," said the girl, with an 
 attempt at a courtesy.
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 91 
 
 The father had gone back to his work, and the moth- 
 er's eye brightened. 
 
 " Dick and Nancy are willing to attend the school," 
 said Ruth to the woman ; " J am sure you will not ob- 
 ject." 
 
 " No, God Almighty bless you, miss," said she, " but 
 they have no clothes, and poor Hartley's earnings will 
 not buy them any." She did not hint that poor Hart- 
 ley's earnings were spent at the tavern. 
 
 " I will dress them every Sunday if you will send 
 them to me," said Ruth. " Pray let them come. You 
 must send them very early ; teachers and scholars must 
 be punctual," added she, turning with a smile to the 
 children. 
 
 Dick, however, heard not ; his rusty nail had created 
 a ship on the wainscoat, masts, and sails, and all, and 
 Nancy was admiring it with her eyes and mouth open, 
 i Ruth bade farewell to this little group, and was 
 cheered on by the aid and gratitude of three thriving 
 families whom she visited in succession. 
 
 Proceeding on her way, she saw a miserable hovel. 
 Ruth had never entered the abodes of the really poor, 
 and shrank dismayed. The fences were all appropri- 
 ated for firewood, a ragged hat filled one of the broken 
 panes of glass, and the accumulated dirt at the door- 
 step was so forbidding, that she was about turning aside 
 from the entangled path, when the pale face of a child 
 appeared at the door, and she remembered her mission. 
 The child drew back as she caught the eye of a stran- 
 ger, while Ruth advanced, and tapped gently and mod- 
 estly on the swinging door. A noble heart feels more 
 deep humility in approaching such a scene than at the 
 entrance of palaces. 
 
 "Come in," said a youthful voice.
 
 92 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Ruth entered, and the little girl, whose face she had 
 seen peeping from the door, stood, half screening her- 
 self amid some ragged bedding, where a man lay in the 
 hard breathing of disease. 
 
 "Hush, father's asleep," whispered the little girl, 
 " and mother says he mustn't be waked up till she comes 
 back, 'cause he cries just like a baby when she ain't 
 here." 
 
 Ruth beckoned to the little girl with a sympathizing 
 look, and she issued shyly from her hiding-place. 
 
 ** What is the matter with your father ?" whispered 
 Ruth. 
 
 " I don't know, miss ; only he can't walk about, nor 
 lift up his arms, and he don't act like a man, but takes 
 on like a baby." 
 
 Ruth knew too little of disease to recognise one of 
 the stages of paralysis in this description. 
 
 " I should like to help your poor father," said Ruth, 
 in a very pitying tone, for her heart was stirred up 
 within her. " What can I do for you ?" 
 
 " I should like a bit of bread," said the child, " 'cause 
 mammy stays so long." The provident care of Mrs. 
 Raymond had filled Ruth's bag with biscuits for her 
 long ramble, and she hastily extended some to the 
 hungry child. 
 
 " Will your father be displeased to see me here if 
 he wakes ?" said Ruth. 
 
 "No," replied the child ; " he does not mind any- 
 body but mammy and me." 
 
 " What is your name ?" asked Ruth. 
 
 " Susan," was the answer. 
 
 " I will be a friend to you, Susan, if you will be a 
 good girl. A great many little boys and girls are
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 93 
 
 going to meet together, and read the Bible and leara 
 hymns. Should you like to join them every Sunday 
 morning ?" 
 
 " I am afraid to go anywhere without mammy," said 
 Susan. 
 
 Ruth glanced round the miserable hut, and wondered 
 what protection the poor little girl could feel there. 
 
 At that moment an almost inarticulate sound issued 
 from the bed. 
 
 " Wife," at last said the sick man, with effort, his 
 hands shaking with the disease. 
 
 Susan ran to him, and said soothingly, "Mammy's 
 just stepped out to buy some bread ; she will be back 
 in a minute, father." 
 
 " She's gone and left me again," mumbled the poor 
 sufferer, in imperfect tones, and then burst into hys- 
 terical sobs and tears. 
 
 Susan stood by helplessly, saying, " Don't cry, fa- 
 ther, don't. Mammy will be here directly." Then, 
 wiping the tears on his face with the tattered sheet, she 
 said in his ear, " Don't cry, father, the pretty lady is 
 looking at you." 
 
 Ruth could bear it no longer ; she rushed into the 
 open air, exclaiming involuntarily, in the language of 
 Scripture, " Merciful heaven ! I have bread enough and 
 to spare, and they perish with hunger !"
 
 94 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Ruth's Reflection; at Home. More Experiences of Human Nature. 
 The Sunday-school Opens. Ruth Compensated. 
 
 RTJTH walked droopingly along the dreary outlet to 
 the road. The landscape had lost its charm, and the 
 sun looked dim as she glanced back on the poor 
 dwelling, where Susan was wiping the tears from the 
 cheeks of her imbecile parent. Collecting her thoughts, 
 she returned through a by-path home, and poured out 
 her full heart to her mother. There was a fitfulness 
 of manner unusual to her as she retired that night to 
 her tasteful and tranquil bedroom. She felt almost a 
 jealousy of her Own comforts, and sighed often, " Poor, 
 poor Susan !" Her garments were cast aside unfold, 
 ed, and no glance was thrown at the mirror to ask if 
 her pretty nightcap sat becomingly. Before reading 
 her Bible, she sat abstractedly on a low seat by the 
 bedside. At length she opened its leaves. Her read- 
 ing was systematic, and the appointed passages were 
 in the Old Testament, in the abstruser parts of prophe- 
 cy. Poor Ruth read on blindly, no sympathetic cord 
 touching her heart, which was so fully strung to soft 
 emotions. She did not throw the book aside, for it 
 was her Bible, but she laid it down with another sigh. 
 Again she took it listlessly, and her eyes fell on those 
 touching passages in St. John's gospel, where our Sa- 
 viour speaks of his own sufferings. She read on. 
 " There must be a deep meaning in sorrow," thought 
 she, " if he suffered," and she laid her head musingly on
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 95 
 
 her pillow. That day had unfolded a fresh leaf in her 
 heart's history ; it was no longer an impaled butterfly 
 that moved her sympathy ; a new love stirred her af- 
 fections, the love of her suffering fellow-creatures. 
 Then followed hopes and resolutions for their happi- 
 ness ; and, falling asleep, she saw poor Susan in her 
 dreams, no longer the pale, sad child of penury, but 
 clothed in white robes and treading heavenly bowers. 
 
 Ruth rose in the morning refreshed in spirit, and, 
 followed by a domestic with comforts for the sick and 
 food for the hungry, visited again Susan's abode. The 
 child, won over by her kindness, promised to attend 
 the Sabbath-school ; and Ruth appointed the old school- 
 house as a place of rendezvous for those who were to 
 accompany her home, to be measured for their new 
 dresses that day. Her success in the more populous 
 parts of the village was fluctuating ; but jealousy and 
 coldness were the predominant feelings, until the 
 warmth of her own manner conquered them, and 
 brought out the latent tenderness which lies in every 
 heart where the right depth is sounded. Almost in- 
 variably the women referred her to their husbands for 
 the dollar. The disciples of the Female Liberty- 
 school may sneer at this very marked feature in our 
 domestic manners, well-known by those who have so- 
 licited subscriptions, but to me there is nothing ridic- 
 ulous about it ; it implies sympathy in conjugal life ; it 
 checks the too great tendency to overflow in female be- 
 nevolence, and aids economy ; for if a woman discusses 
 one dollar with her husband, she will have some insight 
 into his hundreds. 
 
 Entering one house, Ruth saw a woman of plain, 
 quiet manners, with two children, and unfolded her ob-
 
 96 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 ject in visiting her. She was answered by warm and 
 pious sympathy, and not only sympathy in words, but 
 the woman, with a tear in her eye, handed her a ten- 
 dollar note, wishing blessings on the cause. Ruth was 
 fairly startled ; scarcely able to utter her thanks in her 
 delighted surprise, she wrapped the treasure up with 
 care, and went to the old schoolhouse where the chil- 
 dren were to assemble to accompany her home. A 
 goodly number were there, but such a looking crew ! 
 Poor Ruth, in ordering the line of march, could only 
 distinguish them as the little girl with the ragged apron, 
 or the boy without the hat, or her with the toes out at 
 her shoes, or him without any shoes. Little Susan 
 she took by the hand. Utterly forgetful of the appear, 
 ance she must make with this " ragged regiment," she 
 proceeded homeward, talking with Susan as freely as 
 if it had been Isabel by her side, until she was recalled 
 to the circumstance by the appearance of two gentle- 
 men on the road. Ruth looked back with some dis- 
 may ; two of her proteges were snowballing each other, 
 and the blood, streaming from the nose of one of these 
 knights-errant, testified to the prowess of his opponent. 
 Two others, very little girls, had rambled off to gather 
 some lingering apples in an open orchard ; and Susan, 
 beginning to be home-sick and frightened, put her 
 apron to her eyes to wipe away the tears. Ruth, at 
 her wits' end, scarcely knew whether to divide the com- 
 batants, or reclaim the wanderers, or sooth Susan. In 
 the midst of her embarrassments, Clarendon and Wil- 
 liam drew near. Ruth wavered a moment, and would 
 willingly have screened herself by a neighbouring tree, 
 and allowed them to pass ; but her frank good-humour 
 conquered. Greeting them modestly, she told her sim-
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 97 
 
 pie perplexities and asked their aid. This was, in re- 
 ality, but a picturesque spectacle, contrasted as the 
 beautiful and graceful Ruth was with these children of 
 poverty. But Ruth and the young men had human 
 weaknesses ; and, when one or two carriages rolled by, 
 they shrunk back, or raised a compliment of forced 
 laughter, or waved off the little group to a wider dis- 
 tance ; still, in spite of its singularity, the scene had 
 its charms for the new actors* The embarrassment 
 of Ruth was not awkward ; her sunny temper broke 
 out even more gayly amid the strong contrasts about 
 her ; and the aspect of one so young and fair, employed 
 in a work of love for poor humanity, told a tale that 
 went down deep into the hearts of the two warm-soul- 
 ed youths, who aided her in marshalling her restless 
 retinue, and, by promises of cake and sugar-plums, 
 stimulated their erratic movements. 
 
 " Mamma," said Ruth, with a rather consequential 
 air, before a committee which met for the purpose of 
 arranging the school on the following morning, " do 
 you not think the ladies should return a vote of thanks 
 to Mrs. Bedloe for the ten dollars she gave me 1" 
 
 " Certainly, Ruth," said her mother ; and Ruth was 
 requested by the committee to write and send it. 
 
 She sat down and bit the end of her pen. " What 
 a miserable cold thing a letter of thanks is," she thought, 
 " when one's heart is full ! I wish they would let me 
 run down the lane and thank her." 
 
 The note at length was written, and submitted in 
 form ; its ardency suppressed, moulded to a committee 
 dignity, and sent. The messenger soon returned with 
 the reply that the house was unoccupied, and Mrs. Bed- 
 loe had left town. 
 
 I
 
 98 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Ruth burst into raptures. " How disinterested ! 
 No common mind," she said, " would have given thus 
 without any prospect of a return. Mamma," she 
 said, growing sentimental, " such charity is like the 
 sun, which throws his careless beams on every little 
 flower ; and to think that I was the medium of this be- 
 nevolence !" 
 
 As Ruth thus vented her feelings, Mr. Raymond, 
 who had been absent, entered. Springing towards him, 
 she narrated the circumstance, and showed him the 
 ten-dollar note. 
 
 " The rascals !" exclaimed her father, " Bedloe is a 
 forger, and absconded last night. Tear up the bill, 
 child, it is good for nothing !" 
 
 Ruth sank into a chair speechless as that first les- 
 son of depravity was discovered, then she wept, then 
 grew indignant. 
 
 " I will not subject myself to such impositions again," 
 she said, angrily. " I shall never think well of human 
 nature after this. That cold, heartless, smiling, syco- 
 phantic wretch of a woman, I wish she was obliged 
 to eat the bill," she continued, as she tore it in pieces. 
 
 Fortunately for Ruth, her time was busily occupied 
 in making the Sunday garments for the children ; and, 
 before the week was closed, she observed so much qui- 
 et good feeling and Christian kindness among the la- 
 dies with whom she was associated as to reconcile her 
 to human nature again. 
 
 Sunday was a proud day for Ruth. The " ragged 
 regiment" was converted into a respectable procession. 
 It is true she laboured more over the physical than 
 moral purity of her protege's ; but perhaps she was jus.
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 09 
 
 tified by scripture, which recommends " clean hands" 
 before a " pure heart." 
 
 The old pastor delivered a touching discourse on the 
 opening of the Sabbath-school. He praised and bless- 
 ed the zeal of modern Christians, who identify the reli- 
 gious interests of youth with their own, and he called 
 upon the little children to be ready to join him in the 
 great school of Heaven, where, if they were all good, 
 they would be pupils in God's everlasting lessons of 
 love with him. 
 
 A hymn was then sung, and the children who could 
 be taught in so short a space joined their " small 
 voice ;" then a contribution was announced to be re- 
 ceived, and four teachers took each by the hand a lit- 
 tie scholar, who, with a small basket, advanced to the 
 several pews. Ruth led Susan, and earnestly pushed 
 forward her little hand, forgetting the publicity of the 
 scene in her sympathy with the child. It was difficult 
 not to give those two more than one meant to. Ruth, 
 trembling, sparkling, glowing, pleaded with her lus- 
 trous innocent eyes, while the blue orbs of the pale- 
 faced girl were upturned only to her. 
 
 As Ruth was counting her treasure as soon after the 
 benediction as decency allowed, her eyes fell on a bright 
 gold piece ; it was ten dollars, and no forgery ! Ruth's 
 memory told her when a metallic sound unlike the rest 
 was heard over the little basket.
 
 100 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The Sleigh-ride. An Overturn. Excitement. William a Rich 
 Man. An Offer of Marriage. 
 
 MANY a cheek glowed and many an eye glistened 
 as sleigh after sleigh stopped with jingling bells one 
 fine evening at Mr. Raymond's gate for a moonlight 
 ride. Ruth, wrapped in her furs, stood ready, and 
 sprang into that which was occupied by Doctor Gesner 
 and Isabel. William, who held the reins, extended his 
 hand, and gently but forcibly drew her to the seat be- 
 side him, while Clarendon wrapped her in the buffalo 
 skin, placed the heated bricks at her feet, and took his 
 seat with Isabel and the doctor behind them. 
 
 The order was given, and the jocund train passed 
 on, skimming the sheeted road like birds. 
 
 There was not a cloud in the sky ; the magnificent 
 moon trod her unimpeded way, a very queen, shower. 
 ing down a flood of radiance, kindling up the meanest 
 things with order and loveliness, and harmonizing ev- 
 ery snow-clad bough and blade as they quivered dia- 
 mond-like in the sea of light. The river, bound in 
 frost, lay still ; the rustle of the trees was still ; man 
 and beast were still ; all was silence save the song and 
 laugh that went up from that glancing group. Silvery 
 and sweet it rose on the quiet air, and the moon, as 
 she listened in her complacent love, looked down on 
 the light-hearted ones with such a ray as bewitched 
 Endymion. 
 
 A sleigh-ride offers many opportunities for gentle 
 courtesies. William, who was oceans deep in love,
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 101 
 
 felt his naturally gay humour soften down to a worship, 
 ping tenderness. The moonlight was doubly fair to 
 him, because it dwelt on Ruth, and gave a halo-bright- 
 ness to her beaming face as she sat beside him. 
 
 " Do you remember, Miss Raymond," he whisper- 
 ed, " our first interviews ?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Ruth, laughing, " we were at op- 
 posite sides of the street ; a very pleasant kind of in- 
 tercourse with some people." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Raymond," said the youth, falteringly, 
 " trifle not when all around is so earnest and real. 
 Flatter me with seriousness, and leave jest for daylight 
 and the world." 
 
 Ruth was confused by his earnestness ; and, as he 
 leaned towards her to catch her reply, it was not sur- 
 prising that he should guide his horses on a tremen- 
 dous snowdrift, and upset his precious cargo, while the 
 steeds passed on at an easy gallop. Dr. Gesner was 
 the first to roll out, and incontinently descend to the 
 foot of the hill, where he slowly rose with unintelligible 
 gutturals, and stood square and stiff like a snowman 
 made by schoolboys. Isabel had been aided by a gen- 
 tleman who sprang from the sleigh behind. Claren- 
 don offered no assistance to Ruth ; he stood at a little 
 distance, with folded arms, in silence ; a change had 
 passed over his spirit. William was near her. His 
 heart throbbed as he drew her hand within his arm ; 
 and as he poured out his wild poetic rhapsodies, Ruth 
 forgot that good Doctor Gesner was hobbling towards 
 them, and that Clarendon was walking musingly alone. 
 She was agitated and almost alarmed. Was it love 
 that made her tremble and be silent, or the novelty of 
 inspiring love ? 
 
 .12
 
 102 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 When Ruth reached home, she retreated to her 
 own apartment, and trod the floor again and again in 
 jvery. 
 
 " He said he was poor," she murmured. " Can 
 there be poverty where there is such wealth of mind 
 and heart ? And is it possible that 7, with a word, a 
 look, can make him happy ? Poor William ! I hope 
 he will be happy." 
 
 The next morning, as she sat at work with her 
 mother, a letter was brought her, which she hastily 
 unfolded. Mrs. Raymond looked up from her sewing ; 
 tears were rolling down Ruth's cheeks ; but scarcely 
 had they fallen before a shout of laughter followed, 
 and Ruth absolutely hid her face on the table to hide 
 her hysterical convulsions, as she handed her the fol- 
 lowing lines. 
 
 " Miss Raymond, 
 
 " Was I right in the indications of last evening ? 
 Am I beloved ? Then I had no authority to ask the 
 question, I was a poor man struggling for an honour- 
 able livelihood. Now I have wealth, but what is wealth 
 if the affections are poor ? Even at this moment, when 
 a sudden reverse of fortune has made me affluent, I feel 
 that one answered pulsation from your heart would be 
 worth a thousand worlds. You will think me dream- 
 ing. It seems to me almost that I am. Heaven knows 
 that I shall wish I were without your smiles. Listen 
 to me, and answer ; yet oh delay, if the answer be not 
 what my soul alone sighs for. On returning from our 
 excursion last evening, I found a letter from the exec 
 utor of my maternal uncle, who has died, leaving me 
 an immense fortune on the easy condition that I take
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 103 
 
 his name. How can I show my devotion better than 
 by laying this wealth at your feet ? Take it, dearest 
 Miss Raymond, with a heart that beats only to serve 
 you, a hand whose only pride will be to protect you ; 
 and which, though no longer using the signature of 
 William White, is equally yours as 
 
 " WILLIAM PIPE." 
 
 Ruth peeped through her fingers at her mother, who 
 vainly attempted to preserve her gravity. 
 
 " I am a fool, mamma, I know I am," said Ruth, 
 struggling with her risible tendencies, and wiping her 
 tears at the same time, " to be such a victim of the lu- 
 dicrous. I had no sooner read that name, than the 
 idea of Mrs. Ruth Pipe came into my head and choked 
 me with laughter. I am afraid I was a little in love 
 with William last night, he was so eloquent and yet so 
 delicate ; but I am cured. It could not have been love 
 either, because," and here she burst into renewed 
 laughter, " because, if I really had loved ' a rose by 
 any other name,' &c. you know, mamma." 
 
 The hardest task Ruth ever performed was to write 
 a serious answer to that letter ; and, when it was fin- 
 ished, Mrs. Raymond perceived that she had listlessly 
 scribbled on a blank sheet of paper, in the interim of 
 writing each sentence, " Ruth Pipe !" Mrs. Ruth 
 Pipe !" 
 
 Ruth was not in love.
 
 104 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Ruth's Grotto. A Sister's Love. New Sensations. 
 
 WINTER has passed away. The last mimic ava- 
 lanche has glided down the mountains, and the little 
 rills fall at their feet, whose exhalations, tinged with 
 countless hues of beauty, rise up and roll off amid ce- 
 rulean depths. A bird, Ruth thinks it is the same 
 that has greeted her for three years, sings on her ap- 
 ple-tree bough near the wall. Ruth is thoughtful with 
 joy, to see the snowdrop that peers up in smiles amid 
 the waste of her garden. You remember the rustic 
 bridge leading to the mill, where she chased the but- 
 terfly. Ruth hastened thither with her youngest sis- 
 ter, to see what nature had done there. The stream 
 was flowing merrily, blades of grass were springing, 
 and the rush of waters on the mill -wheel brought 
 back, as sounds so often do, sweet memories. Near 
 the bridge, a semicircular rock made, and concealed 
 too, what Ruth called her grotto. A maple-tree slant- 
 ed from the river bank above it, and shrubbery, rising 
 below and around, shut out its interior from the very 
 few wanderers who chanced to visit her father's 
 grounds. Here she had floated her mimic boats 
 poor, girlish efforts chips with riband sails ; here she 
 had brought her dolls, placing Miss Beauty on the soft- 
 est moss, and made for the inanimate group an enter- 
 tainment of mud puddings. As time advanced, she 
 found this spot still more favourable than her apple- 
 tree-seat to study and to music ; now she sought it for
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 105 
 
 reflection. The dry leaves, whirled to the enclosure 
 by autumnal winds, were piled up within ; and, placing 
 her little sister on a stone at the entrance, too high for 
 her to reach herself, she began gathering them up in 
 her hands, and throwing them into the river. Little 
 Rosalie quietly watched her sister's busy motions, and 
 murmuring something like a tune, kept time by knock- 
 ing her suspended feet against the stone, while Ruth, 
 as she passed from distributing her gathered leaves, 
 stole a kiss from the child's white forehead. 
 
 Her labour was nearly completed, when, as she 
 stooped to gather up the leaves in the farthest recess, 
 her hand touched something cold, and a large black- 
 snake reared itself almost to her very face ; then rapid- 
 ly sinking and retreating, coiled itself near a shrub, 
 where a bed of withered leaves yet remained between 
 herself and Rosalie. Unconscious of the vicinity of 
 the reptile, the child kept on singing her broken snatch- 
 es of infantile tunes until startled by Ruth's sudden cry 
 of alarm. 
 
 "Run, Rosalie, run away!" she exclaimed, fearing 
 to move, lest the reptile should glide towards the child. 
 
 Rosalie looked wonderingly at her sister, but moved 
 not. 
 
 " Go, dear little sister ! go away, go away, Rosalie, 
 for God's sake !" and Ruth's voice rose to a shriek of 
 terror, for she dreaded that the snake, though fearful 
 of man, might attack the child. Rosalie extended her 
 arms to her sister and ceased her song. Ruth looked 
 round for some offensive weapon ; none presented itself; 
 the slight shrubbery that sprang about the fissures of 
 the rock was all that met her eye ; at length one object 
 arrested her attention. At a jutting point of the rock
 
 106 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 above the serpent, she saw a loose fragment of stone ; 
 and, deliberately calculating its distance from Rosalie, 
 without thinking of her own risk, she decided to attempt 
 the ascent and throw it down. Love led her on. With 
 a motion as soft as that around the bed of a dear slum- 
 berer, she unfastened her slippers from her feet, and 
 clinging, with an almost convulsive grasp, to the first 
 slight projection, sprang to a broader ledge. Rosalie 
 resumed her song. Ruth looked up in doubt; the 
 maple leaned just above her ; one single step more, and 
 she could reach it with her hand ; but there was no step ; 
 she must spring up towards it, or lose her only hope. 
 Rosalie still sang, and her sweet, happy notes nerved a 
 sister's love. Planting her foot firmly on the ledge, 
 she leaped upward; the maple branch was attained 
 with one hand ; a vibratory swing brought her body 
 against the top of the rock ; she bent one instant upon 
 it, then, with a spasmodic effort, threw herself above. 
 Panting, she looked below. The snake, disturbed by 
 the rustling, began to uncoil. Rosalie sang on. Ruth 
 hastened to the rocky fragment, looked once more cau- 
 tiously below, then thrust both hands against it. It fel). 
 Ruth closed her eyes dizzily. She had never harmed 
 a fly before, life was so dear to her. She did not look 
 again, but hastened down the river bank to the entrance 
 of her grotto. The stone had fallen surely. A part 
 of the mangled reptile quivered in sight. Rosalie, 
 frightened and wondering, held out her arms to Ruth, 
 who took the child in her own, nor spake a word, nor 
 gave her one caress, until she had passed out of sight 
 of the rock ; then kissing her with tumultuous joy, she 
 threw herself on the ground as weak as infancy. 
 That spot, sacred before to Ruth, became doubly so
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 107 
 
 now ; but it was several days before she had courage 
 to visit it, and then with a thoughtful, grateful heart, she 
 went and paused at the entrance. But what a change ! 
 the withered leaves of autumn were all carefully re- 
 moved ; beautiful mosses decorated the rough interior ; 
 and a bouquet of greenhouse flowers was thrown on 
 her favourite seat. She searched busily around ; to 
 common eyes, no sign appeared to tell the author of 
 this delicate and graceful tribute to her feelings ; but 
 as she gazed in silence, a rich blush rose mantling on 
 her cheek ; on and on it went, over forehead, and neck, 
 and arms ; a smile dimpled round her mouth ; a sigh, 
 full, soft, and blissful, rushed up from her heart's depths ; 
 a dewy brightness glittered on her eyes. She took the 
 flowers in her hand, and a thrill from their odorous 
 beauty stole through her frame. She pressed them to 
 her lips, she murmured a name amid their leaves. 
 There was no witness, no listener ; the secret of that 
 throbbing heart was all its own.
 
 108 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Delicate Positions. Ruth's Character unfolds. Glimpses into 
 Hearts. 
 
 " YOTT have been so eloquent about this law.case of 
 your father's, that I almost wish it was yours, and, more 
 than that, I wish I were a man to hear it," said Ruth 
 Raymond, as Clarendon and herself leaned on the low 
 railing of the foot-bridge, alternately looking up, as the 
 sun, wrapped in gorgeous drapery, rolled to the west, 
 and downward on the reflected image of the heavens in 
 the stream. Every object was as clearly defined below 
 as above ; the shading of every leaf on the bending 
 trees, the moss on the rocks, the slightest cloud, were 
 all brought to the lower picture with an almost startling 
 distinctness. 
 
 " If I am called upon, I shall pray as to a patron 
 saint," said Clarendon, "for such inspiration as you 
 could give." 
 
 Two thirds of the power of this remark lay in its 
 emphasis ; and Ruth, who usually looked full in the face 
 of those who addressed her, found occasion to watch 
 intently some rose-leaves which she had torn to pieces 
 and thrown into the stream. 
 
 " Poor rose-leaves !" murmured Clarendon, in a tone 
 that, in the stillness, just reached her ear as she bowed 
 over the railing ; " Ruth Raymond throws you away !' 
 
 Clarendon could not see her face, for her hair fell 
 about her cheek and shaded it ; so he bent over the rail- 
 ing, and Ruth became conscious that he was gazing in
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 109 
 
 the glassy surface below, to see her image reflected 
 there. 
 
 " You need not pity the rose-leaves," she said, care- 
 lessly, " for they have found a nice Ruth Raymond in 
 the water ; and look, Mr. Clarendon ! the reflection 
 of that dark purple cloud is an exact likeness of old 
 Dr. Gesner too ; his capacious mouth, his huge shoul- 
 ders, with a supplementary ornament of farmer Mans- 
 field's queue by way of finish !" 
 
 The words that had been welling up from Clarendon's 
 heart of hearts were thrust back ; he surrendered his 
 earnest, truthful mood with a sigh, and the hope of re- 
 newing a subject to which Ruth's ardent expression of 
 interest in his success had given rise, was crushed by 
 the appearance of Dr. Gesner, no shadow. 
 
 "Why is that young man idling here?" said Mr. 
 Raymond, who approached as Clarendon departed. 
 
 " You do him great injustice, papa," said Ruth, indig- 
 nantly. " He has been preparing himself for several 
 weeks to assist his infirm father as junior counsel in the 
 case of Leeds and Whittesby." 
 
 " And he comes to read law in your eyes, Ruth, eh ?" 
 
 " No, sir," said Ruth, very gravely ; " Mr. Clarendon 
 has not been to the village for two weeks ; and he came 
 to-day, after a bewildering examination into legal ref- 
 erences, exhausted by midnight study, with the hope 
 that the sight of calm and beautiful nature might re- 
 fresh him. He trembles for his father's reputation, 
 since the old gentleman persists in conducting the case 
 himself, and, besides, is agitated at the prospect of his 
 first effort. He could not have had a more inspiring 
 evening than this," continued Ruth, glad to escape to 
 the portico, where the long twilight glimmered through
 
 110 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 the tree-tops, while fantastic shapes were revealed in 
 the shrubbery below. Tempted by the scene, she 
 strayed down the gravel-walk, and gave herself up to 
 a rapturous adoration of nature. 
 
 Keeping the parlour lights in view, she went no far- 
 ther than her apple-tree bough. Singing to herself, 
 and looking upward, to see star after star marshalled 
 above, she was disturbed by hearing some one leap the 
 wall. She started, but without alarm. It might be 
 the gardener, and she simply asked who was there. 
 
 " It is I," said Clarendon, with some embarrassment. 
 " As I was about to enter the boat, the young moon 
 stood so serene and quiet among the hill-tops, that I 
 could not resist asking you to see it with me ; so I took 
 the shortest path back, and, hearing your voice, sprang 
 over the wall." 
 
 Ruth's heart fluttered like a frightened bird ; but she 
 rallied herself, and said quietly, 
 
 " The moon has behaved as all discreet ladies ought, 
 and gone to rest ; and let me tell you a secret, Mr. 
 Clarendon. I have been obliged to defend you against 
 a charge of idleness with all my dignity since your de- 
 parture, and used up a part of the eloquent speech you 
 made me about recreating your overtasked mind 
 among the works of nature. What excuse shall I 
 give for this romantic movement ?" and, as she spoke, 
 she turned towards the house. 
 
 " I scarcely know or care," said Clarendon, throw- 
 ing himself on the mound by her side, and gently de- 
 taining her scarf. " Believe me, that, for the last fort- 
 night, my imagination amid the drudgery of the office 
 has revelled only in halls of legislation. I have been 
 grappling with gigantic shadows, while the wish for
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. Ill 
 
 usefulness and fame was paramount to every other de- 
 sire. I did come here, in truth, to be soothed and re- 
 freshed by nature, after undue excitement ; but one look 
 of yours, an unconscious look too, changed my whole 
 being. Ruth, Miss Raymond, if I could see once more 
 the expression that was reflected in the stream this 
 evening ! Oh for one ray of light to tell me if it is 
 now the same." 
 
 There was no light to tell whether those intellectual 
 eyes were softened to tenderness, whether even tears 
 did not stand on their fringed lids ; no light to tell if a 
 dimpling smile of conscious triumph mocked the tears ; 
 and what if the silken scarf which Clarendon held flut- 
 tered more than it was wont over that young bosom ? 
 Was not the western wind at work amid its folds ? 
 
 Ruth had an innate sense of propriety, that invaria- 
 bly pointed the right way in action, though her words 
 might sometimes too much overflow. Gentle but firm 
 was her voice as she answered, 
 
 " This 'is not the hour or place, Mr. Clarendon, for 
 expressions like yours. The appearance of a clandes- 
 tine meeting is revolting to me. Besides, you are ca- 
 pricious to-night. At sunset the law was your lady- 
 love, next the new moon crazed you, and now you are 
 looking in the dark for an expression that went under 
 the mill with the tide an hour ago. Good-night ; a 
 sunshiny day and a righteous judge for your cause." 
 
 Clarendon's was that first, timid, doubting love which 
 a word can repulse. He retreated in silence, but Ruth 
 knew that he pressed the fringe of her scarf to his lips 
 as she drew it from him. She heard him leap the wall, 
 and felt dizzy and faint as she retraced her steps on 
 the gravelled walk. Seated in the parlour, sights and
 
 112 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 sounds seemed floating about her like visions. Once 
 or twice it appeared to her that soft music was near 
 her; the other members of the circle, however, only 
 heard Dr. Gesner, who was overcome by a long chase 
 after a dragon-fly, snore. 
 
 Clarendon drew a long breath, stood erect, looked 
 up to the stars, and, like a good ship after a lee-lurch, 
 righted himself and darted on his way. It was rare 
 that he gave himself up to impulse ; and, after a rapid 
 walk, he began to fear that he had been extra-sentiment- 
 al, to go two miles to ask a young lady to see a moon 
 which was setting among the hilltops, to say nothing 
 of looking in her eyes in the dark for an expression 
 he had seen in the water, the most distorting and ex- 
 aggerating of elements. He diligently renewed his 
 studies on the morrow ; and, if he sometimes looked up 
 from a brief, as a haunting smile, a floating curl, a 
 happy footstep, or a thrilling tone came on his memo- 
 ry, who shall blame him, since he often said to himself, 
 " She is guileless ; she is a respectful, tender child ; a 
 considerate sister, a bright, warm-hearted companion ; 
 her hopes are heavenward, she is the sunshine of her 
 home ! I will do something worthy of Ruth Raymond !"
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 118 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Ruth's Singing. A Letter. The case of Leeds and Whittesby. 
 Ruth Weeps. A Denouement expected. 
 
 "!T was fresh and laughing June," as Mrs. Ray. 
 mond, her pale hand guiding her needle, sat in the 
 same shaded parlour where Ruth whispered her first 
 juvenile secrets ; and though the bloom and elasticity 
 of her youth were gone, the grace of matronly dignity, 
 a tenderness that looked with love on a fading world, 
 was thrown around her. No harsh repining or doubt 
 impressed its tone on her features. It seemed that as 
 the landscape of life grew dim, the colours were soft- 
 ened ; as the waters reached the precipice, they be- 
 came more smooth. 
 
 Ruth entered with a sheet of music paper, and 
 stumbling over Perdita, now a patriarch among the 
 cats, sat down to the piano, laughing at her own awk- 
 wardness. A very trifle often brings up a long train 
 of associations, and this laugh carried Mrs. Raymond 
 far back ; it was so fresh, and young, and childlike, 
 that she looked up at Ruth almost expecting to see the 
 little form and tossing hair of the rope-skipper of sev- 
 en ; but the laugh had ceased, and the mother recognised 
 in the modelled form, and the chaste and elevated ex- 
 pression, her more matured child. Ruth was singing 
 " Here awa' there awa' wandering Willie," the exqui- 
 site tenderness of which was suited perfectly to the 
 character of her voice. Mrs. Raymond's heart thrilled, 
 K 2
 
 114 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 and hex* eyes were moistened, as, with a distinct, impas- 
 sioned utterance, almost like recitative, she sang, 
 
 " Winter winds blew cauld and loud at our parting, 
 Fears for my Willie brought tears to my e'e ; 
 Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, 
 The simmer to nature, my Willie to me." 
 
 Mrs. Raymond had a faith that voices would not be 
 lost. I shall hear those tones again, she whispered to 
 herself, sublimated, refined, among angel choirs. 
 
 Ruth was interrupted by a servant with a large 
 packet. 
 
 " It is from Isabel at New-York, mamma," she 
 said, starting up, breaking the seal. As she glanced 
 at the first page, a deep blush suffused her face, and she 
 stood embarrassed. 
 
 " I should like to read this letter alone," she then 
 said, hurriedly ; and giving her mother a kind of apol- 
 ogetic kiss, ran quickly down the garden path to her 
 grotto. 
 
 The reader and I can peep over her shoulder. 
 
 " In a quiet corner at the end of your double letter, 
 dearest Ruth, which is filled with such a glorious de- 
 scription of your sunsets, such excellent criticisms on 
 Gibbon, and such valid arguments on the propriety of 
 young ladies studying logic, I find this question : ' Do 
 you think Mr. Clarendon will be called upon to speak 
 in the Leeds and Whittesby case ?' 
 
 " As this is the only question in your three pages, 
 I feel bound to answer it at large. 
 
 " Clarendon has spoken, and is the lion of the day. 
 To say the truth, I did not expect he would be a good 
 orator on the nonce, he is so singularly quiet, advances 
 his opinions with such modesty, and has so little en-
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 115 
 
 thusiasm of character." (Here Ruth smiled somewhat 
 roguishly.) " But father, who is not easily moved, 
 came home last night in raptures with him. The 
 circumstances were these : Old Mr. Clarendon, who 
 is almost superannuated, is very tenacious of his legal 
 reputation, and cannot bear an insinuation of decay, 
 undertook the case. His son accompanied him to the 
 courthouse, and sustained him by quiet but adroit at- 
 tentions. As he watched every look and motion of his 
 father, who is somewhat deaf, no one suspected that his 
 mental eye was fixed steadfast and keen on the oppo- 
 site counsel, who, having opened the process with spirit, 
 clearness, and grace, propitiated the favour of the judge, 
 secured the attention of the audience, and made his 
 client half a head taller with sudden hope. 
 
 4< As old Mr. Clarendon arose to reply, that change 
 was perceptible which follows when an animated and 
 forcible speaker gives place to a prosing one. Re- 
 spect for his character and past services at the bar 
 preserved the court from any open manifestations ; but 
 the uneasy motion, the half encouraged cough, the 
 crumpled papers, the outstretched foot scraping on the 
 sandy floor, gave ample testimony to the presence of a 
 tolerated bore. Matters stood thus for about a quarter 
 of an hour, when suddenly the old man's strength 
 failed, and he sank into a seat panting and exhausted. 
 Clarendon gave him one keen glance of inquiry, and 
 then rose gracefully and unhesitatingly in his place. 
 He dwelt for a few moments respectfully and tenderly 
 on his father's position and his own, then entered at 
 once the mazes of litigation. His voice, you know, 
 Ruth, is almost feminine ; but father says it swelled to 
 such a noble distinctness that no word was lost ; a
 
 116 LOVERS PROGRESS. 
 
 bright clear spot flushed his usually pale cheeks, and 
 his dark eyes (so soft with us, Ruth) flashed with ear- 
 nestness and intellectual power. Father says he could 
 think of nothing so much like him as the sun rising 
 amid clouds. Mist after mist rolled off, and left his 
 argument and his case clear as a summer noon. And 
 then it was so affecting to see the old man. Recover- 
 ing gradually, his feeble form sat erect, but a kind of 
 surprise, as if awakening from a dream, came over 
 him ; then placing his hand behind his ear, and leaning 
 forward, he listened intently as a Delphian priest to the 
 ancient oracles ; then gaining strength, stood up, his 
 white hair falling forward ; he then clinched the side 
 of his coat next his heart, as if to keep it still ; twice 
 he almost gasped for breath, still oftener passed his 
 handkerchief over his eyes, and then, growing care- 
 less of observation, he let the large tears roll unheeded 
 down his cheek. The plea was closed, and as a con- 
 gratulating murmur arose, Clarendon turned round 
 to the old man, who still stood as if listening, and 
 whispered, 
 
 " ' Shall I accompany you home ?' 
 
 " ' God be thanked !' was the only reply ; and as the 
 father and son went out, a new murmur of approbation 
 passed round. 
 
 " I cannot tell you, my dear Ruth, any of the tech- 
 nicalities of the case, but I know that it is gained 
 outright, and that Clarendon's first fee will enable 
 him to carry a fine stock of sugarplums to little Ros- 
 alie." 
 
 After reading this letter Ruth threw her handker. 
 chief over her face, and leaned her head against the
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 117 
 
 rock. A sweet but mighty stream was rushing over 
 her whole soul. 
 
 " It is of no use to struggle," she said, starting up ; 
 " I must have my cry out !" and weep she did, with the 
 sobbing thoroughness of a spoiled child. 
 
 Relieved by this indulgence, she bathed her eyes at 
 the river bank, and returning to her mother, gave her 
 the letter. That evening Mr. Raymond read aloud 
 at the teatable the report of the case of Leeds and 
 Whittesby, and Ruth had the rich joy of hearing Clar- 
 endon's praises from her father's lips. A letter of the 
 softest embossed paper accompanied the newspaper 
 from the office, which Mr. Raymond handed to Ruth. 
 It contained only a few words. 
 
 " Will you be in your grotto to-morrow afternoon at 
 five o'clock? Tell your parents that I ask this fa- 
 vour. ALFRED CLARENDON." 
 
 Ruth passed the letter to her father, who read and 
 handed it to her mother. There was a smile from one 
 and a nod from the other, and no one spoke; but 
 Ruth knew thai she might go to the grotto ; and so, 
 laying the letter next her heart, she fell into divers 
 reveries.
 
 118 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 The Interview. A Thunder-storm. Ruth a Creature to be Loved. 
 
 RUTH came from the toilet for the challenged inter- 
 view simple and pure as the blossom that waits the 
 morning sun. The slight vanity that might have en- 
 ticed her to linger at her mirror gave place to a more 
 absorbing sentiment. She heeded not the glow that 
 gathered on her cheek, nor felt the airy motion with 
 which she trod, nor marked the tremulous lustre of the 
 eyes that turned mechanically to smooth the wave of 
 her glossy hair. She longed for solitude ; and hasten- 
 ing, with unaffected directness, to the grotto before the 
 appointed hour, seated herself with her fingers between 
 the leaves of a book. But her mind was not there ; 
 the rustle of the trees, the rush of the mill-wheel start- 
 led her ; now she paced the limited area of her rocky 
 enclosure, now impatiently looked abroad, where the 
 waters glittered through the hanging branches ; but, 
 when a real footstep approached, gathered up her maid- 
 en dignity, and sat collected and demure. 
 
 Clarendon came, and in a moment was seated on the 
 low stone at her feet. Glad was he to see the chan- 
 ging colour flit over her expressive face, glad at the 
 tremour that parted her vainly-compressed lips. 
 
 " May I call you Ruth while I tell you the story of 
 my heart ?" he whispered. 
 
 " You may call me Ruth," was the reply. 
 
 " May I hold this hand as a pledge that you will 
 bear me patiently?" he added.
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 119 
 
 The hand was not withdrawn, and for a while Clar. 
 endon could not speak. It seemed enough to him to 
 feel that treasure within his grasp. He gazed upon 
 it, smoothed its soft surface, and then laid his fore- 
 head against it, that its throbbings might be calmed. 
 
 " You had a story of your heart to tell me," said 
 Ruth, falteringly. 
 
 Clarendon raised his eyes to hers. There must have 
 been inspiration in those full-fringed orbs, for his words 
 burst forth with an energy that called up Ruth's blush, 
 es and tears in struggling mastery such tears as can 
 only once be shed the rainbow tears of a young heart 
 whose new happiness is too intense for smiles. 
 
 And there, in the simplicity of nature, with earth for 
 their altar and heaven for their witness, were they 
 pledged together for weal or wo. May I look longer 
 on that scene ? The robin that whistled on the peach- 
 tree bough above them told not the tale in song ; the 
 grasshopper, vibrating on the emerald shaft at their 
 feet, hummed not the story to his mate ; the fish that 
 sprang upward in the transparent stream, went down 
 again in considerate silence to the pebbly bottom ; 
 and even a twinkling-eyed toad, whose home was in a 
 corner of the grotto, raised his jewelled head, and then 
 leaped reverently away. 
 
 An hour passed by, and the lovers saw not the cloud 
 that was rolling above the hills, nor heard the rever- 
 berating harbinger of a summer shower. The little 
 spot that enclosed them was the world, lit by the sun- 
 shine of their loving eyes ; and, before they suspected 
 the coming evil, a gleam of vivid lightning filled the 
 grotto, a burst of thunder shook the rock, and a gush 
 of winds rent the beech- tree above them. A messen.
 
 120 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 ger came rapidly from the house to aid their return ; 
 but Clarendon deemed it most safe to remain under the 
 protection of the rock until the brunt of the storm sub- 
 sided. Wrapping Ruth tenderly in a cloak, and bra- 
 cing an umbrella strongly over her, he perhaps felt 
 glad that the elementary war without thus threw her 
 under his protection. 
 
 " Life will have its storms, my own Ruth," he said, 
 " and thus shall I protect you, and thus will you glad- 
 den me." 
 
 And Ruth became assured amid the tempest. The 
 almost troubled joy of her heart was hushed ; the re- 
 lation in which she stood to Clarendon assumed a 
 quiet confidence, and she turned to him as her guar- 
 dian. The lightning played round her, and she stood 
 bright and calm as a chiselled column ; the thunder 
 groaned and echoed from summit to summit, but her 
 voice sounded silvery clear in the tumult of the ele- 
 ments. 
 
 A few large drops fell from the clouds, then the va- 
 pours rapidly parted, and the cerulean sky looked glo- 
 riously through ; gradually the winds sank to rest, the 
 thunder told a muttering story among the distant val- 
 leys, a rainbow arched the hills, and the western sun, 
 robed like a conqueror, stood a moment seemingly still, 
 then sank in flashing honours to repose. 
 
 As Clarendon and Ruth passed from the grotto, he 
 drew her gently to the bridge. They bent a moment 
 over the railing together, but the agitated waters gave 
 back no look of love. Did no sad presentiment tell 
 them that thus the stream of their affections might be 
 darkened and ruffled by an overruling destiny? that 
 a more fearful storm might rend those hearts on which
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 121 
 
 life's sunshine seemed to rest so proudly ? No such 
 doubt was with them. There needed no mirror now 
 to give Ruth's expression to her lover's eye. Her 
 confiding smile made its free, untrammelled confession. 
 
 And who might stand more erect than they amid 
 life's sunshine ? A pure and righteous love united 
 them, wealth and the world's regard were before them, 
 beauty and manliness their dower. They hastened 
 homeward for their crowning joy, the parental blessing, 
 and Ruth, as she was pressed in her parents' arms, and 
 saw her lover welcomed like a son to their affections, 
 thought that earth could give nothing more of bliss. 
 
 " Mr. Clarendon," said Mrs. Raymond, in a soften- 
 ed tone, as he bade her good-night, and stood lingering 
 beside Ruth, " I know that you feel the value of such 
 a treasure as my child has given you in herself. I 
 know you will love and cherish her ; but forgive the 
 thought that grows spiritual as earth fades away. Re- 
 member that, in the better world to which I am hast- 
 ening, I shall ask for my child." And as she said this, 
 her eye glanced upward from Ruth's bending form to 
 heaven. 
 
 Touched and subdued by her gentle solemnity, Clar- 
 endon took the hand of his betrothed, and vowed, as 
 he valued his own soul, to guide hers to her spiritual 
 home. 
 
 It was a perpetual surprise to Clarendon to study, 
 as time flew by, the development of Ruth's character 
 and charms ; the heart-gayety that sent its happy 
 flashes into the family circle ; the soberer thought that 
 could appreciate his graver tone ; the refined taste that 
 seemed instinctively to choose whatever was of the 
 purest texture in books, in society, in nature ; the 
 L
 
 122 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 beauty that now sparkled and glowed in her brilliant 
 cheeks and eyes, now softened to pensiveness on her 
 shading lids ; the songs, once for the many, now for 
 him, which came forth from her lips, not like a written 
 melody, but as a bird would sing, soul-taught ; those 
 motions, graceful, pliant, home-like, that accompanied 
 the presented flower, the dancing-step, the broken song, 
 the unstudied recitation of a poet's lay ; and lovelier 
 still, the moral growth, the indignant burst against all 
 that was base ; the lofty, enthusiastic love of goodness ; 
 the very faults of precipitation, that called up blushes 
 and tears in atonement ; all these Clarendon was al- 
 lowed to trace from day to day in a few stolen hours 
 of love, and who shall say how much their memory il- 
 luminated the dry pagqs of legal lore, or softened the 
 dusty details of the courtroom ?
 
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 123 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A Cloud on Ruth's Happiness. A Promise. Death. 
 
 RUTH was aroused from this spell of happiness by a 
 mysterious depression in her mother. She had been 
 accustomed to see in her an appearance of delicacy 
 and debility, and had watched her for the last year 
 with peculiar care, placing her chair in the warmest or 
 coolest spot, supporting her arm through the garden, 
 walks, and studying all those tender arts that a kind 
 sensibility engenders. But this debility was accom- 
 panied by a cheerfulness that seemed the spontaneous 
 growth of a happy heart, as well as the offspring of a 
 religious trust. She was the playmate of her children, 
 a companion for all. Now a change had certainly, 
 sadly come ; and one day, when Ruth perceived that 
 she had been weeping, she resolved delicately, but 
 carefully, to study the change in this precious being. 
 
 "You are not anxious about papa's cough now," 
 said Ruth. " I never knew him so gay. He seems 
 growing young again." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Raymond, bending over her work, 
 " he is in unusual spirits. I hope he will travel in the 
 spring." 
 
 " With you, mamma ?" said Ruth, anxiously ; " you 
 seem very feeble." 
 
 Mrs. Raymond looked up with a serious but serene 
 expression, which seemed to say, " There will be no 
 spring for me in this world*"
 
 124 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 " I wish I could feel sure that you are happy," said 
 Ruth, tenderly ; " I have feared lately that you were not. 
 If / had a sorrow, I would tell it all to you. And why 
 should you not be happy ? We are all in health ; papa 
 is as gay as a boy" (Ruth did not perceive a slight 
 shudder pass over her mother's delicate frame), u and 
 I you must sympathize in my hopes." 
 
 " God knows, my child," said Mrs. Raymond, " my 
 gratitude for his mercies, and chiefly that he has bless- 
 ed you with Clarendon's love. I look forward to your 
 connexion with him with perpetual hope, and consign 
 you to him as to an angel-messenger to lead you to 
 heaven." 
 
 This sweet and tender sentiment led Ruth off from 
 her mother's feelings to her own, and the cloud seem- 
 ed to fade away from both. A few weeks passed away 
 happily to Ruth. Her father had thrown off a natural 
 reserve of manner, and was singularly communica- 
 tive and facetious. One day, however, at dinner, in 
 a pause of conversation, Ruth looked up at him, and 
 saw his eyes fixed on her mother with an intensity 
 amounting to ferocity. As Ruth looked, the expres- 
 sion changed, and he laughed out abruptly and painful- 
 ly, while her mother turned very pale. It was strange. 
 Ruth felt her blood curdle, but her mother smiled her 
 gentle, tranquil smile, and all seemed as before. But 
 that look haunted Ruth for days, and once she dream- 
 ed that her father fixed it on her until she became ri. 
 gid and was turned to stone. At length that too pass- 
 ed away, and love and hope outgrew the stranger-plant 
 of fear. If Mrs. Raymond had a sorrow peculiarly 
 her own, she bore her cross in secret, in secret wore
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 125 
 
 her crown of thorns, while Ruth was ignorant and 
 happy. 
 
 But the springtime of earth was not to blossom for 
 Mrs. Raymond. First the sunshiny walk was given up, 
 then her chair by the parlour fire was vacated, then 
 she could no longer lean on Ruth's arm to see the sun- 
 set from her window, nor tend the geraniums that stood 
 with quiet leaves as if they knew her hand. The chil- 
 dren trod round her bedside on tiptoe ; but Mr. Ray- 
 mond's step was hurried and bustling, unlike the lei- 
 surely step of former years. At length a chill east 
 wind brought on a fever, and she knew that she must 
 die. 
 
 Ruth was by her bedside at twilight, a solemn hour 
 at any time, but chiefly so when death's shadows are 
 gathering over one we love. There was no sound 
 but the wind moaning without, the irregular crackling 
 of the fire, the monotonous tick of the watch, and the 
 laboured breath of the sufferer, telling how life strug. 
 gled in its prison. 
 
 The invalid moved uneasily on her pillow. 
 "Dear mamma!" said Ruth, whispering, for she 
 knew not what to say. 
 
 " Lock the door," said Mrs. Raymond, with effort ; 
 " I must speak with you alone." 
 
 Ruth obeyed, and nestled by her mother's side. 
 " I must not conceal from you, my poor girl," said 
 her mother, in slow and laboured accents, " that you 
 are soon to lose me, perhaps this very night." (Ruth 
 screamed with terror, but that gentle voice recalled 
 her.) "My physician has told me this, and I am 
 ready to go, ready to obey God's will in death as in 
 life. But I must say a few words to you while my rea. 
 L 2
 
 126 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 son is preserved to me. Prepare yourself, call up re. 
 ligion to your aid, for your trial is near. Ruth, my 
 blessed child," and here the sufferer's voice sank to a 
 whisper, " for the last few months my life has been one 
 of hypocrisy. My heart has been breaking beneath 
 smiles. Your father's character has undergone a 
 fearful change." (Here Ruth felt the bed shake with 
 the convulsive tremour of her dying mother.) " I have 
 no strength nor heart to tell you how this change has 
 operated ; the whole aim of my existence has been to 
 conceal it. Ruth, your father hales me." (Here Ruth 
 recalled that look which had so terribly excited her.) 
 " At times he bends over me with such looks, and then 
 hour by hour I hear his sleepless footstep, tramp, 
 tramp, till it enters my very brain. Oh God, that it 
 should be so ! Oh God, that I who would die for him 
 should be his victim ! My faith, my hope is, that with 
 my death the balance of his character may be resto- 
 red ; but should it not, it is for you, Ruth, to preserve 
 his reputation at all hazards. Swear to me" (and in 
 her excitement she rose up in bed, forgetful of her weak- 
 ness), " swear to me that you will be to him as a child, 
 what I have been as a wife ; that you will conceal his 
 infirmities, and not breathe them to the winds. Ruth," 
 she continued, almost wildly extending her emaciated 
 arm, and reeling to and fro, " swear." 
 
 Ruth knelt by the bedside as in a terrified dream, 
 but her voice became collected as she said, 
 
 "I will be to my father as a child, what you have 
 been to him as a wife, so help me God." 
 
 Mrs. Raymond sank on her pillow, and Ruth remain- 
 ed on her knees, burying her head in the bedclothes, 
 and striving to think amid her gushing tears. Sudden-
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 127 
 
 ly she perceived that no breath was to be heard ; and, 
 extending her hand to that of her mother, she felt it 
 cold and rigid in her grasp. Was this death, death ? 
 With a wild and piercing cry she fell on the floor, and 
 when the door was forced for admittance, was found 
 insensible. 
 
 That is a dim, cold hour that familiarizes the young 
 with death, the contrast with living things is so ter- 
 ribly vast. Ruth rose from the bed on which she had 
 been laid, and walked resolutely to her mother's apart- 
 ment. The bustle for the newly dead was over ; 
 friends and attendants moved with that light tread 
 which jarred not the senseless form, their eyes turning, 
 as they moved on the white shroud, as if they might 
 disturb her repose. The face of the death-sleeper was 
 calm, and her hands crossed quietly on her breast. 
 
 Poor Ruth ! for eighteen years she had felt the pres- 
 sure of those warm and tender hands ; they had 
 chafed her frosty, dimpled fingers in childhood ; they 
 had rested on her forehead in sickness ; then there 
 had been the richer clasp, when the younger heart had 
 reached the sacred portal of filial sympathy, and hand 
 lay in hand, because soul became endeared to soul. 
 And she should feel that touch no more; the close 
 coffin, the heavy earth, would hide her mother. It was 
 a bitter thought ; nature almost scorned the decree 
 that should sever such a tie. Those lips must speak 
 their wonted accents of love, those eyes must unclose 
 to meet hers. Ruth laid her hand upon the brow, the 
 lips. They were cold, cold ; she knew that this was 
 death, and her heart seemed breaking. 
 
 Her father wept, and tried to comfort her ; she was 
 still and tearless, and turned to him vacantly; the
 
 128 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 children stood around her, claiming her as their moth* 
 er now, and asked her to cry, because it would make 
 her feel better ; but no tears came. At length Claren- 
 don arrived, and folded her in his arms beside that 
 death-couch. He had loved that mother well ; he 
 knew the truth, the fadeless beauty of her lovely mind. 
 
 " Let us weep together, my own Ruth," he said, as 
 he pressed her to his heart. " I would that she had 
 been my mother ; but she is sanctified in my memory 
 as such. We will never forget her, dearest ; we will 
 talk of her, and love the spirit that hovers near to bless 
 us. Weep, weep, my beloved, but let me wipe away 
 your tears." 
 
 Then Ruth wept, but she could not be comforted.
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 129 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Ruth and her Father. The Burial. 
 
 RUTH lingered in her mother's apartment after Clar- 
 endon's departure. She could no longer arrange the 
 pillow on the cold, hard bedstead to which that dear 
 form was transferred, but she smoothed the shroud, 
 and pressed down the snowy eyelids, and parted the 
 hair, whose sprinklings of white showed the first foot- 
 step of age or anxiety. No fear possessed her, for 
 stronger emotions prevailed, and drove the common 
 shudderings at death away. It seemed to her that 
 while she could kiss her lips and press her hand, some, 
 thing of her mother remained to her. 
 
 Mr. Raymond sat in the parlour, soothing the lamen- 
 tations that broke in sudden bursts from the children. 
 He put Rosalie to bed himself with more than cus- 
 tomary care, told her that her mamma was in heaven, 
 and that she must love her still ; and when Ruth went 
 below from her mournful duties in the apartment of 
 death, she found him with his head bent over a table, 
 and his face hidden by his hands. A gush of tender- 
 ness rushed over her afflicted heart, and softened the 
 memory of that fearful death-scene. Was it not, 
 thought she, the delirium of disease that had operated 
 on her mother's last moments ? It would almost seem 
 so ; and with rapid reasoning she resolved that it was 
 so ; and, going to her father, for she loved him fondly, 
 she knelt down, and entwined her arms around him. 
 He seemed agitated and subdued, returned her caresses,
 
 130 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 and, speaking in the broken tones of grief, bade her a 
 fond good-night, and retired to rest. 
 
 Ruth said her sobbing prayers, and crept shiveringly 
 to bed beside the motherless Rosalie, whose quiet re- 
 pose gave no token of her recent tears. She sought 
 her little warm hand, and crushed it closely in her 
 own, as if to feel its life ; but she could not sleep. 
 Tumultuous feelings worked at her heartstrings. 
 
 " It was a wild death-fancy of that blessed spirit," 
 thought she. " Strange, that God should have given 
 such a dreary exit to one whose whole joy was to 
 bless others. I should have thought she would soar 
 upward in a vision of love and joy. Oh, mother, 
 mother," she ejaculated aloud, " I could have borne to 
 see you go in peace to your eternal home, but in men- 
 tal darkness, in despair ! Oh God, it is too sad, 
 too fearful !" 
 
 The clock on the stairway struck two, yet Ruth 
 slept not ; and suddenly she was startled by footsteps 
 in the passage, and saw a gleam of light beneath her 
 door, and heard the lock of her mother's room turn. 
 Conscious that it could only be her father, her heart 
 beat very wildly, and, raising herself from her pillow, 
 she listened intently. No sound was heard but Rosa- 
 lie's light breath. Ruth laid herself again on her 
 pillow ; her pulse grew more excited, her head throbbed 
 with the excess of her sensations. " Yet why," she 
 thought for a moment, " might not love have prompted 
 this solitary nocturnal visit ? What could or should 
 keep a fond husband from the remains of one so lovely ?" 
 
 But no reasoning soothed her, and suddenly that 
 look rushed upon her memory. She started to her 
 feet, threw her dressing-gown about her, opened the
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 181 
 
 door softly, and stood by her mother's room. The 
 door was ajar. Shrinking with almost a sense of intru- 
 sion, she drew back a moment, and would have retired, 
 when an unnatural sound arrested her. It was not a 
 groan, but a kind of prolonged hiss, that went tingling 
 through her brain. Slowly, softly, with instinctive 
 caution, she pushed open the door, her bare feet making 
 no sound, and stood riveted, for there was her father, 
 pale and ghastly, wrapped in a sheet like a shroud, hold- 
 ing a light in his extended hand close to the face of the 
 corpse, now hissing and now chattering, as he perused 
 its still lineaments. 
 
 Ruth had no longer power to stand. Crouching 
 down, she gazed as if fascinated, when suddenly her 
 father's ungracious antics ceased, his face became 
 rigid, his form stood erect, and that fierce, fixed, strong 
 look of hate was bent upon the deadr Ruth knew not 
 how long it lasted ; her own eyes seemed, by a kind of 
 horrible sympathy, to open and glare upon him ; her 
 hands were clinched, her heart almost stopped its 
 beating ; but when the figure, for it seemed no kin to 
 her, turned slowly to depart, she sprang to her feet, 
 hurried with light but frantic steps to her room, and, 
 covering herself in the bedclothes, shook in the tumult 
 of an ague-fit. 
 
 " Speak to me, Rosalie, speak to me, or I shall die," 
 she whispered in her agony. 
 
 The unconscious child put her arms about her, and 
 sank off again to pleasant slumbers. 
 
 The gray dawn rose cold and slow, and a new agony 
 came over her, in the thought that her father was a 
 madman, and might have marred the corpse. She 
 dressed herself rapidly and went to the death-room.
 
 132 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 All was quiet ; and as she unbolted a shutter, the dim 
 light of dawn revealed the ghastly but undisturbed 
 rest of death. Ruth felt a sensation of thankfulness, 
 and, kneeling down, laid her fevered forehead against 
 the cold breast that lent no responsive throbbing. 
 Sunlight came, and lit up the features to a less fearful 
 hue ; and Ruth took her pillow, and, sitting down by the 
 body, reposed her head there, for it ached sadly. 
 Nature, overtasked, brought her repose, and she slept 
 until awakened by little Rosalie's hand clasping her 
 own. 
 
 There was a strange contrast to that bewildering 
 night in the proprieties of the breakfast-table. Mr. 
 Raymond's manners betrayed no peculiarity, except, 
 perhaps, a heightened cheerfulness. Ruth spoke with 
 difficulty ; her tongue seemed parched when she at- 
 tempted to address him. 
 
 " He is not mad" she thought, as she noted his at- 
 tention to the children, his household cares, his pre- 
 ventive kindness to herself. " I could almost wish he 
 were." 
 
 Clarendon's arm supported Ruth in the funeral pro- 
 cession, along the road where they first met, but she 
 had no heart for the tender recollections of that scene. 
 Her father led Rosalie, and she looked jealously and 
 distrustfully upon his movements, her grief almost 
 shrinking to a span before her fear. No look or word 
 justified her alarm on the melancholy way ; but, as they 
 stood around the grave, and all eyes were bent to the 
 lowering of the body, she turned hers to his, and saw 
 again that look bent over the coffin, and heard a hiss, 
 like wind amid the cordage of a vessel, through his 
 compressed lips. Her strained and breaking powers
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 133 
 
 gave way, and she fell in hysterical convulsions into 
 Clarendon's arms. 
 
 No one, not even Clarendon, saw in this scene any. 
 thing but the mastery of strong grief; that terrible foun- 
 tain of mystery was sealed. 
 M
 
 134 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 The Raymond Fdte. 
 
 RUTH, once the petted child of domestic love, the 
 veriest butterfly on life's flowers, was now to be the 
 self-sacrificing woman ; filial love her trial and her in- 
 spiration. Sometimes she fancied a growing paleness 
 and tenuity about her father's forehead, a variable fluffi- 
 ing of the cheeks, and a dryness in the palms of the 
 hands, that indicated disease ; and then it occurred to 
 her that medical advice might be necessary ; but an al- 
 most superstitious reverence for her death-bed vow, 
 and a dread that the intimacy of a physician might re- 
 veal her father's infirmities, deterred her from con- 
 sulting one. It was, indeed, difficult for one so inex- 
 perienced to tell the boundary between wilful passion 
 and a wilder hallucination. 
 
 Three months passed away ; the grass sprang fresh- 
 ly on Mrs. Raymond's grave, and Clarendon began to 
 urge his claims to a consummation of his happiness. 
 
 " You are not mine, Ruth," he urged, " until I can 
 see you in our own home. I am jealous of your lavish 
 love for others. You have too many cares ; there is 
 a hurry and agitation in your manners, occasionally, 
 ill-suited to your age and temperament, and unlike the ; 
 playful repose of former days. I will steal you away 
 from this absorbing group. I want my own breakfast, 
 table, and those dear fingers peeping out from beneath a 
 white morning-dress, to pour out our coffee in two cups.
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 135 
 
 Besides, dearest," and his voice became lower, " I fear 
 your father is growing weary of my encroaching visits." 
 
 Ruth turned very pale, but she rallied herself, and 
 her sweet, confiding accents reassured him. 
 
 A few days after, Mr. Raymond said to Ruth, ab- 
 ruptly, " We live too humdrum a life here. You are 
 growing pale and mopish. I intend to give a ball." 
 
 Ruth started. A ball, father /" (She had given 
 up the more endearing appellation of her childhood 
 since that night.) " You must be jesting ;" and she 
 looked mournfully at her sable dress, the tears coming 
 to her eyes. 
 
 " By no means," said Mr. Raymond, rubbing his 
 hands in great glee ; " and here comes the proof that 
 I am not going to shut up my fair daughter any long- 
 er." 
 
 Ruth looked up, and saw several men approaching 
 with boxes and crates. They were opened, and Mr. 
 Raymond called her attention to lamps, mirrors, and 
 other articles of rare value and elegance. 
 
 Ruth clasped her hands in silence, and the tears, no 
 longer- to be restrained, fell into her lap. 
 
 " Away to your room, girl !" muttered Mr. Ray- 
 mond, through his shut teeth. Ruth obeyed without 
 looking; up. If she had ^ 
 
 Evening came, and brought Clarendon. It was in 
 vain for Ruth to conceal her distress ; and, as compo- 
 sedly as possible, she told her lover of her father's an- 
 nouncement. 
 
 Clarendon's brow clouded. " We must resist this 
 singular idea," he said, " if only for your father's rep- 
 utation." 
 
 Mr. Raymond soon appeared, in high spirits.
 
 136 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 He had been employed in writing cards of invitation 
 in Ruth's name, and, going beyond the village, included 
 many persons of distinction in the city to whom he 
 was a stranger. 
 
 Clarendon and Ruth urged their objections with as 
 much delicacy as possible ; but they seemed to fall 
 back as if cast on ice, until Mr. Raymond, turning 
 fiercely to Clarendon, exclaimed : 
 
 " It is not strange that you, sir, should wish to shut 
 up Ruth as in a nunnery. Had more eyes fallen on 
 her, she would not have been so lightly won." 
 
 " Father," exclaimed Ruth, her susceptible nature 
 at length excited beyond control, " if you care not for 
 vie, at least reflect a moment on this desecration of 
 the dead. Look at that face," and she pointed to her 
 mother's picture, " which now gazes upon us as we 
 dare to slight her memory before the world." 
 
 Mr. Raymond looked up at the picture. It was 
 taken when he first brought his young bride to the 
 shelter of his home, and her smile was one of light 
 and joy. Ruth followed her father's eyes as they 
 sought the portrait. What she then saw Clarendon 
 knew not, but he heard a cry of terror, and caught her, 
 not fainting, but trembling and powerless, as she sank 
 at her father's feet. 
 
 From that day Ruth offered no obstacle to the fete, 
 nor spoke of it to Clarendon, but gave herself up, a 
 passive spectator, to the elegant and costly decorations 
 that were multiplying around. She often sighed deeply, 
 yet tried to check her sighs, and talked to Clarendon 
 and the children in secret of her mother. 
 
 Clarendon looked on with bitterness, for already the 
 city rang with speculations on the Raymond fete.
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 137 
 
 Ruth's name, hitherto unknown, was noised with exag- 
 gerated expressions of her beauty and accomplish- 
 ments, and an invitation to Miss Raymond's ball was 
 the envied object of the day. 
 
 " Ruth," said her father to her, as the fairy prepar- 
 ations rose with all the beauty that wealth and taste 
 could give, " what shall be your dress for the ball ?" 
 
 " I wish none but this, father," she said, tremulously 
 pointing to her mourning suit; but, seeing him look 
 angrily, she added, "I will arrange some flowers in 
 my hair, and that will look gayly enough." 
 
 " No, no," answered Mr. Raymond, with a thought- 
 ful air : " I will bespeak your dress." 
 
 " As you please," was Ruth's reply ; and she retired 
 to her own apartment to weep anew. 
 
 On the evening before the dreaded day, as she and 
 Clarendon were sitting together, with a cloud of anx- 
 iety on their usually serene faces, Mr. Raymond en- 
 tered. 
 
 " Your dress has come, Ruth," he said, laughing. 
 " It is black, too ; 
 
 " Dark as was chaos." 
 
 " Sir," exclaimed Clarendon, interrupting him, as he 
 saw the convulsive agitation of Ruth's features at her 
 father's levity, " you trifle too far with your daughter's 
 feelings ; as my affianced wife, I claim " ^ 
 
 Mr. Raymond darted a ferocious look was it not 
 the look ? at Clarendon, hissed a curse between his 
 closed teeth, and left the room. 
 
 " Clarendon," said Ruth, starting up, and laying her 
 hand impressively upon his arm, " I must not thwart 
 my father's will. I have sworn to it, and I will keep 
 my word if it leads me to the grave." 
 M 2
 
 138 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Clarendon looked grieved and offended. 
 
 " Have I no claim, then ?" he asked. " What was 
 the value of the gift of your affections without your 
 confidence ? You are too tame, Miss Raymond. The 
 city teems with idle speculations, until you are a by- 
 word. I almost fear you love the miserable gewgaws 
 that have changed this peaceful mansion into a show- 
 house, since you have not had the resolution to stop 
 this exhibition." 
 
 Clarendon's spirit had all along chafed in respectful 
 silence, and now that he spoke it was in bitterness. 
 
 " Now am I indeed miserable," said, Ruth mourn- 
 fully detaining him as he prepared to go. " While 
 you gave me your confidence and respect, I had sun- 
 shine on my way ; but now, now Alfred Clarendon, 
 you must give me your confidence. I know not how 
 sorely I am to be tried, but I feel that nothing less than 
 an overmastering love will make you bear with me. 
 Have faith in me, I implore you. I am endeavouring 
 before God to act rightly, but I have a dark path to 
 walk ; the more dark to me, because my soul loves the 
 open day. But you will trust me through it all ; you 
 will not take away my sole help, next to God's, your 
 love." 
 
 Clarendon knew not how to interpret this wild Ian- 
 guage ; but he saw the imploring eyes that were turned 
 to his ; he felt the tears that dropped from them, and 
 the pressure of the hand pledged to be his own. Not 
 long was the struggle between his light resentment 
 and his affection, and he renewed his vows to love the 
 trembling girl eternally, through weal or wo. 
 
 The illuminated gardens already blazed with light 
 on the following evening, and still Ruth sat in her
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 139 
 
 mourning suit, detaining Rosalie by her side. Her 
 heart was full of wo. 
 
 " Come, sister," said the child, " put on my beauti- 
 ful frock. It is covered with flowers. It is prettier 
 than this black one." 
 
 " But, Rosalie," said Ruth, " it is for mamma that 
 we wear the black." 
 
 " Poor mamma loved flowers," said the little girl, 
 evasively. 
 
 Ruth sighed heavily. 
 
 " I won't wear it, then, if it makes you sigh so," said 
 Rosalie, putting her arms round Ruth's neck. " Let 
 us wear mamma's black." 
 
 " Are you dressed, Ruth ?" said Mr. Raymond, La a 
 hurried voice, at the door. 
 
 " Come in, father, and help me dress Rosalie," said 
 Ruth, cheerfully ; and in a moment she was on her 
 knees, fastening the gay suit of the pleased child ; her 
 own mourning strangely contrasted with the new at- 
 tire. 
 
 Mr. Raymond looked gratified at the butterfly guise 
 of his little girl, and led her away. Just then a strain 
 from the band provided for the orchestra swept along 
 the passage. 
 
 " Music for the sacrifice !" sighed Ruth, gloomily 
 unfolding the dress of rich silk velvet selected by her 
 father. 
 
 " It was kind to let it be Hack" she said, bitterly. 
 
 No light of gratified taste or vanity beamed from 
 her eyes, as she stood in faultless proportions before 
 her mirror, with the folds of her dress falling gracefully 
 around her ; but her beautiful eyes were cast upward
 
 140 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 in mental prayer, and her voice murmured, " Thou 
 knowest, mother, that I love thee." 
 
 Again her father's footstep was at the door, and 
 again she cheerfully bade him enter. He looked ad- 
 miringly upon her, and, presenting her a box, bade her 
 open it. It contained a set of costly pearls, and she 
 stood in silence as he clasped them on her white neck 
 and rounded arms, and twined them in her hair. 
 
 " She should be a princess," he said, exultingly, lead- 
 ing her to the drawing-room. 
 
 Clarendon was there alone. He started with a thrill 
 of wonder and pride as the exquisite apparition stood 
 before him ; and Ruth, forgetting her sorrows in his in- 
 tense admiration, blushed and was glad.
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 141 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Clarendon Unhappy. Ruth and her Pastor. A Renewal of Vows. 
 
 THIS was no time for Ruth's sensibility to be awa. 
 kened to mournful emotions. The diffused glow of 
 the countless lamps, the exciting note of the finely har- 
 monized band, the constellation of female beauty and 
 fashion, and her introduction to statesmen, officers, and 
 authors, filled her imagination, dazzled her eyes, ele- 
 vated the tone of her conversation and manners, and 
 carried her away from her own exclusive sorrows. 
 She might even have been lifted too far on this giddy 
 height, have been too much elated by the novelty and 
 brilliancy of the spectacle around her, had not the hur- 
 ried motions of her father, perceptible only to herself, 
 awakened her to the necessity of self-possession ; and 
 it was this thought that gave a gentle dignity to her 
 deportment, exalting her beyond the inexperienced girl 
 to the considerate hostess. 
 
 One individual, however, in that sparkling group, 
 became grave and sad ; and in proportion as the light 
 barks around him rose and floated on the waves of 
 excitement, did Clarendon moor up his kindlier feel- 
 ings and fall into the shade. Who that has looked in 
 solitude on one lovely face, listened to a voice of ten- 
 derness and trust, seen the glad footseps of welcome, 
 and heard the parting sigh for him, for him alone, from 
 his own peculiar treasure, but feels rifled when that 
 treasure is exposed to the many ? Again and again,
 
 142 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 as he perceived the admiration that swelled in the at- 
 mosphere where Ruth moved, he thought of her fa- 
 ther's taunt, " Had more eyes seen her, she would not 
 have been so lightly won." Then Ruth was such an 
 exquisite listener, that she was an involuntary flatterer. 
 Ought she, he thought, to listen thus to others ? Are 
 strangers to sharfe the look that has so long been mine 
 alone ? With what thoughtful interest her eyes are 
 raised to the talker ! Heavens ! can emotion dictate 
 the sudden fall of those fringed lids ? But she is led 
 away to the dance ; a stranger touches her white fin- 
 gers ; see her foot beating time to the measure, and 
 now she floats off like an air-touched cloud, floats away 
 from me ! 
 
 Among the invited guests that night was the clergy- 
 man of the village. Age still laid his hand gently on 
 the old man, leaving his faculties free and his affec- 
 tions kind ; and he had enough of the curiosity of hu- 
 man nature, mingled with his interest for the Ray- 
 monds, to carry him at an unwonted hour to their res- 
 idence. But when the illuminated garden burst upon 
 his sight, and the music rolled upon his ear, he shrank 
 back half alarmed, until the thought that Ruth might 
 meet him in some quiet corner led him on ; and with 
 slow steps and a faltering mind he entered the sitting- 
 parlour, the only apartment, except Ruth's and the 
 nursery, unchanged in the elaborate arrangement. 
 Exhausted by his walk, he took possession of the rock- 
 ing-chair, so long occupied by the former mistress of 
 the mansion, and with his eyes raised to her likeness, 
 dwelt in revery on many things, until aroused by the 
 bounding footsteps of little Rosalie. The child paused 
 as she saw him, and was soon on his knee.
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 143 
 
 ** Do you like my new frock ?" she said, pointing out 
 to him its embroidered flowers. 
 
 The old man was silent and serious. 
 
 " There, now !" exclaimed Rosalie, pouting, " that is 
 like sister Ruth ! when papa brought it home, she cried, 
 and said she loved mamma's black the best." 
 
 The old man kissed Rosalie, and smiled kindly. 
 Slipping from his knee, she ran to the dancing hall to 
 tell Ruth he was there. 
 
 A look at her venerable friend, as his eyes were up- 
 raised to that beloved portrait, stirred up the dormant 
 current of her feelings ; and, going towards him, she 
 eagerly clasped his extended hand. He pressed hers 
 tenderly, drew her closely towards him, and read her 
 countenance with his undimmed eyes long and ear. 
 nestly. Ruth stood unquestioning, unanswering ; her 
 only motion a glance at her mother's picture, her only 
 utterance a deep, deep sigh. 
 
 " Poor child," said the old man, pityingly, " I am 
 sure that all is right here" and he laid his withered 
 hand on her throbbing heart. 
 
 " God bless you for your kind judgment," said Ruth, 
 sadly ; " all is right as yet between me and heaven." 
 
 The preluding strain of the dance, for which Ruth 
 was engaged, sounded from the room above. She hes- 
 itated for a moment, then suddenly kneeling down by 
 her pastor's side, whispered, 
 
 " Bless me before I go." 
 
 He bent over her, his gray locks falling amid her 
 pearl-crowned hair as he murmured, 
 
 " God's blessing be on you, my dear child, a better 
 gift than mine." 
 
 A brighter light than ever emanated from physical
 
 144 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 charms shone around Ruth as she re-entered the dan- 
 cing-hall. Her form was erect, her step light, her 
 eyes beamed forth a tremulous lustre, and her whole 
 air was elevated, as if angel-guests had cheered her 
 on ; and if she spoke less, the glittering sensibility of 
 her face, and the softened tones of her voice, were 
 doubly eloquent. 
 
 Clarendon saw this change, and fancying that the 
 love of admiration had wrought it, turned away and 
 sighed bitterly. 
 
 ** Oh why," he thought, " was I indulged in the long, 
 sweet dream that she was mine only ? Fool that I 
 was, to know so little of woman's heart as to think its 
 feathery sail would not bow before the breeze of nov- 
 elty and fashion ! and yet, who am T, that I should 
 dare to appropriate the brightest of heaven's creatures 
 to myself? She ought to be admired and prized. 
 Can the sun shine, and men not see the blaze ?" 
 
 Thus thinking, Clarendon walked towards the win- 
 dow to inhale the evening air, for he was oppressed. 
 Just then he felt a soft touch on his arm, and his name 
 uttered by the voice whose lightest tones could thrill 
 to his soul's depths. He turned, and his decision was 
 instantly made. 
 
 ** Ruth," he said, rapidly, " will you escape from 
 these people, and go with me for five minutes through 
 the back path to the grotto ?'* 
 
 She looked at him a moment earnestly, and then 
 quietly extricating herself from the crowd, soon found 
 him by her side. He was silent during the short 
 walk, but drew her arm through his, and held her hand 
 with a tenacious clasp. The stars looked forth bright 
 and conqueringly as they receded from the illuminated
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 145 
 
 paths, and the softened notes of the French horns 
 came gracefully on the breeze. But sights and sounds 
 were unnoted. On reaching the grotto, Clarendon re- 
 leased the hand he held, and, standing before Ruth, ad- 
 dressed her in a voice of forced composure. 
 
 " I find you to-night," he said, " suddenly transform, 
 ed, a new creature. I sought and won your affections 
 in solitude, before you knew your own power or the 
 feebleness of my claims. Selfishly forgetting the de- 
 mands of society, I never dreamed how gloriously my 
 forest-flower would burst forth before the world ; but 
 now the illusion is dissolved. I find you by acclama- 
 tion the idol of the crowd. I find you jilted for this 
 new sphere by a natural grace, that raises you even 
 above the forms of fashion ; and, Ruth, pardon me, 
 Ruth, but your sparkling eyes, your glowing cheeks, 
 your airy footsteps, say that you prize this new-found, 
 fairy land of existence. What, then, is my duty ? I, 
 who have appropriated your young affections perhaps 
 too soon, too engrossingly ? Here, on the very spot I 
 sought them, I leave them free. No bitter taunt shall 
 again tell me that you were 'lightly won.' I will not 
 say how my heart will be riven by this sacrifice ; how 
 the world, where the star of your loveliness is to 
 culminate, will be to me dark and cheerless. I will 
 crush these selfish feelings, and bear my sentence like 
 a man." 
 
 There was a very slight pause before Ruth replied ; 
 but, when her voice was heard, its truthfulness was 
 worth a thousand oaths. 
 
 " I cannot thank you, Alfred," she said, " for releas- 
 ing me from this voluntary bondage. The cage of 
 your love is too bright and golden for me to wish to fly 
 N
 
 146 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 away. And what if the world does look temptingly ? 
 So much the more thankful am I for this good, strong 
 arm" (and she entwined her own in his), " to hold me 
 amid its vanities. Alfred," she continued (and her 
 words, losing their playfulness, rose to a sweet so- 
 lemnity), " here, on the spot where I gave you my first 
 affections, I renew the vow, and call upon her spirit, 
 who sanctioned me then, to witness from her angel- 
 home how dearly, how undividedly I love you." 
 
 It was enough ; and in expanding confidence they 
 retraced their footsteps to the house. Was the mu- 
 sic changed 1 Was the air more free ? Clarendon 
 thought so as he gave himself up to the full assurance 
 of requited faith. 
 
 ** Let them love her ! Let them adore her ; she de- 
 serves it !" he thought, as, in rapt enthusiasm, he fol- 
 lowed her with his eyes amid the throng ; " but she is 
 mine, mine only."
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 147 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 The Night succeeding the Ball. 
 
 THE half hour after a brilliant party is one of the 
 most animated in the world, where a happy family 
 gather together, to reveal each his own little experi- 
 ence, and to let fall the tribute of sympathy into the 
 social hoard. But there is no sadder season to the 
 careworn. The dying lamps, mocking the late uni- 
 versal blaze ; the deep silence, succeeding to anima- 
 ted voices and thrilling music ; the spoiled banquet, 
 the broken wreaths, the laggard footsteps of the sleepy 
 attendants, all join in melancholy resemblance to the 
 soul's deserted festivals of hope and joy. 
 
 With half-shut eyes Ruth threw herself upon a^/au- 
 teuil awaiting her father's good-night. Many hopes 
 rushed up into the little space in which her reflections 
 turned, from the past scene of fascinating enchantment 
 to the present aspect of desolation. A quiet home 
 with Clarendon was in her revery. She felt how 
 grateful it would be to her fond heart, when his just 
 taste could regulate her more enthusiastic mind, when 
 his true affection could fill up the wants of his exist- 
 ence. " How superior he is to the many," she thought, 
 as her fancy brought him before her in manly beauty 
 and intellectual power ! " Even among those reputed 
 great and accomplished, I see but him !" 
 
 " I am glad he doubted me !*' she exclaimed aloud, 
 clasping her hands with girlish ardour. " If he had
 
 148 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 not, I could not have told him again how inexpressibly 
 dear he is to me !" 
 
 She was recalled from her momentary ecstasy by 
 seeing her father treading on tiptoe through the pas- 
 sage, as if searching for some concealed object. As 
 he observed her, he put his finger on his lip in token of 
 silence, and she saw in his face the terrible concentra. 
 tion of his fiercest passions. Approaching her softly, 
 he asked in a low but wild tone, 
 
 " Have you seen him ? Have you seen him ?" 
 
 " Seen whom, father ?" asked Ruth. 
 
 " So, you are not in the plot," he said, looking hard- 
 ly at her ; " but darker deeds than this have come to 
 light. If you are not in the plot, I must forewarn you. 
 Look here, child," he continued, coming close to her 
 ear, " if a man (I don't say who) comes to your bed- 
 side with a dagger, take this gunpowder, and lay a 
 train to my door. I'll fix him in five minutes. Holla, 
 there !" he cried, as a fancied figure crossed his ima- 
 gination, and with a wild spring he dashed at one of the 
 windows. 
 
 An instantaneous, an almost preternatural calmness 
 took possession of Ruth. Going towards him, she 
 looked steadfastly in his face, and said resolutely, " Fa- 
 ther, come here." He obeyed her without remon- 
 strance, and she drew him by the hand to a seat be- 
 side her. 
 
 " Father," said she, " we have not talked over this 
 gay ball yet ;" and she began to discuss cheerfully the 
 events of the evening. It was very singular to per- 
 ceive the ease and grace with which his thoughts re- 
 verted to more gentle themes ; and, when Ruth kissed 
 him and retired to rest, he was as docile as a child.
 
 LOVE'S PEOGRESS. 149 
 
 But it was not thus with her. The struggle had 
 been too violent to pass off without reaction. Shutting 
 the door, she threw her arms above her head, clasped 
 them wildly, trod her room hurriedly, and muttered, 
 " Mad ! mad ! mad !" She strained her sight as if 
 there were some object to blast her in the distance, and 
 every sound seemed a dread summons to her affrighted 
 ears. 
 
 After a while this nervous terror passed away, a 
 cold perspiration stood on her forehead, and she be- 
 came calm. 
 
 Her first regulated impulse, even at that late hour, 
 was to go to the library and examine a medical book 
 on the subject of insanity. It was a piteous spectacle 
 to see the poor girl, still arrayed in the rich costume 
 of the ballroom, conning over, in solitary misery, the 
 stages of a father's mental derangement. Too surely 
 were they traced there ; and, rising from her melan- 
 choly task, pale but collected, she returned to her bed. 
 room. 
 
 It was surprising to her at first to reflect on her 
 mother's blindness to the real cause of her sorrow ; but 
 when she traced the gradual development of the dis- 
 ease, and how, under the class denominated maJevoIens, 
 it had wreaked its force in hatred to one individual, 
 leaving the faculties free on every other subject, she 
 was reconciled to this apparent ignorance. 
 
 But who would be the next object of this delirious 
 hostility was now her thought, and she shuddered as 
 it crossed her mind. Was she to tell Clarendon that 
 she was in the power of a madman, and that madman 
 her own father ? Then she remembered her singular 
 command over him, when, despite of her terror that 
 N 2
 
 150 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 night, her instinctive resolution caused her to address 
 him with a tone of authority. Then recalling her vow, 
 it seemed to her that this very power was given her 
 to shield him and keep his infirmities from the world. 
 
 " Nothing but heaven can guide me," she murmured 
 to herself; " nothing but trust in God in this wild and 
 dreary hour. Mother, look down upon me ! Father 
 of mercies, pity me, for I am most low, most wretch- 
 ed." Then, sinking on her knees, her heart, but not 
 her lips, arose in prayer. 
 
 Rising more calm, she unfastened the pearls from 
 her hair. It seemed an age since her father placed 
 them there ; so varied and deep had been the excite- 
 ment of the last hours, such wild transitions from what 
 the world calls joy and triumph to the heart's deep, 
 unhoping wo. Who that saw her treading her hall 
 like the genius of delight, could fancy her as she stood 
 now, pale, stricken, comfortless ? Sleep had settled 
 on the world ; eyes undeserving, perchance, of repose, 
 were now calmly closed, and soft visions beguiling 
 their rest, while she, the pure, the loving, the glad 
 (when joy could smile), kept her vigil of alarm and 
 grief. 
 
 But grief and alarm, wild and wakeful though they 
 be, must yield to God's blessed nightly minister, and 
 poor Ruth sank to sleep and forgot her woes. Yet 
 her grief, though deep, was not permitted to be of long 
 duration ; she was awakened by the rattling of the 
 lock of the door, and, opening her eyes, saw her father. 
 He was wrapped in his dressing-gown, and held in one 
 hand a light, and in the other a pistol. Advancing to 
 the bedside, he leaned over her and whispered,
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 151 
 
 ' I have seen him from my window ; he is just un- 
 der the shrubbery with a drawn dagger !" 
 
 " Who, father, for Heaven's sake, who t" cried Ruth, 
 starting up. 
 
 " Alfred Clarendon," he shouted, with his wildest 
 look of hate ; " I warned you before." Then spring, 
 ing to the window, he discharged his pistol into the 
 shrubbery, and Ruth sank on her pillow with a pier- 
 cing cry.
 
 152 LOVE'S PROGEESS. 
 
 ^ CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 The Departure. 
 
 THE cry with which Ruth threw herself on her 
 pillow was followed by such a gush of untempered 
 misery as angels must almost weep to witness. Her 
 father had suddenly retired, and though he pursued an 
 imaginary victim, yet what might not even a few hours 
 unfold of dreadful reality ? Rosalie still slept, the fa. 
 tigue of the preceding night wrapping her in unwont- 
 ed repose. Ruth pressed her cheek tenderly as the 
 dawning light fell upon her innocent slumbers. 
 
 " Alas, alas !" thought the miserable girl, " what if 
 this precious child be the next victim to her father's 
 delirious vengence? What can shield her helpless, 
 ness from his insane strength ? Blessed mother, well 
 was it that your gentle spirit fled early from this fear- 
 ful strife ! Look down and shield this little one !" 
 
 The possibility of such a painful visitation from her 
 father as that she had been contemplating, made the 
 thought of him horrible to her imagination, coupling it 
 with every association of disgust and dread. She 
 strove to master her feelings, called up the filial piety 
 of her nature, and strengthened it by the aid of rea- 
 son ; but the idea of mere brute power levelled against 
 the fragile and beautiful being so peculiarly thrown on 
 her protection, chilled her habit of dutiful affection. 
 Restless and wretched, she dressed herself, even at that 
 early hour, and, locking the door on the little sleeper, 
 went down stairs. The domestics were not yet risen,
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 153 
 
 and the few shutters her father had thrown open re- 
 vealed the faded wreck of the luxurious yesterday. 
 It may seem singular that she felt no personal fear, 
 but there are many examples which justify this kind of 
 confidence in those intimately associated with the in- 
 sane. Passing through the other apartments, she en- 
 tered the common parlour, and saw her father. He 
 sat in her mother's rocking-chair, with his hands hang- 
 ing listlessly by his side, and his whole attitude char- 
 acterized by an overwhelming despondency ; all the 
 daughter was roused within her ; her harsher feelings 
 gave way, and the full tide of tenderness flowed anew. 
 She stood close beside him, and, gently putting her 
 hand on his head, drew it towards her, and bent her 
 lips to his forehead. He sighed heavily, but allowed 
 his head to lean against her bosom, and her arms to 
 enfold him. 
 
 " My dear father," said Ruth, " you seem very un- 
 happy." 
 
 He looked up in her face and replied slowly, 
 
 " I am a murderer !" 
 
 The poor girl shuddered and trembled in every limb, 
 even while conscious of the illusion, but caressed him 
 more tenderly, for his melancholy tone and looks kept 
 alive her awakened sensibility. But, suddenly pushing 
 her away, he said, 
 
 " The officers of justice will be here in an hour. 
 We must have the start of them and be gone." 
 
 " Where are we to go ?" inquired the bewildered 
 Ruth. 
 
 He looked cunningly as he said, " We do not tell 
 our secrets to women ; all your business is to be 
 ready."
 
 154 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 ' Delay one day only ; but one day, father," entreat- 
 ed Ruth. 
 
 " She would have me hung !" he muttered ; " I 
 thought you loved me, Ruth," he continued, despond, 
 ingly. 
 
 " I do love you, father," she exclaimed, earnestly, 
 taking his hand. 
 
 He brushed away the hair from her forehead, and 
 looked at her kindly as he said, 
 
 u You will not betray your poor father, then ; though 
 the whole world forsake me, you will not ? You have 
 been a good child since the first moment you lay help, 
 less in my arms ; but I tell you," and he put his mouth 
 close to her ear with a shout, " / killed him ! Now 
 will you not leave me to be hung ?" 
 
 " I will never betray or leave you, my dear father," 
 said Ruth, soothingly ; " but you must drive away these 
 gloomy thoughts." 
 
 Mr. Raymond did not appear to listen to her. 
 
 " We s'hall have to ride by the gibbet," he muttered. 
 " I have heard it creaking and clattering ever since 
 you know when. But quick, Ruth, quick," he urged, 
 hurry ingly, " if you would not see your father swing, 
 ing like a felon. They mean to wait for no forms ; 
 blood for blood is the cry." 
 
 Ruth rushed to her apartment for a moment's 
 thought. What could she do ? The rapidity of her 
 father's resolution and movements allowed no pause ; 
 her only hope was, that change of scene might have a 
 salutary effect on his disease. Calling the housekeeper, 
 she stated to her, as calmly as possible, that circumstan- 
 ces of importance made it necessary for her father to 
 begin a journey immediately. She endeavoured to
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 155 
 
 recollect every circumstance important to the comfort 
 of the household, but not until it became impossible to 
 delay longer could she speak of little Rosalie. 
 
 "You must not awake her," she said, trying to 
 speak cheerfully, " until I am gone, and then tell her 
 that I will send a doll and some books from the city." 
 She dared not trust a look at the child. 
 
 Ruth's next movement was to write two letters. 
 The first was the following, to her old pastor. 
 
 " My respected Friend. A very pressing emergency 
 calls my father from home, and he wishes me to ac- 
 company him. I am somewhat comforted in this 
 sudden arrangement by the belief that you will interest 
 yourself in our little group. Let me ask you to see 
 them often, and to pray with them and for me. 
 " With affectionate respect, 
 
 "Your RUTH RAYMOND. 
 
 Over the next sheet Ruth paused a moment, pressed 
 her hand anxiously to her forehead, looked upward 
 as if for aid which earth could not give, and then, 
 without faltering, wrote on : 
 
 " I have only a few moments to tell you, my best 
 beloved, a sad, wild story that will rend your heart. 
 My father is insane. He believes that he has murdered 
 you, and that he is pursued by officers of justice. We 
 leave home immediately, in what direction I know not, 
 but will give you the earliest information. Your safety, 
 thank Heaven, is secured by this determination. Keep 
 from my father's presence at all hazards, and fear 
 nothing for me. He regards me with the utmost ten-
 
 156 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 derness, and I can control him in most things. Perhaps 
 change of scene will benefit him. If I had only time 
 to consult you or a physician even good Dr. Gesner 
 is absent. I must look up to heaven now, for earth 
 can scarcely aid me. My father's movements seem 
 like a kind of fate, they are so imperative. 
 
 " Dear Alfred, my heart is very sad at the thought 
 of leaving you thus. I can fancy all your surprise and 
 sorrow. And must you have a sorrow that I may not 
 sooth ? That was to have been my privilege. Is not 
 mine a most peculiar grief? I must not dwell on it. 
 I will think of your love, and solace myself in its faith- 
 fulness. I will recall the grotto scene, and live over 
 again in the memory. 
 
 " My little Rosalie is sleeping. I dare not look at 
 her. You will see her often; she will talk to you 
 of, me. 
 
 " Dear, dear Alfred, beware how you follow me ! I 
 will not answer for your life a moment if you do. I 
 have a fearful security now. He thinks you dead. Oh, 
 my beloved, what a desert would this world be to me 
 if that were true ! I must keep away tears from my 
 father's sight, so I will write no more lest they should 
 fall. Your own R. R." 
 
 As Ruth closed and sealed this letter, and gave it to 
 the housekeeper to be presented to Clarendon at his 
 evening visit, the reality of her departure was made 
 but too evident by the sound of trunks in the hall, and 
 the carriage drawing up to the door. 
 
 She looked despairingly from her window over the 
 beautiful landscape, on the hills and vales of her child- 
 hood, so calm in their morning brightness. It was the
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 157 
 
 first time she had ever left her home ; it was her world. 
 Oh how different from the wilderness on which she was 
 about to be thrown ! She looked to the distant trees 
 that hid her mother's grave, to the garden where every 
 walk, every blossom was hallowed by some tender as- 
 sociation ; and then, with deeper emotion, turned to 
 her own apartment, the shrine of her life's treasures. 
 Rosalie still slept the unconscious, blessing sleep of 
 childhood on the bed where Ruth's infantile repose had 
 been shed, where her heart had beat to happiness, 
 where her tears had been dried^ She crushed down 
 her spirit of wo, and with a stifled sigh closed the door 
 on the slumbering child, without venturing to imprint 
 a parting kiss on her cheek. 
 
 Her father appeared to have recovered his self-pos- 
 session in the necessity of immediate exertion. His 
 orders were clear, though hurried, and his pecuniary 
 arrangements well regulated. The domestics gather, 
 ed with wondering eyes about the passage, some with 
 a significant expression of sadness. Mr. Raymond 
 handed Ruth to the carriage, and took his seat beside 
 her. Then, as the horses started, he rubbed his hands 
 exultingly, and exclaimed, 
 
 Safe, safe !" 
 
 The trial of filial love was consummated. 
 O
 
 158 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Clarendon's Visit to the Village. A Letter. An Interview. 
 
 CLARENDON left home for his accustomed evening 
 excursion, in one of those moods that belong only to 
 youth. His thoughts bounded from a happy past only 
 to revel in a blissful future ; poetry burst from his 
 lips, classical images clustered in his imagination, and 
 when he felt "himself alone on the roadside that led to 
 the residence of his beloved, he leaped and sang aloud 
 in the mere buoyancy of his joy. Nature seemed in 
 sympathy with his happiness. The slanting sunbeams 
 gave a golden glory to the waving fields, the birds 
 trilled forth their vesper songs, and heaven smiled 
 throughout its azure depths. 
 
 As he entered the gate it swang to with the accus- 
 tomed sound that was wont to summon Ruth to meet 
 him with her radiant welcome. He looked eagerly 
 towards the portico. 
 
 Not there ! Where was the waved handkerchief, 
 where the flowing garments, where the bright hair 
 tinged with the evening sunbeam, where the spring- 
 ing step, the extended hand, the loving smile? He 
 trod the piazza with a lover's pang, opened the closed 
 door, and stole softly to the parlour to surprise and 
 chide the truant girl. It was deserted, and he rang 
 the bell. The housekeeper appeared with Ruth's let- 
 ter, and, giving it with a silent courtesy, retired. He 
 tore it open, and his eyes ran wildly over the fearful
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 159 
 
 contents. What a revelation of misery ! The floor 
 seemed to fail beneath his feet, a deadly paleness over- 
 spread his countenance, he gasped for breath, and, 
 thoroughly unmanned, fell panting ' into the nearest 
 chair, beating his breast in the agony of suffocation. 
 Deep was that heart-struggle, and it was not until he 
 heard the sweet voice of Rosalie at his side that gen- 
 tier nature conquered, and gave him relief in a burst 
 of impassioned tears. The child climbed on his knees, 
 threw her arms around his neck, and wept in sympa- 
 thy. 
 
 Recovering from the first tumult of sorrow, a few 
 mournful questions were asked and answered, and he 
 was left alone, the light-hearted girl seeking gayer com- 
 panionship. How every object around him spoke of 
 his beloved! There was the book in which he had 
 read to her ; the song he had last brought her lay by 
 her guitar, while her open workbox, rifled of some of 
 its useful prettinesses by her present wants, still retain, 
 ed many a little token of its owner's taste and indus- 
 try. He took up the precious trifles, and pressed them 
 to his lips and forehead ; and then a sudden sting of 
 anguish shooting through his frame, he sprang up and 
 rushed through the garden to the grotto. How still, 
 how deathly still, was that sacred spot ! His pulses 
 were almost audible. Was this the place where she 
 had so lately stood, living, glowing, loving ? The same 
 stream was flowing on, the same trees murmured in 
 the breath of evening, the same flowers sent up their 
 perfume on the breeze, but all was changed to him ! 
 His soul sickened, his knees trembled, he threw him- 
 self on the ground, and groaned aloud. 
 
 But Clarendon had cultivated a trust in Providence
 
 160 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 amid life's sunshine, and now it came to him unsought 
 amid its storms. A voice of mercy was heard whis- 
 pering to his withered soul. ResisteoVat first by the 
 fearful tempest of despair, it murmured again and again 
 " peace, peace" in that dreary hour, and at length he 
 bent before God in prayer. 
 
 A dreary week passed away, and he received the 
 following letter from Ruth : 
 
 " I have purposely avoided writing, my own Alfred, 
 lest you should follow me, and expose yourself to dan- 
 ger. Be comforted ; my father is calm and happy. I 
 am surprised at the resources of his mind, now that 
 circumstances have thrown us into such intimate con- 
 nexion. He is recalling the poetry of youth, and then 
 he speaks with such tenderness of my blessed mother ! 
 Oh Alfred, will not this glorious temple of mind be re- 
 stored to perfect symmetry ? I have not yet mentioned 
 your name to him, but in some calm and happy mo- 
 ment I will tell him that you live and love us still. 
 
 " Our movements are erratic, for he loves to linger 
 where the beautiful and wild blend in natural scenery, 
 and I am only too happy to aid his mental repose amid 
 such favourable scenes. We shall visit Trenton and 
 Niagara. I am almost jealous of this enjoyment apart 
 from you. We, who have traversed together God's 
 humbler natural walks with such sympathy, should go 
 hand in hand to the mounts of his glory. But I en- 
 courage myself in this privation with the thought that 
 I shall be better fitted for your companionship after 
 this test of my fortitude and principles, than if I had 
 glided from the retreats of a tranquil home to a life of 
 love and repose with you ; and why should / be entitled
 
 LOVE'S PEOGEESS. 161 
 
 to heaven on earth, more than the myriads who have 
 borne the cross of suffering and care before me ? And 
 would it not be heaven on earth to enjoy your love 
 unembarrassed by the afflictions that surround me ? 
 My poor, poor father ! 
 
 " Farewell ; think of me in prayer, 
 
 R. R." 
 
 Could anything have caused Ruth to forget the pe- 
 culiar trials of her destiny, they would have been erad- 
 icated in the lofty and sublime associations excited by 
 the magnificent scenery on the Kaatskill Mountains, the 
 Pisgah which shows so fair a land of American prom- 
 ise ; and, in truth, hope and courage did wait like min- 
 istering angels around her, and her filial love seemed 
 meeting its reward in the springing lightness of her 
 young bosom. 
 
 On one afternoon, those long, luxurious, balmy after- 
 noons of a highland summer, Ruth and her father 
 strolled far from the mountain house on the rugged and 
 romantic road to the Kaatskill Falls, with which they 
 had already become familiar ; Mr. Raymond, from the 
 restlessness of his mind, seeking novelties in the sur- 
 rounding paths, and Ruth finding in natural scenery 
 the best resource for the indulgence of her " thick- 
 coming fancies." Wearied with their rambling ex- 
 cursion, they seated themselves on a rock to enjoy the 
 gathering radiance about the setting sun, trusting to 
 the moonlight and their knowledge of the road for 
 their safe return. They sat in view of the Falls, the 
 sound of its deep plunge swelling around, the wild and 
 warm-toned light among the moving clouds glorifying 
 the clear firmament, while mountain and ravine lay 
 O 2
 
 162 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 still as if meekly awaiting day's parting blessing. 
 Fascinated by the scene, the father and daughter 
 drank in the thousand revelations of nature as they 
 burst from the changing heavens and the tinted earth, 
 and sat until the large round moon trod calmly up the 
 eastern sky. 
 
 A holy tenderness dilated Ruth's trusting heart as 
 she turned her earnest face to its disk. Other ob- 
 jects around her had no immediate association with her 
 lover ; but the moon, the classic moon, how often had 
 she raised her eyes towards that fair circle with him ! 
 Her father sat calmly by her, and placing her hand in 
 his without waiting his bidding, she began a song dear to 
 Clarendon. Her voice rose melodiously on the still- 
 ness, bearing her heart's harmony on every tone. 
 
 " Father," she said (for the time seemed fitting to 
 her), " do you know who loves that.song ?" 
 
 " I love it, my darling," was his reply, and his hand 
 gently pressed hers. " It suits well the pathos of your 
 voice." 
 
 "Alfred Clarendon taught it to me," she said, falter- 
 
 Alas, poor Ruth ! No sooner had that name esca- 
 ped her lips, than a fierce, wild yell from her father 
 pierced her ear, ringing and echoing from hill and 
 depth ; his eyes glared in the moonbeams, he tossed 
 his arms furiously in the air, and, starting from her 
 side, dashed away amid the gloom of a neighbouring 
 thicket. 
 
 Ruth, with outspread hands, screamed wildly for his 
 return, and was springing to follow him, when, sud- 
 denly, a form, closely enveloped in a cloak, stood beside 
 her ; her name was uttered in well-known accents, and
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 163 
 
 she was pressed to Clarendon's heart. Concealing her 
 hastily in the shade of the rock, he threw himself at 
 her feet, with pleading eyes and clasped hands urging 
 her to return with him. 
 
 " Come with me, Ruth," he said, " and let me pro- 
 tect you by the right which, in happier days, you prom, 
 ised to delegate to me. I swear to you," he urged, as 
 he saw the mournful denial in her expressive face, 
 " that I too will be a wanderer while you are in this 
 peril. You would pity me if you knew the horrible 
 fancies that attend me when I see you not ; unless I 
 watch at a distance the heavenly repose of your face, 
 life grows a burden. Oh, let me then bathe my spirit 
 in its unconscious sweetness ; let me only hear your 
 voice, and quench the thirst of my soul in its delicious 
 melody, and I can live, and my dreams will be almost 
 of heaven. Then come, dear, dear Ruth ; escape 
 while all is well ; while this precious hand, warm with 
 life and pulsation, rests thus within my own. Come to 
 a tranquil home ; where my arms can shield you, my 
 love comfort you. Look on me, beloved, and say that 
 you will be mine." 
 
 " I cannot leave my father," said Ruth, in a scarce- 
 ly audible tone. 
 
 " You must leave him ; it is your duty," said Claren- 
 don, impetuously. " Is he not a madman ? Who will 
 guaranty that this delicate frame, trembling even by 
 my side, shall be free from his violence 1 Heaven and 
 earth ! What shall I say to move you ?" he exclaimed, 
 pressing his forehead with his clasped hands. " Have 
 pity on me ! My heart is rent with love and terror. 
 Where, gentle and blessed girl, should your shelter be 
 but in my arms ?"
 
 164 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Where indeed, thought Ruth,; and she leaned her 
 head like a trusting child against his bosom, and gave 
 herself up to the overflowing tenderness of her agitated 
 heart. 
 
 " You are, you will be mine own Ruth," he whisper- 
 ed, triumphantly. " You will repay nights and days, 
 spent only in the thought of you, by your confiding 
 love. I will be as a son to your father if he will re- 
 ceive my love ; if not, there are asylums where " 
 
 Ruth started from his arms, a look of intense and 
 mournful indignation revealing her inmost feelings, and 
 with repulsing hands thrust him from her. " God be 
 thanked," she said, wildly, " for this cruel remembrance. 
 I might, perchance, have faltered in my better pur- 
 poses. Away, tempter ! The only asylum for my fa- 
 ther is near his child's breaking heart." 
 
 Then, as if fearing her harshness might too much 
 wound the feelings of her lover, she turned to him 
 mournfully, and took his drooping hand within her own. 
 
 Just then her father's voice was heard as he issued 
 from the thicket, chiming a careless song, and then he 
 called her name. 
 
 One long, earnest embrace, as if death were to ensue, 
 was given by that wretched pair ; then Ruth tore her- 
 self away, and Clarendon, wrapped closely in his cloak, 
 followed them cautiously through the wild pathway to 
 the hotel.
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 165 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Trenton Falls. 
 
 MR. RAYMOND grasped Ruth's arm with unconscious 
 roughness, and hurried her on, now looking about with 
 a wild air of expectation, and then laughing with a 
 childish vacancy. As the full moonlight shone on his 
 features, his anxious child saw a change from their re- 
 cent expression of tender regard, to the hard, cold tone 
 which had characterized them in his period of excite- 
 ment. They were not yet marked by liate ; thank God, 
 he loved her still ; but the maniac began to be devel. 
 oped more distinctly ; and when she saw that, as a tear 
 dropped on his hand from her eyes, he held it up to the 
 moonbeams, and laughed, and cried " Hurra !" she 
 knew that sympathy was gone. She felt that she stood 
 beneath a lava mountain, heaving to its explosion ; but 
 the Christian habit of her mind referred all things to a 
 presiding Deity ; and when her eyes had turned upward 
 a moment, and her lips moved in almost involuntary 
 prayer, her fluttering heart grew calm. Something of 
 joy, too, played over her troubled spirit, at the idea of 
 -Clarendon's vicinity ; it seemed as if another Provi- 
 dence was watching over her. And what felt that 
 covert wanderer, as he saw the flutter of her garments, 
 and remembered the pressure of her trembling form ? 
 The moonlight glory was no longer sought for inspi. 
 ration ; the mountains uplifted their noble heights un- 
 heeded, for the fair vision of his heart was before him, 
 in her youth and loveliness.
 
 166 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 ' And now Ruth and her father are once more on 
 their bright and beautiful Hudson, while the boat 
 treads her way like an untried courser. He was com- 
 paratively calm, and nature, like a sweet restorer, heal- 
 ed her wounded heart. The blue, massy hills, as they 
 heaved heavenward, lent her a kinder strength and 
 engendered a lofty repose ; a trust that He who crea- 
 ted and ruled the universe would guard over her, and 
 thus she became calm as a part of that great and ex- 
 auisite whole. 
 
 1 The deportment of Clarendon was of the most cau- 
 tious and delicate character ; though invisible, he con- 
 trived to spread an atmosphere of tenderness around 
 her. Books were laid on the table with marked pas- 
 sages, or flowers that she best loved ; and sometimes 
 a deep, full sigh, and a whispered name, when none 
 were near, told the story of watchful affection. Dear 
 and romantic was the charm of this intercourse, lend- 
 ing a precious interest to existence, and calming the 
 tumult of her filial cares. 
 
 At length they arrived at Trenton Falls, that glori- 
 ous handiwork of triumphant nature. With what in- 
 nocent yearnings did Ruth sigh for Clarendon to lead 
 her steps to this sublime revelation of the Omnipotent ! 
 As she sat musing in the parlour of the hotel, her fa- 
 ther entered hurriedly, and one look revealed to her 
 that he must have seen her lover, 
 i As he stood before her with shut teeth, glaring eyes, 
 and rigid form, she rose and clasped her hands implo- 
 ringly, forgetting, in the horror of the moment, to use 
 the slight authority which she yet held over him. He 
 said nothing, but drew her arm within his own, and al- 
 most dragged her through the woods to the steep stair-
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 167 
 
 way which descends to the bottom of the ravine. The 
 sky was ominous with flitting clouds, and the gushing 
 waters looked sternly beneath the scowling heavens. 
 An undefined dread crept over Ruth as she saw the 
 narrow ledge on which she was to tread, where the 
 rolling stream dashed to her very footsteps, and the 
 jutting rocks soared up on either side, as if to shut a 
 death-cry from the world. In such a spot, love should 
 lead with fond and careful tread, soothing the over- 
 wrought heart with tones of tenderness ; but poor 
 Ruth's arm wtis grasped by a maniac ; one step, and 
 the whirling abyss would close on her for ever. Her 
 father released her a moment, and stood sternly con- 
 templating the grandeur of the spectacle ; at length he 
 spoke, and his words grew eloquent. 
 
 " Ruth," he said, solemnly, " seems it not as if un- 
 seen spirits haunted these cliffs ? It would be a noble 
 place to die. No need for man to raise monuments 
 here. Let others go to the groves, and gardens, and 
 streams, where the rose blushes, and the lily pales, and 
 rainbows rest, and skies throw out their western glow, 
 and seashells whisper ; where woodland melody re- 
 sounds, and the clear stars glisten, and the moonlight 
 floats in joy ; let others sleep, if they will, beneath 
 chiselled marble wet by human tears, but give me a 
 grave like this, amid clouds and gloom, where the veil 
 is rent from stormy nature, and let my requiem be these 
 cataract voices. Take me, take me," he muttered 
 softly, as if appealing to some distant object ; and then 
 waving his arms in passionate gestures, he stopped 
 with a wild hurra, that rolled by the cliffs, and came 
 back in fearful echoes. 
 
 Clarendon, protected by the dense foliage above,
 
 168 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 
 
 had been an unseen spectator of this phrensy. With 
 clinched hands and firmly braced feet, he stood pre- 
 pared for some frightful catastrophe ; and when that 
 echoed hurra reached him, and he saw Mr. Raymond 
 about to carry Ruth onward by the passes below, una- 
 ble longer to contain his feelings, he bounded down the 
 steps like a maddened wolf. Had the rocks around 
 him lifted their giant heads and cried forbear, his im- 
 pulse would have prevailed. With an almost phren- 
 sied voice he cried, 
 
 " Ruth, Ruth, I adjure you, by the God of Heaven, 
 not to peril your life with a madman." 
 
 Fatal precipitance ! Mr. Raymond, without reply, 
 caught his helpless child in his arms, and, as if but a 
 feather's weight lay there, leaped along the slippery 
 way. He passed the frowning rocks, where trees root- 
 ed in the fissures seemed reeling to their fall, sprang 
 the awful projections where the bounding waves dash- 
 ed the dress of his trembling burden, and paused not 
 even on the brink of those frightful steeps where the 
 resistless torrent ran in its terrible strength below. 
 Clarendon too pressed on, heedless of every obstacle, 
 reckless of but one thought, to save the beloved of his 
 heart. Once Ruth opened her eyes, and though un. 
 appalled by the threatening rocks, or the whirling wa- 
 ters, she met her father's gaze in its fixed and angry 
 glare, and closed them again with sick and dizzy ter- 
 ror. 
 
 They had nearly reached that fatal spot, sacred to 
 sad memories, where a plighted bride and a child fresh 
 in the budding promise of life met each their tragic 
 doom, when Mr. Raymond heard his pursuer close 
 upon his steps. On he sprang more impetuously. He
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 169 
 
 looked back ; nearer, closer. Again he looked, and 
 glared with his maniac eyes. Clarendon's outspread 
 arms were near him, and he heard his desperate cry, 
 
 " Ruth, my bride, my affianced one, I will die with 
 you or save you." 
 
 The madman laughed tauntingly, and his wild hurra 
 echoed again from cliff to cliff ere he bounded over 
 that fearful point. One spring, and the father and 
 daughter sank where the whirlpool sends across its 
 bubbling foam. Clarendon threw his length along the 
 edge of the slimy rock, with his head over the wa- 
 ters, and braced his feet against a projecting point with, 
 in his reach. Oh the intense, the life-long agony of 
 that instant of time, before Ruth's garments were seen 
 above the torrent. He clutched at them as with a 
 death-grasp, but the maniac father struggled for his 
 prize. Awful was the contest ; twice he rose with his 
 blasting look of hate full on Clarendon, then sank, and 
 the gurgling waters closed over him for ever. 
 
 " God receive him to his peace," murmured Claren- 
 don, as he drew, with an effort inspired by despair, 
 the insensible form of his beloved to his arms. He 
 carried her to a broader shelf of the rock, where the 
 dashing spray pursued them more faintly ; then wring, 
 ing the water from her hair and wrapping her in his 
 cloak, he called her by every endearing name to awake 
 to life and love. He had never seen her cheek un- 
 tinged by the hue of health, never touched her hand 
 but its soft warmth had spoken of life ; now that cheek 
 was pale as the foam that quivered over her father's 
 corpse ; her hand lay motionless and cold within his 
 own ; and that hair too, that shining hair, the simplest 
 twine of which was like threads of gold to him, strew. 
 P
 
 170 LOVE'S PKOGRESS. 
 
 ed the bare rock in its luxuriance. He chafed her 
 hands, and laid his cheek to hers, and felt for the beat- 
 ing of the heart so late responding to his own. Sen- 
 sation slowly returned, and without unclosing her eyes 
 she whispered "father." Clarendon gently pressed 
 her hand and laid his lips to her damp forehead in si- 
 lence. 
 
 " I will never desert you, father," said the half un- 
 conscious girl. " If I love Alfred Clarendon, I can 
 still be faithful to you. I have sworn it to my blessed 
 mother." 
 
 As she spoke large tears rolled from beneath her 
 closed lids. Clarendon essayed to speak, but he felt 
 choked. The unformed words died gaspingly away, 
 and he covered his face in unutterable emotion. Grad- 
 ually her eyes unclosed ; at first the cold high cliffs 
 and dashing torrent alarmed her ; then she saw Clar- 
 endon, and a bright, warm blush of joy rushed over her 
 face like sudden sunbeams on snow. Then a deeper 
 consciousness followed, as he pressed her fondly to his 
 heart, and she attempted to rise from his arms ; but, 
 embarrassed by a feeling of her weakness, she sank 
 back helplessly, and a sudden shade crossing her coun- 
 tenance, exclaimed, 
 
 My father ?" 
 
 " I could not save you both, dearest," said Claren- 
 don, in a low tone, bending over her with deep emo- 
 tion, and pointing mournfully to the cataract as it 
 came foaming by where the lost victim fell. 
 
 A strong hysteric cry burst from the unhappy girl, 
 and, forgetting her weakness, she sprang to her feet, 
 and stretched out her arms to the rushing streams as 
 if they could give back the lost, the dead.
 
 LOVE'S PROGRESS. 171 
 
 " God knows how willingly I would have given my 
 life for his," said Clarendon ; " a life valueless to me 
 if you are not happy." And, as he spake, he knelt 
 on the rock beside her, and bowed his head in his 
 hands. 
 
 " My poor father," said Ruth, wildly, unheeding her 
 lover's prostrate sorrow, "you sleep beneath the 
 monuments you asked. The tears of love can never, 
 indeed, fall on your grave." 
 
 Clarendon gently forced her from the scene. She 
 leaned upon his arm as he guided her feeble steps 
 along the dangerous way, and her piteous moans 
 touched his inmost soul. At length, seeming to recall 
 the ties that bound them, and resisting the selfishness 
 of her grief, she bent her cold cheek to his hands and 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " Do not think me ungrateful for the life you have 
 preserved," she said, in sobbing accents. "Do not 
 think that I love you less when I weep for my fa- 
 ther." 
 
 " My poor, suffering Ruth !" said Clarendon, sooth, 
 ing her like a child, but addressing her as a noble- 
 minded woman, " in this wild scene and at this fear- 
 ful hour, while I claim you mine, I seek no present 
 token of tenderness from your shattered affections. 
 I have traced the Self-sacrificing progress of your 
 heart's love through life's varied duties, and I know 
 that the tender daughter will be the faithful wife." 
 
 Then Ruth yielded herself silently, in mournful 
 confidence, to his guidance, and the first smile, when 
 love and hope triumphed over tears, was for him.
 
 March, 1840. 
 
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 Charles Badham, M.D., F.R.S. And 
 
 Persius. Translated by the Rt. 
 Hon. Sir W. Drummond. 
 
 36. Pindar. Translated by the 
 Rev. C. A. Wheelwright. And 
 
 Anacreon. Translated by Thom- 
 as Bourne, Esq.
 
 Publithed by Harper <f Brother*. 
 
 SCHOOL DISTRICT LIBRARY. 
 
 BOYS' AND GIRLS' LIBRARY. 
 
 No. 1. Lives of the Apostles and 
 Early Martyrs of the Church. 
 
 2, 3. The Swiss Family Robin- 
 son ; or, Adventures of a Father and 
 Mother and Four Sons on a Desert 
 Island. 
 
 4, 13, 18. Sunday Evenings. By 
 the Author of "the Infant Christian's 
 First Catechism." 
 
 5. The Son of a Genius. By Mrs. 
 Borland. 
 
 6. Natural History. By Uncle 
 Philip. 
 
 7, 8. Indian Traits. By B. B. 
 Thatcher, Esq. 
 
 9, 10, 11. Tales from American 
 History. By the Author of" Ameri- 
 can Popular Lessons." 
 
 12. The Young Crusoe; or, the 
 Shipwrecked Boy. By Mrs. Hof- 
 
 14. Perils of the Sea; being Au- 
 thentic Narratives of Remarkable 
 and Affecting Disasters upon the 
 Deep. 
 
 15. Sketches of the Lives of Dis- 
 
 ngmings. 
 
 tinguished Females. By an Ameri- 
 can Lady. 
 
 16. Caroline Westerley ; or, the 
 Young Traveller from Ohio. By 
 Mrs Phelps (formerly Mrs Lincoln). 
 
 17. The Clergyman's Orphan, and 
 other Tales. By a Clergyman. 
 
 19. The Ornaments Discovered. 
 By Mrs. Hughs. 
 
 20. Evidences of Christianity. By 
 Uncle Philip. 
 
 21. History of Virginia. By Un- 
 cle Philip. 
 
 22. The American Forest. By 
 Uncle Philip. 
 
 23,24. History of New-York. By 
 Uncle Philip. 
 
 25. Tales of the American Revo- 
 lution. By B. B. Thatcher. 
 
 26,27. The Whale- fishery and the 
 Polar Seas. By Uncle Philip. 
 
 28, 29. History of Massachusetts. 
 By Uncle Philip. 
 
 30,31. History of New-Hampshire. 
 By Uncle Philip. 
 
 SCHOOL DISTRICT LIBRARY. 
 
 lUmtnted by 
 
 Engravinp. 
 
 FIRST SERIES. 
 
 Nos. 1, 2. A Life of Washington. 
 By J. K. Paulding, Esq. 
 
 3. The Poor kich Man and the 
 Rich Poor Man. By Miss C. M. 
 Sedgwick. 
 
 4, 5. The Swiss Family Robin- 
 son ; or, Adventures of a Father and 
 Mother and Four Sons on a Desert 
 Island. 
 
 6, 7. The Natural History of In- 
 sects. 
 
 8. The Son of a Genius. By Mrs. 
 Hofland. 
 
 9, 10, 11. American History. By 
 the Author of " American Popular 
 Lessons " 
 
 12. American Revolution. By B. 
 B. Thatcher, Esq. 
 
 13, 14. The Life of Napoleon Bo- 
 naparte. By J. G. Lockhart, Esq. 
 
 15. The Principles of Physiology 
 applied to the Preservation of Health, 
 and to the Improvement of Physical 
 
 and Mental Education. By Andrew 
 Combe, M.D. 
 
 16, 17. Indian Traits. By B. B. 
 Thatcher, Esq. 
 
 18. Narrative of Discovery and 
 Adventure in Africa. By Professor 
 Jameson, and James Wilson and 
 Hugh Murray, Esqrs. 
 
 19. The American Forest. By 
 Uncle Philip. 
 
 20. A Popular Guide to the Obser- 
 vation of Nature. By Robert Mudie. 
 
 21. Perils of the Sea; being Au- 
 thentic Narratives of Remarkable 
 and Affecting Disasters upon the 
 Deep. 
 
 22. Inquiries concerning the Intel- 
 lectual Powers and the Investigation 
 of Truth. By John Abercrombie, 
 M.D., F.R.S. 
 
 23. Lectures on General Litera- 
 ture, Poetry, &c. By James Mont- 
 gomery. 
 
 ' 23
 
 Valuable Standard Works 
 
 SCHOOL DISTRICT LIBRARY. 
 
 24. Celestial Scenery; or, the 
 
 36, 37. The Life of Oliver Crom- 
 
 Wonders of the Planetary System 
 
 well By Rev M. Russell, LL.D. 
 
 displayed. By Thomas Dick, LL.D. 
 
 38. On the Improvement of Society 
 
 25. Palestine; or, the Holy Land. 
 By Rev M. Russell, LL.D. 
 
 by the Diffusion of Knowledge. By 
 Thomas Dick, LL.D. 
 
 26. History of Chivalry and the 
 
 39. The Earth : its Physical Con- 
 
 Crusades. By G. P. R. James, Esq. 
 
 dition and most Remarkable Phe- 
 
 27. The Life of Sir Isaac Newton. 
 
 nomena. By W. M. Higgins. 
 
 By David Brewster, LL.D. 
 
 40. The Philosophy of the Moral 
 
 28. Live and Let Live. By Miss 
 
 Feelings. By John Abercrombie. 
 
 C. M. Sedgwick. 
 
 4.1, 42. Memoirs of Celebrated Fe- 
 
 29, 30. The Chinese. By John 
 
 male Sovereigns. By Mrs. Jameson. 
 
 Francis Davis, F.R S. 
 
 43. History of Virginia. By Un- 
 
 31. An Historical Account of the 
 
 cle Philip. 
 
 Circumnavigation of the Globe. 
 
 44. The Ornaments Discovered. 
 
 32. The Life and Actions of Alex- 
 
 By Mary Hughs. 
 
 ander the Great. By Rev. J. Wil- 
 
 45. Natural History; or, Tools 
 
 liams. 
 
 and Trades among Inferior Animals. 
 
 33, 34. Letters of Euler on Differ- 
 
 By Uncle Philip. 
 
 ent Subjects of Natural Philosophy. 
 
 46. 47. The Whale-fishery and the 
 
 With Notes and a Life of Euler, by 
 
 Polar Seas. By Uncle Philip. 
 
 Sir David Brewster ; with additional 
 
 48. Lives and Voyages of Early 
 
 Notes, by John Griscom, LL.D. 
 
 Navigators. 
 
 35. Memoir of the Life of Peter 
 
 49. 50. History of New-York. By 
 
 the Great. By John Barrow, Esq. 
 
 William Dunlap. 
 
 SECOND SERIES. 
 
 Nos. 51, 52. Life and W'orks of 
 
 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75,76, 77 78, 79. 
 
 Dr. Franklin. 
 
 American Biography. Edited by 
 
 53, 54. The Farmer's Instructer ; 
 
 Jared Sparks, Esq. 
 
 consisting of Essays, Practical Di- 
 
 80. The Travels and Researches 
 
 rections and Hints for the Manage- 
 
 of Alexander Von Humboldt. By 
 
 ment of the Farm, Garden, &c. By 
 
 W. Macgilhvray, A.M. 
 
 the Hon. Judge Buel. 
 
 81. The History of Greece. By 
 
 55, 56. The Pursuit of Knowledge 
 
 Dr. Goldsmith. .Prepared by the ^ 
 
 under Difficulties ; its Pleasures and 
 
 Author of "American Popular Les- L 
 
 Rewards. Illustrated by Memoirs 
 
 sons," &c. 
 
 of Eminent Men. 
 
 82. Natural History of Birds. 
 
 57. Animal Mechanism and Physi- 
 
 83. Familiar Illustrations of Nat- 
 
 ology. By J. H. Griscom, M.D. 
 58. The Elephant as he exists in 
 
 ural Philosophy. By Prof. Renwick. 
 84, 85. Selections from the Spec- 
 
 a Wild State and as he has been 
 
 tator. 
 
 made subservient, in Peace and in 
 
 86. The Elements of Geology. By 
 
 War, to the Purposes of Man. 
 
 Charles A. Lee, A.M., M.D. 
 
 59. Vegetable Substances used 
 
 87. The History of Rome. By 
 
 for the Food of Man. 
 
 Dr. Goldsmith. Edited by H. W. 
 
 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65. Universal 
 
 Herbert, Esq. 
 
 History. By the Hon. Alexander 
 Fraser Tytler and Rev. E. Nares. 
 
 88. A Treatise on Agriculture. By 
 Gen. John Armstrong. With Notes, 
 
 66. Illustrations of Mechanics. By 
 
 by the Hon. Judge Buel. 
 
 Professors Moseley and Kenwick. 
 
 89. Natural History of Quadrupeds. 
 
 67. Narrative of Discovery and 
 
 90. Chaptal's Chymistry applied 
 
 Adventure in the Polar Seas and 
 
 to Agriculture. 
 
 Regions. By Professors Leslie and 
 
 91. Lives of the Signers of the 
 
 Jameson, and Hugh Murray, Esq. 
 68. 69. Paley's Natural Theology. 
 
 Declaration of Independence. By 
 N. Dwight, Esq. 
 
 With Notes, &c., by Henry Lord 
 
 92, 93, 94, 95. Plutarch's Lives. 
 
 Brougham, Sir Charles Bell, and 
 Alonzo Potter, D.D. 
 
 Translated by John Langhorne.D.D., I 
 and William Langhorne, M.A. 
 
 24
 
 Published by Harper cf Brothers. 
 
 SCHOOL DISTRICT LIBRARY. 
 
 THIRD SERIES. 
 
 The Third Serin of the School District Library ii now in preparation. Among mny othf r Tsluabla 
 
 works under contract and consideration are the following : 
 
 A History of the United States. 
 
 The Life and Correspondence of 
 
 By the Hon. S. Hale. 2 vols. 
 
 Governor John Jay. By Professor 
 
 History of British America. By 
 
 Renwick. 
 
 Hugh Murray, F.R.S.E. 
 
 The Life and Travels of Mungo 
 
 History of Scotland. By Sir Wal- 
 
 Park. 
 
 ter Scott', Bart. 2 vols. 
 History of France. By E. E. 
 
 Parry's Voyages and Journey to- 
 wards the North Pole. 2 vols. 
 
 Crowe, Ksq. 3 vols. 
 
 Life of Patrick Henry. By Wil- 
 
 The History of England. By T. 
 
 liam Wirt. 
 
 Keightley. 4 vols. 
 
 Political Economy. Its objects 
 
 The Science of Mechanics applied 
 
 stated and explained, and its Princi- 
 
 to Practical Purposes. By James 
 
 ples familiarly and practically illus- 
 
 Renwick, LL.D. 
 
 trated. 
 
 History of the Expedition to Russia 
 ' undertaken by the Ernperor Napo- 
 
 Evening Readings in Nature and 
 Man. Selected and arranged by 
 
 leon. By Gen. Count Philip de Se- 
 
 Alonzo Potter, D.D. 
 
 gur. 2 vols. 
 
 Outlines of Imperfect and Disor- 
 
 History of the Fine Arts. By B. 
 
 dered Mental Action. By Professor 
 
 J. Lossing, Esq. 
 
 Upham. 
 
 Selections from the Works of Dr. 
 
 The Starry Heavens and other 
 
 Johnson. 2 vols. 
 
 Objects connected with Astronomy. 
 
 Selections from the Works of Dr. 
 
 By Thomas Dick, LL.D. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 A familiar Treatise on the Consti- 
 
 Selections from the American Po- 
 
 tution of the United States. 
 
 . ets. By W. C. Bryant, Esq. 
 
 Biographies of Distinguished Fe- 
 
 Selections from Foreign Poets. 
 
 males. 2 vols. 
 
 ; By Fitz-Greene Halleck. 2 vols. 
 
 Sketches of American Enterprise. 
 
 The Pleasures and Advantages of 
 
 2 vols. 
 
 Science. By A. Potter, D.D. 
 
 Selections from the Writings of 
 
 Exemplary and Instructive Biog- 
 
 Washington. 2 vols. 
 
 raphy. A new Selection. 3 vols. 
 'The Household Book. By the 
 
 The Useful Arts, popularly treated. 
 The Wonders of Nature and Art. 
 
 Hev. Dr. Potter. 
 
 History of Massachusetts. By 
 
 Tales from History. By Agnes 
 
 Uncle Philip. 2 vols. 
 
 btrickland. 2 vols. 
 
 History of New- Hampshire. By 
 
 j First Principles of Chemistry fa- 
 miliarly explained. By Professor 
 
 Uncle Philip. 2 vols. 
 History of Connecticut. By The- 
 
 Renwick. 
 
 odore Dwight, Esq. 
 
 The Life and Correspondence of 
 
 A Valuable and Useful Work for 
 
 Dewitt Clinton. By Professor Ren- 
 
 Farmers and Gardeners. By the 
 
 wick. 
 
 Editors of " The Cultivator." 
 
 The Life and Correspondence of 
 
 A Life of Commodore Perry. By 
 
 General Alexander Hamilton. By 
 
 Lieut. A. Shdell Mackenzie. 
 
 Professor Renwick. 
 
 
 ID* The first and second series of the School District Library have been 
 
 pronounced highly judicious, and have been recommended by the public 
 press, the governor of the state, the superintendent of public schools, and 
 other distinguished gentlemen, as the best selection of books that has ever 
 
 appeared, and, on account of its cheapness and great value, " admirably 
 
 adapted to the purpose for which it is designed." 
 
 The publishers are preparing a fourth series, to consist of books selected 
 
 .. by competent persons, and approved by the SUPERINTENDENT or COM- 
 
 j MON SCHOOLS. 
 
 The volumes embraced in the School, as well as in the Family, Classical, 
 
 I and Boys' and Girls' Libraries, are sold either separately or in complete sets. 
 
 25
 
 aluable Standard Workt 
 
 NOVELS, ROMANCES, ETC. 
 
 NOVELS, ROMANCES, & c. 
 
 Vor.. I. Castle Rackrent. Essay 
 on Irish Bulls' Essay on Self-Jus 
 
 de Fleury. Emily de Coulanges. 
 The Modern Griselda. 
 
 ti Mention. The Prussian Vase. 
 
 VOL. VI. Belinda. 
 
 The Good Aunt. 
 
 VOL. VII. Leonora. Letters on 
 
 VOL. II. Angelina. The Good 
 
 Female Education Patronage. 
 
 French Governess. Mademoiselle 
 
 VOL. VIII. Patronage.- Dramas. 
 
 Panache. The Knapsack. Lame 
 Jervas. The Will. Out of Debt 
 
 VOL. IX. Harrington. Thoughts 
 on Bores. Orrnond. 
 
 out of Danger. The Limerick 
 
 VOL. X. Helen. 
 
 Gloves. The Lottery. Rosanna. 
 
 ** The above can be had separ- 
 
 Vol.. III. Murad the Unlucky 
 
 ately or in sets. 
 
 The Manufacturers. Ennui. The 
 
 Practical Kducation. 12mo. 
 
 Contrast. The Grateful .Negro. 
 
 Frank. 12mo. 
 
 To-morrow. The Dun. 
 
 Rosamond ; and other Stories. 
 
 VOL. I V. Manoeuvring. Almeria. 
 
 12mo. 
 
 Vivian. 
 
 Harry and Lucy. 2 vols. 12mo. 
 
 Vol.. V. The Absentee. Madame 
 
 The Parent's Assistant. 12mo. 
 
 MRS. SHERWOOD'S WORKS. 15 vols. 12mo. 
 
 Vol. I. Henry Milner, parts I., 
 
 rand Boy. The Orphan Boy. The 
 
 II., III. 
 
 Two Sisters. Julian Percival. Ed- 
 
 VOL. II. Fairchild Family. Or- 
 
 ward Mansfield. The Infirmary. 
 
 phans of Normandy. The Latter 
 VOL. III. Little Henry and his 
 
 Mrs. Catharine Crawley Joan ; or, 
 Trustworthy. The Young Forester. 
 The Bitter Sweet. Common Er- 
 
 Bearer. Little Lucy and her Dhaye. 
 
 rors 
 
 Memoirs of Sergeant Dale, his 
 Daughter, and the Orphan Mary. 
 Susan Gray. Lucy Clare. Hedge 
 
 VOLS IX., X., XL, and XII. The 
 Lady of the Manor. 
 VOL. XIII. The Mail-coach. My 
 
 of Thorns The Recaptured Negro. 
 
 Three I'ncles. The Old Lady's 
 
 Susannah; or, the Three Guar- 
 dians. Theophilus and Sophia. 
 
 Complaint The Hours of Infancy. 
 The Shepherd's Fountain. Econ- 
 
 Abdallah, the Merchant of Bagdad. 
 VOL. IV. The Indian Pilgrim 
 
 omy. '-Hoc Age." Old Things 
 and New Things. The Swiss Cot- 
 
 The Broken Hyacinth. The Little 
 Woodman The Babes in the Wood. 
 
 tage. Obstinacy Punished. The 
 Infant's Grave. The Father's Eye. 
 
 Clara Stephens. The Golden 
 
 The Red Book. Dudley Castle. 
 
 Clew. Katharine Seward. Mary 
 Anne The Iron Cage. The Little 
 
 The Happy Grandmother. The 
 Blessed Family. My Godmother. 
 
 Beggars. 
 
 The Useful Little Girl. Caroline 
 
 VOL V. The Infant's Progress.- 
 The Flowers of the Forest Juliana 
 
 Mordaunt. Le Fevre The Penny 
 Tract. The Potters' Common 
 
 Oakley. Ermina. Emancipation. 
 VOL. VI. The Governess. The 
 
 The China Manufactory. Emily 
 and her Brothers. 
 
 Little Momiere. The Stranger at 
 
 VOL. XIV. The Monk of Cimies. 
 
 Home. Pere la Chaise English 
 
 The Rosary; or, Rosee of Mon- 
 
 Mary. My Uncle Timothy. 
 
 treux. The Roman Baths. Saint 
 
 VOL. VII. The Nun.- Intimate 
 
 Hospice. The Violet Leaf.-The 
 
 Friends My Aunt Kate. Kmme- 
 
 Convent of St. Clair. 
 
 line Obedience. The Gipsy Babes. 
 
 VOL. XV. The History of Henry 
 
 The Basket-maker The Butter- 
 
 Milner, Part IV. Sabbaths on the 
 
 fly. A lune. Procrastination. The 
 
 Continent. The Idler. 
 
 Mourning Queen. 
 
 *< * The above can be had in sets 
 
 VOL. VIII. Victoria. Arzoomund. 
 
 or in separate volumes. 
 
 The Birthday Present. The Er- 
 
 Roxobel. 3 vols. 18mo. 
 
 26
 
 ANTHON S SERIES OP CLASSICAL WORKS. 
 
 Commendatory Letters continued. 
 
 From the Rev. Dr. MII.I.KDOLER, 
 
 of the learned editor and the neat and 
 
 President of Rutger's College, at 
 New- Brunswick, N. J. 
 
 handsome appearance of the volumes be 
 justly appreciated, your work cannot fail 
 
 .... Notwithstanding the objections 
 of some eminent men to the study of the 
 Greek and Roman Classics, it is now 
 
 to receive a liberal patronage. 
 Your obedient servant, 
 JAMES CARNAHAN. 
 
 almost generally conceded that they form 
 
 
 
 an important if not necessary part of a 
 
 From the Rev. Dr. BALDWIN, Presi- 
 
 liberal education. 
 A respectable acquaintance with those 
 languages, in which the greatest masters 
 in belles lettres and science have written, 
 cannot be dispensed with by professional 
 men. We do not indeed see, without re- 
 sorting to these ancient and admired 
 fountains of taste and learning, how el- 
 egant literature can be cultivated to ad- 
 vantage, or how even a competent knowl- 
 edge of our own tongue can be acquired. 
 Whoever, therefore, has so mastered 
 these works that he can teach their gram- 
 matical structure not only, but by accu- 
 rate reference to ancient history, geogra- 
 phy, and philology, can trace their nice 
 and varied shades of meaning, unfold 
 i their beauty, and inspire the youthful 
 
 dent of Wahash College, at Craw- 
 fordsville, Indiana. 
 .... I have read Anthon's Sallust and 
 his Caesar's Commentaries with much 
 satisfaction. We have adopted the for- 
 mer in the preparatory course connected 
 with our college ; and propose to use his 
 editions of Caesar and of Tully's Ora- 
 tions, in preference to all others. My 
 opinion of the merits of Professor An- 
 thon, as a Latin scholar and editor of the 
 Latin Classics, and particularly at a 
 critical commentator, is very high. I 
 most cheerfully commend his literary 
 labours to the patronage of classical 
 teachers as second to none in his depart- 
 ment, with which I am acquainted, 
 v i 
 
 
 y ours sincerely, 
 
 well of the Republic of Letter's. 
 
 ELIHU W. BALDWIN. 
 
 Professor Anthon, in his recent edi- 
 
 
 
 tions of the Classics, has, in the judg- 
 
 From the University of St. Louis- 
 
 ment of the undersigned, very ably ac- 
 
 Missouri. 
 
 complished this difficult service. 
 With these works in their hands, our 
 youth teill not be left to waste time and 
 mental energy in unnecessary and dis- 
 couraging investigations, but will be 
 lighted on their way, and excited to ex- 
 ertion. 
 The typographical part is correctly 
 and elegantly executed. 
 With my best wishes that both editor 
 and publishers may be amply remunera- 
 ted by the rapid sale of these works, and 
 their extensive diffusion through the 
 academies and colleges of our country, 
 
 We have examined them part- 
 ly ourselves, and submitted them for 
 farther examination to persons fully 
 competent to pronounce on their merit. 
 We feel happy in stating, that there has 
 been but one opinion on the subject, viz., 
 that the highest encomiums are due to 
 Professor Anthon as a scholar and a 
 friend to education, and that the typo- 
 graphical execution is not inferior to 
 that of the best schoolbooks published in 
 England and in France 
 Your obedient servants, 
 J. A. ELET, 
 
 2 remain, gentlemen, 
 Yours very respectfully, 
 
 .Rector of St. Louis University. 
 J. B. ESNING, 
 
 PHILIP MILLEDOLKR. 
 
 Profes. Ling. 
 
 From the Rev. JAMES CARNAHAN, 
 
 From the Rev. RICHARD H WALL, 
 
 D.D., President of the College of 
 
 D.D., Principal of the Preparatory 
 
 New-Jersey, at Princeton, N. J. 
 
 School of Trinity College, Dublin, 
 
 Having examined in a cursory man- 
 
 and Minister of the Chapel Royal. 
 
 ner your series of Anthon's Classical 
 
 Doctor Anthon is an admira- 
 
 authors, J add, with pleasure, the testi- 
 
 ble commentator. His works have a 
 
 mony of my approbation to the numer- 
 
 great sale here. And I shall be anxious 
 
 ous recommendations -given by others. 
 
 to see anything in the Classical way 
 
 Professor Anthon's character as a Clas- 
 
 which comes from his pen. We have 
 
 sical scholar is a sufficient pledge for the 
 accuracy of the edition. If the ability 
 
 his Cicero, Sallust, and Horace in gen- 
 eral circulation in our schools
 
 ANTHON S SERIES OF CLASSICAL WORKS. 
 
 Letters of Recommendation continued. 
 
 From the Rev. E. NOTT, D.D., Pres- 
 
 tended. The editions by Dr. Anthon 
 
 ident of Union College at Sche- 
 
 seem to me to supply, in a very judicious 
 
 nectady, N. Y. 
 
 manner, what is wanting to the student, 
 
 The Jurnishing of our schools and 
 colleges with accurate and uniform edi- 
 tions of the Classical authors in use, 
 
 and cannot fail, I should think, to aid in 
 restoring Classical studies frc,m their 
 unhappily languishing condition. 
 
 accompanied by a useful body of com- 
 mentary, maps, illluptrations, cf-c., is an 
 
 Tno. R. INOALLS. 
 
 undertaking worthy alike of commenda- 
 
 
 
 tion and of patronage. The competency 
 of Professor Anthon for the editorial su- 
 pervision assigned him, is well known to 
 
 From C. L. DUBUISSON, A.M., Presi- 
 dent of Jefferson College at Wash- 
 ington, Miss. 
 
 me. The whole design meets my entire 
 approbation, a?id you are quite at liberty 
 to make use of my name in the further- 
 
 / have examined with some care the 
 first five volumes of Anthon' s Series of 
 Classical Works. They are such as I 
 
 ance of its execution. 
 Very respectfully, 
 
 should expect from the distinguished ed- 
 itor. The "Horace" and " Sallust" 
 
 ELIPHALET NOTT. 
 
 of this gentleman have long been known 
 
 From the Rev. F. WAYT.AND, D.D., 
 
 to me as the very best books to be placed 
 in the hands of a student. As a com- 
 
 President of Brown University at 
 
 mentator, Professor Anthon has, in my 
 
 Providence, R. I. 
 
 estimation, no equal. His works hare 
 
 1 have not been able, owing to the pres- 
 sure of my engagements, to examine the 
 above works with any degree of accuracy. 
 I however beg leave to thank you for the 
 volumes, and cheerfully bear testimony 
 to the distinguished scholarship of their 
 editor. No classical scholar of our 
 country enjoys a higher reputation, and 
 I know of no one in whose labours more 
 decided confidence may be reposed. 
 
 excited a great and beneficial influence 
 in the cause of Classical learning, and 
 the present undertaking will infinitely 
 extend the sphere of that influence. No 
 one so well as a teacher can appreciate 
 the value of uniform editions of the text- 
 books to be used by his classes. The 
 undertaking of publishing a complete 
 series of all those standard works which 
 students must read is a noble one, and 
 I sincerely hope it will be completed. 
 
 Yours truly, 
 F. WAYLAND. 
 
 With such a series as the present prom- 
 ises to be, there will be nothing left to 
 
 
 
 desire. It is be hoped that editor and 
 
 From the Rev. JOHN P. DOKBIN, 
 
 publishers will meet with such encourage- 
 
 A.M., President of Dickinson Col- 
 
 ment as their truly valuable undertaking 
 
 lege at Carlisle, Penn. 
 
 deserves. 
 
 
 Your obedient servant, 
 
 For some months past my attention 
 
 B IS 
 
 has been directed to the series of Classi- 
 
 
 cal works now in the course of publication 
 from your press, edited by Professor An- 
 thon. I can with confidence recommend 
 
 From the Rev. JOHN LTJDLOW, Pres- 
 ident of the University of Pennsyl- 
 
 them as the best editions of the several 
 
 vania at Philadelphia. 
 
 works which have appeared in our coun- 
 try, perhaps in any country. The mat- 
 
 The object is worthy your en- 
 terprising spirit, and you have been sin- 
 
 ter is select, and the notes are copious 
 and clear 
 
 gularly fortunate in securing the services 
 of Professor Anthon to direct it to its 
 
 RtspectfuHy, 
 J. P. DURBIN. 
 
 completion. The volumes which you 
 have kindly sent me fully sustain the 
 
 
 reputation of that distinguished scholar, 
 
 From THOMAS R. INGALLS, Esq., 
 President of Jefferson College at 
 St. James, Louisiana. 
 
 and afford a sure pledge of what may be 
 expected in those which are to follow. 
 Most heartily do I recommend your un- 
 dertaking, and sincerely hope it will meet 
 
 I have examined them with atten- 
 
 with the encouragement which it richly 
 
 tion, and have no hesitation in saying 
 
 deserves. 
 
 that I prefer them to any books 1 have 
 seen for the schools for which they are in- 
 
 With great respect, yours, Jj-c., 
 JOHN LODLOW. 
 
 UNIVERSITY of
 
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