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 BC 
 
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 FRIENDS 
 AT THEIE OWN FIEESIDE; 
 
 OB, 
 
 PICTURES 
 
 OF THE 
 
 PRIVATE LIFE OF THE PEOPLE 
 
 CALLED 
 
 QUAKERS. 
 
 BY MES. ELLIS, 
 
 ATTHOn Ol- "THE WOMEN OF EXGLAND "—" EDUCATION OF CllAKAt IKK ;' &C., &C. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 KICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1858.
 
 London : 
 Printed bt King & Co., Queen Street, New Cannon Street.
 
 8^3 
 
 p^5^'f/^ PREFACE. iii 
 
 V. 1 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 There are few persons to whom it ha^ not 
 happened, at one time or other of their lives, to 
 have urgent need for fixing their thoughts upon 
 one particular object, in order to be able more 
 patiently to await the issue of events over which 
 ^they had no control. 
 
 "f Under such circumstances the following sim- 
 
 ^ple story was commenced. It had long been 
 
 ^a favourite idea with me, to attempt something 
 
 ^like a picture, painted in words, which should 
 
 faithfully illustrate the social and domestic life 
 
 of the Society of Friends. I had never found 
 
 jJ^ny picture of this kind which appeared to me 
 
 '^ to have been painted with a sufficiently inti- 
 
 jtnate acquaintance with this peculiar people — a 
 
 ^people only to be thoroughly understood, and 
 
 ^appreciated, by members of their own body.
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 For this task I had ample materials in those 
 indelible impressions which are made upon the 
 mind in childhood, and early youth. But while 
 solicitous to paint truthfully, it is only just to my- 
 self, and to the characters I have pourtrayed, to 
 state distinctly that they bear no personal re- 
 semblance, which I am aware of, to any real or 
 existing individuals. The scenes and circum- 
 stances of the story are also entirely imaginary. 
 That' in which I have endeavoured to adhere 
 strictly to the truth, has been the kindness, the 
 hospitality, the social fellowship, and the widely 
 extended family claims, by which, as it seems to 
 me, the Society has been held together almost as 
 much as by the union of opinion and sentiment 
 on subjects connected with religion. 
 
 In this respect I have earnestly endeavoured 
 
 to do justice to some of the most peculiar, as 
 
 well as some of the loveliest and most attractive 
 
 features of my picture ; and if in anything I have 
 
 been tempted to " extenuate," I feel, on the other 
 
 hand, that it would ,have been impossible for 
 
 me to 
 
 " Set down aught in malice." 
 
 S. S. E. 
 
 HODDESDON, 
 
 April, 1858.
 
 FEIENDS AT TIIEIE OWN HEESIDE. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 The intention of the writer of the following sim- 
 pie story being that of giving a perfectly true and 
 graphic description of the domestic habits of the 
 Society of Friends, the reader is requested in the 
 outset to go back in the history of this Society at 
 least fifty years ; because it is scarcely possible, 
 in their present altered habits and modes of life, 
 to find, in clear development, those characteristic 
 features v^hich at one time rendered them so dis- 
 tinct and peculiar a people. 
 
 Backward as the members of this Society origi- 
 nally were in adopting the refinements, or rather 
 the embellishments of artificial life, we shall have 
 to regard the different characters about to be intro- 
 duced as living in a state of simplicity scarcely 
 consistent with their intelligence, cultivation, and 
 real refinement. Of late years this kind of sim- 
 plicity has been very much lost sight of; and 
 
 VOL. I, A
 
 2 FRIENDS AT THEIU 
 
 with the progress of what is called civilization, 
 and the introduction of multiplied conveniences, 
 ornaments, and luxuries, the Society has managed 
 so far to make up for lost time, as to be at the 
 present period scarcely behind any other class of 
 the community, so that the establishment of a 
 wealthy Friend has now but little to distinguish it 
 from that of any other person, and not unfre- 
 quently might compete in elegance and luxury 
 with that of the most fashionable. 
 
 But it was far otherwise at the time when the 
 circumstances which constitute the frame- work of 
 this story are supposed to have taken place. 
 Even a sofa was a luxury then ; and the writer 
 has been assured upon unquestionable authority, 
 that long after the introduction of sofas into gene- 
 ral use, there were individuals who strongly ob- 
 jected to them, as not only unnecessary, but in 
 many respects undesirable. 
 
 Still there was something in the pleasant homes 
 of this class of people which, with all their sim- 
 plicity, rendered them at once the most attractive 
 and comfortable that can well be imagined. We 
 might go farther and speak of their refinement — 
 yes, their intrinsic and genuine refinement, for 
 one of the most marked, as well as one of the
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 3 
 
 loveliest of those features which characterize the 
 Society of Friends, has ever been a peculiar nice- 
 ty in little things, an order, cleanliness, and re- 
 gularity behind the scenes, which in no respect 
 falls short of the highest refinement, at the same 
 time that it imparts a moral dignity, as well as 
 purity, to the whole of the establishment which is 
 thus regulated and governed. 
 
 As this rule prevails so generally throughout 
 the whole community, so its opposite, whenever 
 found amongst the Society of Friends, forms a 
 glaring instance of painful deviation, exceedingly 
 offensive and troublesome to the rest of the mem- 
 bers, who feel the dignity of their body to be im- 
 plicated in such deviations, and well they may ; 
 for it would not be easy to find throughout the 
 whole of society any individual more repulsive 
 than a vulgar Friend. 
 
 Truly there was no vulgarity, to be reminded 
 of, in the little cottage about to be opened to the 
 reader's view, — no disorder — no confusion — no 
 waste, and yet no grudging ; but comfort, plenty, 
 consideration, and hospitality for all. 
 
 The little party in the parlour consisted of three 
 sisters between the ages of twenty and thirty — 
 Rachel, Grace, and Isabel. We have not much to 
 
 r> 2
 
 4 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 say of the two older sisters, who must pass quick- 
 ly from the scene, except that Rachel was bright, 
 active, and apparently full of healthy and energy ; 
 while Grace, w ith a better figure, and somewhat 
 softer manners, had a certain paleness and langour 
 indicative of premature decay. 
 
 The three sisters dressed almost exactly alike, 
 except for some slight difference at times discern- 
 ible in the delicate shades of their drab or brown. 
 The material of which their dresses were composed 
 was always costly and beautiful ; but at that time 
 it was never of silken texture, woollen stuffs of 
 various descriptions, and for morning wear, a light 
 print of the smallest possible pattern, constituted 
 the only costume thought desirable for female 
 Friends. 
 
 The reader must observe we do not say thought 
 right The nomenclature of this society consists 
 in a remarkable manner of qualified terms ; so that 
 speaking as well as dressing in neutral tints would 
 seem to be one of the elements of their social in- 
 tercourse.* Alas! for human nature; to what 
 outbursts of feeling, to what explosions of extra- 
 
 ♦As a proof of this, the writer when a child was not allowed to 
 enforce a statement even bj saying—" I am sure."
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 5 
 
 vagance, has not this unnatural restraint given rise ; 
 until the more intimate communications of some 
 young friends have come to be marked by a force 
 and violence of expression scarcely ever needed, 
 and seldom sought for by feelings to which there 
 has been allowed, in early life, a more natural and 
 copious flow. 
 
 The three sisters just introduced were not, in 
 their natural temperament, of this extravagant or- 
 der. A certain graciousness of manner, with a 
 mixture of womanly gentleness and dignity , charac- 
 terized them all. In their dress and deportment 
 they were altogether Friends ; but it would have 
 been easy to discover, had any one searched their 
 library, or examined the old pictures, and neatly 
 framed engravings which hung around their walls 
 • — sometimes also, had any one listened critically 
 to their conversation, and marked their allusions 
 and quotations, it would have been easy to discov- 
 er that either they or their ancestors had not al- 
 ways been equally strict in their measure of in- 
 dulgence with regard to the various enjoyments 
 to be derived from literature and art. Indeed, 
 there is this striking fact almost universally pre- 
 vailing as the foundation of that secret charm with 
 which the conversation of many of the higher or-
 
 6 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 der of Friends abounds — they have at some time 
 or other been extensive readers of books which if 
 not exactly forbidden, would be disapproved by 
 the stricter members of their sect. The true test 
 of character as regards any distinct and separate 
 body of people, w^ould be to confine its members 
 entirely to that class of literature, and to those in- 
 stitutions, which emanate purely from themselves. 
 
 Amongst the higher order of Friends many have 
 also seen the w^orld under aspects which would make 
 the narroAV minded tremble ; and thus they take 
 along with them, into the closer walks of their 
 more secluded lives, all the advantages derived from 
 wide observation, and expansive thought. Had 
 the reading of the Society been confined entirely 
 to their own literature it is surely not going too 
 far to say, they would scarcely have existed as an 
 intelligent people at the present day. This fact 
 is fraught with serious import ; and as a fact it must 
 ever remain strongly opposed to any boast of con- 
 sistency which the members of the Society of 
 Friends may feel disposed to bring forward. 
 
 The three sisters locked up their Shakespeare 
 in a glass case lined with green silk, along with 
 many other books which enriched, if they could not 
 be said to adorn, a very pretty library, opening by
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 7 
 
 a bow window into a perfect bower of roses and 
 sweet brier. No servant ever saw them opening 
 this glass case except for purposes of dusting, and 
 that they always did themselves ; nor, indeed, were 
 they very free to admit visitors into this room at 
 all, especially their little nephews and nieces 
 from the adjoining house, who, however, with 
 the accustomed perverseness of children, were 
 perpetually asking to see the pretty library, and 
 making errands into the room whenever the door 
 happened to be left unlocked. 
 
 As these children will be the real characters of 
 the story, it may be as well to state here that 
 they were the sons and daughters of Jacob and 
 Rebecca Law, two worthy and well-to-do Friends 
 residing in a commodious but somewhat anti- 
 quated mansion hard by. Indeed, the home of 
 the three spinster-sisters of Jacob Law was in 
 some sort an offshoot of this mansion, being 
 situated within the limits of the general garden, 
 though still enclosed, to a certain extent, within a 
 garden of its own. Near to this, and in some man- 
 ner connecting with the chief dwelling house, 
 were other cottages and outbuildings, of various 
 kinds, so that the whole bore considerable resem- 
 blance to a little colony, and truly there were few
 
 8 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 tilings wanting to make it as complete a colony in 
 all its comforts, helps, and uses, as any reasonable 
 human settler could desire. Not that it bore the 
 character of original completeness. It was evi- 
 dent that one part had grown to another, and that 
 the present perfectness of the whole was the 
 result of some active and observant mind having 
 been long intent upon making the most and the 
 best of everything. All that had been done was 
 for comfort, convenience, and utility — nothing, or 
 very little, for pure ornament ; and certainly 
 nothing for display. The neatness and compact- 
 ness of the whole, constituted its chief beauty ; 
 and the ever-present aspect of comfort its prin- 
 cipal charm. 
 
 If this all-pervading comfort shone out from 
 the exterior of the pleasant and prosperous 
 establishment, as cheerfulness shines sometimes 
 from the human countenance, inviting to a more 
 intimate acquaintance, what shall we say of the 
 arrangements within ? We will take the cottage 
 first, and here it must be stated, by no means to 
 the shame of the maiden ladies, that their 
 income w^as but small, and that nothing could 
 induce them to encroach upon their brother's, so 
 that there was here no lavish expenditure upon
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 9 
 
 those comforts and elegancies, the value of which 
 the sisters were so capable of appreciating. On 
 a slight view, it is true their parlour looked the 
 picture of elegance, as well as comfort ; but on 
 looking again the observer might discover that 
 the elegance was entirely the result of a graceful 
 adjustment of white muslin, with a nice arrange- 
 ment of suitable furniture, and much appropriate 
 placing of shells and seaweed, and careful gather- 
 ing and assortment of flowers in their season ; 
 while throughout every department, and deep 
 down into the recesses of every drawer and cup- 
 board, was the perpetual scent of lavender, and 
 rose leaves. Piles of white linen, and especially 
 clear starched muslins, would come out redolent 
 of these old garden perfumes ; and when the bow 
 window was opened, in came the ever-welcome 
 breath of the violet, and the sweet brier, not less 
 welcome. 
 
 Some people might have called it a kind of 
 starched propriety which the sisters bore about 
 with them, had they sat down only to contemplate 
 their stiff muslin caps, and handkerchiefs, of 
 which no single plait or fold was ever more than 
 a hair's breadth out of its place ; and, what would 
 seem very wonderful to the uninitiated, was
 
 10 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 never, even after washing and getting up, at all 
 different in its crimping and plaiting from that of 
 the cap or the handkerchief worn before it. 
 
 But escaping perpetually from this stiff muslin 
 citadel, the sisters had many a warm impulse 
 ready to gush forth ; with such fresh up-springing 
 joy in nature — such heart-echoes to the song of 
 birds — such welcomes for the spring, and the 
 glad morning, and the sweet visitations of bright 
 weather, moonlight, and soft dews, that besides 
 the strong interest excited by all the greater 
 events of life, they were never dull, nor knew 
 what it was to sit listless for a single moment 
 without an occupation or a thought. 
 
 But it is seventh day afternoon, and what can 
 be the reason for their tea being delayed to-day 
 until six o'clock instead of five ? The table too is 
 spread with a snow white damask cloth of their 
 mother's own spinning ; while sundry preparations 
 for a more substantial meal are going on in the 
 kitchen, into which Kachel steps now and then 
 to preside, giving orders, the servant thinks, a 
 little more f i-equently than there is any need for ; 
 she can make excuses, however, she understands 
 all about it, and so she fries away without 
 appearing to take any notice.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 11 
 
 At last the quick steady trot of a horse is 
 heard in the distance, for the window has been 
 placed ajar for some time past, but is now hastily 
 closed. Rachel's ever-blooming face flushes up a 
 little more than usual ; she wishes it would not do 
 so, but it will in spite of the many times she has 
 been upstairs to bathe it with cold water, and to 
 smoothe the locks of hair, which, in spite of all her 
 endeavours, will persist in curling around her 
 temples, sometimes flying back in stray tendrils 
 across the stiif border of her cap. 
 
 No gallant knight of olden time ever sprang 
 from his horse with more alacrity than a young 
 man dressed in a suit of brown, who now walks 
 straight into the cottage ; not, however, without a 
 respectful greeting to the well known female 
 servant, who takes the bridle of his horse until 
 the groom from the other house shall arrive. 
 
 " I might as well have put my horse in Jacob's 
 stable at once," said the visitor, as he entered the 
 little passage which led to the interior of the 
 cottage ; but there was evidently a very cogent 
 reason why he should not go back, for the three 
 sisters greeted him at once with smiling faces, and 
 while he spoke to them all with the same pleased 
 manner, he managed to keep hold of the hand of
 
 12 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 one until he had walked up to the fireplace* nor are 
 we quite sure that it was relinquished there. 
 Meantime the servant having willingly resigned 
 the care of the horse, brought in the savoury dishes 
 with which she had been so busy, after which 
 came choice cakes in great profusion, of various 
 flavours, compounds, and merits, until the table 
 could bear no more, and place had to be found 
 upon the sideboard for such as Avere least likely to 
 be wanted, but yet might possiby be approved. 
 
 It was a pleasant chat with which the refresh- 
 ment was enlivened, and the two sisters to whom 
 the visit did not especially appertain, looked as 
 pleased with the guest as if he had been their lover, 
 perhaps more so. Kachel's face became no paler, 
 for besides having to preside over the tea, she had 
 to encounter certain happy glances from a pair of 
 full dark eyes, which always appeared to have 
 more meaning in them than any other eyes in 
 the world. 
 
 Pleased as the two sisters were with their 
 guest, it was curious to observe how many things 
 they found that evening to call them away from 
 his agreeable society. Susannah, the oldest child 
 of Jacob Law, when she ran into the cottage 
 on some domestic errand — probably to inform the
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 13 
 
 visitor that there would be a bed for him at her 
 father's house — found her two aunts busy upstairs 
 crimping the borders of their first day caps; and 
 though it might have appeared more respectful to 
 deliver the message herself, they strictly forbade 
 her going into the parlour, and not even upon 
 her earnest solicitation would they hear of lier 
 askino; Aunt Rachel how she would like thino-s 
 to be arranged for going to meeting in the 
 morning. 
 
 The morning, however, found all necessary 
 arrangements made in the best possible manner 
 for the conveyance of each member of the two 
 families to a small country meeting, held in a little 
 rustic building at the distance of about a mile 
 from Jacob Law's residence. As the day was fine 
 the party from the cottage preferred to walk, the 
 two sisters, being a little hindered, and so keeping 
 at a considerable distance behind Rachel and 
 her friend. In the afternoon a long conference 
 took place between Jacob Law and the visitor ; 
 nor were the lovers in the evening permitted 
 to be alone as on the previous day. It was the 
 custom of Jacob Law to collect his whole family 
 together in his kitchen, so that the Sabbath 
 evening's reading of the scriptures should be held.
 
 14 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 not only in the presence of the different members 
 of his own family, but also of all the servants and 
 work people residing upon the premises. Here, 
 then, Rachel and her lover took their places 
 amon2:st the rest, without a word or si^cn of 
 reluctance, nor is it to be supposed that they 
 grudged a single moment of the long silence 
 which always followed after the chapter had been 
 read. 
 
 On the following morning at an early hour, the 
 visitor was obliged to depart. Rachel rose betimes 
 and made breakfast for him alone. She had open- 
 ed the parlour window for the scent of the sweet 
 brier and the roses to come in. It was a bright 
 but dewy morning, with a cloudless sky above, in 
 which the larks were singing merrily, while the 
 sparrows chirped upon the roof of the cottage, and 
 the swallows twittered gaily in their happy flight. 
 
 " See how bright and pleasant everything ap- 
 pears," said Rachel, waving her hand towards the 
 garden. 
 
 "Yes;" said the happy guest, "everything does 
 indeed look bright and pleasant now. I should feel 
 as if my cup of joy was almost too full, if it were 
 not for these frequent partings. Once more, and 
 then "—
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 15 
 
 Rachel looked a glad response more intelligible 
 than words, for the express object of this visit 
 had been to make final arrangements for a union 
 of that singular nature which had the entire ap- 
 probation of all the parties most concerned. In this 
 instance at least "the course of true love" seemed 
 to be running straight onward, without impediment, 
 towards perfect happiness.
 
 16 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 After tlie parting which took place on that 
 bright morning, — a parting too full of hope to cost 
 a single tear, the lovers never met again. In her 
 charitable ministrations amongst the poor, Rachel 
 Law committed the imprudence of entering a 
 cottage whose inmates were suffering from the 
 first symptoms of malignant fever. She had no 
 knowledge of the real nature of the disease, until 
 one of the family being suddenly carried off, she 
 heard the alarming intelligence, and told her sisters 
 what she had done. 
 
 Accustomed as the whole of the family were to 
 the exercise of entire control over every outward 
 manifestation of feeling, the sisters wisely express- 
 ed no apprehension; but they watched their 
 treasure not the less carefully, and, surely 
 enough, the fatal messenger came at the appointed 
 time.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 17 
 
 Friends and neighbours seemed all to believe that 
 the buoyant spirit, and the vigorous agile frame, 
 would struggle through; and the sufferer herself 
 persisted in the same opinion so entirely, that she 
 requested not to have her lover made acquainted 
 with the severity of her illness. Her sisters took 
 council together, however , and wrote such a letter 
 as he would understand. But the letter reached 
 its destination just after he had set out on a jour- 
 ney ; and it was not then as now, for the first hint 
 was more than a week in reaching him, and by the 
 time he caught the idea of Rachel's danger, she 
 was beyond the reach of mortal pain, where no 
 danger would ever more disturb her rest. 
 
 Grace, the next sister to Rachel, and by far the 
 most delicate of the three, took the disease so 
 mildly that in her case it scarcely wore the charac- 
 ter of the same malady. The consequences, how- 
 ever, were lingering decline, which in the course 
 of little more than twelve months, left only one 
 sister remaining of the happy trio, whose pleasant 
 lives and whose perfectly united affection had 
 once made that cottage a scene of almost uninter- 
 rupted enjoyment. 
 
 Isabel, the youngest, with whom this story has 
 sometliing more to do, did not escape unhurt from 
 VOL. I. B
 
 18 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 the long nursing and anxiety of this eventful time. 
 While attending upon her sister Grace, she had 
 suffered severely from acute pain, which she kept 
 almost entirely to herself, lest she should be 
 debarred the privilege of discharging the duties of 
 the sick room. So soon as the strain upon her 
 efforts was relaxed, and the purpose which sus- 
 tained her had ceased, it was found that her 
 painful symptoms had assumed a serious character, 
 and that lameness, if not actual inability to move 
 from place to place, was likely to be her lot for the 
 remainder of her life. 
 
 " I was not willing to give up all," she said, in 
 describing this calamity to a young friend, some 
 years afterwards. " I wanted so much to be in 
 my garden, and amongst my flowers, and I felt it 
 a heavy trial to have to call for help, whenever 
 I dropped so much as my needle. I have since been 
 brought to feel how much worse it would have 
 been had there been no kind help to come." 
 
 We must now suppose ourselves looking in upon 
 the cottage, some ten or twelve years after it 
 had lost its loveliest occupants ; for Isabel Law, — 
 " Aunt Isabel," as she was generally called, though 
 quite as interesting, and perhaps more intelligent 
 then her older sisters, had certainly a smaller share
 
 OAVN FIRESIDE. 19 
 
 of that personal beauty, which had rendered them 
 in youth so attractive, and which often seemed to 
 her fond recollections, as if it had scarcely left its 
 equal upon this earth. 
 
 Perhaps there was another individual who 
 thought so too. But the welcome visitor at the 
 cottage was now an altered man. He was married 
 — a father — a man of business, and a minister. 
 The chano-e which his affliction had wroug-ht in 
 him was inward and deep. He could not speak of 
 it, and though he had all along kept up a sort of 
 periodical visiting of the family, he conversed and 
 conducted himself on these occasions very much 
 like other visitors, as if nothing more than ordinary 
 friendsliip brought him there. One great difference, 
 however, had very soon become apparent. He 
 became what is called more "Friendly" in his 
 appearance, his hat grew broader, and his coat, 
 instead of a collar that turned over, had one that 
 stood up. His reading at the same time became 
 more limited, his library was not locked-up like 
 Aunt Isabel's, but stripped of many costly volumes, 
 which he took care not to sell or give away, but 
 actually burned. And thus a time of severe 
 searching and stripping left him somewhat of an 
 anchorite in his personal and domestic hahits, only 
 
 b2
 
 20 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 that he did what most people do under such cir- 
 cumstances, — he married ; and in forming this new- 
 connection, he allied himself to a companion in 
 many respects the exact opposite of the first object 
 of his choice. Whether he Avas happy in this 
 connection or not Avas a mystery never solved, — a 
 secret never told. Indeed, he was not a man 
 respecting whom it was easy to make calculations 
 of any kind. He might have been a figure of 
 marble or of wood, only for the life and the feeling 
 which gave vitality and force to his public minis- 
 trations ; so that his preaching, wherever he went, 
 was received as a message of remarkable weight, to 
 which few could listen without being deeply 
 impressed. 
 
 Aunt Isabel's sorrow had not taken this turn. 
 Deprived of the society of her sisters, she became 
 more social, and more generally sympathising and 
 affectionate with others. The young delighted in her 
 companionship, for she was able to take an intelli- 
 gent and lively interest in all their innocent 
 pursuits. The more mature consulted her in seasons 
 of difficulty, and referred to her decision many 
 cases of temporal as well as spiritual perplexity; 
 while to the old, she seemed ever to have ready 
 lor their need, that kind of support which is
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 21 
 
 derived from deep experience, combined with 
 sound judgment and earnest, thought. 
 
 Seldom, indeed, was the couch of Aunt Isabel, to 
 which by her lameness she was almost entirely 
 confined, left desolate; for either a poor neigh- 
 bour came to ask advice under the pressure of 
 difficulty, or a rich one sought the enjoyment of 
 half-an-hour's intelligent and cheerful conversation ; 
 either the young people from the other house made 
 excuses to come in, or the elders of that growing 
 household had a question of importance to lay 
 before Aunt Isabel ; or, as we will suppose at the 
 present moment, Jane Gordon came and brought 
 her work to sit beside her, either silent, or in 
 conversation, as the way might open. 
 
 Jane Gordon was not a member of the Society 
 of Friends, nor, indeed, had any relative connection 
 with those who were. She was one of a respect- 
 able family residing in the neighbourhood, and 
 having sometimes had occasion to call at the cottage 
 on business connected with schools, and different 
 charities, she had had the good sense to discover, 
 that under the plain cap, and the closely folded 
 shawl of that, to her, remarkable looking lady, 
 there were qualities both of head and heart, with 
 which it was a high privilege to be brought into
 
 22 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 close intimacy. Thus, despite her curls and laces, 
 ribbons and flounces, whicli for the first moment of 
 entrance seemed always to disturb the serene 
 atmosphere of the little parlour, Jane Gordon 
 "became a pretty frequent visitor, and had, in time, 
 the unspeakable satisfaction of learning to believe 
 that she was always welcome. 
 
 In herself, undoubtedly, she was welcome; but 
 there were difficulties in the way of receiving her 
 as a familiar guest which happily Jane never knew ; 
 and had not Aunt Isabel been tolerably independent, 
 as well as large hearted, she might have been com- 
 pelled to request her young friend to discontinue 
 her visits. 
 
 This adverse influence emanated from what was 
 familiarly called " the other house," or more pro- 
 perly, the Grange. It was not again&t Jane 
 herself, or in her own character, but there was a 
 strong objection at that time prevailing almost 
 entirely throughout the Society of Friends, 
 against all familiar association with persons differ- 
 ing from them in religious views, and practices. 
 Such persons were considered as being of the 
 world ; and beyond this, were frequently regarded 
 by the stricter members of the society, as being 
 unacquainted with the truth. Thus, parents in
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 23 
 
 particular, were anxiously solicitous that their 
 families should not mix in any social manner with 
 those who were beyond the line of demarcation ; 
 and with this exclusiveness of heart and feeling, 
 the young members of such families generally 
 grew up in a degree of ignorance with regard to 
 the social customs of other denominations, which 
 would scarcely obtain belief in the present day. 
 To have heard music, but especially to have seen 
 dancing, was at that time as extraordinary an 
 item of individual experience, as it is now to have 
 witnessed a battle, or a coronation. All was con- 
 jecture respecting the private habits, even of 
 families residing within a very short distance ; and 
 in a still higher degree all was wonder, and often 
 misconception, with regard to the religious obser- 
 vances of such families, their modes of worship, 
 and their grounds of belief. Carefully instructed 
 in the history of their own Society, early inspired 
 with reverence for the self-denying sufferers and 
 martyrs who had maintained their ground in sup- 
 port of what the whole society are accustomed to 
 call " the truth," the children of the Friends very 
 naturally acquired the habit oi feeling, if they did 
 not absolutely think, there must be something 
 widely different from truth, and consequently
 
 24 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 nearly approaching to error, in the principles and 
 customs of that unknown world, against which 
 they were so often warned, and from which they 
 were so solemnly called upon to come out, and be 
 separate.* 
 
 Thus one generation after another grew up to 
 believe themselves right, and all other people 
 wrong. Nor ought we to quarrel with a firmly 
 rooted opinion of this kind, existing as it ever has 
 done amongst the Friends, in connection with all 
 those kindly and benevolent offices which amelio- 
 rate suffering, and sweeten the whole current of 
 human life ; in connection, too, with the most 
 entire liberty of conscience, which has ever been 
 one of their prominent principles. Hence their 
 scrupulous and noble abstinence from all dictation 
 and interference wdth others, has justly purchased 
 for them the privilege of pursuing their own 
 peculiar way, in that peace and quietness which 
 they are so well able to enjoy. 
 
 * The writer can remember being astonished beyond measure, 
 to hear that a visitor whom she admired and loved had been par- 
 taking of the sacrament of the Lord's supper. This was the first 
 visitor not a Friend Avho had been a guest for any length of time 
 at her father's house, and had it been described to the writer how 
 this lady had stood before an altar in white robes, holding a 
 lighted candle in each hand, she would not have been more 
 astonished.
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 25 
 
 Whatever injustice may have been done to the 
 Society of Friends, by misconception of their 
 motives and principles in the minds of others, 
 they have paid back with interest by refusing to 
 enter into such social intercourse as would have 
 enabled both parties to understand each other 
 better, and consequently to esteem each other 
 more. But in order to comprehend this exclusive 
 feeling more fully, and to do it more entire 
 justice, it is necessary to bear in mind that the rules 
 of the Society of Friends do not admit of mixed mar- 
 riages. In other words a member of the Society 
 cannot marry, in one of their meetings, and accord- 
 ing to their formulas, one who is not a member. 
 Consequently such marriages, if persisted in, 
 must be performed in the usual manner by the 
 officiating Priest, as the Friends in former times 
 were fond of calling all stipendiary clergymen or 
 ministers; and the fact of being married by a 
 Priest, according to the ritual of the established 
 church, is necessarily attended with forfeiture of 
 membership altogether. 
 
 It is scarcely possible in the present day, when so 
 many have voluntarily resigned their membership 
 on conscientious and religious grounds, to imagine 
 what it was to be dismissed at the time alluded to ;
 
 26 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 nor, indeed, could the real pain, the disgrace, the 
 family affliction resulting from such dismissal, be 
 understood without some insight into the social 
 clanship by which the members of the body are 
 bound together. Nor was it formerly the dis- 
 union alone which had to be considered ; nor the 
 rupture of old ties; with the breaking up of 
 old habits and associations. There was a kind 
 of isolation which those who ventured upon this 
 step were always made to feel, accompanied 
 with a sense of ignominy which it required a 
 strong motive or a brave spirit to enable any 
 one to endure. Then there were all the ten- 
 der lamentations of those who wept over the 
 Iamb departing from the fold, blended perhaps 
 with insinuations from other quarters, not the 
 most charitable, as to the sincerity or correct- 
 ness of the motive for such a step. So that 
 all these influences, and many more than can be 
 specified here, combined to hem in the whole 
 community as by one social compact, almost as 
 effectually as the novitiate is hemmed in within 
 the convent walls. 
 
 There could not, perhaps, have been any cala- 
 mity within the range of probability, more 
 distressing to the family at the Grange, than that
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 27 
 
 one of their children, now rising up to maturity, 
 should marry out Hence they were never 
 permitted to visit any families in the neigh- 
 bourhood, nor, indeed, to hold social intercourse 
 with any who were not of their religious denomi- 
 nation. If such persons happened to call at the 
 Grange on any particular business, they were 
 treated with respectful courtesy, but were never 
 asked to prolong their stay, or to take a meal. 
 The conversation with such callers was always 
 carried on by the elder members of the family, and 
 it was kept as closely as possible to the business 
 in hand, the young people present sitting gene- 
 rally as mute as statues, and taking no part 
 openly in what was going on ; though it may 
 readily be supposed that opportunities were thus 
 afforded for making observations upon appearance, 
 dress, and manner, and consequently for minute 
 and sometimes satirical discussion afterwards. 
 
 Indeed, there will always most probably be this 
 result from the carrying out of such exclusive 
 systems, — that the young will seize every opportu- 
 nity to peep askance, to wonder and remark; and 
 that they will encourage amongst themselves a ten- 
 dency to discuss what they have seen or heard 
 with most objectionable personality, and often
 
 28 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 with misplaced ridicule and contempt. Thus, 
 while the world at large may amuse itself with 
 satirizing the peculiarities of the Friends, there is, 
 perhaps, no satire so severe as that by which the 
 world is treated in return, amongst those who see 
 so little of it, that every personal or individual 
 feature which it develops is liable to be noticed 
 without being understood. 
 
 But, as already said, there were strong personal 
 and family reasons why Jacob Law and his wife 
 Rebecca, should desire to close their doors against 
 the world. Before Jane Gordon had become a 
 regular guest at the cottage, Susannah, the oldest 
 daughter of the other house, had attained her 
 twentieth year, and her brother Reuben was but 
 one year her junior; Lydia, the youngest, was 
 then only fifteen, for death had made sad inroads 
 into the little circle, and this girl, her parents' 
 youngest surviving treasure, was perhaps regarded 
 with more than her share of tenderness, owing 
 to the loss of two older and one younger than 
 herself. 
 
 But the heads of this family being very impor- 
 tant personages, some farther and more minute 
 description must attend their introduction to the 
 reader's notice. First, Jacob Law, the father, a
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 29 
 
 prosperous man of business, with active stirring 
 habits, was one of those large hearted citizens 
 of the world, who, if sectarian at all, are so from 
 habit, from early association, and chiefly from aiFec- 
 tion, warm and true towards individuals walking in 
 a certain path, whose character and example have 
 invested with a kind of sacredness the path itself. 
 Jacob Law was in all respects a Friend, willingly, 
 and decidedly a Friend, in the whole course of his 
 life it had ' probably never entered his mind to 
 desire to be anything else. He was a great reader 
 of Friends' books; but he liked their practical 
 experience as developed by the early career of the 
 Society, better than their theological discussions — 
 as who does not ? He liked their staunch unflinch- 
 ing determination to do the simple right, because 
 it was right, in defiance both of " men and devils. " 
 He liked their stern isolated heroism ; and to his 
 mind there was a force and a sublimity surpassing 
 all others in their reliance upon that deep and 
 certain call of the Spirit to themselves indi- 
 vidually, which led them forth, each one to 
 execute his own mission regardless of mockery, 
 persecution, suffering, and death. 
 
 All noble hearted men derive a certain satisfac- 
 tion from standing by a cause which has been thus
 
 30 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 supported, and not the less so when its enemies 
 are more numerous than its friends. Jacob Law- 
 was no metaphysician. He could feel more strong- 
 ly, and often to much better purpose, than he could 
 reason. Thus in reading the lives of ancient Friends 
 he learned to love and admire the individuals them- 
 selves ; and so loving and admiring them he deem- 
 ed it the most exalted calling upon earth to 
 follow in their steps. 
 
 Here, however, Jacob Law, from some cause 
 or other, was satisfied to stop. He himself seem- 
 ed to have no particular call to heroism of any 
 kind. Perhaps he found in his more immediate 
 and personal duties that he had quite enough to 
 do, and a work that was quite enough for him to 
 discharge them aright. At all events he was emi- 
 nently a practical man, and such was his well 
 known energy of character, such the promptness, 
 and decision which marked his business transac- 
 tions, that he was much solicited to fill situations 
 of usefulness in the neighbourhood, and already 
 discharged the duties of many appointments, not 
 having any immediate connection with the religi- 
 ous body to which he belonged. 
 
 If there were wanting in the naturally social 
 and liberal character of Jacob Law some of those
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 31 
 
 elements which are usually regarded as the type 
 of Quakerism, his wife Rebecca made up for his 
 deficiency by something more on her part than a 
 full amount. Rebecca Law was a woman of re- 
 puted delicate health, and a minister. Undoubt- 
 edly she had passed through much painful experi- 
 ence in watching over the illness and death of her 
 children ; and that especial call which she believed 
 herself to have received during one of her seasons 
 of affliction, had been engrafted upon a morbid 
 sensibility to everything connected with herself 
 and her own family ; so that her domestic influ- 
 ence, though highly salutary in some respects, 
 could not like her husband's be called a sunny in- 
 fluence. 
 
 But the manner in which the call, which Re- 
 becca Law believed herself to have received, ope- 
 rated through all her social relations, would not be 
 easily described ; nor would any description, if at- 
 tempted, be likely to make the secret and hidden 
 operation of this influence intelligible to those who 
 are unacquainted with the Society of Friends at 
 their own Fireside.
 
 32 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 We have now to look in again at the little 
 cottage parlour, and to imagine Jane Gordon seated 
 beside her friend in earnest conversation. Jane 
 had as usual presided at the tea table, a task from 
 which she was ever ready to relieve Aunt Isabel, 
 and she had now a variety of services to perform 
 in the way of winding skeins fof worsted, sorting 
 out and arranging patterns of work for different 
 purposes, all which she did with so much clever- 
 ness of hand, and cheerfulness of spirit, that it 
 would have been hard indeed to deprive the poor 
 lame sufferer of so lively a companion, and so 
 efficient a help, 
 
 Jane had begun to interest herself very much 
 in the principles and practices of the Society to 
 which her friend belonged. She was no stranger 
 to religious convictions, though one of a family 
 in which such convictions, if at all at variance
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 33 
 
 with established custom, would be likely to be 
 considered extravagant, uncalled for, and in bad 
 taste. But Jane had learned to look at human 
 life from a different point of view, and such was 
 her admiration for Aunt Isabel, that she often 
 thought a religion which could produce even one 
 such character, must have something in it of reality 
 and depth beyond what she had been accustomed 
 to meet with elsewhere. Thus she frequently 
 questioned her friend, and sometimes almost too 
 closely, respecting the reasons for her peculiar 
 habits, as well as the grounds of her belief. 
 
 It was by no means the most edifying part of 
 Aunt Isabel's conversation when she replied to 
 these enquiries; for, like her brother Jacob, she 
 could live the Christian's life better than she could 
 define the Christian's faith. It was pleasant to 
 her, however, that Jane should be enquiring ; and 
 if she did not always satisfy her reasoning and ar- 
 dent mind, she managed to give the subject so 
 hopeful and yet so practical a turn, and she 
 looked so patient and so good when her thoughtful 
 eye beamed kindly upon her young companion, 
 that Jane felt as much strengthened and encour- 
 aged, as if she had listened to the most powerful 
 arguments— perhaps a little more so. 
 
 VOL. I, C
 
 34 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 " I suppose," said Jane, one day, " I may be 
 allowed to attend one of your meetings if I like?" 
 
 "Certainly;" replied Aunt Isabel, "they are 
 open to all." 
 
 " That is rather a cold invitation," observed 
 Jane. 
 
 " We invite no one," replied her friend. 
 
 " I am afraid," said Jane, smiling, " I should 
 not know how to behave myself." 
 
 Her friend looked very grave, but offered no 
 remark; and Jane also became very serious. 
 Aunt Isabel observing the change in her counte- 
 nance, said quietly, " Those who are willing to 
 be led by the only true guide are seldom kept 
 without a knowledge of the way." 
 
 Jane did not exactly mean anything so grave as 
 that when she spoke of behaving herself; she 
 meant how she was to look, sit, and fold her hands, 
 to stand or kneel, and in all respects to conduct 
 herself like other persons ; but she had discovered 
 that it was best to be silent whenever Aunt Isabel 
 spoke in a particular tone, and put on a particular 
 look, so she said no more about the matter then, 
 and went on with her work. 
 
 Not many weeks after this conversation, Jane 
 Gordon made her appearance one Sunday morning.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 35 
 
 at the entrance of the little meeting house where 
 a few scattered families of Friends were wont to 
 assemble to spend an hour or more together, 
 generally in perfect silence. Jane felt very- 
 nervous and frightened at first, because, as is 
 generally the case, she had persuaded herself 
 there was some strange mystery in the worship of 
 this Society. While she stood wondering what 
 to do, Jacob Law stepped kindly forward, shook 
 her by the hand, and directed her to follow his 
 daughters into the meeting, and seat herself on 
 the form immediately behind them. Jane gladly 
 did as she was instructed, and then followed a 
 silence so profound, that she was afraid to inter- 
 rupt it so much as by the lifting of her hand ; 
 it was not like the stillness of death, for now 
 and then a dress was slightly rustled, or a foot 
 changed its position and grated on the floor, or 
 even a soft breathing might be heard, and some- 
 times a sigh; it was the stillness of warm, 
 I waking, palpitating life, a thing much more 
 uncommon, and almost as awful as the stillness 
 of death. 
 
 Jane fell into the deep silence like the rest, but 
 had scarcely been able so far to divest herself of a 
 I sense of the strangeness of this new state, as to 
 
 C2
 
 36 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 begin really to think, when a slight movement took 
 place amongst some who had not moved before, and 
 two friends seated before her, looking as if they 
 would never move again, took off their gloves, 
 shook hands, and then rose and walked slowly and 
 quietly out of the place. The silent sitting had 
 lasted the usual length of time — about an hour 
 and a half. With the first slight movement of the 
 two friends, the whole assembly seemed to be 
 instantaneously set at liberty, as if released from 
 a spell. Hats and sticks were resumed amongst 
 the men, who sat on one side, and who kept on 
 their hats or took them off merely as a matter of 
 choice; while the women, who sat on the other 
 side, peeping a little round into each others long 
 poked bonnets, began immediately to talk, and 
 some of them to smile, even before they walked 
 away. 
 
 The going out of this silent assembly would have 
 been a time of great embarrassment to Jane Gor- 
 don, had she not caught the kindly recognition of 
 Aunt Isabel, who beckoned her nearer, and shook 
 her cordially by the hand, showing evidently by 
 her manner that she was much pleased for Jane 
 to have been there, and to have acquitted herself 
 with such propriety.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 37 
 
 " My brother's chaise is too full for me to oifer 
 thee a seat," said Aunt Isabel, with her accus- 
 tomed politeness ; "but the way is not far, and if 
 it would be any accommodation to stop and dine 
 with me — " 
 
 " Oh ! don't think of that," said Jane; " I shall 
 enjoy the walk." 
 
 Perhaps she was not sorry to escape once more 
 into the free and open air, for she hastened on 
 with so light a step, that she soon found herself 
 quite unintentionally, overtaking the younger 
 members of the Law family, whose residence lay 
 in the same direction as her own. 
 
 The two daughters Susannah and Lydia looked 
 absolutely frightened, when they glanced back, 
 to see whose step was treading so briskly after 
 them, and found it was Jane's ; but their brother 
 Reuben, although a little sheepish in his manner, 
 drew back as she approached, and looked into her 
 pleasant face in a way which indicated that he 
 was not at all afraid. 
 
 Perfectly unconscious that there could be any 
 apprehension of danger from making her ac- 
 quaintance, Jane was quite ready to enter into 
 conversation, as the young man walked beside 
 her; for the sisters appeared inseparable, and
 
 38 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 continued arm in arm, the younger evidently cling- 
 ing to the older ; and as the shady lane into which 
 they had entered was extremely narrow, Jane had 
 nothing for it but to continue walking with 
 Reuben by her side, and as she walked to con- 
 tinue talking too. 
 
 It was not much that these two young people 
 had to say, except about the trees which waved 
 above their heads in a soft summer wind, and the 
 wild flowers growing beneath their feet; but some- 
 how or other they seemed to become very much 
 acquainted with each other in an exceedingly 
 short time, so that Reuben held out his hand at 
 parting, and Jane returned the civility with as 
 much cordiality as if they had known each other 
 for years. 
 
 Not so the girls. On reaching the little gate 
 which opened into their father's garden, they 
 managed to get themselves sidled in, and away, 
 without Jane exactly seeing how or when. 
 Perhaps she was too much occupied with her 
 young companion, who looked wistfully along the 
 path she had then to pursue alone for about the 
 distance of a mile, as if he longed, but dared not, 
 venture so far to transgress the family rule as 
 to accompany her home.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 39 
 
 So they parted, and when the sisters and the 
 brother were seated a short time afterwards at the 
 dinner table, though the parents prudently made 
 no remarks, the sisters, especially the younger, 
 who had been so shy and silent as to be almost 
 rude, discussed with wonderful interest and ani- 
 mation every line and feature of Jane Gordon's 
 countenance, as if the phenomenon of her 
 appearance amongst them that morning had been 
 an event of the deepest moment. 
 
 " Then why did you not speak to her," said 
 Reuben, "if you think her pleasant looking? I 
 am sure I never saw such ill-behaved girls in my 
 life. Indeed, I don't think there are any girls in 
 the Society who know how to behave." 
 
 Rebecca Law looked steadily at her son, and 
 then at her husband, but made no remark. 
 Jacob Law stopped in his carving, and said 
 hastily, " What's that, my boy ? " But Reuben, 
 with a tact which is not unfrequently the result 
 of not daring to speak out, quickly changed the 
 subject for another, about which he was pro- 
 foundly indifferent, and began discussing that as 
 if he cared for no other. 
 
 These Sundays at the Grange, it must be con- 
 fessed^ were rather lengthy days. The little
 
 40 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 meeting which the family duly attended in the 
 morning, was too distant to be held in the after- 
 noon. Dinner on that day was even earlier than 
 usual, so that many hours remained to be got rid 
 of before there was any hope of tea. Rebecca 
 Law was in the habit of retiring to her own room 
 for a considerable portion of this time. There 
 were surmises that she found the opportunity 
 favourable for a comfortable nap ; but when 
 asked on her re-appearance, that most provoking 
 question — " Have you been asleep ? " She in- 
 variably answered, as persons thus provoked do 
 answer, — " No ! " Susannah Law, the oldest 
 daughter, could generally have given as good an 
 account of herself as any of the family, for she 
 usually went up into a pleasant little sleeping room 
 appropriated to her sister and herself, and there, 
 seated by an old-fashioned window which over- 
 looked the garden, she was accustomed to read 
 diligently some good book suited to the day. 
 Reuben and Lydia were by no means so well 
 occupied, if indeed they might be said to be occu- 
 pied at all. The fruit in the garden — strawberries, 
 green gages, or apples, as the season might be, 
 was apt to suffer considerably from their attacks 
 on these afternoons. The rabbits, however, were
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 41 
 
 better attended to than usual, the pony had some- 
 times an extra feed of corn, and there were certain 
 tricks to teach the dog which that animal profited 
 by on these occasions, perhaps more than on any 
 other. 
 
 Jacob Law had one rule for his first day after- 
 noon from which he never departed. He always 
 went over to the cottage to see his sister so soon 
 as the dinner was comfortably over. In the win- 
 ter he would draw his chair close to her cheer- 
 ful fire, and then would carefully crack her nuts, 
 and prepare her apples for her, besides persuading 
 her to drink a glass of wine, and taking two or 
 three himself. In the summer it was his practice 
 to wheel her chair into the garden, where he would 
 stand beside her, occupied with pleasant chat; or 
 making occasional excursions amongst the fruit 
 trees, and vegetables, would sometimes so far for- 
 get the sacredness of the day, as to discuss the 
 advantages of pruning and training, and different 
 kinds of management, for he liked nothing better 
 than to see his sister's garden in the most perfect 
 state of productiveness and order. 
 
 If the hours of the Sabbath between dinner 
 and tea were not quite so strictly kept at the Grange
 
 42. FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 as by some other families, their apparent laxity 
 was to some extent made up for on the evening 
 of the Sabbath day. After a plentiful tea, at which 
 some choice sweets, or other more than usual indul- 
 gence generally appeared, there was a pretty long 
 time again for quietness and reading, and then from 
 eight o'clock till nine, the kind of religious ser- 
 vice already described was held in the kitchen, at 
 which all the domestic servants, with others living 
 on the premises, were expected to attend. The 
 whole family, and even visitors who might be in the 
 house, walked into the kitchen on these occasions 
 and seated themselves around the room, a table 
 with a Bible upon it, being placed before an arm 
 chair appropriated to the master of the house. Next 
 to him sat his wife Rebecca. The service consisted 
 in a long silence first, and then the solemn reading 
 of a chapter in the Bible by Jacob Law; after 
 which there followed another silence longer than 
 before, only that it had lately been interrupted 
 once or twice by a few words slowly spoken in a 
 very solemn but weak and broken voice by the 
 mistress of the house. At first this broken utter- 
 ance, so surprising to every one present, extended 
 no further than to the repetition of a few short pas- 
 sages of scripture, but each time a few more words
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 43 
 
 were added, and the stillness whlcli followed seem-^ 
 ed more profound, and the awe deepened every 
 time. 
 
 Strange ! indeed, it might seem to those who 
 were only casual lookers on, for there sat Jacob 
 Law in the midst of his own people, a man of 
 observation, and practical benevolence, deeply 
 interested in their welfare, acquainted with their 
 individual characters, their wants, and their temp- 
 tations, longing with all the energy of his manly 
 heart to do them good, and knowing also what was 
 calculated to do them good, perhaps more than any 
 one else, yet there he sat amongst them in per- 
 fect silence, week after week, and year after year. 
 In all probability the idea never once entered his 
 mind that he should open his lips and address them, 
 because he felt no immediate spiritual intimation 
 that such was the duty laid upon him. Strange ! 
 that amongst this set of people, of whom she saw 
 and knew comparatively little, the voice of a weak 
 woman should be raised in expressions to which a 
 worldly ear might have listened long without dis- 
 covering anything either appropriate or edifying ; 
 and yet that in the whole body of the society, no 
 individual could have been found so daring as to 
 suggest that the man under these circumstances
 
 44 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 should have spoken, and the woman should have 
 remained silent ! No ; the small weak utterance was 
 listened to, both in these private meetings, and in 
 those for public worship, with a reverence as pro- 
 found as if a prophetess had spoken. The instru- 
 ment was nothing — the voice was nothing, nor the 
 utterance, nor the mode of speech. It was the 
 message that was sent, and the directness of that 
 message which constituted the whole force and 
 burden of the words ; and as such they were listen- 
 ed to with feelings of respect and solemn awe. 
 
 Let it not be supposed, however, that Rebecca 
 Law was in herself a person of slight importance, 
 either at home or abroad. Far, indeed, was this 
 from being the case. It would be quite impossible 
 to describe the kind of weight and dignity which 
 accompanied her wherever she went, and much 
 more so after she became a minister than before. 
 Even her husband, a man not naturally remarkable 
 for patience under authority, and who must have 
 been secretly conscious of a vast superiority over 
 his wife in worldly wisdom, was accustomed to 
 assume a manner of quiet acquiescence in much 
 that she said and did, as if he was afraid, that by 
 setting up his own judgment, he might be pre- 
 sumptuously running counter to those intimations
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 45 
 
 from a higher source to which no limitations can 
 be set by human wisdom. 
 
 Personally, Eebecca Law possessed many recom- 
 mendations. We will not say that this had any- 
 thing to do with her influence over her husband. 
 She was fair and comely, with a bland and placid 
 expression of countenance, which seldom varied, 
 and never gave place to anything sudden or violent. 
 Her dress was the perfection of neatness, and, 
 somehow or other, notwithstanding its extreme 
 plainness, was so adjusted as to set off her person 
 altogether to the best advantage. In one respect 
 it was remarkable, for she adhered to the old 
 fashion of wearing tight sleeves, so short as to 
 reach only just below the elbow, and terminating 
 there in an exquisitely neat little cuff of the finest 
 white cambric. To be sure, her arms and hands 
 were remarkable for their beauty, and it would be 
 too much to say, that she was wholly unconscious 
 of this fact, when she folded them upon her clear 
 muslin apron, or gathered around her person the 
 pale drab coloured silken shawl, which was always 
 spread over her comely shoulders. 
 
 In fact, they were a well matched pair in all their 
 personal advantages, for seldom could be found a 
 Jbetter looking man altoo-ether than Jacob Law.
 
 46 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 His frame, scarcely above the middle size, well knit, 
 compact, and agile, was certainly not disfigured by 
 the peculiar costume to which he adhered; for the 
 exquisite material of his clothing, and the admir- 
 able fit of every portion of it, gave a smartness to 
 his appearance, which many younger men might 
 have envied. But his cordial beamino; countenance 
 was the great charm of Jacob's appearance. He 
 could be angry — that was quite evident. He could 
 speak sharply, and look with a sudden frown upon 
 what he dispised or disapproved. His judgment 
 too was as rapid as it was generally correct; and 
 that being the case, he sometimes wanted patience 
 in cases of trifling hesitation or delay. All this 
 was manifest in the quick flash of his keen dark 
 eye, in his small but well proportioned head, his 
 compact square forehead, his brow clear as the sky 
 without a cloud, and in all his features, so closely 
 chiselled that nothing extraneous or unsymmetrical 
 seemed to have been left. His hair of a rich dark 
 brown, slightly disappearing from his temples, and 
 especially from the region of benevolence, Avhich 
 stood up high and full ; his hearty and pleasant 
 laugh disclosing an even and beautiful set of pearly 
 teeth; and his complexion the clearest and brightest 
 imaginable, gave him always somewhat the appear-
 
 OWN FIRESIDE, 47 
 
 ance of having just enjoyed a good refreshing 
 wash. These, and other lively and life imparting 
 advantages of person and manner, rendered Jacob 
 Law one of those pleasant companions whose 
 society is always acceptable, without being at any 
 time perhaps profoundly interesting. Indeed, 
 health, and vigour both of body and mind, were 
 the most striking outward characteristics of this 
 good and happy man. If his mind was not of the 
 most expansive range, it was unusually terse and 
 sound, while the moral of his character was such 
 as might have fitted him, under certain favourable 
 circumstances, for acting a prominent part in any 
 of these great emergencies which develop true 
 heroism under its most attractive form. That his 
 natural impetuosity, ever on the side of right, was 
 sometimes a little chilled and fettered by the rigid 
 rules of the society to which he belonged, no one 
 could doubt who enjoyed much intercourse with 
 Jacob Law. But of this he never complained. 
 To whatever the discipline of the Friends, as a 
 religious body, required, he submitted without a 
 questioning word, and apparently without a 
 rebellious thought. 
 
 In fact, nothing is more astonishing in connec- 
 tion with this society, than the entire and unre-
 
 48 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 served submission of its members individually to 
 one uniform rule of life and manners, so far as 
 their public discipline is concerned. The proud 
 man,. and the vain woman, alike bow silently be- 
 neath this irresistible influence. The ambitious, 
 and the lowly, are subdued to one common level. 
 The delicate and the coarse — the tender and the 
 stern — persons the most opposite in their natural 
 tendencies, and differing widely from each other in 
 the circumstances of their birth, education, and 
 sphere of action, all obey the same law of universal 
 conformity, and that without cavil or question. 
 To question, indeed, would be to incur a large 
 amount of disapprobation, implied, if not openly 
 expressed. There are consequently few so daring 
 as to manifest a questioning spirit. An outward 
 conformity, as silent as it is sure, reigns paramount 
 above all individual peculiarity. It admits of no 
 reasoning. It holds no parley with inclination. 
 The natural will must be broken — the creature 
 must be brought low. 
 
 How far in private the creature manages to 
 assert itself, and that perhaps with the greater de- 
 termination, in consequence of its outward re- 
 straint may best be imagined by those who have 
 studied human nature in its wants, as well as its 
 capabilities.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 49 
 
 The great struggle in a Friend's family is gene- 
 rally how to bring the younger members into this 
 condition of unquestioning submission. Even with- 
 in the secluded precincts of the Grange, there were 
 tendencies to overstep the prescribed limits, espe- 
 cially with regard to dress, which gave Rebecca 
 Law considerable uneasiness, though Jacob was 
 disposed to be more lenient in such matters, so 
 long as his children were dutiful, affectionate, and 
 sober in their general deportment. 
 
 Of Susannah, the oldest, it might indeed be said, 
 that she had scarcely ever occasioned her parents 
 a moment's uneasiness. To all appearance the 
 right and correct way was always more attractive 
 to her than the wrong : at all events, no other ten- 
 dency was betrayed by her exceedingly placid 
 countenance, and gentle and orderly manners. It 
 would scarcely have been possible for Susannah 
 Law to be anything but a Friend, or for any other 
 community than theirs to have produced such a 
 character as Susannah's, combining at once such 
 depth of feeling, with such entire mastery over 
 every look, word, movement, or other manifes- 
 tation of it. 
 
 But we have not come to the feeling yet. First, 
 let us consider the subject externally, and suppose 
 VOL. I. r>
 
 50 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 a fair pale complexioned young woman rather above 
 the middle size, with large white hands, and, like 
 her mother's, beautiful arms, if she would permit 
 them to be seen. Perhaps it was the costume to 
 which Susannah strictly adhered and the exceed- 
 ingly little adornment about her head, that made 
 her face look large and somewhat bare. The plain 
 stiff muslin cap with closely crimped border which 
 she always wore did very little towards hiding her 
 temples, nor was it much helped out by a thin 
 fringe of soft light hair cut too closely to admit of 
 anything approaching to a curl, and only just se- 
 parated in the middle like that of a little child ; 
 for thick bands of hair, now liberally indulged in, 
 were ornaments never dreamed of by young Qua- 
 keresses at the time of which we write. Susannah's 
 cap might have been made of iron, it was so unal- 
 terable in its form — in the flutings of its crown, 
 and the little frill into which it was gathered at 
 the back of the head. Nor was there more tenden- 
 cy to caprice or change in the very small clear 
 collar which surrounded her throat. Never was 
 there to be seen the slightest alteration in either 
 — never the least speck upon their whiteness, or 
 the least rufflinc^ of their texture. 
 
 But for the largeness and the paleness of her
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 51 
 
 face, Susannah Law might have been goodlooking, 
 for her features were regular, and well formed, 
 particularly her mouth, which was finely moulded, 
 and expressive of the highest degree of purity and 
 sweetness. Her blue eyes fully corresponded with 
 this expression, but she had a habit of shrouding 
 them under their heavy white lids, and looking 
 down much more than was necessary, or quite 
 agreeable. Indeed, there is a kind of implied re- 
 tirement in the downcast look and manner thus 
 assumed by many persons of Susannah's class, 
 which produces an eflfect the reverse of encourag- 
 ing to social intercourse. When Susannah sat in 
 this way, as she so often did, with her soft white 
 hands closely folded, and her eyes looking down, 
 it would have seemed as unlikely to enter into con- 
 versation with her as with a marble statue. Yet, 
 strange to say, this seeming automaton , would 
 know all that was going on — would hear and even 
 see with a precision almost miraculous, so that a 
 guest, who perhaps had never heard her voice, 
 nor seen the colour of her eyes, would find his 
 tastes consulted, and his wishes provided for, in a 
 thousand little ways, as if some good fairy went 
 about the house, doing the work of many hands 
 by no other instrumentality than the silent stroke 
 of her wand. d 2 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 IH-INOIS LIBRARy
 
 52 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 Little as Susannah Law was, personally, like a 
 fairy, her conduct in the household — for she it 
 was who really conducted everything — resembled 
 nothing so much as what is sometimes fancifully 
 attributed to these kind people. No one could 
 ever see that Susannah was busy. She made no 
 noise in moving about the house; seldom had she 
 need to ask questions ; and never were her plans 
 proclaimed aloud before being carried out. But 
 the thing was done, and everybody knew it would 
 be done if Susannah was only on the spot. 
 
 And yet few people ever thought about Susan- 
 nah to an extent at all commensurate with the 
 services she performed; she did not wish to be 
 thanked, her thoughts were never about herself; 
 she only wanted every one to be made comfortable, 
 and that all things should be done in the best 
 possible manner. So the family and household 
 accepted all their comforts at her hand, and, with a 
 perverseness not unfrequent, seemed really to 
 think far less of her who did so much, than of her 
 younger sister, who, we are sorry to say, did 
 exceedingly little. 
 
 Wherever there is one thoroughly efficient per- 
 son willing to do everything, there will be sure 
 to be one, if not more — willing to do nothing.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 53 
 
 5 If Lydia Law was quite satisfied that Susannah 
 should do her share of work, she was equally well 
 satisfied to receive her sister's share of caresses. 
 In fact, she was the pet of the family ; and like pets 
 in general, was a little addicted to presuming upon 
 the favour she enjoyed, not the less so that she was 
 evidently growing up into a beauty as well as a pet. 
 Her beauty was, however, of a somewhat peculiar 
 kind. It consisted not in regularity of features, 
 or in anything that could be made a picture of, 
 for her eyes were rather grey, her nose, though 
 well formed, rather short, and her lips conside- 
 rably too thick for the chisel of the sculptor. 
 This fault, however, was in some measure redeem- 
 ed by a beautiful chin, and by a remarkably fine 
 turn of the cheek from the chin to the small white 
 ear, just where the rich bright bloom of the com- 
 plexion faded off into the snowy whiteness of the 
 throat. Around the back of this alabaster throat 
 there crept the loveliest little curls of soft rich 
 auburn hair, and again upon her temples there 
 would have gathered quite a mass of such curls, 
 but that Susannah stroked them back, often 
 taking the comb into her own hands to part her 
 sister's hair afresh, and sometimes using water 
 
 I to it in order to smoothe down its tendency to
 
 54 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 curl. And Lydia would remain very passive and 
 quiet under this half caress ; but not unfrequently, 
 when the smoothing operation was over, she would 
 shake her head, and laugh, until all the bright 
 curls started into life and beauty again, and poor 
 Susannah's work had to be commenced afresh. 
 
 It was a pity that with so many personal re- 
 commendations, Lydia had no gracefulness — no 
 manner. Her figure was slight and symmetrical, 
 and pretty enough when perfectly at ease : but 
 the moment she became embarrassed, had to 
 address a stranger, to walk into a room where 
 there was company, or to do anything out of the 
 usual routine of domestic privacy, she seemed to 
 lose the command of her muscles, and was some- 
 times as awkward as it was possible to be with so 
 much youth and beauty, health, and elasticity of 
 spirit. Both sisters were afflicted with this kind 
 of shyness, but Susannah always betook herself 
 to her statue-like stillness, and then her large 
 white hands seemed to grow together, her eyes 
 were bent upon the ground, and her lips closed 
 with a kind of rigid gravity which few people 
 would have attempted to interrupt. 
 
 Reuben Law was one w^liom it would be much 
 more difficult to describe than his sisters ; indeed.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 55 
 
 he had fewer striking characteristics. His sisters 
 thought him extremely good-looking — perhaps he 
 thought so too. But there was a restless and 
 uncertain look about him which is never very- 
 satisfactory for the eye to dwell upon, however 
 handsome the features; and, with considerable 
 symmetry, as well as elasticity of figure, he had 
 too much the air and manner of a person who 
 does not know his own mind. That which he did 
 really wish for, he seemed determined to have, 
 but it was sometimes one thing, sometimes 
 another, according to the impulse of the moment. 
 In this respect he was the very opposite of his 
 father. No wonder that Jacob Law sometimes 
 came to an end of his patience in dealing with 
 such a youth — no wonder that the youth, under 
 the strict discipline of such a father, should 
 sometimes complain of the sharp treatment he 
 received. 
 
 Upon the whole, however, the family were 
 thus far extremely harmonious and affectionate. 
 No breach had yet occurred in their domestic 
 union — no jar in their social concord. The world 
 was yet a region unexplored to them, and life an 
 untried conflict. According to human calculation 
 perhaps no family could have less to fear; and
 
 56 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 yet, they were each endowed with those elements 
 of strife, and consequently of sorrow, which are 
 capable of converting the fairest garden into a 
 wilderness, and the noblest structure into a ruin.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 57 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Even now, as already hinted, there were 
 symptoms beginning to appear of something like 
 disagreement amongst the older branches of the 
 family, of which the younger knew nothing. 
 Aunt Isabel would not give up the visits of her 
 young friend Jane Gordon, and with Jane's occa- 
 sional attendance at meeting, and frequent presence 
 at the cottage, there were opportunities for the 
 young people to become acquainted, which it was 
 not very likely they should try to avoid. Even 
 Susannah had lately begun to throw aside her 
 shyness and reserve, so far as to walk along the 
 fields in conversation with Jane; while Lydia, 
 rather addicted to extremes in her likings and 
 dislikings, now began to entertain towards her 
 one of those girlish attachments, which the plain 
 good sense and straightforward frankness of
 
 58 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 Jane offered little beyond ordinary courtesy to 
 encourage. 
 
 The fact was, they saw so few persons beyond 
 their own little range of hospitality ; they so 
 seldom came in contact with easy and polished 
 manners ; they heard so little of the world through 
 direct communication with any one who wore 
 rings, and addressed single individuals as if they 
 were plural, that Jane was at first a perfect 
 wonder to them ; and then, as they came to know 
 her better, an object of real interest and affection. 
 
 Jane also, on her part, was more attracted by 
 these — her newly-made acquaintances, than she 
 could have easily explained. They appeared to 
 be so perfectly naive in all they said and did, that 
 sometimes she could not help smiling at their 
 simplicity, though she always loved them better 
 for it. With all this simplicity too, they were so 
 refined, so really delicate, and so dignified withal, 
 that no small amount of admiration was mingled 
 with the astonishment she felt at finding human 
 beings, living and acting in this busy world, and 
 yet so ignorant of its modes and customs. 
 
 " But why," said Jane Gordon one day to her 
 friend, after they had been speaking of the young 
 people at the other house, " do they never visit you ?"
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 59 
 
 " Oh, they come often to see me," said her 
 friend. 
 
 "Not when I am here," observed Jane. 
 
 Isabel was busy with her work, and made no 
 reply. 
 
 "Perhaps they don't like me," said Jane, 
 half asking the question, but still there was no 
 reply. 
 
 " Dear Miss Law," she began again, after a few 
 moments' silence, and this time she spoke more 
 seriously, " I do not think you are quite candid 
 with me." 
 
 " In wliat respect, my dear ?" 
 
 " I have taken up the idea that you none of 
 you really like my attendance at your meetings." 
 
 " What cause hast thou for this opinion ?" 
 
 " I don't allude to you, yourself, of course, in 
 what I say now ; but I cannot be so dull as not 
 to perceive that there are cold looks cast towards 
 me, and a general want of cordiality, as if I was 
 an intruder amongst you." 
 
 " My dear, it is not usual with our Society to 
 hold out inducements for any one to attend our 
 meetings, unless they do so on serious grounds." 
 
 " And pray, what other grounds can I have ?" 
 
 " Time will prove."
 
 60 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 " You startle me by speaking in that manner. 
 Surely I am not suspected of any wrong motive ! 
 Besides, what wrong motive could I have ?" 
 
 " I did not say thou wast suspected of any such 
 thing." 
 
 " But do — I beg of you, do say that I am not." 
 
 "I must answer for myself alone, and so far 
 can assure thee, that my own mind is clear of 
 any suspicion of thy motives." 
 
 " And yet there is something wrong. I feel 
 sure there is something. What on earth can 
 it be?" 
 
 " My dear, I have often advised thee against 
 that strong way of speaking." 
 
 " Well," said Jane, " I am trying very much 
 to leave it off;" but just as she arrived at this 
 part of her sentence, she stopped short ; and, sad 
 to say, blushed deeply, for there was the sound 
 of passing feet along the gravel walk below the 
 window, and the conviction suddenly flashed 
 across her mind, why it was that some of the 
 members of the Law family had lately looked so 
 coldly upon her, when she met them, as she often 
 did, at the door of their meeting-house. 
 
 But if Jane Gordon blushed while the quick 
 step was passing, she did not look much paler
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 61 
 
 when Keuben entered, and seizing her hand some- 
 what hastily, gave it such a pressure as almost 
 made her flinch. 
 
 " Silly boy ! " she said to herself, " I know all 
 about it now, and this is the very way to make 
 matters worse." 
 
 But Reuben committed himself no farther. 
 His conversation was general, and indifferent. 
 He did not seem like the same person as the one 
 who had seized that hand so eagerly but a few 
 moments before ; for it is one of the results of the 
 discipline already alluded to, that an outward 
 manner can be maintained under all circum- 
 stances, which is no real index whatever of the 
 true state of the mind. 
 
 Having once caught the idea which called those 
 blushes into her cheek, Jane Gordon became alive 
 to a thousand relative ideas which had never 
 struck her before. She must so manage now, 
 that Reuben should not escort her home. Her 
 own servant was waiting for her, but that she 
 felt was not a sufficient protection against the 
 company of a third person. So Jane sat much 
 later than she otherwise would have done ; until 
 Aunt Isabel, being a woman of considerable tact 
 and presence of mind, devised a message to the
 
 62 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 other house, upon which she sent her nephew, 
 requesting him to make a point of seeing his 
 father without loss of time. 
 
 " And now, my dear," she said to Jane, as 
 soon as the young man was fairly gone, " I would 
 have thee put on thy bonnet, and go without 
 delay, for I think it must be getting rather late." 
 
 Jane, who perfectly understood the hint, ran 
 up for her bonnet, and was very soon ready to go. 
 Taking a hasty leave of her friend, she went out 
 into the clear moonlight, her heart beating some- 
 what quicker than usual, because of the strange 
 thoughts which had taken possession of her mind. 
 
 At a brisk pace she was soon tripping along, 
 the dewy grass rustling under her light tread; 
 and her servant had just hastened forward to 
 unfasten a private gate which led into one of her 
 father's fields, when a shadow fell across the 
 moonlight, and Keuben Law was in another in- 
 stant walking by her side. 
 
 Of course Jane started — of course she asked 
 him why he had come — of course she bade him 
 return immediately, and did many other things 
 just as she ought, but still there remained upon 
 the sparkling grass the shadows of two figures 
 instead of one ; until at last the servant grew so
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 63 
 
 tired of waiting at the little gate, that seeing who 
 was with her young mistress, and considering that 
 they were all near home, she walked deliberately 
 up to the house, thinking, no doubt, it was the 
 most natural thing imaginable for two young 
 people to linger by the way, especially on such a 
 lovely night. 
 
 Jane Gordon had up to this time been only half 
 acquainted with the society of Friends. She had 
 imagined them really subdued in their feelings and 
 sentiments down to the level of their ordinary 
 conduct. But when she heard from the lips of 
 this youth the confession which he had long been 
 wishing to make, and heard it in the strong, wild, 
 impassioned language of romance rather than 
 reality, she scarcely knew whether to smile or to 
 be afraid, for it was like nothing else that she had 
 ever heard or dreamed of. What she did was to 
 tremble all over, and yet to keep speaking as if 
 the matter was all nonsense, as indeed a good 
 deal of it was — nonsense in expression, not in 
 feeling : so far from that, it was the gravest act of 
 Reuben Law's life, and the most earnest. 
 
 Jane Gordon had plenty of good sense, but she 
 was very womanly, and being such, it would be 
 useless to pretend that she was wholly insensible
 
 64 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 to this strange outburst of feeling, with all its 
 romance — all its folly, but at the same time with 
 all its truth. Still she could not stay to hear it 
 then, and there : the time, she said, was unsuit- 
 able, and the place — Reuben thought them both 
 extremely suitable, but Jane insisted upon not 
 being detained, and after a reluctant good-night 
 on the part of her young lover, she hastened up 
 along the garden path to her father's house, and 
 immediately retiring to her own room, began to 
 think. 
 
 To think, indeed ! Here was a catastrophe ! 
 " The foolish boy ! " Jane said to herself, until 
 she grew tired of calling him a boy, and wished 
 he had been a little older ; for then there might 
 have been some sense in what he said. Then she 
 recollected that he was older than she had sup- 
 posed, — that he was just twenty, while she her- 
 self was only twenty-two — a difference on the 
 wrong side certainly, but one that in a few years 
 would seem no difference at all. 
 
 We will not attempt to disclose all Jane's re- 
 flections, nor even one half of them ; but we have 
 a shrewd guess, that if any one could have looked 
 into that chamber between the hours of twelve 
 and one that night, they would have seen her
 
 OWN FIEESIDE. 65 
 
 still in a deep reverie, with her hair in loose 
 tresses lying spread upon her shoulders, no sleep 
 beneath her eyelids, nor any visible heaviness, or 
 tendency to seek repose. But Jane did sleep at 
 last, and like many other persons under similar 
 circumstances, she awoke the next morning con- 
 siderably wiser — so much so, that she could say to 
 herself—" That foolish boy," without in reality 
 wishing him a boy no longer. Indeed, the whole 
 affair appeared by day-light, so perfectly absurd, 
 that Jane determined to take no notice of it 
 whatever, to make no difference in her behaviour, 
 and not even to betray the least consciousness of 
 anything more than usual having transpired. She 
 resolved to take her accustomed walks, and if by 
 chance Reuben and she should happen to meet, 
 she would talk so fast on indifferent subjects that 
 it would be impossible for him to make himself so 
 foolish again. 
 
 So Jane did take her accustomed walks; she 
 did meet with Reuben ; she did talk fast ; but 
 somehow or other the subject was renewed in spite 
 of all her sage resolutions, and renewed so often, 
 and with such perseverance, that it came in time 
 to be the subject more talked about between them 
 than any other. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 66 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 We have said that Jane Gordon was, in great 
 measure, shut out from sympathy at home. She 
 had unconsciously assumed a different character, 
 and turned her thoughts into different channels 
 from those of any one beneath her father's roof. 
 Her sisters were gay and flippant, while she, 
 though naturally cheerful, was inclined towards 
 what was solid and serious. A little deeper .even 
 than this flowed the current of her inner feelings, 
 for she had learned, above all things, to desire to 
 lead a religious, as well as a useful and quiet life. 
 Was it possible, she asked herself, that the devo- 
 tion of this young warm heart, so freely and so 
 frankly offered, could be the means designed by a 
 kind Providence for rescuing her from a position 
 altogether uncongenial to her feelings, and placing 
 her within that pale of security and peace where, 
 it seemed to her, as if evil could scarcely enter ? 
 
 It is true that Jane Gordon did not find, in her 
 more intimate conversations with Reuben Law, 
 that the religious element was present in the 
 degree she had expected ; but it was not altogether 
 absent; and he was so happy in her society, and 
 so thankful for her kindness, that at this period of 
 his life his character appeared capable of being 
 moulded into everything amiable and good. What
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 67 
 
 woman does not like to feel that she has the power 
 of entirely moulding such a character ? Jane 
 Gordon was but human. She accepted the gift of 
 that young warm heart, at that time so unsullied 
 by the world, and so entirely her own — her own 
 in its first deep love, and in the freshest and best 
 impulses it was capable of feeling. 
 
 But after allowing herself to go so far as to 
 respond to this genuine and guileless affection, 
 Jane soon became sensible that she had brought 
 herself under the necessity of discharging a grave 
 and somewhat painful duty. She saw that the 
 time had come when this intercourse ought no 
 longer to be kept secret ; and, as Reuben resisted 
 all her arguments in favour of his speaking openly 
 on the subject to his parents, she determined to 
 confide in Aunt Isabel, and to seek aid from her 
 friendly and judicious counsel. 
 
 Thus far, Jane Gordon had no consciousness of 
 wrong. It was an honest attachment which she 
 had to confess. The circumstances of the two 
 families were similar in property and rank • and 
 though there existed between them a difference of 
 religious profession, she was, herself, so well dis- 
 posed towards that of the Friends, that she saw 
 no obstacle arising from that quarter. The last 
 
 E 2
 
 68 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 thing Jane could have thought of in such an 
 union was, that she should adhere to one faith and 
 her husband to another. No, she would be en- 
 tirely with him, or entirely separate ; and, though 
 not yet fully persuaded in her own mind, there 
 was surely time enough for mature consideration 
 on many points — even on this, the most important 
 of all. The greatest objections, therefore, which 
 Jane could think of, were such as related to the 
 inexperience of her young lover. She was ashamed 
 of this herself, and heartily wished it otherwise. 
 But then she was going to be very prudent ; and 
 when at last she broke the subject to her friend, 
 she followed up her confession with such a rapid 
 declaration of all her good resolutions, that Aunt 
 Isabel found no time for offering any comment, 
 even had she been so disposed. Amongst other 
 prudent plans, Jane told her, that she had deter- 
 mined upon an entire cessation of all intercourse 
 until her own religious views should become more 
 fixed ; and, Avhat seemed equally important, until 
 the settlement of Keuben in some useful occupa- 
 tion should have given him the stability which his 
 character so much needed. 
 
 All this sounded well, and unquestionably was 
 well meant ; but still Aunt Isabel was evidently
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 69 
 
 far from being satisfied. Indeed, she was both 
 grieved and perplexed — grieved, that the prema- 
 ture avowal of this childish affection should have 
 frustrated her own secret hopes and plans, for 
 Aunt Isabel was a great planner — and perplexed 
 as to whetlier she ought now to make an entire 
 disclosure to her brother and sister of all that her 
 young friend had confided to her knowledge. At 
 last, however, she decided upon doing half this 
 painful duty, and so telling her brother only, and 
 trusting to his discretion for the rest. 
 
 It was a "trying business altogether," Aunt 
 Isabel said. She even called them " foolish chil- 
 dren ;" and Jane felt the blood rush to her temples 
 when she heard herself thus charged with foolish- 
 ness. Happy as she and Reuben had been when 
 they wandered in the pleasant fields together, it 
 seemed now as if everything was going wrong. 
 Innocent as had been their afiection, and often 
 deeply serious their converse — so full of sweet 
 thoughts, high hopes, and noble resolutions, it 
 seemed now as if they had incurred some harsh 
 condemnation for what had past with them as the 
 best and happiest portion of their lives. 
 
 Jane Gordon could not possibly understand the 
 annoyance — the grief — the absolute fear which
 
 70 FEIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 seemed to take possession of her friend, and which 
 only increased with every fresh allusion to the 
 subject. 
 
 " You see," said Jane, " I shall, no doubt, be- 
 come a Friend in time, and then Reuben will be 
 settled, and " 
 
 " My dear," said Aunt Isabel, interrupting her 
 rather hastily, " Thou art much too confident. 
 Thou hast not even applied to be received into 
 membership with us ; and if thou shouldst apply 
 now, the case is quite altered. I scarcely think 
 thou wouldst be received." 
 
 " There would be all the stronger reason why I 
 should," said Jane, rather sharply, for she was by 
 no means flattered by the way in which her pro- 
 bable connection with the family was treated, ** I 
 should be sorry," she continued, " to boast of my- 
 self or my family, but I think I may venture to say 
 this, at least, that no one can understand E-euben 
 better than I do, or would do more to secure his 
 happiness and welfare." 
 
 " My dear," said Aunt Isabel, " that is not the 
 question." 
 
 " What is the question, then ? " 
 
 " Thou art not a member of our Society, and 
 Reuben cannot marry out. As I said before, thou
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 71 
 
 hast not yet applied to be received, nor am I satis- 
 fied that thou art altogether convinced of our 
 principles, although I had hoped the time might 
 come when this would be the case." 
 
 " You mean, then," said Jane, " that if I should 
 apply now, my motives would be suspected." 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " I wonder who would suspect me ? " 
 
 " I think, Jane, it is sometimes more becoming 
 for persons to suspect themselves — for the young 
 especially." 
 
 " Oh ! not one's own sincerity, surely. One 
 must know when one is sincere." 
 
 " An unsubdued inclination sometimes blinds 
 the judgment." 
 
 "The judgment? yes. But you have often 
 told me there is another guide more sure, and that 
 the conscience — " 
 
 " The light within, my dear. But I think we 
 had better change the subject" 
 
 Aunt Isabel said no more, but sighed heavily; 
 and Jane also remained silent. There was more 
 of wounded pride, and haughtiness of temper, 
 in her look and manner, than she was accustomed 
 to exhibit. She saw that her friend was pained, 
 and she did not strive to soothe her—disappointed
 
 72 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 in her, and she did not endeavour to regain the 
 good opinion which she had ever valued so much. 
 Perhaps she herself was disappointed too, and 
 secretly had been feeling, without being conscious 
 of the fact, that Keuben's family would have 
 something to thank her for, if she should 
 undertake to correct the faults of a somewhat 
 wayward boy, on no more advantageous condi- 
 tion than that of waiting for her settlement in 
 life until he should be in circumstances honour- 
 ably to maintain an establishment of his own. 
 
 But, if Jane Gordon felt for a few moments 
 thus annoyed, and ruffled; if she was tempted to 
 indulge a captiousness of spirit by no- means con- 
 genial to her nature, she could not actually leave 
 her friend in this spirit, nor allow the night to close 
 in without a complete reconciliation. Jane felt 
 too, that if not absolutely wrong, she had been 
 unamiable, ungentle, and almost unkind. To 
 have done wrong, or even only to have felt 
 wrong, is always more painful to a sensitive and 
 honourable nature, than to have suffered wrong; 
 and Jane now began to ask herself, whether this 
 strange humiliating feeling, inwrought as it seemed 
 to be, with that attachment which had recently 
 promised so much happiness, might not prove the
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 73 
 
 beginning of troubles from which it would be im- 
 possible for her to extricate herself. 
 
 One after another, sad thoughts came crowding 
 in upon her mind, until at last, over the work 
 which she had tried to occupy herself in doing, 
 the tears fell thick and fast, so that it was impos- 
 sible to see what her fingers were about; and 
 then, laying it down entirely, she crept nearer 
 and nearer to the pale reclining figure; and, lean- 
 ing over the end of the couch, laid her throbbing 
 head upon her shoulder, and wept without re- 
 straint. 
 
 Soon, a kind, soft hand, was extended to her. 
 Soon, a gentle, pitying voice, besought her to be 
 comforted; and then her tears fell faster, though 
 her heart became less sad. At last, Jane was her- 
 self again; confessing, with her accustomed 
 frankness, how rash, how proud, how unamiable, 
 she had been ; and begging, with all the meakness 
 of a chastened child, that Aunt Isabel would re- 
 ceive her back again into her heart, and tell her 
 how best to avoid the consequences which her 
 rashness seemed likely to bring upon herself and 
 others. 
 
 Long, and earnestly, did the two friends talk 
 together that night. True, they could not pos-
 
 74 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 sibly regard the subject of their conversation 
 from the same point of view; but such was their 
 similarity of character in principle, and in that 
 strong sense of right by which they were both 
 anxious to test every action of their lives, that, 
 before the usual hour of separation arrived, they 
 had entirely agreed upon certain plans for the 
 future, which the older of the two friends engaged 
 to assist the younger in faithfully and persever- 
 ingly carrying out.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 75 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 On the first day following this discourse, the in- 
 terview between Jacob Law and his sister was 
 prolonged beyond its usual length. No notice of 
 the garden, on this occasion, mingled with the 
 subject of their discussions, and the fruit upon 
 the table remained untouched. We will not say 
 the same of the wine. Indeed, we are rather 
 disposed to think that an additional glass was 
 resorted to by the father, during the effort of try- 
 ing to see more clearly what it was best to do 
 with his son. Long, and very earnestly, did the 
 two consult and think together; for no small por- 
 tion of the time was spent in looking silently 
 into the fire, while the mechanical friction of the 
 hands, and the unconscious swaying to and fro of 
 the body, gave evidence of a degree of mental 
 perplexity, not to be easily assuaged. 
 
 And here, it is necessary to speak of a little
 
 76 FRIENDS AT THEIE 
 
 domestic difficulty, which Jacob Law never dis- 
 closed to any one but his sister. It was, that he 
 and his wife did not exactly see, eye to eye, with 
 regard to the boy, Reuben. Like many other 
 fond mothers, the wife seemed almost to doat 
 upon the youth, simply because he was her only 
 boy. Upon all the unfavourable developments 
 of his character, she looked so partially, that the 
 father had almost ceased to point them out to her 
 notice ; and thus, perhaps, had brooded upon them 
 the more in secret, because he had no one to assist 
 him in dealing with them openly. Indeed, what 
 could a husband do, whose wife was so largely a 
 recipient of that light which might at any time 
 overpower his poor human reason, and set his 
 worldly calculations at nought. Thus, prompt, 
 decided, manly, as he was, Jacob Law found it 
 almost impossible, on some occasions, to act in 
 perfect unison with the feelings of his wife, and, 
 at the same time, with the dictates of his own 
 common sense; and, in this instance especially, a 
 great struggle had to be gone through, before he 
 could decide which course to take — whether to 
 keep the matter to himself, and so act for himself 
 with reason, and, as he believed, right for his 
 guide; or so to deal with the affair, as that his
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 77 
 
 wife should have the chance, and, most probably, 
 the choice of taking it entirely into her own 
 hands, to be tested and finally adjudged according 
 to evidence whicli he was in no condition to dis- 
 pute. 
 
 In all probability, Jacob Law decided upon 
 adopting the former course. At all events, it was 
 apparent that, while his consultations with sister 
 Isabel became more frequent and more lengthy 
 than ever, there was no evidence of the mother 
 experiencing any fresh anxiety about her son^ 
 The father, however, being naturally a hopeful 
 man, as well as a man of abundant resources, was 
 not long before he began, in some sort, to see his 
 way out of the present difficulty. He even went 
 so far one day, as to say to his sister, that he 
 thought perhaps all might yet be well, if only the 
 young woman could be trusted. Isabel thought 
 she mio:ht. But would it not be desirable for 
 them both to see, and converse with her together? 
 
 " No, no," said Jacob to this proposition ; " I 
 don't want to have anything to do with her. 
 The more separate we keep ourselves, the 
 better." 
 
 Isabel would have been grieved, and almost 
 offended, at this ungracious answer, had she not
 
 78 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 known her brother well enough to interpret his 
 harsh words into meaning that he did not want to 
 grow to like the girl, as he felt afraid he should, 
 if they met and conversed confidingly together. 
 Indeed, hers was exactly the kind of character to 
 please Jacob Law — frank, trusting, direct, and 
 very sensible. Perhaps, also, he felt in his own 
 heart, that hers was exactly the kind of character 
 to strengthen and improve that of his son; and 
 he consequently shrunk from the responsibility of 
 seeing and knowing this for himself, and yet 
 putting his absolute veto upon their future inter- 
 course. 
 
 " Reuben," said he, " is a fickle and uncertain 
 boy. Let them only be brought to an entire 
 separation, without maintaining any correspond- 
 ence by letter, and he will soon forget the girl — 
 there is little to fear on that ground." 
 
 Aunt Isabel could ill bear this manner of 
 speaking of her young friend. She did not even 
 like the view of the matter w^hich her brother 
 was taking. " Well, Jacob," said she, " we must 
 do for the best at the present moment, and leave 
 the rest. I see, with thee, that it will be desir- 
 able for Reuben to go away, and for them not to 
 <5orrespond. This, Jane herself has proposed."
 
 OWN FIEESIDE. 79 
 
 " But will she keep to her agreement if we 
 bind her over to it ? " said Jacob, rather testily. 
 
 " There will need no such bond with Jane, 
 thou wilt find," said Isabel. " A strong feeling 
 of what is right will operate more effectually with 
 her, than any mere verbal agreement." 
 
 " Umph ! " said Jacob Law, and there the 
 matter ended for the present; not very pleasantly, 
 so far as the lady was concerned, for in the secret 
 of her heart she would fain have cherished a lin- 
 gering hope that the intercourse so prematurely 
 begun might not be finally and irrevocably dis- 
 solved. 
 
 Perhaps no one knew Jane Gordon so well as 
 [ this attached and faithful friend; and no one 
 certainly could have a higher estimate of her 
 { character, especially in those points in which it 
 I; appeared so well suited to improve — almost to re- 
 model that of Reuben Law. Even that very 
 difference of their ages was on the right side in 
 this respect, for already Jane had proved herself 
 capable of exercising a silent influence over him^ 
 which from any other quarter he would have 
 rebelled against, if not utterly rejected ; and from 
 her deeper experience, added to a thoughtfulness 
 far beyond his own, Aunt Isabel thought there
 
 80 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 was much to be anticipated. But the barrier 
 remained the same, and must remain for years to 
 come, for no one can be admitted hastily — not 
 without a long season of trial, into membership 
 with the Society of Friends. 
 
 But here again Isabel Law was hopeful — at 
 least she would have been hopeful, but for what 
 had taken place. There are no people, however, 
 who can leave things so quietly and patiently as 
 the Friends, so Aunt Isabel placed this trouble 
 where she had left so many others, in the hands 
 of One who had cared for and directed her thus 
 far, and of whose tender care and wise direction 
 for the future, she did not allow herself to doubt. 
 
 Jacob Law, from the very constitution of his 
 character, was not always able to be quite so 
 patient and quiet as his sister. He was troubled 
 with a considerable amount of toothache about 
 this time ; and his family, always watchful and 
 tender over his comfort, were assiduous in their 
 proffered applications of soothing influences. But 
 the fomentations, especially, were rejected, we 
 are sorry to say, without a proportionable amount 
 of gratitude on the part of the sufferer ; and lastly, 
 after many ineffectual struggles to overcome the 
 enemy, Jacob announced his determination to set
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 81 
 
 out on horseback on a little journey of business, 
 even while the snow was thick upon the ground. 
 It was a matter, he said, in which no one could 
 act for him ; and his family, if not satisfied, were 
 compelled to be silent, for Jacob Law's business 
 was never interfered with. 
 
 It is probable that all this while the mother was 
 as ignorant as her dauo:hters of the real cause of 
 the journey. Her accustomed abstraction from 
 worldly matters would have rendered it extremely 
 easy to baffle her penetration, had that been de- 
 sirable. Indeed, it was seldom difficult to escape 
 any minute enquiry on her part, except where 
 her feelings had once become awakened, her ap- 
 prehensions excited, or her peace in any way dis- 
 turbed. On the present occasion, she permitted 
 her husband to depart unquestioned, sufficiently 
 satisfied that he was going to pay a visit to a 
 family universally esteemed and looked up to by 
 the Society of Friends. 
 
 And here we must introduce to the reader's 
 notice a very different phase of this Society from 
 any which has thus far been presented — a phase 
 which may certainly be found amongst them as a 
 body, though perhaps less frequently in the pre- 
 sent day, than at the time of which we write. 
 VOL. I. F
 
 82 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 George and Johanna Rutherford, with their 
 son Paul, and a tolerably large household, com- 
 posed the party in question. The heads of this 
 family occupied a position in society not easily 
 described ; because so very seldom can there be 
 found, in any other community, individuals so 
 entirely immersed in all the associations and re- 
 (purements of absolute trade, and that of no very 
 dignified description, yet possessing at the same 
 time so wide and so powerful an influence over 
 classes of society, which, according to the world's 
 estimate, would rank much higher than them- 
 selves. 
 
 Geor2:e Kutherford was a cheese and bacon 
 factor in the old fashioned but flourishing town of 
 Layton, situate about twenty miles from the 
 residence of Jacob Law. Here the Rutherfords 
 had lived for many generations, by their indus- 
 trious and saving virtues gradually working their 
 way up to a position of great respectability, and, 
 as was generally believed, of considerable wealth. 
 This last recommendation, however, was far from 
 being conspicuous in the habits of the present 
 family. From time immemori.il the aspect of 
 their residence had worn the same external fea- 
 tures. A shop with low projecting windows,
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 83 
 
 overhung by a range of old-fashioned apartments, 
 was all that the mere passer-by could discern of 
 George Rutherford's domestic or commercial cir- 
 cumstances. A closer inspection, however, might 
 have discovered a scene of considerable bustle and 
 activity within ; while beyond, or rather situated 
 at the back part of the premises, were extensive 
 warehouses, and receptacles of various kinds, 
 adapted to a large amount of property requiring 
 no small number of hands to keep it in order, as 
 well as to transmit it in various forms and quan- 
 tities from the dealer to the purchaser. 
 
 Upon the number of hands thus employed de- 
 pended in some sort the dignity of the master, as 
 well as the importance of the mistress of this 
 establishment. Friends in all parts of the country 
 considered it a privilege to have their sons placed 
 under the protecting care — to say nothing of the 
 prosperous auspices, of George Kutherford. The 
 hard work, the simple fare, and the unusually 
 strict discipline of his establishment were recom- 
 mendations of no slight value to parents believ- 
 ing, as many of them devoutly did, that the 
 creaturely nature in their children required to be 
 utterly subdued, before they could attain to the 
 heavenly ; and that this was the way to subdue it. 
 
 F 2
 
 B4 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 Hence, many of the young men emj^loyed by 
 George Rutherford came from affluent and com- 
 fortable homes, while others bore about with 
 them indisputable marks of a widely different 
 bringing up; and yet all had to mix together 
 without distinction, on perfectly equal terms: a 
 system which was regarded not only as whole- 
 some discipline for the present, but as admirably 
 calculated for producing beneficial results in the 
 future. 
 
 But as Jacob Law is about to arrive, and as 
 his business is of rather an important nature, we 
 must hasten to introduce the heads of the estab- 
 lishment to the acquaintance of the reader. And 
 here we would beg that reader's candid consider- 
 ation of one or two facts closely connected with 
 this subject. First then, the faults, or rather the 
 disagreeables of this worthy couple could not 
 with justice be attributed exclusively to the re- 
 ligious society to which they belonged. That 
 such persons could enjoy so large an amount of 
 esteem and influence was certainly to some extent 
 attributable to the peculiarities of that Society, 
 but the persons themselves, or rather their type, 
 might at that time have been found under many 
 a roof beneath which modern refinement has re-
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 85 
 
 cently crept in, so far changing tlie whole ex- 
 ternal character, both of people and place, and so 
 rapidly going on to change both, that any descrip- 
 tion, however true to the past, would scarcely 
 obtain credit even now, and still less so perhaps 
 in the course of a few years. 
 
 Jacob Law had so timed his visit as to arrive 
 about the close of the day, indeed so as to escape 
 the bustle and pre -occupation of business hours 
 entirely. His journey was made on horseback, 
 and after putting up at a well-accustomed inn, 
 where he was always a welcome visitor, he 
 managed to see some other parties Avith whom he 
 had business to transact, before joining his friends 
 at their supper-table. After that meal had been 
 discussed he hoped to have a quiet hour of con- 
 fidential intercourse, such as could scarcely be 
 expected at any earlier hour. With the Ruther- 
 fords all other meals, however simple the fare, 
 were lengthy and tedious occasions, for half the 
 number of hands employed could only be spared 
 from the shop and warehouse at once; so that 
 Johanna had to preside over a double ceremony, 
 if such it might be called, each time : the supper 
 alone was taken singly, in consequence of many 
 of the young men residing in the place, and so
 
 86 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 repairing to their own homes to sup as well as 
 sleep. 
 
 One long low room immediately over the shop 
 sufficed for all these purposes. Its whole length 
 was nearly occupied by a table, whose dimensions 
 were never curtailed, so that drawing to the fire, 
 or at all events making that pleasant half circle 
 in front of it, which poets are so fond of praising, 
 was a thing entirely out of the question. If the 
 young men had ever found a moment's leisure, 
 they would have been exceedingly puzzled what 
 to do with it. Most certainly it was a thing for 
 which no direct provision was made. The young 
 men disappeared immediately after every meal: 
 that was all domestically that was known about 
 them ; and so long as they all came in and took 
 their places at the appointed time, or rendered some 
 reason for their non-appearance, everything was 
 supposed to be perfectly right. This was all, except 
 that on First days a little fire was put into a narrow 
 grate in a back room, without a carpet. There, on 
 wood bottomed chairs, a few stools, and one form, 
 they were expected to sit and read Friends' books, 
 whenever they had no invitation out, or when the 
 weather was such as not to admit of long ram- 
 bling walks in the country. It was seldom, at
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 87 
 
 that time, that a more interesting style of litera- 
 ture was thought necessary for young men of 
 business ; and if it had been so thought by some 
 members of the Society, the heads of this household 
 would have been amongst the last to admit the 
 idea. 
 
 That any close and intimate social bond could 
 exist betwixt this family and that at the Grange, 
 could only be accounted for upon the principle of 
 union pervading the whole of the religious body 
 to which both belonged, a principle so powerful 
 in itself, as to overcome all personal considera- 
 tions — all tastes — and even all repulsions. No 
 greater proof of this could perhaps have been 
 afforded, than by the spectacle of Jacob Law 
 entering the long low room with one of his most 
 cordial smiles upon his beaming countenance. It 
 is true the host, and even the hostess, smiled too ; 
 but after so different a fashion, that to a looker- 
 on it would scarcely have passed for the same 
 act. 
 
 George Rutherford, however, could smile, and 
 laugh too — a deep hoarse laugh, which singularly 
 failed in awakening any similar response in others. 
 Indeed, there were occasions of culpability de- 
 tected, or of discipline enforced, when this laugh
 
 88 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 broke forth with such force, and altogether in 
 such a manner, that the sufferer would greatly 
 liave preferred being assailed with the most ter- 
 rific denunciations of wrath or vengeance. It 
 was a little — we will not say more than a -very 
 little, like the laugh of the slave driver when skil- 
 fully applying the whip. Altogether too, the 
 stout cumbrous frame of the man looked so heavy 
 and powerful, there was so large an amount of 
 brute force in the contour and expression of his 
 massive countenance, that whether he approved or 
 dis approved, commended or rebuked, could never 
 1)0 a matter of indifference to those who were subject 
 to his unswerving will, and his undisputed power. 
 We have taken, perhaps unadvisedly, the worst 
 aspect of the man to consider first. Some persons 
 — indeed many — and Jacob Law amongst the 
 immber, never found out that George Kutherford 
 was anything but kind. He was stout, and rosy, 
 with smooth broad forehead, and large thick lips — 
 altogether what a casual observer would call a 
 comfortable-looking man — somewhat burly, and 
 lie had a kind of hearty way with him which won 
 upon his visitors, and often made them think him 
 much the kindlier of the two presiding spirits in 
 that household. The young men, however, all
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 89 
 
 preferred the wife, if they might be said to have 
 any preference at all. Johanna Kutherford loved 
 discipline for the sake of justice, not for the sake 
 of any triumph it might give her over those Avho 
 were unable to resist. If she did not flinch from 
 inflicting discipline when necessary, she was still 
 far enough from looking amused or pleased with 
 its infliction. A solemn, stolid woman — people 
 might have wondered whether she had ever expe- 
 rienced the sensation of affection in her whole life, 
 had they never seen her helping out the viands 
 at her table to all the apprentices, and assistants, 
 and observed with what nicety and care she 
 reserved the best slice for one youth at the board, 
 who was understood to be sharing the common 
 lot. This youth was Paul Rutherford, the only 
 son of this worthy couple, with whom we shall 
 have a good deal more to do, before our story is 
 concluded. 
 
 Personally, it would scarcely be correct to 
 speak of the type of such a woman as Johanna 
 Rutherford, so few could be found bearing any 
 generic resemblance to her. The wonder was, 
 that any human being could look in a glass, and 
 go away contented, with such an amount of disfi- 
 gurement as her costume afforded. Nature had
 
 90 FRIENDS AT TilEIIl 
 
 not been kind to her in the bestowment of symme- 
 trical proportions upon her figure. But it might 
 have been easily improved by a little care. The 
 head, for instance, was large and square — the 
 features broad and full, with wide open pale eyes, 
 nearly round in form. Had the same head been 
 comfortably shrouded under some kind of coiffure, 
 there was really nothing in the countenance to 
 render it at all remarkably disagreeable. But 
 instead of this, the hair, naturally thin and 
 lanky, was cut short, both before and behind, and 
 the cap, of the smallest possible proportions, was ^ 
 fitted so closely to the face as to afford no appear- 
 ance of shelter or protection, because it was 
 scarcely possible in a front view to discover any 
 cap at all, except where a kind of mob extended 
 under the chin. 
 
 In fact, the whole figure of the woman was 
 quite as unkindly treated as the head ; for instead 
 of thick folds of drapery which might have served 
 to conceal its disproportions, it was alloAved the 
 very scantiest length and width of garments 
 which could be comprehended within the limits of 
 decorum. Indeed, it is more than probable, that 
 with Johanna Rutherford the idea of decorum 
 pointed directly to the dismissal of whatever could
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 91 
 
 be done without. Thus, the bones of her large 
 wrists and ankle joints were left exceedingly pro- 
 minent, Johanna herself being a spare, lean 
 woman, about the middle height, with high- 
 pointed shoulders, a little less in their circum- 
 ference than the broad waist below. Over these 
 shoulders was spread the only superfluity in the 
 whole costume, consisting of a small triangular 
 silk handkerchief, of pale drab or brown, care- 
 fully hemmed all round, so as to prevent anything 
 of so loose a nature as fringe escaping from the 
 edge. 
 
 With this face, figure, and costume, Johanna 
 Rutherford presented herself at every post of duty 
 entirely unabashed, and in fact entirely unconscious 
 of being less clothed than was desirable. Any 
 idea of agreeableness to the eye would have been 
 as foreign to her calculations as that of beauty to 
 her soul. Had it been possible for such ideas to 
 be presented to her, they would, in all probability, 
 have been summarily dismissed as improper, if 
 not absolutely wrong. So Johanna went along 
 her hard dry way, shod always in the strongest 
 leather, and never dreaming that from her, as 
 well as from others, something might be asked, 
 even as a duty, in the way of scattering flowers as
 
 92 FRIENDS AT TIIEIIl 
 
 she went. But as she walked more faithfully 
 than many, and with a tolerably humble spirit, 
 the absence of tlie flowers could the more readily 
 be excused. 
 
 Johanna and her husband were very different 
 characters, but they agreed perhaps all the better 
 that tliey were so. Humility being one of those 
 ([ualities with which George was by no means 
 largely gifted, he would have done badly with a 
 wife whose rule of conduct could not be made on 
 all occasions submissive to his authoritative will. 
 To Johanna, this entire subserviency appeared to 
 give no trouble, and to cost no sacrifice. At least, 
 it had so appeared up to about the date of the 
 present time ; but as Paul, their only son, grew 
 up to manhood, a close observer might sometimes 
 have detected even in the broad, bare, and gene- 
 rally unmoved countenance of the mother, certain 
 lurking indications of pain when a harsh judgment 
 was pronounced upon the boy ; or when a point 
 of discipline was enforced, which, however good 
 for others, she had reasons of her own for fearing 
 might not be good for him. On such occasions, 
 however, her lips were never opened, her voice 
 never heard. The pain seemed to pass like a spasm, 
 and all became solid, stony, motionless, as before.
 
 OWN FIllESIDE. 93 
 
 Perhaps it was owing to this one secret — but 
 perfectly-understood difference betwixt tlie father 
 and the mother — that on the night of Jacob Law's 
 arrival, George Kutherford, as soon as the supper 
 was over, and the young men and servants had 
 been in to listen to the evening reading, proposed 
 that his guest and himself should be left alone. 
 First, however, there was an enquiry for Paul, 
 who had not been in with the rest ; and before 
 the father could settle to anything else Paul had 
 to come in and render an account of his absence. 
 
 We have, then, to imagine Paul Rutherford a 
 pleasant looking though scarcely handsome young- 
 man, walking straight up to shake hands with the 
 guest, and then, without a sympton of embarrass- 
 ment, turning towards his father, and saying in a 
 fine smooth mellow voice, — "I have been sittinjx 
 awhile with Jeremiah this evening, I heard he 
 was not quite so well." And then the youth, with 
 the utmost coolness and self possession, went and 
 described the state of Jeremiah's leo; which had re- 
 cently been injured by an accident in their ware- 
 house. Only one thing was remarkable in all this, 
 that the youth never once looked his father directly 
 in the face, but stood a little behind him, looking- 
 rather over his shoulder. He was not in fact
 
 94 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 much in the habit of looking people in the face, 
 for though he had his mother's large eyes, they 
 were accustomed in his case to make their obser- 
 vations upon life and manners, people and things, 
 chiefly by side views, directed furtively from 
 under the thick eyelids, which gave rather a 
 sleepy expression to his countenance when at rest. 
 
 George Rutherford listened while his son was 
 speaking, but responded only by a few hoarse 
 deep sounds. He looked rather ominously, like one 
 who is putting things together. At last he said, 
 **Has Jeremiah's son come back from Hamburgh?" 
 
 Paul was busy at that moment lighting a candle 
 for his mother. 
 
 "What, please?" said he by way of enquiry, when 
 lie turned around again to his father. 
 
 The question was repeated in no very pleasant 
 
 tone. 
 
 "Yes," said Paul. "He came back last Seventh 
 
 day." 
 
 "Then mind this," said the father drawing in his 
 lips — "Thou goest no more to Jeremiah's, so long 
 as that youth remains at home." 
 
 "Oh, very well," said Paul. "Farewell, Jacob." 
 And he held out his hand to the guest by way of 
 parting salutation for the night. "Farewell, father,"
 
 OWN FIRESIDE 95 
 
 he added, but his hand was not then held out, and 
 with this he left the room, smiling and looking 
 quite pleased, comfortable, and acquiescent. 
 
 Jacob Law thought the youth behaved very well 
 on this occasion. He half wished his own son 
 would always behave as well. And yet from some 
 cause which he would have found it difficult to 
 explain, he never quite liked Paul Rutherford. 
 Perhaps he never quite believed in him, and this 
 secret feeling constituted almost the only difficulty 
 which stood in the way of that project which he 
 had come for the express purpose of laying before 
 his friend. 
 
 Long and earnestly did the two fathers talk to- 
 gether that night. George Rutherford was a loud 
 communicative man, and Jacob Law was naturally 
 frank, and candid, in the extreme ; but they drew 
 their communications from stores so essentially 
 different — they poured forth their individual 
 stream of thought from sources so far asunder, that 
 but for the bond of union already spoken of, 
 they would scarcely have been able to converse 
 freely together for a single half hour. 
 
 As it was, however, the consultation not only 
 lasted long, but terminated in the most cordial 
 agreement, that Reuben Law should become a
 
 96 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 member of the Rutherford establishment, for 
 though lie was destined finally to become a part- 
 ner with his father in a very different kind of bu- 
 siness, it was considered desirable for him to apply 
 diligently to the department of accounts under a 
 superintendence more strict than his father found 
 it easy to enforce, and surrounded by circumstances 
 which it was supposed would effectually wean 
 him from the folly to which he had so thoughtlessly 
 committed himself. This arrangement being satis- 
 factorily made, Jacob Law felt himself at liberty 
 depart at an early hour on the following morn-
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 97 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 While the important arrangements just described 
 were occupying the minds of those who were most 
 deeply interested in their results, another family 
 compact was entered into, which seemed likely in 
 some measure to fill the blank occasioned by the 
 departure of Reuben Law from his own home. It 
 is true it would have been difficult for any one 
 else to fill his place in the hearts of those who 
 were left behind ; for with all his faults, and with 
 all his weaknesses, there was something either in the 
 youth himself, or in the fact of his being the only 
 brother and the only son, which made him so ge- 
 neral a favourite, that even the servants partook of 
 the domestic sorrow when it was announced that 
 Reuben must actually become an inmate with 
 another family, and find a home beneath another 
 roof. 
 
 In the midst of this general mourning, the youth 
 himself either was, or pretended to be, but little 
 VOL. I. G
 
 98 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 moved. He had thus far, in his experience, 
 evinced an extremely light and easy manner of 
 carrying off trouble of every kind, except one, and 
 with that one he permitted few persons to inter- 
 fere ; so that, whatever it cost him in reality, he 
 could talk and laugh in his usual style ; and it was 
 perhaps from this cause that his father supposed 
 it more easy, than it really was, for him to forget. 
 Perhaps there could not have been any evidence 
 of sorrow more touching to the servants on the 
 morning of his departure, than the playful kind- 
 ness with which he addressed them all, even 
 jesting a little more than usual, as if it were the 
 drollest thing possible to be sent away from his 
 own happy and united family, to live with people, 
 whose very shadows on the wall, he told his sister 
 Lydia in his first letter, were hateful to him. He 
 was not going to shed a tear — not he — in the 
 midst of trunks, umbrellas, and carpet bags. So 
 he went bravely from one member of the family 
 to another, dispensing his farewell kisses, and 
 pretending to mistake the old cook for his sister 
 Susie, as he called her ; until hysterical laughter 
 burst forth, and he turned lightly away from them 
 all, and would have skipped along the garden walk 
 to the gate at which the carriage waited, but that
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 99 
 
 his movements were retarded by the clinging arms 
 of sister Liddy, who held him closely to the last. 
 
 There was a stranger standing at Jacob Law's 
 front door that day. He would gladly have helped 
 with the packages, or have done anything useful 
 and kind ; but he felt that he had no right to share 
 in the parting salutations, since he had no part 
 either in the sorrow or the love ; and therefore he 
 stood aloof, not venturing even to offer the com- 
 monest service. Indeed, he was necessarily almost 
 entirely overlooked ; and, consequently, as others 
 retired wiping their eyes, he only stepped forward 
 to watch the brother and sister walking so lovingly 
 together along the garden, where they had so often 
 walked before. It is just possible he might be 
 thinking, as he stood in the doorway, how nice it 
 must be to have a sister, or somebody leaning her 
 head upon his shoulder, and clinging to him with 
 a love like that. But then the face must be as 
 pretty — the whole figure as attractive ; these were 
 necessities of the case not very easily provided 
 for. 
 
 The eyes which thus looked after the brother 
 and sister — the heart which thus, by the power of 
 sympathy, entered so deeply into their feelings — 
 were just of the kind to be implicated by right in 
 
 G 2
 
 100 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 such a scene, and such an occasion. Eyes ! how 
 shall they be described ? Such eyes look at us 
 from the pages of every story, and yet we never 
 see them through the medium of description. We 
 have all seen them for ourselves at one time or 
 another of our lives. The present question is, 
 whether Lydia saw them as she returned weeping 
 into the house, after the carriage which had con- 
 veyed her brother away had turned the last corner 
 of the road, and disappeared amongst the trees. 
 For any evidence that Lydia betrayed of having 
 seen these eyes, they might as well have been two 
 handles in the door. She herself was too much 
 occupied with her own eyes ; and yet Lydia was 
 one of those, sometimes supposed fabulous beings, 
 who could weep large tears, and that in great 
 abundance, without any disfigurement whatever 
 either of her eyes, or of any other feature. We 
 have most of us seen sorrow very deep and very 
 true, which yet was anything but becoming to the 
 mourners. But Lydia's, strange to say, was the 
 very opposite of this. Even as a child, her clear 
 large eyes would often fill brimful of tears without 
 losing a particle of their beauty ; while her rosy 
 lips vrould pout, and even sob, without the least 
 tendency to distortion. It was so now, only in a
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 101 
 
 still higher degree, as every charm was heightened 
 in proportion ; and so lovely altogether was that 
 bending sorrowing form, that the youth who stood 
 upon the steps at the door had well nigh, with an 
 involuntary movement, extended his arm towards 
 her in the way of support. He checked himself, 
 however, and only said — 
 
 *' I believe the new coach will be established on 
 the tenth of second month, and then the com- 
 munication with Layton will be much more 
 frequent." 
 
 Lydia made no remark ; but passing by with 
 the utmost apparent indifference, entered the 
 house, and went up stairs to her mother's room, 
 where Susannah was engaged in attempting to as- 
 suage a grief apparently much greater than her own. 
 
 The stranger with the deep, dark, handsome 
 eyes, was no other than the son of that friend who 
 once enjoyed the fairest prospect of being closely 
 and happily allied to the family at the Grange. 
 Rachel's lover, as already said, had married, not- 
 withstanding his apparently irreparable loss ; and, 
 though in many respects he was a much altered 
 man, he had never withdrawn himself from friendly 
 intercourse with Jacob Law and his sister. Now 
 that his own children were growing up, he seemed
 
 102 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 even more desirous on their account, than on his 
 own, that this intimacy should be strictly main- 
 tained ; and it was at his especial, and often 
 repeated request, that his son Robert was now 
 placed under the care of Jacob Law, not only to 
 learn his business, but to become a member of his 
 household. For it was not at that time with 
 Friends, as with others, that a youth could be 
 satisfactorily accommodated in an ordinary lodg- 
 ing. He must be associated in his domestic 
 relations with those whose habits were strictly in 
 accordance with Friends' principles, and who 
 would thus be likely to preserve him from danger- 
 ous contact with the world. 
 
 We have, perhaps, gone too far in speaking of 
 repeated requests on the part of Robert Moreton's 
 father. The habits of the Society of Friends 
 scarcely admit of such a thing as persuasion. 
 Even to be earnest and importunate in any request 
 would be felt obtrusive, if not absolutely wrong. 
 That people should be left to their own liberty is 
 the general feeling, and not pressed to do any- 
 thing which does not appear to them desirable as 
 well as right. This must be felt, and acknow- 
 ledged on both sides, in order to any compact 
 being satisfactorily entered into. If not felt, and
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 103 
 
 that clearly and fully, in other words, if both 
 parties are not entirely satisfied in their own 
 minds — even beyond this, if, after weighing the 
 subject carefully, and waiting patiently and sub- 
 missively, to have the right way made manifest — 
 if, after this, both parties do not see plainly that 
 the thing may be, and ought to be, why press the 
 matter ? It is not supposed that anything at all 
 important can safely be left to the decision of 
 mere human judgment — still less to that of crea- 
 turely inclination. All must be referred to the 
 immediate direction of an infallible guide; and 
 consequently, any kind of persuasion urged on 
 the plea of expediency, social esteem, or even do- 
 mestic affection, would sound but as mockery, or 
 worse, to those who openly admit of no other test 
 of conduct, no other rule of life, than that simple 
 right which is supposed to be made sufficiently 
 clear to every one waiting for such instruction 
 from the teachings of the guide within. 
 
 According to this rule, Jacob Law, in connec- 
 tion with the father of Robert Moreton, had 
 thought, and felt; and their transactions with re- 
 gard to the youth had been carried on accord- 
 ingly. If human reason weighed at all Avith 
 one, or creaturely inclination with the other.
 
 104 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 it was unconsciously so to both; and when the 
 compact was concluded, there remained a very 
 comforting conviction on the minds of the two 
 parents, that the right thing had been done. 
 Secretly, however, though we pretend not that 
 this had any weight in the matter, Jacob Law did 
 sadly want an active assistant to supply the place 
 of his own son, and the father of the stranger 
 youth as secretly cherished a very natural desire 
 to see his son, not only placed in an advantageous 
 and guarded situation, but so placed as to be sur- 
 rounded by associations, once more agreeable to 
 himself, than any other which the world had been 
 able to afford. What, if he had been required 
 to pay dearly for his short-lived happiness ! It 
 might not be so with his son. The youth was 
 tender, and impressible — of a more teachable 
 spirit than the father at his age. Perhaps he 
 would not require the same discipline. He 
 was not so self-seeking, the father thought, and 
 hence might never be in need of so severe a 
 check. In short, he was a very precious youth, 
 in the eyes of the parent, although it is possible 
 lie never expressed as much in words. Of all 
 his children, Robert was, without doubt, the most 
 refined, as well as the most amiable. He only
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 105 
 
 wanted a little manliness, and strength of char- 
 acter; and these were valuable qualities, which it 
 was reasonable to hope might be attained by asso- 
 ciation with a character like that of Jacob Law. 
 
 It is not always, however, that persons of 
 Jacob Law's quick, impulsive nature, see most 
 clearly into the motives and feelings of others. 
 In the present instance, this good-hearted man 
 considered it nicely managed, that the stranger 
 youth should enter his family just at the time of 
 his son's departure. He imagined that the blank 
 would thus be agreeably filled by one who cer- 
 tainly possessed a far larger amount of personal 
 recommendations than Reuben. But, somehow or 
 other, so perverse is human nature, the female 
 part of the family did not accept this " nice 
 arrangement " quite as it was intended. They 
 would much have preferred weeping their grief 
 away, at least for a few days, unobserved. To 
 them it gave more pain than pleasure, to see any 
 one, however handsome, filling the place of their 
 absent one. So much so, that Susannah bestowed 
 some pains upon so adjusting the chairs around 
 the table, the first time the family sat down 
 to dinner, as that no one should absolutely sit in 
 Reuben's place. This was the more easily
 
 106 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 managed, because the mother, taking advantage 
 of her accustomed delicacy of health, preferred 
 remaining in her own chamber, so that Susannah 
 took the head of the table, Lydia and the new 
 comer sitting opposite each other. 
 
 It was a somewhat dreary kind of meal, that 
 first dinner after the brother was gone. Jacob 
 Law did his best to get up a little cheerful con- 
 versation. He even attempted a jest or two, 
 which, however, took little effect, for the youth 
 was shy, and the sisters could neither converse 
 nor smile. The younger was appealed to in vain, 
 and the older so seldom did either, that little on 
 such an occasion could be expected from her. 
 
 With . acob Law it was almost a necessity 
 as well as a pleasure, to be cheerful, hearty, 
 and hospitable at his own table. He was a 
 brewer by trade, and without in any respect 
 transgressing the bounds of decorum, he could 
 partake, and press others to partake, gratefully 
 and cordially, of what he considered as good 
 things given to be lawfully enjoyed. Whatever 
 clouds might gather on his brow before dinner, 
 were sure to be dispelled before rising from the 
 table. And yet it would be doing him great in 
 justice to insinuate that what are called the plea- 
 
 !l
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 107 
 
 sures of the table, simply as matters of eating 
 and drinking, were of much importance to him. 
 It was the social meeting, the cordial response of 
 household voices, the pleasant looks exchanged, 
 the opportunity of hearing and telling domestic, 
 and neighbourly news — all these, and many 
 other agreeable associations, gathered, as it were, 
 into a knot around the table, rendered the 
 meal times at the Grange always pleasant seasons 
 of refreshment to the master of the house. And 
 even now, believing, as he did, that the best it 
 was possible to do for his son had been done, he 
 saw no reason for sitting down under a shadow 
 like that of some irreparable loss ; more especially 
 as the removal was only to a distance of about 
 twenty miles. 
 
 Happily for Jacob Law he had not yet learned 
 to measure distance by anything but miles, nor 
 separation by anything but space. Could he have 
 looked in upon another table, so widely different 
 from his own that it might have been separated by 
 half the globe, he would have seen at that moment a 
 heart sick youth swallowing down unsavoury 
 mouthfuls of homely food so fast, that nothing but 
 a resolute determination to swallow down also 
 all tears, all disappointments, all vexations, could
 
 108 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 have enabled any tenderly nurtured individual to 
 to dine as Reuben Law was dining that day, at 
 the Rutherford table. It was the last time perhaps 
 that he ever made that desperate attempt. There 
 was one seated near him who very soon instructed 
 him in the means of making his present condition 
 personally less intolerable. And Reuben was 
 a lover of personal comfort, he had been brought 
 up to think much of it, not from the want, but 
 the excess with which all his own enjoyments had 
 been provided, and secured to him, by those who 
 were accustomed to think of him before themselves. 
 Vexed, mortified, and wounded, by discovering to 
 what kind of situation and society his father had 
 consigned him, Reuben was prepared by circum- 
 stances more than at any other time of his life for 
 rushing into any amusement, or adopting any re- 
 source calculated to lull this sense of inexpressible 
 mortification, as well as to make the unattractive 
 aspect of every day more endurable. As already 
 said, there was one seated at the same table who 
 could help him in all this. He did so at first 
 perhaps from pity, for he saw at once what Reuben 
 was enduring. From what motives, with what 
 feelings, and with what results, he did so after- 
 wards, the course of this story must disclose.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 109 
 
 In the mean time, and on the very day of Keu- 
 ben's departure, there was company for the even- 
 ins: at the Grange. Jacob Law had asked the 
 visitors to come that afternoon to tea, believing 
 it would not only be a pleasant opportunity for 
 introducing his young friend, but that the addition 
 to their family circle would be agreeable and 
 beneficial. Good man! He believed many things 
 widely different from the reality, and perhaps 
 few more so in prospect than this. So much 
 so, that Lydia cried afresh, when reminded of the 
 fact that visitors were coming to tea, while Rebecca 
 Law decided more strongly than ever that under 
 present circumstances, it was safest, and most 
 suitable for her, to keep her room. 
 
 The fact was, the principal visitor was a 
 widowed sister of Jacob Law's, lately come to re- 
 side near tlie Grange, in the hope of placing her- 
 self, her daughter, and her affairs in general, more 
 immediately under the care and oversight of her 
 brother. This sister, although a member of the 
 Society of Friends, was so after a very different sort 
 from the family at the Grange. The widow 
 Greenfell herself had very little in her appearance 
 to which the strictest member could object; but 
 in the society she received, the embellishments of
 
 110 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 her house, and table, and especially in the appear- 
 ance, and manners of her daughter, there were 
 certain symptoms of laxity Avhich Rebecca Law 
 was accustomed to attribute to a disregard to the 
 teachings or leadings of truth; and such being 
 the case, she objected more strongly perhaps than 
 she liked to say, to any intimate association be- 
 twixt the widow's family and her own. 
 
 Jacob, always hopeful, persuaded himself that 
 such association might do his sister's family good. 
 Dora was an amiable girl: at all events she was a 
 pretty one, and where could she meet with a more 
 judicious adviser, or a less exceptionable example, 
 than their Susannah ; w^hile Liddy's very dress, 
 would be a pattern for her, for who could reason- 
 ably desire to look better than that dear girl? At 
 all events, Jacob felt it his duty to have hisj sister 
 near him, seeing it was her own wish to be so; 
 and he was not the man to be deterred from what' 
 was right in itself, by any vague forebodings as to 
 what might happen in the future. 
 
 Lydia Law, though she cried heartily for a 
 short time, was really so much pleased with the 
 little she had seen of her cousin, and so anxious 
 to have her for a closer and dearer friend, that 
 while dressing for the evening, she managed to
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. Ill 
 
 become wonderfully cheerful, so that by the time 
 the last turn had been given to a short tress of 
 silken hair, she was able to go down into the 
 parlour without any trace of tears upon her face. 
 
 That old, wide, wainscotted parlour was always 
 a picture of comfort in itself; but now, with its 
 bright burning fire, piled up with logs of wood 
 almost enough to last the whole evening, it 
 seemed positively to smile and glow with hospi- 
 table welcomes. The low wide window, shrouded 
 under dark wreathes of ivy, was not yet shut out 
 by the drawing of the curtains ; for the hours of 
 visiting in those times, and amongst plain people, 
 were very early, and some members of the family 
 thought it pleasant and cheerful to the guests, to 
 see on their arrival the broad bright light from 
 that old window, spread all around amongst the 
 neighbouring shrubs, and upon the walk along 
 which they had to pass to the door. 
 
 On this occasion, especially, the light was more 
 than usually welcome, for a sharp frosty air had 
 induced the party to walk, and darkness closed in 
 upon them before they were aware. The widow, 
 Avell wrapped in the warmest winter clothing, 
 passed the window first. To the surprise of the 
 little party within, she was leaning on the arm of
 
 112 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 a tall young man, who looked back occasionally 
 to the slight little figure tripping close behind 
 them, and ever and anon half slipping amongst 
 the snow, and then stopping, and laughing, and 
 losing a shawl or two, and so having to be helped 
 on again by some kind caretaker ; for girls like 
 Dora Greenfell seldom look for a caretaker with- 
 out immediately finding one, and sometimes two 
 or three. 
 
 There was a great bustle in the hall when the 
 door opened, and the stormy wind blew in as the 
 guests made good their entrance, Susannah was 
 immediately employed, after her silent fashion, in 
 helping off a large accumulation of cloaks, snow 
 boots, and other precautionary articles; but 
 Lydia, as if arrested in her movements by the 
 unexpected appearance of the tall stranger, stood 
 waiting for an introduction, and scarcely received 
 even her cousin Dora, as she had felt that she 
 should a few moments before. Jacob Law, how- 
 ever, entered by another door just at this juncture, 
 and immediately recognising the young man as 
 a nephew of his sister's late husband, and one 
 of whom he had been led to form a very favour- 
 able opinion, held out his hand to him with great 
 cordiality, saying at the same time — ,' I am much
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 113 
 
 pleased to see thee, William Greenfell. It was 
 very nice of thee to come." 
 
 The young man explained how he was on a 
 visit to his aunt and cousin, and thought he might 
 venture to accompany them. 
 
 " Surely, surely ;" said Jacob, " and now walk 
 in, and warm thyself, while Susannah takes the 
 females up stairs." 
 
 Robert Moreton was already in the parlour, 
 wondering all the while whose that deep manly 
 voice could be, and what business it had there ; 
 but he also was introduced, and then a discussion 
 about markets commenced, with comments on the 
 price of barley, hops, and a vast variety of articles, 
 respecting all which, Robert Moreton cared 
 extremely little at present — ^the question was, 
 whether he ever would care. 
 
 The Widow Greenfell, both in face and person 
 bore a strong resemblance to her brother Jacob. 
 Her complexion and hair were of the same colour, 
 and her face also was remarkable for the same 
 appearance of having been recently well washed. 
 In figure she was small, but exceedingly comely, 
 and in her costume she managed with great nicety 
 to keep just within the boundary line of approval, 
 and yet, to advance in costliness, as well as in 
 VOL. I. H
 
 114 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 shiny and beautiful material, a few degrees beyond 
 anything that was ever worn at the Grange. In 
 the furnishing and embellishment of her house, 
 the widow went much farther than this, so that 
 plain homely friends, when they visited her, some- 
 times felt themselves rather uncomfortable. But 
 there was not much harm thought of it, so the 
 thing was allowed to pass as the mere indulgence 
 of a weak and foolish fancy'; not by any means as 
 a precursor of those extensive innovations then 
 only beginning to creep in. 
 
 In the same proportion as one generation is apt 
 to steal onward in advance of another, Dora 
 Greenfell far excelled her mother in the indul- 
 gence of the same kind of fancy. In fact, it 
 seemed impossible to calculate to what lengths 
 Dora would go, for she had a decided taste for 
 dress, and she knew it. With her it was but the 
 exercise of a natural instinct to decide at once 
 what colours would harmonise, or what form 
 would be most symmetrical and becoming. A 
 fashionable lady might have smiled at the narrow 
 scope which even Dora allowed herself for the 
 exercise of this taste, for all things are narrow or 
 expansive by comparison. But a very little 
 acquaintaince with Dora's toilette would have dis-
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 115 
 
 closed the secret, that there was not the slightest 
 tinge approaching a pink, blue, black, or red, in 
 any of the pale drab, or rich brown silks and rib- 
 bons which adorned her perfect figure, that had 
 not been the subject of calculation, comparison, 
 and deliberate choice. All points of deviation 
 from good taste were also so quickly marked by 
 her clear discriminating eye, that Lydia was 
 almost afraid to appear before her with any thing 
 new in her dress, lest it should be condemned on 
 the first inspection, as not being the right thing, 
 or in other words — not fit to be worn. 
 
 The same quick and delicate instinct, operating 
 through all Dora's life and character, rendered 
 her a wonderfully tasteful disposer of furniture in 
 a room, and of ornaments and garniture of every 
 kind ; so that a bouquet of flowers, however wild, 
 or however common, became something very dif- 
 ferent in her fair fingers, from what they would 
 have been in almost any other hand : and if Dora 
 was herself a fairer flower than any she could find 
 by wood or stream — in the conservatory, or the 
 parterre, was it much to be wondered at — was it 
 anything to be blamed, that she should bestow 
 even greater pains upon this flower than upon any 
 other? Indeed, there was something in Dora's 
 
 H 2
 
 116 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 face and person too, peculiarly calculated for set- 
 ting off dress to the best advantage, and thus 
 presenting perpetual temptation to the exercise of 
 taste. Fair, with a bright colour, and slight in 
 figure, without being in the least degree angular, 
 or even thin, there was scarcely any shade or tint 
 of colour which she might not wear with good 
 effect, nor any form or fashion which did not 
 gracefully adjust itself to her shape. Besides all 
 this, she had wonderfully pretty ways — looks 
 which no one could help looking at — and light 
 playful movements, which, we must do Dora the 
 justice to say, were not a whit less playful and 
 pretty when she and her mother were alone, than 
 when she found herself, as she sometimes did, 
 surrounded by admiring eyes. In short, she was 
 a good deal like a little bird — bright — sparkling — 
 smooth of feather, and light of wing ; to those 
 who loved her, a messenger of joy — to those who 
 were indifferent to her, still a perfect little gem. 
 
 It was curious to see a tall athletic young man, 
 like William Greenfell, bearing, with his grave 
 but kind dignity, all the good-natured teasing of 
 his pretty cousin. She had made a match up, she 
 told him that day, before setting out, between him 
 and Susannah; and, many times during the eve-
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 117 
 
 ning, she vacated her seat in order to bring the 
 two into closer contact, taking care, however, all 
 the while, to do only what one of the party could 
 understand, without bringing a blush to the cheek 
 of the unconscious Susannah. Lydia, alone, was 
 let into the secret, and perhaps she laughed a little 
 more than was consistent with good manners, see- 
 ing that she could not explain herself. Her father 
 called her rather sharply to account, for he did not 
 like his business conversation with William Green- 
 fell to be interrupted, by what he called the pop- 
 ping about of those silly girls ; while poor Robert 
 Moreton, wholly unacquainted with the under- 
 play which the girls were carrying on, and equally 
 unacquainted with the business, began to feel 
 himself very much a stranger, until Susannah, 
 who, by a quiet kind of intuition, seemed to know 
 what everybody was feeling, took a chair by his 
 side, and entered at once into conversation with 
 him about his home. 
 
 Susannah Law, though by no means generally 
 attractive like her sister, and her cousin, possessed 
 one rare and almost irresistible charm. She had 
 a beautiful mouth, with a sweet, clear, correct 
 utterance, so that her words not only fell on the 
 ear like music, but were so shaped forth as to give
 
 118 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 them, while few in number, a more than ordinary 
 effect upon the hearer. Kobert Moreton looked 
 up while he listened, to see if his companion was 
 really the cold impassive Susannah ; but her eyes 
 instantly fell, and he saw only the marble beauty 
 of those exquisitely chiselled lips, the pure white 
 teeth, and the little sisterly smile, which it was 
 impossible to restrain, because she was acting the 
 kind part of a sister; and goodness, in a guileless 
 nature, will make itself be seen as well as felt. 
 
 In this manner the evening glided away. Like 
 most evenings at the Grange it had little to mark 
 it with any distinct or striking character ; and yet 
 such evenings, often repeated, left behind them a 
 general impression of cordiality, contentment, and 
 kindly feeling, not always the accompaniment of 
 evenings of a more exciting nature.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 119 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Supposing Robert Moreton very naturally to 
 have fallen in with all the domestic arrangements 
 at the Grange, so as no longer to feel himself a 
 stranger there, but rather an adopted child and 
 brother, we will pass over a few intervening months, 
 and look in again upon the family during the time 
 of a short visit paid by Reuben Law to his home, 
 and the friends of his early youth. It had been 
 one of his father's stipulations that he should come 
 but seldom home. Jacob had his own private 
 reasons for this ; but he put it upon the old plea of 
 being desirable. It was desirable, he said, for the 
 youth to be thoroughly broken in to business, and 
 to business habits. Now, however, a few days 
 had been granted him for thorough relaxation ; 
 and at his own urgent request, Paul Rutherford 
 had been permitted to be his companion. Paul 
 had not been expressly invited, at least not invited 
 for his own sake, but a kind of intimation was
 
 120 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 conveyed by letter that his comi)any would be 
 acceptable, if his parents thought well to spare 
 him for a short season. Considering the circum- 
 stances of the case, and the esteem existing 
 between the two families, less than this could 
 scarcely have been said. So Paul Kutherford, in 
 no way reluctant, accompanied his friend, for 
 friends they were, and that in no ordinary degree, 
 if constant and almost inseparable companionship 
 is any test of friendship. 
 
 As might have been anticipated, the return of 
 Reuben Law was hailed with almost universal 
 joy. Neighbours made excuses and called ; and 
 workmen, with their wives and children, walked 
 to and fro on the Sunday afternoon as near the 
 garden as they thought respectful, in the hope of 
 catching a glimpse of the young man, and hearing 
 from him, as they always did, some pleasant word 
 of recognition and remembrance. 
 
 The two young men had arrived late on the 
 evening before ; but, notwithstanding the hour, 
 and the early habits of his aunt, Reuben could 
 not rest without looking in at the cottage. Here 
 he would fain have prolonged his visit, but Aunt 
 Isabel insisted upon his spending his first evening 
 with his parents, and finally dismissed him with
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 121 
 
 the promise of an interview of any length on the 
 following day. 
 
 Reuben appeared to have no regard whatever 
 to the fact of his friend Paul being thrown at once 
 entirely amongst those who were all but strangers 
 to him. Nor, indeed, was there much cause for 
 uneasiness on behalf of one, who usually made 
 himself at home wherever he went, being as little 
 troubled with bashfulness as any young man of 
 his age and circumstances could well be. 
 
 The ordeal to which he was now subjected was, 
 however, more than ordinarily severe, for all were 
 anxious to see, and know for themselves, some- 
 thing more of the character of Reuben's com- 
 panion, of whom, in his letters, he spoke so often, 
 though without any definite description. The 
 father, especially, looked anxiously at his visitor, 
 and listened thoughtfully to everything he said, 
 but apparently without arriving at any conclusion. 
 Not so the mother. From the first she appeared 
 more than commonly pleased with her son's friend. 
 She had mentally received him on trust before 
 they met, as the worthy descendant of consistent 
 and exemplary Friends ; and now, when in her 
 own person she became the recipient of all those 
 studiously kind attentions, which Paul Rutherford
 
 122 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 knew 80 well how to pay, and to ivhom, she became 
 imi)ressed with the encouraging belief, that a more 
 desirable friend and associate could scarcely have 
 been found for her son. 
 
 "Heuben," she said, when expressing these sen- 
 timents to her husband," is naturally volatile : this 
 young man appears more than usually solid." 
 
 Jacob Law made but an indifferent response. He 
 could find no fault whatever with the young man, 
 whose manners were very much what he would 
 have desired for his own son. He only wished he 
 would look people a little more directly in the face. 
 
 Rebecca suggested that he was modest, and a 
 stranger. 
 
 *'Modest ! "said Jacob, with peculiar emphasis ; 
 and here the conversation ended for the present. 
 
 Still, Jacob Law was not the man to persist in 
 any groundless and injurious prejudice, and every 
 day — almost every hour, some weight was taken 
 even by him, out of the unfavourable side of the 
 scales in which the young man was weighed, and 
 placed to his advantage in the other. 
 
 In the mean time Reuben enjoyed his promised 
 interview with his aunt, if enjoyment it might be 
 called, where subjects of painful interest were dis- 
 cussed. Many topics of this kind were freely but
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 123 
 
 feelingly entered upon, and especially, Reuben 
 wished for a satisfactory explanation respecting 
 the absence of Jane Gordon, who had gone to 
 reside with an aged relative in a distant part of 
 the country. 
 
 Aunt Isabel believed she was comfortable there. 
 Her letters contained no complaint. Her relative 
 was rather a trying person, she had heard ; but 
 Jane had gone to be with her from a sense of duty. 
 And then she had freedom in attending Friends' 
 meetings, and several other advantages, which she 
 could not partake of at home. 
 
 "It is ^a shameful thing," Reuben exclaimed, 
 "that she was ever oblio-ed to go." 
 
 "My dear," repeated his aunt," it was entirely 
 her own doing — entirely her own choice. The 
 invitation was to an older sister, but Jane freely 
 offered herself, and the other sister being more 
 fond of excitement and gaiety, willingly relin- 
 quished the place to Jane. I really think it was 
 better — much better that she should go." 
 
 "In one respect it might," said Reuben. "But 
 how am I to see her there ? " 
 
 "See her ?" said his aunt. I understand from 
 Jane, there is an agreement between you neither 
 to meet, nor to correspond, until her way shall be 
 more clear with regard to Friends."
 
 124 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 "And is the way at all clearing, I should like 
 to know ?" 
 
 "Pier letters are pretty satisfactory. I own I 
 should like more evidence that she sees with us in 
 some matters." 
 
 "In what ?" 
 
 "In respect to dress, and modes of speech par- 
 ticularly. I do not think she has yet begun to 
 use the plain language." 
 
 "Aunt Isabel !" 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 "Does thou really mean to say that a sensible 
 straight forward girl like Jane Gordon — a good 
 noble hearted creature as she is, cannot be consi- 
 dered worthy to be my wife, unless she speaks 
 this foolish language, which makes us so ridiculous, 
 and wears a costume to be pointed at in the streets ? 
 Oh, Aunt Isabel ! why did you all conspire to send 
 me away from her ? You don't know what you 
 have done, and are doing now !" 
 
 And Reuben folded his arms upon the table, 
 and bent down his head so as entirely to bury his 
 face ; while his aunt, greatly shocked by his vio- 
 lence, felt too much shaken to be able to speak. 
 
 Presently, however, Reuben looked up, smiling 
 as if nothing had disturbed him. "I am a great
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 125 
 
 simpleton," he said, "and worse, to come here 
 troubling thee, dear Aunt. Don't mind what I 
 say." And he actually laughed, but in a manner 
 which disturbed his Aunt still more than before. 
 
 "Dear Reuben," she said, laying her thin white 
 hand gently upon his arm, "I do wish thou 
 wouldst be more serious — more calm." 
 
 " Oh ! I'm serious enough," said Reuben, his 
 countenance changing immediately to a kind of 
 bitter smile. " It's a very serious thing, I can tell 
 thee, living with George and Johanna Rutherford 
 — no play that." 
 
 " I hope, dear, thou finds thy situation comfort- 
 able?" 
 
 "Oh, very comfortable — exceedingly comfort- 
 able ! So much so, that I only wish my father 
 would spend a week in my place — just one week. 
 I would not condemn my worst enemy to more." 
 
 "But they are kind to thee, dear; are they not?" 
 
 "If they knew how to be kind to any thing, I 
 dare say they would be kind to me, for the sake 
 of my father and mother." 
 
 "And thy friend Paul? — I trust he is a comfort 
 to thee." 
 
 " Why, yes, he helps me on a little, but I hardly
 
 126 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 know whether I should call him a comfort, alto- 
 gether." 
 
 " Thy mother appears to think him a seriously 
 disposed young man." 
 
 "Bless my mother!" 
 
 "What! dear? —What was that thou said? I did 
 not quite catch it." 
 
 By this time Reuben had risen from his chair. 
 He felt as if he must either laugh or cry, and it 
 seemed so foolish to do either, that he determined 
 to put an end to the conversation altogether. 
 
 "I'll tell thee what, dear Aunt," he said, "thou 
 and I are speaking in different languages. I can- 
 not talk in this way any longer." 
 
 "And why not, dear child?" 
 
 " Oh! don't call me dear child, I am not a child 
 now, and I don't deserve to be dear." 
 
 "What can'st thou mean, Reuben? Nay, do 
 not leave me in this way — thy manner is so 
 strange." 
 
 " Aunt, I wish / could tell thee what I mean — 
 I wish I could tell thee all." 
 
 "Is any thing wrong, my dear?" 
 
 "I hope not — not very wrong, at least — only, 
 if my father could be brought to let me marry 
 Jane Gordon — "
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 127 
 
 "What, now? — now, without a livelihood, and 
 while thou art quite a boy ? " 
 
 " Jane would be sufficient in herself, she is so 
 managing and clever, and my father has plenty of 
 money. You don't understand these things." 
 
 " Perhaps we think we understand them better 
 than thou dost." 
 
 " Ah ! you understand one side, that I don't dis- 
 pute. But the other ! — well it is getting late. 
 And now, dear Aunt, don't think too much of any 
 thing I may have said. Go to sleep, and enjoy 
 thy pleasant dreams. I sometimes fancy when I 
 think of tliee, that perhaps good angels come and 
 close the curtains of thy bed every night. Is it 
 not so, dear Aunt?" 
 
 "I don't know. I am often favoured to expe- 
 rience great peace in the still watches of the night. 
 And art not thou ? " 
 
 "Nay, don't ask me. Farewell." And then 
 after repeating his farewell, and kissing his 
 Aunt with much affection, Keuben hastened 
 away from the house. 
 
 There was a considerable space of time unac- 
 counted for between his departure from the cottage, 
 and his appearance again at his father's house ; but 
 as all the family knew that he had been visiting
 
 128 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 his aunt no one thought of making inquiries; and 
 when he retired immediately to his own room, 
 it was taken for granted, that the nature of the 
 interview had been such as to render him but 
 little disposed for general conversation. 
 
 The next morning Reuben was all himself 
 again, ready for any conversation, any society, or 
 any amusement, if such could be found. The 
 two visitors did not own it to each other, and still 
 less to those who were so kindly solicitous for 
 their comfort; yet, it is just possible, they might 
 find their present position a little dull, especially 
 as the long day began early, and there seemed to 
 be nothing to expect before the dinner hour. Reu- 
 ben proposed a walk, and Lydia thought it would 
 be nice to go and see Aunt Greenfell, and Dora ; 
 only that Susannah was engaged. So at last it 
 was decided that the two young men should go 
 alone, and although they did take a peep at the 
 pretty Dora in her pretty drawing room, they had 
 evidently found amusement elsewhere, for the din- 
 ner was kept waiting for them nearly half an hour. 
 
 " I suppose," said Jacob Law, taking out his 
 watch with some impatience, " that the Lay ton 
 time is not quite with ours." 
 
 Paul Rutherford, however, was so direct and
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 129 
 
 clear in his account of where they had been, and 
 by what causes they had been detained, that the 
 master of the house could not reasonably com- 
 plain; and he soon became too much engaged with 
 the hospitalities and attentions of the table to 
 notice the smiles which now and then played 
 about Reuben's face. 
 
 If, amongst the Society of Friends, there 
 would seem little, to a casual observer, to render 
 their social gatherings attractive and amusing, it 
 would be difficult to find with any other class of 
 persons, such true enjoyment of that friendly and 
 family intercourse in which the Friends so fre- 
 quently indulge. Amongst the more enlightened 
 too, their conversation at such times is more than 
 usually full of meaning, point, and freshness; so 
 that the conversation of other classes sometimes 
 appears but a common-place and poor affair in 
 comparison. Conversation is in reality their 
 amusement, though they would be sorry to admit 
 the fact. Nothing short of absolute wrong can 
 indeed be much more repulsive to a genuine Friend 
 than the idea of having recourse to amusement 
 under any circumstances, either as a necessity of 
 nature, or a choice. It has been thought by many 
 to be one of their greatest mistakes, that they will 
 VOL. I. I
 
 13Q FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 not sufficiently believe in the health-imparting in- 
 fluence of innocent amusement, particularly as a 
 means of keeping families together, and as afford- 
 ing opportunities for the animal spirits of youth 
 to find exercise without extraordinary excitement, 
 or dangerous excess. It is possible that they 
 judge of both excitement and excess, even such 
 as may sometimes be found in very scrupulous 
 society, according to a standard peculiarly their 
 own, and are thus led to condemn what is really 
 innocent in itself, and not only safe, but whole- 
 some to those who judge of amusement by a 
 wider, though it may not be, a less correct and 
 judicious rule. 
 
 To all families, and all persons, it must, how- 
 ever, be considered as a matter of right to choose 
 their own boundary line in cases of this kind. 
 Even amongst the Society of Friends some adopt 
 a line much narrower than others. To those who 
 had escaped from the iron thraldom of the Ruther- 
 fords, for instance, it was felt to be a delicious 
 state of liberty to speak frankly, to laugh 
 heartily, and to ramble at large with the young 
 party at the Grange; and most thoroughly did 
 the two visitors appear to enjoy this liberty on the 
 present occasion. If, when there was nothing de-
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 131 
 
 finite to be done, they found the time pass slowly, 
 it was not the fault of the people, or the place. 
 To some extent it might be the result of sudden 
 liberation from strict discipline, and incessant 
 work. But it is more than probable there were 
 causes already operating upon both, and most 
 assuredly upon one, of a nature peculiarly calcu- 
 lated to produce a distaste for simple and quiet 
 pleasures. 
 
 These causes, however, were not so deeply 
 operative at present, but that they readily gave 
 way before the more genial influence of such a 
 house as that to which Reuben had been accus- 
 tomed. There were many things combining in 
 the present circumstances to render it a season of 
 peculiar enjoyment. 
 
 It was the time of the bursting of spring buds, 
 the music of happy birds, the blossoming of the 
 wild furze, and the play of young lambs upon 
 the banks already clothed in soft velvet-green. 
 Who does not know the very spring of the earth 
 beneath the foot at this cheering and hopeful 
 season of the year? — the temptation to wander 
 on, and on, by the side of the rapid brook, while 
 the grass is not yet too long ; or in amongst the 
 copse, where the primroses spangle the earth with 
 
 I 2
 
 132 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 stars, and the gentle blue bells hang their graceful 
 heads. The very cawing of the rooks above has 
 a kind of music in it at this time. It is pecu- 
 liarly the season for the young, the happy, the 
 innocent. 
 
 Were they all innocent? — all who composed 
 that little party ? They looked innocent, as they 
 issued from the door after the old fashioned early 
 tea at the Grange, to take a long rambling walk 
 they knew not whither, nor did any of them very 
 much care. It was enough for them to be at 
 liberty, and together, out in the clear bright air, 
 with the sun not set, and the soft greenery all 
 around them, just promising, though scarcely 
 daring, to push forth into beauty. 
 
 They were, however, an awkwardly associated 
 little party — two women, and three men. What 
 could be worse? Paul Rutherford, with kind 
 and respectful attention, offered his arm to Susan- 
 nah, and away they two walked without even 
 taking the precaution to consult the others as to 
 where they should all go together. Whether it 
 was this, or the fact of Lydia being left with two 
 gentlemen, and not knowing which to choose for 
 her companion — whatever might be the cause, 
 there was certainly a good deal of laughing
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 133 
 
 amongst the three, and a good deal of uncertainty 
 in their movements, especially when Reuben 
 chose to light a cigar ; so that the little party be- 
 came separated without being aware of the fact, 
 and then, when discovered, there was still greater 
 merriment occasioned by the idea of Susannah 
 having actually wandered away with a gentleman, 
 and that into a kind of wood, for they had all 
 half unconsciously directed their steps towards a 
 copse which skirted the margin of a shallow 
 winding stream. There it was that the loveliest 
 primroses always grew. There the young people 
 from the Grange had been accustomed from their 
 childhood to play, and towards this spot their 
 steps seemed always naturally to turn, whenever 
 they went out to ramble without any definite 
 object to direct them elsewhere. 
 
 Reuben Law, his sister declared, was perfectly 
 intolerable as a companion, so he wandered on at 
 a little distance, preferring his cigar to the " best 
 of all good company." Lydia thought him very 
 happy: perhaps he was so. At all events, he 
 laughed loudly, and very often, so as to startle 
 the wood pigeons from their roost, and to frighten 
 the young rabbits into their holes. It looked 
 like happiness, he was so merry. Except once.
 
 134 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 when he lingered a little way behind, and on 
 their looking back was seen standing fixed like a 
 statue close beside the little whimpling brook, 
 that murmured to him still in the language of his 
 innocent childhood. The little brook wandered 
 on, singing ever the same song. It never told 
 the secret of a heavy tear having been dropt into 
 its bosom, while darkened for a moment by that 
 familiar shadow on its surface. 
 
 When the little party were around the supper- 
 table that night, even Susannah looked so much 
 brighter than usual, that a few jesting words at 
 her expense were ventured upon by Reuben. She 
 blushed deeply each time ; but Paul, who did not 
 choose to hear, took that opportunity for address- 
 ing some grave and weighty remarks to the 
 heads of the family. This he knew well how to 
 do ; so well that Lydia could not help observing 
 it, and remarked to her sister when they were 
 alone, that she thought she should like Paul 
 Rutherford better if he was less proper to her 
 father and mother. 
 
 " I do not quite understand thee," said Susannah. 
 
 *' I mean," continued Lydia, " that he is not 
 quite the same to them as to us. His whole 
 manner — even his voice seems different."
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 135 
 
 *' He is, I think, rather remarkably guarded," 
 observed Susannah. 
 
 " I suppose I don't like guarded people so well 
 as I ought," said Lydia. " There's Reuben, 
 now — what a delight that dear boy is, and how he 
 rattles on ! " 
 
 " Lydia," said Susannah, looking suddenly up, 
 — " Dost thou perceive anything different about 
 Reuben?" 
 
 " Different ? — how ? — what ? Susannah. I 
 can't tell what thou means. He seems to me 
 very brisk and bright." 
 
 " Yes, in one sense, he certainly does." 
 
 " In what sense then is he otherwise ? " 
 
 " I did not say he was otherwise." 
 
 '' Now, Susannah, pray don't be mysterious. Do 
 speak out. Is anything the matter with Reuben?" 
 
 " Nothing, that I know of, dear. But please 
 don't press me farther." 
 
 " Ah, that's the way with you all," exclaimed 
 Lydia, pettishly — " always suspecting and con- 
 demning poor Reuben. If you would suspect 
 Paul Rutherford, now, there might be some 
 sense in it." 
 
 " Please don't speak to me in that manner," said 
 Susannah. And she uttered these words so
 
 136 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 meekly, and in so subdued and sad a voice, that 
 Lydia threw her arms around her neck, and 
 kissed her again and again, declaring she would 
 not leave off until she smiled once more, and said 
 that all was peace. 
 
 And soon it was all peace again. But Susannah 
 spoke no more about Reuben with any pointed 
 meaning; nor, when Lydia indulged in further 
 insinuation that Paul Rutherford was not quite 
 80 good as he appeared to be, did Susannah take 
 up his defence. She cast her eyes down, as 
 usual, but then she also blushed. 
 
 Ah! how much of gold and gems would 
 Susannah Law have given to purchase exemption 
 from that liability to blush. It was her great 
 beauty — her charm, some people thought. Was 
 it not the seal of nature set upon her cheek to 
 testify that she was human like others, and per- 
 haps not stronger than the rest.
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 137 
 
 CHAPTER YIIL 
 
 After the pleasant visit of the young men, 
 which has just been described, they were some- 
 time before they met again at the Grange ; and 
 when they did so, it was under circumstances 
 which considerably changed the aspect of the 
 scene, at least to one of the parties concerned. 
 
 It is not the intention of the writer of this 
 simple story to enter upon any detailed account 
 of the principles of conduct which render the 
 Society of Friends so strikingly distinguishable 
 from others. Neither would it be desirable to 
 enter here upon any methodical description of 
 that wonderful discipline by which the members 
 are held together as a distinct body ; only so far 
 as may be necessary to account for certain phases 
 of social and domestic character, some explana- 
 tion of which is required by common justice. 
 
 The question of greatest interest pending just 
 now, the reader will understand to be, the ad-
 
 13B FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 mission of Jane Gordon into membership with 
 this Society. 
 
 The admission of a new member into their 
 body, under what they call " convincement," for 
 they never use the word conversion, at all times 
 a serious and deliberate matter, was necessarily 
 attended with rather more than usual caution in 
 the present instance. Jane had wisely adopted 
 the plan of removing to a part of the country 
 where the previous circumstances of her life had 
 been little known ; and where, separated entirely 
 form all former associations, she would herself be 
 more at liberty to arrive at safe and just con- 
 clusions respecting the state of her own mind and 
 feelings, with regard to the important step which 
 she was contemplating. 
 
 In due time, then, and as she believed with 
 much caution, and earnestness, her application was 
 made in the quarter which she supposed to be the 
 right one. She had long been a regular attender 
 of the Friends' meetings, and as such, had been 
 the recipient of kindness and hospitality. One 
 thing, however, still was wanting — perhaps more 
 than one ; for Jane had never felt herself called 
 upon to adopt the external peculiarities of the 
 Society, in those minor matters which she even
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 139 
 
 went so far as to consider wholly unworthy of 
 serious consideration. And such was the tone of 
 her character, such her perfect uprightness in act, 
 as well as word, that for no consideration, however 
 closely connected with her own happiness, would 
 she yield even a tacit assent ^to what she did not 
 heartily concur in as a matter of right or duty. 
 
 Thus, when closely questioned on these points, 
 Jane openly and clearly explained her want of 
 agreement with the views of the Society, regarding 
 the adoption of any particular mode of dress, or 
 language ; and she even went so far as to state an 
 opinion tending rather towards the undesirableness 
 of these peculiarities altogether. 
 
 The friends who sat in consideration upon her 
 case were very naturally alarmed. They knew 
 not, perhaps, what to make of one so frank and 
 free of speech, and yet at the same time so evidently 
 in earnest. By way of relief under their difficulty, 
 the case was suspended from time to time ; until 
 Jane herself began to feel that if such were the 
 sole grounds of objection, there was something 
 really lowering to her sense of the dignity of true 
 religion in thus making things of vital importance 
 subservient, as it seemed to her, to the merest 
 trifles. Perhaps neither of the parties clearly un-
 
 140 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 derstood each other ; for it is not to be supposed 
 that any of the more intelligent members of the 
 Society would act upon so narrow a view, as that 
 of seeing those little peculiarities really essential. 
 Only the Friends have almost universally fallen 
 into the habit of treating them as if they were ; 
 and thus in all their appointments to offices of 
 usefulness, and trust, are scrupulously careful 
 that the duty shall not be placed in the hands of 
 those who do not speak a particular language, and 
 wear a particular dress. To speak this language, 
 and to wear this dress, is called by them 
 '^consistency," a word of incalculable weight and 
 value in their estimate of things. One of their 
 great tests of fitness for admission into membership 
 would be, and very justly so, a willingness to take 
 up the cross. But then their idea of the cross 
 consists most frequently in this speaking a parti- 
 cular language, and wearing a particular dress ; 
 so that where a disinclination to do this is manifest, 
 considerable doubts, not unnaturally, arise as to 
 whether that person is really in a state of fit pre- 
 paration for membership. 
 
 It is just possible that Jane Gordon, being 
 naturally prompt in her decisions, and having 
 perhaps, not the most liberal or enlightened
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 141 
 
 persons to deal with, might be a little wanting in 
 patience, and submission. At all events, the 
 matter closed with her, by an entire renunciation 
 of her claims to membership, if admission was not 
 to be obtained on any other terms. She knew the 
 consequences, only too well ; and such was the 
 revulsion of feeling she experienced on this occa- 
 sion, that she began, perhaps for the first time, to 
 suspect her own motives, and to fear that she had 
 been betrayed by affection into believing that to 
 be right in itself which was only set apart by in- 
 clination as most to be desired. 
 
 How often in the course of our temporal affairs, 
 a concurrence of circumstances appears to set in 
 exactly in the most unfavourable manner for our 
 progress in what is essentially right, and good. 
 Even to those who have faith to look beyond the 
 mere outward aspect of things, it is difficult some- 
 times it raise the thoughts sufficiently up to that 
 overruling for good, which is the only reconciler 
 of such seeming contradictions. What, then, must 
 it be to those who look only with human eyes, and 
 feel only with human feelings, untaught — un- 
 touched, by any higher principle than stirs with- 
 in an impulsive, and ungoverned nature. 
 
 Reuben. Law was perfectly sensible, that the
 
 142 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 habits of life he had recently formed, were not 
 such as could lead to ultimate happiness, or indeed 
 to good of any kind. But he had one hope of 
 rescue from temptation — one anchor that he held 
 by so tenaciously, that he seemed to care little 
 what might threaten from any other quarter, so 
 long as this anchor did not fail. He had no idea 
 that it ever would, or could, fail him. His present 
 folly, according to his way of regarding it, was 
 but a kind of interlude between the acts of the 
 great drama of his life. He was only waiting for 
 the real scene to commence. The time seemed 
 long ; his impatience was in no way abated by 
 delay. There was nothing in his present circum- 
 stances to beguile the weariness of the intervening 
 period, but on the contrary, all was repulsive, dark, 
 and miserable. It was absurd, he thought, to 
 suppose that he might not amuse himself a little, 
 while he waited. Again and again he told him- 
 self, that the reality of life was all to commence 
 with him, and that this which filled up the inter- 
 mediate time, was only like the toy which a child 
 can easily throw aside, when called away to school. 
 It probably never once entered his mind, to suspect 
 that the amusement was growing to be the busi- 
 ness of his life-^-the pastime, the reality.
 
 OWN FIEESIDE. 143 
 
 Indeed, that one hope, which, when realized, 
 was to do everything for him, so bounded all his 
 future, and constituted the basis of all his calcula- 
 tions, that he attached extremely little importance 
 to the present under any form. He only wished 
 it was over, and thus employed himself pretty 
 closely in getting rid of all idea that there was 
 such a thing as a present time at all. 
 
 Under these circumstances, and with all these 
 feelings strong upon him, Reuben received one 
 day, a long letter from Jane Gordon. Surprised, 
 and delighted, he unfolded the closely written 
 pages, conscious of nothing but the fullness and 
 richness of the feast that was before him. He 
 had no fear — not he ! Jane was his rock of safety ; 
 the sweet words of her letter the gushing waters 
 bountifully provided for his refreshment in the 
 desert pilgrimage he had to tread. 
 
 The letter began kindly — very kindly — but — 
 There seemed ever a but as he read; and after 
 awhile symptoms of leave taking began to mani- 
 fest themselves. He could not understand it: the 
 writing danced before his eyes; and yet Jane 
 wrote always a clear free hand, most legible and 
 unmistakeably true. What could have happened? 
 
 In the course of half an hour, Reuben Law
 
 144 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 might have been seen with an open letter laid at 
 his feet, standing, rigid as a statue, in a little bed 
 room, with an attic window from whence he might 
 have looked out over the tops of grey chimneys, 
 far away into a rich fair landscape, intersperced 
 with trees, and meadows, which had no beauty 
 for him. It was an odious little room, it was a 
 horrid country, and a hateful world, in which the 
 young man found himself just then. Before night 
 came he had applied to a temporary medecine for 
 his intolerable anguish of mind. But the awak- 
 ing on the morning of the morrow was even worse 
 than the day before had been. He could not 
 endure it, he told Paul Rutherford. He must set 
 off immediately on a journey of some distance. 
 He had already borrowed money in this quarter 
 to a considerable extent, he must now borrow 
 more. Paul could not eventually be a loser, he knew 
 that very well. So, without any apology to the 
 master of the establishment, in all probability 
 without remembering that it had a master, away 
 went Reuben in the most expeditious and expen- 
 sive manner, leaving Paul to invent for his 
 absence whatever excuses might occur to him. 
 
 The interview which Reuben now sought with 
 Jane Gordon, was only what she had anticipated,
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 145 
 
 though she had done everything in her power to 
 prevent its occurrence. If, however, the visit 
 was anticipated, the nature of it, and the spirit in 
 which it had been undertaken, were such as dis- 
 tressed and alarmed her beyond measure. 
 
 She had learned, in her first intimate acquain- 
 tance with Reuben, that he was a youth of strong 
 impulses, but she had little idea how much the life 
 he had recently been leading was calculated to 
 excite and strengthen all that was passionate, and 
 most dangerous in his nature ; while those happier 
 influences, of which, in her society, he had shown 
 himself susceptible, had been so entirely absent 
 from the new discipline to which his father had 
 thought right to consign him, that his whole nature 
 appeared changed for the worse ; and, under the 
 decision which he had come to hear confirmed, 
 likely to become worse still. 
 
 There can scarcely be any conviction more 
 harrowing to the feelings of a right-minded 
 woman, than that the man she refuses will, 
 inevitably, become worse for the severing of that 
 bond which she has the power to keep unbroken 
 if she will. Many apprehend these consequences 
 without just cause ; for it is, perhaps, one of the 
 most frequent of the many pleas brought forward 
 VOL. I. J
 
 146 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 by men to work upon the feelings of women. 
 Many believe too fondly, and without much 
 reason on their side, that they, and they alone, 
 can effect all the good most needed in their lover's 
 character. Pure vanity inspires this hope with 
 some, and the flattery of the lover tends power- 
 fully to confirm it. But in the case of Jane 
 Gordon it was simply the evidence of plain com- 
 mon sense which told her now, and had told her 
 all along, that she was especially the friend which 
 Reuben required ; that her temper, disposition, 
 and habits, were peculiarly calculated for produc- 
 ing beneficial effects upon his ; and thus, while 
 affection drew her nearer, and brought her into 
 more intimate connexion Avith his real character 
 and feelings, the hope of being useful to him, and 
 through him to his family, invested this intercourse 
 with a kind of sacredness which made her question 
 with herself, very severely, whether it ought, 
 under any circumstances, to be wholly given up. 
 
 In no human heart would it have been possible 
 for considerations of this kind to operate with 
 greater weight than in that of Jane Gordon. 
 From every point of view, they had been faith- 
 fully regarded, examined, weighed again and 
 again, both with and without the test of womanly
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 147 
 
 aflPectlon. But the result was still the same. In 
 her own mind the strong conviction remained un- 
 shaken, that if she could not be admitted into 
 religious communion with the Society to which 
 Reuben Law belonged, she would never be the 
 means of inducing him to leave it, nor should he 
 leave it for her. 
 
 In vain did Reuben protest that to throw up his 
 membership with the Society of Friends would 
 be no sacrifice to him — that he was willing, and 
 more than willing, to resign his connection with 
 them at any moment — that, what some considered 
 as religious privileges peculiar to this Society, 
 were, to him, a kind of bondage, from which he 
 longed to escape — that, if he had thought well of 
 the Society of Friends before, he spurned and 
 hated it now, for the narrow-mindedness of those 
 who had had to do with this transaction — that he 
 was, in reality, no Friend, and would soon prove 
 to them that he was not. Indeed, there is every 
 probability that he would have declared himself a 
 Jew, or a Mahomedan, or anything else at that 
 moment, had such profession been likely to serve 
 the only purpose which he had in view ; and, it is 
 quite possible, that he could, with equal truth, 
 have declared himself on the side of any belief, 
 
 J 2
 
 148 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 or any error, at that time existing upon the face 
 of the earth. The fact was, he knew nothing — 
 cared for nothing — felt nothing — but that he was 
 a wretch, and utterly miserable, and lost, if driven 
 off from this his sole anchorage, and rock of 
 safety. 
 
 " And yet it must be," said Jane. " There is 
 no alternative, and no hope of any change. I 
 shall never apply again to be received, because I 
 have no expectation of ever seeing these grounds 
 of objection in a diiferent light from that in which 
 I see them now. It all hangs upon what is really 
 so small and trivial a matter in itself." 
 
 " Trivial, indeed !" said Keuben, now beginning 
 to see the subject in a new light. " And, because 
 it is so, surely it might be easily got over. In 
 short, why should you not yourself conform ? I 
 would conform to anything for you." 
 
 " Ah ! if mere conformity were all, I do n,ot 
 think you would find me much behind yourself in 
 that." 
 
 "What is it then? You acknowledge the 
 points of objection to be mere trifles in them- 
 selves." 
 
 "Yes, in themselves. But if they constitute 
 sufficient cause for my being admitted or not 
 admitted into membership with a religious body,
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 149 
 
 they assume a different form, and are no longer 
 trifles in this sense to me, but things of vast im- 
 portance. It is, as such, that I cannot make a 
 pretence of receiving them, because my heart and 
 my conscience would give me the lie if I did." 
 
 Reuben looked earnestly at Jane as she was 
 speaking. There seemed to him a kind of cold 
 calculation in what she said. Never, under any 
 circumstances, being himself particularly amen- 
 able to reason, nor accustomed to use any argu- 
 ment so potent as his own inclination, he could 
 not understand how any one could speak in this 
 way on a subject which he considered as belong- 
 ing to the heart, not to the head. Like many 
 men under his circumstances, he was alternately 
 indignant and subdued — passionate and despair- 
 ing — anything but reasonable, patient, and sub- 
 missive. Time was passing rapidly. The whole 
 universe — the past, and the future, as well as the 
 present, seemed all to be gliding from beneath 
 his feet. Child, as he still was, in all those ele- 
 ments of character which make us tearful, lov- 
 ing, and susceptible of kindness, he cast himself 
 for the last time upon her pity — upon the com- 
 passion of her womanly heart. 
 
 Jane felt the appeal more like a dagger than an
 
 150 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 embrace, for it penetrated to her inmost soul. 
 She was herself lonely enough without him ; de- 
 solate enough without something to live for, 
 without some one to love her, and whom she might 
 love. Ah ! that something to live for, how much 
 it is to a woman of noble and devoted nature, of 
 active impulses for good! How poor in com- 
 parison, how utterly mean, empty, and despicable, 
 is that life which has no object except self; and 
 perhaps in relation to self, no purpose or neces- 
 sity beyond providing food and raiment. No 
 wonder that so many women with warm, yearn- 
 ing, generous hearts, shrink from the living death 
 within this iron prison, in which self is the only 
 occupant condemned to endless solitary confine- 
 ment. 
 
 Jane Gordon maintained her deliberate purpose 
 unchanged, much as it cost her to do so, and that 
 it did cost her much, there was strong evidence in 
 her quivering lip and trembling hand, in the 
 deathly paleness of her cheek, and in the tones of 
 her voice, which she strove in vain to command, 
 but which melted away every moment with a 
 tenderness inexpressibly touching to him, who 
 had in idea so often heard that voice when far 
 away, reproving him when he did wrong, com-
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 151 
 
 mending him when right, soothing, encouraging, 
 always administering to his need, whatever it 
 might be. No ; love may forget the face, but the 
 voice, never. And if, from a season of long 
 silence, that familiar sound should lose anything 
 in remembrance of its clearness or reality, let but 
 the faintest tone of the same voice be heard 
 again, and all comes back — all the various changes 
 of that sweet instrument — its depth, its pathos, 
 its persuasiveness, its power. 
 
 Could Jane Gordon have more entirely com- 
 manded her voice, this painful interview might 
 have been sooner brought to a close. Closed it 
 must be. There was no way made on either side, 
 no good was likely to ensue from further parley. 
 One of the party was unshaken in her determina- 
 tion to do that, which to her appeared to be 
 simply and clearly right ; the other remained un- 
 convinced that it was right, and was consequently 
 unreconciled to receive and submit to it as such. 
 
 So sadly did the two friends thus situated 
 argue, and plead, and weep together. So sadly 
 did they part, most sadly perhaps to her who 
 knew it would be their last meeting upon earth. 
 Men are more slow to believe what they do not 
 wish. Accustomed from boyhood to the language
 
 152 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 of power, they acquire a habit of persuading 
 themselves that what they will, must necessarily 
 be. Thus, perhaps, it was that Reuben Law de- 
 parted at last, without actually believing that the 
 voice, to which he had been listening, would 
 never breathe its music on his ear again. 
 
 Yet, so it was. He passed out into the world 
 alone ; and without pilot, or compass, launched at 
 once upon the troubled sea of life, as frail a bark 
 as ever battled with its restless waves, or trusted 
 to the smiling aspect of its treacherous cahn.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 153 
 
 CHAPTEK IX. 
 
 If, when Robert Moreton tried to soothe the 
 grief of the fair Lydia, he had nothing more sen- 
 timental to propose in the way of consolation than 
 the establishment of a new coach, the fact itself, 
 however unpoetical, proved eventually a source of 
 much real gratification to the family at the Grange, 
 in consequence of the increased intercourse thus 
 afforded between them and their friends. 
 
 Indeed, it was no unusual thing during the course 
 of the summer months, for Reuben Law to run 
 down, as they called it, on the Seventh day after- 
 noon, to spend the sabbath at his father's, taking 
 with him almost always one companion, and some- 
 times more. When that crisis in his affairs arrived 
 which has just been described, he remained for some 
 time without any intercourse with his family. 
 Subsequently however, acting upon better thoughts, 
 he wrote frankly and freely to his father, telling 
 him' in a long and not very unreasonable letter, 
 the sad history of his disappointment, and distress.
 
 154 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 Of course Jacob Law was fully acquainted with 
 those more public transactions in which Jane 
 Gordon was put as it were upon her trial, as a 
 candidate for membership ; but beyond this, he 
 knew nothing, until Reuben himself explained the 
 rest. Had his sole purpose in writing been to 
 justify the object of his aiFection, and to raise 
 her character in the esteem of his father, and his 
 aunt, he could not have done so more effectually 
 than by describing how she had resisted all his 
 entreaties, and finally severed the bond between 
 them, rather than lead him even one step out of 
 the path of duty to his parents, and of what they 
 believed to be safety for himself. But beyond this, 
 the very frankness and confiding nature of his letter 
 so won upon the father's heart, that Reuben was 
 received with more than usual kindness on his 
 first visit after this letter had been sent, though 
 as he had begged that the facts it contained 
 might never be mentioned to him again, they were 
 scrupulously avoided as subjects of conversation by 
 the whole family. 
 
 Jacob Law, however, and his sister Isabel, were 
 all who knew the real state of the case. Rebecca 
 the mother remained happily ignorant, and the 
 sisters only knew so much as to increase their
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 155 
 
 sympathy and affection for one whom they regarded 
 as being the subject of an interesting romance. 
 So things went on, and Reuben tried to laugh 
 as much, and to be as merry and as social as before, 
 and sometimes he did laugh very much, so that 
 his father had to call him to account. But this 
 was always done kindly, for he was glad to per- 
 ceive, as he thought he did, that the youth was 
 not very deeply or lastingly affected by what had 
 transpired. 
 
 Perhaps in no other society than that which is 
 here described, could an affair of this nature have 
 passed with so little outward evidence of anything 
 having gone wrong — of any stroke having fallen — 
 of any pleasant prospect having given place to 
 darkness, and despair. In its external features 
 life looked all the same. George Rutherford, for 
 reasons of his own, and partly in consequence of 
 his son being so clever at excuses, chose to take 
 but little notice of the sudden disappearance of 
 Reuben, especially as he came back again sooner 
 than was anticipated, and so fell in with the 
 accustomed routine of business, that there was 
 little fault to be found ; and as to enquiries, the 
 case had been placed in such a point of view 
 qefore him, that he looked upon it as the business
 
 156 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 of the youth's parents to enquire, not his. It 
 must be understood, however, that had Reuben 
 been the son of parents less influential, or less 
 respected, than his own, there would have been 
 little delicacy exercised towards him in matters 
 of this kind. 
 
 Indeed, Reuben was in all respects a favoured 
 inmate of the family. From some cause which it 
 would not be easy to explain^ Reuben was a sort 
 of favourite almost everywhere ; and yet he had 
 at the same time a tendency to be exceedingly 
 troublesome, and often A^exatious in little things. 
 He was so capricious and impulsive, so set upon 
 having his own way at the time when any strong 
 inclination ruled his purposes ; sometimes even 
 so regardless of all arguments against attempting 
 what was manifestly impossible ; that his friends 
 had need of all their affection to enable them to 
 bear with him. But then on the other hand, he 
 w^as so sensitive to kindness, so cheerful when 
 pleased, and so cordial when his anger had spent 
 itself, that those who had once loved him were 
 little likely to be alienated, and those who had 
 been offended by him were sure to forgive. 
 
 An inmate so determined to be on good terms 
 with all, had probably never before shared in the
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 157 
 
 necessities — for we cannot call them luxuries, 
 of the Rutherford household. Conversation, or 
 rather talk, so cheerful had probably never before 
 been heard at that homely board. Even Jo- 
 hannah, the presiding genius there, came in some- 
 times for a little kind attention, which she received 
 with great astonishment, and with eyes so wide 
 and eyebrows so strangely elevated, that 
 Reuben told his sister he believed they would 
 sometime go over the top of her head, and slip 
 down behind. " Poor soul," he used to say, " she 
 accepts my civilities as if I addressed her in some 
 conjurer's gibberish; and she looks at me as if 
 she expected to see me the next moment spinning 
 on my head." 
 
 " But is not Paul kind to his mother ? " asked 
 Susannah. 
 
 Reuben shruo^o;ed his shoulders. 
 
 " He is very kind to our dear mother," his 
 sister continued. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Reuben, " that is a different thing 
 altogether." And he laughed as if his remark 
 had a meaning in it. So whether that meaning 
 really referred to her, or not, poor Susannah 
 blushed so deeply, she was obliged to stoop very 
 low over some work upon which her fingers were 
 employed.
 
 158 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 It was now the pleasant time of early autumn, 
 of all times perhaps the most pleasant for rambling 
 in the harvest fields at noon, or for moonlight 
 walks at night. Pleasant also was the inter- 
 course enjoyed by the young people at the 
 Grange, varied as it often was, by an addition 
 of one or more from the widow GreenfelFs. So 
 innocent and safe was all this intercourse supposed 
 to be, that provided the young peoj)le were 
 regular at mealtimes, and especially at times of 
 family reading and silence, and providing their 
 deportment was generally sober and seemly, no 
 one thought of looking further into the engage- 
 ments of the passing hour, nor of enquiring into 
 the tone of thought and conversation by which 
 their time was occupied. It was enough that no 
 one was ever admitted to this intercourse who was 
 not a " member of Society ^^ as such membership 
 is often called. It was enough that all were the 
 children of esteemed and consistent friends — that 
 they attended meetings regularly, said thee and 
 thou, and dressed in the manner most approved 
 by the Society at large. For the satisfaction of 
 parental solicitude, no doubt, more than this was 
 required; but for all purposes of social inter- 
 course, and even liberty of action in a quiet and 
 domestic way, this was enough.
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 159 
 
 And with all this outward uniformity, what 
 was there beneath ? It is often said and sung of 
 youth, that it is the season of bright hopes and 
 cheerful trust, and happy satisfaction ever with 
 things as they are at the passing moment. But 
 a little honest looking back upon our own youth, 
 a little candid attention to the undisguised re- 
 marks and confessions of the youth that lives and 
 acts around us every day, would reveal some 
 facts a little different from this — that is, if the 
 language of youth may be accepted as the tran- 
 script of its real feelings. Without attaching too 
 much importance to these facts, there is some 
 reason to suspect, from evidence of this nature, 
 that youth is peculiarly the season for complain- 
 ing; that the mutual confidences of youth are 
 often deeply laden with individual grievance ; 
 and that when a youthful intimacy is most closely 
 knit, it has too frequently for its element the 
 sense of trial, or the suffering caused by oppres- 
 sion, and the sympathy demanded in alleviation 
 of both. 
 
 Perhaps there are no young people who com- 
 plain so constantly, and so bitterly of the re- 
 strictions to which they are subjected, as was 
 customary with the Society of Friends, at the
 
 160 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 time of wliicli we write. They have indemnified 
 themselves pretty well for all such grievances in 
 later times ; but as it was with many others 
 then, so with the family at the Grange, they 
 seldom met with young friends under similar 
 circumstances, but their conversation was much 
 occupied with subjects of this kind, which they 
 discussed according to their individual tastes, 
 feelings, and habits of thought. Lydia Law, for 
 instance, was much disgusted with certain modes 
 of dress. Dora Greenfell would not submit to 
 be made a fright of for anybody. Reuben was 
 indignant and sarcastic by turns. Paul was more 
 quiet, but often more severe. Robert Moreton 
 reasoned calmly, yet earnestly, against what he 
 called the glaring inconsistency of Friends' con- 
 sistency ; while Susannah, alone of all the party, 
 never opened her lips to complain, only she was 
 false to her profession, so far that she deeply 
 sympathised with some of those who did. 
 
 One thing: which rather astonished some of the 
 Law family, was that notwithstanding the licence 
 used by Reuben in speaking of George and Johan- 
 nah Rutherford, their son never defended them, but 
 rather added pungency to such remarks, by throw- 
 ing out some insinuation of graver import than the
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 161 
 
 light badinage of Keuben ever conveyed. Good 
 manners prevented the sisters from taking part in 
 this kind of entertainment, unless sometimes when 
 Reuben mimicked his master, or told some absurd 
 story of the simplicity and blank astonishment of 
 the mistress of the house, when Lydia laughed 
 outright. But Susannah always looked at Paul 
 to see whether he was pained. To her watchful 
 eye, it sometimes seemed that he was made to 
 suffer by that wild mimicry; and she often 
 pleaded with her brother in private, in the hope 
 of inducing him to be more respectful, and more 
 upon his guard ; but he only laughed when she 
 did so, or called his friend Paul an old hypocrite 
 for pretending that he cared. Indeed, the way 
 in which Reuben spoke of Paul was beginning to 
 be quite a trouble to Susannah. What could it 
 mean ? Certainly nothing to the disadvantage of 
 her brother's friend— that seemed impossible. 
 It must then be to the disadvantage of her 
 brother. Pity that he had not learned to profit 
 more from such an example. 
 
 If, however, this querulous tone of conversation 
 
 was the prevalent one amongst certain members of 
 
 the social community at the Grange, it must not 
 
 be supposed that all were equally in fault. There 
 
 YOL. . I. K
 
 162 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 were some, and especially one, who sometimes 
 joined the party, whose very presence there was 
 sufficient to impart a different character to their 
 social meetings. William Greenfell, Dora's cousin, 
 was one who preferred being a Friend as a matter 
 of choice, even independently of principle. To 
 him there was nothing ridiculous, still less con- 
 temptible, in being a Friend up to the crown of 
 his hat, and down to the sole of his shoe. His 
 coat, of the pure Friend's cut, was to him the 
 most respectable garment in the world. Dora 
 said he gloried in it, and would willingly burn as 
 a martyr for his thee and thou. But it is more 
 probable that he only gloried in the independence 
 of daring to be singular in what he esteemed a 
 good cause, and would, indeed, have suffered per- 
 secution, even unto death, rather than yield under 
 the power of man one tittle of that liberty of 
 conscience for which so many noble standard- 
 bearers had fought a life-long warfare. He was 
 not ashamed of his coat, not he. He would have 
 stood with his hat upon his head before any 
 potentate on earth ; not in any respect for the sake 
 of the coat, or the hat, as such, but because he 
 bowed to no human authority in matters which 
 had, as he believed, immediate relation to right 
 and wrong.
 
 OWN riRESIDE. 163 
 
 It was curious to see, when William Greenfell 
 came amongst them, how different some of the 
 young people became ; not Dora, certainly, for it 
 was still more curious to see how, undeterred by 
 his grave dignity, her light figure flitted about 
 him ; while her playful spirit, taking advantage 
 of any accident or opportunity, would throw in 
 its accustomed trifling in not unpleasing contrast 
 with his strong common sense. Lydia wondered 
 how she dared. For her own part she declared it 
 impossible to overcome her fear of this grave 
 personage. She could not even feel sufficiently at 
 home with him to be quite herself in his company. 
 Dora said she cared too much what he thought ot 
 her, and was far too anxious to avoid doing any- 
 thing he might dislike ; but this, Lydia utterly 
 disclaimed. William Greenfell was nothinsj to 
 her — never could be anything. In fact, she said, 
 she scarcely troubled herself to think about him. 
 Only, she observed — what woman does not ? — that 
 whatever the subject of his conversation might be, 
 or however he might be occupied, he had always 
 a pretty quick perception of her coming into the 
 room, and could, at any time, without pause or 
 hindrance in the grave business talk he was 
 accustomed to carry on with her father, place for 
 
 K 2
 
 164 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 her a chair exactly in the place and at the time 
 she wanted it, besides paying her many little deli- 
 cate attentions at table, at all which she wondered 
 exceedingly, and thought he must be very clever 
 to be able to think of so many things at once. 
 
 Upon all this there was another eye that gazed 
 as watchfully — another ear that was turned with 
 equal wonder to catch the tones of that deep manly 
 voice as they softened down to a few words, and 
 only a very few of familiar courtesy, whenever 
 Lydia, or even her sister and Dora, required a 
 little kind attention. 
 
 It was Eobert Moreton who watched and 
 listened, and felt all this with almost as much 
 pain as admiration. What would he not have 
 given to have been able to carry on that manly 
 part without neglecting those offices of brotherly 
 kindness so congenial to his disposition and habits, 
 that they occupied too much the foremost place in 
 his consideration, and thus became, as he thought 
 he could read in Lydia's look and manner, some- 
 times more obtrusive than acceptable. Alas ! for 
 him, poor youth ! He had to share a lot by no 
 means uncommon. He had to see the first object 
 of his wishes frustrated by the very efforts which 
 he made to gain it.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 165 
 
 This, and some other circumstances which at 
 the same time began to take deep hold upon his 
 feelings, would often drive Robert Moreton away 
 from the society at the Grange, to seek that 
 peace and security from troubled thought which 
 always seemed diffused, like a kind of holy atmos- 
 phere, about the cottage of Aunt Isabel. 
 
 And there were reasons connected with her 
 early life why Aunt Isabel attached herself, in a 
 peculiar manner, to this young man ; and, not the 
 less so now, perhaps, that Reuben had lately been 
 much more sparing of his visits, and much less 
 confiding, in his intercourse with his aunt, than 
 formerly. Robert had even made the discovery 
 that Reuben sometimes accounted for his absence 
 from his father's table, by stating that he had been 
 at the cottage, when he had been there only for a 
 few moments, and, once or twice, when he had 
 been only in the garden by which the cottage was 
 immediately surrounded. 
 
 Paul Rutherford was not likely to visit the 
 lonely invalid without his friend, though it looked 
 rather remarkable in one so devoutly solicitous to 
 perform every duty in the most unexceptionable 
 manner, that he should not, like so many others 
 both young and old, seek the society of Isabel
 
 166 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 Law, esteeming it a high privilege to sit with her 
 even for a short season of social and pleasant 
 converse. Something, however, there was, which 
 perhaps Paul Rutherford could not himself have 
 explained, that seemed to shut him out from the 
 peaceful precincts of the cottage. He could not 
 feel at home there. He did not like to sit under 
 the calm steady eye of that most unsuspecting of 
 women. So that, while in the habit of assenting 
 in the most unqualified manner to all the kind 
 and loving expressions the young people were 
 accustomed to use in speaking of Aunt Isabel, he 
 knew, in reality, less of her than any one, nor 
 was she at all better acquainted with him. In 
 one respect, however, her behaviour diifered 
 widely from his — she seldom, if ever, spoke of him. 
 The change in Reuben's feelings towards herself, 
 or rather his altered conduct, which she very 
 naturally attributed to a change of feeling, pained 
 her exceedingly ; but of that also she spoke little. 
 Indeed, those who loved her best, thought they 
 could discover an increased tendency in Aunt 
 Isabel, about this time, to leave all such matters 
 — especially all that pained or grieved her person- 
 ally — in the hands of Him on whom she rested 
 as the merciful disposer of her joys and sorrows.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 167 
 
 alike merciful in both. There was evidently a 
 change, though no one could have said in what it 
 consisted ; but all who were accustomed to visit 
 much at the cottage, perceived the change, and 
 spoke of it one to another with hushed voices and 
 trembling lips. 
 
 Robert Moreton, on one of those Sabbath 
 evenings when he withdrew himself from the 
 party at Jacob Law's, had gone to the cottage 
 with the firm determination, as firm at least as he 
 was capable of making, of disclosing to this be- 
 loved friend, this faithful true adviser, the cause 
 of a heavy burden which had for some time been 
 weighing upon his heart. Much had lately tran- 
 spired, in his intimate association with Paul and 
 Reuben, to awaken apprehensions of a serious 
 nature. Much had also transpired to make hun 
 feel unhappy in himself, he scarcely knew how, 
 or why. Sometimes his conscience smote him 
 with a fearful sense of unfaithfulness. Some- 
 times, in a sudden fit of recklessness, he was 
 himself guilty of those very acts which in others 
 he so much and so severely condemned. A feel- 
 ing of darkness and confusion grew upon him. 
 He wanted a friend to whom he might communi- 
 cate with safety. He did not wish to betray
 
 163 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 others more than himself, but all that was wrong 
 seemed to be increasing so rapidly, that betrayal 
 of any kind appeared better to him than that this 
 state of things should be permitted to continue. He 
 knew how much he should be hated if he divulged 
 the secrets of those in whose confidence he had 
 too deeply shared; but were not all great and 
 good men brave in a righteous cause, and why 
 should he fear the hatred of a fellow being, or 
 flinch beneath the contempt of any one? It pro- 
 bably never occurred to him that his own morti- 
 fied feelings were, to a great extent, the moving 
 cause of this sudden heroism ; and that, had he 
 been more favoured just then in the quarter from 
 whence favour would have been most acceptable, 
 he might have been more lenient towards wrong in 
 general, and consequently, less disposed to make 
 himself the instrument of bringing the wrong to 
 light. 
 
 Eobert Moreton, however, was not remarkable 
 for strength of purpose in any cause ; and here, 
 where the matter was more entirely one of feel- 
 ing than he would have been disposed to admit, 
 he was easily diverted from the design with 
 which he entered the cottage, by a few words 
 from his friend, who, taking him kindly by the
 
 OWN FIRESIDE* 169 
 
 hand, said she had been thinking much of him 
 that day, in connection with past times. There 
 was an expression in the earnest look which she 
 raised to his face while saying this which startled 
 the young man, and so turned away his thoughts 
 from the subject on which they had been engaged, 
 that, drawing his chair beside his friend, he sat 
 down, and in the gentle filial manner in which he 
 had always treated Isabel Law, began to enquire 
 about that far-gone past, always profoundly in- 
 teresting to her, and scarcely less so to himself^ 
 from having so often heard her allude, in terms 
 of deep feeling, to her early intimacy with his 
 father. It was a subject at all times congenial to 
 both, and seldom more so than at this moment. 
 
 " I have never understood clearly," said Robert, 
 '* how my father came to be so intimate with your 
 family; or if not intimate, so closely and ten- 
 derly attached that he cannot even now speak of 
 you as he does of other people." 
 
 *' Does he speak of us much ? " said Isabel, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " No, not much. Indeed, very seldom ; but 
 once or twice, when I have sat up with him later 
 than usual, he has begun of his own accord to 
 speak of this cottage, especially."
 
 170 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 "Of this old cottage?" 
 
 "Yes; of the very windows, the door, the 
 fireplace. Why, I knew exactly how it would all 
 look before I came." 
 
 " Truly, it has been but little changed in its 
 outward aspect since then." 
 
 " Perhaps my father is more changed. It has 
 often struck me that he was like a man who had 
 lived two lives, one quite separate and distinct 
 from the other. In the midst of his present life, 
 in the midst even of his daily occupations, I often 
 can detect short glimpses of the past, as if that 
 other life was ever present with him, though he 
 cannot speak of it." 
 
 Isabel fixed her eyes upon the fire for a while 
 in deep thought, then, turning to her companion, 
 she said — 
 
 " My dear, did it ever seem to thee that our 
 other life would be like this second life of thy 
 father's?" 
 
 " I had not thought of it in that way," said 
 Robert; "but, perhaps, it will. And yet, I 
 think the first life in my father's case was the 
 dearest to him — the best be loved, if it was not al- 
 together the best." 
 
 " No wonde r it was the dearest," said Isabel,
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 171 
 
 " and no doubt it was good in its way — good as a 
 preparation for the work which had to be 
 done." 
 
 " Do tell me about it," said Robert, gently 
 laying his hand upon hers. " I want to hear 
 about it this evening, especially. It will do me 
 good." 
 
 " Do thee good, child ? Is anything the mat- 
 ter?" asked Isabel, looking affectionately into 
 his face. 
 
 " Oh I not much ;" said Robert, rising and 
 walking to the window. " Indeed, I don't know 
 that anything is." 
 
 And he made pretence to draw the curtains a 
 little closer, and then stirred the fire, after which 
 he sat down and asked again if he might be 
 favoured that evening to hear something more 
 than he yet knew of his father's early life. 
 
 The interest he manifested on this subject was 
 not unwelcome to his friend. Her own heart was 
 full of it, and, perhaps, she felt with all a wo- 
 man's sensitiveness, that even her most private 
 thoughts on this subject would find in her com- 
 panion a sympathising and congenial hearer. 
 
 At first when Isabel Law began to speak, her 
 voice was feeble, her expressions often interrupted
 
 17? FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 by thouglits too deep for words. But appearing 
 to gain strength as she went on, her whole coun- 
 tenance and manner assumed a different aspect, as 
 if a kind of new life was imparted by the thrilling 
 interest of her recollections. 
 
 With all her simplicity of character, and single- 
 ness of heart, and perhaps in consequence of these 
 very qualities, Isabel Law was remarkable for the 
 interest she could keep up while relating even an 
 ordinary narrative, or describing a familiar event. 
 But now, when every feature of this early history 
 was present to her mind, in forms so indelible, 
 and in colours so distinct; and while she spoke out 
 of the fullness of a heart, so capable of every tender 
 line and trace of this far past, it might have 
 afforded a rich treat even to an indifferent person, 
 to sit and listen to her narrative, merely as such. 
 
 But Robert Moreton listened with far other feel- 
 ings, than those of one who seeks only the amuse- 
 ment of the passing hour. His whole being seemed 
 to be absorbed in the scenes and circumstances, 
 which were thus made to pass so vividly before 
 him. His spirit was carried back, and ac- 
 tually planted in the past, until he felt as if he 
 had lived and grown there, passing through his 
 father's experience rather than his own.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 173 
 
 Long — long did this close and intimate commu- 
 nion last. It did not weary him, it could not 
 have done that ; but he thought the speaker began 
 to be exhausted. The lights had grown dim, — the 
 fire had burnt low, — he could not see the face of 
 his friend. It was as well that he could not, for 
 she was describing the death of her last sister. 
 He laid his hand softly upon hers, and was intend- 
 ing when a few more words had been uttered, to 
 say — " it is enough." Suddenly, however, he was 
 aware of a slight twitching in the arm which he 
 held. At the same time the voice ceased, the head 
 drooped, and the whole figure would have fallen 
 forward, but for his supporting arms. 
 
 To call for assistance was the work of a mo- 
 ment, but it came in vain. The patient spirit 
 had departed without a struggle, or a sigh — de- 
 parted to join those with whom its communion 
 had been so tender, and so sweet. 
 
 In a few moments the whole family from the 
 other house flocked in. Robert Moreton had a 
 short, but clear account to give ; and Oh ! how 
 thankful he felt while giving it, that his original 
 purpose had not been carried out, that he had done 
 nothing to agitate or disturb, and had preferred 
 no selfish claim to anxious consideration, or even
 
 174 TRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 serious thought. Medical attention was quickly 
 obtained, and the opinion of the doctors con- 
 firmed what all suspected, that death could not 
 have been averted by human means, whatever 
 help had been near. It would inevitably have 
 occurred, the doctors said, in that sudden manner, 
 at one time or another, under any circumstances. 
 Satisfied on this point, the relatives remained 
 some time standing around the couch, on which the 
 lifeless form had been laid. Now that the poor 
 body had so entirely ceased to claim their care, 
 there was more time to think of the irreparable 
 loss which all had sustained, in the departure from 
 amongst them of a spirit so chastened, so tender, 
 and so true to the best interests of each, and all. 
 It was an appropriate season for the most solemn 
 silence, and the very room seemed filled with 
 a silence which penetrated to every soul. In 
 the midst of this, and while scarcely a breath could 
 be heard, Rebecca Law knelt down and offered 
 a few words of prayer. There was no ear at 
 that moment so critical as to regard the words 
 themselves. The tone in which they were uttered 
 seemed to impart to them a kind of solemn 
 import; while the very sound of itself was 
 sufiicient to burst open the flood gates of natural
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 175 
 
 grief, so that a suppressed sobbing might be heard 
 all round the room. 
 
 In one quarter, however, these sobs amounted to 
 absolute groans. It was poor Reuben who, from 
 leaning on his sisters for support at last sunk 
 down upon the ground, and there seemed ab- 
 solutely to agonize with grief. In vain his sisters 
 tried to raise him, and to soothe him by their 
 caresses. Their white hands, and tears, and kisses, 
 and gentle inclination of cheek to cheek, of fore- 
 head resting on the shoulder, of comforting 
 restoratives, were all in vain — all powerless to 
 reach the deep seat of the strong agony which 
 convulsed his frame, and threatened to destroy 
 his life. At last he sobbed himself a little into 
 rest, and while Susannah turned to other duties 
 which began more urgently to claim her attention, 
 Lydia remained still seated on the ground with 
 her brother's head upon her lap, heedless of all 
 who came and went across the threshold of that 
 awful room, so long as they too were not left 
 quite alone with the dead.
 
 176 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 It might have been supposed in consideration 
 of the peaceful and unostentatious character of 
 their departed relative, that the family of Jacob 
 Law would have been particularly solicitous in 
 the ordering of the funeral, that all should have 
 been as quiet and as private as the nature of the 
 occasion would permit. 
 
 There are few things, however, in which the 
 Society of Friends, at the time of which we write, 
 were less consistent then in their manner of 
 conducting funerals, not that they admitted of 
 the least departure from their rigid rules with 
 regard to outward display. All those trappings 
 of grief, all those accessories of solemnity, which 
 are regarded by others as portions of mere decency 
 and propriety, are, and ever have been an offence, 
 a mockery, almost an abomination to this society. 
 But we still speak of the inconsistency of their
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 177 
 
 large gatherings, in seasons of bereavement by 
 death; because for those who object to the 
 wearing of mourning chiefly on account of the 
 bustle and the anxiety it occasions, and the 
 occupation to minds which they think ought at 
 such seasons to be more profitably employed; 
 it is surprising that those who feel these objec- 
 tions so strongly as to dare to be singular on that 
 account, should yet allow the same solemn occa- 
 sion to call together so vast a concourse of relatives 
 and friends, that the houses in which they meet 
 must necessarily become scenes of bustle, effort, 
 and contrivance, to a degree almost commensurate 
 with that which attends the preparation of the most 
 elaborate mourning. 
 
 But there is besides this, another consideration 
 to which some weight might reasonably be 
 allowed. It is impossible in such large companies 
 of old and young, serious and light, spiritual and 
 worldly, collected perhaps from distant places, 
 as well as near — it is impossible that all should 
 grieve. The object in going has been with many 
 to pay respect. They have paid it, and what 
 then ? Conversation to a certain extent must be 
 kept up, and it is impossible, under such circum- 
 stances, to avoid all talk about common matters ; 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 178 FBIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 nor are we quite sure, that laughter and jesting 
 might not sometimes be heard. 
 
 Of course it is far from being the intention of 
 those most concerned that this should be the case, 
 any more than it is the intention of those who ap- 
 prove of mourning, that it should draw away the 
 thoughts from serious subjects; and often, the 
 chief mourners in a bereaved family of Friends, 
 sit apart from all this bustle, and all this social 
 and lively intercourse, just as the chief mourners 
 in other families sit apart from those who fabricate 
 the black dresses, leaving all which has to be done 
 in that way to an unconcerned and separate agency. 
 The abuse of the custom either way does not 
 prove that the custom itself is not well, and even 
 commendably intended. With the absolute right 
 or wrong of either, these descriptions of simple 
 domestic scenes have nothing to do, only with 
 their consistency ; and, on this ground, we fancy 
 there would have appeared a little discrepancy 
 betwixt profession and reality, could any impartial 
 person have stepped quietly within the inner 
 department of Jacob Law's establishment, and 
 there pursued a little minute observation for two 
 or three days before the funeral. It is true, that 
 Susannah Law, as already stated, possessed the
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 179 
 
 happy art of conducting all domestic operations 
 with unusual quietness, regularity, and decorum ; 
 but there had to be a considerable amount of addi- 
 tional agency called in, and to all who worked 
 under her directions it was not possible to commu- 
 nicate her method and her quietness. 
 
 The Society of Friends have ever been remark- 
 able for their hospitality, founded, it may be, 
 upon a kind of clanship, which binds its members 
 together as one body, and a vast proportion of 
 them by ties of relationship, which they are care- 
 ful not to let drop. Thus, if a visitor who comes 
 uninvited into a family is not exactly a cousin, he 
 is perhaps the cousin of some cousin's wife ; and 
 hence, even to the remotest claim, and almost 
 equally where there is no claim of relationship at 
 all, a stranger never appears at any meeting 
 but he is almost sure to have some invitation, if 
 not many; and scarcely could such a stranger 
 enter the house of any one belonging to that 
 meeting, but he would be made to feel that he 
 was welcome. Thus, on all occasions of large 
 gatherings, such as that of a funeral, those who 
 come to pay their tribute of respect feel no hesi- 
 tation in flocking to the house of their bereaved 
 relative or friend, without the slightest intimation 
 
 L 2
 
 180 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 having reached them of their being expected ; so 
 that the houses of well known Friends, with all 
 their internal accommodations, have abundant 
 need of that expansive quality for which they are 
 remarkable, having often to receive, and provide 
 for, without any previous notice, an amount of 
 visitors which it would seem impossible that any 
 private habitation, of moderate dimensions, should 
 contain. 
 
 Another remarkable feature of these extraordi- 
 nary meetings, and connected with this almost 
 boundless hospitality, is, that while professing only 
 to accommodate, and eschewing openly all pretence 
 to luxury, as well as to display, the visitor almost 
 invariably finds himself reposing in beds of the 
 softest down, enveloped in endless coverings of 
 the finest quality, and the most beautiful texture ; 
 his apartment supplied with every means of com- 
 fort, and every invention for convenience ; while, 
 at table, his palate is gratified by viands of the 
 choicest flavour, and in such abundance that it 
 might seem as if his business there was no other 
 than to eat and sleep ; and all this is managed so 
 quietly, and with so little remark, that it passes 
 for being — what, indeed, it generally is — only an 
 ordinary aifair. For these, their constant and
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 181 
 
 most perfect preparations for comfort, they take 
 no credit, and expect no praise ; simply because 
 they would have been both ashamed and sorry to 
 do less. So the guest accepts the hospitality as a 
 thing of course, and goes away prepared on his 
 part to render a return in kind. 
 
 It would have been deemed a great breach of 
 the duties of relationship to have left even the 
 most distant connection uninformed of the death 
 which had taken place. The family of Jacob 
 Law were consequently pretty fully engaged in 
 sending out announcements to every quarter in 
 which a relation might be found. In this they 
 were assisted by all but Reuben, whose grief, 
 although less violent, was such as did not permit 
 him to join in any of those useful and necessary 
 occupations in which the others were more 
 healthily engaged. Indeed, to say the truth of 
 Reuben, he was not particularly addicted to such 
 occupations as a matter of habit ; nor, under any 
 circumstances, did the sense of personal responsi- 
 bility stand forth as a prominent feature in his 
 character. Sometimes he would do an act of more 
 than ordinary generosity or kindness ; but the 
 sterner duties of life he was only too well satis- 
 fied to leave to others.
 
 182 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 Nor was there now at hand the assistance of his 
 friend, Paul Rutherford, to be called in. So soon 
 as the great alarm at the cottage had summoned 
 the inmates from the other house, this young man 
 had taken his departure, leaving behind him a 
 short note for Reuben, with an apology to the 
 family. Susannah thought it very delicate to 
 withdraw himself at such a time. Some of the 
 others thought he might have remained, at least 
 to see whether he could serve them by transacting 
 any business for them in the town. This he cer- 
 tainly could have done, and so might have spared 
 the family much painful thought and effort. But 
 he was gone — out of the way of sorrow and death, 
 neither of which, it seemed, afforded any congenial 
 atmosphere for him. So the family threw them- 
 selves very much upon the services of Robert 
 Moreton for the transaction of their outward 
 affairs, and glad at heart he was, to be useful in 
 any way, and in all ways, at such a time — 
 secretly the more glad perhaps, that William 
 Greenfell was not there to take all the usefulness 
 out of his hands, and thus to stand, as he so often 
 did, between him and those whom it was his 
 greatest happiness to serve. 
 
 Soon, however, various additions to the family
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 183 
 
 party began to arrive, and few of these were 
 backward in rendering the services required. 
 Indeed, the Friends have a peculiar way of seeing 
 and understanding how services can be rendered 
 without bustle, or obtrusiveness ; so that, in any 
 time of need, a visitor but recently arrived, will 
 sometimes silently slide into the various duties 
 and avocations of a family, as if forming an ac- 
 customed part of the household. 
 
 It is just possible that Susannah Law would 
 rather have been left alone in her department; 
 but Lydia was of a very different constitution of 
 mind, and to her it was by no means unpleasing 
 to be surrounded by kind and sympathising 
 helpers, to hold consultations, to receive sug- 
 gestions, and thus to feel herself propped up, 
 and supported on every hand. 
 
 As the company gathered, and increased, there 
 was much to be done by a gentle social 
 creature like Lydia, in the way of receiving the 
 guests, and saying and hearing all those trifling 
 expressions which would be empty without their 
 accompanying looks and tones of kindness. In- 
 deed, there would have been almost too much of 
 this kind of duty devolving upon Lydia, had not 
 her cousin Dora come to her assistance ; and both
 
 184 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 together seemed equal to any amount of hospitable 
 courtesy. And very pretty it was to see the two 
 cousins so beautifully dressed, as they took good 
 care to be, gliding about from one guest to 
 another, with that soft step, and gentle voice, and 
 altogether subdued and quiet manner, which be- 
 speak a sorrow less acute than deep. Dora could 
 always accommodate herself to circumstances with 
 great facility, whatever they might be: but in 
 Lydia's look and manner, though perhaps less 
 polished and graceful, there was more of natural 
 softness, as well as feeling ; and thus, while one 
 was saying and doing exactly what was most 
 suitable and becoming, the other accompanied 
 what she said with a reality which rendered her 
 interesting, rather than only charming. 
 
 We have spoken of their dress, and the reader 
 must not lose sight of this striking characteristic 
 of the domestic habits of the Society of Friends. 
 They are always, with how much or how little 
 study we pretend not to say, so dressed for the 
 occasion, whatever it may be, that nothing can 
 surprise them into disorder with regard to dress ; 
 nor can any absorbing interest, either of joy or 
 grief, ever find them unprovided with the neatest 
 of all possible caps, and coUars, or kerchiefs of
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 185 
 
 the purest white. Nor is this scrupulous exact- 
 ness confined to the female part of the community 
 alone. It pervades the whole, and is so entirely 
 habitual, in fact so much a part of their ordinary 
 existence, that under every change of circum- 
 stance, and any emergency, they can maintain an 
 under current of regard for these minor matters, 
 without appearing to be in the least degree di- 
 verted from the more important topics of thought 
 and conversation. With all this, it seems strange 
 how little they are able to believe that persons 
 more fashionably attired can do the same. 
 
 When, at last, the day of the funeral arrived, 
 the residence of Jacob Law appeared to be fully 
 occupied in every department. Many additional 
 visitors, however, were expected for the day, and 
 especially some ministering friends, whose pre- 
 sence was particularly acceptable ; for, while the 
 Friends can do nothing beforehand, nothing in 
 the way of preparation, either for preaching, or 
 prayer, believing that both must proceed from the 
 immediate inspiration of the Holy Spirit, and, 
 consequently, cannot be calculated upon, and 
 still less commanded at any particular time or 
 place, they are still much comforted, and often 
 much edified, by these ministrations; especially
 
 186 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 in seasons of trial, and indeed all the more so for 
 that deep faith of theirs in the solemn fact of 
 Buch utterances proceeding immediately from a 
 divine source. Hence, therefore, they cannot, 
 under any circumstances, not even when a meet- 
 ing has been publicly convened, say beforehand 
 that there will be either preaching or prayer. 
 Yet there are certain recognised ministers in this 
 community, whose presence is cordially welcomed 
 amongst them, in the belief that through them 
 some words of counsel or admonition, of warning 
 or consolation, may be administered. 
 
 On the present occasion, it had been intimated 
 to Jacob Law, that a friend of considerable dis- 
 tinction, and even of some rank, would be pre- 
 sent. For there is such a thing as rank in the 
 Society, say what they may against regard for 
 worldly exaltation. We do not mean that with- 
 out other recommendations such rank would be 
 valued amongst them, but merely, that when 
 these other qualities are found in connection with 
 old standing family respectability, with wealth, 
 superior education, and that consideration from 
 the world which these advantages always com- 
 mand, we are by no means prepared to say that 
 the Friends are more indifferent than others to
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 187 
 
 the pleasure which the coming amongst them in a 
 kind and social way, of persons of this class, is 
 calculated to afford. Thus, when it was an- 
 nounced that Samuel Marlborough and his wife 
 were likely to be present at the funeral, there was 
 an interchange of approving looks, and a general 
 feeling circulating amongst the guests, that the 
 occasion was one of increased importance, and 
 interest. 
 
 It was much less the custom, at the time of 
 which we write, than it is now, for hearses and 
 other carriages to be used at the funerals of 
 friends. It was thought more simple for the 
 coffin to be carried by hand, and the custom of 
 bringing together so large a company rendered 
 the providing of carriages a matter of serious 
 difficulty. In the present case, however, the 
 meeting-house, and adjoining grave-yard, being 
 rather distant, a hearse was engaged, as usual 
 without covering or ornament of any kind ; for it 
 must be observed, that all black is most scrupu- 
 lously avoided on these occasions, so that, even 
 the coffin itself appears with its bare surface of 
 plain wood, though always neatly polished, and 
 made to took as substantial, respectable, and 
 handsome as possible. The providing a supply
 
 188 FBIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 of carriages sufficient for the number of guests 
 was a thing out of the question, though two or 
 three coaches and chaises were obtained from the 
 nearest town ; but as many of the visitors 
 brought their own conveyances, they were pre- 
 pared, not only to take care of themselves, but to 
 crowd in with them such of the relatives as had 
 no accommodation of their own. 
 
 It was after all rather a curious looking pro- 
 cession in its external character, requiring, to 
 render it seemly and solemn, exactly that for 
 which the Friends are so remarkable — an unusual 
 amount of forethought, system, order, and gravity 
 of deportment. Without the black, without the 
 state, without the accustomed trappings of woe, 
 there is urgent need for all this order, and system, 
 wherever a number of people are gathered to- 
 gether. 
 
 William Greenfell had been selected as the 
 active agent in arranging and carrying on this 
 perfect system, and with some assistance from 
 Robert Moreton, he had carefully planned out 
 beforehand exactly how each individual should 
 ride or walk to the grave. According to this 
 plan, so judiciously concocted, the names of all 
 the guests were called over in couples, or in other
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 189 
 
 numbers, as the carriages might hold, each at the 
 same time being made to understand in what 
 order they should arrange themselves beside the 
 grave ; and as the carriages came up to the door, 
 the nearest relatives of course went first, no 
 cousin, however distant, being left out before a 
 non-related person. In this order they were 
 expected to approach the grave, and afterwards to 
 walk into the meeting, taking their places in the 
 same order, side by side, those connected with the 
 departed relative occupying what are considered 
 the highest seats. 
 
 On all ordinary occasions, it is an invariable 
 rule with the society of Friends, that in these 
 meetings the men sit on one side, and the women 
 on the other ; but in the case of a marriage, or a 
 funeral, they allow a deviation from this rule, so 
 far as the relatives are concerned. In mapping 
 out the plan of procedure, relationship is the first 
 thing considered, so that in the present instance, 
 on alighting from the carriages, Jacob and 
 Rebecca Law of course walked first after the 
 bearers of the coffin. Susannah, Eeuben, and 
 Lydia, followed immediately after them; for it 
 was impossible to make the nearest relations fit 
 exactly into couples ; and next to them came the
 
 190 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 widow Greenfell, and Dora ; thus William being 
 only nephew on the husband's side, and conse- 
 quently no relative whatever, was set at liberty 
 for the carrying out of those ofl&ces of duty for 
 which no one could have been better fitted. 
 
 When the bearers arrived at the side of the 
 grave, which was very deep, and carefully lined 
 with brick, the coffin was placed on the ground, 
 the bearers retiring until summoned for further 
 duty. All around upon the green sward, fresh 
 boards had been carefully placed, in order that no 
 delicate foot should feel the damp, as well as that 
 every step might fall harmlessly upon the sur- 
 rounding graves ; for here, as at that time in all 
 the burial grounds of the Friends, there was no 
 protection or distinctive mark upon any grave — 
 only the green mound, with no stone of memorial 
 either at the head, or foot. 
 
 At the head of the deep opening Jacob and Re- 
 becca Law took their places in solemn quietness, 
 and their family standing by them, with other near 
 connexions, formed a kind of half circle ; and all 
 looked down, their eyes being almost exclusively 
 fixed either upon the coffin, the grave, or the 
 ground immediately before them. In a con- 
 spicuous part of this circle stood Samuel Marl-
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 19l 
 
 borough and his wife, way being made for them 
 wherever they went, and great care being exercised 
 by all the inferior agency around, lest a shawl 
 should touch the ground, or an umbrella should 
 want holding, or lest they should be jostled or 
 inconvenienced in any way whatever. 
 
 After all had taken their places, a crowd of 
 village people having collected around the out- 
 skirts of the funeral party, a deep silence ensued 
 — so deep, that the faintest rustle of the falling 
 leaf might be heard as it flickered down from the 
 autumn bough. In the midst of this awful silence, 
 a slight movement became evident, and then a 
 voice of loud and deliberate utterance was heard. 
 All, until then, had stood with covered heads ; 
 but now Samuel Marlborough had taken off his 
 hat, while, kneeling on the ground, he poured 
 forth a solemn prayer, intoned in a manner so 
 peculiar — a manner that well might have startled 
 a stranger into sudden wonder ; while those who 
 had grown up from childhood with that sound 
 familiar to their ears, unconsciously had learned 
 to associate that tone with the language of suppli- 
 cation, and of worship in general. 
 
 When this Friend had risen another silence 
 ensued, and then, as if by a kind of intuition.
 
 192 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 though in reality because of a signal from William 
 Greenfell, the bearers came forward, and silently 
 lowered the coffin into the deep grave. A few 
 shovelfulls of earth were then cast in, and then, 
 at another signal, the bearers ceased, and retreated 
 again. A female voice was now heard — faint, 
 quivering, and shrill. It was that of Rebecca 
 Law, who quoted a few texts of scripture in the 
 same slow manner, but with a diiferent intonation, 
 which, by degrees, swelled into something like a 
 chant, so that, at last, it had the effect of making 
 the words appear subservient to the sound. After 
 this, there was another short silence, and then the 
 party began to move with the same regular and 
 solemn order towards the entrance of the meeting 
 house ; each, as they passed the edge of the grave, 
 in their turn, taking care to look directly in, down 
 to the deep resting place, in which the mortal re- 
 mains of their beloved friend were reposing. 
 
 It had caused some little wonder to the family 
 at the Grange, that Eobert Moreton's father had 
 not intimated his intention to be with them on 
 this occasion. Robert thought he was" away from 
 home, upon a journey ; but on walking from the 
 grave it was discovered that he stood amongst the 
 crowd ; and, of course, the recognition of his
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 193 
 
 familiar face was not neglected by any of the 
 family, though manifested in so slight a manner it 
 scarcely could be said that any eye was raised to 
 his. 
 
 This Friend being what is called an acknow- 
 ledged minister, his place was in the highest seat 
 or gallery, beside Samuel Marlborough — the 
 family, as already said, seating themselves below. 
 The meeting was crowded to excess, for there 
 were many real mourners, besides the relations ; 
 and in addition to the attractiveness of the spec- 
 tacle to indifferent people, there could scarcely 
 have been any private individual whose death was 
 more lamented by the poor, and indeed by all who 
 were accustomed to experience her sympathy or 
 counsel in their times of need. It was indeed a 
 real grief which brought many of them there, and 
 often was the silence almost broken by the heavy 
 sighs of those who scarcely dared to weep. In- 
 stead, however, of yielding to the excess of 
 feeling, the stillness increased rather than gave 
 way, for what is so powerful as stillness where 
 many are met together. It was, however, inter- 
 rupted in due time, by another and a very 
 different voice from those which had already been 
 heard. The utterance was now that of a strong- 
 
 A^OL. I. M
 
 194 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 hearted earnest man, without intonation, or pecu- 
 liarity, except such as it derived from long 
 experience of deep feeling, chastened by abundant 
 sorrow. It was Robert's father who now spoke ; 
 and who, in all that company, could speak so 
 appropriately ? He was a man too whose coun- 
 tenance and bearing in all respects accorded with 
 the occasion and the scene — serious, weighty, and 
 subdued. His eyes were those of one who could 
 look into both worlds, but had long been accus- 
 tomed to fix their earnest gaze upon eternity. 
 His address was one not to be easily forgotten. 
 It occupied nearly the whole time of the meeting. 
 The impression it was calculated to make was not 
 deepened by a small and feeble prayer from 
 Rebecca Law ; after which, a short silence again 
 ensuing, the meeting broke up ; the public intima- 
 tion that it did so consisting in the silent shaking 
 of hands by the principal Friends in the gallery. 
 It is needless to follow out the day with further 
 detail. The large company of relatives and friends 
 retired in pretty nearly the same order in which 
 they had left it, to the house of Jacob Law, where 
 they were all accommodated and provided for, 
 perhaps with the more ease that some of the com- 
 pany, pressed by their individual avocations, took
 
 OWN FIEESIDE. 195 
 
 leave of the family at an early hour, in order to 
 reach their own houses that night. 
 
 Once, after the large and plentiful dinner, while 
 dessert and wine stood upon the table, but especi- 
 ally in the evening after tea, there occurred those 
 peculiar silences into which the Friends are able 
 to drop simultaneously, with scarcely any outward 
 intimation of such being the tendency with any 
 particular person. Indeed, the evening gathering 
 resembled more an occasion expressly for worship, 
 many short addresses being offered, and some 
 prayers. With this, the solemn transactions of 
 the day were closed, a deep impression remaining 
 on the minds of many, if not of all, that the 
 season had been one of peculiar spiritual refresh- 
 ment, and of solid peace. 
 
 Amongst the many strange notions which have 
 been formed respecting the Society of Friends, 
 arising, no doubt, in great measure, from their 
 external singularity, there is none more strange 
 than that they do not allow themselves to grieve 
 and mourn like other people.* It is certainly 
 true, that all exhibitions of violent grief would 
 be regarded by them as objectionable, because 
 
 * The writer has frequently been asked if it is true that thejr 
 do not allow of weeping at funerals. 
 
 M 2
 
 196 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 whatever the cause of grief may be, especially 
 where it has to do with illness or death, it is 
 considered by them as an essential part of their 
 christian obedience to bow in patient submission 
 to the will of God. In cases of bereavement, 
 where the close of life has been peaceful, and the 
 departing spirit supported by a well grounded hope 
 of happiness in the world to come, they would 
 consider a death-bed scene of this description too 
 solemn, sacred, and even privileged an occasion, 
 to be attended with any excessive manifestation of 
 human sorrow. 
 
 In connection with these feelings, they appear 
 to entertain a high idea of the profitable and 
 edifying nature of these seasons of trial, and of 
 mournful solemnity ; and, for this reason it is, 
 perhaps, even more than for the sake of evincing 
 their respect, that they assemble in large bodies 
 at the funerals of their friends, believing that such 
 opportunities are particularly favourable to the 
 awakening of serious thought, as well as to im- 
 pressing the mind with solemn feelings as regards 
 the necessity of preparation for the final call. 
 
 It is, however, just possible, that when the 
 grave duties of the day of interment have been 
 gone through, the Society of Friends return a
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 197 
 
 little more speedily than some others to the accus- 
 tomed occupations of every day life, partly perhaps 
 because that life does not, under any circumstances, 
 differ so very widely from seasons of serious feel- 
 ing and solemn thought ; so that the transition is 
 not apparently great from the house of mourning, 
 to the ordinary circumstances of daily life. 
 With them, as with many others, business affords 
 a constant, and, as they believe, a lawfully avail- 
 able resource from the restraint and the monotony 
 of grief. Perhaps with them also, as with many 
 others, the all-absorbing claims of business beguile 
 the mind into the belief, that because the head 
 and the hand are busy, the heart must be doing 
 well. At all events there is reason to fear, 
 that this plea of business has done much to sub- 
 stitute, in the place of that spirituality of life and 
 character for which the Friends were once so 
 remarkable, an active money-seeking energy of 
 character, in all respects as worldly as many pur- 
 suits of a more fashionable and ostentatious 
 nature. 
 
 Had any one been disposed to doubt whether 
 sorrow under its most agonising form could be 
 exhibited by persons of the class here described, 
 they need only have looked in at the half open
 
 198 FEIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 shutters of the cottage on the morning after the 
 funeral. 
 
 At an early hour that morning — at least before 
 the many guests had begun to move from their 
 nightly quarters, Reuben Law was seen by the 
 servants to take the well-known path towards 
 that door at which he was never more to meet 
 with the old welcome. The same servant, how- 
 ever, who had so often opened the door to him, 
 still remained upon the spot, and wit htearful eyes 
 she willingly received him ; though instructed by 
 Jacob Law to keep all things within the house 
 untouched until he could himself make the neces- 
 sary arrangements amongst them. 
 
 Reuben only wanted just to step into the old 
 parlour, he said, and he should like to be left 
 alone. It was a still, damp, autumn morning, 
 and the room looked very dark, until he un- 
 fastened one of the shutters, and let in a little of 
 the dim morning light. As he did this, a robin, 
 startled by the sound, began to chirp. A fa- 
 vourite cat then sprang up from the garden, and 
 looked pitifully in at the window. There was no 
 fire in the room — no welcome — no sweet voice of 
 soothing for any living creature. A little drop 
 will often make the cup of sorrow overflow. The
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 199 
 
 very song of this neglected bird, mournful as that 
 of the robin always sounds amongst the falling 
 leaves of autumn, seemed just to add the over- 
 flowing fulness to the grief with which poor 
 Reuben's heart was swelling ; and sinking into a 
 chair, he folded both his arms upon the table, laid 
 down his head, and sobbed like a child. 
 
 Long and deep was the sad outpouring of his 
 soul. Ah ! if it could only have found another 
 channel besides that of tears ! Long and deep 
 was the agony — for it was nothing less — which 
 seemed to concentrate into one point of suffering, 
 all hopes destroyed, all memories embittered, all 
 wretchedness endured. Here in this cottao^e — in 
 this very room — had passed some of his best and 
 happiest moments. Here, some of his resolutions 
 had been formed Avhich pointed to a life — how 
 different from what he had recently been leading ! 
 Here, even now, he thought — but for the pre- 
 judice and cruelty of man — but for the stern 
 requirements of a hard religion, he might find a 
 home with one, who — but the thought maddened 
 him. He had written and received no answer. 
 He was shut out from man's esteem, and woman's 
 tenderness ; and if so, he was lost for ever. The 
 little robin sang again, this time more cheerily.
 
 200 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 Was there no way back? A voice seemed to 
 whisper in his ear, " No, no." His heart re- 
 plied, " With her there might be, but alone — 
 never ! " 
 
 Insensible to everything but his own miserable 
 thoughts, Reuben remained so long shut in to the 
 sole companionship of his sighs and tears, that he 
 failed to hear an approaching step which, how- 
 ever, paused at the door, and so stood hesitating 
 whether to proceed or not. It was Robert, who 
 had been despatched by the sisters to summon 
 their absent brother to the breakfast-table, and 
 "who, perhaps, a little guided by his own feelings, 
 had directed his enquiries to the cottage. 
 
 With men it is so much more difficult to sym- 
 pathise, than with women, that these two youths, 
 though deeply touched by the same sorrow, and 
 to some extent implicated in the same causes for 
 compunction and regret, had seldom, if ever, ex- 
 changed a single word calculated to bring them 
 nearer to each other ; and still less to strengthen 
 them in mutual resolutions to begin life afresh, 
 and to pursue for the future a safer path than they 
 had followed in the past. 
 
 To Reuben it is possible that no thought of 
 this kind had ever occurred. His interests en-
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. . 201 
 
 tirely centering in a different object, he admitted 
 no friend of his own sex into communion with his 
 inner feelings. Paul Rutherford had become in 
 some respects essential to him ; but he had lately 
 surprised some of his friends, and his sisters espe- 
 cially, by speaking, incidentally, of Paul in a 
 manner which implied anything but respect. 
 With Robert the case was very different. The 
 first object of his thoughts — at least that which 
 he believed to be the first, was how to begin a 
 new and better life. To him the solemn scenes 
 which had just transpired, had come with all the 
 weight of an express call ; and he even went so 
 far as to believe, that if the call should now be 
 neglected, some fearful judgment might be ex- 
 pected to fall either upon him, or his companions, 
 or perhaps upon them all. He was prepared for 
 any sentence, for any issue ; and as he stood there 
 in the entrance of that dimly-lighted room, watch- 
 ing that spectacle of grief before him, and listen- 
 ing to those heavy sighs, almost amounting to 
 groans, he longed indescribably to utter some 
 word of sympathy or fellow-feeling, that might 
 bring his own heart into closer and more intimate 
 communion with one that seemed to be almost on 
 the point of breaking. But how intrude, or how
 
 202 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 open the way? He feared almost to trembling, 
 for what is so difficult as to lift the veil of 
 a shallow friendship, so as to penetrate into 
 the deep mysteries of the hidden soul be- 
 neath? 
 
 At last, the intruder ventured to speak, and th 
 start, the look, the offended aspect of him, who 
 desired, above all things, not to be interfered 
 with, at once convinced him that nothing was to 
 be expected from any attempt of his towards a 
 closer intimacy. Robert had, consequently, 
 nothing left to do but to discharge the business 
 upon which he had been sent by the sisters ; and 
 he managed while doing this, to betray as little 
 as possible that he had perceived anything par- 
 ticular in Reuben's look or manner. 
 
 Strange ! that two women, even if enemies 
 before, would have wept together on such an oc- 
 casion; while these two youths, in reality, 
 friends, had nothing to say to each other, except 
 that the family at the other house had met 
 for breakfast. 
 
 Susannah and Lydia both knew their brother 
 better than to make any comment upon his ab- 
 sence ; and the company being generally engaged 
 in conversation, besides being pretty fully occu-
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 203 
 
 pied with what was spread before them, the two 
 young men were able to glide into the room, and 
 take their places at the table, without being 
 noticed.
 
 204 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 We have now to request the reader to pass over 
 with us the space of somewhat more than twelve 
 months, and to imagine that time externally un- 
 remarked by any striking or sudden changes, yet 
 fraught with internal interests of vast importance 
 to those whom this story most concerns. 
 
 As regards some of the party already intro- 
 duced, and especially Lydia Law, and her cousin 
 Dora, the passing time seemed only to have ex- 
 panded their beauty, and confirmed those habits 
 of amiable and social cordiality for which both 
 were so often and so justly admired. 
 
 With Susannah the change was greater, and of 
 a widely different character. One frequent 
 visitor there was at the Grange who could have 
 told strange tales of the extraordinary metamor- 
 phosis which appeared to have transformed her 
 very nature into something so unlike what
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 205 
 
 she had been, or rather what she had seemed to 
 be, that her best friends would scarcely have 
 known her, could they have seen her under any 
 circumstances which brought these new or hidden 
 features of her character to light. But he who 
 knew her under this aspect, who in fact had shed 
 this new light upon her life, developing the latent 
 susceptibilities of a nature up to this time almost 
 hidden from itself, would have been the last to 
 disclose what he knew, and what was known to 
 him alone. 
 
 It was Paul Rutherford whose society and in- 
 timate companionship had wrought this change. 
 Throughout the whole time which we have over- 
 stepped, he had been the frequent associate of the 
 young people at the Grange ; still always wel- 
 come to the heads of the family, but on the part 
 of Jacob Law more welcome from relative cir- 
 cumstances, than on his own account, for still he 
 did not feel to understand the young man, nor 
 was drawn any nearer to him. If his wife and 
 children liked him, that was enough for him, pro- 
 vided only he found nothing to dislike, or disap- 
 prove. At Susannah he most wondered in secret ; 
 but then Susannah was prudent, and discreet, and 
 she might see that in the young man which he
 
 206 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 had not been able to discover. The one redeeming 
 fact upon which hung all his confidence in Paul, 
 was that he had found favour with Susannah, and 
 this fact, though never directly revealed as a 
 matter of importance, was pretty well understood 
 by the Avhole family ; so that by degrees every 
 kind of jocular allusion to it ceased ; and thus 
 quietly, without any open remark or enquiry, the 
 young man grew to be considered almost as a 
 member of the family, and came, and went, or 
 met them, when they attended their quarterly 
 and other meetings, as if he had been a near re- 
 lative, or long established friend. 
 
 Had the young man spoken openly and frankly 
 to Jacob Law, every doubt on the part of the 
 father would have been removed. But, instead 
 of this, he allowed the intimacy, which he evi- 
 dently took so much pains to cultivate, to go on 
 from month to month, without ever giving it on 
 his part any definite or certain character. Thus 
 Susannah could not have told her father if she 
 would : there was in reality nothing to tell, espe- 
 pecially to a busy man of common practical sense 
 like Jacob Law. That she was beloved, deeply 
 and fervently beloved by one whom she admired 
 and trusted, was enough for this single hearted
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 207 
 
 woman, who like so many of her sex, was far too 
 delicate to ask for the practical import of those 
 expressions which fell upon her ear so fraught 
 with happiness for the present moment, that she 
 scarcely cared what might be their burden for 
 the time to come. And thus Susannah lived on 
 through a kind of charmed existence, which no 
 one could interrupt because it was exposed to 
 none, and cherished beneath her plain and simple 
 garb, perhaps as much of the ideal as may be 
 found where fancy has more to do with external 
 embellishment. 
 
 How often is the placid, the still, the apparently 
 subdued character, entirely misunderstood in this 
 respect. People think them cold, because they 
 do not warm up at every passing event, nor 
 bestow even an average amount of feeling upon 
 the trivial affairs of every day. If the persons 
 who pronounce this judgment had ever watched 
 a mountain stream descending, and diverging into 
 a thousand channels by the way, they would have 
 known how much more likely it would be for the 
 stream denied these outlets, hemmed in, and con- 
 tracted between rocky walls, to fall at once with 
 overwhelming force from the very weight of its 
 pent up waters.
 
 208 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 But we will not enter farther into this most 
 quiet and unobtrusive intercourse. No one in 
 fact, did enter into it, except those whom it most 
 concerned. Ko one ever ventured to enquire 
 why Paul and Susannah lingered after others in 
 their evening walks ; nor why, when a party of 
 young persons set out in company, these two so 
 naturally came to be classed together, that it 
 would have implied a strange deviation from the 
 habits of the family, had they been found separate. 
 
 Only one other fact in connection w^ith this 
 subject seems worthy of mention here. It was 
 that Susannah's added happiness had just given 
 to her appearance as well as her character, what 
 both had so often seemed to want. People said 
 of her that she was growing absolutely beautiful, 
 and she really was so sometimes, when her eyes 
 looked up asthey could look, and when a delicate but 
 radiant blush suffused her countenance. She became 
 more frank too — more generally affable, and com- 
 municative. In fact, she was like one who had 
 grown suddenly rich, and who without daring to 
 disclose the recently found treasure, feels yet at 
 liberty to dispense blessings to others from the 
 
 hidden store. 
 
 Another feature in the domestic habits of the
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 209 
 
 Grange must not pass unnoticed. We have al- 
 ready said that the conversation of the young 
 people was apt, perhaps too frequently, to turn 
 upon the unnecessary restrictions, as they consider- 
 ed them, belonging to the Society with regard to 
 dress, and manners. Conversation of this kind 
 frequently indulged in — conversation, indeed, of 
 any kind which has relation to grievances endured 
 or punishments inflicted, is apt to grow with sur- 
 prising rapidity where numbers are concerned, as 
 being sharers in the same oppression, or sufferers 
 under the same restraint. 
 
 Had Paul and Reuben been placed in their 
 domestic circumstances under a more generous 
 and enlightened system, it is probable they would 
 never have rebelled in spirit as they now so often 
 did. Reuben, especially, was apt to give vent in 
 the presence of his sisters, to charges the most 
 bitter and violent against the Society of Friends 
 in general, and against George and Johannah 
 Rutherford in particular ; and in all these outbursts 
 of violence, he was more than borne out by the 
 colder but deeper scorn of his friend. And yet 
 that friend, to the astonishment of all who knew 
 him under both characters, could assume the most 
 demure and even reverential aspect when in the 
 
 VOL I. N
 
 210 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 ]>resence of the very persons against whom he was 
 accustomed to direct his bitterest sarcasms. 
 
 Keuben most certainly did not admire this 
 leature in the character of Paul, but he thought 
 it clever, and droll, and he was growing fast to 
 rare less and less about principle, and more about 
 being amused by any passing events. But while 
 he laughed at the solemn face of his friend, Lydia 
 felt absolutely frightened. 
 
 She had never particularly liked Paul Ruther- 
 ford, only she now tried to like him, for her sister's 
 sake ; but when she saw him in an instant altering 
 his very voice, as well as his countenance, she 
 felt an instinctive kind of shuddering, as if a ser- 
 pent had suddenly crossed her path. Poor Su- 
 sannah, saw nothing — heard nothing, that was 
 suspicious, still less wrong. There was no serpent 
 visible in her path — nothing but flowers. So she 
 walked on contentedly, looking, and seeming to 
 be, so sure that all was right, that others took 
 their faith from hers ; and except at short intervals, 
 when startled into suspicion, they believed also 
 that nothing was, or could be, really wrong. 
 
 About the time of his aunt's death, the tone 
 of Reuben's conversation had been more moderate. 
 Robert Moreton especially appeared at that time
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 211 
 
 not unlikely to determine upon conforming in all 
 their strictness to the severest requirements of the 
 Society. But the effect produced on this occa- 
 sion, was far from being deep, or lasting; and 
 the three young men became more closely associ- 
 ated than ever, their conversation at the same 
 time indicating more clearly h©ii^f eagerly they 
 were longing to escape from a thraldom which 
 appeared indeed to be producing no salutary effects 
 upon them. 
 
 If Paul was less violent than Reuben, he alone 
 had personal injury, and wrong to speak of, and 
 he did this without sparing any one, but especially 
 his father. In fact, there had been for some time 
 an increasing want of harmony between George 
 Rutherford and his son. The father was of a 
 fierce passionate nature, when roused, though in 
 some measure subdued by a strong sense of out- 
 ward seemliness, and decorum; but with all his 
 natural brute force, and indomitable will, he found 
 himself so often outwitted by the cooler temper- 
 ament, and deeper calculation of his 9on, that the 
 two had come to stand almost in the position of 
 antagonism to each other, only that the very age 
 and office of the father invested him by right with 
 
 a supremacy which none could gainsay. 
 
 n2
 
 212 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 More than half the disputes arising betwixt 
 the father and son had their origin in money mat- 
 ters. It was impossible for George Rutherford 
 to conceive why any young man should require 
 the amount of money which his son, by some 
 means or other, seemed to be continually extract- 
 ing from the parental grasp. Sometimes he was 
 tortured by suspicions that his money was evapo- 
 rating in some unaccountable way, beyond his 
 actual knowledge. His sleep was disturbed, his 
 rest rendered uneasy. He did not wish to betray 
 to any one that it was possible for him to be de- 
 ceived or wronged. And thus he became a vic- 
 tim to the worst evil that can befall a selfish and 
 strong willed man, — a perpetual sense of being 
 over-reached, and at the same time robbed, and 
 injured. 
 
 About this time, there were other symptoms 
 of a very serious nature beginning to threaten 
 absolute and open insubordination, beneath the 
 iron rule of this stern disciplinarian. Altogether 
 the lion grew very uneasy in his lair. The young 
 men who had so often eluded his watchfulness, 
 began boldly to defy his authority; and this 
 symptom appeared first in the quarter from which 
 it pained him most to meet with defiance.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 213 
 
 Reuben Law, with less firmness of character 
 than many others, had yet at times a kind of 
 daring, which made him go further than his friends 
 in what was opposed to opinion, or contrary to 
 rule. It was not in keeping with his character, 
 to strive to be thought well of, when he was not 
 striving to do well. To him it would have been 
 impossible to put on the demure look of Paul, im- 
 mediately after he had been heaping all manner 
 of abuse upon the parties for whom that look was 
 worn; and in the same way, he had lately begun 
 to regard it as mean and cowardly to talk as he 
 did amongst his companions, against the Society 
 to which they belonged, and yet so to conform to 
 their peculiarities in manners, and appearance, 
 as to wear the outward semblance of believing 
 things essential or desirable which he inwardly 
 despised, and longed altogether to reject. 
 
 Robert Moreton was in this respect of the same 
 opinion. He believed it not only false, but 
 absolutely wrong, to wear a Friends' coat, while 
 entertaining a strong conviction that the wearing 
 of a particular garb or costume had been an injury 
 to the Society as a religious body. At any rate, 
 the young men said, one to another, they were no 
 believers in broad brimmed hats, and coats with
 
 214 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 standing up collars — not they ; and just so far as 
 importance was attached to these things, they 
 were in their opinion a positive injury, and snare, 
 which led many to depend upon mere externals, 
 and served with others as a cloak for hypocrisy, 
 and deceit. 
 
 Paul Kutherford considered the wearing of this 
 costume as an allowable means of preserving peace 
 at home. If really a trifle of no sort of impor- 
 tance in itself, surely it was but a small sacrifice 
 by which to purchase exemption from persecution, 
 and from the ill opinion of relatives and friends. 
 So Paul had his dress-coat kept at Jeremiah's, in 
 which he went out to many an evening party, 
 where Reuben also figured in his dress-coat ; but 
 while Paul would have been made very uneasy 
 had he been compelled to sit down at his father's 
 table in the same dress, Reuben became, if possible, 
 more uneasy, to sit down in his Friends' costume. 
 Indeed, to do him justice, it must be owned of 
 Reuben, that he had a thorough detestation of all 
 small trickery, and deceit, especially if practised 
 for the sake of gaining an insufficient end. We 
 do not pretend that he had principle enough to 
 spurn a great deception which might procure him 
 a great enjoyment ; but to deceive for no bettei^
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 215 
 
 reason than because he was afraid to be perfectly 
 honest, was indeed contemptible in his opinion, 
 and rather than do that, he would defy the whole 
 world. 
 
 So Reuben startled his companions one day by 
 declaring his determination to begin to wear on 
 all occasions, coats with turned down collars, and 
 no other. Some who heard this declaration 
 laughed, for they did not believe he had the moral 
 courage to carry out his resolution. They knew, 
 what it is impossible for members of other societies 
 to conceive, how much real daring this purpose 
 would require ; and they doubted not, but 
 Keuben's firmness would fail before the hour of 
 trial should come. Others endeavoured gravely 
 to persuade him to give the project up. But this 
 advice only made him more daring, and defiant. 
 Others encouraged him, for they thought if once 
 the ice was broken for them, they might also 
 plunge in. 
 
 To show that he was really in earnest, Reuben 
 exhibited before his friends, in visible departure 
 from the old established rule, a number of gar- 
 ments, some new, and others altered, but all 
 constructed after the forms and customs of the 
 world, and consequently all requiring a vast
 
 216 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 amount of moral courage to put on, and wear. 
 Great excitement very naturally pervaded the 
 company of young men, who, looking and hand- 
 ling, and examining for themselves, were compelled 
 to believe that Reuben was really in earnest. 
 
 Had intelligence been about to be communicated 
 that day at dinner that Reuben had enlisted for a 
 soldier, the apprehensions of each and all could 
 scarcely have been worked up to a higher pitch. 
 As time wore on, many and varied were the 
 calculations as to how the thing would be taken. 
 All knew exactly how Johannah Rutherford 
 would look, but in what style the lion would 
 comport himself was beyond the power of any one 
 to surmise. 
 
 When the dinner hour arrived, Reuben, accord- 
 ing to the custom of the family, walked in with 
 the first set, for there was always a first and 
 second party at that table. For some time no 
 notice was taken, the master being too much occu- 
 pied with what was immediately before him. At 
 length, however, his appetite being somewhat 
 appeased, his eye found time to wander to the 
 offending collar. But how could he believe even 
 the testimony of his senses? The fact was to 
 him manifestly impossible. He looked again —
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 217 
 
 long and earnestly. The young men held down 
 their heads, and some found it difficult to suppress 
 their laughter, especially those who had caught a 
 glimpse of Reuben's face, which wore evidently 
 the expression of one who endeavours to look 
 brave, whatever he may feel. 
 
 Johannah Rutherford stared wildly, but spoke 
 not. Her face seemed to come out farther than 
 usual from the little background of cap behind. No 
 sound Avas uttered, except that something like a 
 suppressed roar might be detected occasionally, as 
 George Rutherford conveyed large portions of 
 meat into his mouth. Thus his meal was hastily 
 dispatched, when, rising from his seat before the 
 others, he walked with large heavy strides towards 
 the door. Here, standing still for a moment, and 
 half looking round, he said, " Reuben Law, thou 
 wilt please not to come to my table again in that 
 coat." 
 
 " Oh, very well," said Reuben, as he rose, 
 " then I must go home, for I have no other." 
 
 This was all that passed at the time/ but in the 
 evening when the young men were retiring, 
 Reuben was requested to remain, and a long 
 " opportunity " took place between him and the 
 master of the house, which Reuben was not fond
 
 218 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 of describing to any one, so much did it rouse his 
 ano-er, and dlsjT^ust, even to think of it. 
 
 The fact was, George Kutherford did not really 
 wish to part with Reuben. He did not want, as 
 he worded it, to be hard upon Jacob ; and he tried 
 all the means of persuasion that were possible to 
 him, to induce the young man to return to the 
 path of simplicity, and " truth." Such were his 
 expressions, and there were many others which 
 he used while endeavouring to be kind and gentle, 
 which evidently produced impressions the very 
 reverse of what were intended. Reuben afterwards 
 declared it was infinitely worse to see the lion 
 when insinuating, than when enraged. He had, 
 however, to endure both ; for, failing to melt by 
 kindness, George Rutherford grew angry, and his 
 anger was generally terrific. On this occasion, 
 however, all that he could say, or threaten, proved 
 ineffectual ; and it was agreed, before separating 
 for the night, that Reuben should return to his 
 father's house on the following day. 
 
 He was sorry, George Rutherford said, very 
 sorry to be under the necessity of taking such a 
 step; but for the sake of example, it must be 
 done. He was responsible for the conduct of the 
 young men under his care, and he could not an-
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 219 
 
 swer to their parents, if, on account of the esteem 
 he felt for Reuben's father, he should allow his 
 son to remain with his family, even for another 
 day. He had hoped different things from him, 
 he said. He had hoped that the example of his 
 own son in this respect 
 
 " Oh ! Don't say anything about that," inte- 
 rupted Reuben hastily. 
 
 The farther started. " What dost thou mean ? " 
 he said, brino-ino* the whole force of his massive 
 countenance to bear upon Reuben. " What dost 
 thou mean ? " he repeated, as he leaned forward 
 in his chair, and looked searchingly into the young 
 man's face. 
 
 "I mean nothing ; " said Reuben, afraid lest he 
 should bring trouble upon his friend. 
 
 "I believe thou dost mean something;" said 
 George Rutherford, and he advanced his large 
 person still nearer, as if ready to devour whatever 
 information could be extracted. "Art thou ac- 
 quainted with anything particular relating to my 
 son ? " he asked, eagerly. 
 
 But Reuben again interrupted him by saying 
 that people ought to know their own children best ; 
 and that he should owe little thanks to his father 
 if he asked any one else about him.
 
 220 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 This was no answer — it proved nothing ; and 
 still those devouring eyes were fixed upon the 
 speaker, greedy for his inmost thoughts. 
 
 "I'll tell thee what," said George Rutherford, 
 after gazing in this way for a few moments" — I'll 
 tell thee what, young man. For the sake of thy 
 father, and mother, I think perhaps I might be 
 induced to pass this matter over, and to let thee 
 remain with us, if thou wouldst give me privately 
 — quite privately, thou knowest — a little insight 
 into the habits of my son Paul." 
 
 "Never ! " exclaimed Reuben. "I don't mind 
 telling about myself, to those who have a right to 
 ask,but nothing should induce me to tell of a friend." 
 
 "Then there is something to tell ? I feared as 
 much." 
 
 "Oh ! don't misconstrue my words. We are 
 none of us perhaps exactly what we ought to be." 
 
 *'In what respect ? " 
 
 "I cannot answer these questions ; and I will 
 not submit to be inquired of in this unfair manner. 
 Ask Paul himself. It is no business of mine." 
 
 George Rutherford rose from his seat, and 
 walked once or twice across the room. Then 
 stopping immediately before Reuben, he said, i^ 
 a stern deep voice — "I suppose thou art aware
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 221 
 
 that matters of delinquency must be brought 
 before our meetings ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Reuben, "when they are proved." 
 
 "Perhaps they are proved — what hast thou to 
 say to that ?" 
 
 "That — for myself I don't care a button. And 
 so farewell. I shall be off early in the morning, 
 and only wish I could go to night." 
 
 Reuben's temper once thoroughly roused, there 
 was no doing anything with him. George Ru- 
 therford knew this, and perceiving pretty clearly 
 that all opportunity of working out his purpose 
 had passed by, he suffered the young man to 
 depart without another word ; and then taking up 
 his pen, he wrote a letter to Jacob Law, which he 
 committed to the care of a servant to place in the 
 hands of Reuben before he should set out on his 
 journey in the morning.
 
 222 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 CTTAPTEK XII 
 
 The departure of Reuben Law was an event of 
 no trifling interest in the household of which he 
 had been a favourite, and in some respects a dis- 
 tinguished member. More independent, both in 
 character and circumstances, than many of his 
 associates there, his presence had imparted a 
 vigour to their general transactions, but especially 
 a cordiality and cheerfulness to their social inter- 
 course, which they knew it would be difficult to 
 supply when he was gone ; and they all looked 
 forward with proportionate apprehension and 
 sorrow to the loss they were about to sustain. 
 
 Nor was this melancholy feeling confined to 
 the higher departments of the household. Where- 
 ever a number of young men, not positively dis- 
 agreeable, are situated, especially if subjected to 
 anything like unkindness or injustice, there will 
 be sure to arise a powerful party of adherents to
 
 OWN FIEESIDE. 223 
 
 their cause amongst the female portion of the 
 kitchen community ; and seldom, even in cases of 
 delinquency, will this class of adherents betray 
 any secret transgression of family rule, if indeed 
 they do not actually abet, and facilitate what is 
 wrong. 
 
 In the present instance, the young men at 
 George Rutherford's were not insensible to the 
 many kind attentions which it was at all times 
 easy for them to obtain from this quarter, and 
 which they often found sadly wanting elsewhere. 
 Amongst other household helps, there was a 
 black-eyed Lizzie Brian, a girl of Irish extrac- 
 tion, whose adroitness in managing a difficult 
 point was such as to render her peculiarly valu- 
 able in cases of emergency. Indeed, such was 
 her general cleverness, that she contrived at once 
 to make herself, to some extent, the confidant of 
 the young men, and the main prop of the mistress 
 in the conducting of her household affairs. 
 
 George Rutherford was not entirely without 
 suspicion that Lizzie was almost as cunning as 
 she was handsome. But whenever these suspi- 
 cions became evident to her watchful eye, she 
 could so adapt herself to circumstances, and so 
 accommodate her very look and voice to the occa-
 
 224 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 sion ; she was so supplied also with a never-failing 
 fund of excuses, evasions, and expedients, that 
 her master, with his duller intellect, became not 
 only baffled in pursuit, but often persuaded 
 against his grave judgment, to let things take 
 their usual course, without further investigation. 
 In all her skilful manoeuvres, Lizzie was consi- 
 derably aided by a handsome face, a clear and 
 brilliant complexion, and by a pair of quick dark 
 eyes, so bright as almost to dazzle the glance 
 which might be fixed upon them for the purpose 
 of discovering truth, or falsehood. The worst of 
 Lizzie was, that no one, not even those with 
 whom she was most intimate, could tell exactly 
 when she was true, and when false. Indeed, she 
 was not very particular herself, so long as what 
 she considered a good end was to be brought 
 about; and if secured by a falsehood, she had 
 only, according to her creed, to confess to her 
 priest, and all was made right again, without 
 much trouble to anybody. 
 
 When Reuben Law rose early on the morning 
 of his departure this girl was the ope to prepare 
 his breakfast, and to present him with her mas- 
 ter's letter, at the same time conveying some mes- 
 sages from Paul, which Reuben thought he
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. . 225 
 
 might as well have delivered in his own person. 
 She was the one also to stand at the door, after 
 she had let him out, wiping her eyes with her 
 apron, and wearing a countenance expressive of 
 the most poignant distress; at all which Reuben 
 felt very much inclined to laugh, for he was by 
 no means sure that this unusual exhibition of 
 grief had been productive of a single tear* 
 
 As the vehicle which conveyed Reuben away 
 approached the neighbourhood of his home, he 
 began to feel as most travellers do, much more 
 interested in what he should meet with, than in 
 what he had left behind. Nor was this interest 
 unmixed with painful apprehensions; for while 
 he found the first step in his enterprise more easy 
 than his friends had anticipated for him, he was 
 quite sensible that the great trial to his feelings, 
 as well as his fortitude, was yet to come. In 
 musing upon what awaited him, his thoughts 
 turned much towards his mother. He knew her 
 partial fondness, which had followed him from 
 childhood, never alienated even by his most way- 
 ward moods ; and though he believed his mother 
 to be blinded in her judgment by a tenacious ad- 
 herance to trifles, which a stronger minded woman 
 would be able to cast aside as such, yet he 
 VOL. I. o
 
 226 FKIKND8 AT THEIK 
 
 dreaded for himself, as well as for her, the pain 
 he was about to inflict. And for what was he 
 doing this? For what was he bringing vexation, 
 annoyance, and perhaps disunion, into his home? 
 When he looked back to the days of his child- 
 hood, the reasons for what he was now doing 
 seemed so entirely inadequate to be weighed 
 against a mother's love, that his resolution almost 
 failed him, and he wished he had some better 
 motive, at least some motive more urgent, as the 
 ground of those arguments with which he endea- 
 voured to fortify himself before entering his 
 father's house. 
 
 Altogether, Reuben did not find much comfort 
 in his thoughts, much repose in his feelings. He 
 wished he had been mounted on a horse, that he 
 might have set spurs to its sides, and galloped oif 
 these disagreeable sensations. The coach by 
 which he travelled, he pronounced to be un- 
 usually slow, and more than once he urged the 
 driver to make better use of his whip. Yet, with 
 a strange perverseness, not altogether foreign to 
 such cases, no sooner did a turn in the road bring 
 the travellers immediately in sight of the last 
 halting place, than he began to wish there was 
 another mile to go. Instead of lengthening out
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 227 
 
 the distance now, tliey wound rapidly round the 
 side of a hill ; and, obedient to his orders, dashed 
 at a somewhat dangerous speed into the village of 
 Health, situated on the slope of a range of high 
 ground, and immediately overlooking the valley 
 in which his father's house was standing amongst 
 its neighbouring cottages, peaceful and pretty as 
 ever. 
 
 And was he to destroy that peace for a mere 
 whim and fancy of his own, which, if carried 
 out, would make nobody any better, or wiser, or 
 happier? Reuben's spirits had fallen very low 
 before he reached this point, and here he had to 
 leave the coach and to walk across the fields to 
 the Grange. He was in no haste to go. The 
 little inn at which the coach stopped looked clean 
 and comfortable. The people knew him, and 
 were always pleased to see him. They had been 
 placed there by his father, to sell the good ale 
 from the brewery at the Grange. What should 
 hinder him from stepping in to fortify himself 
 with a little creature-comfort, before encounter- 
 ing his father's searching eye? So Reuben sat 
 down in the parlour of the little inn, for it was 
 long before the dinner-hour at the Grange, and 
 he did not exactly know how to get rid of the 
 intervening time. o 2
 
 228 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 Whether or not Reuben came out from his 
 ]>lace of refreshment a wiser and a better man, he 
 certainly came out a bolder man; and was able to 
 jn'oceed with a lighter step and a fearless brow, 
 across the fields which led to his father's resi- 
 dence. And now excuses for returning home in 
 this unexpected manner presented themselves to 
 his mind in quick succession, aud abundant va- 
 riety. But he wanted no excuses now. He 
 feared no man or woman either — why should 
 he? 
 
 The first person Reuben met near home was 
 Robert Moreton, and with him he held a long 
 coloquy. Robert was more gravely interested 
 than the occasion might seem to warrant. He 
 had himself arrived at the same conclusion as 
 Reuben, that the right time had come for casting 
 aside the outward badge by which the members 
 of the Society of Friends were universally known. 
 He had been watching for the right opportunity 
 for making this conviction known. His coat was 
 ready, but his resolution was not. So much more 
 difficult it is to cause pain, and even disap- 
 probation, when situated amongst those whose 
 dispositions are benevolent, and their habits 
 courteous, kind, and generally just. Now, how-
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 229 
 
 ever, Robert felt encouraged ; and it was agreed, 
 after much earnest consultation, that they should 
 both do the bold act at once — that Robert should 
 put on his coat, made according to the customs of 
 the world, and that they should, both habited in 
 this manner, go and present themselves to Jacob 
 Law alone, before he joined his family at the 
 dinner-table. 
 
 Robert was prepared with grave arguments for 
 what they were about to do, which Reuben was 
 not. Besides this, he was cool and collected, and 
 the very act itself was with him the result of 
 much heart-searching enquiry into the principles 
 of the whole matter, as well as into his own 
 motives for the step he was about to take. Upon 
 the whole, he believed that he had with him that 
 guide whose promptings he had been taught to 
 consider unerring ; and he was prepared even to 
 tell of his peace of mind disturbed by the im- 
 pression that his past course had not been a right 
 one, and by strong convictions growing upon him 
 that if he would only put away the fear of man, 
 he should be permitted to enjoy the reward he 
 most coveted — that of the testimony of his own 
 conscience that he had done ri^ht. 
 
 Robert felt very clear about all this. But then
 
 230 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 he was of too sensitive a nature not to feel very 
 apprehensive as to consequences — very much 
 grieved at the idea of causing pain, and still more 
 grieved, perhaps, at having his motives mistaken, 
 and his conduct thought ill of by those whom he 
 most esteemed and loved. Such is the strength 
 and the power of the unseen chain which this 
 society is able to weave around its members ! 
 They are apt to charge the young with unwilling- 
 ness to take up the cross and suffer for the truth, 
 when they do not conform in external things ; 
 but they little know how much more resolution, 
 sense of right, and self-sacrifice, is required on 
 the part of many of those who have dared in these 
 matters to deviate for conscience-sake. 
 
 Never, until this morning, had Robert Moreton 
 really counted the cost of what he was about to 
 do. Never had he felt in its full force, what it 
 would be, suddenly to sink in the esteem of one 
 whom he both loved and admired, as he did Jacob 
 Law. His own heart told him how far he had 
 been wrong in other things, though he still trusted 
 he was right in this. But now he was about to 
 begin a new life altogether. He had a stern pur- 
 pose to carry out — a grave duty to perform ; and 
 such being the case, it behoved him, in an especial
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 231 
 
 manner, to keep his hands clean from the touch 
 of all that might pollute, and then to consecrate 
 himself to the work. Very different were the 
 feelings of the two young men on this subject, 
 though alike their outward act, and very different 
 were the results of the experiments they were 
 about to make. 
 
 We have said more than once that Jacob Law 
 was a man of quick feelings, and somewhat 
 hasty temper. Impatient of reasoning, which to 
 him contained no reason, and feeling little respect 
 for resolutions which appeared to him to originate 
 in mere caprice, it was difficult sometimes to in- 
 duce him to listen with even so much attention 
 as common fairness demands, to explanations, or 
 excuses, when the thing to be excused had pre- 
 viously taken possession of his mind as a manifest 
 absurdity, or worse. 
 
 Thus it must be owned, that the two young men 
 had at first a somewhat stormy interview with 
 Jacob Law. Indeed, Eeuben, always soon roused 
 into anger by what he considered injustice, or 
 wrong, had not sufficient command over himself 
 to refrain from many hasty, imprudent, and even 
 disrespectful expressions, altogether producing an 
 effect the very opposite to that which had been
 
 282 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 anticipated by his calmer tempered friend. Often 
 during the interview Robert had deeply to regret 
 that he had not in cooler moments, and when 
 alone, laid bare his heart to this true, but some- 
 what hasty judging friend, thus doing better 
 justice both to himself, and his companion. The 
 time for this was passed now. He looked into 
 Reuben's face, and saw him heated, passionate, 
 and indignant, yet he knew him well enough to 
 understand that beneath this air of defiance there 
 lurked a degree of wounded feeling, which he was 
 striving, as he thought manfully, to conceal. 
 
 At last the controversy ended, as such too often 
 do, with a worse opinion of each other on all sides. 
 Reuben thought his father had grown more 
 austere, and exacting than formerly. He himself 
 was older, and had now no right to be treated like a 
 child. He had surely the common privilege of 
 a man — that of acting as he liked in trifles, or 
 what was he ? what indeed was life, or liberty, or 
 anything which men in general valued ? And now 
 that he was come to live at home entirely : — The 
 thought was intolerable ? Anger, sorrow, and 
 bitterness, seemed to fill his very soul. 
 
 " Come with me," said Robert, gently laying 
 hold of his arm. But Reuben shook off
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 233 
 
 the conciliating touch. He was not quite him- 
 self; and for that reason, he was the more ready 
 to reject all counsel, and to resist all persuasion. 
 These are dangerous moments. Parents should 
 watch them well. Jacob Law, in reality the kindest 
 of fathers, knew not what he was doing — saw not 
 the fire he was kindling, nor dreamed of the ruin 
 which it is just possible that a little care on his 
 part might then have averted. lieuben was 
 exactly in that state of mind in which a single 
 word of unexpected kindness has more effect than 
 a thousand reproaches. But the kind word was 
 not spoken. The wound was inflicted, but not 
 bound up; and the feverish excitement of the mo- 
 ment made the rankling pain only more intense. 
 
 The manner in which Keuben had conducted 
 himself in this interview, his unexpected return, 
 and the letter which he had thrown, rather than 
 given to his father, the novel appearance of Robert 
 Moreton in his new coat, as he came to table that 
 day unaccompanied by Reuben, who had gone out 
 nobody knew w^hither, all tended to throw the 
 family into a state of consternation and dismay, 
 never experienced within that quiet household 
 before. 
 
 Robert felt it his duty to explain, and he
 
 234 FKIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 endeavoured to do so before the assembled family. 
 But Jacob Law would not listen to his explana- 
 tion, and the sisters were too anxious about 
 Reuben's absence to care very much for the 
 remoter reasons which his friend endeavoured to 
 lay before them. Rebecca Law was greatly 
 overcome, and as usual retreated to her own room. 
 Susannah followed, but Lydia, hoping much from 
 the assistance of Robert, asked him in the most 
 earnest manner, if he would go with her in search 
 of her brother. 
 
 Robert was perfectly willing to commence his 
 search, but he knew better than to take with him 
 such a companion. Promising faithfully to take 
 the utmost care of her brother, and assuring her 
 that nothing serious could happen to him, and that 
 all would soon again be well, he left the house, 
 and directed his steps towards the village on the 
 side of the hill. 
 
 Here, where Reuben had lingered before, he 
 was soon found — found, all heedless now, disposed 
 only to laugh at what had passed, but unfit in 
 every respect to present himself to his family. 
 Robert Moreton knew not at first what to do. 
 Every moment spent in this place, and in this 
 manner, was only making matters worse. By the
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 235 
 
 use of all tact which he could call to his aid, 
 he succeeded at last in drawing his friend away 
 from the house; and, once upon the wild hill 
 side, far out of sight, and out of hearing, he sat 
 down with him, on some grey stones skirting a 
 little wandering brook, which wound its rapid way 
 down into the green valley below. 
 
 Here the two friends sat long, and almost 
 silently. It was no time for words. The after- 
 noon sun fell on them, tempered by the fresh air 
 of the heathery hill. The stream as it murmured 
 over its pebbly bed, produced a lulling tendency 
 to slumber; and while the shadows of a few 
 scattered birch trees lenthened on the grass, 
 Reuben bent his hot brow upon his folded arms 
 and fell asleep. 
 
 His companion slept not. How could he? 
 Glad at heart to see this calmness overspreading 
 the features of his friend, he so adjusted the moss- 
 covered stones as to construct for him a better 
 pillow ; and then spreading a handkerchief over his 
 head, that the slanting sunbeams might not shine 
 full upon it, he listened to his low breathing, 
 alternately with the soft murmur of the brook; 
 and thus listening he sunk into a reverie so deep, 
 so sad, that the sense of his own existence for a
 
 236 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 time seemed lost in that of the sleeper by his 
 side. 
 
 How few of us there are who have not known 
 at some time or other in the course of our 
 experience, what it is to have our best endeavours 
 look evil, like our worst ; and life has few more 
 melancholy moments than those in which this 
 moral balance seems to be destroyed, and the 
 whole foundation of right, so far as regards our- 
 selves, swept away into an abyss of doubt and 
 fear. 
 
 A complicated social condition has great influ- 
 ence in producing this state of feeling — a condition 
 ia which the manifold interests of a highly 
 civilized community interweave and entangle, if 
 they do not actually oppose, each other; and 
 where the seemly, the safe, and the most approved, 
 are qualities which obtain a certain pre-eminence 
 over simple right. 
 
 From such an entanglement of artificial esti- 
 mates and plausible appearances, it is good some- 
 times to escape to the bold simplicity of nature, 
 where the sunshine lies in all its bright reality 
 upon the mountain's brow, and the breeze, unfet- 
 tered, sweeps the surface of the barren rock, or 
 waves the green boughs of the forest. It is good
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 237 
 
 to escape from the narrow conventionalities of 
 polished life — from its frippery and its falsehood ; 
 better still, to look upon the broad bare face of 
 nature, and to feed, though it may be but for a 
 moment, upon those elements of boldness and 
 solidity, as well as truth and beauty, which con- 
 stitute the wholesome and genuine sustenance of 
 a large and noble soul. 
 
 But there is much to be gone through before 
 this sustenance can be received into a system long 
 disordered, and thrown out of harmony with it- 
 self — it may be, long fed on poisons. There is a 
 heart-searching work that must be done — a stern 
 judgment that must be pronounced — a brokenness 
 of spirit that must be endured. Nature has no 
 -harmony for any ear that has long been stunned 
 by internal discord. Neither the sky with its 
 clouds, nor the earth with its teeming flowers, 
 has beauty for the eye which has grown dim under 
 the glare of artificial light. The fields have no 
 golden harvest to lay at the feet of him who has 
 worn out his energies in sowing the wind and 
 reaping the whirlwind. Scarcely before advanced 
 age can any one have arrived at this state of bar- 
 renness, and emptiness of artificial existence ; 
 and therefore is it good, especially for youth, te
 
 238 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 fly sometimes to the woods and wilds, the caves 
 and mountains, the lofty crags and the flower- 
 spangled dells, there to commune face to face with 
 truth, and conscience, and reality, and life, and 
 death, and eternity. 
 
 He who sat musing beside his unconscious 
 companion, gazed upon a lovely scene that day ; 
 but it was scarcely lovely to him — at least he was 
 unable to drink in its loveliness so as to quench 
 the fever of his burning thoughts. What had he 
 done that all the world looked dark ? Nothing, or 
 if anything, an act so simply right, that he felt 
 himself rather entitled to reward than punishment. 
 
 And yet there was a general sense of wrong- 
 ness, almost of guilt, surrounding him, and he was 
 tempted to say, what is the use of acting for con- 
 science sake, if by this means the heart enjoys no 
 peace? He had forgot that peace, true peace, 
 was never bought by piecemeal — never purchased 
 by little acts of right, without the offering up of 
 the whole soul — the entire being, and its attributes, 
 in return for the great sacrifice of One who asks 
 no partial service, and accepts of no divided heart. 
 
 The heavy sleeper slept on, but he who watched 
 his slumbers, lived in that long reverie through 
 an age of thought. To that communion with his
 
 OWN FIRj:SIDE. 239 
 
 own heart he was no stranger, though never till 
 now had he seen and felt so strongly the great 
 realities of life — especially the great — the awful 
 realities of that life which has no reference to 
 holiness — no link of connection with eternal 
 blessedness and peace. 
 
 What is the value of such a life ? — the very air 
 seemed whispering this question. What is the 
 value of thy selfish calculations — thy hot pleasure 
 draughts — thy feverish dreams — thy tossings of 
 vain delight upon a false and glittering sea ? The 
 very woods and rocks seemed echoing back the 
 question, and he who heard them found no answer. 
 Gazing — away — away, into the far golden west, 
 he watched the sun 2;o down. No lono^er lines of 
 narrowing light went creeping up the hills; but 
 deepening shadows met and mingled, and the 
 whole earth was clothed in sombre shade. It was 
 time to awake alike from reverie, and from sleep. 
 There was a real world below into which both 
 dreamers must descend, and in which both had 
 yet to bear their part.
 
 240 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The afternoon which has just been described 
 was that of a cloudless summer's day ; and scarcely 
 had the shadows of the trees begun to lengthen 
 on the slope of the hills, when the two youths 
 descended with the fading light into the valley ; 
 and as they did so, recollected, with some dismay, 
 that their presence must have been anxiously 
 looked for at the Grange, especially as a party of 
 friends were expected that evening. 
 
 Robert Moreton feeling rather uneasy under 
 this apprehension, urged forward his reluctant 
 companion, who, only half restored to proper 
 consciousness, appeared very little disposed to 
 take any part in the hospitalities of his father's 
 house. As they drew near they saw that their 
 return had been anxiously anticipated, for Lydia 
 Law was watching in the garden, at that particu-
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 241 
 
 lar spot which commanded a view of the road ; 
 and no sooner did her quick eye catch sight of 
 them, than she waved her hand impatiently, at 
 the same time pointing to the house, as if to 
 indicate that the important guests had arrived. 
 
 That day at the Grange seemed to be altogether 
 one of mal-occurrences, and yet this last occasion 
 was one wliich in an especial manner demanded 
 the prevalence of domestic harmony, and peace. 
 It was no ordinary visit which thus claimed the 
 respectful attention of every member of the house- 
 hold, but one of a religious nature, in which an 
 elderly friend was engaged, under what was de- 
 scribed as a concern, to visit the various families 
 comprehended in a certain district, as belonging 
 to different specified meetings. 
 
 It is impossible for those unacquainted with 
 the private habits of the Society of Friends to 
 form any adequate idea of the solemnity of some 
 of these occasions, always, however, like other 
 means of religious improvement, either solemn or 
 otherwise, according to the character and frame of 
 mind of the several parties concerned. In order 
 more clearly to understand this kind of intercourse, 
 it is necessary to divest the mind of all idea of any 
 sudden impulse, or casual impression of duty 
 VOL. I. P
 
 242 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 being the moving spring of these deep commun- 
 ings of the spirit with those towards whom its 
 anxieties are so earnestly directed. The whole 
 matter is one of deliberate and careful examina- 
 tion, before it can be undertaken. The individual, 
 laden with this concern, has to lay his case before 
 a public-meeting, to be examined, weighed, and 
 decided upon by the most impartial judges. The 
 whole plan of procedure, as regards the places to 
 to be visited, and the meetings to be held, whether 
 public or private, or both, has to be clearly stated, 
 and openly recognized ; and then, after due con- 
 ?iideration by the body of Friends comprising the 
 meeting to which the individual belongs, permis- 
 sion to proceed is granted, or withheld, according 
 to what appears unitedly to be right ; and if, as is 
 most frequently the case, the decision is favourable 
 to procedure, a certificate of liberation to that 
 duty is granted, and the individual in due time, 
 goes forth on his mission ; or on hers, as the case 
 may be, for these labours of love are as frequently 
 undertaken by one sex, as the other. 
 
 On such occasions too, it often happens that a 
 simultaneous concern is awakened in some other 
 mind, so that two friends, not previously united 
 by any particular intimacy, perform this arduous
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 243 
 
 duty together. And where this is not the case, a 
 constant supply of suitable attendants is provided, 
 so that the ministering brother, or sister, who 
 travels with an express commission, shall on no 
 occasion be perplexed about mere matters of 
 comfort, or convenience, but remain entirely 
 passive, having all such things arranged for them, 
 and that in the most quiet, and methodical manner, 
 but at tl^e same time with the utmost kindness, 
 and respect. Nothing in fact can exceed the 
 regularity and order with which these affairs are 
 conducted. Nor are such occasions less remark- 
 able for an entire devotedness to the one great 
 end of the mission, so that every other business, 
 purpose, or requirement, is made to give place to 
 that. 
 
 One of the leading features of the Society 
 being their almost unbounded hospitality, it is 
 needless to say that on such occasions a more than 
 usual liberality in this respect accompanies the 
 welcome offered to such travellers, wherever they 
 may go, each family esteeming it a privilege to 
 discharge the duty of entertainment, and thus 
 clearly manifesting their reverence for the Master, 
 by the many offices of respect and kindness 
 which they perform for the servant. 
 
 p 2
 
 244 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 It is no less wonderful than gratifying to observe 
 how all this is managed, without the least hurry 
 or confusion, even without any outward and 
 visible manifestation of the direct means by which 
 so vast an amount of real comfort is produced. 
 All money calculations, especially, are dismissed, 
 or kept behind the scene, as utterly unworthy of 
 notice. Indeed, on all occasions connected with 
 the solemn worship of God, whether in public or 
 private, there could scarcely be anything, not 
 positively wrong, more opposed to the habits and 
 feelings of this Society, than the jingling of money 
 after a sermon, or a prayer. So profound is their 
 reverence for that intercourse between the soul 
 and its Maker, which they believe to be entirely 
 the work of the Holy Spirit operating upon the 
 hearts and the minds of those who wait sub- 
 missively for its influence. 
 
 Of all the numerous families concerned in the 
 present visitation, there were perhaps none more 
 liberal in their hospitality than the inhabitants of 
 the Grange. It is true they had seldom been 
 mentally less prepared than now, after the dis- 
 turbances of the earlier part of the day ; but as 
 reproof and admonition were reasonably to be ap- 
 prehended from such visitors, so also were strength
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 245 
 
 and consolation ; and with this hope the mother 
 roused herself to prepare for the arrival of her 
 guests. That which in her own weakness she felt 
 wholly inadequate to contend with, she might thus 
 entrust to other hands ; and since the delinquency 
 to be dealt with was one that must be obvious 
 to all, she nerved herself for a full recognition 
 of its extent, and of the trial it had brought upon 
 her own spirit. What were the real feelings of 
 the father on this occasion he disclosed to no one ; 
 but his countenance was certainly less sunny than 
 usual, and his salutation less cordial, as he stood 
 in the hall to welcome the friends on their 
 arrival. 
 
 Their mode of travellinor was in a laro;e one 
 horse chaise, with ample head or cover, which 
 could be put up at pleasure ; and along with them, 
 by way of escort, rode a well-mounted young 
 man, a son of the friends from whose house they 
 last came. In this manner the ministering friends 
 were accustomed to travel at the time of which 
 we speak — sent on from family to family in the 
 best available conveyance, and with all honorable 
 attendance, and escort; so that with them indi- 
 vidually there was no necessity for the slightest 
 care about the mode of progress, or the time. All
 
 246 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 was done for them as already said, and done 
 without murmur or delay. 
 
 But whatever might be the hidden feelings of 
 the different members of the household, never did 
 the comfortable parlour at the Grange assume a 
 more cheerful aspect than on the present occasion. 
 Susannah took good care that such should be the 
 case, and her skill in management, as well as her 
 habitual self command, were equal almost to any 
 emergency. With Lydia it was very different. 
 Her fair face was flushed with anxiety, which she 
 made little effort to conceal. Her usually smooth 
 brow was slightly contracted, while a nervous 
 compression of her rosy lips indicated that her 
 mind was ill at ease. The visitors, however, were 
 not persons likely to be particularly observant of 
 such matters ; and before they had divested them- 
 selves of their travelling equipments, and fairly 
 settled in for the evening, the master of the 
 house had almost entirely regained his accus- 
 tomed look and tone of cordial welcome. 
 
 With all the strong and hereditary feelings of 
 the Society engrafted upon their early habits of 
 thought, and action, it would have been impossi- 
 ble for the two youths, habited as they now were 
 for the first time in their lives, not to experience
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 247 
 
 a most uncomfortable degree of restraint. With 
 one, however, all feeling seemed to be deadened 
 for awhile ; but not so with the other. Kobert 
 Moreton a few hours ago had devoutly believed 
 himself struggling, and even suffering, in a 
 righteous cause ; but such is the power of associa- 
 tion, and of long habit, and such is the influence 
 of parental, family, and social affection operating 
 upon a grateful and sensitive nature, that as he 
 came rather sheepishly forward to shake hands 
 with the Friends, he felt for the moment exceed- 
 ingly like a thief, or any other kind of guilty 
 creature, who ought at best to be very much 
 ashamed of himself. 
 
 It was certainly rather curious, as he forced 
 himself into this act of courtesy, to see the up- 
 raised eyes, and astonished aspect of the old Friend, 
 who, retaining the reluctant hand for a moment 
 in his, looked round to the master of the house, 
 asking deliberately and, in a mournful voice, " Is 
 this the son of William Moreton, of Bankside ? " 
 
 But a greater and more perplexing surprise was 
 yet to come. Beuben Law stood behind, and he also 
 had to shake hands with the Friends : he also was 
 clothed in the same extraordinary manner. Upon 
 this, however, the Friend made no direct remark;
 
 248 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 only he took care to manifest pretty clearly what 
 was the nature of his feelings, by turning again 
 to the father, and saying in a yet more mournful 
 tone — "Is this thy son, Jacob?" 
 
 Unable to make any comment upon the matter 
 at the time, Jacob Law answered both questions 
 rather shortly, only reserving an extra portion of 
 contempt for that which applied to his own son. 
 But the mother, sighing deeply, and audibly, 
 looked up to the Friends with a distressed expres- 
 sion of countenance, which implied a more than 
 ordinary appeal for sympathy, saying, in a voice 
 of extreme sadness, — "Thou seest, James, the 
 outsteppings of these young men." James did see 
 it, indeed, and his spirit became so burdened, that 
 during the whole tea time, he scarcely spoke a 
 Avord. 
 
 The companion of the old man was one of those 
 characters, which it would scarcely be possible to 
 find beyond the pale of the Society of Friends, 
 and as his daughters will claim a little interest in 
 the attention of the reader, a slight notice of their 
 father, Gilbert Mansfield, may not be out of place 
 here. He was a man who had passed through 
 much affliction ; trouble, more than age, having 
 bowed his fine head, and whitened his once beau-
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 249 
 
 tiful hair. In addition to the education, birth, 
 and bearing of a gentleman, he was a gentleman 
 by nature, and perhaps for that very reason he 
 had been the less fitted to engage in those sordid 
 struggles which constitute so large a portion of 
 most men's experience. At all events, he had fallen 
 from a position of apparent affluence, to the most 
 straitened and humiliating circumstances, to which 
 any one can well be subjected, without having 
 absolutely done wrong. There had been a time 
 when, according to the strict discipline of the 
 Society to which he belonged, others had been 
 compelled to investigate the state of his business 
 affairs ; and it was but recently that he had been 
 able to hold up his head, as a person free to walk 
 the honourable path of exemption from all pe- 
 cuniary claims. The case was peculiar, for no 
 one acquainted with his circumstances could really 
 blame Gilbert Mansfield himself. He was no 
 speculator. He had not borrowed, nor appropriated 
 other people's money; but after a series of what 
 appeared to him to be unavoidable losses, he had laid 
 the whole matter before the meeting to which he 
 belonged; and such was the esteem in which he 
 was universally held, that the Friends who had 
 been deputed by the meeting to examine the state
 
 250 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 of his affairs, when all had been satisfactorily 
 settled, of their own accord jointly advanced on 
 his behalf the means of establishing him in another 
 kind of business, where the chances of any serious 
 loss were much smaller than before. In this man- 
 ner he was at present struggling on, sparing 
 neither industry, nor care, but alas ! advancing 
 elowly in the way of hope, or profit. 
 
 Those who would have thought it hard to blame 
 Gilbert Mansfield himself, were in many cases 
 less charitably disposed towards his wife, whose 
 decease after a lingering illness, had left him with 
 the charge of a delicate and interesting family of 
 four children. The mother had been a particu- 
 larly lady-like woman, whom many of the friends 
 considered a little too indulgent both to herself 
 and to others, and who was regarded by the 
 Society in general as far too solicitous to maintain 
 a place and a figure before the world. The re- 
 finement and even elegance with which her table 
 and her house had been furnished, occasioned no 
 little scandal when it was discovered, how slight 
 was the pecuniary structure by which this ele- 
 gance had been for some time sustained; nor 
 were the remarks which the fact called forth at 
 all lessened in their bitterness by the consideration
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 251 
 
 that she herself had brought no fortune to her 
 husband, only high notions, extravagant and self 
 indulgent habits. They might have added, had 
 they chosen to look on the brighter side of the 
 picture, a delicate constitution, interesting person 
 and manners, superior intellect, great attainments, 
 and a spirit by nature, at once both high and sen- 
 sitive. 
 
 Whether Gilbert Mansfield became an altered 
 man, as he unquestionably was, both in person 
 and character, in consequence of the death of his 
 wife, or the depression of his circumstances, it 
 would have been difficult to decide, both calamities 
 happening so nearly at the same time. Certain 
 it was, that he never seemed to be the same man 
 again, but drooped both in person and in spirit. 
 It is probable he never had possessed a particu- 
 larly firm or lofty nature, though some considered 
 him in his fallen state as only justly punished for 
 certain worldly and aspiring tendencies, which 
 the Friends are perhaps a little too ready to sup- 
 pose must necessarily be associated with any 
 extra amount of embellishment, if at all bordering 
 on display. But whatever these tendencies in 
 the case of Gilbert Mansfield might once have 
 been, the very nature of the man seemed now
 
 252 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 crushed out. Even his tall figure, once so erect 
 and graceful, was now bent forward as if he 
 bowed his head to meet humiliation. And that 
 head so fine and high, with all its waving wreaths 
 of silken hair — that face, with its pale features 
 all so finely moulded, only attenuated now, so 
 as to look like the mere framework of original 
 beauty — how sad it was to see in contemplating 
 both, that the boldness and the determination of 
 the man, the hard battling nature, even the 
 working and provisional faculties must always 
 have been deficient there. Benevolence there 
 was, perhaps, a little in excess ; and the most 
 profound reverence for all things high and holy. 
 But from whence was the strength, the force, the 
 stern majesty of determined action to come ? No ; 
 while the tall thin figure stooped — while the head 
 was bent down, and the white hands were folded 
 in the attitude of unresisting submission, some 
 mere casual observer might have entertained for 
 the moment a slight feeling of contempt for the 
 man ; but when he could be drawn out into con- 
 versation, when his eyes looked upwards, when 
 his lips were eloquent, as they could be in ex- 
 patiating upon beauty and goodness — especially 
 upon the wisdom or the mercy of God, then it
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 253 
 
 became evident that however low the place 
 assigned on earth to natures of this mould, they 
 are not far from assimilation with the best con- 
 ception we are able to form of angelic beings. 
 One test of resemblance one bond of brother- 
 hood had been wanting. For that there had been 
 groanings of spirit unutterable by mortal tongue ; 
 until at last, sustained by the steady and un- 
 swerving faith of the true believer, this lowly 
 supplicant for mercy had not only received the 
 assurance of peace, but had ventured sometimes 
 to lift up his head like other men, because like 
 others, he was not only permitted, but invited, to 
 lay the burden of his sorrows at the Saviour's 
 feet. 
 
 There was something in the gentle voice, the 
 conciliating manners, and the humbled aspect of 
 this man, which had always been particularly 
 agreeable to Kebecca Law ; and she was not 
 backward on the present occasion in extending 
 towards him all those little manifestations of 
 personal kindness which were calculated to ex- 
 press something like a welcome into the same 
 fold with herself. Not that Gilbert Mansfield 
 had risen as yet up to the rank of an acknow- 
 ledsred minister; but he had for some time past
 
 254 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 felt called upon in meeting to deliver with much 
 trembling and weakness, small fragments of en- 
 couragement or advice, most frequently couched 
 in the language of Scripture. The present was 
 the first time he had ventured so far as to 
 express a concern to visit others in a religious 
 capacity, and just in proportion to the humble, 
 downcast nature of the feelings which he most 
 sincerely entertained with regard to himself, was 
 his profound abasement under the awful charge 
 which he now believed to be laid upon him. 
 
 To Jacob Law it was perhaps less compre- 
 hensible than to his wife, how any man should be 
 thus bent down, while discharging what he clearly 
 saw to be a duty ; and in order to raise up what 
 appeared to him an unnecessarily broken spirit, as 
 well as to break through the general feeling of 
 restraint, he did his best to introduce such topics 
 of conversation as might make the long and plen- 
 tiful meal more cheerful. All efforts of this kind, 
 however, proved entirely unavailing, until the 
 great business of the visit should have been trans- 
 acted. 
 
 When it is well, or felt to be well with a house 
 or family, the visitors who travel in this capacity 
 will often both enjoy and diffuse a large amount 
 
 i
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 255 
 
 of cheerfulness. But when there is cause for 
 painful anxiety, as seemed but too clearly to be 
 the case in the present instance, an indescribable 
 weight and gravity will sometimes pervade both 
 the looks and the words of the visitors, such as 
 no ordinary efforts of civility are at all capable of 
 dissipating, and the members of the Society under- 
 stand this too well to persevere in any such at- 
 tempts. 
 
 On the present occasion it appeared most con- 
 genial to all parties, that a long and solemn 
 silence should succeed to the refreshing meal. 
 The servants of the household, well aware of the 
 nature of the visit, and contemplating the serious 
 tendency of the evening's engagement, main- 
 tained a quietness throughout the house which 
 none would have dared to interrupt, however 
 urgent might have been any ordinary demand 
 upon the attention of the family. 
 
 It would be out of place here to attempt any 
 description of what took place, or of what was 
 said during this solemn opportunity, as such meet- 
 ings and exercises are often called. Suffice it 
 that many tears were shed by the young people ; 
 that those who had so visibly departed from the 
 safe and narrow way were earnestly admonished
 
 256 FRIENDS AT TUEIR 
 
 to return ; and that after expatiating much upon 
 the experience of early Friends, and the peace 
 which the> had found within the limits of sim- 
 plicity and truth, and then sinking again into a 
 long silence, the meeting broke up, with strong 
 evidences of relief on the part of those who had 
 ministered ; though in the case of Gilbert Mans- 
 field, little had been said beyond a few words of 
 parental yearning over those who appeared not 
 yet to have learned the true value of their privi- 
 leges as members of the Society of Friends. 
 
 After this, all having been done to which these 
 willing and obedient servants had felt themselves 
 called, a more cheerful train of conversation was 
 pursued; while all the domestic transactions of 
 the household went on in the accustomed manner. 
 After breakfast on the following morning, when 
 a chapter in the Bible as usual had been read to 
 the assembled family, a short address of a more 
 general nature was delivered by the aged Friend ; 
 and then, a journey of considerable length having 
 to be accomplished that day, the Friends departed, 
 taking with them the same escort as before. It 
 would, under other circumstances, have been the 
 right and the privilege of either Robert Moreton, 
 or Reuben Law, to conduct them to their next
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 257 
 
 stage of service. Neither of these young men, 
 however, were now considered eligible for such a 
 duty ; for, notwithstanding a little private admo- 
 nition extended to them alone, and separate from 
 the rest of the family, notwithstanding too the 
 many tears of the mother, and the daughters, they 
 had appeared at breakfast in the same offensive 
 fashion which had awakened such deep and pain- 
 ful anxiety on the previous night. 
 
 One word before entirely leaving this subject, 
 lest the writer should be understood to charge the 
 Society of Friends with attaching ideas of pecu- 
 liar sanctity to one form of dress, and peculiar 
 culpability to another. It is not the form, as 
 such, but the change, the departure, the deviation 
 from established rule, and custom, which causes 
 the pain here described, and which, not unreason- 
 ably awakens grave suspicions, that when once 
 a particular line of demarcation has been broken 
 down, other deviations of a more important 
 nature will inevitably follow. It seems impossi- 
 ble too, under such circumstances, for older 
 Friends, or those of the more rigid school, to at- 
 tribute to the young any other motive for this 
 change, than a desire to throw off the restraints 
 of simplicity, and even decorum, to break down, 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 258 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 as they so often say, the old landmarks — to throw 
 themselves open to the assaults of the enemy ; 
 and especially to imbibe, along with their con- 
 formity to the habits of the world, that worst 
 portion of a worldly spirit, which would be likely 
 to lead, eventually, from frivolity to an entire dis- 
 regard of the teachings of the conscience, or in- 
 ternal guide. With these all-pervading views 
 engrafted upon the mind along with its earliest 
 conceptions of right and wrong, no wonder that 
 the cut of a coat, the turn of a bonnet, the fold 
 of a dress, or the shade of a ribbon, should some- 
 times occasion the most poignant anxiety ; not on 
 account of the thing itself, but on account of the 
 motives from which it is supposed to have origi- 
 nated, and the consequences which are expected 
 to ensue.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 259 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Many circumstances concurred about this time 
 to dissipate, and in some sense to alleviate, the 
 painful interest which had been excited by the 
 eccentric proceedings of the two young men at 
 the Grange. 
 
 Amongst these, was the occurrence of one of 
 those periodical gatherings of the Society, which 
 form important eras in their experience, and their 
 history. In these meetings, which are held re- 
 gularly, for the purpose of general discipline, as 
 well as for worship, an amount of interest is con- 
 centrated, which it would be impossible adequately 
 to describe ; for, whether these opportunities are 
 regarded by the old or the young, the grave or the 
 gay, by those who bear the burden of the disci- 
 pline, or those who only meet for friendly inter- 
 course, the whole gathering is of such importance, 
 that vast expenses are incurred, vast preparations 
 
 q2
 
 260 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 made, and sometimes whole families travel to- 
 gether for a distance of many miles, at no small 
 sacrifice of convenience, and domestic comfort. 
 Indeed, it is the custom on these occasions, to 
 make way for all to attend who can. Even the 
 poor are frequently supplied from the funds of 
 the Society with the means of being present at 
 the meetings ; and when the inclination to go is 
 not very manifest, it is carefully stimulated by 
 friends and relatives, in the belief that such as- 
 sembling of the great body of the Friends to- 
 gether is likely to be the means of much indivi- 
 dual as well as public benefit. 
 
 Nor is it only from the more solemn services 
 of public worship that this benefit is anticipated ; 
 but also from the operation of that system of dis- 
 cipline which, for its regularity, and order, has 
 no parallel in the whole of our social structure. 
 In the official carrying out of this system, in the 
 keeping of public records, in the dealing with 
 particular cases of a personal nature, in appoint- 
 ments for service, and in the arrangement of all 
 concerns belono-ino; to education, and to social and 
 domestic morals, the female part of the commu- 
 nity fill no inferior place. And from this cause ; 
 chiefly, perhaps, from the habit of being present
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 261 
 
 when public business of this kind is transacted, 
 as it must be in the most prompt, decided, and 
 efficient manner; from the liability of each, at 
 one time or other, to serve under some appoint- 
 ment for the discharge of duty; the women of 
 this Society have acquired a high standing with 
 regard to cleverness in business transactions, in 
 addition to a certain dignity of character, which, 
 when combined with softness of manners, invests 
 them with a most rare and peculiar charm. Sin- 
 gular they may be, in their appearance, and ad- 
 dress; but let there be something really to be 
 done, and the women Friends are those who will 
 do it, and that too in the most rational, decided, 
 and effectual manner. 
 
 Still, it must be granted that, in their customary 
 and periodical assemblies, there are many who 
 attend with no higher purpose than just to meet 
 their friends, or to enjoy the excitement of seeing 
 who is there. We will not venture so far as to 
 say that any go for the purpose of being seen ; 
 but, as human nature is pretty much the same 
 under every kind of costume, we doubt not but 
 there are preparatory arrangements which include 
 about as much making up, turning, trimming, 
 and adjustment to the person, as any of those
 
 262 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 more lively and brilliant displays in which the 
 gay world delights. 
 
 Far be it from the writer to insinuate that such 
 was the case with either of the two fair cousins, 
 Lydia and Dora, on the occasion of an annual 
 gathering about to take place at the time of which 
 we write. But certainly there had been many 
 pleasant prospects clouded, many earnest consul- 
 tations interrupted, and much innocent enjoyment 
 sadly damped, by what had recently taken place 
 in the family at the Grange; so that Lydia thought 
 she should scarcely like to go, even if permission 
 were granted by her parents. Dora was of a 
 different opinion. She saw no reason, she said 
 for "moping at home." The thing was but a trifle 
 after all. It would soon blow over, and then every 
 one would be just as good, and just as comfortable 
 as before. Besides which, their attendance at 
 the General Meeting would make a nice break in 
 the family uncomfortableness ; and as her uncle 
 and aunt were under the necessity of going, it 
 would be absolute folly to remain at home. 
 
 While listening to these potent arguments the 
 fair fingers of Lydia were not idle, but continued 
 to be rather languidly employed, sometimes sort- 
 ing out the most delicate gloves from a number
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 263 
 
 that were all but white, and then adjusting the 
 still more delicate strings of a new bonnet, so ex- 
 quisitely constructed of the mildest possible dove 
 coloured silk, that it would seem as if no human 
 hands could have turned out a piece of work so 
 spotless, and unruffled, in every shining thread. 
 Then there were fringes to cut half off from little 
 triangles of silk, in this instance perfectly white. 
 And so the delicate fingers went on, still softly, 
 but by no means giving the matter entirely up, 
 even though the pensive eyes were cast down, 
 and the lips continued to give utterance to the 
 language of unabated sorrow. 
 
 **Come, come," said Dora at last ; "thee must 
 go, cousin Liddy, and what's more, thee shalt." * 
 
 ♦ If it should be observed here that the language of one of the 
 speakers differs grammatically from that of others, this fact, so 
 patent to all, can only be explained as one of those inconsistencies 
 which the Society of Friends have allowed to creep in amongst 
 their social habits ; and which they themselves would find it very 
 diflScult to account for. This mode of speech is the more remark- 
 able as it prevails only in the south of England, and in some parts 
 of Ireland ; varying in its degree, and mode of incorrectness, in . 
 different places. Indeed, it is truly wonderful that an enlightened 
 body of people, in adopting for conscience sake, a more correct 
 mode of speech than is generally used, should allow themselves 
 thus to deviate, as widely from grammatical propriety, as from
 
 264 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 "But Rueben ! poor dear Reuben ;" sighed 
 Lydia. 
 
 "Well, do thee know," said Dora, "I have had 
 a good long talk with Reuben ; and he seems as if 
 he really did not wish to go — had quite rather not ; 
 and under i)rcsent circumstances I think he is wise. 
 Robert, I think, would like to go." 
 
 "I don't want Robert," said Lydia, pouting and 
 hanging down her head. 
 
 "No more do I," observed her cousin ; "only 
 he would do to walk about with. To be sure, 
 there is William." 
 
 "Is William going?" said Lydia, looking up 
 for the first time. 
 
 "Why, yes," replied her cousin; "he is to take 
 me in our chaise. How else should I go ?" 
 
 Strange to say, the hesitating and reluctant 
 Lydia, just as these words were uttered, rose up 
 from her seat, and began in rather a spirited man- 
 good taste. Even in the North of England, where the broader 
 thou is retained in all its integrity, the verb is seldom allowed to 
 agree with its pronoun ; so that a certain harshness is the result 
 in one case, with something like affectation in the other — both 
 equally at variance with the general habits of those by whom 
 these peculiarities are adopted.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 265 
 
 ner to count out half a dozen sweetly scented 
 pocket handkerchiefs of the finest cambric, adding 
 to this effort a few preparatory movements which 
 plainly indicated that her mind was changed. 
 
 Dora made no further remark upon the change, 
 but took it for granted that all would now go on 
 to her heart's content ; only that she summed up, on 
 the satisfactory side of things, the circumstance 
 of Susannah's remaining at home to take care of 
 Reuben, and to get all settled by the time the 
 heads of the family should return. 
 
 And so it generally was on such occasions, that 
 Susannah held by the most difficult post of duty ; 
 and if there was any pleasure to be taken by others, 
 she was the one to smooth the way, so that there 
 should if possible be no regrets to mingle with 
 their enjoyment. She could well afford this now, 
 for she had her own secret store of happiness to 
 live upon, and to sustain her throughout the per- 
 formance of every duty. There is little doubt, 
 however, but she would have done the same, had 
 all her pleasant pictures been destroyed. 
 
 The mode of travelling in the days we write of, 
 was more social than expeditious. Large family 
 conveyances moved forward by easy stages along
 
 266 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 the great high roads ; and well frequented inns 
 were prepared to receive, into many a comfortable 
 parlour, the guests who met sometimes in consi- 
 derable parties by the way. 
 
 Our little procession consisted of two roomy 
 chaises. That of Jacob Law contained himself, 
 his wife, and daughter, the fair Lydia being 
 placed between her parents on a low but somewhat 
 prominent seat. The other chaise contained only 
 Dora, and her cousin William Greenfell, who 
 with the charge of his aunt's chaise, but his own 
 rather spirited and dashing horse, found some 
 difficulty in keeping always behind the more im- 
 portant vehicle. At every place of refreshment 
 the two parties joined company; and pleasant was 
 their mutual interchange of cordial greetings when 
 they did so ; for notwithstanding recent events, 
 there was something so exhilarating in the fine 
 weather, the excellent roads, and the prospect of 
 social intercourse to coibe, that Jacob Law, who 
 was constitutionally more than commonly alive to 
 such influences, seemed to forget his troubles for 
 awhile, and conducted himself as the master of the 
 hospitalities by the way, with all his accustomed 
 social kindness, and even with a cheerfulness 
 which had the happy effect of rousing the drooping 
 spirits of the whole party.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 267 
 
 How different to such men is the present rail- 
 road speed of flying past every old accustomed 
 rendezvous. Jacob Law would propably have 
 been one of the most strenuous advocates of rail- 
 way travelling, and yet he would have sadly 
 missed those warm inn welcomes, in the enjoy- 
 ment of which he found himself so much at home, 
 especially while dispensing comfort and enjoyment 
 to others. 
 
 So the little party journeyed on, until, on one 
 occasion, there happened to be a somewhat earnest 
 consultation amongst the three young people, 
 Dora pleading, Lydia blushing, and William 
 Greenfell condescending to express himself in a 
 style very much like extravagance, if not absolute 
 folly. In fact, he was heard to say, that Dora 
 and he were completely tired of each others com- 
 pany, that she had called him the most wearisome 
 of companions, and that unless Lydia would take 
 pity upon him, and change places with her cousin, 
 he should beg of Jacob Law to let him drive his 
 chaise, so that Dora might be placed beside her 
 uncle. 
 
 " That is the very thing I want," said Dora. " I 
 want to talk with uncle, and I intend to ride in 
 Lydia's place, at least for a few miles."
 
 268 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 While saying this, she lifted up her pleading 
 face to Jacob, who was at that moment adjusting 
 the harness of his horse, and with a look which 
 few men would have been able to refuse, she 
 asked him plainly to let her change places with 
 Lydia for awhile. 
 
 In the mean time William Greenfell had rather 
 adroitly half lifted Lydia into his chaise ; and this 
 time taking the lead, he drove out of the Inn 
 yard, without another w^ord, so that the three 
 remaining travellers were compelled to make the 
 best of what fell to their share. 
 
 " That horse of William's travels well," was the 
 only remark which this adjustment of matters 
 elicited from Jacob Law. And true enough, they 
 had not gone more than a mile before the first 
 chaise had fairly vanished out of sight. It was a 
 long stage this time, and the last of the journey. 
 Evening was drawing on, and the shadows of the 
 trees in the sunset had begun to fall at intervals 
 heavy and dark upon the road, before the tramp- 
 ling feet of many horses, and the roll of many 
 wheels, all converging towards one point, an- 
 nounced that other parties besides ours, were 
 drawing near the place of appointed duty for the 
 morrow, but of rest for the advancing night.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 269 
 
 We will not attempt to describe the great as- 
 sembly of Friends from all parts of the kingdom 
 who met for public worship in the morning of the 
 following day ; for it will be with little groups, 
 rather than with the whole, that we shall have to 
 do. It is sufficient that the place of meeting was 
 a school — a large public school for members of the 
 Society of Friends, established and maintained by 
 the voluntary contributions of the entire united 
 body; and that this great gathering was one 
 which took place annually, for the purpose of ex- 
 amining into the state of the school, the progress 
 of the pupils, and the general right working, and 
 prosperity of the establishment. 
 
 It has ever been a marked and noble feature in 
 the economy of that system by which the affairs 
 of the Society of Friends are conducted, that 
 they have no poor according to the usual appli- 
 cation of that word ; and that a sound and useful 
 education is provided for all their members, so 
 that none can remain ignorant except from choice, 
 and none can have any plea for soliciting pecu- 
 niary help from other quarters. In the main- 
 tenance of this school especially, a praiseworthy 
 example is afforded to the whole christian com- 
 munity ; for no one receiving instruction here is
 
 270 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 subjected to anything calculated to remind them 
 individually of being objects of charity. Many 
 parents, indeed, in easy and affluent circumstances, 
 and large contributors themselves to the support 
 of the school, taking advantage of what they 
 believe to be the excellent method of instruction 
 pursued, place their children under the same dis- 
 cipline with those of their poorer neighbours ; and 
 it is remarkable how the whole number, amount- 
 ing to about three hundred, mix together without 
 distinction, without knowing — and what is still 
 more remarkable — without regarding the fact of 
 their companions being either high or low in the 
 scale of society beyond those walls. 
 
 It is true the discipline is somewhat narrow, 
 and severe, to those who have been liberally and 
 delicately nurtured at home. At the time of 
 which we write, it was extremely so; for the 
 Friends being always slow to follow in the track of 
 improvement touching external matters, a degree 
 of homeliness, not to say coarseness, almost beyond 
 belief at the present day, was maintained to a 
 very late period throughout all the domestic and 
 personal arrangements of the school. If, however, 
 the coarse stuiF dress, little close caps, and checked 
 aprons of the girls, with the long grey coats and
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 271 
 
 leathern lower garments of the boys, were calcu- 
 lated to excite a smile in some of the well-dressed 
 visitors who assembled on the present occasion ; 
 or if the reader should ask whether such things 
 could be possible in an age so refined, and en- 
 lightened, we have only to look from them to the 
 little figures so often seen at the present day in 
 the streets of London, in a costume still more re- 
 markable, yet tolerated from the honorable dis- 
 tinction it confers upon what are familiarly called 
 the "blue coat boys." 
 
 At the time of which we write, and even some 
 years later, the children at this school ate their 
 food off wooden trenchers — food, moist and dry ; 
 and on two days every week it was very moist 
 indeed. This, and all other refreshments of the 
 dinner table, had to be taken up as might be with 
 a narrow knife, and often a strangely distorted 
 fork of two prongs, exceedingly wide apart, the 
 act of drinking being performed twice, on the 
 passing along the table, for general use, of a tall 
 tin can, which for the first time contained water, 
 for the second exceedingly small beer. 
 
 A few other particulars of discipline, as well as 
 diet, much more remarkable than these, might 
 easily be noticed here, but that the afternoon of
 
 272 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 the first day of meeting has arrived ; and the 
 company having dispersed for a short season of 
 liberation from duty, some of them standing 
 in little social groups about the grounds and gar- 
 den. These, it must be observed, are spacious 
 and admirably kept, affording evidence of that 
 watchful care, strict oversight, and systematic 
 order which, indeed, pervade the entire establish- 
 ment. For, whatever it may be in its external 
 aspect, it shares, in a large measure, that high 
 merit which belongs to everything entirely under 
 the management of the Friends ; that it has no 
 mean points of defect — nothing, in short, beneath 
 the surface less to be commended than that 
 above. 
 
 So the quiet social parties stroll about, some- 
 times enjoying the pleasure of some unexpected 
 recognition, and sometimes penetrating into more 
 remote and shady places, to indulge a confidential 
 chat with old friends, perhaps long separated. 
 Such are the innocent, cordial, and rational plea- 
 sures, in which these meetings abound. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to say that here, the 
 young and the lovely are as much objects of 
 attraction as elsewhere ; that a favourite in society 
 maintains as much her little court ; that a belle is
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 273 
 
 as much surrounded by her beaux ; or that per- 
 sonal remark, and even gossip, are as rife here as 
 in circles which present a very different aspect as 
 regards bearing and costume. But, as already 
 said, human nature is still the same, and conse- 
 quently there were those to be found even here, 
 whose conversation, or rather talk, was plentifully 
 interspersed with comments upon appearance, 
 dress, and all such matters, out of which a little 
 scandal is but too likely to arise. 
 
 With one of these individuals Dora had become 
 acquainted ; and, we are sorry to be obliged to 
 confess it, but Dora herself was not wholly exempt 
 from this tendency. Her cousin William lectured 
 her gravely on the subject ; for if there was one 
 style of conversation which he hated more than 
 all others, and for which he really had not always 
 the patience demanded by common civility, it was 
 that which " tore up," as he called it, " people's 
 wardrobes, assio;nin2: to them what clothes thev 
 should put on." 
 
 With a little touch of perverseness, Dora, on 
 the present occasion, persisted in chatting with 
 this acquaintance whenever they met ; and, as 
 choice directed them to that part of the public 
 playground in which the boys had little gardens 
 TOL. I. R
 
 274 Fiilf:NDS AT THEIR 
 
 of their own, interspersed with fairy walks, and 
 often ornamented with tiny structures, upon which 
 they expended both ingenuity and taste, our little 
 party, consisting of William Greenfell, with Dora 
 on one side and Lydia on the other, became sud- 
 denly aware, that standing near them, were two 
 female figures in conversation so earnest and 
 absorbing, as scarcely to regard what might be 
 moving past or around them. 
 
 Observing how William had stopped lest he 
 should encroach upon the privacy of this interview, 
 the busy acquaintance came up, and said eagerly, 
 " Do you know who those young women are ? 
 They are Gilbert Mansfield's daughters. That 
 tall, pale, nun-like creature in the black silk 
 dress and white crape shawl, is Alice, who broke 
 her heart about a young officer." 
 
 " Let us go away," said William. But Dora 
 was all curiosity to hear more ; and even Lydia 
 seemed disinclined to move, so much was she struck 
 with the expressive looks and gestures, and with 
 the general appearance of the two sisters. 
 
 " Only look at that shawl," said the speaker. 
 *' It is real China crape. They say he brought it 
 for her from India." 
 
 said Dora. " Jane Bradshaw told
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 275 
 
 friend Birt, it was her mother's, and everybody 
 says her mother had beautiful things of all 
 kinds." 
 
 " Well," observed the first speaker, " I only 
 wonder Gilbert Mansfield allows that deep fringe. 
 I am sure it looks very inconsistent with his 
 visiting families, and speaking in meetings." 
 
 All the while the two sisters went on with their 
 conversation, and never heard, never thought, 
 never cared, whether they were observed or not. 
 Wrapped in their own most earnest considerations, 
 they seemed to be existing in a little world by 
 themselves — a very sorrowful world it evidently 
 was to one — a very real world to the other. That 
 other, the younger of the two, was an official of 
 the school, wearing the close cap, large muslin 
 apron, and dark stuff dress of those who were 
 engaged in teaching on the female side of the 
 establishment. She was of short stature, some- 
 what broad, though very agile in figure, with fair 
 and bright complexion, hazel eyes, and auburn 
 hair. What was most remarkable in her features, 
 was a certain boldness and nobility of the finely 
 curved but somewhat protruding chin, with a 
 mouth expressive of determination and vigour, 
 both of mind and body. And although the subject 
 
 R 2
 
 276 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 of interest at the present moment was visibly one 
 of extreme sadness, the countenance altogether 
 l)ore strong indications of a cheerful animated 
 spirit, which could enter as cordially into sympathy 
 witli enjoyment as with sorrow, perhaps a little 
 more so. 
 
 Had any one been looking about the world for 
 a companion as well as instructress for their chil- 
 dren, it would have been difficult to find one 
 altogether more likely than Margaret Mansfield ; 
 and, though hemmed in by her present circum- 
 stances within rather a narrower sphere than her 
 large heart and liberal nature would have chosen, 
 the popularity of this junior teacher amongst the 
 pupils was such as to awaken, not unfrequently, a 
 slight touch of jealousy in the minds of those who 
 stood hio^her than herself. This feelinof, how- 
 ever, she was always the most prompt and anxious 
 to meet by voluntarily resigning every pleasure, 
 and avoiding every mark of favour which could 
 in any way distinguish her from others. 
 
 Scarcely could a greater contrast be presented 
 than by the appearance of these two sisters, who 
 yet seemed equally absorbed in the same point of 
 interest, to the exclusion of all others. The 
 older sister might well in such a place become the
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 277 
 
 subject of remark, for except that lier dress in its 
 actual form was that of the Society of Friends, 
 there was nothing in her look, or bearing, to de- 
 note her identity with them. Black was not at 
 that time much used by the Society ; yet Alice 
 Mansfield always dressed in black, relieved by 
 white. Ever since a certain period of her life, 
 this had been her habit. Some people called it 
 affectation, some romance. Many condemned it, 
 and but few admired. Whether generally approv- 
 ed, or not, this somewhat solemn looking costume 
 harmonised rather remarkably with the stately 
 figure, high bearing, and pale abstracted look of the 
 wearer, whose glossy braids of raven hair afforded 
 no variety in the general tone and character of her 
 appearance. Her eyes also, were of the same hue, 
 while her cheek, in its almost deadly paleness, 
 scarcely differed from the soft white shawl which 
 gave so much offence. 
 
 There was perhaps something wanting towards 
 the general aspect of conciliation, as expressed 
 by the older sister, when addressed by any mere 
 acquaintance ; but this was more than made up 
 for by the younger, whose very look, and especi- 
 ally her smile, was cordial and winning in the 
 extreme; and such was her love, her enthusiastic
 
 278 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 admiration, and devoted tenderness for her sister, 
 as to leave little doubt but that the cold abstracted 
 looking Alice possessed qualities of heart, as well 
 as head, that were more than ordinarily endearing. 
 As a kind of apology for her sister, Margaret 
 would sometimes say it was worth a king's ran- 
 som to see Alice laugh. To this fact, however, 
 there were but few witnesses, only sometimes 
 when the sisters were alone, such was the frank, 
 impulsive cheerfulness of the younger, that even 
 Alice for awhile forgot her sorrows, and joined in 
 the merry laughter of their early days. 
 
 The subject of their conversation on the present 
 occasion appeared to be almost equally distressing 
 to both. They had recently lost a young brother, 
 a delicate child, who, under the direction and 
 advice of Friends, had been early placed at that 
 school. After a very short illness, he had died 
 there, sinking too rapidly to admit of either his 
 father or Alice reaching the scene of suffering 
 before all suffering had ceased. Alice was now 
 making inquiries respecting his illness, asking 
 again and again if Margaret really thought he had 
 been attentively cared for, and kindly nursed. 
 
 " Towards the last, I am quite sure he was," said
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 279 
 
 Margaret; "I saw to that myself; besides I know 
 there is no want of care in the nursery." 
 
 " But what brought the illness on?'' asked Alice. 
 
 She had made the same inquiry many times, 
 and Margaret still evaded ; for little Arthur had 
 been a delicate boy in mind as well as body, and 
 there was reason to fear he had suffered in both, 
 by being put upon by the other boys, made to do 
 their errands, fetch the water for their gardens, 
 and many other services, which his gentle spirit 
 could not refuse. It was to see what had been 
 Arthur's little garden, that the sisters had come 
 to this part of the grounds. And here in a tiny 
 plot of earth, which had now passed into other 
 hands, were many affecting evidences of the poor 
 boy's natural taste, and fancy. Especially a kind 
 of temple, scarcely large enough for the shelter of 
 a sparrow, with many other proofs of a refined 
 and imaginative character, such as Arthur had 
 possessed from childhood, but which would seem to 
 have been sadly out of place in such a school as 
 this. 
 
 " He should never have been sent here," said 
 Alice, and just for a moment her dark eyes flashed, 
 and there rose into her cheeks a colour so brilliant, 
 that her whole countenance seemed almost set on
 
 280 FRIENDS AT THEIK 
 
 fire, only that it faded instantaneously into a white- 
 ness like the hue of death. 
 
 Margaret looked into her sister's face, caught 
 the infection of her feelings, and exclaimed — - 
 " Oh ! why are we so poor ? If I had but a 
 little money, even now ! " 
 
 " It is too late," sighed Alice, and just at that 
 moment they were interrupted. Margaret, in 
 uttering her exclamation, with clasped hands, un- 
 conscious of all around her, had dropped her 
 handkerchief; and the next thing which the 
 curious observers saw, was William Greenfell, 
 who had silently left his party, now stepping 
 forward, taking up the handkerchief, and present- 
 ing it to the fair owner with a grace the truest of 
 all, because it was the grace of kindness. As he 
 did this, he said gently in an undertone, " I hope 
 you will excuse me ; but I think you are over- 
 heard." 
 
 When he presented the handkerchief, Mar- 
 garet had started, and now, with that habitual 
 consciousness of present things, which seldom 
 forsook her, she blushed deeply, for she was 
 forcibly struck with the absurdity of her last 
 words, and perhaps with the inappropriateness of 
 the scene altogether.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 281 
 
 In acknowledgment of William's kind atten- 
 tion, Alice moved gracefully, with the nearest 
 possible approach to a curtsy, but she did not 
 speak. It was one of her personal peculiarities 
 that she could thus move. How she had learned 
 to do so, nobody knew. Most likely nature had 
 taught her, for on no account would it be per- 
 mitted amongst consistent Members of the So- 
 ciety of Friends, that a young person should be 
 instructed in a definite and methodical manner, 
 how to receive an act of courtesy, how to enter 
 a room, or how in any other way so to manage 
 the framework of the body as to render an out- 
 ward act expressive of an inward emotion. 
 Hence, much of that shyness, awkwardness, and 
 hesitancy of manner which is really no index 
 whatever of the true character of this people. 
 The fact is, they really do not know what to do 
 on first meeting with strangers, or encountering 
 mixed society ; for where the shaking of hands 
 would be out of place, or that little nod with 
 which a familiar friend is sometimes recognised, 
 there is really no possible act of civility remain- 
 ing to them ; and they often walk bolt upright, 
 or remain silent, motionless, and apparently un- 
 moved, when their hearts are full of cordiality.
 
 282 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 and their feelings are warm with social interest, 
 and genuine kindness. 
 
 After William Greenfell's well-meant caution, 
 Ihe two sisters quietly retired, leaving the ob- 
 servant ])arty a little ashamed of the part they 
 had been acting, and making Lydia, in particular, 
 disposed to admire her companion more than she 
 had ever done before. 
 
 But an event of considerable moment was 
 awaiting the sisters, and one of which they never 
 dreamed while gazing on the little garden of their 
 lost brother. The great assembly of Friends had 
 scarcely dispersed, and all the different families 
 settled down again in their own houses, when an 
 official letter to the Mansfields, announced that 
 an uncle on the mother's side, with whom they 
 had held but little intercourse, w^as dead, and had 
 bequeathed to his sister's children all the property 
 he possessed. It is scarcely necessary to say, 
 that this property, though not very considerable 
 in itself, seemed like an ample fortune to those 
 whom the joyful tidings most concerned.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 283 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 We must now turn our attention more especially 
 to the family of Gilbert Mansfield, as there are 
 phases of the picture yet to be drawn, requiring 
 circumstances to be delineated which differ 
 widely from those of the family at the Grange. 
 
 Gilbert Mansfield, as already said, had enjoyed 
 many social and domestic advantages in early 
 life. He had married young, and his home, under 
 the happy auspices of a perfectly congenial 
 union, had for some time been the favourite resort 
 of a large and agreeable circle of friends, not 
 by any means confined to members of the reli- 
 gious body to which he belonged. Amongst 
 these, was a Mrs. Conway, an officer's widow, 
 who was the most intimate and frequent com- 
 panion of his wife. Much blame was attached 
 by the Society in general to this laxity of inter- 
 course with the world ; but the wife of Gilbert 
 Mansfield was not a woman to resign even a com-
 
 284 FRIENDS AT THEIU 
 
 mon acquaintance, much less an intimate and 
 valued friend, at the dictation of any human 
 being : scarcely did she ever admit the right of 
 advice from any person, less capable than herself, 
 of understanding the merits of the cases. Thus 
 the intimacy went on, until the time of her 
 death, and even after that ; the widow and her 
 only child, a boy just one year older than Alice 
 Mansfield, were amongst the most familiar asso- 
 ciates of the stripped, and somewhat helpless 
 family. 
 
 At the time of the great change in Gilbert's 
 circumstances, the noble constancy of Mrs. Con- 
 way, manifested itself in a manner to which no 
 generous and grateful heart could have remained 
 insensible. The younger children were taken for 
 some time to be cared for beneath her roof; while 
 Alice, upon whom the care of the household 
 devolved, as yet herself but a child, found in her 
 mother's early friend the best advice, and the 
 surest help under all her difficulties. 
 
 For some years the widow's son was mostly 
 absent at a military school, from whence he 
 returned home a tall handsome man, and a 
 soldier. 
 
 What was to be done ? The scarlet coat made
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 285 
 
 a strange figure, as it might be seen, and that not 
 very seldom, entering Gilbert Mansfield's now 
 humble door; for the family had removed to a 
 small house, and were living in a manner very 
 different from their former style. But the youth, 
 with something of his mother's nature, cared 
 little for such matters, only thinking how neat 
 and cosey the small parlour looked, and how 
 lovely Alice, his favourite playfellow, had grown. 
 
 Yes, she was indeed lovely then, with dark, 
 deep, flashing eyes, and a colour always height- 
 ened when the sounding step of the young soldier 
 was heard along the path before the door. And, 
 somehow or other, Alice could hear that step at 
 an almost incredible distance, and recognise it too. 
 Somehow or other, the habits of the youth also 
 grew into a sort of lingering, and late-staying, 
 when he did come. Margaret never knew 
 exactly how late, for being three years younger 
 than her sister, she went to bed early, like a good 
 little child ; while Alice remained up to transact 
 many family affairs, and to make her father's 
 supper a social and comfortable meal. 
 
 It would have been no easy duty, considering 
 old ties and old associations, for Gilbert Mansfield 
 to forbid the youth his house. He found it rather.
 
 286 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 difficult even to request him not to stay so late ; 
 and strange to say, though the young soldier was 
 thus admonished, and though he promised to do 
 better, and actually kept his promise for a week ; 
 yet again he was found seated beside his old play- 
 mate when the master of the house, tired with the 
 strife of business, came in with aching head and 
 heart, to spend a quiet hour before retiring for 
 the night. 
 
 Perhaps the spectacle of these two happy crea- 
 tures, who always had a sunny smile to welcome 
 him, did not annoy or vex the desolate father as 
 some appeared to think it should have done. 
 Perhaps he was so weak, so lonely, so stripped of 
 happiness himself, that he could not stretch out a 
 hand for the purpose of sweeping away the happi- 
 ness of any one, much less of those who were so 
 dear ; for the boy was like his own child, and had 
 always treated him like a father. What could 
 be done ? Gilbert Mansfield let things take their 
 course, and the two young people fell in love. 
 
 Nor let this word be lightly spoken. To one 
 of them, at least, it was no light matter. There 
 were few things connected with feeling or affec- 
 tion which Alice ever could take lightly ; and 
 this least of all. For it was not a love of y ester-
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 287 
 
 day. It had grown up with her, and about her, 
 like her beauty ; she knew not when it first began. 
 She was of a constitution too to feel all things 
 almost too real. By nature she was proud — per- 
 haps a little passionate. People said she was 
 haughty, like her mother. But to see her smile 
 when the young soldier entered, or her look of 
 sadness the moment after he was gone, was to 
 read of floods of tenderness in that young heart 
 of hers, so deep, and pure, and inexhaustible, as 
 well might constitute the happiness of any one 
 capable of appreciating the worth of woman's 
 love. 
 
 Whether the young man was fully sensible of 
 the mine of wealth which he possessed, it is impos- 
 sible to know, for it was not long before a serious 
 interference on the part of the Friends put a stop 
 to this pleasant intercourse altogether. Had the 
 father continued to have been an affluent and 
 independent man, the interference would undoubt- 
 have been the same ; but in all probability it 
 would scarcely have produced the same effect 
 upon his own mind and conduct. 
 
 It is this which we desire to make clearly 
 understood — the immense power obtained by the 
 Society, as a body, over individual action and
 
 288 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 character; and that without the assumption of 
 any kind of influence in the least degree resemb- 
 ling personal authority. 
 
 Not that, in the present instance, the father 
 could have approved of such a connection for his 
 daughter, especially as the profession to which the 
 young man had devoted himself was more thaji 
 any other opposed to the principles of Friends,; 
 but he might have felt more free to permit, for 
 his daughter's sake, that which he now roused 
 himself to endeavour to prevent, by all the w^eight 
 which he was able to throw into his parental influ- 
 ence. The time had come too, when the young 
 man must join his regiment, and his destination 
 was to a distant quarter of the world. All things 
 seemed to be tending one way. Alice must give 
 him up, and, if possible, forget that he had ever 
 been to her more than a mere acquaintance. 
 
 The mother of the youth was decidedly of the 
 opinion tliat they must part without any engage 
 ment, either open or understood, because she saw 
 clearly, that in Gilbert Mansfield's circumstances, 
 it would be worse than unwise to subject him to 
 the condemnation of those to whom he was so 
 deeply indebted, and whose ofl&cial duty seemed to 
 be both to inspect and manage for him his social
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 289 
 
 and relative, as well as pecuniary affairs. And 
 60 strongly did Mrs. Conway set this view of the 
 case before Alice, that it was made to appear the 
 height of selfishness for her to persist in choosing 
 her own course regardless of the consequences to 
 her father. 
 
 It would be useless here to attempt any des- 
 cription of the effect of these arguments upon 
 one, whose impetuous nature was at that time 
 almost wholly unsubdued. Nurtured from child- 
 hood with the utmost tenderness by both parents, 
 Alice had never learned the virtue of submission. 
 Some learn this lesson early, and by slow degrees ; 
 others by one blow so crushing and terrible, that 
 the broken spirit never rises again. Such was 
 the case with Alice; and those who knew her 
 later in life, with her tall attenuated figure, her 
 thin pale features, her marble lips that seldom 
 gave utterance to uncalled-for words, could form 
 indeed but little idea of what she might have 
 been, had circumstances more genial permitted 
 her the full free exercise of all her young 
 affections. 
 
 But without attaching too much importance to 
 this early sorrow, there were after events which 
 told severely upon a nature all too finely strung 
 VOL. I. s
 
 290 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 to bear with equanimity the rough usages of life. 
 
 If Alice Mansfield never loved again in exactly 
 the same way, she did love still. She could not 
 help it. It was the chief element of life to her to 
 feel, and cherish thoughts of tenderness for others. 
 And there were many to claim such thoughts from 
 her. Instead, therefore, of sinking into a state of 
 selfish morbid helplessness, Alice struggled oi; 
 with sisterly — with almost motherly solicitude to 
 fulfil the highest duties of aifection towards those 
 whom Providence had placed around her. 
 
 One sister, and two brothers younger than her- 
 self, demanded no small amount of sisterly affec- 
 tion. The brother next in age to Alice was a 
 cause of frequent and painful anxiety. At the 
 time of leaving school he was a well grown, 
 gentlemanly, and high-spirited boy. What was 
 to be done with him, became a question of great 
 perplexity. 
 
 As the affairs of Gilbert Mansfield had been 
 submitted to the oversight, and finally to the 
 management, of certain members of the Society, 
 and especially as some had gratuitously assisted 
 him with the means of commencing business again, 
 it was but reasonable that the same parties should 
 be consulted respecting the disposal of his son.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 291 
 
 At all events, the father, naturally prone to lean 
 upon others for advice, if not for absolute direction, 
 and ever mindful of the obligation under which 
 he was placed, felt none of that repugnance to 
 confide the management of his affairs to others, 
 which would have been experienced by a more 
 self-dependent man. Thus, it was, that a few 
 Friends, of whom George Rutherford was one, 
 sat in consultation upon the case, and finally 
 decided that the boy should be bound apprentice 
 to a shopkeeper of rather humble standing in the 
 town where his father lived. 
 
 Of course the boy himself was indignant at 
 this sentence, for he had been educated at a some- 
 what superior school, his mother's friend defray- 
 ing the expense ; and within his own young ardent 
 soul he had no doubt cherished widely different 
 views respecting his future prospects, and career 
 in life. All the family in fact were indignant, 
 except the father. He looked distressed, but 
 kept silence, regarding this dispensation as one of 
 the chastisements which followed as a right and 
 necessary consequence upon his former pride and 
 self indulgence. He wanted "to get low," he often 
 said, and it seemed just now as if his friends were 
 willing to help him to do so. 
 
 8 2
 
 1 
 
 292 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 Indeed, it was not unfrequently the subject of 
 remark, especially with George Rutherford, that 
 the whole family wanted bringing down ; that it 
 would do them good to be made to find their 
 proper level ; that the spirit of the mother seemed 
 to have descended to the chidren; and that in 
 their present trials, it was not difficult to recognize 
 the chastening rod by which alone they could 
 expect to be brought as obedient children, back 
 into the path of peace. 
 
 So the high spirited youth was placed out as an 
 apprentice with a master whom he looked down 
 upon as immeasurably beneath himself, and had to 
 sweep the shop, and take down the shutters, and 
 carry out goods to the different customers. And 
 so, after a while, he disappeared — ran away, and 
 enlisted for a common soldier. One letter, evi- 
 dently dictated by the same unbroken spirit which 
 it had been thought so desirable to subdue, he 
 wrote to his sister Alice from Portsmouth, while 
 waiting for the vessel which was to carry him to 
 India. And then, for a long time, he was heard of 
 no more ; weeks, months, and years rolled on, but 
 no other letter came, until at last his name became 
 no longer a household word, but passed away like 
 a dying echo from the lips of those who did not
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 293 
 
 think of him the less, because they found no 
 utterance for their anxious thoughts. 
 
 Alice, indeed, had no one to whom she could 
 unburden herself in words on subjects of personal, 
 and painful interest ; for it was her habit to spare 
 her father all unnecessary pain, and especially the 
 pain of having his memory re-awakened to a sense 
 of family affliction. Thus in all things associated 
 most intimately with her inner feelings, Alice 
 dwelt comparatively alone, especially since it had 
 been thought best that her sister should be sent 
 away to school. The example of the oldest 
 daughter was not considered likely to be salutary 
 by Gilbert Mansfield's friends ; and beyond this, 
 his circumstances rendered it necessary that his 
 children should begin early to be doing something 
 for their own maintenance. 
 
 In pursuance of this plan, Margaret had no 
 sooner completed her term of discipline as a pupil, 
 than it was proposed to make her an assistant in 
 the teaching department, in which capacity she 
 became bound to serve for a certain number of 
 years. 
 
 In all these arrangements for his family, Gilbert 
 Mansfield remained passive, observing only after 
 Alice had remonstrated against such an appropri-
 
 294 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 ation of the best years of her sister's life, that it 
 was not for him to choose, that he desired to 
 submit to what seemed best; with many other 
 expressions of a similar nature which, though ex- 
 ceedingly gratifying to those who decided for him, 
 were anything but satisfactory to his daughter. 
 
 Margaret, though far from being meek and 
 passive like her father, was of that happy dis- 
 position which can cheerfully embrace and make 
 the best of duty under almost any form ; and that 
 it was her duty to comply with the wishes of her 
 father and the Friends, she did not permit her- 
 self to doubt. Something she must do herself to 
 spare her family, — that she knew, and eagerly 
 desired. Her life at school had not been one of 
 unhappiness. She had made many friends, and 
 found many enjoyments; and the prospect of 
 continuance there, with a little — though she knew 
 it would be a very little — more liberty of action, 
 presented no very repulsive aspect to her view. 
 Alice wondered at her, admired her self-renuncia- 
 tion, and allowed her to go, without expressing 
 half the objections which she really felt. 
 
 Indeed, Alice herself was gradually passing 
 through a change, both mental and physical, 
 which aiforded hope that the peace and rest
 
 OWN' FIKESIDE. 295 
 
 for wKich her tried spirit so long had pined, 
 mio-ht not be far distant. Many circumstances 
 working together might be regarded as contri- 
 buting to the same end. Among these was the 
 death of the absent brother, who had found friends 
 where least expected; and after a lingering ill- 
 ness, had closed his eyes in peace, expressing with 
 all the simplicity of a chastened child, that hope 
 in his death, which at one time seemed little to 
 be expected from his life. It was through the 
 never failing interest of his mother's friend, Mrs. 
 Conway, that this kindness had been extended 
 to him in his utmost need ; and while the friends 
 to whom she had commended him took care that 
 his personal wants should be supplied, they did 
 not leave his spiritual wants neglected; but 
 cheered his couch of pain and sickness by faith- 
 fully reminding him of all those higher con- 
 solations which alone are available at such a 
 time. 
 
 The simple account of the illness and death of 
 this youth which these friends transmitted to 
 Mrs. Conway, and through her to his family, 
 were inexpressibly touching in their interest, but 
 at the same time powerful in their instruction. 
 And into the heart of his oldest sister, especially.
 
 296 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 they sunk with deep meaning, producing impres- 
 sions which nothing afterwards effaced. 
 
 To those who knew Alice best, it became evi- 
 dent that her health, too, was failing, though she 
 made no complaint, sought no advice, nor ever 
 seemed to look upon this fact as a subject of 
 regret. All that could be positively said, was 
 that her house duties had grown a little more dif- 
 ficult to discharge, that she rose later, was cold 
 and languid during the early part of the day, but 
 towards evening revived, and looked better, as her 
 father thought ; for then she brightened up, could 
 talk, and smile, and even wore a little of the bril- 
 liant colour of her girlish days. Alas ! good man, 
 he knew not what that brilliant colour meant; 
 and Margaret was away, and Arthur too, so there 
 was no one to remark upon the shortness of her 
 breathing, the frequent cough, and all the other 
 symptoms which Alice herself so well understood. 
 When the warm weather came, however, these 
 painful indications considerably abated, and on 
 the occasion of the general meeting to which she 
 had been induced to accompany her father, there 
 was little in her appearance or manner to awaken 
 any fresh' anxiety on her behalf. One change, 
 however, the quick eye of her sister did observe.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 297 
 
 She was more at peace with all the world — more 
 gentle and more considerate towards those who 
 jarred upon her sensitive and sometimes morbid 
 feelings. This was all which ever had been 
 wanting, Margaret thought, to make her sister 
 the most lovely and angelic being upon earth; 
 and as she looked up to her now, her eyes would 
 sometimes fill with tears, not so much of sorrow 
 as of gratitude, to think that He from whose 
 liberal hand comes every good and perfect gift, 
 had given just the crowning gem to all her 
 sister's beauty, goodness, and inimitable excel- 
 lence. 
 
 Nor was it merely the enthusiasm of fond and 
 partial affection which drew this picture in the 
 sister's loving heart. The change was real, deep, 
 and blessed, though it found but little expression 
 in words. A patient manner, a smile of willing 
 resignation, an act or word of kindness extended 
 to an unattractive object — these, with many 
 other silent and unobtrusive indications of an 
 inward change, penetrated to the sister's soul 
 with greater force than any mere expression how- 
 ever full ; and though, from the delicacy of her 
 own feelings, she made no comment on the sub- 
 ject as a personal matter, yet the letters of the
 
 298 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 sisters at this time, and their conversation when 
 they met, were marked by unmistakeable evi- 
 dence that the deep things of life, as well as death, 
 were not by any means the least interesting or 
 familiar to their minds. 
 
 Still, with all this earnestness, Margaret never 
 lost her cheerful, frank, impulsive manner: a 
 manner so strange, and seemingly out of place 
 amonffst the strict conventionalities and formal 
 precedents of the great school, that she would 
 have startled some of the higher agents connected 
 with it, had not her obscure and subordinate po- 
 sition prevented any of her personal peculiarities 
 from being brought into notice. Her pupils, as 
 as already stated, loved her all the better for this 
 warm and genuine heartiness of manner ; and she 
 had the good sense to confine whatever was peculiar 
 in her character within the narrowest limits in which 
 pure nature could possibly be compressed. Thus, 
 in the discharge of all her stated duties, she was 
 in no way distinguishable from others similarly 
 situated. Her little cap was as neat and close as 
 theirs ; her apron as smoothly spread upon her lap ; 
 her hands as demurely folded when at rest ; and 
 all the features of her bright and genial face as 
 completely settled and composed, as if there
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 299^ 
 
 lurked beneath no energy or life, beyond what was 
 demanded by the routine of daily duty in that 
 narrow and monotonous existence. 
 
 But we have said that a letter of vast import- 
 ance to the sisters awaited the return of Gilbert 
 Mansfield and his daughter to their quiet home ; 
 and great indeed was the excitement which it 
 caused, though neither the father nor the daughter 
 confessed so much in words ; yet the number of 
 times that it was unfolded, and examined afresh, 
 the dates that were calculated, and the coinci- 
 dences recalled, with the many other relative con- 
 siderations, some of them extremely unimportant, 
 that were thoughtfully discussed, sufficiently indi- 
 cated how difficult it was to leave the subject 
 of the letter, so as to think to any purpose of 
 another. 
 
 Great as the pleasure was which this letter so 
 naturally excited to Alice, it still brought forcibly 
 a certain sense of sadness. " It comes too late ! " 
 were the words she could not help repeating, 
 after retirino^ to rest that nio-ht. Yet each time 
 
 CD O 
 
 she reproached herself for permitting her thoughts 
 to arrive at this conclusion. "Why should I 
 think it too late?" she said to herself, "when 
 there is dear Margaret to enjoy it still ; yet, oh !
 
 300 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 what might have been prevented, had this come 
 earlier !" 
 
 And then casting herself upon the bed, where 
 it was impossible to sleep, she put aside the cur- 
 tains for the clear moonlight to shine into the 
 room ; and thus she thought, and thought, until 
 the silence of deep midnight seemed to find a 
 voice which spoke to her of by-gone days, and 
 forms, and faces, never to be recognised again on 
 earth. 
 
 No doubt amongst these images, instinct as it 
 seemed with all the vividness of reality, if not 
 with real life, there lay upon a battle field the 
 pale extended figure of a youth, with gory breast, 
 and tangled hair. No doubt she wondered, as 
 fond woman will, how all the little personal oflSces 
 about the dead had been discharged — the raising 
 of the head — the washing of the wounds — perhaps 
 the last broken utterances caught upon some ear, 
 indiiferent, or intent on other sounds. So the 
 night passed ; and so had passed many nights like 
 this. No wonder that her eye grew heavier, and 
 her cheek more hollow, ever since the time when, 
 reading casually about a far-off battle, her eye 
 glanced on until by accident it struck upon the 
 name of ' * Conway," just so far mentioned that
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 301 
 
 Lieut. Conway of such a regiment was stated to 
 have been " found amongst the dead." 
 
 The mother of the youth before that time had 
 left the neighbourhood where the Mansfields 
 lived. Long before this, however, she had, from 
 a sense of duty, entirely dropped the mention of 
 her son in communicating with the family ; and 
 now she neither wrote to Alice on the subject of 
 his death, nor was it ever mentioned in the house. 
 Perhaps Gilbert Mansfield never knew of it, for 
 he had come to lead a kind of silent meditative life, 
 more and more abstracted from things of ordinary 
 and merely temporal interest ; so that Alice had 
 some ground for hoping his attention had never 
 been drawn to this ; for there was scarcely any- 
 thing she dreaded so much, as hearing it made 
 the subject of conversation in her presence. Even 
 sympathy the most sincere would have been utterly 
 powerless to soothe or comfort her. It was " her 
 own peculiar grief." Who could pretend to share 
 it with her ? No, there is no jealously like that 
 with which the heart broods over such a sorrow, 
 no shrinking like that with which the touch of 
 such a wound is sougjit to be avoided. 
 
 To Margaret alone did Alice ever name the 
 fact. She did that but once, and as briefly as
 
 302 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 possible. It was in a letter, and the short bare 
 statement was accompanied with no farther com- 
 ment than a request that the subject might never 
 be mentioned to her in return. These expressions 
 might have sounded somewhat harsh, and cold, to 
 one who did not know the heart of the writer ; but 
 Margaret was well aware from what deep source 
 they emanated; and she saw too, how the poor 
 hand which wrote them must have trembled, for 
 the characters were scarcely legible, and Alice 
 usually wrote a fine bold hand, which her partial 
 sister fancied was the index of her clear and per- 
 fect character. 
 
 So the long night wore on, the more devoid of 
 any tendency to rest, because of this strange oc- 
 currence of good fortune, so unexpected that it 
 called into existence a thousand plans, and calcu- 
 lations, all impracticable, and groundless without 
 this new foundation on which the feverish imagi- 
 nation of Alice now built so many pleasant struc- 
 tures for others — none for herself. 
 
 Margaret was coming too — dear, happy Mar- 
 garet ! — coming to spend a little interval of rest 
 from duty, the only one allowed in a long season 
 of hard services. What subjects there would be 
 .for the two sisters to talk over now, what projects
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 303 
 
 to discuss — what independence for the father! 
 what joy for one remaining child ! 
 
 With all these pleasant prospects glowing before 
 her, it was no wonder that Alice could not sleep ; 
 and while thus occupied with busy thoughts, the 
 purple dawn of early morning stole into her 
 chamber, before she was aware that the moonlight 
 had departed.
 
 304 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 The character of Gilbert Mansfield is not deli- 
 neated here for the purpose of showing, how weak 
 as well as poor in spirit, a good man, and a gentle- 
 man, may become under the pressure of adverse 
 circumstances ; but to bring out into light that 
 strange and almost inconceivable power which 
 is exercised by the Society of Friends over the 
 minds and actions of the difierent members of 
 their own body. Of course this power is greater 
 or less according to the personal character of those 
 upon whom it operates ; and it must in fairness 
 be confessed, that in the present instance, there 
 was no great amount of natural firmness or 
 decision to stand in the way if its entire mastery 
 over individual wish or purpose. But the most 
 extraordinary part of this system of entire subjec- 
 tion of the natural will is that no mere personal
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 305 
 
 authority is exercised, or would be submitted to on 
 any consideration, even by the meekest, and most 
 passive member of the community. Indeed, the 
 gentlest spirit, and the most entirely subdued 
 under the enforcement of system, rule, and prece- 
 dent, would, without doubt, resist the personal 
 dictation of any single human beirsg. So far as 
 personal interference then is spoken of, it must be 
 understood not to be that of any voluntary or self- 
 appointed agency, but rather the working out of 
 rule, and precedent, by those who are appointed to 
 such service, on behalf of the united body. In using 
 the word Friends also, in its influential signifi- 
 cation, certain individuals are always implied in 
 whom there is recognized a kind of delegated 
 right to interfere ; not by any means in the way 
 of any voluntary putting forward of one person's 
 wish to decide upon the affairs of another. On 
 this ground, and this alone, Gilbert Mansfield 
 submitted patiently and willingly, to what ap- 
 peared according to the view of Friends, to be 
 best. 
 
 At the expected time, so eagerly anticipated by 
 her sister, Margaret Mansfield joined her family at 
 home. To describe the expression of her happy 
 countenance as she entered the house, would be 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 806 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 no easy task ; for she had been made immediately 
 acquainted with the good news that seemed likely 
 to be realized in an addition of comfort and 
 enjoyment too vast to admit of any definite calcu- 
 lation ; all which added a kind of exultation to 
 her naturally glad spirit, delighted as she was to 
 be set free for a short period from the daily 
 routine of somewhat uncongenial duty. This 
 intense and abounding joy was manifested by 
 almost every word, look and act, and in a manner 
 peculiarly her own. Alice at first felt almost 
 overwhelmed by this great accession of life in the 
 household ; but Margaret knew always just how 
 far to go, and quickly perceiving the diiference 
 betwixt her sister's feelings, and her own, she 
 managed so far to control herself, as to become 
 almost as gentle and as grave as the other mem- 
 bers of the little party which she had come to 
 enliven. 
 
 It would have been exceedingly at variance 
 with Gilbert Mansfield's usual tone and manner, 
 had he betrayed any outward manifestation of joy 
 on the occasion of an increase to his merely tem- 
 poral comforts. It is true his smiles, as well as 
 his pleasant words, were a little more frequent 
 than sometimes ; but this he believed was owing
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 307 
 
 to the natural and lawful satisfaction experienced 
 in having both his daughters with him for awhile 
 beneath his own roof. The little accession of 
 property upon which Margaret was so eagerly 
 calculating presented a very different aspect to his 
 view. ''Friends must be consulted;" this was ever 
 the first impulse with him ; and he scarcely knew 
 what they would consider best to be done under 
 his circumstances. To invest the property for 
 the benefit of his daughters in after life appeared 
 to him the most likely way of proceeding ; and 
 so to go on at home exactly as they had been going 
 on for years. He ^knew of nothing better than 
 this, nor dreamed for a moment of the plans 
 growing already into maturity in the young 
 hearts which beat so near his own, and yet how 
 differently. 
 
 The sisters had indeed a plan. " A glorious 
 plan," Margaret called it ; and, as they shared the 
 same chamber, they hastened to get together for 
 the night to talk the matter fully over, in order 
 that their decision respecting the disposal of their 
 little fortune might be perfectly unanimous, before 
 anything definite was said to their father on the 
 subject. 
 
 " After all," said Alice, when they had fairly 
 
 T 2
 
 308 riUENDS AT TJIEIIt 
 
 closed the door, and were shut in together, " T 
 am afraid my father will want to be consulting 
 with Friends, as he always does, and then there 
 is no knowing what the consequences may be." 
 
 " But the money is our own — entirely our 
 own," said Margaret with great energy. 
 
 *' Why, child," said her sister, " thou art not 
 of age." 
 
 " No," replied Margaret, " but I shall be next 
 -eleventh month, and there is nothino* like gettino: 
 my father accustomed to our plan before the time 
 of action comes. We must settle all that to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " I feel so foolishly afraid," sighed Alice, and 
 then, as her accustomed fit of coughing came on, 
 she sunk upon a seat, and Margaret saw how thin 
 and feeble she had grown ; and she heard too the 
 short quick breathing, shorter, she fancied, than 
 even a few weeks before. 
 
 Soon, however, Alice revived, and, with some- 
 thing more than her usual cheerfulness, she 
 entered upon the subject of profound interest, for 
 neither of the sisters could talk on any other ; 
 and it was then agreed, that on the following eve- 
 ning they should have a clear, full, and decided 
 explanation with their father. The interview.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 309 
 
 might be painful ; that they feared it must be if 
 they should be compelled to assert their own will 
 in any degree of opposition to his ; but that it 
 would be kindly conducted they had no manner 
 of doubt, any more than that they themselves 
 were right. The very habit of weakness and 
 indecision into which their father had fallen, de- 
 manded of them the assertion of a certain dignity 
 and determination, which might jar upon his feel- 
 ings, and give him all the pain of filial disobedi- 
 ence. Still the right thing must be done ; and 
 the intermediate time seemed long, especially to 
 Margaret, so eager was her ardent spirit to get 
 any act of necessary duty performed, and especi-> 
 ally one presenting more than ordinary difficulty. 
 
 In her present state of health, it is quite 
 probable that Alice would not have been equal to 
 the necessary effort alone. But Margaret was a 
 host in action, and Alice succeeded in dismissing 
 many fears, entirely from the hope derived from 
 this willing and most substantial prop. 
 
 It is not the least melancholy feature connected 
 with a character like Alice Mansfield's, that in 
 proportion as all earthly hope becomes extinct, the 
 natural bravery of the spirit fails, and a thousand 
 fears present themselves what were never known
 
 310 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 before. Yet what is there to fear ? The secret 
 of this anomaly is solved by experience, and 
 perhaps by that alone. The same character 
 would have known these fears before, but for 
 having been carried onward and above them by 
 hope and energy, and chiefly by an intensity of 
 purpose which milder natures never know. Thus 
 animated — thus almost inspired, the petty obstacles 
 and even dangers of ordinary life were scarcely 
 seen, and never cared for. But the hope having 
 faded, the energy died out, the purpose become 
 extinct ; there is nothing left but fear ; and in 
 proportion to the weakness, and the littleness of 
 all motive for action, the dangers and difficulties 
 lying in the way of any given act become great, 
 and often insurmountable. It is not then so much 
 that the tired traveller cannot tread the rugged 
 path, as that he is conscious of no sufficient reason 
 or inducement for encountering its difficulties, and 
 thus he fears, or seems to fear them. 
 
 If Alice Mansfield felt afraid on the evening of 
 her conversation with her sister, she certainly was 
 not bolder in the morning ; for the morning, as 
 usual, found her languid, spiritless, and indisposed 
 to action. 
 
 *' I shall be better in the evening," she said, in
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 311 
 
 reply to her sister's anxious looks. " I shall be 
 better and stronger when our work has to be done. 
 In the meantime, perhaps, it would be well for me 
 to keep a little quiet." 
 
 So Margaret busied herself about the house — a 
 rare treat for her ; for, as she often said when 
 coming into the room to her sister with a little 
 vase of flowers, or a tray of refreshments, " I 
 was made for a housemaid, I believe, I like so 
 much to set things to rights, and to see them all 
 neat and tidy. At all events, I was never made 
 for a teacher." 
 
 " And yet," said Alice, with a look of pity, 
 ** What years thou hast spent in teaching — poor 
 child!" 
 
 " Oh, I don't mind it now," said Margaret — 
 " Not the least bit in the world. My time is 
 nearly over, and then ! " — And then she went on, 
 putting her rosy lips very near to the pale cheek 
 of her sister, and speaking in a kind of half whis- 
 per — " Would'nt it be nice to have a little cottage 
 in a garden for father, and thee, and me ? " 
 
 " It would be nice with thee, I think, almost 
 anywhere," said Alice, lifting her cheek to be 
 kissed, while tears gushed into her eyes. But 
 she forced herself to laugh the next moment.
 
 312 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 saying only how weak and foolish she had become, 
 owing, a good deal she fancied, to being so much 
 alone. 
 
 Margaret, with her accustomed tact, allowed the 
 tears to pass unnoticed, urging upon her sister a 
 cup of chocolate, which she had brought, and 
 which, at the same time, she praised rather extra- 
 vagantly as the work of her own skilful hands. 
 
 In this manner, with frequent short visits from 
 Margaret, rather than any lengthened stay with 
 her sister, the day wore on. In the afternoon she 
 made Alice lie down to rest for a long time, tell- 
 ing her she had an immense amount of shopping 
 to do, and one or two calls to make, so that she 
 should not return before tea time at the earliest. 
 
 When Margaret did return, which was rather 
 sooner than she had said, she found Alice up, and 
 looking so much better, that her appearance 
 might well have aw^akened some surprise, only 
 that this feature of her malady was already fami- 
 liar to those who knew her best. 
 
 Alice was the talker now, and Margeret, in 
 her fond admiration, wondered whether any wo- 
 man upon earth could talk so sensibly, express 
 herself so well, and with so clear and sweet a 
 voice. But alas ! that voice, so perfect once in
 
 OWN I'lIlESIDE. 313 
 
 all its intonations, was altered now, and altering 
 fast. Margaret had perceived this change on first 
 entering the house. She did not mention the 
 fact, but the sound fell upon her ear like a kind 
 of knell. It might after all be nothing. Alice 
 said she had taken cold. Perhaps that was the 
 cause ; and there might still be years, and years, 
 to come, in the little cottage, where Alice would 
 live the longer for having trees, and fields, and 
 flowers, around her, and birds to sing to her, and 
 a sister then at liberty, and wholly hers, to nurse, 
 and care for her. Yes, that was indeed a joyful 
 picture, and not the less so because of the strong 
 contrast it presented with present things, and the 
 great need there was for change. The little 
 parlour which the Mansfields now occupied was 
 very close, and looked into a street. There was 
 no garden to the house, and Alice had been pas- 
 sionately fond of flowers. Alas I she had been 
 fond of all things pure, and beautiful, and sweet, 
 of some things gorgeous too; and well, perhaps 
 too well, could her nature have assimilated with 
 the costly embellishments of affluant and po- 
 lished life. It was for her then, more than for 
 herself, that Margaret's heart was now so busy 
 building the little cottage and adorning it with all
 
 .HI 4 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 the flowers of nature, as well as with all the ele- 
 gance of art. She had a right she thought to let 
 her heart indulge its dearest wishes now, since 
 her sister's state of health rendered that a duty 
 which would once have been only an indulgence. 
 
 Many preliminary steps, however, had yet to 
 be taken, and just now the interview with their 
 father was that which demanded most attention. 
 As usual, he came in to join his family this even- 
 ing with wearied frame, but smiling countenance ; 
 and, after partaking of the latest meal of the day, 
 in a comfortable and social manner, the sisters, 
 exchanging looks with each other, told him they 
 wanted a little chat before he went to bed, and 
 hoped he was at liberty to attend to what they 
 had to say. 
 
 Of course the good man willingly complied, 
 how could he have done otherwise, especially 
 when Margaret, placing herself upon a low stool 
 at his feet, took both his hands in hers, and 
 looked up into his face with an expression so 
 filial, and affectionate, that all the parental feelings 
 of his heart were stirred to more than their accus- 
 tomed depth ; and stooping down, he kissed the 
 glowing cheek of his child, as fondly as if she had 
 been an infant still.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 315 
 
 "Well, now," said Margaret, settling herself 
 upon the footstool, " I think I shall begin." 
 And with that, she entered upon the quaintly told 
 little narrative of the few leading facts of the 
 case ; and then she described the thoughts and 
 wishes which had been excited in her mind, and 
 her sister's, respecting the disposal of the little 
 property bequeathed by their uncle. 
 
 "Ah ! well, my dear ;" said Gilbert Mansfield, 
 interrupting his daughter, " It will be time 
 enough to talk about that, some months hence. 
 The announcement of a bequest is a very different 
 matter from having the money in hand." 
 
 " I know all that ;" said Magaret, " and be- 
 sides, I am not of age." 
 
 " No, surely, child ; I believe thou art not ;" 
 said her father. 
 
 "But I shall be, soon," resumed Margaret, 
 *'and we both — Alice and I, both want to 
 settle ." 
 
 " We want, dear father," said Alice, afraid the 
 impulsive girl was getting on too fast — " we want 
 to know exactly what is thy own mind and wish 
 in this matter ? " 
 
 "Mine?" said the father; "why, really, I 
 have not given it due consideration yet."
 
 316 FRIENDS AT TIIEIR 
 
 " We are all together now ;" said Alice, and 
 then hesitating a moment, she went on again — 
 " together now, and at liberty to talk the matter 
 fully over. There is no knowing when we may 
 be so quietly together again." 
 
 " No, surely ;" said the father, " it is best to be 
 prepared for whatever may be the will of Provi- 
 dence concerning us." 
 
 " But the money, dear father ;" said Margaret. 
 " Hast thou not thought of the money, and what 
 it will be best to do with it ?" 
 
 " For my own part," replied Gilbert, " I should 
 feel most easy to lay the matter before Friends." 
 
 " Friends ! exclaimed Alice, with a sudden 
 flash of her early spirit darting from her eyes. 
 " We surely need not^ consult with any beyond 
 ourselves respecting what we shall do with our 
 own!" 
 
 Gilbert Mansfield looked up. He was a little 
 shocked at the tone and manner of his daughter ; 
 but he replied quickly — " W^hy yes, to be sure, I 
 forgot myself. The money will be yours, not 
 mine." 
 
 " Oh, don't say that ! " exclaimed both sisters 
 at once." Never say that again," repeated Mar- 
 garet. And then she begged of her father, more
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 317 
 
 geriously, that he would tell them what he really 
 did wish them to do ; because, if he had no plan 
 of his own — if he had fixed upon nothing in his 
 own mind, she and her sister had a few thoughts 
 which they would like to lay before him. 
 
 By degrees the plan was opened, and explained ; 
 the principal feature in the view which the sisters 
 had taken, being that of returning every portion 
 of the money which had been kindly advanced 
 on their father's account, and which they felt sure 
 that no busin^gs talents of his would ever be able 
 to increase. On the contrary, they had reason to 
 believe that some slight deterioration had taken 
 place, and that, to make restitution of the whole 
 would require a little addition from their own re- 
 sources. 
 
 The boldness, directness, and decision, with 
 which his daughters expressed themselves on this 
 subject, was at once alarming and distasteful to 
 Gilbert Mansfield. He liked to move gently, 
 and with full assurance that he was right. But 
 his assurance must be derived from an inward 
 source, and must rest upon certain feelings of his 
 own mind, not by any means upon such reason- 
 ino-g as his daughters seemed a little forward and 
 hasty in setting up. In fact, he had never
 
 3 IS FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 looked at the subject in this light. He said he 
 had felt peace in using, to the best of his ability, 
 the means which had been placed in his hands ; 
 and such peace he now seemed inclined to accept, 
 as a token that it was right for him still to retain 
 "what was not really his own. 
 
 " Yes ; " said Margaret, rather hastily, when her 
 father spoke of peace. " But there has been no- 
 thing gained by the money that w^as lent thee; 
 and after all it was not thy own. 
 
 " I feel that it was committed to my keeping ; " 
 said her father, " and in that, it differs little from 
 every other worldly good. I did not seek for it 
 nor accept it unadvised." 
 
 " Well, suppose we let that matter pass," said 
 Margaret, finding how difficult it was to reason 
 with one who had so completely submitted every 
 power of thought, and almost every action to in- 
 fluences of which she did not presume to be a 
 judge. " Suppose we leave the past, and talk only 
 of the future. Alice is very delicate. My term 
 of duty as a teacher will soon be over now. My 
 sister and I are both anxious that the remainder 
 of thy days should be passed in peace, and quiet- 
 ness, free from all toils and vexations of business. 
 So we think that Avith the means which will soon
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 319 
 
 be ours, we might retire to some little cottao-e 
 
 J more in the country, where we could live quite 
 
 1 simply; and in this way we think we should have 
 
 quite enough to live upon — just we three together, 
 
 in a nice, comfortable, independent way. 
 
 Gilbert Mansfield shook his head. The word 
 independence, so often used by his daughters, did 
 not quite commend itself to his feelings. It seem- 
 ed to savour of an unsubdued and carnal mind, 
 and sounded in his ear a little like the setting up 
 of the creaturely will. 
 
 Still, he said, if Friends should think well of 
 this mode of proceeding, he did not know that 
 he should feel any insuperable objection. 
 
 " But," said Margeret, and she spoke very softly 
 this time, knowing that she was getting upon 
 delicate ground, "we don't want thee, dear father, 
 to speak to Friends at all about this matter. We 
 think we have a right — Oh! do not take what I say 
 unkindly — we think we have a right to act for 
 ourselves, in this instance; and it must be right, 
 dear father — indeed it must, to live upon our own 
 means, and to pay back to everybody what we 
 owe them." 
 
 " Yes " said Alice, " this loan has been gall and 
 bitterness, to me for years."
 
 320 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 " Thou hast never said so much as that before," 
 observed her father. 
 
 " No " she replied, " because I saw no way out 
 of the difficulty. But I do now, and I feel that we 
 ought to, and we must get free from all money 
 obligations." 
 
 "Ah, well !" sighed Gilbert, "as I told you before, 
 there's a long time yet for weighing the matter 
 fully." 
 
 " No, no," said Alice, " we must agree upon 
 this subject to-night. We do not know what to- 
 morrow may bring with it." 
 
 " And it is not a mere verbal acquiescence," 
 Margaret added, "that we want, so much as a 
 cordial acknowledgment, heart to heart, and 
 mind to mind, that ^the thing is right, and must 
 be done." 
 
 " There, I think, child, thou art going too far," 
 said Gilbert. " We must wait to see how the way 
 opens before us. There is such a thing as running 
 in advance of our guide." 
 
 Alice rose from her seat, exhausted both in 
 mind and body by [this fruitless colloquy ; and 
 with a dignity well calculated to overawe a spirit 
 like her father's, she laid her hand upon his arm 
 and said, "Father, I am of age. It is my firm deter^
 
 OWN FIEESIDE. 321 
 
 mination that our money sKall be appropriated 
 first, to paying back every farthing of that which 
 has been lent to thee, and then that we shall live 
 as best we may, without business of any kind ; 
 that so thy old age may be free from worldly 
 strife, and peaceful as it ought to be. So farewell, 
 dear father, for I feel that I must retire." 
 
 The father spoke not, nor did his daughter 
 move to go ; but gently folding her arms around 
 his neck, she pressed her lips to his cheek, whis- 
 pering at the same time — "and please forgive me, 
 dear father, if I have said anything unkind, or 
 amiss." 
 
 Gilbert Mansfield, always quickly touched by 
 tenderness, returned his daughter's embrace, saying 
 in his kindest manner — " Ah ! my dear children, 
 I often think I might have been better to you 
 both." 
 
 " Oh not to us, dear father, not to us;" said 
 both daughters at once — "better to thyself per- 
 haps, but not to us." 
 
 And thus with mutual interchange of gentle 
 words, and kindly feelings, the little party sepa- 
 rated for the night, the two sisters going silently 
 up to their chamber. 
 
 Margaret was the first to speak. " Oh dear ! " 
 VOL. I. u
 
 322 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 she said, "if our poor Arthur had lived, I do believe 
 he would have been exactly like his father." 
 
 "Yes, Margaret ; " said her sister, "that convic- 
 tion has so reconciled me to his death, that 
 sometimes I feel almost glad he is safely gathered 
 to his rest." 
 
 " And glad also, we ought to feel, " said 
 Margaret — "at least more glad than sorry, that 
 our precious father has so nearly run his earthly 
 course." 
 
 " To think, " said Alice " of only now beginning 
 such a life as his, in such a world as this ! " 
 
 " I like to think of him in heaven, " said her 
 sister — " of the time when all this long trial, to 
 look back upon, will be but as a moment, and 
 when the weakness of his sweet character will 
 give place to the strength of that love which will 
 then be all in all. " 
 
 " And dost thou like to think of me in Heaven ?" 
 asked Alice, softly drawing her thin white fingers 
 over Margaret's shining hair. 
 
 " I am afraid, " said Margaret, " I like too well 
 to think of thee on earth. " 
 
 Alice sighed deeply ; and then that cough came 
 on, which now so sadly broke her nightly rest. 
 Margaret knew her sister ought if possible to 
 sleep, yet finding her wakeful, and disposed to
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 323 
 
 conversation, she could not resist the natural 
 impulse to throw out now and then a bright sug- 
 gestion about the cottage — where it would be 
 likely they could find one suitable, or how it 
 could be managed that their father should be near 
 a meeting, so as not to have too far to walk. With 
 many other interesting thoughts and pictures, 
 such as will come crowding upon the mind at 
 night, especially after any great excitement. 
 
 To all these suggestions Margaret put a little 
 note of interrogation at the end, such as " we will 
 do so, and so — wont we, dear ? " and up to a 
 certain time, Alice had responded promptly, and 
 faithfully, even adding now and then a good idea 
 of her own. Suddenly, however, the responses 
 ceased. Margaret put her little interrogation 
 asrain. Still there was no answer. She started 
 up in the bed — " What is it, dear ? " she asked ; 
 but all was silent still. The room was very dark. 
 She put her ear close to her sister's face. Alice 
 was awake — why was it that she did not speak ? 
 Margaret felt too that her sister's hands were busy 
 with a handkerchief pressing it closely to her lips. 
 A sudden terror came upon her ; and rushing to 
 the candle, which had long been extinguished ; she 
 lighted it again, and brought it to the side of the 
 bed were her sister lay. u 2
 
 324 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 With one hand Alice waved her back, but with 
 the other she still held the handkerchief to her 
 lips — that handkerchief so stained ! 
 
 " My precious love !" exclaimed Margaret ,when 
 she knew what was the matter, and then she burst 
 into an agony of weeping. Seldom did she so far 
 forget herself. In a few moments every tear, 
 every pang of grief, was forced back as if into the 
 centre of her heart, and with perfect self possession, 
 though trembling violently all over, she set about 
 to do everything which her unpractised hand could 
 find to do. 
 
 Alice, however, was not long in partially re- 
 covering ; and bidding her sister give her only a 
 glass of cold water, after which she was to be very 
 still, a considerable period of total silence elapsed 
 before any explanation could take place. 
 
 The explanation was scarcely more cheering to 
 Margaret than her own alarming apprehensions, 
 for her sister told her that the present was only an 
 accustomed attack, though somewhat more severe 
 than usual ; that lately they had been much more 
 frequent; and that, in short, a strong conviction 
 was growing upon her own mind, that her time on 
 earth would not be long. 
 
 At short intervals, with many interruptions in 
 her breathing, this melancholy truth was told.
 
 OWN FIKESIDE. 325 
 
 During all the time Margaret never spoke, only 
 with her fingers she pressed both eyelids down, as 
 if, by forcibly stopping the actual tears, she could 
 in some measure stop the tide of grief, which now 
 seemed ready to overwhelm and sweep away every 
 foundation of that happiness upon which she had 
 been building her pleasant future. 
 
 After slightly recovering, Alice had requested 
 that the light might be put out ; and now, in the 
 darkness of deep night, with that strange quicken- 
 ing of vitality which ever seems to belong to this 
 precursor of death, she spoke so fully, yet so 
 sweetly to her sister of her past and present 
 feelings, and of many things closely connected 
 with her inner life ; she spoke, too, so hopefully 
 of the life towards which she knew that she was 
 fast hastening, that something almost like a solemn 
 joy — a peace past all mere human understand- 
 ing seemed to pervade the stillness of that awful 
 liight. And so deep was the impression, so per- 
 fect the sisterly communion of those two faithful 
 hearts, overshadowed by the wings of love, that on 
 the morrow, strange to say, and ever afterwards, 
 they could speak of death as they had never done 
 before; and Margaret soon began to look with 
 steadiness into her sister's face while reading there 
 the sentence of their separation. It was only.
 
 326 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 however, after some days, and after many earnest 
 conversations, that she was able to do so much as 
 this. To her, the bitterness of death had passed 
 in that dark hour of terror when the real truth 
 was so suddenly made manifest. Now, the angelic 
 countenance of her sister was clothed to her view 
 in a more than human beauty, prophetic of the 
 glory and the blessedness so soon to be enjoyed. 
 
 On the morning after the sad night, Alice kept 
 her room until a later hour than usual, while poor 
 Margaret went about the house like one in a dream. 
 Sometimes a sudden burst of gushing tears would 
 send her away into a room alone to hide herself. 
 But this strong natural impulse she was deter- 
 mined to restrain, knowing but too well what 
 was before her, yet scarcely, even in her weakest 
 moments, wishing it otherwise. Such is the power, 
 even over other minds, of that solemn preparation 
 for departure from the world, which leaves nothing 
 behind, to be placed for one moment in com- 
 parison with the blessedness of beholding the 
 Redeemer face to face, of being like Him — of 
 being for ever where He is. 
 
 In proportion, however, as the truth became 
 evident to the sister's mind, as the time of earthly 
 intercourse seemed narrowing — shrinking every
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 327 
 
 day into the compass of months and weeks — 
 almost of days, the preciousness of this intercourse 
 increased so much in value, that moments were 
 counted for hours, and hours for days. And yet 
 how fast they flew! This narrowing of time — 
 this clinscing to a tree — a branch — a twig — how well 
 is it understood by those who have loved and lost 
 by death, the nearest and dearest of their earthly 
 treasures. At first the inevitable calamity is re- 
 conciled, perhaps, because the space of years may 
 intervene between it and us — then one year at 
 least — another summer, perhaps, for what is there 
 which we do not calculate upon from that bright 
 season — then a month or two — or three- So hope 
 creeps on, persuading itself into an onward move- 
 ment, though at each step conviction loses ground; 
 as those who would escape a deluge please them- 
 selves with having gained some unexpected 
 height, even while the great flood of water is widen- 
 ing, and rising all around them. But it is the pre- 
 ciousness of these last hours of intercourse with 
 which the heart has most to do; and yet how 
 few amongst us have not had to feel, that their true 
 value was never half appreciated until they were 
 gone for ever.
 
 328 FRIENDS AT THEIK 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 About a week after Margaret Mansfield's return 
 home, she was sitting alone in the little parlour, 
 looking very thoughtfully upon a piece of work 
 which she held in her hand, though not thinking 
 of the work at all, when suddenly there burst from 
 her lips this latter extraordinary exclamation — 
 
 " Oh dear !" I think it must be very nice to 
 have a good, kind, managing husband — somebody 
 who would always know what to do, whatever 
 might happen. I'm sure I don't know what to 
 do, nor can I think of anybody likely to help 
 me." 
 
 As she uttered these words, she was startled by 
 a short, decided knock at the outer door. Some 
 people have the happy knack of coming just when 
 they are wanted — others quite the contrary. To 
 which of these two classes of individuals might 
 the preceding announcement apply ? The servant
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 329 
 
 opened the parlour door, and in walked William 
 Greenfell. 
 
 A somewhat comical expression flitted for a 
 moment over Margaret's face, as she recalled the 
 words which had just escaped her lips ; but this 
 expression immediately gave place to the look of 
 great anxiety, which her countenance now habit- 
 ually wore. 
 
 The visitor needed no introduction, so well are 
 the members of adjacent meeitngs generally ac- 
 quainted with each other, though they may never 
 have conversed. Holding out his hand, therefore? 
 he asked of Margaret, somewhat abruptly, though 
 with much feeling in his voice and manner, how 
 her sister was. 
 
 Alice had become very ill. It was not easy to 
 answer this enquiry with composure, and while 
 Margaret struggled to make the necessary effort, 
 she forgot for a moment the common courtesies of 
 her position. 
 
 The visitor retreated, and both remained silent, 
 until at length he said — " I had a little business 
 with Gilbert Mansfield this afternoon, and he 
 asked me to come in to tea. I hope I shall not 
 occasion any trouble or inconvenience ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ; " said Margaret, recollecting
 
 330 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 herself: " Do pray sit down. My father, I dare 
 say, will be in very soon. It only wants about a 
 quarter of a hour to his usual time." 
 
 " Only a quarter of an hour ? " said the visitor, 
 ^' then I am afraid I must be rather abruj)t. It is 
 true, Margaret Mansfield, that I had business 
 with thy father; but it is equally true, that I 
 
 thought perhaps 1 am really afraid of making 
 
 too free." 
 
 " Oh, no ; " said Margaret, " pray go on." 
 
 " Well then," the visitor resumed, " I heard of 
 thy sister's severe illness, and I thought it possible 
 that thou thyself might want a little assistance in 
 some way or other. Do please, employ me, if 
 there is anything I can do for thee, or thy father, 
 or " 
 
 Margaret looked up into the speaker's face, then 
 down upon her work, and burst into tears. 
 
 The visitor let her weep on in silence. He 
 knew it was best that natural feeling for awhile 
 should have its way ; and Margaret was not one 
 to indulge in any excess of emotion, especially 
 before a comparative stranger. But there was 
 something in the spontaneous kindness of this un- 
 expected offer, coming too at the time when it was 
 most needed, and from one who looked and spoke
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 331 
 
 like the very personification of help, which startled 
 her completely out of her habitual self possession, 
 opening at once those springs of grateful feeling, 
 which so often found their best expression in a 
 flood of tears. Magaret's, however, were soon 
 dried ; and then she frankly owned that she did 
 indeed want help, and should be thankful above 
 all things for a little wise counsel how to act. 
 
 " I don't know that I can promise much wise 
 counsel," said William ; but I will give thee the 
 best I can ; and if there is anything really to be 
 done, my time is at my own disposal, and at 
 thine." 
 
 "There are so many things to explain;" said 
 Margaret, looking towards the door in expectation 
 of her father's appearance. " Such delicacy too is 
 required towards my dear father, and yet such firm- 
 ness ; and now I seem to stand alone, for Alice 
 can do nothing, nor is it fit that she should even 
 be consulted. Oh, she was such a help ! " 
 
 " I can believe that," said William. " But there 
 are some things which a man can do, perhaps 
 more easily, if not better than a woman." 
 
 " Yes, without doubt ; " said Margaret, half 
 ashamed of having appeared in any way to under- 
 value the efficiency of that assistance which had
 
 332 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 been so generously offered. I believe it is the 
 help of a sensible man, who knows everything 
 better than we do, that I want just now, above all 
 things ; and I do not know who could think and 
 judge for us better than thyself, if the trouble is 
 not too great." 
 
 " Never speak to me again about trouble ;" said 
 William, with great earnestness; "but here I think 
 is thy father. I must see whether he can trust 
 me a little." 
 
 If there was one human being above all others 
 whom Gilbert Mansfield felt predisposed to trust, 
 it was the young man whom he now greeted as 
 his guest. In fact, he was trusted by so many, 
 and consulted so often about other people's affairs, 
 that although still young, having scarcely attained 
 the age of twenty-five, his attention was almost 
 as much demanded by business, both jiublic and 
 private, as if he had gone through the experience 
 of half a century. 
 
 Especially the stricter 'members of the Society 
 of Friends were in the habit of drawing largely- 
 upon the services of one, who possessed the rare 
 merit of being able to acquit himself with dignity 
 and self possession in all kinds of intercourse with 
 his fellow men ; and yet to maintain unflinchingly
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 333 
 
 his consistency as a Friend, using always what is 
 called by them the " plain language," and wearing, 
 without looking very remarkable, the distinguish- 
 ing dress of the Society. 
 
 But there were other reasons, perhaps never 
 suspected by himself, why Gilbert Mansfield en- 
 tertained this favourable predisposition towards 
 the young man. It is seldom that two persons of 
 weak, undecided natures are of much value to 
 each other. And in the case of stronger charac- 
 ters, endowed with a large amount of energy, and 
 will, it seldom happens that two thus largely 
 gifted make the most harmonious of friends. 
 Indeed, it would seem, that human fellowship 
 being necessarily defective as regards every single 
 individual, requires that we should supply some 
 quality in which our friends are deficient, and 
 that they should render the same good service to 
 us. Thus, in the present instance, the very sight 
 of a figure so firm and manly, and a face so frank 
 and cordial as William Greenfell's, produced an 
 unusually agreeable effect upon one who not un- 
 frequently shrunk from open communication with 
 his fellow men, in all probability from a secret 
 and indefinite fear lest his own inner life should 
 be too hastily penetrated ; or lest his thoughts and
 
 334 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 views, before they were fully matured, should be 
 dragged to light, and tested by some coarser and 
 more worldly rule than he was accustomed to 
 apply. 
 
 With William Greenfell there was nothing of 
 this kind to be apprehended ; for though more than 
 commonly prompt, and decided in action, he was by 
 no means apt to force his own opinions upon 
 others, merely as such. He, therefore, with the 
 utmost respect and urbanity of manner, addressed 
 himself to the master of the house on topics calcu- 
 lated to lead to further intimacy, if such intimacy 
 should be desired. Margaret could not but admire 
 the manner in which he did this, and she had soon 
 the satisfaction of perceiving, that any length to 
 which she might be likely to go in claiming the 
 services so unexpectedly offered, would not only 
 be permitted, but cordially approved by her 
 father. 
 
 The simple expression — " Don't let me detain 
 thee," addressed to the master of the house, which 
 the visitor so judiciously brought in at the right 
 time, immediately produced the desired effect, and 
 as he added that he should be under the necessity 
 of waiting an hour before his horse would be 
 ready to set out on its journey home, Gilbert
 
 OWN FIEESIDE. 335 
 
 Mansfield apologising for leaving him, said he had 
 letters to make ready for the post ; and shaking 
 hands in the most cordial manner, he then left 
 the room. 
 
 A long and earnest conversation ensued. Mar- 
 garet spoke fully, and freely, as if talking with a 
 brother. The burden of her present anxiety was, 
 how she could manage to have her sister removed 
 from their town residence into a better air; or 
 rather how she could find a more suitable home, 
 and the means of placing her safely and comfort- 
 ably in it. 
 
 " It seems so hard," she said, " that there 
 should be the money ready for us, and yet that 
 we cannot take even so much as would supply my 
 sister's need." 
 
 " Could she bear the removal ? " asked 
 William. 
 
 " I think so," Margaret replied, " and the 
 doctors urge it. But of course much would depend 
 upon the distance." 
 
 " It must be to some warmer place, I suppose ?" 
 
 " I dont know that so much. Indeed, I hardly 
 know how to tell thee, but I don't think there is 
 much hope ; and — and — I only want the time to 
 be spent in greater quiet, with all things around
 
 336 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 her more pleasant than they can be here. Per- 
 haps I am wrong to set my heart so much upon 
 this matter." 
 
 " Does thy sister seem to desire the change ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, or I should think less about it." 
 
 " I suppose it is natural, and very often the 
 case." 
 
 " My sister always loved the country, and 
 flowers, and beautiful things." 
 
 " Well, we will see what can be done," said 
 William, rising to go. " It must take a little 
 time, perhaps a few days. Canst thou wait 
 patiently, believing I will do my best ? " 
 
 " Indeed I can," said Margaret, " and yet, in 
 any other hands, I should say the thing was impos- 
 sible, on account of the money." 
 
 " I suppose a hundred pounds or so, to be re- 
 placed — " said William hesitating. 
 
 " Oh, please don't mention anything like a 
 loan," Margaret exclaimed. We have had enough 
 of borrowed money already ; and I think it would 
 harass my sister more than any country air would 
 do her good." 
 
 William Greenfell looked for a moment rather 
 perplexed, but quickly recovering himself, he 
 shook hands with Margaret, and then hastily took
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 337 
 
 his leave, saying she should either see him, or 
 hear from him in a few days. 
 
 During the time of their conversation, he had 
 taken many notes, and especially had requested 
 the loan of certain papers, which Margaret easily 
 obtained, because they had been placed in her 
 sister's possession. In her present state of mind, 
 and with the confidence which her visitor had 
 inspired, she would have trusted him with any- 
 thing, and certainly had no hesitation in placing 
 in his hands certain official documents which were 
 necessary to enable him to act on behalf of the 
 sisters in relation to the property bequeathed. 
 
 The relief to Margaret's feelings after he was 
 gone, it would be difficult for language to describe. 
 She still had not the remotest idea of any definite 
 form under which help was to come. But her 
 nature was naturally a trusting one, when she had 
 good foundation for confidence ; and perhaps, too, 
 she had a little womanly leaning to the belief that 
 the best and most efficient help is likely to be ren- 
 dered by a good substantial man. At all events 
 her look and manner became visibly more cheer- 
 ful ; for though she had still the one great sorrow 
 darkening in her future, she could now discharge 
 from her mind the burden of anxiety about those 
 VOL. I. V
 
 338 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 minor matters, which often stamp the countenance 
 with stronger marks of care than are produced by 
 deeper feelings. 
 
 No time was lost by him who had charged him- 
 self with so many offices of brotherly trust and 
 kindness. The duties which lay before him were 
 by no means easy to perform ; for, on the one hand, 
 there was a delicacy of feeling, almost amounting 
 to morbid sensitiveness, to deal with ; and on the 
 other, there was such urgent and immediate need, 
 that he was in danger of overlooking first one 
 consideration and then the other, in his anxiety to 
 allow due weight to both. 
 
 On the day following this interview, William 
 Greenfell might have been seen in earnest conver- 
 sation with Jacob Law, as they sauntered along 
 a private path over the fields which separated the 
 Grange from the residence of his aunt Greenfell. 
 This residence was to him a kind of home, to 
 which he repaired whenever inclination or duty 
 led him into the neighbourhood. At the present 
 time hisaunt and cousin were absent, enjoying 
 a little tour in a distant part of the country, 
 but he felt equally at liberty to occupy the house, 
 and was always treated by the servants as a mem- 
 ber of the family. He had arrived here late on 
 
 i
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 339 
 
 
 
 the evening of his interview with Margaret, and 
 had taken the earliest opportunity of seeing Jacob 
 Law in the morning before the commencement of 
 his daily occupations. 
 
 Almost the first thing they had done, after a 
 serious and confidential talk together, was to re- 
 pair to the cottage in the garden, once occupied by 
 Aunt Isabel; and, after throwing open the shut- 
 ters, they had walked into every room, sometimes 
 testing the fastening of a door, the closing of a 
 window, or the turning of a key ; but especially 
 looking carefully about into holes and corners, to 
 see whether the inroads of time or weather had 
 made the place untenable. 
 
 It looked very much, from the manner in which 
 they went about, as if the cottage was going to be 
 occupied again ; and so busy were both, and so 
 intent upon the matter in hand, that even Jacob 
 did not stop to sigh over the scenes he had wit- 
 nessed, or the hours he had enjoyed, beneath that 
 roof. No, his mind was much too full just now 
 with calculations about carpenters, plasterers, bell 
 hangers, and other mechanics, whose services are 
 not always to be had at a moment's notice in the 
 country. 
 
 Notwithstanding the amount of work to be . 
 
 V 2
 
 340 FRIENDS AT THEIR , 
 
 done, with the many perplexities belonging to the 
 doing of it, which in a moment presented them- 
 selves to tlie quick eye of Jacob Law, he had, 
 upon the whole, a pleased and animated look, 
 which indicated that there was good to be done jl 
 as well as business ; for never did his countenance 
 light up with such inspiriting cheerfulness and 
 energy, as when there was some plan to be devis- 
 ed for increasing the comfort and happiness of 
 some deserving person ; or some service to be 
 rendered in which he could lend a helping hand.* 
 
 After the cottage had been duly examined, 
 these two friends, as already said, walked on 
 through the fields, they scarcely knew whither ; 
 for so earnest and close was their intercourse, that 
 they spoke in under tones, and seemed as if they 
 would never be able to separate. Every time 
 they drew near the Grange, or again approached 
 the public road which led immediately past the 
 widow Greenf ell's garden, there was some fresh 
 suggestion to throw out, some new difficulty to be 
 met, or some pleasant thought to communicate ; 
 so that, while pacing backwards and forwards, 
 the time at length arrived for two rival coaches to 
 dash along their perilous way, first appearing on 
 the brow of the hill, then changing horses at the
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 341 
 
 village of Heath, and after that, descending into 
 the valley, and whirling past the house and 
 grounds near which the two earnest talkers were 
 now standing ; for, in spite of the importance of 
 the subject they had been so closely discussing^ 
 such was the local interest attaching to the mad 
 rivalry of these coaches, that even Jacob Law^ 
 much as he disapproved, could not always resist 
 the temptation of looking out to see whether 
 Peter, his favourite driver, was first in the race. 
 
 William Greenfell, in all probability regarding 
 the whole affair as a piece of absurdity beneath 
 his notice, was yet obliged to pause in his re- 
 marks on the subject in hand ; because his com- 
 panion, stepping forward, and looking over a low- 
 clipped hedge by the side of the road, exclaimed 
 " Well done, Peter ! thou hast gained the day this 
 time, however." 
 
 Peter, with his heavily-loaded vehicle, was at 
 that time just starting from the village ian where 
 he had changed horses. There was rather a 
 sharp turn from the village street down the side 
 of the hill ; and it was always a critical moment 
 to the lookers on, while that turn was being 
 passed. For this Jacob was watching, but his 
 companion looked only at his eager face, as he
 
 342 TRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 strained his sight to discover how the coach was I 
 coming down the road, for there was a clump of 
 trees standing rather in the way. 
 
 In another moment Jacob Law had cleared the 
 hedge, and stood upon the road, unconsciously 
 holding up both his arms, as if to catch some 
 falling weight. The coach was swinging from 
 side to side in the most frightful manner, the 
 horses having become unmanageable. 
 
 William was now alive to all the interest of 
 the moment. It was impossible to be otherwise, 
 and he too stood by the side of the road, watch- 
 ing with the most intense anxiety, for the catas- 
 trophe which appeared inevitable. 
 
 It came with even greater violence than had 
 been anticipated ; and well was it for the unfor- 
 tunate travellers, that such able and ready assis- 
 tance was at hand ; for amongst the terrible con- 
 fusion that ensued, several passengers, including 
 two or three children, were snatched out of the 
 way of the struggling horses, and dragged to a 
 place of safety by the side of the road. 
 
 It was soon discovered that the calamity was 
 greater even than had been feared. The coachman 
 was taken up insensible, some thought dead ; and 
 in that state was carried into the nearest house.
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 343 
 
 which happened to be that of the widow Green- 
 fell, the back offices of which extended to the 
 road along which the coach was passing, and that 
 so near, that no one for a moment hesitated about 
 placing the poor sufferers beneath that roof, as 
 the only available shelter for the moment. 
 
 The quiet orderly servants were of course 
 thrown into a state of great dismay ; not without 
 reason, wondering in their own minds, how their 
 mistress would like it. But neither Jacob Law, 
 nor William Greenfell, were men to be opposed 
 by any feeble powers, or arguments of theirs; 
 so they had nothing for it but to bestir them- 
 selves, as in all probability they had never done 
 before, bringing all appliances for help and com- 
 fort at a moment's notice, and thus making sad 
 havoc amongst the beautiful white linen, the 
 damask cushions, rich carpets, and furniture, for 
 which their mistress' establishment was so re- 
 markable. 
 
 While all this bustle and confusion was going 
 on, greatly increased by a troop of men and boys 
 who had come up, and who strove to force their 
 way after Peter, the favourite coachman, until 
 Jacob Law forbade them to set a single step 
 within the door, saying, that if any thing could
 
 344 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 save the man's life it was perfect quietness ; one 
 circumstance had been totally overlooked, until 
 this discontented mob, loitering about the pre- 
 mises, heard the groans of a man, whom they 
 soon discovered lying amongst the long grass be- 
 neath a hedge, to which he had probably crawled 
 during the time of the great confusion. A general 
 shout announced this discovery, nor was the 
 tumult lessened on finding out that the man was 
 a foreigner, or, at all events, that the little En- 
 glish he could at the moment command, amounted 
 to no more than a few ejaculations of an exceed- 
 ingly pitiful nature. 
 
 It was soon announced to the two gentlemen 
 that another suiferer required their attention ; 
 and on repairing to the spot, they were shocked 
 to find a young man who was indeed a foreigner, 
 and evidently a gentleman, lying on the ground, 
 in the most helpless condition, with more than 
 one of his limbs broken, or dislocated. In all 
 probability it never once entered the heads of 
 either of these prudent men, that the widow 
 Greenfell's house was not the place for this 
 sufferer ; that Peter, the coachman, might lie on 
 the kitchen floor until help could be obtained, 
 without danger of scandal to the family; but
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 345 
 
 that a highly bearded gentleman from the Conti- 
 nent was a very different kind of guest. The 
 fact was, they were both habitually so prompt in 
 their kindness, both so much accustomed to make 
 kindness the first governing motive in their ac- 
 tions, and they were at the present moment so 
 forcibly impressed with the sad condition of this 
 forlorn and helpless stranger, that they hesitated 
 not for a single second, but carried him in their 
 own arms up into the very best bedroom in the 
 house, placing him as easily as they could, 
 amongst the downy pillows, and sparing neither 
 lawn, nor damask, in their endeavours to produce 
 some little alleviation of the agony he was en- 
 during. Happily, perhaps for him, a period of 
 insensibility succeeded, and for some time it was 
 a matter of serious doubt, whether two deaths 
 would not be the consequence of this mad risk of 
 human life, and safety. 
 
 Whatever amount of consideration might in the 
 first instance have been bestowed upon questions 
 of prudence, or propriety, the time for such cal- 
 culations was soon passed, for on the arrival of the 
 village doctor, every other reflection gave place 
 to the awful sentence which he immdiately pro- 
 nounced upon Peter the coachman. There was
 
 346 FBIEND3 AT THEIE 
 
 no hope for him, whatever. He might live for a 
 
 few hours, or more, but consciousness in all pro- 
 bability would never return. 
 
 "And so unprepared for death !" said Jacob 
 Law, in a low sad tone, as if only thinking aloud 
 — " Poor Fellow ! he will be sadly missed" 
 
 The remembrance of his happy jovial face, and 
 the kindly words he always had both for boys, and 
 men ; to say nothing of his gentleness to women, 
 and children, and his readiness to help them under 
 every difficulty — in fact, his universal good will, 
 so well known in the neighbourhood, was more 
 than Jacob Law could bear to think of ; and while 
 a general exclamation of sorrow burst from those 
 who stood around, he was seen to press his hand- 
 kerchief to his eyes at frequent intervals, though 
 employed in bathing with his own hand a deep 
 cut across the temples of the sturdy man, whose 
 fresh colour was fast fading from his cheeks. 
 
 In this case there was so little to be done, that the 
 docter without delay went up to the other patient 
 now in considerable danger of being left alone, 
 such was the melancholy interest attaching to the 
 death of a man, so long and so well known in the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 William Grenfield, however, who knew less of
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 
 
 347 
 
 these circumstances than those who lived in the 
 place, had undertaken the chief care of the foreign- 
 er ; and he was the better able to do so, because 
 of some slight knowledge which he possessed of the 
 German language, in which the stranger spoke. 
 In fact, he had soon lost the power of using even 
 the few words of English which had served all 
 useful purposes by the way, until this terrible 
 calamity rendered other expressions necessary. On 
 hearing the sound of his native tongue, however 
 imperfectly uttered, his countenance indicated a 
 momentary satisfaction, and he began immediately 
 to explain, as he could find strength to do so, how 
 he was travelling from Hamburg to London on 
 very urgent business— so urgent that if he should 
 be detained, he did not knew what might be the 
 consequences. 
 
 Observing how much he became excited on 
 this subject, William endeavoured to allay his fears, 
 until the doctor should arrive, when he said they 
 must be guided by his opinion. All hope of any 
 possible removal for sometime however vanished 
 with the doctor's examination of the case. He 
 even talked of amputation being necessary, and 
 such was the suffering to which his operations
 
 348 FRIENDS AT THEIR 
 
 subjected the patient, that all idea of proceeding 
 in his journey was effectually dismissed. 
 
 "Here, indeed, is business to be done," said 
 WiUiam to himself, as he sat by the bed. "But 
 whatever happens, I must not forget that which 
 I had first in hand." So saying, he took out his 
 watch. It was later than he had supposed. A 
 sleeping draught had been administered to the 
 patient. Surely some trustworthy nurse might 
 now supply his place. 
 
 A consultation was held with Jacob Law, who 
 always seemed to know where help was to be had, 
 and what kind of help would be most suitable. 
 Already everything of this kind had been settled 
 in his own mind. 
 
 A trustworthy woman, he said, was coming 
 from the village ; the gardener and his wife would 
 sleep in the house ; Robert Moreton or Reuben 
 would also be there for the night. So there 
 could be no reason why William Greenfell should 
 not be set at liberty to pursue the course which 
 they had together laid out, before this sad accident 
 claimed their attention. 
 
 With this, the two friends separated, not with- 
 out some appearance of mutual satisfaction, not-
 
 OWN FIRESIDE. 349 
 
 withstanding the nature of the services to which 
 they had felt themselves called, for they were 
 both men who derived much of their healthy cheer- 
 fullness from the prompt discharge of active and 
 important duty. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 XVXQ ASD CO., PniKTIRS, QUEEK BTBBET, CiNKON STBBBT WEST, L0SD05.
 
 * f\