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Henry Carmer Wetmore





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HERMITS

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HER MIT'S
DE LL.
FROM THE DIARY OF
1 Penciller.
d
“Our eyes see all around, in gloom or glow,
Hues of their own, fresh borrow'd from the heart.”
KEBLE,
NEW YORK :
J. O. DERBY, 8 PARK PLAQE.
BOSTON:
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON & 00.
CINCINNATI:
H. W. DERBY.
1854.


THE NEW YORK
PUBLIC LIBLARI
288213
ASTOR, LENOX AND
TILDEN FOUNDATIONS
B
1939
Entered, according to Act of Congress, by J. C. DERBY, in the Clerk's Office
of the U. S. District Court for the Southern District of New York, in the
year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty-four.
HORACE GREELEY & Co., STEREOTYPERS,
29 Beekman Street, N. Y.


DEDICATORY LETTER.
:
MY DEAR FRANK :
When you have seen me pencilling on my tablets in the
shadowy retreats of Hermit's Dell, and amidst scenes more
or less sequestered—when you have seen me transcribing
those rough sketchings upon the pages of my journal, by
the light of our study-lamp—you have often expressed a
desire to look over my shoulder and read them.
Henceforth, some of them are yours ; and you will
not wonder that your name is so frequently upon them,
when you remember how, in scenes of both joy and sorrow,
in wanderings oft glad, oft gloomy, we have been together.
Though these desultory pencillings are woven in some-
what a fanciful web, your eye can trace the thread that
gleams through it—the shining thread of truth.
You know how we have loved to tread alike the byways
and highways of life, to weep sometimes with the sad and
laugh sometimes with the gay : saying with the good
loof 19 FEB 30


iv
DEDICATION.
Lavater—"What sublime joys do we drive from our souls,
when we banish thence the sweet feeling of human brother-
hood, which is its most precious jewel.”
Knowing, then, our kindred sympathies, as also your
friend's fancies and failings, accept my frail gift—too frail
to bear “ the iron verdict of the world."
That at Briar Cliff, your beautiful home, long years of
happiness may be for you and yours, is the fervent wish of
your friend
HARRY.


HERMIT’S DELL.
I.
Our simple cottage stands upon the crest of a hill
whose undulating slopes, dotted with noble trees, fall
gradually away to the bank of the river.
Though unpretending in architecture, the high
peaked roof and bracketed gables of our dwelling
may be seen from points, miles away in the adjacent
country. A low piazza, whose chief beauty is in the
vines which clamber up its pillars, and all the long
summer festoon its lattices with their odorous wreaths,
completely surrounds it. The situation is one not
often surpassed for rare and varied beauty. A wide
expanse of water, bounded within view by verdure
covered shores, fills up the foreground : to the north
are ranges of hills with white farm-houses glistening
on their sides, and behind them in the distance
" Rise the blue mountains, shapes which seem
Like wrecks of childhood's sunny dream.”
Southward are lofty and rugged hills, amidst which


6
HERMIT'S DELL.
the river winds from our view, whilst to the east, a
wide section of farming country stretches away to the
distant Housatonic.
A gravelled and winding path, whose terminus is
invisible from the house, leads to a graceful knoll
above the river bank, whereon is a rustic seat over-
arched by trees, which parasite creepers have mantled
with dense masses of verdure. Here the eye may
take in at a glance, river, mountain, stream, cascade
and shadowy glen, nor desire a view more lovely.
Spring with its balmy airs and life-renewing breezes
has fairly come, waking from their long sleep the
piping frogs, and bringing back the glad blue-birds from
their winter quarters. The hills, from whose southern
slopes the snow has vanished, already look green and
smiling: the river is free from ice, and the stream
which courses through our meadow is casting over the
mill-dam the last links of its wintry chain. The spray
of the willows by the brook side is changing its golden
hue, and the red buds of the maple are almost bursting
into leaf. By the southern piazza the sweet briar is
already green, and the Virginia creepers are about
starting on their summer race. Another month and
Nature will look her loveliest !
It is our first experience of country life, but already
we love it, and the weaning from city associations and
excitements has been accomplished with scarcely a


HERMIT'S DELL.
7
>
sigh. A few days since, the din and jostle of the city
seemed accompaniments to existence not easily shaken
off or forgotten; but now, leaning beside half hidden
waters, I fancy their murmur the same my boyhood
heard and loved, nor think of time's interlapse. Thus
with more than electric speed does thought flash along
the chain of years that binds the Present to the Past.,
There was just such a stream with willow-fringed
and grassy banks that gladdened my schoolday loiter-
ings, and with companions whose “brows were bright
as spring or morning," I stole many an hour from my
books to catch the minnows with which it abounded,
on our slily-made pin-hooks ; and there was a mill
too, very like the one I see now, only more dilapidated
and lonely, in whose old lofts we romped and played
our childish games, raising such a dust as the worn
out stones never did when they were in their prime.
Of that gay frolicking band there are very few I
can identify now. Some have become “fishers of
men;" others have been caught by wiles more potent
than minnows ever knew; some are in untimely
graves, and others like me are idling or improving the
precious hour. But my reveries have made me prosy,
and I must not pass judgment! we know not how
much the follies and fancies of youth may tend to
form the idiosyncrasies of after years.
A short distance from the cottage and visible from


8
HERMIT'S DELL.
one of its gable windows there is a cleft amidst the
hills, deep, verdurous, and shadowy, whence the dash
and murmur of lapsing waters come to us on the
southern breeze. The beauty of the spot can only be
realized by nearer and frequent vision. The sides of
the hills which form the glen are covered with a dense
growth of spruce, hemlock and cedar, forming as it
were an undergrowth to the maples and chestnuts
which tower above them.
A stream, whose source is amidst far-off hills comes
babbling over its pebbly bed till it widens and deepens
into a pool which Naiads might have envied alike for
a bath and mirror. Thence over tiers of rocks over-
hung by spreading hemlocks, the waters rush in mimic
rapids till they leap in foamy cascatelles the wall of
roughly piled boulders, which form the upper barrier
of the glen. Winding through a narrow strip of natu-
ral meadow, which in the dryest summer is always
fresh and green, the stream soon mingles with the river.
“Sometimes it fell
Among the moss, with hollow harmony
Dark and profound. Now on the polished stones
It danced; like childhood laughing as it went:
Then, through the plain in tranquil wanderings crept,
Reflecting every herb and drooping bud
That overhung its quietness.”
We have called this glen of shadows, Hermit's Dell,


HERMIT'S DELL.
9
not only for its seclusion, which an anchorite might
covet, but because of the strange and lonely woman
whose dwelling is upon its borders. She is not alto-
gether solitary, for her life is gladdened by the sun-
shiny presence of her child, a boy some eight years old.
Her habitation is a small frame cabin, rudely built,
yet far from comfortless, and the indigenous creepers,
which so rankly festoon its sides, screen many a
crevice and unsightly time-stain. A noble weeping
elm flings it boughs over the cabin roof, making a
wide spreading shade alike grateful and protecting
during the heats of summer.
A small garden patch, watered by a rivulet and cul-
tivated by her own hands, affords sufficient sustenance
of its kind during most of the year. In the winter
season she sets snares for the rabbits and partridges
which abound amidst the hills and thickets; these are
also a source of profit to her when the season is
pro-
pitious, finding ready purchasers in the immediate
neighborhood.
A couple of goats, which obtain a good subsistence
in their wide rovings, afford her and her child no small
degree of comfort and nourishment. So, with contented
spirit, few wants and not many household cares, the
visible life of our mysterious neighbor is not an irk-
some one : though she may have sorrows which her
own heart alone knoweth.
1*


10
HERMIT'S DELL.
We have all this information concerning her from
our gardener Teddy, who has lived hereabout previous
to our coming. But little more than this is known of
her, though she has lived in her present dwelling nearly
four years : rarely leaving home except to make need-
ful and occasional visits to the village store, two miles
distant. She is generally supposed to be an Italian,
and has the reputation of a fate-teller. We have heard
that occasional parties of swains and maidens visit her
on moonlit eves, to hear their destinies read from a
parchment book, and sip sometimes a love-potion from
her mystic bowl. At such times, the echoes of the
dell reply to glad voices and merry laughter, which
seem alınost a profanation of its quietude.
Strolling as we often do near the domain of La
Solitaire, as my fair cousin Blanche has named her, a
desire to know her history more intimately possesses
me, and I am only waiting a fitting opportunity : now
we can only speculate concerning her, and indulge
strange surmises as to what and where her past life
has been.
Watching her the other day from a distance, busied
in some womanly avocation, and pausing now and then
to caress her child, who was weaving beside her a tiny
osier basket, in which perhaps to gather wild berries
when the summer should come, I thought—how
varied and dissimilar are the links which form the


HERMIT'S DELL
11
great chain of human-kind : some bright and lustrous,
fresh from the hand of their Artisan, God; some, worn
and fragile from too much attrition with their fellows;
others unique and peculiar; whilst on the rest, inaction
and
age gather their cankering rust! Some such idea
had Shelly, perhaps, when he wrote so beautifully,
“Life, like a dome of many colored glass,
Stains the white radiance of Eternity,
Until Death tramples it to fragments."


12
HERMIT'S DELL.
II.
Our garden lies upon the southern hill-side, conveni-
ent to the house, and from its favorable exposure must
be an early one. A wide border of lilacs and syringas
mingled with lesser shrubs and plants, divides it from
the lawn and serves as a screen to veil from the house
our prospective cabbage and potato patches, which are
not very ornamental appendages. To the east of the
garden is a small peach orchard, which now gives
promise of an abundant crop, notwithstanding the late
April frosts. Skirting the orchard is a long range of
trellises, covered with wide-spreading grape vines, at
which Teddy the gardener has lately been busy with
his pruning knife and bass strings. They look dry and
lifeless now, those interwoven and errant branches;
but soon the sweet juices coursing through them, will
swell their latent buds, the germs of shoots, whose
pendant clusters the September sun shall warm and
ripen.
As I came out on the piazza before breakfast this
morning, to snuff the pure air, I perceived the fragrance
of freshly-turned earth, and soon descried Teddy in
his shirt sleeves, delving away in the garden with


HERMIT'S DELL.
13
a
might and main. It was a pleasant sight and a
“goodlye smell” too, furnishing a provocation to my
matinal appetite which Lucullus might have envied.
Oh, ye
denizens of the city, inhaling an atmosphere
heavy with smoke and dust, the wear and tear of life,
little do ye know the blessedness and healthfulness of
our rural airs !
So Teddy dug all the day, and I raked off a bed for
our first sowing of lettuce and peas, which may escape
the occasional night frosts. My fair cousin Blanche
is out on the lawn near by, equipped with scissors and
cord, clipping off the dead shoots from the rose-bushes
and tying up their refractory branches : another one
still is sitting in the sunshine not far distant, weaving
airy ladders for wild creepers to climb and mantle the
dead maple that stands by the garden gate. Oh, my
Minnie, thought I, true to your woman nature, so would
you veil from the world, as your loved but unsightly
tree, man's often failings and infirmities! By and by,
the lighter tasks of my companions are finished, and
they stroll towards the river to watch the fishermen
draw in their shad nets, the first they have set this
But on the porch I hear the patter of little
feet endeavoring to follow the two well-known forms
that are disappearing over the knoll; this however is
quickly stopped by ever-watchful Bridget, who is not
quite ready to take Birdie his daily walk. My labors
season.


14
HERMIT'S DELL.
are not quite over, for I have to manufacture a ladder,
that I may attach to the maple that cunning device
over which its leafy shroud is to gather and thicken.
Then there are some loose pickets wanting a nail on
the garden fence, and after that, there are letters to
be written for the city mail, and so the morning wears
away.
Then comes dinner, and after it an hour's reading
for the sake of wholesome digestion, before I saddle
old Charley to ride four miles to the post office over
the eastern hills. Blanche proposes I should send
Teddy to-day, for the roads are not settled yet and I
cannot go faster than a walk ; but I divine her motive
when I remember that it is Wednesday, when she
never fails to receive a very suspicious-looking, daintily-
sealed envelope, containing four or more pages of
closely-written lines ; but pretending not to fathom her
innocent sophistry, I prefer going and draw my
infe-
rence from the sequel. When I emerge from the
gravelled lane I find the road bad enough and am
almost persuaded to return, but then Blanche would
clap her hands and think how nicely she had outwitted
her shrewd cousin,” as she often calls me. So I
keep on and arrive at Hillsdale in a sorry plight.
There I discover that Charley has left a shoe some-
where in the mud, and he must stand at the black-
smith's for half an hour. There is a letter for Blanche


HERMIT'S DELL.
15
in the post office and a packet of papers for me, with
a letter well covered with European post-marks; it is
dated, Venice, March —, and has been only thirty days
coming, thanks to Collins' enterprise. The superscrip-
tion is in a familiar hand-writing, that of Blanche's
brother, my familiar friend. I put it in my pocket
unopened, to be read by our evening fire. The papers
are interesting with details of the Revolution in Paris,
and I sit down to read them whilst Charley is being
shod.
It is sun down when I reach our gate, and as I look
upward, I see Minnie and Blanche in the arbor on the
knoll, waving their handkerchiefs at my return. Birdie
is there too, and I know he has been watching for "his
ship” to emerge from the Highlands, the ship which
his nurse tells him will bring the long talked-of pony.
How unshadowed is childhood's faith and hopeful-
ness! Yes, my child, your pony will come, but that
fabled ship, like ours, is moored on viewless waters
beside aerial castles, nor freighted yet with the wealth
that lies beneath their “pleasure domes !” We all
meet at the house, and Blanche getting the letter,
saunters away to read it, her sunny face beaming with
pleasure ; whilst I, wearied after my ride, lounge upon
the sofa and frolic with Birdie till Bridget takes him
away for the night. Tea over, that genial cup so
grateful to the weary, abused by Hanway and defended


16
A ERMIT'S DELL.
by Johnson, we gather round the fire, not a dead, dry,
grate-confined fire, though the house is modern built,
but a kindling, flashing blaze of old hickory, diffusing
its moist warmth into every corner and lighting up the
study, so that the reading lamp is fairly dimmed.
When the flame is brightest, I take from my pocket
Frank's travel-soiled letter, the first we have had from
him since the scrawl he sent by a stray pilot-boat com-
ing homeward. Thus he writes with all the warmth
of an out-gushing, imaginative spirit :
“Harry, Minnie, Blanche,-I am in Venice, the
city of the Doges, of the Rialto and silent highways.'
I walk the Piazza of St. Marc with Shylock and
Othello and Jessica, but in thought I roam with you
the leafy paths of Hermit’s Dell. This is a strange
city! the swiftly gliding, funereal gondolas, the deserted
and desecrated palaces, the degenerated people, all
impress me wonderfully; yet it is as a dream, and I
cannot realize that I am in Venice. You, Harry, may
never cease to regret not coming here when you were
in Italy. Florence, Rome, Naples, each have their
charms and storied associations, but Venice is unique.
I wish you could see the Ducal palace, whose long
halls are fairly warmed by the glowing colors of Titian,
Paul Veronese and Tintoretto. I wish you could
stand with me in the Barbarigo palace, before the


HERMIT'S DELL.
17
6
wonderful Magdalen' or over the tomb of its author,
on which is inscribed
'Qui giace il gran Tiziano.'
*
*
But I must wait till I am with you all again before I
can relate my impressions; a letter is but a poor
vehicle to convey them.
Tell Blanche she must not
be married before I return, which will be in three
months, unless I go to the East, which depends upon
my companion.
Have you made the acquaintance of the strange being
you wrote me about in your last letter? By the by,
it came to hand at Paris. If you write again, direct as
before, for I do not think I shall reach Egypt. A few
words about
*
*
*
*"
But the rest is for myself, and I expect Frank will
not dream that I have transcribed his rambling letter
into my diary ; but it gladdened an evening in our
experience, and so it must have its page. Blanche
was a little disappointed at not having a few lines
especially for herself, but this was soon forgotten.
Frank's letter had really given me the Italian fever,
so I spent the rest of the evening over my own journal,
written five years before, and in brushing up my
memories of masters and master-pieces sadly confused.


18
HERMIT'S DELL.
What an influence a friend's letter exerts
upon
the
spirit! If kind and genial, it seems almost like the
familiar pressure of the hand that wrote it; if harsh
or reproving, it wounds us; if ungracious and con-
demning, it angers us, and threatens to sever the links
which never so much weight of mutual grief or care
could weaken or separate !
Frank's letter had imbued us all with its warm
Italian spirit; it even generated yearnings to be with
him in his travels, and made us almost discontented
with our hitherto charming locality. But a thought
was engendered in my brain, as a passing breeze bore
to our ears the voice of the waterfall far down in the
valley. It whispered the magic name, La Solitaire.
Yes, it dissipated my dreams of Venetian gondolas and
palaces, Shylock and Titian. I looked at Blanche;
she was bending over her tambour frame, and I saw
that her thoughts were far away; perhaps in the
sunny south,—perhaps nearer home. Minnie is busy
too upon a new frock for Birdie, and with maternal
vanity is doubtless thinking how becoming it will be
to his fair skin and rotund form.
Preparatory to the suggestion I was about to make,
I stepped out upon the piazza, (Anglice, porch, for my
evening researches had reminded me of the misnomer,)
to take an observation of the weather. It was a
beautiful night, but a rime, glistening like diamond


HERMIT'S DELL.
13
dust in the light of the moon, lay upon the grass and
coated the lightest branches of the shrubbery. On the
river, white sails were gleaming as if unsoiled by time
or weather, whilst the lantern of the Pharos, ever
lighted by its watchful guardian to warn unskilful
mariners of the shoal it stands upon, seemed a super-
fluous feature of the scene; though its cheerful radi-
ance has been often our pleasure during the dreary
nights of stormy March. The cool night air effectu-
ally dissipated my Italian fever, so I came back to my
chair and cold supper, for we dine early in the coun-
try, with a wholesome appetite.
The good bread and butter and cold beef had the
effect of opening our long silent mouths in a twofold
Blanche had done dreaming, for a while at
least, and Birdie's gay frock was finished excepting
the buttons, so I had the field to myself, for I knew
it would require some degree of persuasion on my
part to secure Minnie's co-operation at least, into my
plan, for they both had always felt a little afraid of
La Solitaire. As Blanche is the most persuasible of
the two, I try her first. “Blanche," I said, “let me
show
you
how to catch a trout to-morrow; you may
have my light rod, I will bait the hook for you and
take the fish off, if you get one ; you shall do none of
the drudgery of the sport. You need not be afraid of
the sun either, for my seat is a shady one, and the
sense.


20
DELL,
HERMIT's
April sun is not warm enough to be unpleasant."
No, cousin,” replies Blanche, “ I want to finish this
piece in time for the fair at the church next week;
besides, I have two or three letters to write, and I have
promised to make Uncle William a visit certainly this
month, so you see I have my hands full; but I will go
one of these days.” “But Blanche, cousin mine, it will
only be for an hour or two, you can certainly spare that
time, and now it is not so warm as it will be in June."
· But, cousin Harry, I had rather not go; why are
you so pertinacious, I fancy you have some other object
in mind, haven't you now, speak the truth ?” “Well
Blanche,” said I, not wishing to commit myself, “I
will not urge you, we will wait your pleasure, for the
fish need coaxing; they won't bite at unwilling hooks,
66
you know."
Minnie is equally intractable ; she does not like fish-
ing, and not only that, there are household matters
requiring attention. The cook has given notice of
retiring from kitchen duties to become a wife, and
there will be a week or two before another can be per-
suaded to “lave her frinds” in the city and go to the
“ lone counthry.” So I am completely vanquished,
and decide to await another letter from Frank, which
may cause a relapse of the “fever,” for this I think will
beget a sympathy for La Solitaire. I sit down again
to my book, the “Cosmos” of Humboldt, which Frank's


HERMIT'S DEIL.
21
"
letter and my old journal has superseded for a while,
and am soon absorbed in his “study of nature," with
all its wonderful and philosophical details. To the
ardent lover of nature and all that is her handiwork,
he who derives his highest pleasure in the contemplation
of grasses, mosses and springing flowers, in beholding
the glories of sunrise and sunset, and the silvery radi-
ance of moonlight; to him who listens with “rapt ear”
;
to the whispers of leaf-stirring breezes or the roar of
the tempest amid the primeval forests ; to him who
loves the murmur of streams, the voice of the water-
fall and the dash of ocean's surge ; or finds delight in
anything that is Nature's, how fertile seems the theme
which the great naturalist expounds!
He awakens memories of our schoolboy days, and
going back to our alma mater, we con again the well-
worn Pliny, Virgil, and Euripides of those classic days.
Then there are Gregory of Nyssa and Chrysostom
the hermit, Camoens and Dante, and a host of others,
ancient and modern, with whose works we are more
or less familiar.
But Blanche is dozing, Minnie is getting impatient,
my lamp is burning dim, and it is long past bedtime.


22
HERMIT'S DELL.
III.
1.
As in city, so in country life, day after day brings its
employments, duties and pleasures. They err who
say, that out of cities and towns, in the wide domain
of woods and fields, existence is lazy and selfish.
True, that contact with our fellow men is less fre-
quent here, and that our sphere for well-doing unto
others is far more limited; but the poor and suffering
are everywhere ; all over the world reigns the curse
for sin, in the “hedges” as well as the “ highways.”
There are some who everywhere wrap about them
the impenetrable cloak of selfishness; but to him of
willing heart and hand, occasions for kindly words and
deeds are never wanting.
There are many too who have had their share of the
jostle and hurry which characterizes city life; it is
perhaps uncongenial to their natures, and when the
object which stimulated their endeavors is acquired,
they look about for rest. Beautifully has some one
written,-
“ One does not want for ever to contend with the mad
race of waters, and the arm longs to put out of the cur-


HERMIT's
23
DELL.
a
rent into some quiet cove where sunbeams glitter in
golden rings, and overhanging trees make green sha-
dows and soft whisperings—it longs for a rest."
Some such thoughts had I this morning as a poor,
travel-worn stranger stopped at the kitchen door to crave
a mouthful of food. After he had eaten his fill he came
to the garden, where, like the child I have read of,
I was examining some of the seeds we had planted, to
see whether they were growing. He wanted work ;
for he says he is poor, and has no home or friends, but
is willing to work. He is a Pole, and having vainly
tried to find employment in the city, has started, he
knows not whither, in search of a living. I question
him a little, but he hardly understands me, nor I, him.
Yet I gather enough to know that it is the same tale
we often hear: a recital of oppression, cruelty and suf-
fering, of family ties rudely sundered, and warm hearts
ruthlessly broken. He is a strong man, but
weeps
like
a child as he strives to tell me his history. Poor fel-
low ! he has probably pawned all the clothing that is
not absolutely necessary to cover him ; yet he still
wears his braided coat, now sadly out of repair, and
destined soon to be cast aside. I find something for
him to do and promise him a shelter for the night, and
he almost overpowers me with gratitude.
Teddy brings me word that Brindle, our choice
Devon, has a calf an hour old, but unfortunately it is
a


24
HERMIT'S DELL.
mal
Wh
Pul
70 71
peri
1
fact
the
St!
cor
10
of the male gender, at which I am greatly disappointed,
for I had hoped to raise a heifer from her this season.
The butcher from the village reaches us three times in
the week, and brings, for our convenience, whatever
letters or papers come for us by the mail of the pre-
vious night; as yet the terminus of the railroad
running from the city is many miles distant, and our
only communication is by steamboat and barge.
But the butcher's red wagon is at the door, and
Blanche is on the piazza, holding up a letter for me.
It contains, as I expected, notice that the Shetland
pony which Birdie has been looking for so long, was
shipped, no not “shipped,” but “barged,” last evening
from the city. It must have arrived at the Point
this morning, and I forthwith despatched Teddy after
it on old Charley, a ride of three miles.
Poor Teddy! he does not want to go, for he is
planting with great care a large bed of early beets, and
is afraid that “Polaski,” as he calls the poor fellow,
his co-worker, will destroy it, but I promise it shall
not be disturbed, and he is off to the stable as fast as
his short legs can carry him.
He is a perfect jewel in his way, that same Teddy,
as honest and faithful an Hibernian as ever lived; there
is no pretension in him either, though he can do almost
anything, and what he undertakes, he does well.
Grooming Charley, milking Brindle, chopping wood,
tar
ma
S
th
11.


HERMIT'S DELL.
25
making the garden, and running here and there, keep
him busy ; but he is never behindhand, and never tired.
Where could I get such another? I endeavor to show
Pulaski what I wish him to do, and not to do, then go
to the house and sit awhile with Minnie and Blanche,
perusing the papers which came this morning.
The steamer is to sail day after to-morrow, and this
fact reminds me that I must write to Frank, but I put off
the task till evening, when there will be nothing to inter-
rupt me. We pass away an hour in pleasant talk on
subjects domestic and foreign ; though there is one
domestic topic broached by Minnie, not very pleasant
to me. She says, I must search for a cook; and if I
cannot find one here, why, I will have to go to the city
for one. I protest loudly against this innovation of
marital duties, but Minnie's persuasive powers carry
the day, and I promise to try : Blanche roguishly say.
ing, Only think, cousin, what an amusing little story
you might write, called, 'Harry C- in search of a
cook.'"
Twelve o'clock comes, and soon after Teddy passes
the window, leading as diminutive and shaggy a speci-
men of horse-flesh as I ever saw. We all run out to
see him, and some one calls Bridget and tells her to
bring Birdie down, and even Pulaski ventures to leave
his work and draw nearer. Birdie cannot get down
stairs fast enough, so Bridget must carry him, and
2


26
DELL.
HERMIT's
when he reaches the scene, what an impersonation of
delight he becomes. The pony is a perfect stoic; he
allows all sorts of liberties from us. Teddy opens his
mouth to see how old he is. I look at his unshod feet.
Blanche handles his long mane ; while to crown all,
Birdie is placed upon his back, switch in hand, and
wonderfully brave, till Teddy leads his charge a step
forward, upon which the young novice utters piteous
cries for papa, mamma and Bridget to take him down.
This done, Shag is led to the stable to get a good mess
of bran and rest after his long journey, for he is still
on his sea legs.
Whilst we are at dinner, the ladies propose that I
take them a drive this afternoon. There are necessary
purchases to be made at Hillsdale store, and we can
get the morning papers from the post-office. I acqui-
esce if they will go in the box wagon, as it is lighter
than the other, and the roads are not yet in order.
In an hour Charley is at the door, and though he is
pretty well advanced in years, yet when well groomed
and harnessed, there are few nobler looking animals;
and then he is so gentle and fast, and knows so well the
gait he is to travel. We drive slowly down the road
which winds along our hill-side, and crossing the
creek that bounds our domain upon the north, we
enter the river woods, beneath whose overarching
branches, the road is always damp and shadowy, even


HERMIT'S
27
DELL.
in summer. Here and there, where the high ground
commands a fine river or mountain view, or both com-
bined, the forest has been long since cleared away,
and tasteful dwellings with velvety lawns and well
kept enclosures, mark the hand of wealth and taste.
They are the abodes of those upon whose intercourse
and society we are dependant for much of our present
and prospective pleasure. Keeping the river road,
which runs northward for many iniles some distance
farther, we diverge into a narrow lane cut through the
woods, and intersecting the level turnpike leading
from Hillsdale to the river. This is skirted by large
and fertile farms, mostly grazing land, and is much
travelled. We have taken this roundabout way to
our destination merely for the drive, and shall return
by a more direct road. Reaching the village which, as
its name mplies, is embosomed amidst the hills, I
discharge Minnie and Blanche at the main store, and
then tying Charley under the tavern shed, I stop at
the post-office and getting my papers, sit down to
chat awhile with its sociable and news-burdened func-
tionary.
When the ladies' shopping time has expired, and I
rise to leave, a flaming yellow handbill posted on the
wall attracts my notice. It is to inform the public
that an itinerant lecturer - will address them to-mor-
row evening at the meeting-house in Bridge Valley, on


28
A ERMIT'S DELL.
Animal Magnetism, illustrated by subjects.” We will
go, thought I, it will just suit our dreamy Blanche,
and if we do not become converts, it will be a pleasant
moonlight ride at least! By the time I reach the
store and the assiduous clerk packs away the various
sized straw-papered packages, Minnie and Blanche
have finished their business with the dressmaker who
lives adjoining the store, and we are soon on our way
homeward. The road now lies over and between the
ridges of hills which run parallel with the river, and
break the force of those chill easterly winds so preva-
lent in our latitude. The sun is nearing the horizon;
and, as we follow the inequalities of the road, some-
times we are in sunlight, sometimes and oftener in
shadow, so like-
" The lights and shades, whose well-accorded strife
Gives all the strength and colour of our life.”
We reach home in time to give Birdie his good-
night kiss, and take tea at the usual hour. Teddy
has made Pulaski an odorous bed in the hay loft, and
the poor wanderer has gone to it, perhaps to dream of
his country and her wrongs.
W the astral is lighted and a fresh stick put on
the fire, we dispose ourselves as best pleases us. I
take my book till Blanche finishes her two pages to
Frank at the escritoire, whilst industrious Minnie


HERMIT'S DELL.
29
opens some of her many bundles, which perfume the
room with a mingled scent of coffee, cinnamon and
sugar, to find buttons and cord for that frock which
to display her darling's charms so becomingly. It is
soon finished, and Bridget is summoned to take it to
the nursery and put it on the child when he is dressed
for dinner to-morrow. Oh! a mother's vanity! but it
is akin to her love.
Blanche is a ready writer, and has spun out three
pages, from which she reads us occasional passages
and then gives me her seat. I have much to write
about, so I hunt up some Paris post paper that has
been reposing in my drawer for years, and shall proba-
bly indite six or eight pages of it.
As I write, Blanche opens the piano and plays the
serenade from “Don Pasquale,” for, ever thoughtful
as she is, she knows it is a favorite air of mine, and
that music is always suggestive to my pen.
Minnie tells me not to forget to thank Frank for
that case of anchovies and basket of Florentine oil
he shipped from Leghorn, and which are now in our
larder. No, my friend, those choice and spicy fish
keep you in eternal remembrance; as for the oil, we
will prove its delicacy when my lettuce is well up
and before it has headed, I assure you. When I
reached my third page, Blanche says she forgot to tell
Frank not to fail bringing her the coral and lava sets


30
HERMIT'S DELL.
from Naples, and if he should go to Constantinople,
“ he must bring her a pair of Turkish Slippers, the
handsomest blue and silver ones he can find." By
and by, I am in want of a sentence, and I ask Minnie
if she has any commission for Frank to fill. She says
she will think, but as the thought does not come very
soon, I have to think of something I would like for
myself, a chibouque perhaps, if he goes to the East,
or a Damascus hunting knife.
But at last I reach my eighth page of desultory mat-
ter, and looking over what I have written, I believe I
have touched on every topic that could interest my
friend. He has never been here, and has no idea of
our location except from the description I wrote him
after we came. I tell him of Charley and Brindle,
Shag, Birdie and Teddy, and of ourselves, our quiet
home pleasures, our hopes and fears; I speak again of
La Solitaire, but can tell him little more than I did
at first, then I close with wishes from all of us for his
safe and speedy return. No, there is a P. S. to be
crowded in ; it is Minnie's wish that has reached her
lips at last. Well, Minnie, what is it? “Why just
ask Frank, if it is not too much trouble, to bring me a
fine Scotch woollen plaid to make Birdie a coat next
Fall, he knows my taste." Oh, Minnie, Minnie, you
will spoil that boy!
Blanche's sweeping fingers stop for a moment in the


AERMIT'S DELL.
31
middle of a passage from "Sonnambula," as though a
sudden thought had struck her, and she wishes to
express it; but it is only for a moment; she restrains
it and her hand sweeps the keys again.
“I know you are wishing for something more,
Blanche, but I think you can do without it. Frank's
trunk is over-burdened already, and will hardly pass
the custom-house duty free.”
I enclose Blanche's letter in mine, seal it and direct
it to his banker's at Paris; he will open it within
thirty days, and in less time than that, he will be with
us I know, if I mistake not the influence of his sister's
letter. Will she postpone that eventful day to which
she is looking forward, if he is not here? her own
heart can tell.
But it is nearly midnight, later by two hours than
we generally sit up. Books, paper and pen are laid
aside, the piano closed; and lighting their chamber
candles, my companions quietly vanish. I turn down
the wick of the astral till its flame expires, and then
heap ashes on the smouldering embers of the fire,
which,
“ Just glimmering, bids each shadowy image fall
Sombrous and strange upon the darkening wall."


32
A ERMIT'S DELL.
IV.
SPRING is maturing most beautifully, and the sight
most grateful to mine eyes this morning are the well-
defined rows of my early frame pease, and the tender
leaves of nascent lettuce. Pulaski spades with greater
vigor than he did yesterday, and seems elated from
some cause or other. Can it be that he carries a
stimulus in his pocket? No, I wrong him, for Teddy
I
approaches and tells me he went over to farmer Mead's
last night, hearing he wanted a man to tend his cattle;
and that he has promised to take the poor Pole on trial,
as soon as I have done with him. This is pleasant to
all parties, for I felt loth to discharge the wanderer, as
I intended doing in a day or two.
Brindle's calf is thriving finely, and Shag looks
somewhat better after the grooming he had this morn-
ing ; by and by we will have him on the lawn, and try
to make him and Birdie better acquainted.
The weather is so pleasant and the meadow looks
so much dryer, I return to the house and get out my
gun in hopes of finding some English snipe on the low
grounds. Dash, my noble setter, whom, amidst the


HERMIT'S DELL.
33
variety of topics which have engaged my pen, I have
forgotten to mention, is almost beside himself at sight
of my gun, so long laid aside. He runs and turns and
hunts the lawn in the wildest manner, then comes up
to me and crouches at my feet whilst I charge my
piece. A fine and full-blooded setter is Dash, the
treasured gift of a friend who has long been gone
"To the dim unknown.”
Many are the woodcocks we have shot together on the
meadows of the Delaware and amidst Jersey swamps;
many the quail flushed on autumn stubble-fields. But
those days are over, and it is seldom that I hunt now!
Dash is getting old too, and fat and lazy ; he loves
better to lie dozing in the sunshine on the cottage
porch, than soil his coat with black swamp mud or
tangle it with briars.
It is a novelty to him now, and we go toward the
meadow with careful step. Dash is wild, and I have
to restrain him. There ! a bird rises and is off with
rapid zigzags; a little farther and up gets another; I
fire as he turns and drop him. Charge, Dash ! I may
want two barrels for the next one. Another and still
another rises, and I get two out of the four. The
meadow stretches for a half mile along the creek, and
then merges into swamp and woodland, on which
doubtless the woodcock are plenty in July. By the
2*


34
HERMIT'S DELL.
time I reach home there are five birds in my pocket,
whose succulent flesh will make us a glorious supper
after our return from Bridge-valley to-night.
Dinner has been over for some time, but thoughtful
hands have placed in the heater before the fire a plate
or two of substantials and a dish of some delicate com-
pound, Blanche's invention and handiwork. Whilst I
eat, Birdie is in the hall, wondering at the birds and
caressing them after his fashion, till Bridget takes
them to the kitchen.
Blanche practises the last new Polka, which she does
not fancy much because it is not difficult enough ; she
loves dashing, brilliant music, like Jullien's and Herz's.
Minnie is almost lost in my great reading chair-
“ An antique chair
Cushioned with cunning luxury”—
and deeply absorbed with the glowing pages of Hans
Anderson's “Improvisatore.”
We are to have tea served early, for there are three
miles to drive to Bridge-valley, and I send orders to
Teddy about the conveyance. The couch before the
fire looks inviting, and, taking up “Cosmos," which
I have nearly finished, I read till the book drops out
of my hand, and almost unconsciously I am dozing.
Blanche's music was soothing, and Minnie's attitude
was drowsily suggestive ; besides, I was reading of


HERMIT'S
35
DELL.
stellar research, which savors of drowsy night; so it is
not surprising that I was overpowered.
The clatter of the cups and saucers, however, rouses
me, and Blanche, who likes to get the advantage of me
sometimes, exclaims, “ There, cousin Harry, you say
you never sleep in the daytime ; why, you have been
sound asleep and snoring for an hour; you owe me a
pair of gloves too-Bajou's best, dove color, number
seven-don't forget.” Looking at the clock, I have to
plead guilty, and my fair cousin has no doubt earned
the gloves ; in fact, I felt the impress of her lips upon
my forehead when I woke.
My demure Minnie, who is little older than her com-
panion, laughs at her gay raillery. She is not jealous,
and says I shall pay the gloves.
What a happy home is ours ! How closely are the
hearts of its in-dwellers united! But one of these days
Blanche, whose very presence is as a ray of sunlight
and a blessing, is to go out from us and form new ties-
new associations. We often think of it, and are selfish
enough to wish it otherwise; but it is human nature.
As the sun sets we take a cup of tea, reserving our
appetites for the better appreciation of the supper in
store for us, and soon the wagon is at the door,
We take an easterly direction now, for the little
settlement at Bridge-valley lies amidst the hills equi-
distant from Hillsdale and another village of the same


36
H ERMIT'S DELL.
size farther south. After the hills are crossed, we come
into a wide and fertile valley, through which a rapid
creek winds, whose waters furnish motive power suffi-
cient to drive a large paper and grist mill the year
round. These probably formed the nucleus round
which the village has gathered and grown. This is
the old post route, and an antiquated tavern with a
high sign-post, from which a weather-beaten portrait
of the “Father of his Country" hangs creaking and
dangling, still offers dubious “ accommodation for man
and beast."
This, with the post-office store on one corner, and a
rival one on the other, a butcher's and baker's shop,
a shoe store, and the “meeting-house,” mainly consti-
tute the village of Bridge-valley.
The place derives its name from the noble stone struc-
ture which spans the stream on two massive arches,
forming the only substantial connection of the twe
shores for a distance of three miles.
We reach the “meeting-house,” as they choose to
call it, in good season. It is plainly a gala-night in
Bridge-valley. The sheds are occupied by every
description of vehicle, from the lumber-box family
wagon, with its spring-seats covered with buffalo skins,
to the light, spider-bodied sulky, driven by some "fast
young man with a fast horse.
Aspiring youths with very stiff collars and fanciful


HERMIT'S DELL.
37
cravats, stand in knots about the door, awaiting the
lecturer. Inside, the plain pine benches are pretty well
filled with promiscuous occupants. Staid farmers and
their wives in unassuming apparel; smart-looking
beaux, whip in hand, sitting snugly between gaily-
dressed, buxom maidens, to many of whom this is doubt-
less an eventful occasion, an epoch in their lives.
On the foremost benches, noisy and inquiring boys sit,
scraping their feet over the sanded floor, and slyly
munching peanuts and mint-stick à la “National."
Here and there in the assembly, we recognize a
familiar face, drawn hither like ourselves from curios-
ity or to enjoy a moonlight drive. Soon a wonder-
ful commotion at the door, and a sudden influx of
the “outsiders,” herald the coming of the lecturer.
There is considerable excitement for a while in the
assembly : a great many have bad coughs, numerous
heads bob this way and that, and the boys in front
whisper and giggle and rub their hands together in
anticipation of fun. Two youngsters in front of us
joke about the “ lecturer's hair,” which really does
stand from his head as though it was magnetized.
When silence is restored to some degree, the “Pro-
fessor” mounts the platform, and addresses his
audience. He talks of Mesmer, and Gall, and Spurz-
heim, and enlarges upon “magnetic influences" and
“phrenological developments.” He indulges in a great


38
A ERMIT'S DELL.
many hard words, among which are “clairvoyance” and
"psychology," whereupon some of his listeners look very
much edified, though they have not the remotest idea
of their meaning. He tried very hard to convert unbe-
lievers to his doctrine, which he insists “is as true as
the gospel,” and that he will prove it by “ocular
demonstration if any of the audience will step to the
stage :" to which Blanche adds, sotto voce," and be
made fools of."
Upon this invitation from the “Professor," one or
two of the older boys in front go upon the platform and
take their seats ; and soon after, two young men from
the rear of the room join them. They are each pro-
vided with some talismanic bit of zinc and silver com-
bined, and directed to keep their eyes upon it. Whilst
they are thus employed, the lecturer proceeds with his
elucidations. In a few minutes there is a titter among
the audience, for one of the “subjects” is nodding in
an unequivocal manner; soon another follows suit, and
then a third, but the remaining one is not“susceptible,"
and he is discharged. The Professor now makes
sundry gestures and manipulations over the individuals,
and soon“ wills" them to do marvellous things. One
imagines he is fishing, and goes through all the move-
ments pertaining to the art ; another fancies himself to
be Henry Clay, and makes a speech after the style of
the statesman. The other makes wry faces at tasting


HERMIT'S
39
DELL.
a glass of water the lecturer gives him, thinking it to be
vinegar; all of which is very amusing and “convinc-
ing” to the audience.
We have seen enough, however, and leave before we
are made converts of. I remain decidedly skeptical,
and as to the ladies, they seem equally unbelieving
Teddy alone expresses his undisguised opinion, in de-
claring “they can't humbug him."
Our ride home is delightful, and Charley whirs us
over the road at a glorious rate, for in half an hour
from the meeting-house, we are sitting cozily by the
parlor fire, expatiating on the merits and demerits of
the evening's entertainment.
By and by, a savory and appetizing odor penetrates
the house, and when the table is spread in the dining-
room, we are summoned to our supper. There is
everything necessary to its appreciation, but the salad,
that we think grows so slowly. Blanche and I enjoy
the birds with epicurean zest, but Minnie, a true disciple
of Epicurus, craves their heads for the dainty bits that
are within. What do you think of that, oh! sage
and genial Frank-Forrester? Is not her taste appre-
ciative?
It is Saturday night. A sensation of weariness
comes over us, even at the remembrance, and we go
early to bed. “Good night, cousin !” “Good night,
“
Minnie !"_“Bon soir, Blanche ; pleasant dreams !”


40
HERMIT'S DELL.
V.
SABBATH in the country! a day of real rest and
quiet, except for those employments which are always
necessary, even in the performance of religious
duty.
The clatter of the mill is stopped, that whir and
clatter so familiar, that we do not think of it till it is
missed. The garden tools are laid aside ; Pulaski has
gone to his new home, and the halloo of the boy, who
has been all the week ploughing farmer Mead's corn
ground, is hushed for the day.
We hear the bell of Hillsdale church-our church-
but faintly through the intervening woods; and fainter
still, that of the meeting-house at Bridge-valley, over
the hills.
Breakfast over, and morning duties attended to, we
prepare for church, in which there is service but once
during the day. Blanche, however, changes her mind
as she is about to get into the carriage, and says she
does not feel very well, and would rather not go ; so
we go without her. Ah! Blanche, I well know what
affects you, and why your eyes looked so tearſul this


HERMIT'S DELL.
41
morning ; but you must try to conquer
this
proneness
to melancholy !
Yes,” replies Minnie to my soliloquy, which I had
unconsciously spoken aloud. “She must do it, for it
is affecting her health ; she is too doubting and appre-
hensive, and it is all for another, too." We reach the
church as the bell ceases tolling. It is an old Dutch
building, with a high modern-built steeple, and the
interior has been so completely modified to our ideas
of comfort, it is doubtful if the Van Winkles and Wyn-
koops, and all the other “ Vans” and “Koops,” who
helped to build it, would recognize their handiwork, if
they could take a peep at it from their graves, which
lie under its shadow.
The congregation is large and wealthy, for it is the
only church in the place, if we except a small frame
building occupied by the Catholics as a chapel. Our
pastor, though old and gray-headed, is still faithful and
vigorous, truly a vigilant “watchman on the towers of
Zion.” He preaches to us in plain terms the truths of
the gospel, avoiding those controversial and labyrinthine
doctrines, amidst which some of our teachers love to
flounder.
Good old man ! we sit and listen to your words,
and go to our homes wiser and better for their influ-
ence-not mystified and misled.
We reach the cottage with pleasant reflections on


42
A ERMIT'S DELL.
6
what we have heard, and find our cousin absorbed in
the perusal of some sombre and hypochondriac memoir,
whose spirit is probably in unison with her present
state of feeling
Minnie kisses her, and inquires if she feels any bet-
ter. “Not much, cousin," replies Blanche.
“No, nor you never will, Blanche," I add, “ unless
you lay aside that book; better read good Burton's
· Anatomy of Melancholy' than that, in your present
morbid state.”
Birdie, whose laughing face and winsome frolics are
enough to cure the “hypo” in any body, has escaped
Bridget's eye, and rushes into the room, with his
resplendent frock of Spring colors and material half
buttoned. I take him on my knee, and ask him the
few questions from the Child's Catechism which are
plain to his comprehension. He knows them already
from frequent rehearsal, and soon slips from my knee
to prattle with his " Aunty Blanche.”
But Blanche is not in the humor for it, and the
little fellow gets a book, and sits down on the floor to
amuse himself with his own resources.
I take up a book to read till dinner-time, but in a
a few minutes I hear Birdie give a long-drawn sigh, as
if from the very depths of his tiny heart; his book is
thrown aside, and with the versatility of childhood, he
flies to some other attraction. How suggestive, though


HERMIT'S DELL.
43
comparatively meaningless, was that sigh! Age sighs
beneath the weight of years; manhood, with the
burden of care ; youth longs for a better and a
happier day, and childhood sighs amidst its playthings.
The afternoon comes, the warm, quiet Sabbath
afternoon. It is a dreamy one, and I am inclined to
sit in my luxurious reading chair, and fall uncon-
sciously to sleep over my “Theron and Aspasio."
But I take my cane, and walk toward the belt of
woods which lies between us and our neighbor Mead.
There, under a spreading chestnut, I sit and view the
fair scene that stretches away before me. I think of
Birdie's sigh, and weave in my memory some rhyming
thoughts, which if I keep till then, shall be inscribed
in Blanche's scrap-book when the “lamps are lighted.”
Lured by the voice of the cascade not far distant, I
go homeward by the way of Hermit's Dell, and loiter-
ing there awhile, it is evening ere I reach the house.
Minnie is reading aloud from my book, and Blanche
is attentively listening with unclouded brow. Reader!
if any there may be, who shall scan these desultory
pages, are you conversant with “ Theron and Aspasio?
If not, get it; it is a book for your rural Sabbath ;
read the fourteenth dialogue, and marvel not that
some love the country.
"Blanche, you feel better, do you not ?" I ask.


44
HERMIT'S DELL.
“Yes, cousin, I am quite well now. Say no more
about my foolish whims; I know I am doubtful some-
times without cause, but then, I cannot help having
presentiments."
“ Ah! Blanche, you know what we are told : Suf-
ficient unto the day is the evil thereof.' Bring me
your 'index rerum, if you will." It is cheerfully
handed me, and I write therein, Bowring's translation
of the Chinese maxim.
6. To seek relief from doubt, in doubt,
From woe in woe, from sin in sin,
Is but to drive a tiger out,
And let a hungrier wolf come in.”
There, look at that sometimes, Blanche, not only now,
but in after-life. It has been in my memory
for
years.
“I will,” comes from her trembling lips.
“Do not put away the book yet, Blanche. Do you
remember Birdie's sigh this morning? When tea is
over, I have a few lines to write: some of my after-
noon's rhyming."
The evening comes, with its cheerful fire-light, for
we need a little yet, and the astral throws its pleasant
light upon the table, round which we sit.
Minnie re-opens the book she was reading, and
Blanche finds another, whilst I take from the book-


A ERMIT'S DELL.
45
case an old calf-covered volume of Donne's Sermons,
wherein there is so much of rare worth and beauty.
So we sit and read till bed-time, when I take up
Blanche's scrap-book again, wherein is written in fairy
characters, many a fugitive gem of prose and verse,
gathered here and there, as they have struck her
fancy. Their burden now is mainly of joy and love
and hope. Will they be less shadowy hereafter-
those sunshiny pages? Who can tell !
Blanche shows me where I may write my effusion,
and it is soon indited.
BIRDIE'S SIGH.
Child! I heard thee sadly sigh,
Midst thy trifles playing:
Still, no tear-drop from thine eye,
Down thy cheek is straying.
Dost thou know a secret grief
In thine infant bosom ?
Like the frost on bursting leaf,
Or on tender blossom?
Soon enough thy heart will be
Conversant with sorrow;
Now thy day is full of glee,
With as glad a morrow.


46
HERMIT'S DELL.
Like the bee amidst the flowers,
Pass that day in gladness;
Soon enough will come the hours,
Bearing pain and sadness.
Yet that little sigh of thine,
Was to me a blessing,
On this wayward heart of mine,
Sober truth impressing.


A ERMIT'S DELL.
47
VI.
The early rains and late blighting frosts are over,
and on the bright weeks of Spring we are gliding
rapidly towards Summer. The early fruits have begun
to ripen, and the gardens and fields promise opulent
returns to the labor of the husbandman.
Blanche has already been a week at her uncle's
place, Glen-Clunie, a day's travel westward, and we
are anxiously awaiting her return. The house seems
gloomy, in a degree, when her gay laugh is not ring-
ing through it.
Minnie says, this is a foretaste of what is to be
hereafter; for when Frank comes back from his travels,
she is to be married. We can hardly realize it ; for a
year or two ago, she was a fairy-like girl, just from
school.
“Standing with reluctant feet,
Where the brook and river meet;
Womanhood and childhood sweet."
Now, almost a woman, accomplished and beautiful,
she is worthy of all the love that can be lavished on
her by the heart of man.


48
TERMIT'S DELL.
pe
1
It is a soft star-lit evening, and we sit on the porch,
now festooned with twining and odorous creepers, and
listen to the sounds which form our out-door melodies :
the occasional chirp of a sleepless bird upon its nest
in the sweet-briar; the bell on the factory at Bridge-
valley striking the quarter-hours; the murmur of
waters; the breeze-whisperings, and now and then the
hoot of the owl in farmer Mead's woods.
Birdie's little “chippy," doubtless listens to the last
ominous sound, its heart throbbing with all a mother's
anxieties.
We have been to Briar-Cliff to day : a deserted old
mansion of which we had frequently heard, and long
desired to see. It is five miles inland, and a pleasant
drive most of the distance along the post road.
We had started soon after breakfast from home, and
spent some hours there, wandering over the desolated
grounds. The approach to the mansion is by a short
and narrow lane leading from the main road, and going
no farther than the enclosure of the property.
We entered the unclosed gate-way, flanked by
massive stone pillars, leaning and defaced ; and keep-
ing the gravelled road, now overgrown with grass and
weeds, a drive of a few hundred yards brought us to
the house.
It stands amidst majestic locust and chestnut trees,
mingled with indigenous evergreens, under which is a


HERMIT'S
49
DELL.
ch,
end
es :
est
e
of
ye
st
Es
1
level sward, sloping and undulating, which must have
been a beautiful lawn; but now covered with long,
waving grass and underbrush. At a little distance
from the rear of the house, you stand upon the edge
of a cliff and look down into a glen, full of dense
verdure, and holding in its bosom a deep, dark pond
of living water. The sides of the cliff, steep and
rugged, are covered with tangled briars and creepers,
and from this the place derives its name.
It was melancholy to walk the long, winding paths
of the once beautiful garden, now a wilderness of rank
weeds. Choice fruit trees and luxuriant grape vines
were left unpruned, and threw their straggling branches
far and wide, yet giving promise of fruit in abundance.
In the pleasure grounds, a few hardy plants were still
living and blossoming; but everywhere else was
nothing but desolation and gloom.
The house was closed, though the frail door could
have been easily burst open. It was no less dilapidated
than the out-buildings which surround it, though it
bore witness to the action of fire upon one of its wings,
probably at a remote time. There was no living thing
upon the premises, except the birds and squirrels,
which sing and gambol undisturbed in fearless freedom.
We have never heard the full history of those who
once lived there, and we wondered why it was deserted,
and that no one had ever been tempted to purchase
3


50
S DELL.
H ERMIT
and restore the property to its former beauty, for it
has evidently been highly improved at no inconsidera-
ble expense and labor.
As we emerged from the avenue into the lane, on
our way homeward, we noticed a small cottage, which
had escaped us before, almost hid from view by a
hedge of willows on the road side. It was not far
from the gate-way we had just passed through, and
had probably been a lodge or tenant house attached to
Briar-Cliff mansion.
An old, decrepid man sat on the door-step, watch-
ing a sportive child playing with a kitten on the grass
before him. He seemed to be dreaming of his own
youthful days, if we might judge by his listless expres-
sion and disregard of our passing.
I proposed to stop under pretence of giving Charley
a draught of water from the well near by, thinking we
might gain some information concerning the spot we
had been visiting.
Minnie, none the less curious, assented; so, tying
the horse by the fence, we entered the picket gate
amidst the willows. The child, probably unaccus-
tomed to the sight of strangers, left its sport and ran
into the house crying. The old man essayed to rise,
and respectfully asked us into the house, but I insisted
on his not disturbing himself, as we only stopped for a
moment. “Ay, but ye must sit," said he; “ • Jenny !


HERMIT's
51
DELL.
bring a chair for the people !” he continued, to some
one inside. It was brought by Jenny, a woman of
middle age, cleanly and neatly dressed, whom we
rightly supposed was his married daughter, and the
mother of the child that was playing in the yard. We
could not but accept the cheerfully proffered hospi-
tality of the strangers, and Minnie took the seat while
I watered Charley.
On my return, I found Minnie and old grandfather well
acquainted, for he appeared to be communicative in the
extreme; so much so, that his listener could not put
in a question, even if it was necessary. I sat down on
the door-step near him and listened for a while too, but
his subject was irrelevant to the one I wished to be
informed on, and I let him edify Minnie whilst my
inquiries were addressed to “ Jenny.” This did not
suit the old man though ; he wanted to give all the
information himself.
“Ay, ye want to know about the old house up there,
do ye? I know all about it,” said he, as soon as he
heard our conversation.
“Yes, my friend, we have been there this morning
for the first time, and are a little curious about it.”
· Well, I'll tell ye. I was a boy about here when
they builded the big house there, and a power of
men was at it, a-workin' on it ; I said I was a boy,
some twenty-two or three, thereabout; we wasn't


52
Ħ ERMIT'S DELL.
men then right out of school; and I worked at cats
pentering with old Boss Jones, dead, you know.
Well, I worked on the house odd spells, when dad
wasn't harvesting or makin' cider, and I knows about
the house, roof to cellar. When it was done, there
was nary a house in the country about, near it. Oh !
dear me; the rooms, and the closets, and the cupboards,
and sich a hall! all carved and painted like, what d'ye
call it ? friscoes ; I forget, it's so long gone. How
somever, they was grand folks what came in coaches
when it was done, and sich furniture and trampery as
they brought, too, among us farmers and sich like ; and
sich horses, big and slick, and black men to mind and
drive 'em. There was an old man and his wife and
two boys, about twenty-five and thirty, like you, sir,
or thereabouts ; and they were wild enough too--made
the mud and dust fly on yon road there. People said
they'd been over the sea and got forrin ways; I don't
know, but they used to talk of their grand-dad bein'an
Englishman, and a lord, too. In summers there was
loads of company from the city, and they lived high at
the Hall, we called it; plenty wine, and fruits in the
garden, lots of it, and to spare : look at it now, goin' to
waste."
“My good friend,” said I, for the old man had stopped
a minute to get breath, we do not want to tire
you,
only tell us the reason why no one lives there now,


HERMIT'S DELL.
53
why some one does not buy it and put it in order; there
are always purchasers to be found for such places.
Who holds the property ?"
“Well, have patience. I'll tell you in time, sir ; you
must know whys and wherefores, always. Ye see, the
old man took sick after he lived there a spell, mortal
sick, and doctors, city doctors couldn't save him ; so he
died. A great funeral that was ; he wasn't buried
hereabouts ; some big church-yard in the city; Trinity,
I believe ; and then the old lady lived with the boys ;
but they was away a good deal, and she was lonesome,
very, only an old nurse with her betimes ; and then
she pined away, and went aſter the old man; and the
boys had it all their own way awhile, till they got
quarrelling about money matters, and went to law, and
the old place 'gan to go to rack, and the servants wasted
every thing
“ That was fiſteen years ago, or thereabouts; time
goes so fast now, these old days! Well, the law giv
the Hall to one on 'em, the oldest, and then, arter that,
the other never come here again ; they said he went
over the sea to live. I never saw him more. And the
one what lived there was always gloomy like; he
never liked no one, and people hereabout never liked
him, he was so grum and short. The boys called him
• Old Grum’arter a while, and he sent off all the ser-
vants but one white-headed negro, black enough too ;


54
HERMIT'S DELL.
6
the boys about called him · Guinny,' for he told 'em
he came from there when he was
a youngster. He
used to cook vittles for the master, and work in the
garden, and do all sorts of work and chores around.
Well, by this time, the young man that was had got to
be nigh fifty or thereabouts, and he takes a notion the
house was hanted, and he had a room made out-doors
somewhere, and shut up the old house, and made old
'Guinny'sleep at the foot of his bed. People got to
say he was a miser, and only eat bread and cheese,
and sich like, and put his silver, all he could get, in
holes and rags, and sich places. He looked poor
enough, skin and bone, and the old nigger not much
better; he was a true friend though; old Guinny never
said a hard word about the man.
'Sometimes, there would be people come from the
city to see the miser, but by and by they stopped ; he
didn't want to see nary body. He took sick too, one
winter, when he wouldn't have fire, and no doctor
either afterward; and he lay so a while, till it got on
his lungs, and he didn't last long.
“ Old Guinny was with him when he went, and cried
like a baby too; and when word got to the city of his
death, some old friends come up and took him down
to where the old folks was buried; and then they sent
word to his brother, and after two or three months, or
thereabouts, they had a great vandoo at the Hall; but
66


HERMIT's
55
DELL.
one;
his own brother wasn't there, only folks from the city
and towns about. There was heaps of rubbish, and
what money the lawyer found, what old Guinny had
safe laid by, he took to keep, I s'pose, for the other
and so no one has been in the house since.
People about here won't go there; they say it's hanted.
Boys go there in day-times to get the fruit when it's
ripe; they wont go there of nights though. I s'pose
the brother what's away hasn't come back yet, and so
they don't sell the old place. It got afire once tow,
and burnt some, but not much ; some boys was
'spected of it. I'd tell ye great stories of doin's there,
if ye'd wait a while, or come again, but I guess that's
enough now.”
• Yes,” replied Minnie, “that will do, my old friend,
perhaps we will have another talk the next time we
come.” We both acknowledged our thanks, but the
old man would not let us go till we ate a piece of bread
and butter, and drank a glass of buttermilk right out
of the churn, which we did with great relish.
Jenny” told us, when we came again, her husband,
who was away from home then, would take us down
to the pond we had seen from the cliff, and catch us a
mess of trout, with which it is full, notwithstanding its
frequent dragging by the boys of the neighborhood. It
was a pleasant hour we spent with the garrulous old
66


56
DELL.
HERYIT's
man, and he seemed to live over the best part of hislie,
during the recital of his tale.
As we sit on the porch and talk over our excursion,
we fancy the interest with which Blanche, who is
inclined to be romantic, would visit those deserted
grounds, and listen to the narrative of our superannu-
ated informer.
Strange it is, that in this enlightened age of ours,
this short life too, wherein we may gather and cherish
so many elements of true happiness, a man can become
the vile slave of accumulating gold ! living devoid of
every comfort to-
“Take pleasure in his abjectness, and hug
The scorpion that consumes him.”


AERMIT'S DELL.
57
VII.
JUNE, sweet, leafy June has come! bringing roses
and strawberries, and other pleasant things, among
which, last but far from least, is our radiant and long
absent Blanche, laden with gifts and messages of love
from our kindred at Glen-Clunie.
We have many questions to ask about Nelly, and
Kate, and Bob, just from college; and in return,
Blanche has so much to tell, she hardly knows where
to begin. In a day or two, however, all is thought of
and communicated, and Blanche settles down again to
our quiet life, yet looking forward to her brother's return
with no little anxiety.
We had a few hurried lines from him yesterday,
written at Naples, as he was embarking for the Ioniar
Islands, closing thus :-"I may go to Egypt, but if
:
I do not, you will see me as soon as a letter could
reach you." Blanche says when he receives her letter,
he will not go farther east ; it will bring him right
home.
Minnie and her cousin both intimate a desire to go
trout-fishing to-day, in accordance with a promise
3*


58
DELL.
HERMIT's
made some weeks ago, and which I had not forgotten.
It was proposed to wait till the afternoon, when the
pool would be more shady, and the walk pleasanter;
so after dinner the ladies equipped themselves with
sun-bonnets and stout shoes, and were soon on the way
to Hermit's Dell, whilst I followed their tripping feet,
dearing poles and all necessary accompaniments. A few
minutes walking brought us into the shadows of the
glen, past the cabin of La Solitaire ; along the brook
side till we crosssd the rustic bridge below the cascade,
and wound our way up the steep bank, fragrant with
cedar boughs, to the brink of the pool.
My companions not being skilled in fly-fishing, pre-
ferred other bait, which Teddy had provided, and I
fixed their hooks for them. Blanche, entering into the
sport with great enthusiasm, caught the first fish, and
a very fine one, which disengaged itself from the hook
when landed, and was quickly secured in the basket.
Minnie, the very impersonation of patience, reclined
upon the bank, waiting for a bite at her quiescent
hook; a Minnie catching “Minnies,” for her first fish
was one of those diminutive shiners which so often
annoy the angler by their pertinacious nibbles at his
bait. Minnie has no fondness for the craft; she only
came to keep us company. Her minnows, however,
did me good service, for not finding my fly taking, I
substituted a live fish, and was very successful. In


HERMIT's
59
DELL.
two hours our basket was full, some of the fish weigh-
ing nearly a pound, though we followed the stream
some distance from the pool, before we took them.
Blanche was uncommonly successful, although a
novice in the art, taking almost as many as I did, and
taking them from the hook herself with perfect non-
chalance.
There are some beautiful walks through the sur-
rounding woods, which we had never explored, so,
when we became tired of fishing, we took a long stroll
of discovery, embracing quite a circuit.
The ridge which commences at Hermit’s Dell runs
for miles and miles eastward from the river, and is
covered with dense woods, most of which are primeval.
Here and there they have been cut off by their owners,
but a dense second growth is rapidly filling up the
openings.
Where a little spot of natural meadow lay along the
stream, we came upon the goats which belong to our
neighbor La Solitaire; and as the afternoon was
wearing away, they were browsing homeward.
It was quite a pastoral picture, and we could almost
imagine ourselves for the moment amidst Alpine hills
or the ridges of La Cava, and we wondered if it might
not be that the similitude of these hills and streams to
those of her native land, had won the heart and feet
of the Italian woman hither.


60
DELL.
II ERMIT'S
It was sundown when we stood upon the bridge
again, returning, yet lingering awhile to watch the
foamy waters of the cascade, and feel its cool spray
upon our faces.
The cabin of La Solitaire lay near our homeward
path. She came to the door as we passed, and we
.
were inclined to stop and exchange a few words with
her, the first opportunity we had ever had, but seem-
ing to be in dishabille, she retired inward, as if to
avoid an interview.
Blanche was much disappointed, for it was the first
time she had manifested any desire to approach the
stranger, with whose appearance she was evidently
pleased at the first glance. “You will have other
“
opportunities, Blanche, and I expect I shall introduce
I
you, after all, for I am determined to know something
more than we do of the woman.'
“Yes, Harry,” replies Minnie, “you are quite
famous for making wonderful acquaintances, and we
must depend on you for an introduction to La Solitaire."
I felt a little chagrined at this termination to our
excursion, for my sole object in making it, was to get
the ladies into the good graces of our neighbor, whom
I, for some undefined reason, had always felt an
interest in. Still, though she appeared unapproacha-
ble, as we have heard she was, I did not despair.
When we reached home, Birdie was riding his pony


HERMIT's
61
DELL.
on the lawn, under the guidance of Bridget, and the
little fellow was enjoying himself to the utmost. Our
approach was, however, a pretext for his being tired
of riding, and Shag was soon in the back-ground.
We had a royal supper of broiled trout, and a modi-
cum of strawberries, the first of the season, which
Teddy's sharp eyes had discovered in the sunniest
portion of the bed.
Some pleasant neighbors came in after tea, and with
a stroll along the river, a short and breezy sail to the
light-house and back, and a little music at the house,
the evening glides away. Not our evening though,
for we sit an hour or two after our friends leave,
and Blanche listens to the description of our excursion
to the deserted domain of Briar Cliff with great
interest, proposing, when Frank arrives, that we shall
all go and spend a day there.
Ah! Frank, I expect you will be valued more than
ever, when you return; you are becoming of great
importance to us, in more ways than one! There are
even half a dozen bottles of that amber olive oil
reserved for your enjoyment, not to mention the spiced
fish, over which, with our rural bread and butter and
a bottle of “Sauterne,” we shall talk away many a
cosy, lamp-lit hour!
“Is the day fixed yet, Blanche, rain or shine, Frank


62
DELL.
HERMIT's
or no Frank? Come, you have kept your secret long
enough.” Blanche's reply is non-committal, though I
shall probably be informed. “Don't ask me, cousin,
Minnie knows;" and the next sound I hear is my
favorite “Don Pasquale,” with a new and brilliant
after-piece, something she has brought from Glen-
Clunie.
Minnie whispers that R-, our prospective cousin,
intends visiting us soon, and as he is one of us already,
he will be welcome as ever to this our country home.
How doubly happy Blanche will be !


HERMIT'S DELL.
63
VIII.
LEANING over the pool whose full bosom nurses the
sportive rapids, there is a massive rock, from the
crevices of which, dense cedars spring and mingle,
forming an arbor almost impervious to the wind or sun.
It is a favorite resort of mine, and sitting there in the
breezy afternoons of June, I while away many an
hour in enticing the silver trout from their cool nooks
below, by means of worm or fly too tempting for their
epicurean taste to resign.
It was on one of these occasions that I won the
acquaintance of La Solitaire's child. He had been
searching the woods for the goats, and attracted by the
wild flowers which grow in such profusion along the
margin of the stream, unconsciously drew near to
where I was sitting.
The cast of my line upon the water first apprised
him of my presence. Unaccustomed to strangers, he
started back half affrighted, but a kind word or two
and the proffer of a live fish in his hand, brought him
to my side and we were soon friends. The remarka-
ble beauty of the boy somewhat surprised me; it
seemed so inconsistent with the humble and secluded


64
HERMIT'S DELL.
!
!
life in which he was nurtured. Not that there is less
of loveliness to be found amid the by-ways than the
highways of the world, but there was a light in his
dark eye and an expression about his lip which spoke
of a spirit that, when cognizant of its strength and
fitness, would deniand a far wider sphere for the exer-
cise of its powers.
Amused and made wiser by his childish prattle, the
twilight was deepening before we started homeward,
but a walk of a few minutes brought us into the glen.
The goats which had found their way homeward were
already enclosed for the night, as descending the hill-
side we looked down upon the cabin ; and there in the
door-way sat the child's mother watching for him, and
wondering, no doubt, the cause of his delay. Coming
as we did from an opposite, or rather angular direction
to that in which she was looking, we were not seen
till nearly at the house. Though my first near meeting
with the woman, who had been to me an enigma, I was
not wholly a stranger to her, for she had seen me fre-
quently pass her dwelling in my strolls through the
valley. First offering me a seat, she gently chided
the boy for his long absence, but for which I apolo-
gized, as being perhaps the cause of it. No one could
mistake the parentage of the child on seeing his
mother ; his were the same dark eyes and hair, the
same glowing complexion, in everything alike except


HERMIT'S DELL.
65
form and accent. It needed no very skilful ear to
discover that she was of foreign birth or parentage;
I fancied her an Italian from the flowing softness of
her accent, and her physical peculiarities; and my
impressions were strengthened when I surveyed the
apartment in which I sat. It was small and scantily
furnished, but scrupulously neat and clean. . A plaster
statuette of the Virgin and child stood upon the man-
tel-shelf, and over it hung a highly colored but coarse
picture of Guido's Magdalen delle radici, whose origi-
nal I had seen in the Sciarra palace at Rome. These
objects bespoke her religion, and they may be her
comfort too, if her faith in them is sincere. As I rose
to depart, my eyes were momentarily attracted by
what appeared to be a picture shrouded in black mus-
lin and hanging in a sort of cupboard or recess beside
the chimney. It stimulated my curiosity, but appear-
ing not to notice it, I took my leave only to await with
feverish anxiety another interview.
It was evident to my mind that she was no ordinary
woman; that whatever she might be now, however
humble her lot or employments, she had or should
have adorned a different station in life; and so the
little insight I had accidentally gained of our myste-
rious neighbor, furnished food for musing on my lone-
some walk homeward. I strived to divine what acci-
dent or vagary had brought this woman from her


66
HERMIT’S DELL.
native land and placed her here in comparative soli.
tude. Was it some deep wrong, or disgrace, or poverty,
or a misanthropic spirit? I should judge from my
observation it was neither of these. It might be then
some deep heart-sorrow; for grief seeks solitude and
looks for solace often “from Nature up to Nature's
God.” Better that it were so than otherwise, and it
might be said of her as of another, when seeking the
comfort and sympathy man could not give-
"She found it on the breast
Of nature kindly ever; there she leaned
Sick, worn with long unrest,
And gladly learned she was her child unweaned.”
So Petrarch found healing for a wounded spirit amidst
the shadows of Vaucluse.
Another hour, and sitting on the knoll which over-
looks the river, we three, the congenial spirits of our
household, enjoy pleasant converse. It is one of those
moon-lit, delicious eves which so often bless our Ameri-
can June; when it seems a happiness merely to live
and breathe the balmy Southern airs, laden as they
are for us with the breath of roses from our carefully
tended garden. We talk of old Brindle and argue if
her pretty calf had better be weaned and put in order
for the butcher. I decide in the affirmative, but
Blanche objects on account of its beauty, though she
1


HERMIT'S
67
DELL.
knows we require more cream now, as strawberries
are ripening, and city friends are to help us eat them.
But utility finally carries the point, and Brindle's
nursling is sentenced; so on the morrow Teddy will
have orders accordingly.
And then we wonder if the meadow by the creek will
yield hay enough this season to keep old Charley and
Brindle and Birdie's pony through the winter, not for-
getting the two South-down cossets we keep tethered
on the lawn; but the decision on this question is de-
ferred till after the change of the moon, which the
almanac presages will bring dry weather.
A little distance down the road that skirts the river
bank, there is a low red house in which old Jimmy
Pike, the fisherman, lives. He has a daughter wasting
away with consumption, and the doctor says she can-
not last long. We see a light glimmering from her
chamber window, and now and then discern the form
of her old mother, bowed by grief and years, moving
about the room, busied in tending the child who should
have been the staff of her age. We often send trifling
delicacies to the sick girl; but our sympathies are
freshly awakened, and thinking what a treat a bowl of
strawberries would be to the fevered invalid, our tender-
hearted cousin promises to pick them early in the morn-
ing, fresh and cool, and take them to her with some
new cream.


68
DELL.
HERMIT's
As the evening wears on into the early night, we
hear far away amidst the river hills the faint echoes
of revolving paddles, heralding the approach of boats
going northward from the city; and soon we see their
colored lights emerging from between the mountains,
as they speed their way like spirits of the night.
What a varied and priceless freight they bear !
Youth and age-rich and poor; hearts, gay and bound-
ing with hope-heavy with grief and despair ; forms,
fair and graceful—bowed by disease and years ; some,
seeking pleasure and change-others searching for a
home and rest. But they have passed like a dream,
and all is still again but the measured ripple of the
tide, the breeze whispering amid the tree-tops, and,
above all, the dash of falling waters away in the depths
of Hermit's Dell.
We think and speak of Frank, and wonder if we
shall hear from him again, and in what “haunts of old
romance” his feet may wander now. He may
be amid
the Doric ruins of Greece, or within the shadows of
the Pyramids; but wherever he is, our thoughts are
with him.
So we sit and talk musingly till the moon sinks be-
hind the western hills, and then loiter houseward to
close our eyes within that dreamy realm, whose far
niente is more perfect than that of Parthenope,


# ERMIT'S DELL,
69
ix.
6
Frank is here at last, and our first intimation of his
arrival was his well-known shout under our chamber
window at sun-rise this morning. I was up and half
dressed, for it is my custom in summer to be out of
doors early; yet I was startled and surprised, and Minnie
none the less so. In a minute I was at the door.
“Harry !” “Frank! why, my dear fellow how are
you ?” was our mutual exclamation.
“Why, Frank, what brought you here at this time
of day? How did you get here?”
The story was soon told ; he had taken the night
boat from the city, and consequently reaching our
landing at a late hour, was obliged to remain at the
miserable tavern there till daylight.
Well, how are Blanche and Minnie and Birdie ?"
But before I can reply they are in the room,
and
Blanche in her brother's arms, laughing and crying at
a great rate.
Why, brother, we never expected you so soon,”
says Blanche, “though you have been among the
Turks, too; just look at his beard !”
66


70
DE LL.
HERMIT'S
Sure enough, Blanche might think so, for Frank's
beard and moustache would be the pride of a Mussul-
man; it looked like a six month's growth.
We were all so excited and had so many questions
to ask, all at once, breakfast was served before Frank
thought of his toilet. This was soon attended to, and
we gathered round the table--four as congenial spirits
as might be found under one roof.
“Oh! how often I have thought of you all,” said
Frank; “how much I have dreamed of you! and
Blanche ; I was so afraid you would play truant, and
run away before I got home. How much longer could
I have trusted you?”
‘Now, Frank, we will talk about that some other
time; you know I am always guided by you.”
“Yes, but we are told love laughs at bolts and
wards; how is it, Harry ?”
“It is so sometimes, Frank, but Blanche has been
very reasonable ; a little melancholy once in a while;
but it is all over now,
is it not, Blanche ?"
Yes, cousin, that verse you wrote in my index
rerum cured me; I shall never forget it; and Frank
must see it too."
After breakfast, Blanche monopolized her brother
for an hour or two, whilst I attended to my various
engagements about the place. There are dead fruit
trees to be rooted up, at which Teddy is busy; and
66


HERMIT's
71
DELL.
the long shoots of the grape vines want guiding aright;
always something to be done or thought of even on our
limited possessions.
There is an unsightly heap of rock, too, which im-
pedes somewhat of a view southward from the house,
which must be quarried out, and converted into a wall
to divide the pasture lot. The surrounding ground
must be graded into a lawn, which will be enlarged
in consequence; and so one improvement suggests
another.
But Blanche has finished her private confab and
gone into the house, leaving Frank to stroll about with
me till dinner-time.
We go to the barn-yard and descant upon the merits
of Brindle junior, whom the butcher is to take away
to-morrow; then to the stable where Charley and Shag
are domiciled, and so away to the pasture lot, of which
Brindle is sole possessor. Its extremity is bounded by
the belt of woods, through which the white farm-house
of our neighbor Mead is plainly descernible, and in the
adjoining field, the industrious old man himself, plough-
ing his corn. He is a perfect pattern of a farmer-
never idle--and it is to be regretted that his only son,
who is an erratic genius, does not possess the enter-
prise of his father.
We sit down under the spreading chestnut, my
favorite seat here, and enjoy the fair landscape before


72
DELL.
HERMIT's
and around us. Memories of past days throng our
spirits, and we talk over our wanderings together, the
joys of the present and the hopes of the future, with
all the license of long-tried friendship. I reveal to
him my interview with the divinity of Hermit's Dell,
and the discoveries I had made in her lowly cabin,
not spoken of before to Minnie or Blanche, for some
good reason of my own. As we walk homeward, 1
take him to a point whence he can look down into the
glen, and catch a glimpse of the cascade's foam
through the dense foliage, and the lofty branches of
the elm which overhang the dwelling of La Solitaire.
It is a fair sight; and he wonders not that I have
made it so frequent a theme in my letters; he must
visit its recesses to-morrow.
“Yes, Frank, you shall go; we will all go, and
trive to unveil the mystery which shrouds the lonely
dweller there."
Dinner is ready when we reach home, and Frank
tastes for the first time his Florentine oil, which like
the finest Neapolitan maccaroni, is seldom found on
Italian tables; the best is sent abroad.
“ It is the way of the world, Frank, even a prophet
is not without honor, save in his own country.”
During the afternoon, Frank and I drive to the
landing after his choicest trunk, which he had ordered
to be sent after him, and in whose contents, both


HERMIT'S
73
DELI.
Minnie and Blanche have considerable interest. We
return in due time, bringing the repository of treasures,
and it is opened in the presence of many witnesses.
Snugly packed away amidst layers of clothing, are
numerous little packets, marked with the names of tho
recipients—to be.
Blanche has several and Minnie her share also,
whilst mine comes from the bottom, an elegant mo-
rocco case, enclosing a splendidly mounted hunting-
knife.
“Many thanks, my brother Nimrod, for this reminder
of our deer-hunts away on the Beaverkill, it may do
us service yet; but no, it is too handsome for use,”
Minnie has unrolled her parcel, and displays a dress
for Birdie of real “McGregor" plaid, marvellously
fine. Frank says, he had to laugh when he read my
letter conveying to him our various commissions, Min-
nie’s was so very modest. But that is not all belong-
ing to her; another wrapper contains a choice cameo
from Rome, and a set of corals for Birdie.
Blanche is also well supplied ; she has her lava
ornaments, her embroidered slippers redolent with
genuine attar of rose from the gardens of Stamboul ;
and in addition, some spider-web laces from Mechlin.
“ How apropos ! brother, you are very kind and
thoughtful, and all in such good taste,” says Blanche.
We all acknowledge our thanks to Frank for his
4


74
HERMIT'S DEL L.
gifts and his judicious selection of them ; but there
are some other parcels for Glen-Clunie, which he
unseals for our inspection, evincing no less taste and
judgment.
There are some things of his own too, in the custom-
house, which we shall see at some future time. A
choice copy of “the Cenci,” and Carlo Dolce's Mag-
dalen, and some others, which all travellers love to
remember, with alabasters and bronzes and other
“knick-knacks," as he calls them.
Evening again, and Frank is with us! We sit in
the vine-shaded arbor on the knoll, and remember that
it is almost eight months since he was last with us,
just previous to his sailing.
We cannot realize it, neither can he, when he
recounts to us the many spots of interest, and the
various countries he has visited during the time.
From England to Italy and Turkey, through the
intermediate central and southern countries of Europe,
he has travelled, and returned to us full of informa-
tion, not ephemeral and superficial, but lasting and
solid. With all his enthusiastic love for the beautiful,
not only in Nature, but in Art, it has been to him a
tour of highest profit and pleasure ; few would enjoy
it more.
The evening wanes, and night comes. Minnie and


HERMIT'S DELL.
75
Blanche have left us, yet we linger on the porch, fra-
grant with the smoke from our choice cheroots : some
Frank brought from the East.
We speak softly of Blanche's approaching marriage,
and of arrangements connected therewith ; of his future
prospects and hopes, none the less interesting; of a
country-seat not far from us that he has heard may be
purchased, and of many other matters important to
none but ourselves.
As Frank speaks of a country-seat for sale, I men-
tion Briar Cliff, and wonder if it may not be the iden-
tical property of which he has heard. We will soon
see, and if so, how very pleasant for us both, should it
fall into my friend's hands. He has roamed and roved
enough now, and longs to settle down in some quiet
nook like ours, yet near enough to the city for occa-
sional visits.
“I am tired of single-blessedness too, Harry, but
you must not betray my prospects on this score yet;
it is all sub rosa."
“No, Frank, but do not put the day off any longer
than necessary; believe me, you will never think it
came too soon, afterward. Profit by a friend's advice
and experience. Be a bachelor no longer."
Stopping in the library before we retire, a cold sup-
per, nicely spread, greets our eyes, and over the spiced
anchovies, crisp salad, sweet bread and butter, and
66


76
DELL.
HERMIT'S
iced sauterne, we sit till the small hours commence,
and Minnie raps on the floor overhead.
“ To Hermit's Dell to-morrow, Frank, with the
ladies!”
“Yes, and to Briar Cliff before I go to the city.
Good-night!”


HERMIT'S
77
DELL.
X.
SAUNTERING laughingly along, Frank and Minnie,
Blanche and I, went our way downward toward the
Dell. We take with us our rods and baskets, ostensi-
bly, for fishing, but that is not our chief object.
Frank is to see the cascade, the rustic bridge, the
"big rock," and last, but not least, La Solitaire, if it
may so happen.
Reaching the bridge, we stand a while leaning
over its side to watch the swift waters beneath it, and
for Frank to obtain the best view of the cascade. He
marvels at its beauty, and asks me if it does not
remind me of something I have seen elsewhere.
Yes, Frank, one of the cascatelles which form the
great Falls of the Reichenbach ; I remember it well.”
“It reminds me more,” says Frank, “ of Tivoli.”
“How proud we should be of our sweet little water-
fall!” exclaim Minnie and Blanche.
We climb the steep bank by a winding path amidst
the dense cedars and hemlocks, and emerge by the
great rock which overhangs the pool. Rude steps of
nature's chiselling lead to the platform on its summit,


78
HERMIT'S DELL.
where, under the hemlock branches which shade it, six
persons may sit comfortably, if there were accomoda-
tions for the purpose.
My companions are pleased with my sequestered
seat, and give me the credit of its discovery, but I show
them on the trunk of the tree, hidden from superficial
view, some characters, deeply carved into the bark,
and almost overgrown. They are—a heart, and within
it the letters, A. M.-K. G.
“ There, friends, you see I am not the first who has
trodden this ground, ‘hereby hangs a tale!””
“Let us call it henceforth, the Lovers' Rock," says
Minnie. “And so it shall be,” we all exclaim.
We linger there awhile, whilst Frank tries his hand
with my fly-rod, catching a few fish ; and then we
roam through the woods, gradually ascending, till we
stand upon the summit of a ridge, which, almost bare
of trees, commands a prospect of considerable extent.
Northward on the high ground is our picturesque
cottage, a mile distant. Beneath us lies Hermit's Dell
with its familiar murmurs. Westward stretches the
river, and its opposite shores, sunny and beautiful;
whilst nearer by, is the lonely cabin of La Solitaire,
and the fair fields of farmer Mead lying along the hill-
top behind it.
But the day is getting warm, and it is proposed that
we walk homeward.


HERMIT'S DELL.
79
"I want a taste of goat's milk,” says
Frank ; sup-
pose we go by the cabin, and get some.”
“Who ever heard of such a thing !" Blanche ex
claims, for she had forgotten our neighbor's idiosyn-
crasy.
“Why Blanche!" answers Frank, “in some parts
of Europe you can find no other milk; it is excellent
for delicate stomachs. If I get any, you shall taste it.”
We are soon near the cabin door, and admire the
neatness of everything around it. The garden, though
a mere patch, was well stocked and flourishing; the
creepers were fantastically trained over the doors and
lower windows, and a few flowering plants, tastefully
disposed here and there, evinced careful tending.
Minnie and Blanche seemed mollified, and more
kindly disposed than formerly towards the lonely wo.
man. I had never been able to fathom their unwilling-
ness to become acquainted with her, supposing they
might have heard some scandal, or perhaps were in
awe of a person living so incomprehensibly as La So-
litaire.
The door was open, but no one discernible; and as
our approach had been quiet, we were not perceived.
Frank, free and easy as he is, advanced to the door
and knocked. His summons was quickly answered
by the woman, who seemed a little surprised on dis-
cerning us standing near by.


80
HERMIT'S DELL.
Frank gave her no time, however, to inquire his busi-
ness; for, without ceremony, he made known his wish
for a cup of milk, if she had it to spare. It was quickly
brought, and a gracious invitation extended to us to
come and partake of it also. Frank took the draught
with all the gusto of a Swiss herdsman; and when
another cupfull was offered to us, Blanche and Minnie
each took a sip out of compliment to the donor, leaving
me to finish it.
“Signor,” said La Solitaire, “will not your friends
sit awhile?" As the ice now seemed broken, the
invitation was accepted: chairs were brought, and we
sat, partly in the room and on the little porch without.
After apologizing for our abrupt visit, Minnie and her
new acquaintance were soon chatting sociably on va-
rious topics. Blanche had won the heart of Pedro, the
dark-eyed boy, who had escaped our notice before,
whilst Frank and I employed ourselves in taking ob-
servations of the fanciful interior within our view, and
catching an occasional sentence of the conversation.
“Would you see one of his pictures ?
come with
me," said La Solitaire to Minnie. They go towards
the cupboard, which is formed between the chimney
and the wall. The door is opened, and the black
shroud, which had so excited my curiosity before,
drawn aside by the hand of the Italian.
Our eyes were all turned and riveted upon the gem


II ERMIT'S
81
DELL.
66
"
revealed to us,-a “Magdalen” of such unearthly
beauty, it seemed almost the production of an inspired
hand. Frank and I stand amazed at its wondrous love
liness; we have seen many an old master-piece, but
never before such a Magdalen.” Our companions
share our enthusiasm, and Blanche stands before it
with clasped hands, the image of wonderment.
It is indeed a marvellous production; she kneels
before a narrow window through which a ray of sun-
light is gleaming, lighting up her pale and tearful face,
and the golden hair which streams adown her partially
covered breast and shoulders in dishevelled masses.
The dark grey robe which enshrouds her form and in-
dicates her penitence, shows in fine contrast with the
pallid yet life-like skin it touches. It is a picture of
sin, penitence, and pardon.
" And this was the work of your husband, Signora ?”
inquired Frank.
“It was his last work, Signor; but will you not call
me Bella ?"
“Your husband is not living then ? Bella,” I con-
tinued.
“No, Signor, he has been dead almost six years;
before I came here in the valley."
“Our neighbor has been informing me some little of
her past life," said Minnie, “and we will not ask her
to repeat it. It is time we were on our way home too,
4*


82
HERT'S DELL.
66
66
it is almost our dinner hour." As we rose to leave, La
Solitaire expressed a desire that we would stop again
when in the Dell, for she was often lonesome.
We promised to do so, and taking a parting look at
the "Magdalen,” departed.
“I think," said Frank, "her history would be an in-
teresting one; Minnie, you have heard some of it, and
must enlighten us this evening.”
“Did you see the image and the crucifix, Harry ?"
asks Blanche; “so Italian looking, and she seems to
be perfectly happy!
!"
Yes, Blanche, but the veiled picture! do you not
covet it almost? And how romantic too, shrouded in
mourning !-Frank! I wonder if she would part with
it."
No, never till death,” replies Minnie ; “ she told
me that it is the only treasure she possesses—except
her child."
Full of interest in the somewhat mysterious lot of
the subject of our conversation, we reach home again,
finding Birdie and Bridget awaiting our coming most
anxiously. The cook sends word that the dinner is
spoiled, as it should have been served an hour ago
But no matter, we can afford to eat a poor dinner after
the morning's enjoyment. Frank and I while away
the long, sunny afternoon, beneath the willows by the
mill-dam, catching perch and chub which there abound.
66


HERMIT's
83
LELL.
As the sun declines, we stroll along the stream, fishing
as we go, till the swamp prevents our further progress.
About a mile eastward of this, where the stream is
wide and deep, there was, some years ago, another
mill-dam. The remains of it are to be seen yet, with
those of the mill, fast crumbling to the ground; and
near by, stands a dilapidated and deserted house, once
the dwelling of the miller and his family. They are
scattered now; some dead, others wanderers—they
who once filled a happy home!
The ruins are still called “Ramsay's Mill;" and the
history connected with it is a melancholy one, which
may be written in after pencillings. Where, on the
face of the earth, may we not see the traces of guilt
and sorrow ? for
“Sorrow treads heavily, and leaves behind
A deep impression, even when she departs.”
As we ascend the hill leading homeward, Minnie
and Blanche, with a companion whose form is not
unfamiliar to our eyes, are coming to meet us. It is
Blanche's lover, who has arrived during our absence.
We meet him with a warm welcome, and return to
the cottage together. How happy is Blanche to-night!
and R no less so, of course.
The quiet, delicious evening comes, bringing us on


84
HERMIT'S DELL.
says Blanche.
the porch, Frank to enjoy his Havana, the lovers their
quiet intercourse, and Minnie ready to tell us all she
knows about La Solitaire.
“Come, Minnie, let us have your story; we will
listen now,"
“ It is not much to tell, for it was told me hurriedly,"
replies the narrator, “but this is the import of it. I
asked our neighbor, Bella—for we may as well call her
by her right name—if she was not lonesome sometimes ?
She said, “No, it was her choice.' I asked her how
long she had been living in the valley ? and she com-
menced to tell me in a very intelligent manner, all I
wanted to know for the time being. You know she
speaks with considerable Italian accent, and there
were some words I did not exactly understand; so I
will give the information I received in my own lan-
guage. Her native place is near Amalfi, not far from
the bay of Naples, and her parents are still living
there, together with one or two sisters. Her father is
a fisherman, or was when she left there, which was
some seven years ago; and the tears came into her eyes
when she told me of their white cottage, surrounded
by an orange grove and vineyard, which her father,
assisted by his children, found time to attend to. Her
husband had been a peasant of the country near by,
but having a taste for painting, went to Naples, and


HERMIT'S DELL.
85
found employment sufficient to give them means to
buy a plot of ground and build a small cabin for
themselves; for, she says, everything is very cheap
there. By and by, her husband, she called him Pie-
tro, obtained employment in making copies of paint-
ings in the Royal Museum, to sell to strangers in
Naples.
He was very successful, and made considerable
money, coming home one or two days in the week, to
finish his paintings and attend to their little vineyard,
which she was able to cultivate herself.
By and by, from making copies, he painted occa-
sionally originals, creations of his own fancy, or now
and then a Madonna or a Magdalen after life. One
day, an American gentleman chanced to enter his
studio, attracted by some beautiful copies hanging
within the door. He made a large purchase of the
young artist, and gave him farther orders to be finished
and shipped to the United States.
Pietro felt flattered at this appreciation of his talent,
and thinking that there must be a rich field here in
which to labor, hastily made up his mind to emigrate
and seek his fortune accordingly. Gathering up all
they possessed, they came to America, full of hopeful
anticipation. They landed at New-York, but soon
found that an artist's life was one of toil. The few


86
HERMIT'S DELL.
pictures they brought with them were sacrificed from
necessity, and then the trial came. The change of cli-
mate, want, and exposure, soon preyed upon her hus-
band's health and spirits, till he was laid up with a lung
fever. She, with a young child, and obliged to labor to
obtain even the poorest necessaries of life, at the same
time nursing her sick husband, was almost worn out.
But some charitable persons assisted them till Pietro
died, and she was left a stranger, alone in a strange land.
She knew not which way to turn, when an opportunity
offered for her to come into the country, some twenty
miles distant from here, as a domestic or housekeeper
in the family of an invalid lady. She had by this
time acquired sufficient knowledge of our language to
make herself useful in various capacities, but the lady
died, and she was thrown out of a home, till wander-
ing hither, the house she now occupies struck her
fancy, and as it was then vacant, and she could obtain
it for a trifling rent, it was taken; and now by
economy and taking in a little sewing or fancy work,
she obtains a comfortable subsistence. The picture
she showed us was the last labor of her husband, and
though often in want and tempted to dispose of it, she
still retains it. With her garden and her goats, which
last are kept because of their requiring so little care,
she lives in comparative comfort. She farther said,


H ERMIT's
87
DELL
66
that some call her a fortune-teller, but that is only to
amuse the young people who come to the glen in pic-
nic parties.
There, friends, my story is told, it is just as she
told it to me, except with the peculiarities of her lan-
guage; quite romantic-is it not ?"
“Well, Minnie !" says Frank, “you are not far out
of the way, for I did not miss a dozen words of her
relation to you this morning, though I did not appear
to be listening; but I shall see La Solitaire again."
R— is very much pleased and interested, and
says that Blanche must show him the way to Hermit's
Dell to-morrow; he must make the acquaintance of
Bella too.
“Ho! for a sail," exclaims Frank, “see what a
glorious breeze is springing up-
· Like the wings of ocean birds,
Flash the white caps of the sea-
river-I mean.
It is not long before we are at the dock, the white
sail of our little “Glide" hoisted, and flying along
before the south-east breeze across the wake of a
steamer ploughing her way northward.
We round to by the wall of the light-house, and
take old Dederich, the Dutchman, and his wife by sur-
prise. We sit awhile on the abutments and watch


88
DELL,
HERMir's
the passing craft; Frank and Blanche sing a gay song;
then leaving the trusty Pharos keeper a handful of
cigars, we regain our boat and tack shoreward.
A heaped dish of “Hovey's,” and rich cream to
smother” them, await us at the house, ai suother
day is gone.
66


HERMIT's
89
DELL,
XI.
The dark wing of Death's angel has cast its shadow
over our fair landscape. Bessie Pike, the fisherman's
daughter, died this morning. Her old mother sent for
Minnie at day-break, when the last hour of her daugh-
ter's life seemed approaching. It was a sad scene, as
a death-chamber always is; but with the dying girl,
all was peace and comfort. There were no shudder-
ings at thought of the Dark Valley; no impatient
longings to go or stay. It is the first time that death
has entered the lowly dwelling, and it is a hard trial.
She was their only child, and they too upon the brink
a
of the grave.
It was a sad task for Minnie to perform--the closing
of the eye, the robing for the grave; but on whom
else could they call in their grief and loneliness!
To-morrow she will be buried; we shall, some of
!
us, follow her to the quiet churchyard, and see her
remains decently interred. Till then, oh heart-stricken
parents, weep and lament her loss, for she was dear to
you, though a seeming burthen in your old age! yet-


90
HERMIT'S DELL.
“She will awake no more, oh, never more!
Within the twilight chamber spreads apace
The shadow of white Death, and at the door
Invisible Corruption waits to trace
His extreme way to her dim dwelling place.”
The event has cast a gloom over our household; for
we had felt interested in the family, and had ministered
somewhat to their comfort occasionally.
Blanche and her friend spend most of the afternoon
amidst the quietudes of Hermit's Dell. Minnie has
household duties to attend to; so Frank and I drive
by the river road to Hillsdale, stopping on the way to
visit the beautiful grounds and conservatories of a
neighbor, which I was desirous my friend should see.
We go on to the post office, sit and read our papers
for awhile, and drive by a circuitous route homeward
as the shadows are lengthening. Frank is becoming
enamoured of country life, and it would not be sur-
prising, if another season found him settled down
among us, and married too.
“By the by, Harry, can we go over to Briar-cliff in
a day or two? I am anxious to see it before I
go
to
the city and make farther inquiries. I have to go to
Glen-Clunie too, and my friends in the city will won-
der how much longer I am to be absent. You know
I came here right off ship.”
To-morrow, Frank, the funeral takes place, you


HERMIT'S
91
DELL.
know, and I should attend it. Suppose we leave
going to Briar-cliff till Thursday. Will that suit
you?”
. "Perfectly,” replies Frank; “Friday night will find
me at Uncle's; I can stay there until Monday, and be
in the city by Tuesday morning. That will do very
well.”
When we reach our gate, we see our friends sitting
on the knoll above, awaiting us.
R—is obliged to
leave us on the morrow, and Frank tells me that the
wedding day is appointed some time during the fall.
We do not like to anticipate the event, for Blanche has
become endeared to us, and Minnie will miss her so
much; they have been companions so long. But
"change is the order of nature," and we will have to
submit.
Joining the party on the knoll, we sit an hour or
more, looking at and expatiating on the surrounding
scenery, so varied and beautiful. Below us, half hid-
den amid old willow trees, by the river bank, is the
dwelling, wherein Bessie Pike lies cold and still; and
as we speak of her, it is a question what the poor old
people will do now. Will they live there still, or go
among their kindred in the neighboring county? Time
will solve!
But a coming thunder-shower, with its precursive
gust, drives us to the house. We cannot even remain


92
DELL.
HERMIT's
on the porch, and by and by the heavy rain comes,
beating down the gravel, despoiling the rose-bushes of
their lingering flowers, and making a mimic flood to
course down our steep carriage road to make work for
Teddy again.
On our elevated position, we feel a little fearful of
the vivid lightning whenever it comes, although the
house is well rodded; still to me, the lightning has
always been a sort of terror.
But it is soon over; everything is glittering and
bright with the rays of the setting sun, and in the East,
a faint tinge of prismatic hues is lingering, but fading.
How delightfully cool and fresh is the air now,
and how grateful to our parched garden has been
this shower! We will not complain to-morrow of
wilted salad or peas, and our late potatoes will com
mence growing again. The pasture lot wanted it
too, and also our meadow, which must be mowed next
week.
Another shower, whose premonitory mutterings had
been long continued, ushers in the night. We are
driven in doors for the rest of the evening, and each
amuses himself or herself to their inclination.
Frank settles himself in my study chair and reads
Sir Thomas Brown's essay on “Urn Burial,” now and
then reciting a passage for our appreciation. I have
letters to write; Minnie is at her everlasting sewing


HERMIT'S DELL.
03
and stitching, whilst our interesting couple play chess
till Blanche is tired and betakes herself to the piano,
to enliven us with the translation of some difficult
music, Frank brought her from Paris.


94
HERMIT'S DELT.
XII.
The green sods are heaped over Bessie Pike's grave
in the churchyard of Hillsdale, and will soon seem as
if they had never been disturbed. Her old parents,
bowed down and grief-stricken, are sitting lonely
enough in their desolate home, perhaps soon to be va-
cated by them, too, and Minnie is with them, striving
to tender all the consolation in her power. R-has
taken his departure for a season, leaving Blanche in a
saddened mood. The next time he comes, perhaps, it
will be for a more satisfactory purpose to both of them,
but not so much so to us.
As the afternoon is long, and the ladies have said
that they did not care to go to Briar-cliff again so
soon, Frank and I purpose going without them. Old
Charley is put to the light wagon, and we are soon
on our way over the hills.
It is but an half hour's drive, yei a charming one,
embracing almost every variety of scenery; and my
friend is much pleased with the appearance of the
country. Passing by the cottage at which we had
stopped on the previous visit, we enter the grounds


HERMIT'S DELL.
95
and, tying our horse, commence our survey. Every-
thing is in a most dilapidated condition ; ground run to
waste and well stocked with weeds of every sort,
especially those odious specimens, St. John's wort and
Canada thistle. The out-buildings are commodious
and may be repaired at small expense. The house,
which we managed to enter by creeping through a
narrow cellar window, is well built and roomy; a little
old fashioned as to its finish, but still elegant. The
upper windows command a glorious view, not only of
the surrounding country, but a range of mountains,
forty miles distant, and a broad stretch of the river, not
more than five miles away at the farthest.
Frank says his only objection to the place would
be its distance from the river, and consequently the dif-
ficulty of access in winter or when the roads are bad.
Without guidance we descend into the valley or glen
in the rear of the house, and wander through its re-
There is no waterfall, as at Hermit's Dell, but
in its stead a large and deep pond of ever-living water,
stocked with choice fish. Traces of gravelled walks
winding among the woods are visible, but now choked
up with leaves, and barricaded with broken branches.
It has evidently been a fair haunt in years gone by.
Bridge-valley cannot be very far from here, and
Hillsdale is almost as near as to us, being in a different
direction.
cesses.


96
H ERMIT'S DELL.
Frank appears pleased with the property, and if it
can be purchased at a fair price, I doubt not he will
buy it and live here permanently.
On our departure, we stop a few moments at the
cottage to chat with the old man, who entertains us
awhile, and would keep us till night if he could, listen-
ing to his manifold relations.
He has not heard that the property is offered for
sale, though he thinks "it mout be so," and evidently
wishes it were; for he was very anxious to fathom the
motives of our visit.
He gave us, however, one item of information which
was new; and that is, the probability of a railroad
running about half a mile distant, and forming a con-
nection with the city. That would obviate much of
Frank's objection to the residence, at any rate.
It is quite late when we reach our home. Minnie
and Blanche have been delaying supper for us, which
we are prepared to enjoy with good relish, especially
as a dish of fine red “ Antwerps,” the first we have
had this season, grace the table.
Birdie climbs upon my knee with his picture alpha-
get, to show me what he has learned under Bridget's
tuition, who is very proud of her success.
The little fellow informs me too that “ Aunty
Blanche" has been riding his pony alınost to the vil-
lage; and he laughs thinking how "funny” Shag
1


HERMIT'S
97
DELL.
looked under his unaccustomed burden. But his bed-
time has arrived, and off he scampers to dream his
fairy visions.
Frank
says
he must leave us to-morrow for a few
days; and then our household will relapse into its
former quietness.
“I shall miss you very much, Frank; more now
than ever before.”
“And so shall we;" continue the others. “But
then, not as much as Harry will, you know, Blanche;
for we shall have our hands full of work for two
weeks,” says Minnie.
Frank promises to return soon, and stay till we get
tired of him ; but notwithstanding this, we-he and I -
find matter for converse till the clock strikes twelve-
late hour for our simple, country life.
5


98
HERMIT'S DELL.
XIII.
It is the sweet haying-time! and the air is fragrant
with the odor of drying grass, which Teddy is turning
on our meadow-lot. Bridget and Birdie are revelling
sportively amidst the odorous winrows, whilst some
truant urchins, who should be conning their tasks in
the corner school-house, are popping away most indus-
triously at the meadow larks, scattered over the field
and perched on the neighboring tree-tops.
It is nearly noon, and I have just returned from old
farmer Mead's, with whom it is my pleasure to have
a frequent chat, either over the fence which divides
our possessions, or more sociably, upon his ample
porch, shaded by great locusts, planted by his father
fifty years ago.
Hard labor and the burden of years have left their
impress on the old farmer. His head is gray and his
form bowed, but not with infirmity; for he is as sturdy
as an old oak, and likely to live for many years to
He is a thoughtful old man too, for he has had
his share of sorrows and cares, and loves to sit in his
accustomed seat within the door, whence he can look
come.


HERMIT's
99
DELL.
over the greater part of the farm that has witnessed
for so many years his untiring labors. Some of those
years have been weighty with affliction, but he never
repines; though he often wishes “his boy had taken
to the farm better than he did."
Looking upon him this morning as he sat musing,
but cheerful, I thought of those beautiful lines which
he might fitly sing.
“No more to bind the amber sheaves
With the reaper bands I go;
I stand where the rays in the gabled eaves
From the orient softly flow.
I am old, but hope can never decay,
And why should my spirit care:
The sun sheds blessings on locks of grey,
And hallows an old man's hair."
Frank has returned to us again, but is away most
of the time, attending to his new purchase, for he is
possessor of Briar-cliff. Its last owner, who had been
abroad many years, returned a few weeks since, and
not wishing to revive old and painful reminiscences,
offered the property for sale. The price was less
than we anticipated, and my friend became the willing
purchaser.
He has bought a horse, and divides his time between
us and Briar-Cliff, superintending masons, carpenters,
358211


100
HERMIT'S DELL.
and gardeners in their manifold labors. I go there
with him occasionally, and although it is but two
weeks since he commenced operations, a great change
is manifest. The old man at the cottage near the
gate is highly delighted to see the “haunted house”
again occupied, and hobbles back and forth to note
the improvements and occasionally tender Frank his
advice. He is desirous that his little house should be
moved within the gate, so that it may be called “the
lodge,” and offers to teach his grandchild to be gate-
keeper. Frank has promised to think of it, and if he
can modernize the house, perhaps he will make use
of it in that way.
Blanche is delighted at her brother's good fortune
in being able to settle so near us. She is at Briar-
cliff frequently, roaming over the grounds and suggest-
ing many alterations and improvements. She
says
she will have two homes to visit now when tired
of the one she is soon to occupy in the city.
Frank has committed to us a confidential item of
information too. · He is to be married soon after
Blanche; and he kept his secret pretty well, for the
chosen person is one he met in his travels abroad—a
resident of a southern city, and who has just returned.
What with preparations for Blanche's wedding and
the entertainment of our metropolitan friends who
visit us occasionally, our ladies have about as much as


HERMIT'S DELL.
101
they can attend to. Consequently Frank and I depend
upon ourselves and each other for company and amuse-
ment.
When not obliged to be at Briar-cliff, we don our
thick boots and shooting jackets, and spend a day
scouring the swamps after our favorite game, wood-
cock. Frank is a glorious shot, and always drops his
wird ; I cannot speak as well of my skill. It is rather
against our principles to kill woodcock before the
Fall months; but as our rustic sportsmen commence
early in July, we are rather loth to lose the share we
are entitled to, as some of the best ground in the
country is embraced within the bounds of Briar-cliff.
Frank wants to string up the heads of all we kill as
a tally ; but Minnie rebels at this innovation of her
epicurean taste; she must have the heads for her
share.
As we were sitting on the porch last evening, the
only part of the day which brings us all together,
sounds of gay merriment came up from Hermit's Dell.
We proposed walking thitherward to see what was
going on.
Crossing the stream which flows into the river, some
distance below the cascade, we wound our way through
the woods till the path brought us to a point in view
of “the Lovers' Rock."
Sitting upon its mossy summit, revealed by the


102
HERMIT'S DELL.
unseen.
moonlight were two figures; one clothed in white, the
other, a manly form not unfamiliar to me, that of
farmer Mead's son. We thought of the mysterious
initials on the trunk of the hemlock, and passed on
Below, by the cascade and on the rustic
bridge were many others, some of whom recognized
us as we passed ; the sons and daughters of neighbor-
ing farmers. Again, in the doorway of La Solitaire's
dwelling, stood a more silent and thoughtful group,
listening to the oracle perhaps, or some story of old
Italy.
We pass by unobserved, and reaching the cottage,
hear for an hour or two longer the voices and laughter
of that merry party, ringing through the woods and
valleys.
How, in this world of ours, are scenes of gladness
and sorrow mingled! Like the changing phases of
the kaleidoscope, sometimes dull and clouded, some-
times bright and brilliant. The merry sounds to which
we have been listening are scarcely silenced, when a
pitiful and travel-worn group come winding up the hill
and stand before us. It is superfluous and cruel to
ask them their cravings; they are apparent enough.
A man of stout form, but wan and wasted, bearing in
his arms a child four years old; a woman of like
appearance carrying a whining infant, and two older
children following after, constitute the group. They


HERMIT's
103
DELL.
are Irish emigrants, come from their famine-stricken
isle, and wandering about the country looking for a
relative, whom they have traced to this vicinity. They
have travelled thus for many days, sleeping by the
roadside when weary and during the night, but they
are almost discouraged. They thought this a country
were gold could be picked up in the streets, and bread
might be had for nothing ; but they find it far different.
We can do nothing for them except to give them
food and a few articles of clothing, which they sorely
need. They do not want a shelter; for they say it is
warm, and if we will let them lie on the hay down in
the meadow, they will bless us. Poor wanderers !
may you find him you are seeking; but it will be a
long and weary search; and may be you will wish
that
you had never left “swate Ireland,” miserable as
she is, and blighted with a withering curse.


104
A ERMIT'S DELL.
XIV.
How quickly flies time with us! We can scarcely
realize that the bright, beautiful summer which has
been so pregnant with events conducive to our happi-
ness, has almost
gone.
Yet so it is.
Frank has performed wonders at Briar-cliff with his
stout Hibernian aids. The house has been repaired
and repainted, the garden cultivated, the walks freshly
gravelled, and the whole grounds put in complete
order. The old man's cottage too, stands at the gate,
remodelled and quite ornamental, much to the delight
of its inmates. Frank and Blanche have spent several
days in the city, selecting furniture and decorations
which are rapidly arriving and arranged according to
Blanche's fancy; for her brother has given her sole
charge of this department. In a week or two, all will
be finished and the house ready to receive its new
mistress, whom we have none of us seen, excepting
Frank, of course.
The hall of the mansion is very fine and capacious,
as that of all country houses should be. It is panelled
with polished oak, and all the rooms on the first floor


HERMIT'S DELL.
105
open into it. Frank's taste is manifest in its decora-
tions, we can plainly see. As you enter the door from
the portico, two knights clad in mail, which Frank
picked up in some antiquarian museum abroad, stand-
ing on massive pedestals, confront you. On brackets
along the wall are placed beautiful models in plaster
bronzed, of classic and historical figures, male and
female, draped and undraped, whilst over the library
door is a finely preserved deer's head and antlers, a
trophy from the Adirondacks.
The library-for Frank is a great reader and has a
literary turn too—is a bijou of a room, not large, but
l'oomy enough and right cozy. It is finished and
furnished in oak, with book-cases built on the wall and
surmounted with busts of the great and wise. His
paintings, some of which are very fine, are not yet hung,
neither are his books unpacked, of which he has a
valuable collection. He opened a case yesterday
packed in Rome, and showed me a “Beatrice Cenci”
copied from the original by Mazzolini, as fine a copy
as may be found anywhere. “But Harry," he says,
"next week you shall see a gem not inferior to La
Solitaire's, though a different subject; it is not un-
packed yet."
“Ah, Frank, I expect your choice things will draw
us here often; Briar-cliff will be the magnetic pole
to Hermit's Dell, and I am afraid your grand establish-
5*


106
DELL.
II ERMIT'S
ment will make us dissatisfied with our little unpre-
tending cottage."
Then, in his stable, is a pair of spanking blacks,
which think nothing of accomplishing the distance
between our places in half an hour, though the road is
hilly. They do it nearly every day, now that we go
back and forth so much.
Frank has bis hands full of employment, but does
not want for assistants. Minnie and I are only
.
lookers-on ; Blanche, like one of old, "is careful after
many things ;” but in addition to her, there is another
helper who has offered his services to Frank, when not
engaged with the duties of his vocation. This is a
young man, whose sphere of action is in the school-
house by the dusty roadside about half a mile distant.
Ile dropped in to see Frank the other day and
welcome him to the neighborhood, at the same time
tendering his services in any way that might be
acceptable. Seeing that he felt the need of more
congenial society than he has for most of the six days
in the week, Frank has taken quite an interest in him.
His occupation is probably followed more from neces-
sity than choice, for he is evidently a young man of
talent and refinement, fitted for a different position than
the one he occupies.
There are many such sons of New-England—for he
is one-scattered throughout the country, and laboring


HERMIT'S DELL.
107
for a subsistence which is often begrudged by those
who little know the self-denials and struggles which
the dependent often knows.
Frank says that he stopped in the school-house a
few days ago, after the rude troop were dismissed, for
the
purpose of ascertaining, in as delicate a manner as
possible, how the young teacher was domiciled; for
he had an idea that his accomodations were not the
most fitly chosen or agreeable, though perhaps equal
to his means.
It proved to be so, and Frank has now provided him
with a snug little room in the cottage at the gate, for
the present.
I have frequently passed the school-house, and
noticed some inscription over the door that I could not
decipher from the road. I asked Frank if he had ever
observed it.
“Why yes, Harry, and a very appropriate motto
too, ' Hoc opus, hic labor est,' but whether it was put
up by the present incumbent or not I am unable to
say; it is quite an original idea, is it not ?"
Frank is superintending the erection of a grapery in
addition to his other improvements, and when that is
done, I cannot see but that he has all that heart can
desire to make a country residence perfect.
“Yes, Harry, by the middle of September I hope
to be through with masons, carpenters and all super-


108
HERMIT'S DELL.
numeraries; then for the weddings-Blanche's and
mine; after that, we will have a grand reunion here
and settle down to the calm duties of life, like you and
Minnie, hey!”
“I trust all your anticipations may be answered,
Frank; we shall be happy in your happiness.”
So we pass many days, partly at Briar-cliff, partly
at Hermit's Dell. Frank lodges with us at night,
driving to his place every morning, and returning here
in the evening
Minnie and Blanche find abundance of work to
employ them, so that they can hardly spare time to
sail with us occasionally; and as for music, the piano
has been unopened for a month; our musician has too
much else to think of.
There is little for me to look after at this season, as
Teddy is diligent and keeps everything in good order,
so I amuse myself in “taking notes” of all that passes
here and at Briar-cliff.
Suppose I should take a notion to “prent em !” but
that is not very probable.


HERMIT'S DELL.
109
XV.
MINNIE and I are alone again for a day or two;
and employing our time in returning some visits to
our neighbors, whom we have neglected amidst the
excitements of the summer. Our social intercourse is
limited, however, for the country is not yet thickly
settled, and the “places” of our friends are widely
scattered. When the projected railroad is in opera-
tion, we may expect many additions and acquisitions
to our circle.
This afternoon we paid La Solitaire a visit, the first
for weeks. She was happy to see us, and we sat a
long while with her, gleaning from her memory many
incidents of her past life. She loves to talk of her
native village, and more especially when she knows
that I have been there, and through all that picturesque
country which lies between Awalfi and the Doric
temples of Paestum, those wondrous ruins
" Which stand between the mountains and the sea,
Awful memorials, but of whom we know not.”
She is a woman of no common mind; not one of those


110
A ERMIT'S DELL.
ignorant Calabrian peasants which you often meet in
their hovels over the southern part of Italy. The
associations amidst which her husband's employment
had thrown her have had their influence on her mind
and heart. She reads the books we lend her and
takes good care of them. She instructs her child, and
is training him to follow his father's profession, for
which he begins to show a taste.
She talks often of her lost husband, Pietro; of those
days when, a happy peasant girl, she knew no care,
except of trailing vines and trees burdened with
golden fruit; when love, wakened in her heart by the
voice of the dark haired painter, ripened into devotion,
and they were wedded. She speaks of the blue sea
and the sunny bay over which they often sailed in the
swift felucca, and how
On the sea-shore
They watched the ocean and the sky together,
Under the roof of blue Italian weather;"
then of their after trials and his death, and now of
the hope she cherishes that one day she may be able
to return and see her old father and mother, who may
yet be alive, though she cannot tell.
There is a certain charm in the intercourse with her
which we cannot define, and we wonder not that the
young people love to visit her sometimes and call her
a “fortune-teller."
1
!
1
1


HERMIT'S DELL.
111
I tell her, if she ever leaves us and returns to Italy,
she must let me make her an offer for “the Magda-
len” we love to look at so much. “Ah, Signor, you
have been so kind; if ever I part with it, it shall be
yours.” I tell little Pietro, that if he will continue to
improve in his sketches, I will give him a paint-box
• with brushes and paper all complete. It is really a
joy to see his dark eyes dance with delight at the
promise; but he shall have it at any rate.
We return home by the way of farmer Mead's, and
sit awhile with the old couple ; for it is a long time
since Minnie was there.
The thrifty dame, good natured and gossiping as
she is, keeps Minnie entertained in the best room,
whilst the farmer and I walk over the pasture-lot to
look at a famous cow he has, that gives twenty-two
quarts of milk a day, and ten pounds of butter a week;
then I must see his wheat, which is especially fine and
promises a good yield. He is very busy now, trying
to reclaim a large piece of swamp land, which has
long been worthless, but he expects not to live to see
it done. He says he cannot get any one to work now
as he used to in his young days.
When we reach home, Frank and Blanche, who
have been at Briar-cliff since Monday, greet us on
the porch, and ask how we have got along without
them so long?


112
HERMIT'S DELL.
Frank says he can now receive us at Briar-cliff ;
the furniture has all arrived and been arranged; car-
pets down, pictures hung, and everything in order, but
one thing wanting to make the house complete—ser-
vants; and he is going to the city to-morrow to get
them.
We chat on topics connected with his plans, over
our tea-table, on which is a goodly bowl of peaches
and cream, the products of our orchard and old Brindle.
Frank has brought a basket of peaches from Briar
cliff too, which are very fine, though he says most of
the fruit has been appropriated by others.
“When I get back from my city expedition,” says
Frank to me, “I want you to spend a day with me
at my place, and give your opinion of the tout ensemble.
There are some little matters to be considered yet;
and then, next week, you must all come over and dine
with me, a sort of house-warming you know.”
“Now Frank," I say, "you have everything around
you so choice and elegant, go over some time and buy
our neighbor Mead's great cow that I saw to day. I
do not know whether you can or not, but if you
offer
him an hundred dollars, I do not believe he will
hesitate.”
“I will try any how, Harry; you have a penchant
for fine cattle, and you know what is good. How
many quarts does she give ?"


HERMIT'S DELL.
113
I tell him what I have heard from the lips of her
owner, but he does not believe it, although he is
unwilling to impeach the good farmer's veracity.
“I have heard of such things, Harry, but have
never been able to see for myself; but now I have an
opportunity, and will embrace it.”
It is a clear, breezy evening, just the one for our
little “Glide” to prove her sailing qualities. Minnie
and Blanche are fairly caught idle, so they have to
join us. Frank pockets his flute, which from its long
inaction requires a good soaking, and away we go for
the river.
The tide is very low, and we find some trouble to
work our vessel out of the creek and through the grass
on the flats; but after hoisting her broad sail, and
getting away from the shoals, we fly through the
water at a glorious rate before the ten-knot breeze.
Our destination is a cove on the other side of the river,
some three or four miles below. It sets in between
two high mountains, from which the echoes are very
fine. It is not our first visit there, and as we cross the
river, Frank plays, whilst Minnie and Blanche accom-
pany him with their voices. By and by, the echoes
are wakened, and we lay motionless on the smooth
waters of the cove, listening to the prolonged answers
of imaginary Dryades. We are told that from the
summit of the mountains, the view is very extensive,


114
HERMIT'S DELL.
reaching to the valleys of the Delaware and Connecti-
cut; but the fear of rattle-snakes, which are also said
to abound upon them, has prevented our going thither.
On our return, we stop a few minutes at the light-
house, where the Dutchman and his family live the
year round, isolated and lonely enough, rarely seeing
any one, but those who take pity on them and drop in
as we have done.
The old fellow has had an eventful life, incidents of
which he frequently tells us. He ran away from his
father's house in Holland, when a boy, and became a
sailor. There is hardly a part of the world he has not
been in, even to the arid isles that lie under the
Equator, and away north amidst Arctic icebergs.
Now, he has a quiet berth, with nothing much to do
but light his lantern at night, put it out in the morning,
and spend the rest of the time in smoking his pipe,
making nets, and dreaming over his past freezings and
scorchings. I do not wonder he is satisfied with his
situation, for he has probably seen as much of the
world as he cares to for the rest of his life.
There is little excitement in his vocation. It is not
like being on an ocean light-house, where the waves
make continual dash, and sometimes thunder against
its base with fearful violence. Here there are no
breakers, no noble ships sweeping by before the gale,
no roar of winds and waters. But once has any inci-


HERMIT'S DELL.
115
dent of excitiny nature happened since he has been
here, and that was some years ago.
During a violent squall, which are not unfrequent
on the river, an Eastern sloop with a cargo of brick
became unmanageable, and ran head on against the
stone abutments. She was shivered into fragments,
and two of her crew drowned. “ I shall never forget
it,” said Diedrich, “how wicked she pitched on; it
most made the lantern crack, when she struck; the
poor fellers hollerin too for me to put out my boat;
two on em never came up alive, they got mashed in
the brick."
We always take the old fellow some tobacco, which
is his greatest comfort, and occasionally the children,
now growing to be boys and girls of ten to fifteen
years, get some acceptable gifts.
A few minutes more, and the “Glide” is moored by
the dock, and we sauntering up the long avenue,
weary and sleepy.
Frank says I must have him up bright and early in
the morning, to take the boat which stops at our
landing by eight o'clock. So we go, now here, now
there ; it is the way of life.


116
H ERNIT's DELL.
XVI.
“There, Harry, is not that a superb copy? Look at
the eye and the tint of the hair-is it not life-like?”
We are sitting in the library at Briar-cliff, before the
painting Frank calls “his gem;" and it is indeed a
treasure : not a copy either, but an original by some
unknown master.
The subject is Judith and Holofernes, never a
pleasing one to me; but as a picture, equal, except in
age, to the great original. It came into his possession
merely by accident; for Frank is one of those “lucky
dogs," who always appear to be under the tutelage of
dame Fortune. Diving into the shop of an old virtuoso
in Rome one day, this picture caught his eye, peeping
out from a heap of other rubbish, as if for his special
benefit. The owner was miserably poor, and it was
not long before a bargain was struck, the picture
cleaned of dust and in Frank's possession. He had
it revarnished and framed in the heavy Roman style,
and sent out of the country as soon as possible, for
fear of losing it. He has a copy of the “ Cumæan
Sibyl” too, from that in the Borghese palace, which is


HERMIT'S DELL.
117
very beautiful, with about a dozen others of lesser
beauty and merit.
Then he has a parcel of old manuscripts, black-
letter volumes, and ancient prints; a copy of Tasso
published in Venice 1670, and a history of the sacred
wars of Jerusalem, published in 1562-pretty venera-
ble books of their class. I can find nothing to criticise
in
any
of my friend's arrangements; everything is in
good taste, plain, substantial and for use, not show.
His grounds look in fine condition too, though the
season is too late for a great display of flowers in the
parterres, but there is fruit in abundance.
“Now, Frank, for the wife, and you will be settled
for life as comfortably as any one I know. When does
the wedding come off ?”
“Next week,” replies Frank, “I shall go away again
to-morrow and be back with my wife in a fortnight
from to-day. I will write you in a day or two con-
cerning my arrangements. Come this way and see
what I purpose doing.”
The face of the cliff in the rear of the house is too
precipitous for any one to descend without considerable
agility ; so Frank intends building a staircase, with
one or two landings, from the lawn above to the shady
depths of the glen, through which are winding walks
of miles, pleasant views, a stream, and the pond men-
tioned before. These little valleys, hemmed in by


118
HERMIT'S DELL.
wooded hills, are frequent features of our country here-
about, and some of them are very lovely; a few trees
cut away to make winding walks, and Nature does the
rest for your pleasure ground.
" It will be an improvement, Frank, but let me
suggest an addition. Over the commmencement of
the stairs--here, where we stand, build a tower twenty
or thirty feet high, with an ascent to the top inside.
See what a splendid view you will have—the river
there, mountains here, and the depths below—I should
think five hundred feet from the top of the tower.”
“A good idea, Harry, but I cannot do it this year,
my purse is not long enough; another season we will
think of it again. You had better sell out at Hermit's
Dell and build on that lot south of my garden. I won't
charge you much for the ground, in fact I have more
than I really want. Come now, think seriously of it;
how pleasant it would be to have you so near--and we
could improve together; have a Paradise here one of
these days. I guarantee Minnie would approve of it;
you know she will be very lonesome after Blanche
leaves."
“I will say as you do, Frank-I will think of it.
We have not lived long enough at Hermit's Dell to
become very strongly attached to it, though it is very
pleasant, and I have no doubt it would bring a good
price, if put into market. I agree with you that it
72


HIERVIT'S DELL,
119
would be delightful to live so near each other, especially
on Minnie's account, and I shall hardly dare to broach
the subject to her; but I will as soon as I get home.”
We spend the afternoon at the pond, fishing, and
lake some fine lake bass which have been bred here,
originally transported from the northern lakes. The
old man tells us afterward, that his hoy has caught
them weighing seven pounds. Frank will not have to
depend upon the river for fish. Then the streams
abound in trout, though not very large.
We take a basket full with us in my wagon,
for
Frank returns home with me to-night, wishing to see
Blanche before his departure South. He says it is
the last drive he will take with me as a single man;
for he does not like to be called or to call himself a
bachelor. He thinks he is too young for that.
“Yes, Frank, but I hope we shall have many more
rides and walks together, and hunts too. I was in
hopes we would have been able to go to Indian lake
or the Adirondacks this fall, and revive some of our
old memories. I often think of old 'Uncle Josh,'
don't you? and little Kate,' as we used to call her.
How time does go? just think how long ago that was.
But I cannot ask you to go deer-hunting this fall; but
in June, if we all live, we might go to the Saranac
lakes, trout-fishing, and bring home a can full to put
in
your pond. They would thrive here famously.”


120
HERMIT'S DELL.
“ I should like nothing better, Harry, if it can be so
arranged; as for deer-hunting, that last tramp we had
through the snow in those swamps and over the
“wind-falls" about Indian lake, I am almost sick of
it; but we were too late that season. Do you remem-
ber Bill Tanner, and “ Ike” as the loggers called him?
What a genius he was ! that fellow would have made
something more than a hunter, if his opportunities had
been good. And don't you often think what a trick
that crack-brained Tim played us, the time we treed
a bear after he had killed one of the best dogs. How
true is that saying the Chinese have, I saw translated
the other day-
“To place in danger's foremost rank
A feeble man,
Is but to use a locust's slank
For your sedan.'"
“To change the subject, Frank, I have a promise
from La Solitaire-I cannot help calling her by that
title—that if she parts with that “Magdalen,” I shall
have it. She appears to have a fancy to go back to
Italy again, and I do not blame her; if she could
afford it, I think she would sail to-morrow. I have an
idea of sounding her a little farther on the subject, and
if her poverty is the only hindrance, why we could
soon make up an hundred or two dollars in the neigh-
borhood, and that, with what I would give her for the
a


HERMIT'S DELL.
121
2
picture, would make her comfortable till she reached
home.”
“I will do my part towards it, Harry, for I think
the woman is deserving of sympathy and aid, and she
always appears grateful for any little attention shown
her; I hope you may get the picture, but she idolizes
it so, I doubt if she will part with it. She has had
temptation enough to induce her to sell it, if her story
is true, which we cannot doubt."
We are home already, or nearly so. The ladies are
on the look-out for us from the summer-house; though
they know very well from past experience, that when
Frank and I get off together, there is little calculation
to be made concerning our movements. “However,
this time we are home in good season, are we not
Minnie?"
“Very dutiful young men,” she replies, “and how
have you spent your day? charmingly, I presume.”
Of course we have to enter into all the particulars
and descriptions necessary to the edification of our
friends till we are
spun out," and even then Blanche
asks, “Have'nt you something more to tell us?"
6


122
HERMIT'S DELL
XVII.
The summer is waning, and Nature has lost much
of that freshness which so enhances her beauty. The
sheen of ripeness is over woods and fields and gardens,
awakening thoughts of Ceres and Pomona, and the
yellow-haired Bacchus.
It is a season of both labor and joy to the farmer,
for his toil is rewarded with rich promise and opulent
yield.
This is perhaps the last harvest season that my good
neighbor Mead may ever know, unless it be in that
unknown clime, “where he shall come again with
rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.”
He sent over for me yesterday, to come and sit with
him awhile; for he has been complaining, during the
past week, of symptoms which seem to indicate a
mortal disease.
He has been a hard-worker all his lifetime, and it
is telling on his frame now, though to a casual observer
it would not be apparent.
Sitting on the porch in his large arm-chair, he looks
with me over the fields which he has tilled so long and
well, and heaves a sigh.
a


HERMIT's
123.
DELL.
“ He hears the Autumn rustling in his corn,
Cloud chases cloud across his bending grain ;
The reaper's scythe-song greets the golden morn,
The soft eve welcomes home the loaded wain."
But he cannot go as he used to, and reap or bind with
as stalwart and tireless arm as the youngest.
He is beginning to despond, but I endeavor to cheer
him with the hope that his day is not ended yet.
He cannot think so, and begins to talk more fami-
liarly with me than ever before. “I see it all ahead,”
Ι
”
he
says; “yes, I know well when I am gone that the
old farm will run down and go into other hands before
long. The old woman will soon follow me, and Abel
is young and foolish, always wants guiding-running
after new notions all the time, and yet I've done my
best with the boy—but it's his nature—yes, I see it
all."
In some such strain the old man talks since he has
been complaining; he cannot bear the idea of the
farm passing into the hands of others, and his prescience
may prove true. It is very doubtful if his son follows
in his footsteps.
Frank is married at last! His letter conveying the
news arrived to day, and we are all to meet him and
his bride to-morrow at their beautiful home. Blanche
is
very happy of course, and fairly nervous with impa-


124
HERMIT'S DELL.
tience to welcome her new sister, whom she has never
seen.
“I wonder what her style of beauty is,” she says ;
“Frank never would tell me any particulars; he said
I must wait and see; Frank is so funny some-
times."
“No matter now, Blanche, you will see for yourself
in twelve hours or so. Come! it is too cool to sit on
the porch any longer; the dew is very heavy to-night;
let us have one of those fantasies' Frank brought
you; the piano has not been opened for a month. I
want to write a little to-night, and you know that
music is suggestive.”
My fair cousin is always obliging, so I have music
to my heart's content for the rest of the evening, begin-
ning with “ Les Fugitives,” and ending with “Don
Pasquale.” Blanche sings delightfully too, but has
never forgiven me for what she pleases to call “a
piece of my flattery,” in my writing on a page of her
scrap book, "Inscribed to Blanche,”
“So sweet in her is music's power,
Her mouth breaths fragrance like a flower,
And the bee passing, as he sips,
Makes honey from her odorous lips.".
Minnie, always busy, is embroidering some fanciful
article of apparel for Blanche's wardrobe or trousseau,


HERMIT'S DELL.
125
which, from the quantity of work and material I have
seen for the last six weeks, ought to last her half a
lifetime. But it is nearly finished now, for in two
weeks, the eventful day will arrive.
But here comes Bridget with a dish of luscious
grapes, such rich Catawbas as Bacchus never knew.
“Put away your work for to-night, Minnie; and
2lanche, you think you are consumptive sometimes,
eat your fill! Are they not delicious ? and these Heath
peaches! why, Minnie, you should keep these to
brandy, they are far better than those “Morris whites'
you bought at the nursery the other day.”
We sit long over our evening feast, and make plans
for the next week and week after.
Tomorrow we go to Briar-cliff. On Monday, Frank
and his wife must dine with us; and during the week
we will visit back and forth.
The week after, there will be this and that to do in
preparation for Blanche's wedding, which is to be
very
quiet. After Madame Rreturns from the Falls-
Niagara of course-she is to make a visit at Glen-
Clunie, then spend a week with us and receive her
country friends.
“ Then, Blanche,” says Minnie, and the tears come
into her eyes, "you will go to your new home; and
when shall we see you again? I cannot bear to think
of it !”


126
DELL.
HERMIT'S
This makes Blanche feel pathetic, and we have quite
a "scene" for awhile; till a little philosophising on my
part brings smiles again. After all, how dependent
we are upon each other!


HERMIT'S DELL.
127
XVIII.
ANOTHER month has gone! and how much that was
dear and beautiful to us has gone with it from our
view! some, for a season—the rest, for ever!
The birds of summer are flocking to take their
accustomed exodus towards the sunny South; the
flowers are fading, leaves beginning to wither and fall.
The woods are gorgeous with those countless tints
which no painter's pencil may copy, and which no-
where else in the world are half so beautiful as here.
Blanche has gone too, and more than birds or
flowers, we miss her. Our old neighbor Mead, worn
and wasted at last, is receiving his reward. Whilst
we were gay and happy, whilst sounds of mirth were
in our dwelling, sadness and sighs were in his; yet
we miss him and sorrow with those who mourn a good
man, a kind father, and a warm friend gone.
At Briar-cliff we have been frequent and welcome
visitors. Frank and his wife are as happy as our
warmest wishes could have them.
I cannot picture, on the pages of my diary, the face
and form which are my friend's delight, or echo in


128
HERMIT': DELL.
other ears the voice that is his music. Enough it is
to say, that she is all his heart could crave—all that
can bless his life.
We have all been in such a state of excitement
during the last month, entertaining, and being enter-
tained, “marrying and giving in marriage,” it is diffi-
cult to settle down again to our usually quiet life.
Blanche is coming back to stay with us awhile, before
going to the South; though she has promised to spend
her summers with us. She is happy, except in leav-
ing us, and Hermit's Dell, so rich in dear and pleasant
associations.
Frank is making a paradise, almost, around him ;
it would be difficult to find a lovelier spot.
lle has acted upon my suggestion made some time
ago, and is building a tower upon the verge of the
cliff, which will command a beautiful view, not only
of his grounds, but the surrounding country, and the
river gleaming in the distance.
The ravine below is a peaceful resort, and capable
of being beautified also. Yet Nature has done her
part, and at this season-
“ There,
The children of the autumnal whirlwind bear
Ili wanton sport, those bright leaves, whose decay,
Red, yellow, or ethereally pale,


HERMIT'S DELL.
129
Rival the pride of summer. 'Tis the haunt
Of every gentle wind, whose breath can teach
The wilds to love tranquillity.”
Frank and I spent a day in and about Hermit's Dell
last week, shooting quails, with which the thickets
abound this season. We were very successful, and
on our way home, stopped to chat with La Solitaire,
as we still call her, and leave her a few of the birds.
She still talks of going back to Italy; her heart is
evidently there. Frank asked her if she would not
leave Pietro with him, and he would educate him ; but
she prefers that her boy shall go with her, if she
returns, and follow his father's occupation, for which
he has a decided talent. He is highly delighted with
the box of colors which Frank gave him, and is com-
mencing to use them.
Frank says that he has no doubt I most heartily
wish for La Solitaire's departure, hoping I may get
the picture she has promised me conditionally; but I
do not plead guilty to being as selfish as he insinuates :
though I must acknowledge I look at the painting with
a covetous eye whenever I visit the owner.
Poor, lonely woman! she may be happy in her self-
chosen and peculiar solitude, but I do not believe she
is; and we decide that the next time Minnie goes to
see her, she shall inquire more fully into her wants
and wishes.
6*


130
HERNIT'S DELL.
Winter will soon be here, and how much better for
her to be amidst the orange groves and vineyards of
her native valley, than in this lonely glen. I am sure
her heart would leap with joy were the prospect before
her; but she has too much delicacy to ask assistance:
or it may be-pride.
There are many little improvements and alterations
I contemplate making this season about our grounds,
provided that Frank and his wife do not prevail on us
to build on that fair site he has at Briar-cliff. There
is no telling how it may be; it all rests with Minnie,
and she is cogitating on the subject. One advantage
at any rate, would be in having a good school near at
hand for our little Birdie, one of these days; and
there are other matters too to be considered, which
make it desirable.
Minnie and I were caught in a storm there a few
nights since, and obliged to stay till morning. How
comfortable it was in the library, with its glowing
pictures and high-piled book-cases! What a scene of
quiet and domestic comfort ! Frank at his desk,
writing something "funny,” as Blanche says, for the
“Spirit of the Times," currente calamo: Minnie and
the lady of the house, buried amidst the cushions of a
luxurious sofa, engaged in confidential chit-chat; and
my humble self, stretched out in the reading chair,


HERMIT'S DELL.
131
absorbed in “ Michelet,” excepting the few moments
in which I survey our tableau vivant.
By and by, when the wind whistles louder, and the
rain beats faster against the windows, we get up a
concert of our own; Frank with his flute, his wife on
her guitar, and Minnie at the piano-together with
their voices-discourse
"Soft Lydian airs
Married to immortal verse."
But one rich voice is wanting to make the harmony
complete, and that is Blanche's; but next week she
will be here, and there will be a grand reunion.”
The storm is over, and what a change it has wrought
in the appearance of our country! The trees are
almost leafless, and a phase of cheerlessness is cast
over the face of Nature, before so smiling.
In another month, it will be winter, dreary and cold
in our northern latitude, and we shall be more than
ever dependent upon each other for comfort and
enjoyment.
Another season, and much of our interest in Hermit's
Dell and its surrounding haunts may have ceased.
Change is over all !
“But the unborn hour,
Cradled in fear and hope, conflicting storms,
Who shall unveil ? Nor thou, nor I, nor any
Mighty or wise."


132
HERMIT'S DELL.
XIX.
The winds of winter, laden with snow and sleet, are
sweeping over the hills and through the glens between
them, piling up great driſts along our hedge-rows and
shrubbery, and shrouding the young evergreens which
were looking so verdant and cheerful.
One only, a graceful hemlock, remains uncovered.
It stands in a sunny corner, where the north wind can-
not reach it, and was planted by our cousin Blanche
on the day of her departure.
Something lively,” she said, "to remind you of me
in the dreary winter, dear Minnie.”
Yes, Blanche, we will often look on your little im-
mortelle, and think of you in your sweet southern
home around which no snows gather : but as yet our
memories need no prompter.
It has been a long storm, and we have been penned
in-doors to profit and amuse ourselves as we best could.
The snow lies over a foot deep, and Teddy and I, with
the aid of “old Charley,” have been striving to break
the road through the dense drifts which cover our ap-
proach from the road houseward. It is very cold and


H ERMIT'S DELL.
133
severe work for us all, but it is over at last, and that
necessary purveyor, the butcher, is the first one to reap
the advantage of our labor. He brings the mail of
four days with him too-a most acceptable packet,
and which will be the means of making one evening
at least pass speedily enough.
I go to the house and shuffling off my moccasins on
the porch, doff my rough frieze overcoat, and don-
ning my wrapper, compose myself in the great chair
before the fire for uninterrupted enjoyment of my news-
budget.
Opening the wrapper I find a letter from Blanche to
Minnie, who is sitting near me engaged in knitting a
pair of Polish boots with which to encase her feet
when sleighing, of which from present prospects we
shall enjoy a superabundance.
The work is thrown aside and she is soon absorbed
in the perusal of Blanche's, epistle, an eight-paged one,
closely written.
I look up from my paper occasionally upon her
face, over which expressions flit changeful as the
gleams and shadows of an April day over a fair land-
scape. If I read them aright, Blanche must be as
happy a bride “as the sun shines upon,” her lot bright
as the skies which bend over her. By and by Minnie
reads to me a sentence here and there. May I not
transcribe one ?


134
DELL.
HERMIT's
“Yes, Minnie, I am very, very happy, my spirit is
in sunshine all the time, but I often find myself asking
-Will I always be thus happy? Are there no clouds
in view ?
“What a blessed thing it is that we cannot look into
the Future! Sometimes I feel a little lonesome, and
then I think of you all and wish I were nearer to you:
but how can I be dissatisfied with my lot!
“I am looking forward already to the summer, when
I hope to make you that promised visit. I suppose
you are enjoying sleigh-riding now to the utmost, but
I wish you were here to enjoy the bananas you are
so fond of.”
It is a joy to us that Blanche is thus happy, for
upon a nature like hers anything like disappointment
falls with a saddening influence. The letter is laid
away to be re-read and answered, and I return to my
papers.
As the afternoon wears away, the sky clears up and
the wind begins to rise again, making the air bitter
cold. Our cottage stands exposed to the full force of
the northern wind, and, being intended only as a sum-
mer residence, we have great difficulty to keep our-
selves comfortable.
There is a rap upon the outer door: who can it be
braving the snow and wind ? I go to the door and
find that it is Pietro, the child of La Solitaire.
1
1
1


HERMIT'S DELL.
135
>
He is warmly clad, but he has been up to his waist
amidst the snow-drifts and shivers like a leaf. I take
a broom to him and beat off the clinging snow, then
bring him to the fire. He has a book in his hand,
one I lent his mother some time since, but his sole er-
rand is not to return that.
Well, Pietro what is it? His lip commences to
quiver as he tells us that his mother is sick and wants
to see us.
She is in need of tea and sugar too, and
doubtless of other necessaries, for she has not been
able to go to the store very lately.
It is cold and disagreeable enough, but it is our
duty to go. Teddy is ordered to bring up the light
sleigh, for we cannot walk there, and whilst he is get-
ting ready, we fortify ourselves as well as possible
against the searching wind and drifting snow.
Teddy comes with the sleigh well stocked with robes,
and Minnie has had the wisdom of providing a bottle
of hot water to keep her feet warm. She has packed
a basket too with little delicacies and necessaries for
Bella, which she knows will be acceptable and thank-
fully received.
We place Pietro between our feet and Teddy arrang-
es the warm furs so that not a crevice is left for rude
to pry into
.
Though our destination is but a few moments' walk
from the cottage by the foot-path, we are obliged to
Boreas to pry


136
HERMIT'S DELL.
drive a circuit of some four miles to reach it. We find
the road unbroken after leaving our gate, and Charley
has about as much as he can do to flounder through the
drifts and draw us after him.
The road keeps the river bank for a mile or two and
then enters the woods. How beautiful are the cedars
and hemlocks, clothed as in winding sheets! Now and
then a limb bursts through its shroud, emerging, as it
were, into life again, and seeming to say—
"Oh year! we are immortal, we die not with thee."
It is almost evening when we reach the narrow defile
forming the entrance into the glen, and in a few
minutes' time we are at the cabin door. A taper casts
its feeble glimmer through the window: no human
form is visible; the scene is one of utter loneliness.
Pietro emerges from his warm mufflings, and fear-
lessly jumping into the snow, opens the door. I lift
Minnie out, and placing her on the threshold, hand her
the basket of provisions, and then make our faithful
co-worker, Charley, as comfortable as possible.
As I am about to enter the cabin, Minnie tells me
there is no wood within, and the fire is expiring, that I
must hunt up some fuel.
I find a heap of dead branches against the southern
house-side, and with the aid of Pietro a goodly quantity


HERMIT'S DELL.
137
is brought and soon cracking and blazing upon the
hearth.
Poor Bella ! she is very sick, and can scarce express
her thanks for our coming to her. She has a racking
cough, and already looks wasted with fever, the effects
of too much exposure to the inclement weather.
Ah, Bella ! you were born and nurtured under a
warmer sky than ours! Would that you were now
where your thoughts are oftentimes—amidst the orange
groves of sweet La-Cava.”
“Yes, señor, it is my heart's wish—but how can I
return!”
As the night gathers, Minnie proposes that she
remain with the sick woman, for there is no one to
wait on her, and that I return home to bring some
other necessaries in the morning. The doctor must
be sent for too, but that cannot be done to-night.
Minnie's plan seems the wisest under the circumstances,
and after making everything snug I start homeward
alone. It is bitterly cold, and I rejoice to reach my
own fireside again, for I am perfectly impregnated with
the frosty air ; but the fragrant tea is steaming on the
hearth, and I am in a mood to enjoy it.
Birdie misses his mother, and most pertinaciously
asks me again and again when she will come back.
Her absence is a novelty to him, and the reason I give
for it is incomprehensible to him.


138
HERMIT'S DELL.
How blissful is childhood's unconsciousness of the
pains and sorrows of humanity! Its sky is ever bright,
its flowers ever blooming, and as we look upon the
smoothly rounded cheek, the lithe and dancing form-
as we hear the joyous prattle and unstudied laugh of
childhood, how few of us often sigh not-
“Oh! what a world of beauty fades away,
With the winged hours of youth.”
But Birdie's prattle is soon hushed in slumber, and I
am alone. The wind sweeps and whistles drearily
round the cottage, begetting a feeling almost of melan-
choly.
I take up a paper, and turning to its “fun corner
strive to laugh over its oddities, but it is futile for me
to make the endeavor. My thoughts are in the gloomy
depths of Hermit's Dell—the sick chamber wherein
Minnie is administering to the invalid Bella.
She will not sleep to-night I know; what a cheerless
vigil she will keep in that lonely dwelling! Oh,
woman! frail and gentle as thou seemest, thy spirit is
brave and strong!
I have a letter in my desk which I prize very much.
It was written by a friend years ago, and I read it very
often still. His heart was almost broken when he
traced these lines :
“ Yes, my young wife is dead : she was very dear to
a
a
6


HERMIT'S DELI.
139
me you know. It was very hard for me to give her
up, and I cannot realize that she is gone. The piano
is still open as she left it the day she sickened. There
is her sewing-chair and work-table, and the little gar-
ment in the drawer still unfinished. Her moss-rose
and mignonette are blooming under the window, but
their fragrance is wasted. Only a year gone since she
was a bride ; you remember how lovely she looked in
her wreath of orange blossoms.
“I was sick once, and she tended me. Many a long
hour she sat by my bedside, bathing my pulses when
they were wild with fever : and when I was well again,
how happy she became, how radiant were her smiles.
Here is the garden, and the little arbor overhung by
the passion-vine and clematis, where we used to sit
and talk of days gone.' Oh! my friend ! I am very
lonely—may your heart and home never be thus deso-
late.”
Poor Fred! years have gone since he met his great
loss, but he often talks and writes of his "angel wife,”
and has never married again. With all its wretched-
ness, his heart could not wail with Edgar Poe-
"Respite, respite, and nepenthe,
From the memories of Lenore,
Quaff! O quaff this kind nepenthe,
And forget thy lost Lenore."


140
HERMIT'S DELL.
XX.
With the morning light Teddy is despatched for
the physician, with a request from me that he will visit
Bella as soon as possible, for I know not how import-
ant his services may be.
As Charley will be in use for an hour or two, I put
on my top-boots and walk by the nearest route to the
cabin. The path runs along a steep hillside the
greater part of the distance, and as the snow is very
deep and I am the first one to break the surface, my
walk is toilsome enough. The little dwelling of Bella
is soon visible, and I perceive a thick column of smoke
curling upward from the chimney. They are not suf-
fering with cold at any rate, and it has a cheerful look
too. When I reach the house Minnie replies to my
summons at the door, and if her face is an index of her
patient's condition, all is still well.
She tells me that Bella passed the night very com-
fortably, though suffering some pain and oppression.
“I did not sleep a wink the whole night through,”
she continues; "you have no idea how lonesome I felt
here, though I did not feel afraid of anything. I spent
most of the time in reading, and when I became tired
1


HERMIT'S DELL.
141
of that, I stood the light under the Magdalen and studied
it for an hour. I never appreciated its beauty before.
Did you send for the doctor? Bella intimated last
evening that she would like to see the priest—but I
have had a serious talk with her, and I think she is
indifferent now to his coming at all. I find that she is
not a very rigid Catholic.”
The doctor arrives soon, and pronounces Bella in no
danger at present, though her lungs are slightly affected
-a little medicine, quiet, and good nursing are all that
is necessary, and those she will have.
Minnie suggests that I return home and send Teddy
after old Mrs. Pike, who is a capital nurse, to come
and remain at the cabin till Bella is convalescent.
This meets my approval, and after replenishing the
pile of fuel by the hearth I again tramp and flounder
through the drifts homeward. I find my breakfast
awaiting me, and it is discussed with a most capital
appetite, for I have done hard service since daylight.
A covey of quail are running over the snow before the
door half famished, and Birdie and I amuse ourselves
with feeding them. Hunger has tamed them so that
they venture within a few feet of us.
If Bella were
well she would soon entice them to her traps, and it
may be their fate still to get into them.
“ Teddy has gone after the nurse, and when he
returns, Birdie, we will go after mamma."


142
HERMIT'S DELL.
The little fellow says it is cold, but I teli Bridget to
bundle him up in shawls and I will see that he does
not suffer in the sleigh.
In due time we are off, Birdie nestled among the
furs and blankets, his little face only visible, reminding
me of a tiny chicken peeping from beneath its mother's
wings. It is his first sleigh-ride, and he is delighted
with the jingle of the bells and the fine snow that
Charley flings up for the wind to dust us with.
We find good Mrs. Pike installed into her office, and
Minnie waiting patiently for us to take her home. Tell-
ing the nurse to send us word by Pietro if we can be
of any service, we drive rapidly homeward.
Minnie is tired out, and is glad to reach home again,
but there we find Frank and his wife, who have arrived
during my absence, and promise to spend the rest of
the day with us. They are sorry to hear of Bella's
sickness, for they already feel as much interest in her
as we do. Frank suggests that we delay the project
no longer of trying to enable her to return home when
the Spring opens. We know she is longing to do so,
and only wants the means.
“ Two or three hundred dollars, Harry, will cover
all expenses, and provide for contingencies; I will give
a quarter of the amount, and I know you will second
me : the rest can soon be raised among our neighbors.”
Minnie and I promise co-operation, and in a few
1
1


.
143
HERMIT'S DELL.
weeks Bella's heart will know a new joy, if our pro-
mises are good.
The river is covered with an unbroken sheet of ice,
and we see the fishermen going out to lift their “fykes”
which are generally burdened with fish. The wind
has swept off the snow, and Frank proposes that we
drive over the river and back for the sake of a good
trot. His horses are brought up and we are off. The
river is over a mile in width, but in five minutes we are
across and warming our fingers at the fishermen's fire
in the hut upon the shore.
We buy some fine perch of them, and retrace our
way, stopping to see old Diedrich, the genius of the
lighthouse. He does not have to light his lantern now,
but he lives beneath it because it is his only shelter.
He is busy at his old work, making nets to sell to the
shad-fishers, and smoking his pipe by way of recrea-
tion. He speaks very highly of that last tobacco we
brought him, which insinuation we understand: but
unfortunately have omitted taking any with us this
time. “ We will bring some the next visit we make
you, Diedrich," says my companion. “Gute !" is his
laconic reply, tinctured with a tone of disappointment,
and we are off again.
We are at home in time to find dinner on the table,
and the ladies looking out for us, for with the glass
they could see all our movements.


144
HERMIT'S DELL.
“Harry, what do you think,” says Minnie, “we
have an invitation to domesticate ourselves at Briar-
cliff till the weather becomes milder. Kate will take
no refusal ; she says she knows we are suffering with
the cold here, and that you won't refuse.”
“ Well, Minnie, as far as the cold is concerned, it is
true enough. The house is not proof against these
northwesters, and as far as qur comfort is concerned, I
think it a very desirable change, but”
To 'buts' are necessary at all, cousin Harry,"
replies Kate ; “there is nothing to keep you here what-
ever; the servants are trusty, we have abundance of
room, and to spare, and it will add much to our happi-
to have
you
with us. You must go over
with us this afternoon, Bridget and Birdie, bag and
baggage.”
Frank is not only as decided but quite peremptory in
trying to persuade us, and at last we assent to the
arrangement.
We leave the house and its appurtenances under the
charge of Teddy, promising but a week's absence, and
all packed in Frank's commodious sleigh we speed to-
wards Briar-cliff.
The road is now in fine order from frequent travel,
and in half an hour we are at the mansion.
What an
air of comfort there is about it : a veritable Arctic at-
mosphere could not penetrate its thick stone walls.
ness


HERMIT'S
145
DELL.
There is a great stove in the hall whose capacity is
suggestive of never-failing coal-fields : and in the
library a hickory fire that would put “ Uncle Josh’s” to
shame is fiercely blazing.
Intimately acquainted and connected as we are with
the dwellers here, Minnie and I soon make ourselves
perfectly“ at home,” complying with the spirit of our
friends' often repeated wish that we shall do so.
Evening comes with its social tea-quaffing, and
afterward we gather in the library to a cozy game of
chess or bagatelle.
By and by we have music—the spirit-stirring drink-
ing song, Crambamboli, which Frank sings finely.
It is echoed from the kitchen, in which department
of the household a young German is instated. As the
notes of a tuneful lied which we sing afterward come
to his ear, I can divine his thoughts if he cherishes fond
memories of the Fatherland. He is again amidst the
vineyards by the Rhine, or beneath the lindens that
o'erhang the Neckar. He remembers the day when,
embarking for his new home, he listened tearfully to the
melodies of the old. There were others with him too:
some perhaps were his kindred : but where are they
now? Away through the valleys of the West, by the
banks of the Ohio and the Rio Grande, they build their
quaint cabins, and gather their viny harvests,
But our songs are over, and whilst our fair compan-
7


146
DELL.
HERMIT's
ions draw their lounge aside for a private tête-à-tête,
Frank takes from his writing-desk a box of old letters
which he wishes I would assist him to sort and file.
They are the accumulation of years, and some are to
be garnered again—others, to feed the fire.
How many memories do those rustling pages awaken!
how varied the phases of life they chronicle! Some
are worn with frequent reading—others unrumpled and
scarcely opened. Of those who wrote them, a few,
very few were friends : the rest, not foes perhaps, but
selfish and calculating scriveners. The characters
upon some of those chequered pages were traced by
fingers which shall hold the pen no more. Their writ-
ing is familiar as were the faces of those who wrote-
faces we have looked not on for many a long year.
What so recalls the voice and smile of a lost friend as
a letter of his inditing? Others have forgotten him-
but to you he seems to speak with silent tongue--you
hold in yours his invisible fingers.
“Here, Harry,” said Frank, as he handed me a let-
ter of several pages, “is one I prize highly and often
read. It was written by a chum of mine only a few
months since. He was a noble fellow, and had his
health been spared him, would have made his mark
upon our country's page. I do not know of any one
more thoroughly educated or possessing more general
information. He was a deep thinker and a great ob-


HERMIT'S DELL.
147
server of men and things, neglecting nothing that could
add to his fund of useful knowledge.
“He used to take a great interest in politics, and I
have often heard him say it was his ambition to
shine in public life. Poor fellow ! he died of a cancer
before any of his hopes were answered. I think that
is the last letter he ever wrote, and I never read it
without thinking of that touching sentiment uttered by
Henry Clay when he felt that he was failing. What
a depth of regretful feeling is contained in those few
lines! Do you not remember them? I believe my
memory serves me right—'If the days of my useful-
ness be indeed past, I desire not to linger an impo-
tent spectator of the oft-scanned field of life.'
“There are passages in that letter imbued with the
same spirit. After all, Harry, how vain are our cal-
culations and endeavors."
I read the letter so full of regrets, yet not repinings,
and then Frank hands me another written in a different
vein. It is from “a musical genius” studying abroad,
.
and is full of the spirit which characterizes the works
of Beethoven and Mozart, and others of their school.
Its pages, written almost in rhythmical measure, give
evidence of a mind gifted with an intense perception
of all that is beautiful and divine in music. It remains
to be seen whether, master of his art, he will one day
exclaim with the dying Mozart—"Now I begin to see
a


148
HERMIT'S DELL.
what might be done in music :" or, disappointed in his
aspirings, sigh with Jean Paul Richter—" Away, music,
away! thou tellest me of joys I shall never realize."
So for an hour or two we sit over that receptacle of
old letters and discuss its contents. Out of hundreds,
a few only are laid aside to be kept for reperusal-
mementoes of those who are held worthy of remem-
brance.


HERMIT'S
149
DELL.
XXI.
“COME, Frank ! it is a fine, still morning : what do
you say to a drive over to Hermit’s Dell? I promised
Bella that we would not neglect her, and at the same
time there are matters at the cottage I wish to look
after."
Such was Minnie's salutation and proposition to our
host at breakfast this morning.
“Only grant me an hour to scribble off a letter or
two, and I and the horses are at your service for the
day,” is Frank's reply.
It is indeed a pleasant winter's day! The snow
lies dense and level over the lawn; here and there a
hemlock or pine relieving its glistening surface with
its dark shadows, and giving a phase of cheerfulness
to the else gloomy woods. The sunshine falls warmly
into the winter conservatory on the southern porch,
and sitting within it, inhaling its delicious atmosphere,
laden with scents of geranium and orange blossoms,
we fancy that the breath of a summer's day is here
caged and kept for our enjoyment.
Frank comes here sometimes to enjoy his cigar,


150
DELL.
HERMIT'S
which his wife declaims against most forcibly; but he
defends himself with the plea that he drives away the
spiders which are particularly obnoxious to her : so he
gains his point. But the horses are at the door. Frank
has finished his epistles, and whilst the ladies are pull-
ing on their Polish boots, we arrange the hot bricks in
a damp blanket on the bottom of the sleigh, and other-
wise consult the comfort of our companions; for Frank
slily whispers in my ear, “ I'm going to give them a
drive to Leeville.”
Our destination, then, is nearly thirty miles distant,
and the prospect is that we shall not get home again to-
night.
Frank takes the reins, for our vehicle holds but four
persons comfortably, and in half an hour we are at the
door of Bella's cabin. Minnie runs in for a few mo-
ments, and returns with tidings that the invalid is fast
improving and very comfortable, wanting nothing but
a few more days of good Abby Pike's nursing.
As the cottage we call our home is on the route we
intend taking, Minnie tells our Jehu not to drive by
without stopping, for she begins to suspect that Frank
and I have had our heads together, concocting some
scheme or other for their surprise or amusement.
At home we find everything as it should be in-doors,
but have to force a perfect barricade of snow, piled
upon the porch by the busy winds, before effecting an


HERMIT’S DELL.
151
entrance. Teddy is now sole occupant, for during our
absence his kitchen companions have gone to visit
their friends elsewhere. A good hickory-wood fire is
blazing in the kitchen, whither we descend to warm
our fingers preparatory to a start, and at the same
time inspect the larder, which we fear is nearly empty.
It is rather soon after breakfast for us to be hungry,
but the ladies being admonished that they have a long
ride before them, think it best to fortify themselves a
little. Minnie produces part of a smoked salmon from
a dark corner, and Kate has spied out a jar of pickles,
of which, with most of her sex, she is uncommonly
fond. There is no lack of bread and butter, so whilst
our fair companions take their “cold snap," Frank
and I imbibe a warm potation whose flavor awakens
memories of “old Schiedam."
But Teddy calls out, “ Mister Frank, the beasts are
shiverin',” despite of their blankets, and so once more
snugly tucked in, we are off again.
Away through the woods, along the river bank, and
then into the woods again, we speed at a gallant rate,
till we reach 66 the Point" where we are to cross the
river. The covers the surface only in de-
tached places, and keeping watch for the air-holes,
we drive straight across. The river is here almost
a mile in width, but the ice is nearly a foot thick,
and perfectly solid, so we feel there is no risk in
snow


152
HERYIT'S DELL.
crossing on it. As we near the other shore, we find
the tide has overflowed the surface, to the depth of
several inches, and become frozen again. Our horses
break through it, which alarms the ladies some, but it
is soon over.
We take the shore near an old-fashioned tavern,
which Frank and I well remember as the rendezvous of
a sleighing party in which we were prominent actors
a few years ago. There is the same flaunting sign
swinging and creaking, the same tall porch, and there
is the identical woolly-headed “ Cæsar," who rubbed
down Frank's horses so faithfully on that eventful
night.
“We must stop for the sake of old times, Harry,"
said Frank, and so we do. The old negro recognizes
us,
but says,
“ Dem ain't the hosses, massa-yah-yah !"
No, Cæsar, and where are the fair forms which they
bore that night? where is Mabel Lee, the belle of the
frolic; where her fair companion ? Are they living
still, mindful oftentimes of by-gone days, or are they
in that realm where retrospection neither gladdens or
saddens the spirit!
Leeville is still some ten miles distant, but we are
on the post road, now beaten smooth and hard by con-
stant travel.
A fine farming country here stretches for miles
westward from the river. Great red barns are visible


HERMIT'S DELL.
153
from the road, doubtless heaped high with hay and
grain, for there are stacks without—the surplus of
garnered crops.
Our road courses amidst varied scenes : now, through
a piece of woodland; now ascending, then descending;
here, over a wide stream, on stone arches; there,
through a region of broad and level meadows. The
snow lies deeply over all now, but in the summer time
it must be a beautiful country that surrounds us.
The moon lights us into Leeville, that quiet lit-
tle village in which Frank and I have spent so many
pleasant days. We pass by the old homestead, stand-
ing away back from the road, and dimly seen through
the dense locusts and elms which surround it. My
friend's right and title to that substantial old mansion
has been long since conveyed into other hands, and
nothing about it belongs to him now but its pleasant
associations.
We stop for a moment upon
the bridge that crosses
a little stream flowing near the village. “There,
Kate,” says Frank, pointing to the spot where the wil-
lows thickly cluster, “there is a deep pool in which a
poor misguided girl drowned herself a few years ago.
I will tell you more about it when we reach the
tavern."
We have had a long drive, and though not suffering
with cold, thanks to the hot bricks and thick furs, it is
7*


154
HERNIT'S DELL.
pleasant to gather round the wide hearth in the parlor
of the tavern, which the family have vacated for our
accommodation.
Old Walton is the landlord still, and recognizing us
as friends, strives to make us comfortable.
Supper is soon prepared, and a good supper too, con-
sisting of coffee, buckwheat cakes, fresh pickerel from
a neighboring lake, and sundry other accompaniments;
to all of which we do ample justice.
The dry wood is heaped upon the fire, and cozily
disposed around it, Frank and I revive old memories.
We remember the harvests-home, the corn-huskings,
the apple-peelings, and all the other frolics in which
we once took a part. An hour or two passes away in
such converse, till Frank is reminded of the little his-
tory he promised to give concerning the suicide girl.
“I shall tell it hastily," Frank says, “ for it is get-
ting late, and we are all tired.”
“She was the daughter of a rich farmer in this
vicinity, and it may be that her parents are living yet,
although they were pretty old people at the time the
affair happened. During the summer, a party of
young men from the city came here to rusticate, fish,
and shoot woodcock, for the country abounded in
game.
They were wild boys, full of fun, and ready for
any frolic : cruising about in every direction, and
66


HERMIT's
155
DELL.
making the acquaintance of all the pretty girls for miles
around. Every few days they would get up a pic-nic
or a fishing frolic, or something of the kind. The
girls felt flattered with the attentions of these city
beaux, though I don't suppose any one of them had the
remotest idea of picking up a wife here. At any rate
they all had their favorites, and it is only to be won-
dered at that there were not more broken hearts than
Bell Darragh's. Poor girl! she was young and very
susceptible, and was deep in love before she knew it.
The young man who waited on her most was well cal-
culated to win a girl's heart, but I am convinced that
he was not aware how deep an impression he had
made. It was the talk, however, of the whole neigh-
borhood, how deeply the girl was in love with him, till
by and by it reached his ears. He did not give it much
attention, but rather laughed at it as only a passing
fancy, though at the same time withdrawing his atten-
tions to a certain degree; for I believe that he was
strictly honorable. It was different with the girl; and
though her companions laughed at her and called her
foolish, it was soon evident that she was serious in her
attachment. Her temperament was peculiar, and she
became quite melancholy z would not go out, and
refused to join any more of the parties that were made
up.
“Her father sent her away to an uncle living in a


156
UERT'S DELI.
different part of the country, thinking a change of
scene would have a good effect upon her; but it was
of no use.
When she came home, the young men had
all left, and the one to whom she was attached, not
dreaming but that her fancy for him would cease on
his departure, had thought it needless to enter into any
explanation. This was a twofold disappointment to
her. She became moody and mopish, and subject to
melancholy spells, so that her parents were obliged to
watch her constantly.
“She went on so for several weeks, till one morning
she did not make her appearance at breakfast, which
was very unusual. Her mother went up to her room,
but it was vacant and the bed had not been disturbed.
The old people were much alarmed, and the news
soon spread through the village that Bell Darragh was
missing
“ Her body was found in less than an hour. It lay
upon the pebbly bottom of the pool under the willows
that I pointed out to you near the bridge. Her face
was turned upward, and those who saw it first said that
it glistened through the clear water calm and beautiful
in its expression. Every means were resorted to in the
hope of restoring her, but she was perfectly lifeless.
" I saw her soon after she was taken from the water,
Her bonnet hung upon the willows, as if to show the
spot where she laid herself down to die. She had


HERMIT'S
157
DELL.
dressed herself in a white robe, with more than usual
care, and had even twined some white rose-buds in her
hair. It was a fair but sad sight, and as I looked upon
the lifeless form, surrounded by wailing friends, I could
not but think and exclaim, how soon
66 * The illusion o’er, the spell dispersed,
Life and life's bubble burst.'
“ It cast a gloom over the village for weeks, for Bell
was a general favorite with young and old. I have
often thought how sadly her young love was wasted
and quenched, and how many of us would give the
world, if we could, to be the object of such devotion as
hers.”
Such was Frank's relation, and strictly true. I
remember well when it occurred, but our companions
had never heard of the incident before.
“ It is a sad story,” says one, “but such things hap-
pen oftener than we know of. The world scoffs at
there being such a thing as a broken heart, but I know
of two in my own experience. Harry, you remember
Julia C-! you know the doctor said she died of a
galloping consumption : but her intimate friends knew
better."
It is late before we retire, although our breakfast is
to be ready by daylight, so we can reach home in good
And a good night's rest we have on the laven.
season.


158
HERWIT'S DELL.
der scented beds, yet promptly obeying old Walton's
summons at our doors ere daylight.
The horses, equally refreshed and well cared for as
ourselves, are at the door, anxious to turn their heads
homeward again, and it is not long before they are doing
so. We propose taking the road running parallel with
the river now, and cross it some ten miles farther down
than we did yesterday, consequently nearer Briar-cliff.
The road is tortuous and billy, and the ride rather
tedious, but we reach Briar-cliff before evening, much
to the relief of the domestics and delight of Birdie, who
could not divine the reason of our absence.
Again in the library with its warm atmosphere and
glowing hangings, we find our city papers and a letter
from Blanche to her brother. He reads to us passages
from it, and she is amidst our circle again, but impal-
pable, invisible. She has been journeying a few days
in Florida, and gives us charming descriptions of its
almost tropical scenery and climate.
Why cannot you all make me a visit before spring?
it is only a trip of four days from Briar-cliff here," she
writes.
We all ayree that it would be very pleasant to do so,
but then there are good reasons to prevent us this win-
a
66
ter.
“But we can go to the city at any rate, can we not,
Kate ?" Minnie says, half inquiringly, half decidedly.


HERMIT'S DELL.
159
6
“I see there is a fine opera for Friday night, and the
· Philharmonic' on Saturday, so let us go down this
week."
Frank and I are content to remain perfectly passive
in this arrangement, so it is decided that day after to-
morrow we leave for town, where we shall spend the
holidays.
Minnie has some preparatory needle-work to do, and
forthwith sets about it with borrowed materials. She
intimates, too, that I must go over to the cottage in the
morning and pack her bonnet-box with some necessary
habiliments.
Kate draws her easel to the light and gives the fin-
ishing touches to a sketch of Hermit's Dell, which she
wishes to have framed in the city; whilst Frank and I
light our “Noriegas,” and each with a paper in hand
“place” ourselves as our notions of comfort indicate.
“Aha! so Nellie C— is married at last," exclaims
Frank : and he reads the notice from the paper he
holds.
“ To a foreigner too, Frank! Well! her fancy is
gratified at last. I am sure you remember as well as
I do that fitting summer of ours, when we met her at
the Springs. I suppose you have long ago told your
wife of that famous flirtation you had with the fair
Nellie! for like most of us married men you have
doubtless made confession of all pre-hymeneal strayings


160
HERMIT'S DELL.
and preferences. Has he not, Kate? You needn't give
Minnie the wink, Frank, for she knows who I was ena-
mored with at the same time that you was so desperate.
That was a pleasant time nevertheless, though we
wasted so much attention and I was going to say
something else more valuable: but no matter for that!
if it had not gone one way, it would another.
" That was a golden season to us then, Frank, how-
ever we may think of it now.
“What glorious gallops and drives over the hills and
through the valleys of fair Berkshire ! What stolen
glances and smiling recognitions by day—what rovings
and whisperings on moon-lit eves under the old trees-
what dreams by night!
“ All gone-wasted, my friend !
friend! We are not sorry
though, are we? we do not miss them, do we? There
are fairer forms, and whiter hands, and darker eyes
nearer and dearer to us now, are there not?
“We were married, too, before either of them, the
sweet coquettes, and they know it. I wonder if it
made them feel they were growing passé.
Perhaps the old proverb proved true in their case !
but no! let us be generous, Frank ; such creatures as
they were never grow old : let us hope they have gone
farther to fare no worse.
“ Ah! you shake your head--cannot forgive her, hey!
Well it was rather provoking to be shuffled off like an


HERMIT'S
161
DELL.
old shoe, and discarded for the sake of that parvenu
Count. But you were well avenged at any rate,
Frank; what was he after all, and how every one
laughed at her, and none pitied her. I wonder if she
has caught a real Count now !"
“ You have made quite an exposé, Harry,” says
Frank's wife ; “he never told me the whole affair, or
why he was jilted. Ah! Frank, you need never tell
me you are not conceited after this.”
Frank pretends to be very stoical, and, absorbed in
his paper, says nothing : but I fancy that his thoughts
are running back to that gay summer and its flitting
memories. I know that in his life-view the growing
years have left a vista through which a reach half
shady, half sunny, sometimes opens to his spirit's
vision. Like the bit of landscape which the Claude
Lorraine mirror pictures, it is clothed in a warm and
dreamy haze—the haze of the Past.
Unto what spirit is retrospection not pleasant ! Over
the long review the shadow and the sunshine are not
unequally cast, "and every cloud hath a lining of
silver."
In the careless days of boyhood we listlessly read
from our dog-eared Martial the truthful line
" Hoc est
Vivere bis, vita posse priore frui.”
but it is only in after years that we realize its meaning.


162
HERMIT's DELL.
XXII.
The Christmas holidays are over, and we have been
spending them in the city, renewing some old acquaint-
ances and dissipating in various ways.
Again amidst the quiet comforts of home we are
recovering from the effects of the week's excitement,
and enjoying ourselves as we are wont to do.
The weather still continues cold, but we are so com-
fortably domesticated, day after day passes by and we
linger, loth to return to Hermit's Dell.
Teddy came over this morning, and brings my accu-
mulated mail, with tidings that Bella is now well; and
we send back by him an inclosure for the good old
nurse who has attended her so faithfully.
It has long been a matter of cogitation and consulta-
tion with Minnie and myself whether we shall embrace
Frank's offer and build near him. There are many
matters to be taken into consideration, but on must
accounts it seems desirable, and we have almost
decided to do so.
It is a beautiful site that he has selected for us ; few


HERMIT'S DELL.
163
could be more delightful. At a short distance from
his own dwelling, yet screened from sight of it by a
dense grove of old forest trees, it commands a lovely
and wide-spread inland view of hill and valley, with a
glimpse of far-off mountains, and from an elevation the
river may be seen also.
A wide stretch of greensward is capable of being
made a beautiful lawn, dotted as it is naturally with
fine deciduous and evergreen trees. Near by is the
glen with its stream and fish pond, its sequestered walks
and shadowy nooks—a resort which the hand of nature
alone has made lovely in the extreme.
There in the summer time one may imagine himself
far removed from the haunts of men, amidst the soli-
tudes of scarcely trodden forests, for there are
“Dark owlet nooks, and caves, and battled rocks,
And winding valleys roofed with pendant shade.”
ני
We are talking it all over this evening, and Frank's
wife volunteers to draft a plan for us to build after-a
Gothic cottage, an Italian villa, or any style we may
fancy.
She even brings her drawing materials and carelessly
pencils a fanciful outline for Minnie's consideration :
and Minnie is none the less in the spirit of it, for she
lays out the form and dimensions of the dining-room
and library, the size of the hall, and expresses her


164
DE LL.
HERMIT's
opinion of the best exposure for the parlor with its bow
window and French sashes.
Then there must be a winter conservatory, for she
has a passion for flowers, and the porch must have
trellisses for her favorite wistaria and trumpet-creeper.
I even find myself becoming more interested, and
confer with Frank in the most serious manner as to
the best location for the garden, the most effective dis-
position of the shrubbery and flower borders, and the
easiest route for the approach.
Then there are the out-buildings and fruitery, the
pasture lot, and sundry other matters to be considered.
How easy it is to plan and suggest ! how interested
we can often become in what, after all, is uncertain and
perhaps impossible !
This thought strikes me, and I look at Minnie. She
is more enthusiastic than I am, and sits dreamily look-
ing at the fairy creation already made by Kate's agile
fingers.
Already in her fancy the graceful cottage is reared on
yonder knoll. The summer's sun, shining through the
foliage of overhanging trees, flecks its roof with gleams
and shadows.
The lattices are shrouded with dense festoons of
odorous creepers, amidst which her canary hangs and
gleefully warbles. The breath of June has blown
open the buds of her prairie rose, and the “ Bourbons"


HERMIT'S
165
DELL.
on the lawn are out in all their brilliancy. Velvetty
glades, their surface chequered with sunshine and
shade, and bossed with beds of flowers, stretch away
amidst the tree-openings forming long vistas of varied
beauty.
Ah! my dreamer, I almost say, your eyes see fair
visions, your thoughts wander in a mimic fairy-land !
will
your feet ever tread it, think you ?
“Well,” says Frank, "we will say no more about it
now, but leave it an open question for you to decide be-
fore spring. I am sure we have offered you every in-
ducement to be our near neighbors.” And so we leave
the subject for farther consideration.
During the evening Frank's protégé, the young
school-teacher, joins our circle." He is a frequent visi-
, .
tor here, and finds it pleasant to associate with those
whose tastes are congenial with his. Young as he is,
he has seen considerable of the ups and downs of life,
and experience has been his teacher in much that most
of us only casually learn.
He has made Frank acquainted with many circum-
stances which have conspired to place him in his pre-
sent position. He has truly been reared in the school
of adversity, and it is only to be wondered that he has
not long ago become disheartened.
His family were once in affluent circumstances, and
his father held a high position in one of the New Eng-


166
DELL.
HERMIT's
land States : but by some misdemeanor of persons
connected with him in financial operations, he was
completely ruined.
His reputation was blasted too, but as is too often
the case, the aspersions cast upon him were unjust and
without a shadow of reason.
The world makes few allowances, and public opin-
ion is often too hastily formed and biased. It was so
in this case ; but the amendment came too late at last ;
for soon after his reverses, the injured man filled a
suicide's grave.
A wife, daughter, and only son were left to struggle
on as they could; the son, our present companion, the
youngest of the children.
His mother removed from her native town, and went
to a neighboring city, where she found employment in
a seminary for young ladies. Her daughter became
instated in a private family as children's governess, and
the son, prepared already to enter college, was admit-
ted as a charity student, an unenviable position gen-
erally. He applied himself though to his labors, and
graduated well, blessed with a good education and na-
turally gifted, as we have seen, with talents of a high
order.
Since then, his mother has died, and he is endeavor-
ing to the utmost to place his sister in a position above
dependency. Whatever he could find to do by which


HERMIT
167
S
DELL.
he might gain an honest livelihood, he has not scorned
or neglected.
He has been an engineer in a cotton factory, a con-
ductor on a railroad, and now a village school teacher :
but brighter days are in store for him. Frank has in-
terested himself in his behalf, and a station of trust
and honor will soon be opened for him to fill.
He sits long with us this evening, and recounts many
incidents in his past life. For one so young, he has
tasted much that is bitter, little that is sweet, and
early trials have left their impress on him. We can
only wonder that he has braved and borne them so well,
better than many older and wiser than he is.
It becomes us to encourage him in his onward course,
which bids fair to be successful if he does not neglect
his opportunities.
It is not likely that he will. When we once weather
the storm, confidence is gained and strengthened, and
we almost long to brave another, so the mastery may
be more perfect.
“Yet after all,” says Frank, who is in his moraliz-
ing mood, "what is our joy and glory? We live our
little day, robust ephemeræ' as the poet says we
are, we die, others fill our places, and we are soon for-
gotten, unnumbered.
Do you remember what that quaint old English poet,


168
DELL.
H.ERMIT'S
Edward Bolten, wrote two centuries ago ?" and taking
from his book-shelf a rusty volume, he reads :
As withereth the primrose by the river,
As fadeth summer's sun from gliding fountains,
As vanisheth the light-blown bubble ever,
As melteth snow upon the mossy mountains,
So melts, so vanisheth, so fades, so withers,
The rose, the shine, the bubble and the snow
Of praise, pomp, glory, joy, which short life gathers.
Fair praise, vain pomp, sweet glory, little joy.
The withered primrose by the mourning river,
The faded summer sun from weeping fountains,
The light-blown bubble vanished forever,
The melten snow upon the naked mountains
Are emblems—that the treasures we uplay,
Soon wither, vanish, fade and melt away.


STRAY CHAPTERS.
"I heard, as all have heard, life's various story,
And in no careless heart transcribed the tale :
So did I gather food
To feed my many thoughts—a tameless multitude."
*
*
*
SHELLEY.





HERMIT'S DE1L.
171
I.
“The days of our youth are the days of our glory.”
" Years steal
Fire from the mind as vigor from the limb,
And life's enchanted cup but sparkles near the brim.”
Thus wrote Byron! he who had quaffed life's cup
even to its dregs, and taken his fill of every pleasure
which could sweeten or embitter his existence. How
comprehensive are those stanzas of the poet—what a
depth of thoughtful meaning lies hid beneath their
tuneful sadness.
In the sensitive and morbid spirit, they would stifle
every dawning of ambition and cloud every hope, or
cause him who is bearing the “heat and burden of the
day,” yearn with heartfelt longings to live over his
long-past spring-time.
I remember well the first time those thoughts of the
poet woke dreary feelings in my own earnest spirit.
I was a youth then; schoolboy days and sports were
over, but the present was bright as sunset clouds with
anticipations of college-life—the romance of prospec-
tive travel, and the thousand airy schemes which
haunt the fancy of youth.
"


172
A ERMIT'S DELL.
It was a hazy, dreamy day in early autumn; the
sun still shone warmly on the hill-sides and in grassy
dells, as if loth to leave the wealth of fields and
orchards which had flourished and ripened under its
summer sway.
The corn-fields were growing “yellow unto the
harvest," and here and there among the woods flashed
the brilliant foliage of some tender vine which untimely
frost had touched. The bustle of men and the hum
of the work-day world were aſar; no sound broke the
Sabbath stillness save the whispering of the breeze
amidst the high tree-tops, the tapping of the wood-
pecker upon some hollow trunk, or the lowing of cattle
on the distant meadows. It was to no new haunt my
steps were tending; near by rose the ruined walls and
mossy wheel of the old mill, which, long disused and
deserted, had been my favorite resort.
flowed the bright Neshaminy, winding like a silver
thread amidst the woods and meadows towards the
distant Delaware ; above and around me were the dim-
lit woods, into whose depths of shade the sun seldom
shone.
Near by,
It was a spot I loved with youth's excess,
Not for itself, but for its loneliness.
l'ired and warm, I sat down to rest upon the twisted
root of an old sycamore, which threw its white arms


HERMIT'S DELL.
173
far across the stream; my dog lay at my feet, warm
and panting too, from his fruitless chase after a grey
squirrel, which, nestled safely in the crotch of a high
oak, looked down upon his baffled pursuer in quiet
security.
Taking from my pocket the well worn book whose
pages had whiled away many an else idle hour, I
opened it at random, and these lines first met my eye
Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story;
The days of our youth are the days of our glory;
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two and twenty,
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty."
The stanza was deeply scored too, with an heavy
ink mark; it must have been by the hand of him who
was the chosen friend of schoolboy days.
The book had been his parting gift, but his grasp,
once so warm and true, is powerless now !
Ah, Herman ! thought I, who shall atone for thy
wild errors! Well I know" carpe diem” was your
motto, but did you sieze the day for any good purpose ?
Yet the grave covers every error; peace be with thee;
but thy legacy may teach thy friend what it never
taught thee!
As I read again and again the half sad, half joyous.
lines of the poet, I pondered; then closing the book,
I
leaned over the clear waters that were flowing gently


174
HERMIT'S DELL.
by me, unrippled by a breeze, and in my reverie, me-
thought I was gazing into the magic crystal of the
Eastern Fakir, wherein I might read my fate. I saw
myself a child again, sporting along the streamlet's
bank, or amidst bright gardens, plucking gay flowers-
now swinging on the willow's pendant boughs—now
sleeping on a mossy bank, dreaming sweet dreams.
Insensibly I glided into early youth; familiar forms
were round me, glad faces met mine.
I knew no care
or sorrow! the present was all light and joy—the
future, bright with hope; but one little cloud swept
over my unstained mirror. Amidst its shadowy folds
there gleamed for an instant a pale and agonizing
brow, and methought a wailing voice cried, “carpe
diem-carpe diem.”
My reverie was ended; the spell was broken; yet
a “still small voice” seemed whispering in my ear,
“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy
might.” And my heart replied, yes ! " Live while we
may,” is the creed of the pleasure-seeker, the proverb
of the boy ; yet it is the language of the worker and
philanthropist too, but abused and perverted by the
one, valued and improved by the other.
So musing again, yet with a lightened heart and
clearer understanding, I rose from my shady seat and
retraced my way homeward.
No longer, thought I, shall the morbid sentiment of


HERMIT's DELL.
175
the sated sensualist cast a gloom over my untried
future. Let those who will, seek pleasure, and when
sated with its nectar draught, sigh that the “days of
their glory are over," as for myself, I will strive for a
nobler destiny, and time shall solve whether the teach-
ings of my spirit have been right or wrong.
The sun was setting behind curtains of crimson and
gold, and lighting up my quiet study-chamber with
hues bright as the new-born hopes which filled my
spirit.
Taking from my book-shelf an unpretending volume,
I read by the roseate light these thoughtful lines from
the “Psalm of Life."
“ Not enjoyment and not sorrow
Is our destined end or way:
But to act, that each to-morrow
Finds us farther than to-day.
“ Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime
And departing, leave behind us
Foot-prints on the sands of time.
“Let us then, be up and doing
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait."


176
H ERMIT'S DELL.
II.
THE wild and silvery Beaverkill winds its way
through a wilderness as yet untrodden save by the
Indian and the hunter. In its clear depths the wily
trout finds a seldom-disturbed retreat, and to its grassy
brink the timid deer and his tired hunter come, to
slake their thirst with its pure and unsullied waters.
There are haunts of rare loveliness by its wooded banks
which it would be hard to match the world over,
tempting the “world's tired denizen" almost to be an
anchorite, and forsaking the beaten thoroughfares of
life, say with the poet:
“ To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forests' shady scene,
Where things that own not man's dominion, dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne'er, or rarely been;
To climb the trackless mountains all unseen,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold :
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean :
This is not solitude'tis but to hold
Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores
unrolled.”
It was early in the autumn of a year long past,
1
1


HERMIT'S DELL.
177
when, with a cherished friend at my side, I sat upon
the brink of a wooded cliff which overhung the flash-
ing waters of the Beaverkill.
We had been hunting from early dawn, and as the
shadows lengthened on the hillsides, and the gloom
deepened in the valleys, had slowly loitered on our way
to the logger's cabin, which had been our home for
days. The sun was near the horizon as we reached
the lofty ledge that formed the precipitous side of a
wide ravine, through whose shady depths the stream
was murmuring
The beauty of the view won our tired feet, so, seat-
ing ourselves upon a mossy rock, we gave up the hour
to memories of the past and plans for the future ; such
a communion as only well-tried friends can know.
We were young in years, but world-wise withal. We
had roamed the old world together and seen every
phase of life, from the rude châlet of the Alpine herds-
man by the glacier's side, to the gilded halls of royalty
with their proud attributes and gay surroundings.
Alike in disposition and congenial in tastes, we had
made mankind our study - lookers-on rather than
comminglers in the turmoil and bustle, the strife and
competition, amidst which so many find their highest
joy. The leaves of our journals on which we had
faithfully inscribed the chequered experiences of our
many sojournings, seemed often-times like the pro-
8*


178
HERMIT’S DELL.
!
1
11
phetic tablets of the soothsayer, by whose silent teach-
ings we might follow or avoid the paths which had led
others either to their making or undoing.
As we sat upon the cliff, the warm glow of the
autumnal sunset, which is nowhere else so beautiful,
lighted up the forest that surrounded us, and shining
through the frost-dyed verdure of the tenderer trees,
clothed every object with its roseate hue. We thought
of many an old cathedral chapel, with its stained win-
dows, and the “dim religious light” streaming through
them upon the altars and paintings and worshippers.
As we still sat and musingly talked, the twilight
came, and with it the evening breeze, gently at first,
then freshening, and ere long rising almost to a gale.
As it soughed and wailed through the dense pine forest
which stretched around us, and the twilight began to
deepen, we thought of the solemn Tenebrae and the
wail of the Miserere in dim Roman chapels. Who
that has once heard that shrill cry of seeming agony,
which is almost supernatural in its wild notes of sor-
row, has not in after years heard it again and again in
fancy! Like the fearful scream which the terror-
stricken steed is said to give, it is a sound never to be
forgotten.
Night was coming on and leaden-hued clouds were
gathering in the west, when we reached our rude place
of shelter; but the logger's fireside was as warm as


HERMIT'S DELL,
179
success.
his heart, and throwing off our hunting gear, we sat
down to our hearty supper and talked of our day's
The goodly array of game which hung from
the rafters of the wood-shed, attested that the busy
world was still far distant; yet, in a few years, the old
forests will be cleared away, and those now quiet soli-
tudes echo with the sounds of every-day life.
And we, too, were never more to tread that ground
together. That night was our last in the hunter's
cabin, though we promised the old man that we would
come again the next season and make a longer stay.
Little did we dream that one of us would be where
no plans are formed, no hopes blighted; so true is it
that we must
" Trust no future, howe'er pleasant.”
There are not many who can truly realize or fitly
appreciate an all-abiding and enduring friendship, and
still fewer are they, who when they gain a friend, may
keep that friend for ever.
The ascetic and the misanthrope may scoff at friend-
ship and call it but a name, a fleeting fancy of the
hour, but it is not so. There are those whose hearts
are bound by ties which even the grave
cannot sever-
ties which have stood every test of life unchanging
and unchanged.
The month in which we had promised to revisit the


180
HERMIT'S DELL.
hunting ground, again arrived, but my friend could not
keep his promise with the old woodsman. The com-
panion of my last hunt, the best friend of my boyhood
and youth was beneath the sod. Loving him with
almost a woman's love, it was hard to give him up
to the grasp of the spoiler, adding another to those
“Who, like to autumn leaves by tempests whirled,
Are swept forever from this busy world.”
With another companion I have revisited the scenes
above described, and we have sat upon that same
pine ridge and listened to the same sighing wind, fan-
cying that a familiar voice came to our ears upon its
“wings,” reminding us of bygone days.


HERMIT'S DELL.
181
III.
BENEATH a rough and unseemly exterior, how much
that is intrinsically valuable or lovely may be hidden !
The fire of the diamond is clouded by baser soil, till
revealed by the hand and skill of the polisher; the
water that is purest and coolest, wells from the roughest
and hardest rock.
As in nature, so, oftentimes in life. There is many
a roughly-clad pilgrim, journeying earth's pathways
with us, who beneath his tattered garb, wears a brave
and noble heart.
He is an unstudied masquer, yet the world, which
with cursory glance,
“ Weighs all things in custom's falsest scale,"
will, too often, denounce him as an outcast, or despise
as a misanthrope. He may, and he may not be,
deserving of that merciless ban. “A word fitly spo-
ken,” a little heartfelt sympathy invested in his behalf,
may reveal that though
a
“ The tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind
Chapped by the axe looks rough and little worth,
The sap still lasts."


182
H ERMIT'S DELL.
There are few men so utterly lost and degraded, as
to be insensible to kindness or sympathy; there are
few so rough-hewn, who may not suffer some gentle
hand to round off and polish here and there an
unsightly corner. With skilful pruning and careful
nurture, the roadside bramble may adorn the parterre ;
so too, may the scraggy oak be taught to assume
almost the innate grace of the maple and elm.
Necessity, and may we not say, destiny oftentimes
make men belie their
very
nature.
With the high-souled of such, life is a continuous
struggle. “To be, or not to be, that is the question,"
the casus belli between the spirit and the flesh-whose
arbiter is too often-Death.
With one thus constituted and thus situated, I was
once familiar. A genius and a scholar by nature, but
by the misfortunes of his family compelled to forego
those opportunities which in early youth he had been
led to expect, and which he would have improved so
well, he was thrown upon the world, dependent on his
own exertions; fitted for some callings—unfitted for
others, yet compelled to do something for a liveli-
hood.
His birthplace and early home was in a secluded
and mountainous district of New England; of his
parentage I knew but little.


HERMIT'S DELL.
183
“Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame,
And had been glorious in another day,
But one sad losel soils a name for aye,
However mighty in the olden time."
By a misdemeanor of an elder and only brother, was
his name soiled, his father's hard-earned property lost,
and a happy home vacated.
The mother, heart-broken and hopeless, died soon
after the disgrace of her son; the father, taking with
him Herbert, my after friend, emigrated to the far-
west, where amid the toils and dangers of a pioneer's
life, he reared his rude log-cabin, and in the excitement
of a hunter's life strove to forget his past troubles.
Amid such scenes, Herbert grew from youth to
manhood; by such associations his tastes and habits
in after life were indelibly tinctured.
The old man lived to see the forests through whose
solitudes his axe had first resounded, cleared away and
replaced by a thriving village ; but ere long he died,
and the link that bound Herbert there was broken.
Yearning for a life more in unison with his earlier
tastes, and longing to ascertain somewhat of his bro-
ther, who had been lost to him for five long years, he
shouldered his rifle and knapsack and retraced his
steps toward the home of his childhood. It was a long
and weary way thither, but at last the goal was reached,
though the hope that led him on was doomed to dis-


184
HERMIT'S DELL.
appointment. The erring and forsaken brother was
in a nameless grave, and of all who once filled the
old homestead, Herbert alone walked the earth.
It was soon after this when I first met him-
dispirited, but not despairing: world-sick, but not
misanthropic. He had been seeking some situation,
where, earning enough for a mere support, he might
once more apply himself to study, and become fitted
for a sphere of influence and mayhap-renown.
The hardships and habits of a frontier life had given
him a rough exterior ; for this he had met many rebuffs
and in some cases, insult, from those to whom he had
applied for advice and aid. They little knew how
superior in intellect was the being they despised, or
how at a future day he would tower above them all.
He was conscious of the truth, that
“He who surpasses or subdues mankind,
Must look down on the hate of those below."
For a month or two I saw much of him, and as ac-
quaintance ripened into intimacy, I could not fail to
discover that he was possessed of talents brilliant to a
pre-eminent degree.
With the exception of a few hours a day, devoted
to the business of a trifling agency, which afforded
him a small income, the most of his time was spent
in hard, untiring study.


A ERMIT's
185
DELL.
He was a passionate lover of Nature, but chiefly in
her wildest forms. He loved to roam the deep woods,
and climbing the loftiest hills, gaze upon the distant
river, for it reminded him of his father's cabin by the
banks of the Missouri, and of his deer-hunts amidst
the forests of the West. His fondness for study made
him a lover of solitude ; the soothing murmur of a
mountain stream, or the whisperings of the breeze
through the leafy woods, were far sweeter to him than
the hum and bustle of the crowd. For this, the world
called him misanthropic and stoical ; as if all men are
constituted alike, and no happiness may be found save
along the beaten thoroughfares of busy life.
Ere long an opportunity for more engrossing em-
ployment offered. It was in taking charge of a dis-
trict school situated in a newly settled county of an
adjoining State.
The enterprise, though holding out little inducement
as to pecuniary advantage, accorded well with his
tastes and habits. The country itself was new and
wild, its inhabitants plain and unassuming, and the
desk might be the stepping-stone to a position which
his ambitious spirit had long coveted. So once more
starting on his pilgrimage, he trod his way thither,
with a hand ready for any good endeavor, and a heart
nerved for any fate.
Though corresponding at short intervals, and the


186
HERMIT'S DELL.
a
distance between us but a short day's journey, I saw
nothing of my friend for more than a year : yet wish.
ing to see him again, and knowing it would afford him
pleasure, I packed up my hunting habiliments one fine
day in early autumn, and ere many hours had elapsed,
again felt the warm grasp of my friend's hand.
The rude house of the raftsman, in whose family he
was living, stood in a wild and lonely glen, not far
from the little village which had sprung up and flour-
ished like a mushroom on the banks of the Delaware.
A few months previous, its site had been a part of the
wilderness, but armies of sturdy men, marshalled by
all-conquering Progress, had marched thither, levelling
the hills, bridging the streams, and filling up the val-
leys, to make a pathway for the iron horse to travel,
whose deep pantings woke strange echoes amidst the
woods and mountains.
I found my friend, unconscious of my coming, poring
over the pages of his well-worn Virgil.
The small yet comfortable chamber allotted him
was filled with objects indicative of his tastes : it was
alike the studio of a scholar and a hunter. Guns and
fishing-rods, pouches and baskets, deer hides and ant-
lers, skins of wild-cats and foxes, stuffed birds, books,
papers, and some crayon sketches, all were fancifully
arranged upon the walls, so that hardly a chink in the
log siding could be discerned. And there, by the blaz-
a


HERMIT'S DELL.
187
ing hickory fire, so lavishly piled, we spent the greater
part of the night in talk of bygone days, of present
troubles, and of future plans and hopes. Thus far he
had been prospered beyond his most ardent anticipa
tions.
Though he had spent many wearisome hours and
days in striving to teach pupils who were heedless,
and slow to learn—though the people amidst whom he
was thrown were mostly ignorant and uncultivated,
still he felt that he would rather strive to “
carve him-
self a name” there, than among those who had cast
him out in his day of need, and had never appreciated
him as he felt he should be. .
Giving his scholars a play-day before my departure,
we levoted it to hunting and rambling the woods and
hills which surrounded his home. He was familiar
with them all, and grew eloquent sometimes, as his
heart swelled with memories of other days.
At noon, tired and satisfied with our sport, we
seated ourselves upon the summit of a knoll, which
commanded a beautiful prospect of the wild valley
beneath us, and a wide expanse of forest on every
side. Here and there a column of blue smoke rising
above the high tree-tops, told of some woodman's
lonely clearing, along the distant railroad track or
within reach of some mountain stream, whose swollen
waters might bear his lumber to the river.


188
HERMIT'S DELL.
No sound came upon our ears but the occasional
bark of the squirrel, the murmur of the stream far
down in the ravine, or the trumpet-like bay of our
hound on the track of a fox or deer along the opposite
hillside.
Such sights and sounds awoke, in my companion's
spirit, recollections of the time when he and his father
reared their cabin amidst the wilds of Illinois, and
lived happily enough surrounded with the hard-earned
comforts of a frontier life.
His warmest sympathies were with those early emi-
grants who, won by the tales of that wondrous beauty,
grandeur, and fertility which would greet their eyes
and bless their labors, went forth from eastern homes
to rear a new and untried one amidst forests untrodden
and unknown, save by the “untutored Indian.” Their
only guide thither had been the trail and war-path
which the red man had made and tramped from time
immemorial.
What volumes more stirring than those of romance
might be written, recounting the trials and adventures
of those earnest and faithful men! what tales of war-
fare and
!
The whoop of the Indian, the howl of the wolf, and
the scream of the panther, broke their slumbers, and
caused the timid mother to draw her babes still closer
to her bosom. With all these and more, it was their
savage torture !


HERMIT'S DELL,
189
lot to contend; yet with their labors and trials came
reward. The wilderness was made to “ blossom as
the rose,” according to the promise given them, and
their children know but little what their fathers suf-
fered.
- The noble, dauntless Pioneers,
Journeying afar new homes to raise,
In the lone woods with toils and tears,
Meeting with faith the coming years,
Theirs be the highest meed of praise.”
Yet with all his admiration of those in whose trials
he had borne a part, not the less was his pity awakened
for the poor Indian, who, scared away from his old
haunts by the noisy tread of the white man, broke his
bow over the grave of his fathers, and with wounded
or embittered spirit made a new trail towards the
unknown realms between him and the setting sun.
Their hunting grounds were broken up by the axe
and the plough-the ashes of their council-fires and the
bones of their kindred, enriched the fields of their suc-
By little and little, their names would fade
from the memory of man, till lost among “the things
that were.”
cessors.
“There were their homes, but now no more,
Their day of power and pride is o'er ;
They urge the chase, where other skies
Are spread, and other hills arise."


190
HERMIT'S DELL.
With such reflections and in such converse we
passed many a pleasant hour. It was a joy to me to
see one whom, a few months before, I had feared
would shrink disheartened from the strife in which he
must engage, thus manfully and cheerfully bearing
his part.
Well I knew there were some, whose taunts were
still rankling in his spirit, whom, at some future day,
he would compel to acknowledge that “mind, not
manners, make the man.”
And so I left him in his rude school-room, sur-
rounded by his pupils, happy and contented, yet looking
forward to a loftier and more extended sphere about
to open before him.


HERMIT'S DELL.
191
IV.
“May you die among your kindred,” is an aspiration
which none can fitly appreciate but those who have
stood by the bedside of one dying in a strange land.
There are not a few of us who have gathered those
that were loved and loving unto the company of that
“ silent multitude” whose realmn is the tomb. Some
are sleeping quietly enough beneath the green turf of
the village churchyard, afar from the noise of the city
and the busy tread of men: others maybe have cost-
lier sepulchres and rarer flowers above them, by the
shady avenues of Auburn and Greenwood; but we,
who survive them, have the consolation of knowing
that they lie with their kindred, and that their last
hours were not embittered with the thought that they
were dying in a strange land.
There is scarcely anything that so saddens the
heart of one journeying abroad, as to roam through
the cemeteries contiguous to the larger cities of the
continent. A few winters since, it was my mela
melancholy
pleasure to visit some of these, and in two of the most
lovely of them, I assisted to inter several of my coun-


192
HERYIT's DELL.
trymen, and in one instance, a fair young girl, who
had left home and friends in quest of health, but to
die amidst strangers.
The cemetery at Leghorn is beautifully laid out,
and contains the graves of some ten or twelve Ameri-
cans, and many more of English birth. The following
inscription on an unassuming tomb therein, struck me
as at once simple and touching :
M. R. C.
Æ. 19.
Mourn not for her; she died as Christians die,
There was no earthward clinging of the heart,
No shuddering terror, no reluctant sigh.
The Campo Santo of Naples is as lovely a spot as
the world can show. Its graves are ever green, and
flowers are perpetually blooming and fading over them;
but on the hill of Posillipo, at the other extremity of
the city, there was one solitary grave whose site was
far more lovely. It lay hidden from view, till closely
approached, in a shady dell upon the sloping southern
hillside: above it are white villas, luxuriant vineyards,
and odorous orange groves. Before it, stretches the
blue expanse of the noble bay, girt well nigh round
with shores which for beauty and variety cannot be
surpassed, while far below, the surf breaks upon the
shore with its deep and restless murmur, and still far-


HERMIT'S DELL.
193
ther away lies the city, whose din and rattle come
thither only on the breeze. It is the last resting-place
of a young German girl, who died here years ago, and
few strangers visit Naples, who do not time and again
stand by her grave-stone, and marvel at the loveliness
amidst which it is enshrined.
At the Baths of Lucca, which lie so warm and shel-
tered in the bosom of the Apennines, one may see in
a morning's walk, during the winter months, invalids
of almost every clime.
I remember a pale, fragile girl of my own country,
who, with an elderly father, had been roaming Europe
for a year or two, searching for that fountain, whose
fabled waters so few
may
find.
To the stranger, it was evident enough that the
Spoiler had long ago set his ineffaceable seal upon her
brow; but with that delusive hope, which to the last
fills the heart of the consumptive, and often too, of
their friends, she was confident that a few weeks more
would find her at home again, with every prospect of
a long and happy life.
One morning, gay and flushed, she would mingle
with the crowd upon the shady promenade—the next,
ale and languid, she would be carried in her palanquin
where the sun was warmest, and the air most soft and
tempered.
I saw her again in Naples, sometimes on the crowded
9


194
U ERMIT'S DELL.
Toledo, or in the gay Villa-Reale, but oftener in the
invalid's chair upon her chamber balcony, I saw her
last, inhaling the balmy and odorous air of Sorrento
on the opposite shore of the bay, but I knew when the
rainy season came, she would fly elsewhere, yet for
her all places were alike.
I was at Rome during the Carnival, but even amidst
its follies and gaieties, in which every stranger must
mingle more or less, I could not forget the pale face
of the young, deluded invalid.
She too had come to Rome, but my
first intimation
of it was the mourning-enveloped note of our Consul,
summoning me and my friends to her funeral. That
was a gloomy day, on which some sixty of us followed
to the grave the remains of one whom we felt was
one of us, because of our country.
The weather had been cold and damp for days,
colder than usual in Rome; and the occasion was one
which is always saddening at any time, but more so to
those who are far away from home and kindred. The
service, conducted in the English chapel, by an English
chaplain, was very solemn, and when it was all over,
and a few of us stepped forward to press the hand of
the heart-stricken father, who was to return home not
“bringing his treasure with him," I thought how touch-
ing and how beautiful are the farewell words of the
orient-


HERMIT'S DELL.
195
“May you die among your kindred !"
Two weeks afterward, I saw another of my coun-
trymen buried near by. He was from our own sunny
South, and had left at home a young wife and child to
mourn him, in a stranger's grave.
Most of the tomb-stones in the English cemetery
bear the names of English persons. One is that of a
young and beautiful girl, whose horse became unma-
nageable as she was riding by the Tiber, when its
waters were swollen by a freshet. The animal
plunged into the river with her, and she was carried
swiftly away before a helping hand could reach
her.
There also is the tomb of the poet Shelley, and near
by, that of Keats, who, stung almost to madness by
the malice of a few heartless critics, desired these
words inscribed upon his tomb-stone.
6. Here lies one whose name was writ in water."
As I read the inscription, and looked around me
upon the thickly-strewn graves of his countrymen,
these beautiful lines of his, rose in my memory-
66
Stop and consider! life is but a day:
A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way
From a tree's summit; a poor Indian's sleep
While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep


196
HERMIT'S DELL.
Of Montmorenci. Why so sad a moan?
Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown;
The reading of an ever-changing tale,
The light uplifting of a maiden's veil-
A pigeon tumbling in clear summer air,
A laughing schoolboy, without grief or care."


HERMIT's
197
DELL.
V.
ABEL MEAD was a “tiller of the ground” by destiny,
not by nature. His father and his father's family
were farmers before him, and the fair homestead which
he now owned, with its well-lying fields and opulent
woodlands, had been the scene of earnest and untiring
toil for two generations.
It was known as Hillside throughout the neighboring
country, and acknowledged to be the “crack farm”
of the county. There were not a few of the young
farmers in the vicinity, who envied the heir of Hill-
side his rich acres, for at all the agricultural shows
held
year
after
year in the town near by, the “Meads”
had uniformly taken the premium for the largest corn
and potatoes, and the best seed wheat. Yet it was
not likely so to be, the season in which I sojourned
thereabout.
A year had not passed since Abel, upon his father's
death, became sole possessor of the farm; yet already
did it give evidence that a less thrifty and industrious
hand superintended its labors. Here and there the
fences were tottering, and the wealth of the barn-yard,


198
HERMIT'S DELL.
once so carefully gathered and heaped, was wasting
away beneath the sun and rain.
The last labor of the old farmer, previous to his
death, had been in clearing up an overgrown swamp,
which embraced the best land on the farm. Death
came, and his work was unfinished; so it was left for
Abel to accomplish.
The middle of September had come, bringing the
husbandman to his corn-field ; and already the winds
which whisper of the Equinox were rustling among
the yellow stalks.
The season had been a propitious one, and the
heart of the hard-toiling farmer was made glad. A
few weeks before, I had seen the wheat crop gathered,
and followed
“The large, o'er loaded, wealthy looking wains,
Quietly swaggering home through leafy lanes,
Leaving on all low branches as they come
Straws for the birds, ears for the harvest home."
Again, beneath the warm October sun the corn was
stacked and drying upon the fields of Hillside, and as
I threaded my way across them towards the distant
swamp, in search of game, the sounds of labor came
thenceward to my ear:
Rising the hill that intercepted the view, I looked
down into the hollow. It was as I had supposed.


HERMIT S DELL.
199
Abel was striving to carry out his father's plan—to
finish what his father had begun.
Though superintending the work, the young man's
hand was not to the plough—the plough that his
father had held and guided many a weary day. Upon
the stump of an old oak tree that lay across my path,
an open book was lying. Curious to know what
might have been the study of the young farmer, I took
it up—it was a copy of “Byron,”—and opened at the
tragedy of “Cain.” These lines, deeply scored, first
met my eye-
“I have toiled, and tilled, and sweaten in the sun
According to the curse; must I do more?
For what should I be gentle ? for a war
With all the elements ere they will yield
The bread we eat? For what must I be grateful ?
For being dust, and grovelling in the dust,
Till I return to dust?"
These lines, then, shadowed forth the feelings of
Abel Mead! these were the thoughts which filled his
spirit, breeding discontent and misery amidst the
blessings of his lot—a lot that his companions envied,
and which might better have fallen to some of them
than to him. I marvelled not that his fair estate was
running to waste; I only wondered what freak had
driven him to undertake the labor in which he was
then engaged.


200
HERMIT'S DELL.
It was but a short time afterward, that I again
wandered by the swamp; but no work was going on.
The clearing was put off till the next season, and the
half finished work left to bear witness to the supine-
ness and irresolution of the young farmer. Thus it
was in all that he undertook. Impulsive and unde-
cided, his plans were quickly formed and as quickly
abolished, exemplifying the truism of the bard-
“The flighty purpose never is o'ertook,
Unless the deed go with it.”
92
It was a few months afterward when I revisited the
vicinity of Hillside, but Abel Mead was no longer its
possessor. The valuable farm and all its appurtenan-
ces had passed into other hands; it might be of some
who had looked upon it with longing eyes for years.
In a lowly school-house, not far off, Abel was
striving to teach a wild troop of urchins the rudiments
of learning. His task was ill-chosen, for he lacked
that decision so necessary to success in his vocation,
and especially among the untamed youth under his
charge.
Passing by the school-house one day at noon, when
its noisy occupants were improving to the utmost their
hour's release, I stepped in to renew my acquaintance
with their teacher. He seemed much worn and
changed, both in appearance and manners; I thought
1


HERMIT'S DELL.
201
for the better, and wondered if his change in circum-
stances and position had not been also a school for him,
wherein he had learned the lesson of contentment.
But it was not so ; for in the short intercourse we held
together, I saw that his spirit was haunted with sad
memories-memories of the happy hours which had
been his in the old homestead and amidst the fields of
Hillside.
The hope that he might at some future day again be
its possessor, shed somewhat of gladness through the
gloom that shrouded his being; but that hope was
never realized.
Month after month passed by in fruitless and change-
ful endeavors, but Abel Mead never again entered the
home of his childhood. I never saw him after that
hour in the school-house ; for, when I passed that way
a few weeks later, a strange form and face were in the
place of his, and he had gone from the neighborhood.
From those who still felt an interest in the unstable
youth, I heard how from his desk and his pupils, he
had gone into the woods, along the sources of a noble
river, and floated his raft for a season to a distant mar-
ket. Tiring of that, he next became a Methodist ex-
horter, and in church and camp sought “to turn men
from the error of their ways," and teach them that
which he had not yet learned.
The last tidings of him brought to Hillside were
*


202
HERMIT'S DELL.
Vague and doubtful: yet, corresponding so well with
his vacillating course, hitherto, they were generally
believed. It was said that he had joined a tribe of
Indians in the far west, and with the little knowledge
of physic and anatomy that he possessed, became their
great “medicine-man."
Where, after that, were Abel's wanderings or what
his pursuits, his friends never heard ; but there were
some of them who looked for him day after day, ex-
pecting that he might come home laden with gold, to
buy the still fertile acres of Hillside. There was one
too, among those well-tried friends, who had thought
of him and loved him, through all his chances and
changes.
Her hope has been long deferred and is doomed to
disappointment, for it is far from probable that she will
ever see again her errant and misguided lover.


HERMIT'S DELL.
203
VI.
The harvest-time of the year comes always fraught
to me with many tender and pleasant recollections.
At times I am a child again, sporting with my play-
mates amidst the newly mown hay upon the meadows
of Willowdale; or later in the season, as older in years,
I follow the reapers to the opulent wheat-field to hear
the rustling of the grain as it falls beneath their sweep-
ing cradles. A glorious sight it is to me when the
capacious granary is heaped to its very eaves with its
golden wealth ; for it makes the heart of the husband-
man glad, and his toil in the hot summer is forgotten.
And sometimes I am by the Rhine again in fancy,
where is
“A blending of all beauties; streams and dells,
Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, corn-field, mountain, vine,
And chiefless castles, breathing stern farewells,
From
grey but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells ;"
and amidst those mellowed beauties I listen to the
peasant's song as he gathers to the wine-press the
fruit of his sunny vineyard. I think of the olive
gatherings in sunny Provence and still sunnier Tuscany,


204
HERMIT'S DELL.
of the orange groves of Sorrento and Messina, and the
date-harvests on the far-off plains of Ismir.
Thus with the ripened grain and the rustling corn
do slumbering memories of past years, and the scenes
which gladdened them, waken with renewed fresh-
Yet the memories of foreign climes and scenes,
impregnated as they are with what Longfellow terms
“the delicious perfume, the soft Ausonian air of travel,”
are not near so sweet as those that cluster around the
old farm-house at Leeville. Yet it was not the dwell-
ing-place of my ancestors, but the time-worn inheri-
tance of a friend, companion of many wanderings.
One of us had roamed the classic shores of the old
world; on ancient battle-fields, in dim cathedrals, and
gorgeous palaces, strayed and marvelled. He had
gazed on glorious views from high snow-peaks and
cliff-perched castles by the Rhine and Rhone; and
where ruined temples and lava-buried cities are, his
tireless feet had wandered.
Once more at home, what wonder was it that he
loved to sit with his companion in the old homestead
hall, and recount his travels.
The hot and dusty summer brought memories of
Windermere and Lomond lying cool and placid amidst
their shadowy hills; and longing for a breath of the
cool airs which come from Alpine glaciers, we envied
for a while the monks of St. Bernard. But when the


HERT'S
205
DELL.
cold winds of winter swept around the old hall, and
the well-filled fire-place was all a-glow, we thought
of once blistered feet in the crater of Vesuvius, and on
the burning sands of Egypt.
It was a noble old place of which I write :
The ancestral oaks and elms which shade it have
not yet fallen beneath the Vandal axe of the wood-
cutter. Through their dense summer foliage the eye
may catch the gleam of the distant river, flowing
proudly on its course to the distant sea.
The hum of the city is far away; but a quiet
village with linden-shaded and cottage-lined avenues
lies near hy. No louder sounds come thence than the
clink of the blacksmith's hammer, or the glad voices
of children as they break loose from school restraint
and go sporting homewards. Now and then a travelling
circus company stop for a day and pitch their huge
tent on the village green, making a little more bustle
and excitement than is common; but this is a rare
occurrence.
A thrifty and intelligent class of farmers here and
there dot the surrounding country with their houses
and barns. It is a region where vast grain-fields, wide
pastures, and fine cattle most abound.
A
range
of well wooded hills are visible from Lee-
ville, till lost in the blue distance, they merge into the
spurs of the Alleghanies, fifty miles away.


206
HERMIT'S DELL.
Not a half day's ride to the west lies Indian lake,
a smooth sheet of water embosomed amidst hills whose
sides are covered with forests of pine and hemlock.
There, six years ago, we could drive any day, and
find in the log cabin of “Uncle Josh" a warm welcome.
Then deer were plenty thereabout, and trout of the
very finest could be had for nothing but the sport of
taking them. Of old Uncle Josh we have spoken
before ; but the warm-hearted hunter and woodsman
sleeps his last sleep. His cabin has given place to a
flaunting tavern; now and then a stray deer, whose
fellows are far away amidst the Adirondacks, is hunted
to death and murdered in the water. City sportsmen
brag of catching an occasional “two pounder" in the
lake, but the Indian lake of to-day is not that of ten
years ago. Even its name has been changed by the
progress of the age; the hemlocks and pines are being
cut from the hills; and could good Uncle Josh be
permitted to wake up awhile and look around him,
like old Rip Van Winkle, it is doubtful if he would
know the site of his humble cabin.
I loved my winter visits at Leeville. My friend
spent most of the season at home; and being but a
day's journey from the city, I was often there. Many
were the glorious sleighing frolics we enjoyed together;
and I remember one in particular, as being the occa-
sion of a difficulty between my friend Frank and a


HERMIT'S DELL.
207
dashing young farmer in the vicinity, not easily settled.
Almost all villages and communities have their chosen
belles. In this respect, Leeville was not peculiar.
Mabel Lee, with a little more cultivation—a few arti-
ficial acquirements and accomplishments, would have
been a belle at Saratoga, Newport, anywhere.
She was in fact the reigning beauty, not only of the
village, but the surrounding country.
A year's study at a city school had added somewhat
to her natural charms both of body and mind; so on
'her return to Leeville, there was quite a rivalry among
the beaux of the vicinity, as to which would be the
favorite.
Through my friend, I was invited to join a sleighing
party which was appointed to gather on the night of
the full moon.
It had thus far been a delightful winter for the
country. The snow had fallen heavy early in the
season; and occasionally deepened by slighter falls,
had made the roads in fine order.
The night of the frolic came, bright and cold : and
the village tavern, which was to be the rendezvous of
the company, presented its gayest appearance. Sleigh
loads of gay maidens with their brothers, suitors, and
friends, came dashing to the door. Frank's splendid
“blacks,” loaded with bells, and attached to a richly
ſurred cutter holding four persons, were near at hand.


208
HERMIT'S DELL.
He had determined that Mabel Lee and a companion
of hers from the city should occupy his sleigh, and
we four form the load.
It was not long before it was so arranged; for the
superiority of my friend's team above all others there,
was temptation sufficient for the belle and her friend.
I had noticed, however, that a young man of the
vicinity, who had been somewhat of a suitor in days
gone by for the heart and hand of the beauty of Lee-
ville, was watching us narrowly. He bore rather a
dare-devil, though by no means bad character, in the
staid village; and I soon discovered from some of his
actions, that he was bent on mischief that night. I
did not however fathom his intentions.
At last the vehicles were loaded, some fifteen in
number, of all shapes, styles, and sizes, from the home-
made hickory pole jumper to the great omnibus sled
built for such occasions.
Just previous to starting, I had gone into the tavern
to light my segar, leaving Frank busy in arranging the
robes for the comfort of our ladies, when a jingling of
many bells that I knew were ours, and a loud shout
from my friend, brought me hastily to the door. At
first I supposed his horses had become restive and
started suddenly without a driver: but by the bright
moonlight I could plainly see they were under control.
It was only a second before I comprehended all.


HERMIT'S DELL.
209
a
There stood Frank surprised and angered, looking
after his team as they swept over the frozen road
under the guidance of his rival. The fellow had taken
advantage of our inattention, and played us a trick.
But there stood the sorrel mare and light cutter of the
interloper.
Jump in for heaven's sake, Hal;” said Harry, and
away we sped in chase, with a dozen others after us
to see the fun.
For a mile or two we saw nothing of the runaways,
and the noise of the bells behind us prevented our
hearing those ahead.
Up hill and down, we flew like the wind; but we
knew the mettle and the speed of our blacks, and that
a stern chase would prove a long one in this instance
at least. It was five miles from our place of starting
before we caught a glimpse of the pursued: they were
rising a steep hillside, and we could see the moon-
beams glisten on the silver bells of the horses.
We shouted, and drove as fast as we dared to, but
away they went over the hill and down its descent with
unfailing speed.
It was nearly ten miles to the river, where we were
to stop and take supper before returning. There, too,
the chase would be ended; unless they avoided us by
taking another road.
I had seldom seen Frank more excited : for he was


210
HERMIT'S DELL.
seen.
naturally calm though decided, and not a man to be
trifled with, even in sport : but to have his noble team
over-driven by a stranger and a would-be rival too,
was more than he could bear.
At last the river bank was reached. Our sleigh
stood at the door, and the ladies were on the piazza
awaiting us : but their dare-devil driver was nowhere
to be
Thinking perhaps that he had car-
ried the joke too far, he thought it prudent to keep
out of sight for awhile: and it was well he did.
Frank's first inquiry was after his horses : but they
had been well-cared-for, and the negro hostler was
as wet as his charge from the exertion of rubbing
them down.
Mabel and her friend seemed rather mortified at
being carried off so unceremoniously : though I fancied
they inwardly thought it was a capital joke. By de-
grees, the parties who had not come over the road as
fast as we did, arrived at the river; and ere long the
adventure of the evening was forgotten, save by us, in
the enjoyment of a famous supper, an enlivening dance,
and another rapid drive homeward. Frank's wrath
was a little appeased, by receiving an apology the next
day from the “harum-scarum” youth: but he never
forgot the affront.
We were thinking of the autumn though; yet,
in thinking of Leeville, my thoughts have played
a


HERMIT'S DELL.
211
truant, and unconsciously led me into an unseasonable
digression.
I remember one glorious autumn, most of which
was spent at my friend's farm. The frosts had fallen
early on the hillsides and in the low grounds, turning
the maple leaves to a golden yellow, and the tenderer
forest vines that beautiful scarlet and crimson which
art can scarcely equal.
The season had been a most propitious one for the
farmer. The great red barns were filled with golden
wheat-sheaves, bundles of rye, and the finest of hay.
The orchard fruit had been gathered to the mill or
cellar, and the corn was ready for husking.
It was to be a gay season in and about Leeville,
for Mabel Lee, the belle, was to be married; and the
occasion was looked forward to as about to be one of
more than ordinary brilliancy.
And who was now the accepted suitor? Not Frank,
nor the hero of the sleighing frolic. A stranger had
stepped in unawares, and quietly wooed and won
gentle Mabel Lee.
The eve of the wedding arrived. It was to precede
the corn-husking frolic of the season on her father's
farm, and form a part of the occasion. It was a large
company of young and old that gathered beneath the
roof of Samuel Lee on that bright October eve.
Never before had there been such a festive gathering


212
HERMIT'S DELL.
in Leeville; never in all the country round had a
lovelier bride been given away.
And when the ceremony was over, and the husking
commenced on the great granary floor, how the hours
sped amidst laugh and song, till supper was prepared
in the wide hall of the farm-house, and duly appre-
ciated! And when the feast was over, and the dance
began, how many wondered who would be the bride
at the next corn-husking!
“ That night there was joy in the gabled manse,
When home were the harvest wains;
The young and the beautiful met in the dance
To the bounding music's strains.
And the trusting love of Mabel's eyes,
In their clear and holy light,
Was the love-oh! spirit of Paradise,
That could know no change or blight."


HERMIT'S DELL.
213
VII.
years.
The places which we were accustomed to frequent
in childhood and early youth, are seldom, if ever, for-
gotten. They are endeared to us by associations
whose memories seem rather to freshen than fade as
we advance in
The smoothly-shorn meadows upon which we played
—the newly-mown hay, to us so sweet and healthful-
the shady woods through which we roved during the
summer noontides in search of wild flowers and berries
-all come before our mental vision as though they
had never faded or changed with the lapse of years.
“The young! oh! what should wandering fancy bring,
In life's first spring-time, but the thoughts of Spring?
World without winter, blooming amaranth bowers,
Garlands of brightness, wreath'd from changeless flowers."
As well remembered as 'twere but yesterday are
those joyous summers when, freed from the restraints
of the heated city, we children, brothers and sisters,
revelled in the liberty of that happy change.
It was to no gay watering-place with its round of


214
HERMIT'S DELL.
dissipation, its fashions, formalities and discomforts,
our feet were guided; but to a large and quiet farm-
house that lay amidst the hills which skirt the gently
flowing Passaic.
Childhood is observant, but not appreciative, and
though I remember well the lovely panorama that lay
around us, even to every knoll and tree which added
to its beauty, I was too young then to realize its
charms.
There was the shady school-house lane, with its
noble old elms and chestnuts veiling out the sunshine
with their dense foliage. There, too, was the lowly
school-house, with its rude desks and whittled benches,
its noisy troop, and their meek, unappreciated teacher.
Poor Woodford ! his was a hard and thankless task;
yet there was one among his charge who gained his
love and gladdened many a sad hour by her gentle
sympathy.
She was the eldest of his female scholars, the most
intelligent, and consequently his greatest favorite.
Moreover, her father-Ralph Somers, had been the
first to lend a helping hand to the indigent and invalid
student, when he first came to Willow-dale, seeking
employment.
The farmer's ample roof had been his shelter, till he
almost learned to call it his home. The whole house-
hold honored him for his virtues, and therefore it is


HERMIT'S DELL.
215
not strange that a “feeling akin to love" for him
·
should spring up in the heart of Esther Somers.
There was too much of sympathy in their tastes,
too much congeniality in their natures, for anything
like indifference.
The burden of her satchel to and from school was
his lightest labor. He sheltered her from the rain-
lifted her over fences, and in aught that he could be,
was her willing helper.
A year or two before, she had been my playmate,
during our summer stay at Willow-dale ; but girls ma-
ture sooner than boys, and so, whilst I was in my early
“teens," she became a budding woman. Still I was
allowed to be a frequent companion, and therefore
witness of that sympathy, which one day ripened into
love.
"We strayed together in the wood,
We roved the meadows soft and green;
Or on the rustic footbridge stood,
Over its silvery flood to lean.”
The “Gulley,” as we used to call the shady ravine
which bounded one side of the farm, was our favorite
resort. There, when our daily studies were over, or
on Saturday afternoons, we youngsters, under the gui-
dance of the teacher and his fair companion, wandered
in search of wild plums and berries, making the glen


216
HERMIT'S DELL.
our
resound with our laughing frolics. There was
rustic arbor, made of birch boughs, and almost imper-
vious to sun and rain, with the wild vines creeping so
densely over it. Many were the feasts of wild straw- .
berries and whortleberries that we enjoyed there, served
up so daintily on vine-leaf platters. Som
“We feasted, with no grace but song,
In summer when the days were long."
We loved the old-fashioned garden too, with its tall
holly-hocks and flaunting sun-flowers, its great, odor-
ous beds of thyme, and sage, and marjoram, which
were the especial care of our thrifty housewife, and
duly cut and put away in the dry garret for winter
use.
But better did we love to visit the huge coop of soft-
eyed wild pigeons that stood in a shady corner, and
feed them morning and evening with their allowance
of buckwheat, that they might afford us betimes a
dainty pie.
The old cider-mill in the orchard, and the hay-
barracks in the meadow, were scenes of many a merry
game of " hide and seek" and "puss in the corner;"
they were mute witnesses too of childish quarrels and
childhood's smiles and tears.
So were three happy summers passed, but the fourth
was shadowed by the first heartfelt sorrow that I ever


HERMIT'S
217
DEL L.
knew; the bitterest, because the first. What an in-
comprehensible mystery is death to the glad spirit of
youth! how dense, yet fleeting, is the shadow which
the wings of the Dark Angel cast over life's sunny
landscape !
Sweet Esther Somers! She faded from our sight
like a flower beneath the early frost. I was too much
of a boy then to know or regard how she sickened or
suffered. I can only remember how we missed her in
our many walks and sports, how we wondered why
" the schoolmaster” looked so sad and laughed so
little, and how we wished the doctor would make her
well again before the wild strawberries were ripe.
We little knew, when sometimes we were admitted
to her bedside, and grew frightened at her pale, thin
face, that she would never more go down into the
“Gulley” again, nor into the distant woods, nor even
into the garden beneath the window.
I remember how she grew worse, and then the bright
afternoon on which she died, when we were one by
one summoned to her chamber that we might receive
the little tokens of affection, and the last kiss she
should ever give us; but even then we could not feel
that she was going to die. It was only when we stood
by her coffin, and gazed upon her closed eyes, and
silent lips, and forehead so white and cold, that we
realized we should have her with us no more.
10


218.
HERMIT'S DELL.
So in her youth and loveliness they buried her in
the quiet village churchyard, beneath an old willow
tree, whose drooping branches seemed weeping over
her; and there we were wont to go, on still Sabbath
eves, to tend the flowers which loving hands had
planted, and talk of her whom we all so dearly loved.
I did not feel so much then, but I know now what a
void her death had made, which could never be re-
filled.
Thenceforth, her father's hearth was gloomy and
desolate; thenceforth did poor Woodford, her lover,
wear a saddened brow. His hopes were soon overcast,
and to a nature like his they were seemingly shadowed
for ever.
It is many a long year since my feet have trodden
the well-known haunts of my childhood in fair Willow-
dale. I have looked on many a glorious view from
lake, river, and high mountain-top, but never have I
forgotten those quiet spots, so dear with youthful and
tender associations.
Doubtless the tripping feet of children are treading
the winding paths in the shady “ Gulley," and maybe
gentle hands are keeping the birchen arbor from falling
to decay: and the old cider-mill must be sadly dilapi-
dated now, but if it is standing yet, I know that it
echoes oftentimes with the merry voices of childhood.
Beneath the old willow tree in the churchyard, there


HERMIT'S DELL.
219
is the same green grave, but do loving children bend
over it and weep, as we used to ?
There are graves there, too, which we have never
seen. Ralph Somers is in one, and a playmate of
ours in another. Woodford may be there too, but we
know not.


220
HERMIT'S DELL.
VIII.
SUMMER, with its luxuriance of flowers and verdure,
had passed away, and Autumn, with its wealth of
grain and fruits, its frosty mornings and clear skies,
had come in its most gorgeous beauty. The corn-
fields, stripped of their rustling crop, looked bare and
sterile, and the meadows, faded from their rich green,
had put on the more sombre garb of the season.
The woodlands alone had gained in beauty, and
already were clothed in those matchless tints which
constitute the crowning glory of our northern autumns.
But for Frank and me, the season had other charms,
and ere November came with its sharper frosts, we
were snugly domesticated in the rude but comfortable
cabin at Otter-creek.
“Uncle Josh,” as we boys familiarly called him,
was the first settler in that untamed country. His
own busy axe had made the small clearing that afforded
ground sufficient for the cultivation of corn and pota-
toes and a few garden plants. His own hands had
felled the logs and reared the walls of his lonely
tenement, and with untiring zeal, though with hard


HERMIT'S DELL.
221
labor, he had supported his small family from day to
day and year to year.
We, who though young enough to be his children,
had seen more of the world, often wondered that the
old man was so well contented with his lot, for his
declining years were almost as devoid of the simplest
luxuries, as were his earlier ones.
He was not lonely either, for there was one true
helpmate ever at his side, not less loving and mindful
of his comfort than on the day when, with little
worldly wealth, they wedded and emigrated from the
banks of the Penobscot, to build up a new home and
find new friends amidst unknown wilds.
It was always an epoch in their work-day life when
we visited the woods, to spend a week or two of the
sporting season. Seldom did a newspaper find its
way thither except in our portmanteaux, and when
“Uncle Josh” had read and re-read them, they were
neatly pasted on the rough walls and ceilings, in lieu
of better hangings.
And then there was so much to tell in reply to his
questions as to what was going on in the Old world as
well as the New, to all of which information he was
as completely a novice as though he was not a part and
parcel of our Republic.
Those were cosy nights indeed, when we came in
tired and hungry from our long tramps over hill and


222
H ERMIT'S DELL.
dale, through swamps and underbrush; and after a
hearty supper, stretched ourselves before the huge
fire, which was so generously fed, to listen to the long
yarns which no sailor could spin better than Uncle
Josh. There we would sit for hours, cracking jokes
and hickory-nuts till the good-natured dame would
send us laughingly to bed.
An epicurean fare we lived on, too, such as a haunch
of venison betimes, varied by quail and partridge, and
now and then a rabbit-pie, to say nothing about 'corn-
bread and buckwheat cakes, with the best of milk and
butter—for Uncle Josh kept a cow which managed to
get a good subsistence in her wide, forest range.
But there was another inmate of the cabin, of whom
I should have spoken before, and that was “little
Kate,” for thus the old people used to call her, even
when she had grown to womanhood.
.
Kate was the child of their old age and the chief bless-
ing of their life. Though born in almost a wilderness,
and the lightest comforts of her home hard-earned and
few, no daughter of wealth and luxury was more
tenderly loved and nurtured. But the old man had
determined that Kate should not grow up “to be no
good to nobody," so when she was twelve years old,
and had acquired pretty much all she could learn at
home, the trial of parting came.
It was during our second visit to Otter-creek that


HERMIT'S DELL.
223
this was decided upon. The nearest town of import-
ance, in which there was a boarding school, was thirty
or forty miles distant; there were no railroads through
the forest then, as now, and the common by-way was
rough and intricate too, so it was a two-days' journey,
most of the way on horseback. It was thus Kate and
her father started from home; the old man leading
the way, and she on the old grey nag, following after ;
one, gay and delighted with the prospective change,
the other, heavy-hearted enough.
We promised Uncle Josh to remain till his return,
and after he had gone, we did all in our power to
reconcile the tender-hearted woman to the absence of
her daughter.
Four days elapsed before Uncle Josh was again at
home. The sacrifice was made, and though he felt
that he should have to work a little harder that year
and perhaps the next, in order to meet the extra
expense of Kate's schooling, he would often say cheer-
fully, “It makes no odds ; larnin, never made nobody
poorer.”
Two
years
had now passed, and Kate was once more
at home, there to remain and cheer with her gentle
care the declining days of her aged parents. She had
come back to her sylvan home a creature of grace and
beauty, so that it was difficult for Frank and I to
realize it was the same nut-brown girl, who used to


224
H ERMIT'S DELL.
stand beside us and listen to our simple stories. She
was more of a woman, yet the Indian-like
grace
of her
step was the same, but her brow had grown fairer,
and the brown hair laid over it in a smoother fold,
The old cabin was changed for the better too, both
inside and without; wild-flowers and creepers were
clambering up to the eaves, hiding from view many an
unsightly notch. The smoke-browned newspapers
which once covered the walls of the sitting-room, had
given place to more tasty hangings, and a few books
and engravings lay upon the table, betokening a more
refined taste than is generally found in the woods.
Yet all these little trifles, which to our friends were
luxuries, had been attained by an elegant and simple
labor of the maiden's own hands. It was an art she
had acquired at school—the making of paper flowers,
and with the most exquisite taste did she copy the
forms and colors of Nature in their loveliest varieties.
How much may love sweeten even a home in the
wilderness : what a sunshiny gladness can woman's
smile create in the darkest hour, if her love is valued
as it should be! With such a blessing was the mono-
tonous life of Uncle Josh gladdened and prolonged.
Across the hills and through the woods, a few miles
distant, there was another home which furnished a sad
and strange contrast. We were its inmates on one
stormy night when far away from our accustomed


HERMIT'S DELL.
225
shelter, cold and belated, and no other refuge to be
had.
Were it not that our old host was with us, we should
have hesitated to trust ourselves for the night among
such rude and forbidding people; but Uncle Josh was
well known there, although there was little communi
cation or sympathy between the two families.
The snow had commenced falling early in the after-
noon, whilst we were deep in the forest, and as evening
came on, the storm increased; but under the pilotage
of our old guide, we reached without difficulty the
rude hut wherein we must pass the night.
A gruff voice bidding us enter, answered our impa-
tient knock upon the door. It was far from an inviting
shelter that opened before us. Stretched upon a rough
bench before the dim fire, lay the man of the house
apparently half intoxicated; two huge hounds which
growled at our intrusion occupied the stone hearth ; a
rickety bed in one corner of the room contained two
young children, whilst a third was in the arms of its
mother, who was doing the double duty of nursing and
clearing the table of a few broken pieces of crockery,
from which the household had apparently just taken
their supper.
The atmosphere of the apartment was redolent
with the combined fumes of grease, tobacco-smoke,
and whiskey, and we were almost tempted to brave
10*


226
U ERNIT'S DELL.
the storm again and seek shelter in the woods, rather
than inhale till morning such a nauseating and impure
air.
The poor woman, who, by her worn and pale face
had already enlisted our sympathies, though Uncle
Josh had told us something of her history, seemed
anxious to make us comfortable.
Her husband had risen from his hard couch and
rudely told us to come to the fire ; but when he bade
the poor woman go out and bring in an armful of
wood, we determined that whilst we were in the house,
she should not be thus imposed upon. The wretch
did not move even when we started to perform the
office ; and when the wood was brought and heaped
upon the fire, all the thanks we had from him was a
muttered curse at our interference, and a still deeper
one grumbled at his wife.
We were not sorry, when our clothes had become
somewhat dry and we had put our guns in order, to
retire to the other apartment assigned us for the night,
and, wrapping ourselves in some buffalo robes, strive
to shut our eyes and ears to all that was unpleasant in
sight and sound.
With the morning, came a recurrence of brutality
on the part of the man, and a display of weakness
and long-suffering on the part of his wife.
It was sickening to see one who had evidently been


HERMIT'S DELL.
227
born to a better lot thus enslaved and maltreated; yet
so had she lived for years, nursing his children, tending
his wants, bearing his abuse. Could it be other than
for love? Such was a mystery to us.
The devotedness and fortitude of woman have been
the themes of poet and philosopher from the day when
her gentle foot first pressed the flowering sod of Eden.
There have been not a few whose names are immor-
talized upon the deathless page of history; yet in our
own day of outrage and wrong, there are spirits whose
devotion is no less deathless than was Gertrude Van-
derwarts', whose love is as changeless as was that of
Arabella Stuart.
Thus in joy, and pain, and sorrow,
Woman ever bears her part;
Sad to-day and glad to-morrow,
Weak of hand, but strong of heart.
It was a joy again to sit by the cheerful fireside at
Otter-creek, where the voice and smile of a loving
child made glad the heart of an aged father, and
lightened the cares of a failing mother : and as we
sadly spoke of the worn woman and her cheerless lot
in the far-off forest, till the eyes of the maiden filled
with tears, we thought of the poet's words-
“A fearful gift upon thy heart is laid,
Woman-a power to suffer and to love:
Therefore thou so canst pity."


228
HERMIT'S DELL.
IX.
The lapse of three years makes sad changes, not
only over all the world, but in the little sphere imme-
diately around us.
The seasons, with their attributes of fruits and
flowers, sunshine and snows, have gone their accus-
tomed round: friends with whom we were familiar,
the loving and the loved, have passed away: some
like the fragile flowers of spring—others like old
forest trees, sapless, and broken by the weight of
years.
“A few short years!
Less time may well suffice for death and fate
To work all change on earth; to break the ties
Which early love had formed, and to bow down
Th' elastic spirit, and to blight each flower
Strewn in life's crowded path.”
Not less altered than the more crowded haunts of
men—not more improved in the eyes of some, is the
aspect of that once sequestered valley through which
the Otter-creek winds its silvery flood.
What a change is there! The old log cabin which


HERMIT'S DELL.
229
was the handiwork of Uncle Josh, and for so many
years the homely shelter of his little family, has fallen
to decay. The old man and the thrifty housewife
have been gathered to their graves; they sleep beneath
the shade of ancient trees in a newly-made burial
ground, not far from where they lived. The old pine
forest which once surrounded them has been burnt
over and cleared away, and the more quiet solitudes
of distant woods echo to the neigh of the iron horse,
as he rushes on his path to the farther west.
The deer have sought out more noiseless feeding-
grounds, and the smaller game has been driven off by
the pursuing and reckless sportsmen till it is almost
extinct.
An embryo town is growing and flourishing where
we once sported and roved, and the little Kate" of
those careless days, no more gathers wild flowers or
imitates their hues in her gentle art.
She lives and loves beneath a more modern roof
than then, and fair children “like olive plants round
about her table,” claim her care. Her day of romance
is over with ours, and amidst the calmer duties of
life with all their varied accompaniments, she finds
her pleasure.
Beside the remembrances which her still laughing
eyes recall to our hearts and lips, the scenes of our
first acquaintance have no other charm, for the glare


230
HERMIT'S DELL.
of paint and white-wash is far less pleasing than was
the dense verdure of that old pine forest with its
gleams and shadows. The busy hum of labor seems
irrelevant with the holy quiet that should reign in the
surrounding forest, for far to the north and west there
stretches still an almost trackless wilderness, awaiting
the axe and fire of the settler with all their succeeding
attendants.
Earnest men, united in all the great purposes of
life, are pushing forward, making nature subservient
to their endeavors, and a strong assistant in their
labors. The once free streams turn their busy mill-
wheels, feed their canals, and float their timber to the
river. The mineralogist and assayer are piercing the
mountains to find and prove their garnered wealth,
whilst to the tourist and the invalid, an almost terra
incognita is laid open, whose lakes, and streams, and
mountains, rival those of far-off Europe in beauty.
Eight years have passed away since the night on
which we first slept beneath the roof-tree of Uncle
Josh's cabin ; and already all this change is wrought.
The simplicity of forest-life was then untinctured
with any of the “isms" which flourish so rankly in the
hot-bed soil of the present day.
The fancied power of the magnetizer was then
scarcely heard of or believed in; men and women
managed their affairs without the aid of the clairvoyant,
6


HERMIT'S DELL.
231
and were content to await their own entrance into the
spirit-land, to see the forms and hear the voices of
their departed friends.
I know that sound and healthful sleep was to our
good old host, a “sweet restorer" after the labors of
the day; he needed no other anodyne or incentive.
His own good sense and forecast taught and told him
all he wished to know, and in the presence of ghosts
and wraiths in our matter-of-fact world, I am sure he
was a mirthful and decided unbeliever.
But my random diary cannot embrace a dissertation
on fallacies, or a stricture on the so-called “humbugs
of the day;" only we had heard that the “rappings"
were frequent in the very neighborhood where no like
sounds used to break the Sabbath silence of the woods,
save the tapping of the woodpecker or the measured
stroke of Uncle Josh's busy axe.
With the changes which had passed over and
marred, in our eyes, the fair scenes which had become
so dear and familiar, we had changed also in a measure.
New haunts, where we could still foster and indulge
our fondness for occasional retirement from the busier
scenes of life, must be sought out; but with them we
well knew there could be no second Uncle Josh, with
his good helpmate so thoughtful of our comfort; no
second "little Kate" with her laughing eye and joyous
step; these were to be with us only in memory.


232
HERMIT'S DELL.
The spot we next sought, when the mood was upon
us, lay among the low, wooded hills whose sparkling
rivulets swell the romantic Winnipee.
The waters of this tiny lake wash the base of a
range of hills which almost gird it round. So sheltered
is it, the winds scarcely ruffle its glassy surface, on
which the shores are faithfully mirrored in all their
wild and varied beauty.
!
So lonely in its slumber there,
It seems a spirit's haunt of prayer."
Joining the swamp-lands of alder and hazel which
form a portion of the shore, lay a fertile farm nearly a
mile square, embracing acres of woodland and meadow
which yielded rich returns under the husbandry and
tillage of their thrifty owner. Beyond, stretched an
undulating farming country, not densely settled, yet
dotted here and there with substantial farm-houses and
their huge red barns, bespeaking great crops of hay
and grain.
It was mainly a German settlement, and its inhabi-
tants the children of those who came from the fader-
land with their primitive notions and rude tools of labor.
The old house near the lake, and in which we tarried
for a season, bore evidence of Dutch handicraft.
The thick stone walls and projecting gables, the low
ceilings and huge fireplaces, with their tiled mantels


HERMIT'S DELL.
233
and hearths, almost led one to think that the whole
building was brought bodily from Holland or Germany.
Every part of it had the appearance of cleanliness and
comfort-such solid comfort as we seldom see in these
days of ours.
Farmer Fritz was an honest, plain-spoken man, and
though Dutch in blood, a good and true republican,
and born in the house he lived in. His acres were his
birthright, and therefore he felt and was independent.
When it suited him, he went fishing or gunning with
us; when it did not suit him, he said so and staid at
home.
The swamps which bounded his farm abounded with
woodcock in the season, furnishing us all the sport,
and our good dogs, Pilot and Dash, all the practice we
could wish. But we loved better, in those hot July
days, to troll upon the lake within the shadow of the
mountains, for our favorite fish, or trace some of the
leaping rivulets to their cool sources amidst the hills.
There were few who were acquainted with those
spots then, or aware of their pleasant resources,
but
the mode of access to them is easier now.
Farmer Fritz has enlarged his house, become an
hotel-keeper, and is making his fortune.
The swamps' are cleared up and drained, and the
little lake, once so naturally beautiful, serves the
purpose of a dam to a noisy paper-mill.


234
HERMIT'S DELL.
Change is one of the grand features, not only of our
life, but of our age; the old must give place to the
new; the natural to the artificial; the beautiful to the
useful, and they who would seek to see the face of
nature unmarred by the hand of man, must set forth
as upon a pilgrimage, almost, to a far-off land.
.


HERMIT'S DELL.
235
X.
To those, whose feet have not always trodden the
crowded highways of life, but oftener its less-fre-
quented by-ways, how varied seems the lot of man,
how countless the phases of joy and sorrow which fill
up the measure of his cup!
Such was the tenor of my thoughts, as on a day in
July, I sat on the crumbling threshold of that pic-
turesque ruin, known in the vicinity as “Ramsay's
mill.” It was a spot round which sad and happy
associations alike clustered ; once the scene of all
those domestic joys which make life pleasant and
desirable; but error, and at last guilt, had crept in,
bringing blight and sorrow with their train of misery
and desolation.
The dwelling-house, which for many years had
been the shelter of the miller and his family, was also
tenantless and going to ruin. The doors had fallen
from their fastenings, and the windows were open to
the sun and storm, affording free passage to the
swallows, which twittered joyously around and down
the chimneys, and through the deserted rooms, unim-
peded in their flight.


236
HERMIT'S DELL.
The little garden, once so thriving and productive,
was overgrown with rank weeds, save here and there
a sun-flower looking down from its tall stalk upon the
miniature wilderness; yet, there was one remnant of
domestic life left-a lonely cat, stealthily creeping
along the overgrown paths and beds, in quest of a
chance subsistence, loth to leave the home where she
may have been fondled for years. But the petting
mistress, on whose lap Tabby had slept so cosily the
long winter evenings befere the warm fireside, would
fondle her no more, and the prattling child, whose
cradle was so soft and warm, had gone too.
The mill-buildings were no less dilapidated : the
huge wheel had grown mossy and decayed, and the
flume that once carried the water upon it, was gaping
with rents from the frost of many winters. The inte-
rior machinery had been mostly removed, to do its
work elsewhere, leaving but cold and silent walls,
upon which the cobwebs hung heavy and undisturbed.
Yet there, for many years, the trusty miller had
plied his trade, till his white locks showed not the
flour-dust that gathered on them.
Sons and daughters were born and reared in the
dwelling near by, and grew up, some to be a blessing
—others, the reverse. The boys were strong and
hardy; and one, loving and dutiful, followed in his
father's footsteps, and lightened many of his labors.


HERMIT'S DELL.
237
The other, and the elder, loving better the noise
of the great city than the clatter of the mill, which
had become a familiar sound, left his father's roof
with no parting word or blessing, and became a
wanderer.
He had been his mother's favorite ; but though her
loving heart yearned after him and mourned him for
years, even to the day when her sorrow went down
into the grave with her, his shadow never again dark-
ened his father's threshold.
Once only were faint tidings brought the old man
of his long-lost son; but it were better that they
should have been unheard, adding, as they did, another
sorrow to those which burdened already the stricken
household.
Mabel and Kate, the twin sisters, with the other
brother, were left, and by their tender sympathy did
much towards gladdening the declining days of their
parents.
The girls were dissimilar in everything but age.
Mabel was gentle and loving, fair-haired and azure-
eyed : Kate haughty and impulsive, with hair and eyes
dark as night.
She had more tact than her gentler sister, and knew
so well how to school herself, that of the two, it was
difficult to decide which had the greater charms.


238
HEBUT's DELL.
Kate, however, was her father's favorite, yet it was
her destiny to be “a thorn in his side,” a reproach and
sorrow to the neighborhood.
Mabel married, and with the trustfulness of her
nature, bade farewell to all that was loved and familiar,
and with many tears went to the far west, there to
shed her gentle influence, and brighten a settler's home.
Kate went from home also, soon after her sister, but
stealthily and by night. The flattery of an unprinci-
pled man had won her heart, and in an hour of impulse
she yielded to persuasion, and forsook her home.
Words may not describe the sorrow that overwhelmed
the old couple ; suffice it to say, it broke their hearts.
On a stormy winter's night, a year or two after the
last occurrence, the erring and long-lost brother once
more stood in his childhood's home. He was a worn
and broken man now, for the riotings and wanderings
of years had done their work; but where was the once
happy circle, of which he was the first broken link?
But one, his brother, was left to tell him of the past.
The wanderer had hoped to have his father's blessing
before he died, but the grey-haired man had been in
his grave for months.
The prodigal-repentant, but
still bound by shackles he could not break, and bowed
down by remorse, soon filled a drunkard's grave.
Of that broken family, one only now remained at


HERMIT'S DELL.
239
home, and he, at last, gathering up all that was avail-
able of the little property, rejoined his sister in her
western home, there to recount the trials they had
borne, and strive once more to be happy.
It is a sad history! yet on that old door-step I had
often sat before, but never with such feelings of sad-
ness as then.
To me, the story was familiar, but
never had the loneliness of the spot seemed so oppres-
sive, or its desolation more complete.
Gladly, if possible, would I have called back the
vanished years, the miller to his labors, the fond
mother and her children to the cheerful fireside, with
all those joys so rudely blighted and gone forever.
It was the last week of October, in which I again
trod the shady glens of Dark-Hollow ; the trees were
putting on a gayer livery, and the summer birds were
flocking off to the more genial South, engendering in
the spirit a feeling alike of gladness and melan-
choly.
The twilight was deepening in the woods, as I
neared the old mill, which lay by my path homeward.
In a locust grove, upon the sloping hillside not far
distant, gleamed the white tents of a camp-meeting
just convened, and as the wild melody of their spirit-
stirring hymns echoed through the hollow, bringing
dread thoughts of Death and the Judgment, I sat


210
HERMIT'S DELL.
again in tnat crumbling doorway, and listened to the
sounds which so truly harmonized with the memories
of the spot.
"They pealed along-those bymns of night,
The anger of the Lord their theme;
With echoing swell and cadence light,
O'er mountain wild and gliding stream."


HERMIT'S DELL.
241
XI.
One of our own writers has said, “the value of life
deepens incalculably with the privilege of travel.”
The remark is a truthful one, but how few there are
who fitly appreciate the privilege. There are thou-
sands of our fellow-men who spend their lives in
roaming the world; some, in search of change and
pleasure; others, of wealth, whilst many more go
shifting about like helmless barques, with
No guide—no quest,
Knowing no rest.
Some pluck flowers at every step; others, fruit, like
the apples of the Dead Sea, fair to the sight, but filled
with dust and ashes.
Some find their highest joy in alleviating the woes
of others, whilst too many, like the Pharisee of old,
pass by on the other side.
Such was my train of thought as I occupied a seat
in a crowded stage-coach traversing a dusty highway
of a neighboring State. As we pitched and rattled
along, I amused myself by surveying the countenances
of my fellow-travellers, as is my habit on such occa-
11


242
HERMIT's DELL.
sions, and thereby learning sometimes more of human
nature, than we would with more casual notice. The
back seat was occupied by a mother and her daughter,
who, I fancied, was on her return to boarding school,
vacation having expired. The centre seat was well
filled by the stout forms of three well-to-do farmers,
dressed in home-spun, who had been attending an
agricultural show in one of the county towns. They
were full of converse on fine cattle, labor-saving
machines, and other objects interesting to their class
and calling
Next to me, on the other seat, sat a quiet and
thoughtful man, apparently heeding little of what was
going on around him, and wrapped up in his own
reflections. The little observation I was able to take
of him without being rude, impressed me with the idea
that he was laboring under some deep dejection or,
perhaps, sorrow. Yet his dress and general expression
bespoke him to be a man of the world. How often
do we meet such men ! seeming as if some great and
untold sorrow lay crushingly upon their hearts; a
sorrow hoarded as it were, and jealously veiled from
prying eyes. To such, a kind word or a sympathizing
glance sometimes, are blessings not craved, but when
freely offered, accepted gratefully. Like a forest tree,
touched, yet not riven by the lightning, but wanting
more than its fellows, the sun and rain to renew its


HERMIT's
243
DELL.
verdure; such an one stands amidst his fellow-men
more mindful, because more needful of, smiles and
tears. Sincere and well-timed sympathy is to the worn
and fainting spirit as the cool dew of eve to the fading
flower.
One by one, most of my fellow-travellers had, almost
unconsciously to me, been dropped at their places of
destination along the route, giving me an opportunity
to change my seat for one more airy, and from which
I could look out on the country through which we
were passing. It was new to me, and beautiful and
varied. Now, on the summit of a lofty hill, the eye
could command a wide expanse, dotted here and there
with white-farm houses, and diversified with woods
and fields clad with the rich verdure of early summer;
then, descending into a valley carpeted with green
meadows, we would seem almost caged in from the
world by the wooded hills rising on either side.
As we neared the little village of H—, which lies
nestling in the lap of a fertile valley, I noticed the
quiet stranger was affected by some strong emotion,
evidently of sorrow, and that uncontrollable. I never
before had seen a strong man so shaken and overcome
by grief.
It was embarrassing to me, and would have been
more so, had he not, in a few moments, said: “Pardon
my weakness, sir, but this is my native place-ten


244
HERMIT'S DELL.
years have gone since I was here last, and my recol-
lections are very sad.”
In a few minutes we reached the small tavern of
the village, and weary from my long ride, I soon
domesticated myself amidst the snug and cleanly
comforts of the attentive host.
I saw no more of my companion till we met at our
evening meal, yet drawn towards each other by an
undefinable sympathy, we sat long together engaged
in most social conversation.
Afterwards, strolling out together, we found a
secluded spot, where he told me much of his history,
and of the great sorrow, that years before, had blighted
his youthful hopes and saddened his after life.
He may be dead now, or living ; but with a few
alterations, yet with no fancies,and little adornment, I
have woven in this chequered woof his sombre thread.
“My own early home; though many years have
passed, and sad changes been wrought since I sported
in its halls and roamed its green woods, it stands
before me now, as on the day I left it for ever-all bright
and gay, save my own heart. I never knew a father's
love; he died ere I was old enough to recognize his
care, and in the old homestead I grew up under the
fostering love of my dear, widowed mother-a way-
ward, petted child.


HERMIT' DELL.
245
“I had my own quiet room, my little cabinet of
minerals and shells, my library of treasured books;
when tired of these, there were my dog and gun,
and
my saddle pony.
“What was the world to me, or I to the world ; I
was happy and contented with my selfish pleasures in
my little hermitage.
"I had no playmate-knew no game,
Yet often left my book to run
And blow bright bubbles in the sun ;
In after life we do the same.'
“So time passed with little variation till I was
eighteen years of age, and excepting the few studies
that were imposed upon me, which occupied an hour
or two a day, I sought but my own enjoyment, and
the happiness of my devoted mother. But in the
course of another year, she was taken from me, and I
was thrown upon my own resources, with no guardian,
and scarcely a friend in the wide world.
“With regard to pecuniary matters, I was well
provided for, and I resolved to retain the property I
now owned, as hallowed by associations which others
could never realize; so with an old and faithful house-
keeper, the nurse of my infancy, another and another
year few almost unheeded by, for I was happy and
asked or sought no change.
“But an unwritten leaf in my book of life was soon


246
HERMIT'S DELL.
to turn; a change I dreamed not of was soon to be ;
my heart was to expand, and instead of beating for
itself alone, was to throb more wildly for another.
“ There was a rustic cottage not far from my dwell-
ing, and which you see through the trees now, that
had been a long time unoccupied. Its last tenant was
a poor and lonely widow, who had then been dead a
year or more, at the time of which I speak, and during
that season, no living being had entered the door,
except an old dependent of the former occupant, who
now and then, took possession for an hour, to sweep
away the cobwebs, and see that no unlawful intruder
had disturbed the scanty furniture which still remained,
for the house belonged to the heirs of an estate that
was then in litigation. It was a sweet spot then, the
house half-hidden from view amidst weeping willows
and old shady elms; and the low, rustic porch almost
crushed beneath the vines and creepers, which for two
summers, had known no pruning or care. A little
streamlet, with grassy banks, murmured through a
shady dell near by, fed the year round by a tiny
cascade that came leaping down yonder hillside.
Such was Willowdale.
“A very home for loveman Eden spot,
That seemed secluded from the rest of earth;
Where care and sorrow might be e'er forgot,
And thoughts of joy and love have cloudless birth.


HERMIT'S DELL.
247
“But rumor whispered that the cottage was soon
to be inhabited again ; that a family from the city had
leased it, and the report was ere long confirmed by the
presence of workmen in and about the house, who
were soon busy in renovating the paint and plaster,
remodelling and refurnishing.
“A skilful gardener soon put the long-neglected
grounds in perfect order, and before many weeks had
passed, the cottage was ready for its new occupants
As it is natural for youth to be curious and imagina-
tive, you may suppose I was full of impatience to
know who were to be my new neighbors; and for
several days I watched the stage-coach, as it passed
by on its way from the city, with more than usual
interest. It came at last, one lovely April morning,
loaded with trunks and boxes, and more than its
accustomed number of passengers. I saw within it
a grey-haired man, a middle-aged, matronly looking
woman, and more than all, a sweet young face looking
earnestly from the window, as it passed swiftly by
They stopped at the cottage; the strangers had
arrived.
“I remember that I lay awake most of the following
night, wondering what relation those three persons
bore to each other. At last, it was settled in my
mind, that the old gentleman and the pale-faced girl
were father and daughter, and the matronly looking


248
HERMIT'S DELL.
person must be their housekeeper, for she looked like
one; the sequel proved my suppositions to be correct.
Then, with youth's hopefulness, and love for any-
thing that savored of a change in my theretofore quiet
life, I fancied how delightful it would be, when I had
made their acquaintance, to act as cicerone, and show
them the romantic walks and drives of our wild neigh-
borhood.
“A new source of happiness had sprung up before
me; the void in my heart seemed about to be filled,
and I felt as though I was to enter upon a new state
of being. But I will not weary you with trifling
relations or details.
“Ere many weeks had passed, I was a constant
visitor at the cottage. Alice G
Alice G— was my divinity-
her father almost a second one to me. Words cannot
describe the happiness I knew in that delightful
intercourse.
“I shall not attempt to describe her beauty to you;
enough that she seemed to me more of heaven than
earth-born only to love and be loved.
6. She was my world; filled up the whole of being-
Smiled in the sunshine—walked the glorious earth,
Sat in my heart—was the sweet life of life.'
“She was young, gay, and happy ; but there were
some who said there was often too much color in her


HERMIT'S DELL.
249
cheek, and that her eyes wore a strange brightness-
that she was not going to live long.
“I laughed at their strange forebodings; for to me
these seemed but attributes of her matchless loveli-
ness. Boy that I was, love had stolen into my heart,
and I felt that she was necessary to my existence.
“And so we lived on for a year or more; we drove,
we rode, we walked together. The grove that sepa-
rated our homes was threaded with paths which our
straying feet had made. There we had our rustic
seat, where we read our books, and held sweet con-
versation ; and there too, was our trysting-tree,
666 Wbere erst we learned love's lesson.'
“As weeks and months flew swiftly by, and I reached,
almost unconsciously, the years of manhood, love
grew with my growth, and from early blossoming,
ripened into full maturity. My books, with which I
,
once found perfect joy, were thrown aside, save when
I read them to another. My horse and dog were alike
neglected, save when they afforded sport or recreation
for the loved one.
“I was happy only in her presence, and with her
love; but with this joy, there swept across my spirit,
oftentimes, a feeling of distrust,-a prestige that my
new-born hopes might soon be blighted.
"Is it not always so, when we fancy that we are
11*


250
HERMIT'S DELL.
happy? Who among us knows what the morrow
may bring forth ?
The flower, whose bloom and
fragrance gladdens us to-day, may fade and fall to-
night beneath an untimely frost. The sky, that is
bright and blue above us now, may, in one short hour,
be swept by lowering clouds. Nothing is sure but
death and sorrow.
“But to go on :-)t was early in summer, when the
roses and honey-suckles that twined so lovingly around
the cottage porch were in their richest blossoming,
that I was unexpectedly summoned to the city upon
urgent business. With my manhood, new cares and
responsibilities had also come, and it was necessary
that I should go.
“I was at the cottage very early on the morning of
my departure, to say a few farewell words.
“ The parting seemed to me prophetic of some un-
foreseen woe; I know not why such doubts and fears
harassed me—they were strange presentiments, but
oh ! how sad.
“ Ten days passed wearily away before my business
was ended, and I felt comparatively happy when once
more on my way homeward. It was nearly evening
when I saw again the spire of the village church rising
in the distance far above the old trees of the grave-
yard; and when drawing nearer, the pointed roof of
the cottage rose into view, my heart beat more quickly,


HERMIT'S DELL.
251
and my check grew pale with the thought that all
might not be well.
“ As the coach passed by, I instinctively looked up at
the little window where I had often seen the face of
my beloved, radiant with smiles and beauty. The
blinds were closed, and her eyes gleamed not through
them. I knew if all was well, she would have been
there, but now-sickness or death was within, and
my heart asked—who is the victim ?
“ Once more in my quiet chamber, I strove to nerve
myself for whatever I might be called to undergo;
then summoning the old nurse, who was almost a
mother to me, I learned all that my heart had dreaded.
Alice was sick and had been in her room for two days.
Calmly, yet with a sad spirit, I once more trod the
shady avenue of Willow-dale. Again I sat in the
darkened parlor, once so sunny and cheerful, and
awaited the summons to the sick-chamber. An half
hour passed, and I was once more by the side of her I
loved. But what a change a few short days had
wrought; what a sad reunion was ours! She was
pillowed on her father's breast, and his careworn brow
told of the anxiety that filled his heart. Her com-
plaint was told me in a few words—she had been spit-
ting blood. Though thin and worn, she appeared to
me lovelier than ever, with a bloom upon her cheek,
that to my unpractised eye, spoke of returning health ;


252
A ERMIT'S DELL.
1
1
1
but when I took her hand, and felt the fever that was
burning in her veins, hope died within me, and I feared
the worst.
“ Another week went by, and except at short inter-
vals, I kept a sleepless vigil by her side.
“Those were hours of sweet communion, the memory
of which is as fresh and holy as though they were of
yesterday ; but as she daily grew weaker and thinner,
the conviction forced itself upon her that there was no
hope of life. Yet, there was no repining at the thought
of her blighted youth, no shudder on the verge of the
dark valley; all was joy and peace.
“ So she faded, day by day through the long winter.
March came with its blustering winds and passed
away, but the April showers fell like tears upon her
new-made grave. She died at the close of a bright,
warm day, when Nature was putting on her garments
of joy, and smiling as if in mockery of our desolated
hearts. She lies in yonder churchyard, and there 1
have spent my afternoon. Years have passed since
she was laid there, and I have been a wanderer in
many lands : but from the halls of mirth and splendor
- from the smiles of beauty and the fascinations of
the world, I have turned away, to think of that green
grave, and of that gentle being, whose spirit may now
be hovering around me on viewless wings.
“ To-morrow I go away again upon my wanderings;


HERMIT'S DELL.
253
you may never see me more, but I shall remember
your kindness whilst I live."
Such was the substance of the stranger's tale, and
with few additions, this little sketch is a faithful tran-
script of his history. That night, our paths through
life divided, and they have never met again. I know
not where his feet may be roving: maybe he has long
ago returned to his native village to die and be buried
in the old churchyard.
I often think of him and remember the poet's
saying :
" What is our bliss that changeth with the moon,
And day of life that darkens ere 'tis noon ?”


254
HERMIT'S DELL.
XII.
ONCE more in the forest, after a lapse of two years,
yet it is a different section from that with which I have
been familiar. The haunts of the deer we are disturb-
ing now are far removed from the Beaverkill, and the
once hospitable cabin of “Uncle Josh.” As some-
what of his history, and our acquaintance with the
old hunter, has been chronicled on former pages, we
will not recur to them now. Suffice it to say,
that
where his lonely clearing broke the gloom of the forest,
a village with more pretending, but less verdure-
shaded dwellings than his, is now growing and thriving.
The waters of the Beaverkill, once so swift and
silvery, have been dammed up for utilitarian purposes,
and are discolored by the various uses they are made
to serve. Uncle Josh, that honest old man and true-
hearted hunter, has passed away, with most of that
race which followed so closely the footsteps of the
receding red man.
One of the friends who so humorously chronicled
the sayings and doings of those our pristine hunting
days is gone too, and Pilot, his faithful hound, so


HERMIT's
255
DELL.
gems amidst
swift of foot, so keen of scent, has long ago followed
his last chase.
The features of the country which surrounds us
now, are not unlike those which the waters of the
Shohokin and the Beaverkill mirror on their way to
the infant Delaware; yet here, the mountains are
grander, and the wilderness is more unbroken. Count-
less lakes, of varied size and form, lie like
the densely wooded hills and surrounding forests.
Our rude cabin is on the shore of one of them,
overshadowed by swaying spruces and sighing pines,
The “Silver Mountain" and "Owl's Head" cast their
long shadows athwart its calm bosom, whilst behind
them, old “Bluebeard,” his top white with early
snows, towers grandly above its surrounding hills.
Not many miles to the north is the noble St. Law-
rence and the Canadian boundary. To the south are
the Adirondack mountains with their lofty peaks of
Tahawus and Seward, looking down upon the Saranac
lakes, which stretch like a silvery chain through miles
and miles of wilderness.
To those who never traversed this part of the State,
it is difficult to imagine what wild wastes cover the
greater parts of the Counties of Hamilton, Clinton,
Essex, Franklin and St. Lawrence.
And so they will remain for years to come, whilst
the rich and unencumbered prairie lands of the west


256
HERT'S DELL.
tempt the settler with their more fertile soil and
salubrious climate.
From the rude cabin, in which I am striving to indite
these records, to the nearest post-town, it is twelve
miles, half of which we came afoot through the forest.
Two active, muscular guides carried our provisions
in sacks slung over their shoulders, whilst we trudged
after them with no heavier burden than our rifles.
Our clothes are stout and warm, and our feet well
shod, for the path, scarcely discernible, lies over
swamps, and streams, and fallen timber, to say nothing
of the snow, which covers the ground, in places, to
the depth of several inches.
It was nearly night of our second day from home,
when we reached the shore of Indian lake, our desti-
nation. Hemmed in by densely wooded hills, and
veiled from sight by the spruces and hemlocks which
fringe its margin, we were upon the beach before we
were aware of its proximity.
Nothing impressed me so much as the utter loneli-
ness and seclusion of the place. The shadows of the
mountains lying on the water, the old forest with its
immense trunks, some dead and bearded with swaying
moss, and above all, the mournful cry of the loon,
echoing from the opposite shore, increased the awe
which those who love such scenes must always feel,
and especially at such an hour.


HERMIT'S DELL.
257
As I looked upon the forest surrounding us, dark
and dim, these stanzas from Evangeline came into my
memory-
“This is the forest primeval; the murmuring pines and the
hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the
twilight,
Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar with beards that rest on their bosoms."
A ruinous shanty of boughs open to the south, with
the smouldering ashes of a fire before it, offered us a
shelter; but a storm seemed brewing, and our guides
advised our taking the skiff which was moored here
and going a mile down the lake to a settler's more
comfortable cabin. This we agreed to, and having
packed in our luggage we put out from shore, one of
the men having concluded to build a fire and remain
in the shanty till we rejoined him in the morning.
Our oarsman had not rowed us far before he per-
ceived in the distant water, what appeared, by the dim
light of evening, to be the wake of a swimming deer.
Our rifles were loaded, and we started in pursuit; but
after rowing half-way across the lake, much to our
disappointment we found it was made by a flock of
ducks, which dived away from us on a nearer approach.
Our course was then laid for the clearing, which


258
HERMIT'S DELL.
was a mile and a half distant, but we soon found our
boat to be leaking so badly, it was necessary to put to
shore and turn out the water.
We found an old pan at the shanty, where Tom had
made himself so comfortable, and were almost per-
suaded to remain and keep him company; but we
again started, though it required constant bailing to
keep our craft afloat. We took turns at the service
till we reached the clearing, cold, wet, and hungry,
after a day's hard travel.
It was now dark, and the approach to the cabin lay
over burnt and fallen timber, heaped up in every
imaginable form, the débris of what is called in forest
parlance, a "slash.”
With climbing, scrambling, and tumbling for nearly
half an hour, we at last reached the house and found
not only a warm welcome but a warm supper awaiting
us; for our arrival at the lake that night was not
unlooked for, and with the foresight natural to his
calling, the hunter had predicted we would not pass
the night at the shanty.
Our supper of venison and sundry accompaniments
was discussed with hearty relish, and afterward, with
feet toasting before the roaring fire, we passed an hour
two in “deer and dog" talk, and of our plans for
the morrow.
Ellis, our host, was a whole-souled, cheerful fellow,
1


H ERMIT’S DELL.
259
and withal, intelligent. Our shelter was built of logs,
rude, yet comfortable enough in moderate weather, for
two small rooms were all that it contained, and they
were kitchen, bed-room, living room and all. Here
the old settler had lived for years with a wife and a
growing family of children : the nearest neighbor four
miles distant through the forest and the nearest town
eight miles farther. To us, used as we are to the
social intercourse of communities, it is a marvel how
men can live so isolated, unless they are misanthropic,
or are compelled to through necessity, which was not
the case in this instance.
Yet I have seen in the wilderness, a woman who
had not looked upon one of her sex for eight years,
nearly one-third of her lifetime.
With her, it was
necessity at first, but after awhile this begot indiffer-
ence, and she was happy in her seclusion. What a
blank seems such an existence!
Among the hunters and loggers who here and there
inhabit this northern wilderness, one often finds men
of mind and manners which seem at utter variance
with their situation and calling.
Some of them have seen better days; but either
soured by disappointments or adventurous in their
tastes, have adopted that mode of life. Regardless of
our conventionalities they meet you as a man, with a


260
HERMIT'S DELL.
1
hearty grasp of the hand and a welcome, if you will
take it “rough and tumble” with them.
A man who cannot follow them through the woods,
or ford a stream if it crosses the path, or eat out of
the same dish and drink out of the same bottle, gets
very little sympathy from them.
Their motto is, “take it as you get it,” and my own
experience has taught me it is the only comfortable
plan. So in their camps they all find the same social
level : fraternization and “solidarity,” as Kossuth has
it, are the chief elements of their happiness and
success.
“And the strongest of hand is highest in rank,
The boldest is first of the band."
We were up before day-break in the morning, and
sat down to a breakfast of pork and venison, stewed
cranberries, bread and green tea; you rarely taste
coffee in the woods. Our meal finished, we again
essayed the “slash”
on our way to the boats. This
time the passage over it was not so difficult, for Ellis
had his private path, which was nothing more than
adroit jumping from one log to another where they
lay a little more sinoothly and scattered.
After frequent journeys over the obstacle during the
time we were thereabout, the hurdle jumpings at the


HERMIT'S DELL.
261
Hippodrome rather fell in my estimation. They were
nothing to our display of agility.
As we expected to drive the deer into the lake,
which, by the way, is a mode of sport I do not like,
inasmuch as the game are out of their element, one
of the hunters, Tom, who had been at the shanty all
night, took the dogs some two miles back from the
lake to start a deer, whilst we, each in a boat, ,
rowed for our appointed stations on the opposite
shore.
My stand was nearly at the extreme end, so I had
a pull of some two miles to reach it.
It was a lovely day, hazy and warm, the first of the
Indian summer. The water lay smooth and glassy,
save when a passing breeze rippled its surface.
The glorious mountains environing it, the sombre
pines, and tall swaying spruces, the lofty tamaracks,
and graceful hemlocks—all mirrored to a line in the
clear, deep water; there was but one thing wanting-
the bloom and verdure of summer.
A row of some twenty minutes brought me to my
station, where I moored my skiff to the trunk of a
hemlock and stepped ashore.
It was an out-jutting point, covered with a dense
spruce thicket, except where it had been cut away to
give room for a fire, which here we are always at
liberty to kindle. From it I could see the whole


262
HERMIT'S DELL.
expanse of the lake, and also my companions on their
stands, half a mile and a mile from me.
I selected a spot where I could sit unseen from the
opposite shore, and listened for the yell of the hounds
when a deer should be started.
No sound broke the perfect stillness, save now and
then the quack of a duck or the cry of the northern
diver far out in the lake. An hour passed, before I
caught the first faint bay of “Dash," the hound that
generally took the lead. He was a mile away, cour-
sing along the side of a mountain, between which and
the steep shore of the lake, there lay a deep valley.
By the undulations of his voice, I could tell the nature
of the ground over which he was chasing; now seem-
ing farther off as they took the low ground; now
louder and nearer as they gained some ridge-top, till
his yell opened like a trumpet on the summit of the
ridge nearest me. I almost held my breath waiting
for the deer to strike the shore, for the dog appeared
to be making for a point nearly opposite me.
A moment more, and over a fallen pine tree that
lay along the steep bank, a noble buck leaping into the
lake, throwing the water up into spray as he bounded
forward. Though a quarter of a mile from me, I
could hear his rapid strokes and labored breathing as
he made for the shore on which I stood. A few
minutes more, and it would be time for me to take my


HERMIT'S DELL.
263
1
boat and strive to cut himn off from the shore, or drive
him down the lake. But I was disappointed; for not
hearing the dogs after him, and the water being cold,
he turned back again. It was too long a shot for any
probability of hitting him, so I watched him regain the
woods and dash off unharmed. At noon we all met,
according to signal, at the brush shanty, where,
reclining on odorous hemlock boughs around a well
piled fire, we enjoyed our simple luncheon preparatory
to another row and afternoon stand. But one more
deer, which I did not see, but my nearer companion
did, came to the lake that day; and sundown found
us once more displaying our agility upon the sinuous
“slash" path that led to Ellis's cabin.
That evening we listened to the story which gave
the “Silver mountain" its euphonious title.
Even here in the wilderness, men have become the
dupes of cunning speculators, and the victims of a wild
belief in clairvoyance and the mysteries of the “dark
stone."
The story is in this wise, and its incidents date but
a few months back. A French hunter, in his tramps
through the forest, found a stone flecked with shining
particles resembling silver. His apparent good fortune
was soon confided to a few of his trusty brethren, and
having sent some fifty miles for a man who pretended
to see far down in the earth by the aid of magic rods,


264
HEBMIT'S DELL.
magician's stone, and other like creations, their search
for the mine commenced. With the aid of a conniving
female medium, the imposter pointed out the exact
spot where the vein could be struck with very little
boring. Expensive tools were made and carried with
much labor six miles through the wilderness. Cabins
were built, and provisions stored regardless of expense,
for the miners were sanguine of soon amassing great
wealth. By and by, great blasts were made, awaken-
ing the solitudes far and near, and days and weeks of
constant and expensive toil were rewarded with not
even the promise of success. The bubble at last burst;
the magnetizer and his accomplice decamped with
their ill-gotten gains, and ere long the miners, one by
one, dropped away from the camp, laden not with ore,
but with dearly-bought experience.
Thenceforth the mountain at whose base the mine
was supposed to be, and which was nameless before,
has borne its present title, and will bear it for ever.
Those who were beguiled in that futile research after
hidden treasures, never or seldom speak of their opera-
tions—it is a forbidden subject—but it would take a
very shrewd “professor” to beguile them again.
Two days more were spent on and about the lake,
but either from the coldness of the water or the
frequency with which they had been hunted that
season, the deer avoided the lake when started by the


A ERMIT'S DELL.
265
dogs, and took another direction toward the Salmon
river or the Horse Shoe pond, some miles distant.
Our hunters advised hunting on “run-ways," and
we, hoping for better luck, assented. Once more our
luggage was bagged and shouldered, and we started
on a five-mile tramp. Fording half-frozen streams on
foot, or crossing them on slippery logs—wading oozy
swamps-threading pathless woods, and climbing steep
ridges, noon found us on the ground, four miles from
the nearest habitation.
Our first stands were on the crest of a lofty ridge
which was attained from the river's level with arduous
climbing. Before reaching its base, we could see
nothing before or around us but dense thickets,
spruce and alder ; yet, following our guide closely, and
struggling through intertwisted branches and over
fallen logs, we commenced ascending.
Patiently, and breathlessly almost, we climbed on,
stopping now and then to recruit our lungs, and won-
dering how far we were from the summit.
At length we came into the more open timber of
beech and maple which crowned the ridge.
Deer tracks were abundant on every side, and the
sight of them alone inspirited us.
One of the hunters assigned us our stands, near
which the deer would run, if started, towards the river,
whose waters washed the base of the hill on the oppo-
12


266
HERMIT'S DELL.
site side to that from which we had come. Great
quiet and watchfulness are requisite in this mode of
hunting, though to many it is by far the pleasantest
plan, but most fatiguing on account of so much walk-
ing from one section to another.
My stand was by a fallen pine tree that lay upon
the brow of the ridge, from which the descent to the
river was over a thousand feet, yet not very steep.
The view of the country beneath me and far away to
the south and west, was worth a day's travel.
The rapid stream, winding with short and graceful
curves through the low land and forest till lost to
view—the vast stretch of widerness, with no clearing
or habitation in sight—the distant ridges with their sides
of evergreen timber, and beyond them the higher peaks
of the Adirondacks, capped with snow; combined to
form a landscape I thought could rarely be surpassed.
But soon the rifle of the hunter who had charge of
the dogs told us that a deer was started. In a few
minutes the faint bay of the hounds came up over the
ridge, now louder, now almost unheard, till it died
away in the distance. That deer was lost to us, for
he went round the ridge, instead of across it.
The day was waning, and we had four miles to
walk, besides the river to cross, on our nearest route
to a shelter; but before joining my companions, I
thought I would shoot a partridge that sat drumming


HERMIT'S DELI.
267
on a log a few rods from me. As I carefully walked
forward, a deer, which had probably been lying in her
bed not far off, and roused by my footsteps, sprang
with tremendous bounds down the hillside for the
river below. Through the dense timber I caught for
a moment a fair view of her going from me, and I
fired, but with little hope of reaching her.
She staggered, however, and fell, but rose again
with a broken leg dangling uselessly in her flight.
Following quickly on her track to where the view
was more open, I stood and watched her tripedal race
to the bottom of the slope. She plunged into the
stream and swam across, regaining the opposite shore,
and clumsily leaping some fallen timber that lay upon
the bank, disappeared in the forest. My shot had
brought my companions to me, and with one of the
dogs, which had come in, the hunters started in
pur-
suit. It was not long before Dash caught the wounded
animal, as its pitiful and quavering bleat announced.
The men, following the sounds, came up in time to
give it the finishing stroke, and soon returned to us
waiting by the river bank, bearing the deer. As it was
getting late and dark, the question arose how we were
to get it out of the woods ; but these hunters are
never in a dilemma. One of them proposed to make
a raft of logs and float down the river with it to the
fording place, two miles below, where we were to


268
HERUITS DELL.
cross. The raft, bound together with withes, was
soon made, and Tom on it, floating quickly down
the stream. Our return path was nearly the one by
which we had come, but doubly intricate on account
of the darkness; but an half hour's walk brought us
to the ford, where Tom was awaiting us with his raſt,
ready to ferry us over. His small and slippery craft
would support but two at a time, so one by one, we
were ferried over and landed without any mishap,
except an unlucky slip of one of us into the river,
where the water was waist deep and icy cold. Shoul-
dering the deer, our guides led the way, and an hour's
walk brought us to a comfortable cabin beneath the
shadow of a mountain by the river bank. That night
we sat long by the great, crackling fire, listening to
tales of sport and danger from our hardy companions,
who little thought there was a “chiel among them
taking notes."


I ERMIT'S DELL.
269
XIII.
The last night we had spent at the lake was one of
storm and tumult: such a night as made the cabin of
Ellis a shelter not to be despised.
All the day, the near mountain tops had been
wreathed by heavy mists, which at intervals came
down before the sleet-laden gusts, enveloping the
forest and the lake in vapory shrouds.
We had found it difficult to keep our fires ablaze
upon our stands that stormy noon, and as the chance
of driving a deer to water seemed rather doubtful, our
spirits and the weather were well nigh congenial. It
was to be our last rendezvous at the shanty, and as we
pulled our skiffs ashore under the drooping hemlocks,
which the clear, cold waters, over which they hung,
mirrored so perfectly, I stood for a moment to indulge
the reflections which the scene engendered.
Here and there upon the opposite shore, the blue
smoke of our untended fires was curling gracefully
upward and mingling with the white mist that lay
along the tree-tops and the hillsides. A log canoe,
with shattered side, which a wandering Indian had


270
HERMIT'S DELL.
used in hunting a year ago, lay half sunken near the
shore, and not far distant were the remnants of the
cabin he had built, and when departing, burned, that
the white man might not have it for a shelter. I
thought of the red men and their fate, and how in days
gone by, their council-fires had blazed upon these very
shores, and the forest around me echoed with their
war-songs.
But they are gone now, and the few wandering out-
casts that remain, are but the mockeries of former
greatness. Alas, for the red man! Well has the poet
said-
“Nor lofty pile, nor glowing page,
Shall link him to a future age,
Or give him with the past a rank:
His heraldry is but a broken bow,
His history but a tale of wrong and woe,
His very came must be a blank.”
a
But my reveries were broken by the stentorian voice
of Ellis, calling me to "come and get dinner,” or I
would lose my share, as he was "orful hungary."
Thinking this would suit Kossuth about as well as
myself, though I was rather more interested in and
anxious for the “material aid and comfort” the good
hunter promised, I was soon seated by the great fire
before the shanty, with the smoking wing of a par-


HERMIT'S DELL.
271
tridge in one hand, and a chunk of bread in the other,
expatiating between the mouthsfull, upon the extreme
liberality of the party in my behalf, in regard to my
appetite.
“ So much for standin thar, a strainin yer eyes arter
nothin," says Ellis.
“We're all starved here—fust come, fust sarved,"
chimed in Tom. And so I felt very much like a
martyr to my silent sympathy for the red man.
My delicate dinner was soon finished, and so, pack-
ing our small stock of cooking utensils in carrying
condition upon the broad shoulders of Tom, who was
to go to Salmon river that evening, where we were to
meet him on the morrow, we once more returned by
the lake to Ellis's cabin.
Ere we reached it, the storm had increased almost
to a gale, and the snow now falling rapidly, was drift-
ing before it in blinding clouds.
Right glad were we to reach our shelter, and
exchange our damp clothes for others kept in reserve
for just such an occasion.
When supper was served and we were enjoying it,
I fancied, and Ellis asserted that my appetite had
improved wonderfully since morning; he was even
commencing to philosophize as to the cause, when I
reminded him of my partridge wing and bread, minus
butter, at the shanty.


272
HERMIT'S DELL.
I even went farther, and committed the imprudence
of informing him what I was thinking of, when he
supposed I was looking for a deer, and cut short my
reverie by his call to dinner.
Ellis had some sympathy akin to mine, for the
unfortunate Indian, but 0%, our other companion,
had none.
“ You needn't preach to me about the tarnal red-
skins,” said he, “for didn't that skulking rascal that
hunted here a year ago, steal a buck saddle of mine
what hung in the gap yonder; and didn't he steal Bill
Parris's powder-horn too? Don't talk to me on em,
they're a bad brood.”
So much for my sentiment in that quarter, and on
that subject : there was no need of preaching any
more, and I did not.
Supper over, we each employed ourselves as pleased
Ellis and W— were soon playing “pull and
haul” from one side of the cabin to the other, by the
medium of a rifle and its refractory cleaning rod,
which no gentler persuasion could move one way or
the other.
It came at last, however, by a dexterous jerk of
Ellis's, and with a corresponding movement in the
opposite direction, W— went, and some crockery
went too, to say nothing of the rather severe concus-
sion another individual received, whilst poring over
us.


HERMIT'S DELL.
273
the pages of “Bleak House” by the dim light of a
deer-tallow dip.
0—, who was inclined to be taciturn at times, sat
in one corner of the room, quietly enjoying his pipe
and W—'s overthrow.
We sat up late that night, for it was to be our last
there, unless the storm should continue and detain us.
The wind made a great strife amidst the old trees
that long wintry night, for they flung their huge arms
about, and intertwined their long, giant fingers, till
some were broken and disjointed, and came crashing
to the ground.
How mournfully wailed the wind through the dense
pines; how it whistled and soughed amidst the close
and swaying spruces! Its voice brought to me memo-
ries of a long gone night at sea, when a noble ship, in
which strong men trembled and frail women wept,
bravely struggled and outlived the storm.
There were tones on the gale that night which the
forest seemed to echo back in all their wildness of
grief and terror.
“It was such a night as this,” said Ellis, “the wind
made just such a mournful noise like, when Bill Parris
went off. He was my nighest neighbor then-about
four miles away west, towards Ragged lake. He took
a bad cough, sugar makin time, and, though I guess
he was a deal heavier than me, before September he
a
12*


274
HERMIT'S DELL.
didn't weigh more than a spike-buck. Along towards
winter, the doctor gin him up, and Bill kinder felt he
wouldn't last long, and gan to get uneasy about his
family; for he had a woman and two young gals. But
somehow, he got all that fixed, and sold his clearin
besides, and gin her the money, so arter he should be
dead, she should go back to her folks down on the
Black river. Bill sent over arter me one cold Novem-
ber mornin, for, as I said before, I was his nighest
neighbor, and he wanted me to see him buried, for he
said he wouldn't last the night. It was gloomy enough
there, I tell you, and the way it came on to storm that
night was a caution. There was a growth of heavy
pine timber just behind the cabin ; and when the wind
came in gusts like through the trees, it sounded like
uneasy spirits a groaning and sighing. Bill was very
restive all the arternoon, and when it got dark, so he
couldn't see plain, he had a dip lighted, and got his
woman to read him a psalm out of the Bible.
“Once in a while he would groan, and kinder jump
up and look wild, and say somethin to himself. I
thought he was wanderin, but I don't think so now:
for I heerd some one tell since, that know'd him, how
he was rich once and his father lived down in Warren
county, and he used to go to York sometimes. Bill
must have seen better times some day, for he was
smart and had considerable larnin. But let the dead


A ERMIT'S DELL.
275
be: he was a good feller as ever lived, and I allers
liked him. Well, as it got towards night, he grew
worse, and he called the children to him, and gin them
some advice, and then he told his woman what she
must do; and after that, he made me promise to bury
him under an old hemlock back of the house. It
wasn't till nigh mornin that he died, and jest before,
he asked his wife to turn him on his back. That
brought on a coughin spell and a gush of blood : so
that was the last of
poor
Bill.
“I came over home and got my boy to
to go and help
dig the grave, and that arternoon we buried him under
the old hemlock. We all brought over what we could
of the truck and notions in the cabin, and left the rest
for the new settler. The woman and her gals staid
with us awhile, and then went off to the settlements
down on the Black river. Poor Bill! we missed him
a good deal, loggin that season, for he swung a power-
ful axe and was a right jovial feller when he was well
and strong. But jest hear how the wind blows: it
ain't often so here, the woods to the nor’-west is so
thick."
It was a fitting time for such a tale, and we, almost
trangers to the gloom and loneliness of the forest,
could only fancy the awful solemnity of such a death
scene.
The morning hours had come before we laid down


276
A ERMIT'S DELL.
to take a short nap previous to our tramp; but the
narrative of Ellis had put us in a wakeful mood, and
we listened with interest to farther tales of excitement
and wild adventure. Many were the stories they told
us of daring encounters with bears and catamounts,
and hair-breadth escapes of life and limb too, from the
noble moose, which, wilder and fiercer than either of
the others in close combat, was their choicest game.
These, more shy in their habits than deer, have gone
farther into the wilderness, amidst the recesses of the
Adirondacks and the Raquette river, where we may at
some future day strive to follow them.
With all our fondness for forest scenes and associa-
tions, and enjoying as we did the rough though exciting
life of the hunter, we were sorry not to be able to
spend a week longer in the woods.
We had tramped many miles, day after day, over
swamps and hills, and through pathless forests, and
when night came, we had slept none the less soundly
because our couch was of hemlock twigs rather than
feathers, and our shelter none the closest. Yet-
" Fresh we woke upon the morrow,
All our thoughts and words had scope;
We had health and we had hope,
Toil and travel, but no sorrow."


HERMIT'S DELL.
277
XIV.
It is a dreary winter night, and the snow is falling
fast, and drifting deep about the mansion at Briar-cliff.
Yet within, all is glowing and cheerful, for every one
is happy. Minnie and I are storm-bound for the night,
so we make ourselves at home.
“Come Harry," says Frank, “take the easy-chair
and draw up to the fire ; I want you to read a page
or two from my journal that I kept during my last
year's travel. To-night is the anniversary of one I
shall never forget. You have heard me speak of my
college chum Larry G-, haven't you ?”
“ Yes—he is living at the South, is he not; was he
not a Virginian ?”
Why no, Harry! I thought I wrote you that I
met him abroad: you are thinking of Travers, quite
another person.”
“You are mistaken, Frank, you only wrote me one
long letter whilst you were away; the rest were very
unsatisfactory, I assure you. But I remember now
that you were obliged to go somewhere South after
your return; to convey bad news, I remember you


278
HERMIT'S DELL.
said : and you promised to tell us the particulars when
you returned; but it was forgotten amidst other
matters."
“Well! here is a little sketch I scribbled off the
other day for our village paper. Read it whilst I write
a letter or two: it is truthful at any rate.”
I draw my chair under the reading lamp, and read
in Frank's familiar characters, his feeling sketch of a
friend's melancholy fate.
“When the flush and buoyancy of Youth are over,
and the days are reached in which we look back upon
the Past with somewhat of regret, and to the future
with less of enthusiasm ; how often do memories of
school and college life crowd upon the spirit ! some
fraught with joy-others tinctured with enduring sad-
ness.
“Of those with whom we were then so intimately
associated, how few can we discern through the mists
which veil the Past, or gather round us in our Present
hours of need and pleasure! Some are far off by sea
and land-others, in untimely graves : some, nearing
with steady yet toilsome step Fame's dizzy height and
gilded temple—others, fast travelling the smooth road
to ruin.
“Of one in whom I felt an unchanging interest, I
may be privileged to speak, feeling that beneath the


A ERMIT'S DELL.
279
slight disguise which robes the memoir, none may
recognize its subject; for the annals of every-day life
are full of like histories.
“He was my chum at college; and of the close
intimacy which such an association always begets, how
many pleasant recollections are treasured up, never to
be forgotten-shadows of past hours indelibly daguer-
reotyped upon the tablets of the heart. Situated as
we were, of course we were much together. We held
everything in common-studied the same books-
roved the same paths—cultivated the same tastes—in
all save one thing : and that was my friend's grievous
failing-a love for strong drink.
“Full of generous feeling-keenly alive to all that
was due alike to others as himself, and in everything
else the beau ideal of all that man may deem noble in
a fellow man: it was a source of deep grief to me
thus to see him becoming a slave to one of the most
debasing tastes that can disgrace humanity.
“ It was to be attributed in a great measure to the
absence of those domestic ties, which, woven round
us in youth, are rarely to be broken in maturer years.
Bereft early in life of a fond mother, and soon after,
of his father also, he was thrown much into the world,
with an ample fortune and a character unformed.
“ The precincts of a college are not always the
most favorable for the morals of a student, and there


280
HERMIT'S DELL.
were no opportunities lacking by which my friend
might indulge his taste: and still it seemed to me as
if it was a desire inborn, coeval with his very being,
so necessary did it seem to his existence, and so firmly
did he repel all my attempts to reason with him con-
cerning it. It was only occasionally that he so far
indulged as to compromise his self-respect or that of
others.
“He was a hard student, and by far the best linguist
of his class. From the first, I knew he was striving
for one of the high honors; and I have often awakened
at night, to find him 'keeping the small hours' in
unwearied study.
“Four years had nearly passed away, and our colle-
giate course was drawing to its close. My chum's
ambition was not disappointed; for he was awarded
an high honor, and this was ample recompense to him
for his hours of toil. He had manfully striven for the
prize, and it was won.
“ Commencement day came, and with it those
regretful feelings which fill the heart of the student
as he begins to realize how many pleasant associations
-how many ardent friendships, must soon be 'num-
bered among the things that were.'
“Some were gay, some thoughtful, some sad, on
that eventful morning. To many, life had been, and
seemingly was to be, an easy path strewn with flow-


HERMIT'S DELL.
281
ers : to others—a wild battle, in which they were to
struggle for a fortune or renown.
“The exercises and excitements of the day over, we
sat together for the last time in our little study, the
scene of so many pleasant interviews and such close
companionship.
“On the morrow we were to separate. He, to the
home of Southern friends, and I, for mine own at the
North.
“My heart was filled with many fearful misgivings
as to the future course of my friend. I had done all
that I could to wean him from his fearful mania : but
now that the little influence I possessed over him was
to cease, how could I but fear that the serpent which
has cast down many strong men wounded,' might
destroy him also.
“We parted with the mutual promise of frequent
correspondence, and the hope that we might often
meet to renew old associations. And thus our paths
in life diverged, and we knew not whether they should
meet again.
“With the strong buckler of our young manhood
girt firmly on-a good education—we were leaving the
fostering care of our alma mater, to enter the wide
arena of the world, wherein to strive for, and it might
be, win-a name.
“A year passed away, and during that time I heard


282
A ERMIT'S DELL.
frequently from my friend. Favored with great advan-
tages of wealth and station, yet too ambitious to waste
his acquirements by a life of indolence, he was rising
rapidly in his profession, and gaining an enviable noto
riety.
“ As of old, our hopes and fears were blended : the
confidence of past days was not lessened by absence,
and we continued to feel that interest in each other,
which early and long-tried friendship alone begets.
“Our first meeting since we parted at college, was
on the eve of his departure for Europe. He said that
his health was suffering from too close application to
his professional duties; but I feared that a more
insidious foe than hard study was preying on his
strength, and gradually undermining his naturally
strong constitution.
“He sailed, yet first committing to my friendly
attentions, one whom he hoped to call his wife at some
future day. It were better for him and her, had she
sooner become his 'guardian angel !'
“ Ere long, an opportunity offered by which I was
enabled to gratify a long-cherished desire to visit some
of the countries of the old world; and the pleasure
was enhanced by the hope that I might again be
thrown into the company of my friend.
“I tracked him from Paris, and we clasped hands
again on the banks of the Arno, in lovely Florence;


HERMIT'S DELL.
283
but the gladness of meeting was sadly shadowed as I
looked
upon
the wreck of all that was once so noble.
“It was late in the summer, and we proposed
travelling further north till the approach of winter,
when we would go through France and take the
Mediterranean to Southern Italy.
“We crossed the St. Bernard into Switzerland, and
after wandering awhile over the rich plains of the
Vallais, took up our residence at a rustic inn on the
shore of lake Luzerne; whence we made excursions
of days at a time to objects and places of interests
more or less remote. I fancied that the pure, invigo-
rating air of the mountains, the cool waters of the
lake, and more than all, the absence of undue excite-
ment, might have their influence upon my friend's
temperament.
“I believe that if I could have kept him a few
weeks isolated from the exciting scenes and habits of
the gay watering-places, whither his desires tended, I
could have prevailed on him to cast aside for ever the
habit that was destroying him. But it was not so to
be . the demon was within him: and he one day
threatened that if I did not yield to his wish and go
with him to Paris, he would start off alone. I had
never seen him more excited. Persuasion and reason-
ing on my part were alike useless; and all that I
could do, was to alter the route, and take the road to


24
HERMIT'S DELL.
Italy. I sought to keep him constantly moving.
From Florence to Rome - from Rome to Tivoli,
Genoa, Pisa, Naples and its environs—we travelled
till winter.
“ January found us again in Naples, enjoying its
balmy air, and the countless beauties of earth and
water which surround the city of the Siren.
“But to me, its dolce far niente was a mockery, for
it required the utmost watchfulness on my part, lest
in some hour of mania, occasioned by indulgence, my
companion should destroy himself or me.
“He became at last unmanageable. His physician
could do no more for him, and I had done all that a
brother could do in his behalf.
“In the beautiful city of Messina, there is an asylum
for the insane, and by the advice of physicians and
others, my friend was taken there-a raving maniac.
All hope of his recovery was over, and he went there
to die. He did not last long; but there came a lucid
interval, when he spoke of loved ones far away, and
of one dearer than all others. He knew it would
break her heart, if she should know his fate.
“ Though in a strange land, one friend went with
him to the dark valley,' and marked out his place of
burial. The stranger in Naples, wandering over that
loveliest of cemeteries overlooking the bay and its
charming shores, will not fail to note the few white


HERMIT'S DELL.
285
tablets which record the names of those who have
won a stranger's grave. Amidst them sleeps my
friend. His history is but a page or two in a faith-
fully kept journal, which all may read: but his
memory is cherished by a few fond friends in those
niches of the heart which no other image may ever
fill. To the one whose young hopes were so rudely
blighted, it was a joy to know that-
· E'en as the weary spirit passed,
Her name was on his marble lips.?”
THE END.
.


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!
JW








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FEB 21 1940