SKETCHES 
 
 AMERICAN CHARACTER. 
 
 BY MRS. SARAH J. HALE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF NORTHWOOD, &C. 
 
 The genius of my country shall arise, 
 
 A cedar towering o er the wilderness 
 Wafting its native incense through the skies- 
 
 BYRON 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 PUTNAM & HUNT, AND CARTER &/ HENUEE. 
 
 183Q. 
 
DISTRICT OF MASSACHUSETTS, to wit: 
 
 DISTRICT CLERK S OFF;CE. 
 
 BE IT REMEMBERED, that on the twenty-ninth day of May, 
 A D. 1&29, in the fifty-third year of the independence of the 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, Putnam and Hunt, of the said 
 District, have deposited in this office, the title of a book, the 
 right whereof they claim as proprietors, in the woris follow 
 ing, to wit: 
 
 "Sketches of American Character, try MRS. BARAH J. HALE, 
 Author of Northwood, &c. 
 
 The genius of my country shall arise, 
 A cedar towering o er the wilderness 
 Wafting its native incense through the skies. Byron. 71 
 
 In conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States, 
 entitled, " An act for the encouragement of learning, by secur 
 ing the copies of maps, charts and books, to the authors and pro 
 prietors of such copies., during the times therein mentioned:" 
 and also to an act, entitled, " An act, supplementary to an act, 
 entitled, An act for the Encouragement of Learning, by securing 
 the copies of maps, charts and books to the authors and pro 
 prietors of such copies during the times therein mentioned ; and 
 extending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving 
 and etching historical and other prints." 
 
 * JOHN 5V. DAVIS, 
 Clerk of ihe DlitrUt ,/ Massachusetts 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 THE approbation bestowed on the SKETCHES OF AM 
 ERICAN CHARACTER, when they originally appeared in 
 the Ladies Magazine, has enconraged the publishers to 
 collect and revise them for a separate volume. This would 
 not have been done so soon after their first appearance, 
 could the demand for complete sets of the Magazine have 
 been answered, without printing a new edition of several 
 numbers. The publishers preferred a selection ; and they 
 trust the public will approve their judgment. 
 
 Boston, August 1829. 
 
 939356 
 
SKETCHES 
 
 or 
 
 AMERICAN CHARACTER. 
 
 WALTER WILSON. 
 
 " If e er thy heart incline to thoughts of Love, 
 
 Think not to meet the gentle passion joined 
 
 With pomp and greatness : Courts may boast of Beauty, 
 
 But Love is seldom found to dwell amongst them. 
 
 He seeks the cottage in the tufted grove, 
 
 The russet fallows, and the verdant lawns, 
 
 The clear, cool brook, and the deep woody glade, 
 
 Bright winter fires, and summer evening hues: 
 
 These he prefers to gilded roofs and crowns. 
 
 There he delights to pair the constant swain 
 
 With the sweet, unaffected, virtuous maid : 
 
 Here is his empire, here his choice to reign, 
 
 Here, where he dwells with Innocence and Truth." 
 
 ROWB. 
 
 TRAVELLERS, who have made the tour of 
 Europe, always dwell with peculiar delight on 
 the sunny skies of Italy; and a host of domes 
 tic writers, never, perhaps, in the whole course 
 of their existence, beyond that seeming boun 
 dary where their eyes first beheld the horizon 
 apparently closing around them, join their 
 voices in the chorus of the sunny skies of 
 Italy! 
 
 Let them lard their poems and stories with 
 threadbare descriptions of the < rosy twilight, 5 
 
v^ ; .AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 and .silvery mooubeams, and i gorgeous sun 
 rise -.-* confess, these copied delineations have 
 little interest for me. America, my own, 
 my native land ! the~~fudest mountain, 
 and wildest wood of thy varied landscape, 
 is far dearer to my heart, and more inspiring 
 to my imagination, than the sublime antiqui 
 ties and unrivalled natural charms of that 
 clime, where i all, save thel spirit of man, is 
 divine. It is the free expression of that spir 
 it, which, when irradiated by liberty, and in 
 structed by knowledge, is all but divine, that 
 gives to Americans their peculiar characteris 
 tics. To exhibit some of those traits, origin 
 ated by our free institutions, in their manifold 
 and minute effects on the minds, manners, and 
 habits of the citizens of our republic, is the 
 design of these Sketches. How well the design 
 is fulfilled, the decision of the public taste, 
 must decide. 
 
 Walter Wilson was the only child of a man 
 who had once boon an eminent merchant in 
 Boston, but losses and misfortunes suddenly- 
 reduced him to bankruptcy, and he died, 
 broken-hearted, before Walter had attained his 
 seventh year. Mrs. Wilson, with her little boy, 
 then retired to the house of her father, a good 
 industrious farmer, residing in the county of 
 Franklin; where she might have dwelt in quiet 
 ness, had not the elevation from which she 
 had fallen, and which, in truth, she had not 
 borne very meekly, continually mortified her 
 pride. Her impatient repinings were not 
 heard with much sympathy by her own family, 
 
WALTER WILSON, 
 
 and she was driven as much by necessity as 
 inclination, to pour forth her sorrows to her 
 young son. However, it must be confessed* 
 she dwelt quite as pathetically on the loss ot 
 her fine house and fine furniture, fine horses 
 and fine carriages, as on the loss of that hus 
 band to whom she was indebted for all her 
 finery. She_w^_a_weak woman too highly 
 elated jn prosperity, too easily depressed by 
 adversity not considering that both are situ 
 ations of trial; that there is but one puth which 
 leads to eternal life, and so we gain it, the 
 consideration is trivial, whether it be beneath 
 the garish sunbeams of the one, or groping 
 our tearful way through the dark shadows of 
 the other. But lessons of true humility, or 
 useful exertion, were never taught by the pre 
 cepts, or examples, of Mrs. Wilson ; and 
 Walter, till her death, which occurred when he 
 was about fifteen, had done little, save repine 
 at the cruelty of fortune, or form wild schemes 
 of future success and grandeur, which neither 
 his temperament, nor habits, seemed in the 
 least calculated to realize. He was proud, 
 passionate, and visionary, and though not idle, 
 a very reluctant boy, whenever manual labor 
 was included in his tasks. These were the 
 dark shades of his character. Now for the sun 
 ny side ; and that I like to portray far the best. 
 His feelings were just like his countenance, 
 open, ingenuous, noble ; his heart quick as 
 the flash of his dark eye, in the cause of the 
 oppressed ; and tender as the smile that played 
 on his lip, while gazing on the faces of those 
 
10 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 he loved. And he possessed that surest pledge 
 of virtue in the dependant, a grateful mind; 
 joined with a sense of honor so scrupulous, 
 that he would have died rather than betrayed 
 a trust reposed in him, or violated a promise 
 voluntarily given. It was on the right direc 
 tion of these qualities, that his grandfather, a 
 cautious, shrewd old citizen, wnoTTad fought 
 in the battles of the revolution, and assisted 
 in the formation of more than one constitution 
 designed for the government of freemen, built 
 his hopes of the future success of the destitute 
 orphan. But how to manage him judiciously 
 was the question. He had never been sub 
 jected to much restraint, and his spirit would 
 spurn at the contumely and wrongs the poor 
 are often exposed to receive from the rich. 
 He was naturally romantic, and had not been 
 inured to steady exertion, and would probably 
 be discouraged if a life of labor was proposed 
 as the only means by which greatness might 
 be achieved. His grandfather had a friend, 
 an old-fashioned farmer like himself, and more 
 over rich and without sons, who offered to take 
 the boy. It was an excellent place, if plenty 
 of food, and plenty of work, good instruction, 
 and pious examples, are considered of primary 
 importance in the education of the young. 
 The grandfather thought them so. Walter was 
 not so easily satisfied ; but, finally, gratitude to 
 his relative, who had so long supported him, 
 made him yield to his wishes, and consent to 
 dwell with Mr. Ezekiel Clark, for the space 
 of three years. If in that time his objections 
 
WALTER WILSON. 11 
 
 to the occupation of agriculture should not be 
 removed, his grandfather promised to aid him 
 to prepare himself for something more conso 
 nant to his wishes. It is impossible, in this 
 limited sketch, to analyze the motives which in 
 duced the old gentleman thus to dispose of 
 Walter, whom he loved as tenderly as he ever 
 did one of his own sons. No doubt the reader, 
 if a young lady, thinks his destination very 
 vulgar wonders why he was not sent to col 
 lege, or at least, placed behind some counter ; 
 and, all interest in the hero at an end, prepares 
 to turn to some more amusing article. If she 
 does, she will lose the description of as fair a 
 girl as herself, besides one or two love scenes. 
 It was about seven o clock in the evening of 
 the last day of November, 1803, that the fami 
 ly of Mr. Ezekiel Clark was summoned to the 
 sitting room to attend family duties. This was 
 two hours earlier than the usual season for the 
 evening devotions, but all knew the reason of 
 the call, and assembled without delay. There, 
 in an oldfashioned armed chair, before a fire that 
 seemed calculated for the meridian of Lapland, 
 sat Mr. Ezekiel Clark; at his right hand stood 
 a three legged table, on which lay the " big 
 ha Bible," well worn, and beside it, a small, 
 neat edition of the holy scriptures, apparently 
 new. Mr. Clark was advanced in years, sixty 
 or upwards, a tall, spare, yet vigorous looking 
 man, and in his youth, probably handsome ; 
 but now his face was marked with the deep 
 lines of care and sorrow, while his thick, over 
 hanging eyebrows, gave an austere cast to his 
 
12 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 countenance, which was much increased by 
 his habitual gravity. With her chair nestled 
 close to his side, and her hand reclining on his 
 knee, sat his daughter, his only one, and a 
 fairer girl could not be found in all the country. 
 
 I dislike full length descriptions of beauty. 
 Who does not know that a handsome woman 
 must have a fair complexion, bright eyes, ruby 
 lips, and all the et ccetera of loveliness, requisite 
 to take captive the affections of lordly man? 
 These choice gifts had been showered upon 
 the fair Fanny (that was her name ; had she 
 ever attended a boarding school, it would 
 probably have been novelized into Frances; 
 but the advantages of a fashionable education 
 she never had enjoyed, and so I shall call her 
 as her father always called her Fanny ;) 
 with a prodigality that marked her for a favor 
 ite of nature ; yet I cannot be positive of the 
 color of her hair, whether it was black, brown, 
 or chestnut. 
 
 The qualities of her mind and temper de 
 mand more particular scrutiny. She was the 
 youngest of eight children that a beloved wife 
 had borne to Mr. Clark. The others all died 
 young ; and as these human blossoms, one by 
 one, were withered, the heart of the mother 
 sunk beneath her grief. She died of a linger 
 ing consumption, and the little Fanny, then 
 but five years old, only remained to console 
 her father. It might naturally be supposed 
 she would be much indulged but it was not 
 so. Mr. Clark was a genuine descendant of 
 the pilgrims, pious even to enthusiasm, and 
 
, 
 
 I ""WALTER WILSON IS 
 
 " 
 
 pursuing what he deemed the path of duty, 
 with a r^oTuHpiTTHaf " savored of sternness. 
 Strict in family duties, and. family government, 
 even to rigidness, he would have thought it an 
 infringement of the decalogue, to have indulged 
 with his child in that playful hilarity which 
 good people now deem so innocent and lauda 
 ble. But Fanny loved her father with a rev 
 erence so deep, so grateful, that all his com 
 mands were pleasant. She even watched to 
 anticipate his wishes, and although, had she 
 followed the impulses of(her own happy and 
 buoyant heart, she would have sung and danc- 
 e~cT from morning till night ; yet whenever she 
 caught her father s voice, hers sunk to soft 
 murmurs ; and when she heard his step, her 
 own was demure as a quaker s. Yet it was 
 not that he did not love her sweet tones ; they 
 thrilled every fibre of his heart, and often 
 charmed him ( even to tears but he did not 
 dare indulge his tender and delighted feelings, 
 he so feared he should idolize her ; he so trem 
 bled lest he should lose her. He was like the 
 miser who can only count his gold in secret, 
 lest some one beholding his treasure, should 
 rob him of the precious deposit. He always 
 prayed for her, but he never caressed her ; 
 even when she drew her chair so close to his, 
 and looked up in his face with such confiding 
 fondness, he did not smile upon her. But she 
 knew he loved her, and to retain and merit his 
 affection, was her study and pride. O, she 
 was a sweet girl ! as gay as a swallow, and 
 yet gentle as-~?r dove persevering, and yet 
 
14 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 flexible ; just the disposition for a woman, a 
 wife ; a spirit that can accommodate itself to 
 the wishes and humors of those on whom it is 
 dependent for happiness, and yet retain suf 
 ficient firmness to act with decision when cir 
 cumstances shall require its exertion. 
 
 I have dwelt so long on the character of 
 Fanny, (how could it be avoided ?) that I must 
 be brief in the notice of the personage seated 
 next her. And yet to delineate half her pecu 
 liarities, would fill half a volume, and her say 
 ings and doings would form a folio. She was 
 no other than Miss Judith Clark, better known 
 in the family and neighbourhood by the name 
 of aunt Judy, the sister of Mr. Ezekiel Clark; 
 and ever since the decease of his wife, had 
 been his housekeeper. She was a working, 
 talking, bustling body, and one who never 
 omitted aii opportunity of giving good advice 
 to any person, let them be ever so mean or 
 miserable, who would listen to her harangues. 
 If she did not always give assistance to those 
 who needed it, it was because she did not see 
 it to be her duty. She was the reverse of her 
 brother in many things, and perhaps the differ 
 ence cannot be better explained than by saying, 
 that while she was boasting of her knowledge 
 of the law, he was silently" obeying its injunc 
 tions. Yet she was an excellent housekeeper, 
 and proud of her housekeeping ; in short, one 
 of your notables ; a character not so common 
 now as twenty years since. She was seated 
 very erect, in a low chair, her knitting work on 
 her lap, but covered with her pocket hundker- 
 
WALTER WILSON. 15 
 
 chief, which would wholly have concealed it, 
 had not one unmannerly needle thrust itself 
 through a small hole she had that very evening 
 to her great consternation burnt, while smok 
 ing. Her visage was thin and sharp, and her 
 features, and the lines of her countenance, de 
 noted no predominant passion, save extreme 
 carefulness ; yet her spectacles were now rais 
 ed upon her forehead, and her hands reverent 
 ly folded upon her lap, as if she had cast aside 
 all worldly thoughts, while preparing to attend 
 the reading of the Holy Word. Let us not 
 doubt the sincerity of her worship slio cer 
 tainly made"a sacrifice of inclination to duty ; 
 thi5 posture she had assumed, was to her active 
 habits a penance ; for never, during waking 
 hours, were her hands seen folded, except at 
 the morning and evening devotions. But even 
 then, she was not wholly freed from anxiety. 
 Her attention was often diverted from her re 
 ligious meditations, by the pranks of a roguish 
 looking urchin, who sat in the corner, on her 
 left. A little curl-headed Jonathan, who had 
 been bequeathed, by his dying mother, to the 
 care of aunt Judy, and whom she loved, three 
 excepted, the best of any human being. But 
 he loved play, even better than he did aunt 
 Judy ; and was now, from his low stool, slyly 
 pulling and teasing two venerable cats, that 
 lay sleeping on a rug, placed purposely for 
 them, near the fire. 
 
 One other figure completed the group around 
 the hearth. Nearly opposite aunt Judy, and 
 beyond the table, on the right hand of Mr. 
 
16 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 Clark, sat a young man, apparently sunk in 
 profound thought. The air of his countenance 
 
 was lofty, almost to haughtiness and yet 
 
 there was something in the expression of his 
 very handsome features that attracted, almost 
 fascinated, every beholder. It was the ex 
 pression of generous feeling, that promised 
 sympathy; of open sincerity, that invited confi 
 dence ; and few, who regard the face as an in 
 dex of the mind, would have hesitated to trust 
 him as a friend, and fewer still would have 
 wished to have provoked him to become an 
 enemy. That youth was Walter Wilson. It 
 was the day of his emancipation he was twen 
 ty-one; and the family were thus early assem 
 bled, that they might all unite once more in 
 worshipping the Most High, before Walter de 
 parted to a school, in a distant town, which he 
 had engaged to instruct during the winter. 
 
 Mr. Clark read a chapter composedly, but 
 in a much lower tone than usual perhaps that 
 was the reason why neither Walter nor Fanny 
 heard one word of the matter. Aunt Judy 
 could not attend strictly to the reading, as she 
 was obliged to keep one eye constantly fixed 
 on the rogue in the corner, while sundry shakes 
 of her head denoted her displeasure at his con 
 duct. Then followed the prayer, in which 
 Mr. Clark deviated so far from his usual form, 
 as to petition, earnestly, that the path of duty 
 might be made plain to the one about to go 
 out from them that he might be kept from 
 temptation, and preserved from evil ; and that 
 they might all meet again, if not in this vale of 
 
WALTER WILSON. 17 
 
 a, yfitJttthoJhaagnj?f joy above. Aunt 
 udy, as a response, uttered a sigh so deep, 
 it nearly resembled a groan Walter stood 
 with his lips firmly compressed, and every 
 nerve wrought up to endure, if possible, with 
 out betraying his feelings ; he did riot relax 
 for aunt Judy s groan. But when he heard a 
 soft, low sigh, that he knew was breathed by 
 Fanny, his knees trembled so violently, he was 
 compelled to lean against the mantel-piece for 
 support. When Mr. Clark had ended his 
 prayer, he took from the table the small Bible, 
 and advancing one step towards Walter, said, 
 i It is now my duty, Walter, to say you are 
 free. You have been a faithful and a good 
 boy; not that I can say you have always done 
 your duty; but we all have our short-comings, 
 and you have behaved much better than I ex 
 pected when I took you. I hope and pray you 
 will continue to do well; and as a guide to your 
 path, I give you the word of God. Study it, 
 Walter, and you wiil, I inist, bourne wise un 
 to salvation. And if, in this world, you meet 
 with any trials in which I can assist you, call 
 upon me as your friend, your father. 
 
 His voice sunk as he pronounced the last 
 word, but not one word was so distinctly heard 
 by Walter ; and as he returned the fervent 
 pressure of the old man s hand, the tears swell 
 ed in his eyes. Aunt Judy sobbed audibly, 
 and would doubtless have cried outright, had 
 she not felt it her duty, while her brother was 
 speaking, to reprimand little Jonathan, which 
 she did in a whisper, by telling him that if he 
 2 
 
18 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 did not let them ere cats alone, and behave 
 himself, she would, as soon as ever Walter 
 was gone, whip him till she took his skin off. 
 For the credit of her humanity, however, I will 
 record, that she had not the least intention 
 of executing her threat. 
 
 A man now entered the room to say he wait 
 ed for Walter. We must bid you good-by, 
 Walter, said aunt Judy, offering him one hand, 
 while with the other she wiped her eyes but 
 where is Fanny? Fanny! she continued in 
 a loud tone 4 where can the girl be gone to, 
 I wonder ? Fanny ! 
 
 Bid Fanny farewell for me, said Walter, 
 in a low voice, and then again pressing the 
 hand of Mr. Clark, he rushed from the house. 
 
 4 You may put my trunk in the sleigh, and 
 drive on, said Walter, to the man who was to 
 accompany him I shall walk. 
 
 i Walk ! what, all the way to your grand 
 father s ? inquired the man * why it is a 
 
 good five miles, and a plaguy rough road. 
 
 1 No matter, replied Walter, in an accent so 
 impatient, it sounded angry I say I shall 
 walk. 
 
 c And walk you will, I guess, for all of my 
 stopping for you, muttered the fellow, as he 
 drove off at full speed. 
 
 Walter sjowly followed the jingling vehicle, 
 till he had reached an abrupt angle in the road, 
 which, entered upon, soon shut out the view 
 of Mr. Clark s dwelling. Here the youth paus 
 ed, turned, and stood long, with folded arms, 
 gazing on the home he had left. The cold of 
 
WALTER WILSON. 19 
 
 winter had already commenced ; the ground 
 was covered with snow, that sparkled beneath 
 the bright moonlight ; it was shining as the 
 world appeared to Walter, and cold as his 
 hopes on entering it. The tall elms, that so 
 gracefully, during summer, threw their green 
 foliage over the long, low, oldfashioned build 
 ing, now towered, revealed in all their gigan 
 tic proportions, their long bare arms, stretched 
 abroad, as if to defend the dwelling they had 
 so lately ornamented. All around was hush 
 ed ; and while Walter stood there so still and 
 lonely, the only living thing unsheltered, he 
 felt pressing on his heart that sense of utter 
 desolateness, which persons of sensibility, who 
 for the first time find themselves alone in the 
 world, are doomed to suffer. There are few 
 sensations more painful. 
 
 How^his hopes, and plans, and wishes, had 
 altered, since he first went to reside with Mr. 
 Clark ! Fanny was then just twelve. He 
 promised to stay three years ; they looked like 
 an eternity to him, he was so anxious to min 
 gle among men, and hew himself a path to fame, 
 and do he knew not what but wonders, no 
 doubt. The three years expired. Fanny 
 was fifteen. She loved Walter, with all the 
 innocency and truth of sisterly affection. Eve 
 ry leisure hour they planned some amusement 
 together. During the long winter evenings, 
 when she had knit her thirty times round, they 
 read the same books together. Fanny, with 
 tears in her eyes, begged him to stay ; could 
 he go ? 0, no ! not then in a few months per- 
 
20 AMERICAN SKETCHES 
 
 haps. Thus two years passed they passed 
 quickly to Walter. One year only remained 
 of his minority ; and during that, he never 
 once expressed a wish to go. And Jacob 
 could not labor more faithfully, while serving 
 for his beloved Rachel, than Walter wrought 
 on the farm of Mr. Clark. Yet the intercourse 
 between Walter and Fanny, had assumed a 
 character so distant and reserved, that a stran 
 ger might have thought them wholly indifferent 
 to each other. This reserve was the effect of 
 . her delicacy, and his sense of honor arid fideli 
 ty to his master. It was then Walter felt the 
 full bitterness of his poverty and dependence. 
 
 He loved Fanny, deeply, fervently; and yet 
 he never breathed a syllable, which a brother 
 might not have spoken to a sister. Still he 
 feared he had not been sufficiently guarded, 
 else why had not Ptlr. Clark expressed a wish 
 to have him reside longer with him, when he 
 so much needed help ? He suspects I love 
 Fanny, murmured the youth to himself. A 
 convulsive movement for a moment agitated 
 his features. Then clenching his hand firmly, 
 he exclaimed And I will yet be worthy of 
 her love ! And plunging down the steep road, 
 he pursued his way with a speed that seemed 
 calculated to overtake his companion. 
 
 In truth, Walter was not the only person 
 who wondered why he was suffered to depart. 
 Aunt Judy owned her astonishment ; but as 
 ecojwmy was as much her hobby as it ever was 
 Adam Smith s, the only difference being that 
 his was political, hers, personal she resolver 1 
 
WALTER WILSON. 21 
 
 all her doubts by reflecting, that probably, her 
 brother knew of some person he could hire,, 
 who would work cheaper than Walter. 
 
 The next morning saw a very sober looking 
 group assembled around the breakfast table of 
 Mr. Ezekiel Clark. I took a bad cold yes 
 terday, and could not sleep much last night/ 
 said Mr. Clark. 
 
 1 1 had terrible bad dreams, and my sleep did 
 not do me one bit of good, said aunt Judy. 
 
 Fanny said not a word ; but, judging by her 
 swollen eye and pale cheek, she had rested no 
 better than the others. A fortnight passed, 
 and no news from Walter another fortnight, 
 and a letter came to Mr. Clark. 
 
 4 Pray, how does Walter like his school ? 
 how many scholars does he have ? when is he 
 coming home ? eagerly demanded aunt Judy; 
 huddling question upon question, with true 
 feminine volubility. 
 
 1 He says nothing at all about his school, 
 replied her brother, gravely, and glancing his 
 eye on his daughter. 
 
 1 You needn t look to Fanny, said aunt Judy, 
 pettishly, provoked that her questions were all 
 vain, as if she wanted to hear anything 
 about Walter. She hasn t mentioned his name 
 since he went away, and I don t believe she 
 cares whether he is dead or alive. 
 
 Fanny was employed making a coat of crim 
 son flannel, which aunt Judy had taken par 
 ticular pains to color for little Jonathan. Dur 
 ing the time her father was reading the letter, 
 she had busily continued her work ; but aunt 
 
22* AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 Judy afterwards declared, she never, c in all 
 tho days of her life, see such a looking button 
 hole as one that Fanny made on that crimson 
 suit. Her face was pale as marble when her 
 father first looked upon her ; at aunt Judy s 
 remark, it was colored to her forehead even 
 her neck and hands were as crimson as Jona 
 than s coat. 
 
 A smile of tenderness, mingled with a shade 
 of sorrow, passed over the usually fixed, and 
 almost stern features of Mr. Clark. He col 
 lected his writing materials, and sat down to 
 answer Walter s letter ; but what he wrote, 
 aunt Judy, with all her fidgeting, could not 
 discover. 
 
 The months passed on ; but if we credit 
 aunt Judy, they passed heavily. She always 
 declared it was the most melancholy winter she 
 ever experienced. * And Fanny, she said, 
 1 was so downspirited and moping, she rahj 
 feared the girl was going into a consumption. 
 
 At such remarks, Fanny would try to smile ; 
 but if her father heard them, the look of pity 
 and endearment he always threw upon her, 
 would bring tears to her eyes. 
 
 It was towards the last of March, and on 
 the evening of a stormy, blustering day, such 
 as frequently occur at the vernal equinox, that 
 Mr. Clark sat down to read his usual portion 
 of scripture. He had laid his hand on the sa 
 cred volume, and given the preparatory hem, 
 when the outer door unclosed, and a light step 
 was heard traversing the long, narrow entry. 
 The sitting room door was flung open. 
 
WALTUH WILSON. 23 
 
 1 Walter ! exclaimed Mr. Clark, in the 
 deep bass tones of his guttural voice, seizing 
 one of the youth s hands. 
 
 1 Walter ! screamed aunt Judy, a full oc 
 tave above the highest treble notes she ever 
 before used as she caught the other. 
 
 Walter ! murmured Fanny, in a voice 
 sweeter to his ear than the breathing of an 
 .ZEolian harp, as disengaging himself from the 
 grasp of her father and aunt, he pressed both 
 her hands in his, and while she sunk into the 
 chair from which she had partly risen, just 
 touched his lips to her forehead. 
 
 The action was unnoticed by aunt Judy, 
 who had stooped to pick up her spectacles, 
 which had fallen in her hurry to welcome Wal 
 ter ; and which she would not have had broken, 
 for a kiss from the handsomest young man in 
 the universe. If Mr. Clark saw the slight 
 caress, the smile that beamed on his features, 
 while he pointed Walter to a seat in his usual 
 place, did not, argue displeasure. 
 
 1 What is the matter with Fanny now ? said 
 aunt Judy. I shouldn t think Walter s com 
 ing home was any occasion for tears. 
 
 We will proceed in the duties of the eve 
 ning, said her brother, solemnly, as he just 
 glanced on his daughter. 
 
 JXoiOP^yJb^v^JE-anny 7 l--&aid Mr. Clark to 
 Walter the next day but, as I told you in 
 my letter, you must not marry till next Novem 
 ber. Manage for yourself one year. Go, 
 hire yourself out, and be steady and industri 
 ous ; you will gain much useful knowledge ; 
 
24 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 and next fall come home here, and you shall 
 be as my own son. Fanny, too, has need of 
 learning many things, before she will be fitted 
 to manage a family. 
 
 Yes, indeed, responded aunt Judy. c Fan 
 ny never has cared whether she knew how to 
 bake, or brew, or any such necessary matters, 
 if she could only skip and sing. But I hope 
 now she will be more steady, and mind how I 
 season my pies ; the wedding cake I shan t 
 let her try to make, for it would be a bad sign, 
 besides a very great waste, if the wedding cake 
 should be spoiled. 
 
 1 These wild, idle boys sometimes succeed 
 well, said a neighbour to the grandfather of 
 Walter Wilson. * There is your grandson, 
 he has married the richest and prettiest girl 
 in the county. Who would have guessed it ? 
 
 i It has happened just as I intended, replied 
 the sagacious old man, significantly shaking 
 his head, when 1 persuaded the child to live 
 with Mr. Clark. Walter was one of your ro 
 mantic, hasty, wayward boys ; but he had a 
 good heart notwithstanding. One of those 
 tempers, so difficult to manage, and so well 
 worth the attempt of managing. I placed him 
 in the right way, and he is now so trained and 
 bound, that habit and inclination will keep him 
 right. His own ardor and ambition will soon 
 carry him forward, and it is the blessing of our 
 happy institutions, that merit and talents, in 
 whatever station, if rightly exerted, will com 
 mand respect, and ensure success. I prophe 
 sy, continued the old man, raising himself up 
 
WALTER WILSON. 25 
 
 with a lofty air, ( I prophesy, that if Walter 
 Wilson lives twenty years, he will be a distin 
 guished man ! 
 
 There is now a large, elegant brick mansion 
 beneath the shade of those old elms, that once 
 threw their arms over a long, low, irregular 
 building ; the grounds, and everything around, 
 bespeak the owner a gentleman of industry, 
 wealth, and taste\ and the address of that 
 gentleman is, the Hon. Walter Wilson. 
 
THE 
 
 SOLDIER OF THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 
 
 < 
 
 
 Old mm forget ; yet all shall not be forgot, 
 But they ll remember with advantages, 
 The feats they did that day. 
 
 ALMOST every man, who is advanced in 
 years, has, in his past life, some particular 
 period which is remembered with peculiar in 
 terest. The circumstances connected with 
 that period are treasured in the memory, often 
 repeated, and but few topics of conversation 
 can be introduced without furnishing an oppor 
 tunity of referring, at least, if not expatiating 
 on the important affair. It is deserving of no 
 tice that what is, in fact, the engrossing pur 
 suit of the multitude, namely, the acquisition 
 of wealth, is not, even by the most devoted 
 worldling, accounted matter of such glorious 
 triumph as those deeds which shame the pro 
 pensity lie is indulging. You rarely hear such 
 an one boast of the cunning bargain which 
 laid the foundation of his fortune, or the plod 
 ding thrift by which he accumulated his thou 
 sands. 
 
 Avarice is a deep rooted passion in the hu 
 man breast, and its- gratification ministers to 
 
SOLDIER OP THE REVOLUTION. 27 
 
 vanity, yet none are vain of being thought 
 avaricious. There is a feeling of degradation 
 in the mind, if known to place its sole affections 
 on the paltry, perishable things of earth, which 
 should admonish even the most stupid, of that 
 more noble destiny which man was formed 
 capable of enjoying. But feats of personal 
 strength and activity, and "hair breadth scapes 
 from danger, are recounted with a satisfaction 
 commensurate to the labors performed, and the 
 perils encountered; because there is a pride of 
 personal desert in such achievements and es 
 capes. But above all, the glory gained in the 
 tented field, is the theme which those who 
 have any claim to the title of soldier, are the 
 most ambitious to display. They all appear 
 to feel somewhat of that yearning for martial 
 fame which agitated the princely hero of Agin- 
 court when he exclaimed 
 
 By Jove, I am not covetous for gold ; 
 
 Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost ; 
 
 It yearns rne not if men my garments wear ; 
 
 Such outward things dwell not in my desires ; 
 
 But if it be a sin to covet honor, 
 
 I am the most offending soul alive. 
 
 Yet whoever has heard, or read the narra 
 tives of the veterans of our revolutionary war, 
 must have remarked that they dwell not so 
 much on the detail of the battles and skirmish 
 es in which they were engaged, as on the ef 
 fect those actions had in deciding the contest 
 in favor of liberty and independence. The 
 causes which roused the Americans to take up 
 arms, were most favorable to the developement 
 
28 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 of the virtuous energies of men, and conse 
 quently that recklessness of moral character 
 and abandonment of pious principles, which 
 too often fatally distinguishes the mass of that 
 profession, when composed of hired merce 
 naries, never attached to the soldiers of our 
 armies. It was doubtless matter of astonish 
 ment to the governments of Europe, that no 
 disturbance followed the disbanding of the 
 American troops ; those foreigners did not 
 know that our soldiers, when assuming that 
 name, never abandoned the one of citizens. 
 In fact the latter was the most gratifying to 
 those who fought the battles of freedom, and 
 when the necessity for farther resistance ceas 
 ed, they gladly relinquished their weapons and 
 returned to the firesides their valor had pre 
 served from insult and spoliation. It was their 
 boast to have fought for their country, and 
 to their country they cheerfully resigned the 
 laurels they had won. This generous devoted- 
 ness of the American soldiery to the principles 
 of liberty and equal rights, and their prompt 
 obedience to civil government, have no paral 
 lel in history. They have never been ade 
 quately rewarded, but let them be gratefully 
 remembered. They deserve to have their 
 deeds the theme of story, and of song ; and a 
 sketch of one of those veterans will not surely 
 be considered inappropriate in a work like this, 
 especially by those who consider how much 
 the ladies of America are indebted to the free 
 institutions established by the war of the Revo- 
 
SOLDIER OP THE REVOLUTION. 29 
 
 lution, for their inestimable privileges of edu 
 cation, and that elevation of character and 
 sentiment they now possess. 
 
 4 This walk has quite tired me, said old 
 Captain Blake, seating himself in his capacious 
 armed chair, and placing one foot on the low 
 stool his grandaughter Maria arranged for 
 his accommodation. A little matter over 
 comes me now, I find. Maria, my love, bring 
 me a tumbler of beer. Well, Mr. Freeman, 
 you look as if nothing could fatigue you ; and 
 1 have seen the time when I thought no more 
 of walking a dozen miles, than I do now of 
 creeping as many rods. I remember when I 
 marched with General Starke to Bennington 
 that was the first time I went as a soldier. I 
 was then just twenty, and I carried my gun 
 and ammunition, and a huge knapsack, con 
 taining clothing and provisions, for my kind 
 mother was very much afraid I should suffer 
 with hunger; and I marched with all that load 
 about forty miles in one day, and never thought 
 of complaining. 
 
 i You had then a glorious object in view to 
 animate your spirit, said Horace Freeman. 
 
 1 Yes, and we obtained it, replied the old 
 gentleman, briskly, sitting upright in his chair ; 
 * and the country is now enjoying the reward 
 of our labors and sufferings. Those were 
 dark days, he continued, with the air of one 
 who is endeavouring to recall ideas of scenes 
 and feelings long past, and almost, forgotten. 
 Dark days and perilous times for America, 
 Mr. Freeman ; and the events of that period 
 
30 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 cannot be too often related to the rising gene 
 ration. 
 
 He paused, and seemed gathering strength 
 and breath for a long harangue, and the young 
 people expected the history of his three cam 
 paigns. Horace Freeman had heard the whole 
 just six times over, and Maria at least sixty 
 but she was never tired of listening to her 
 grandfather, and Horace, if he might but look 
 on her, could listen very patiently. 
 
 It is probable the old gentleman noticed the 
 glances interchanged by the lovers, and that 
 they recalled forcibly to his mind some passa 
 ges in his early life at least, it might have 
 been so inferred, as the circumstances he pro 
 ceeded to narrate he had never before been 
 heard to mention. 
 
 Captain Blake resumed l It is easy for you 
 young men to imagine the deeds of valor you 
 should have performed, had you lived in the 
 days that tried men s souls but it is not in 
 the battle that the heart or courage is most 
 severely tested. Indeed there are but few 
 men who feel any fear to fight when once the 
 engagement has begun ; tis the anticipation 
 of the combat that makes cowards, and some 
 times brave men tremble. But the most pain 
 ful moment of a soldier s life, at least of those 
 who have a dear home and kind friends, is 
 when they part from them. I said the expedi 
 tion under General Starke was the first I join 
 ed. When the news of the Lexington battle 
 arrived, I was eager to be a soldier but my 
 father objected. * No, my son, he said, you 
 
SOLDIER OF THE REVOLUTION. 31 
 
 are not yet arrived at your full strength, and 
 the country requires the assistance of men. I 
 will go. And he went, and fought at Bunker 
 Hill and in the retreat across Charlestown 
 neck he was wounded by a cannon ball from 
 the British man of war. The ball shattered 
 his right knee, and amputation was found ne 
 cessary. It was some time before he could be 
 brought home, and he never recovered his for 
 mer health. My father was a poor, but. a very 
 respectable man; for in those days the display 
 of wealth was not necessary to make a man 
 respected, (jypod sense, industry, e&onomy 
 aiid piety were passports to the best society 
 among the descendants of the pilgrims. My 
 father possessed all these requisites ; and, 
 moreover, his reputation for personal courage 
 and tried.-4iatrjotism was firrnty~e"sTablished, 
 for who coulfl doubt either, when his harangues, 
 justifying the proceedings of Congress and 
 condemning the British ministry, were always 
 followed by a vivid description of the Bunker 
 Hill battle, and the pain he endured from his 
 wound; the whole closed by the solemn dec 
 laration, that his greatest anxiety and distress, 
 during the whole operation on his limb, arose 
 from the conviction that he was for the future 
 incapacitated from taking an active part in de 
 fending the liberty of his country. My father 
 had one enemy and opponent. This was a 
 man by the name of Saunders, our nearest 
 neighbour. They moved into the wilderness 
 together, and it might have been expected that 
 mutual hardships would have made them mu- 
 
32 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 tual friends. But, in the first place, there was 
 no similarity of mind or temper between them 
 and in the second place, Saunders married 
 a rich wife; giving him an advantage in point 
 of property, which he was very fond of display 
 ing. My father, though various untoward ac 
 cidents kept him poor, was nevertheless proud, 
 and knew his own abilities were far superior 
 to those of his neighbour; and so, the more os 
 tentatiously Saunders displayed his wealth, the 
 more contemptuously my father treated his 
 opinions. There was scarcely a point on 
 which they agreed ; and when the troubles be 
 tween Great Britain and the Colonies com 
 menced, they immediately took different sides ; 
 my father was a flaming whig, and it was per 
 haps as much to avoid being termed a follower 
 of his, for my father always took the lead in 
 town meetings, as from principle, that Saun 
 ders declared himself for the government. 
 
 It would be a curious inquiry to trace the 
 operation of the causes that have contributed 
 to establish those principles, which men often 
 boast of having adopted solely from a convic 
 tion of their truth and usefulness. How much 
 of personal convenience, of private pique, of 
 selfishness, envy, anger or ambition, would be 
 found to mingle in the motives of the patriot 
 and the politician ! But this we will not now 
 discuss. l^JVIy father was a firm friend of his 
 country, and a fervent Christian ; but he had, 
 like other good men, his infirmities ; and among 
 them, perhaps none was more conspicuous 
 persevering habit of advancing his owa 
 
SOLDIER OF THE REVOLUTION. 33 
 
 sentiments on almost every occasion, and a 
 dogmatical obstinacy in defending them. And 
 he availed himself to the utmost of the advan 
 tage which the popularity of his own opinions 
 gave him over his adversary. Though I em 
 braced with enthusiasm my father s political 
 sentiments, yet one reason made me regret, 
 very much, the animosity that seemed every 
 day more bitter, between him and Mr. Saun- 
 ders. There was a fair girl in the case, and I 
 was just at the age when the affections of the 
 heart are most warm and romantic. Mary 
 Saunders was not an extraordinary beauty : I 
 have seen fairer girls than she ; but I never 
 saw one whose expression of countenance 
 was more indicative of purity of mind and 
 sweetness of temper. But you can judge for 
 yourself, Mr. Freeman, for Maria here is her 
 very image all but the eyes. Mary Saunders 
 had black eyes ; and black is, in my opinion, 
 much the handsomest color for the eye, and 
 generally the most expressive. Maria s eyes, 
 you see, are blue do, my love, look up but 
 their expression is very much like her grand 
 mother s eyes. 
 
 Horace Freeman was doubtless very glad 
 of an opportunity of examining, and that too 
 by the permission of her guardian, the eyes 
 of the girl he adored ; but her confusion and 
 blushes admonished him that the indulgence 
 of his passion was fraught with pain to the ob 
 ject of his affection, and he endeavoured to 
 change the conversation to the subject of the 
 battle of Bennington. 
 
34 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 You observed, you accompanied General 
 Starke, said he to the old man ; were you 
 present when the tories under Baum were 
 defeated ? 
 
 Was I ? returned the old gentleman, his 
 eyes flashing with the keenness of youthful ar 
 dor I guess I was, and I believe I have told 
 vou the whole story ; nevertheless I will de 
 tail it again, some time, as I find you like to 
 hear such accounts, as indeed all sensible 
 young men do ; but now I was intending more 
 particularly to tell my own feelings arid views 
 when I first left home. Accounts of battles are 
 quite common, but we seldom read or hear a 
 description of that warfare of mind which every 
 soldier must undergo when he, for the first 
 time, girds himself and goes forth to fight. 
 I said I loved Mary Saunders, and she return 
 ed my affection ; but the difficulties, every 
 day increasing, between our families, threat 
 ened to prevent our intercourse. Mr. Saun 
 ders was the first to object, and he intimated 
 that my father encouraged the match, notwith 
 standing his pretended aversion to tories, be 
 cause he thought it advantageous. This ac 
 cusation kindled my father s anger to a high 
 degree, for nothing roused his spirit like a 
 charge of meanness and so he absolutely 
 prohibited me from seeing or speaking to Ma 
 ry, or corresponding with her in any manner. 
 How absurdly our passions arc often allowed 
 to control our reason and judgment, and even 
 our inclination. At the time when Mary and 
 I were thus positively forbidden to meet 
 
SOLDIER OF THE REVOLUTION". 35 
 
 had our fathers spoken their real sentiments, I 
 am persuaded they would both of them have 
 approved our affection for each other. I was 
 always a favorite with Mr. Saunders, and as 
 Mary was an only child, and had no compan 
 ion at home, she had passed much of her time 
 with my sisters, and my parents had seemed 
 equally fond of her as of their own daughters. 
 But now all intercourse between the families 
 was annihilated, and for us to have met, would 
 have been considered a great crime. 
 
 Party spirit was then, and always will be, 
 wherever indulged, the bane of society and 
 good neighbourhood. But the peculiar circum 
 stances in which the whigs were placed justi 
 fied, in some measure, the asperity they cher 
 ished against all denominated tories. There 
 are some nowadays that write histories of that 
 war, and pretend to describe the feelings and 
 spirit that then pervaded America, but this 
 cannot be done. There was at that time agi 
 tation in the minds of men which words can 
 never describe. The uncertainty that hung 
 over the destiny of our country, the exertions 
 and sacrifices that all good patriots felt must 
 be made before success could be hoped for 
 the possibility of a failure, and a dread of 
 the consequences that must ensue, all these 
 thoughts pressed on the soul, filling it with an 
 indescribable anxiety and gloom. But though 
 there was, sometimes, in the mind of the firm 
 est and most determined patriot, doubt, there 
 was seldom dismay. He considered the prin 
 ciples for which he contended so important, 
 
36 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 and the prize so glorious, that even though 
 assured that he could not have succeeded, he 
 would not have yielded. l Give me liberty 
 or give me death ! was not the motto of Pat 
 rick Henry only, thousands of our citizens 
 subscribed to the same sentiment. I remem 
 ber when the news of the approach of Bur- 
 goyne s army, and the retreat of the Americans 
 from Ticonderoga, reached us. We were at 
 dinner when a messenger, sent by General St. 
 Clair, to rouse the inhabitants of New-Hamp 
 shire to come to the assistance of the retreat 
 ing army, entered our house abruptly, with 
 out even the ceremony of rapping at the door. 
 The dress of the man showed him to be a sol 
 dier, and his countenance displayed such deep 
 concern, that my father seemed instantly to 
 guess his errand. He dropped his knife and 
 fork, and turning his chair so as to face the 
 messenger, demanded his news. I was always 
 something of a physiognomist, and while the 
 man related the disasters that had befallen our 
 troops, and described the numbers and appear 
 ance of the British army, I watched my fa 
 ther s features, and never did I see such an 
 expression as his then displayed. During the 
 first part of the recital there was an eagerness, 
 an agitation, a quivering of the lips and eye 
 lids, that showed the deep, even painful sym 
 pathy he felt for the embarrassments of the 
 American general but when the royal com 
 mander was named, his brow instantly con 
 tracted, his eye dilated, every muscle of his 
 face grew rigid as with determined resolve ; 
 
SOLDIER OF THE REVOLUTION. 37 
 
 and the stern expression of his features seem 
 ed bidding defiance to the whole British army. 
 At length, while the man was proceeding to 
 describe the proud array of the invading foe, 
 and the number of the Indian allies, my fa 
 ther suddenly struck his clenched hand on the 
 table, with a force and clatter that made all 
 the children instantly start from their seats, 
 while he exclaimed < ! if it had only been 
 God s will that 1 should have kept my leg, I 
 would soon be on the ground and show them 
 red coats the rnetal of a Yankee. I caught 
 his eye as he ceased, and there was an instant 
 change in his countenance. I presume he 
 noticed the eagerness of my look, for there 
 was nothing on earth, except to see Mary, that 
 I then longed so much to do as to become a 
 soldier. This my father had never appeared 
 willing to permit. He could face danger with 
 out shrinking, but he trembled for me. I urg 
 ed my wishes to go. He appeared for a few 
 moments irresolute drew his hand twice 
 across his forehead, and then calmly said 
 * My son, you may go. The crisis demands 
 the sacrifice of all selfish and private feelings 
 on the part of Americans You shall go. 
 
 To know the whole merit of the sacrifice my 
 father then made, it will be necessary to state 
 that I was the eldest of eleven children, all 
 girls, excepting myself and the youngest babe. 
 My father was not able to do any labor it was 
 in the month of July, when the farmer has, ne 
 cessarily, so much business on his hands, and 
 yet I am persuaded there was not one self-in- 
 
38 AMERICAN SKETCHES 
 
 terested motive, excepting his fears of the dan 
 ger to which I would be exposed, that caused 
 his hesitation. 
 
 It is impossible, in these days of peace and 
 plenty, to estimate truly tjie generous, devoted, 
 self-denying spirit that was exhibited during 
 the revolution. The thirst for private gain, 
 that is now so engrossing, was then a feeble 
 passion, compared with the ardor to promote 
 the public good ; and the final success of our 
 arms is mainly to be attributed to the virtue 
 and patriotism of the people. We had, to be 
 sure, a commander worthy of our cause and 
 country, one undoubtedly designed and prepar 
 ed by Heaven for the task he performed but 
 then, his powers and those of the Congress 
 were so limited, he never would have succeed 
 ed, but for the zealous and spontaneous co-op 
 eration of our citizens. But I am wandering 
 from the subject of my own feelings, he con 
 tinued, smiling, as indeed I am very apt to 
 do whenever 1 begin to think, or speak of the 
 public excitement. But to comprehend right 
 ly an old man s story, you must allow him to 
 tell it in his own way. Often when he appears 
 to wander the most widely from his purpose, it 
 is not that he forgets it, but because so many 
 circumstances, which he thinks important, con 
 nected with the event he would relate, press 
 on his mind, that he fears you will not get a 
 right understanding of his subject, unless he 
 relates all those circumstances. It is not so 
 often from loss of memory that the aged are 
 garrulous, as from remembering too much. 
 
SOLDIER OF THE REVOLUTION. 39 
 
 It was settled I should depart next morning, 
 and all was bustle to prepare me for the expe 
 dition. 
 
 My father would himseli inspect and arrange 
 my military equipments. I had an excellent 
 rifle, and a sufficient quantity of powder, but no 
 bullets but that deficiency was soon suppli 
 ed. My mother tendered her pewter basons, 
 and we manufactured a sufficient quantity of 
 shot to kill a whole regiment. My mother 
 also packed among my clothes a huge roll 
 of linen, for bandages, remarking as she did 
 so, that she hoped I would not need it, but 
 I might perhaps have it in my power to bind 
 up the wounds of some poor creature. At 
 that time the soldier had often to carry about 
 him his hospital, as well as magazine. During 
 all this my parents neither shed a tear nor ut 
 tered a desponding word ; they even reprov 
 ed my sisters for weeping, saying, that tears 
 should be reserved for the dead that they 
 ought to rejoice they had a brother capable 
 and willing to defend his country and family 
 from the ruthless savages ; and thatjGrod would 
 not^ suffer the injustice of their oppressors long 
 to_ triumph, if every American did his duty. 
 In the mean time, my own mind was suffering 
 a severe conflict. I did not fear the battle 1 
 longed to engage in the fight ; but there was 
 something in this preparation for wounds and 
 death, that could not but be somewhat appal 
 ling to one who had always lived in the securi 
 ty and shelter of home. I reflected on the pos 
 sibility that I might never see that home again. 
 
40 
 
 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 All the kindness and affection of my parents 
 and sisters, came fresh to my mind. The hap 
 py circle we had always formed around the 
 rireside would be broken, and I knew there 
 would be mourning for me. But there was 
 one who I thought would weep bitter tears. I 
 had not seen Mary, excepting at church, for 
 more than six months ; but I gathered from 
 the expression of her countenance, that her re 
 gard for me was unaltered. She had doubtless 
 suffered more from the separation than I. Wo 
 men are more constant in their attachments 
 than men, and they have fewer employments 
 and resources to vary the current of their 
 thoughts, and a disappointment of the heart is 
 to them a constantly corroding sorrow. Mary 
 had grown very pale and thin, and when I ga 
 zed on her as she joined in singing the praises 
 of God, I had often felt as if she must soon be 
 transferred to a happier world. And I had 
 sometimes taxed my father with cruelty and 
 injustice, in separating us, though, at the same 
 tune, I respected the high minded integrity 
 that dictated the command ; but I had never 
 thought of disobeying him. He had in his 
 look and manner, that kind of authority which 
 seems to be delegated from Heaven, and which 
 will not brook to be disregarded ; such as we 
 may imagine distinguished the patriarchs. Our 
 pilgrim ancestors possessed this domestic au 
 thority in an eminent degree; and their descend 
 ants for several generations inherited it, though 
 less dignified but it now seems to be nearly 
 extinct. Whether it was on the whole, more 
 
SOLDIER OF THE REVOLUTION. 41 
 
 favorable to human improvement in virtue and 
 happiness, than the prc.srnt reasoning manner 
 of family government, is a question I have nev 
 er seen decided. I wish some one qualified 
 for the task would give us their opinion on the 
 subject. But to return to Mary, from whom 
 my thoughts then seldom wandered. I could 
 not endure the idea of leaving home without 
 seeing her. I went to my father I trembled 
 in every joint, and the sweat started in large 
 drops on my forehead, but nevertheless I re 
 tained sufficient firmness to tell him I must 
 and would see Mary ; that I wished for his 
 consent to visit her, and that perhaps it was 
 the last request I should ever make him ; and 
 then I added, that if I lived to return, I would 
 still be as obedient to his commands as I had 
 hitherto been. How I summoned sufficient 
 courage to tell him so much, was afterwards to 
 me a matter of astonishment ; it might be that 
 I felt rather more boldness from knowing I was 
 soon to be a soldier. 
 
 I believe my father s first impulse was to re 
 buke and refuse me, for he assumed one of his 
 stern looks that always quelled all opposition 
 but luckily for us both, he looked in my face, 
 and I suspect he became sensible I was not in 
 a state to bear rebuke or disappointment. His 
 first words were, < Do you wish to be friends 
 with the enemies of your country, with trai 
 tors ? 
 
 I said, No but that Mary was not an enemy , 
 of her country. 
 
 * But her father is, he replied, l and children 
 4 
 

 42 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 do adopt, indeed they ought to adopt, the opin 
 ions of their parents. 
 
 i Not if they think that opinion wrong, said 
 I. l And I have told you before that Mary 
 does not approve her father s sentiments, and 
 that she ought not to be judged and condemn 
 ed on his account. 
 
 i I know, he replied, that you think favor 
 ably of her. At your age this is not strange, 
 but remember, that though I do not forbid your 
 seeing her, if you insist upon it, I warn you of 
 the consequences. The path of duty is now 
 plain before you ; it is to fight .manfully for 
 liberty and independence. You seem to have 
 such strength and courage given you, as we 
 may hope will bear you up ; but if you join 
 hands with those who are wishing to riot in the 
 blood of their country, you will probably be 
 forsaken by Him who is the Cod of battles^ 
 
 There was in my father s manner a solemn 
 ity that awed me, but still his prophetic warn 
 ing had no effect to deter me from my purpose 
 of seeing Mary. I knew, what my father 
 would riot credit, that she was an enthusiast in 
 the cause of her country, though the mildness 
 and modesty of her disposition, and respect for 
 her parent, restrained her from openly expres 
 sing her sentiment*. Indeed, it is worthy of 
 notice that during the whole war, the Ameri 
 can women were almost universally patriots ; 
 and they cnroimlored their full share of priva 
 tion and sufierinir, and that too with a cheer 
 fulness and fortitude that, often infused courage 
 and vigor into the hearts of the almost despond- 
 
SOLDIER OF THE REVOLUTION. 43 
 
 ing soldiery. And they not only submitted to 
 separations from their friends without murmur 
 ing, but they exerted themselves to provide 
 for their families at home, by performing much 
 of the labor apd business that usually devolves 
 on the men. A volume of anecdotes might be\ 
 collected of the heroism and devotion to free 
 dom, manifested by the ladies during that pe 
 riod. There were wives, and mothers, and 
 sisters, who encouraged and assisted to pre 
 pare for the battle, those they held dearest on 
 earth. And there were maidens who animated 
 their betrothed lovers for the fight. I was con 
 fident Mary was not deficient in this generous 
 self-denying spirit, and I had no fear she would 
 exert her power over me by endeavouring to 
 dissuade me from going into the army. J did 
 not then hesitate a moment on my own account; 
 but I had to procure the consent of her father, 
 as well as mine, for the meeting. I wrote to 
 Mr. Saunders, and very respectfully requested 
 permission to visit his daughter, stating my 
 reasons, and that my father had consented. I 
 afterwards learned it was that which made Mr. 
 Saunders object. He would agree to nothing 
 that my father approved. He wrote me a 
 very cool and provoking answer, in which he 
 took care to repeat all the account of Bur- 
 goyne s success, and warn me against joining 
 in a sinking cause ; and he concluded by 
 declaring he would not allow one who was 
 intending to fight against his sovereign to visit 
 at his house, and that his daughter entirely 
 agreed with him in opinion. I was never so 
 
44 AMERICAN ?KETCirE?. 
 
 disappointed in my life, and I do not remember 
 that I was ever more angry. The more so 
 perhaps, because my father seemed to enjoy 
 my chagrin. I did not believe Mary was thus 
 indifferent about seeing me ; but still a young 
 man scarce twenty, and a lover beside, is not 
 usually the most reasonable being under the 
 sun. I thought of a thousand things, arid im 
 agined a thousand improbable events. These 
 were some of my fancies. If the enemy should 
 succeed, Saunders would doubtless join the? 
 victorious army, at least, he would wish to pay 
 his compliments to Burgoyne; and he might 
 take Mary with him ; and I was too deeply in 
 love to imagine any person could see her with 
 indifference. And then I thought it probable 
 some English officer would admire her, and 
 succeed in gaining her hand- and then I felt 
 as if I could annihilate the whole British host. 
 While I was indulging in one of these par 
 oxysms of feeling, a boy who lived with Mr. 
 Saunders appeared at the end of the lane lead 
 ing to our house. I knew him in a moment, 
 although it was nearly dark, and hastened to 
 meet him. He brought me a letter from Ma 
 ry. I know you expect. I treasured that let 
 ter in my mind, and remember it now and 
 though it may sound rather silly to hear an old 
 man like me, saying over his love-letters, I will 
 repeat it. It had been begun with Dear 
 Samuel, but those words had been scratched 
 out, though not so entirely but I could trace 
 them. The next beginning was l Vv r orthy 
 Friend, I have just seen a letter you sent my 
 
SOLDIER OF THE REVOLUTION. 45 
 
 father, and from what he has told me, I fear 
 you will think I am ungrateful and have for 
 gotten you. But this I never shall do. I 
 think of you almost constantly, and pray that 
 you may be directed in the path of duty. I 
 believe you are now pursuing it. I feel that 
 our country needs aid, and wish I could ren 
 der it. But that is out of my power ; but if 
 prayers and tears could avail to save you from 
 harm, I would offer them daily. I do not say 
 this to discourage you, but to show you that I 
 approve your determination to be a soldier. 
 
 JfiuJg y u< - Mary Saunders. 
 1 P. S. I hope you will not forget me. 
 c Such was the letter, word for word, con 
 tinued the old man. * I remember it well, for 
 I carried it three years in a little pocket book, 
 and read it pretty often, as you doubtless guess. 
 It was at the time a precious treasure, for it 
 assured me of Mary s affection, and that she 
 approved my being a soldier, and perhaps I 
 departed with a lighter heart than I should 
 have done had we actually met. 
 
 Early the next morning every thing was 
 prepared, and the family all attended while my 
 father made a most fervent and impressive 
 prayer. I observed that he dwelt more earn 
 estly on the salvation of his country, and pray 
 ed more heartily that the men who were going 
 forth might have strength and resolution given 
 them to conquer their proud and cruel enemies, 
 than he did that they might be saved from dan 
 ger and returned in safety. When he conclud 
 ed, he took my hand ; the pride of a soldier 
 
46 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 was in his eye as he glanced over my military 
 equipments, but I observed a moisture there ; 
 and when he spoke, it was in a sharp, quick 
 tone, as if he feared to trust the expression of 
 his feelings, and even felt angry with himself 
 for indulging them. Sam, said he, wringing 
 my hand as he spoke. Sam, remember you" 
 duty. Your country now requires your servi- 
 . ces ; and next to your duty to God, your coun 
 try s claims are sacred. Go, and fight man 
 fully for liberty. Remember it /is "better to Tlie 
 free than live a slave. Go, and God bless 
 you. 
 
 1 Samuel, said my mother, taking my hand 
 in both of hers, and pressing it tenderly, whilo 
 the tears gushed from her eyes I had not 
 seen her weep before. Samuel, your father 
 has told you what is your duty, and I know 
 you will do it. I shall pray for you, and if you 
 are hurt, remember the bandages and salve. 
 I have put some salve into your pack, that is 
 very excellent for wounds. Heaven keep you 
 farewell. 
 
 I do not particularly remember what my 
 sisters said, nor indeed distinctly anything 
 else that passed, till I found myself on the 
 brow of a hill that overlooked the farm of my 
 father, and part of that belonging to Mr. Saun- 
 ders. I paused there, and looked back on the 
 scene I had left. The sun had not risen, but 
 the eastern sky, as if preparing for his coining, 
 was kindled up with those beautiful hues thai 
 the light of noonday never imparts. I saw the 
 green woods stretching away on every side till 
 
SOLDIER OP THE REVOLUTION. 47 
 
 they blended with the blue of the distant moun 
 tains. In those woods I had hunted many a 
 time. I heard the birds singing their morn 
 ing songs ; all spoke of peace except the shrill 
 cry of the jay, and that sounded in my ear like 
 a call to battle. Beneath me lay the fields I 
 had traversed so often the windings of the 
 little brook, the boundary that divided the es 
 tate of my father from that of his tory neigh 
 bor, were easily to be traced by the mist that 
 hung over it ; and I could distinctly see the 
 favorite fishing place where I had passed many 
 happy hours. And then there was the home 
 in which I was born, and the trees in whose 
 shade I had so often played with my sisters 
 and, in the small meadow, a seat beneath an 
 old elm, where Mary and I had often met. 
 
 I saw all these, and the recollections they 
 awakened, and the thought that, in all proba 
 bility, I should never see that spot, and those 
 objects, and my dear family, and Mary, again, 
 came so painfully on my heart that my forti 
 tude was overcome, and I wept and even sob 
 bed aloud. I was in the battle at Bennington 
 I fought at Saratoga I was one of the twen 
 ty under the command of Lieutenant Knox at 
 the capture of Stoney Point I have been 
 wounded, and a prisoner. I have heard bul 
 lets whistle as they fell like hail, and seen men 
 dropping around me like leaves in autumn, and 
 I have been in want of a crust of bread, hut I 
 never felt that fear, that utter despondency, 
 that misgiving of spirit, which I endured when 
 taking my leave of home. 
 
48 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 c But you did return, my dear grandfather, 
 said Maria, wiping her eyes. i You did see 
 that home again ? 
 
 Yes, he replied, f I returned to dwell there, 
 and I married Mary ; but, it was after my con 
 stitution was broken by fatigue and hardship, 
 and my arm rendered, as you see, nearly use 
 less by a fracture in the elbow. Nor had Ma 
 ry been exempt from sorrow and suffering. 
 The chagrin her father endured in being, as 
 he was, confined to his farm, and knowing him 
 self the object of suspicion, hatred, and con 
 tempt of his neighbours, and the disappoint 
 ment he felt at the failure of the British army, 
 whose triumph he had so confidently predicted, 
 all these things troubled him, and finally un 
 dermined his health. lie fell into a consump 
 tion ; but before he died, he renounced his tory 
 principles, and my father and he became re 
 conciled, and he consented I should marry Ma 
 ry. And so when I returned from my last 
 campaign, where I was disabled, by this wound 
 in my arm, from further service, Mary was 
 the first to welcome me. But O ! how pale 
 and thin she looked. You young people have 
 no experience, and can hardly form an idea of 
 the trials we had endured. But we had the 
 satisfaction of thinking our country would be 
 free and independent ; and it is so : and yet 
 few, in these days of peace and prosperity, 
 seem to remember that their freedom and priv 
 ileges were purchased by the sweat, and toils, 
 and blood, of the old soldier. 
 
THE 
 WEDDING AND THE FUNERAL. 
 
 
 <O, thou invisible spirit of brandy, if thou hast no name to be 
 known by, let us call tliee murderer ." SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 THERE was a great bustle in the village of 
 B - when .James Murray, Esq. was married 
 to Lucy Marsh^ Weddings are always, es 
 pecially by the ladies, considered important 
 occasions ; and the marriage of a rich and dis 
 tinguished young man with the most beautiful 
 and amiable girl the country could boast, af 
 forded matter of description for many a tea par 
 ty, and speculation for many a fireside. They 
 tell me the furnishing of the house cost James 
 all of three thousand dollars, said Mrs. Col- 
 vin; 4 I wonder what his father, poor man, 
 would say, were he living, to see such extrava 
 gance and waste ! 
 
 Waste do you call it ? said Miss Lucretia 
 Crane, elevating her long neck as she gave her 
 head a most supercilious toss Why, it is 
 nothing more than is necessary, if one intends 
 living genteelly in the country ; they would 
 hardly call it decent in Boston. The only 
 thing that gives me any uneasiness, is, that 
 o 
 
50 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 Lucy will not understand how to arrange her 
 furniture and order her table in good style. 
 A great deal depends on being accustomed to 
 such things and though Lucy has had a tole 
 rably good education, she is not highly accom 
 plished, and has never had her taste improved 
 by mingling among fashionable society. And 
 her parents were so poor she could not learn 
 much at home. 
 
 She learned to work, observed Mr. Colvin, 
 dryly and that, allow me to say, Miss Crane, 
 if not a high accomplishment, is an indispensa 
 ble one for every American lady. It is true, 
 the wife of James Murray appears to be placed 
 above the necessity of exertion ; but sudden 
 changes of property are more common among 
 men of his vocation than any other ; indeed, 
 changes in every station frequently occur, and 
 that parent who does not accustom his children 
 to reflect on a probability of a reverse, and, to 
 the best of his ability, qualify them to support 
 it, is, in my opinion, not only weak but cruel. 
 Lucy is not, I fear, in spirit, very well calcu 
 lated to bear misfortunes she is too tender 
 and confiding but she has always been an in 
 dustrious girl. 
 
 1 It might have been better for her to have 
 kept to her needle, and married John Russell, 
 as I am well convinced she was once engaged 
 to do replied Miss Lucretia, with that kind 
 of laugh which betrays both envy of a rival, 
 and exultation at the prospect of seeing her 
 mortified. I have been told she continued 
 in a low but eager whisper, ( I have been told 
 
WEDDING AND FUNERAL. 51 
 
 that James does not always conduct like the 
 gentleman he pretends to be. 
 
 We should be cautious of trusting reports 
 affecting the character of our neighbours, said 
 Mrs. Colvin, forgetting that she had began the 
 scrutiny by taxing James with extravagance. 
 James is a generous, intelligent, and agreea 
 ble gefitleman, and his talents do honor to our 
 village. What did you ever hear to his disad 
 vantage ? 
 
 i they do say he has been known to take 
 a little drop too much at particular times 
 when in wild company. At least my brother 
 heard he did so when in college, replied Miss 
 Crane. 
 
 It cannot must not be true, said Mr. Col 
 vin, hastily. James, was piously brought up 
 he has had excellent advantages, and possesses 
 good judgment and a quickness of penetration 
 rarely equalled. He is also ambitious of ob 
 taining the confidence of the people, and the 
 honors of public office. He will never yield to 
 that most brutalizing vice which degrades men. 
 
 - I have good reason for believing he has 
 been guilty of it, said Lucretia, composedly. 
 4 But perhaps there is no reason to fear, as his 
 lovely wife will doubtless reform him. 
 
 1 Such reforms are seldom radical ; and never, 
 I fear, with men of his temperament, remarked 
 Mr. Colvin. But ten years will decide. 
 
 4 0, if James does turn out a profligate, how 
 I shall pity his mother ! said Mrs. Colvin, sigh 
 ing. 
 
 1 shall pity his wife, said Miss Lucretia 
 
52 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 Crane, adjusting her ruffles with an air of great 
 self-complacency. 
 
 1 1 shall pity him, said Mr. Colvin rising 
 hastily and traversing the apartment with the 
 perturbation of one who has heard some evil 
 reported openly which he had long suspected, 
 but had been striving to disbelieve. 
 
 The real concern of Mr. and Mrs. Golvin, 
 and the affected sympathy of Bliss Crane, were 
 interrupted by the approach of the bridal cav 
 alcade. In an elegant carriage, drawn by two 
 noble grays, sat the new-married pair. They 
 were arrayed in costly apparel, and both pos 
 sessed that beauty of form and face which, 
 bearing the impress of nature s nobleness, is 
 not dependent on ornament for its power of 
 commanding admiration. A long line of car 
 riages followed, from which manly faces, beam 
 ing with exultation, or fair ones blushing at the 
 thoughts of their own loveliness, looked forth ; 
 the gay laugh was distinctly heard as the vehi 
 cles rolled rapidly along, and no one, not even 
 a cynic, could have regarded the scene with 
 out feeling a sentiment of joy and gratitude 
 pervading his heart at thus witnessing the per 
 fection of social happiness. 
 
 What a comely couple they are ! exclaimed 
 Mrs. Colvin, as the carriage containing the 
 bridal pair drew up before a new and elegant 
 mansion and what a prospect of domestic fe 
 licity is theirs. But few begin the world thus 
 advantageously. They have health and beau 
 ty, wealth and reputation, and friends, and af 
 fection for each other. 
 
WEDDING AND FUNERAL. 53 
 
 c Could you add one item more to the cata 
 logue of advantages, the earthly picture would 
 be complete, said Mr. Colvin. i How unfor 
 tunate that the absence of that one requisite, 
 may, perhaps, render all the others nugatory. 
 
 You then probably have reason to credit 
 the report to which I alluded, said Miss Crane. 
 
 I did not mean to be so understood, said 
 Mr. Colvin, calmly. All that I intended was, 
 that self-control, in every station and to every 
 individual, is indispensable, if people would re 
 tain that equanimity of mind, which, depending 
 on self-respect, is the essential of contentment 
 and happiness. 
 
 Miss Crane reddened, for she felt she had 
 been displaying before one well skilled to read 
 character, the meanness of envy and anger, 
 while revealing a report confided to her under 
 the solemn injunction of secrecy, and which 
 she would never have pretended to have cred 
 ited, but for the pique she felt at not being 
 bidden to the wedding. 
 
 Indeed,, no one who looked on James Mur 
 ray, could believe him guilty of aught mean or 
 vicious. He had that nobie ingenuousness of 
 countenance which we. always, in idea, associ 
 ate with great and good qualities ; (but we do 
 not in the world always find our expectations re 
 alized) and he had also that air of manly confi 
 dence which usually distinguishes thtTs "V, h:> 
 have always been the favorites of fortune, and 
 consequently think themselves privileged to 
 expect her favors. Yet his was not the triumph 
 which the vanity of superior wealth imparts to 
 
 .- , 
 
54 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 the weak minded. He had talents of a high 
 order. He had also been liberally educated, 
 and had he been permitted to study a profes 
 sion, would probably have become eminent. 
 But his father, a rich merchant, wished his 
 son to pursue the same business ; it was the 
 way he had acquired his estate, and he thought 
 it the way in which James would best preserve 
 it. But the old gentleman did not act with his 
 usual sagacity when he sent his son to college to 
 qualify him the better to become a merchant. 
 There is a fitness in the manner of educating 
 to the character and destination of the educa 
 ted, an adaptation of means to some contem 
 plated end, which should never be lost sight of 
 by those who have the care of youth. James 
 had good sense, and a fine genius, and had he 
 considered the studies in which he spent so 
 much time preparatory to some pursuit which 
 was to be the business of his future life, he 
 would doubtless have applied himself v more 
 diligently, and thus been spared many oppor 
 tunities for frolic, and saved from many tempt 
 ations to folly which those who are idle or 
 unemployed cannot escape. He knew, and all 
 his fellow students, that he was sent to college 
 to obtain a diploma more as an ornamental ap 
 pendage to a rich man s son, than for any real 
 benefit. So he passed his four years in gayety 
 and pleasure, and came home with his A. B. to 
 take his station in his father s counting-room. 
 He was then hut nineteen, and many suppos 
 ed his college acquirements and predilections 
 would soon be obliterated from his mind by the 
 
WEDDING AND FUNERAL. 
 
 bustling life in which he had engaged. But it 
 should be remembered that though the human 
 heart is like water when we would write there 
 on lessons of virtue, it is like the rock to re 
 tain the impressions of vice. In what I am 
 about to relate I would not he understood as 
 reflecting on the management of any literary 
 institution, or the manners of any particular 
 class of students. ^Opportunities and examples 
 of vice occur everywhere and the only ef 
 fectual shield to oppose their influence, with 
 which parents can invest their dear ones, when 
 sending them forth amid the temptations of 
 evil, which will meet them in the college and 
 in the cloister, as well as in the camp and 
 court, is to jinbue_ their souls with the precepts 
 of our holy religion, and furnish, for their 
 minds, at least, active employment. James 
 was strictly educated in the principles of true 
 piety his parents were, what they professed 
 to be, Christians and though they had by 
 honest industry acquired a large estate, they 
 did not count their money merely by dollars 
 but by a better tale by the good deeds it 
 would enable them to perform. And they were 
 both remarkable for temperance, and the sim 
 plicity, and even plainness, with which their 
 table was furnished and all their domestic ar 
 rangements conducted. James had not, as 
 some children unquestionably do, acquired a 
 relish for rum before he could lisp its name 
 his nurse 7 never was allowed to keep him 
 quiet on sweetened brandy he had an aver 
 sion to spirituous liquors, as all, not taught 
 
56 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 to love it, have ; and so his parents had no 
 fear he would ever full a victim to its per 
 nicious poison. They exposed him too early, 
 and unguardedly, to temptation. He went to 
 college with plenty of cash at command, and 
 plenty of leisure he was unsuspicious and 
 generous, and, as such lively and ardent youths 
 generally are, fond of amusements and fond 
 of applause. There were among his class 
 mates, some who had the meanness to wish to 
 be treated at his expense, and these took ad 
 vantage of his inexperience and generosity 
 and by flattery, and ridicule, and persuasion, 
 his squeamish prejudices, as they called them, 
 were overcome, and he learned to take his 
 glass as gaily and frequently as any member 
 of the convivial club to which he belonged, 
 and often paid, himself, the whole expense of 
 the entertainment. It would be painful and 
 almost impossible to paint the scenes in which 
 he was often engaged, and the effect they had 
 on his mind ; but yet, notwithstanding his con 
 duct, he never lost his sense of the purity and 
 beauty of virtue, nor his determination to pur 
 sue its paths, whenever circumstances should 
 make such a course easy and popular that is 
 when he returned home. 
 
 But no one can take fire in his bosom, and 
 his clothes not be burned. James did return 
 home, and his father soon after discovered, 
 with a concern bordering on horror, the fatal 
 relish for liquors which his son had aquired. 
 The daughters of Mr. Murray were married, 
 and all of them gone from the paternal roof 
 
WEDDING AND FUNERAL. 57 
 
 James was the youngest child the one who 
 was to perpetuate his father s name his heir 
 his hope, and his idol. There lay the fault 
 of his parents. They had loved James too 
 well, and trusted him too confidently, and ex 
 pected more from his discretion than human 
 frailty can warrant us to hope. Remonstrance 
 and reasoning, entreaties and reproaches, 
 were all in succession tried by his parents. 
 But though James ingenuously acknowledged 
 his fault and lamented it, and promised refor 
 mation, he was found failing in strength of 
 purpose to keep his resolutions of abstaining 
 from brandy, till his father began utterly to 
 despair of his amendment, and was about re 
 signing him to infamy for, with commendable 
 discretion, his parents had managed for near 
 ly a whole year to keep their son s misconduct 
 a profound secret in their family, lest the loss 
 of his good name should be the signal for his 
 losing all self-command when a circumstance 
 occurred which promised, by awakening the 
 energy of a new passion, to grant him a chance 
 for victory over an appetite that had hitherto 
 wholly engaged his senses. James saw, and 
 immediately loved Lucy_Marsh. Her father 
 was a very poor man, but beauty is not neces 
 sarily of the patrician order. It is as often 
 found in the cottage as the palace, and Lucy, 
 then just sixteen, was one of the loveliest girls 
 that ever the light of the sun shone upon. It 
 were in vain to try to describe her. A Ma- 
 hometajn j^ulcHiaye likened her to the dark 
 eyed Houris, - a Christian lover to an angel, V 
 
58 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 and both undoubtedly have thought the superi 
 ority of loveliness on the side of the fair mortal. 
 At least, so thought James 3Iurray on the 
 morning after his return from a ball, where he 
 had been permitted to touch for the first time 
 the hand of his charmer ; to sit by her side ; 
 and though the confusion of his feelings did not 
 permit him to say soft things, he had never 
 theless looked things unutterable. He was 
 sitting with his head reclined upon his desk, 
 and musing upon the scenes of yesterday, 
 so wrapped in contemplation that he did not 
 hear his father s step, nor notice his approach, 
 till the old gentleman laid his hand upon his 
 shoulder. James started on his feet, the blood 
 rushed to his face, and he looked around with 
 a half stupid, half frighted stare. A shade of 
 deep sorrow passed over the pale countenance 
 of Mr. Murray, and his voice quivered with 
 emotion as he said I am expecting my friend 
 Mr. Alden, of New-York, every moment. He 
 writes he shall dine with me to-day. I once 
 hoped to have presented to him my son but I 
 see you will not be in a condition to appear. 
 He N will doubtless inquire for you, and what 
 excuse shall I make for your absence ? 
 
 James strove to reply, but it was some min 
 utes before the swelling of his heart would 
 permit him to speak. At length he seemed to 
 have taken his resolution, and said with ener 
 gy I know your suspicions, sir, but for once 
 you wrong me. Though I confess I am in 
 toxicated, it is not with wine and then, with 
 an eloquence his father had never before heard 
 
WEDDING AND FUNERAL. 59 
 
 him display, he went on and told the whole his 
 tory of his love, and described the beauty of 
 Lucy, concluding with an earnest asseveration^ 
 * that if he might be permitted to marry her/\ 
 he would never taste another drop of liquor i 
 again while he lived. / 
 
 Mr. Murray gazed on James with that kind 
 of eager and overwhelming joy which we may 
 imagine glowed on the face of the father of 
 the prodigal when witnessing the return of his 
 son. But in a few moments the expression of 
 his features changed, and a deep and troubled 
 concern overspread them as he said impress 
 ively What you ask, my son, neither my 
 honor or conscience will now permit me to ap 
 prove. I place interest out of the question. 
 The father of Lucy Marsh is a good, honest, 
 and industrious man ; but he has met with cros 
 ses and losses in the world, while I have been 
 blessed and prosperous. We came into life 
 equally destitute, we shall leave it on equal 
 terms. Six feet of ground is all the richest 
 man will permanently occupy, and, at death, 
 the right of the poor to the possession of that 
 freehold is never disputed. But, James, you 
 describe Lucy as possessing every virtue of 
 mind and heart that constitutes the excellence 
 of the female character ; and I have before this 
 heard her merits praised. Her husband should 
 be equally worthy. Are you entitled to that 
 distinction ? 
 
 The color deepened on James s cheek, but 
 it was not all the hue of shame ; there was the 
 kindling of proud and ardent resolve to deserve 
 
60 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 the boon he sought ; and he urged his deter 
 mination to be all that his father wished, so 
 earnestly and sincerely, that Mr. Murray could 
 not help feeling an assurance his son would, at 
 least, make a strong effort to overcome his evil 
 propensities. Still the father knew, for he had 
 been an observing man, how difficult it was to 
 effect a radical cure of the habit to which 
 James had yielded ; that though love might 
 furnish arms, and the most effectual ones per 
 haps that could be wielded by a young man for 
 the combat, time only could determine the vic 
 tory. At length, after much pondering, he 
 said ; James, I have no doubt your intentions 
 of reform are sincere, but till I am convinced 
 of your perseverance in executing them, I can 
 not consent you shall address Lucy, or endea 
 vour to gain her affections. She must not be 
 involved in the ruin which will finally over 
 whelm you if persisting in intemperance. 
 
 What period of trial will satisfy you ? ask 
 ed James. 
 
 1 As long for your recovery as for your fall. 
 
 1 What. ! four years ! exclaimed James ; un 
 derstanding the allusion of his father to the 
 time passed in college. 
 
 Even so, replied the other and too short 
 a time to establish entirely my confidence in 
 your steadfastness. But pass that period in 
 activity and integrity, and I shall have strong 
 hope. I will myself speak to Mr. Marsh, and 
 if he consents to my proposal, I will provide 
 for the education of his daughter in such a man 
 ner as shall qualify her to become a member 
 
WEDDING AND FUNERAL. 61 
 
 of my family. But I shall inform her and her 
 parents unreservedly of your past course, and 
 present resolution, and she shall not be bound 
 by any promise to you till the four years are 
 expired. 
 
 James knew when his father had come to 
 a determination, and settled a plan of action 
 on the principles of what he conceived duty, 
 neither arguments or persuasions could move 
 him from his purpose so James acquiesced. 
 
 Mr. Murray, though a good and judicious 
 man, was not indifferent to worldly considera 
 tions. The business by which he had acquir 
 ed his property has a tendency to make cal 
 culation, and in some degree, even with the 
 most liberal, pecuniary speculation, a favor 
 ite pursuit of the mind. It is not probable he 
 would so unhesitatingly have approved the 
 choice of his son, and consented he should 
 marry one so poor, had he not hoped by that 
 indulgence to win him back to rectitude and 
 usefulness. But whatever were his motives, 
 his promise, once given, was promptly execu 
 ted and sacredly kept. 
 
 The parents of Lucy Marsh eagerly accep 
 ted proposals so advantageous to their daugh 
 ter, for they doubted not but the folly of 
 James would soon be corrected. The propo 
 sal seemed to Lucy so like a scene of romance, 
 she could not, for some time, be persuaded of 
 its reality. She had been struck with the ap 
 pearance of James Murray, and though his 
 station, so different from hers, had forbade her 
 to hope engaging his serious affections, yet 
 
62 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 there had been, cver_after the baU, : wild 
 dreams of fancy in her imagination, which her 
 reason had been unable wholly to dispel. 
 M hen convinced she was destined to become 
 his wife, but one wish, one desire swelled her 
 heart that she might become worthy of him 
 and of the excellent family who were adopting 
 her as their own. 
 
 To one not accustomed to reflect how much 
 of the excellence and virtue of character is 
 owing to energy in some favorite and useful 
 pursuit, the effect which this arrangement had 
 on James Murray would appear incredible, 
 He seemed to have shaken off an incubus that 
 had hitherto pressed down his faculties ; or 
 only displayed them like the phantoms of that 
 disease, distorted and horrible. He .walked 
 forth among men with a determination to be 
 come a man. He engaged in business with 
 activity he pursued it with energy, and soon 
 felt that proud consciousness of deserving the 
 approbation he received, which nothing but 
 our own rectitude of principle and conduct. can 
 bestow. Without this self-approving voice 
 within us, the applause of shouting millions is 
 idle, empty praise. There is so much of real 
 excitement in the mode of life in America so 
 much industry and enterprise in business so 
 much stirring of the spirit in political canvass 
 ing, in which all arc interested, that it would 
 seem no citizen of our republic need resort to 
 artificial stimulants to remove 
 
 The settlings of a melancholy blood. 1 
 
WEDDING AND FUNERAL. 63 
 
 Certain it is that James Murray found the 
 pursuits in which he engaged, of essential 
 benefit in breaking off the associations of his 
 habit, and thus freeing him from its tyranny. 
 Yet perhaps to that restlessness which his first 
 abstinence from liquor engendered, may mostly 
 be attributed the eagerness with which he im 
 mediately engaged in politics. For this pur 
 suit he was, by nature, admirably fitted. His 
 commanding and handsome person always at 
 tracted attention, and he had a persuasive, 
 and whenever he chose to exert it, a powerful 
 voice, whose tones thrilled the heart. His ed 
 ucation also had given him advantages which 
 but few of the men among whom he resided, 
 possessed, and young as he was, he soon be 
 came distinguished as the leader of his party, 
 and so effectually secured their confidence, 
 that before he was twenty three, he was elected 
 a member of the state legislature. His own 
 ambition and the fondest wishes of his parents 
 seemed realized ; and his father, at his death, 
 which occurred about that time, as he embrac 
 ed and blessed his son, said, My cup of 
 earthly joy is full I depart in peace, and 
 leave you, James, in the full belief that we 
 shall meet where a crown of rejoicing awaits 
 those who have overcome temptation. 
 
 Death is called the king of terrors but may 
 ho not often be the angel of consolation ? 
 How much of mortal sorrow is spared or end 
 ed when he drops his sable curtain, and clo 
 ses the drama of human life ! Mr. Murray 
 died in peace confident of the worth of his 
 
64 AMERICAN SKETCLES. 
 
 beloved son. Had he survived ten years but 
 I am anticipating. In our country, especially 
 in the new and thinly settled towns, a man who 
 proposes marrying a wife, usually signifies his 
 intention by building a house; and consequent 
 ly, a new house is esteemed a very important 
 affair to the new married couple. It seemed 
 quite unnecessary that James should follow 
 this fashion, as his father left a good and con 
 venient dwelling ; but he was ambitious, and so 
 the new house was determined on. In size 
 and elegance it was to exceed any building in 
 the village. 
 
 c Americans have no taste for the antique, 
 says the European antiquary, f therefore they 
 are. rude and jgooxaut^ and unpolished. But 
 is it not the same principle of taste only modi 
 fied by the difference of circumstances, which 
 leads the American to boast of his new edifice, 
 and the European to venerate his ancient one ? 
 In both cases the pride of preference is asso 
 ciated with the idea of merit. The European 
 prizes his old castle because it is blazoned 
 with the feats of his ancestors. The Ameri 
 can prefers his new dwelling because it is the 
 work of his own efforts ; the one describes the 
 magnificence that once distinguished his do 
 main the other shows the improvement he has 
 made on his estate. Ancf if personal merit be 
 more praiseworthy than imputed excellence, 
 then is not the advantage on the side of our 
 countrymen ? 
 
 But these remarks are quite irrelevant to 
 the subject the new house of James Murray j 
 
WEDDING AND FUNERAL 65 
 
 yet it would undoubtedly have been better for 
 him to have cultivated a taste for the antique, 
 and been contented with his father s old dwell 
 ing. It was during the progress of the build 
 ing that, forgetting or disregarding the solemn 
 promise he had pledged his father, he again 
 began to taste the prohibited brandy. He 
 took but very little, however, and flattered 
 himself he had acquired sufficient strength of 
 mind to restrain and regulate his appetite by 
 the suggestions of reason. It seemed a re 
 proach on his character as a man, to lack firm 
 ness to face his enemy. It was puerile to be 
 always trembling, like a whipped schoolboy, 
 when a glass was offered him ; and finally, he 
 could riot refuse without being considered 
 mean, as his workmen would imply he did not 
 wish them to drink, if he himself never tasted. 
 So he reasoned, and for several months no 
 perceptible bad effects followed his tem 
 perate use of ardent spirit, as he styled it. 
 About three weeks before he was to be mar 
 ried, a political bet, in which he was engaged, 
 was decided in his favor. The forfeiture was 
 to be paid in punch, and James Murray became , 
 intoxicated. While under the delirium of his 
 temporary insanity, he presented himself be- , 
 fore his intended^bride. 
 
 Lucy Marsh was just as lovely as a summer 
 rose, and just as easily bowed. She had nev 
 er suspected James of having violated his pro 
 mise she was utterly unprepared for this storm 
 of affliction she did not utter a word to him, 
 but fainted ; and he had to be forced from her 
 6 
 
66 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 presence, and carried home. The tumult of 
 his feelings, on recovering from his paroxysm, 
 can scarcely be imagined. After bitter self- 
 reproaches and curses on his folly, and resolu 
 tions of the most rigid abstinence in future, he 
 repaired to the dwelling of Lucy to obtain, if 
 possible, her forgiveness. He knew she was 
 then released from all obligations to marry him 
 that his father had advised, indeed enjoined 
 it on her, as she valued her own happiness, 
 never to wed his son if he again yielded to in 
 temperance. But James knew Lucy loved 
 him, and he knew, too, that, women are prone 
 to palliate the failings, and trust the promises 
 of those they love ; that they are, by nature, 
 unsuspicious, and confiding, and forgiving. 
 The event showed he judged rightly, ^lleason 
 urged to Lucy all the risk she was incurring ; 
 imagination portrayed all the sorrows and ago 
 nies she was exposed to suffer, if James did 
 not reform, and hope could hardly, be so .cred 
 ulous as to believe in his permanent reforma 
 tion, when he had thus broken the solemn and 
 voluntary pledge to his own father. But still, 
 her heart 0, she could not stifle the plead 
 ings of her heart. And when James came 
 before her, his tears, and entreaties, and pro 
 testations prevailed. She forgave him, and 
 became his wife. She did not insist on his mak 
 ing to her any particular promises of sobriety ; 
 and in that she acted wisely. The teasing in 
 terference of a woman, no man of sense and 
 spirit will brook none ought to brook. And 
 Lucy had too much discretion to expect that 
 
WEDDING AND FUNERAL. 67 
 
 a promise of temperance made before mar 
 riage, would bind her husband, if the sacred 
 vows he made at the altar to cherish her, the 
 preservation of his own character, and rever 
 ence for morality and piety, could not restrain 
 him. She trusted, therefore, to his affection 
 and his honor, and for more than two years his 
 conduct fully justified her confidence. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Mrs. Colvin was reclining one cold winter 
 evening-befbre a bright fire, her work table be 
 fore her, and as she listened to the storm that 
 beat furiously against the windows, and her eye 
 wandered around the commodious and well 
 furnished apartment in which she was seated, 
 she reflected on the blessings she enjoyed ; 
 and contrasting her situation with millions of 
 her fellow-beings, in different parts of the 
 world, all equally with herself susceptible of 
 pain and pleasure, -she breathed a fervent 
 thanksgiving that she had had her birthright 
 and habitation assigned her in a land so favor 
 ed as America. Her husband hastily entered. 
 
 1 You look fatigued and sorrowful, said Mrs. 
 Colvin. 
 
 c I have just come from the dwelling of af 
 fliction, he replied. 
 
 * 0, I knew this was a world of suffering ! 
 exclaimed Mrs. Colvin ; i and yet I have 
 been this whole hour indulging in congratula 
 tions on my own happy situation, and inferring 
 because I felt no grief, no privation, all my 
 neighbours were equally blessed. 
 
 i When, replied her husband, l men yield to 
 
68 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 temptation} to sin suffering must follow. In 
 deed in our country, more than in any other 
 on earth, deviations from morality and integri 
 ty are punished either with the loss of fame, 
 fortune, or public confidence ; and , Jajnes 
 Murray has forfeited them all. 
 
 1 Is his situation as bad as we have heard ? 
 inquired Mrs. Colvin. 
 
 Worse, far worse, returned the other. 
 We heard he would probably have sufficient 
 to pay his creditors, but he is a bankrupt by 
 several thousands, the mortgage on his estate 
 is foreclosed, and every article of personal 
 property has been attached ; the sheriff was 
 removing the furniture when I reached the 
 house. 
 
 * Is it possible that he can have spent the 
 large estate his father left him ? inquired Mrs. 
 Colvin. It is but a little time a year or 
 two, since he became so dissipated. 
 
 1 There is nothing more easy than for a man 
 to ruin himself, returned her husband. Let 
 him neglect his business, bet. with every one 
 who will venture a wager, and generally take 
 the losing side, and keep constantly in a state 
 of inebriety, and his estate will soon be wasted. 
 But James Murray was never so rich as many 
 imagined. Much of his wealth depended, as 
 i most of our country merchants estates do, on 
 his credit ; and then be built his costly house, 
 which he ought not to have done. And he has 
 been intemperate longer than you mentioned ; 
 ever since he lost his election four years ago. 
 His wife told me he never tasted liquor after 
 
WEDDING AND FUNERAL. 69 
 
 their IUUITI;!^, ill! that disappointment. But 
 ins relish for spirit had hern before ac(]uired, 
 and when a man has unfortunately contract 
 ed that thirst, every extraordinary emotion, 
 whether of joy or grief, or anger, seems to 
 awaken it anew. There is not, for such an 
 one, much hope of permanent reformation. 
 
 f Where is his poor wife ? and how does she 
 bear her trial ? asked Mrs. Colvin. 
 
 I found her in her small parlour her little 
 children gathered around or in her arms like 
 a brooding dove sheltering her young ones 
 from the approach of danger. Her face was 
 pale as marble, but perfectly calm ; yet at the 
 first expression of my concern she burst into 
 a passionate weeping. I endeavoured to con 
 sole her, and promised my assistance. She 
 dried her tears as she said Do not think, sir, 
 I am grieving for the loss of our property, or be 
 cause I must leave this dwelling. The display 
 of wealth is not necessary to my happiness, 
 indeed I think it has made me more wretched 
 the splendor by which I was surrounded 
 seeming to mock my heart s misery. But my 
 husband it is for his degradation, his ruin I 
 weep. ! I could joyfully share poverty with 
 him I would work to support him I would 
 willingly be a slave, or lay down my own life, 
 if he might be persuaded to return to virtue 
 if he could be reclaimed ! 
 
 1 What did you say to her ? asked Mrs. 
 Colvin, weeping. 
 
 I could suggest nothing of earthly comfort, 
 returned her husband. I could only direct 
 
70 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 her to that balm for sorrow which is found only 
 in him who has declared that all things shall 
 work together for good to them who love God. 
 1 What will become of her and her dear lit 
 tle family ? again reiterated Mrs. Colvin. 
 
 1 They will not be left to suffer, said her 
 husband. c Her merits and her grief touched 
 every heart. I saw tears in the eyes of many 
 firm men, when speaking of her situation. In 
 deed, the principal creditors declared they 
 would not have urged their claims, and taken 
 all the property, had they not thought it might 
 possibly rouse Murray to exertion. To show 
 kindness to him by allowing him means of in 
 dulging his depraved appetite, would be cruel 
 ty to his family. But we have made arrange 
 ments that will secure for Mrs. Murray what 
 she needs for present comfort. The family 
 are to be removed to that house of mine which 
 stands close by the dwelling of Mr. John Rus 
 sell. It is small, to be sure, but comfortable, 
 and we shall furnish it. You, ladies, must 
 find employment for Mrs. Murray ; she told 
 me she would sew for any one. 
 
 c I do not wish her to work for me, said Mrs. 
 Colvin, eagerly ; l whatever I can do to assist 
 her shall be cheerfully rendered. 
 
 You forget, my dear, said her husband, 
 smiling, l that the necessity of receiving alms 
 is, to the delicate and sensitive mind, the 
 most galling link in the chain of poverty. But 
 few of our native born Yankees, and none who 
 have the spirit of a Yankee, will long submit to 
 the ignominy of subsisting wholly by charity. 
 
WEDDING AND FUNERAL. 71 
 
 There is a pride of independence among us a 
 nobility of soul, fliat spurns at vassalage, in 
 whatever way the yoke is imposed. Then do 
 not add to the embarrassments of Mrs. Murray, 
 by an offer of charity, which she may not feel 
 at liberty to refuse, but which will mortify her 
 to accept. Employ her, and pay her just as 
 liberally as you please, but let there be some 
 reciprocity between you. You will then se 
 cure more than her thank ye her esteem, 
 gratitude, and love. 
 
 But will not James Murray himself be 
 capable of doing something for his family ? 
 inquired this amiable woman. 
 
 That is a question which cannot at present 
 be solved, said her husband. * James is a good 
 penman and accountant, and can find employ 
 ment if he will keep sober. 0, when I looked 
 on him, extended as he was on the floor, in a 
 state of utter insensibility to everything pas 
 sing around him the removal of his property^ 
 the agony of his wife and then when I 
 thought of his early promise his excellent dis 
 position his fine talents his education all 
 the advantages with which he began his ca 
 reer, and the eminence he had obtained and 
 saw all lost, ruined by his own folly, I could 
 not but weep over him. How much he has al 
 ready suffered ! and how much he must here 
 after endure ! He sees those who once wait 
 ed on his smile, now scornfully pass him by ; 
 he reads contempt or pity in those counte 
 nances that once brightened at his approach ; 
 he finds himself shunned, neglected, or ridicul- 
 
72 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 ed, where his lightest word was once heard 
 with attention. All this he must bear, and 
 who will not acknowledge that ^punishment 
 follows the transgressor ? It ought4o every 
 where ; it invariably does among^ the descend 
 ants of the Pilgrims. Rank may, in govern 
 ments less pure and popular than ours, secure 
 the semblance of respect to the unworthy. A 
 lord, though drunk, is still a lord, and para 
 sites may flatter him, and servants attend him. 
 But the spontaneous esteem, cofidence, and 
 applause of our free, independent, and intelli 
 gent citizens, cannot be obtained by a degrad 
 ed and worthless character. 
 
 ***** * 
 
 The morning exhibited all the calmness, and 
 beauty, and gladness, that usually pervades 
 the summer sky, the day after a violent thun 
 der shower has cleared the atmosphere of all 
 impure vapors. The birds then sing their 
 gayest notes, as if congratulating each Qth- 
 er that the storm has so happily passed by. 
 There was a fresher green on the trees and 
 fields a serenity in the deep blue sky, pictur 
 ing, as we may imagine, the repose of the 
 spirit, after the storms of earth are ended, and 
 it rests beneath the shade of the tree of life. 
 But amid all this beauty, joy, and peace, 
 there came a memento of man s mortality. 
 The sound of a funeral knell from the village 
 spire, fell more mournful than usual on the 
 ear, contrasted as it was with the rejoicing of 
 nature. 
 
WEDDING AND FUNEEAL. 73 
 
 c It is the burial_fif Mrs. Murray, said Mr. 
 Colvin, to a stranger who addressed him with 
 an inquiry. Poor Lucy ! she will find the 
 grave a refuge from suffering. 
 
 * Was it she who was once called Lucy 
 Marsh ? inquired the stranger. 
 
 1 The same. 
 
 The stranger was much agitated. i I saw 
 her once, he remarked, just before she was 
 married. She was the most beautiful human 
 being I ever beheld. I heard that her hus 
 band had failed that he was intemperate 
 and my journey through the village was in 
 duced by curiosity to learn the situation of that 
 lovely woman. I confess, I hoped I should 
 find that her husband was no more. 
 
 You would probably then feel interested to 
 learn some particulars of her fate, said Mr. 
 Colvin. 
 
 The stranger bowed. 
 
 4 You observed you had heard of the failure 
 of James Murray, continued Mr. Colvin. 
 i His father was my intimate friend, and once 
 did me a signal service ; and I wished to ex 
 press my gratitude by showing kindness to the 
 son ; so I established James and his family in 
 a house of my own. This building adjoined 
 one in which lived a man who had once been 
 an admirer of Lucy Marsh. 
 
 There were many such, I presume, said 
 the stranger. 
 
 Her beauty was doubtless much admired, 
 returned Mr. Colvin, but John Russell, as I 
 
74 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 understood, had sanguine expectations of ob 
 taining hf3r hand, and had she never seen 
 James Murray, would probably have been 
 successful. Poets may celebrate the omnipo 
 tence of Cupid, but from observation I am in 
 clined to believe that, in at least one half of the 
 matches, propinquity has quite as much influ 
 ence as the arrows of the blind god. But 
 Mrs. Murray loved her husband truly and un- 
 dividedly, and excepting occasional starts of 
 passion or petulance when intoxicated, he was, 
 till his mind became inflamed with jealousy, a 
 most affectionate husband. This jealousy, ex 
 cited by a trifling circumstance, is a sad ex 
 emplification of that alienation of reason which 
 is often caused by intemperance. Men seem 
 then possessed with the spirit of demons ; 
 rage, envy, hatred, and they delight in indict 
 ing misery. I have said the house, in which 
 this unfortunate family resided, adjoined that 
 of Mr. John Russell. His was a very ele 
 gant dwelling, for he had been gaining an es 
 tate while James Murray was dissipating his 
 and Mrs. Murray happened one day to re 
 mark on the prosperity of Mr. Russell and his 
 handsome house. Her husband instantly be 
 came exasperated, and pouring a torrent of 
 abuse both on her and Mr. Russell, declared 
 he would not reside so near a man whom he 
 doubted not was the favored paramour of his 
 wife. From that hour, his conduct to his 
 family became changed and cruel. I cannot 
 enter into details, your heart would sicken at 
 
WEDDING AND FUNERAL. 75 
 
 the recital, and it makes mine bleed to think 
 of the sufferings of that amiable woman. 
 
 The stranger was evidently mueh agitated, 
 yet he begged Mr. Colvin to proceed. 
 
 ( I must be brief, returned he ; and can 
 only say that Mrs. Murray was so persecuted, 
 and rendered so wretched, by the jealousy of 
 her husband, that she consented to remove 
 from the house. Her husband provided anoth 
 er. It was a lone building, situated in a wild 
 place, and half a mile from any neighbour. The 
 house was in a ruinous state, the roof pervious 
 to every storm, and there was not a glass win 
 dow in the building. In short, it was a mere 
 wreck ; the very rats instinctively had quit 
 it, yet there, this once angelic and still inter 
 esting woman, was compelled to reside. The 
 sorrows of the poor are net understood from 
 description ; to be known they must be felt. 
 Our charitable people did much for Mrs. Mur 
 ray and her little ones, yet still I have no doubt 
 they often suffered both from cold and hunger. 
 And then they were subjected to the capricious 
 cruelty of a drunken man. O ! would young 
 ladies but once be sensible of that depth of 
 mortification and wretchedness which a woman 
 is doomed to feel who has an intemperate hus 
 band, they never would for a moment hesitate 
 to discard a lover who had been guilty of that 
 degrading crime. They never would wed with 
 such an one, though he were before as dear as 
 their oWn life ; they never could marry him 
 no, never, never, never ! You doubtless won- 
 
76 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 der how such a delicate woman could live, sub 
 jected to such distresses. The capacity of 
 the human mind and frame to endure, is, in 
 many cases, indeed astonishing. Mrs.J\Iurray 
 had the consolations of religion for support, 
 and then affection for her children strengthen 
 ed her to i bear up under the load of Hie. Yet 
 even the exercise of her piety was often fraught 
 with the most exquisite agony, for how lost, 
 when judged by the holy law of God, appeared 
 the character, and how terrible the condition of 
 the husband she still fondly loved ! Every 
 day seemed widening the gulf between them, 
 and rendering more fixed and irreconcilable 
 the habits and principles which must finally 
 separate them forever. 
 
 He who created us, alone knoweth why some 
 of his children are appointed to, win their heav 
 enly crown through so much -tribulation. To 
 the trials of Mrs. Murray were now to be add- 
 edj the sickness and death of her two young 
 est children. Her eldest, a daughter, had 
 never enjoyed good health, and the hardships 
 and wants to which she was often exposed, 
 doubtless, injured her, till finally she became 
 subject to fits of epilepsy, and her case was 
 pronounced incurable. But still, the mother 
 had one precious treasure, a fine boy, just en 
 tering on his seventh year, and the most per 
 fectly lovely and engaging child I ever beheld. 
 In him she * garnered up her heart, and re 
 posed all her earthly hopes ; in him she could 
 love his father s image without self-reproach, 
 
WEDDING AND FUNERAL. 77 
 
 and her affections continually wounded, or 
 trampled on by her husband, twined around 
 her child with those close foldings, whose de 
 lighted throb is so nearly allied to agony. 
 This feeling, the fever of love, is never expe 
 rienced by those who live tranquilly, and have 
 not been necessitated to centre that affection 
 and hope on one object, which should have 
 been divided among a family. Last Monday 
 morning I called at their dwelling. I found 
 Mrs. Murray in better spirits than usual, and 
 there was a cheerfulness in her manner, I had 
 not for a long time witnessed. While we were 
 conversing, a carriage, in which were two 
 gentlemen, passed. A glove fell from the 
 chaise, and little James, who was playing be 
 fore the house, sprang with the agility of a 
 fawn, picked it up, and presented it with a low 
 bow, to the owner. The exceeding beauty of 
 the child, contrasted, as it was, with his mean 
 habiliments, made him a most interesting ob 
 ject. The gentlemen were undoubtedly struck, 
 as I observed they pointed towards him, while 
 conversing with much animation. At length 
 one of them called the boy and presented him 
 a dollar. 
 
 I wish you could have seen the little fellow 
 when he came bounding into the house to ex 
 hibit his prize. He was too young to feel any 
 mortification from being thought an object of 
 charity there was nothing but pure joy in his 
 sensations. His bright eyes fairly lightened 
 with pleasure, and his rosy face laughed and 
 
78 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 dimpled all over, while his breath came so 
 short and eager, he could hardly find words 
 to express his feelings, as he exclaimed 
 4 Mother, dear mother, I shall buy something 
 for you I shall buy everything you want ! 
 Tears and smiles were blended on the faded 
 and sad, but still sweet countenance of his 
 mother. I read her thoughts she was an 
 ticipating the day when her boy would be her 
 friend and protector. At that moment her 
 husband entered. He had, as I afterwards 
 learned, been that morning refused credit for 
 a glass of liquor, and in the contention that 
 ensued his wrath had been treated with con 
 tempt, till he finally became so outrageous he 
 was driven from the store ; the very one he 
 had formerly owned. I saw there was a 
 terrific frown on his brow, and that his wife 
 shuddered ; but his little son, elated and joy 
 ous, saw or heeded not the gathering storm. 
 He sprang to his father, and holding up his 
 money again told what he was intending to 
 buy for his mother. 
 
 * You shall do no such thing, thundered the 
 savage parent, snatching the money from the 
 child s grasp. i Go, bring me yonder bottle 
 I will see if I cannot have a glass of rum ! 
 
 ! give me my dollar, father, give me 
 my dollar, cried the child, clinging to his 
 father s knee. 
 
 With the fury of a madman flashing from his 
 eyes, that father raised his clenched fist. 
 Mrs. Murray shrieked, and we both sprang 
 
WEDDING AND FUNERAL. 79 
 
 forward to intercept the blow. It was too 
 late ! 
 
 I have no idea James Murray intended to 
 kill his child, or indeed that he knew, at the 
 time, what he did ; but when he saw the 
 guiltless victim of his wrath, lying like a 
 crushed lamb senseless pale as marble 
 the blood streaming from his mouth and nos 
 trils, it recalled the maniac to his senses. 
 The chords of his better feeling, which for a 
 long time had not vibrated, were touched 
 and the fountain of his affections, which had 
 seemed withered, scorched, dried up, sudden 
 ly gushed forth with the stream of tenderness. 
 With the most careful attention he assisted me 
 to raise the body of his child he chafed his 
 temples and little hands he spoke soothingly 
 to his wife, in the tone and with the words of 
 endearment, once so familiar to her ear. We 
 essayed everything to revive the child, but 
 in vain the spirit of the young sufferer had 
 passed from earth. When we became convin 
 ced that life was extinct, the lamentations of 
 the mother were heart-rending. Her husband 
 listened one moment his features were con 
 vulsed with agony, and I hoped and prayed 
 he might weep but that relief was denied 
 him. Suddenly his countenance assumed a 
 fixed and horrid expression ; it was the wild- 
 ness of utter despair. His eyes glared, he 
 gnashed his teeth, and clenching both hands, 
 invoked on his own head the most awful de 
 nunciations, and rushed from the house. 
 
80 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 Mrs. Murray but I see you are distress 
 ed, and I will not attempt to describe her 
 feelings. She died the next morning, and I 
 rejoiced at her release from a world she had 
 found so filled with thorns. Yesterday, just 
 as the thunder was bursting in fury, the body 
 of James Murray was found. He had drown 
 ed himself ! Probably he never paused after 
 leaving his house, as the expression of his 
 features was unchanged his teeth were set 
 and his hands still clenched. We buried him 
 in silence, near the spot where his body was 
 discovered ; and yonder, attended by nearly 
 all the inhabitants of our village, as mourners, 
 come the remains of his murdered child and 
 victim wife. 
 
-crtrv 
 
 >trv r~ jb+*t*> 
 
 * . i *Ta3 J*""** 1 *"** 
 
 ANN ELLSWORTH. 
 
 Wooing thee, I found thee of more value 
 
 Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags ; 
 
 And tis the very riches of thyself 
 
 That now I aim at SHAKSPEA.RE. 
 
 ABOUT one mile from the pretty village of 
 
 N , that stretches along the banks of the 
 
 fertile Connecticut, there lived, some thirty 
 years since, a farmer bvthe name of Williams. 
 He was a good man, in the Yankee sense of 
 the term, that is, industrious and thriving, and 
 accounted honest and pious for he lived 
 aboveboard, paid all his contracts punctually, 
 and belonged to the church. So he was called 
 a good man, and on many accounts he truly 
 deserved the epithet ; but there was one foil to 
 his virtues-^-he was avaricious./ 
 
 The acquisition of property is, in our coun 
 try, so very creditable, that probably many 
 who yield themselves slaves to the love of mo 
 ney are not aware of the dominion it exercises 
 over their hearts and passions. They do not 
 intend to love the world, or the things thereof, 
 unduly ; but they want to have the comforts of 
 life, and the means of entertaining their friends, 
 and somewhat to bestow in charity, and a por- 
 
82 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 tion for their children, and many other items, 
 which appear indispensable; and thus they 
 deem the eagerness with which they go on in 
 creasing their hoards, but the duty they owe 
 themselves, families and society. 
 
 I have said Williams was a thriving man, in 
 deed he was rich for the sphere in which he 
 moved. He cultivated his excellent farm with 
 great care, the eye of the traveller was always 
 arrested by his charming situation, and it was 
 often remarked that so quiet and pleasant a 
 residence must be the abode of content and 
 happiness. How little of either are dependent 
 on worldly prosperity ! 
 
 Both Williams and his wife loved the world 
 so well they had but little love to bestow on 
 each other ; and though they both toiled hard, 
 and rose up early, and sat up late, and eat ( the 
 bread of carefulness, it was not from the sym 
 pathy of affection, but to become rich. They 
 gained their wishes; but then they found, as all 
 will find, that whenever worldly desires are in 
 ordinately indulged, their gratification is sure 
 to bring disappointment and vexation, if not 
 misery, to the worldling. They thought, and 
 people generally said, that all their uneasiness 
 was caused by the untoward behaviour of their 
 only son. Obed Williams was one of those com 
 mon characters, and they are much the most 
 numerous class, which seem to have no distin 
 guishing lineament, but take their form and 
 pressure entirely from surrounding objects and 
 accidental circumstances. He was in infan 
 cy rather a sickly child, and so his mother 
 
ANN ELLSWORTH. 8$ 
 
 constantly indulged him in every whim and 
 in childhood he was, chiefly in consequence 
 of that indulgence, cross and wilful ; and then 
 his father, who made Solomon s mode of gov 
 ernment his standard, as constantly whipped 
 him for every fault, and it is difficult to decide 
 which mode of treatment had the worst effect 
 on his disposition. To complete his evil des 
 tiny, it was often whispered in his ear, and that 
 too by his own mother, that he was a rich man s 
 only child, and would, sometime, inherit a large 
 estate, and have it in his power to do just as 
 he pleased. Should it excite wonder that, as 
 he grew towards manhood, and therefore found 
 himself exempted from corporal punishment, he 
 displayed a selfish, sullen, overbearing temper? 
 His parents, by their injudicious management 
 had increased, if not kindled it; and they were 
 punished by his wilfulness and disobedience. 
 But still Mr. Williams hoped that if his son 
 married a good wife he would improve, and with 
 his usual sagacity, when pecuniary profit was in 
 question, he had selected such an one for Obed. 
 
 Your cousin, Ann Ellsworth, will be here 
 to-morrow, said Mr. Williams an<3, Obed, 
 I do hope you will not show any of your con 
 trary temper, but be sociable and endeavour to 
 please her. Ann is a girl worth pleasing, for 
 she will have a fortune of four thousand dollars; 
 and her mother, before she died, consented 
 that Ann should marry you. 
 
 What, whether 1 choose it, or no? said 
 Obed, looking up with an expression of fea 
 tures between a simper and a sneer. 
 
84 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 1 You will choose it, Obed, replied his fa 
 ther, in a soothing tone. * Ann was very hand 
 some when 1 saw her last, which is about three 
 years ago. It was when her mother died, and 
 I wished to bring the girl right home with me 
 and have her learn to work ; but. she was so 
 anxious to go back to her school, and her mo 
 ther had promised her she should go and com 
 plete her education. I don t call such an 
 education complete by any means; but 1 did not 
 like to contradict sister then, as she had been 
 very loath to sign her name to the will that 
 obliges Ann to forfeit her fortune if she mar 
 ries without my consent. I pressed that mat 
 ter, and Alined my point, and let sister have 
 her <>\\n way in the rest. 
 
 4 IMay be Ann will not like me, said Obed, 
 witli an expression of thought which his face 
 seldom wore. 
 
 4 She must like you, or lose her property, 
 or it will be forfeited to me if she marries 
 without my consent and I shall not give it to 
 any one but you. But say nothing to Ann 
 about it. Girls always like to have their own 
 \\;y iu marrying, and seldom love those their 
 friends choose, so I ha\e contrived to keep 
 tlu* matter a secret except from a few who 
 were \\iinesscs in the matter. Yon must try 
 to please \our cousin, and as soon as you can 
 persuade her to marry you I will put you in 
 possession of all her fortune, and one third of 
 my own estate. 
 
 k 1 should think you might give me one half, 
 replied Obed, with a dissatisfied and sullen 
 
ANN ELLSWORTH. 85 
 
 air, i I don t see why old folks want to keep 
 everything for themselves. 
 
 Mr. Williams regarded his son with that 
 look of bitter anguish which the discovery of 
 ingratitude in a child excites in a parent s 
 heart. There were no soothing reflections to 
 allay the sting ; something in his own breast 
 whispered that he deserved chastisement ; that 
 he had been guilty of the sin of covetousness, 
 while professing the most disinterested con 
 cern for his orphan niece, and remorse for the 
 part he had acted in obtaining the will, and 
 an indefinite dread, that somehow, his own 
 child was to be the instrument of punishing 
 his fault, came so home to his mind and con 
 science, that, covering his face with his hands, 
 the tears he could not restrain he allowed to 
 flow. 
 
 Obed was not naturally hard-hearted, and 
 touched with this exhibition of sorrow he wish 
 ed to comfort his lather, but not knowing what 
 to say, he stood twirling his hat till Mr. Wil 
 liams, with that feel ing of impatience which 
 self reproach awakens in the unhumbled heart, 
 angrily bade him go about his business. 
 
 Obed departed whistling. 
 
 Pray where do you keep your books, cousin 
 Obed ? " said Ann Ellsworth, the morning but 
 one after her arrival. 1 1 have searched every 
 part of the house, and excepting the Bible, find ; 
 nothing worth reading, and I really want some 
 thing to amuse me. 
 
 I should never think of looking for a book 
 to amuse myself. 
 
86 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 And what do you like ? inquired Ann. 
 
 ( 0, hunting and fishing in the summer, 
 and skating and playing checkers in the win 
 ter. 
 
 Ann laughed, but Obed had sufficient pene 
 tration to discern that what he had said had 
 not raised him in her esteem ; and as he real 
 ly wished to please her, he attempted to apol 
 ogize for his want of taste and literature. 
 
 * We have but little time to spend in read 
 ing, said he, or my parents have none. I, 
 to be sure, am not hurried, for I will not 
 drudge on the farm, and I suppose I should 
 have liked reading as well as you do if I had 
 only had entertaining books ; but father never 
 would buy anything but land and cattle, and 
 all he thinks about is getting money. He has 
 laid up as much as I shall want to spend, and 
 that s one good thing ; so there is no need of 
 my working ; and as I have nothing to read, I 
 must hunt, and fish, and play checkers. 
 
 Ann had now learned that her cousin was 
 /idle and illiterate^ and though she kne-vrnoth- 
 in^ of the detects of h .. * so com 
 
 pletely did his self-exposure destroy the favor 
 able opinion which his good looks, for if a 
 fine manly form, regular features, and fair 
 complexion, constitute beauty, he v/as really 
 very handsome, had inspired, that she never, 
 from .that hour, thought Liui agreeable. 
 
 You will find books enough if you go down 
 to Mrs. Grant s, said Mrs. Williams, to the 
 reiterated wishes of her niece for something 
 to read. They are always reading, though 
 
ANN ELLSWORTH. 87 
 
 they are so poor I don t know how (hey can 
 afford to spend their time. 
 
 Who is Mrs. Grant, and where does she 
 live ? asked Ann. 
 
 1 0, she is a poor widow, and with her four 
 daughters, lives in a little house, clown in what 
 we call the valley, ahout half a mile off. 
 
 1 A poor widow, living in a small house, 
 thought Ann, as, glancing her eye around the 
 handsome apartment in which she was seated, 
 she pondered the propriety of a visit. 
 
 4 They are poor enough, continued Mrs. 
 Williams, l and have nothing only what they 
 earn by taking in work and braiding straw. 
 
 1 Braiding straw ! thought Ann, as she 
 surveyed in a mirror her own elegant dress, 
 and she almost resolved to think no more of 
 the Grants. 
 
 i And yet, resumed her aunt, i to hear them 
 talk about their books, you would think they 
 did nothing but read; and then they are all so 
 proud of Charles. 
 
 1 And who isjCharles ? inquired Ann. 
 
 0, he .is.. tUcir...Jaro53Lfix Ju .Jtto..o .oldest of the 
 family; and he was a very ill-looking child, 
 ancT he don t look much better now. I wish 
 you "could see him beside of Obed. But 
 Charles \v;;s r;i!l-- d ;i <:r>od scholar, and some 
 how he hns -ot alor.g in his studies, wonder 
 fully, quite beyond my expectations ; for he 
 has studied law, and is now practising, though 
 he is only two years older than Obed. But 
 Obed thinks, I spose, that he is rich enough 
 without studying. 
 
88 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 Ann Ellsworth was a little capricious, for 
 she had been a petted child; and gay and high 
 spirited, for she was very fair, and had been 
 flattered, but she had good sense, and when 
 ever she reflected, her decisions were sure to 
 be influenced by reason and right principles. 
 She did reflect on what her aunt had commu 
 nicated, and the conclusion was to seek the 
 acquaintance of the Miss Grants. 
 
 Their dwelling, a low house, containing only 
 three small rooms, besides a little one in the 
 garret which had been the study of Charles, 
 and was now his sisters library, stood in a 
 quiet nook about twenty rods from the high 
 road, at the foot of a green hill ; and the front 
 of the building was almost entirely covered 
 and concealed by woodbine, and lilacs, and 
 prime rose bushes, then in full blossom. Ann 
 loved flowers, and books, and intelligent~cbn- 
 versatiori ; at Mrs. Grant s she found them all, 
 and after a few days intercourse she could not, 
 very complacently, reflect on the foolish preju 
 dice which had so nearly prevented her from 
 cultivating the acquaintance of this amiable 
 family, merely because they were poor, lived 
 in a small nouse, and braided straw. There 
 is, in sincere piety, an elevating principle, 
 which never fails to dignify its possessor. 
 Let the poor inhabitant of a cottage feel him 
 self an heir of eternal glory^.and envy at the 
 prosperity of his rich neighbour, and repinings 
 at his own hard fortune, vain regrets and idle 
 wishes, are all repressed. He bows submis 
 sively to the dispensations of that Providence 
 
ANN ELLSWORTH. 89 
 
 "which has in this life assigned him a lowly lot; 
 and lo oETrig onTyToTTtTe set be 
 
 fore him, iTrffTnilld and" "conversation are, per 
 haps insensibly to himself, imbued with the 
 purity and moral grandeur of that faith which 
 istJestined to inherit a throne in heaven. The 
 devptioji__aLJtIrs. Grant was tau^ pure and 
 elevated. _ She had none of that morose, mys 
 tical, mechanical affectation of piety which is 
 dependent on settled phrases, and staled sea 
 sons. Her worship was not dictated by fear, 
 but inspired by love. c Our Father which art 
 in heaven, ahvays suggested to her heart the 
 idea of a tender, benevolent and holy parent, 
 who was constantly watching over her and 
 hers for good ; and when aillictions came they 
 were but the chastenings of his mercy. -It 
 was impossible that Ann Ellsworth should be 
 come, as it were, domesticated beneath the 
 peaceful roof of Mrs. Grant without observing 
 the difference that existed between its inmates 
 and that of her uncle s elegant dwelling. In 
 the latter, all was hurry and anxiety, labor 
 ancl care ; exemplifying the truth of the wise 
 man s remark, that the abundance of the rich 
 w r ill not suffer him to sleep. 
 
 And then the acquisition of riches brought 
 no enjoyment, except merely, the idea of pos 
 sessing them. The elegant and costly furni 
 ture that decked the parlour of Mrs. Williams,! 
 instead of awakening in her mind elegance of I 
 taste, only suggested ideas of the money it had 
 cost, and the care and trouble which would be 
 necessary to preserve it from injury. She fear- 
 8 
 
90 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 ed to have her husband or child set their feet on 
 the carpeted floor, and whenever they did, then 
 were sharp reproofs on her part, saucy retorts 
 from her son, and surly grumblings from the 
 lord of the mansion on the inconvenience to 
 which such newfangled decorations subjected 
 him. 
 
 But at Mrs. Grant s, all was quietness and 
 affection ; and though they were necessitated 
 fo earn their livelihood, they did not neglect to 
 cultivate that refinement of fe_ejing, mind, and 
 manners, which gives a zest to social inter 
 course. .Mrs. Grant possessed great, decision 
 of character. This quality is rare in woman ; 
 whether in consequence of her more delicate 
 organization, or the dependent situation in 
 which nature and education have placed her, 
 is of no consequence to inquire. While she 
 has judicious friends and kind protectors, she 
 can very well dispense with that kind of ener 
 getic decision displayed by men, which seems 
 to be attained only by deep reflection, when the 
 rnind has been tasked to judge of the fitness of 
 a proposition with reference to its ultimate im 
 portance alone, and when that is clear, feels 
 prepared to encounter every obstacle the world 
 can raise to its accomplishment. Such deci 
 sion only becomes necessary to woman in ad 
 versity. Let no one imagine its exertion con 
 tributes to the happiness of a female. It may 
 r be her duly, it should never be her desire. 
 
 There is no human mind exempt from weak 
 nesses. Mrs. Grant had hers, and the most 
 prominent one was the fondness with which 
 
ANN ELLSWORTH. 91 
 
 she doted on her children, especially her son. 
 Her neighbours declared she was never heard 
 to converse five minutes without mentioning 
 Charles. She certainly contrived very soon 
 to introduce his name to Ann Ellsworth ; and 
 tell of his genius, and discretion, and kind heart; 
 always adding, that under Heaven, he was all 
 her dependence. The girls, she would say, 
 * are good, and industrious, and obedient ; but 
 what can girls do ? Charles takes thought for 
 us all. He assists me, and advises them, and 
 provides for himself ; and it is all owing to him, 
 that his sisters are so well educated. He gave 
 them all their books, and taught them when he 
 was here, and writes to them now he is away, 
 and never seems weary of the task. He gave 
 me, too, my large Bible, because my eyes had 
 grown weak, and I never open it without thank- 
 in* Heaven for having blessed me with such a 
 son. I want, Miss Ellsworth, you should see 
 him. He is not handsome, to be sure, noth 
 ing so handsome as Obed Williams, but when 
 you are once acquainted with him, you will not 
 notice his plainness. I do wish he would come 
 home while you are here. 
 
 Ann cordially joined in the wish ; the letters 
 he sent his sisters were often shown her$ and 
 combined, with what she otherwise heard, to 
 give her a high opinion of his talents and 
 character. Her situation in her uncle s family 
 had grown almost intolerable. She was so 
 wearied with their eternally reiterated com 
 plaints of bad health, and bad weather, bad 
 crops, and bad markets, which constituted the 
 
92 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 chief topics of their discourse, when together ; 
 when separated, they were usually complain 
 ing of each other. Obed thought his parents 
 cross and stingy they called him idle and ex 
 travagant, and poor Ann had to hear it all. 
 One beautiful forenoon, in the month of Au 
 gust, Ann called at Mrs. Grant s, as usual, to 
 pass an hour, but found them all engaged in 
 preparation, as if for some expected guest. 
 The floor of their little parlour was newly 
 sanded, the fire-place filled with fresh green 
 boughs, and the few flowers their garden at 
 that late season afforded, were gathered and 
 placed in glass tumblers, disposed on the man 
 tel-piece. 
 
 1 We have just received a letter from 
 Charles, said Mrs. Grant, her face radiant 
 with smiles, and we expect him every mo 
 ment. I can truly say I am glad, and I hope 
 I am grateful. We did riot expect him this 
 month, and he is coming now. But do, my 
 dear Miss Ellsworth, sit down ; the girls will 
 hardly be at leisure to walk with you at pre 
 sent, but if you will stay till Charles comes, 
 I presume he will be happy to take a ramble., 
 and you can all go together. 
 
 Ann excused herself from staying, by plead 
 ing engagements at home ; and as she slowly 
 and solitarily pursued the path to her uncle s, 
 she reflected much on the insufficiency of 
 wealth to confer happiness on a family, whose 
 members are neither united by the confidence 
 of affection towards each other, nor by grati 
 tude and love to the Giver of every good. 
 
ANN ELLSWORTH. 93 
 
 Charles Grant arrived, and in due time was 
 introduced to Ann ; and the fair reader un 
 doubtedly expects to hear of their mutual and 
 immediate prepossession in each other s favor. 
 Charles Grant, however, was not a man with 
 whom a woman would be very likely to fall in 
 love with at first sight. He was plain, almost 
 to ugliness, small and thin, with harsh fea 
 tures, and sallow complexion, and gray eyes, 
 and the only redeeming point in his appear 
 ance, was a finely formed forehead, around 
 which his dark hair gracefully clustered. But 
 he was so intelligent and agreeable, and af 
 fectionate to his mother and sisters, and so 
 gentlemanly, Ann could not help esteeming 
 his character, and delighting in his society. 
 Three weeks he allowed for his visit, and said, 
 during that time, he should trace all the haunts 
 of his childhood ; and he usually persuaded 
 his sisters and Ann to accompany him in his 
 rambles and excursions. Obed Williams, al 
 so, dressed in his very best, always was 
 there, for jealousy of the superior abilities of 
 Charles, and fears that he would gain the 
 favor of Ann, had operated to make Obed fancy 
 himself violently in love with his cousin ; and 
 he studiously endeavoured to display advanta 
 geously before her, what he considered of vast 
 importance, his fine person. He had better 
 have staid at home. Ann did often see 
 Charles and Obed beside each other, but it 
 was when the one was all animation, his 
 plain features glowing with intelligence, and 
 his gray eye sparkling with the wit and vivac- 
 
94 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 ity that flowed so enchantingly from his lips 
 while the other stood in stupid or wondering 
 silence, his handsome features dull and un 
 varying as a barber s block. 
 
 It was then that the heart of Ann confessed 
 the truth of the poet s assertion, that 
 
 .Mind, mind alone, (hear witness earth and heaven,) 
 The living fountain in itself contains 
 Of beauteous and sublime 
 
 and though she did not look and love, she lis 
 tened with such undisguised pleasure, for her 
 mind was all artlessness, that before the three 
 little weeks were expired, Charles had dared 
 to whisper his admiration, and had not been for 
 bidden to hope. Obed, at the discovery of his 
 cousin s partiality for his rival, was filled with 
 rage and envy. He declared Charles was 
 wholly influenced by pecuniary motives, and 
 that Ann, like all young ladies, who fancy them 
 selves educated, despised the laboring class, 
 and thought a professional man only worthy her 
 smiles. This is an observation often urged by 
 . farmers. The fault is all their own. No class 
 of men in our own country, are so independent 
 as the agriculturists, and none would be more 
 respected, did they only cultivate their minds as 
 assiduously as their acres. They plead want of 
 leisure ; let them improve what they have 
 the stormy days the long winter evenings 
 opportunities are not wanting books are with 
 in their reach the road to honor and high 
 station is open before them, and yet they sit 
 down, not contentedly to be sure, for the soul 
 
ANN ELLSWORTH. 05 
 
 of an American cannot rest contented in igno 
 rance^ aUcTbTDScurity, while light, and knowl 
 edge, and energy, and enterprise are with the 
 spirit of liberty, abroad in the world ; but they 
 sit "down in envious repining*, at the late which 
 has assigned them the task of tilling the earth, 
 when they should .be, exerting themselves to 
 obtain that knowledge which will confer honor 
 and dignity on their employment. 
 
 Ann Ellsworth did not despise Obed because 
 he was a farmer, but because he was idle and 
 illiterate. \Neither was the choice of Charles 
 Grant influenced by pecuniary motives ; yet 
 had Ann, with her tastes and education, been 
 poor, he would hardly have dared to whisper 
 his love, till he had acquired the means of 
 supporting herln the style which she would 
 probably have expected from a husband in his 
 station. But all such objections were now 
 obviated by the fortune she would inherit ; and 
 while he felt, that had he possessed a prince 
 dom, Ann would stiil be the object of his af 
 fection, in preference to any woman he had 
 ever seen, he did not hesitate to avow his par 
 tiality because the world might say he was 
 mercenary. 
 
 Mr. Williams listened to the application of 
 Charles, for consent to marry his niece, with 
 an air in which anger and exultation were 
 strangely blended. You are doubtless think 
 ing that Ann has a fortune at her command, 
 said ho, with a sneer. 
 
 I have not asked your consent for her for 
 tune., but for her, dryly observed Charles. 
 
96 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 i My consent is indeed of some consequence 
 in this matter, returned Mr. Williams, with 
 affected solemnity : But I have my duty to per 
 form. Read that paper, Mr. Grant. 
 
 It was the ( last will and testament of Mrs. 
 Ellsworth ; and Charles there learned that the 
 consent of Mr. Williams to the marriage of 
 Ann was necessary, otherwise her fortune was 
 forfeited to her uncle. 
 
 And read this ere paper, too, Mr. Grant, 
 continued Mr. Williams. 
 
 It was a paper expressing the wishes of Mrs. 
 Ellsworth that her daughter should marry Obed 
 Williams. 
 
 c You see how I am situated, resumed 
 the crafty old man. i My sister, knowing her 
 daughter was gay and giddy, and that her for 
 tune would attract the young sparks, who are 
 watching to obtain a rich wife, insisted that I 
 should take the girl and her property as my 
 own, and when she was old enough to marry, 
 give her to my son. My conscience will not 
 permit me to violate the trust. 
 
 1 Is the young lady apprized of this ? inquir 
 ed Charles. 
 
 1 0, no I hoped she would become attach 
 ed to Obed, and I think she will now, if no 
 other person attempts to engage her affections. 
 I have told you all, sir, because I believe you 
 are a reasonable young man, and will not 
 think it worth while to deprive the girl of her 
 fortune, just for a little foolish fancy. You 
 see, under all ^circumstances, I cannot give 
 you my consent. 
 
ANN ELLSWORTH. 97 
 
 { Have you any objection to my character 
 or situation ? 
 
 1 0, no but I am determined she shall mar 
 ry Obed, and I do not think it my duty to give 
 you my consent. 
 
 And what if Miss Ellsworth should marry 
 me without it ? 
 
 Then her property shall be my son s. It 
 was the dying request of my sister. The es 
 tate was left her by my father, and she said it 
 should never go out of the family. My duty, 
 in such a case, is plain, sir. 
 
 1 You may look over the will as much as 
 you please, resumed Mr. Williams, sarcasti 
 cally. You ll find no flaws, by which you 
 can get the property, after you marry Ann, I 
 promise you. That ere will was drawn by as 
 cunning a lawyer as you are, sir. 
 
 Charles did examine it, coolly and minutely, 
 till satisfied there were no flaws; he laid it 
 down, saying, i It is not merely on account of 
 the property that I display this interest. I 
 consider my happiness and that of Miss Ells 
 worth involved. And though I will not believe 
 she can ever prefer your son, notwithstanding 
 he is heir to your estate, and has the rever 
 sion of hers in his grasp ; yet I own the possi 
 bility that she may think our mutual poverty 
 should, for the present, prevent her from giv 
 ing me the right to protect her, troubles me. 
 
 Do you then intend to marry her without 
 my consent ? 
 
 i If I can obtain hers, I shall not hesitate on 
 account of the forfeiture. 
 9 
 
98 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 6 You can do as you please, hut I raly thought 
 you had more sense, said Williams, tauntingly. 
 And as little feeling and honor as but good 
 morning, sir ; and slightly bowing, Charles de 
 parted in search of his beloved. The conversa 
 tion of the lovers cannot be given at length, but 
 the conclusion was that Ann, either convinced 
 by the arguments or melted by the entreaties of 
 Charles, consented to wed him immediately. 
 
 I would not urge you thus hastily to unite 
 your fate with mine, said Charles, while I am 
 poor, and incapable of supporting you as I 
 could wish, had you any relative, except this 
 avaricious uncle, with whom to reside. It i 
 evident that he covets your estate. We will 
 let him enjoy it undisturbed. You would not 
 surely preserve it by marrying Obed ? 
 
 f I cannot believe my dear mother, were she 
 living, would consent I should marry him, said 
 Ann, weeping why did she sign that cru 
 el paper ? 
 
 Probably when her mind was weakened by 
 sickness, replied Charles. I am convinced 
 your uncle used artifice to obtain it. But we 
 will leave him to Heaven and his own con 
 science, and think no more of the matter. If 
 we cannot be rich, my love, we will be happy. 
 Ann \\iis a gay girl, and fond of society, but 
 she had good sense. She knew she had mar 
 ried a poor man, and though she was a little 
 romantic, she did not allow herself to expect to 
 find in a cottage the luxuries of a palace, or 
 that her husband, from only the income of his 
 profession, could furnish for her the elegances 
 
ANN ELLSWORTH. 99 
 
 the rich are at liberty to enjoy. She did not, 
 therefore, anticipate the delight of residing in 
 a fine house, and the parade of a wedding par 
 ty, and morning calls, and evening entertain 
 ments but was contented to occupy a plain 
 apartment, plainly furnished, and pass the bri 
 dal year busily employed with her needle, or 
 her books. It is true, she did, at times, during 
 the long days, feel a little moped but when 
 the evening came, and freed Charles from his 
 office, how joyfully she greeted his step, and 
 exerted herself to soothe all his cares; and how 
 delightedly she listened to his instructions and 
 advice, while in unreserved confidence slie told 
 him all she had read, and all she had thought. 
 Milton s heroine preferred to listen to the 
 truths of philosophy from her husband s lip, 
 rather than the angel s. 
 
 Charles, meanwhile, applied himself with 
 all the energy inspired by love and ambition, 
 to the prosecution of his business, and thought 
 every toil and perplexity repaid by the sweet 
 smiles that always awaited him by his own fire 
 side. Thirty years have jpassed away since 
 they were married." Thirty "years make little 
 alteration in the appearance of nature. It is 
 on man and his works that the characters of 
 time are impressed. And probably in no part 
 of the world are changes so apparent as in our 
 beloved country. The spirit of restlessness as 
 well as improvement, pervades our citizens. 
 This would naturally be the case with men, 
 when an extensive country is open before them, 
 and all are at liberty to remove withersoever 
 
100 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 they please. The spirit of emigration is pro 
 ductive of many good effects, and some melan 
 choly ones. There is a feeling of sadness in 
 the parent s heart while reflecting that the 
 household band, so fondly reared together, will 
 probably, in a few years, be so far, and so 
 widely severed. Let no man, while planning 
 his lofty dwelling, flatter himself he is building 
 for his own posterity the son of his enemy 
 may inhabit there. 
 
 The parents of Obed Williams fondly imagin 
 ed the estate they had so eagerly toiled to gain 
 and improve, would be highly valued by their 
 son but they had the grief and mortification 
 of seeing the part assigned him, on his mar 
 riage, soon disposed of; and the chagrin and 
 sorrow they endured in consequence of his un- 
 dutiful and prodigal conduct, it was thought 
 hastened their death. Obed, then, for a few 
 years, revelled in luxury; but finally, increas 
 ing debts began to harass him, and as the small 
 estimation in which he knew he had been held, 
 notwithstanding he was heir to the best estate 
 in the country, had always provoked him, he 
 disposed of his property, at a reduced price, 
 and departed for Ohio, where he flattered 
 himself he should be considered a great man. 
 But the people in the western states have long 
 since learned to distinguish between the igno 
 rant adventurer who has nothing but his own 
 egotism to recommend him, and the man of en 
 terprise and intelligence seeking a wider sphere 
 for the exertion of his talents and Obed Wil 
 liams gained nothing by the removal. 
 
ANN ELLSWORTH. 10! 
 
 There is One event happeneth to all, and the 
 changes of time are alike on the evil and the 
 good. Thirty years have blanched the dark 
 locks of Charles, and planted wrinkles on the 
 fair face of Ann. The vivacity of youth and 
 the glow of beauty must decay, even the ar 
 dor of imagination is chilled, and the light of 
 the understanding darkened by the cold pall 
 of years. There is but one. earthly flower that 
 blooms jmfacling iri OUr"eai thly path it is the 
 true love of virtuous hearts. The lapse of 
 thirty years has wrought no change on the 
 affection of Charles and Ann. She listens as 
 delightedly to his conversation as when his 
 eloquence first won her smile ; and that smile 
 is just as dear to him as when he first called 
 her his bride. But their situation is changed. 
 Thirty years of industry and economy have 
 given them an independent fortune, and what 
 is far better than gold, a name and a praise 
 for every excellence that dignifies human na 
 ture. Satisfied with their portion of the world, 
 they wished to retire from its bustle, and 
 Charles Grant has lately purchased the farm 
 formerly owned by Mr. Williams. It was en 
 deared to him by many recollections. Its 
 shades had been the haunts of his boyhood it 
 was there he v/on the heart of his beloved wife, 
 and above all, it was near the dwelling of his 
 aged mother. So he purchased, and is im 
 proving the farm, and the passing traveller is 
 not now mistaken when he deems the beautiful 
 residence the abode of content and happiness. 
 

 I " 
 
 THE 
 VILLAGE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 
 
 Life, like every other blessing, 
 
 Derives its value from its use alone ; 
 
 Nor for itself, but for a nobler end 
 
 The Eternal gave it and that end is virtue. 
 
 S. JOHNSON. 
 
 THE peculiar characteristics of females, be 
 ing less distinctly marked, are much more dif 
 ficult to be delineated than those of the other 
 sex. There are various pursuits by which 
 men may hope to obtain happiness and dis 
 tinction for women there is but one path 
 her success in life depends entirely on her do 
 mestic establishment. Let the education of 
 women differ ever so much in detail, its end 
 is the same, to qualify them to become wives 
 and mothers; and in every station the object 
 of female ambition is to marry well. This 
 similarity of purpose produces a similarity 
 of thought, feeling, action, and consequently 
 character, which no uniformity of training 
 could otherwise bestow. And then, the busi 
 ness of married women, though varying in 
 ceremonials, according to the circumstances or 
 rank of the respective husbands, is essentially 
 alike. 
 
VILLAGE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 103 
 
 * To study household good, 
 
 And good works in her husband to promote ; 
 
 and to cherish and watch over her offspring, 
 are, in our country, the employments for life 
 of each individual. (I have not taken into this 
 amount those modish ladies who appear to 
 think themselves born only to be amused, be 
 cause such a class is scarcely recognised in 
 our republican land here happily, in public 
 estimation, the useful yet takes precedence of 
 the fashionable.) While such only are the of 
 fices and duties which women are expected to 
 perform, it would be absurd to think they 
 would exhibit that variety of talent, or those 
 prominent and peculiar qualities of mind, that 
 distinguish men of different professions and 
 dissimilar occupations. What a contrast, in 
 the principles and pursuits of men, since the 
 time that Peter the Hermit first raised the 
 standard of the cross, and saw nations enrol 
 themselves beneath the sacred symbol, and this 
 age of free inquiry, of rational improvement, 
 of useful invention ! What sympathy would 
 there be between the opinions and feelings of 
 a crusader of the reign of Occur de Lion, and 
 an enlightened philosopher of our own nation ? 
 the one, in his mailed armour traversing the 
 burning plains of Syria, considering the rescue 
 of Jerusalem from the grasp of the infidels, as 
 the greatest and most meritorious action mor 
 tal man could perform ; the other, contempla 
 ting, with a calm delight that scenes of car 
 nage never afforded, the proposed route of a 
 rail road or canal, which, completed, would 
 
104 AMERICAN SKETCHES 
 
 give to peaceful industry, the means of raising 
 cities on the site of the wilderness ? 
 
 Yet woman is still the same still seeking 
 her earthly happiness only bjj subduing the 
 heart of lordly man} still endeavouring to 
 heighten and set off her personal attractions 
 by dress and accomplishments, that she may 
 thus secure the constant devotion of some gal 
 lant knight. 
 
 This distinction in the pursuits of the two 
 sexes could never have been so firmly estab 
 lished, and so long and uniformly upheld, in 
 every country and among every people, by 
 mere human authority and custom. In de 
 signating woman as i a helpmate for man, the 
 Creator marked her destiny : and to fit her for 
 the task, mercifully infused into her soul deep 
 attachment for home, enduring tenderness for 
 her offspring, and to the one she loves, that 
 constancy in affection, which rarely decays 
 till her heart is cold in death. She cannot 
 break these bonds if she would. It is idle to 
 talk of the f Rights of Woman, if they are 
 made to consist but in placing her in a station 
 manifestly contrary to the intentions of Provi 
 dence. It is worse than weak, it is wicked to 
 say she is degraded by fulfilling those duties 
 nature assigned her ; because the mind is not 
 circumscribed by time, or confined to earth ; 
 and in the promises of eternal glory, woman 
 participates equally with her lord. Indeed 
 were not all boasting excluded she might 
 claim the advantage the Saviour of the world 
 was peculiarly her seed, and the honor of hav- 
 
VILLAGE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 105 
 
 ing the One who brought life and immortality 
 to our fallen race named of her, establishes at 
 once her claim to a full participation of mind, 
 of soul, of that portion of our being which is 
 destined for immortality. It is then absurd 
 for woman to complain that her sphere on 
 earth is less honorable than that of man, be 
 cause it is different; or imagine that the privi 
 lege of commanding armies or convincing 
 senates would add to her importance, useful 
 ness and happiness because it must be evi 
 dent to all who consider the subject, that such 
 was not the part assigned her by Him who di- 
 recteth all things in wisdom. The great ef 
 fort therefore of female education, should be 
 to qualify woman to discharge her duties, not 
 to exalt her till she despises them ; to make it 
 her ambition to merit and display the charac 
 ter of the most amiable and intelligent of her 
 sex, rather than aspire to emulate the capacity 
 and conduct of men. In our country, where, 
 under the mild light of Christianity, free insti 
 tutions guarantee freedom of thought, of ex 
 pression, of action, the full and free develope- 
 ment of mind may rationally be expected ; and 
 here, if in any country on earth, women may 
 hope to take their true, their most dignified 
 station, as the helpers, the companions, of ed 
 ucated and independent men. And while our 
 citizens are endeavouring so to improve their 
 inestimable privileges, that the men of future 
 ages may be better and happier for their la 
 bors, have women no share in the important 
 task ? Their influence on the manners is 
 
106 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 readily and willingly conceded by every one ; 
 might not their influence on the mind be made 
 quite as irresistible, and far more beneficial, 
 and that, too, without violating in the least, 
 the propriety , which, to make their examples 
 valuable, should ever mark their conduct ? 
 The business of instruction is one of vast inter 
 est, because fraught with such important con 
 sequences to Americans. It is necessary that 
 all our people should be instructed, as univer 
 sal education is the main pillar that must 
 eventually support the temple of our liberty. 
 It is therefore a duty sacredly binding on our 
 legislators to provide for the instruction, dur 
 ing childhood and youth, of every member of 
 our republic. But while there are so many 
 pursuits, more lucrative and agreeable to ac 
 tive and ambitious young men, there will be a 
 lack of good instructors of those who are wil- 
 Hng to make it their business. Let, then, the 
 employment of school-keeping be principally 
 appropriated to females. They are both by 
 temper and habit, admirably qualified for the 
 task they have patience, fondness for child 
 ren, and are accustomed to seclusion and in 
 ured to self-government. Is it objected that 
 they do not possess sufficient soundness of 
 learning that their acquirements arc superfi 
 cial, showy, frivolous ? The fault is in their 
 education, not in the female mind. Only af 
 ford them opportunities of improvement and 
 motives for exertion ; let them be assured, that 
 
 * to sins, to dnnoo, 
 
 To dress, and troll the tongue-, and roll the eye, 1 
 
VILLAGE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 107 
 
 is not all that is required to make young ladies 
 agreeable or likely to be sought by the gentle 
 men that they may converse sensibly without 
 the charge of pedantry, and be intelligent 
 Avithout the appellation of a blue ; in short, that 
 they are expected to be rational, and required 
 to be useful, and they will not disappoint pub 
 lic expectation. 
 
 But I may not dwell on the subject ; my pre 
 face is already too long. Readers soon tire of 
 prefaces, arid skip them, and so the labor of 
 writing them is lost. Writers should never 
 flatter themselves everything from their pens 
 will be seized with avidity. Yet still it is, per 
 haps, best they should not know how slightly 
 many passages, they imagine most excellent, 
 are passed over ; how carelessly opinions and 
 sentiments, they consider of vital importance 
 to the interests and improvement of society, are 
 read. They would not persevere could the 
 mortifying truth be fully unfolded, namely, 
 that the chief importance of an author is in 
 his own estimation. Yet my preface will have 
 all the importance I wish, if it has any tenden 
 cy to awaken the attention of parents, and those 
 who have the superintendence of female edu 
 cation, to examine whether there be not some 
 end and aim besides a mere drawing-room dis 
 play, to which the exertion of female talent 
 may, with propriety, be directed. Yet to make 
 such a plan effectual, it must be made fashion 
 able the business of instruction must be di 
 vested of its associations of pretension arid 
 pedantry, and dulness and drilling. It must / 
 
108 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 be esteemed amiable, and comporting with 
 feminine gracefulness and delicacy as well as 
 dignity ; and moreover, it must be sufficiently 
 lucrative to insure an honorable independence. 
 Whenever such a f consummation, which I, for 
 one, most devoutly wish, shall occur, the char 
 acter of the schoolmistress will become inter 
 esting and important ; the office of instructress 
 will not be sought merely as the resource of 
 necessity and misfortune ; but ladies will en 
 gage in it, more sedulous to display their ac 
 quirements and graces by the progress of their 
 pupils, than an exhibition of themselves. And 
 then the story of Elizabeth Brooks will be 
 read with interest, and her example considered 
 worthy of imitation. Elizabeth Brooks was a 
 native of Walpole, N. II. Writers of fiction 
 usually introduce the epithets retired or ro 
 mantic before the name of the place where 
 they locate the residence of their heroine. 
 Such of my readers as have had the opportu 
 nity of visiting Walpole and its environs who 
 have gazed on the Falls, while standing be 
 neath the overhanging mountain, till fancy al 
 most saw the mighty mass trembling as if about 
 to precipitate itself into the gulf beneath; while 
 the agitation and whirl of the waters, as they 
 rush, and boil, and foam, among the broken 
 rocks, may, by no great effort of the imagina 
 tion, be ascribed to their fear of the impend 
 ing crush, and their hurry to escape from the 
 threatened ruin and then glanced on the op 
 posite shore, where, amidst plenty and beauty, 
 rural content seems to have fixed her seat, 
 
VILLAGE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 109 
 
 will not need be told that Walpole and its en 
 virons are romantic. Retired is a more rela 
 tive term to an inhabitant of Boston, the place 
 would be retired. When Elizabeth was born, 
 her father was an affluent merchant in the city 
 of Hartford when she was seventeen, he kept 
 a small boarding house in Walpole, lord of noth 
 ing on earth, save the affection of his wife and 
 child. Sickness, as well as misfortune, had 
 assailed him ; he was dying of consumption, 
 and before she was eighteen, she was fatherless. 
 In youth we seldom yield to despondency. Life 
 has then so many bright visions, some must 
 gild the path appointed us. It is not strange 
 such fancies should soothe Elizabeth, for the 
 star of love brightened her horizon. She was 
 very young, only fifteen, when her acquain 
 tance with William Forbes commenced. He 
 was then preparing for college, and sought her 
 society because she, more than any one, seem 
 ed to appreciate his studies. Yet it was more 
 the complacency of her disposition, than liking 
 for his person, that first induced Elizabeth to 
 admit his visits. He was a scholar rather than 
 a lover, and she had much oflener to listen to 
 scraps of Latin and Greek quotations, than 
 compliments or soft words. But then he fur 
 nished her with books, of which she was im 
 moderately fond, and he discussed with her the 
 merits of her favorite heroes, and the beauties 
 of her favorite poets ; and translated learned 
 mottoes, and explained obscure allusions, till 
 finally, from finding his presence necessary, 
 she began to regret his absence ; his idea was 
 
110 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 often and oftener recurring ; she thought of 
 him, and loved to think of him was she not 
 then in love ? Hers was not certainly roman 
 tic love such as is enkindled by a bright eye, 
 graceful form, fascinating manners, &c. It 
 was the calm, confiding esteem and affection, 
 that will last unimpaired through all the chan 
 ges of human life. Wedded love must be thus 
 rational, thus founded on esteem, or it will 
 never endure. The raptures of fancy will de 
 cay, if not with the first moon, with the first 
 year. 
 
 It is usually thought those who are beloved, 
 must be lovely but the comeliness of Eliza 
 beth was almost entirely owing to a fair com 
 plexion, and a kind, benignant expression of 
 countsnance, that assured the beholder of the 
 gentleness of her heart. She was one of those 
 girls whom the aged always praise a sure 
 sign of excellence and if some of the young 
 ladies thought her rather too fortunate in at 
 taching a scholar and a rich man s son, yet no 
 envy or illnature towards her was openly ex 
 pressed. She was twenty-two, when William, 
 after receiving his diploma, departed for the 
 State of New-York, where he intended to study 
 law, select a place of residence, and then re 
 turn and claim his bride. The time of separa 
 tion appeared long to them both. William 
 openly murmured, and tears told all tluit Eliza 
 beth could not speak. 
 
 * Let me find you unchanged at my return, 
 said William, pressing her hand. 
 
 ( Time changes us all/ replied Elizabeth. 
 
VILLAGE SCHOOLMISTRESS. Ill 
 
 c But your heart, my love, let that still be 
 mine, and I care not for other alterations. 
 
 He was then probably sincere." 
 
 i Do you think the report of your nephew s 
 intended marriage with a lady in New-York j 
 really true ? said Miss Ashton to the Rev. J. 
 Bennett, the uncle of William Forbes. Has 
 he entirely forsaken Elizabeth ? 
 
 1 1 fear so, indeed, replied the worthy 
 clergyman, with a shake of the head, and a 
 deep, long breath, between a sigh and groan. 
 Elizabeth is one of the best girls in the world, 
 but their courtship has been too long. I dis 
 like such long courtships I seldom knew one 
 end happily. There is usually jealousy and 
 quarrelling and if they do finally marry, it 
 often appears on the part of the man, more a 
 sense of honor than affection, which leads him 
 to fulfil his engagement. 
 
 ( Would there not be equal danger of repen 
 tance and repining, were the nuptial knot actu 
 ally tied ? inquired Miss Ashton. 
 
 1 No, there would not or certainly not with 
 persons of sense and reflection. They would 
 then feel their interests the same, and they 
 would feel that confidence in each other, which 
 love only never imparted. Even the changes 
 that time works on the fairest countenance, are 
 scarcely perceptible to the husband who daily 
 sees his wife exerting herself to make him and 
 his children happy. But the lover, after an ab 
 sence of several years, beholds the alterations 
 in his intended with deep regret, if not with 
 mortification. And the more ardent and de- 
 
112 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 voted he has been, the more perceptible is the 
 change. His imagination has been investing 
 his beloved with an increase of charms, while 
 time has been stealing a tooth, or auburn lock, 
 perhaps, and the bridegroom feels as if de 
 frauded of the loveliness for which he had bar 
 tered his heart. 
 
 4 But you forget, sir, said Miss Ashton, 
 eagerly, l that the gentlemen now allow us 
 some merit on the score of myid, and Miss 
 Brooks 
 
 1 Is wonderfully improved, I grant ye, in 
 terrupted Mr. Bennett and she is far more 
 deserving than when William first engaged her 
 hand ; because she has evinced the goodness 
 of her heart and temper by good works, by use 
 fulness that sure, and indeed to us, only test 
 of superior virtue, and the best criterion of su 
 perior abilities. But yet, Miss Ashton, we must 
 not expect, though the opinions of men and the 
 condition of women have wonderfully, and hap 
 pily changed, during the last half century, yet 
 we must not expect that the fancy for female 
 beauty, which is fostered, if not in a great mea 
 sure inspired, by our literature, (recollect eve 
 ry heroine, from Helen downwards, is painted 
 beautiful,) can be sufficiently efherealized, as 
 my Sophia would say, to prefer, without at least 
 an effort of reasoning, the graces of mind to the 
 graces of person. I know from my own feel 
 ings, as well as from observation, that men are 
 extremely apt to pay homage to beauty. It is 
 true, young men of sense and education soon 
 grow weary of a fool, though ever so pretty, 
 
VILLAGE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 113 
 
 but not always till after marriage ; when it is 
 too late. Such will probably be the fate of 
 William Forbes but his folly and injustice de 
 serve punishment. 
 
 And so Miss Brooks must all her life be 
 confined to the drudgery of school keeping, 
 said Miss Ashton, compassionately. 1 1 do 
 think keeping school must be the dullest thing 
 on earth. To be mewed up, day after day, 
 
 conning A. B. C. O, how I should detest 
 
 it ! But it may be congenial employment to 
 the mind of an old maid. 
 
 I am intending my daughter Sophia to 
 commence the business soon, observed Mr. 
 Bennett. 
 
 1 What, that joyous girl, who is all song, 
 smiles and sportiveness ? Why, to confine 
 her buoyant spirit in the prison of a school 
 room, would be as incongruous as for nature 
 to place nightingales in Lapland, or call forth 
 butterflies in January. She never will endure 
 it. 
 
 f She is eager to attempt it, replied Mr. 
 Bennett, ( and anticipates much pleasure in 
 the employment of school keeping. 
 
 Pleasure in school keeping ! reiterated 
 the laughing Miss Ashton. i Whoever thought 
 of associating pleasure with school keeping ! 
 I know indeed ladies sometimes engage in it, 
 but I always supposed it was from necessity, 
 for the pecuniary compensation merely, but 
 that cannot be your daughter s motive. 
 
 Neither is it now the motive of Elizabeth 
 Brooks. When she commenced instructing, 
 10 
 
114 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 the necessities of her mother required great 
 exertion. But Mrs. Brooks is no more. Slliz- 
 abeth has rich relations in Connecticut, who 
 would gladly support her, and indeed, who 
 urge her to reside with them. She does not 
 instruct from necessity. 
 
 I It is very strange she should instruct from 
 choice, observed the young lady. 
 
 i And why so strange ? returned Mr. Ben 
 nett. Do you, my dear Miss Ashton, never 
 connect pleasure with usefulness ? I should 
 have said duty, but the word has been so often 
 and so foolishly, if not irreverently misapplied 
 I seldom use it. In my estimation, and I have 
 drawn my deductions, not from studies in the 
 closet, but observations in the world, useful 
 ness and pleasure are much oftener allied than 
 idleness and pleasure. By idleness I do not 
 mean doing nothing, but being engaged in 
 frivolous pursuits only. There is a compla 
 cency of mind that makes the heart glad and 
 the spirit buoyant a feeling of gratification 
 which is happy without effort, and gay even 
 in solitude, that people who seek only their 
 own amusement never enjoy. 
 
 I 1 am not sufficiently acquainted with Miss 
 Brooks to allow me to judge of her feelings, 
 returned the lively Miss Ashton but the 
 loss of a lover is usually esteemed quite a seri 
 ous thing with us ladies. If she sustain her 
 disappointment with fortitude, I shall think 
 school keeping of some importance, and advise 
 every young lady to acquaint herself with the 
 business, so that an affair of the heart may not 
 
VILLAGE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 115 
 
 make her quite helpless and hopeless. But 
 your charming Sophia has nothing to fear 
 from fickle lovers. 
 
 She should fear then for herself, returned 
 Mr. Bennett, seriously. f She should fear to 
 indulge that supineness which is passive vice, 
 if I may be allowed the term because to be 
 actively useful, as far as our ability permits, 
 is the law of our being, the debt we owe for 
 the enjoyment of life, and whoever neglects to 
 fulfil the one and pay the other is guilty. The 
 world may say such people live very fashion 
 ably, and very innocently but they do not 
 enjoy the approbation of conscience, and they 
 cannot expect from Him whose favor is feli 
 city, the commendation c well done good and 
 faithful servant ! Yet I beg y*>u will not think 
 I have compelled my daughter to engage as 
 an instructress. I have long since adopted 
 the opinion that to have good works merito 
 rious, they must be performed by a free agent. 
 I endeavour to point out to my children the 
 path of usefulness I advise them to pursue 
 it ; but I allow them to decide for themselves. 
 Sophia, however, for her decision of character 
 and activity of mind, is far more indebted to 
 the counsels and example of Miss Brooks than 
 to me. And I am proud and glad to acknowl 
 edge this, because it is paying a deserved tri 
 bute to merit, and moreover assists to establisk. 
 my favorite theory namely, that the eleva 
 tion of female character must be achieved by 
 female talent and influence. We men may 
 frame systems of improvement, but it is the 
 
116 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 ; exertions of the ladies that must prepare the 
 mind to receive them. 
 
 Here they were interrupted by the entrance 
 of Sophia Bennett, who came tripping in to tell 
 her father she had received the promised com 
 munication from Miss Brooks. And I was 
 never more delighted in my life, continued the 
 laughing girl. l Do, my dear father, read it 
 I am sure there is amusement in the descrip 
 tion of school keeping, however dull the busi 
 ness may be in actual performance. 
 
 * Miss Brooks was requested by my daugh 
 ter to draw up some rules for her direction dur 
 ing her first essay as an instructress, said Mr. 
 Bennett, turning to Miss Asliton. i Miss Brooks 
 answered that she would willingly oblige her, 
 but that precise rules, applicable to the exigen 
 cies of different schools, would be beyond her 
 ability but that she would copy some notes, 
 taken during her first six months experience in 
 teaching, which might give my daughter some 
 little idea of what would be expected from her 
 in her new vocation. 
 
 i 0, do pray allow me to hear the notes, said 
 Miss Ashton. 
 
 1 With pleasure/ returned Mr. Bennett. 
 Here Sophia, you must read, I will explain, 
 and Miss Ashton may criticise ; so there will 
 be business for us all. 
 
 1 1 would ask to be excused from my task, 
 said Miss Ashton, ( only as I find you place so 
 high an estimate on industry, you will I suppose 
 easier pardon severity of remark than idle 
 ness. 
 
VILLAGE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 117 
 
 c But you must recollect the writer is a female, 
 replied the good man and from the lips of her 
 own sex, should receive courtesy if not indul 
 gence. There is one consequence which I 
 sometimes fear may follow the cultivation of 
 literature, especially of authorship among wo 
 men, which would tend greatly to injure their 
 usefulness and happiness. It would be very 
 unfortunate, should those whose thoughts and 
 words ought to be kind, conciliating and 
 charitable, be, by their attainments incited to 
 a spirit of jealousy, envy and rivalry towards 
 each other. Indeed that lady of intelligence 
 who does not encourage female talent, must be 
 blind to her own interest. It is not in possess 
 ing a genius superior to her sex, that makes the 
 true, the best glory of a woman, it is in using 
 her influence to elevate the female character. 
 We men do not want paragons or prodigies for 
 wives but rational, refined, intelligent part 
 ners the former may engage our wonder, the 
 latter only will attract our love. And now, my 
 daughter, as I have prosed to the extent good 
 breeding will allow, although I have not half 
 exhausted the subject, we will listen to the let 
 ter of Miss Brooks. 
 
 Sophia s smile thanked her kind parent for 
 the interest he took in her plans and pleasures, 
 and she began. 
 
 On examining my notes, my dear Miss Ben 
 nett, I found they would be unintelligible to 
 you without some explanations ; so by their aid 
 I have taxed my memory to give you a regular 
 history of my feelings, and the progress of my 
 
118 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 mind during six of the most important months! 
 I ever passed. I may well call them so, as 
 their effect has ever since operated on my 
 character and happiness ; and probably will, 
 during life. It was on the first Monday in May, 
 18 , that I commenced my school, in a small 
 
 district in the town of . I engaged in 
 
 it from necessity, and reluctantly enough to 
 make me quite nervous. I used to be ner 
 vous in those days, or at least indulge my sen 
 sibility, (the refined title for selfishness,} till it 
 made me very unreasonable, and very wretch 
 ed ; for I hid been indulged till the gratification 
 of my own wishes and whims, appeared to me 
 the most important thing on earth. But wealth 
 had fled, my dear father was no more, my mo 
 ther was unable to provide for her own wants, 
 and thus I was thrown upon my own resources. 
 I had never been acquainted with myself, 
 and notwithstanding I had a proud idea of my 
 own learning and accomplishments, yet no 
 sooner did I undertake to exercise, specifically, 
 my talents, than I shrunk from the task, and felt 
 dismay and discouragement. Those who have 
 been taught to estimate their acquirements 
 chiefly by the credit they acquire on days of 
 examination at school, and afternoons of dis 
 play before partial friends at home, have little 
 idea of any practically useful purpose to which 
 those accomplishments may be applied. But 
 for me, there was no discharge. I must either 
 use exertion, or live in dependence on my 
 mother s relatives. I was influenced in my 
 choice by reasons that doubtless to a philos- 
 

 VILLAGE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 119 
 
 opher, would appear of very trifling import, 
 if not excessively silly ; yet they decided my 
 destiny. I will tell you the whole frankly, nor 
 do I now, in my days of reflection, and com 
 parative wisdom, feel disposed to tax myself 
 with egregious folly, because that in youth I. 
 was guided by the impulses of my heart. The 
 passions, when virtuous in their objects of pur 
 suit, are as sure a guide to excellence and 
 happiness, as cool reason indeed surer, and 
 far more efficient ; because of the enthusiasm 
 they kindle, and the generosity they inspire. 
 It is a mistake to think that passion, or feeling, 
 is of itself censurablo. When the soul is 
 most innocent, that is in youth, the passions 
 are most ardent. Why then, you will proba 
 bly inquire, is the suppression of passion al 
 ways so earnestly urged on the young ? I 
 think, my dear Sophia, there is a mistake in 
 the terms used by those writers who most earn 
 estly inculcate the necessity of self control. 
 It is not the suppression of our feelings, but 
 their right direction that is needed to make us 
 perfect. The great Moralist, who spake as 
 never man spake, did not censure passion, or 
 its expression he only sought to direct it to 
 worthy objects, and incite it to great sacrifices. 
 He purified and exalted but he encouraged 
 love. We are not only to love our neighbour v 
 as ourselves, but we must love our enemies a 
 refinement, and generosity, and warmth of sen 
 timent which can only be compatible with a 
 pure mind and ardent heart. These remarks 
 are not intended to palliate any weakness of 
 
120 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 my own because I do not think the affection 
 I then cherished for W., was a weakness. Yet 
 what was, at that time, the innccency of 
 passion, would, if now indulged, be weak 
 or criminal. But my reasons well New 
 Hampshire was the residence of the friends of 
 William I should there, oftener than in Con 
 necticut, hear of him and from him ; and then 
 William had once said he thought the office of 
 instructress, an excellent one for young la 
 dies ; it imparted a knowledge of the human 
 heart, he observed, which, in no other way 
 could they so well or so safely gain ; and it 
 also gave dignity to the manners, and a deci 
 sion to the mind that were calculated to make 
 a woman more respected and more useful. 
 Another, and perhaps the most efficient reason 
 was this I had a cousin where I was invited 
 to reside who had expressed more partiality 
 for me than his relationship would seem to dic 
 tate I feared a residence in his father s fam 
 ily would give uneasiness to William Forbes. 
 I might, I see, have spared this detail of cir 
 cumstances, and said at once, that partiality 
 for the man I then expected to marry, was the 
 true reason which induced me to make those 
 exertions which have been crowned with suc 
 cess, and I hope not deficient in that useful 
 ness which merits success. I have not men 
 tioned my mother, because she would, with 
 apparent cheerfulness, have yielded to the 
 solicitations of her friends and lived in depen 
 dence on them ; yet 1 know she was after 
 wards fur happier, in reflecting she owed her 
 
VILLAGE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 121 
 
 support and comforts to my filial love and suc 
 cessful industry. 
 
 My schoolhouse had been recently built, 
 and was scarcely finished, and moreover was 
 situated in a place which any young lady, ro 
 mantic or rational, might be pardoned for cal 
 ling horrid. In selecting this site, taste, if 
 such a principle was cultivated among the vil 
 lagers, had never been consulted. The only 
 requisite was, to fix precisely on the centre of 
 the district ; and after measuring in every di 
 rection, the centre had been discovered exact 
 ly in the centre of a frog-pond. As near that 
 pond as safety would permit, stood the school- 
 house, encircled with dw^rf pines and spruce 
 bushes ; and the prospect on every side, bound 
 ed by woods or mountains, or ledges of rock. 
 Not a human habitation was in sight, and yet, 
 when I entered the school room, I found near 
 ly fifty children collected. Where the little 
 urchins could possibly live, or how they all 
 found their way to that wild looking place, was 
 then to me matter of astonishment. I have 
 since learned, how highly the privileges of a / 
 free school are prized ; and what exertions are / 
 made by parents, to insure their little ones the 
 advantages of education. The first thing, of 
 course, was, to be introduced to my pupils, or 
 in other words, to learn their names. And 
 here commenced a ludicrous difficulty. The 
 names of these little rustics were so high 
 sounding and romantic, and generally so inap 
 propriate to the appearance of the children, 
 and their repetition awakened such associa- 
 11 
 
122 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 tions, and indeed such ludicrous comparisons 
 in my own mind, that it was several days be 
 fore I could hear, or speak them without 
 laughing. I had all the presidents and great 
 men of America, to say nothing of foreign 
 heroes, hefore me, represented, in name 
 at least, by sunburnt, barefooted, curly-pated 
 boys ; and all the heroines of romance and 
 song, in chubby cheeked, freckled, romping 
 girls and a happy circumstance did I esteem 
 it, if only one four-syllable name was attached 
 to one individual. Ever since that time, I 
 have been an admirer of short, and as they 
 are usually called, simple, oldfashioned names. 
 But I was, on the whole, pleased with my 
 school. There was something very gratifying 
 in the sincere and affectionate homage these 
 happy and innocent little creatures rendered 
 to me. They had been taught to respect their 
 teacher, and think learning one of the finest 
 things they could possess ; and I found them 
 tractable, and ambitious to excel. But the 
 unrestrained freedom of play when out of 
 school, and the variety and cheerfulness of 
 nature abroad, make confinement to the school 
 room, especially in the country, a far more 
 irksome restraint during summer, than any 
 other season of the year. I studied so to en 
 gross and interest their minds, that they might 
 have no leisure for repining at the restrictions 
 I was compelled to impose, and 1 introduced 
 in consequence, some new arrangements ; but 
 I found these innovations where watched with 
 a jealous eye by the parents, let no mur- 
 
VILLAGE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 123 
 
 murs of discontent reached me, excepting from 
 two families one sent no scholar, and the 
 other none excepting an idiot. I have usually 
 found those who have least interest in a school 
 the least likely to be satisfied with its manage 
 ment. I boarded round, as they termed it, that 
 is, I boarded with every ihmily in proportion to 
 the number of scholars they sent and it was 
 amusing to see the pride of the parents and the 
 manner in which they managed to elicit from 
 me praises of their children. 1 believe I satis 
 fied them, certainly I was myself satisfied ; for 
 nothing they could do to make me comfortable 
 and happy, was omitted. The best room, the 
 best bed, the best place at table, the best fare 
 the house afforded were considered the right 
 of the instructress of their children and the 
 gratitude this treatment excited in my heart, 
 poor and dependent as I felt myself, raised -in 
 me an ambition to deserve it, that doubtless 
 contributed much to make me industrious, and 
 to give me those habits of faithfulness in my 
 employment, w r hich have been rewarded by suc 
 cess and happiness. Yes, happiness, my dear 
 Sophia ; never allow your mind to cherish 
 that idea that happiness is necessarily depen 
 dent on a particular event, or confined to any 
 particular station. It is true I did not then 
 expect, and probably should have been very 
 wretched to have expected, school keeping 
 would be my future business. I was young, 
 I had a lover I read romances could I be 
 otherwise than a little romantic ? I was very 
 much so, and I confess, there where hours, 
 
124 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 nay days, when I felt discontented with my 
 employment and situation. I looked on the 
 woods and rocks, and above all on the frog- 
 pond with disgust ; and anticipated the time 
 when I should be at liberty to be happy. It 
 seemed so unsentimental for me to be wasting 
 my spirits and wearying myself to death, just 
 to please a set of .people whom, but for a pe 
 cuniary reward, I should never have known 
 had existed. But these feelings seldom lasted 
 long. My- own heart told me 1 was acting 
 rightly. , The still small voice, whose whisper 
 of approbation brings more true joy tp the 
 bosom than the greetings of the million^ con 
 firmed me, encouraged me to persevere. And 
 I was rewarded by the confidence and affec 
 tion of both parents and children. What a 
 pleasure is derived from knowing one s self 
 beloved ! When I saw those little girls and 
 boys regarding me as their oracle, almost their 
 tutelary angel, you can scarcely imagine how 
 they interested me. Their chubby, sunburnt, 
 freckled faces, looked positively beautiful ; and 
 I dearly loved the roguish, romping, but good 
 natured and happy creatures. I enjoyed ex 
 quisite gratification in communicating knowl 
 edge to their artless minds, and watching their 
 progress. The process greatly improved my 
 own understanding. While repeating and ex 
 plaining to them, I learned myself to reflect 
 and reason ; and while advising and urging on 
 them the necessity of improvement, I became 
 more susceptible of the value of time, and 
 more anxious to improve. We parted with 
 
VILLAGE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 125 
 
 mutual regret even tears and though my 
 lot has ever since been to dwell in plcasantcr 
 places, and among more polished people, yet 
 I never think of those children, I never meet 
 them without gladness, they never see me 
 without testifying joy. Would these mutual 
 feelings always arise had we not enjoyed hap 
 piness, such as the consciousness of acting 
 rightly and deserving it only imparts, while 
 together ? 
 
 What do you think of the life of a school 
 mistress ? said Mr. Bennett. 
 
 i I am anxious to commence it, said Sophia. 
 
 I think it exquisite in description, said Miss 
 Ashton, 4 especially for those ladies who have 
 talents that they wish to employ and improve. 
 But this you know sir, must not be expected 
 from every young lady. Some there are of 
 my acquaintance, who possess genius and im 
 agination, play and sing divinely, dance charm 
 ingly and dress elegantly, but the reasoning of 
 Socrates would never convince them they could 
 live contentedly, indeed live at all, in the vicin 
 ity of a frog-pond ! 
 
 <Ay, there s the rub, said Mr. Bennett. Ac 
 cidental circumstances connected with an em 
 ployment, give us an aversion to it, before we 
 have by experience ascertained how easy it is 
 to surmount such difficulties, and how trifling 
 they appear when once the mind is intent on, 
 what it considers important. It is this which 
 makes it so necessary to obtain the sanction of 
 fashion for whatever we wish to make popular, 
 because then the attainment only is regarded 
 
126 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 not the labor or privations by which it is won. 
 Do you not think, Miss Ashton, those young 
 ladies you mention, while acquiring their 
 knowledge of music, submitted to restraints as 
 irksome as school keeping would impose ? 
 
 ( Undoubtedly but that was to acquire an 
 indispensable accomplishment. 
 
 Yes, according to the standard of fashion 
 but I anticipate the time, when our ladies will 
 not be prized solely for possessing accomplish 
 ments, but for improving them when the 
 waste and wild places of our country, will all 
 be cultivated and beautified, by the industry 
 and taste of the men, and the minds of our peo 
 ple refined, and intelligent, and liberal, by the 
 united exertions of the pure, and pious, and 
 enlightened of both sexes. In short, when.it 
 will become fashionable for young ladies to be 
 usefully, rather than romantically active ; and 
 then the sight of a frog-pond would no more 
 deter them from engaging in a school, than 
 would the joltings, privations, and fatigue they 
 must endure, prevent them now from taking a 
 trip to the White Hills, or a tour to Niagara. 
 
 Ten years after Mr. Bennett had thus phi 
 losophized to these gay girls, they again met at 
 his house. They were both happily married, 
 both had children ; and Elizabeth Brooks, still 
 following the vocation she had chosen, was the 
 instructress they both preferred. She was al 
 most adored by her pupils, and respected and 
 beloved like a relative by their parents ; and 
 the placidity of her countenance, and cheerful 
 ness, even vivacity of her manners, was a proof 
 
VILLAGE SCHOOLMISTRESS. 127 
 
 that her mind was contented, and her life pleas 
 ant as well as useful. She also was on a visit 
 to the clergyman. 
 
 f I have lately received a letter from my 
 nephew, William Forbes, remarked Mr. Ben 
 nett. He is, I find, a widower. 
 
 The married ladies glanced at Elizabeth, 
 but her countenance was unchanged. 
 
 He says he shall be here in the course of a 
 few months, if he can learn whether a certain 
 lady who first engaged his affections is at liber 
 ty, and would receive him favorably, continu 
 ed the clergyman. 
 
 The married ladies both smiled, and a slight 
 color was perceptible on the mild, chastened 
 features of Elizabeth. 
 
 He says, continued the clergyman, he 
 has fortune, fame, friends, all that is necessary 
 to make him happy, except the consciousness 
 of rectitude, which, since violating his engage 
 ment with Elizabeth, he has never enjoyed, 
 and a partner to share his confidence and pros 
 perity. He acknowledges his fault, but thinks 
 he has already been sufficiently punished. 
 The lady he married was beautiful, and he was 
 dazzled by her charms, till he forgot, or rather 
 relinquished his first love ; but his wife never 
 made him happy. He does not accuse her of 
 imperfections, only remarks that they were un 
 equally matched ; that there never was, that 
 there could not be, between them that com 
 munion of mind, to which he had always been 
 accustomed in his intercourse with Miss 
 Brooks. He was not himself aware, how 
 
128 AME1UCAN SKETCHES. 
 
 much of his happiness depended on this com 
 munion, till he had forfeited it. lie entreats 
 me to intercede for him. 
 
 4 What answer did Elizabeth give ? 
 The suhject was under discussion all the af 
 ternoon. The married ladies advised her to 
 accept the offer of her penitent lover they 
 probably expected an invitation to the wedding. 
 The good clergyman told her to consult her 
 own heart, and those excellent principles that 
 had so nobly and effectually supported her 
 under every vicissitude. But he hinted how 
 much pleasure it would give him to see her 
 married to a worthy man ; indeed, he said he 
 should like to pronounce the nuptial benedic 
 tion himself. 
 
 * What answer did Elizabeth give ? 
 I intend, hereafter, to sketch the character 
 of William Forbes, and then the propriety of 
 the answer which Elizabeth did give, will be 
 apparent. Till then, every lady and gentle 
 man, who does me the honor to read these 
 i Sketches, is at liberty to form and express 
 their own opinion on the subject. 
 
THE 
 BELLE AND THE BLEU. 
 
 The world is too much with us. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion, 
 
 Round the wealthy bride; 
 But when compared with real passion 
 Poor is all that pride 
 
 What are their showy treasures ? 
 
 What are their noisy pleasures ? 
 The gay gaudy glare of vanity and art. 
 
 The polished jewel s blaze 
 
 May draw the wond ring gaze, 
 But never, never can come near the worthy heart. 
 BURNS. 
 
 J. W. THOMPSON, Esq. was a very rich man, 
 and a very melancholy man one of those 
 characters, who, seemingly blessed with all that 
 earth can give, are yet always repining and find 
 ing fault with the wind, the weather, the season; 
 or else complaining of ill luck, or ill health 
 and always feeling an ill temper but the world 
 felt no sympathy for his sorrows. He had 
 passed through life calculating how he might 
 turn every incident that befell him to some 
 pecuniary profit, and his acquaintances were 
 now, in their turn, calculating how much he had 
 gained, and how soon he would leave his wealth 
 to his two daughters. Had he been a poor 
 man and worked at day-labor to support his 
 
ISO AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 children, how much more his death would have 
 been lamented ! For he died the rich die as 
 certainly, though not always as peacefully as 
 the indigent. His neighbours would have said, 
 i what will become of the poor girls now their 
 kind father is gone, who worked so hard ever 
 since his wife died, to provide for his darlings ! 
 He is dead, and well may they weep they 
 will never find such another tender friend. 
 But when the rich J. W. Thompson, Esq. 
 died, they said no such thing. 
 
 I do not think, Simon, the death of Squire 
 Thompson any great loss to the world, said 
 Mr. Jacob Towner, to his hired man, as he 
 paused from his labor of mowing, and rested 
 his scythe on the ground, while the funeral 
 procession passed. But yet I fear the world 
 is a great loss to him. When a man s heart 
 is wholly set upon the mammon of unrighteous 
 ness, he must feel very poor wheirforced away 
 from his idol. But still, Simon, we will not 
 judge him, continued he, raising his hand and 
 waving it with an oratorical motion as nearly 
 in imitation of his good clergyman as he possi 
 bly could ; ( we must not ju^ge him, Simon. 
 Nevertheless 1 was thinking how foolish it is 
 for us to be so anxious for riches, when God 
 just as willingly receives a beggar as a prince, 
 and never shows any favor to a man because 
 he has left a great estate behind him. Ah ! 
 Simon, what are all the things of this world but 
 vanity ? Hark ! is not that the sound of thun 
 der ? We must make haste, or we shall cer 
 tainly have our hay wet again, and then it will 
 
THE BELLE AND THE BLEU. 331 
 
 be entirely spoiled. Go, run, and yoke up the 
 team as quick as possible, I will rake the hay. 
 How sorry I shall feel to have so much lost. 
 
 Do you think the young ladies will have fif 
 ty thousand dollars apiece ? inquired Mrs. 
 Patten of an elderly gentleman, who was re 
 ported to be a particular friend of the deceased 
 Squire Thompson, and intimately acquainted 
 with his affairs. 
 
 Indeed, madam, replied he, with a half 
 smile that seemed checked by the necessity he 
 felt of drawing a deep sigh while the coffin was 
 lowered into the ground indeed, Madam, I 
 can hardly say or I - ought not to say ; there 
 are fortune hunters in our country as well as in 
 other countries ; and it is rather dangerous for 
 young ladies to be reported rich. But this I 
 can say, that the young ladies will have enough. 
 Squire Thompson, though a very fretful man, 
 was careful ih business, and his affairs are all 
 arranged. How much better it would be if 
 men, when they know they must die, would all 
 take care to have their papers put in order ! 
 
 Then he did not expect to live, observed 
 Mrs. Patten ; Pray was lie reconciled to 
 death ? 
 
 1 can t say, Madam, as I never heard him 
 speak particularly on the subject. But then he 
 WHS quite passed the enjoyments of this life, 
 had no appetite nor relish for anything ; and in 
 deed lie appeared so miserable that 1 could not 
 say I was sorry to see him die. 
 
 1 Did you observe the crape on the Miss 
 Thompsons dresses ? inquired MissHorton of 
 
2 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 her companion, as they walked home from the 
 funeral. How deep it was, and what rich look 
 ing bonnets they wore! I think black is a very 
 becoming dress when the materials are rich ; 
 but poor, gray, dirty looking crape, is abomi 
 nable. 
 
 They have a large fortune left them, and 
 can dress just as rich as they please, observ 
 ed the other. 
 
 And will probably marry just whom they 
 choose, returned Miss Horton. I have heard 
 already of three young gentlemen who are re 
 solving to address them. 
 
 I wish they knew it, said the other ; ( I wish 
 they knew how much speculation there is about 
 their wealth. I fear they will be deceived. 
 
 They cannot imagine all the attention paid 
 them is for their beauty, answered Miss Hor 
 ton. Lucretia Thompson is absolutely ugly, 
 and Eliza, though a little more passable, is a 
 palefaced, baby-looking thing. 
 
 1 But then, Miss Horton, only think of hav 
 ing fifty thousand dollars at command ! What 
 need of personal charms, or mental accomplish 
 ments, with fifty thousand dollars ? 
 
 1 And this is life Squire Thompson was, 
 with reason, disliked by his neighbours ; he 
 was known to be unhappy he was unlament- 
 ed at his death ; and yet, because he left a 
 large estate, hundreds of people flocked to his 
 funeral, his two daughters were surrounded 
 by friends offering every service > and, even in 
 their mourning dresses, they were the objects 
 of envy to their own sex, and of matrimonial 
 
THE BELLE AND THE BLEU. 133 
 
 speculation among the young gentlemen. 
 * And this is life. Strange that gold should 
 have such sway over the minds of men, when 
 they must see that its possession does not con 
 fer happiness here much less prepare us for 
 that change which so soon and certainly ar 
 rives to the rich as well as the poor. 
 
 The daughters of the deceased, though dif 
 fering in disposition, were not, either of them, 
 by nature endowed with anything more than 
 that common kind of capacity which titted them 
 for an ordinary station ; but nevertheless, as 
 heiresses, they were destined to figure in the 
 beau-monde, and the ingenuity of their depen 
 dents and flatterers was soon taxed to discover 
 in their minds the seeds of genius or fancy, tal 
 ents or taste being essentially requisite for 
 those ladies who cannot lay claim to beauty. 
 
 Lucretia Thompson (I name her first, not 
 withstanding she was the younger born, be 
 cause she assumed those superior airs which 
 she considered necessary to exhibit superior 
 talents, and always would take precedence of 
 her sister,) was a tall, dark-complexioned, bold- 
 looking girl, with large features, and she would 
 have had quite a sour expression of counte 
 nance, had not the consciousness that she had 
 very handsome teeth caused her to wear an 
 almost constant simper, which did not appear 
 in perfect keeping with her quick eye and the 
 frown that frequently passed over her brow 
 when anything occurred that crossed her hu 
 mor. 
 
 Eliza, though possessing a far better com- 
 
134 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 plexion than her sister, could hardly be term 
 ed handsomer, for her hair was a dull yellow, 
 and so coarse, stiff and wiry, that all attempts 
 to reduce the refractory locks to an imitation of 
 those sweet curls that always shade so grace 
 fully the fair brow of a heroine of romance, 
 proved of little use in the toilet of the heiress 
 of fifty thousand dollars. Then Eliza had a 
 low, narrow forehead, turned up nose, and a 
 very short face, giving her countenance an air 
 of conceit and iimntcllectualness (the word, if 
 not in the Dictionary, ought to be) that redeem 
 ed her from all suspicion of being born a bleu. 
 Yet nature usually bestows on every form some 
 grace, and to Eliza she had given a very lovely 
 neck white as a lily, and with that graceful 
 curve that poets denominate * swanlike. 7 If 
 the fine teeth of Lucretia induced her to talk 
 and laugh unceasingly the beautiful bosom of 
 Eliza led her to study dress and attitude ; and 
 thus one was soon termed o. sentimental the other 
 a literary lady. 
 
 In one short year after the death of Squire 
 Thompson, he seemed forgotten, or only re 
 membered as a man who had toiled to lay up a 
 hoard of wealth which would be a fine acquisi 
 tion to the young gentlemen who could obtain 
 the orphan heiresses. These ladies drew 
 around them a crowd of company, because they 
 really gave elegant entertainments ; and as 
 the gentlemen who frequented the house paid 
 them great attention, they were reported to 
 have many admirers. Eliza Thompson s ele 
 gant dresses and romantic air were univer- 
 
THE BELLE AND THE BLEU. 135 
 
 sally admired, while Lucretia s sublimely silly 
 speeches were certainly listened to with appar 
 ent interest, by educated and intelligent men ; 
 and when she attempted to be witty, she always 
 excited a burst of laughter, merely by laughing 
 herself. Ought it to excite wonder, that these 
 young ladies fancied they possessed every re 
 quisite accomplishment for females, when they 
 saw the gentlemen thus obsequious to attend 
 their smiles, while the ladtes copied all their 
 fashions and strove to imitate their manners ? 
 Such are the dangers to which the unprotect 
 ed rich arc exposed ; such the omnipotence 
 of gold. 
 
 The apartments in the dwelling of the Miss 
 Thompsons were all lighted up, and arrange 
 ments had apparently been made for a large 
 party. The two sisters, splendidly arrayed, 
 were seated on a sofa at the upper end of their 
 drawing room, engaged in a low but animated 
 conversation ; and a person stationed at such a 
 distance as to preclude hearing their words, 
 would doubtless have thought them discussing 
 the manner in which they intended to receive 
 their guests, or dwelling on the pleasure an 
 ticipated from the expected company. But 
 ladies, even when arrayed in silks and decked 
 with pearls, are not always happy ; nor when 
 about to receive with smiles a smiling throng, 
 do they always expect gratification. 
 
 i I am sure, Lucretia, he pays more atten 
 tion to Helen than her relationship to us would 
 naturally induce, said Miss Eliza Thompson, 
 unclasping her bracelet in affected agitation. 
 
136 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 Now pray, sister, show less sensibility, 
 replied Lucretia. I have told you it was only 
 in consequence of the conversation I held with 
 Mr. Howard respecting the Iliad the name 
 of Helen in that charming poem naturally in 
 troduced our cousin s name, and he made in 
 quiries respecting her which I could not very 
 well evade, and so I told him the circumstances 
 of her parents 5 death, and that she was now 
 wholly dependent on us and I assure you he 
 complimented us very highly for our gene 
 rosity in affording her protection. From what 
 I said I presume he thought he could not more 
 effectually recommend himself to tis than, by 
 noticing the poor girl. 7 
 
 I wonder, Lucretia, you mentioned the 
 manner of uncle Bond s death to Mr. Howard, 
 said Eliza, attempting to sigh. You know 
 his tenderness of heart, and how such histories 
 affect him, almost as much as they do mew- JL 
 declare, I never think of uncle Bond without 
 shuddering, and I have been half inclined to 
 send Helen away, because her presence so 
 frequently brings her father to my mind. 
 
 1 Is that all the reason you wish her ab 
 sence ? 
 
 1 0, no I think she engrosses the pity, and 
 so gains the notice of all our acquaintance. 
 And she looks sorrowful all the time just as 
 if she was n t happy here, and didn t feel at all 
 obliged to us ; and then I see several of the 
 young ladies copy her style of dressing her 
 hair, as if they thought it more becoming than 
 mine. 
 
THE BELLE AND THE BLEU. 137 
 
 c You should feel above such things, said 
 Miss Lucretia, tossing her head with a scorn 
 ful air. f 1 am sure I have more reason to 
 dislike Helen than you have, but I will not let 
 my mind be moved by insignificant trifles. It 
 was only last Thursday when Mr. Beckman 
 was here, and we were agreeably engaged in 
 discussing the beauties of Marmion. Mr. 
 Beckman was trying to recall a stanza in one 
 of the songs ; I could not tell him, for indeed I 
 only skimmed the book, just to be able to con 
 verse about it ; and don t you think he asked 
 Helen if she x recollected it ; and she had the 
 effrontery to repeat every word, arid then he 
 directed all his conversation to her, and she 
 seemed to understand all he said, though much 
 of it was about characters and sentiments that 
 I never heard of before ? I should have been 
 provoked with Helen, only I thought myself 
 above it. 
 
 i It will be just so this evening, said Eliza. 
 * You will find Helen will gain the attention of 
 Howard and Beckman, and those are the only 
 gentlemen we shall have that I care a straw 
 for. I wish she was away. 
 
 Helen Bond, the innocent cause of all this 
 disturbance in the minds of these young ladies, 
 was the only child of a deceased clergyman. 
 He was drowned by the upsetting of a boat, in 
 consequence of the intoxication of one of the 
 boatmen, as he was returning from a voyage 
 taken for the benefit of his health, and which 
 had apparently re-established it. He was 
 drowned in sight of his own home, of his wife 
 12 
 
138 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 and child, who had hurried to the beach to wel 
 come his landing. He went down with their 
 shrieks of agony ringing in his ears ; but his 
 was the most enviable lot. Who can tell the 
 bitterness of that sorrow with which the new 
 made widow and her fatherless daughter hunr* 
 over the lifeless remains of him, who, under 
 heaven, had been their stay and comforter on 
 whom had been all their dependence for hap 
 piness and support ! In such cases i tis the 
 survivor dies 
 
 Mrs. Bond, however, survived her husband 
 only a few months, and then poor Helen had 
 no resource but to seek her livelihood among 
 strangers, or accept the offer of a residence 
 with her cousins, the Miss Thompsons. Hel 
 en Bond had been as well instructed as the 
 present imperfect system of female education 
 will admit. But with all her i solid learning 
 and accomplishments, she still suffered from 
 that radical defect in the fashionable education 
 of young women, namely, that she had riot been 
 taught the application of her learning to any 
 useful purpose. It is this defect which ren 
 ders the educated, when deprived of friends 
 and resources, less capable of providing for 
 themselves than are the ignorant who have not 
 been made delicate and sensitive by refinement 
 of intellect and manners. 
 
 One feminine accomplishment, however, 
 Helen possessed and improved advantageously 
 she excelled in fine needlework, and it was 
 the knowledge of her expertness and industry in 
 sewing, that induced her cousins to wish her 
 
THE BELLE AND THE BLEU. 139 
 
 residence with them. They had need of her 
 assistance, for they were very indolent, and 
 they availed themselves to the utmost of her 
 taste and skill in the designing and finishing 
 their elaborate dresses. But still they affect 
 ed to consider Helen as entirely beholden to 
 their generosity for a home, and she daily felt 
 all the bitterness of dependance, superadded 
 to the necessity of earning her own bread. 
 She wished to break the thrall, but it required 
 an effort of mind, which a timid and delicate 
 young lady of eighteen, who had never been 
 familiarized to the idea that she could, should 
 necessity and duty dictate, support herself, 
 would hardly be supposed sufficiently energet 
 ic, to make. But when she discovered the 
 envy and jealousy her cousins entertained to 
 wards her, and perhaps felt a little conscious 
 when surveying herself in the glass, that she 
 was a dangerous rival to them, especially in 
 their designs on the heart of one young gentle 
 man whom they wished to attract, she deter 
 mined to leave their roof, though she went to 
 service to earn her livelihood. Her resolution 
 was accelerated by the occurrences of the eve 
 ning on which the Miss Thompsons gave their 
 brilliant assembly. The marked attention 
 paid Helen by Ploratio Howard exasperated 
 the sisters, and the ironical compliments they 
 lavished on her the next day, she considered 
 so cruel and humiliating, that her spirit, sub 
 dued as it had been by sorrow and suffering, 
 rose at once to the aid of her reason, till she 
 no longer hesitated to follow its dictates. She 
 
140 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 applied to a friend of her late father, told him, 
 in part, her trials, and besought him to find 
 some business in which she might with proprie 
 ty engage. With the most delicate kindness 
 he offered her a home in his own family ; but 
 though her rejection of his generous offer was, 
 for some time, impeded by her tears of grati 
 tude, it was nevertheless decided. 
 
 1 1 cannot, said she, i consent to live any 
 longer in the ease of opulence, when at the 
 best I can only enjoy it by the benevolence 
 of friends. If I were deprived of health, or 
 incapable of exertion, the case would be other 
 wise ; I would then humbly accept your gene 
 rous offer of a maintenance ; but 1 am deter 
 mined never to attempt to mingle again in 
 splendid circles, while I am dependant on 
 charity for a support. There is, sir, to my 
 feelings, an impropriety almost an indelicacy, 
 in the situation of living thus without any ap 
 parent aim or present usefulness ; yet I own I 
 might not have been sensible of this, had not 
 the unkind observations of my cousins taught 
 me to reflect. I have learned from them that 
 the young lady who does so live, is always sup 
 posed by the world to be anxiously watching 
 for an opportunity of establishing herself by 
 marrying, and that it is generally thought by 
 the gentlemen she will accept the first good 
 offer. They must then think her vain and 
 selfish, if not artful. ! I cannot endure such 
 surmises and observations continued she, 
 bursting into a flood of tears c and if you 
 
THE BELLE AND THE BLEU. 141 
 
 wish to make me contented and happy, pray 
 tell me something I can do for myself. 
 
 Her father s friend in a short time procured 
 for her a situation as Instructress in an Acad 
 emy at some distance from the metropolis ; 
 and her letters soon hreathed such a spirit of 
 satisfaction, that he would have felt amply re 
 compensed for his trouble, in the idea that he 
 had contributed to her happiness, without the 
 acknowledgements she so frequently and feel 
 ingly made. 
 
 I would not, she wrote, l after passing a 
 day of activity in my school, exchange the ap 
 probation of my own heart, while it whispers 
 I have been usefully, rationally and innocently 
 employed, for the opportunity of attending 
 every party my fashionable cousins will give 
 through the season. 
 
 1 And how did her rich and fashionable 
 cousins enjoy themselves ? Did they succeed 
 in securing their favorite beaux, when the 
 field was left them without a rival ? every 
 young lady is ready to inquire. 
 
 They, did not, either of them, secure Hora 
 tio Howard. Yet he was very ambitious, as 
 young lawyers, who feel a consciousness of 
 their own abilities, are apt to be ; and he knew 
 enough of the world to be sensible that the 
 eclat and advantage of commencing business 
 with a capital of $50,000 would be a mighty 
 convenient thing. And he began his visits to 
 the Miss Thompsons with something very 
 much like a resolution of making love to one 
 of them. Lucretia was the first object of his 
 
142 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 scrutiny it could be called nothing else but 
 with her he was soon disgusted. 
 
 To a man of real refinement, good sense, 
 taste and intelligence, the character of a would- 
 be-literary lady is, 1 believe, most intolerable. 
 The affectation of those whims and eccentrici 
 ties, said to distinguish genius, is of all affecta 
 tions, most preposterous, and always indicative 
 of a silly mind, or weak judgment in a man it 
 is ridiculous, in a woman disgusting. Yet this 
 affectation was all the claim Lucretia had to 
 genius. She pretended to be absent-minded, 
 ignorant of common affairs, and above all, to 
 despise the dull routine of domestic duties her 
 sex enjoined upon her. Then she talked loud 
 and as learnedly as Mrs. Malaprop, and de 
 lighted in criticism and controversy, argument 
 being, as she considered, her peculiar forte. 
 This propensity was much strengthened by 
 the manner in which she was treated by the 
 gentlemen the civility due a lady, especially 
 a rich lady, prompted them to allow the asser 
 tions of Lucretia all the credit of facts, and so 
 she usually gained the argument. But they 
 indemnified themselves for these concessions, 
 as they always do, by representing the object 
 of their complaisance too insignificant for seri 
 ous opposition. Yet they dreaded the society 
 of Lucretia, and while ridiculing her pedantry, 
 generally hated her person. At least so did 
 Horatio Howard. But still he felt loath to re 
 linquish the .30,000, and so turned his atten 
 tion on the belle, and Miss Eliza Thompson 
 was, for some time, flattered with the idea that 
 
THE BELLE AND THE BLEU. 143 
 
 she should win him. But if he was disgusted 
 with the affectation of literature in the bleu, he 
 was sickened by the affectation of sentiment 
 and sensibility in the belle ; and he could not 
 but acknowledge that though learning might 
 make a woman excessively disagreeable, yet 
 she might be excessively disagreeable without 
 it. But yet he was constant in his visits, while 
 Helen Bond resided with her cousins, and lis 
 tened without much apparent weariness to the 
 .* long talks of Lucretia and the common place 
 nothings of Eliza ; and the world had decided 
 that he would certainly marry one of the sisters. 
 Perh aps he rather thought such would be the 
 conclusion of the matter. However he called 
 on the young ladies a few days after the de 
 parture of Helen Bond, and they both remark 
 ed he was in very bad humor, seemed impatient, 
 almost irritable, while they were exerting them 
 selves to entertain him ; the one criticising the 
 sermon she had heard the last sabbath and 
 the other ridiculing the odious bonnets she had 
 seen at church till finally, Howard started 
 abruptly from his seat, said something of busi 
 ness to be attended to, and wished them both 
 good morning. He was seen walking hastily 
 towards his office, his hat set very perpendicu 
 lar on his head, and his lips firmly compressed ; 
 and to judge from his conduct, afterwards, he 
 was then breathing a vow never to risk his do 
 mestic happiness by a marriage in which gold 
 \vas the only object of pursuit. From that time 
 he devoted himself entirely to the business of 
 his profession ; invitations were rejected and 
 
144 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 parties neglected, till finally, though he obtain 
 ed high reputation at the bar, he entirely lost 
 credit with the ladies, and his name was omitted 
 on their list of beaux, being called a confirm 
 ed bachelor. 
 
 But there is no danger that young ladies 
 with 50,000 will not find husbands, though 
 like Lucretia, they make a resolution never to 
 wed a man that has not been liberally educat 
 ed. A thoroughly selfish mind, even when 
 polished by a liberal education, will retain its. 
 selfishness. Such a mind had John Beckman, 
 and though he disliked Lucretia Thompson he 
 married her. There was probably more af 
 fection on her part, yet she declared that it 
 was only because Mr. Beckman knew so well 
 how to appreciate her talents that she was in 
 duced to accept him. But his estimation of 
 her talents, after the l vow was said, she found 
 altered materially ; he no longer consulted her 
 opinion, before expressing his own, nor yielded 
 her every contested point, nor expressed any 
 wishes that his taste might be always in ac 
 cordance with hers. Indeed their opinions or 
 taste, were seldom in accordance after the first 
 three months of their wedded life had passed. 
 In vain she tried arguments, reproaches and 
 railings, to convince him she was ill-treated. 
 He would not be convinced. 
 
 1 Mr. Beckman, said she, her eyes flashing 
 fire, and her whole countenance glowing with 
 rage, had I known you for such an obstinate 
 mule, one that will not listen to an argument, 
 I never would have married you. 7 
 
THE BELLE AND THE Bf/EU. 145 
 
 1 Madam, he replied, with the most perfect 
 coolness, I am not disappointed in you I al 
 ways knew you for a fool. 
 
 Eliza Thompson married a husband more 
 congenial in disposition to herself; a pert, con 
 ceited fop, all fashion and affectation. Her 
 money supported them in style just ten years, 
 and they lived by expedients three more of 
 showy poverty, and then all the glitter of life, 
 and consequently to them, all its joys were 
 over. They now inhabit a miserable garret, 
 up three pair of stairs, dependant mostly on the 
 charity of their relations. The bounty of Mrs. 
 Beckinan is, however, grudgingly bestowed on 
 her sister, and always accompanied by a chap 
 ter of reproaches, under the title of advice. 
 The answer of Eliza is generally to the purport, 
 that she has a kind husband, and therefore is 
 as happy without fortune as Lucretia is with. 
 
 Mr. Jacob Towner is careful to add a little 
 to his stores every year, but yet constantly 
 harangues his family on the vanity of setting 
 the affections on the things of this world, ob 
 serving that rich men s children are frequently 
 paupers, and illustrating his position by citing 
 the case of Eliza Thompson ; always ending 
 his remarks with the hope that some of her 
 50,000 found its way back into the pockets 
 of those poor men from whom it was wrung 
 by her father. Mrs. Patten, likewise, often 
 quotes the name of Eliza Thompson, when 
 she would warn her daughters against extrav 
 agance in dress, or idleness, which she thinks 
 was the whole cause of the misfortunes of the 
 13 
 
146 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 heiress ; and Miss Horton congratulates her 
 self she was never induced to marry, saying, 
 that the fate of the rich Miss Thompsons was 
 a warning to her ; if those ladies could only ob 
 tain for husbands the one a sullen miser, and the 
 other a silly spendthrift, she is sure the single 
 state must be the one of " blessedness." 
 
 Helen Bond what young lady does not wish 
 to learn the fate of that afflicted, but high-souled 
 girl ? Horatio Howard what young gentle 
 man, especially if he prefer that clear honor 
 which is purchased by the merit of the wear 
 er, to the trappings of wealth, obtained by the 
 perjury of the heart, does not feel curious to 
 know the issue of the fortunes of Horatio How 
 ard ? Talents and merit, if supported by in 
 dustry and prudence, have, in our free country, 
 nothing to fear. Horatio Howard gained the 
 station of eminence he so justly deserved ; and 
 to the friend who not long since visited him, he 
 said, as they were returning from a walk in the 
 gardens around his beautiful summer residence 
 l Yes, I have been, as you remark, highly 
 prospered, but the best, gift Heaven ever be 
 stowed on me was, my wife. It may sound 
 foolish for me to speak her eulogium to a 
 stranger, I certainly-should not thus unlock the 
 u secret casket of my soul j" but you, sir, was 
 acquainted with Helen Bond, and with my par 
 tiality for her. But dearly as I loved her then, 
 she is now far dearer, because I now know 
 her worth and can repose my whole heart in 
 confidence upon her discretion as well as her 
 affection. There is for me no place like horned 
 
THE POOR SCHOLAR. 
 
 { Wherever there has existed wise institutions for the secu 
 rity of liberty the progress of knowledge has immediately be 
 come visible. There is then a bright inducement in every 
 career which an ardent mind springs forward to attain. 
 
 MADAME DE STAEL. 
 
 NOT wlellectuallij poor, but few however 
 would be guilty of such a mistake. Most men, 
 and indeed women too, consider poverty mere 
 ly as the lack of worldly goods, chattels and 
 possessions ; poor therefore would never, by 
 such, be applied to mind. 
 
 But I like to define my meaning so clearly 
 that there shall not be the possibility of mistake; 
 and accordingly I feel bound to declare that 
 George Torrey had, from infancy, exhibited an 
 uncommon aptitude for learning, and that kind 
 of inquisitiveness concerning the nature and 
 design of everything he saw, that marks the 
 reasoning child. These qualities always argue 
 a tendency of mind that requires only right 
 cultivation to insure eminence, or at least, 
 scholarship, to their possessor. ( Knowledge 
 may be acquired by study, but genius is the 
 gift of God, is, I believe, a quotation ; and had 
 the writer of the apothegm known George Tor- 
 
148 AMERICAN SKETCFIES. 
 
 rey, he might have mentioned him as an illus 
 tration of his proverb, since it seemed impossi 
 ble his inclination for study should have been 
 fostered either by example or precept. I shall 
 relate the childish history of my hero minutely, 
 that those who feel interested in the subject 
 may have an opportunity of tracing the opera 
 tions of his young mind, and then they can 
 better decide on the propriety of styling him, 
 as be often was, the scholar of nature. The 
 father of George died before he was born, and 
 his mother, when he was eighteen months old ; 
 and then the boy would have been on the pau 
 per list, but for the benevolence of an aunt, an 
 old maid, but who was nevertheless such a 
 good, kind hearted creature, that it was always 
 a matter of astonishment to the gossips why 
 aunt Jemima was never married. 
 
 When aunt Jemima thus voluntarily burden 
 ed herself with the charge of an infant, she was 
 rising of forty years of age, very poor, obtain 
 ing her livelihood solely by spinning. She 
 was, however, as expert in the business of the 
 distaiT, as ever were the ladies of Home ; but 
 as she never attempted to dignify her employ 
 ment by any classical allusions, it is probable 
 she had never hoard the name of * Lucretia. 
 Yet she had prido, and it would be no dispar 
 agement to the Roman ladies to say aunt Je 
 mima s was Horn an pride ; certainly it was lau 
 dable ambition, for it stimulated her to honest 
 exertions for her own support and the mainte 
 nance of her little nephew, without appealing to 
 the cold charity of her prosperous neighbours, 
 
THE POOR SCHOLAR. 149" 
 
 or the colder charity of the law. She kept 
 George with her till he was eight, and then a 
 farmer offering to take him and learn him the 
 ( mystery of agriculture, she deemed it her 
 duty to place the boy with Mr. White. But 
 the separation cost her many tears, and she 
 often declared that if she had not thought it 
 best for the child to go, she would have work 
 ed her hands off before she would have parted 
 with the dear little creature. 
 
 George had never been at school a single 
 day while with his aunt ; she thought she could 
 not provide books for him, and moreover, she 
 lived two miles from the school-house, and was 
 afraid to trust her darling to go so far alone. 
 
 But when she read in her Bible, which was 
 regularly every morning, little George was per 
 mitted to stand close by her chair, and encour 
 aged to find and tell the large letters. When 
 he had thus learned them, his curiosity seemed 
 increased ; and his aunt willingly answered his 
 inquiries, because she really loved him, and 
 dearly loved to talk, and so he learned the small 
 letters, and then it was not long before he could 
 read a verse intelligibly. By the time he was 
 four years of age he had read through the Gos 
 pel according to St. John. 
 
 Though aunt Jemima thus fostered the 
 c young idea, she was herself as destitute of 
 those acquirements that confer on a woman the 
 character of a has 6/we, as any of our fastidious 
 ly fashionable young beaux could desire. The 
 most sensitive of the tribe of dandies might 
 have conversed with aunt Jemima without the 
 
-I 
 
 T50 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 least dread of being shocked by a Latin quota 
 tion, or bored by a learned phrase, or a refer 
 ence to books of which he never before heard 
 the titles ; neither would he have run any haz 
 ard of being urged to write in an i album, or 
 tell his opinion of the last new novel, or ad 
 mire the last charming poem. Aunt Jemi 
 ma knew no more of novels or albums, than 
 she did of Greek or Arabic ; indeed it is not 
 probable she had ever read a whole volume of 
 any kind, (the Bible excepted) during her life. 
 Her library, besides the * Scriptures, consisted 
 of but two books, both of which she inherited 
 from her grandmother. One was a sermon, 
 preached somewhere in Connecticut, at the 
 funeral of an Indian who was hanged for mur 
 der. This sermon, aunt Jemima said, though 
 she never had had time to read it all, she thought 
 very edifying. Indeed she prized it so highly 
 that she did not like to trust it in the grasp of a 
 careless ckild ; but the other book, labelled 
 Wonderful accidents and entertaining Stories, 
 she permitted George to use as he pleased. 
 The volume had once contained some interest 
 ing articles, but time, smoke, and the hands of 
 unwashed artificers had made its pages near 
 ly as dingy and illegible as a Herculaneum 
 manuscript. The story of Alnaschar the 
 Persian Classman, being in the middle of the 
 book, was however tolerably entire, but it was 
 much abridged, ending with the breaking of the 
 glass. The plate representing the overturn of 
 the basket pleased little George, and he soon 
 learned to read the fable ; he read and re-read 
 
THE POOR SCHOLAR. 151 
 
 it till he could repeat every word, and then he 
 reasoned with aunt Jemima on the subject till 
 he made her quite pettish at answering his in 
 quiries about so silly a story ; and then he con 
 sidered the matter himself in silence, till he 
 learned to understand the meaning and the 
 moral more judiciously than would many a 
 grown man. Perhaps that story determined 
 the bias of his mind, for he was, even in early 
 youth, noted for the directness with which he 
 sought and comprehended the effect of any 
 romantic project, always seeming to distrust 
 everything illusory, and to feel that exertions, 
 riot idle wishes or visions, were necessary to 
 success. 
 
 There was also another circumstance that 
 contributed to fix an impression on the mind 
 of George that perseverance would be reward 
 ed, and that he might, if he took proper meth 
 ods, hope to obtain some consequence in the 
 world. Though aunt Jemima paid little atten 
 tion to the story of l Alnasehar, yet she was 
 proud of the proficiency her favorite made in 
 reading the Scriptures. Whenever the cler 
 gyman of the parish called to see her, which 
 duty he usually performed regularly every 
 year, she always dilated on the progress her 
 nephew made in learning, telling how many 
 chapters he would read in the Bible of a Sun 
 day, &.c. (she never mentioned the story book) 
 usually concluding with the observation, that 
 for her part it seemed to her that the boy was 
 born to be a minister. 
 
 To please her the good man once requested 
 
152 AMERICAN SKETCHES, 
 
 to hear the child read, and was himself very 
 much surprised at his performance, because he 
 read so understandingly. He called the boy 
 to him, and laying his hand on the curly hair 
 of the poor, destitute orphan, gravely said, 
 1 My little fellow you have no father on earth, 
 but your Father who is in heaven still watches 
 over you. He will take care of you if you are 
 good, and you must look to him, and love him, 
 and serve him. You can learn, I see, and you 
 may, if you try, be a scholar, and perhaps a 
 great man. You must always depend on God, 
 but remember and do all you can for yourself 
 
 That lesson was never effaced from the 
 memory of George Torrey. He had never 
 before received notice or encouragement from 
 any mortal except his old aunt, and the sooth 
 ing expressions of the minister fell on his ear 
 like a sacred promise from some exalted be 
 ing. 
 
 The farmer to whom George was bound was 
 a man of some property, and reputed honest 
 and industrious ; but he had no education. In 
 deed both he and his wife, (would there were 
 none other such couples to be found in our 
 country,) were profoundly ignorant of every 
 thing pertaining to literature, excepting that 
 they could read, and write their names ; and 
 had not the boy enjoyed the advantage of at 
 tending the district school, he would in no wise 
 have been mentally benefited by his change 
 of abode. But it was stipulated in his Inden 
 ture, that he should be l sent to school two 
 months every winter till he could read, write, 
 
THE POOR SCHOLAR. 153 
 
 and cipher through the rule of Three. Such 
 is the vigilance with which our laws watch 
 over the interests of the poor and destitute ; 
 none here are deprived of the benefit of instruc 
 tion, none need be ignorant. 
 
 The first winter that George Torrey attend 
 ed school, his proficiency astonished his in- 
 structer, and made Mr. White declare he 
 did nt believe the lad would ever be good for 
 anything at farming. But a judicious person 
 who had been acquainted with the operations 
 of his young mind, and the peculiar train of 
 ideas he had imbibed, might have calculated 
 the result. Though aunt Jemima did not ex 
 pect it, yet she was highly delighted, and took 
 much credit to herself for the manner in which 
 she had instructed the child. 
 
 Ten years passed, and George Torrey was 
 in stature a man ; in understanding and learn 
 ing, he was far superior to the men among 
 whom he resided ; but his modesty and the 
 retiring diffidence that usually accompanies 
 genius when self-taught, prevented him from 
 assuming those airs of superiority that fre 
 quently bring envy and ill-will to the possessor 
 of extraordinary abilities. The business in 
 which he was engaged could not be supposed 
 congenial to his feelings, yet he labored faith 
 fully for Mr. White ; and that man, destitute 
 as he was of taste and literature, paid great 
 respect to the talents of his indented boy, em 
 ploying him to keep his accounts, consulting 
 him in all his bargains, and frequently allowing 
 him leisure for reading which seemed incom- 
 
154 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 patible with his own interest, and which would 
 not have been expected from a person of his 
 habits. But in a country where there is no 
 privileged class, genius and industry may attain 
 the highest honors ; and thus a value is stamp 
 ed upon talents, which carries a conviction of 
 their worth to the minds of those who make no 
 pretension of possessing them. 
 
 The winter succeeding the eighteenth birth 
 day of George was an important one to him, as 
 it was then he first formed a fixed resolve to 
 obtain an education. At that time, the clergy 
 man, who had listened to the Bible lesson of 
 George, heard his attainments spoken of as 
 extraordinary for his opportunities ; and on in 
 quiry being satisfied of the truth of popular 
 report, he proposed the youth as a teacher, in 
 his, the clergyman s district, for the winter 
 school. The worthy parson felt glad to assist 
 George, and he felt a little proud too, that the 
 prediction he had uttered concerning him, 
 seemed likely to be fulfilled. 
 
 Mr. White was persuaded to allow George 
 to go, yet he said he needed him at home, but 
 as the young fellow seemed so set upon the 
 business, he could not disappoint him. Learn 
 ing he knew was a fine thing, though he never 
 could get it, for he never loved his book ; but 
 George loved to study better than he did to eat 
 he had known him leave his dinner many a 
 time to read a newspaper, or anything that 
 had letters on it and so, 7 he continued, it is 
 for his good I consent to let him go. 
 
 Mr. White thought of his own interest, not- 
 
THE POOR SCHOLAR. 155 
 
 withstanding these professions ; George had 
 offered, if he might be allowed to keep the 
 school, to give every cent of his wages to his 
 legal master and it would be more than he 
 could earn by labor. The youth expected only 
 more leisure, and books, and better society 
 that was all he then coveted, to make him bles 
 sed. He boarded with the clergyman, Mr. 
 Dorr, who was not long in discovering his tal 
 ents and thirst for learning. Mr. Dorr, was 
 one of those really benevolent men, who de 
 light in doing good, and diffusing happiness ; 
 yet he was not a visionary. His sound judg 
 ment and acquaintance with the world, served 
 to correct that enthusiasm, which the warmth 
 of feeling, necessary to make a philanthropist, 
 often raises to an effervescence of zeal which 
 destroys, or renders ridiculous, the cause or 
 object it is attempting to serve. 
 
 Mr. Dorr weighed deliberately the present 
 prospects, and what might be the future expec 
 tations of the poor scholar. He conversed 
 with George freely, and faithfully, on the sub 
 ject ; represented to him the struggles he must 
 make, the privations he must endure, the mor 
 tifications to which he would be exposed, if he 
 left the vale of humble life, where he was born, 
 and had been raised, and aspired to rank with 
 the rich, and mingle with the gifted. 
 
 i I can do it all, I can bear it all, eagerly 
 replied George Torrey, c if I may but escape 
 poverty of mind this sense of my own igno 
 rance that oppresses me, whenever I approach 
 or attempt to converse with an intelligent per- 
 
156 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 son; I have, continued he, rising and walking 
 the room with quickness, ( I have frequently 
 laid down the book I was reading, and wept 
 to think I should never be qualified to write 
 one. 7 
 
 Onward, then, must be your motto, said 
 Mr. Dorr. Onward ; the path will sometimes 
 be rugged, but a prize cannot be won without 
 labor. Industry is, in our land, the grand lev 
 er that exalts to eminence. I will cheerfully 
 give you all the aid I can. If you succeed, 
 your own pleasure and the praises of the world 
 will be enhanced by reflecting on the obstacles 
 you have surmounted ; should you fail, you 
 can comfort yourself, that your object was 
 praiseworthy. It is motives, not triumphs, 
 that make the merit of our character. 
 
 George Torrey immediately commenced the 
 study of the Latin ; and when his school was 
 finished, had read six books in Virgil. 
 
 1 You must now return to your labor, to the 
 plough, said Mr. Dorr, to George, as he ex 
 tended his hand to him. I am not able to as 
 sist you in purchasing your time, neither do I 
 think it best to attempt it. Young men are 
 prone to be restless arid impatient of restraint, 
 and genius is peculiarly restive under fetters ; 
 but lessons of self-denial are rarely injurious to 
 a mind like yours. The dull require the spur, 
 the ardent need the rein. I advise you to 
 serve out your time as the law directs but 
 there will be intervals when you may, without 
 wronging your master by eyeservice, pursue 
 your studies. Improve such moments, and 
 
THE POOR SCHOLAR. 157 
 
 come to me, as freely as a son to a father, for 
 instruction whenever you wish. 
 
 There is nothing on earth so valued by the 
 young, ingenuous mind as kindness, as those 
 expressions that seem dictated .by a sympathy 
 for our feelings and situation. The eyes of 
 George were full of tears, and his heart throb 
 bed with emotions of gratitude, as he turned 
 from the door of the man whom he considered 
 his friend. He felt for him a love, a venera 
 tion, which no pecuniary gift could have excit 
 ed ; and the first effort he ever made to scrib 
 ble poetry, was to celebrate the virtues of his 
 benefactor, which he did in a long ode. 
 
 Mr. White made George a present of five 
 dollars out of the money he had earned, and the 
 youth was quite thankful, because he was ena 
 bled to purchase some books he sadly needed ; 
 but he never bestowed on Mr. White so much 
 as a distich in praise of the deed. 
 
 The success of George is doubtless antici 
 pated ; and to detail all the particulars, the 
 carefulness with which he improved every mo 
 ment, the shifts he made to obtain books, the 
 distances he would walk to his recitations, and 
 the joy he felt when the law pronounced him 
 free, and Mr. Dorr pronounced him fitted for 
 college, would make my story too long. Any 
 young man, let his station -be ever so lowly, 
 who feels the same ardor in the pursuit of 
 knowledge that kindled the mind of my hero, 
 may satisfy himself, if he will only make the 
 experiment, that success is possible. When a 
 name aud a praise may here be obtained by 
 
158 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 talents and industry, who that feels the ( God 
 within him will be contented in ignorance 
 and obscurity ? 
 
 But though George Torrey was fitted to en 
 ter college, he had not the means of support 
 ing himself there a single day. All that his 
 master was bound to give him, when he was 
 twenty-one, was two suits of clothes and a Bi 
 ble. Mr. Dorr again volunteered to assist him. 
 1 1 will, said the good man, advance you a 
 sum sufficient to defray the expense of your 
 first term, and wait these ten years, if neces 
 sary, for payment. But that is all the pecuni 
 ary aid I can promise you you must thence 
 forth provide for yourself. I am acquainted 
 with the President, and one of the tutors is 
 my intimate friend. I will write to them, and 
 make such representations as will, I think, in 
 duce them to deal favorably by you, and grant 
 you periods of absence, which you must em 
 ploy in keeping school. If you are indus 
 trious no, that is not enough, you must be 
 laborious, you can pursue your studies and re 
 tain your station in your class, though absent 
 six months in the year. Depend on yourself. 
 Never solicit charity if you can possibly avoid 
 it though when kindly offered, I would not ad 
 vise you to reject it. But the spirit of our 
 government, of our people, is independence ; 
 and the mind of an American, that will cringe 
 and fawn to obtain patronage, or indeed that 
 will eagerly accept pecuniary aid, I always 
 mark as grovelling, as deficient in that delicacy 
 of pride, that nice sense of honor which always 
 
THE POOR SCHOLAR. 159 
 
 accompanies true genius. Never, my young 
 friend, forfeit your own self-respect ; for your 
 heart will not be satisfied with the applause of 
 the world, unless you feel it is deserved. 
 
 Fortified by such advice, and furnished with 
 a little cash, George departed ; and perhaps 
 when it is considered that his most ardent wish 
 es seemed likely to be fulfilled, it may be im 
 agined he went joyfully. But it was not so. 
 When a person has been accustomed to a large 
 society and frequent changes of his acquaint 
 ance, his feelings become, in a manner, gene 
 ralized, and he contemplates, without much 
 emotion, a separation from his old friends or an 
 introduction to new. But the warm-hearted 
 youth who has, whether from diffidence or ne 
 cessity, confined his thoughts and affections to 
 one set of objects, feels, on quitting them, as 
 though the world were a desert ; as if all, be 
 yond the little paradise of his love, were a wil 
 derness ; and he should meet, instead of the 
 flowers, which, humble as they were, had still 
 blessed his path, beasts of prey at every step. 
 
 Much of this melancholy dread of the world 
 mingled with the triumph of being enabled to 
 pursue his studies, in the heart of George Tor- 
 rey, when he bade farewell to the man whom 
 he esteemed above every other person on earth, 
 and loved the best aunt Jemima excepted. 
 None of his ambitious hopes had effaced from 
 his memory the kindness and affection of her 
 whom he considered his mother, and those 
 hours that young men usually devote to the 
 society of young ladies, or clubs of their own 
 
160 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 sex, he had passed in the lonely and lowly 
 apartment of his poor old aunt, telling her his 
 progress and his plans, or perhaps reciting 
 some of his lessons which, though said in what 
 ever language they might be, were still l Greek 
 to her, she yet liked to hear, because, she 
 observed, he could say his lesson so fast. And 
 she was constantly boasting to every person 
 she could make listen to her, of the marvellous 
 acquirements of her nephew, declaring she 
 did not believe there would be a scholar in col 
 lege who could read faster. 
 
 Neither was her admiration of learning an 
 inactive principle ; all the assistance she could 
 render her own boy, as she called George, was 
 eagerly done. This however only amounted 
 to the giving him a few articles of clothing, 
 (her own manufacturing of course, and in her 
 opinion much the better for that,) and a vast 
 deal of good advice ; in particular, she charged 
 him not to waste any time in vain company, for 
 she knew the evil of it, having been, when very 
 young, too fond of dancing ; and then he must 
 always rise early, she found it the best for her 
 own health ; and above all, not sit up too late 
 at night, it was very bad for the eyes. 1 1 find, 
 continued she, with a half sigh, I have set up 
 too late myself; not studying to be sure, but 
 working for you, George, and my eyes begin 
 to fail a little already. 
 
 She was past sixty ; but when did a sin 
 gle woman ever willingly think herself old ? 
 Though the sensitiveness which is sometimes 
 betrayed on this delicate subject is certainly a 
 
THE POOR SCHOLAR. 161 
 
 weakness, yet if we examine the principle which 
 causes that susceptibility, we shall, at least, 
 acknowledge it an amiable weakness. There 
 have been, the sentiment is fast losing advo 
 cates, but there have been opinions industri 
 ously propagated, that those ladies who lived 
 to a certain age without worshipping in the 
 temple of Hymen, were not always as women 
 should be soft, mild, pitiful and flexible. 
 In short, old maids have been considered un 
 lovely and unloving, and what true woman but 
 recoils with instinctive horror from such a con 
 clusion ? and deems the denial of her age ve 
 nial when she would otherwise be subjected to 
 the imputation of being fastidious, malicious, 
 envious, ill-natured ? It is an intuitive sense 
 of the worth and beauty of goodness, and an 
 abhorrence of the qualities which unfeeling sa 
 tire or stupid misapprehension have stamped 
 upon the name of old maid, that make the term 
 one of reproach and dread. 
 
 These remarks, considering the relation in 
 which aunt Jemima stood to the poor scholar, 
 can hardly be called a digression. Had he 
 known his character was to have been sketch 
 ed, he would have insisted his kind relative 
 should have occupied at least half the space 
 allotted for his portrait. He loved her sincere 
 ly, and always, during his life, vindicated the 
 neglected, yet useful order of spinsters, from 
 the unmerited calumnies with which they are 
 too often assailed. 
 
 A few weeks after George had departed, 
 Mr. Dorr received from his friend, the tutor, 
 14 
 
AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 a letter, which will better delineate the appear 
 ance of the youth and the impression he made 
 on the minds of his new associates, than any 
 description I could myself give. I have there 
 fore obtained leave to transcribe what related 
 to him. It is somewhat long, but will not, I 
 hope, be found uninteresting. 
 
 * Your young friend is quite an original ; and 
 were there not one here to divide the crown 
 with him, we should consider him a prodigy. 
 As it is, he excites much interest with us tu 
 tors, and some envy, I fear, among the students. 
 But our opinions appear to have little effect up 
 on him ; he goes forward, without asking ad 
 miration or heeding ridicule, seemingly deter 
 mined to master every science, and feeling the 
 acquisition of knowledge a sufficient reward 
 for all his pains. This I think to be the effect 
 of the solitary manner in which he has hitherto 
 pursued his studies. His mind has thus acquir 
 ed an aim, and the habit of depending on itself, 
 on its own resources and reflections for those 
 sensations of pleasure, that it is usually thought 
 can never be enjoyed except in communica 
 tion and participation, that is, in social inter 
 course. His reserve, which the young wits in 
 the class are, I find, quite disposed to ridicule, 
 is, in my opinion, as much the effect of his men 
 tal independence, as of that diffidence which 
 you say he always exhibited. His fine talents 
 are disciplined, not discouraged by adversity, 
 and his judgment so cool and regulated, that 
 did not an occasional flash of spirit betray that 
 warmth of temperament which circumstances 
 
THE POOR SCHOLAR. 163 
 
 have made it necessary for him to suppress, I 
 should think him born a Quaker. But he is 
 now /an excellent specimen of the Puritan 
 character, in which shrewdness and simplicity, 
 ambition and humility, patience and activity, 
 fervor in spirit and prudence in action, were so 
 blended or so admirably balanced, that the 
 minds thus actuated possessed a decision which 
 rendered them invincible. It is this regulation 
 of the passions which constitutes that self- 
 control so necessary to freemen, to those who 
 govern themselves ; yet it is only a strong 
 mind that is ever endowed, in an eminent de 
 gree, with this decision ; and it is only a cul 
 tivated mind that makes it appear amiable. 
 
 * But it sits amiably on George Torrey, be 
 cause he has so much modesty that you would 
 not, without close investigation, imagine him 
 such a determined character ; and thus his ex 
 traordinary progress is attributed more to his 
 superior industry (which excites, you know, 
 but little envy) than to his superior genius. 
 
 1 It is gladdening to see how talents will 
 surmount difficulties, but it rejoices me more to 
 behold their triumph over temptations. The 
 youth whom I mentioned as likely to prove a 
 formidable rival to George in the classical race, 
 is a fine example of this triumph. He is from 
 Virginia ; his father, as I understand, is a very 
 rich man, one of the proud aristocracy of that 
 proud State. Robert Simonds lias, therefore, 
 been from infancy accustomed to every indul 
 gence and elegance that wealth can purchase, 
 and all that adulation that follows prosperity 
 
164 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 and high rank. But this flattery has not ener 
 vated his mind ; it has only modified his man 
 ners. He has all that boldness of imagination, 
 that brilliancy of genius, that is elicited by cul 
 ture and commendation. 1 do not think he has 
 more confidence in his own powers, more of 
 what we will call pride, than George Torrey 
 has ; and yet his display of himself is so very 
 different, that a stranger would call one haugh 
 ty, the other humble. The original constitution 
 of the minds of these young men was doubtless 
 very similar ; had the children been changed 
 in their cradles, as fairy stories have whilom 
 related possible, they would probably with their 
 names have completely changed characters. 
 There is, however, always a sympathy between 
 such spirits, unless jealouSy of each other s at 
 tainments should keep them aloof, but this 
 jealousy Robert is too noble to indulge towards 
 one, who, like George Torrey, (I have related 
 to Robert the whole history of his rival,) is 
 struggling for an education as the means of 
 support ; and on the other hand, the principles 
 of George are too well regulated to permit him 
 to harbor jealousy or envy against any person. 
 So these youths are already warm friends, and 
 I encourage the intimacy, because I think they 
 will reap a mutual advantage from the inter 
 course. 1 admire to see them sitting side by 
 side, at their recitations, or walking arm in arm 
 to their recreations, there has been such a 
 contrast in their brief histories, and yet there is 
 such a similarity in their feelings, that it affords 
 much food for my philosophy, to trace the caus- 
 
THE POOR SCHOLAR. 165 
 
 es which have thus brought the mind of one 
 nursed in the lap of luxury, and that of a poor 
 parish child on a perfect level. These causes 
 must be sought in our free institutions, in that 
 perfect equality of birth which our laws declare 
 to be fixed in the nature of things, and there 
 fore unchangeable. While our constitution 
 remains inviolate in this article, neither the 
 corruptions of luxury, nor the debasements of 
 poverty, will ever degrade the minds of our 
 countrymen to an extent that shall have much 
 perceptible effect on public morals, or render 
 precarious the preservation of our freedom ; be 
 cause there will be a redeeming influence in 
 the talents and virtue, that our impartial insti 
 tutions will call forth from both extremes of our 
 population the rich and the poor. Equality 
 of birth, and the necessity of universal educa 
 tion, are principles never before recognised or 
 acted upon by any government ; till these are 
 relinquished, our republic is safe. They may 
 tell of the corruption of statesmen and the vio 
 lence of party, but the majority will, after all, 
 go right ; and though vice and ignorance may 
 sometimes be exalted, yet open admiration and 
 unhesitating suffrage Avill not be given except 
 to intelligence and virtue. These thoughts 
 have been forced upon me while reflecting upon 
 the favorable influence which the principle of 
 equality has had on my two favorite pupils. 
 
 It has stimulated them both to exertion, and 
 will probably be the means of making them or 
 naments to their country. It taught Robert Si- 
 monds that his father s rank and wealth could 
 
166 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 never be his passport to high consideration, 
 he must himself deserve the fame he coveted. 
 It encouraged the destitute orphan, while toil 
 ing for his bread, to cultivate those talents he 
 felt he possessed, by showing that the prize 
 was within his reach. It has thus directed 
 and impelled two minds of uncommon powers 
 to the attainment of knowledge and the love of 
 excellence, that appear likely to qualify them for 
 extensive usefulness ; and thus, if we do not 
 subscribe to the opinion that ignorance is bliss, 
 we must believe the sum of human happiness 
 is proportionably increased. 
 
 I am told that there are some, even in our 
 republican land, who attach great importance 
 to a pedigree, and imagine a kind of refinement 
 of blood is imparted to the individual whose 
 ancestors have, for two, or three generations, 
 laid by their working dresses. I should like to 
 have such title-loving people look upon my 
 specimen of nobility and of peasantry. They 
 would feel proud of both. Robert Simonds 
 commands attention, and George Torrey en 
 gages it. No person can behold either with 
 indifference. They positively are the finest 
 looking young men I ever saw. I often exam 
 ine their features to decide which of the two is 
 the handsomest, but I never yet could. Still 
 there is no resemblance between them, except 
 that their height is the same. The figure of 
 George, though perfectly proportioned, shows 
 the strength of bones and sinews that have 
 been strung by toil. Robert is more slender 
 in form, and the richness and nicety of his ap* 
 
THE POOR SCHOLAR. 167 
 
 par el, combine to give him an air of effemina 
 cy, especially if you regard his hand, which a 
 lady might envy ; it is so small, taper-fingered 
 and delicate. George, on the contrary, is al 
 ways plainly arrayed, and his hand, you know, 
 is enlarged by exercise, and hardened by the 
 plough. But the moment you look in his face, 
 you forget that labor has any effect but to 
 beautify. His active employment has strength 
 ened his constitution, and imparted such a fine, 
 healthy glow to his complexion, that it really 
 makes one feel younger and happier to gaze 
 upon him ; even his midnight vigils cannot de 
 stroy his bloom. But Robert will do to enact 
 the pale student, except when his spirit is 
 kindled, and then the blood rushes to his face 
 till his cheeks are died like scarlet. When 
 ever I see Robert alone, I always think black 
 is much the most beautiful color for the eye, 
 that such have the most expression the most 
 soul. But the moment George enters, his bright 
 blue eyes, flashing with the consciousness of 
 ideas, or animated with eagerness to gain 
 them, I alter my opinion, or at least, I think 
 the color of the eye is of no consequence. In 
 short I am, as you have doubtless discovered, 
 enthusiastic in my admiration and my expec 
 tations from both these young men. 
 
 It is not my purpose to describe minutely 
 the progress of George Torrey, and the ex 
 ertions he used while obtaining his education. 
 The four years passed, he had struggled 
 with many discouragements, and spent many 
 melancholy hours, but, aided by the counsels 
 
163 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 of his old friend Mr. Dorr, and, whenever he 
 would accept it, by more tangible tokens of 
 regard from his young friend Robert Simonds, 
 and always exerting his own abilities to the ut 
 most to help himself, George had succeeded. 
 The poor scholar, had won the highest hon 
 ors of the college. The Valedictory was the 
 part assigned him in the exercises of the day ; 
 he would willingly have relinquished it in favor 
 of his friend ; indeed, he declared that of 
 right Robert Simonds should have had it ; but 
 that generous young man replied ; I do not 
 pretend, George, to disclaim all ambition to 
 have that appointment ; it would have gratified 
 my vanity, but it is not essential to my inter 
 est. If I have, as you kindly intimate, the 
 learning that would entitle me to it, all I need 
 is obtained ; but to you, my friend, it may be 
 of more benefit. Honor may be profit J contin 
 ued he smiling, and though your independence 
 of spirit has given me trouble enough, yet I 
 admire it, and hope that the time is not far dis 
 tant when you will bask in the smiles of for 
 tune. 
 
 Yes, but then I must lose those of my 
 friend, replied George. O, this is a sad 
 world I think, since the saddest of all poets so 
 often expresses my feelings, 
 
 Our very \yishes, give us not our wish ! 
 
 That is now precisely applicable to my mind ; 
 I have often thought, that could I reach the 
 station in my class, which I may at this moment 
 call mine, I should be perfectly blessed. But 
 
THE POOR SCHOLAR. 169 
 
 after this pageant of vain glory, this commence 
 ment is over, then will come the real sorrow, 
 the parting with you. 
 
 Why need we part ? asked Robert. i Why 
 will you not conclude to accompany me to the 
 South ; my father ah, I see the haughty curl 
 on your lip, giving its veto against dependence. 
 You must earn your own livelihood. You may 
 do that in Virginia as conveniently as here. 
 Nothing will be easier than to find employment 
 as an instructor. I will write and recommend 
 you to some of the first families; after they are 
 acquainted with you, no recommendation will 
 be necessary. My parents will make the com 
 panion of their son as welcome as a relative. 
 We have warm hearts for our friends, George, 
 and some lovely girls too, that will, I hope, 
 make your heart warm. 
 
 " Were you with these, my friend, you d soon forget 
 The pale, unripeiied beauties of the North." 
 
 ( I always understood that bloom and bril 
 liancy of complexion, were on the side of our 
 northern beauties, said George. 
 
 1 But you will find, according to the quotation 
 I have just made, and indeed from the whole 
 speech of the old Numidian Chief, that such a 
 conclusion must be erroneous. You are an 
 excellent critic on facts, and if you think Addi- 
 son committed a blunder in placing his " glow 
 ing dames" beneath a vertical sun, you ought 
 to expose him. This you may have an oppor 
 tunity of doing if you will only go with me. 
 15 
 
170 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 Virginia is sufficiently far to the southward to 
 commence your observations. Will you go ? 
 
 1 In the course of a year, perhaps ; if you 
 still desire it, replied George. 
 
 Robert did continue to desire it, and in less 
 than a twelvemonth, George Torrey found him 
 self domesticated in the family of Judge Si- 
 monds, one of the most distinguished men of 
 Virginia. George had anticipated much plea 
 sure as well as improvement from the conversa 
 tion of the old Judge, whom his son had repre 
 sented as very eloquent, and intelligent, and 
 communicative. His mother too, in the opinion 
 of Robert, was the very best woman in the 
 world. He had said but little of his sister very 
 little, never had shown George any of her let 
 ters, nor endeavoured to excite his curiosity 
 about her. George knew, to be sure, that Rob- 
 ter had a sister Delia, and he thought she had a 
 very pretty name for a pastoral poem, and that 
 was all he had thought of her till he was in 
 troduced to her. But he soon had many other 
 thoughts. If there is a young man who has lov 
 ed, tenderly and truly, and loved too, one who he 
 fancied would think herself above his sphere 
 loved in doubt and almost in despair, he will 
 very easily divine the meditations of my hero. 
 He will know why George trembled to meet 
 Delia, and sighed to leave her ; why his pulse 
 quickened at her name, and why his heart and 
 his brain throbbed when any other man ap 
 proached her. Why he watched for her smile 
 as though it were a law to guide him ; and why 
 
THE POOR SCHOLAR. 171 
 
 every word she spoke he considered important, 
 and worth treasuring. 
 
 And if there be a beautiful young lady, who 
 has seen she was beloved by a man of worth, 
 of mind, intelligence and refinement, one 
 whom she was satisfied would ever be to her 
 that kind, constant, judicious friend, which wo 
 man so much needs to guide and support her 
 through this world s rough wilderness ; if she 
 has felt gratitude for her lover s preference of 
 her, and esteem for his character, increasing 
 with every interview ; if she has blushed to 
 name him, trembled lest her partiality should be 
 suspected, watched for his coming, and yet 
 faltered while attempting to welcome him, she 
 may be sure her sensations have been very sim 
 ilar to those felt by Delia Simonds, after a few 
 months acquaintance with George Torrey. 
 
 Why cannot reason and education free the 
 mind from the dominion of prejudice ? Rob 
 ert Simonds knew the worth and talents of 
 George Torrey, and he loved him like a broth 
 er. To have him marry Delia, had long been 
 his favorite wish. He saw their mutual affec 
 tion, therefore, with joy, and his favorable re 
 presentations had induced Judge Simonds to 
 treat the young New-Englander with a par 
 tiality that was, at least, flattering. 
 
 George had been permitted to hope, and but 
 one circumstance prevented Robert from ac 
 knowledging, with pride, the favored of his sis 
 ter. Some of the young Southern gentlemen 
 had doubted the courage of the Yankee, doubt 
 ed whether he would have the spirit to resent 
 
172 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 an insult like a gentleman, to accept a chal 
 lenge if sent him, and these doubts had reached 
 the ears of Robert. He did not mention them 
 to George ; he knew his principles on the sub 
 ject, and he perfectly agreed with him that to 
 fight a duel, when not to fight was considered 
 a disgrace, was no test of courage, but rather 
 a proof of moral cowardice. But reasoning 
 and feeling are very different things. Robert 
 did feel sensitive on this point ; he did wish to 
 have the fame of George established, have 
 him deemed a man of honor, (That honor 
 which may be claimed by the veriest villain on 
 earth, if he only is a good shot and has killed 
 his adversary.) 
 
 There was in the neighbourhood a gentleman, 
 so styled, who had offered himself to Delia Si- 
 monds, and been rejected. This circumstance 
 created no surprise with those who were ac 
 quainted with the parties, for Arnold Dixon was 
 very ugly in person, and disagreeable in man 
 ners, such a being as no lady could love, and 
 Miss Simonds would never marry for riches. 
 But riches, especially if joined with a certain 
 assurance, will often keep a man in a station 
 to which neither his mind or morals entitle him. 
 Arnold Dixon was thus by sufferance allow 
 ed to mingle in good society ; yet he knew he 
 was disliked, indeed, detested by the ladies, 
 and he grew cross, and envious of every gen 
 tleman younger, or handsomer than himself. 
 George Torrey especially he hated, and it was 
 from him that the insinuations against the 
 character of the Yankee mostly originated. 
 
THE POOR SCHOLAR. 173 
 
 Robert Simonds despised Dixon, and in 
 tended to have no communication with him ; 
 but they happened to meet one day at a dinner 
 party, and Dixon, when warmed with wine, 
 threw out reflections against the northern peo 
 ple, mingled with such innuendoes against 
 George Torrey, that Robert s blood was up in 
 a moment, and he repelled the charges with 
 such terms of scorn, as provoked his adver 
 sary to fresh accusations, till finally the com 
 pany interposed, and insisted that the affair 
 should be postponed to a more fitting time and 
 place. 
 
 Burning with indignation against Dixon, and 
 yet angry with himself for suffering the low 
 malice of such a man to disturb him, Robert 
 Simonds retired from the party. He knew 
 that, according to the code of honor, some ex 
 pressions Dixon had used, must be considered 
 too offensive to be borne by an honorable man ; 
 that a challenge was expected to ensue ; and 
 since the affair must proceed, he thought he 
 would turn it to the best account possible. 
 He argued that if George Torrey would con 
 sent to be his second, it would in a great meas 
 ure establish his reputation, because he would 
 be found to act with decision and spirit, as he 
 always did in the prosecution of any plan he 
 thought sanctioned by principle. In short, he 
 knew George was possessed of that daring, de 
 termined courage, that would, at the call of 
 his country, or in defence of freedom, have 
 prompted him to solicit the post of danger, to 
 stand in the imminent, deadly breach, or lead 
 
174 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 the forlorn hope. But he knew, also, that 
 George regarded duelling and its laws with 
 abhorrence and contempt ; that he thought it 
 degrading to a civilized man, and horrible for a 
 Christian, to engage or be concerned in an 
 affair of murder. 
 
 And yet, said Robert to himself, l he cannot, 
 under all the circumstances, refuse to be my 
 second in this affair, and that will satisfy the 
 world of his courage. 0, if his firmness of 
 mind was only known, his courage would nev 
 er be doubted. 
 
 I You intend to challenge Dixon ? said 
 George Torrey, after he had listened to his 
 friend s story. 
 
 I 1 do I must. You smile, and I know 
 your opinion, and I know it is right, but we 
 must, while we live in the world, be guided by 
 the customs of society. Who can endure the 
 " dread laugh" of derision, that among us fol 
 lows the man, who is pointed at as a coward ? 
 I cannot, I will not, let the consequences be 
 what they may, I shall challenge Dixon. I 
 know he is a mean villain, I despise him ; 
 and yet I shall give him a chance to acquire 
 honor to himself by killing me. I shall do 
 this jn obedience to custom, to a custom that 
 I condemn, and wish was annihilated, But I 
 shall follow it notwithstanding. Will you, 
 George, be my second ? 
 
 The discussion that followed cannot be giv 
 en at length, but the conclusion was, that 
 George Torrey, finding he could not reason 
 his friend out of the belief that there existed 
 
THE POOR SCHOLAR. 175 
 
 no necessity for the duel, determined to take 
 the quarrel and the danger on himself. 
 
 If, said George, this affair cannot be 
 overlooked without incurring disgrace, I will 
 send the challenge. The matter properly be 
 longs to me. It was my section of the coun 
 try that was vilified ; it was me he intended to 
 insult. You generously defended me at the 
 table when I was absent ; but that is no reason 
 why you should fight for me when I am pres 
 ent. I repeat it, if there must be a challenge 
 I will send it, and you may act as my second. 
 
 This arrangement was finally adopted. Ro 
 bert felt some compunctious visitings of con 
 science while the challenge was penning ; but 
 he was so anxious to have his friend, his fu 
 ture brother, considered a man of honor, that 
 he felt glad the affair was to be so decided. 
 He knew George was an excellent marksman, 
 and cool in spirit, and had the perfect com 
 mand of his muscles. Dixon too, was expert 
 at shooting, but he was often intoxicated either 
 with passion or liquor, and who can answer 
 for the thoughts of his heart when under the 
 dominion of violent prejudice ? thousands have 
 been as culpable as was Robert Simonds, when 
 he eagerly anticipated seeing Arnold Dixon 
 weltering in his blood, slain by the hand of 
 George Torrey. 
 
 What did George Torrey anticipate ? He 
 did not dare reflect on all the consequences 
 that might be the result of this rash affair. He 
 thought it his duty to send the challenge and 
 meet the foe, rather than permit Robert to 
 
176 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 fight. But he hoped the matter would be ac 
 commodated ; that Dixon would decline, as he 
 might, without the imputation of cowardice, by 
 alleging that he had not intended to insult the 
 party who challenged. And then George flat 
 tered himself a little discussion would satisfy 
 all parties. 
 
 But George was disappointed ; for Dixon 
 not only accepted his invitation to meet him, 
 &c. on the ensuing morning, but he exultingly 
 added, that he wished to have the affair de 
 cided immediately ; that he had a friend with 
 him, and they would be on the spot in half an 
 hour, where all preliminaries, &c. might be 
 easily settled. 
 
 * He is drunk, said Robert, his eyes flash 
 ing with joy ; your victory is secure. 
 
 My escape may be more probable, replied 
 George. I will meet him, and stand his shot 
 as your code of honor directs ; but I will not 
 return his fire. I risk my own life to satisfy 
 what I consider a wicked prejudice ; but I will 
 not risk having the blood of a humari being 
 upon my conscience. 
 
 The two friends proceeded, arm in arm, to 
 wards the place of appointment. They walk 
 ed in silence, both wrapped in different, but 
 painful reflections. They had nearly reached 
 the spot, when George, pressing the arm of 
 his friend, said in a low, but distinct tone 
 < Robert, if I fall, say to Delia 
 
 You will not fall, you shall not, interrupt 
 ed the other, impetuously. George, I fear I 
 have done wrong in this business I have been 
 
THE POOR SCHOLAR. 177 
 
 too sensitive, too hasty. If you are injured, 
 I shall never forgive myself. But you shall 
 stand only one shot ; if, when Dixon finds you 
 are determined not to return his lire, he does 
 not then feel satisfied, I will fight him, and I 
 will return his fire. Do not give me any fare 
 well messages, I cannot hear such melancholy 
 things. 
 
 They reached the spot ; an accommodation 
 was proposed to Dixon, if he would disclaim 
 the intention of insulting George ; but this he 
 would not do, and he ended with some sneer 
 ing remarks about the Yankees that made 
 Robert s blood boil, but which/had it not been 
 for the feelings of his friend, George would no 
 more have heeded than the idle wind. 
 
 The ground was measured, and they took 
 their stations. 
 
 I You can kill him George, whispered Rob 
 ert Simonds. 
 
 I 1 shall not attempt it, replied George. I 
 am not seeking revenge. 
 
 4 But you ought to endeavour to preserve 
 your own life. 
 
 * Then I ought not to have come here. But 
 this is idle now. Give the word. 
 
 The word was given Dixon fired and 
 George Torrey fell. Robert sprung to him, 
 raised him a stream of blood gushed from his 
 right side. It is all over, said George faint 
 ly, as he recovered a little from the first shock. 
 I am dying. I must leave the world just as it 
 begins to smile upon me. I must leave Delia 
 and you. ! I have lately dreamed of great 
 
178 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 things I have thought that, hlcssed with De 
 lia s love and your friendship, I should use such 
 exertions I should be co indefatigable, that 
 success would be mine. But it is all over I 
 must die before I have done anything I must 
 die and be forgotten Die as the fool dieth. 
 
 ! George, George, said Robert, with 
 tears flowing fast down his cheeks What 
 shall I do ? How shall I comfort Delia ? Why 
 did I allow you to send the challenge ? 
 
 George attempted to reply, but the effort 
 overcame him, and they thought him dying. 
 But he revived again, and was conveyed to 
 the house of Judge Simonds. He lingered 
 twelve hours, and during most of the time, was 
 able to converse. 
 
 George Torrey was laid in the family vault 
 of Judge Simonds, and before the year had ex 
 pired, Delia slept beside her lover. Robert 
 Simonds, agitated with grief for the loss of his 
 friend, and indignation against Dixon, could 
 hardly be said to be in possession of his reason, 
 when, three days after the burial of George, 
 he challenged his murderer to meet him. Dix 
 on was so elated with his success over poor 
 George, that he exultingly accepted the chal 
 lenge of Robert. They met ; and at the first 
 discharge, Dixon was shot through the heart. 
 
 Robert Simonds still lives, but he is a mel 
 ancholy, misanthropic being. Alone in the 
 world, and continually brooding over the mem 
 ory of those dear friends he accuses himself 
 of destroying. 
 
THE SPRINGS. 
 
 * She had marked 
 
 The silent youth, and with a beauty s eye 
 
 Knew well she was beloved ; and though her light 
 
 And bounding spirit still was wild and gay, 
 
 And sporting in the revel, yet her hours 
 
 Of solitude were visited by him 
 
 Who looked with such deep passion. 
 
 PERCIVAL. 
 
 IT was in July, 1818, that Emily Wood worth 
 made her debut at Saratoga. She came ac 
 companied by her guardian, Mr. Chapman, and 
 his wife. Mrs. Chapman was a dyspeptic, ner 
 vous and very particular lady. In her youth 
 she had been a celebrated beauty, and still felt 
 all that thirst for personal admiration which 
 had once been so lavishly bestowed upon her 
 charms. But alas ! for the woman who has 
 passed her tenth lustre and yet has no claim to 
 the attentions of society, save what personal 
 beauty imparts. Such women have always a 
 horror of being thought at all acquainted with 
 Time that unfashionable old gentleman is en 
 tirely excluded from their conversation, and any 
 allusion to him, they deem, in their presence, 
 impertinent. It was always with a look which 
 seemed intended to petrify the speaker, that 
 
180 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 Mrs. Chapman heard her increasing infirmi 
 ties attributed to increasing years ; she wished 
 to be thought young, and yet she had neither 
 health nor inclination for the gayeties of youth ; 
 and so she eagerly condemned all pleasures in 
 which she could not participate, as vain, frivo 
 lous or unfashionable. In short she was al 
 ways of the opinion that those amusements, 
 which were inconvenient or unsuitable for her, 
 were either very vulgar or very sinful. 
 
 Mr. Chapman was an industrious mechanic, 
 a carpenter by trade ; but he had an inventive 
 genius, and a persevering temper ; and had 
 generally succeeded in his plans and projects, 
 till finally he had become not only the archi 
 tect, but proprietor of several mills and one 
 large cotton manufactory ; and partly by labor, 
 partly by lucky speculation, had accumulated 
 a large fortune. He was a thorough Yankee, 
 shrewd, sensible and somewhat sarcastic ; at 
 least his ready repartees, and the knowledge of 
 characters and circumstances they frequently 
 implied, made his wit often feared by those who 
 felt conscious of follies or faults they did not 
 wish exposed. Yet he was a good natured 
 man, as the uniform forbearance, and even pity 
 with which he listened to the peevishness and 
 complaints of his wife, and his constant kind 
 ness in his own family, and the cordial civility 
 with which he treated his friends, except when 
 an occasion for a good joke occurred, sufficient 
 ly testified. 
 
 Emily Woodworth but I will not introduce 
 her formally, by telling her height, or describ- 
 
TUB SPRINGS. 181 
 
 ing her features, or noting the color of her 
 complexion, eyes, lips and hair. Take a pen, 
 fair reader, look in the mirror, and then try 
 the sketch yourself. But be sure and make 
 Emily as handsome as your beau ideal of fe 
 male loveliness, or I shall in future draw my 
 own heroines. And yet it is a task in which 
 few succeed. The artist, proud of being com 
 plimented with possessing the skill of a Van- 
 dike in delineating the countenances of men, 
 will find it extremely difficult, if not impossible, 
 to paint the likeness of a beautiful woman. 
 To be successful he must embody sense, spirit 
 and modesty in that just proportion which shall 
 give the idea of dignity as well as delicacy to 
 features where passion has left no record ; and 
 he must impart meaning and expression to the 
 smoothness and sheen of a face where nei 
 ther the ambition of pride or energy of thought 
 have stamped any predominating faculty of 
 soul. This task can only be accomplished by 
 one skilled in reading the heart as well as 
 drawing the head. There are but few descrip 
 tions of women, even in our best poets and 
 novelists, that do justice to the female cha 
 racter. The mistake is that mere physical 
 beauty, harmony of features and a fair com 
 plexion, are generally represented as entitling 
 their possessor to the appellation of amiable, 
 interesting, elegant, Sec. it is the counte 
 nance which is supposed to give a tone to the 
 mind, not that the mind inspires the counte 
 nance. Such a mistake would never be made 
 by an artist who was painting men. Arid while 
 
183 
 
 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 such a mistake is cherished, the portraits of 
 women will never be well executed. They 
 will never bear the impress of mind. 
 
 Milton was a little skeptical on the score of 
 female understanding, and hardly willing to 
 allow the sex that equality of reason which is 
 now pretty generally and generously too, ac 
 knowledged by all civilized men ; but he may 
 be pardoned, considering he lived in an age 
 so ignorant that even his own peerless genius, 
 was neglected or contemned, (might it not be 
 a retribution for the injustice he did the ladies.) 
 But notwithstanding the prejudice which the 
 bard of Paradise sometimes displayed, he has 
 left us the most charming description, of the 
 effect which a lovely, virtuous and intelligent 
 woman has over the minds of men, that is to 
 be found in the English language. 
 
 Yet when I approach 
 
 Her loveliness, so absolute she seems 
 And in herself complete, so well to know 
 Her own, that what she wills to do or say, 
 Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best; 
 All higher knowledge in her presetice falls. 
 Degraded wisdom in discourse with her 
 Loses discountenanced, and like folly shows ; 
 Authority and reason on her wait, 
 As one intended first, not after made 
 Occasionally ; and to consummate all, 
 Greatness of mind, and nobleness their seat 
 Build in her loveliest, and create an awe 
 About her, as a guard angelic placed. 
 
 What a lovely picture ! and true but when 
 was the conception of the poet ever embodied 
 by the painter ? And there is also another 
 sweet description, in Shakspeare, of a woman, 
 that I have often wished to see transferred to 
 canvass 
 
THE SPRINGS. 183 
 
 * . A maiden never bold, 
 
 Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion 
 Blushed at herself. 
 
 Who does not recognise in that sketch of 
 Desdemona, the being of soul the beautiful, 
 modest, intelligent and heroic girl who pre 
 ferred her lover only for his estimable qualities 
 of character 
 
 * 1 saw Othello s visage in his mind. 
 
 Emily Woodworth did not exactly resemble 
 either of these portraits. She had not the 
 majestic loveliness of Milton s Eve, nor all 
 that tender yet ardent enthusiasm which we 
 may imagine characterized the victim bride of 
 the Moor. She had more vivacity than either. 
 But there was usually a covert humor in her 
 glance which checked the freedom her gayety 
 would otherwise have inspired. A lover would 
 have been sadly perplexed to decide whether 
 the sweet smile that so often dimpled her cheek 
 was for him or at him. In short I can think 
 of no heroine that Emily so much resembled 
 as Ellen Douglas ; especially in that scene 
 where Fitz James so gallantly volunteered to 
 row her fairy bark, when 
 
 The maid with smile, suppressed and sly, 
 The task unwonted saw him try. 
 
 But Emily Woodworth had a guardian Was 
 she rich ? No matter. The gentleman who 
 is prompted to make the inquiry would never 
 have deserved her, and certainly never have 
 obtained her. 
 
 i We will take lodgings half a mile, at least, 
 from the Springs, said Mrs. Chapman to her 
 
194 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 husband, as their carriage passed in sight of 
 the crowd assembled around the Congress 
 fountain. I am sure, she continued as her 
 eye rested on the castle like fabric of Con 
 gress Hall, at that time the largest and Air the 
 most splendid building in the village, I am 
 sure, the noise and bustle of that house must 
 be quite shocking to persons who have been 
 accustomed to the regular, religious and lit 
 erary society of Connecticut. 
 
 1 1 was intending to board at Union Hull, 
 replied Mr. Chapman. We must not expect 
 it will seem exactly as quiet and regular as our 
 own home, but it will be more convenient for 
 us than remote lodgings. You, Mrs. Chapman, 
 intend to drink the waters ; I came to see the 
 folks, and JDmily the fashions, and I think that 
 Union house there, will be just the thing for 
 our accommodation. Congress Hall I should 
 like, only it looks as if it would draw a little too 
 largely on my purse. 
 
 Do you know what kind of company they 
 have at the Union Hall ? inquired Mrs. Chap 
 man, in a querulous tone. * I should like to 
 be with civil, well-bred people, not among 
 the thoughtless and fantastic, who have balls 
 every other evening. I wisii we could go where 
 our own friends and acquaintances resort. 
 The Reverend Mr. Briley and his lady you 
 know started a few days before us ; and then 
 Colonel Eastman and his two daughters are 
 here, and Squire Ray and his wife, and the 
 widow Post. 
 
 Yes, yes there s fbols enough from Con- 
 
THE SPRINGS. 185 
 
 necticut here as well as we, interrupted Mr. 
 Chapman hastily and then after a short pause, 
 during which his good natured countenance 
 exhibited a little embarrassment or vexation, 
 such as we may suppose would naturally arise 
 in the mind of a thorough man of business who 
 felt himself, for the first time in his life, in pur 
 suit of that pleasure which has neither definite 
 name nor aim, but must be found jostling 
 among a crowd of strangers in a strange place, 
 lie added, I think, Mrs. Chapman, we have 
 a pretty good chance of seeing Yankees at 
 home ; certainly we see our friends often 
 enough there. Now I should like to be ac 
 quainted with some of the southern people, 
 and I have been told that Union Hall was fre 
 quented mostly by gentlemen from that part ot 
 the country. Perhaps I may learn something 
 about the management of cotton that will be 
 of advantage to me in the way of my business ; 
 and so, if you please, we will alight here and 
 stay a few days at least, and he stepped 
 from his carriage, while a waiter instantly at 
 tended to ask his commands. Mrs. Chapman 
 was really fatigued, they had driven a long 
 stage that morning, it was almost twelve, and 
 so she tacitly assented to her husband s pro- j 
 position. 
 
 They were soon installed in a pleasant 
 apartment, the windows commanding a view 
 of Congress Hall, with its stately pillars and 
 airy portico, beneath which ladies were prome 
 nading, and gentlemen sauntering, both often 
 pausing in their walk, as if charmed by the 
 16 
 
18(5 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 sweet music that came at intervals from the 
 apartment of some piano-loving votary within. 
 
 Those who have visited Saratoga, and who 
 has not ? know that the scenery around the 
 village makes no part of the attractions to that 
 celebrated place. It is the Springs, and the 
 crowd that sip the mineral waters that are the 
 objects of curiosity. Mrs. Chapman was not 
 much mistaken when, a few days after her ar 
 rival, she declared it was by nature the most 
 disagreeable spot she ever saw. The street, 
 she remarked, was always dirt or dust, (this 
 was ten years since, perhaps she would now 
 report differently,) and if one wished to walk 
 out, there was nothing to be seen in any direc 
 tion but a low sunken marsh that appeared as 
 if it had never been drained since the deluge 
 And then for the ornament of the grounds, 
 there was only stunted firs and other ever 
 greens all looking as withered, crooked or 
 sickly, as if they were languishing under the 
 curse of some sibyl. 
 
 The contrast was indeed very striking be~ 
 twcen Saratoga, and the pleasant walks on the 
 banks of the Connecticut. There the turf is so 
 smooth and green, and the flowers woo you at 
 every step, and the broad beautiful trees throw 
 their graceful branches abroad as if rejoicing, 
 like a beauty surveying her image in a mirror, 
 to see their shadow on the green sward beneath. 
 And then there is the river, diffusing over the 
 wide meadows on its banks, a fertility unsur 
 passed in our land ; and the fresh invigorating 
 breezes from the pure waters and green hills, 
 
THE SPRINGS. 187 
 
 which, if they cannot restore the invalid to 
 health, prevent the healthy from becoming in 
 valid. Who that has a taste for the beauties 
 of a rich landscape, and a heart attuned to the 
 music breathing from the lovely things of na 
 ture, but would prefer a ramble on the banks 
 of the Connecticut to a promenade beneath the 
 portico of Congress Hall, where fashion and 
 frivolity gather their votaries, and more come 
 to have their dresses admired than to have 
 their diseases healed ? 
 
 It must however be acknowledged, that much 
 of Mrs. Chapman s, disgust and disappoint 
 ment arose from the circumstance of finding 
 herself but an unit among the collection of 
 human beings assembled around the Springs. 
 She would have indignantly repelled the idea 
 that selfishness was always her predominating 
 feeling, yet she never witnessed an exhibition 
 of any Idnd, or listened to a conversation, with 
 out an immediate reference, in her own mind, 
 to the effect they had, or might have on her 
 self her convenience, happiness or impor 
 tance. 
 
 She had, at an expense that her husband, in 
 dulgent as he was, called highly extravagant, 
 prepared for her own appearance at the springs 
 in a manner which she expected would secure 
 her instant notice. But, alas! she saw bonnets 
 there vastly richer than hers, arid shawls that 
 made her sick with envy, und gowns with laces, 
 flounces and trimmings, which she decided 
 were absolutely wicked only because they ex 
 ceeded the standard of her own apparel. 
 
18S AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 It is an odious place here, said Mrs. Chap 
 man to her husband, as he entered the room 
 where she and Emily were sitting, and inquir 
 ed if they were ready to accompany him to drink 
 the waters. These southern ladies are so 
 stiff and formal, and as silent as though they 
 had always been accustomed to have their talk 
 ing as well as work done by the poor slaves. 
 I shall not join them in the drawing room again, 
 nor shall I go to the Springs this morning. 
 There is nothing worth seeing, and I can have 
 the water brought here to my chamber. 
 
 i But you know, wife, that we came to sec 
 the ways of the world, and at any rate I mean 
 to look about me while I stay. We might just 
 as well keep at home as confine ourselves to 
 our own apartments while here. 
 
 Do you like the society of these Southern 
 ers ? demanded Mrs. Chapman. 
 
 1 Why, yes, pretty well, only I see the cotton 
 growers give themselves some important airs ; 
 but that is because they do not yet understand 
 about cotton manufacturing. I have endeavour 
 ed to introduce the subject as often as possible, 
 for I hope the mutual benefit we derive from 
 each other will be the means of establishing a 
 confidence between us. However, I confess 
 they are rather reserved. 
 
 4 Reserved, do you call it, returned Mrs. 
 Chapman, her countenance glowing with in 
 dignation. I do not pretend to know the 
 character of the men, but the women are ab 
 solutely scornful. It was only yesterday I 
 made some inquiries of a lady respecting her 
 
THE SPRINGS. 189 
 
 headdress, and she answered me very rudely. 
 But I hope I mortified her, for I soon after re 
 marked, when her slave came to wait upon her, 
 that I would not, for the universe, have a 
 negro wench tagging after me. 
 
 What do you think of your southern sisters, 
 Emily ? inquired Mr. Chapman, turning to his 
 ward. 
 
 I think, sir, answered the smiling girl, that 
 they exhibit about the same qualities of the 
 heart and mind our northern ladies would if 
 placed in a similar situation. The difference 
 of customs, and customs must vary with cli 
 mate, and education, has made us to differ. 
 They complain of their servants, and we of oui 
 help. They talk of selling the blacks because 
 of bad behavior, and we of turning away our 
 whiles for similar faults. It is true in a circle 
 of Yankee women, there would be more at 
 tempts at literary conversation, more books 
 mentioned and quotations misapplied; but 
 then these ladies here have a kind of quietness 
 in their manner, a natural dignity that makes the 
 knowledge they do possess, appear very grace 
 ful ; and in canvassing fashions, they certainly 
 have the advantage of us. They do not seem 
 to feel it necessary to make the expense of a 
 thing an object of much conversation. Their 
 remarks are, therefore, more general, and con 
 sequently do not appear so trifling as when 
 every yard of ribbon or lace on a dress is 
 measured, and the exact cost computed, as is 
 frequently the case among us in discussions on 
 the reigning modes. Do not think I advocate 
 
190 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 thoughtless extravagance ; I only believe we 
 may practice economy at home, without con 
 tinually puffing ourselves for our management 
 when abroad. 
 
 < Then you do not feel disgusted with the so 
 ciety here, nor intend to keep your chamber, 
 said Mr. Chapman. 
 
 0, no, sir, no, replied Emily, eagerly. 
 I have been highly amused with the new 
 scene ; a"nd I hope to reap some benefit, some 
 improvement from the observations I cannot 
 avoid making. I certainly feel much more in 
 terested for these southern ladies, more as if 
 we are indeed of one country, than I should 
 have done had we never met. 
 
 1 That, replied Mr. Chapman, with such 
 earnestness, such unaffected sincerity of man 
 ner, as almost made his plain, practical remarks 
 appear like eloquence ; That will, I trust, be 
 usually the consequence when Americans have 
 an opportunity of mingling together. And if 
 these mineral waters are of little benefit in the 
 restoration of health I, for one, think their 
 medicinal virtues are vastly overrated ; yet they 
 are of importance in promoting an intercourse, 
 and thus strengthening the harmony between 
 the different sections of our vast country. Peo 
 ple from every quarter, will here meet and min 
 gle, and become acquainted ; prejudices will 
 be, in part, overcome, and attachments formed, 
 till we shall feel we have friends, and therefore 
 a personal interest in the prosperity of every 
 state in our Union. 
 
 You and Emily may like the place and tho 
 
THE SPRINGS. 191 
 
 people too, if you choose, but I detest both ; 
 said Mrs. Chapman. 
 
 Why should you, my dear, form an opinion 
 so different from Emily on this subject ? ask 
 ed her husband. 
 
 The ladies are all partial to Emily, replied 
 the wife, peevishly. 4 They converse with her 
 freely, but they avoid me. 
 
 * You probably treat them coldly, and take 
 no pains to remove the prejudices they may 
 have formed against the Yankee women. 
 
 I care nothing for their prejudices, Mr. 
 Chapman. I shall take no pains to gain the 
 favor of those who are guilty of the monstrous 
 wickedness of holding their fellow creatures in 
 slavery. It is a sin in which I would not par 
 take for all the wealth of the Indies ! 
 
 The slave system is wrong, I feel as well as 
 you, and an unfortunate thing for the peace and 
 prosperity of our country, said Mr. Chapman, 
 seriously. Yet we must not imagine, that 
 because in New England we have no slaves, 
 we are guilty of no sins. But where are those 
 lines you showed me the other day, Emily ? 
 in Burns, I think. 
 
 Emily reached the book, and Mr. Chapman 
 read, in a very exalted tone, to his wife : 
 
 O ! wad some Power the giftie gie us, 
 
 To see oursels as other see us, 
 
 It wad frae monie a blunder free us 
 
 An foolish notion ; 
 What airs in eak and dress could lea us, 
 
 And e en devotion. 
 
 There, that verse contains, in my opinion, a 
 more excellent lesson on the necessity of self- 
 
193 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 examination and humility than many a labored 
 sermon. Arid now, Mrs. Chapman, if you are 
 not intending to go out this morning, Emily 
 and I will walk to the Springs. 
 
 Any person of reflection, who watches the 
 movements of an assembly of Americans, col 
 lected even on their reat festivals of rejoic 
 ing, will be convinced that the pursuit of mere 
 amusements is incompatible with the feelings 
 and habits of the people. They never appear 
 to lay aside their cares, or give themselves up 
 to the enjoyment of the present pleasure. 
 They are not absorbed by the scene, show, 
 or pastime ; they are remarking, reasoning, 
 scheming. There is a restlessness in their 
 movements, (a Yankee rarely sits still in his 
 chair,) an eagerness in their inquiries after 
 news, a kind of impatience as if they felt in a 
 hurry even when they know they have nothing 
 to do. They are like travellers who are look 
 ing forward with earnestness to the next stage 
 in their journey, and feel quite unprepared to 
 rest or enjoy themselves by the way. 
 
 But to see this locomotive trait, in the Amer 
 ican character, in full activity, go to Sara 
 toga. 
 
 Those ladies and gentlemen who assemble 
 there to pass a few weeks in uninterrupted 
 pleasure, display but little of that contented 
 satisfaction which betokens happiness. They 
 manifest more uneasiness than do the valetudi- 
 larians, because the latter think there is a ne 
 cessity, a reason for their continuance at the 
 Springs. But the healthy ones are in a con- 
 
THE SPRINGS. 193 
 
 slant state of excitement to find pleasure which 
 prevents them from ever enjoying it. They 
 are therefore restless, and wishing for a change 
 of weather or a change of company, or to visit 
 other places, or have the season over that they 
 may return home. 
 
 * I don t think, Emily, said Mr. Chapman, 
 as they crossed the street, and jostled their way 
 amid the throng that were hastening to the 
 fountain, l though I will not find fault with every 
 thing I see, as my wife does, yet I don t think 
 those gentlemen and lad ies there are so happy 
 as the persons I left at work in my factory. 
 They do not look half as cheerful and gay. 
 Indeed, the observations I have made, have 
 convinced me that employment, some kind of 
 business, is absolutely necessary to make men, 
 or at least our citizens, happy and respectable. 
 This trifling away of time when there is so 
 much to be done, so many improvements ne 
 cessary in our country, is inconsistent with that 
 principle of being usefu-1, which every repub 
 lican ought to cherish. Now I never pass 
 through a place without looking out the good 
 building spots, nor do I see a stream of water 
 without thinking whether it has a good site 
 for a mill, or factory, or something of the sort. 
 But here, bless me, tis all hurry scurry round 
 to gaze at the wonders, without, I fear, think 
 ing at all. Away they go to lake George, and 
 Ticonderoga, and perhaps to Niagara, and 
 then to their billiard tables, balls and parties ; 
 and after all, they look fatigued and miserably 
 disappointed. I meet with but few that pre- 
 17 
 
194 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 tend to take much satisfaction in this kind of 
 life, they only say it is necessary as a relaxation 
 but I guess they will, the most of them, be 
 glad when they are safe at home again. I cer 
 tainly shall for one. Have you, Emily, seen an 
 object here that will make you regret leaving 
 Saratoga ? 
 
 The question was asked at a most unlucky 
 moment, for Emily, on looking up to answer 
 her guardian, beheld, standing almost directly 
 before hen his dark, penetrating eyes fastened 
 on her faee with an expression of admiration 
 that seemed to send his soul in the glance, a 
 young man whom she had for several preceding 
 days perceived paying her the homage of un 
 ceasing, yet respectful, attention, whenever 
 she dared note him at all. 
 
 Emily Wood worth had never loved, never 
 seen the man she thought she could love, and 
 she did not think of loving the stranger ; she 
 only thought that he resembled her brother 
 who had died at college that dear and only 
 brother for whom she had shed so many tears 
 and she wished the stranger was her brother. 
 There was no harm in such a wish, though it 
 was a little romantic. But now his presence 
 joined with her guardian s abrupt question to 
 embarrass her excessively. She drew her veil 
 as closely over her face as ever did a Turkish 
 lady, and declining to taste the waters, stood 
 with her eyes fixed on the fountain, and watch 
 ed, with an apparently absorbing interest, the 
 little boys that then officiated to draw up the 
 bubbling and airy liquid which was eagerly 
 
THE SPRINGS. 195 
 
 drank by the fashionable for fashion s sake. 
 She did not turn her head, though she knew 
 the young stranger was beside her and expect 
 ed he was watching for an opportunity to gain 
 her attention. 
 
 To a novelist the introduction of these young 
 people would be an easy matter. Emily would 
 only have to drop her handkerchief, which 
 the stranger might pick up and present with a 
 graceful bow, that she must repay with a sweet 
 smile, and then some tender exclamation, or 
 abrupt compliment from him, and their destiny 
 to l live and love forever, would be at once 
 palpable to every reader. 
 
 But in this matter of fact sketch, no such 
 lucky accident occurred, and so I shall have 
 to write another page to tell the story. Emily 
 did not drop her handkerchief, or meet with 
 an incident of any kind that required the inter 
 ference of a stranger ; but clasping her guar 
 dian s arm with more than her usual care, she 
 walked home without betraying any anxiety to 
 know whether she was followed or observed. 
 
 i You look pale and fatigued, Emily, said 
 Mrs. Chapman, as the former threw aside her 
 bonnet. Do my love sit down here by the 
 window. 7 
 
 Emily took the seat, but a deep flush in 
 stantly passed over her cheek as her eye 
 caught some object in the street before her, 
 and she retired to her own apartment saying 
 she was quite well, while Mr. Chapman obser 
 ved he never saw her look better. On de 
 scending to dinner, which Mrs. Chapman de- 
 
196 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 clined joining, Emily again saw standing in a 
 position that commanded a view of the door at 
 which the ladies entered, the same young, 
 dark-eyed stranger. He did riot, however, 
 offer to approach her ; and whether he dined 
 there or not, it was impossible for her to say 
 she never once looked towards the place he 
 must have occupied. 
 
 She was apparently engrossed in listening 
 to the conversation of two gentlemen who sat 
 opposite to her. Their whole discourse might 
 be comprised in this sentiment, that rice 
 was excellent food that rice was healthy 
 food that rice ought to be a constant dish at 
 every man s table, and that it was wonderful 
 the northern people did not make more account 
 of rice. 
 
 ( 1 have made a very valuable acquaintance, 
 I guess, said Mr. Chapman, as he entered, at 
 a late hour, his wife s apartment. Judge 
 Daggett, with whose character you know I am 
 acquainted, asked leave to introduce a gentle 
 man who, he said, wished to be acquainted 
 with me. It was JMr. Henry Sinclair, from 
 North Carolina ; he is rather young, but the 
 most sensible and intelligent man I have met 
 at Saratoga. I have been conversing with 
 him all the afternoon, and he has told me the 
 whole method of cultivating cotton, and many 
 other things that the planters have not been 
 very free to talk about. I find too, that he 
 thinks very highly of our northern country, and 
 would like to see Connecticut. Indeed, he 
 says he intends visiting that State before re- 
 
THE SPRINGS. 197 
 
 turning home ; and so I have invited him to 
 come to our village and see my cotton factory. 
 I should like, Mrs. Chapman, to introduce him 
 to you and Emily while we are here, and that 
 may induce him more willingly to call on us 
 should he go to Connecticut. 
 
 Mrs. Chapman eagerly assented. She fan 
 cied she should appear to excellent advantage 
 when there was not a crowd of ladies around ; 
 ad she never once dreamed that the gay, and, 
 ; she thought her, the childish Emily, would 
 itract the notice of a man who conversed so 
 jensibly and seriously with her husband about 
 plantations and manufactories, &c. 
 
 During Mr. Chapman s absence in quest of 
 his new friend, Emily TVoodworth changed 
 her seat more than once even Mrs. Chap 
 man, occupied as she was with the idea of her 
 own importance, observed that something agi 
 tated the girl, and carelessly inquired what 
 disturbed her. But Emily, with her usual 
 arch smile, assured her she was not disturbed 
 and it is not known to this day whether a sus 
 picion, that the dark-eyed cavalier was the 
 person her guardian would introduce, ever en 
 tered her mind. 
 
 Mrs. Chapman was much pleased with Mr. 
 Sinclair, and remarked several times after he 
 had gone, that he was the handsomest and 
 most accomplished southern man she had 
 seen. 1 1 think him, said she, a perfect gen 
 tleman, and really hope he will come to our 
 village and visit us. 
 
193 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 ( I presume he will come to our village, 1 said 
 Mr. Chapman, looking at Emily with a most 
 provoking glance of intelligence ; t but wheth 
 er, Mrs. Chapman, he will visit you and I, is, 
 I think, very doubtful. 
 
 Pray, who will he visit then ? He said he 
 had no acquaintances there, exclaimed Mrs. 
 Chapman. Perhaps Emily can guess, said 
 Mr. Chapman. But Emily Icil the room im 
 mediately without attempting to guess. 
 
 Henry Sinclair made, as he said, the tour 
 of Connecticut. Certainly he tarried in that 
 state several weeks, and was so delighted with 
 the climate, scenery, society, &.c. that he re 
 turned the next year, and the next and then 
 persuaded Emily to accompany him to North 
 Carolina, where he introduced her to his friends 
 as Mrs. Sinclair. 
 
 The domestic happiness of this amiable 
 couple is often mentioned by Mr. Chapman, 
 and he declares that, in his opinion, the best 
 method of promoting harmony between the 
 different sections of our Union would be to 
 promote intermarriages among the inhabitants. 
 There is, he remarks in his humorous man 
 ner, l there is, 1 find, more affinity between 
 the youths and maidens of the North and 
 South, th ; m between cotton growers and cot 
 ton manufacturers. 
 
PREJUDICES. 
 
 c What hath come to thee ? in tliy hollow eye 
 And hueless cheek, and thine unquiet motions, 
 Anger, and grief, and conscience seem at war 
 To waste thee ? BYRON. 
 
 ON one of those small level spots, that may 
 be found as you toil up the steep road which, 
 running from Brattleboro to Bennington, cros 
 ses the Green Mountain, there stood, in 1820, 
 a little lone tenement inhabited by a woman 
 whose name was Ranson. 
 
 Mrs. Ranson had endured strange vicis 
 situdes of fortune, and it was reported her 
 troubles had entirely changed her character 
 certain it was that she had for several years 
 pursued a course of conduct so extraordinary 
 as to excite either the wonder, pity, or censure 
 of all her acquaintance. Many declared her 
 singularities were affected to gain notoriety 
 these were women others thought her de 
 ranged these were mostly men and a few 
 benevolent people of both sexes urged the sor 
 rows of a broken and contrite spirit had induced 
 her to relinquish the flattering but false world, 
 
200 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 and seek a refuge from its vexations in her sol 
 itary abode on the Hills. 
 
 I can only give an abstract of Mrs. Ranson s 
 story ; those who regret its brevity, (if such old 
 fashioned readers exist in this age of literary 
 shreds and patches, ) may easily, by the aid 
 of a little imagination, invest these simple facts 
 with all the complex circumstances, enchanting 
 descriptions and interesting colloquies, of a 
 long romance. I am half inclined to attempt 
 the exploit myself. This short hand mode of 
 authorship is but a poor way of managing, if 
 one wishes to secure either profit or fame. 
 To manufacture a two volurned novel, hardly 
 requires more exertion of mind, than to write a 
 good sketch. 
 
 Isabelle Carrick was a native of the West 
 Indies. Her mother died a few days after the 
 girl s birth, and her father when she was twelve 
 years old ; but in the interim he had married a 
 second wife, who bore him a boy. With that 
 ill-judging partiality which may be termed in 
 justice of the most cruel kind, because it com 
 pletely baffles the law and often shrouds itself 
 under pretexts that prevent the sufferer from 
 receiving even sympathy, Mr. Carrick gave his 
 whole property, which was very large, to his 
 son ; only stipulating that Isabelle should be 
 educated and supported by her brother till 
 her marriage, and should she ever become a 
 widow, she was entitled to an annuity of one 
 hundred pounds a year. 
 
 When the contents of the will became known, 
 the maternal relations of Isabelie were highly 
 
PREJUDICES. 201 
 
 incensed, and they demanded she should be 
 given up to them. Her stepmother, who, it 
 was helieved, had influenced her husband s 
 will, very readily consented to relinquish all 
 right over the portionless orphan ; by that 
 means she was freed from the necessity of 
 educating her. Isabelle, accordingly, passed 
 into the family of her uncle Tolbert. Some dis 
 turbances soon after occurring among the slave 
 population, rendered Mr. Tolbert s situation at 
 Jamaica unpleasant, and he determined to leave 
 the Island. His wife was an American, and 
 that was probably the reason that induced him 
 to remove to New York rather than return to 
 England. Isabelle, now at the interesting nge 
 of sixteen, was such a beautiful girl that her 
 uncle had no doubt of establishing her advan 
 tageously in a country where marriage was an 
 affair of the heart and not merely a calculation 
 of pecuniary advantages, even though it were 
 known she was portionless. Yet Mr. Tolbert 
 did not intend thus to test the sincerity of those 
 who professed to admire his niece. He had no 
 children ; he had adopted the orphan and de 
 clared her his heir, and it is no wonder she 
 was soon the star of the city. Many connois 
 seurs in female charms pronounced Isabelle 
 Carrick to be perfect in loveliness. There is 
 no standard, there can be none of personal 
 beauty ; the feelings of the heart have more in 
 fluence than rules of taste in our estimation of 
 the human face ; yet there are countenances so 
 peculiarlyfascinating, that criticism and com 
 parison are out of the question. If the behold- 
 
202 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 er has a soul susceptible of those divine im 
 pressions of the beautiful which are among the 
 distinguishing characteristics that prove man 
 superior to his brothers of the clod, he ac 
 knowledges at once the interest of such a coun 
 tenance. No human eye ever regarded a rose, 
 rainbow or star, and turned away disgusted ; 
 and seldom do we find a person that can gaze 
 on either with perfect indifference. Such 
 apathy would argue a man s mind more disa 
 greeable, if not as dangerous, as to have no 
 music in his soul which, according to Shak- 
 speare, is one of the seven deadly sins. 
 
 But Isabelle Carrick was never regarded 
 with indifference. The men praised and ad 
 mired; the women praised too, as loudly as the 
 men, but I fear there was a little envy, or at 
 least, a little repining mingled in their feelings 
 of admiration. What makes this suspicion pro 
 bable, I have been told that they always con 
 cluded their eulogy on her beauty by saying it 
 was perfect, considered as a specimen of the 
 West Indian style the men never made a 
 qualification in their panegyrics. 
 
 I think, said Miss Button, that Isabelle s 
 cheek wants bloom. She has a fine, delicate 
 complexion, and it contrasts sweetly with her 
 profusion of curls, 
 
 " Whose glossy black to shame might bring 
 The plumage of the raven s wing." 
 
 Now tinge her cheek with a little " celestial 
 rosy red," and she would be in appearance, 
 what you gentlemen esteem her, an angel. 
 
PHEJUDICES. 203 
 
 c But you probably recollect, replied Edwin 
 Cone, < that the " rosy red" to which you allude, 
 was imparted by a blush, and Isabelle s cheek 
 wears that tinge at the least compliment or 
 emotion a tinge that may be considered " ce 
 lestial," as it proceeds from delicacy of mind, 
 from sentiment, and is not dependent on jocund 
 health, and never needs the repairs of art. 
 
 1 But then her eyes, Edwin. Do you really 
 admire such black eyes ? They seem too spirit 
 ed to please me. I know the Mahometans 
 celebrate their dark eyed Houris, but I believe 
 Christians usually connect the beautiful sky- 
 color with the idea of angels eyes. 
 
 Edwin Cone was very polite. He saw the 
 blue eyes of the fair speaker beam with the 
 expectation of a compliment. Could a gallant 
 man refuse it ? With a bow and smile he de 
 clared it would be profane to compare angels 
 eyes to aught save stars, and those were al 
 ways set in blue; and that the most charming 
 description of woman s orb of vision he ever 
 saw, was 
 
 1m (1 an rye, 
 
 As when the blue sky trembled through a cloud 
 Of purest white. 
 
 The very next day, Isabelle Carrick learned 
 that Edwin Cone disliked black eyes. But 
 happily her heart was not at all interested in 
 his decision. Had John Ranson made such a 
 declaration, she would probably have felt very 
 wretched. 
 
 There is no subject on which the old and 
 young differ in opinion so materially as on the 
 
204 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 qualities most likely to ensure happiness in the 
 married state. The aged are swayed by inter 
 est, the youthful guided by feeling. Perhaps 
 it would be difficult to decide which party are 
 oftenest disappointed. Those matches are un 
 doubtedly the happiest, which have been con 
 tracted equally from affection and prudence ; 
 but heroines are not very apt to consider 
 prudence necessary. At least, when Isabelle 
 Carrick married John Ranson, in opposition to 
 the wishes of her uncle, she did not consult her 
 interest and that is to be imprudent is it not? 
 An answer to that question, properly discus 
 sed, in all its bearings, would iill a volume. I 
 wish some rationally moral philosopher, who 
 has made that wayward thing, the human 
 heart, his particular study, would write a trea 
 tise on the subject. 
 
 Mr. Tolbert held true English aristocratic 
 ideas of love and marriage. The faith of 
 true lovers, he observed, was of no conse 
 quence, except " to adorn a tale." It was 
 amusing to read of love in a novel, hut to be 
 lieve in its reality, or that a particular fancy 
 for the person was necessary to make men and 
 women happy in marriage, was as absurd as 
 to credit the stories of dragons and demons, 
 knights and necromancers, exalted characters, 
 and enchanted castles, and all the materiel of 
 the romances of chivalry, from which the un 
 reasonable ideas of love had been imbibed. 
 The marriage most likely to ensure happiness 
 to the contracting parties, must be founded, like 
 any other bargain, on mutual interest ; some 
 
PREJUDICES. 205 
 
 substantial benefit must be conferred on each, 
 by the union ; and then, the knowledge that 
 their partnership was indissoluble, would in 
 duce them, if they had common sense, to treat 
 each other with complaisance, which was all 
 the felicity that ought to be expected. 
 
 Isabelle Carrick had heard these sentiments 
 of her uncle expressed a thousand times, and 
 illustrated by many anecdotes of contented 
 couples, who married for interest, and wretch 
 ed pairs, who wedded for fancy ; but she did 
 not, it seems, profit much by such wise les 
 sons and lectures. She loved John Ranson, 
 although her uncle charged the said John with 
 being a poor man s son, and, moreover, guilty 
 of being obliged to earn his own livelihood, 
 though he had, by his industry, and applica 
 tion, raised himself to the station of junior 
 partner in a respectable mercantile establish 
 ment. Should such a plebeian be preferred 
 before Edwin Cone, whose father, descended 
 from a respectable English family, was pos 
 sessed of a large fortune, and gave the most 
 splendid dinner parties in the city ? 
 
 Mr. Tolbert thought it but of small conse 
 quence that Edward Cone was a licentious 
 profligate, and had broken, at least, one en 
 gagement to marry. However, he did not com 
 mand his niece to accept of Edwin ; he only 
 said, you may take your choice, Isabelle. If 
 you marry Mr. Cone, I will give you ten 
 thousand pounds on the wedding day, and the 
 remainder of my estate at my decease but 
 should you wed John Ranson, I will never give 
 
206 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 you a shilling, though you were starving at my 
 gate. 
 
 Isabelle preferred John ; and her uncle soon 
 after left America, in high dudgeon, railing at 
 the manners and customs of the people, and 
 declaring that his niece would never have been 
 guilty of such folly, in a country where a prop 
 er respect was paid to rank ; that the levelling 
 principles of republicanism were subversive of 
 all gentility, and must, while they governed 
 the people, effectually prevent the regulations 
 of good society from being understood and 
 adopted. 
 
 They are all, said he, f so perfectly cana 
 ille in their sentiments, that Isabelle s choice 
 was commended in some of their highest cir 
 cles, because, forsooth, John Ranson was in 
 dustrious, enterprising, and clever ; I can 
 say as much of my footman. 
 
 Fourteen years passed Isabelle had count 
 ed the lapse of time, only by the recurrence of 
 new blessings and pleasures, and to her, life 
 still looked bright ; or, if a cloud appeared, it 
 was always spanned with the rainbow. She 
 was still lovely, and beloved ; the tender, tried, 
 and trusted friend of her excellent husband, and 
 the mother of one beautiful boy. What more 
 can earth offer of happiness ! But why dwell 
 on the picture ? 
 
 A (b.y of bliss is quickly told, 
 
 A thousand would not niiike us old 
 
 As ime of sorrow doth 
 It is by cares, by woes and tears, 
 We round the sum of human years 
 
PREJUDICES. 207 
 
 The embargo that preceded the last Ameri 
 can war, occasioned the first reverse of fortune. 
 Mr. Ranson struggled manfully to support his 
 credit, for he knew that the weal and wo of 
 those dearer than himself, were involved in his 
 fate. His friends, for a time, buoyed him up ; 
 but the struggle between the nations commen 
 ced, and then who sympathised much for indi 
 vidual, and pecuniary suffering, while the fate 
 of armies, and the fame of the Republic were 
 at hazard ? But Mr. Ranson was soon re 
 leased from all inquietudes. Journeying from 
 Albany to Boston, the carriage in which he 
 travelled, was, by the horses taking fright, 
 precipitatecftiown a deep chasm, where he was 
 instantly killed. 
 
 Hitherto, Mrs. Ranson, though she had lost, 
 or been abandoned by all her own relations, 
 and had, by injustice and prejudice, been de 
 prived of the fortunes to which she had been 
 apparently destined, yet it could hardly be 
 said she had endured a reverse. Can that be 
 termed a reverse which is not felt as a misfor 
 tune ? Even her husband s embarrassments 
 had not been realized by her, as he had sedu 
 lously labored to prevent his family from suffer 
 ing privations. But she was now widowed 
 and destitute of property ; and the friends of 
 her prosperity were so shocked at her misfor 
 tunes, and the consequent change in her ap 
 pearance and behavior, that they Unanimously 
 concluded that she did not wish for society ; 
 and they were too well bred to intrude on her 
 sorrows, 
 
208 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 The sufferings of Mrs. Ranson, and the ne 
 glect of her city friends, induced her to apply 
 to the relations of her husband, and this finally 
 led to an arrangement, by which she consent 
 ed to remove, with her child, to a small town in 
 the western part of Massachusetts, and reside 
 with his aged parents. 
 
 Mrs. Ranson was now placed in a situation, 
 perhaps the most difficult and trying of any in 
 the world, for one of her character, and educa 
 tion. She ^as placed in a little tattling coun 
 try village, where the system of espionage was 
 as perfect, and far more harassing, to those un 
 accustomed to its operations, than it ever was 
 in Paris, when Fouche regulated the police, 
 under the orders of Bonaparte. 
 
 It is not in cities, or among the educated and 
 fashionable of a community, that national pe 
 culiarities can be well, or truly discovered. 
 We must go into the remote villages, and 
 among the scattered settlements of the interior 
 of New-England, if we would discover the ef 
 fect, either for good, or for evil, which the con 
 dition, principles, practices, and institutions of 
 the Puritans, have had on the Yankee char 
 acter. 
 
 Jt has not all been for good ; but our enemies 
 have never discovered the greatest fault. It 
 is not inquisitiveness, or egotism, or selfish 
 ness. It is calculation} a close, cold, careful 
 calculation. A Yankee, (I speak of the com 
 mon minded,) calculates his generosity and 
 sympathy, as methodically as his income ; and 
 to waste either, on an unprofitable, or wide- 
 
PREJUDICES. 209 
 
 serving object, would be foolish, if not wicked. 
 He is charitable ; but it is from principle, not 
 feeling. Yet he is not deficient in warmth of 
 heart ; but duty, his rhifij is always paramount 
 to his impulses. This is a good principle the 
 mischief is, that l good tilings spoiled, corrupt 
 to worst. Thus his rigid performance of duty 
 is made, and often conscientiously, the plea of 
 withholding assistance from the necessitous, 
 for fear of encouraging idleness ; of prying in 
 to the most secret actions and sacred griefs of 
 the afflicted, before pitying their sorrows, lest 
 they should be deserved or self-incurred. 
 
 Then the Yankee, in his calculations, gen 
 erally makes his own situation, conduct, and 
 principles, the model for others. Accustomed 
 to labor himself, he calculates that every per 
 son ought to be as constantly employed ; and 
 compelled by his narrow income to practice 
 rigid prudence, he deems a more liberal ex 
 penditure, wasteful profusion. 
 
 It was among such a scrupulously calcu 
 lating people, that Mrs. Hanson was fated to 
 dwell ; and she fixed the attention of the whole 
 community. Her appearance, dress, conver 
 sation, manners, and principles, were all in 
 turn, scrutinized ; even her thoughts and feel 
 ings were guessed at, and her plans and future 
 prospects, made the frequent subject of that 
 kind of commiseration, which seems to proceed 
 from a hope, that the evils thus conjured up, 
 like Banquo s shadowy kings, to frown in re 
 view, will be fully realized. 
 
 < la ! said Mrs. Pratt, as she took her 
 18 
 
210 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 seat at the table of her neighbour Dusiin, where 
 she regularly drank her tea every week ; O 
 la! I declare I never was so shocked in my 
 life. Mrs. Cutter heard her say so. 
 
 1 Who ? what ? inquired Mr. Dustin. 
 
 1 Gracious ! Mr. Dustin, have you not heard 
 it ? said Mrs. Pratt. Well, I declare, I 
 never meant to mention the thing ; I would 
 not have it get about among the people for all 
 the world, for I really believe the woman does 
 as well as she knows how. Only think ! she 
 could not be brought up like a Christian, away 
 there in the W r est Indies. We must have 
 charity for such folks. 
 
 c Oh, you are talking of Mrs. Ranson, I 
 see, said Mr. Dustin. 
 
 Yes, I have just been telling your wife ; 
 but pray never mention it, or if you do, nev 
 er say I told you, that Mrs. Ranson says she 
 thinks our meetings are very dull, and she had 
 rather read prayers at home, than hear our 
 minister preach. And then she always wants 
 a parade for dinner, because they used to have 
 great dinners in the city. I wonder if she 
 thinks that is the way to keep the Sabbath day 
 holy ? 
 
 1 Does she do anything, I wonder ? said 
 Mrs. Dustin. 
 
 No, indeed not she, replied Mrs. Pratt. 
 4 W T hy, she has her black woman, to wait upon 
 her ; and there s her child, brought up in idle 
 ness ; that great boy, nearly fifteen, who wears 
 his ruffles every day, and they say, never did 
 any work in his life. 
 
PREJUDICES. 211 
 
 f I wonder how she thinks they are to be 
 maintained, said Mr. Dustin. l Old Mr. Ran- 
 son has but little property, and his wife is 
 very unwell. They cannot support such an 
 idle, expensive family. 
 
 Oh, she doesn t think about it, replied 
 Mrs. Pratt. 
 
 i Such grand folks never seem to think about 
 expenses. They have never calculated how 
 to get a living. But I fear she will have to 
 put out her boy, and work herself, before slie 
 dies. 
 
 1 1 suppose she expects people will assist 
 her, said Mr. Dustin. And the widow and 
 fatherless should always be remembered. 
 
 I suppose she does ; but I am afraid the 
 poor woman will be disappointed, said Mrs. 
 Pratt. c People that work as hard as we do, 
 cannot feel it our duty to support a family in 
 idleness. She ought to put out that great boy, 
 and have him taught to work, and then he 
 might help maintain her. 
 
 They say she married against her uncle s 
 consent, said Mrs. Dustin. * It is no wonder 
 she does not prosper. She might have had all 
 his estate, if she had only tried to please him. 
 
 1 She looks to me like a woman who is very 
 set in her own way, and very haughty, said 
 Mrs. Pratt. i I called to see her the day after 
 she arrived, for 1 thought it my duty to visit the 
 unfortunate, and the stranger, and I meant to 
 like her, if I could, for I really pitied her ; but 
 she took no notice of me, and hardly spoke 
 
212 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 while I was there. I cannot waste my time 
 to visit such proud folks. 
 
 Mrs. Ranson had a kind and generous dis 
 position, but she was very .sensitive, and her 
 refined and delicate mind, though bowed with 
 affliction, was not, in the least, divested of 
 those feelings of independence, and superior 
 ity, which persons always accustomed to afflu 
 ence, and to the humble attendance of slaves, 
 must necessarily imbibe. She was shocked at 
 the grossness of the villagers, and irritated at 
 what she thought their unfeeling interference 
 in her private concerns ; but, especially, the 
 idea that her son ought to be confined to labor, 
 was an indignity, an outrage, on all propriety, 
 that she never could pardon. 
 
 The two parties were soon completely at 
 variance, and the villagers, by dint of clamors, 
 if not reasons, were, as is usual, victorious. 
 They convinced old Mr. Ranson, that his 
 grandson John would certainly be ruined, if 
 he was not taught to work. But the lad was 
 as tenacious of his patrician privileges as his 
 mother, and rather than don the every-day 
 clothes of a plough boy, he besought her to 
 allow him to enlist as a soldier. 
 
 He was nearly fifteen, and tall of his age, 
 and soldiers were, at that time, so much need 
 ed, that officers could not be very particular in 
 the qualifications of recruits. It was a trying 
 scene for Mrs. Ranson ; but finally, the pride 
 and prejudices of the woman prevailed over 
 the tenderness and apprehensions of the moth- 
 
PREJUDICES. 213 
 
 er. She knew her son would be more expos 
 ed to danger with the musket ; but then he 
 would escape the contamination of the spade. 
 The field of glory, or the corn field ! Could 
 one of her education and feelings prefer the 
 latter ? She would let him go and serve his 
 country, and leave his fate with that Power 
 who watches the orphan. She could humble 
 herself before God, and intercede for her child, 
 but she could not endure to see him degraded 
 before men, as in her estimation he would be, 
 if he labored. 
 
 The lad departed, and but a few weeks elaps 
 ed before a stranger came to the village and 
 inquired for Mrs. Ranson. He was a messen 
 ger from the executors of her uncle Tolbert. 
 That gentleman had on his death bed, be 
 queathed his immense property to the son of 
 Mrs. Ranson ; but still wishing to manifest 
 some displeasure against his niece, he ordain 
 ed that if the boy died before he attained the 
 age of eighteen, the estate should all go to a 
 distant relative in England. After that period, 
 should he die without heirs, the personal pro 
 perty, which was very considerable, was to be 
 his mother s. The messenger hastened with 
 all possible speed to Buffalo, where the troops, 
 in which young John Ranson served, were sta 
 tioned ; but before he arrived, the battle of 
 Chippewa had been fought, and the brave boy, 
 who signalized himself more than once during 
 the action, was numbered with the dead ! 
 
 Who ^hall picture the mother s grief! It 
 
214 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 excited for a short time, the concern and con 
 sternation of the villagers ! They knew it 
 was their clamors which induced Mrs. Hanson 
 to send her son from her they felt condemned; 
 yet still, most of them pertinaciously maintain 
 ed that notwithstanding the wealth which the 
 boy would have inherited had lie lived, it would 
 nevertheless have been an excellent thing for 
 him, had he learned to work. 
 
 It is painful to dwell on the sorrows of the 
 desolate hearted, but it is more painful still to 
 witness the cold, unfeeling manner with which 
 those sorrows are ofttimes treated by the igno 
 rant and prejudiced. The regret of the villa 
 gers was of short continuance. Mrs. Pratt be 
 gan her round of visiting, and by the time she 
 had drank tea with all the principal families 
 in the neighbourhood, which was about three 
 weeks, she had convinced them that Mrs. Ran- 
 son was not at all to be pitied ; that her troub 
 les were but a just chastisement for her pride 
 and obstinacy ; and that it was doubtless a 
 mercy that her son was taken away, as she 
 would now have no earthly dependence, and 
 would probablv soon be brought to a proper 
 sense of her follies, and then she would see that 
 everything had been ordered for the best. 
 
 But there was one benevolent family in the 
 village. One man .and woman who pitied and 
 assisted Mrs. Hanson, without censuring her. 
 There were doubtless others of similar gene 
 rosity; but these persons were the only ones 
 she would acknowledge as benefactor^. That 
 
PREJUDICES. 
 
 215 
 
 inflexible perseverance in a favorite point when 
 persuaded that duty sanctions the course pur 
 sued, which is so characteristic of the 1 ankees, 
 and which Mrs. Ranson thought so inhuman 
 while employed to convince her that her son 
 ought to work, she found, when displayed in 
 her service, was equally zealous. Mr. Law 
 rence was a merchant, but he did not square 
 his humanity by the rule of * loss and gain. 
 He learned from the tenor of Mrs. Ranson s 
 father s will, that, as a widow, she was entitled 
 to an hundred pounds per annum, and he nev 
 er ceased his inquiries, and exertions, till he 
 had succeeded in establishing her claim, and 
 providing for the regular payment of her an 
 nuity, lie delivered into her hands the docu 
 ments, and told her the only reward for his 
 trouble which he desired was to see her restor 
 ed to tranquillity. But though she did justice 
 to the nobleness and humanity of Mr. Law 
 rence, and loved his wife like a sister, she 
 could not be persuaded to return to society. 
 The fate of her husband and son, but especial 
 ly the latter, preyed on her heart, and almost 
 overwhelmed her reason. She felt that she 
 had yielded to her own prejudices when she 
 consented he should go to the battle. Self- 
 accusation made her wretched. She blamed 
 the people, it is true, but that did not atone or 
 justify her own error. Had there been a con 
 vent in the country, she would undoubtedly 
 have devoted herself to the penance of a mo 
 nastic life. She finally had a small house pre- 
 
216 
 
 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 pared as near as possible to the spot where 
 her husband perished ; and there, accompanied 
 only by her faithful negro woman who had at 
 tended her from infancy, she resided in 1820. 
 Pale and wasted, but still beautiful, she seem 
 ed, as she was described by the traveller, ar 
 rayed in her mourning habiliments, wandering 
 among the lonely hills, or seated on the over 
 hanging cliffs, like a spirit sent to warn him of 
 some danger in the path before him. She was 
 the victim of prejudices. But let it be re 
 membered, that though we may be excessively 
 annoyed by the prejudices of others, we shall 
 never be quite wretched if we do not yield 
 ourselves to the guidance of our own. 
 
THE APPARITION. 
 
 I say the pulpit, in the sober use 
 
 Of its legitimate, peculiar powers, 
 
 Must stand acknowledged, while the world shall stand, 
 
 The most important and effectual guard, 
 
 Support and ornament of virtue s cause. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 ABOUT fifty miles from Albany, in the proud 
 state of New-York, there is a pleasantly situ 
 ated little village, which we call Harmony. 
 Some events which occurred there a few years 
 since, may perhaps interest those readers who 
 have the good taste to prefer exhibitions of our 
 national and republican peculiarities of charac 
 ter to descriptions of European manners, and 
 the good nature to concede, that the efforts of 
 those American writers who are attempting to 
 awaken the love and the pride of national lit 
 erature among their countrymen, deserve, at 
 least, to be tolerated. The southeastern line 
 of Harmony is bounded by a high, rugged 
 mountain, that seems to look frownirigly down 
 on the neat, thriving farms stretching along the 
 borders of a small river, which winds silently 
 through copse and plain at its base. The 
 meanderings of this quiet stream are marked 
 19 
 
213 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 on the western border by a narrow strip of rich 
 meadow land, displaying alternately patches of 
 mowing, fields of corn, or of that vegetable 
 which an European might with propriety term 
 a republican root, as its discovery and use 
 have more perhaps than any other resource, 
 contributed to support an increase of popula 
 tion among the laboring classes in the old 
 world. The broad harvest moon had just risen 
 above the rugged mountain, and there trembled 
 over the landscape that soft silvery lustre which 
 so frequently tempts the poet to write and the 
 maniac to rove. But neither poet or maniac 
 had ever been known to exist within the pre 
 cincts of Harmony, and it seemed quite improb 
 able Luna should there find a worshipper. Yet 
 one there was, and a/air one too, regarding that 
 bright moon with an attention as absorbing, if 
 not a devotion as sincere, as ever a devotee of 
 Ephesus paid at the shrine of Diana. Lois Law- 
 ton was the last surviving child of the clergy 
 man who presided over the only church which 
 had then been organized in Harmony. He 
 was a Presbyterian, a good preacher and a 
 strictly conscientious man, and but for two 
 reasons might have been very popular among 
 his parishioners. In the first place he did not 
 sufficiently regard the feelings of the minority 
 who were from principle or prejudice (it is 
 sometimes very difficult to determine which 
 predominates in the human mind) opposed 
 to his settlement ; and in the second place ho 
 strenuously insisted on the fulfilment of a prom 
 ise which the majority had made him, namely, 
 
THE APPARITION 219 
 
 that at the expiration of five years from the 
 time of his installation, there should be a con 
 venient and handsome house for divine worship 
 erected in the town. No one disputed the need 
 of such a building, as the congregation were / 
 obliged to assemble alternately at a school- * 
 house and a hall. The unchurchlike charac 
 ter of the hall, where the Fourth-of-July revels, 
 and New Year balls, were held as regularly as 
 the summer and winter came round, was, in the 
 opinion of all the good women, quite a scandal 
 to their religious services. The men were not 
 quite so scrupulous. They wisely considered 
 that the building of a church would involve the 
 payment of taxes, and that inconvenience came 
 more home to the sensibilities of many rich men 
 than the recollection that where the fiddle had 
 resounded, prayers and holy hymns were to be 
 fervently breathed, or devoutly sung. But 
 finally Mr. Lawton, by dint of private expos 
 tulations with his church members, and public 
 reproofs from the pulpit, succeeded so far that 
 a town meeting was warned to be held, to see 
 what steps should be taken to provide ways 
 and means for building a meeting-house. 
 
 There is no record of a nation on earth 
 whose origin, progress, character and institu 
 tions were, or are, in their predominating fea 
 tures, similar to ours. Democracies have 
 been, and governments called, free ; but the 
 spirit of independence and the consciousness 
 of unalienable rights, were never before trans- / 
 fused into the minds of a whole people. The 
 trammels of rank have always been, since the 
 
220 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 days of Nimrod, worn in the old world ; and 
 there men, even when attempting to throw off 
 the yoke of despotism, will be found stooping 
 to established customs, and wearing the far 
 dels of fashion as if still in the harness. But 
 in these United States no idol of nobility was 
 ever set up ; and consequently, the people 
 have never been degraded by cringing at the 
 nod of a fellow mortal. Our citizens walk the 
 earth with a consciousness of moral dignity 
 which places them on a level with the king 
 upon his throne. The feeling of equality 
 which they proudly cherish does not proceed 
 from an ignorance of their station, but from the 
 knowledge of their rights ; and it is this know 
 ledge which will render it so exceedingly diffi 
 cult for any tyrant ever to triumph over the 
 liberties of our country. However, to know 
 the rights of man is but half the benefit im 
 parted by our free institutions they teach also 
 to know his duties. Persons accustomed only 
 to those establishments where the interests of 
 church and state are inseparably blended, and 
 where some particular form of devotion is en 
 forced and supported by authority, can hardly 
 believe that were religious worship left wholly 
 to the free choice and voluntary support of the 
 people, it would be adequately maintained. 
 Yet our history will conclusively prove that 
 piety of heart and freedom of mind are not 
 only perfectly compatible, but that the exer 
 cise of the understanding in the examination 
 of creeds, and the volition of the will in the 
 admission of truth, are favorable to the cause 
 
THE APPARITION. -221 
 
 of religion and the Bible. Is this doubted ? 
 then let the caviller point to the Christian na 
 tion in which are so few infidels as here ; here, 
 where freedom of inquiry, and conscience, 
 and belief, and worship, are not only enjoyed, 
 but exercised without the least shadow of civil 
 control. 
 
 These remarks are not foreign to my sub 
 ject, though they may seem misplaced, and ac 
 tually be uninteresting or dull. It was only the 
 conscientious feeling of duty, which freedom 
 of inquiry and conduct brings home with a 
 sense of awful responsibility to those who pro 
 fess to be Christians and know themselves 
 free, that would have induced the frugal, pains 
 taking, unostentatious citizens of Harmony to 
 tax themselves with the expense of erecting a 
 handsome house for religious worship, when 
 they were many of them still dwelling in their 
 small, inconvenient log tenements. The town 
 patent had been originally granted to a Dutch 
 man belonging to Albany, and the first settlers 
 were descendants from the Dutch colonists ; 
 but about the year 1790 the unoccupied parts 
 of the patent were purchased by a Yankee 
 speculator, and most of the later emigrants had 
 been from New-England. The inhabitants, 
 however, lived harmoniously together. Not 
 that they agreed exactly in sentiment on every 
 subject, but they seemed for some time to 
 cherish a spirit of mutual forbearance. The 
 Dutchman suffered his Yankee visiter to talk 
 without interruption and argue without contra 
 diction, and in return for this politeness the 
 
22"2 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 latter saw his phlegmatic neighbour still adhere 
 to those old customs, which he had been striv 
 ing to convince him were not only extremely 
 absurd, but very expensive and inconvenient, 
 withoqt exhibiting much disgust. 
 
 The settlement of Mr. Lawton was the first 
 occurrence that threatened to make a deadly 
 breach between the parties. The Yankees 
 were nearly all Congregationalists the Dutch, 
 Presbyterians ; the former made the most 
 bustle, but the latter polled the most votes, and 
 the settlement of their favorite was according 
 ly effected. The Congregationalists were at 
 perfect liberty to seek a pastor after their own 
 faith, but as the town did not contain more 
 people than might conveniently be accommo 
 dated at one meeting, and Mr. Lawton was re 
 spected by all and acknowledged to be a good 
 man, the Yankees finally concluded to attend 
 on his ministry, and pay their proportion of 
 his salary. Had Mr. Lawton been what, in 
 worldly language, is termed a managing man, 
 he might doubtless have satisfied both parties. 
 But he had f:xed rules of action, from which 
 he would not swerve, and settled principles 
 which he would not soften, even though he 
 might by that means have gained the populari 
 ty of a Chalmers. And then he had a serious 
 dislike to the Puritan mode of church govern 
 ment, which he took no pains to conceal or 
 qualify. In short, though, as I have said, he 
 was a good man, he was not sufficiently care 
 ful to prevent his good from being evil spoken 
 of. The consequence was, that his Congre- 
 
THE APPARITION. 223 
 
 gational hearers soon took mortal offence and 
 withdrew from his society. Had they stopped 
 there, perhaps their conduct might not have 
 deserved much blame, as it was evident to alfl 
 that Mr. Lawton s sermons were oftener calcu 
 lated to rouse their sectarian prejudices than 1 
 awaken their religious feelings. But theyj 
 were not satisfied with acting merely on the 
 defensive, for when was a Yankee ever known 
 to underrate his own importance, or quietly 
 submit to have his religious faith and mode of 
 worship censured as unsound and unscriptural ? 
 
 Meekness and forbearance was not certain 
 ly the spirit evinced by the Congregationalists 
 of Harmony ; and from protesting against the 
 presbyterian forms, they soon came to detest 
 and vilify the man, who so strenuously support 
 ed them, and the people who were his adhe 
 rents. 
 
 Matters were in this state between the par 
 ties, when the meeting-house was voted to be 
 erected. This vote was conscientiously giv 
 en, for when roused to reflection by the argu 
 ments and expostulations of their pastor, the 
 Presbyterians knew it to be their duty to build 
 the house, and yet, so wayward is the heart, 
 so deeply rooted is selfishness, that many 
 were dissatisfied, almost angry, because Mr. 
 Lawton thus urged upon them the perform 
 ance of an inconvenient duty. 
 
 Some Europeans have suggested that while 
 depending entirely upon the people for their 
 support, our clergy must be timid and time 
 serving, and while their own interest is involv- 
 
224 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 ed in pleasing their hearers, that there is cause 
 To Tear they will ofteiTrritlke a sacrifice of con 
 science to convenience. This might be the 
 case, were not the clergy sensible that they 
 are themselves a part of the sovereign people, 
 and that to bow, cringe and fawn, would be a 
 renunciation of the dignity which here entitles 
 a man to respect from his fellow men. It is 
 the great merit of our free institutions that 
 they accustom those who enjoy them, to re 
 flection and reasoning. It is not that our citi 
 zens may choose their own governors, and 
 enact the laws by which such governors must 
 be guided, that makes the privileges of which 
 Americans should be most proud. It is, that, 
 with the knowledge of his own personal inde 
 pendence, which is as familiar to the republi 
 can child as i household words, there is also 
 inculcated a conviction of man s responsibility, 
 not only to his God, but his country, posterity, 
 the whole world. And so far as the human 
 mind can shake off selfishness and act from a 
 sacred regard to truth, justice and duty, so far 
 will men not only be virtuous, but fearless in 
 virtue. And will not a .clergyman be more 
 likely thus to feel and act, in a situation where 
 he is placed and retained by the sober approv 
 al of a majority of his free parishioners, than 
 when he owes his station to caprice, or favorit 
 ism, or stipulation with an individual ? There 
 needs no proof, but to attend our churches or 
 read the sermons of our divines, to convince 
 the most skeptical that our clergy are faithful 
 in the cause of religion, and that their flocks 
 
THE APPARITION. 225 
 
 esteem them higher for such plain dealing. 
 But everything excellent is liable to be abus 
 ed or perverted ; and this plain dealing may 
 be rendered ungracious by a disagreeable 
 manner. It is the manner which offends ; and 
 it was the manner of Mr. Lawton which made 
 his people complain. No one thought of blam 
 ing him for supporting freely his own opinions, 
 or insisting that the promise concerning the 
 meeting-house should be fulfilled, but it was 
 said he was too dictatorial, and that he hur 
 ried on the workmen without reference to the 
 extra expense which it made the people, to 
 move faster than the usual considerate motion 
 of a Dutchman would allow. 
 
 But what has this long explanation to do 
 with Lois Lawton, the clergyman s daughter ? 
 Much it will enable you, reader, if you have 
 read it, which I somewhat doubt, to judge of 
 the perplexities which surrounded that young, 
 fair girl who is my heroine, and I hope will bo. * 
 yours, while she was earnestly seeking to heal \ 
 those divisions which had unhappily, for some 
 time, rendered the inhabitants of Harmony as 
 unharmonious a set as can well be imagined. ) 
 To soothe suffering and calm the turbulent 
 passions of men, is so naturally the office of wo 
 man, that Lois Lawton need not be consider 
 ed a heroine merely because she was a peace- / 
 maker ; but it really must be placed among ex 
 traordinary achievements, that she, by her pru 
 dent and conciliating conduct, so ingratiated 
 herself with the good vrows, that they actually 
 came to the resolution to abstain from the use 
 
226 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 of tea and sugar for a given period, till they 
 had saved a sum sufficient to pay for painting 
 the church, which expense, by the way, was 
 the one of which the Dutchmen most loudly 
 complained ; and it was likewise an item on 
 which Mr. Lawton had strenuously insisted. 
 But to appease and please the Yankees, re 
 quired more address, and yet their good will 
 was very necessary to the happiness of the 
 clergyman s daughter. 
 
 She thought as she gazed on the bright moon, 
 of the bitter prejudices that existed between her 
 father and Captain Isaiah Warren, the chief 
 leader of the Yankee faction ; and then she 
 thought of his son, the young Isaiah, between 
 whom and her father s daughter, prejudices, 
 but not bitter ones, also existed. 
 
 He said he had a plan which he hoped 
 would heal these differences, and make my 
 father look with approbation on our love, said 
 the fair girl, softly yet audibly, a blush crimson 
 ing her cheek, even though alone, and veiled 
 around by the shades of night, at the thought 
 of marrying Isaiah. 
 
 1 And you consent I shall pursue my plan, 
 said Isaiah, who had advanced, unperceived, 
 and then stood close beside her. 
 
 Lois had not expected him so soon, but she 
 was not easily flurried, or at least, she never 
 affected more fright than she really felt, and 
 though somewhat confused that he had over 
 heard her soliloquy, she neither screamed nor 
 fainted ; but, after a moment s silence, turned 
 calmly towards him, and begged he would ex- 
 
THE APPARITION. 227 
 
 plain why he had so anxiously urged this inter 
 view. I wish to return home before prayers, 
 said she or my father will be uneasy, per 
 haps offended, at my absence. 
 
 The lovers were standing partly in the 
 shadow of a broad sycamore that threw its 
 branches over the little stream at their feet. 
 The water there looked dark and deep, but fur 
 ther on, it was sparkling in the moonbeams, 
 that came down with that glistening power 
 which so sweetly invites c lovers to breathe their 
 vows, and disposes ladies to listen. I wish 
 I had time to describe these two young per 
 sons, just as they looked while they glanced 
 their eyes alternately at the charming prospect 
 around them, and then turned, by stealth, their 
 gaze on each other. 
 
 . A genuine descendant of the pilgrims, has 
 usually, a high, bold forehead, and a firm ex 
 pression around the chin and mouth, which 
 gives a decided, and generally a grave cast to 
 the countenance. This gravity, however, is, 
 in a degree, more or less, according to the age 
 and character of the person, counteracted by 
 the expression in the deep-set eye keen, live 
 ly, penetrating ; it announces quickness of 
 thought and humor, which is always allowed 
 to the Yankees, both by friends and foes the 
 one terming the quickness wit, the other wick 
 edness. When I say that Isaiah Warren had 
 a fine complexion, good features, and real ro 
 guish-looking, Yankee eyes, that would flash 
 with thought or merriment till the blue iris ap 
 peared nearly black as the pupil dilated, I 
 
228 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 mean to be understood that he was very hand 
 some, or, to use a more indefinite, and there 
 fore, more polite phrase, that he had a very fas 
 cinating expression of countenance. And he 
 thought Lois Lavvton was beautiful as an an 
 gel. It is therefore of little consequence what 
 others would think, should she be portrayed. 
 A woman should never sigh for personal ad 
 miration, except from the man she loves. 
 
 1 You have heard, I presume, said Isaiah, 
 the blood flushing over his cheeks and temple 
 as he spoke, that my mother is firmly per 
 suaded that I am to become a clergyman ? 
 
 Lois half smiled, as she answered in the 
 affirmative. 
 
 It is a foolish whim, he continued, i and yet 
 my mother is a worthy woman, and a sensible 
 one, in all, except what relates to me. Some 
 how my parents, from my being the first born, 
 I presume, always appeared to expect I should 
 do marvels. I am sorry they indulge such hopes, 
 and yet the knowledge of their expectations, 
 has, I confess, spurred me on to attempt be 
 ing the first, both at school and college. At 
 school my superiority was never denied, and 
 at college, though 1 labored under the disad 
 vantage of being poorly fitted, and having to 
 be a teacher every winter, in order to earn 
 money to support myself, my father being, with 
 his large family, unable to furnish suflicicnt 
 funds ; yet I know I maintained a respectable 
 standing in my class. But I have nowgradua- 
 ed, and my parents are urging me to com- 
 ocnce the study of divinity. Could I study 
 
THE APPARITION. 229 
 
 with your father, Lois, I would willingly obey 
 them. 
 
 Lois looked astonished, and yet gratified, 
 for her father was, in her opinion, the best 
 man, and best minister, in the whole world. 
 But how could the matter be brought about ? 
 Captain Warren would never sutler his son to 
 study with a Presbyterian clergyman. 
 
 My mother, resumed Isaiah, is confident 
 she once saw a vision ; though, I presume, it 
 was nothing but a dream. When 1 was an in 
 fant, she says, that one night a figure, clothed 
 in the costume of spirits, which is, I believe, 
 always white, approached her bed, and told her 
 that I would be a marvellous boy, and that I 
 must have a good education, and then it would 
 be again revealed what I must do. Since that 
 time, my mother has watched every incident 
 which has occurred to me, and tortured them 
 all into omens, which she constantly interprets 
 in my favor, till she has worked herself into the 
 belief, that I am to be a great man ; and, as 
 greatness and goodness are, in her pure mind, 
 inseparably connected, she is convinced I am 
 to be a great, good man, which must mean a 
 minister. It is in vain for me to combat these 
 imaginings. Indeed, I do not wish to disprove 
 her fancies, but to fulfil them ; still I should 
 like, I own, to make this romance, supersti 
 tion, or prophecy, whichever it may be, some 
 what subservient to my own happiness. 
 
 1 But how has this any reference to my fa 
 ther ? inquired Lois, timidly. 
 
 * I have thought , and he hesitated, as 
 
230 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 if afraid or ashamed to say what he was intend 
 ing I have thought, if the apparition would 
 again inform my mother that it was necessary 
 for me to study with Mr. Lawton, that all ob 
 jections, on the part of my family, would be re 
 moved at once. 
 
 You would not, surely, deceive your mother, 
 Isaiah ? said Lois, turning on him her dark, 
 expressive eyes, with a look of reproachful 
 tenderness. 
 
 1 She has deceived herself, Lois. You are 
 not more credulous than I ; nor do you ima 
 gine, that, like Glendower you remember it in 
 Shakspeare 
 
 " These signs have marked me extraordinary, 
 And all the courses of my life do show 
 I am not in the roll of common men." 
 
 Yet my mother firmly believes it. The Yan 
 kees are not credulous, or easily imposed 
 upon ; but, when once they have imbibed a 
 superstition, it is difficult to eradicate the pre 
 judice ; because they are constantly reasoning 
 themselves more and more into the belief olf 
 the reality of their fancies. Thus, everything, 
 even the most common incidents, concerning 
 me, are marked, and noted, and made, in 
 some sense or other, to refer to the destiny for 
 which my mother thinks me born. Where can 
 be the harm in taking advantage of this super 
 stition, which I cannot remove, to heal the 
 prejudices that, at present, unhappily divide 
 our families ; and thus overcome the only ob 
 stacles that exist to our union ? He then went 
 on to state, that what he proposed was, to en- 
 
THE APPARITION. 231 
 
 velope himself in a white sheet, appear in his 
 mother s room, and say, in a hoarse, sepul 
 chral voice, that Isaiah must study divinity 
 with Mr. Lawton. And he wished Lois to 
 aid in disposing her father to credit the story 
 and receive the student. The families would 
 then be necessitated to hold some intercourse, 
 which, the sanguine lover was confident, would 
 ripen into fellowship and friendship. 
 
 But we must not do evil, that good may 
 follow, said Lois, with that solemnity of man 
 ner so peculiarly affecting when assumed by 
 the young and lovely. This deception on your 
 good and kind parents, though not intended 
 for evil purposes, is still a deception. It will 
 be derogatory to the sacred character you are 
 intending to assume. It is wrong I cannot 
 tell you all the evil consequences that may 
 follow but my conscience tells me it is wrong. 
 You must not, Isaiah, you must not do it. 
 
 It was all in vain, that he represented he 
 should otherwise be sent to Connecticut, to 
 study there with the favorite clergyman of his 
 mother ; and that, in the interim, the jealousies 
 and divisions in the town would probably in 
 crease ; and, perhaps, his father and hers, be 
 come so exasperated with each other, as to 
 forbid their children to marry together. It 
 was all in vain. Lois would not be convinced 
 that expediency was any excuse for practising 
 deception ; and though Isaiah s passion had, 
 in a measure, stifled his conscientious scru 
 ples, his sophistry could not stifle hers. So 
 they separated she, with a sad face and slow 
 
232 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 step, proceeded homewards and he, with a 
 sadder face and slower movement, wended his 
 way towards a neighbouring house, where he 
 had promised to assist as a watcher with an 
 old man, who was dangerously sick. The man 
 died that night, and Isaiah gazed on a scene 
 he had never before witnessed the last scene 
 of all. It struck him most painfully ; because 
 the old man frequently adverted to, and la 
 mented, the follies of his youth, while it was 
 continually occurring to Isaiah, that he had 
 been guilty of a great sin, even to plan a decep 
 tion upon his kind parents. 
 
 When the youth entered his father s house, 
 the next morning, he found the whole family in 
 commotion ; and he learned, to his astonish 
 ment, almost horror, that his mother had seen 
 the white apparition again, and it had told her 
 that if Isaiah would prosper in this world, and 
 be saved in the next, he must study with Mr. 
 Lawton. 
 
 Isaiah was thunderstruck, and, in the con 
 sternation of the moment, he acknowledged 
 what had been his own intentions respecting 
 the personating of the apparition. The mat 
 ter grew more solemn, and Mr. Lawton and 
 Lois were summoned ; when the clergyman 
 was, for the first time, apprised, that his daugh 
 ter and the young student were looking to each 
 other for their earthly happiness. As nothing, 
 to clear up the mystery of the apparition, ap 
 peared, it was believed, by all the women in 
 the town, to be an awful warning, a solemn call 
 to the two religious parties, to lay aside their 
 
THE APPARITION. 233 
 
 prejudices against each other ; and as the meet 
 ing-house was now completed, and the people 
 were curious to attend in the new building, Mr. 
 Lawton had the satisfaction, and a heart-felt 
 satisfaction it is to a good man, of seeing a full 
 audience listening to his sermon on the first 
 Sabhath he performed divine service in the 
 new church. 
 
 From that time, there was more unanimity 
 among th^ inhabitants, than had been since 
 Mr. Lawton began his ministry. This change 
 was universally ascribed to the priest, who, his 
 hearers observed, preached fewer doctrinal ser 
 mons, and insisted less on the doctrinal points 
 than used to be his wont. Undoubtedly there 
 was a change. Mr. Lawton as firmly believed 
 in the apparition as any of his people. Neither 
 was this strange, as he was descended, by the 
 father s side, from a Scotch emigrant, who 
 fancied himself gifted with the second sight, 
 and his mother was a German, fully believing 
 in all the wild and awful legends of German 
 superstition. And, notwithstanding Mr. Law- 
 ton was a man of sound sense and fervent piety, 
 it is not strange he should be a little infected 
 with superstitious or imaginative notions. But 
 these had, in this instance, a salutary effect; 
 because, as the apparition had, as it were, 
 borne witness to the saving creed of the min 
 ister, he did not think it necessary to argue 
 continually to prove his creed the saving one. 
 And so the town of Harmony seemed soon 
 more deserving of its name. 
 
 There was a marked change of manner in 
 20 
 
234 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 Isaiah Warren, from the time he commenced 
 his religious studies; and when he was licensed 
 and entered on the duties of his sacred office, 
 no young clergyman could be more devout and 
 devoted. Fourteen years passed away The 
 Rev. David Lawton and Captain Isaiah War 
 ren were both gathered to their fathers. They 
 had died in full charity with each other, and in 
 the assured belief, that Presbyterians and Con- 
 gregationalists were to inherit the same hea 
 ven. But Mrs. Warren still lived lived, to 
 enjoy the pious triumph of seeing her favorite 
 son installed as pastor over the destitute church 
 of Harmony. And all this, she firmly believed 
 was foretold her by the apparition. She was 
 never undeceived but the reader must be. 
 
 Isaiah Warren had a brother Benjamin, a 
 wild, roguish, adventurous fellow, who finally 
 went to sea, and was absent many years. Af 
 ter his return, as he was sitting one evening in 
 his brother s study, telling such tales of his 
 wondrous chances as sailors will tell, he re 
 marked an air of incredulity on Isaiah s coun 
 tenance, and instantly paused. 
 
 Why do you not proceed ? inquired Isaiah. 
 
 You do riot credit me, returned Benjamin; 
 and yet it does not require a greater degree 
 of faith than you once exercised about an ap 
 parition. 7 
 
 Isaiah saw the keen eye of his brother spar 
 kle with mirth, and something that announced 
 a triumph. In a moment the truth flashed on 
 his mind. He started up, and striking the ta 
 ble with a volume of Baxter s " Saint s Rest," 
 
THE APPARITION. 235 
 
 (the favorite book, next to the Bible, of his 
 father-in-law, the late Mr. Lavvton,) as if the 
 said book had been a batten, he exclaimed 
 ~* Ben, I know you were that apparition ! 
 
 After a hearty laugh, Ben confessed the 
 whole. I was, said he, down close by the 
 river, among some bushes at your feet, where / 
 I had crept to fix a trap for a mink, and there v 
 I lay and heard all your conversation with 
 Lois. After you had gone, thinks I to my 
 self, I will even play the trick on mother, and 
 it will be no sin, for I am not intending to be 
 a minister. So I wrapped up myself, and 
 stole into mother s room, on tiptoe, and I said 
 <l Isaiah must study with Mr. Lawton," and 
 then was out again in the twinkling of an eye. 
 That was all I did say, and that about your 
 being saved, was no words of mine. When I 
 found how seriously the affair was taken, I did 
 not dare to own what I had done. But, on the 
 whole, I think it was a good thing. You ob 
 tained your wife, and the people were all made 
 more peaceable and christianlike, and no bad 
 effect has followed. This, I guess, happened, 
 because I was not influenced by any bad or / 
 selfish motives, for our chaplain always said, 
 that it was only the indulgence of selfishness 
 that caused us to sin. 
 
WILLIAM FORBES. 
 
 O! wherefore with a rash iin;>efuous aim 
 
 Seek ye tho-u- flower} joys with which the hand 
 
 of lavish i- amy paints each :l:itteriii<: scene 
 
 Where Beaut\ seems to dwell, nor once inquire 
 
 AVhere is the sanction of denial I rnth, 
 
 Or whore the seal of iimh-ceitfiil (iood 
 
 I D save your search from folly ! \Vaiitiii" these, 
 
 Lo, Beauty withers in your void embrace. 
 
 AKENSIDK 
 
 c JWiat answer did Elizabeth give ? 
 THOSE readers, who have been sufficiently 
 interested in the work, to retain a recollection 
 of the contents of the fifth Sketch, may remem 
 ber, that The Village Schoolmistress was 
 left undecided respecting the answer she should 
 make to the matrimonial suggestion o f her re 
 creant but repentant lover, William Forbes. 
 
 We have given her six months to consider 
 the matter, and in this steam age of the world, 
 no woman ought to require a longer time to 
 make up her mind. "What enviable advanta 
 ges the antediluvian ladies enjoyed ! They 
 might reflect and reject, doubt and delay, con 
 sider and coquet, for at least three hundred 
 years, without :mv risk of incurring that appal 
 ling epithet, which now, in the brief period of 
 thirty, is sure to be bestowed on the fair one 
 
WILLIAM FORBES. 237 
 
 who dares to remain in l single blessedness. 
 Yet I never envied tliat longlived race. I am 
 inclined to believe, the movement of the spirit 
 was then as sluggish as the coursje of time. 
 It must have been so, or the body could not 
 for so long a season have resisted the efforts 
 of the soul to escape from its prison house. 
 And this sluggishness must have infected their 
 literature. What interminable, prosing arti 
 cles, many of our writers are even now inclin 
 ed to perpetrate, and if their hours might be 
 lengthened to years, would infallibly inflict 
 upon the public ! Nothing but the necessity 
 of accommodating himself to the proverbial 
 speed of time, will induce your thorough quill- 
 loving author, to come to the conclusion of his 
 favorite argument or article. And from this 
 mania of long talks, which seems inherent 
 in most writers, we may safely conclude, that 
 those men of a thousand years, would not neg 
 lect their mighty privilege of making folios. 
 To be sure, in the dullest of all dull matter-of- 
 fact knowledge, chronology and genealogy, 
 they had the means of excelling. But romance 
 dear, delightful romance what chance for 
 a romance writer, when every event that had 
 occurred since creation was within the memory 
 of man ! And how could they write poetry, 
 among such an unchanging and deathless 
 generation ? It would not certainly be the 
 poetry of feeling melting, moving, melan 
 choly poetry ; for instance, like that most 
 beautiful of all Burns s beautiful productions, 
 Highland Mary. And where did they find 
 
233 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 metaphors to express the long unfading dura 
 tion of the youth they must have enjoyed ? 
 Not in those bright, beautiful, but evanes 
 cent, or shifting things buds and flowers the 
 morning and the moon. Only think of com 
 paring the charms of a lovely girl, to the firm 
 ness of the mountain oak, or the unwasting, 
 unvarying appearance of the solid rock ! Then 
 they had no rainbow. Ah, they never wrote 
 poetry that s certain ! 
 
 Other reasons, quite as pertinent and con 
 clusive, might easily be offered, to prove what 
 a dull, cold, formal, changeless and charmless 
 race they must have been, but of all kinds 
 of knowledge, I consider antiquarian lore as 
 the most unwomanly. It must be gained by 
 so much research, and explained by such learn 
 ed terms, and defended by so many arguments, 
 in the Sir Pertinax style of obstinacy, that, 
 heaven defend me from ever meeting with that 
 anomaly in our species an antiquarian with 
 out a beard. Leaving it therefore, to some 
 future Jonathan Oldbuck, as curious and com 
 municative as he of Monkbarns, to pursue the 
 inquiry respecting the precise age at which we 
 may conclude a belle of the Nimrodian era, 
 became an old maid, I will return to the ex 
 planation of those modern causes which gave 
 to Elizabeth Brooks that uncoveted title. 
 
 I have said, or ought to have said, that Wil 
 liam Forbes was an excellent scholar, the very 
 first in his class, and, undoubtedly indebted 
 for much of his mental superiority, to that cir 
 cumstance, which is so often, and truly too, 
 
WILLIAM FORBES. 239 
 
 considered a serious obstacle to the literary 
 career of a collegian namely, his love en 
 gagement. 
 
 This unusual result, must be attributed to 
 the fact, that Elizabeth Brooks had the good 
 sense, to use rightly and rationally, the influ 
 ence she possessed over the heart and soul of 
 the young student. Instead of wishing to en 
 gross his mind and time, with the trifles which 
 must occupy much of the life of a young* girl, 
 she admired, and sought to imitate him in his 
 studies. And that simple circumstance, con 
 tributed more to animate him in his exertion, 
 than all the lectures of his tutors, or the pros 
 pect of obtaining triumphs over his class-mates. 
 How eagerly he read, and how early he an 
 swered all her long epistles with letters still 
 longer ; and yet their correspondence was 
 like that of literary friends. To a stranger, 
 their letters would scarcely have betrayed that 
 they were lovers. His were filled with trans 
 lations from the classics, beautiful sentiments 
 that enchanted him, and must therefore en 
 chant Elizabeth explanations of ancient cus 
 toms and costumes, which threw light on some 
 otherwise obscure passages he had read to 
 Elizabeth, solutions of problems, or explana 
 tions of questions that had been proposed by 
 Elizabeth. Her answers were more sprightly 
 than his, (a woman who can write at all, sel 
 dom writes a dull letter,) but nevertheless, were 
 sufficiently learned to have entitled her, had 
 they been seen by a literary coxcomb, to that 
 frightful appellation, a bas bleu. I say fright- 
 
240 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 ful, because the terror of that name, has pre 
 vented, and still prevents more women from 
 cultivating their minds, than would the fear 
 of the dungeon or the rack. It is the intellect 
 ual Blue Beard, threatening an awful and un 
 known punishment to those women, who dare 
 a single peep into the secret chambers of 
 knowledge and where is the learned lady, 
 who can ever hope for a generous Selim to 
 rcscuTe her from the keen, uplifted edge of the 
 sword of sarcasm ? 
 
 Elizabeth Brooks, however, was wiser than 
 most wise ladies, that is, she did not assume 
 those airs, which some learned women think 
 so indispensable to distinguish their important 
 selves from the crowd. She might be a little 
 proud of her learning, she was certainly proud 
 of William s learning, but the pride of teaching 
 hi m that pride which makes men so thorough 
 ly dread, detest, and ridicule a learned woman, 
 she never displayed. Even when, as was fre 
 quently the case, he acknowledged, the supe 
 rior justness of her remarks, or submitted to 
 the justness of her criticisms, she did not ex 
 press any triumph but modestly ascribed her 
 discernment to some hint or information he 
 had before given her ; thus making his self- 
 love aid in the influence she possessed over 
 him. And for many years, the attachment 
 fostered between these young persons, appear 
 ed, and indeed was of that pure, refined, intel 
 lectual and exalted character, which poets 
 would tell us, was * half divine and would be 
 quite eternal. It was that kind of affection 
 
WILLIAM FORBES. 241 
 
 which, if aught dependent on human passion 
 were changeless, might hope to be so. But, 
 alas ! the heart Who can answer for the 
 wayward heart, or more wayward fancy ? 
 
 The parting, and as affecting one as a novel 
 writer ever witnessed, maugre all their senti 
 mental descriptions, the parting of William 
 and Elizabeth has been already recorded, and 
 it irks me quite as much to tell a story twice, 
 as to listen to a twice told tale. So we will 
 without further ceremony, accompany my he 
 ro to Albany, and consider him entered as a 
 student-at-law, in the office of Judge Morse. 
 (Note. Almost every lawyer in New-York, 
 has, or might have, the title of Judge.) Mr. 
 Morse was a good, that is, a true, specimen of 
 the professional, political, popular men in 
 New r -York. lie was social and hospitable, 
 frank, cheerful, and fond of humor, if not him 
 self a wit. He was also rich and respected, 
 had a gay, agreeable wife, and several children, 
 and his house was one of the most fashionable 
 in the city, and the resort of all the fashion 
 ables. 
 
 Here was a marvellous change to William. 
 He was transferred at once from the formal 
 routine and rigid rules of a college life, where 
 no flirting with the ladies was permitted to be 
 thought of, except the ethereal flirtation of 
 wooing those shy lasses, the c sweet and sacred 
 Nine, and where nothing in this round world 
 was considered so important, as to have the 
 first appointment in the class, or be able to 
 write the best ( ode to Hope, or sonnet to Des- 
 21 
 
242 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 pair, and introduced into the society of ele 
 gant and, as he thought, the most enchanting 
 people on earth, and to the bustle and business 
 of a large city. 
 
 Judge Morse had been long and intimately 
 acquainted with the father of William Forbes, 
 and to that circumstance, the young student 
 was indebted for the enviable privileges he en 
 joyed of being admitted to the family parties 
 of the distinguished lawyer. Indeed, William 
 was soon considered and treated as one of the 
 family. (What an excellent passport to really 
 good society those young people enjoy who 
 have good parents.) William Forbes had 
 promised to write particularly of all that befell 
 him all his adventures, and all his reflections 
 were to be communicated to Klizabeth. But. 
 he soon found it very perplexing and disagree 
 able, if not impossible, to keep his word. He 
 could describe the country tolerably well, and 
 the people en masse but to tell Elizabeth of 
 all the parties, balls, Sec., he attended would, he 
 feared, make her unhappy in her retirement ; 
 to tell her of the pretty and fascinating girls he 
 met, might make her jealous. His amuse 
 ments, therefore, could not be described to 
 Elizabeth* Neither would his employments 
 figure much better in an epistolary display. 
 In all his studios at college she had participa 
 ted in indi:i liwn, if not in undertianding but 
 Law dry, musty, unintelligible, inexplicable 
 Law how could he make her comprehend 
 what was to himself incomprehensible. lie 
 knew indeed, that she was so devoted to him 
 
WILLIAM FORBES. 243 
 
 and his pursuits, that had she hccn near him 
 she would, for his sake, have looked on the 
 volumes of Blackstone without shuddering ; 
 perhaps have looked info them sufficiently to 
 have learned the difference between lex non 
 scripta, and lex scripta. At any rate she would 
 have been interested, and listened delightedly 
 to the history of her lover s progress in that 
 study so exclusively masculine. But this sym 
 pathy could not be excited by a written corres 
 pondence ; so William relinquished the idea 
 of describing his studies to Elizabeth. 
 
 Most of our scholars pass their three years 
 of preparation and four years at college, solely 
 with the view of being better qualified for ac 
 tive life. Few, if any, are intending to devote 
 themselves to science or the cultivation of ele 
 gant literature. The necessary details of busi 
 ness, and the feverish anxiety of politics, in a 
 few years wholly engross their minds, and un 
 less the memory be exceedingly tenacious, of 
 all the rich hoards of Greek and Roman lore 
 they had once boasted, only a few sparkling 
 gems, kept for display, remain. This does not 
 happen because Americans are incapable of 
 comprehending the profound depths of science, 
 or of appreciating and admiring the sublimities 
 of genius it is purely the effect of our situa 
 tion. With such a vast country to cultivate 
 and control, unceasing activity is demanded, 
 and there are, at present, no supernumeraries. 
 Then the chance of success in public life is so 
 tempting to the ambitious, and who will not 
 be ambitious, when there is a chance of sue- 
 
244 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 cess ? that almost all our men of talents are, at 
 least once in their lives, members of Congress 
 in expectation, I mean. William Forbes 
 had thus visited the Capitol, and been installed 
 in the speaker s chair before he had spent six 
 months with Judge Morse. And that was a 
 Quixotic speculation which he would by no 
 means have been willing to communicate to 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 Thus the sources of confidence and sympa 
 thy seemed, on his part, constantly contracting, 
 and he grew formal without intending it. If 
 Elizabeth noticed this change she did not note 
 it. She had much of that kind of good sense, 
 commonly called sagacity, which means, the 
 faculty of foreseeing consequences ; and she 
 must have reflected that reproaches never have 
 the effect of enkindling the passion of a lover, 
 however they may operate on that of a husband. 
 So she did not complain that William s letters 
 were cold, formal, short ; but she wrote often 
 and affectionately, and described her business 
 and her pleasures, her school and the neigh 
 bours, just as if she felt confident he would be 
 interested in everything that concerned her. 
 It was the best plan she could have adopted, 
 to maintain her sway over the heart of William; 
 and it served, notwithstanding the temptations 
 by which he was surrounded, to keep him for 
 more than two years, constant to the idea of 
 making Elizabeth his wife. And though he 
 might sometimes show a little more gallantry, 
 than is usually displayed by an engaged man, 
 towards the fair and fascinating ladies with 
 
WILLIAM FORBES. 245 
 
 whom he associated, and about whom he was 
 often rallied, yet he never regretted his en 
 gagement, never, in his secret soul, meditated 
 proving, what he did prove, a traitor to his 
 love ; never till the fair Clarinda appeared. 
 I must describe her. Clarinda Curtis was the 
 daughter of a New-York merchant, a success 
 ful merchant, for at the age of twenty, he left 
 the vicinity of the Green Mountain, with only 
 two changes of apparel and two dollars in cash, 
 and in thirty years, passed in the Commercial 
 Emporium, he had acquired a princely for 
 tune. Clarinda was the only child by his first 
 wife, and from her mother inherited a large 
 estate. She was also rich, in expectations, 
 from her maternal grandmother, by whom she 
 had been brought up. Then she was beauti 
 ful, splendidly beautiful : tall, even to the ma 
 jestic, as Vermont beauties usually are, and so 
 finely formed ! Her height she inherited from 
 her father ; but the symmetry, so gracefully 
 elegant, the rounded arm, taper fingers and 
 slender foot, were not quite so strictly Ver- 
 montese ; though these perfections are much 
 oftener possessed by your rural lasses, than the 
 city belle, or the more fastidious city beau, 
 who is usually a perfect Chinese in his admi 
 ration of small feet, imagines possible. Clarin- 
 da s features, with one exception, were perfect 
 as statuary could be moulded. Her forehead 
 was too narrow and receding, but examined by 
 the rules of art, no other fault could have been 
 discovered. Arched eyebrows, Grecian nose, 
 the rose-bud mouth, with the sweet curl on the 
 
246 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 upper lip that so easily and advantageously 
 displays the white teeth the round dimpled 
 cheek, and exquisite chin, defying all adjec 
 tive descriptions of round or square, or long or 
 short, all we can say of it is, that it was 
 shaped precisely as a beautiful chin should be. 
 And these features were harmonized by a bril 
 liant complexion ; pure red and white, and both 
 in their proper places ; and enlivened by a pair 
 of blue eyes, of a softness that would have look 
 ed almost sleepy in a small girl, but belonging 
 as they did, to a majestic beauty, seemed to 
 throw an additional grace, the grace of repose 
 over her loveliness. Fine, glossy, nut brown 
 hair, which she wore in a peculiarly becoming 
 style, completed all we shall describe of her 
 outward form of beauty. Alas, that this should 
 be a show merely, not the index of inward ex 
 cellence, that this comeliness should not extend 
 to mind ! Who can imagine such a lovely 
 looking being as I have described and believe 
 her a simpleton ! Yet Clarinda Curtis with all 
 her charms, was a dunce; that thing which sen 
 sible and educated young men often admire for 
 a mistress ; but which sensible and educated 
 married men will always find exceedingly disa 
 greeable for a wife an accomplished dunce ! 
 Nature was not wholly in fault. The original 
 constitution of her mind was undoubtedly dull, 
 she was slow to comprehend but then she was 
 brought up by a doting grandmamma, and 
 never, till she was full twelve years old, suffer 
 ed to do anything save to grow. Could her 
 tender relative have spared her that trouble, 
 
WILLIAM FOHBES. 247 
 
 ehe would, as she used often to express her 
 fears that the poor child would weary herself 
 with so much stretching and yawning. At 
 length Mr. Curtis interfered, and threatened to 
 take his daughter home if she was not better 
 instructed ; and frightened at the prospect of 
 losing her darling, grandmamma resolved the 
 child should learn everything. Masters of all 
 kinds and professions were engaged, and pour 
 ed their lessons like a mingled flood over the 
 unprepared mind of their pupil, till the few 
 ideas, that had, by the kindly influence of na 
 ture, began to shoot, were deluged or uprooted, 
 and no other ever had time to fix. All her 
 knowledge seemed floating, unsystematized, 
 and unconnected as the sentiments in a scrap- 
 book, where, although you may have collected 
 something on every subject, you can never be 
 sure of finding that which is needed, or appro 
 priate to the subject under discussion. Not 
 one of her numerous masters but was ashamed 
 of their pupil, except the dancing master. 
 Strange as it may seem, with her indolent hab 
 its, she did love to dance. The excitement of 
 motion was so novel, she was in perfect ecsta 
 sies with dancing, and she soon danced grace 
 fully. For the rest, she could play a little, 
 sing a little, draw a little, and speak a few 
 French phrases ; but she could not have told 
 whether Mexico was in North or South Ameri 
 ca; nor have subtracted 7 from 15 ; nor wrote 
 a letter of a dozen lines without mispelling as 
 many words ; nor read a paragraph in a news 
 paper intelligibly. She was a dunce ; and yet 
 
243 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 William Forbes, with all his learning and pene 
 tration, his taste and talent, did not discover 
 it. She passed a fortnight with her aunt, 
 (Mrs. Morse was her aunt,) and William saw 
 her every day, and conversed with her every 
 day, and fell in love with her, and never dis 
 covered she was a dunce. It was strange, he 
 afterwards acknowledged, but then she was so 
 beautiful it would have seemed profane to have 
 doubted the elegance of her mind, the propriety 
 and beauty of her thoughts. 
 
 But though William was enchanted with her 
 appearance, and actually in that most woful of 
 all lover-like predicaments, engrossed with the 
 charms of one fair maid, while he was enga 
 ged to marry another not so fair, he might, and 
 I am inclined to believe he would have acted 
 the honorable part, and been true to Elizabeth, 
 had he not discovered that Clarindawas in love 
 with him. How the discovery was made I do 
 not know, but made it was, and William must 
 have been a hero indeed if, besides subduing 
 his own inclination, he could have rejected the 
 beauty and fortune that seemed, as Judge 
 Morse remarked, designed by Heaven to make 
 him blest, and insure his success in the world. 
 
 N. B. Judge Morse was not aware of the 
 ignorance and indolence of his niece ; he had 
 seen her but seldom, and heard her less ; for 
 she had the good luck to be naturally taciturn, 
 and real good luck it was, since her appear 
 ance was so much in her favor, that her silence 
 was called eloquent. Had she spoke but 
 she rarely did, except in monosyllables. She 
 
WILLIAM FORBES. 249 
 
 was too indolent to converse. William Forbes 
 married her, as all my readers know, but they 
 do not know what mortifying disappointment 
 he endured, when he found with what a soul 
 less being he was destined to pass those hours 
 of domestic intercourse his fancy had always 
 painted as the most enviable privilege the mar 
 ried state afforded. Had she been, as many 
 superficial ladies are, sprightly and amusing, he 
 might have thought, as many men do, that 
 learning was quite unnecessary for the sex ; 
 but such indifference and inanity displayed 
 her ignorance in the most glaring and disa 
 greeable point of view. She seemed unfeeling, 
 because she could not enter into any of his 
 ideas, or respond to his sentiments. With 
 Elizabeth his intercourse had been so truly 
 and purely that of intellect, their affection had 
 been so founded on mutual esteem for each 
 other s capacity, that nothing but experience 
 would have convinced him, that the love of 
 rational and intelligent beings could be main 
 tained without some sympathy of mind. But he 
 knew his wife loved him, and wished to please 
 him, and that knowledge made him feel in 
 dulgent towards her ignorance, which he pitied 
 more than he despised. So passed the time 
 for a few months, and though not happy, yet 
 he might have enjoyed the pride of being 
 thought happy, as the having a handsome wife 
 and rich wife, is pretty generally considered a 
 passport to happiness, had he not unwisely ta 
 ken it into his head, that it was possible to 
 make his bride wise. He thought she could in> 
 
250 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 prove, and that she would improve if she only 
 knew how much his felicity depended on finding 
 a companion in his wife ; and so he took a whole 
 evening for the purpose, and gravely as a 
 teacher, told her what he wished her to study 
 and read, and how he expected she would join 
 in the conversation with him and his friends, 
 &c., sketching precisely, though he might not 
 be aware of it, the intellectual character of 
 Elizabeth as a model for his Clarinda. lie 
 might with just as much reason have drawn 
 the portrait of Clarinda s beautiful features, 
 and expected Elizabeth to mould hers by the 
 picture. There is an old and quaint verse that 
 1 recollect reading when a child, which now 
 frequently recurs to my mind when I witness 
 some ridiculous displays of those who attempt 
 to fill a niche for which nature never designed 
 them. 
 
 The man of wisdom may disguise 
 Hi= knowledge, and not seem too wise ; 
 But t;>.ke it for a constant rule 
 There s no disguising of a fool. 
 
 There is no disguise for such an one but in 
 silence ; and thrice blest are those simpletons 
 who have the gift of silence. Clarinda pos 
 sessed it, but love, what will not the magical 
 power of love effect ? loosened her tongue. 
 Her husband requested she would read, and 
 she determined to read ; her husband wished 
 her to talk, and she resolved to talk. ]5ut un 
 fortunately, the jumble of ideas that had per 
 vaded her head, ever since she underwent the 
 penalty of listening to the lectures of six differ- 
 
WILLIAM FORBES. 251 
 
 cnt masters in the course of the twenty-four 
 hours, besides her grandmamma s advice to re 
 member all she heard, had so confounded her 
 memory and understanding, originally weak, 
 that though she read, she could neither com 
 pare, reflect or generalize ; and when she at 
 tempted to introduce in her conversation, any 
 thought she had gathered from books, it was 
 done with such an effort, and her quotations 
 were so inappropriate, that her ignorance was 
 never so apparent as in her lesirned phrases. 
 Then she had the habit into which your poor 
 conversationalists usually fall, namely, asking 
 questions. 1 know nothing more disagreeable 
 that does not absolutely shock one s princi 
 ples, than to be subjected to the society of a 
 questioner. And William Forbes disliked it 
 exceedingly, but nevertheless, he bore with his 
 wife s questions for a long time magnanimous 
 ly, hoping she would, as she gained informa 
 tion, become capable of maintaining a conver 
 sation without such c questionable aid. He 
 hoped in vain. She never, in society, could 
 speak upon any subject but by a question, and 
 the more confidence she gained in her own pow 
 ers, and the more she conversed, the more 
 ridiculously her questions were distributed 
 among her acquaintance. How often did her 
 husband wish, while his cheeks were glowing 
 with shame at some blunder she had commit 
 ted, that he had never urged her to talk. And 
 she did it to please him what could he say ? 
 No matter what the subject of conversation 
 
252 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 was, she would question. To give a few in 
 stances. One day when an eminent counsellor 
 dined with Mr. Forbes, they happened, in their 
 legal disquisitions to allude to a writ of fi. fa. 
 and Mrs. Forbes eagerly demanded if that 
 writ was not made against a singing master ? 
 At another time, she asked a lawyer, with a 
 real compassionate voice, if John Doe and 
 Richard Roe, could not take advantage of the 
 insolvent act ? Those blunders to be sure, 
 related to matters which a lady is not obliged 
 to understand, yet she should understand 
 enough to say nothing when they are introduc 
 ed ; but another blunder she made, could not 
 be so easily excused. Her husband was ap 
 pointed to deliver the address before an Agri 
 cultural Society, and proud enough she was 
 of the honor conferred upon him. She could 
 talk of nothing else, and among her host of 
 questions on the occasion, she asked a cele 
 brated rearer of merinos, why he did not ob 
 tain some cotton-wool-sheep and exhibit at the 
 show ? 
 
 I mention these circumstances that young 
 men, intelligent and educated young men, may 
 be warned against marrying a dunce, though 
 she may be beautiful and rich, and affectionate, 
 yet if she be a dunce she must, she will bring 
 shame and sorrow on her husband. Arid young 
 ladies is there not a lesson to them in this ex 
 hibition ? Do they not feel that though they 
 may be beautiful and rich, and married to the 
 man they love, and who returns their affections, 
 
WILLIAM FORBES. 253 
 
 yet, unless they have cultivated and improved 
 their minds, they cannot make their husband 
 happy or respectable. 
 
 Mrs. Forbes suddenly died during the tenth 
 year of her marriage, and those who think her 
 husband rejoiced, will do him foul wrong. He 
 shed tears of unaffected sorrow over her pale 
 corpse, for he felt she loved him, and that the 
 pang of death to her was separation from him. 
 But then his grief was not of that deep, endur 
 ing kind which is cherished by the survivor 
 when kindred minds are torn asunder. He 
 grieved that his wife should die more for her 
 sake than his own, or that of his t .vo little 
 daughters, to whom he knew she never could 
 have been a competent instructress or mother. 
 And we may conclude that he did not think 
 riches and beauty were the most important 
 qualifications a wife could possess, because, as 
 soon as decency would permit, he wrote to as 
 certain if Elizabeth Brooks was still at liberty 
 
 c What answer did Elizabeth give ? 
 
 She said no ! unhesitatingly, as any woman 
 of refinement and delicacy treated as she had 
 been, would say. 
 
 But Mr. Bennett would not send her answer 
 to his nephew, would not allow that she could 
 decide on so important a point without first see 
 ing William Forbes. ( lavish my nephew to 
 visit me, continued Mr. Bennett, l and if I send 
 him your rejection he will not come to New 
 Hampshire. No, no, Elizabeth, we will give 
 him a hearing before we pronounce his doom. 
 

 254 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 William accordingly came. A noble looking 
 man he was ; it seemed that his manly beauty 
 had improved by years. There was a strik 
 ing contrast between his appearance and that 
 of Elizabeth. He had a fine commanding fig 
 ure, his black eyes were still as bright, and 
 black hair as glossy as ever, only around his 
 temples it had grown thinner, and gave to his 
 ample forehead a more judicial dignity. She 
 was slender and pale, or rather inclining to 
 yellow ; our villainous climate, cold winters 
 and rough winds, soon tarnish a fair complex 
 ion. But then Elizabeth s countenance looked 
 so animated and intelligent, that I really be 
 lieve William Forbes thought her comely, for 
 he gazed on her with the look of a lover regard 
 ing a beautiful girl. , 
 
 That appealing look, or his eloquence, he 
 was said to be a very eloquent pleader, and 
 doubtless taxed his persuasive powers in the 
 suit he was urging, finally obtained him the vic 
 tory. Elizabeth, however, told Mr. Bennett, 
 the day before she was married, that she should 
 not have consented to wed Mr. Forbes but for 
 the sake of his children, his little girls who, he 
 said, so much needed her care and instruc 
 tions. Thus by appealing a little to her pro 
 fessional pride, for all successful instructors are 
 somewhat proud of their vocation, the lawyer 
 succeeded, and carried home a sensible and 
 intelligent woman, and was never afterwards 
 ashamed to invite his friends to a dinner party 
 lest they should discover his wife was a dunce. 
 
WILLIAM FORBES 255 
 
 Reader, the Sketch is finished ; and I think 
 it proper to announce it, lest those who read to 
 the end of the article should pronoucc it dull, 
 merely because it is long. What follows is in 
 tended entirely for the ladies ; gentlemen, there 
 fore, will please to pass it over. Gentlemen 
 never indulge their curiosity about the forbid 
 den, so I feel perfectly secure they will not read 
 the next two pages. But the ladies must read 
 them. 
 
 In the preface to the Village Schoolmistress 
 were some remarks which, either from their 
 novelty or the ambiguous manner in which 
 they were expressed, will not, I fear, be under 
 stood in the sense intended. I did not mean 
 that there was no difference in the minds of 
 women. I believe, in the original conforma 
 tion of soul, there exists as much dissimilarit) 
 among women as men and the reason that the 
 original capacity is not more distinctly de 
 veloped and displayed, is wholly to be attribu 
 ted to the situation of the female sex. There 
 is for them but one pursuit. Of what use is it 
 for us to deny the fact, that it is in the marriage 
 establishment only, that woman seeks her hap 
 piness and expects her importance, when all 
 history and our own observation, confirm it to be 
 the truth. It is not so with men, they have 
 more than one medium through which to seek 
 for fortune, fame and happiness, and that is, in 
 my opinion, the sole reason of their superiority 
 of mind over us. How I do wish women would 
 be sensible of this, and endeavour to find or 
 make an employment, consistent with propriety 
 
256 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 that must never be relinquished ; which 
 would give to their minds strength and dignity, 
 the strength and dignity which is acquired from 
 exertion and self-dependence. But while wo 
 men imagine they are gaining importance, and 
 are flattered with those compliments on their in 
 tellectual progress, which the gentlemen some 
 times deign to bestow, they seem perfectly un 
 conscious that they have not made one step of 
 advancement in the scale of society, or at least, 
 they are only engaged in the same occupations, 
 namely, that of canvassing fashions and super 
 intending household affairs, which occupied the 
 sex a thousand years ago. I do not say women 
 have not more learning, that they do not read 
 more, but pray tell me what difference this has 
 created in their pursuits! except to make them 
 less useful because they now, many of them, 
 think that to work with their hands is disgrace 
 ful for ladies, and yet there is no employment 
 provided, in which they can exercise their tal 
 ents and learning advantageously or indeed, 
 at all. I would rouse them from this supine- 
 ness, I would have them seek some employ 
 ment, have some aim that will, by giving ener 
 gy to their minds, and the prospect of an 
 honorable independence, should they choose 
 to continue single, make them less dependent 
 on marriage as the means of support. 
 
 They will then really improve, because their 
 minds will have a wider circle in which to move 
 and act. Women might succeed in many of 
 the fine arts ;.but still, I think the business of 
 instruction, the one best fitted to their charac- 
 
WILLIAM P, ,flES. 257 
 
 ter, to the situation, which they must, indeed, 
 ought to hold in society, because it was evident 
 ly assigned them by their Creator. It was for 
 these reasons I urged upon their consideration 
 the importance of school keeping. 
 
 I seek to promote the happiness and the best 
 interest of my sex ; but I do not think that hap 
 piness, or those interests will be advanced by 
 flattering women that they are angels, or that 
 they have, as yet, much claim to a mental 
 equality with men, if equality consist in the 
 exertion of mind. We have reason, but we sel 
 dom use it ; we might about as well be guided 
 by instinct. We proceed day after day, and 
 year after year in the same routine, without 
 exhibiting one original idea. All new dis 
 coveries and inventions are made by the men ; 
 even the chemical combinations in cookery, 
 and their causes, are unknown to almost every 
 female, to those who have cooked all their days. 
 We do not think there is the fault of our edu 
 cation we are not taught by necessity, the 
 necessity that arises to men in their diversi 
 fied pursuits, to reflect? 
 
 22 
 
A WINTER IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 1 My country, thou art free the orient wave, 
 
 Albeit perfumed by India s spicy gales, 
 
 Floats round the land where dwells the crouching slave, 
 
 Where rapine prowls, and tyranny prevails 
 
 But here, in Freedom s green and peaceful vales, 
 
 Man with his fellow mortal proudly copes ; 
 
 No despot s will the peasant s home assails, 
 
 Nor stalks th oppressoro er its pastoral slopes, 
 
 Nor reaps the stranger s hand the harvest of his hopes. 
 
 DID you ever live in the country ? I don t 
 mean a residence of some six or seven weeks, 
 just to escape the burning, boiling, stifling at 
 mosphere of the crowded city, when the ther 
 mometer stands at 93 in the shade, and clouds 
 of dust render promenading through Washing 
 ton Street almost as dangerous as would be a 
 march through the desert, to explore the ruins 
 of Palmyra. But there is the Mall. Oh ! the 
 Mall is unfashionable ; and what lady, having 
 a proper sense of her own dignity and delicacy, 
 but would prefer suffocating at home, to the 
 horror of a refreshing walk in an unfashiona 
 ble place ? They must resort to the country. 
 But never should those ladies imagine their 
 experience of pastoral life, makes them com 
 petent to decide on rural pleasures and rural 
 characters ; or gives them the right to bestow 
 
A WINTER IN THE COUNTRY. 259 
 
 those convenient epithets, dull, ignorant, plod 
 ding, on our country farmers, or uneducated, 
 unfashionable, dowdyish, on their wives and 
 daughters. 
 
 Summer and autumn are the seasons, during 
 which our city people visit the country. In 
 summer all who feel a sensibility for the beauti 
 ful, are charmed. The green woods, the flow 
 ery fields, the soft lulling waters and calm bright 
 skies, are successively admired and eulogized. 
 The sweet scenery is extolled, be-rhymed, 
 sketched left and forgotten. Autumn scene 
 ry makes a far deeper impression on the feel 
 ings. There is something in the decay of na 
 ture that awakens thought, even in the most, 
 trifling mind. The person who can regard the 
 changes in the forest foliage, that can watch 
 the slow circles of the dead leaf, as it falls from 
 the bough of some lofty tree, till it mingles with 
 the thousands already covering the ground be 
 neath, and not moralize is not a person that 
 I would advise to retire to the country, in 
 search of happiness. He or she had better stay 
 in the city and be amused. Those who cannot 
 think, have, in my opinion, a necessity (which 
 goes very far towards creating a right) for 
 amusement. 
 
 But the season when the scenery of the coun 
 try makes the most delightful impression on the 
 traveller s senses, or awakens his mind to re 
 flection, is not the time to form a correct esti 
 mate of the social pleasures and mental advan 
 tages, which the inhabitants in our interior 
 towns enjoy. Labor, unceasing labor is, dur- 
 
260 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 ing summer and autumn, the lot of the farmer, 
 and usually of all his family. The city lady or 
 gentleman, who visits in the country, regards 
 this industry as oppressive, almost slavish. 
 And truly it is sometimes so ; but still there 
 is a satisfaction to those industrious people, in 
 seeing how much their hands have accomplish 
 ed ; and there is a positive pleasure in the rest 
 that night allows, and above all, which the Sab 
 bath brings,, that persons ever occupied in 
 amusements or busy about trifles, cannot com 
 prehend, any better than a blind man could the 
 effect of colors on the eye. I may be told, 
 that such happiness only refers to animal sen 
 sations, that mind has no part in the bliss which 
 mere respite from the plough allows the farmer, 
 any more than to the repose it brings the cat 
 tle that assisted his labors. If mind had no in 
 fluence to prompt his industry, this might be 
 true ; but our American yeomanry are lords of 
 the soil they till, they call no man master on 
 earth, they are in fact, the acknowledged 
 sovereigns of this vast country, they are, in 
 our republic, entitled to respect, from their 
 station ; and those who affect to look down up 
 on the farmer and his family, to despise and ridi 
 cule the country people, exhibit a spirit which, 
 if it be refined and delicate, is neither enlight 
 ened, liberal or patriotic. The truth is, such 
 fastidious persons know little, if anything, about 
 the country ; not much more than did Owen 
 Ashley, when he first entered as a partner in 
 the store of Mr. Silsby, merchant in the village 
 of ? situated about thirty miles west 
 
A WINTER IN THE COUNTRY. 261 
 
 of the Green Mountains. Owen Ashley was 
 Boston born and educated ; and was in truth, as 
 fine a gentleman as could be found in the city. 
 He was also endowed with very good abilities, 
 and had he not indulged an over-weaning 
 conceit of the privilege he enjoyed, in being a 
 native of the metropolis of New England, he 
 would have been a very sensible young man. 
 
 His father had been reputed very rich, and 
 his failure in 1813, was wholly ascribed to the 
 pressure of the times. A time of calamity it 
 undoubtedly was, to many of our citizens, but 
 none seemed more conspicuously marked by 
 misfortune, than the elder Mr. Ashley. His 
 real losses were not so great as was reported. 
 He had for many years lived beyond his in 
 come, and it therefore required but a slight 
 shock of his mercantile credit to embarrass 
 him ; and when the downward course was once 
 begun, he had no means of retarding the ca 
 tastrophe. But I am not intending to sketch 
 the old gentleman ; only as his failure was the 
 cause of inducing his son Owen, to emigrate 
 to that unknown bourne to most of the native 
 Bostonians, the land of the Green Mountains, 
 it was necessary to mention it. Such an un 
 precedented adventure required a reasonable 
 motive for its justification, or I might be ac 
 cused of giving the creations of fancy, rather 
 than sketches of real characters. 
 
 1 Is it true, Ashley, that you are intending 
 to leave the city ? inquired Edward Paine, as 
 he took the arm of the former on quitting the 
 theatre. 
 
262 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 e Yes, such is my intention, replied Owen, in 
 a low tone. 
 
 i When do you go ? 
 
 1 To-morrow. 7 
 
 1 To-morrow, ejaculated Edward in astonish 
 ment. Why, Ashley, you cannot he serious. 
 Have you forgotten the party at Mrs. Dray- 
 ton s to-morrow evening ? Maria said she was 
 particularly anxious to see you, and she has 
 been arranging to have some delightful music ; 
 those songs and airs you so much admire, 
 to charm you if possible, from this preposterous 
 plan of self-banishment. 
 
 i My dear friend, what else can I do ? sighed 
 the discontented Owen. 1 1 have no funds to 
 support me in the city. My father is a bank 
 rupt by thousands. At his age, it will not be 
 expected he should enter into new specula 
 tions, and his friends are prepared to assist 
 him. He must, for the present, accept their 
 aid. But what is excusable for him, would be 
 a disgrace to me. I must engage in business ; 
 but I can do nothing here. Neither is the en 
 couragement for honest adventurers in any of 
 our cities, at all more flattering. The Vermont 
 merchant, has made me a very generous offer, 
 and I must either accept it, or enlist for a 
 soldier, I see no other alternative. 
 
 * 1 think, to shoulder the musket would be to 
 me the least horrible of the two, replied Paine, 
 as they entered his lodgings together. I 
 declare, continued the little beau, as he ar 
 ranged his hair at the mirror, with a very selt 
 satisfied expression of face. I declare it is 
 
A WINTER IN THE COUNTRY. 26$ 
 
 abominable, Ashley, that such a fine fellow as 
 you are, should be driven from all good society, 
 and sent among the bears of Vermont. If I 
 only thought the war was a just one, I would 
 urge you to enlist as a soldier. 
 
 I have similar feelings of disgust, when 
 thinking of my destination, said Owen. And 
 yet I fear it is wrong, even absurd to indulge 
 in them. This Mr. Silsby, is a noble-minded 
 fellow, and a noble looking one too. Indeed, 
 quite the gentleman in his manners ; and it 
 cannot be, that he lives among savages. Have 
 I ever told you the reason of his kindness to 
 wards me ? 
 
 i Not as I recollect. . 
 
 c There is an air of romance about the busi 
 ness, replied Owen, smiling, l that promises 
 well for me ; because I never read any similar 
 preface, without a fortunate denouement. You 
 must know, that some twenty years since, this 
 same Mr. Silsby, who had been in trade but a 
 short time, came here to sell a drove of cattle, 
 and purchase a stock of goodb. He had traded 
 with my father from the first, and was then 
 considerably in his debt. The day after he 
 arrived in the city with his cattle, there came 
 a sheriff with demands from people in Ver 
 mont, and attached the whole drove. Mr. 
 Silsby applied to my father, and stated, that the 
 proceeding was the work of an enemy who 
 was seeking to ruin him and supplant him in 
 his business. This man, Silsby said, had been 
 circulating false reports against him, affecting 
 
264 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 his credit, and by that means had frightened 
 those men from whom he had purchased cattle, 
 and who were to wait his return, and had in 
 duced them to send on their demands after 
 him. He said, if his property was thus attach 
 ed, and sold at auction, it would ruin him, but 
 that if he had the money to satisfy those de 
 mands, the market was good, and he should be 
 able to pay the loan before he left the city. 
 My father was a generous spirited man, and 
 he had moreover, a most thorough detestation 
 of all mean, paltry, villainous tricks ; and he 
 advanced the money without hesitation. I 
 have since heard him remark, that had Silsby 
 shown the agitation when he came to borrow 
 the money, which he did when he came to pay 
 it, he should have thought him a weak, timid 
 man, and though he might not have doubted 
 his honesty, he should most probably have re 
 fused to assist him. When he appeared to 
 solicit the favor, he was to be sure very pale ; 
 but his air was perfectly collected and his 
 countenance firm. But when, after a very 
 successful speculation in the sale of his cattle, 
 he entered, and taking out his pocket-book fill 
 ed with bank notes, he asked my father to pay 
 himself, and added, "you sir, have saved me 
 from a failure, from disgrace, perhaps from a 
 gaol -," he burst into tears. He appeared so 
 overcome by his feelings, that my father in a 
 lively tone attempted to reassure him, by say 
 ing, that what he had done had been no incon 
 venience, that it did not deserve even a single 
 
A WINTER IN THE COUNTRY. 265 
 
 thank ye "but" added he, " if you think it 
 has been of so much benefit to you, why I am 
 the person who should feel obliged, because, 
 through your means I have performed a good 
 action so very cheaply." This reasoning, how 
 ever, did not seem to soothe the feelings of the 
 Vermont merchant, he appeared distressed 
 with his gratitude, till at last, my father said, 
 u Mr. Silsby, we will think no more of this mat 
 ter now, I may hereafter want your assistance, 
 or my boy may. It is to me a sufficient reward, 
 that 1 have obliged an honest man, and gained 
 a good friend." Mr. Silsby looked up at these 
 words and called me to him. I was then but 
 four years old, but I remember it as though it 
 were but yesterday. He called me to him, 
 took me on his knee, and bent his face down to 
 mine. I remember hearing him whisper, but 
 what he said I did not understand. He then 
 kissed my cheek and so ended the tragi 
 comedy. 
 
 You think, said Ed\vard Paine, attempting 
 to smile, while something like moisture con- 
 globed in his eye, you think that this good- 
 hearted Yankee then, made a vnrtv to assist you 
 if ever his kindness was necessary ? 
 
 I have no doubt of it. And though he has 
 never mentioned the circumstance of the loan, 
 he never forgot while my mother lived, to make 
 her an annual present. One year he would 
 bring a fat turkey so large, that we were 
 sometimes inclined to call it a different species 
 from those to be found in the market then 
 23 
 
266 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 would come a firkin of most excellent butter, 
 the balls all made up in a particular form, with 
 a very curious stamp on each ball, and some 
 times he would send a cheese, which I used to 
 believe when a child, was precisely the size of 
 the moon ; and so indelibly has that idea fixed 
 itself in my mind, that I now never see the full- 
 orbed luminary of night, without thinking of a 
 Vermont cheese. 
 
 1 What does he propose to do for you ? in 
 quired Edward. I should say, from what you 
 have related, that he was a very good sort of a 
 man, but whether you would like a residence 
 with him, is another affair. I suppose he has 
 a wife, and at least a dozen children of his 
 own ? 
 
 i No, he is so singular as still to be a single 
 man. He met with a disappointment of the 
 heart, I have heard my mother say, soon after 
 she became acquainted with him. The young 
 lady to whom he was engaged, died of a con 
 sumption. He brought her to Boston, during 
 her illness, and she spent several weeks with 
 my mother. I remember seeing the young 
 lady ; and I remember well how my mother 
 wept, when Mr. Silsby came and carried her 
 away; and that she told my father she wept 
 for the sorrow the young man would soon 
 endure, because, though he flattered himself 
 with hopes, the young lady would never live to 
 reach home. And she did not. Mr. Silsby 
 has never married, and so we have reason to 
 think he still remembers his first love, and I 
 
A WINTER IN THE COUNTRY. 267 
 
 am so romantic, that I confess I respect him 
 for his constancy. 
 
 He probably intends to make you his heir, 
 if he has no family. Is he rich ? asked Ed 
 ward with an expression of interest in the in 
 quiry, his face had not before exhibited. 
 
 4 Yes, he is rich for the country ; but I am 
 not intending to play the part of heir expect 
 ant. The fawning smile, the equivocal speech 
 of such a parasite, is to me, most contempti 
 ble. Mr. Silsby merits my gratitude much 
 more, than if he had promised to give me his 
 fortune, because he seems anxious to en 
 courage, and enable rne to earn a fortune for 
 myself. He offers to take me as a partner, 
 and allow me one half the profits of his busi 
 ness simply for my assistance. And he seems 
 eager too, to save me from all mortification of 
 wanting a capital, by repeating how much he 
 needs my help as an accountant, that he is 
 tired of being always harassed, &c.; and that 
 is what I call perfect charity. Tis a virtue 
 rarely practised. Most people seem to think 
 that if they aid you in an enterprise, your feel 
 ings are of no consequence. But I esteem 
 that delicate kindness which spares me the 
 consciousness of my present dependence as the 
 greatest favor 1 can receive. Yes, Silsby is a 
 noble-hearted man, and I only wish lie lived 
 among civilized beings. 
 
 i ! tis abominable to think you must go 
 to Vermont, said Edward Paine, 1 uttoning 
 his coat up closely as though the blast from the 
 
268 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 Green Mountain even in thought, had power 
 to freeze his spirit. Why, my dear fellow, 
 do you not postpone your travels till next 
 spring? 
 
 1 Because I am impatient to know the worst. 
 I hate this procrastination of fate. It is to my 
 feelings more insupportable than actual mise 
 ry. 1 shall go to-morrow. 
 
 1 ! not to-morrow Allow one more eve 
 ning to your friends to pleasure to life. 
 Consider that you will not soon have another 
 opportunity of listening to the ll concord of 
 sweet sounds." You will hear no music beyond 
 those rude hills, except the piping of the wintry 
 winds, or a serenade of wild cats. 
 
 Owen shook his head, and attempted to 
 speak gaily while he replied * Thank you, 
 Edward, for your solicitude. It speaks well 
 for your heart ; but my judgment must not 
 yield, even to your affection. If I have any 
 merit, entitling me to the confidence of my 
 friends, it is, that when I have taken a resolu 
 tion on conviction of its fitness, I will adhere 
 to it. So farewell. And when you and my 
 young companions meet, pray remember, that 
 in spirit I am with you. 
 
 Letters, we shall expect, letters contain 
 ing all your adventures and discoveries in that 
 terra incognita, said Edward, pressing his 
 friend s hand as they parted, or we shall con 
 clude you have positively given up the ghost, 
 actually died of the maladie du pays. 7 
 
 1 Yes, you shall have letters, was the reply ; 
 
A WINTER TN THE COUNTRY. 269 
 
 and how well the promise was fulfilled, the 
 extracts with which I shall conclude the sketch, 
 will prove. The whole correspondence ought 
 to be given, but that may be done hereafter, 
 if this sample proves acceptable to public taste. 
 At present, I shall only select* such letters and 
 passages as will mark most distinctly, the effect 
 which country scenes and characters, had up 
 on the mind and feelings of my hero. 
 
 Vermont, Dec. 23. c I am here you see 
 my dear Edward, and alive and well, and in 
 no danger of dying from disgust, or ennui, or 
 even the maladie du pays. To account for 
 such a phenomenon, I will just tell you truly 
 of my tour, and describe my present resi 
 dence. 
 
 I started, as you well know in company with 
 Mr. Silsby, in his sleigh. Well, we travelled 
 silently on, he immersed in his mercantile 
 speculations I suppose, and I deeply engaged 
 in planning letters, in which I intended to ex 
 ert all my fancy, to portray the savage and 
 wild scenes I should traverse, and the uncouth 
 beings I should meet, in a style of elegant 
 pleasantry, that would divert my friends. I 
 remember now nothing of those fancies, except 
 that I intended to introduce the witticism, that 
 the farther I travelled west, the more I .became 
 convinced the wise men must have come from 
 the east } and another one, in which I was to 
 
270 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 represent the immense benefit my journey 
 would be to science, as the elevation of the 
 country where I resided, had actually permitted 
 me to discover five new stars, one of which, I 
 was convinced must be the lost Pleiad. 
 
 During these thoughts, if such reveries de 
 serve the name of thought, I examined coolly 
 you must allow, for I was half frozen, the 
 country through which I was travelling. I 
 was never before in the interior of the country. 
 Never before at a greater distance than thirty 
 miles from Boston, except when I went by 
 water to visit our Atlantic cities. I expected 
 that the farther I receded from the sea shore, 
 the more rude and uncultivated the land and 
 the people would be. Edward, I was never 
 so disappointed in my life. And I would with 
 pleasure describe some of the beautiful vil 
 lages, beautiful even in winter, and country 
 seats I passed on my route hither, but your 
 city prejudices would discredit me. Come 
 and see the country for yourself. Come in 
 the summer, if to ste, is all you are anxious 
 about ; but Mr. Siisby says, that if you wish 
 to partake the social enjoyments of the country 
 in their perfection, winter is the season. But 
 come. Do not permit even the terror of 
 journeying over the Green Mountains to deter 
 you. I had pictured the passage as an exploit 
 similar to that of Hannibal s famous march 
 over the Alps, with this trifling difference, 
 that the destiny of nations was involved in his 
 experiment of forcing his array of men and 
 
A WINTER IN THE COUNTRY. 271 
 
 elephants over those frozen heights, while I, 
 riding at my ease, wrapped in a trio of buffalo 
 skins, had nothing, but the vulgar business of 
 studying my own comfort and preserving my 
 own life and limbs, to attend to. Still I thought 
 the adventure must be of some consequence. 
 There must be, said I to myself, rugged 
 precipices and narrow defiles, arid yawning 
 chasms, and perhaps a glacier or two. I had 
 never heard the latter particularly named as 
 being among the terrors of the Green Moun 
 tain ; the epithet Green, did not seem applica 
 ble to a mountain of ice, but yet I might 
 discover a glacier. Edward, I was never so 
 disappointed in my life, indeed I was really 
 angry, when, after reaching that stupendous 
 scene of mountains piled on mountains, a 
 few hours driving, up hill and down to be sure, 
 and through a cold, dismal looking fir region, 
 but on a good turnpike road, and without a sin 
 gle accident of any kind, Mr. Silsby announc 
 ed, that we had crossed the Green Mountains. 
 Here was a finale to all my hopes of being 
 immortalized by escaping an avalanche. "All s 
 well," thought I, what an ignoble catastrophe, 
 that I should pass that barrier of civilisation 
 and have no report to make but that " all s 
 well !" 
 
 I might mention some peculiarities of the 
 scenery, that would interest you by contrast, 
 at least, for it is very different in character to 
 that by which you are surrounded. But the 
 impression it has made on my mind, is favorable 
 
272 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 to the country through which I have passed, 
 very favorable in comparison with the images 
 of savageness, desolation, rudeness and pover 
 ty, which I had always drawn of this part of 
 New England ; and which I know your fancy 
 will still conjure up whenever Vermont is 
 named. So we will let the country pass, and 
 turn to the people. 
 
 My Mentor was not at all communicative on 
 our journey. He seemed, as I thought, to be 
 rather averse to answering my inquiries re 
 specting the inhabitants of the good town, 
 where I was to make my debut. I imputed 
 this reserve, to his admiration of my knowledge 
 and accomplishments. He has, thought I, al 
 ready discovered that the society of his villa 
 gers, will be to my refined taste, " flat and un 
 profitable," he is ashamed of the people to 
 whom he is about to introduce me ; for his 
 sake, for he is really a good-hearted man, I 
 will try and be civil to his friends ; but I will 
 not permit those bumpkins to treat me with 
 familiarity. Such were my reflections when, 
 just as the sun was setting, on the fourth day 
 of our journey, Mr. Silsby aroused me from my 
 self-complacent mood, by saying we were with 
 in six miles of his home. 
 
 " Have you a good hotel or boarding-house 
 in your town ?" said I. 
 
 "We have a tavern," he replied, "but I 
 have engaged your board in a private family, 
 where I lodge myself with Colonel Gage. He 
 is one of our best men a real Yankee farmer." 
 
A WINTER IN THE COUNTRY. 273 
 
 "Good heavens!" thought I," am I to 
 board in a fanner s family? " 
 
 I believe the nervousness of my mind, was 
 apparent in my countenance, for Mr. Silsby, 
 after regarding me a minute or two, said very 
 calmly " If you should not be satisfied with 
 your lodgings, Mr. Ashley, you can easily 
 change. But I wish you to spend a week with 
 me." 
 
 The day had been cold and gloomy, and 
 soon after sunset, the whole horizon was over 
 cast, and a thick darkness coming on, it be 
 came necessary to drive slowly, and the miles 
 seemed to me as long as they say Scotch ones 
 are. We occasionally passed very comforta 
 ble looking houses, the bright windows, promis 
 ing warmth arid gladness within, but I had 
 no interest in their joys I felt chilled even to 
 the heart, I felt like a stranger where were 
 my friends, my home, my own bustling city ? 
 Could I, at that time, have had the power, 
 which I have often coveted, of transporting 
 myself by a wish, to whatever place I desired, 
 very certain I am, that I should have been in 
 Boston with the speed of Clavileno, and with a 
 resolution never again to venture beyond the 
 Green Mountains. When the sleigh stopped 
 at the door of Colonel Gage, I was just in that 
 peevish mood engendered by hunger, cold, fa 
 tigue and discontent, which makes a man the 
 most unreasonable creature on earth. I de 
 termined to hate my host and all his family, 
 and find fault with everything. There was a 
 
274 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 secret pleasure in thinking I should have cause 
 to find fault, and that was all I expected to 
 enjoy. 
 
 We were met at the door by the Colonel 
 himself. He gave Mr. Silsby a very brother 
 ly greeting, and when I was named, grasped 
 my hand with such warmth, such kindness, that 
 the pressure actually sent a glow through my 
 shivering frame, Edward, it reached my soul 
 in spite of my prejudices, I do believe our spir 
 its know their friends. He never relinquished 
 my hand till we had entered the room, where 
 he introduced me to his wife, his daughter, 
 and five sons, of all ages from sixteen down 
 to six. 
 
 Well, Edward, you expect a description of 
 the family. Wait a month, and then I can 
 judge more accurately. I have been here now 
 but four days ; perhaps I shall reverse my pre 
 sent opinion. I do not care to be called-an 
 enthusiast or a lover. I never will be con 
 vinced of an error by my feelings only. I 
 must have a reason to render for every change 
 in my judgment of men and things. But thus 
 much I will say, and it is what I should once 
 have thought impossible, I am in a country 
 village in Vermont, living in a farmer s family, 
 and yet I am very happy. 
 
 January 23d. 
 
 " Convince a man against his will, 
 He s of the same opinion still." 
 
A WINTER IN THE COUNTRY. 275 
 
 c There is truth in that couplet, my dear Ed 
 ward, more than is always contained in wise 
 proverbs. It is a very difficult affair to con 
 vince a person who has not only made up his 
 mind on a subject, but defended his position 
 with all the strength of his logic, that he has 
 mistaken the causes or consequences of his 
 system. Were it not for this tenaciousness of 
 the human mind to maintain and uphold what 
 it has received as truth, and defended as truth, 
 even after convinced that it is not true, there 
 might be reasonable grounds to hope that men 
 would, in time, reach that perfection which is 
 now considered possible, only by the visionary 
 philosopher, or the credulous philanthropist. 
 But I mean to prove, that it is practicable to 
 overcome the prejudices of education, or situa 
 tion- rather. I will cite my own change of 
 opinion, as proof that we may, if we will be 
 open to conviction, correct our errors of sen 
 timent. The person who believes he has no 
 errors of opinion, must be a fool, and he 
 who will not correct them, when discovered, 
 will never be wise. 
 
 When I was a tiny boy I thought, as our city 
 children do, that the country was a place of 
 woods, tilled with bears and other wild animals, 
 and I regarded the country people as objects 
 of compassion, because they were obliged to 
 live in such a place. This, you will say, was 
 a childish notion, but I always retained the 
 idea, that the advantages of a polite education 
 were, in New England, confined to Boston and 
 
276 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 its vicinity. A few weeks residence here 
 has convinced me, and therefore I acknowledge 
 it, that a young lady may possess a refined 
 taste, and cultivated mind and manners, may 
 be accomplished in your sense of that fashion 
 able word, without even having been beyond 
 the atmosphere of Vermont ; and that country 
 farmers may be men of intelligence and litera 
 ture, may be well-bred and agreeable, in short, 
 gentlemen in manners and conversation. You 
 recollect saying that I should hear no music 
 in this region, save the piping of the winds, or 
 the shrieks of wild cats. Why, Edward, I 
 listen to the notes of a piano-forte every day ; 
 and the sweet girl who plays it with a taste ana 
 skill I scarce ever heard exceeded, never was 
 out of Vermont in her life ! You may stare, 
 you must not disbelieve. When I first saw 
 the instrument, the evening of my arrival, I 
 thought Mr. Silsby must have purchased it at 
 some auction in Boston, and removed it to 
 the country to astonish the natives. I have 
 since been told, and am convinced, that there 
 are but very few villages in this state or in 
 New Hampshire, but what have at least one 
 family, often several, whose daughters are in 
 structed to play the piano-forte. I do not men 
 tion this as redounding vastly to their praise, 
 because I think the accomplishment, delightful 
 as it is, is often too dearly purchased ; but I 
 wish you to know, that the city belles do not 
 monopolize all the advantages of such accom 
 plishments. And 1 wish also to correct your 
 
A WINTER IN THE COUNTRY. 277 
 
 ideas respecting the wealth and intelligence, 
 the manners and refinement of this portion of 
 our Union. 
 
 In the dwelling of Colonel Gage, large, 
 thoroughly finished, and furnished, even filled 
 full from garret to cellar, I see nothing that 
 would shock your taste save the large fire 
 places, and an old-fashioned, armed chair in the 
 sitting room. The latter, Colonel Gage would 
 tell you he prized, because it was his father s 
 before him, and the former he would say, were 
 necessary for the climate. But I confess they 
 alarmed me a little, especially the first time I 
 saw the kitchen fire. I was passing the door, 
 when hearing a roaring like that of flame, I 
 stepped in and such a blaze I never saw on 
 any hearth before. I hastily demanded of the 
 housemaid, if there was an engine at hand. 
 She understood me to say Indian and replied, 
 that there had never been an Indian in town 
 since she could remember. After I made her 
 comprehend my meaning, the matter was no 
 better, for neither had she even seen an engine. 
 In the theory of extinguishing fires, therefore, 
 I found I was vastly superior to the Vermont- 
 ers, but in the skill of kindling (or building as 
 they term it, and truly, the pile of maple wood 
 looks like a building,) one I was quite as infe 
 rior so on the whole I had nothing to boast. 
 But now I have become accustomed to these 
 bright, blazing hearths, I do admire them. 
 There is a generous hospitality in their light, 
 and they inspire a cheerfulness of feeling, which 
 
278 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 is, as I think, the chief reason why the country 
 people are never troubled with ennui or dis- 
 pepsia. i Sin and sea-coal you know, are 
 proverbially united ; and according to the poet, 
 Melancholy dwells only 
 
 Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings. 
 
 Which never happens, I assure you, in a Yan 
 kee farmer s house, except when the inmates 
 are asleep. 
 
 I am convinced that winter is the season 
 to visit the country, if you wish to become 
 acquainted with the true character of the in 
 habitants. They are then freed in a great mea 
 sure, from that hurry and care which, often in 
 the seasons of flowers, clouds their faces with 
 anxiety, and amid the profusion of the harvest, 
 which they must .toil and sweat to gather, makes 
 them look sad and weary. These labors are 
 closed when the winter commences, their 
 garners are filled it is a season of leisure, es 
 pecially the winter evenings, and then is the 
 time for their balls, parties, sleigh-rides and 
 social visits. Never did I see more unaffected 
 hospitality displayed, more real pleasure enjoy 
 ed than at these merry parties. They have 
 earned the right to be happy, and right well do 
 they improve it. But though I enjoy exceed 
 ingly these frank, social visits, yet I own it 
 pleases me best to pass my evenings at home, 
 in our domestic circle. Edward, I see the 
 contemptuous curl on your lip while you ask, 
 what charm there can possibly be in the hum- 
 
A WINTER IN THE COUNTRY. 279 
 
 drum circle of a farmer s family that so enchants 
 me ? You must not think of Colonel Gage as 
 a farmer and nothing else. It is the boast of 
 our free institutions, that talents, and worth, 
 and energy, may claim their reward, let the 
 station of their possessor be what it may. 
 Colonel Gage was an officer in the revolution 
 ary war, and he has held civil offices of all 
 grades from that of town clerk to senator in the 
 State Legislature. But all these honors have 
 never tempted him to relinquish the plough. 
 A man he is, representing the New England 
 character of industry, enterprise, intelligence 
 and perseverance in its best light, because his 
 course has always been marked by that high- 
 minded integrity, which will command respect. 
 (How I wish all our Yankees deserved such a 
 report.) Then he is so generous, so truly hos 
 pitable and so uniformly pious Edward. I 
 would take his chance of gaining heaven before 
 that of any person I know. But our domestic 
 circle. Allow me to describe one evening. 
 I have passed many such, and instead of find 
 ing them grow dull by repetition, " like a third 
 representation" of a barren play, I look forward 
 to each succeeding evening, with that expec 
 tation of entertainment we cherish, when a 
 favorite actor is announced, from whose ver 
 satile powers we always expect new delight. 
 But perhaps I ought first to mention our daily 
 fare, which, by the way, is daily feasting. Such 
 breakfasts and suppers ! The profusion of 
 good things then set forth, would absolutely 
 
280 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 astound you, and be called quite vulgar in 
 your city, where all the dainties are displayed 
 at dinner. But I have the authority of Dr. 
 Johnson for liking a good breakfast ; and for 
 their suppers why, on my own authority, I 
 pronounce them in good taste. It is the l land 
 of cakes here that s certain. To describe 
 all the different kinds I have eaten, would 
 require half a volume at least. 
 
 But the evening You must know Mr. Silsby 
 always dispenses with my presence in the store 
 after eight o clock. He stays till nine. When 
 I enter the sitting room the family are arranged 
 in the following order. Colonel Gage in his 
 armed chair, occupies the right hand corner be 
 yond the fire-place, his dignified countenance 
 looking peculiarly benign and holy, as the 
 brightening or falling blaze alternately reveals 
 or shades his gray hairs, and his calm, thought 
 ful features. Nestling in his bosom, or play 
 ing at his knees, may be seen his youngest 
 boy, the loved Benjamin of his old age, and 
 close beside him sits his wife with her knitting 
 work. She is many years younger than her 
 husband, and still a beautiful woman ; but her 
 greatest charm is, that constancy, that de- 
 votedness of affection, that charity, with which 
 she seems to be always waiting t8 promote her 
 husband s comfort, the improvement of her 
 children, and the happiness of all around her. 
 In the centre of the room, stands an old-fashion 
 ed, round table, covered with books, news 
 papers, a board exhibiting the royal game of 
 
A WINTER IN THE COUNTRY. 281 
 
 < fox and geese," and all the feminine appara 
 tus of needle-work. On the side of the table, 
 (if side can be predicated of a round form,) 
 next his mother, is the place of Master Robert 
 Gage, the " eldest hope," a scholar, fitting for 
 college, already ambitious of being a great 
 man. Near to him usually stand or sit his two 
 brothers, frolicksome fellows, whose glee over 
 their game or their books, frequently awakens 
 their mother s reproofs. TU*^ rogues, however, 
 
 pay little attention to her sft-spoken remon 
 strances ; but if they meet their father s eye 
 " frowning disprovingly," or hear the slight tap 
 of his foot on the floor, they are hushed as 
 sleep. Opposite master Robert, sits the only 
 daughter of my host, the sweet Catharine 
 positively, Edward, the loveliest girl I ever 
 beheld, There she sits, looking so meek and 
 innocent as she bends her head closer to her 
 work, whenever I too earnestly regard her, 
 but sometimes usually when I enter the room, 
 she looks up in my face with such a smile! 0! 
 when I can flatter myself as I try to do, that 
 it welcomes me to the family circle, you cannot 
 know how happy I feel. I am prevented from 
 taking a seat beside her, because that is always 
 occupied by her brother John, the youngest 
 child but one. He loves Catharine so well 
 that I cannot help loving the little urchin on 
 her account, or otherwise, I fear I should real 
 ly hate him. For there he will sit a full hour 
 after I am at home, and he will engross ill the 
 attention Catharine can spare from her work. 
 24 
 
AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 He it is, that helps her wind her tn re ad, and 
 he holds her work-basket, and picks up her 
 scissors, or handkerchief and often, claims a 
 kiss for his reward. I have really wanted to 
 strike that boy ! There are always two va 
 cant chairs, left for Mr. Silsby and your hum 
 ble servant, and as I have my first choice, I 
 take the one nearest to Catharine, but that 
 is of little consequence while John remains. 
 Colonel Gage converses with the ease of one 
 accustomed to society, and he has moreover, all 
 the fund of anecdote, which a revolutionary 
 soldier and a pioneer in our new settlements, 
 might be expected to possess. I have learned 
 more from him of the early history of my 
 country, more of the peculiar spirit of the early 
 settlers, of their character, their labors and 
 resources, than I ever learned before in my 
 whole life. At nine o clock, or a little before, 
 Mr. Silsby makes his appearance, and then the 
 four younger boys are dismissed to bed. I 
 always rejoice when John goes, but the man 
 ner in which their father takes leave of them 
 for the night, has a solemnity that awes, and 
 prevents me from .taking any advantage of my 
 proximity to addre&s Catharine. The boys in 
 leaving the room, pass directly by their fa 
 ther. They pause before him, while he, in a 
 tone of tender and touching pathos, dispenses a 
 few sentences of reproof, advice, or commend 
 ation, to each individual. I never witnessed 
 such a scene. I should think it would have a 
 powerful effect on their tender hearts ; for 
 
A WINTER IN THE COUNTRY. 285 
 
 when, as he receives their bow or kiss, he 
 adds, " God bless you my children !" I often 
 find it difficult to breathe freely. After a short 
 pause, however, we begin to converse, and all 
 join in the discourse more cheerfully, if possi 
 ble, than before. News, politics, literature 
 and anecdote, with an occasional tune on the 
 piano-forte ; the Colonel is quite an enthusiast 
 in his love of music ; and the hour often comes 
 ere we are aware. I should remark, that we 
 always have apples and cider, and frequently 
 nuts of some kind, during the evening, and 
 furthermore, I confess, that during the last 
 hour, as the fire is gradually suffered to decay, 
 we as gradually draw nearer to the hearth, 
 and our circle contracting, I am at last usually 
 quite near Catharine. I say usually, because 
 whenever Catharine leaves her chair to play 
 a tune, she seldom returns to it she contrives 
 to steal round to her father s side, arid seats 
 herself on a low chair close by his knee ; a 
 seat claimed by the little boy when he is there. 
 I wish from my soul he would take that small 
 chair with him when he goes to bed. 
 
 I expect you will smile at what I am now 
 going to confess you will wish you were here 
 to quiz me. So do not I. "Though conscious 
 I am acting rightly, I have hardly sufficient 
 courage yet to stand the test of ridicule; but as 
 one conquest over my own weakness, I confess 
 that I attend the family devotions from choice ; 
 that I kneel at prayers ; that Colonel Gage is 
 a Methodist, and that Catharine says " amen !" 
 
2S4 AMERICAN SKETCHES. 
 
 in a tone so soft, sweet and angelic, that it 
 causes me to feel my own unworthiness more 
 poignantly than would the severest reproofs. 
 I never before comprehended what the dis 
 tress of Macbeth was, when he could not say 
 " amen." Yes, Edward when I can kneel 
 beside that innocent girl, and catch her soft 
 whispered " amen," as her saint-like father 
 pauses in the aspirations he has been pouring 
 forth, perhaps for my salvation I fancy she 
 always responds the sweetest then, though in 
 the lowest tone, my heart throbs and swells 
 till I believe tears have relieved me from 
 the agitation of my feelings. But this agita 
 tion is not care, or pain, or discontent. No I 
 lay my head on my pillow in peace, everything 
 around me is peaceful, my reflections are 
 all tinged with the Eden-like love and happi 
 ness that pervade this good family. " 0, eve 
 nings worthy of the Gods !" you may exclaim, 
 while revelling in your round of amusements^ 
 my apostrophe to evening would be 
 
 "I crown thee king of intimate delights, 
 Fire-side enjoyments heartfelt happiness, 
 And all the comforts of this dear, dear home." 
 
 March 30. c You say I am in /ore, and that 
 it is the deluding passion which imparts the 
 " Eden-like tinge," I rave about. True, Ed 
 ward, I confess you are right I am in love ; 
 but it is a patriotic, not a personal passion that 
 engrosses me, I am in love with my country 
 
A WINTER LN THE COUNTRY. *35 
 
 I was always proud of being a Bostonian 
 Boston was the cradle of liberty, the literary 
 emporium, the seat of arts, eloquence and 
 fashion. Europeans were pleased with Bos 
 ton, and allowed that we there possessed the 
 advantages of good society. But still they 
 ridicule America and Americans, and I fool 
 that I was have acknowledged while convers 
 ing with them, that the interior of our country 
 was yet rude rude in its appearance, and 
 rude in the character of its inhabitants. Ver 
 mont, especially, I considered, and reported 
 as the Thule of our population, where civilisa 
 tion ought not to be expected. Edward, I am 
 ashamed of my ignorance, and I declare to you, 
 that those dwellers in your proud city, who 
 have seen little beyond it, are hardly better 
 qualified to judge of the benefits of our free 
 institutions and the peculiar character of our 
 country people, than are those who have always 
 lived beneath a royal government. All large 
 cities must of necessity be similar in one 
 striking feature the disparity in the condition 
 of the citizens. Riches, in the city, give the 
 possessor a distinction, as surely as the privi- 
 ledge of wearing a star and garter, and poverty 
 is there degraded, and submits to a servile de 
 pendency, perhaps even to beggary ; though 
 begging in our cities is usually practised by 
 few but foreign mendicants, yet still it lookg 
 exceedingly preposterous to see such misery 
 among a people boasting so much of their 
 liberty, and equality, and prosperity, and happi- 
 
286 AMERICAN SKETCHES 
 
 ness. But the country, the country has none 
 of this. Here is no ignorance, or want, or 
 poverty, such as you have seen exhibited. 
 Plenty of work there is to be sure, and the 
 people work hard, but then it is fashionable to 
 work, they do not feel degraded, and they are 
 not degraded by it. They labor for themselves ; 
 there is no landlord or tenant ; no hired dwell 
 ings ; no rent to press like an incubus, and de 
 stroy the sleep of the weary. They reside in 
 their own houses, on their own farms ; they 
 have enough, and to spare 5 they are lords of 
 the soil and the laws ; yet living in simplicity, 
 and submitting quietly to all the necessary 
 civil restrictions ; but weir* acquainted with 
 their own rights, and watching the conduct of 
 their rulers with a strict and scrutinizing eye 
 providing liberally for public education, and 
 eager to give their children its advantages 
 and you will find well-educated, even highly 
 cultivated and refined people ; those who would 
 do credit to your " good society ;" in every little 
 town or village scattered through this as you 
 think, wild and rude State. " Give me neither 
 poverty nor riches," said the wise man ; and I 
 now see the wisdom of his wish. The country 
 is the strength of our Republic. Luxury may 
 enervate our cities, but through our wide 
 spread country, the healthful tido of liberty 
 will still flow uncorrupted. There is no other 
 land where the people are so free, so virtuous, 
 so intelligent, so happy. I no longer connect 
 the idea of American greatness, with the great- 
 
A WINTER IN THE COUNTRY. 287 
 
 ness of our cities. Should a foreigner ask me 
 to show him the great blessings of our boasted 
 freedom, I would send him on a six months 
 tour among the independent yedrnanry of our 
 land, the peasantry, as he would call them 
 Edward, I am a patriot ; I love my country, 
 and why should I deny to you ? I love 
 Catharine. y 
 


1 
 
 :> 
 
 =; CD r 
 
 0. 
 
 Q 
 ^< 
 
 (D 73 
 
 00 
 
 n 
 
 =; 
 
 i-l 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 
 cl 
 
 
 CO _ 
 
 
 m 
 
 Ln 
 
 10 
 
 
 
 CO 
 
 ^ 
 
 \ 
 
 II 
 
 I! 
 
 P 
 
 S 
 
 FT 
 
 2 
 

 * * 
 
 
 -C 
 
 s 
 
 70 
 
 
 c 
 c 
 
 ^ 
 T 
 
 1 ; 
 
 Tl 
 
 
 
 O 
 
 
 03 
 
 m 
 
 2 
 
 IN 
 
 
 ) 
 
 > 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 
 
 a 
 o 
 
 
 F 
 
 IT 
 
 
 
 hi 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 c 
 z 
 
 m 
 
 DO =j 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 m -p 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 m O 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 < > 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 >o 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 S z 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ro > 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 m 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 m 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 > m