.#%,. 
 
^ 
 
WIDOW SPRIGGINS, 
 
 AND OTHER SKETCHES. 
 
 MRS. F. M. WIIITCHER, 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 
 "WIDOW BEDOTT PAPEES." 
 
 BDITKD, WITH A MEMOIR, 
 
 BY MRS. M. L. WARD WHITCHER. 
 
 With Comic IlludratioTis. 
 
 <&. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 Geo, W, Carleton <2f Co., P2tblishers, 
 
 LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO. 
 
 MDCCCLXVII. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress in tlie year ISfj?, by 
 
 G. W. CAKIiETON & CO., 
 
 In tlie Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New 
 York. 
 
 J. E. Farwell & Co., 
 
 Stereotj'pers and Printers, 
 
 37 Congress Struct, 
 
 Boston. 
 
'mJ w ■-, r ■«* 
 
 CO]>^TENTS. ( -f ^ /g 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION ,11 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF WIDOW SPRIGGINS 39 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I DESCRIBE MTSEI-F — I GO TO BOAKDING SCHOOI,— I HAVE A BEAU — MY HEARTLESS PA- 
 
 KINX — I LOBSQUANDER FROM THE HUM OF MY TOUTHHOOD — I WRITE SOME VAISE3 . 39 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 I MAKE HIGGINS PATENT MY NATYVE PLACK — I WRITE TO MY CKEWIL PARINT — I HAVE A 
 NEW LUVER, AND I EGSEPT HIM — I GIT A LETTER FROM MY CREWIL PAKINT AND I CON- 
 CLUDE TO ESTABLISH A SiMMINARY— I WRITE SUM STANZYS BY MOONLIGHT • 47 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 I AVRITE AN ADVERTTZEMENT FOR MY SIMMINARY — I OBTAIN MY WARDROBES AND I RE- 
 CEIVE CALLS FROM MY PATRONERS — I RELATE TO THEM MY MAWLONCOLLY EOSPERIENCE 
 
 — I WRITE AN EPIGRANNY 66 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I BEGIN MY SiMMINARY AND I TEACH — I MEET JABEZ SPRIGOINS — I WRITE SOME VAISES 
 
 — I GIT INVITED TO A PARTY .07 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 I DRESS UP AND GO TO A PARTY — I HAVE SOME ADVENTURS THERE — I WRITE A POETICAL 
 
 CONFUSION 
 
 77 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 jABEZ SPRIGGINS PROPOSES — I HAVE COMPANY TO TEA— I WRITE SOME STANZYS TO JA- 
 BEZ SPRIGGINS 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 I GET KETCHED IN A SHOWER — THE GENTLEMEN ESCORTS ME TO MY SiMMINARY — I WRITE 
 
 AN Ode 
 
 m6'9941 
 
 94 
 
6 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 1 HEAR OF MY MATERNAL PARINT'S ILLNESS, AND I START FOR HUM — I HEAR OF PHILAN- 
 
 uer's getting married and 1 have Higustericks — I write some Poitry on a 
 Lament and I don't speak to Nobody 104 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The Stage gits upsot— I loose my Chist — I have grate Tribbelations, and I 
 write some Lines and have some Lines dedicated to me 113 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 I find my Chist — I go to New Hartford to Meetin' — I make a grate Sensation, 
 and then I GO Hum— I hear of my maternal Mother's Death — and at her 
 Grave I write a fugitive Fragment 123 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 JaBEZ SPRIGGINS comes once more to see me — I DISCOVER MY AFFECTION FOE HIM — HE 
 proposes, LIKE LORD MORTIMER — I WRITE SOME BLANK POITRY — 1 GO TO UTICA AND 
 GET MARRIED, AND THEN I DON'T SAY NO MOKE 133 
 
 MARY ELMER, OR TRIALS AND CHANGES. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Mrs. Lee — Mrs. Grant and her Daughter Susan Elmer . 143 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Mi:s Lee's Visit to Mrs. Elmer 156 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Mrs. Lee's Departure- A Note, and Sam Ludlow . 170 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Mrs. Elmer's Hemoval, and a new Friend J78 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Maky Elmer goes to live with Mrs. Smith 187 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A Day at Mrs. Smith's— the Dog Bounce *; . ' "Ti^ , . . . 199 
 
CONTENTS. 7 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Jerusha's Stokt— a Change in Mks. Smith's^ domestic Akrangements .... 216 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 Mks. Smith receives a Call from a new Acquaintance 230 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Mary Elmer goes Home— a Funeral 244 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A Dream, and a Walk in the Graveyard 253 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The Aid Society ona 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Conclusion 
 
 276 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE .' ' 297 
 
 AUNT MAGWIRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE MISSION TO MUFFLETEGAWNY .... 345 
 
 GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT 36J 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION, 
 
 j^^^HE favorable reception whicli itfie public gave to 
 ^^^l^i the Widow Bedott Papers, by Mrs. F. M. 
 Whitcher, has induced the publication of another 
 volume of the works of the same author. 
 
 It is a natural desire that we wish to know soraethino; 
 of the personal history of those who have amused or in- 
 terested us, and the reader feels a claim upon a favorite 
 writer, kindred to the claims of friendship. 
 
 For this reason, we have deemed it not inappropriate to 
 accompany the present collection with a brief biographical 
 sketch of their author. 
 
 It might at first be supposed, that the life of one whose 
 writings prove her to have possessed such a remarkable va- 
 riety of talents, must furnish rich and abundant material for 
 an extended memoir. But it must be borne in mind, that 
 true '* genius" is often allied to great delicacy and re- 
 serve of character. And thus while it was apjiarent to all 
 who knew Mrs. Whitcher, that she was a person of supe- 
 rior intellect, she was perhaps in every respect the oppo- 
 site of all that we learn from the term, *' a strong-minded 
 woman." And so singularly modest and unobtrusive 
 
 (11) 
 
12 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 were her habits, that her life might safely yield in variety 
 of incident, to the humblest champion of woman's rights, 
 or the most obscure victim of woman's wrongs. 
 
 While her only claim to eminence is found in the re- 
 markable genius which her writings display; a respect 
 for that shrinking timidity with which she ever avoided 
 publicity, seems to forbid us to do more than to dwell 
 upon those features of her character which are in some 
 degrf'.e the property of her readers, and our sketch, there- 
 fore, will necessarily be meagre; but we shall enrich 
 it with such extracts from her letters and her poems, as 
 will give to the appreciative reader a better idea of her 
 mental qualities than can be conveyed in any words of 
 our own. 
 
 Mrs. Frances Miriam Whitcher, was the daughter of 
 Mr. Lewis Berry, and was born at Whitestown, Oneida 
 County, New York, on the first day of November, 1811. 
 
 This village shares with the township the name of its 
 earliest settlers, and is one of the oldest, as well as one of 
 the most beautiful villages In Central New York. 
 
 That fine scenery which everywhere marks the valley of 
 the Mohawk River, is spread out with particular magnifi- 
 cence and beauty, in this immediate locality. The beauti- 
 ful hills, the broad, luxuriant valley, and the gently 
 flowing waters of the river, are among its natural attrac- 
 tions, while the noble elms, which cast their grateful 
 siiadows over its principal street, are a pleasant and per- 
 petual memorial of those who might be truly termed its 
 *' first families." 
 
 In its earlier history, Whitestown was the shire town 
 of Oneida County, and the courts being held here, added 
 to its other attractions as a home for gentlemen of the 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 legal profession. Many whose names have been high in 
 forensic distinction and brilliant upon the pages of his- 
 tory, were then counted among its citizens, and gave to 
 the social circle of that time a character for liberal culture 
 and refined taste inferior to none in the State. 
 
 Thus, fortunately, her early associations were such as not 
 only furnished examples of superior mental excellence, but 
 were well calculated to develop those germs of latent 
 genius, the possession of which she showed even in child- 
 hood. 
 
 While yet only two years old, and ignorant of her al- 
 phabet, she learned to recite long pieces of poetry, and 
 very early began making rhymes herself. The first of 
 these of which any record is preserved, is a parody on the 
 familiar verses entitled "My Mother," which were common 
 in the juvenile Readers of that time. The '' Grandfather" 
 alluded to in the parcdy, was a member of her father's 
 family, with whom the child was far from being a favorite. 
 Her lines ran thus : — 
 
 Who was it, when our friends were here, 
 And in the room I did appear, 
 Said, " This is Middy, she's our dear " ? 
 My Grandfather. 
 
 Who was it, when I swept the floor. 
 Would make me sweep it o'er and o'er, 
 And say, " Come back and sweep it more" 
 My Grandfather, 
 
 And when I let the platter fall, 
 Who said, as loud as he could bawl, 
 "Now just come back and break them all "? 
 My Grandfather. 
 
 A short time previous to the composition of this parody, 
 
 o 
 
14 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 when five years old, she made " her first pictorial ex- 
 ploit," as she afterward termed it, by drawing the likeness 
 of an old gentleman, who, by familiar, but not Intention- 
 ally offensive joking, had Incurred her displeasure. 
 
 The circumstance forms the subject of the first picture 
 In a series of humorous sketches, which were made years 
 afterward for a friend to whom she had promised an illus- 
 trated volume of her life. 
 
 Her first teacher seems to have been an antiquated 
 maiden, who did not sufficiently gain her respect to escape 
 her ridicule ; for we find her in the same series In many 
 sketches, where the position evidently was not chosen for 
 the benefit of the sitter. 
 
 From this juvenile Institution she was promoted to the 
 primary department of the village academy, where her 
 mirth-loving propensities found a new and wider field for 
 exercise, which she did not fail to improve ; for here noth- 
 ing capable of a ludicrous construction escaped her deli- 
 cacy to perceive, and ability to portray; and while this 
 ''mischief" often brought her under discipline, her pun- 
 ishments we find, in turn, made the subjects of her 
 sketches — so emphatically did her ruling passion " grow 
 by what it fed on." 
 
 A better account of this may be learned from her own 
 words, in a letter to Mrs. Alice B. Neal, a friend to whom 
 she was known only through the medium of the pen, and 
 the sympathy of kindred intellectual tastes. 
 
 " Your last kind letter was very gratifying. The ac- 
 quisition of a new friend is a source of great pleasure to 
 me ; for I assure you that it has never been my lot to 
 have many friends. You possess the happy faculty of 
 drawing all hearts at once to you ; but I, unfortunately, 
 
BIOGRAPIIICAL INTRODUCTION. 1 ;3 
 
 do not. And I will tell you what I believe to be the 
 secret of it : I received, at my birth, the undesirable gift 
 of a remarkably strong sense of the ridiculous. I can 
 scarcely remember the time when the neighbors were not 
 afraid that I would ' make fun of them.' For indulmuir 
 in this propensity, I was scolded at home, and wept over 
 and prayed with, by certain well-meaning old maids in 
 the neighborhood ; but all to no purpose. The only re- 
 ward of their labors was frequently their likenesses drawn 
 in charcoal and pinned to the corners of their shawls, 
 with, perhaps, a descriptive verse below. Of course I had 
 not many friends, even among my own playmates. And 
 yet, at the bottom of all this deviltry, there was a warm, 
 affectionate heart — if any were really kind to me, how 1 
 loved them ! " 
 
 One little picture in the series alluded to from her 
 *' ideal world," which has pleased us particularly, is en- 
 titled *' The Adventure." It is thus described by herself, 
 during a walk on the banks of the river about a mile from 
 her home, — she related to her companions thus : — 
 
 *' Once I was walking here, when 1 saw on that stump 
 of a tree a beautiful Bible ail bound in gold lying open. 
 I started to get it, when a little angel with shining wings 
 came flying down towards it, and when- I reached the 
 place the book was a heap of ashes, and the angel was 
 gone." 
 
 Her school education w^as completed in her native vil- 
 lage, with the exception of some lessons in French, from 
 a very superior teacher in the neighboring city of Utica, 
 where she acquired a high proficiency in that language, 
 but with an instinctive horror of affectation and display, 
 she always avoided, both in conversation and in writing, 
 the use of any foreign words or phrases. 
 
16 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 In the art of drawing, In which she has left such abun- 
 dant proof of her taste and skill, her only instruction was 
 a few hints from a similarly gifted relative. 
 
 In epistolary correspondence she particularly excelled, 
 her pen gliding without an effort into rhyme, and making 
 the most trivial occurrences attractive by her happy power 
 of expression, as well as by the most life-like pen draw- 
 ings, with which her letters are embellished, and in which 
 she often introduced herself in some most ludicrous or 
 preposterous manner. 
 
 Nothing was allowed to escape her pencil or her pen, 
 and even the every-day occurrences in a quiet family fur- 
 nished material, which when embellished by her genius, 
 became amusing and interesting. The following mock se- 
 rious lines on the death of a pet crow, show her ability to 
 mingle the ridiculous with the sublime : — 
 
 No sig-h was heard, no tear was shed, 
 And not a word was spoken, 
 
 But the pale cheek and drooping head 
 Told how their hearts were broken. 
 
 There was no outward sign of woe, 
 Though every hope had failed 'em, 
 
 A, chance observer scarce would know 
 That aught uncommon ailed 'em I 
 
 Manhood and youth and age were there, 
 Touched with the same deep sorrow; 
 
 They thouglit of one whom they must bear 
 To his barn-yard grave, to-morrow. 
 
 There in an old tin pan he lay. 
 The once beloved and cherished ; 
 
 Alas, how soon he passed a^yay, 
 How cruelly he perished I 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 1.7 
 
 And one was there, once gay and Bpry, 
 
 'Twas one that did adore him; 
 A maniac glare was in her eye, 
 
 She silently bent o'er him. 
 
 She loved the dear departed crow 
 
 Like dearest friend, or brother, 
 And watched his infant graces grow. 
 
 Just like some tender mother. 
 
 Love, like some tender flower of earth, 
 
 Long in her heart had wasted ; 
 Tom, like the sun, had called it forth, 
 
 And death, like winter, blasted. 
 
 Her grief was silent, dark, and deep, 
 
 For, oh, she loved him, dearly ; 
 'Tis never those who loudest weep, 
 
 That sorrow most sincerely. 
 
 There is a grief that dwells within,— 
 
 A grief beyond my telling ; 
 When all the outward man grows thin, 
 
 But oh, the heart keeps swelling. 
 
 They tied his feet with cotton yarn, 
 
 And to his grave they bore him ; 
 They buried him low behind the barn, 
 
 And stuck two shingles o'er him. 
 
 Then burst the torrent of her grief, 
 
 That long had lain concealed ; 
 Her inward woes found some relief, 
 
 In being thus revealed. 
 
 " Oh never more," she wildly cried, 
 
 " His cheerful voice shall greet me j 
 He'll never wander by my side. 
 
 He'll never fly to meet me. 
 
 " He used to get upon my chair 
 When I was busy sewing j 
 
 2* 
 
iS BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 And tangle up my braided hair, 
 Almost without my knowing. 
 
 " He used to steal my knitting sheath, 
 His legs were wondrous nimble, 
 
 And once I ducked him most to death 
 For carrying olT my thimble, 
 
 " But let his faults forg-otten be. 
 For he has gone forever ; 
 
 His like again we ne'er shall see, 
 Oh, never I never 1 1 never ! ! 1 " 
 
 Some words of comfort then I said, 
 In vain those words Avcre spoken ; 
 Dsspondingly she shook her head, — 
 1 knew her heart was broken. 
 
 The views and opinions of John Calvin were believed 
 and taught more than any other system of religious 
 doctrine, in her native village at that time ; and she was 
 baptized in infancy, early instructed in the shorter cate- 
 chism, and while yet in her teens, was, at tlie close of a 
 revival, received into membership with the Presbyterian 
 Church, a connection which was for many years retained. 
 Her religious feeling and attachments at this time are very 
 pleasantly recorded in her lines on the removal of the old 
 church. 
 
 All silently the twilight falls. 
 
 This ancient temple round, 
 And mournfully within these walls 
 
 My echoing footsteps sound. 
 
 Well may this heart with sorrow swell. 
 These tears of sorrow flow, 
 
 I come to breathe a last farewell, 
 A last sad look bestow. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 19 
 
 No more shall bands of brethren meet 
 
 Within this hallowed place, 
 To worship at a Saviour's feet, 
 
 And seek a Saviour's face. 
 
 No more the inquiring crowd shall press 
 
 To learn the road to heaven; 
 Nor here the bleeding heart find peace, 
 
 The mourner feel forgiven . 
 
 No more the word of life shall fall 
 From hearts with love that burn, 
 
 Nor truth invite, nor mercy call 
 The wanderer to return. 
 
 No longer here shall music roll 
 
 Its thrilling strains along. 
 Nor pure devotion lift the soul, 
 
 In union with the song. 
 
 Here often hath my God revealed 
 His goodness and His power ; 
 
 But now, old Church, thy doom is sealed, 
 And thou must be no more. 
 
 I stand alone within these walls ; 
 
 There is no being nigh 
 To check the bitter tear that falls, 
 
 Or chide the rising sigh. 
 
 I weep, dear consecrated spot, 
 
 That thou must cease to be. 
 And oft, full oft, when thou art not. 
 
 Shall memory turn to thee. 
 
 1 love thy sacred aisles I — 'twas here 
 Where first my footsteps trod. 
 
 And mother gave, with holy fear. 
 That little one to God. 
 
 And oh ! 'twas here that awful vow, 
 To be the Lord's, was spoken ! 
 
20 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The painful thought comes o'er me now, 
 How oft that vow I've broken. 
 
 Alas I my soul, how oft thy wings, 
 
 E'en in the house of God, 
 Have sunk 'neath vain imaginings. 
 
 And kissed earth's fleeting clod. * 
 
 I love this place I While musing here 
 On pleasures known no more, 
 
 Some pleasant thoughts of former years 
 Float my lone spirit o'er. 
 
 Here I was wont to sit with some 
 1 loved in childhood's day ; 
 
 Many are in the silent tomb, 
 And many far away. 
 
 Here have I gazed with tearful eye, 
 
 Upon the death-cold brow 
 Of some whose spirits dwell on liigh, 
 
 Wliose forms are mould'ring low. 
 
 Perchance e'en now tliat sainted throng, 
 
 Those spirits of tlie dead. 
 May glide these ancient aisles among, 
 
 Where they were wont to tread. 
 
 Methinks they've left those realms of light 
 And glory, wliere they dwell, 
 
 And hover o'er this place to-night, 
 That once they loved so well. 
 
 And many forms remembered well, 
 And once most dear to me. 
 
 Who long have ceased on earth to dwell, 
 Among that band I see. 
 
 Methinks I see that blest one, too, 
 
 So lovely and so dear ; 
 Who, scarce one little month ago, 
 
 Was sweetly singing here. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 21 
 
 Young Harriet, who with dying breath, 
 
 Tlie Saviour's love confessed. 
 Exulting raised a song in death, 
 
 And, swan-like, sunk to lest. 
 
 Sweet spirit I lift tliat tuneful voice 
 
 As thou wert wont of yore, 
 Let these devoted walls rejoice 
 
 In thy sweet strains once more. 
 
 'Tis gone ! The heav'nly train is flown ! 
 
 The sweet illusion fades ! 
 And I am musing here alone, 
 
 'Mid evening's gath'ring shades. 
 
 Farewell! doomed temple of the Lord, 
 
 For thee ray tears shall flow ; 
 1 grieve to speak the parting word; 
 
 With ling'riug steps I go. 
 
 What, though upon this sacred spot 
 
 A statelier pile 1 see ; 
 Dear house of God, when thou art not, 
 
 Shall memory turn to thee. 
 
 Later in life she found in the doctrines and teachings of 
 the Protestant Episcopal Church, a system of religion 
 more congenial with her taste, and more in harmony with 
 her judgment. 
 
 In person Mrs. Whitcher was above the medium heiglit, 
 erect in figure, stately in her walk, with an air of reserve 
 and dignity. Her large dark eyes were full of expression 
 and soft liquid light. Her hair of glossy black was al- 
 ways kept in the most tasteful and careful manner, while 
 her dress showed scrupulous neatness, and was character- 
 ized more by an absence of bad taste, than by any effort 
 at effect in its arransrement. 
 
 o 
 
 One who often met her has said in our hearing, 
 
22 BIOGRAFIIICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 *' It seemed to me Mrs. Whitcher always wore the same 
 dress," a remark that shows that she apj^reclated that sen- 
 sible maxim, that '' to be well dressed, a lady's attire 
 should be so arranged as never to excite a thought." 
 
 She possessed a high degree of conversational ability 
 in the circle of congenial friends ; their presence seemed 
 to inspire her, and to develop many little graces and at- 
 tractions which the first critical glance frightened away, so 
 much that among strangers and ordinary acquaintances, 
 she became reserved and timid to a degree which was 
 often regarded as haughtiness and pride, or a sense of 
 conscious superiority. But amid the genial circle of fa- 
 miliar friends, her eye brightened with intelligence, her 
 features glowed with enthusiasm, while the liquid and har- 
 monious flow of her words possessed almost the charming 
 power of music. 
 
 The story of the Widow Spriggins was among the ear- 
 lier productions of her pen, and was originally written for 
 '* The Majonian Circle," a social and literary association, 
 sustained by persons of taste and ability. The liter- 
 ary productions of the Circle were presented to its mem- 
 bers in the form of a paper, which was for some time 
 called " The Momus," a name which it fully merited. 
 Among the members oF the Circle, however, there were 
 some who deemed the paper too much devoted to " the 
 harmless comedy of life," and it was accordingly changed 
 in name, and somewhat in character, to " The Mi\3onian." 
 The circumstances form the subject of an article from tlie 
 "Ma3onian," which may be found in the present volume. 
 
 The Widow Spriggins' articles were afterward favor- 
 ably, though not very extensively, introduced to the pub- 
 lic by Mr. Calvert Comstock, late editor of the Albany 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 2o 
 
 Argus, who was at that time editing a weekly paper at 
 Eome, New York, and was a personal friend of their 
 author. 
 
 She received no pecuniary compensation for any of her 
 articles, until the summer of 1846, when she became a 
 regular contributor to '* Neal's Saturday Gazette." Its 
 editor, who was a humorist of acknowledged ability, 
 highly appreciated the genius of his contributor. But 
 neither his enthusiastic praise, nor the flattering reception 
 with which her productions were received by its readers, 
 could overcome her habitual self-distrust and timidity. In 
 a letter accompanying one of the Bedotts, she says : — 
 
 *' I fear criticism ; I fear ' the world's dread laugh.' I 
 fear a repulse, a ftillure ; there are a thousand things to 
 make me shrink from taking a step which may look like 
 courting publicity; and I assure you, nothing but the 
 hope of one day reaping some pecuniary benefit, induces 
 me to offer myself as a contributor to your paper." 
 
 On the sixth of January, 1847, she was married to the 
 Eev. B. W. Whitcher, and In the following spring re- 
 moved to Elmira, Chemung County, where Mr. Whitcher 
 assumed the pastoral care of St. Peter's church. 
 
 The following playful rhyming letter, written during 
 her husband's temporary absence from home, a few days 
 after their marriage, may not be Inappropriate here. 
 
 I will weave an idle rhyme, dear, 
 
 A simple rhyme for thee, 
 For it seems a weary time, dear, 
 
 Since yester morn to me. 
 It seems a long, lonr^ while, dear, 
 
 That I've been left alone ; 
 And 1 miss thy cheerful smile, dear, 
 
 And I miss thy kindly tone. 
 
24 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Through the busy morning hours, dear, 
 
 I've missed thy cheering word ; 
 While I watered all the flowers, dear, 
 
 And fed the little bird. 
 I've been busy in your study, dear, 
 
 And made it nice and neat. 
 But I found it rather muddy, dear, 
 
 (Why don't you clean your feet ?) 
 
 Your books and papers all, dear, 
 
 I've arranged the nicest way ; 
 Your bump of order's small, dear, 
 
 It grieves me quite to say. 
 Ere you've been here a day, dear, 
 
 'Twill look as bad as ever, 
 Don't say I'm Candling, pray, dear, 
 
 For I never mean to — never. 
 
 It was a real pleasure, dear. 
 
 To fix each tumbled shelf. 
 And each old dud a treasure, dear, 
 
 It looked so like yourself. 
 I've been talking with my mother, dear, 
 
 And with my father, too. 
 With my sisters and my brothers, dear, 
 
 And still the theme was you. 
 
 The weary day has flown, dear, 
 
 'Tis silent evening now. 
 And I am all alone, dear. 
 
 But, Willie, where art thou ? 
 And how employed? not smoking, dear, 
 
 Good gracious I if you sliould, — 
 But surely you were joking, dear. 
 
 When you threatened that you would. 
 
 Good-night — good-night I God blesa thee, 
 
 My dearest and my best ; 
 May no dark dreams oppress thee, 
 
 But angels guard thy rest : 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 25 
 
 From every pain and Borrow, dear, 
 
 To guard thy precious life, 
 And bring- thee back to-morrow, dear, 
 
 To thy true and loving wife. 
 
 Her peculiar traits of character were not particularly 
 adapted to her hew sphere of life ; her retiring and re- 
 served disposition illy qualified her for a position which 
 makes so great demand upon the demonstrative sympa- 
 thies, as that of a clergyman's wife. And, although she 
 found in Elmira a few whose friendship and kindness wxre 
 ever held in grateful remembrance, the greater number 
 of her new acquaintances regarded her with distrust and 
 suspicion ; and her greatest pleasure was found in her 
 domestic relations. As a wife, she was ever kind and 
 thoughtful, placing a high estimate upon her marriage 
 duties, requiring the most refined and exalted tenderness, 
 which it was her constant aim to inspire. 
 
 In Elmira the * ' Bedott Papers " were continued and 
 completed. The *'Aunt Maguire Letters," published in 
 Godey's Lady's Book, were written here, and a series in a 
 different style under the name of " Letters from Timber- 
 ville " were begun, which her death left incomplete. A 
 few of the first chapters of the story of Mary Elmer were 
 also written at this place. 
 
 Though Mrs. Whitcher's literary reputation will perhaps 
 most particularly be identified with her humorous works, 
 she has left in her little poems and sketches and in the 
 graver composition of Mary Elmer, abundant proof that 
 she was not confined, in the range of her genius, to anyone 
 department of literature, but might have gained a brilliant 
 reputation in the various walks of authorship. Those who 
 have known her heretofore only as the author of mirth- 
 3 
 
26 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 provoking productions, will find with surprise the depth, 
 tenderness, and spiritual beauty which her more serious 
 writings reveal. Possessing at the same time an eye for the 
 ridiculous, a sense of the grotesque ,in combination, and 
 the quaint in character, with a genuine love of the beauti- 
 ful, and admiration of the grand, her productions liad 
 power not only to please the fancy, but to satisfy the higher 
 wants of the mind. Even her humorous articles do not 
 stand upon their wit alone as their chief merit ; true, they 
 make you laugh, and thus they answer the true test of their 
 excellence in this respect. And the Widow Bedott might 
 have graduated as the very worst speller in the ' ' bad spel- 
 ling " school of literature so popular at the present day, 
 but her humor was always the vehicle of sense ' * to point a 
 moral or adorn a tale," and even when the widow discour- 
 ses ''on punkins," she reads a wholesome homily to the 
 troublesome neighbor who " borroweth and repayeth not 
 again." 
 
 As an appreciative critic has said, " There is as clear 
 delineation of character in these wTitin^^s as in the works 
 of Dickens or Thackeray. They are the cleverest, as w^ell 
 as the most popular of any articles of the kind by an Amer- 
 ican author. Those doomed perforce to immortality by 
 the hand now stilled forever, should be satisfied that they 
 have secured what so many have labored assiduously to 
 obtain." 
 
 Saxe finds *« it is a very serious thing to be a funny 
 man," and Mrs. Whitcher found it ^' a very serious thing " 
 to be a funny woman. Few writers since the days of 
 Coleridge have been so much at the same time the subject 
 of panegyric by their friends and of censure from tlicir 
 enemies ; for while the reading public were convulsed with 
 
BIOGRAPniCAL INTRODUCTION. 27 
 
 laughter over the inimitable drollery and cleverness of her 
 sketches, and editors were eagerly striving to secure the 
 popularity which her contributions commanded in whatever 
 publication they appeared, their author was being assailed 
 with the greatest vituperation and personal insult from 
 those who fancied they had unwittingly furnished models 
 for her sketches ; and in one instance Mr. Whitcher was 
 threatened by a man with legal prosecution for damages, 
 which Mrs. Samson Savage had done to characteristics 
 which he fancied belonged exclusively to his wife, and 
 other less prominent characters were zealously searched out 
 and applied, as many an indignation meeting could witness. 
 *' This means you," and "this means such a one," they 
 said, as each fitted the garment to a neighbor's back, while 
 all united in aiming resentment at the author with as much 
 anger as if she had labelled their parcels with their individ- 
 ual names. 
 
 So high indeed ran the tide of angry feeling that it soon 
 became apparent that Mr. Whitcher's usefulness as a 
 clergyman would find fewer obstacles in some other parish. 
 
 Such a result was entirely unanticipated by Mrs. 
 Whitcher. Her characters were not designed simply to 
 represent individuals, but were types of diiFerent classes ; 
 and however closely they may apply to particular persons, 
 it is illiberal to so universal a genius as hers as to attempt to 
 confine its application simply to one locality. But not in 
 Elmira alone were hunted up originals for her portraits. 
 A few weeks after the publication of the sewing society 
 articles, Mrs. Whitcher wrote thus to a friend : — 
 
 "It is an amusing fact that several villages are con- 
 tending for the honor of being the birth-place of ' Mrs. 
 Samson Savage.' A man from a village in County 
 
28 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 came into one of the bookstores the other clay to get some 
 * Lady's Books/ saying that they were all alive about it in 
 his place, because they had a * Mrs. Samson Savage ' 
 
 there. And we have heard from , a village twenty 
 
 miles distant, that they have fitted the coat to a woman 
 there." 
 
 And yet j\Irs. Samson Savage and Mrs. J. Pixley 
 Smith are only representatives of that large class w^here 
 ignorance and vulgarity are only made more conspicuous 
 by wealth. Sam Ludlow is a character by far too common 
 in r6al life ; an unruly son of a ruling deacon ; while Per- 
 milla Spriggins is but a pitiful illustration of the eifect of 
 the continual reading of love stories on vain and weak- 
 minded girls. Almost any one can find ** a Hugelina," a 
 would-be-literary character among their own acquaintances, 
 however limited the circle may be. 
 
 It is true Mrs. Whitcher has been charged with satir- 
 izing, in some of her characters, things which should be 
 held sacred from ridicule. But whether Sam Ludlow 
 ' ' gets religion " for the purpose of getting hold of the 
 *' old man's" purse-strings, or the Widow Bedott resorts 
 to Elder Sniffles for religious instruction with habeas cor- 
 p2is intentions in her mind ; if we examine closely we find 
 that it is only where selfishness and hypocrisy steal the 
 cloak of piety, that they are held up and made at once 
 odious and ridiculous. 
 
 Few lives have perhaps furnished better examples of sin- 
 cere piety and devotion than hers. That rare humility of 
 which we have already spoken, was not only a part of the 
 ornament of ** a meek and quiet spirit," but of one scrupu- 
 lous in the conscientious discharge of duty. She not only 
 loved the public services of the church, but was constant 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 29 
 
 and faithful in those devotions which receive the promise 
 of " Him who seeth in secret." 
 
 The following lines written during a period of suflPerlng, 
 show how well she had learned that hardest of all Christian 
 lessons, resignation to the solemn ascription, *« Thy will 
 be done." 
 
 Afflict me, Father ; let thy heavy rod 
 
 Fall on my sinful head ; 
 I would not shun the sufferings of my God, 
 
 Whose blood for me was shed. 
 
 Afflict me, Father; I will take the cross 
 
 Unmurmuringly and still, 
 By thy good help; and bear all earthly loss, 
 
 If I may do thy will. 
 
 Ay, slay me, Father, and I will not fear 
 
 The coming of Death's dart. 
 If I may see the Lord's kind angel near, 
 
 To strengthen my weak heart. 
 
 Not only in religious duties, but in the offices of friend- 
 ship was she eminently uniform and faithful, and a good 
 impression once made upon her feelings was enduring. In 
 illustration of this tenacity of feeling, we insert a letter 
 which was written not many years before her death, and 
 which refers to an aifection, of which *' Time but the im- 
 pression stronger made." This letter was addressed to the 
 same person as the one from which our former extract was 
 made. 
 
 *' I was quite alone all last evening, and my mind wan- 
 dered to you. I cannot tell why it is, but your idea is 
 always associated in my imagination with a dear sister of 
 mine, who died at sixteen, when I was only five years old. 
 3* 
 
30 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 I recollect her perfectly. They say she was a genius ; and 
 I remember that she was beautiful and joyous, and always 
 o-Qod to me. I loved her better than any one else. She 
 used to put me every night in my little crib, and sit and 
 tell me stories till I went to sleep, and hear me say my 
 prayers and little hymns. She had a thousand winning 
 ways. There was one pretty mark of love that seems very 
 pleasant to me now as I look back to it. She used often to 
 reward me for being good, by putting some trifle under my 
 pillow after I was asleep, and it made me so happy to 
 wake in the morning and find it. How easy it is to please 
 a child ! 
 
 " This sweet sister took more pains with me than any- 
 body else ever did. It was a great calamity that I lost 
 her. Yet I have always felt that there was still a bond 
 between us. When I was little, I used to dream of her 
 almost every night, and, as I grew older, I thought about 
 her a great deal. In my lonely rambles, I often fancied 
 that she called me ; even now I sometimes think I can 
 hear her distinctly pronounce my name in the night. I 
 know not why it is so, but I fancy that you are like her. 
 I was thinking of it last evening as I sat alone, and I threw 
 aside my sewing and scratched down these simple verses to 
 
 you. View them, dear , not us poetry ^ but as a little 
 
 token of affection." 
 
 Of the " verses " here mentioned, we will select two, as 
 illustrative of her attachment to the memory of her sister, 
 and of her belief in the intimate union between departed 
 spirits and their friends on earth : — 
 
 True, some will call it faucy's fliglit, 
 
 And say it ne'er can be, 
 That in the wakeful hours of niglit 
 
 An angel speaks to me. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 31 
 
 <* The wondrous and mysteriouB ties 
 Some hearts can never know, 
 That link the loved in paradise 
 With those they love below." 
 
 Another little poem addressed to the same sister ran 
 thus : — 
 
 MY SISTER. 
 
 Would I were sleeping on thy peaceful breast, 
 
 Friend of my infant years ! 
 Thou who couldst lull my wayward heart to rest. 
 
 And soothe my childish fears. 
 
 Oh, 'tis a blessed thing like thee to die 
 
 Before the dark hours come I 
 Before the light reflected from on high 
 
 Is lost in earthly gloom. 
 
 Peace to thee, bud of paradise I expand 
 
 In the Lord's garden; there, 
 The flowers are nurtured by the Almighty hand 
 
 To bloom in heavenly air. 
 
 Look down on me, O sister ! think of me, 
 
 By sin and suffering tost; 
 Lonely and sad ray heart turns back to thee. 
 
 So loved 1 so early lost I 
 
 In the autumn of 1850, Mrs. Whitcher returned to 
 Whitestown. Her literary labors had been almost sus- 
 pended during the year just passed, as her time had been 
 occupied in the care of her infant daughter. Few women 
 have discharged with higher appreciation or greater love 
 their maternal duties, than was now shown in her devotion 
 to her child. Her health, which had for some time been 
 delicate, now began more perceptibly to fail, and the symp- 
 
32 BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 toms of the consumption, which for a long time had hung 
 like a threatening shadow over her, now made tlieir pres- 
 ence more apparent. Still she declined to receive medical 
 aid, feeling reluctant to begin a contest where the struggle 
 2:)romised to be long, and the result uncertain. 
 
 It soon became apparent to those who loved her that it 
 was, 
 
 " The little rift within the lute, 
 That by and by should make its music mute 
 And slowly widening, silence all the sound I " 
 
 Prompted by maternal affection, she applied herself to 
 making her child's wardrobe, and, as opportunity offered, 
 resumed her labor on the story of ]\Iary Elmer. 
 
 It had long been her intention to write something in a 
 graver style than anything which she had hitherto offered 
 to the public. Much as she excelled in the comic vein, we 
 think it was not chosen to gratify her own taste or inclina- 
 tion, for in one of her letters written from Elmira, she 
 says, " I am heartily sick of Bedotting and Maguiring, 
 and only wish I could be as well paid for more sensible 
 matter." She would no doubt have found more pleasure in 
 the exercise of a higher and purer taste, but lier inclina- 
 tion was overruled by circumstances. The intense pathos 
 of Mary Ehner may have been heightened by the fact that 
 it was written during a period of physical suffering, but it 
 proves that its author possessed as great power over the 
 patlietic as the risible emotions of the reader, and like the 
 "immortal bard "when she chose to'* come no more to 
 make you laugh," possessed equal ability to present " such 
 solemn scenes as cause the eye to How." 
 
 Like many other humorists, her natural tendency was 
 more to melancholy than to mirth, and wc learn from one 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 33 
 
 who loved her, that her pen which was employed so suc- 
 cessfully for the amusement of others, was often guided 
 by an eye dim with unshed tears. 
 
 Although, like Hood, she had found the public ear 
 more open to melodies than to maladies, with him she felt 
 that '* a life "of mere laughter is like music without its 
 bass, or a picture of vague unmitigated light, while an 
 occasional melancholy is like those rich old glooms of 
 Rembrandt." 
 
 The pathos of Mary Elmer was as easy to her pen as 
 the humor of Spriggins or Bedott ; for her gifts were like 
 song to the bird, or perfume to the flower; and thus, the 
 success of her wTitings does not depend upon her energy, 
 for she was easily discouraged, and always self-distrusting, 
 while her humility kept her always from self-assertion, 
 and often from effort. Thus her life became one of obser- 
 vation, rather than of action ; and to the last her literary 
 productions were cast doubtingly upon the uncertain 
 stream of public favor. 
 
 She never showed any undue devotion to the material 
 and practical, and seemed strangely unconscious of the 
 possession of those talents, which, if united with greater 
 worldly wisdom, might earlier have brought her the 
 grateful reward of fame, as well as those more tang- 
 ible returns which the world counts as the criterion of 
 success. 
 
 That remarkable sagacity with which she appreciated 
 the springs of human passion, and which with such rare 
 perspicuity her writings display, she seldom brought into 
 working use, for she was credulous and unsuspecting in a 
 marked degree. 
 
 The story of Mary Elmer, on which she bestowed her 
 
34: BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION. 
 
 last lltemry labor, was left unfinished. The last letter she 
 ever penned was one which accompanied some chapters 
 of her manuscript to her publisher, and was written only 
 three weeks before her death. From it we make an ex- 
 tract : — 
 
 *'I never sent off a manuscript so unsightly as this. 
 But I can do no better. You will see that it bears evi- 
 dence to the trembling hand and miserable body sustained 
 by opiates. Oh, the horrid stuff! There would never be 
 any danger of my becoming an opium-eater from choice. 
 I hope the compositor will not be utterly confounded. I 
 send three chapters, and the rest will be forthcoming as 
 soon as circumstances will permit. I have been very de- 
 sirous to finish this story, probably the last I shall write. 
 And I trust there will be nothing in it ' which, dying, I 
 
 should wish to blot.' Perhaps Mr. may think the 
 
 style too plain and homely. I have been so anxious to 
 avoid the grandiloquent style of many of our female story 
 writei-s, that I may have gone too far the other way. I 
 have become so entirely disgusted with that sort of com- 
 position applied to the commonest and most trifling sub- 
 jects, as w^ell as to those more important, that I never 
 have patience to get through an article of that descrip- 
 tion." 
 
 Her manuscript has been carefully preserved by jNlr. 
 Whitcher, and it was not until after repeated efforts to qq\ 
 it completed by others had fiiiled, that the present writer 
 attempted the task of "ending," not to say *' finishing" 
 it, not unconscious of the presumption with which the act 
 miglit be regarded by many, for one without literary ex- 
 perience, or even literary ambition, to attempt to add to 
 anything a genius like hers had left incomplete, yet anx- 
 
BIOGRArmCAL INTRODUCTION. 35 
 
 ious to give to usefulness a little tale which seemed quite 
 too good to be lost. 
 
 After sending away her last letter, her health began to 
 fail more rapidly, and her time was devoted to more im- 
 mediate preparation for death. 
 
 Jeremy Taylor's Holy Living and Dying was now her 
 constant companion, as it had been a solace and comfort 
 in hours of health. 
 
 She received with humility the holy communion, and all 
 the consolations which the Church of England has in store 
 for her departing children. ' 
 
 The sun which rose on the fifth anniversary of her 
 bridal day, shed its last rays into the room where she lay 
 clothed in the bridal robes of death. With the solemn ser- 
 vice of the Church she had so much loved, they committed 
 her body to the dust. 
 
 In the rural grave-yard of her native village, in the 
 little enclosure where lie those to whom she was connected 
 by family ties, and beside the sister for whose companion- 
 ship she had so long and fondly yearned, she rests. And 
 who can say but in *' those heavenly habitations where 
 the souls of them that sleep in the Lord Jesus enjoy per- 
 petual felicity," their spirits are united in nearer and purer 
 ties, as in communion with the saints beneath the altar, 
 they join in the solemn anthem, «* How long, O Lord," as 
 in earnest hope they wait the final benediction. 
 
 In accordance with her own humble wishes, her name 
 and age on a little tablet is all that marks her resting- 
 place. But in the hearts of those who loved her as a 
 friend, and admired her as an author, is written a brighter 
 and more enduring word of her virtues than can be traced 
 by the pen of the biographer, or graven in the eloquence 
 of sculptured marble. M* L. W. 
 
WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 
 
WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ♦« They called me blue-eyed Mary, 
 When frinds and fortin smiled, 
 But oh 1 how fortius vary, 
 
 I now am sorrer's child ! " Old Song. 
 
 WAS born in Podunk, a charmin' and sequesterated 
 villidge on the banks of the morantic and meander- 
 in' Mohawk. My father's name was Nathan Rug- 
 gles ; he was an emigranter from Vermount, and 
 he married a Dutch young woman by the name of Vine 
 Hoo-obome, a natyve of Podunk. I was the oldest of ten 
 childern, five boys and five gearls. The boys was Nadab 
 and Abihu, (twins,) Cornelus, Bemas, and Gad. The 
 gearls was Permilly, (that's me,) Mirtilly, Ketury, (that's 
 a Dutch name,) Axy, and Vine. But I was the flower of 
 the family. Pve heern my mother tell that I was a won- 
 derful cretur from the time I was knee high to a hop-toad. 
 Afore I was 10 year old I knowd eny most all the primmer, 
 and I could say them are vasses in't clean from " In 
 Adam's fall," to " Zaccheus he did climb the tree,'' without 
 missin' a word. And when I want but fourteen I knowd 
 by heart, all that are gret long piece of poitry that John 
 Rogers writ jest afore he was burnt to a stake. 
 
 (39) 
 
40 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 
 
 When I was about sixteen our folks sent me to Miss 
 Van Dusen's boardino^-scbool to Scaticoke. She was a 
 cousin of my mother, and whilst I was there besides lair- 
 nin' all monner of 'complishments I took a mazin' notion to 
 readin' and red Rosabelly, and Alviry, and the Childern of 
 the Abby all through. Well, arter stay in' tliere three 
 months I went hum, and at my departer Miss Van Dusen 
 give me the Childern of the Abby, 'cause 'twas my favoryte 
 book and I was her favoryte puj^pil, — tellin' on me to 
 read it cerfully and 'twould improve my taste and under- 
 standin' amazin'ly. 
 
 Well, I returned to the poternal niif, and I tell ye I was 
 a touch above the vulgar, but I'd or'to tell ye how I 
 looked. My hair was of that lovely hue that folks calls red 
 and novils calls auburn. Sometimes I suffered it to flow 
 cerlessly over my alagaster sholders, and sometimes I con- 
 fined It on the tip top of my head with a quill. My face 
 was considerated imminently honsome. My figger was on- 
 common greaceful, and I had a gret deal of dignitude. 
 But more 'n all that, I writ poitry of the first order, and 
 was called the biggest genyus in Podunk. I knowd I was 
 a touch above the vulgar, as I said afore, and so I kept 
 myself putty scerce. I didn't let nun of the fellers come 
 within gunshot of me tho' there want one there but what 
 would a jumped sky high to git me, but I didn't incurridge 
 'em, for I was detairmincd I wouldn't give my afl^ections to 
 nobody that didn't look like Lord Mortimer, him that tlie 
 Childern of the Abby tells about, and nun of the young 
 men in Podunk want no touch to him, for the biggest part 
 on em was amazin' fleshy and he want. Well, a number 
 on 'cm arter a spell plukt up curridge to make up to me. 
 There was Bonypart Bugglns, a risin' farmer, he took arter 
 
WID W SPRIG GINS. 4 1 
 
 me consairnedly. One arternoon I was a sittin' under a 
 tree in the orchard readin' in the Childern of the Abby, 
 and 1 tho't I heern a noise, so I lookt up, and lo and be- 
 hold 'twas Bony part leanin' agin a stump. 
 
 <' Your sarvent," says he. I gin him an all-to-pieces 
 stiiF bow, and went on continuyin' readin', — at last says 
 he, — 
 
 " Miss Euojdes." 
 
 CO 
 
 *'Hold yer tongue," says I. 
 
 ** Ye needn't be so ferce," says he. 
 
 Then 1 riz right up and says I, " What do ye mean by 
 contrudin' yer pesky presence on ray solitary medifications, 
 hay ? If 'twant for disgracin' this ere book I'd heave it at 
 yer head." So he cleared out considerble skeart and never 
 bothered me no more. 
 
 And there was another young man in our town by the 
 name of Yokop Van Snorter, a marchant, that lived nigh 
 by, makin' money and doin' well. There want a gearl in 
 Podunk but what would a had him ony me, and I was the 
 ony one he took a notion tew. But he was as fat as a 
 boss, and more 'n all that he had such a name 'twas enuf 
 to dizgust me. VYell, he was kinder timersome and 
 darsent speak to me, so he writ me a " billydux," (that 
 are's the French for loveletter,) I can't remember edjackly 
 how 'twas supprest, ony I know he writ how't he loved me 
 better'n sour crout or flitters, or anything on airth, and 
 wanted me to marry him right off. Now in all the novils 
 I'd read, nun of the young men didn't make a supposition 
 in sich a stile, so I jist took it and writ on t'other side 
 o'nt, — 
 
 * * You gret unheerd of Dutch lubber ; ye don't know how 
 to tell a young woman the state of yer feeiins, and if ye did 
 
4 2 WW W SPRIG GINS. 
 
 I wouldn't have ye nor touch to, so ye may glv up yer en- 
 devers." I sent the letter over by my little brother Gad, 
 and tliat evenin' we were all a sittin' round the kitchin fire, 
 mother a dippin' candles, Nadab and Abihu twistin' nut- 
 cakes, and Mirtilly a fry in' on 'em, Bemas and Ketury knit- 
 tin', (my mother eddicatcd all her childern jest alike. She 
 didn't aprove of havin' the boys do all the out-door work 
 and the gearls all the housork, so in the arternoon the 
 gearls went out and helpt the boys chop wood and hoe 
 taturs, &c., and in the evenin' the boys cum in and helpt 
 the gearls do up the chores,) but I was a readin, I never 
 had nothin' to do with k^tchinary consairns, for I reckoned 
 and mother reckoned tew, that a young woman that had 
 been to boardin'-school a^d lairnt phizziology, and trigge- 
 ology, and astreology, besides painthi' and monners, 
 shouldn't or'to do no housork, and I never read in no novil 
 of a herowine that washed dishes and fried nutcakes, and 
 so forth. Amandy Malviny Fitzalen didn't do't, and I 
 was detairmlned I wouldn't do't, tho' fixther used to jaw me 
 about it, for he never had no sense of properiety. But I 
 didn't think 'twas any disparagation to resist motlier in sup- 
 perintendin' the childern, for I reckoned 'twas quite interest- 
 in' to teach their young ideas how to fire, as Poke says, 
 and the evenin' I speak on I'd jest ben puttin' Cornelus and 
 Gad, and Axy and Vine, to bed in the trundle-bed, and 
 was beseated readin' in Cecely, (a novil belong! n' to a na- 
 ber of ourn,) when father came in and says he to me, says 
 he, *' Milly," — says I, *' Sir ! " " Come up chomber," 
 says he, *' I want to see ye a minnit." So I shot up my 
 interestin novil with a sythe and follered my force and 
 grumpy lookin' pay rent. When we got up chomber he 
 shot the door and says he, "Milly," — says I, "Sir," 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 43 
 
 saj^s he, *' Yer a darn fool." ** Be, hay," says I, ** what 
 for?" "Why," says he, '* I've been over to Van 
 Snorter's store, and he told me all about that are mean 
 dirty trick you've ben a sarvin' him, with tears in his eyes. 
 If you'd a writ him a decent letter tellin' on him you 
 couldn't marry him, it wouldn't a ben so bad ; but even 
 then you'd a ben a fool, for you'll never git sich another 
 chance, — but to send him sich a sassy, crusty mess of 
 stuff; why you'd or'to be flogged for't. I tell'd him if I 
 was him I never'd speak to ye agin, — but he says he 
 takes arter ye yit, and wants me to perswade ye to have 
 him, and I tell ye ye'd better do't." 
 
 **What!" exclamigated I, "me have York Van 
 Snorter? why, he don't look no^^nore like Lord Mortimer 
 than a back-log does ! You may manure me in the most 
 gloomiest dunjin in Podunk, — you may deny me the en- 
 fuence of the survivin' atmosphere, — you may deprive me 
 of every gratication in life, but you will never conduce me 
 to giv my willin' consent except agin my inclination, to be 
 led to the Hymonian alter by a bein' I can't bestow my 
 hull affections on, so I boseech on ye not to speak of him 
 
 5? 
 
 
 ' AVell, I don't know now," says father says he, 
 
 whether ye mean ye'll have him or not." 
 
 "No, never!" exclamigated I, "I never can be 
 hissen ! " 
 
 "You aint half-witted," says he, "them are plaguy 
 novils you've been a diggin' at's used up what little sense 
 ye had afore, — yer a standin' in yer own light, and I'll 
 let ye know I aint a guayne to have ye cut up any more of 
 yer capers." 
 
 So sayin' he w^ent off and I begun tearin' my hair and la- 
 
44 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 
 
 mentin' my sorrers the wost way. Putty soon Mirtilly and 
 Ketury heern me, and they come up. 
 
 ** Massy sakes ! " says Mirtilly, '* what's to pay ? " 
 
 *' Gracious ! " says Ketury, *' what under the sun ails 
 ye?" 
 
 ** What ails me?" says I. " Ax the ragin' oshun when 
 its flambero-astcd billers rolls hisfh what ails it? Ax the 
 stormy sky when kivered with thunderin' clouds what ails 
 it? but ax not me what ails me, — my woes is incompre- 
 hensible and uncombounded. I am surrounded on all sides 
 with miseries, and attackted on every hand by distractions. 
 A cruel and torranical father thretens me witli his ever- 
 lastin' vengcnce if I don't marry an imadmyrable Dutch 
 josey ! Oh happy Mirtilly ! , Oh unsofisticated Ketury ! 
 ye hant no notion of the sorrers of the most onfortinate of 
 creturs ! " 
 
 " How much she talks like a book," says Ketury. 
 
 *' How much she talks like a fool," says Mirtilly, and 
 off she went to bed. But Ketury was more feelin', and 
 she staid a spell and tried to comfort me. 
 
 **But," says I, "leave me, Oh leave me alone in my 
 desperation, and go and seek * tired natur's sweet restorer.' " 
 So- Ketury went out and putty soon she cum back and 
 brung a gret hunk of candy to riie. 
 
 " Offer me no candy," jackleated I. 
 
 Says she, ** Why you tell'd me to git ye something sweet 
 to the store, and when I tell'd Van Snorter how't it was 
 for you he wouldn't take no pay." 
 
 '* Go back," says I, *« misunderstandin' child, and throw 
 it at his head." So she went, and when she cum into the 
 store she huv it as hard as ever she could right into Van 
 Snorter's face, and made his nose bleed. Onfortinately, 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 45 
 
 father he was in there, tho' she didn't see him, and when 
 she hiav the candy he jumped up and grabbed her afore she 
 had time to get away, cryin' out *' What do ye mean, ye 
 little wretch? " Says she, *' Permilly tell'd me to do it." 
 So father he cum right strait home and into the chomber 
 with a cowhide in his fist, an(J says he, *< You'll sup sorrer, 
 I tell ye, for that are caper of yourn." So sayin' he cum 
 at me, but I jumped over the bed, and afore he could hit 
 me, I got outside the door, and strapt it so 's he couldn't 
 git out, ' — then I ketcht my bunnit and shawl, stuffed the 
 Childern of the Abby in my pocket, went to father's chist 
 and hookt his leather money puss, and was out of the house 
 in a minnit. I see Ketury a cryin' by the gate, and says 
 I, " Go in and tell mother that I've absquandered to the 
 world's eend, and tell her not to have father let out in 3 
 hours, if she vallys my everlastin' peace of mind." So say- 
 in' I huv my arms round Ketury and giv a partin' kiss and 
 then *' like a fair lily surcharged with tears,"* I run 
 acrost the meadys and fields till I cum to a tavern about 
 five miles from Podunk. I axed 'em if I mut lodge tliere, 
 and they said I mought, and says I to the lonlady, " Good 
 dame, give me a department alone by myself, for I desire 
 to ponderate, unseen by vulger eyes, on the heft of misft)r- 
 tins that oppresses me." 
 
 *' What is't ye want?" says the ignorant cretur. 
 
 Says I, ** Giv me a room alone, and fetch me a candle, 
 and sum ink, and sum paper, and a pen. 
 
 So she did, and I couldn't but admire to think how much 
 my sittyation was like Amandy's when she was so druv, 
 and arter collectin' my ideas, I writ the follerin vasses. I 
 reckon their considerble touchin'. 
 
 * Childern of the Abby. 
 
46 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 
 
 Dear me I no cretur ever had 
 
 So many dretful strugi^les — 
 No gearl was ever half so sad, 
 
 As poor rermilly Ruggles. 
 
 The cruel Jlr. Haggles druv 
 
 Away his charmin' dorter, 
 Jest because she couldn't love 
 
 The pesky York Van Snorter. 
 
 I won't commit self-suicide, 
 
 Because it's so unhuman ; 
 But oh ! I wish I had a died 
 
 Afore I was a woman. 
 
 Arter I'd writ this poim, thinks me, — well, what's to be 
 did now? Arter considerin' a spell, I concludid to take 
 the stage in the mornin' and perceed to the town of Hig- 
 gins Patent, where my fjither had a sister livin', married 
 to a Mr. Jorrocks, a forehanded farmer. He was dretful 
 poor when he fust took arter aunt Huldy, and Ijer payrents 
 wouldn't consent to her havin' on him, so they got married 
 unbeknown to nobody but the^justice and sot right off for 
 Higgins Patent. For a spell grandfer Ruggles wouldn't 
 speak to her, but when uncle Jonah begun to be well to do 
 they made all up, and went a visitin' to see each other. 
 So in the mornin' I paid the damage, got into the stage 
 and travilled tew days and tew nights till I arrove to Hig- 
 gins Patent. "When we drove up to aunt Jorrocks's door, 
 the driver he hulloed and out run uncle Jonah rubbin' his 
 eyes, for 'twant but 4 o'clock in the mornin'. Aunt she 
 stuck her head out of the winder to see who'd come, and 
 when slie rccognatcd me she was 'maziii' glad, for Inever'd 
 ben tlicre afore, and I was a gret favoryte of hern. But 
 tliey was dretful astoundered when they see I liadn't no 
 baiTiridire, and when we went in the house I tell'd 'em the 
 hull description of my leavin' hum from beginnin' to eend. 
 
WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 47 
 
 Aunt Huldy said I'd did right, and uncle Jonah said he 
 hoped 'twas all for the best. " And now, my dear rel- 
 atyves," says I, " I want to* keep in a retired state of con- 
 dition, and don't want no livin' cretur but you tew to 
 know I'm here till I can send hum and git my clus,'* (for 
 I hadn't nothin' but the gownd I had on with me, and that 
 was a yeller callcer every day one.) 
 
 But I guess I've writ enuf for a chapter. In my next 
 I'll conform ye what happened to me whilst I was a resider 
 at Higgins Patent. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " And while that charmin' voice I hear, 
 AndAvhilst them lovely eyes I see — 
 Angelic maid, forever dear 
 To my fond bussom shalt thou be." 
 
 Unbeknown. 
 
 RTER breckfust (I didn't eat much — only a few 
 slapjacks — Amandy couldent eat much when she 
 was in distress, no more couldn't I), arter breck- 
 fust I sot down and WTit the follerin' pistle to my 
 father : 
 
 '' Cruil hut reverated fallier — Your onfortinate dorter 
 now takes her pen in hand to conform you that she is to 
 Uncle Jorrocks's, obleejed by your uncumparelled cruil ty 
 to elope from thti hum of her youthood and seek a sylum in 
 a distant section of region. The only thing that supports 
 me in my trials is the consolin' circumflexion that I have 
 
48 WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 
 
 did right in refusin' to unite my fute to a cretur I didn't 
 belove and adore. As I intend to make Higgins Patent 
 my natyve place for a spell, ye needn't suspect to see me 
 to Podunk very soon. And I desire you to send me some 
 money ; and if you ain't as tight as the bark to a tree, 
 you'll send me more'n there was in your old puss when I 
 took it. It didn't much more'n pay the travellin' damage, 
 and I want sum more for I desire to add some additions to 
 my library. Tell my darlin' mother to put up all my 
 wardrobes (clus), in Nadab's gret chist, and send it to 
 me immejuntly ; and arter you've did all I tell ye, ye 
 needn't giv yerself any furder oneasiness consairnin' yer 
 afflicted and mawl-treated but still affectionate and forgivin* 
 dorter, Permilly." 
 
 About a week arter this, (I hadn't got no letter from 
 hum yit, mind ye) I was a settin' in my room where no- 
 body couldent see me, and nobody only uncle and aunt 
 didn't know I was there. Well, I was a settin' by the 
 winder readin' in '' Thaddcus of Warsaw," quite an inter- 
 estin' novll of Aunt Huldy's, when I heern a knock to the 
 front door, so I run into the square room and peeked thro' 
 the curtin to see who 'twas, (for uncle and aunt had rid 
 over to the town of Utica to sell butter and eggs and git 
 sum things), so I peeked thro' the curtin and who sho'd I 
 see standin' there but the ginteelest, tallest, elegantest 
 young man ever I see. So I cut into my compartment and 
 stuck my head all full of mornin' glories that growed by 
 my winder, and then huv my white leno vail kerlessly over 
 my shoulders, and you never see an intcrcstlncr looking 
 beein than I was that minnit ; then I went and opened the 
 door. The minnit the young man see me he throwd up 
 
r-'£\IFl£LDS''- 
 
 Miss Sprig-i^'ins, having: read a sensation novel, grows hysterical, 
 and tears lier hair after the manner of lirst-class heroines. — 
 See page 44. 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 49 
 
 Ills arms with admiration, and says he, *' Ondoubtedly the 
 inchantin' cretur I see is Miss Permilly Ruggles." *' Jest 
 so, that's my name," reiterated I. ** Won't ye come in? " 
 So in he walked, and I sot a cheer for him and he telld me 
 that he'd ben a travellin' for his hehh and stopt a spell in 
 Podunk, and bein acquainted with the postmaster there, 
 (Mr. Smith) he'd heern the hull of my history from him, 
 and he said that the account Mr. Smith had giv him of my 
 cliaracter and appearance, misfortins and pairsecutlons, had 
 made him very much consairned and Interested about me. 
 This surprised me amazinly, fo^I knowd Mr. Smith want 
 no frind of mine when I was in Podunk — use to laff about 
 me, and once I heerd he said I was a born fool. Well, 
 the young man went on to say how't bein' in the post- 
 office the day he left Podunk, my father cum in with a 
 letter he was a guayne to put in the mail to me, and so he 
 telld father how't he was a guayne right thro' Higgins 
 Patent to git hum, and Jie'd carry the letter free-gratis. 
 *' So," says the young man, " I took the letter and here 
 It Is, and I don't know whether to bless or curse the minnit 
 I agreed to be the bearer on't, as it has introduced me into 
 the presence of an angelic cretur that mabby'll disdain me, 
 and so be my ruination." I blushed '« celestrial rosy red," 
 and took the letter. «' Oh," continuyed the charmin' 
 stranger, layin' his hand on his heart, *' perhaps you'll be 
 surprised when I tell you that the fust sight of you has en- 
 tranced and enraptured my sperit. You will be amazed to 
 hear me confess that I, who, an hour ago, had never be- 
 held you, am now your devoted admirer and humble 
 suitor." So sayin', he fell down on his knees before me 
 and grabbed hold of my hand. 
 
 *' You're mistaken, young man," says I, **in thinkin' 
 5 
 
50 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 
 
 I'd be astonished to see ye so besmitten at fust sight. I've 
 read of sich things time and agin, but as you're a stranger 
 to me it would be onprudent in me to purmit ye to pay 
 your devours to me. Howsomever, I won't disencourage 
 ye entirely, for your mouner of declarin' the state of yer 
 feelin's has possessed me considerable in yer favor, and I'm 
 purty sartin from your appearance you ain't no country 
 bushwhacker ; so I beseech on ye to rise." 
 
 <' Fairest of created creturs," says he, "I cannot rise 
 till you promise to reserve a leetle corner in your heart for 
 the despairin' Philander." 
 
 Thinks me, what a beautiful name he's got. '' Git up, 
 Philander," exclamigated I, '* the promise is yourn." So 
 he riz, and then says he, '' Seraphic gearl ! grant me one 
 of the flowers tjiat decorate your head, to gaze on when 
 alone." So I gin him a momin' glory, and arter kissin' 
 my lilly hand he went away syin'. As he was steppin' 
 out, says I, '' Philander, be you sure your affection won't 
 never prove unconstant ? " 
 
 Says he, '* jest as sure as the vast furmament of sun, 
 moon, and stars moves round this terrestrious globe I 
 never will be false." So I shot the door and went up 
 chomber to look out of the winder at him as long as I 
 could see him, and when he got over the hill t'other side 
 of the house he hov away the posy I giv him and he begun 
 to lafF as if he'd go off". At fust I was surprised to see 
 him laflSn' so consairnedly when he seemed to feel so bad 
 at leavin' on me. So I watched him till he got out of 
 sight, and he kept a laffin', and every little while lie'd kick 
 up his foot as if he was tickled, and finally I concluded he'd 
 got a highstcric fit brung on by his overpowerin' fcelins. 
 Arter he'd made his disappearance I sot down to read 
 
WIDOW SPRTGGmS. 51 
 
 father's letter. IVe got the letter yet, and this ere's the 
 copy on't. 
 
 "Good for nothin^ Dorter Milly : — You're mistaken 
 if you think I'll giv myself any oneasiness about ye. I'm 
 darn glad you've cleared out. To be sure I'd a ben willin' 
 to keep ye to hum and sho'd a did well by ye if ye'd a had 
 common sense, and acted as ye'd or' to ; but you know 
 you've giv me more trouble for the last seven year than 
 you're woth — you haint airnt the salt to your porridge — 
 and more'n all that you'd begun to spile Ketur}^, and put 
 yer silly notions into her head. I tell ye agin, I'm glad to 
 be rid on ye, and hope ye'll stay to Higgins Patent till ye 
 can make up yer mind to act decent. Neighbor Cogsdill's 
 Obadiah's guayne west next week, and hell carry ye yer 
 chist of duds. I'll send ye a leetle money, though you 
 don't desarve a cent seein' ye hookt my puss^ and it'll be 
 the last ye'll git from me, for I'm peskily druv, and I've got 
 children enufF to hum to support, without takin' care of 
 them that runs away. Nor I aint a guayne to let ye be a 
 burden on yer uncle nyther — ye've got to get yer own 
 livin', and if I hear of yer idlin' away yer time I'll go and 
 fetch ye hum and put ye in the factry to work. Yer 
 mammy's sick — your g^n' off has brung her clean down, 
 for ugly as ye be ye'r her darlin, but sen she heerd yer to 
 Higgins Patent she feels better — she telld me to tell sister 
 Jorrocks to take good care on ye, and I hope she will take 
 care on ye and train ye up and make ye stand round. 
 
 Yer daddy, 
 
 Nadab Ruggles." 
 
 As soon as Ide red this onfeelin' communication I begun 
 bemoanin' my sorrers consairnedly. *' O ! wretched me !" 
 jackleated I, '* reduced to the horrid alternatyve of workin' 
 for a livin' here or guayne into a factry to Podunk 1 I'm 
 
52 WIDOW SPRIG oms. 
 
 pairsecuted and miserable, and nothln* pervents my spirits 
 from sinkin' Into intire dispair in this tiyin' hour except the 
 cheerin' idee of my greaceful Philander." I must a looked 
 very interestin' settin' there leanin'on my elbow, syin' and 
 groanin', my eyes swimmin' in tears, and father's cruil 
 pistle lyin' afore me. So I took the Childern of the Abby 
 to comfert myself by readin' a spell, and turned to the 5th 
 chapter cause there's a discrlption in 't of Lord Mortimer 
 that's eny most ezackly like Philander, I remember it now 
 word for word, and though my Amandy Malviny Spriggins 
 has got the book now there aint no need of my lookln' In't, 
 for to describe Lord Mortimer, it says, 
 
 '« He was now in the glowin' prime of life — his person 
 was strlkinly eloquant, and his mouners insinniatinly 
 pleasin' — seducin' sweetness dwelt in his smile, and his 
 expressyve eyes could sparkle with contelllgence, or beam 
 with sensibility, and the harmony of his voice giv a charm 
 to tflfe^elquatlon of his language which seldom or never 
 failed of bein' unresistible." 
 
 Now that's jest the way Philander lookt. He was very 
 tall, and the slimmest creetur I ever did see ; his eyes was 
 as black as two coals, and good grievous ! how expressyve ; 
 his hair was black tew — black and shiny as a crow's tail ; 
 and he had gret-big whiskers ; on the hull he was the fac- 
 blnatincst beein -I ever beheld. Be sure Pd a ben gladder 
 if he'd a happened to seen me and fell in love with me 
 without knowin' who I was ; 'twould a ben more moran- 
 tic. Ye know Lord jNIortimer couldn't find out for ever 
 so long who Amandy was, and he was eny most puzzled 
 to pieces. But then if he did know all about me I didn't 
 know nothin abt)ut him, who he was, nor where he cum 
 from : so I had jest as much unsairtinty and disquietude 
 
WW W SPRIG GINS. 5 3 
 
 consalrnin him as Lord Mortimer had consairnin' Amandy, 
 and I tell ye 'twas quite interestin' to be so sittyated. 
 
 Jest then Aunt Huldy and Uncle Jonah cum hum, and 
 I run down stairs and showed 'em father's letter. Arter 
 they'd red it, says aunt says she, 
 
 * ' The consairned old hog ! he's mistaken if he thinks 
 I'm a guayne to let ye work for a livin' — so he may just 
 hang up his fiddle — and ye needn't be nun consairned 
 about-it ; ye shan't work nor touch tew." 
 
 *' Oh my darlin' relatyve," says I, flingln' my arms 
 round her and kissin' "on her, '* yer extrornary kindness in 
 this gret and sad emairgency will never be blotterated from 
 my rememberation.* But I shan't be unindustrious, for 
 the idee of bein' manured in a factry as father thretens, Is 
 shockin' to me, so I'll retire to my compartment and 
 ponderate for a spell, and then cum and tell -ye the result 
 of my circumflexions. " 
 
 So I went into my chomber and was a wonderin' what 
 Amandy would a did in sich a dilamby — when all of a 
 sudding I happened to think how't when she had so much 
 trouble with Lord Mortimer's father she went off to Scot- 
 land and kept school, and thinks me, I'll keep school tew. 
 So I went into the kitching and sot down betooxt uncle 
 and aunt, and I says to 'em, says I, '* Dear frinds — re- 
 duced as I be to the dretful alternatyve of doing suthing 
 for a llvin' or beein' shot up In a horrid dunjin, I've con- 
 cluded what occerpatlon I'd folly." 
 
 *« What is't?" says they. 
 
 I continued, '' What can be more Interestin' and dlgni- 
 fyin' to a lovely young creetur in my distressin' circum- 
 stances than to impart construction to the risin' gineratlon 
 
 * ChUdern of the Abby. 
 5* 
 
54 WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 
 
 and devil-up the youthful understandin'? so I'm detalr- 
 mined to do it." 
 
 ** Well, I'll be darned if I know now what ye mean," 
 says Uncle Jonah. 
 
 '*You gret coot you," says Aunt Huldy says she — 
 *' don't ye know nothin' ? she means she'll teach a siminary ; 
 and now that's jest what Higgins Patent needs to make it 
 a rael ginteel place." 
 
 ** Yes," says uncle, *' and Permilly's the very one to 
 do it, for any body that knows so many big words as she 
 does, ort-to keep a siminary — and I'll see about it right 
 off." 
 
 Arter tea I retired to my chomber. 'Twas a despot 
 charmin' moonshiny evenin' and I sot down by the winder, 
 and the beauty of the prospect, and the stars, and the 
 moonshine, and the gentle breezes that fanned my cheek, 
 and the quiosity of natur, and the idee of my own individ- 
 dyal sorrers begun to operate so on my immaggination that 
 I was overpowered with mawlancholy, and so I sung 
 "blue-eyed Mary," (I was a very purty singer — I be 
 yit,) and jest as I'd got done that afFectin' line where it 
 says, 
 
 " I now am sorrer's child," 
 
 I heern somebody heave a sythe ; so I looked out of the 
 winder, and lo and behold 'twas Philander standin' about 
 three feet from the winder. 
 
 '* Enchantin' beein ! " says he, «« yer music has eny most 
 annilliated me ! enrapurin' tones ! ravishin' strains ! " 
 
 *' Oh Jemmeni ! " says I, '* I'm sure I shall faint away. 
 I'm so flustered seein' you here ; if you'd only gone off 
 without syin' or sayiu' nothin' 'twould a ben jest like Lord 
 
WIDOW SPRIGGINS. ' 55 
 
 Mortimer's seem' Amandy the fust time, and heariri' of her 
 sbg unbeknown to her." 
 
 " Oh ! " says he, " if his surprise and deh'ght had a ben 
 as i^ret as mine he couldent a went off without some kind 
 of exclamigatlon, O Miss Ruggles, I'm a lingerin' round 
 here to bask in the sunshine of your presence, and here's 
 the dear flower you givnae — I've gazed on It ever sen." 
 
 '< Massy ! " says I, "I see ye heave it away when ye 
 got along a-piece,*and I should like to know what made 
 ye kick up and laff so. I reckoned ye'd got the high- 
 s^terlcs." 
 
 '* Not so," says he, ** 'twas a conniption-fit — I'm sub- 
 ject to 'em arter beein' overcome as I was when I fust see 
 you — when I recovered I returne'd and pickt up this 
 flower." 
 
 Says I, ** It looks as fresh as if you'd jest pickt It off this 
 ere vine." 
 
 ** I've kept it fresh," says he, ** with my tears while it 
 was stickin' in the buttonhole nighest my heart." 
 
 "I entreat you to depart and leave me," says I; 
 Amandy used to very often send Lord Mortimer off. 
 
 " Sweetest of maidens ! " says Philander says he, *' I 
 obey your high bequest." So sayin' he vanished and dis- 
 appeared, and I took my pencil and paper and writ the 
 follerin' '* stanzys by moonlight." 
 
 lu ray distractin' sittyation, 
 
 Obleejed from hum to wander, 
 I han't but jest one consolation, 
 
 And that's my dear Philander. 
 
 I never saw so sweet a swain, 
 
 So faithful and so tender — 
 So full of sythes, and groans, and pain. 
 
 As my own dear Philander. 
 
56 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 
 
 And I'm detairrnined while 1 live, 
 
 Though father tries to hender — 
 My heart and hand to nun I'll give 
 
 But jest my dear Philander. 
 
 If mother cried and father swore, 
 
 And other folks should slander ; 
 If even the Dragon stood in the door 
 
 I'd stick to my Philander. 
 
 Ain't that touchin' ? Arter I'd writ it I went to bed. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 As I walked out one evening fair. 
 For to view the fields and take the air, 
 I heerd a damsel syin' say, 
 * The youth I love is a guayne away.' " 
 
 Michigan Minstrel. 
 
 EXT mornin' whilst we was eatin' breckfnst, Uncle 
 Jonah he says to me, says he, " Permllly." 
 Says I "hay?" 
 
 Says he, *' I went all round last night a glttln' 
 scholars for you and everybody was astonished when I 
 tell'd 'em about ye, for nobody didn't know you was here, 
 and Missis Peabody, and Missis Dickens, and Missis Jones, 
 and Missis Doty, and Missis Higgins, (if she gits done 
 making soap In time) and their hut^bands, is a coming here 
 this arternoon to see ye." 
 
 ** Oh dear ! " says I, '' I wish ye hadn't a went so soon 
 for my chist han't cum, and I han't nothin' to put on." 
 
WIDOW SFEIGGIiXS. 57 
 
 <*Well," says he, *' it can't be helpt now — them are 
 wimmin don't want to send their dorters to school to a 
 person they han't seen, so you must jest fix up the best 
 way you can, and do yer purtiest." 
 
 *' Well," says I, *' but where's my simlnary to be 
 loquated ? " 
 
 *' In deacon Peabody's chomber," says he, *' he's got a 
 master gret room, and we'll jest put some benches into 't, 
 and ittle be jest the thing ; and you must write an adver- 
 tysement, and I'll stick it up in Doty's bar-room." So 
 arter breckfust I went into my room and writ the follerin' 
 advertysement : 
 
 ** Miss Ruggles, racently from Podunk, bein' obligated 
 by unrecountable misfortins to lobsquander from the hum 
 of her childhood, and desirin' to devairt her mawlancolly 
 mind sumhow — would conform the inhabiters of Higglns 
 Patent, and its civinity, that she has resolved to instruct a 
 siminary of young wimmin, or shemales, from six years 
 old along up. Miss R. would insure the public of her 
 complete comptitude to undertake this undertakin', and 
 han't no doubt she'll giv gineral satisfication. Besides 
 understandin' all the branches that's taught in any simlnary 
 she will larin 'em to paint on velvet, and to be perlite, and 
 she don't want nobody to think she's a going to do it for 
 money, for she dispises remoneyration, and only jest wants 
 to teach to pervent herself from sinkin' in despair. She 
 caliates to begin on Monday the 15th of June." 
 
 I hadn't more'n got it writ afore I heerd a racket, and I 
 lookt out of the winder, and lo and behold, 'twas Obadiah 
 Coggsdil — thunderin' along with a waggin load of tin 
 pans and lanterns, &c., and as much as forty folks arter 
 him — for tin pedlars didn't cum to Higgins Patent often 
 
58 WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 
 
 and when they did cum the folks made a gineral time on't. 
 He stopt afore uncle Jorrockses, and all the people gath- 
 ered round to egzamin' his ,^tufF, and he was so bizzy 
 praisin' of 'em up that I begun to be afeard he'd forgot my 
 chist. Byme by says one on 'em, 
 
 ** What ye got in this gret box?" 
 
 Says Obadlah says he, " That are's a chist of clus old 
 Ruggleses folks sent out to their Milly ; she run off with- 
 out takin' anything with her, and I wouldn't .a brung the 
 plaguy thing if I hadn't a ben a frind of the old man. I 
 tell'd 'em if I was them I wouldn't send the slut nothin', 
 for she don't desarve to be treated no how." 
 
 You never see a madder creetur than I Avas that minnit 
 — for there was some of the fust folks in the village 
 standin' there, and says one on 'em to another one, 
 
 ** Why, Squire Jones, this must be the same young 
 woman that's a guayne to teach the siminary." 
 
 M Sure enufF, deacon ; " says he, *' and I say we'd better 
 make the feller tell all about her, for he seems to know — 
 what do you think about It, Dr. Davis? " 
 
 *' Why," says he, " I think we'd or't to find out the 
 hull, for I'm sure I don't want to send my dorter to school 
 to a person that ain't respectable, if, she's ever so accom- 
 plished." 
 
 <' No more don't I," says Squire Jones — "nor I 
 nyther," says all the rest. 
 
 I tell ye I couldn't hold in no longer ; so I stuck my 
 head out of the winder, and says I, *' Misters!" They 
 all lookt up, and when they see me they was bethunder- 
 struck ; and I must a lookt very strikin' — had a gret big 
 lalock stuck in my head, and my pen that I'd ben a writia' 
 with in my hand, and I streched out the hand that had the 
 
WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 59 
 
 pen In, and laid t'other on my heart, and was jest a guayne 
 to begin when Obadlah he see me and says he, 
 
 ** Golly ! Miss Ruggles, is that you? well, I've fetched 
 yer old chlst " — 
 
 What else he signed to say I don't know, for Dr. Davis 
 took holt on him and shook him and says he, 
 
 ** Stop yer yaw-hawin ; don't ye see the lady's guayne 
 to speak." 
 
 So he stopt and I begun agin, and addrested 'em as 
 follers : *< Gentlemen — as ye don't know nothin' con- 
 sairnin' me only what you've heern from this ere ignorant 
 creetur, I spose you mi^st intertain straunge idees about 
 me ; but If you knowd what I've underwent to hum — If 
 you knowd my afflictions and mawltreatment, you wouldn't 
 blame me nun for lobsquanderln', nor ye- wouldn't llstin a 
 minnit to the agrogious disrepresentatlons this vilHng pro- 
 mulgates, and if you'll call on me this arternoon I'll tell 
 ye the hull of my history from eend to eend." 
 
 So they convairsed together a spell and then Dr. Davis 
 he stept out from the middle on 'em, and says he, 
 
 *' We'll do ourselves the honor of callino^ on Miss Rus:- 
 gles this arternoon." 
 
 So say in' he hysted his hat and made a low bow, and I 
 made a curchy, and the men they went hum, but I ob- 
 salrved Dr. Davis look back at me In admireation, and I 
 knowd he was besmitten at fust sight ; but thinks me, it 
 won't do to incurrldge him, for my affections is unrecover- 
 ably gin to another ; (Dr. Davis was a widdyer, a very 
 nice, smart man — very much set by — and an oncommon 
 good physicianer too.) Well, Uncle Jonah he went out 
 and brung in my chlst, and then I read my advertysement 
 to him and his wife, and they said 'twas fust rate, and uncle 
 
60 WIDOW SmiGGINS. 
 
 he telld me to write four or five on 'em to stick up in the 
 towns round there. So I did — and when I'd got 'em writ 
 I reckoned twas time to habillate myself for the company 
 that was a comin' to see me, so I onlocked my chist, and 
 took out a white dimity with a long short with a blue rib- 
 bin' round the botton on't, and put it on, and tied a. red 
 sash round my waist ; then I took and tied a yaller 
 ribbin round my head and stuck a number of mornin' 
 glories in it ; then I huv a pink silk long shawl round my 
 neck, and my twilight was completed. So you see I didn't 
 depart from the elegant simplicity always conspicious in 
 my dress. Arter dinner I went and sot down in the 
 square room and purty soon I heerd a master loud talkin' 
 
 — so I looked out, and 'twas Dickens, and Jones, and 
 Peabody, and Doty, and their wives, and Dr. Davis, a 
 comin' up the hill ; so I fixed myself in a reclinin' poster, 
 and took the Childern of the Abby and begun readin'. 
 Purty soon they knockt, and Aunt Huldy she hollered, 
 ** Walk in " — so in they all cum, and aunt she introduced 
 us, and the gentlemen made bows, and the ladies and me, 
 we made curchys to one another, and we all said we 
 hoped for better acquaintence. Arter talkin' about the 
 weather a spell, says Missis Peabod}^ says she, 
 
 ** So you're a guayne to set up siminary, hay?" 
 *' I sign' to," says I, '* If I can git patternage." 
 Says Missis Dickens says she, *' we've all agreed to send 
 our dorters to ye, but we've heern ruther an onfavorable 
 account on ye from a tin pedlar from 3'our place." 
 
 Says Deacon Peabody says he, "my wife and I we thot" 
 
 — says Missis Peabody, interruptin' of him — '* I telld 
 Mr. Peabody that seein' you was a guayne to teach in our 
 chomber if you was raly sich an obstropelous young 
 
win W SPRIG GINS. 6 1 
 
 woman as the pedlar tell'd for — 'twould bring reproach on 
 our house, and Mr. Peabody's ben deacon risin' 20 year, 
 and has always been lookt up to by the hull town, so says 
 I, Deacon, I guess we'll go and larn the truth on't." 
 
 Says Deacon Peabody says he, " I says to Missis Pea- 
 body, says I, it looks kinder suspicious." 
 
 *' No, you didn't," says she, *' 'twas me said it to you — 
 says I, Deacon, says I, it seems to me it looks kinder sus- 
 picious for a young woman to come here and keep herself so 
 scerce for more'n a week. I reckon we'd or't to know more 
 about her afore we giv her our chomber to teach in." So 
 they kept on continuyin' talkin' for ever so long, and at last 
 says Dr. Davis says he, 
 
 «' We cum for the purpose of hearin' Miss Ruggleses 
 explanigation, and if the ladies can cum to a ceesation for 
 a spell, we'll listen to her." 
 
 So I with my eyes cast down — my face diffused with 
 blushes — with a mournful sythe, begun : 
 
 ** My Friends : — My history is uncomboundably mis- 
 fortinate. I concurred the displeasure of a cruel and tor- 
 ranical ftither, by bein' unwillin' to unite my destination 
 with a creetur I couldn't belove, for I couldn't experience 
 for him the uncontrolable affection that is desirable to ren- 
 der the mattermonial state agreeable, and I'd cum to a 
 detairmination not to have nobody that want as pleasin' 
 and elegant as Lord Mortimer, the young man this ere 
 charmin' book tells about, (here I took and kist the Chil- 
 dern of the Abby,) and he want no more like him than a 
 punkin's like a potater, and you will sairtinly compatigate 
 my sorrers when I conform you that my unfeelin' parent 
 even thretened to confound me In a gloomy dungin if I 
 6 
 
62 WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 
 
 didn't obey his onreasonable command ; and who, I ax, 
 wouldn't, when circumstances arrove to sich a pitch — who 
 wouldn't, if she'd the least jot of sensibility — who 
 wouldn't elop from the paternal ruff, and seek a sylum In 
 a distant land? Alas !" says I, raisin' my eyes svvimmin' 
 in tears, and layin' my hand on my bustin' heart — " I 
 lobsquandered to this place, hopin' to spend my time in 
 unbeknown sequestration — - intendin' to wander in these 
 inspirin' woods, givin' ritteration to my woes in poetry — 
 for I write poetry. But even here I couldn't be let alone, 
 for I've jist received from my father a pistle charged with a 
 mandrake to make me go to work Immejuntly, or else he'll 
 remander me back to that dretful dunjin I've jest escaped ; 
 and as I don't desire to employ my fair hands in wroughtin' 
 at salrvyle labor, I thought, seein' I was intlrely quallfi- 
 cient, I'd teach a simminary." 
 
 All the while I was makin' this speech ye never see a 
 surprlsder lookln' set of folks than them I was addressin' 
 
 — and for a spell arter I'd done there wan't a word spoke 
 
 — and Dr. Davis he seemed to be wonderfully affected, 
 for he turned his face round and lookt out the winder all 
 the time. At last says Deacon Peabody says he, 
 
 ** Well, I never heerd sich a master sight of crooked 
 words in my day. I rather guess . my dorter han't no 
 casion to lairn sich stuff." I s'pose Missis Peabody was a 
 waitin' to see what opinion the deacon would ixpress so 's 
 to have hern conterary to It, for she broke right in and 
 says she, 
 
 *' I ruther guess, mister Deacon Peabody, ittle be as I 
 say. My Mirandy shall go to this ere young woman's 
 school, for I never heerd nobody use eleganter language 
 in my life, so you may shet yer head." 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. G3 
 
 I tell ye the deacon did sliet up his head and lookt as 
 if he wished he hadn't opened it. As soon as Missis Pea- 
 body ixprest her mind the rest of the wimmin up and 
 agreed wif/h her, and it was purty ivident that she was the 
 rulin' womarn in HIgglns Patent. They all on 'em said 
 they'd patternise me, and the men they lookt purty grumpy, 
 but they darsent say a word. 
 
 Arter a spell, says Deacon P. says he, <* I guess we'd 
 better be goin'." 
 
 '' Well, I guess I ain't a guayne to be in no hurry," 
 says his wife, ** you may go as soon as you please, tho'." 
 
 *' So may you," says Missis Dickens to her husband. 
 
 *< So may you," says Missis Doty to hern. 
 
 ** So may you," says Missis Jones to the squire, and so 
 the men folks went off, and the wimmin stayed. *' Now 
 do take off yer things and stay to tea," says Aunt Huldy, 
 
 *' Well, I didn't cum to stay," says Missis Peabody. 
 
 *' Nor I nyther," says Missis Dickens. 
 
 ** Me nyther," says Missis Jones. 
 
 *« No more didn't I," says Missis Doty. 
 
 " But I don't know but Pll stay," says Missis Peabody. 
 
 ** Well, I guess I will," says all the others. 
 
 So they took off their things, and purty soon every one 
 on 'em hawled out th^ir nittin' work, and I tell ye, they 
 want nun on 'em slow to talk — but I can't spend time to 
 tell about their visit. In the evenin' arter they'd all gone, 
 I went out to take a walk, and as I went by the housen 
 everybody cum to the doors and winders to look at me, 
 and when I past by Dr. Davises office I see him a peekin' 
 out, and I pitied him amazinly, for I see he was despotly 
 took with me — and thinks me, I'd ort to let him know 
 right off that his case is hopeless. So I went into the 
 
64 WIDOW SFEIGGINS. 
 
 woods and took my pencil and paper and writ the follerin' 
 billet : 
 
 " Respectable Doctor: — It is with compunctious distress 
 that I conform j^ou I never can be yourn — my afiections is 
 gin. incondubitably gin to another — Tm plighted to Philan- 
 der — try to forgit me I beseech on ye — may that peace 
 and happiness you so truly desairve to possess be yourn — 
 and may they never agin meet with sich conterruptions as 
 they have received from the unable but pittyin'* 
 
 "Permilly Ruggles." 
 
 When I'd writ it I went and huv it into his office winder, 
 and then I went back into the woods to ponderate. So I 
 sot down on a log under a tree, and whilst I was a think- 
 in' I heerd sumbody sythe, and I lookt round and, lo and 
 behold, 'twas Philander leanin' agin a tree with his honker- 
 cher up to his eyes. So I goes up to him and says I, 
 takin' hold of his hand, " Philander, why so mawlan- 
 colly?" 
 
 "Alas!" says he, " lovliest of created bein's, I must 
 
 leave you." 
 
 " Leave me ! " says I, ** I shall sairtin faint away ; do 
 ketch me ! " So he led me to a log, and I sot down, and 
 says h^ " Compose yerself, my anngel." 
 
 Arter a spell says I, " I've composed myself, now per- 
 ceed." 
 
 And says he, '' I'm obleejed to depart." 
 
 And says I, *' Don't for massy's sake tell me where yer 
 a o-uayne, — for 'twont be half so interestm' as 'twill to be 
 in onsairtinty consairnin ye." 
 
 * Cbildern of the Abby, chap. 17. 
 
WW W SPRIG GINS. G 5 
 
 •'Well then," says he, *'let me jest tell ye we must 
 part for a number of months, — perhaps a year, — and oh ! 
 my 'charmer ! can you remember me ? " 
 
 *' Gracious!" jackleated I, "don't ye know yer Per- 
 milly's heart is oncapable of bein' faithless?" 
 
 "I can't doubt it," says he, " but it's enufF to split my 
 heart, — it's like cuttin' me into inch pieces to bid ye fare- 
 well ! but it must be so."- So he prest me to his bussoin 
 and went groanin' oif ; but afore he'd got fur I happened 
 to think and says I, '' Stop a minnit, Philander, don't ye 
 know when Lord Mortimer went away he gin Amandy his 
 picter, and I want yourn." 
 
 *' Alas ! " says he, '* I han't nun ; but I can make one 
 in a minnit." So he took a piece of paper out of his 
 pocket, and took my pencil and drawd a head on't and gin 
 it to me. 
 
 *'Why," says I, "that don't look nun like you." 
 
 **Yes, it does," says he, "it's exact, — you'll see by 
 daylight." So I took it, and then arter takin' anotlier 
 farewell he departed, and I sunk down on the log over- 
 powered. But then I was comforted in thinkin' how much 
 our partin' was like Lord Mortimer's and Amandy's — so 
 sudding — and how much they underwent when they was 
 apart, and how it did seem as if they never would meet 
 agin ; and thinks me, mabby ittle be jest so with us, — no 
 knowin' — but any how it's to be expected. PU take on 
 while he's gone, — so arter sheddin' a cropious flood of 
 tears, I writ the follerin stanzys : 
 
 He's gone, I'm Bure I don't know where, 
 
 Nor when he'll come agin ; 
 And there's no tellin' what dispair 
 My droopin' heart is in I 
 6* 
 
GQ WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 
 
 And I dear me aus I when we're apart 
 
 If be forgits Permilly, 
 'Twill sairtin break her lovin' heart, 
 
 And make her brain grow chilly. 
 
 Murder I can he be false to me f 
 
 I'd kill me if he should — 
 But no I I guess he'll constant be, 
 
 Because he vowed he would. 
 
 But goody gracious 1 what shall I 
 
 Do when he's gone away ? 
 On this ere log I'll sit and cry, 
 
 And sythe and groan I say. 
 
 When rd got this poitry writ the moon was a shinin', 
 and I reckoned it must be purty late, so I went hum, and 
 when I went by Dr. Davises office I heerd him a talkin' 
 and laffin consairnedly with sumbody that sounded jest 
 like Philander, — but I'd no idee 'twas Philander — for he 
 felt too distresst to laff, and I reckoned the doctor hadn't 
 found my billet yet, for if he had he couldn't a felt so 
 cherful. 
 
 Arter this there want nothin' worth relatin' took place 
 in several days till I begun my school, — only I writ the 
 follerin' epigrannj^ one night whilst I was a gazin' on the 
 minnytiire of my absent Philander : 
 
 He feared that I'd forget him quite, 
 As soon as he got out of sight — 
 
 He wouldn't think me so vile 
 If he should see-me ev'ry night 
 By moonshine or by candle light, 
 
 A lookin' at his profyle. 
 
WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 67 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " 'Tis eddycation forms the common mind, 
 Jest as the twig is bent the tree's inclined." 
 
 English Reader. 
 
 S soon as Aurory had ^opened the porticos of the 
 horizon, the fair Permilly ariz and arranged her 
 attire — for 'twas the momentuous mornin' that 
 her siminary was guayne to begin. I put on a 
 yaller streeked open gownd with a flounce round it, and a 
 long green sash round my waist, and a blue crape turbin 
 on my head, with one long black ostridge feather stuck in 
 it, then I put my pink silk long shawl round my neck, 
 and then condescended down into the breckfust room. 
 
 Arter breckfust Uncle Jonah he gin me his watch, say in' 
 I'd need a time-piece in school. 'Twas an extrornary gret 
 silver Avatch — don't see no sich big watches now-days. 
 So I tied it to a red ribbin and hung it round my neck, 
 and 'twas so big I couldn't stuff it under my ^ash, so I let 
 it hang outside. Bein' all ready for a start I happened to 
 think how't I or'to carry Philander's picter with me all 
 the time, and what to do I dident know, for I was afeard 
 'twould get rubbed out. So I went to Uncle Jonah and 
 axed him if he hadn't sum kind of a small flat box he 
 could lend me (didn't tell him what I wanted on't — 
 hadn't said a w^ord to him nor Aunt Huldy about Philan- 
 der). So he went to his chist and bawled out a tin to- 
 
6S WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 
 
 baccer box with a snap to It and axed me if 'twould do. 
 **That are's the very thing." So I put the picter in't, 
 and jammed it under my sash, and took my parrysol and 
 set out for school, and as I went bythe housen 'twas curus 
 to see the folks peekin' out and exclaimin', *' There goes 
 the new school-marm. Did you ever ! " and sich like. 
 
 Well, I cum to the deacon's and Missis Peabody she 
 cum to the door and showed me the way into the school- 
 room, and you never heerd sich a racket as there was 
 there afore I went in, but as soon as they see me they 
 was as still as mice. There was about thirty gearls there, 
 and a number cum in arter I did, so't I had forty -seven in 
 the hull, and sum on 'em was purty big; so I made the 
 big ones set on one side and the leetle.ones on 'tother side, 
 and arter I'd got 'em all arranged, says I, *'Siminary's 
 beo^un : " and then 1 made 'em read round in the Enolish 
 Reader. Arier they'd read, I axed 'em if they'd ever sy- 
 phered, and they all said '* No." So I tell'd 'em to take 
 their slates, and I was surprised to find out that more'n 
 half on 'em couldn't make figgers — so 1 tell'd 'em to take 
 the rethmetic and copy 'em out on't. 
 
 "Now," says I, *' make one side of yer slates jest as 
 full of figgers as ittle hold." So they did ; and then says 
 Mirandy PeUbody says she, " What shall we do next?" 
 
 " Don't ye know nothin'?" says I, *' make t'other side 
 full." So they did : and then says Mirandy, '^ What next ? " 
 
 "Rub 'em out," says I, " and put up yer slates ; ye've 
 syphered enufF for one day ; the big ones may go out 
 whilst I hear the little ones spell," (for spellin' I always 
 tho't was the most importinate part of eddycation :) so I 
 made the little gearls stand up in a row, and I took a spell- 
 in' book in one hand and a switch in t'other, and says I, 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 69 
 
 " Xow the fust one that misses shall be whipt .and go to the 
 foot.'* 
 
 *' Well," says Drusilly Doty, says she, ** what will be 
 did to me if I miss? " (she was to the foot.) 
 
 " Nun of yer sarce," says I. Well the fust time round 
 they all spelt right but Phllandy Dickens, and I did as I 
 said I would to her. Next time round I put out '* grub," 
 to Hepsy Hawkins ; she was to the head, and says she, 
 i i g-r-w-eb , grub . " 
 
 ** There aint no sich letter as * eb,' " says I, " go down 
 to the foot." So she started and run as fast as ever she 
 could so's I couldn't git a chance to whip her. ** Now, 
 Hepsy Hawkins," says I, "to pay for that are trick of 
 your'n you shall always be in a class by yerself." 
 
 *<Good!" says §he, ** then I shall always be at the 
 head." 
 
 «< Go long and set on the floor under the table," says I. 
 So she went and then I put it out to Bricy Stokes and she 
 spelt it right. *' Now," says I, *' what's the meaning 
 on't?" Bricy couldn't tell, nor nun of the rest on 'em. 
 So says I, "What eats up the cabbages? " 
 
 '« Why, folks," says Eitty Rickets. 
 
 '* Well," says I, **what eats 'em up when they're 
 growin' in the garding ? " 
 
 Says she, " The critters gits in and eat 'em sura- 
 times." 
 
 *' Don't ye know nothin'?" says I, '' why worms eats 
 'em and worms is grubs." 
 
 "Now," says Melissy Peabody, "I know what for 
 father says every day how't we're all worms — it's cause 
 we eat sich a master sight of cabbages." 
 
 "Set down," says I, "everyone on ye ; ye talk so 
 
70 WIDOW SrRIGGINS. 
 
 much there an't no sich thing as hearin' on ye spell." 
 •Alter a spell I tell'd 'em they might go out and send the 
 big ones in. So they run hollerin' and yellin' and tearin' 
 down stairs, and it did seem as if the hull house would 
 cum down. Thinks me, I'll fix 'em for that. Purty soon 
 Hepsy Haw^kins — she't was under the table — says to 
 me : 
 
 *' Miss Ruggles, may tent I go out?" 
 
 " No, ye maytent/' says I. 
 
 " I'm sorry I was sassy," says she, ** I won't be never 
 agin if ye'll lemme go out." 
 
 *' Well, go," says I. Whilst she was guayne, says I, 
 *' Ye'll never be sassy agin, hay ? "* 
 
 " No, straw " says she, and cut out of the door. 
 Thinks me, she'll git it ! Well, the big gearls cum in and 
 I axed 'em if they'd ever studied grommer. Most on 'em 
 said they had sum. "Well," says I, *'it's best to be 
 pairfect in't ; and seein' you've studied sum afore, ye may 
 lairn half way through at once so's to git done quick and 
 go to parsin'." So they went to studyin' and I w^ent to 
 the door and call'd the little ones in, and arter I'd holler'd 
 to 'em I went behind the door and as fast as each one cum 
 in I hit her a cufF, and when Hepsy Hawkins cum in I 
 took and slung her round and round, and made her go 
 back under the table. Well, they all y el I'd and bellered 
 like split ; you never heerd sich a racket, I'm sartin. 
 Purty soon I lookt at my watch and see 'twas time to let 
 out, so I tell'd 'em they might go hum, and they all went 
 only jest about a dozen that brung their dinners ; I'd brung 
 mine tew — for 'twas most a mild to Uncle Jorrockses — 
 so I took it out of my undispensible and eat it. It sub- 
 sisted of two slices of bread and butter stuck together, a 
 
WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 71 
 
 ■» 
 hunk of cheese, a pickle, and an apple turnover. That 
 was all the dinner I took, for I never had no great of an 
 appetite — bein' like Amandy, ye know she only, took sum 
 *' slio'ht refreshments " — and whilst I was eatin' thinks 
 1 me, I wonder if Amandy had sich a tussle gittin' along 
 ; with. her school as I do ; I'll look Into the Childern of the 
 \ Abby when I get hum and see, for I've eny most forgot ; 
 I my memory's ruther forgitful sumtimes, but O ! I never 
 shall forgit my Philander. So I took out my tobaccer box 
 and lookt at him. Arter « ' gazin' on't with agonizin' ten- 
 derness "* for a spell, and syln' and groanin' and kissin' 
 i on't, I put It back, and I see all the gearls a whisperln' 
 and wonderin' ; so says I to 'em : 
 
 ' * O gearls ! the belovedest and vallyablest thing I've 
 got Is in this ere box." 
 
 «* What Is it? " says they, *« and what makes ye cry and 
 groan over it so ? " 
 
 *' Ax me no questions," says I, ** I don't desire to dis- 
 pose confidence in nobody." 
 
 Well, purty soon the scholars all cum in and I begun 
 school. Then I made the little ones all take their so win', 
 only Hepsy Hawkins and sent her under the table agin, 
 and she went without makin' a speck of fuss. I see she 
 had sumthin' under her apern and I axed her what 'twas, 
 and she said 'twas her spellin'-book. Well, I sot the little 
 gearls to sowin' ; sum on 'em had pieces of calicer to 
 make bed-kivers on, and sum on 'em had cloth to lairn to 
 mark letters and make birds and trees on. Then I heerd 
 the big ones recite In grommer, and they kept a stoppin' for 
 me to ax 'em questions, but says I, " That an't no way ; 
 
 Childern of the Abby, chap. 17. 
 
72 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 
 
 ye must begin to the beginnin' of yer lesson, and say clean 
 to the eend on't without stoppin' once." So they tried ; 
 but they made blunderin' work on't — I had to keep tellin' 
 on 'em all the time what cum next, and when they got 
 into cases it cum Sophire Joneses turn and she'd forgot 
 what cum next. So says I, *' Nammi, Possmine, .Ob- 
 jine." Says Sally Ann Higglns, says she, ''Miss Rug- 
 gles, what's the meanin' of them are words? they're 
 master queer ! " 
 
 Says I, *' Miss Sally Ann Higgins^I guess ye ha'n't ben 
 under very good deseplyne in the schools ye've ben to afore 
 yit, or ye wouldn't darst to ax yer school-marm questions, 
 and sich questions ! want to know what's the meanin' of 
 Nommi, Possmine' Objine ! Why, its grommer — that's 
 the meanin' on't — so shet yer head." 
 
 When they'd got done sayin' grommer I tell'd 'em they 
 might paint the rest of the arternoon. So they took out 
 their velvet and paints and cum to I'd forgot my picters — 
 so I sent Ann Mariar Dodge down arter 'em and when she 
 cum back I tho't I'd give 'em Nomy and Ruth for the fust 
 lesson. So I stuck it up agin the wall and helpt 'em cut 
 out the theorlms, and they begun, and sum on 'em done 
 very well, but sum made dretftd work, 'specially about the 
 artificial flowers and fethcrs on Ruth's buunit, and sum on 
 'em made Nomy's 'nittin'-work look as if all i\\Q stitches 
 was dropt. Byme-by I tell'd 'em to put up their paintin' 
 and sowin' and put on their things, for 'twas time to let out 
 school, — so they did. Then I tell'd 'em to stand up in a 
 row all round the edge of the room. " Now," says I, 
 ' ' clasp yer hands acrost yer waists as I do — now make 
 yer monners as I do." Then I made a low curchy, and 
 they all did jest as I did. " Now," says I, "I shall sus- 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 73 
 
 pect ye to make yer monners every arternoon when school's 
 out without my showin' of ye, hoAv — SIminary's out." 
 So they all went hum only Hepsy Hawkins — I made her 
 stay a spell arter. So I slickt up my table, and then I 
 caird Hepsy Hawkins out and says I, 
 
 «' Be ye sorry for disbehavin' so to-day ! " Says she, 
 *'YIs;marm." 
 
 Says I, * ' Won't ye never misconduct so agin ? " 
 
 *' No^marm," says she. << Well then ye may go hum," 
 says I. So she ketched her bunnit in less than no time 
 and run off hum. Then I took my parrysol and walked 
 off humwards with the greatest deliberosity and dignitude 
 for I reckon a school-marm can't be tew dignified. Whilst 
 I was a guayne along every body lookt out of the winder 
 and lafFt, and I met a hull grist of boys guayne hum from 
 deestrict school, and they hoorawed and clapt their hands. 
 Thinks me, I wonder if this ere's the way they suppress 
 their admireation'to Higgins Patent. At last when I was 
 eny most hum I met a young man descendin' up the hill — 
 he had yaller hair, and a gret red face and snufF-colored 
 clus on and a slate under his arm. Well, he stared at me 
 and jest as I'd got along by says he, " Marm ! " 
 
 Says I, "Hay!" 
 
 Says he, '' Did you know there's a dead critter tied to 
 your sash ? " 
 
 " Gracious ! " says I, *' you don't say so." So he stept 
 up and took it off for me and as true as natur' 'twas an old 
 dried -up dead hen, and I knowd in a minnit that Hepsy 
 Hawkins had did it while I was a fixin' my table. I never 
 in my hull life had anything happen to me that made me 
 feel so bad as that are did ; so I jest sot down on the hill 
 and begun to cry. 
 7 
 
7 4 WID W SPRIG GINS. 
 
 << Don't take on so," says the strannger, ^« sich mean 
 tricks hurts them as does 'em more'n them they're did to. 
 I wouldn't worry about it, young woman." 
 
 <' O ! dear me suz ! " says I, "if Amandy had ever had 
 a dead hen tied to her I wouldn't care — but there aint 
 nothin' in the hull of the Childern of the Abby about a hen 
 nor any other thing bein' tied to her, tho' she had all kinds 
 of trouble besides ; but goody grevous ! my sorrers is big- 
 ger than hern." 
 
 *' Well, I don't know nothin' about Amandy," says he. 
 
 '' What ! " says I, *' you hant read the Childern of the 
 Abby ! " 
 
 '*No,I han't," says he. 
 
 << Well," says I, " it's time ye did then, and I'll lend it 
 to ye, for I feel extrornary obleejed to ye for the sairvice 
 ye've did me, and ye'll have my everlastin' gratitution 
 for't." So sayin' I waved my hand for him to go — but 
 he didn't seem to take the hint, so says I, " Don't you ap- 
 prehend that are motion ? " 
 
 ** No, I don't," says he. 
 
 *' Well," says I, *« 'twas the same .as tellin' of ye to 
 make yer disappearance." " 'Twas, hay?" says he, 
 *' well, I should like to be better acquainted, marm." 
 
 *' Well," says I, *' you can have the felickity of seein' 
 me by callin' to Mr. Jorrockses, — for I sliall always esti- 
 mate ye for disbegagin' of me from that are consairned old 
 carcass — but frindship is all I can proiFerate ye." 
 ^ '* Well, I'll cum there," says he. Then I waved my 
 hand to him agin, and he understood that time ; so he 
 went off. Well, I got luim,and Aunt Huldy slie axed me 
 how I got along tcacliin'. ** O grandfer grevous ! " says 
 I, ** I never had so much trouble in one day in my life." 
 
wiD w SFEiG ams. 7 5 
 
 <« Didn't!" says she, 
 
 *< No, didn't ! " says I. So I tell'd her the hull, and 
 says she, " As for that are hen I shouldn't care tew cents 
 about it, don't let it giv ye no trouble, darlin'." 
 
 '' Thank ye, beloved aunt," says I, " sympathy is 
 sweet in the most deepest affliction." Arter tea I thought 
 I'd take a walk ; so I took my pencil and paper and a 
 shingle to write on, and winded my way to the very un- 
 dentical spot where I parted with Philander, and sittin' 
 down on a log I writ the follerin' vairses : 
 
 'Twas here I parted with Philander, 
 Thro' the wide world he's gone to wander, 
 Six times the mornin' sun has rizen 
 Sen I beheld that face of hisn. 
 
 I've Bcerce ben able for to speak 
 Thro' all this mawlancholly week, 
 And sairtin nobody would wonder, 
 If they should only see Philander. 
 
 So tall, so slender, and so straight, 
 So very kerless in his gait — 
 His hair is black — his hands is white — 
 His voice is sweet — his eyes is bright. 
 
 The sorrcrs I indure ; Good Landy I 
 Are like the sorrers of Amandy. 
 But whilst I'm blest with sich a beau, 
 I'm willin' for to suffer woe. 
 
 But whilst he's gone what shall I do? 
 Dear suz ! how shall I live it through ? 
 If all the world was mine I'd gin it 
 To see my darlin' half a minnit. 
 
 Six times the mornin' sun has rizen 
 Sen I beheld that ftice of hisn — 
 And here each night I'll cum and cry, 
 I hope we'll meet agin byme-by. 
 
76 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 
 
 Arter I'd writ it I went hum and Aunt Huldy tell'd me 
 that Missis Wilkins had sent her and me an invitation to 
 cum to her house the next evenin' to a party. 
 
 *' ril go if you do," says I. 
 
 "Well, I shall go sartin," says she, ** for Widder 
 Wilkins haint never invited me there afore. She haint 
 lived to Higgins Patent but 2 or 3 year, and haint took 
 much notice of the wimmin here. I always reckoned she 
 felt above us 'cause she's rich and lives purty grand ; but 
 mabby she don't." 
 
 Well, bed time cum and I retired to my couch of repose 
 and fell into a gentle and survivin' slumber and next 
 mornin' I woke up revigorated and went to my siminary. 
 Things progranced about as they did the day afore, only 
 Hepsy Hawkins dldent cum, and Mirandy Peabody said 
 how't Missis Hawkins said she couldn't cum no more 
 'cause I was partial. I tell ye she'd a got a peelin' if she 
 had a cum. 
 
WIDOW SFEIGGmS, 77 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " She sent him word she couldn't wed. 
 He heard the tale and reason fled," 
 
 Unbeknown . 
 And when at last his mind got right, 
 He went and married out of spite. 
 
 Addition by me. 
 
 HE second day I kept school as I was a windin' my 
 way hum I set down under a tree to look at Phi- 
 lander's pictur. And whilst I was a syin' and 
 groanin' over It, lo and behold, the same young 
 man I see the day afore cum along with his slate under his 
 arm and more'n a hundred boys arter him, cuffin' and 
 fightin' and throwin' stuns. When the young man see me, 
 says he, " Yer sarvent, marm." 
 
 I bowed to him putty stiff, and he cum right up and sot 
 down aside of me, and, says he, — 
 
 ** Seems tome ye look mawlancolly, young woman; 
 hope ye haint had no more trouble to-day." 
 
 *' Mister," jackleated I, '* I beseated myself in this ere 
 solitary spot to medificate alone, and gaze a spell in raptcr 
 on this dear tresher, the ony thing that perduces me any 
 satisfjiction, and I don't desire to be contruded upon, so I 
 intreat ye to go off, and whilst you'r about it, jest knock 
 over ten or a dozen of them are boys," (tliere was a mess 
 of the little wretches got on top of the hill and stood there 
 7* 
 
78 WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 
 
 a yelUn' at me, ** coo-coo-doodle-doo, cluck-cluck-cla- 
 cluck." 
 
 " Well," says he, ** if ye'll show me that are treshure, 
 as ye call it, I'll clear out." So I handid him the toback- 
 er box, and arter lookin' at it a minnit, says he, *' I swan- 
 ny ! I don't wonder ye cry when ye look at it, for it's the 
 consairnedest lookin' thing ever I see. What in natur' do 
 ye keep it for ? " 
 
 I grabbd the box and riz up without sayin' a word, and 
 walked oiF indignations. 
 
 '* Gurus cretur, by golly," says the young man; then 
 he ketcht up a club and took arter the boys, and they all 
 run hootin' and bellerin' down the hill, and I didn't see 
 no more on 'em. When I arrove to hum I found Aunt 
 Huldy beginnin' to rigg for the party, so I begun to fix 
 tew. And I'll tell ye how I drest ; I reckon I never lookt 
 equal to what I did that evenin', in my life. I put on a 
 white spencer with short sleeves and blue ribbins tied round 
 the bottom on 'em, which counterasted finely with my 
 snowy arms ; then I wore a yaller canton crape skeart 
 with red ribbin loopt up all round the bottom on't, and a 
 pink sash round my waist. My hair was quirld up on the 
 tip-top of my head, and confined with a dretful high-toppt 
 comb, (I've got it now,) and was jest a guayne to put my 
 artifishel wreath on my head, when thinks me, I wonder 
 how Amandy 'd a fixed her head on sich a casion. So I 
 took the Childern of the Abby and red v^diere it tells about 
 her guayne to Missis Kilcorban's ball, and I found she had 
 on a turbin with sum fathers in't. So I took my green 
 shawl with sprangles all over it and wound it round nnd 
 round my head, and stuck six black ostridge fethers in't. 
 Then thinks me, I must put a chain to Philander's picter, 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GLYS. 79 
 
 as Amandy used to have to her mother's — (wonder she 
 didn't wear Lord Mortimer's, but Is'pose 'twas so bio- she 
 couldent.) So I took a string of glass beads as big as 
 bullets, and all the different colors ever ye see, and fos- 
 tened tlie box to it and hung it round my alagaster neck. 
 Je^t as Ll\g finished habiliatin, Aunt Huldy cum in, and 
 says I, *' Aint ye struck with my surpassin' lovliness?" 
 
 *' Yis, I be," says she ; "i never see ye look so putty ; 
 but how do I look?" 
 
 *' As well as could be expected," anserd I, "from a wo- 
 man that's past the moridion of youthful facksination." 
 
 *' Well, cum on then, if yer ready," says she ; *' but we 
 must eat suthin afore we go, tho' I haint no doubt Missis 
 Wilkins '11 have enuff stuff to eat." So we went into the 
 kitching and aunt and uncle eat 3 or 4 bowls full of butter- 
 milk pop, but I dident eat but a little mite. Then I put 
 on my montle to kiver my clus, so's the folks wouldn't be 
 starin' at my unresistable elegance along fhe road, and huv 
 my leno vail over my head and we sot off. Well, we got to 
 the place of '* rendyvows," and Aunt Huldy and a hull grist 
 of wimmin that cum in just behind us went into the dress- 
 in'-roora to take off their things, but I sot down by a win- 
 der in the hall, and when the wimmin cum out to be rush- 
 ered into the parlor, Aunt Huldy she spied me and says 
 she, "Why don't ye take off yer montle and cum along?" 
 *' Cause nater," says I. 
 
 «« Why," says she, " they'll think queer on't." 
 *< I don't ker if they do," says I ; ''I don't want to go 
 in when everybody else does ; besides, I want to set here 
 and ponderate a spell afore I plunge into the giddy whirl- 
 fool of fluctuation, where there aint no bussom to partici- 
 pate in my sorrers — nun but cold-hearted strangers ; and 
 
80 WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 
 
 my belovedest fur away ! O let me be ! " So she went 
 in and I was left alone to my solemcolly rumlrations. Ar- 
 ter settin' there a spell I heerd a noise, and purty soon 
 some folks begun to condescend — and says one, 
 
 "O doctor, I'm half frightend to death!" and says 
 another, " I'm skairt tew.'* The door stood on a jar and 
 they pusht it open and went in. Arter they'd shet the 
 door thinks me, it's time for fee to make my debutte. So 
 I took off my montle, agested my fethers, and so forth, and 
 opend the door, and lo and behold, the minister was a 
 prayin' — thinks me, I wonder if they always begin their 
 parties here with prayin' ; but I dident ker. So I recoverd 
 my composher, and with my natral elegance walkt up the 
 room,* and there was a gineral buz of admireation as I 
 stept along, and seein' a sofy at the upper eend of the 
 room and a row of folks standin' up afore it I went along 
 and s-quoze into one eend on't. Missis Wilkins was standin' 
 nigh by and she reacht out and gin me a twitch and says 
 she, *' Miss Ruggles, you've got the bridesmaid's seat." 
 
 '* The dragon ! " says I — and I gin a spring and jumpt 
 clear into the middle of the room, and everybody stared at 
 me to kill. I tell ye I was considerable flustrated. So I 
 sot down in a cheer and put my fan up afore my face, and 
 I guess I kept It there a spell. Byrne by the minister got 
 done prayin' and begun marryin' of 'era and thinks me, 
 I'll giv a look and see who 'tis. So I lookt up and my 
 wonderation can be better imagginated than discribed, 
 when I see Dr. Davis a standin* there holdin' holt of Mary 
 Ann Wllklnses hand ! Never in my born days was I half 
 supprised as I was that minnit ; but I knowd that Davis 
 
 *ChUdreu of the Abby, chap. 20. 
 
WIDOW SrEIGGINS. 81 
 
 had jest did it out of spite cause I wouldent have him. 
 There was tew bridesmaids and tew groomsmen, but I 
 dident know ary one on 'em — but one of the groomsmen 
 lookt eny most egzactly like Philander, ony he hadent no 
 whiskers. Purty soon the serrymony was over, and they 
 begun to lead up the folks to kiss Mary Ann, and jest then 
 sumbody gin me a hunch on my elbow, and I lookt, and 
 lo and behold, 'twas the yaller-headed young man that 
 ontied the dead hen, and thinks me, he's a takin' arter me 
 jest as Sir Charles Bingley did arter Amandy, and I must 
 treat him decent as she did him — tho' I can't incurrido-e 
 
 o 
 
 him. 
 
 " Good evenin' to ye. Miss Ruggles," says he. 
 
 " Good evenin'. Sir Charles," says I. 
 
 ** Golly ! " says he, *' that aint my name." 
 
 «' Aint, hay?" says I. 
 
 "No!" says he, "my name's Jabez Spriggins — I 
 teach the deestreckt school up here." 
 
 " Do, hay?" says I. 
 
 *' You look amazin' honsome to-night," continuyd he. 
 
 " O law!" says I, " mabby you think so; and you 
 don't look much as ye did this arternoon." No more he 
 dident — he had on a long tailed pepper and salt summer 
 coat, thunder and lightnin' jackit, and streeked trowsers. 
 Then he had sich a master wide ruffle to his shirt with a 
 wonderful big breast-pin stuck on't — and his hair was 
 tailored as stiiF as all nater, and hysted up to a peak aforo 
 much as a foot high. He raly lookt surprisin' well. 
 
 ** Now," says I, '* I wish you'd tell me who that are is 
 that looks so much like Philander ? " 
 
 " I don't know who ye mean," says he. 
 
 " Well," says I, " who's that are feller that's leadln' up 
 Californy Coon?" 
 
\ 
 
 S2 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 
 
 Says he, ^^ That's Dick Johnson, he goes to Hamilton 
 Collidge. His payrents lives to the eastard, and he's ben 
 hum spendin' the vocation. He stopt here on his way back 
 to collidge so's to be groomsman — he's a piirty wild chap. 
 That are short feller that's Wadin' up Lorindy Rickets is Bill 
 Johnson, another collidge feller, and that are one with 
 curly hair is Sam Wilkins, the bride's brother — he's 
 mighty perlite to Grashioshy Hawkins, but he keeps a 
 lookin' at you neverstandin'." 
 
 *' Well," says I, '* I wish you'd introduct me to John- 
 son, for he looks so much like Philander I want to get 
 acquaintid with him." 
 
 *' Who in the name o' nater is Philander? " says Sprig- 
 gins, says he. 
 
 *' This ere's him," says I, hawlin' out the tobacker box. 
 But whilst I was a hawlin' it out the string broke and the 
 box rolld right in amonkst a mess of folks that was a 
 standin' round the bride. 
 
 ''Hullo!" says Loisy Hocus, '' suthin' cum buntin' 
 agin my foot." I jumpt up and run, Spriggins he follerd, 
 but afore I could git it Josh Jones (Dr. Davises student, 
 a rael mean feller) pickt it up. 
 
 ** Here — giv that are up ! " says I, ** It's mine." 
 
 *' Giv that are up," says Spriggins, <* it's Miss Rug- 
 gleses." 
 
 '* Good landy ! " says Missis Hawkins, *' I want to 
 know if you chaw tobacker ? " 
 
 *' No, I don't," anserd I, *'that are box has got a 
 treshur in't, so jest gin it up." 
 
 ' ' Do for grammany's sake open it and see what's in't," 
 says Missis Hawkins, (she spited me on account of the 
 chastigation I gin Hepsy.) So Jones he hawld it out and 
 
win W SPEIG GINS. 8 3 
 
 begun to holler and lafF at it and was jest a guayne to hand 
 it round when Johnson he ketcht it away from him and 
 without ever lookin' at it gin it to me. 
 
 " Ten thousand million thanks," jackleatcd I, *' I might 
 a knowd that anybody that lookt so much like Philander 
 in face and figger couldent help resemblin' of him in nobli- 
 tude of mind." Johnson's face turnd as red as fire. I 
 spose he felt dashed to be praised up by sich an interestin' 
 bein' as I was. 
 
 "Now," says I, '*I wish sumbody'd recoverate my 
 box." 
 
 So Johnson he rummaged round and found it and gin 
 it to me, and I put the profyle into't and stufft it under my 
 sash, and went and sot down in a cheer at the furder eend 
 of the room. Purty soon Spriggins cum up with the three 
 fellers and says he, 
 
 "I've brung these ere young men for to introduct 'em 
 to ye — this ere's Mr. Johnson, Miss Ruggles — this ere's 
 Mr. Tomson, and this ere's Mr. Wilkins." 
 
 " Yer sairvent, gentlemen," says I, rizin' and makin' a 
 low curchy. 
 
 " Have you ben up to slute the bride ! " says Johnson. 
 
 " No," says I, " I guess taint best — ittle ony make the 
 doctor feel bad." Sa they all drawd up cheers and sot 
 down round me. *' Don't be supprised Mr. Johnson," 
 says I, " if I stare at ye considerable, for you do look 
 amazinly like sumbody I know." 
 
 " O stare as much as ye please," says he, "I like to be 
 lookt at by the ladies." 
 
 ** O my conscience ! " says Tomson, " Pd giv all my 
 old shoes to obtain sich a felickity as Johnson enjoys under 
 the sunbeams of them electrifyin' gorbs ! " 
 
84 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 
 
 ** So would I," says Willdns, syin'. 
 
 Jest then the cake and stuff cum round to me and John- 
 son took off a gret hunk and put it on a plate and gin it 
 to me. 
 
 " GrandffUher grievous !" says I, " you don't suspect 
 me to eat all that are, I hope." 
 . " To be sure," says he. 
 
 <' Why lay to't," says Spriggins, '* 't won't hurt ye nun." 
 
 <* I shan't do't," says I, '* I don't scerce ever eat any- 
 thing, and han't no casion now." 
 
 *' Well, you'll take sum of the egg-nogg, won't ye!" 
 says Spriggins, hollerin' at the same time to a nigger 
 wench that was carryin' round a server full of suthin' to 
 drink. 
 
 " These ere timbles aint fall enuiF," says Spriggins, so 
 he emptied tew on 'em together and handed it to me. 
 Everybody in the room was lookin' at us — pertickleely at 
 me. So says I, purty loud, '* I tell ye I hant no casion." 
 Uncle Jonah he was clear acrost the room and he hollered 
 out, 
 
 "Don't tease Milly to let into the vittals and drink; 
 she's right when she says she han't no casion, foi^ she eat 
 dretful hearty of buttermilk pop jest afore we cum, and 
 if she takes down all that are stuff she'll sairtin be sick 
 abed." 
 
 '' Gracious ! " says I, ** that are's the everlastinest lie I 
 ever heerd in my life." 
 
 ** So 'tis," says Aunt Huldy. ** She ony eat tew bowls 
 full afore we cum." 
 
 I tell ye it did seem as if I should ixpire. '* O niisery 
 mc ! " exclamigated I, *' I shall faint away — do lead me 
 out into the hall." So Johnson he took holt of one lam and 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 85 
 
 Tomson he took holt of t'other and Wilkhis he took my 
 fan and blowd me, and Sprigglns he fullered arter groanin' 
 consairnedly — half scart out of his wits. And whilst 
 they was a takin' of me out — my head hangin' over on 
 Johnson's sholder — my fethers fell out of my turbin, and 
 says I, " Sumbody jest pick up them are ostridge fethers 
 afore they git stompt on." 
 
 ** I vanny she aint ftiint," says Missis Hawkins. 
 
 ** I be faint tew," says I. So they took me into the 
 hall and sot me down on the stairs, and sum on 'em blowd 
 me and sum on 'em stufFt smelKn' bottles up my nose. Dr. 
 Davis he felt of my pulse and his hand trembled dretfully, 
 and tho' my eyes was shot I could tell that he was dret- 
 fully aggitated. Purty soon Jones (mean crittur) he took 
 and stuiFt a nastyfetity pill down my mouth and made me 
 as sick as a dog. So then I cum tew, and I riz up and 
 says I, " I think I've had about eny most enufF trouble for 
 one evenin', but I don't ker, I han't had no more'n Amandy 
 had to Miss Kilcorban's ball, and I know't if my beauty 
 and merits was less conspiccious, I should escaped it,* and 
 if sumbody '11 have the carridge drew up I'll return to 
 Castle Jorrocks." 
 
 ** Bless yer gizzard," says Aunt Huldy, ** don't ye know 
 we cum afoot ? " 
 
 " Well," says Spriggins, '* I'll go hum and git our 
 waggin if Missis Wilkins will let her nigger boy drive ye 
 hum." 
 
 Wilkins said, *' sairtinly." So Spriggins went hum and 
 putty soon he cum back with his bosses and waggin, and 
 Johnson and Tomson and Wilkins they helpt me git reddy, 
 
 * Childern of the Abby, chap. 20. 
 
8 6 Win W SPRIG GINS. 
 
 and then Sprlggins he went out to the waggin and helpt 
 me In, and says he, "I shan't stay much longer now 
 you've gone, for there aint a young woman here I care 
 teppence for but you, and Ide go clear hum with ye if it 
 want for stayin' to git sum of that are egg-nogg — but I'll 
 stop and see ye to-morrer when I go hum from school, if 
 you're willin'." Thinks me, if he'd a lefF out what he said 
 about the egg-nogg and guayne to school 'twould a ben 
 jest like what Sir Charles Bingley said to Amandy when 
 she was guayne away from Missis Kilcorban's ball. So I 
 giv him permission jest as Amandy did Sir Charles and 
 then the driver druv off; and 'twas a gret big flamber- 
 gasted lumber waggin and it jolted most consalrnedly, and 
 I got knockt round from one side to t'other, and once in a 
 while I boundid up much as three or four foot Into the air, 
 and I tell ye I was all but did over when I got hum. I 
 retired immejuntly to my compartment, and huv myself 
 down In a cheer by the winder, jest as Amandy did. The 
 woods, slivered by the beams of the moon that rode mojes- 
 tic in the furmanent of stars, recalled to my remeraberatlon 
 the vows of unchanngable regard that had ben utterated 
 there, so I took my pencil and writ the follerin' poetical 
 confusion : — 
 
 Good gracious I good gracious I I'm siukia' witli sorrer, 
 
 My sperrits is low and my heart's full of horror, 
 
 The rcndyvows joyful of gay dissipation 
 
 Aint no placp for me in my sad sittyation. 
 
 And when I'm alone I lament and take on 
 
 Because my Pliilander's departed and gone. 
 
 The men is all Byin' and dyin' about me, 
 
 And declarin' and vowin' they can't live without me. 
 
 But if they pursue me from mornin' to night 
 
 My darlin' Philander I never will slight, 
 
WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 87 
 
 My dearest — my slickest — my lovedest hao went, 
 Fur — fur — from Permilly his steps he has bent. 
 His profile is all that is left for to cheer, 
 1 grandfather grievous I I wish he was here.* 
 
 Arter a spell Aunt Huldy cum hum, and she cum In to 
 see how I did — she had her work-pockit crammin' full of 
 cake. 
 
 ** O aunt," says I, " how could ye be so onfeelln' as to 
 say I eat tew bowls full of buttermilk pop ? " 
 
 ** Cause, ye did," says she, ** and I'm sure 'taint much 
 for a hearty young woman to eat, but I'm sorry I telld 
 on't, seeln' ye feel so bad about it ; so you jest eat a hunk 
 of this ere cake, mabby ittle chirk ye up." 
 
 So I took ruther a small sized hunk and eat it, and 
 Aunt Huldy she went out — and then fatigewd and distrest 
 I huv off my splendid habileations, flung myself on my 
 couch and arter a spell closed my tearful gorbs in a re- 
 freshin' and recomposin' slumber. 
 
 *Thi8 was arterwards printed in the " Podunk Illuminator," 
 
8 8 WW W SPRIG GINS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The roosters was crowin' to wake up the folks, 
 The sun was beginnia' to shine overhead, 
 
 A.nd dry up the dews that besprangled the oaks, 
 When the lovely Permilly got out of her bed. 
 
 Me. 
 
 HE mornin' arter the weddin' I got up the minnit I 
 waked, cause Jabez Spriggins was a guayne to 
 call on me on his way to school, and his school 
 begun airlier'n mine — so I hurried and drest me 
 afore breckfust — I drest very plain that mornin' — dident 
 put no riggin' whatsoever on my head, but I let my hair 
 in its own natyve and glossy hue float over my sholders,* 
 but I couldent make it quirl nun to save my gizzard, 
 though I put it up in papers, and tin, and everything else ; 
 and I wondered, and do yit, what made Amandy's hair al- 
 ways hang in graceful stringlets over her sholders ; but I 
 was detairmined Ide let mine hang down for once whether 
 or no. Then I put on my blue calicer long-short, with a 
 yaller skirt under it, hung my watch round my neck, and 
 was just a guayne to put Philander in my pocket, when 
 thinks me. He look at it fust. So I opened the box, and 
 lo and behold, the picter was intirely rubbed out — they'd 
 fingerd it so much the night afore to Missis Wilkinscs. 
 So I took a pen and draw'd it over agin as nigh like t'other 
 
 *Childern of the Ahby. 
 
WIDOW SPEW GINS. 89 
 
 as I could. Jest as Ide got it draw'd, Aunt Huldy cum to 
 the foot of the stairs and hollerd to me to cum to breck- 
 fust. So I condescended down, and as soon as ever Uncle 
 Jonah see me, says he, — 
 
 *' Land o' liberty ! Permilly, what in the name of nater 
 have ye got yer hair all raked down so for ? it looks like 
 the dragon I " 
 
 *'It don't nyther^" says Aunt Huldy, says she, "it 
 looks jest like the young wimmiu's in the novels — so you 
 jest hold yer jaw." 
 
 *' Well," says I, *' I don't ker what nobody says about 
 it ; for it's fixed putty much as Amandy did hern, and she 
 knowd what was what, and I don't think men has any biz- 
 ness to meddle with wimmin's dress, specially them that 
 don't know nothin' about nothin'." 
 
 "I vum ! " says Uncle Jonah, says he> *< Permilly 's 
 ruther warm — wife, can't ye give her a little buttermilk 
 pop to cool her off? " 
 
 ** Nun of yer sarce about buttermilk pop," says Aunt 
 Huldy — so sayin', she gin him a grip, but he deluded her 
 grasp, and grabbin' a hunk of short cake he cut out 
 doors, and then he stuck his head into the winder, and 
 says he, — 
 
 ' ' Ye better both on ye take a chaw of tobacker out of 
 Milly's box. I reckon ittle callumyer minds." So sayin' 
 he run off, and says aunt, says she, " That are's the pro- 
 vokinest creetur ever I see, and the wost on't is he never 
 gits mad. I wish I had a little of Missis Peabody's grit. 
 I tell ye I'd stir him up then — he wouldn't darst to pester 
 me so." Jest then I looked up and see Spriggins a cum- 
 min' over the hill. *' There ! " says I, <* he's a cummin'." 
 
 Aunt Huldy she lookt out and says she, " O, that are's 
 8* 
 
90 WIDOW SPRIGOmS. 
 
 Jabez Spriggins ; and cum to think on't, seems to me he 
 took a master shine to you last night." 
 
 " I know it," says I, " and I don't know wliat to do 
 with the creetur ; Amandy always used Sir Charles Bingly 
 well, but when she wouldent have him he eeny most 
 died." 
 
 *' Good landy ! " says Aunt Huldy, " you don't mean to 
 sairve him so I hope. He's a nice stiddy young man as 
 ever was, and his father's got a rael productyve farm, and 
 nary child in the world ony Jabez, and his payrents set a 
 nation store by him — he's always ben a master hand to 
 study — ben to school evry winter till he's got to be the 
 best arithmeticker in town — and now he keeps the dees- 
 trict school, and I tell ye what, ye can't do better'n to 
 take him if he axes ye, but good now ! I wonder if he 
 haint sfot a dead creetur tied to him." 
 
 *' Yer granny's a dead creetur as much!" says I, 
 *'why, them are's my ostridge fethers stickin' out of his 
 pocket." 
 
 Putty soon he began knockin' to the door. ** You go 
 to the door," says Aunt Huldy, "you look slicker'n I 
 do." 
 
 " No, no," says I, *' that aint accordin' to etiquit — 
 you go, and when he axes for me, you cum out and call 
 me." So she went and rushered him in, and arter a spell 
 says he, '* Where's that are young woman that's here?" 
 I was a waitin' in the kitching, and aunt she screamed out 
 and says she, *' Hullo, Milly ! he's axed arter ye." I was 
 kinder mad to hear her up and yell so, but I went in, and 
 arter we'd sluted one another, says aunt says she, *' Did I 
 do that accordin' to gunter ? " 
 
 ** No I " says I, *' you'd orto come out and called me 
 instid of hollerin' at me so consairnedly." 
 
WW W SPniG GINS. 9 1 
 
 '' Well," says she, *' I'll know how next time." Then 
 she went out, and says I to Sprlgglns, " Well, how did 
 ye enjoy yerself last night arter my departer? " 
 
 '' O, middlin'," says he, "I got a putty good chance at 
 the egg-nogg and stuff — but I don't like to see folks act 
 as they did. Arter the old people went hum the young 
 folks carried on like sixty. The fellers they got yer os- 
 trldge fethers and stuck 'em behind then- ears, and caperd 
 round and hollered, ' Hooraw for the pink of Podwik 1 ' 
 and the bride said she thought you'd or'to teach faintin' 
 away in your simlnary, and the gearls all on 'em did act 
 consairnedly. I tried ever so long to git yer fethers, and 
 couldn't. At last Johnson took 'em and laid 'em on the 
 table, and as soon as I got a chance I ketcht' 'em unbe- 
 known to nobody and cum off." 
 
 " Well," said I, *' Pm unexpresslbly obleejed to ye for 
 dooin' on't — but I don't ker teppence for what the gearls 
 said, for I know 'twa'nt nothin' but envye — but them are 
 students, I raly think 'twas strannge they should act so, 
 seein' they was so took with me." 
 
 *' I wish every one on 'em was lickt," says Spriggins. 
 ** As I was comin' by there this mornin'," contlnyd he, " I 
 see 'em all a standin' round Davises office door, and I was 
 a goin' straight by, but Tomson he yell'd out and says he, 
 * Hullo, Jonathan ! where ye guayne?' Wilkins he gin 
 him a hunch, and says he, * Why, Tomson, that's Mr. 
 Spriggins that you saw last night.' * Ah ! ' says Tom- 
 son, * excuse me, Mr. Spriggins, I thought 'twas an old 
 acquaintance of mine.' ' O ho ! ' says Johnson, ' I see 
 you've got Miss Ruggleses fethers in yer pocket.' * Yis,' 
 says I, ' and I'm a guayne to carry 'em to her — she's a 
 mazin' putty young woman accordin' to my notion.' * So 
 
9 2 WW W SPRIG GINS. 
 
 she is,' says they — * but,' says Jones, * you mustent tell 
 her how we acted last night.' ' I will, by gosh,' says I. 
 
 * O don't,' says Johnson, ' we only frisked round a little 
 with her fethers to please the ladles, you know they're all 
 jealous of Miss Ruggles 'cause she's so honsome and in- 
 terestin' — don't tell her.' 'I will, I swonny,' says I. 
 ' Well, then,' says Tomson, 'tell her and be darned to ye 
 
 — we're all a guayne to see her this evenin' for we've all 
 fell in love with her — and we'll convince her to the con- 
 terary.' Then I cum off, and Johnson he hollered to me, 
 
 * Take care how you take arter her if you don't want to 
 fight a duel with us.' ' Golly ! ' says I, « do you think ye 
 can all on ye git her ? ' and whilst I was a cummin' along 
 thinks me, I'll be hanged if I won't up and ax her to have 
 nie — and I tell ye what, Miss Kuggles — I aint a jokin' 
 when I say I set more by ye and like ye better'n ary 
 young woman ever I knowd — for I took a notion to ye 
 the very day I fust see ye, when I ontied the dead hen, 
 and if you'll have me I'll have you, and we'll have one 
 another. What do ye say to't ? " 
 
 '* Grandfer Griffin ! " says I, "is that are the way you 
 prepose yerself ? " 
 
 '* Why," says he, *' ain't that are the right way? " 
 ** I've got as gret a mind," says I, '* as ever I had to 
 eat — -no — as ever I had not to eat, to go right strait 
 off out of your socierty without dainin' to give ye any an- 
 ser — but seein' you've did me tew or three good turns, 
 and as I intertain o. gret steem for yer caracter I won't do't 
 
 — and here's the Chlldern of the Abby, the book I prom- 
 ised to lend ye, and do ye take it hum and pruse it atten- 
 tyvely, specially the 8th chapter, fust voUum, and there 
 ye'll lairn how to offer yer hand and heart — and arter 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 93 
 
 you've lairnt how ye may cum and ax me agin if yer a 
 mind tew — my astonishment that you sho'd have the au- 
 dackity to take arter me is only exceeded by my surprise, 
 and I sha'n't say yes nor no to yer supposition till ye lairn 
 to promulgate it better." So sayin' I riz up to go out, 
 and jest as I got to the door says Spriggins, says he, 
 *' Stop a minnit." So I stopt, and says he, "As fur as 
 I can understand what you've jpen a sayin*, I take it ye 
 won't be put out if I cum to see ye once in a while whilst 
 I'm read in' this ere book." 
 
 ** O no ! " says I, '' Amandy always treated Sir Charles 
 Bingley with the greatest condcscention — so I give ye 
 permission to cum." So sayin' I walkt out of the room 
 as stiff as stillyards, and went up into my chomber and as 
 I lookt out of the winder I see Spriggins guayne over the 
 hill readin' in the Childern of the Abby as he went. 
 
 Lookin' at my watch I see it lacked a half an hour to 
 school time, so I sot down and writ with amazin' rappid- 
 dity the follerin' stanzys : — 
 
 TO JABEZ SPRIGGINS. 
 
 Alas, poor swine,* with yaller hair, 
 I'm sorry for ye, I declare ; 
 I hate to slight ye, but I must, 
 Tho' I'm afeard yer heart will bust. 
 
 gracious I how you'll rip and swear, 
 And mabby cry and tear yer hair, 
 And cuss the fatal minnit when 
 You met me with the old dead hen. 
 
 1 can't be yourn 5 this heart of mine 
 Is plighted to another swine ; 
 And them besides that git besmitten. 
 Must all expect to git the mitten. 
 
 * Swain. 
 
94 WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 
 
 O, if I had a thousand hearts, 
 They'd all be full of Cupid's darts, 
 And evry single dart would be 
 Fired from tlic eyes of my dear P. 
 
 So, poor young man with yaller hair, 
 Giv up and die in grum despair, 
 Set down and sythe and weep and mourn, 
 Permilly never can be yourn. 
 
 I never showed that are to Spriggins till arter but 
 
 I won't antlckipate. Arter 'twas writ I went to school — 
 but I guess lie discontinny, and tell what concurred that 
 day going tew and from my siminary in another chopter. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ' On pranced the gallant steed. 
 
 Proud of the heft he bore. 
 O'er hill and vale and flowery meed 
 Unto the castle door." Spkiggins Misselany. 
 
 ELL, I went and put up my dinner and put on my 
 things, and as 'twas a dretful cloudy mornin' I 
 reckoned Ide take an umbril — so I went and axed 
 Auntlluldy to lend me thairn ; but she said 'twas 
 a new one and as it looked like for rain she guesst I hadent 
 better take it for she dident want to have it git wet, — so I 
 went witliout none ; but afore Ide got half way there it 
 begun to rain consairnedly, and seein' Dr. Davises office 
 door open I run in there, and there was all them fellers 
 
WW W SPRIG GINS. 9 5 
 
 and you never see sich a fluster as they made when I cum 
 in, and I must a lookt amazin' interestin' with my hair all 
 beshovelled, and my habileations drippin' with moister. 
 *'0 dear me suz, gentlemen," says I, "I've got ketcht 
 in a shower, and if ye'll lend me an umbril I'll be obleejed 
 to ye." So they all jumpt to git it and then they had 
 a tussle which sho'd accompanate me — evry one on 
 'em wanted to go. At last says Jones (the doctor's 
 student) says he, *' Let Miss Ruggles take her choice." 
 " Agreed," says they. So says I, " I can git along well 
 enough without nobody, but seein' ye're so anxious to go 
 with me He choose Mr. Johnson." When I said this the 
 other fellers ript out a mess of wicked swearin' words, and 
 shook their fists at Johnson. " No W; gentlemen," says I, 
 " I boseech on ye not to fight a duil with the favored swine, 
 for I set store by all on ye, ony I admire Mr. Johnson be- 
 cause he resembleates my Philander so much." So Johnson 
 he gin me his arm and we started, when Jones up and says 
 he, " Miss Kuggles will get her long-short as wet as muck 
 -^ He jest bring my surtoot and let her put it on." So he 
 run and brung his surtoot. That Jones want a very putty 
 appearin' young man, and I was real pervoked at him for 
 givin' me the nastyfettity pill at the weddin' — but when 
 lie was so consairned about me as for to ofifer me his sur- 
 toot, thinks me. He surmount my nantlpathy to him. So 
 they all helpt me on with it and Johnson he buttoned it 
 round me. "Now," says I, "what's to be did? it's a 
 master sight too long." Jones was wonderful tall, and his 
 surtoot was a turrible long drab one with a number of capes 
 sich as they wore in them days, and I was oncommon short 
 and fairy-like in my figger. 
 
 " He tell ye what," says WilkinSj " He go behind and 
 hold it up." 
 
96 WW W SPRIG GINS. 
 
 " O no, let me," says Tomson. 
 
 " N'ow, genflemen," says I, " if it's so desirable to go 
 long of me, s'pose one of ye holds up each skeart." 
 
 ''Thattle be charmin'," says VYilkins. So they took 
 holt, and we sot off, and Jones he stood in the door, and 
 lookt at us. Whilst he was guayne along, says Johnson 
 says he, ** O ! the deliglitsome gratifaction of shelterin' the 
 most beautifuUest of created creeturs from this outragin' 
 storm!" "Ah, it's exquizzitte ! " says Tomson. "It's 
 the squintessence of pleasure," says Wilkins. And sich 
 like ixpressions they made all along. 
 
 Putty soon we arrove to the deacon's, and bein' quite 
 late the scholars liad all cum and sum on 'em was lookiu' 
 out of the winders, and when they see us they hulloed to 
 t 'others and they all run to the winders to look at us, and 
 ye never heerd sich a roarin' as they sot up in yer born 
 daj^s ; and when we got into the house they all cum out on 
 the stairs to see us — I tell ye I was awful mad to see 'em 
 so un respectful, and I should a let right into 'em and 
 knockt over a few if I hadent a concludid to change ray 
 monner of teachin' a little, — for that mornin' wlnlst I was 
 a dressin' I happen'd to think how't I'd orto look into the 
 Childern of the Abby to see how Amandy managed her 
 school — for Ide forgot, that bein' a part of the novil not 
 very interestin' to me ; so I stopt in the midst of my twi- 
 light and read about it — and it said she never jaw'd 'em 
 nor chasigated 'em, but let 'em do jest as they was a mind 
 to. So I of course detairmined to do so tew. Well, the 
 young men resisted me to take off the surtoot, and whilst 
 they was doin' on't, I see Amarilly Peabody, the deacon's 
 oldest dorter, and Polly Marlar Dawson, (a couscn of hern 
 visitin' there,) a peekin' through a door and laffin dis- 
 
Widow Spriggins faints away, and resuscitation is attempted by 
 Doctor Davis.— See 2mge 85. 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 97 
 
 tractidly — I s'pose they was dretful jelous. O ! what a 
 tumble thing jelousy is ! It distils pison into the most 
 secret and unbeknown recessions of the heart, — it discom- 
 j^oses and frusterates the finest affections of natur', and 
 scatters the firebrands of confusion and purgatory through- 
 out socierty. 
 
 Arter I was disbegaged from the surtoot, says Johnson 
 says he, " If the rain continys all day we'll cum arter ye 
 "this arternoon." 
 
 " O ! don't pester yerselves," says I. 
 *' Pester us!" says Wilkins says he, ** why, it would 
 be the most consummit satisfication for us to attend ye 
 neverstandin' we should git wet to the backbone." 
 
 *' O ! " says Tomson, raisin' his eyes and layin' his 
 hand on his bussom, ** Ide be willin' to kiss yer footprints 
 — 'twould be exquizzite." 
 
 *' O landy ! " says I, *' that wouldent be woth while — 
 ye may enjoy the felickity of imprintin' a kiss on my lily 
 hand " — so I reacht it out and all on 'em kist it, and says 
 I, " I intreat that ye won't nun on ye premit yerselves to 
 intertain hopes that must univittably be disrealised and eend 
 in disappintment, — for I may as well conform ye fust as 
 last, that I'm ingaged to the most charminest swine on 
 airth." So sayin' I hawled out the tobacker box and kist 
 it, and put it back agin — and then makin' a low curchy I 
 perceeded up chomber, and as I went along I could hear 
 all the fellers a syin'. 
 
 When I went into the school-room the gearls was all 
 settin' down lookin' jest as if they suspected a knockin' — 
 but I went strait to my cheer and sot down, and says I, 
 *' Gearls, I aint a goin' to exercise no more severitude to- 
 werds ye. A number of my puppils has left my simiuary, 
 9 
 
98 WIDOW SPRIG GI^'S. 
 
 and it must be on account of my extrornaiy strictness, for 
 I can't think of notliin' else that could a had an attendancy 
 to dimminnish my scholers, — so I sha'n't giv nobody no 
 furder 'caslon to complain of my stairnness." Ye never see 
 creeturs act as my scholers did that day cause I dident jaw 
 'em nun — more'n forty times I was on the pint of cuffin' 
 sum on 'em ; but then Ide happen to think — so I let 'em 
 go on jest as they pleased. In the arternoon when the 
 little ones had went out, and the big ones was a paintin', 
 and I was givin' Glorianny Stokes sum constructions con- 
 sairnin' the picter she was a copyin', ('twas Gineral Put- 
 nam ridin' down the mountin' — an uncommon splendid 
 and highly finished picter,) Philindy Ann liiggins hollered 
 out, — 
 
 *' Do look, Miss Kuggles." 
 
 *' Timothy Titus ! " says I, <* if that are aint my retinow 
 a cummin," — and sure as creation, 'twas Johnson, and 
 Wilkins, and Tomson, a cummin' with a boss to take me 
 hum. The gearls all snorted out a laffin', and says 
 ]Mirandy Peabody, says she, "I never see sich a bony, 
 scrawny boss, in my life." 
 
 " Shet up!" says I, ''it's a sperited, fiery steed." 
 Then I stuck my head out of the winder, and says 1, 
 *' Gentlemen, what for did ye cum so airly? yer altogetlier 
 tew punctable, — but ye may cum in and visit my siminary 
 if ye want to." So they was a cummin', and says I, " Yc'd 
 best tie up the boss fust, — mabb}^ '11 he'll run away." 
 
 " Run away ! " says Drusilly Potter, " he wouldn't run 
 away if ye should jam liim with a red-liot poker from now 
 to next never — it's father's old Billy ; lie's game legged 
 and eeny most blind, — much as a body can do to make 
 him stir at all." 
 
WIDOW SrRIGGINS. 99 
 
 AYell, they cum in and sot down, and says T, *« Now, 
 gearls, don't let yer attention be extracted by these ere 
 young men — it's very improper." So they all on 'em 
 kept on paintin', ony jest Drusilly Potter, and she kept her 
 head out of the winder and talked to the old boss Billy all 
 the time — she was a turrible hawbuck. The boss he 
 knowd her voice and he begun a snortin' and ye never 
 heerd sich a consairnid rackit in yer born days. I was 
 dretful 'shamed, for the fellers must a thought strange on't ; 
 but I didn't want to jaw her, for 'twouldn't a ben like 
 Amandy. The young men egzamined the paintin's and 
 admired them amazin'ly, and putty soon I hollered to the 
 little gearls to cum in, and 'twas ever so long afore they 
 obeydid the summonses. Finally they cum in, and says 
 I, " Ye may put on yer things, for I don't want to keep 
 these ere gentlemen waitin'." But the fellers said they 
 want in no hurry, and begged on me to continny my con- 
 structions — so 1 heerd 'em spell, and then the fellers 
 wanted to hear 'em read ; so I tell'd 'em to git their Eng- 
 lish Readers, and they did. They read in the poitry in 
 the arternoon this time ; I told 'em to read the peece be- 
 ginnin', " Dear Chole, while the boosy crowd" — 'twas a 
 gret favoryte of mine, and I read it beautiful — I always 
 read a vairse fust for each on 'em, to show 'em how. The 
 gentlemen was inraptered with the readin'. Then I tell'd 
 'em to put on their things and make their monners — so 
 they did; and says I, '* Siminary's out" — and they all 
 cleared out. 
 
 So I begun to git ready, and the fellers went down and 
 brung up the old surtoot. 
 
 *' It don't rain," says I, " I han't no 'casion for that 
 are." 
 
100 WW W SPRIG GINS. 
 
 *' But," says Johnson, '*it's damp, and we're afraid 
 ye'll ketch yer death a cold without it." So they put it 
 on, and they exorted me down stairs, and resisted me to 
 surmount the hoss, — and there in the medder aside the 
 house was all my scholers a waitin' for to see me go. 
 Johnson he led the hoss, and Wilkins and Tomson walkt 
 on each side on't, and in that sittyation we went clean hum 
 — and ev'ry once in a while the hoss would stop still, and 
 Tomson, (tender-hearted young man,) instid of thumpin' 
 on him, would giv his tail a jerk and make him go agin. 
 AH the gentlemen kept a payiii' on me complements all the 
 way about my mojestic appearance — and ev'rybody stared 
 at us ; but nobody couldent say a word — they was all 
 speechless with admireation. I must a persented an impo- 
 sin' appearence with the gret long surtoot a hangin' over 
 the bosses back, and my hair a floatin' over my sholders ; 
 but I was quite oncomfortable, for 'twas dretful warm, and 
 the surtoot was dretful heavy, and the sun beet down 
 awful hot, so't my phiziogermy was all kivered with swet- 
 spiration. 
 
 Well, we got hum. I unmounted, and Johnson giv the 
 hoss a slap, and he limped off to Potter's. *' Walk in, 
 gentlemen," says I. So they all cum in, and desisted me 
 off with the surtoot, and I opened the square room door, 
 and rushered 'em in. *' Beseat yerselves," says I. Then 
 I went up chomber and arrannged my dress ; wiped the 
 swetspiration off my face; done up my hair, it felt so 
 warm ; stuck a couple of ostridge fethers in my head, and 
 condescended to the square room, where I found Aunt 
 Huldy and Mr. Jabez Spriggins, and his mother, an old- 
 erly woman, of oncommon good understandin', and very 
 agreeable, but very nigh-sighted and considerblc deef; so't 
 
WIDOW SPRICGINS. 101 
 
 slie dldent appear as much struck with my looks as she 
 other ways would a ben. She'd ben there all the arter- 
 noon, and Jabez stopt on his way hum from school ; they'd 
 ben a settin in the kitching long of Aunt Huldy. 
 
 " Yer sarvent," says Jabez, *' I make ye acquaintid 
 with my mother." 
 
 ' ' How do ye dew ? " says I, but she dldent look off her 
 nittin' work. So Jabez he hollered right in her ear, 
 ** Miss Ruggles axes ye how ye dew?" " Miss Rugg? " 
 says she, *' well, why couldent she speak up so's to be 
 heerd ? " So I went and sot down nigh by her and 
 yelled out as loud as ever I could, 
 
 '* Yer considerble hard of hearin', ain't ye Missis Sprig- 
 gins?" *' Hard of hearin ! " says she, " yer mistaken ; 
 my hearin's as good as ever 'twas, ony I can't hear whis- 
 perin' no more'n anybody else that hain't alwas ben used 
 to't ; if they'd taJk as they did when I was young I could 
 hear well enuff." Well, I talkt to Missis Spriggins a 
 spell, and she seemed to take quite a notion to me 'cause 
 I hollered so loud — said I talkt as they did in old times. 
 Byrne by tea was reddy, and aunt cum in and called us 
 out — so we went into the kitching, and says aunt, " Set 
 by." So we sot down to the table, and we had punkin 
 pie, and apple-sass, and short cake, and nutcakes, and 
 sweet cake, and pickled cowcumbers, and sage cheeze. 
 
 "Missis Spriggins," says Aunt Huldy, "is yer tea 
 agreeable ? " 
 
 " Yis," says she. 
 
 " Jabez is yourn? " " Fust rate," says he. 
 
 " Mr. Wilkins, is yourn? " " Excellent," says he. 
 
 ** Mr. Johnson is yourn? " " Delishus," says he. 
 
 " Mr. Tomson is yourn? " 
 9* 
 
102 WIDOW SFEIGGINS. 
 
 *' Exquizzlte," says he. 
 
 ''Well now," contlnyd she, ''do eat, and don't be 
 bashful — do try to make out a supper : " and they all did 
 eat putty hearty but me — I ony took a dish of tea, and 
 dident eat nothin'. 
 
 Putty soon arter tea old Sprlggins cum in a wagon arter 
 his wife. Aunt and uncle went in the kitching and I was 
 alone with four interestin' young men : so says I, " Gen- 
 tlemen, what good do ye spose it's a guayne to do ye to 
 take arter me ? I'm undessolubly united in the bonds of 
 affection on Philander ; I can't incurrldge nary on ye. " 
 They all put their honkerchers to their eyes — Spriggins 
 he lookt dretfully pleased, and says he, " Ye don't mean 
 me tew, 'cause ye ain't a guayne to giv me my anser till 
 I've larnt that are you know what, and thattle be putty 
 soon, I tell ye." 
 
 " O ! " says Wilkins says he, " don't put a momenta- 
 rious etjnd to all my hopes." 
 
 Says Tomson, " Don't break my heart by sayin' ye 
 won't be mine." 
 
 Says Johnson, '* Don't, for goodness sake drive me to 
 desperation and discomboberation by sich soul-distractin' 
 words ! " 
 
 " My gracious, Mr. Johnson," says I, " how much 
 that are speech of yourn did sound like Philander." 
 
 " Murder ! " says he ; " don't mention the name of that 
 detistable rival." Putty soon they all went, and if ever 
 there was three fellers felt bad, them are three coliidge 
 fellers did. 
 
 Arter they'd went I went to take a walk, and I rombled 
 down to the lower eend of Uncle Jonah's farm — a moran- 
 tic and secludid spot, where there was a swamp with 
 
WIDOW SPRIG a INS. 103 
 
 bushes all round It, and the air was Impregglnated with the 
 flagrance of thousands of lillies that growd there in gret 
 lugshurlance — and havin' my writin' consairns along I sot 
 down on a stump and convoked the aid of the musses as 
 follers : 
 
 ODE TO MEMORY. 
 
 ' O ! memory if 'twant for thee 
 I should forget my lover — 
 And then ho"5it wretched he would be 
 My feelins to discover 1 
 
 And gracious ! I should be bereft 
 
 Of every consolation, 
 And sink right down beneath the heft 
 
 Of my sad sittyation. 
 
 Tho' troubled, 1 won't make no fuss, 
 
 If memory doesn't fixil me — 
 I can't imagine nothin' wuss 
 
 That possibly could ail me. 
 
 Tho' natur seems, when he ain't here, 
 
 As doleful as December — 
 
 I'd ruthcr he'd be goue a year 
 
 Than for to disremember. 
 
 Them lilies when the sun was up 
 
 As stiff as pokers grew. 
 But now they're jest as wet as sop, 
 
 And all bent down with dew. 
 
 So Milly's onforgitful heart 
 
 Is bendiu' down with sorrer ; 
 I'll weep as long as we're apart,— 
 
 I wish he'd cum to-morrer. 
 
104 WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Capting-, Where's my gallant sailor, 
 
 Ime dezirous for to know ? " 
 Madam, if you mean Sam Taylor, 
 He was married a week ago." 
 
 Old Song. 
 
 ELL, the anteceecHn' week of things went on 
 purty much as they did the proceedin' ; but a 
 Saturday an event conspired that channged my 
 destination. When I went hum from my sira- 
 inary, lo and behold, there was a letter from Podunk for 
 me ; and I opened it and found 'twas from father — here's 
 a subscription on't : 
 
 '/ Dorter Milly : — Cum hum right strait off you — yer 
 marai is to the pint of death. She was took last week with 
 a dretful cramp in her side — awfal crick in her back — blind 
 headache and turrible cold feet. She's talkt about her 
 Milly ever sen she was took, and wanted to have us send 
 for ye at fust, but as I reckoned she'd git up agin afore 
 long — (cause she's ben took so a number of times and 
 never died afore) — I thought Hwant best to send for ye. 
 we've had sich peccable times sen ye went off; but she got 
 wus and wus, and now we don't have no idee she'll git 
 well — so ye jest cum hum as quick as ye can, and dew 
 make up yer mind to be of sum sarvice to us when ye git 
 here. Yer daddy, 
 
 "Nadab Euggles.'^ 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 105 
 
 Now, thinks me, my exhibition 's all knockt in the head 
 — (for yer must know I was perjectin to have an exhibi- 
 tion in my siminary) — and I mustent think of nothin' now 
 only my beloved payrent — so I huv myself on the bed 
 and jackelated, "O mairciful creation! support and 
 strenken me in this tryin hour, and onable me to cumfort 
 my onfortinate mother afore she dies." Jest as Amandy 
 did when she heard of her father's illness. Then I thought 
 Ide go into highsterics. So I begun kickin' and squallin' 
 and rollin' my eyes consairnedly. Aunt Huldy she heerd 
 me and she cum up. 
 
 *' Grandfer grievous I " says she, <' what's to pay? " 
 
 <' O dear suz ! " says I, ** read that are letter and ye 
 won't wonder at me — for my everlastin' dear mother isent 
 suspected to live from one day to t'other." 
 
 *' You don't say so," says she. So she took and read 
 it, and says she, '* He go hum with ye, for T must see 
 Vihy once more afore she dies ; jump up, Milly ; we'll git 
 reddy right off; and go in the stage when it cums along 
 this evenin'." 
 
 " Onfeelin' woman ! " says I, *' how can ye tell me to 
 git up when I've got the highstericks so owfully ! " 
 
 '< I know It," says she, *' poor child ! but then if ye 
 don't git over it the stage will go along afore yer reddy — 
 and don't ye remember how Amandy hurried to git to her 
 'father when she heerd he was sick." So I hopt up in the 
 most agonizin' state of condition and begun to git reddy. 
 I put on my black rottenette gowud, and a black bouiba- 
 zeen long shawl that mother gin me, one she wore when 
 she was in mournin' for Grandfer Hogobone — then I tied 
 a black ribbin round my bunnit, and stuck one amazin' 
 lono' black ostrids^e fether in't. Then I stufFt all the rest 
 
1 G WW W SPRIG GINS. 
 
 of my things In my chlst and lockt it up. Whilst I was 
 fixin', Aunt Huldy went out and told Uncle Jonah, and 
 purty soon they cum in, and says uncle, says he, 
 
 *' Why, Milly, it's all nonsense for yer aunt to go hum 
 with ye." 
 
 *' I guess He go for all you — so there now," says aunt. 
 
 '' Well," says uncle, *' I shant giv ye no money to go 
 with. Ye never hear of any of yer relations bein' sick 
 but what ye want to go and see 'em die, and cut a sworth 
 to the funeral, and ye might better stay hum and take care 
 of yer family." 
 
 "Mighty family!" says Aunt Huldy, *«ony one old 
 coot to see tew ! " 
 
 '< Mister and Missis," says I, *« if ye want to qurril on 
 this mawlancolly casion I wish ye'd retire to the kitchenary 
 department, and not disturb me by yer discongenial ex- 
 ploteration." So they went off, and I sot down and writ 
 the follerin' notice to my school : 
 
 *' Daelin Puppils : — It is with the bio-o-est sorrer I 
 denounce to you that I shall be enable to construct you 
 enny more at present ; and whether I shall ever consume 
 the delightful task to develup yer minds enny more is a 
 circumstence that lies hid in the unbeholden debths of 
 futrinity. I am summonsed to contend the death-bed of an 
 only and beloved mother — but I wish to desire to make 
 one last request of ye. I want ye all to go to meetin' to- 
 morrer drest in black gownds and black ostridge fethers in 
 yer bonnits, and when meetin's out, perceed to the front 
 of Deacon Peabody's door — rannge yerselves In a row 
 and sing the follerin* stanzy to the tunc of the long meetre 
 doxyology : 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 107 
 
 •' Alas I our darlin' teacher's pone, 
 That's why we put these black gownds on ; 
 We can't submit to't tho' we must ; 
 It seems as if our very hearts would bust." 
 
 Arter supper the stage cum along, and Uncle Jonah run 
 out and hulloed, *' Passenger for Podunk ; " so they druv 
 up, and we all went out, and whilst the driver was helpin' 
 Uncle Jonah put my chlst into't, I huv my arms round 
 Aunt Huldy and kist her agin and agin, exclamigatin', 
 "Farewell belovedest, darllnest Aunt Huldy — may all 
 the blessins of Pleaven be condescended upon yer." Then 
 I stretcht out one hand and had t'other on my heart, and 
 lookln' round me with a heavy sythe, says I thus : *' Adoo ! 
 sylvanlc shades of Higglns Patent ! no longer will ye giv 
 a sylum to the fair Permilly. Adoo ! sweet umbragglous 
 shady grove where I parted with Philander — no more will 
 my fairy form wander amonkst yer excludid shades, to 
 court the musses and think on my distant swine — I bid 
 ye an unterminable farewell ! " 
 
 There was three gentlemen In the stage, and they stared 
 at me consairnedly, and says one on 'em to Aunt Huldy, 
 ' ' Is the young woman derannged ? " 
 
 '*Derannged! no;" says she, «« ony she's ruther 
 smarter'n common folks." 
 
 Well, I got In and we druv off. O ! if there is a 
 minnit in this subernary state of egsistence, when the sad 
 and sorrerful sperrit fells as if it wouldent giv teppence 
 for all creation, 'tis when we part with frinds. I felt so 
 then — so I huv my head languldlously over onto the 
 sholder of the man that sot aside of me, and bust into a 
 simmultaneous flood of tears. 
 
 Arter Ide recovered a little I raised my droopin' head 
 
108 WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 
 
 and lookt round and I never see tew surprisder lookin' 
 creeturs than the men that sot opposit of me. They 
 opened their eyes as big as sarcers and begun whisperin' 
 about me — but the one next to me dident say a word. So 
 I lookt round at him and good gracious ! he lookt so much 
 like Philander (ony sum older,) that I utterated a percin' 
 skreik and tumbled prostracious on the bottom of the 
 stage. They all jumpt up and resisted me to rise and arter 
 I was beseated, says I, " Gentlemen, mabby you think 
 strannge of me, and for fear you should intertain oranious 
 impressions regardin' me, He tell ye my history, if ye'd 
 like to hear it." They all said they'd like to hear it wonder- 
 fully — so I telld 'em the hull I've telld my readers ; only 
 I couldent remember all the poitry ; but I had a coppy of 
 my Ode to Memory in my work pocket, and I took that 
 out and read it to 'em. The young man that set aside of 
 me said he never heerd enny thing equal to it ; but the 
 other men dident say a word, and nary on 'em dident speak 
 to me agin — they was olderly men and oncommon ruff 
 lookin', but 'tother one was a rael slick lookin' feller — he 
 telld me he lived in Utica ; and like most of the residers 
 of that extensyve and anncient city he was oncommon gin- 
 teel in his appearance, and refined in his monners. Well, 
 purty soon we arrove at Utica, and the stage druv up to 
 the stage-house, and there was a lot of men standin' round, 
 and when the young man got out, there was one run out 
 amonkst from 'em and shook hands with him ; so I poked 
 my head out to git a better sight on him, and as true as crea- 
 ti(jn, 'twas Philander ! my long-lost Philander. Tie was 
 considerble altered, and I should a thought 'twas Johnson 
 if he hadent a had on the same green coat with a black 
 velvet collar he had on when he paid his distresses to me ; 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 109 
 
 but there was no mistake ; so I jumpt out of the stage and 
 run towerds him. The men all gin way for me and I rushed 
 ahead exclamigatin, *' O Philander ! my own darlin' Phil- 
 ander ! Heaven has at last restorated you to your mournin' 
 but faithful Permilly." 
 
 So sayin' I huv my arms round him and eeny most had 
 a highsteric fit. There was ever so many young men 
 standin' round, and amongst 'em I see Wilkins and Tom- 
 son, and they all hoorawd. Philander, instid of returnin' 
 my inraptured caresses, lookt rael mad, and dident know 
 what to do. At last the young man that cum in the stage 
 with me says he, *' The young woman's crazy ^ she's 
 taken iny brother to be sumbody else ; " and says Philan- 
 der, " We'd better take her into the house till the stage is 
 reddy." So he and his brother led me in and sot me down 
 on a sofy, and all the other fellers follered arter. Philan- 
 der and his brother whispered together a spell, and then 
 Philander went out, motionin' to t'other fellers to accompa- 
 nate him. Arter they'd all went ony Philander's brother 
 and me, he cum tome and says he, '* Miss Kuggles ; " 
 says I, ''Hay!" says he, " Pve got suthin to tell ye, 
 thattle no doubt make ye feel ruther bad, and tho' I'd 
 ruther have an iron spike druv thro' me than to communi- 
 cate sich a piece of contelligence, yit it's my duty to do it, 
 and if I don't ye'll find it out sum time or other." 
 
 *'Dew tell," says I, "my curiosity is rung up to the 
 biggest pitch — dew tell me." 
 
 ''Well," says he, " if I must I must — Philander's 
 married ! " 
 
 If a thousand muskits had ben fired at my head, and a 
 million baggernets run through my body, I shouldent a ben 
 more bethunderstruck nor no nigher killed than I was that 
 10 
 
1 i WW W SPRIG GINS. 
 
 mlnnlt. I yelled out as loud as ever I could, and then I 
 got up and took off' my bunnit and laid it on the table, and 
 begun tearin' my . hair most awfully, and ravin' and 
 screemin' the wost way, so't all the folks in the house cum 
 runnin' in to see what was the matter. Arter Ide got 
 complectly desausted I sot dowm and gin vent to my sorrer 
 in heart-splittin' groans and sythes, and thinks me, how 
 would Amandy acted if she'd heern Lord Mortimer was 
 married? There's no tellin'. But I know how she acted 
 when she heerd he was a guayne to be. She lost her 
 appertite and growd as thin as a rail ; but dident say a 
 word about it to nobody — tho' she took on when she got 
 alone. And thinks me, like enuff Philander's torrannical 
 father has ben a makin' of him git married agin his inclina- 
 tion, jest as Lord Mortimer's father was a guayne to make 
 him. So says I, " Did his cruel father impel him to git 
 married ao-in his inclination ? " and 1 lookt round to where 
 Philander's brother sot, and lo and behold, he want there. 
 I spose he was so overcum by my sufFerins he couldent 
 stand it, and so cleard out, and I never see no more on 
 him nor Philander nyther from that day to this. I han't 
 .no doubt but what Philander had been conduced to believe 
 that I was onfaithful to him. Lord Mortimer wouldent a 
 wiped his old shoes on Lady Euphrasia Sutherland if he 
 hadent a sposed Amandy was onfaithful — no more would- 
 ent Philander a married anybody else if he hadn't a sposed 
 Ide forgit him, and Ide be wiling to bet a boss that John- 
 son and Wilkins and Tomson had been a lyin' to him about 
 me; 'cause they wanted' me themselves. -Well, arter 
 thinkin' on't all over I got up and dun up my hair, and put 
 on my bunnit, and tho' there was morc'n forty folks — men, 
 wimmin, and children, axin' of me questions — I dident 
 
WW W SPRIG GIXS. 1 1 1 
 
 anser 'em n'or tell 'em what ailded me, but arter Ide got 
 iixt I went out and stood by the door till t'other stage got 
 reddy to go, and then I got in and huv my head agin the 
 back side of the stage and shot up my eyes and dident 
 open 'em agin whilst t'other passengers was a gittin' In, 
 nor for quite a spell arterwards : but there I sot a ponder- 
 in', and my rumlrations was the most distressin' 1 ever 
 experienced In my born days, and whilst I was a settin' In 
 that persltlon I composed sum very mournful stanzys, and 
 I thought Ide write 'em off so I opend my eyes and I see 
 'twas conslderble dark, so't I couldent see the folks that 
 was in the stage, ony so fur as to see that they was all 
 men folks, and I was the ony shemale in the stage. So 
 says I, *' Gentlemen, I want to write down sum poitry 
 and I don't see how Ime to do It, It's so dark." 
 
 <* O !" says one on 'em. says he, " I can write as well 
 in the dark as I can without a light. He write it for ye if 
 ye'll tell me as I go long." 
 
 ** He be obleejed to ye to do it," says I : so I gin him 
 my pencil and a piece of paper, and he took his hat and 
 writ on top on't, (me tellln' on him a line to once) the 
 follerin': 
 
 ON A LAMENT. 
 
 Did you ever see Philander? 
 
 O I he was a charmin' swiue ; 
 He was tall, and he was slender; 
 
 He was honsome; he was mine. 
 
 To a maid he took a notion, 
 
 She his love did soon return, 
 And while he was on the oshun 
 
 She believed his heart was hern. 
 
 He intended for to marry ; 
 
 But alas I his mmd he channged — 
 Now she's ravin' like old Harry ; 
 
 He is false, and she's derannged. 
 
112 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 
 
 '* That's all," says I, ^* now giv it to me." 
 
 " O no ! " says he, **you''must allow me to read it to 
 my frinds — it's exquizzlte." As soon as he said that I 
 know'd who 'twas: "Land of liberty!" says I, "Mr. 
 Toms on, is that you ? " 
 
 *' Egzackly," says he, "and I vow I believe this is 
 INIiss Ruggles — I dident know ye afore — and here's Mr. 
 Johnson and Mr. Wilkins. I hope we shall have the 
 pleshure of yer company to Skenackady." 
 
 " I declare," says Johnson, " this is truly a happifyin' 
 circumstence." 
 
 "By George!" says Wilkins, "we're a fortinate set 
 of fellers to be so onexpectedly favored with Miss Eug- 
 gleses company." 
 
 " Hold yer jaw," says I, "yer a mean, contemptible 
 set of villings ; I won't have nothin' to say to nary one on 
 ye ; so jest giv up that are poitry." 
 
 " This is strannge," says Johnson, " how on airth have 
 we offended you ? " 
 
 " Purty question for you to ax, you tarnal wretch," says 
 I, shaking my fist in his face. 
 
 " What have we done? " says Tomson. 
 
 " Dun ? " says I. " Haint ye ben the means of dashin' 
 the dish of felickity from my lips ? — Haint ye underminded 
 me in the affections of Philander? Haint it ben thro' 
 your instrumentality that he's went and married another, 
 and left me to uncomboundid dispare ? " 
 
 " O yer mistaken ! " says they all to once. 
 
 " I aint nyther," says I — so I stuft my fingers in my 
 cars and held 'em so ever so long. At last Tomson 
 begun to read the poitry he'd writ down for me out loud, 
 and when he'd red it thev sung it to a Methodist tune. 
 
WIDOW SPRIG oms. 113 
 
 Tomson he lined it as they do in meetin'. So I took my 
 fingers out of my ears to listen to 'em, and says Johnson, 
 *« Music hath charms to sooth a savidge ! I tho't you'd get 
 over it." 
 
 **I hain't got over it nyther," says I — so I stuck my 
 head out of the winder and hollerd " Murder ! murder ! " 
 as loud as ever I could yell. Well the hosses they was 
 dretfully skairt, and took off as tight as ever they could 
 pull. The driver he tried to hold 'em in, and kept a 
 hollerin' "hoe!" but they went faster and faster, and 
 purty soon they went tearin' down a hill and huv the 
 stage right over ; and we all cum tumblin' out en massy — - 
 but this ere's an oncommon long chopter, so I must cum 
 to an eend just where I shouldcnt orto. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Come tell me, blue-eyed strannger, 
 Say whither dust thou roam, 
 O'er this wide world a rannger, 
 Hast thou no frinds nor hum ? " 
 
 Old Song. 
 
 T fust I reckoned we was all killd, but arter a spell 
 
 we found we was all alive, ony considerble stunted 
 
 — but the driver was the maddest creetur ever I 
 
 see ; he cusst and swore, and said if it hadent a 
 
 ben for me the hosses wouldent a run away. Well, there 
 
 was a house nigh by and a man and a big boy cum out and 
 
 helpt 'em fix the stage, and arter 'twas fixt the fellers was 
 
 10* 
 
114 WIDOW SPRIGGINS, 
 
 a guayne to help me Into't agin, but says I, In a senatorian 
 voice, ''Lemine alone, I aint a guayne to travil a step fur- 
 der wid ye ! ** 
 
 ** Unposslble ! " says all three of the fellers, **you 
 mustent leave us so." 
 
 '* Hold yer jaw," says I, '' yer a set of thunderin' mean 
 scampers, I won't be seen in yer company — I despise ye 
 more'n I dew the alrth I tred on — I don't consider ye 
 worth turnin' my nose up at." 
 
 *« Well," says the driver, *' If ye did ye wouldent have 
 to do it, seein' it's alreddy arrannged in that persition." 
 When the driver said that, the fellers all lafft consairn- 
 edly. 
 
 '' O, lawful suz ! " says .1, "ye all begin to lafF now 
 seein' ye can't git me. Jabez Spriggins telld the truth 
 about ye when he said ye tho't ye'd lalrnt all there was to 
 be lalrnt to Hamilton Collidge and so sot off for Durrup 
 CoUidge to use that up tew ; but I can tell ye if ye go to 
 all the Collidges in Americy, ye won't know B from 
 broomstick — so Mister Perllteness " (contlnuyd I, ad- 
 dressin' the driver), "jest take off my chlst, for Ime a 
 guayne to stop to this ere house. '' Yer chlst," says he, 
 '* ye han't no chist." So says I to the man, <' Mister, I 
 wish ye'd let yer boy there go up to Utica and get my 
 chist — they forgot to put it aboard the stage." But the 
 driver up and says he, " Don't ye dew it ; she han't got no 
 chist ; she's crazy." 
 
 *' Ye lie like split," says I, '* I'm a young woman of 
 the biggest respecterbihty — of Dutch distraction on the 
 mother's side, and New England consent on the father's, 
 and my Grand fer Ruggles fit, bled, and died In the revo- 
 lutionerry tussle, and arterwards drawd a pension, and if 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 115 
 
 it want for all these ere sircurastences my own Individdyal 
 extinction would be enuff to skewer me the steam and ad- 
 mireatlon of all creation." 
 
 ** Well," says the driver, *' ye've got to pay as much 
 dammage as if ye went to Durrup." So I took out my 
 puss and paid him and they druv off and I went into the 
 house; and says I to the man and woman, *' That are 
 driver haint no reason to think I'm derannged, ony cause 
 I wouldent travil with the company he's carryin', and I do 
 boseech on ye to send arter my chist to Utica, for it's got 
 all my notions in't." 
 
 " Well," says the man, «' it's pitch dark now — I can't 
 let Hoky go to-night, but mabby I will to-morrer." 
 
 <^ Well, then," says I, "jest give giv me a compart- 
 ment for I want to go into a state of retiracy," 
 
 *' Give ye what? " says the woman. 
 
 *' Why, a room to sleep in you," says I. 
 
 *' Well," says she, *'ye'll have to sleep with Zady, for 
 the schoolmaster's a boardin' here this week, and he's got 
 the spare bed, and he's gone to bed now." So she took a 
 lontern and went up chomber and I follered arter, and she 
 rusliered me into a room that was in considerable of a 
 condition — there was a half a lookin glass, an old three 
 Ici^o-ed cheer, and an old shakin' table that would tumble 
 over if ye lookt at it hard ; and in the corner was a trundle 
 bed and a gret fat gearl asleep on't a snorin' the wost 
 way. 
 
 " Good woman," says I. <* My name's Missis Hitchins," 
 says she. 
 
 *« Well, Missis Hitchins," says I, ** ye may make yer 
 disappearance." So she went off, and I took the lontern 
 and went up and took a realizin' sense of the trundle bed ; 
 
110 WID W SPRIG GINS. 
 
 and besides the snorin' of the fleshy gearl, the oncommon 
 narrowness of the trundle bed was sich as to render It on- 
 possible to repoze there : so thinks me, I'll set up all night. 
 So I turned the old cheer over and sot down on't, and be- 
 gun to ponderate ; and thinks me, how much my sittyation 
 is like Amandy's when she stopt to old Byrnes flamber- 
 gasted cottidge. What a pity she dident have my genyus 
 for makin' poltry — what an interestin' account she'd a gin 
 of her misfortins ; but taint everybody that has a natral 
 genyus for't, and if It d^n't cum natral there's no use in 
 tryin' — they mought as well try to make a univairse as 
 to try to make poitry without beein' natrally gifted that 
 way — and seein' I've got sich gret poeticle tallents Ide 
 or'to improve 'em, and certainly the soUem sittyation Ime 
 placed in to-night should or'to inspire me with a wonder- 
 ful frenzy for composin'. So I lookt in my ridicule and 
 there want no paper there. 
 
 Just then I heerd surabody in the contigruous room ut- 
 terate the terriblest percin' skreek I ever heerd in my born 
 days. So thinks me, sumbody's dyin' or sumbodj's mur- 
 derin' sumbody ; and bein' indued with oncommon cur- 
 ridge, I ketcht the lontern and run in there — but there 
 want no noise nor nobody there ony sumbody in bed ; so I 
 went up to the bed to see whether the occerpyer was dead 
 or alive — and lo and behold, there was a very interestin' 
 lookin' young man asleep there, and thinks me he had the 
 nightmare when he yelled so — no doubt he was a dream- 
 in' of his own sorrers and misfortins, for I knowd from his 
 looks that he want a strannger to greef. He had on a red 
 nightcap with a tossil on top, and a number of holes in't 
 thro' which his dark hair was pokin' in greaceful neglitudc, 
 O ! (solliquized I,) greef has did Its work on that are 
 
WIDOW SPEIGGmS. 117 
 
 long thin nose and turned up the tip on't with continyl 
 sobbin ! greef has ondoubtedly drawd down the corners 
 of that are mouth, and dreams of unrelentin' ennemys 
 pursuin' of ye has certinly skairt ye to sich an alarming 
 degree as to make yer ears start out so and bust them 
 holes in yer nightcap ! peace to yer ashes, mournin' swine. 
 So sayin' I turned round to go out, when I obsairved sum 
 paper lyin' on the table. So I reckoned Ide help myself 
 to a sheet on't to write sum poitry on ; but seein' an ink- 
 stand and pen there thinks me. He write here cause this 
 ere table don't shake so as t'other does. So I drawd up a 
 cheer and sot down, and mj medifications resulted in the 
 foUerin' confusion : — 
 
 Who knows but what I'm settin' nigh 
 
 To sum extinguished strannger, 
 
 ' That from his hum was forced to fly 
 
 O'er this wide world a rannger. 
 
 Mabby his father was onkind, 
 
 And tried to make him wed 
 Sum gearl that wasent to his mind, 
 
 And so from hum he fled. 
 
 Tho' others blame ye, mournin' man, 
 
 The fair Permilly'll praise ye, 
 Because ye wouldent jiiie yer hand 
 
 To disbeloved Euphrashy. 
 
 Wake I long-nosed marquis 1 lord or earl, 
 
 Open your eyes and see 
 A mournin', pinin', weepin' gearl 
 
 To simpathise with thee. 
 
 Oh dear ! if you knowd my distress, 
 
 I'm sure 'twould raise yer dander, 
 For now I mourn the onfaithfulness 
 
 Ot my once true Philander ! 
 
118 WIDOW SPRIG GIXS. 
 
 And like enuff (for taint oncommon 
 
 For earls to git the mitten)^ 
 That you've ben shipped by sum young woman, 
 
 And now yer heart is splittiu'. 
 
 reace to yer ashes, sleepin' swine, 
 
 Dear broken-hearted creetur, 
 'Tis Milly Kugglcs, writes these lines, 
 
 When mornin' cums ye '11 meet her. 
 
 AYhen Ide writ this afFectin' poem, I laid it in Pike's 
 Eithmetick I see lyin' there ; then I turned to take one 
 more look of the young man abed — and whether or no 
 the lontern shinin' in his eyes woke him up or not I don't 
 know ; enny how he opened his eyes and lookt up at me ; 
 arter starin' at me a spell with the biggest wonderation 
 depictered on his phizziogermy, says he to me, says he, 
 ** Jimmini ! who in the name of wonder be you? " 
 
 *' Don't ax who I be," says I, ** jest look in Pike's 
 rithmetick and thattle giv ye the denowment who I be." 
 
 ** Pike's Eithmetic," says he, '* I know a man about my 
 size that can find out eeny most ennything by studdyin' 
 out on't — but by gu-m ! I don't see how Ime to find who 
 you be if T cipher out on't from now to next never." 
 
 *« Well," says I, " you look right next the kiver and 
 you'll see." So sayin' I made -a curchy and vanished into 
 t'other room leavin' my lontern behind. 
 
 Arter I went out I listend to the door and heerd him 
 git up and go to the table and read the confusion out loud. 
 
 Arter he'd read it, says he, *' Jimmini ! " a number of 
 times — then I heerd him a mcndin' a pen — and then he 
 begun to write and writ for ever so long. At last I got 
 tired listenin', so I tho't Ide set down agin ; but as I went 
 to beseat myself I got on the wrong eend of the cheer — 
 
WIDOW SrRIGGINS. 119 
 
 (ye know 'twas turned down) — and it let me right onto 
 the floor, and it made sich a rachit it woke up Zady, and 
 she hollerd out, " Grandfer Griffin ! what in natur's to 
 pay?" I never said a word. «* Arter all," solliquized 
 she, "mabby 'twan't nothin' but me dreamin'." So sayin' 
 she crin two or three grunts and turned over and went to 
 sleep agin. So I got up, fixt the cheer, and sot down 
 strait, laid my head on the table and went to sleep, and 
 dident wake up agin till mornin' ; and then my neck was 
 so stiff holdin' on't so long in that betwistid persition that 
 I couldent scerce move it for ever so long. As soon as it 
 got limberd a little I riz and arrannged my dress and went 
 down stairs, leavin' Zady sound asleep. The man and 
 woman was up, and arter a spell Zady got up and cum 
 thumpin' down. I was settin' behind the door so she did- 
 ent see me, and she took tew pails and went off to mllkin', 
 and the woman begun to get breckfust, and says she, 
 " Young woman, ye'll have to be sairved as the rest on 
 us be — for the master's got to have the silver spoon 
 and the chany teacup and sarcer." 
 
 " Well, I don't ker," says I, " Amandy had to drink 
 ut of a noggin to old Byrnes." 
 
 «' Who had tew? " says she. 
 
 «' Amandy Fitzalan," says I. 
 
 «« Sumbody I don't know," says she. 
 
 Then she went out to pull sum inyons, and whilst she 
 was G-one the master cum down — he dident see me — so 
 I kehawked and he lookt round. 
 
 '' Good mornin', Miss Ruggles," says he, makin' a 
 scrapin' bow. 
 
 " Good mornin' to yer lordship," says I, curchyin'. 
 
 Says he, '*! feel extrornary honored by the visit ye 
 
120 WIDOW SFEIGGINS. 
 
 made me last night — and that poltry ! Jimmini, it's fine ! 
 I couldent rest till Ide writ an anser to it — for Irae a polt 
 of considerble merrit myself — I've had a number of arti- 
 cles printed in that are well-conductid perry odical, the 
 jNIohawk iMeteor and Marcy Kepublican. You've on- 
 doLibtldly seen and admired the poetical countributions 
 signed ' The Mudbow Minstrel ; ' them's mine. I'm no 
 strannger to yer repitation, Miss Ruggles, for Ime an inti- 
 mit frind of young Spriggins — a gret admirer of yourn 
 — and he and I corrisponds ; his pistles is full of your 
 praises, so that my curiosity to behold ye had arriven to a 
 vv^onderful pitch, but Ide no idee of it's bein gratifacted in 
 the interestin' monner it was by yer morantic visitation 
 last night." 
 
 "But," says I, interruptin' him, ** ye said how't ye 
 v^^rit an anser to my poim. I should like to see it." 
 
 So he put his hand in his pockit and took out a foldid 
 paper containin' 45 amazin' putty vairses, and tho' it 
 would take tew much time to coppy 'em all, I can't help 
 substractin' a few on 'em. Arter guayne on to say ho\v't 
 he want asleep when I went into his room, but ony ** per- 
 tendin' for to sleep," he continnys in the foilerin monner : 
 
 •* O 1 sicli a face I never see 
 
 Sence I on airth was born I 
 'Twas briglitest noonday's sun to me, 
 
 With bluslujiij hues of morn. 
 
 "And then I seen you starin' round, 
 
 Jest Uke sura creetur's ghost, 
 That cum to fmd, from under ground, 
 
 Sumthin' it had lost. 
 
 " And tlien my pen I seen you take, 
 My paper, ink, and cheer, 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 121 
 
 And tlion set down all for to make 
 That poitry so dear. 
 
 " And o'er the sheet the pen you drew, 
 
 In rhyming fury dashing, 
 And from yer eyes the idees flew, 
 
 Like lightning bugs a flashing." 
 
 Here comes in a number of stanzys about Mister 
 Shakespeare, rollin' frenzy, &c. ; and then he goes on, — 
 
 " And when you'd got it writ, you took 
 
 And put it in my Pike — 
 That jewel of a ciphering book — 
 
 You must a knowd I like. 
 
 " By day I read that rithmetick, 
 
 It occerpies my slumbers, 
 'Twas there I learnt to rhyme so slick, 
 
 And got so skilled in numbers. 
 
 " My streekid sky's ben black and blue, 
 
 A world of botheration, 
 As you have ben, so I've ben through 
 
 A sight of tribulation." 
 
 Then he goes on to tell about his sorrers — how't he'd 
 ben in love a number of times and always got the mitten, 
 and so finally made up his mind not to try no more — 
 but taint woth while to subscribe that part, as there's 18 
 vairses on't. So he continys, — 
 
 "Ah I Shakespeare says,— " 
 
 (I spose this Mr. Shakespeare's sum intimit frind of 
 hissen.) 
 
 "Ah ! Shakespeare says, and Shakespeare knew, 
 
 (To you and me that's plain) — 
 That true love never did run true, 
 
 But always cross the grain." 
 
 11 
 
122 WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 
 
 Then he goes on through a number of stanzys to dls- 
 cribe the oncerting natur of love — the coldness of the 
 world in gineral, and the shemale sect in perticler — the 
 trials that genyus has to undergo — and at last eends as 
 follers, — 
 
 *' Now eence in rhyme my woes and struggles 
 
 Ive had a chance to pour 'em, 
 He jest subscribe myself, Miss Ruggles, 
 
 Your friend, P. Zebidek Gobum." 
 
 I dident read all the poitry then ; I put it in my ridi- 
 cule, and arter thankin' the master for't, says I, " I hope 
 ye won't tell these folks about my guayne inter yer chom- 
 ber last night ; cause if ye dew they'll think the driver 
 telld the truth when he said I was crazy." 
 
 *' O ! I won't mention it," says he, *' but how on airth 
 did you git here ? " 
 
 I was jest a guayne to conform him, when Missis 
 Hitchins and Zady and the old man cum in. Zady was 
 betliunderstruck to see me, and they was all supprized 
 eiiuff when the master introducted me to 'em. Arter tliat 
 they was amazin' perlite. Well, we sot down to breck- 
 fust — but I must resairve whot concurred that day ('twas 
 Sabberday ye know) for another chopter. 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 123 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 «' O I Sangerfield I 
 Where is thy shield 
 To gard agin grim death ! 
 He aims his guu 
 At every one, 
 And fires away their breath I " 
 
 Sangerfield Huddle Bard. 
 
 RTER breckfust I axed Mr. HItcliins if Hoky mut 
 go arter my chist, and he said seein' 'twas me and 
 seein' 'twas a case of necesserty he mought, tho' 
 'twas agin his principles to ride anywhere a Sab- 
 berday ony to meetin'. So Hoky he put on his Sundy 
 clus, and tallerd his hair, and harnissed the bosses to the 
 waggin and sot off for Utica, and he cum hum in about 
 tew hours. Missis Hitchlns axed me to go to meetin' with 
 'em — (they attendid dervine salrvice to New Hartford, 
 about a mild from there,) but I telld her Ide ruther wait 
 till arternoon, cause my chist hadent arrove yit. 
 
 *' Well," says she, " we shant be hum a noontime, so 
 how'll ye find the way to meetin' ? " 
 
 <'0!" says Mr. P. Zebidee Gorum, *« He stay till 
 arternoon and so go with Miss Ruggles." 
 
 «' Well," says she, *' if ye want anything to eat ye'll 
 find a platter of nutcakes In the cubberd, and sum cheese 
 on the buttry shelf." 
 
 So she aud Mr. Hitchlns and Zady sot off for meetin', 
 
124 WWO W SPRIGGINS. 
 
 and I and the master was left alone together, and we con- 
 vairsed about things in gineral, and I discovered that Mr. 
 Gorum was a young man of oncommon bright immagin- 
 nation and highly cultivated mind. I axed him to write 
 me an ode on the death of my mother. 
 
 ** Is yer mother dead? " says he. 
 
 '' No," says I, '* but I suspect she will be by the time 
 I get hum." So sayin' I put my honkercher to my eyes, 
 and was dretfully overcum for a spell. 
 
 Bymeby Hoky arrove with my chist, and as I was a 
 guayne out in the stage that evenin' I reckond I wouldent 
 have it carried up chomber. So I took out my kee and 
 onlocked it, and took out sich articles as I contendid to 
 put on, and went up into Zady's room and arrannged my 
 apparril. 
 
 Beein' a very warm day I tho't I wouldn't wear no bun- 
 nit to meetin'. So I done up my auburn tressis with my 
 high-topptcomb, tied my six black ostridge fethers together 
 with a black ribbin and stuck ^em in my head — ye know 
 I had on my black rottenette gownd — well, I rolled up 
 the sleeves to make 'em look short, and put on my long 
 black cambrick gloves, then I huv my black long shawl 
 round my neck and pined it down on one sholder with a 
 black bow with tew eends to't much as a yard and a half 
 long, then I loopt the skeart of my gownd up on one side 
 and pined a black bow on't and my dress was completed, 
 and certingly if ever a creetur lookt interestiu' I did that 
 minnit in my mournin' habileations. 
 
 Arter I was drest I condesendid, and I never see a sur- 
 prisder creetur than the master was — he was quite over- 
 cum with admireation, and declared that he never see a 
 more charmin' appcerance than what I persented all in 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 125 
 
 black. Well he went Into the buttry and brung me a 
 piece of cheese on a fork, and then he went to the cubberd 
 and fetched me a wonderful long nutcake on another fork. 
 Then he helpt himself and arter we'd eat 'em he said 'twas 
 time to be guayne. So I took my parrysol and we lockt 
 arms and off we sot for meetin, and I don't bleeve that 
 tew more interestin' beeins ever prerambleated the scrub- 
 urbs of New Hartford afore or sen. Mr. Gorum was 
 drest with the biggest taste ; he had on a long-tailed yaller 
 thin coat and nankeen trowsis. Well, we walkt purty 
 slow and when we got to meetin' the folks had most on 
 'em arrove there, and as he walkt up the broad ile the peo- 
 ple stared at us as if they was bethunderstruck. The min- 
 ister was a readin' the sam and he stoppt as much as a 
 minnit ; but Missis Hitchins and Zady was surprisder than 
 anybody else. I never extracted so much attention in my 
 life as I did that day in the New Hartford presbiteerian 
 meetin' house — once in the sairmon the minister illuded to 
 the sorrers and disappintments of airth, and I groaned out 
 loud, and everybody lookt round at me, and sum onfeelin 
 folks lafFt ; then the minister he lookt awful mad, and 
 stoppin' right short in his dizcourse, says he, " My frinds, 
 the sanctooerry aint no place to be merry." So they 
 stoppt laffin, and the men folks ginerally stoppt starin', 
 but the wimrain folks couldent help peekin' round once in 
 a while. 
 
 Bymeby meetin' was out and we went hum, and arter 
 tea I arrannged my dress for travellin', and about six 
 o'clock the stage cum along. I axed Mr. Hitchins what 
 was the dammidge, but he wouldent take nothin'. So I 
 thanked him and then I had a very afFectionit partin' with 
 Mr. Gorum, (he was ividently took with me) and then I 
 11* 
 
126 WID W SFEIG GI^'S. 
 
 got into the stage and starticl for Podunk. There was five 
 men folks in the stage ; all on 'em oncommon ruffins but 
 one, and he was sich an attracktyve man I can't liel^^ dc- 
 scribin' on him ; he had a very dignified but summat 
 stairrin' phizziogermy — tho' when he addrested himself to 
 me a brand smile played over his feeters — but I never see 
 the beat of his conversationable powers afore nor sen. The 
 other passengers was electrificated by his eloquation, and 
 dident say but very little, and no wonder ! He was talkin' 
 about Utica when I got in, and it was ivident that he was 
 a resider of that citty. 
 
 " Gentlemen," says he, ** our citty is the sentre of the 
 State — I may say of the United States. It is as remark- 
 erble for its intairnal arranngements as it is for the 
 inlightenment and infermation of its inhabiters. It is 
 in all respects very fur previous to Phelidelphy. New York 
 itself can't hold a candle to it. Gentlemen ! where will 
 ye find such refinement of mongers and eleguance of ap- 
 peerence as the ladies of our city pozzess ? and where sich 
 intellectitude of mind — sich profoundify of tallents — 
 sich overwhelming and captivatin' abillyties as our men of 
 sighence egsibit ? our young men partickleary • — I may 
 safely say they are previous to any other young men in 
 the United States, and subzequent to nun in the univairt^e." 
 Then turning to me with a ravishin' smile, says he, *' Mum, 
 have ye ever been in Utica, mum ? " 
 
 " Yis," says .1, syin' "I was there yisterday under 
 very distressin' circumstences." 
 
 *' Ah!" says he, with a very greaceful inclineation of 
 his boddy, " may I enquire what distressin' ok-kurrence 
 ok-kurred?" So I recountered the hull of my history 
 from beginnin' to eend, and when Ide finnishid, says he, 
 with another greaceful inclineation, — 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 127 
 
 *' It seems to me, mum, you've ben the artifisher of yer 
 own misfortins' by givin' way to the senslbilitude with 
 which you are indewed by natur' — the egshuberance of 
 your Immaggination and vivacitude of your sperrits has in- 
 tirely outstript your discretionery powers, mum." 
 
 Jest then we cum to Little Falls, and the four codgers 
 got out and a remarkerble ginteel woman and a little boy 
 about five year old got in. It was considerble dark and I 
 couldent see her feeters extmctly, but putty soon she spoke 
 to the little boy, and I recognatid her voice in a minnit. 
 
 *' Goody gracious, Miss Van Dusen ! " says I. 
 
 * ' Mairciful heavens ! my dear Permilly ! " says she — 
 and we huv ourselves into one another's arms. 
 
 O ! if there is a minnit when the heart-broken sperrit 
 feels as if it would go off the handle with joy, 'tis when long 
 severatid frinds onexpectedly meets ! For a spell we 
 strainded one another in a silent imbrace without utteratin' 
 a sillybull ony jackllation — " O ! Miss Yan Dusen ! " 
 ** O ! Permilly ! " — at which Mr. Spluttergut, the gentle- 
 man from Utica, seemed mucli affectid. When we was 
 recoveratid from our jouful supprise I axed her where she 
 was guayne, and she conformed me that she was a guayne 
 to visit her relatyves in Durrup, and that she had ben 
 married a number of year to Squire Stokes, one of the fust 
 men in Little Falls. 
 
 " Do tell !" says I, " and is this ere sweet little cheru- 
 bim yer son ? " 
 
 '' Yis," anserd she, " my on'y son." 
 
 *' What's yer. name, you little darlin'? " says I, kissin' 
 of him — but instid of anserin' he begun to beller, and his 
 mother said he was dretful sensatyve ; always cry'd when 
 stranngers spoke to him — " his name's Lord ]Morthner," 
 
128 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 
 
 continyd she, *' I wantid to giv him a cognomer that wo'd 
 sound well in congriss — I intend he shall write it < L. 
 Mortimer Stokes.'" 
 
 *' Charmin' name," says I. Then she axed me where I 
 was guayne ? And I begun to the begiunin' of my history 
 artcr I left her siminary and tell'd her the hull, and she 
 was very much afFectid. 
 
 " O ! " says she, *' I knowd that yer sensatyve and mo- 
 rantic nater woold have to suffer wonderfully from the cold 
 onfeelin' world." Then she went on advisin' of me to re- 
 cipperate Jabezes affection, say in', that a heart like hisen 
 was woth possessni', and more'n all that 'twas time I was 
 settled down. 
 
 Well, bime-by we arrove to DuiTup, (or Skenackedy, 
 as sum calls it,) and Missis Stokes invitid me to accompa- 
 nate her to her father-in-law's and beein' eeny most tired 
 out, for we'de rid all night, I thought I would. So we 
 got out and I axed Mr. Spluttergut to call on me if ever 
 he cum our way, and he wantid to be conformed where I 
 resided ; and I tell'd him in the villidge of Podunk. *' Ah, 
 egzactly," says he, with a greaceful inclineation, "I re- 
 member the loquation very well now — it's a short distance 
 previous to Schaticoke." 
 
 " Jest so," says I. So then we sepperatid, and I never 
 see a bow that was a sircumstence to the one he made at 
 our partin'. 
 
 Then my former instructoress and me winded our way 
 to Mr. Stokesis, and the old folks was wonderful glad to 
 see Silly, as they called her, (her name was Prisilly nater- 
 ally,) and I raly tho't they'd eat up little Lord Mortimer, 
 and they was very perlite to me tew, and said that if Ide 
 stay till arter dinner they'de send me hum in their ^vaggin, 
 
 ijKi' 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 129 
 
 and so I concluclid I would, ** tho' ev'iy minnit," jackilatid 
 I, '* that restrains me from my adored mother seems like 
 an etarnity of a hmidred year." Well, we had dinner, and 
 then Philo Stokes — the old folksis youngest son — got 
 the waggin reddy, and arter tellin' the Stokesis to cum to 
 Podunk, Missis Silly Stokes perticklearly, and imbracin' 
 her tenderly, I and my chiet, and Philo set off for Podunk. 
 We orot there about 4 o'clock, and as we was a drivin' into 
 the villidge, I cryin' and ringin' my hands distractiously, 
 we met Mr. Smith, the onfeelin' postmaster, and says 
 he, — 
 
 * ' No wonder ye cry ; ye've ben the means of yer poor 
 mother '* — 
 
 *' Ben the means on her," says I. 
 
 **Yis," anserd he, "Missis Smith says she haint a 
 doubt but what 'twas takin' on about you sot her into the 
 dizorder she died on — she was berried yesterday." 
 
 When he said that I sunk faintin' away in the bottom of 
 the waggin — jest as Amandy did when her father died — 
 and I remaindid onsensible till we got to father's. Philo 
 was eny most skeart to death. ^^What ails ye?" says he. 
 *' Pve faintid away," retorterd I, "ye must git sumbody 
 to help ye lift me out when we git to father's." So he 
 druv as tight as ever he could and eny most jolted me to 
 death, and seein' father to work in the feeld he hollered to 
 him. 
 
 *' Hullo ! Mr. Ruggles, cum and help git yer dorter 
 out of the waggin — she says she's faintid away." So 
 father he cum, and he and Philo hawld me out head fust 
 and eny most kilt me doin' on't. Ketury she cum runniii' 
 out, and with her resistence I manidged to git into tlie 
 house and onto the. bed. Ketury she sot down ayide of me 
 
130 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 
 
 and father he sot down and went to mendin' the hoe 
 handle. 
 
 Arter Ide staid onsensible a spell, I open'd my eyes and 
 says I, "Is it true that my belovid mother's dead?" 
 *' Yis," says father says he, " dead as a door nail, and I 
 hope now you've cum hum ye'll try to behave better'n ye 
 did afore ye went away — there's enufF to be did ; for sen 
 Mirtilly got marrid, ev'ry thing's gone to rack." 
 * > Mirtilly marrid ? " interrigorid I. 
 
 **Yis," says father, ** she's marrid marchant Van 
 
 Snorter — and did well tew^ — he's a makin' money fast." 
 
 " Grandfer grievous! " says I, " well, I 'spose Jake 
 
 jest took her 'cause she was my sister ; but she's a fool to 
 
 git marrid so young, she's six year younger'n I be." 
 
 *' She may be," says father, " and not be no chicken 
 nyther — the fact is, Milly, you're gittin' along, and lie 
 bet a beef critter ye'll be an old maid." 
 
 *' Me an old maid?" says I, «* He tell ye what, old 
 feller, there's more young men than you could shake a stick 
 at that would jump sky high to git me." 
 
 " I gess they'de jump sky high arter they'de got ye." 
 says he. 
 
 I lookt at my hoggish payrent w^ith a look of suverin' 
 contemp, and riz up and went into my chombcr — Ketury 
 follerin' — and I tell'd Ketury I wanted to visit my .mother's 
 grave, and she said she'd go long. So I huv Ketury 's 
 black vail over my head — put my pencil and paper in my 
 ridicule — and we sot off. As we went along, me groanin' 
 and sobbin' the wost way, ev'ry boddy st-ared out of the 
 housen at me ; but I never lookt at nobody. Well, we 
 cum to the grave-yard and clum over the fence and went 
 up to mother's grave. It had ben a rainin' and the grass 
 
WID W SPRIG GINS. 131 
 
 was as wet as muck, but what did I ker ! I huv myself 
 onto the ground and gin utteration to my greef jest as 
 Amandy did at her mother's grave. " O ! " says I, *' it 
 would a ben better if this spot had a receeved both the 
 mother and the dorter at the same minnit ; better by a jug 
 full than for me to live to mourn over blastid hops and ag- 
 onizin' vikissltudes ! but how perzumptuous am I to ropine 
 at the will of creation ! " Sich was my words at my 
 mother's grave, where I sot 
 
 " Like a fair lilly surcharged with tears." * 
 
 Then I tell'd Ketury she needent wait for me — so she 
 went hum — and I took out my pencil and paper and writ 
 the foUerin' stanzys in about 15 minnits : 
 
 THE DISAPPINTED. 
 
 *' O I what a cat-a-strophy dire 
 
 In Poduuk did befall, 
 When she was called for to ixpire, 
 
 And leave us mournin' all. 
 
 O ! never was there greef afore 
 
 Like that of poor Permilly : 
 That fair and interestin' flower: 
 
 That pale and droopin' lilly. 
 
 My heart is broke ; my P. estrannged, 
 
 My fond affections crushed, 
 My plans of futur' bliss derannged, 
 
 And all my prospects squshed. 
 
 The world onfeelin', cruil, cold, 
 
 Looks on with wonderin' eye, 
 My misery for to behold — 
 
 I certingly shall die. 
 
 * Childern of the Abby : don't remember which chopter. 
 
132 WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 
 
 And when at last my heart-strings snap, 
 
 And all my woes is dun, 
 O take the follerin' epitap 
 
 And 'scribe it on my stun : 
 
 ♦» 1 strannger, stop and wipe yer eyes, ^ 
 
 And spend a minuit weepin' ; 
 A broken-hearted sperrit lies 
 
 Beneath this tombstun sleepin'." 
 
 I soon arter sent these vairses to Mr. Gonim, and he 
 had 'em insairted in * ' The Mohawk Meteor and Marcy 
 Republican," with the folio win' paragrab atop of 'em. 
 
 ** The insuin' eloquant and touchin' stanzys are from the 
 quill of a young lady, who, tho' yit in the highday of 
 youthful facksination, is ividently dyin' of a broken heart 
 — her most sangunary prospects blited in the bud. What 
 heart will not bust ! What soul will not dissolve ! What 
 gizzard will not split, on perusin' 'em — dictatid as they be 
 by ginnuine inspireation." Arter Ide compleatid 'em I 
 returned to the poternal ruff. 
 
 Note a bean. — Mr. eddyter: In gineral I've been very much gratifacted by 
 the monner in which you or your men folks has printid my life ; tliere ain't but 
 jest one thing I feel to complain on, and that is, the way ye spell, my mother's 
 name. 'Twant Vine nore Vin^, as it's ben onvariably printid in your paper, but 
 it was Viny. I ony write this for to let folks know how't my moterual payrent 
 hadent sich a barbarious coguomer as what they spose for. 
 
WIDOW SPRIGGINS. 133 
 
 CHAPTEK XI. 
 
 " Now the capting loved her dearly, 
 Loved her as he did his life, 
 And seeiu' she was left so drearly, 
 Sally became the capting's wife." 
 
 ELL, tew weeks passed away In the most molan- 
 clioly monner — the state of my mind wouldent 
 admit me to ingage in no occerpation if Ide a 
 wanted tew. Father he jawed cause I dklent 
 work, and Nadab and Abihu made fun on me. I dident 
 do nothin' but romble in the woods and medders mournin' 
 and making poitry. On the hull my sittyation was most 
 miserably interestin'. I tell ye I mist the Childern of the 
 Abby (Spriggins had it ye know). If Ide a had that 
 twould a ben a gret comfort to me, and the circumstence 
 of my thinkin' so much about the enchantin' vollums con- 
 duced me sumtimes to think about the swine Ide lent 'em 
 tew, and thinks me, he's more like Lord Mortimer arter 
 all than ary feller I ever knowd, for he sticks to me thro' 
 thick and thin jest as Lord Mortimer did to Amandy, and 
 then I rememberd Missis Stokeses advice to me in the 
 stage, and puttin', all things together, my feelins was con- 
 siderable channged, and I felt my sentimlnts towerds the 
 youthful Jabez grown oncommon tender. 
 
 O ! woman is a fraggle and lovin' creetur. The she- 
 male heart is so chuck full of affection that its purty on- 
 12 
 
134 WW W SPRIG GINS. 
 
 possible to use it all up on one bein'. Who, I ax, would 
 want to live in this ere cold, onfeelin' world without a 
 kindred sperret to share its joys and sorrers with? and 
 when the swine that a young woman has placed her affec- 
 tions on prove onconstant it's a pity if she maytent bestow 
 her heart on another more worthier one, and I haint a 
 speck of doubt but what Amandy'd a married Sir Charles 
 Bingley if Lord Mortimer had a ben raly faithless, and 
 it's a pity if I've got to be a dried up old maid jest a cause 
 Philander got married. 
 
 Sich was my circumflexions as I sot one day under the 
 gret ellum tree that growd afore our house. I must a 
 lookt very interestin' a settin' there in profound pondera- 
 tion. 1 had on a black skeart, and over it my white long 
 short with a row of black crape loopt up round the bottom 
 on't ; then I had my leno vail wound round my head for 
 a turbin, and my ostridge fethers stuck into't, and there I 
 sot a leanin' on my elbow, now sythin' and now wipin' off 
 a tear that strickled down my cheek. Arter continuin' my 
 medifications a spell, I took out my pencil and writ the 
 fbllerin' piece of blank poitry : — 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 O ! she was fair I no anngel ever was 
 Nor ever could be fairer than Permilly; 
 Her auburn hair in greaceful tresses did 
 Hang down upon her sholders only jest 
 When she did stick it up with her high comb. 
 Her eyes was blue, her skin was snowy, and 
 Her cheeks was red as roses only jest • 
 When she was in distress, then they was as 
 White as tew lillies : but neverstandin' all 
 Her beauty and her charms, she had as much 
 Troul^lc as any creetur ever had. 
 The swine she loved so well was faithless and 
 Went off and wed another maid; and then 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 135 
 
 It seemd as if Permilly's heart would bust. 
 O I what a tender thing the shemale heart is ! 
 So crammin', jammin', full of love and truth, 
 And faith, and hope, and pure affection, and^ 
 Some other things too numerous to mention I 
 No wonder when it's stuft so dretful full 
 A little blow should bust it — for it must 
 Be ivident to all obsairvin' folks 
 That when it's filld so full, the skin outside 
 Must be streckt dietfully and always in 
 Danger of bustin'. — So Permilly's heart 
 Has bust, and all the overplus run out, 
 But still there's quite a considerable of 
 Love and aJfection in it yit, and she 
 Has purty nigh made up her mind to giv 
 What's left to some more worthier object than 
 The faithless one. O I haste upo^i the wings of 
 Love,my dear Jabez — your Perrailly feels as 
 If she could scarcely wait a minnit longer 
 For to behold thee, Jabez —Jabez, haste. 
 
 When Ide finished writin' the oversuin' lines I was jest 
 a guayne to retire into the house when I heerd sumbody 
 blowin' his nose ; so I lookt up the road and as sure as 
 Ime a livin' creetur 'twas Jabez Spriggins a hossback. 
 The minnit I see him I run down street to meet him, and 
 when h6 see me cummin' he got right off his hoss and cum 
 towerds me. Well, I run right up and ketcht holt on him, 
 exclamigatin', ** O ! my Jabez ! I'me overjoiced to see 
 
 ye." 
 
 He lookt wonderful supprised, and says he, *' I dident 
 suspect to find ye so cosy, but I'm darned glad ye be. 
 The minnit I heerd ye'd cum hum I detairmined to follow 
 ye, but I had to wait till my quarter was out afore I could 
 cum, and the fust day arter my quarter was out I got on 
 my creetur and sot off arter ye for fear I should lose ye if 
 I dident hurry — I've got that are speech of Lord Morti- 
 
136 WID W SPRIG GINS. 
 
 mer's all by heart ; ben a sayin' on't over all along the 
 roads so's not to forgit it, and I ruther guess I can say the 
 hull on't without missin' a word." 
 
 Well, I rushered him into the square room and sot 
 down, and he cum up to me and says he to me, " To call 
 you mine is the haight of my wishes — on your derision ! 
 I rest for happiness. O ! my Amandy ! " — 
 
 *< Say * O ! my Permilly ! ' " says I. 
 
 ' « O ! my Permilly ! — O ! my Permilly ! — there I 
 swon I've got up a stump," says he. 
 
 *« No matter," says I, ** you've proved to my satisfica- 
 tion the devotedness of yer attachment, and He be yourn." 
 
 '* Will, hay?" says he. 
 
 *'Yis,"says I, *' now ye must imprint a kiss on my 
 rosy cheek." ■ So he went to kiss me and whiskt off my 
 turbin. Arter Ide got my turbin adjested agin, says he, 
 ** Well, when will you be reddy to git married?" 
 
 *< Right off," says I. 
 
 «< Well," says he, *'Ile go and talk to the old man 
 about it." 
 
 *'No, ye needn't," says I, *' father never'll consent on 
 airth — he's dretfully oppozed to my gittin' marriect — but 
 He have ye neverstandin', and He tell ye how we'll man- 
 age. You 2;it on yer boss and 0:0 strait to Utica and wait 
 there till I cum, and He contrive to get there afore long." 
 
 *' That's the checker," says he. 
 
 So he surmounted his boss and rid off, and I went in and 
 telld Ketury all about it, cause I knowd she wouldent tell 
 nobody. Says I, " I shall clear right out, and if father 
 axes arter me you tell him I've gone over to Skaticoke to 
 see Mirtilly" (Mirtilly had moved to Skaticoke). Ketury 
 was dretful pleased and said she'd do jest as I telld her to ; 
 
WIDOW SFEIGGmS. 137 
 
 and she promised to have my chist sent over to me as soon 
 as possible. So she and I we took a gret work pockit and 
 put my consairns into't that I wantid to be married in — 
 then I put on my travellin' habitations and arter imbracin' 
 Ketury I sot off for Dorrup. Well, 'twas five mile there, 
 and when I got there the stage had went out. So I went 
 over to old Mister Stokeses and telld 'em Ide found my 
 mother dead and concluded to go right back to Higgins 
 Patent cause Ide ort to be in my simminary. Well, they 
 telld me that old Mr. Stokes was a guayne to Utica in the 
 mornin' on bizness in his own ^vaggin, and if I was a mind 
 to I mut go with him. *< Well," says I, *' I reckx)n I 
 will." 
 
 ** But," says Missis Stokes, ** where's yer chist? " 
 *< O ! " says I, " I reckond I wouldent be bothered with 
 it, and they're a guayne to send it on." Well, I stayd 
 there all night, and in the mornin' we sot off for Utica. 
 Old Stokes dident drive very tight, and so we was three 
 days a guayne to Utica — but as I want to eend my Rec- 
 ollections in this chopter, I won't tell nothin' about the 
 jerney, tho' it was quite eventerful. 
 
 We arrove to Utica jest at the edge of the evenin' and 
 stoppt to Baggsis tavern, and I axt for a room and then I 
 drest myself as follers. I opend my gret ridicule and took 
 out my white long short and put it on, and thinkin' Ide 
 ort to have sum colors about me I betwisted a yaller ribbin 
 round the black crape trimmin' on the bottom on't — then 
 I put on my blue sash, and huv my artifishel reath ker- 
 lessly round my sholders, then I done up my hair with my 
 high-toppt comb — took my leno vail and fastened one 
 eend on't into my comb, and so let it float over my shol- 
 ders — then I stuck my six ostridge fethers in on side of 
 12* 
 
138 WID W SPRIG GINS. 
 
 my comb, and tied a pink ribbin round my head to keep 
 'em in — and I tell ye I did look compleat. 
 
 Beein' thus atj;ired I took my parrysol and sot out to 
 look up Sprip:gins, and you never in all yer born days see 
 sich a starin' as there was whilst I walkt up Ginnisee 
 Street — everybody cum to the doors and winders, and 
 ever so menny men and boys followerd arter me a hoorawin' 
 and makin' a turrible fuss — but I was so akustomed to 
 admireation I didn't mind it a bit, but plummenaded along 
 with the biggest onconsairn and dignitude. Well, arter 
 preambleatin' a number of streets, finally I cunj round to 
 a place they called the ** Reading Room," and I stopt to 
 the door and looked in. The room was full of gentlemen, 
 and as sure as a gun, in the midst on 'em was Mister 
 Spluttergut (the gentleman I met in the stage), and he 
 was a harangewin on 'em with the most oncomparalleled 
 eloquence, and they was all a listenin' with the biggest 
 attention. 
 
 Well, whilst I was a listenin' to the surprisin' and capti- 
 vatin' sentiments he pored forth consairnin' railroads and 
 canawls, I see suthin' yaller a stickin' up amonkst a mess 
 of heads in the fur eend of the room, and whilst I was a 
 wonderin' what 'twas, the heads moved, and lo and be- 
 hold ! 'twas the tip top of Jabczes hair. As soon as I 
 see him I skriekt out, '* My Jabez ! My Jabez ! " and 
 rushed into tlie room — Jabez he see me and he lookt sur- 
 j^rised enufF — we squoze thro' the men, and when we 
 reaclit one another I huv myself faintin' into the arms of 
 my adorin' Spriggins. I never see a surprisder set of 
 folks tlian the men in the Utica Readin' Room was that 
 minnit. They all gin way and fixt a seat for me — even 
 Mister Spluttergut stopt his harangew, exclamigatin', 
 *' Quite an ok-kurrence." 
 
WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 139 
 
 Well, arter a spell one of the young men hikl a lit segar 
 to my nose, and that fetcht me tew. So I riz up and takin' 
 hold of Sprigglnses arm we perceedid to Baggses hotel. 
 Arter we arrove there Jabez axed me whether Ide be mar- 
 ried there or wait till we got to Higglns Patent. 
 
 *' O here, certlngly," says I, ''in this ere celebrated ho- 
 tel — in the o^inteelest sittv in creation." 
 
 So Spriggins went arter the justice, and there we w^as 
 marrid. As soon as the serrymony was overdone, husband 
 he calld for some pie and cheeze, and after weed eat it he 
 brung up his boss, and as soon as Ide arrannged my trav- 
 ellin' dress, he surmounted his creetur, and I, resisted by 
 a number of gentlemen, got on behind him, and I swonny 
 I bleevc the hull town of Utica was collectid to see us go, 
 and w^hen we whipt up the hoss and sot off, they gin three 
 all-to-pieces cheers, in honor of us. Well, we went as 
 fast as the hoss could go with sich an oncommon heft and 
 arrove to Higgins Patent about leven o'clock at night. 
 Mother and Father Spriggins was abed, but they got up 
 and I tell ye they was aw^ful glad to see me. The next 
 arternoon Aunt Huldy made quite an extensyve set down 
 for me, and if I dident cut a sworth it's no matter. But I 
 hadent ort to be tellin' what took place arter we was 
 marrid — 'cause the Childern of the Abby don't say a word 
 consairnin Amandy arter her. marridge — no more don't no 
 other novil I ever read say nothin' about the herowines 
 arter they git marrid. Howsumever, I can't help tellin' 
 how't we took a bridle tour the next week to all the most 
 cclebratid places in the kentry — Utica, Rome, Whites- 
 burrow, Sockwait Springs, and Verona Spa — and I kept 
 a jernal along the road, and when P. Zebidee Gorum cum 
 a visitin' to see us I sliow'd it to him, and it affordid him 
 
140 WIDOW SPRIG GINS. 
 
 the biggest satisfication ; and it's in my persession yit — 
 and mabby at sum futur day He lay it afore the pubHc. 
 
 " The eend of all the woes and struf^^gles, 
 And trials of Permilly Ruggles." 
 
 Note a bean. — Mister eddyter : You ondoutedly know- 
 that arter injoyin' 15 year of the biggest conjuggial felic- 
 itude, my adored companion, my beloved Jabez^ was took 
 from me by a dizeaze in the spine of his back ; but mabby 
 you've never ben conformed that arter mournin' the west 
 way for sevei-al year I finally united my destination to that 
 of P. Zebidee Gorum, (now deacon Gorum,) he havin' ben 
 married and lost his pardner. My Recollections was writ 
 durin' the mawlancolly perriod of my widderhood — but as 
 the circumstences attendin' my second marriage was quite 
 interestin', the deacon has advised me to write an account 
 on ^em for the bennefit of the risin' gineration ; so if ever 
 you git run ashore for stuff to put in yer paper, jest let me 
 know, and if I aint too much occerpied with my domestic 
 abberations, He be happy to giv ye sum account of my 
 " second love.^' 
 
 Yourn to everlastin' 
 
 Permilly R. Spriggins Gorum. 
 
MARY ELMER, 
 
 OB 
 
 TRIALS J^NT) OH-A.]SraES. 
 
MAEY ELMER, 
 
 OR 
 
 TRIALS AND CHAI^GES, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 :vr^ 
 
 HAT modest-looklno^ white house that stands 
 somewhat isolated, whose is it? It seems the 
 abode of ease without pretension." 
 
 It belongs to Mrs. Lee, widow of Dr. Lee, 
 whose sudden death, some fifteen years ago, cast a gloom 
 over the whole community. He was in the prime of life. 
 Talent and probity had raised him to an enviable standing 
 in his profession, when by the mysterious ordering of 
 Divine Providence, he was cut off without a moment's 
 warning. Yet not, we trust, without pre2:)aration, for one 
 whose life, like his, is a constant exercise of Christian vir- 
 tues, cannot be unprepared for death, however or when- 
 ever it may arrest him. 
 
 He had just returned from visiting some distant patients, 
 and was caressing his only child, wlien Mrs. Lee left the 
 room to make preparations for tea. A few moments after, 
 little Mary came running out, crying : 
 
 (143) 
 
144 SIAR Y ELMER, OR 
 
 ** Mamma, I can't wake papa, do come and help me 
 wake papa ! " 
 
 Mrs. Lee supposed, however, that he had fallen asleep 
 through weariness, and telling the little girl *' not to dis- 
 turb papa," took her by the hand and led her softly back 
 into the apartment. But what a sight was she destined to 
 behold ! Her husband had sunk back in his chair — and, 
 one glance at his face revealed the awful certainty — he 
 was dead ! A piercing shriek rang through the house, 
 and then for many hours the wretched woman knew noth- 
 ing of what was passing around her. The horror and 
 agony of the first hour of returning consciousness, I 
 could not, if I would, depict. 
 
 It was long, very long, before she recovered from the 
 shock, for she had loved her husband devotedly. Yet 
 after his death she felt that she had not fully appreciated 
 his noble character. She knew not all his excellence until 
 he was gone. None but herself thought that Margaret 
 Lee had failed in any dutyiowards the departed. He had 
 never thought so. And yet before her mind arose a 
 thousand little errors and delinquencies, which her tender 
 conscience macrnified into o^reat faults and failures resultins: 
 from gross selfishness. She did not say, as many would 
 in a like affliction, *< He was my idol and therefore Heaven 
 has taken hhn from me." But she said, in the bitterness of 
 her heart, *' I did not love him as I ought. I did not do 
 half that I might have done to make him happy, and thus 
 am I punished." 
 
 The weight of such a sorrow would have crushed her, 
 had not the care of her little dayghter contributed to 
 divert her thoughts from running always in the same dark 
 channel. There had been a wonderful affection between 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 145 
 
 this child and her fiither, whom she strongly resembled 
 both in features and 'disposition. • She was but three years 
 old when he died, and for some time she could not compre- 
 hend that he was to return no more. At every sound of a 
 carriage, or step in the hall, she would run out to meet 
 *'papa." When at length she was made to understand 
 that he could not come back to her, but that if she was a 
 good girl she would one day go to him, she gave up look- 
 ing for her father, and seemed only desirous to be very 
 good, that she might go to him. Many times in the day 
 she would go to her mother, and folding her arms upon 
 her knee would say, *' Now mamma tell Mary about papa." 
 And then the heart-broken mother told her of her father, 
 and the blessed place where he was waiting for them both. 
 As she looked at the bright little being who stood with her 
 dimpled hands resting on her mother's lap, and her deep, 
 thoughtful eyes turned up so earnestly to her face ; she 
 trembled that one so pure and sinless should be left to her 
 weak and erring guidance. 
 
 *' But God has committed her to me," said she, <* and 
 He will help me." And earnestly did she pray for His 
 help. 
 
 Every evening when her mother was undressing her, the 
 little one never failed to ask the question, '< Mamma, has 
 Mary been a good girl to-day ? " And on receivino- an 
 approving answer, she would say her prayer and go to 
 sleep very happy. 
 
 A few months after her father's death she was stricken 
 with the scarlet fever. For two days she suffered in- 
 tensely, and<ippeared scarcely conscious of anything save 
 her own pain. On the third, at evening, this abated, and 
 13 
 
146 3IAEY ELMER, OR 
 
 the little girl as she lay in her mother's arms, looked up 
 
 and said faintly : • 
 
 " Mamma, has Mary been a good girl to-day?" 
 
 Mrs. Lee pressed the precious child to her bosom and 
 
 whispered, <* YeS; darling, Mary is always a dear, good 
 
 little <nvV 
 
 o 
 
 An expression of perfect peace passed over the cherub 
 face. She murmured her childish prayer and then — fell 
 asleep — a long, quiet sleep it was, from which she awaked 
 in Paradise. 
 
 Who can understand the utter desolateness of the child- 
 less widow as she sat alone in her solitary dwelHng, from 
 which she felt that light and joy were forever departed ! 
 And yet there was no other place on earth so dear to her. 
 It was the home whither she had come a bride, but a few 
 years before, and those few years had been by far the 
 happiest of her life. The happiest — yet clouded by the 
 greatest sorrow she had ever known. And here she 
 resolved to pass the rest of her days. She therefore 
 rejected all solicitations to return to the east, her former 
 home, and where her only surviving near relation, a 
 sister, still resided. 
 
 This sister who was many years older than Mrs. Lee, 
 had married very rich, and her family lived in a style and 
 moved in a circle Avholly at variance with Mrs. Lee's taste 
 and circumstances. An annual visit of a few weeks was 
 all that she would promise them. From this visit she 
 always returned eagerly to her own unostentatious home, 
 and the graves of her buried treasures. 
 
 She no longer mingled in general society ; it had iost 
 all attraction for her. Iler visits were mostly visits of 
 mercy. She was not rich, but her income was much more 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 147 
 
 than sufficient for her own expenditure ; and the overplus 
 she devoted to charity. She was not like those careful 
 far-seeing persons who are always laying in store for a 
 *' rainy day" to come, such days were constantly falling 
 in her pathway. They were the suffering and the needy, 
 and she thanked Heaven that one consolation remained to 
 her in the midst of her afflictions — the powder sometimes 
 to alleviate those of others. She had few intimate friends, 
 for although there w^as that in her grief which invited sym- 
 pathy, the dignity of her manner checked all familiarity ; 
 and those few only knew the real humility and sweetness 
 of her character. 
 
 Year after year passed away, and Mrs. Lee remained 
 the same. Unchanged in her simple habits and retiring 
 manners. Unchanged in her quiet, unobtrusive way of 
 doins: frood. Unclians^ed in her silent sorrow. Un- 
 chanfred in her mournino^ dress. She was a wonder to 
 many w^ho knew that with her youth, her appearance, 
 and her station, she might, if she chose, be the idol of a 
 flattering crowd, the leader of fashionable society. And 
 they thought it " astonishing that she didn't at least go 
 into second mourning, which would be so much more be- 
 coming to her style of beauty." 
 
 And so, with her loneliness and her prayers, her com- 
 munings with the departed and her labors of love, we will 
 leave her awhile. 
 
 In the outskirts of the same town, or what w^as then 
 the outskirts, stood a poor old house, which has long since 
 been demolished to make way for new ones. Old and 
 poor It certainly was, but still neat and comfortable. And 
 in it dw^elt another widow and her only daughter. Mrs. 
 Grant had been the wife of an Industrious and thriving 
 
148 MARY EL3IER, OR 
 
 mechanic, who left a prosperous business in a small village 
 not far distant, and came hither in the hope of doing 
 better. But unfortunately he soon fell into intemperate 
 habits — wasted his little property — died miserably and 
 left his wife and child to struggle with poverty as best 
 they might. 
 
 Susan, the girl, was too young then to do much, and 
 Mrs. Grant was obliged to work very hard to maintain 
 them both, and pay the rent of her small tenement. But 
 as Susan grew older she became very useful. When she 
 was thirteen or fourteen years of age, she learned the 
 bus^iness of dress-making ; and in a few years was able to 
 earn a comfortable subsistence for herself and her mother. 
 The latter through anxiety and over-exertion, had become 
 prematurely infirm, and was only equal to the discharge 
 of her own household duties. These she performed while 
 Susan went her daily rounds amongst her employers. The 
 evenings they passed happily together. 
 
 Mrs. Grant was a truly religious woman, and she had 
 trained her daughter to piety and an abhorrence of every- 
 thing that is evil. The young girl was often thrown in 
 the way of temptation as she pursued her calling, but she 
 overcame it, and grew up good and virtuous, a pattern 
 of neatness and quiet industry. Everybody liked Susan 
 Grant. And when at length she married, almost every- 
 body thought she had done remarkably well to get George 
 Elmer, a young man of excellent principles and great 
 activity. In fact one who was called a very '* enterprising 
 young man." 
 
 There were some, however, who pronounced him *' vis- 
 ionary." That is, wanting in stability and perseverance. 
 For although he was both active and intelligent, and 
 
TRIALS AXD CUAXGES. 140 
 
 always engaged in some sort of business, he never fol- 
 lowed any one occupation long enough to acquire much 
 proficiency, or realize much profit in it. 
 
 He had been a carpenter, a printer, a merchant's clerk, 
 had studied medicine a short time, law a still shorter time, 
 and had abandoned the last for dentistry, in which he was 
 engap:ed at the time of his marriage. Thus he went from 
 one thing to another, never exactly failing in any, but 
 always relinquishing each for something else which his 
 sanguine nature imagined would prove much more lucra- 
 tive. 
 
 With this propensity to change, it is not surprising that 
 George Elmer laid up little or nothing. His family was 
 always comfortable it is true. But that was the result of 
 Susan's good management more than of his. Still he was 
 a very kind husband and father, and there was nowhere a 
 happier family to be found than theirs. 
 
 Susan's mother lived with them, and was regarded by 
 the afiPectionate young couple as a great blessing and com- 
 fort. She did indeed make herself useful in many ways, 
 particularly In sharing with Susan the care of the children, 
 — of whom there were two, — bright pretty little creatures 
 as ever blessed a fireside. 
 
 When these were about six and four years old, George, 
 who had long since given up dentistry for something else, 
 and that again for something else, bought out a daguer- 
 rian who was going to California, and began the business 
 on his own account. 
 
 For several months he worked vigorously at it, making 
 WTetched likenesses, having a world of trouble with his 
 ** chemicals," and consequently very little patronage, as 
 13* 
 
150 MART ELMER, OR 
 
 there was a rival professor in the place, whose skill was 
 unquestioned. 
 
 But at length his efforts were crowned with success. He 
 fairly mastered the art. His " chemicals " worked admir- 
 ably, and he turned out pictures that were more life-like 
 than the originals themselves. His " Daguerrlan Gallery" 
 became famous, and that of his rival dwindled into insigni- 
 ficance. He had plenty to do. His pictures commanded 
 a good price. His circumstances began visibly to im- 
 prove, and he felt warranted In taking a larger and more 
 commodious house for his family. 
 
 Such was the state of things, when George Elmer sud- 
 denly resolved to follow the example of his illustrious pre- 
 decessor, and go to seek his fortune in California. This 
 was In the early stage of the " gold excitement." The 
 diiguerrian had not been heard from. But' one other Indi- 
 vidual had gone from the same place, — a shoemaker, the 
 first who had ventured, — and wonderful accounts of his 
 success had travelled back. 
 
 Susan Elmer heard the announcement of her husband's 
 intention with a heavy heart. She tried to dissuade him 
 from the undertaking. The perils of the journey, the 
 dangers of the climate, the uncertainty of success, and 
 the unavoidably long separation from his family in any 
 case, all these she represented to him, but In vain. He 
 saw no possibility of failure. His mind was made up. 
 
 "O George," said she, *' we are doing well enough. 
 You are just beginning to realize something from your 
 present business, with a- prospect of making a handsome 
 support In time." 
 
 " O but It takes such an everlastlnof while to o^et ricli 
 here. I can make more in California in one year than I 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. • 151 
 
 could here in my whole life-time. Just think of Smith, 
 the shoemaker ! he's making money like dirt. I don't 
 mean to .be away over a year, and a year's soon gone you 
 know. And then — hurrah; Susy! we'll roll in gold 
 dust ! '^ 
 
 Little Johnny who stood beside his mother, sobbing out 
 of sympathy with her, thought " that wouldn't be nice at 
 all, it wasn't pretty to roll in dust." 
 
 ** We shall see, my son," said his father patting his 
 head, '< we shall see." 
 
 Susan was silenced but not convinced. She saw that 
 her husband was fully resolved upon going. She there- 
 fore ceased her opposition and went to work diligently to 
 prepare his wardrobe. But despite her efforts to look on 
 the bright side of things, she had many sad forebodings. 
 And so had Mrs. Grant. She thought it a great risk to 
 run for a very small gain. 
 
 Elmer sold out his daguerrian apparatus for much less 
 than It cost him, settled up his business, and prepared to 
 take his departure. Susan proposed that he should carry 
 with him his case of dentist's instruments. "It won't 
 take a great deal of room," she said, " and you may find 
 It necessary to do something besides dig for gold, before 
 you come back." 
 
 George laughed and said, " So I suppose you think 
 that the little I do succeed in turning up would be profit- 
 ably left behind in people's teeth." 
 
 But Susan, when she packed his trunk, put the case of 
 instruments in the bottom, thinking that at least they 
 would do no harm. 
 
 A sum of money that would have sufficed to support 
 them all in comfort for a year or more under Susan's care- 
 
152 iMARY ELMER, OR 
 
 fill management, was requisite for George Elmer's outfit 
 and travelling expenses, consequently he was unable to 
 leave them much. The man who had taken his da7 
 gucrrian apparatus, a Mr. Green, — not long resident in 
 the village — had not yet paid, but was to hand the money 
 to Mrs. Elmer in the course of a week or- two. This, 
 George said, would be ample for all their expenses, until 
 he should send them a supply, which he hoped to do before 
 many months. And in a year or a year and a half at 
 the farthest, " he would be with them again. And then 
 they would have a house of their own — such a house too ! " 
 
 And so George Elmer bade his wife and children fare- 
 well. With some tears it is true, for he loved them dearly, 
 and It was for their sakes that he left them ; yet with high 
 hopes and brilliant anticipations of a golden future. Poor 
 Susan could not speak at all. The little ones cried aloud, 
 and old Mrs. Grant as she pressed his hand in both her 
 own, said with a trembling voice: " God bless you, my 
 son, and bring you safely back again." 
 
 '* Ask it of Him every day, mother," responded the 
 young man, " and all of you pray for me daily till we 
 meet again, as I surely shall for you. Keep up good 
 courage 'twill not be long after all — a year is soon gone." 
 
 For some little time after George's departure, his fiimily 
 contrived to get along without incurring debts. But 
 Susan's small stock rapidly decreased. The winter was at 
 hand. Wood and many other necessaries ought to be pur- 
 cluised. But so far from being able to procure these, she 
 had scarcely enough to supply their immediate wants. The 
 man Green, to her great disappointment, had left the place 
 without paying what he owed, and gone no one knew 
 whither. Very soon after her husband went away, she 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 153 
 
 resumed her old occupation of dress-making, took the 
 work in, and devoted to it every moment of time that she 
 could spare from her other duties, which were rendered 
 heavier by the increasing feebleness of her mother. The 
 winter came. Another child was added to the little flock, 
 — a nice boy. His mother looked sadly in his unconscious 
 face and wondered " what would become of him." 
 
 " Trust in the Lord," said the grandmother. 
 
 " It is all I can do just now," Susan replied with a deep 
 sigh. About this time the rent fell due. Mrs. Elmer had 
 not the means to pay it. She therefore sold some of her 
 furniture to meet this and other expenses, for she was re- 
 solved not to "go into debt as long as it could possibly be 
 avoided. 
 
 Soon after this her heart was gladdened by intelligence 
 from George. He had reached San Francisco in safety, 
 and was about to start for the " diggins," and trusted soon 
 to send her some of the results of his labors. It was 
 cheering to know that he was alive and well, and Susan 
 plied her needle with renewed energy every moment that 
 her baby did not require her attention. Mrs. Grant, 
 though suffering under a slight paralysis, could still get 
 about Vsith a cane, and assist somewhat in the household 
 labors. And Mary, the eldest child, was very good about 
 amusing the little one, who fortunately was not at all 
 fretful. 
 
 Still with all her exertions, it was very little that Susan 
 could earn by sewing. She had not regained her former 
 strength since the birth of her child. Never before hud 
 she sewed so steadily. She felt that it was undermining 
 her health, but she v/as determined to straggle on and keep 
 out of debt until the promised aid should come fioui her 
 
154 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 husband.- And what if she should receive no such aid? 
 What if Georsfe after all should be unsucccisful and finally 
 return as poor as he went away? At any rate, he should 
 have no debts of hers to discharo-e, even thouG^h she should 
 be obliged to part with every superfluity to avoid them. 
 
 As the winter wore on, expenses increased. The avails 
 of Susan's labor were quite inadequate to meet them, and 
 she accordingly sold several more articles of her furniture, 
 thinking that if all should end well, their loss could be 
 easily supplied. 
 
 The spring was somewhat advanced, when Smith, the 
 shoemaker, returned from California, and brought news of 
 George Elmer. But O, what news ! He called to see 
 Susan, and thus his story ran. Poor Elmer had died 
 of the prevailing fever on the very day that Smith left San 
 Francisco. He had become discoura^^fed with difrsinof for 
 gold, gone to San Francisco, and returned to his former 
 occupation of house building, which was very profitable 
 there, and in which he would undoubtedly have done well, 
 had he not been taken down with the fever which carried 
 him off in a few days. Smith saw him the day before he 
 came away. George then did not believe that his illness 
 would terminate fatalty, and hoped soon to resume his 
 work. He sent many affectionate messages to his family, 
 with a handsome gold brooch for Susan containing a lock 
 of his hair and a daguerrotype likeness, and requested 
 Smith to say to them that he should come home in six 
 months or thereabouts. 
 
 ** But we all knew," continued the narrator, '* that he 
 couldn't get well, he himself was the only one who had 
 any hope. The doctor told me then that he couldn't live 
 through the night. And so it proved. The next morn- 
 ing I heard he was dead." 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 155 
 
 During this recital Susan Elmer sat like one turned to 
 stone. She uttered no cry. She spoke not a word. Nor 
 did she look towards Mr. Smith, when he took his de- 
 parture. The grandmother cried violently, and so did 
 little Mary who was old enough to understand something 
 of their loss. Johnny cried too. But for a long time 
 Susan remained in that same immovable state, grasping 
 the brooch as though It was all the world to her now. 
 
 I know not how long she would have sat thus, had not 
 the baby awaked from a long sleep In its cradle and begun 
 to cry. No mother's ear was ever deaf to such a sound. 
 Susan took up her little one and attended to its wants, and 
 then she wept. She remembered that It was fatherless. 
 
 *' I'm glad to see you cry, my child," said her mother, 
 " I feared you never would." 
 
 '' I feared so too, mother," said Susan, '* and I thank 
 God that I can." 
 
 '' Trust in the Lord," pursued the old woman. '< He 
 will not forsake us." Susan did not reply. 
 
 As soon after this sudden and great affliction as Susan 
 could command her thoughts sufficiently for the task, she 
 tried to fix upon some plan by which her expenses might 
 be lessened, and her Income Increased. As a first step, 
 she disposed of all of her remaining furniture excepting 
 only the bare necessaries, and a small mantel clock, which 
 had been George's gift to her on the last anniversary of 
 their marriage. She then removed to a small house, or 
 rather two rooms of a house not far distant, at a much 
 lower rent, and though almost broken down with fatigue 
 and sorrow, applied herself more constantly than ever to 
 her needle. The poor have no time for idle grief. 
 
156 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 jHE report of George Elmer's death soon reached 
 
 ^ ^m ^^^^' Lee. This lady, of whom the reader 
 
 already knows something, had not heard of the 
 
 family before. At least not particularly, for *she 
 
 resided at the opposite extremity of the place. She had 
 
 visited Elmer's daguerrian rooms, and remembered the 
 
 proprietor as an intelligent, well-mannered young man. 
 
 Had the poverty of the Elmers been generally known, 
 she would long since have made acquaintance with them. 
 But Susan was no complainer, and very few persons had 
 any idea of their destitution. In fact none save those who 
 had bought their furniture for less than half its real value. 
 And they were not the ones likely to interest themselves in 
 behalf of the poor. 
 
 But Mrs. Lee heard of George Elmer's death, heard 
 how suddenly and unexpectedly the blow had fallen upon 
 his poor wife. The name '* widow" had always the 
 1^0 wer to elicit her deepest sympathy, and Mrs. Elmer's 
 affliction affected her unusually. It was like the one great 
 sorrow of her own life. So unlooked-for and overwhelm- 
 ing. Her heart went out towards the bereaved woman, 
 and she resolved to go and see her. 
 
 Accordingly, after a few days, she inquired tlie way and 
 went. It was after the family had removed. She knocked 
 at the door of the humble dwelling, and was admitted by 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 157 
 
 Johnny, who showed her into the room where his mother 
 and the rest were collected. Susan's sad, worn face was 
 bent low over her sewino^. The old mother was knittinof 
 socks at sixpence per pair for a neighboring variety store, 
 and little Mary was holding the baby on her lap. When 
 Mrs. Lee announced her name, Susan and her mother rose 
 and welcomed her. They knew her by reputation. 
 
 *^ Mrs. Elmer," said Mrs. Lee, " I have heard of your 
 affliction, and am come, not to intrude upon your grief, 
 but to offer you the sympathy which none can so truly feel 
 as those who have experienced a like sorrow." 
 
 Susan thanked her kind visitor, while tears flowed freely 
 down her pale face. I need not repeat all the conversation 
 which ensued. Susan was not a great talker, but the little 
 she said impressed Mrs. Lee very favorably. As to the 
 latter, she possessed the happy faculty of saying just 
 enough, and just the right things. On this occasion she 
 completely won Susan's heart ; for she was free alike 
 from that patronizing manner which offends the sensitive, 
 and that haughtiness whicli repels them. After conversing 
 some time with Mrs. Ehiier and her mother, Mrs. Lee 
 turned to the children, and taking from her pocket some 
 sugar-plums, gave them to Johnny, telling him to divide 
 them with his sister. 
 
 *' But you see," said Johnny, who was a very loquacious 
 little fellow, " she can't hold the sugar-plums and the baby 
 too, so if you'll please to take Georgey, then I'll give her 
 some." 
 
 Susan was somewhat alarmed at the boy's boldness, and 
 was beginning to check him, wlien Mrs. Lee reassured her 
 by saying, with a smile, to Johnny, — 
 14 
 
158 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 *' That's just what I want to do, if the baby will let me ; 
 I don't like to frighten babies and make them cry." 
 
 " O, but our baby don't cry at strangers," said the 
 little boy eagerly, " he isn't afraid of anybody, he'll go to 
 you and stay as long as you want him to." 
 
 ** He looks like a good baby," Mrs. Lee replied ; "bring 
 him here, my dear, I'm a great friend to babies." 
 
 As the little girl advanced with the *' infant prodigy," 
 (as slie and Johnny considered him,) Mrs. Lee observed 
 lier more particularly than she had done before. She was 
 a very pretty cliild, and her deep blue eyes and light curl- 
 ing hair brought to tlie mind of the lonely lady the 
 image of her own lost darling. She took the baby on her 
 la]), and putting her arm round his sister, asked what was 
 her name. 
 
 "' Mary," the little girl answered. 
 
 Mrs. Lee's eyes filled with tears. She looked earnestly 
 in the child's face for a moment, kissed her cheek, and then 
 told her to go and get her share of the sugar-plums. 
 
 The baby fully sustained the reputation which Johnny 
 had given him, by laughing and crowing at Mrs. Lee, and 
 taking great liberties with her bonnet and shawl, to her ev- 
 ident satisfaction. She had a great fondness for children, 
 although she was not wont to manifest it in the boisterous 
 manner of some. But while apparently wholly occupied 
 with the baby, she was not unobservant of the two older 
 children who retired to a corner for the purpose of dividing 
 her trifling gift. She was much pleased at the manner in 
 which this was done. 
 
 Mary counted them (Johnny could not count so many) 
 and divided them into two equal portions, one of which 
 Johnny poured into her apron. 
 
. TRIALS AND CB ANGUS. 159 
 
 ** And here's two more because you're the biggest," 
 said he, taking a couple from his own share and adding 
 them to hers. 
 
 But Mary objected to this arrangement. *' No, Johnny, 
 you must keep a whole half and two more because you're 
 the littlest, you know ; " and she put four of them back in 
 her brother's apron. 
 
 *'No; Mary^ that isn't the way," Johnny began, and I 
 know not how much longer they would have argued the 
 point, had not a knock at the door interrupted them. 
 
 The new arrival was no less a personage than Mrs. 
 Smith, wife of the returned shoemaker of that name. She 
 lived not far from the Elmers' present abode, and having 
 seen Mrs. Lee go there, thought she would take that occa- 
 sion to make a friendly call, and find out the object of 
 that lady's visit. It was reported that Smith had come 
 back rich. He had indeed a good deal of money and was 
 making quite a noise about it. He had followed his busi- 
 ness while absent, and found it much more profitable than 
 digging In the mines. But of this he said nothing. He 
 merely said, " he'd been to California, and there was no 
 farther necessity for his making shoes ; he meant to drive 
 a bigger business." His help-meet, who had long pined 
 for " a large house and a hired girl," was now about to 
 have these wishes realized. She therefore felt ' ' as good 
 as anybody ! " 
 
 But we sliall have more to do with her hereafter, there- 
 fore we will dismiss her for the present. Soon after her 
 entrance Mrs. Lee took leave. 
 
 As she walked homewards she reflected upon the little 
 incident connected with the sugar-plums, the entire absence 
 of selfishness shown by both the children in the division of 
 
IGO MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 what was to them quite a treasure. She conjectured, and 
 with reason too, that sucli a disposition had not been 
 formed or cultivated by any particuLar course of training 
 pursued by their parents, but must be the natural result of 
 perfect unanimity between those parents. This was the se- 
 cret. George and Susan Elmer were not wise or learned 
 persons. They had no theory of family government — no 
 system of *' suasion " upon which they acted. But they 
 had no differences. They agreed in every tiling. With 
 this example of mutual confidence and respect before them, 
 how could the children be other than they were, loving and 
 obedient ? 
 
 That evening, wdien these little ones knelt by their 
 mother's knee to say their prayers, Mary, who repeated 
 hers first, voluntarily added the name of Mrs. Lee to those 
 for whom she daily prayed ; and her brother followed her 
 example. Thus ran the simple petition. • 
 
 " O God ! forgive all my sins, and make me a good 
 child, and bless my dear father, and mother, and grand- 
 mother, and brotliers, and Mrs. Lee, and everybody, for 
 Jesus Christ's sake. Amen ! " 
 
 After the children had gone to bed, Mrs. Grant said to 
 her daughter, 
 
 '* Susan, is it right to let the children pray for their 
 father now ? " 
 
 '' I don't know, mother," replied the sorrowful woman. 
 " I have thought a good deal about it myself, but some- 
 how I cannot bear to tell them they must no longer ask 
 God to bless their father. It seems like breaking the last 
 Ihik between him and us, and something tells me it is bet- 
 ter to let them do it. It cannot do them any harm, and 
 surely it cannot hurt poor George, can it, mother ? " 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. IGl 
 
 *' Just so, it cannot, my child, and I don't believe it will 
 be laid to your charge as a sin." 
 
 Thus answering, the old mother took off her spectacles 
 and wiped the tears from her eyes, and the two worked on 
 for some time in silence. At length Mrs. Grant said, 
 
 *' Susan, what a difference there is between folks ! " 
 
 "• A very great difference, mother. Were you thinking 
 of Mrs. Lee and Mrs. Smith? I was at that moment." 
 
 " Yes, they were the persons I had in my mind when I 
 spoke. I noticed the contrast more, I suppose, because 
 they happened to be here at the same time. What a per- 
 fect lady Mrs. Lee is ! how kind and pleasing in her 
 manners ! ". 
 
 " She is indeed. It seems to me I never before realized 
 how much there is in kind words. I have felt better ever 
 since." 
 
 **Yes, they were what the Bible calls 'words fitly 
 spoken.' But that Mrs. Smith ! Somehow I can't help 
 thinking she only came to spy out the nakedness of the 
 land ! can you ? " • 
 
 " It did appear so certainly, but you know it isn't right 
 to judge from appearances. She may mean very well, 
 though she isn't at all like Mrs. Lee." 
 
 " Yery true ; she may mean well, and have an odd way 
 with her." 
 
 It was evident to Mrs. Lee that the Elmers were very 
 poor. The apartment in which she had found them, 
 although it had an air of comfort which cleanliness and or- 
 der always give to even the meanest abode, yet betokened 
 extreme indigence, and she thought it strange that Geoige 
 Elmer should have left his family so destitute. She in- 
 14* 
 
162 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 quired farther concerning them, of Harriet, her maid, who 
 was one of the knowing kind. 
 
 Harriet was able to give her the required information, 
 for she had found out a good deal about them from the 
 Ludlows, who had bought no small part of Mrs. Elmer's 
 furniture. 
 
 *' O yes, I meant to tell you about 'em," said she, " for 
 I thought likely you'd do something to help 'em. They're 
 dreadful poor I guess, though he left 'em quite comforta- 
 ble when he w^ent away. But she's been sick a good deal 
 since, and they seem to have run out pretty much. She 
 takes in sewing, and the old woman knitting ; but I guess 
 it's precious little they earn, for since she heard of his 
 death, she's left the good house they lived in, and sold olF 
 the chief of her furniture very low indeed. Mrs. Ludlow 
 bought a nice set of chairs, and a handsome bureau, be- 
 sides several other things of her. She said she thought it 
 was a deed of charity to take 'em ; but for my part, I 
 thouo'ht Mrs. Ludlow "ot a barojain." 
 
 •Mrs. Lee no longer hesitated. She procured a cjuantity 
 of knitting yarn, and the next morning set out with it for 
 the house of Mrs. Elmer. After some little conversation 
 with the women, she said, laying the package on the table, 
 
 *' I have brought yarn for Mrs. Grant to knit into 
 stockings for me. She can do them at her leisure, as I 
 shall not need them until next fall." 
 
 Mrs. Grant thanked her, and Mrs. Lee turned the con- 
 versation to other subjects. She talked with Susan about 
 the children, especially Mary, in whom she already felt an 
 unusual interest. 
 
 *' Your little girl is like my own, and you must spare 
 her to me for a day now and then." 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 1G3 
 
 Susan acquiesced cheerfully in this proposal, and It was 
 settled that Mary should go to Mrs. Lee's one day during 
 tlie following week. Harriet was to come after her. 
 
 ** O I shall be so glad!" exclaimed the light-hearted 
 child; ** but then who'll help mother take care of the 
 baby?" 
 
 *' I can do that," said Johnny, straightening up with an 
 air of importance. This difficulty disposed of, another 
 suggested itself to Mary's mind. 
 
 " Mother," she whispered, looking down at her patched, 
 and ftided clothes, " What shall I do? my frock is real 
 rusty." 
 
 ** You have another, my dear;" and Susan colored 
 slightly. 
 
 *' I know it, but that's just as rusty as this you know." 
 
 ** Never mind the frock," said Mrs. Lee, smiling. *« It 
 is Mary and not the frock that I care about." 
 
 Then calling Johnny to her, she gave him a gay wooden 
 soldier, and rose to go. At the same time she drew from 
 her pocket a 'five dollar bank note, and proffering it to 
 Mrs. Grant, said, 
 
 " I will pay you now for the knitting." 
 
 '* I thank you, but I can't change that," said the old 
 woman ; ' ' and besides I don't know how much to charge 
 until I see how many stockings the yarn will knit." 
 
 " Keep it all if you please," returned Mrs. Lee ; '' there 
 is none too much ; the yarn will knit several pairs, and 
 knitting is slow work ; we should always consider the 
 time." 
 
 Mrs. Grant saw at once, and appreciated with heart- 
 felt gratitude the good lady's delicate manner of bestowing 
 a charity. She thanked her again, and not without tears 
 
164 , MARY EL3IER, OR 
 
 in her eyes. Mrs. Elmer joined her motlier In expressions 
 of gratitude, and Mrs. Lee, after a few more words with 
 the cliUdren, and a kiss to the baby, took her departure. 
 
 *' What a woman!" exchiimed Mrs. Grant; *' she 
 didn't even ask me what I charged. There's not many 
 who do so, Susan." 
 
 ** Not many Indeed. Slie is one of a thousand." 
 
 '* I feel as If the Lord had raised us up a friend who 
 knows how to pity us, for she Is a widow herself." 
 
 *''Yes, she is a widow, and that's enough to bear with- 
 out being poor like us, mother." 
 
 The old woman thought there was something like a 
 murmur in these words, and it grieved her. 
 
 '* Look there, Sudani" she said, pointing to the chil- 
 dren, " the Lord leaves you all those ; yet he saw fit to 
 take from Mrs. Lee the only one she had." 
 
 Susan turned her tearful eyes towards the little ones, 
 then clasping her hands, said in a low voice, '* Thy will be 
 done." 
 
 It was indeed a pleasant sight. The baby was in the 
 cradle, crowing over the soldier which Johnny had put 
 into his hands, while the other children sat, one on each 
 side, watching his performances with great satisfaction. 
 
 ' * You like my trainer don't you, baby ! " said the little 
 boy. " Mrs. Lee's a nice lady, isn't she, baby? I mean 
 to keep my trainer always, wouldn't you, Mary ? " 
 
 '* Yes,I would," answered his sister, " but then you'll 
 have to take it away from baby, for he'll soon have the 
 paint all off." 
 
 *' Sure enough, I never tliought of that. I'll get him 
 somethinoj else." So he ran and brouo-ht a cord with sev- 
 eral empty spools strung upon it, a plaything which be- 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 165 
 
 came a novelty by the occasional addition of another spool, 
 and aided by Mary succeeded in extricating the trainer from 
 his perilous situation, and in pacifying the baby, who was 
 at first disposed to grumble at the exchange. 
 
 Notwithstanding Mrs. Lee had said that she should not 
 need the stockings for some months to come, Mrs. Grant 
 determined to go to work upon them immediately, as 
 " there was no knowing what might happen." On open- 
 ing the package of yarn, she found in it a note directed 
 to Mrs. Elmer- It contained a few kind words and the 
 sum of twenty dollars. At this additional proof of Mrs. 
 Lee's goodness, Susan's tears flowed afresh, and her 
 mother said, 
 
 '' ' He that hath pity on the poor,lendeth unto the Lord ;' 
 that woman is surely laying up treasures in heaven." 
 
 When little Mary went to pay the' promised visit to 
 Mrs. Lee, she wore a neat new calico frock, and she said to 
 the lad}^, " My mother told me I must thank you for m.y 
 new frock." 
 
 The child was very happy that day, looking at books 
 and pictures, and talking with Mrs. Lee about them. 
 Then running out into the pleasant garden among the 
 many beautiful spring flowers, and expressing her childish 
 wonder and delight to Peter Jackson, the colored man w^ho 
 was working there, asking him a hundred questions which 
 Peter good-naturedly answered. Then back again into 
 the house, to wonder and exclaim at the variety of interest- 
 ing objects there. In Mrs. Lee's own room she saw a 
 child's chair, which delighted her greatly. 
 
 ** O what a pretty chair ! " she exclaimed ; '' I had just 
 such a one when we were in the other house, but I think 
 mother has given it away ; the house where we live now is 
 
1G6 MAEY EL BIER, OR 
 
 too little to hold many chairs. May I sit down in it; Mrs. 
 Lee?" 
 
 This had been little Mary Lee's chair ; no child had 
 ever sat in it since her death. It was guarded as a sacred 
 relic, and more closely associated with its owner than any 
 other of her little possessions so carefully preserved by the 
 bereaved mother. 
 
 ** Yes, you may sit in it, my dear," said Mrs. Lee. 
 
 *'It seems exactly like my own chair," pursued the 
 cliild as she rocked backwards and forwards in it. "I 
 always used to sit in mine when mother and father were 
 reading. And too, I used to sit in it when I was learning 
 my hymns after mother." 
 
 " Say me some of your hymnS; darling." 
 
 Mary repeated the simple verses that her mother had 
 taught her, and wondered why Mrs. Lee cried so all the 
 'while. 
 
 ''It must be" thought she, " because she feels so sorry 
 that my father is dead." So she thought she would say 
 something, to comfort Mrs. Lee, and pausing in the 
 midst of her hymn, she laid her hand on the lady's arm, 
 and said — 
 
 ** O, don't cry so Mrs. Lee, thafs a great deal better 
 place than this, there's no trouble there, and nobody ever 
 dies, and all good people shall see each other there again." 
 
 Mrs. Lee looked wonderingly in the face of her little 
 comforter. The deep blue eyes, so like those that had 
 once been turned lovingly up to her. own as she talked of 
 heaven and the angels, were fixed upon her. It seemed 
 as though the spirit of her sainted child was looking through 
 tliem into her very heart, and tenderly rebuking her long- 
 cherished sorrow. A feeling of awe stole over her, and 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 167 
 
 pressing her lips to the forehe<acl of the little gH, she arose 
 and led her from the room. 
 
 Mary went home at evening, as happy as child could be. 
 She carried a basket containing several nice books for her- 
 self and Johnny, some pretty stuff to make frocks for the 
 baby, and a bottle of cordial for her grandmother. There 
 was also a mysterious package for her mother, neatly tied 
 up, which Mary was very curious about, but she was too 
 w^ell-bred to ask questions. This was a suitable mourning 
 shawl for Mrs. Elmer. Mrs. Lee accompanied the little 
 girl home, and frequently oiFered to relieve her. But Mary 
 insisted upon carrying the basket all the way, declaring 
 that it wasn't the least bit heavy. And as she trudged 
 along she chattered incessantly. 
 
 "O won't they be glad when I come? How Johnny 
 will jump when he sees his book ! and won't the baby look 
 j^retty in his new frocks ! his old ones are growing so 
 small, mother hasn't got him any in ever so long. I 
 wonder if the little rogue has missed me. It seems a great 
 while since I w^ent away this morning, I never was gone 
 so long before." 
 
 Thus she rattled on ; and xJrs. Lee, who had resolved 
 upon asking Mrs. Elmer to let her take little Mary, to 
 be trained and educated as her owm daughter, abandoned 
 the idea when she saw how the child loved her home and 
 family. Nay, she almost reproached herself for having en- 
 tertained It. But she had conceived a strong affection for 
 the little creature, and determined to do all that she could 
 for her, without having her constantly under her own eye. 
 
 As soon as they entered the house, Mary rushed up to 
 the baby, wdiom his mother was undressing, and nearly 
 smothered him wnth kisses. 
 
168 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 *' O baby, I've got something for you," she said, wav- 
 ing the basket triumphantly. '< And; Johnny, you don't 
 know what I've got for you. And, grandmother, some- 
 tiiing for you too. And for you, mother. And I've had 
 such a nice time. If Johnny had only been there " — 
 
 ''A\^e will hear about it by-and-by," said her mother, 
 as she rose and pressed Mrs. Lee's hand. Mary stopped 
 abruptly, when she remembered who was in the room, and 
 taking off her bonnet and cape, sat down quietly with the 
 baby in her arms, somewhat impatient it is true, to display 
 the contents of the basket and relate her adventures. In 
 fact, she could not hel^^ whispering them over for the 
 baby's benefit, beginning each description thus : — 
 
 *< And what do you think, baby, — I saw — And 
 what do you think, baby ! Mrs. Lee said — And where 
 do you think, baby ! Harriet went " — 
 
 From this time the circumstances of the Elmers were 
 much improved. Many comforts were added to their hum- 
 ble dwelling through the kindness of their new friend, who 
 soon began to consider the subject of assisting them to hire 
 a more comfortable house. She had determined to do so, 
 and was intending to speak of it to Mrs. Elmer very 
 shortly, when she was summoned to attend the dying-bed 
 of her sister. She had not time to see the Elmers before 
 leavino-. She however penned a hasty note to Susan, in 
 v.'hich, after stating the cause of her sudden departure, she 
 expressed the wish that Mrs. Elmer would seek a better 
 house, and to enable her to do so, she enclosed an amount 
 sufficient to pay a quarter's rent, as well as what would be 
 due on leaving her present abode, and something over. " I 
 cannot tell," she wrote, " how long I may be absent, per- 
 haps several months. If you should want any assistance 
 
Widow Spriggius as she appeared while on a bridal tour. — See 
 page 139. 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 1G9 
 
 before I return, do not hesitate to write to me immedi- 
 ately " (here she gave the address). <' I shall consider it 
 a privilege to aid you. Tell my little Mary to come to my 
 garden for flowers whenever she likes, Peter will always 
 give them to her, and may the God of the widow and the 
 fatherless bless and keep you all." 
 
 This note she gave to Harriet, telling her that it was im- 
 portant, and she wished it to be carried to Mrs. Elmer as 
 soon as she should be at leisure. Harriet was very busy at 
 the time, assisting in Mrs. Lee's preparations for leaving in 
 the afternoon run. Setting the house in order. Scatter- 
 ing moth-preventives from garret to cellar. Folding, 
 hanging, spreading this, that and the other for safe keeping, 
 and what not. Besides which she had her own trunk to 
 pack, for she was to go to her father's, ten miles distant, 
 in the stage, which usually went out about an hour after 
 the cars. There she would remain until Mrs. Lee's return. 
 The door-key was to be entrusted to Peter Jackson, the 
 w^orthy colored man already spoken of, who always slept In 
 the house during Mrs. Lee's absences. Harriet took the 
 note saying, as she put it carefully in her reticule — 
 <* I wall run down with it as soon as I see you off." 
 She really Intended to do so. She would not for the 
 world have told a lie, or wilfully failed in duty to her mis- 
 tress, but — alas poor human nature ! 
 15 
 
170 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 iS soon as Mrs. Lee had gone, Harriet prepared for 
 her own departure. She dressed herself hastily, 
 fastened the window-shutters, dragged her trunk 
 to the porch, locked the door and ran down to 
 Peter's with the key. x\fter delivering Mrs. Lee's directions 
 to Peter, she went to the stage-house to bespeak her 
 passage. Being told that the stage would call for her in 
 about an hour, she hurried back to carry the note to Mrs. 
 Elmer, who lived in another direction. 
 
 As she was passing Deacon Ludlow's, which was nearly 
 opposite Mrs. Lee's, Miss Eunice called to her from the 
 window. The Ludlows had been watching the proceedings 
 at Mrs. Lee's with great interest all the morning. They 
 had seen that lady depart, evidently on a journey, and it 
 was much earlier than she usually made her annual visit 
 east. But Harriet would come in and tell them all about 
 it soon. When, however, they^ saw that she too was prepar- 
 ing to go away, they felt a slight degree of uneasiness ; 
 and seeing her at length actually about to pass their house 
 without stopping, they feared losing her altogether and not 
 finding out anything, and therefore arrested her progress as 
 above stated. 
 
 '* Where are you going, Harriet? " exclaimed the mother 
 and three daughters, all in a breath. 
 
 " O Pve got to go up street on an errand, but Til stop 
 and say good-by when I come back.'* 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. Ill 
 
 ** O stop now, stop now ; can't you? " 
 
 *' Well I suppose I may as well come In a minute now, 
 the stage don't go in nearly an hour yet." 
 
 And so she went in, to the great relief of the Ludlows. 
 Harriet, although as honest and faithful a girl as ever lived, 
 had a great talent for gossiping, and* not being encouraged 
 to exercise it at Mrs. Lee's, was very glad to Indulge in an 
 occasional outpouring at Deacon Ludlow's, where it was 
 fully appreciated and drawn out. In fact they made a 
 good deal of her there, always invited her to attend the 
 weekly prayer-meeting whenever it was held at their house, 
 and noticed her In several ways In order to keep her good 
 natured. Of course the simple-minded girl was flattered 
 by such attentions, and often " ran In," after her work was 
 done up, to chat an hour or so with them. She had no 
 suspicion of the estimation In which they really held, or 
 professed to hold, her among their acquaintances, to whom 
 they frequently remarked, — 
 
 " What a pert, forward thing that Harriet is ! I wouldn't 
 keep such a creature round me, but I guess Mrs. Lee's not 
 very particular who she has, if she only gets her work 
 done." 
 
 Had Harriet known of this, she never would have gone 
 in there again. Not so much on her own account as Mrs. 
 Lee's, with whom she had lived nearly seven years without 
 a wish to change her place, and whom she regarded as ap- 
 proaching nearer to perfection than any other living person. 
 
 On this occasion the Ludlows had a thousand questions 
 to ask ; and Harriet, in her zeal to tell all the whys and the 
 wherefores, the hows and the whens of jNIrs. Lee's move- 
 ments, as well as her own, allowed her minute to be a very 
 long one. After running on for half an hour with great 
 
172 iVARY ELMER, OR 
 
 velocity, she jumped up suddenly, declaring she must go, 
 for she'd got to take a note to Mrs. Elmer. But then she 
 was assailed with another volley of questions, on the subject 
 of Mrs. Lee's intercourse with the Elmers, and she could 
 not resist the temptation to sit down a moment longer and 
 tell about Mrs. Lee's kindness to that family, at least as 
 much as she knew about it, for she had often been sent 
 tliere with vegetables and other things. '* And sometimes 
 there was such a load that Peter Jackson had to go with 
 it." 
 
 '« O, she does a great deal for them, and there's many a 
 poor fomily can say the same. She's always doing good, 
 I never saw the beat of it ; why, some folks would get rich 
 on what she gives away " ^— 
 
 ' ' I wonder if she don't expect to ride to heaven on her 
 irood works," said Mrs. Ludlow. 
 
 " "Well, I guess that's a pretty sure-footed horse any 
 way," responded Harriet with some warmth. 
 
 *' O Harriet, Harriet ! " said Mrs. Ludlow solemnly, 
 " I'm sorry to hear you speak so, it shows what influence 
 you've been under. Don't you know the Bible says our 
 own righteousness is but filthy rags? Nothing but a living 
 faith can save us." 
 
 *'Yes, I know it, a /m?zo- faith, and that's just Mrs. 
 Lee's kind of faith, for ' faith without works is dead^^ the 
 same Bible says, you know." 
 
 <' I'm glad you read your Bible," said Mrs. Ludlow with 
 a slight sneer, for she felt a little chagrined that the girl 
 was able to give her blow for blow with her own weapons. 
 Harriet noticed the sneer and answered, — 
 
 " Well, I won't take credit that isn't my due. I own I 
 don't read my Bible as much as I ought to, though I've no 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 173 
 
 excuse, for I've got a beautiful one that Mrs. Lee gave me. 
 But I hear it read every night and morning, so I know 
 something about what's in it." 
 
 Perhaps she would have made a few more quotations, 
 had she not at that moment heard the stao-e horn. 
 
 * * O dear me ! what shall I do ! there's the stao-e and I 
 
 o 
 
 haven't carried the note to Mrs. Elmer ! " 
 
 '* Never mind," said Miss Eunice, *' Sam can run down 
 with it, or one of us can take it to Mrs. Elmer ! " 
 
 Poor Harriet had no resource but to accept Miss Ludlow's 
 offer. So she gave her the note saying that it was very 
 important, and she would like her to have it sent as soon 
 as possible. She then hastened out, and saw the stage 
 still at a little distance off, taking in some passengers. At 
 the same moment she observed Sam Ludlow standing by 
 Mrs. Lee's gate watching the approach of the stage. 
 
 " I'll give it to Sam myself," said she, turning back to 
 the window in time to see the four Ludlows' heads close 
 together over the note, which Miss Eunice was holding up 
 to the light. Just in the midst of their comments upon it, 
 they were startled by the voice of Harriet shouting, — 
 
 " Give it to me ! there's Sam by our house." 
 
 Eunice could do no less than surrender the note, thouorh 
 she would gladly have kept it a little longer to satisfy her- 
 self in regard to its contents. Harriet was somewhat vexed 
 at the curiosity of the Ludlows, and felt glad to ^Qt the 
 note back again, she thought it was much better to give it 
 to Sam herself, and see him start with it, then she should 
 feel as though it would reach its destination safely. Sam 
 Ludlow was a lubberly boy of fourteen. He was often 
 hanging about Mrs. Lee's gate, and had several times gone 
 on errands for Harriet, for which she always paid him a 
 15* 
 
174 3IAEY ELMER, OR 
 
 sixpence in advance. Sam was very fond of a sixpence, 
 and was much more ready to do errands for Harriet than 
 for his mother or sisters, as they would not pay him. 
 
 " Here, Sam," said she, " I want you to take this jiote 
 to Mrs. Ehner right away, I'm going in the stage and 
 haven't time." 
 
 " Who was your waiter hist year? " was Sam's reply. 
 
 Harriet knew that this was the way in which the inter- 
 esting youth usually answered his sisters when they re- 
 quested him to do anything, and she remembered that she 
 had always paid him for waiting upon her. But she had 
 now no change in her purse, her money was in bills, she 
 could only promise a reward, she however persevered. 
 
 *' Do take it for me, Sam, that's a good fellow, and when 
 I come back I'll o-ive vou a shilling. " 
 
 " Give it to me now." 
 
 *' I can't, I haven't got the change, my money is all in 
 bills. Will you take it? see, the stage is close by, I'll 
 surely pay you the shilling when I come back, and that 
 will be before long I expect." 
 
 '' Swear you'll do it." 
 
 "No, Sam, I won't swear, that's wicked; but I sol- 
 emnly promise." 
 
 " Well, kiss my jack-knife then, it's all the same in 
 Dutch." And he took out the weapon so dear to every 
 boy's heart, and held it up before her. They were lifting 
 her trunk to the stage top. 
 
 '* Will you carry the note if I'll kiss that? " 
 
 *' As sure as gunfiints." 
 
 *' And right away, without going home first?" 
 
 ** Kight off, as quick as a streak 'o lightning." 
 
 *' Are you coming?" shouted the driver. 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 175 
 
 Harriet kissed the jack-knife, gave Sam the note, and 
 jumped into the stage, calling after Sam to be very care- 
 ful, and not loiter a moment on the way. As she 
 stretched her neck out of the stage window, she had the 
 satisfaction of seeing the young gentleman start on his ex- 
 pedition ; not quite so quick as lightning, but at a very 
 brisk pace. 
 
 His sisters called to him from the window, but he hur- 
 ried on without noticing them. Not so much that he 
 wished to do his errand faithfully, as because ** he didn't 
 care for them." 
 
 " She's mighty anxious about this note, seems to me," 
 said Sam, mentally, as he went on his way. 
 
 " Wonder what it's about ! feels as though there was 
 something in it — shouldn't wonder if 'twas money — pay 
 for sewing I 'spose." 
 
 The note had been hastily written, and the envelope 
 fastened lightly with a wafer. Sam thought he'd like to 
 just see what was inside. Harriet was only a hired girl, 
 what did he care for her ! Some other vague thoughts 
 floated through his mind. He determined to open it ; he 
 could easily stick it together again if he wanted to. So 
 he turned to see whether the stao;e was out of sio^ht. It 
 was no longer visible. 
 
 A few paces on he turned aside into a narrow lane, 
 went behind an old shed, no mortal eye was upon him, he 
 felt quite safe ; and, taking out his jack-knife, he slipped 
 the blade under the wafer, which yielded without difficulty, 
 and Sam found his conjectures correct. There was 
 money, more money than he had ever seen together be- 
 fore. He blundered through the note as well as he could, 
 and found that the money was a gift, not from Harriet, 
 
176 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 but from Mrs. Lee. lie thought of several things that he 
 wanted very much, especially a fighting-cock, owned by a 
 man who kept a ten-pin alley, and numerous other articles 
 quite as useful and desirable. The temptation was strong. 
 He saw that the amount was not mentioned in the note. 
 There were several bills ; he could take one, it never 
 would be found out. So he stuffed a <*five" into his 
 pocket, wet the wafer a little and fastened it down again, 
 and then contemplated his work with satisfaction. 
 
 It was well done. Nobody would ever have suspected 
 that the note had been opened. He went on a few steps, 
 and then paused to contemplate it again ; and as he did so 
 he reflected, *' Why not take the whole while it was In his 
 power? But Harriet and Mrs.- Lee would come back, 
 and then he would be found out. What then ? " " Never 
 mind," said the tempter in his ear. *'The old man'U 
 have to fork over, that's all, and you'll have the good of 
 the money." 
 
 ** And the old woman," thought Sam, ** how she'll jaw 
 and jaw, if I'm ever found out." 
 
 '' Never mind that neither," pursued the tempter, 
 «' they can't blame you, they expect you to cut up now, 
 you aint converted yet." 
 
 ** So here goes," said Sam, and he tore open the enve- 
 lope, took out the rest of the money, chewed the note until 
 it became a soft wad, then threw it at the old shed, where 
 for aught I know to the contrary, it is sticking to this day. 
 He then took his way to the residence of the game-cock's 
 owner, where he astonished divers young gentlemen by his 
 display of the ready ^ although he was careful not to ex- 
 hibit the whole amount in his possession. It was a strange 
 thino- to see Sam Ludlow with more than a shillinsj in his 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 177 
 
 hands, and of course the '' five" which he drew from his 
 pocket created some surprise. 
 
 *' Why, Sam, where did you get so much? " '* Found 
 the way to the old man's locker?" "Old boy loosened 
 his purse strings at last, eh?" were some of the questions 
 showered upon the young thief. Bat he contrived to 
 evade them. " Pity if he couldn't have a little money as 
 well as other folks. He didn't see what there was to 
 make such a thundering fuss about." 
 
 When Sam left the ten -pin alley, his five was nearly 
 exhausted. He had entered to his heart's content into 
 the amusements of the establishment. A thing which he 
 had not been able to do before for want of funds. He 
 had also regaled himself with various good things ; and as 
 he walked homewards with his long-desired game-cock 
 under his arm, he felt a high degree of satisfaction ; for, 
 notwithstanding he had lost all that he staked in the 
 games, he still had a large sum left, upon which he meant 
 to revel for a long time to come. 
 
 On his arrival at home, his sisters questioned him con- 
 cernlno: the note. But he G^ave them no satisfaction. 
 
 *' Didn't you notice what was in it when she opened 
 it." 
 
 ** No ; I didn't go in the house at all." 
 
 *' Well, I should like to know whether there was money 
 in that note. Why didn't you wait a minute and see, you 
 stupid fellow ! " 
 
 *' What do you s'pose I cared about knowing what w.is 
 in the plaguey note ? What business was it of mine ? " 
 
 The game-cock did not attract much attention at the 
 deacon's Sam was always bringing home something of 
 the animal kind to annoy the family, and generally bar- 
 gained it away for something else in a few days. 
 
178 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 Deacon Ludlow, although himself a worthy, religious 
 man, unfortunately took very little pains with the early 
 training of his children. He never questioned Sam in re- 
 gard to where he spent his evenings. In fact, he seldom 
 reproved him for anything. Mrs. Ludlow, it is true, 
 scolded and fretted at the boy frequently, but he regarded 
 her words no more than the idle wind. Sam Ludlow had 
 started in the road to destruction, and there was no voice 
 to call him back. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IHE Elmers wondered what had become of Mrs. 
 Lee. Many days passed without one of her wel- 
 come visits. The chatty, good-natured Harriet, 
 too, they missed her almost daily calls. And it 
 was but natural that they should miss the comforts she 
 was wont to bring. After some time it was settled that 
 they must have gone away. At length they questioned 
 Peter Jackson as he was passing one day, and from him 
 they learned the facts. 
 
 About a fortnight after Mrs. Lee's departure, Mrs. 
 Elmer's mother was suddenly reduced to a state of entire 
 helplessness by another paralytic stroke. She was con- 
 fined wholly to her bed. Her mind also was greatly af- 
 fected, and she showed an irritability and fretfulness quitS 
 foreio-n to her nature. Susan's labors were increased ten- 
 fold by this calamity. Her mother required more care 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 179 
 
 than an infant, and could not bear to have Susan out of 
 her sight for a moment. Her speech was much impaired, 
 but her sight and hearing were, if anything, quickeiled. 
 She would have the window- curtains down, for the broad 
 daylight hurt her eyes. The children's noise disturbed 
 her very much, and Susan was obliged to send the two 
 older ones out of doors to play, many times when she 
 would gladly have kept them in. Her sewing too, had to 
 be almost wholly abandoned. She had but little time for 
 it during the day, and then the room was so dark that she 
 could scarcely see at all. When the evening came, and 
 the little ones were all gone to their rest, the old mother, 
 too, at last asleep, and Susan sat down with her work in 
 hand, she was usually so worn and weary that her fingers 
 almost refused to move. 
 
 Things went on in this way for a month, and Susan's 
 resources were nearly gone. She had for some time past 
 reduced her own and her children's food to the smallest 
 possible quantity, and that of the coarsest kind. A little 
 of a better quality she still managed to procure for her 
 mother, and the old woman complained that this was not 
 as good as she wished. Susan knew that her poor mother 
 was not herself any longer, and she never manifested the 
 least impatience with her murmuring. But she missed her 
 encouraging words, the *' trust in the Lord, my child. 
 He will not forsake you," with which she used to cheer 
 her in times of despondency. And she thought if her 
 mother would only speak so now, she could bear up better 
 under her trials. 
 
 ► And George, too, how she missed Jiim now ! more than 
 ever — more every day. She could not help it. The 
 future looked very dark. Pay-day was drawing on, and 
 
180 * MAEY ELMER, OR 
 
 where was her rent to come from ! Pay-day came, and 
 Susan was not ready. The landlord, a hard-fisted, grasp- 
 ing man, called for his dues. Mrs. Elmer told him It 
 was utterly impossible for her to pay then, she had not a 
 dollar, but if he would give her a few days' time, she hoped 
 to be able to satisfy him. He appeared to doubt her 
 word, and pointing to the mantel-clock (George's last 
 gift before he went from home) , he intimated a wish to 
 take possession of it. 
 
 " I'll take that," he said, *' seeing you don't seem to 
 have anything else that's worth much ; though it's a poor 
 concern, still, I don't know but I'll take it and let you off, 
 considering." 
 
 Susan looked at him with astonishment. She was not 
 accustomed to such meanness. She knew that the clock 
 had cost more than double the amount of her debt, and 
 she knew that the man must be aware of its value. She 
 hesitated a while. It went to her heart to part with it. 
 
 *' Well, what do you say? shall I take it?" 
 
 " It is a valuable clock, sir, it cost more than twice as 
 much as I owe you, and has not been in use a year yet." 
 
 The man advanced close to her, and impertinently ex- 
 amined her brooch, which she always wore. 
 
 ** That'll do," said he, after satisfying himself that it 
 was real gold. *' I'll take that if you aint a mind to let 
 the clock go. I'll take it and say square; guess it's worth 
 five dollars. You owe me twelve ; but considering your 
 circumstances, I'll be satisfied with that." 
 
 Long before the conclusion of this speech, Susan had 
 covered her brooch with her hand, as if his very look wer» 
 profanation ; and when he finished, she turned towiuds the 
 clock, and said hurriedly, — 
 
TRIALS AND CUAHGUS. 181 
 
 '« Take that." 
 
 He j)i'oceede(l to take it down, and after It was safely in 
 his possession, he told Mrs. Ehner that she must vacate 
 the ho,use before night, as he had rented it to some one 
 who would be ready pay. Susan's indignation was roused 
 at this shameful injustice, and she said, — 
 
 <' Surely, you do not mean to turn me out of the house 
 now, with my helpless mother and little ones. That 
 clock, too, is fully worth another quarter's rent, and a 
 good deal more. You will allow me to remain a few 
 weeks, and meantime I will be looking for another house." 
 
 ** This clock worth another quarter's rent, hey ! " and 
 he laughed heartily at the idea. *' Why, woman, you 
 know nothing about the value of things, if you did you'd 
 think I've let you off pretty easy. As for the house, 
 didn't I tell you I'd let it already to a family that's to take 
 possession to-morrow. I've done the best I can by you. 
 Everybody must look to their own interest, you know, and 
 if I have a chance to let a tenement to better advantao-e 
 than I can to you, why of course it's my duty to do it. I 
 owe it to my own family ; scripture, you know, says 
 everybody must provide for their own." 
 
 Susan said no more, she was not accustomed to disput- 
 ing, and she allowed the face-grinder to depart without 
 farther parley. When he reached the door, he turned 
 back and remarked that " he should expect to find the 
 premises cleared early in the morning of the followino- 
 day." She merely bowed in reply, and he went away, to 
 her great relief. 
 
 But where should she go ? No home and no means of 
 procuring one. It was still early in the day, not more 
 than ten o'clock. The old woman appeared confused and 
 16 
 
182 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 puzzled at the scene which had just taken place, and asked 
 some questions, although she did not comprehend anything 
 of it. Susan brought her a cup of tea and a bit of toast, 
 sat by her, and answered her questions in a manner that 
 satisfied her, and before long she fell Into a sound sleep. 
 Susan Immediately gave the baby Into Mary's charge, told 
 Johnny to sit quietly beside his grandmother's bed unlll 
 her return, put on her bonnet and shawl, and slipped 
 quietly Into the street. 
 
 Where should she go? where, where? If Mrs. Lee 
 w^ere only at home ! The thought of writing to her for 
 aid to enable her to remain in her present abode, crossed 
 her mind. But it was too late. She must quit to-day. 
 She looked up the street and then down, undecided which 
 w^ay to go. 
 
 At length her eye fell upon an old, brown, barnish look- 
 ing house, standing alone on a slight eminence, a little out 
 of the town. She knew it was the residence of Mrs. Mad- 
 dock, tlie woman with whom she learned the business of 
 dressmaking. Now a widow like herself, and poor, too, 
 but not In want, for she owned the house which she occu- 
 pied, and by her own labors, she still pursued her former 
 occupation, supported herself and two children, something 
 older than Susan's two eldest. She had also four children 
 still older, who were all earning their own living at differ- 
 ent trades. Two sons had gone from home, and two 
 daughters, tailoresses, boarded with their mother and took 
 in work from the shops. 
 
 Thither Susan determined to bend her steps. She had 
 not seen much of ]\Irs. Maddock since her marrlao-e, but 
 she remembered her as a very kind-liearted woman. 
 
 ** Perhaps she can help me," thought the desolate 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 183 
 
 woman as she pursued her way. «' I recollect how kind 
 she used to be to us apprentice girls. How in pleasant 
 weather she always sent us out on the grass plot twice a 
 day to have a romp, and stretch our limbs. She said 
 our health required it. And what pleasant cooling drinks 
 she used to make for us in hot days." 
 
 Many other little circumstances Susan recalled as she 
 went along, all of them in Mrs. M.'s favor, and she could 
 not help feeling that she would do something for her now. 
 Nor was she mistaken — Mrs. Maddock had heard of 
 George Elmer's death, but not of the circumstances of his 
 family. She listened to Susan's sad story with tears, and 
 when it was ended, freely offered her a shelter in her own 
 house. 
 
 " There is one good-sized room at liberty, on the ground 
 floor too, and if you can gQt along with that, come. We're 
 poor but we have health, and no helpless ones amongst us." 
 
 " But perhaps I never shall be able to pay you." 
 
 " Don't borrow any trouble about that, dear. If you 
 ever should be able to pay me, as I hope you will for your 
 own sake, why well and good. And if you shouldn't 
 'tvvont kill me. I shan't be any poorer for it a hundred 
 years hence." 
 
 " No, indeed you will not," said Susan as grateful tears 
 fell from her eyes. *' ' He that giveth to the poor lendeth 
 unto the Lord ; ' and He will surely reward you whether I 
 ever can or not." 
 
 She then arose, saying that she would go and hire a cart 
 to remove her furniture. 
 
 *'Wait a moment," said Mrs. M., ''and I will run 
 over and see if Neighbor Grey's team is at liberty to-day, 
 if it should be it will save you the expense of a cart, for 
 they have offered me the use of it whenever I wish." 
 
184 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 So she hastened to Neighbor Grey's, and soon returned 
 with the pleasing intelligence, that she could have the 
 team all the afternoon, and David Grey to drive. It was 
 arranged that immediately after dinner, she would come 
 down with David and the team. She would have a bed 
 laid in the wagon, and Mrs. Grant should be removed be- 
 fore anything else, lest she might be worried by the noise 
 and confusion. 
 
 When Susan returned home, she found things just as 
 she had left them, and her mother still sleeping. She 
 prepared their scanty dinner, and soon after they had 
 eaten it, the old woman awaked. While Susan was 
 giving her a rather more substantial meal than the rest of 
 them had enjoyed, she told her of the approaching change 
 in their circumstances, and at length succeeded in making 
 her understand that they were going to a new home, much 
 more comfortable than the present one, where they would 
 have no .stairs to ascend, and where a very nice woman 
 was living. 
 
 She appeared rather pleased with the Idea of a change, 
 and when the kind-lookino^ Mrs. Maddock, and the orood- 
 natured David Grey soon after came in, she was quite 
 willing to have them and Susan lift her gently from the 
 bed and carry her out to the wagon. They laid her in an 
 easy position on the soft bed and pillows which Mrs. Mad- 
 dock had arranged, and Susan seated herself beside her on 
 the bed, holding a parasol to shade her face. Mrs. Mad- 
 dock went- on the sidewalk carrying the baby, while Mary 
 and Johnny trotted behind her as merry as birds, shouting 
 and talking to the baby, who crowed and laughed biick to 
 them. They reached the house before theT rest of the 
 party, who advanced very slowly and carefully. Susan 
 
TRIALS AND CUANGES. \Sb 
 
 talked cheerfully to her mother, and the old woman seemed 
 to enjoy the ride very much. 
 
 AVhen they arrived at Mrs. Maddock's,.Mrs. Grant was 
 laid upon Mrs. M.'s bed until her own could be prepared. 
 She appeared rather uneasy at being in a strange house, 
 and would not suffer Susan to leave her at all. Therefore 
 Mrs. Maddock kindly offered to go back with the wagon 
 and superintend the loading up of the furniture. There 
 was not much, and it was soon transported. The small 
 23lece of carpet was laid down, the bed was set up, and the 
 old woman was deposited on it, to change no more until 
 she should lie down in the last resting-place of us all. 
 
 As Susan went about, arranging her few articles in the 
 quiet room, she felt a degree of satisfaction that she had 
 not known for months. For she was sure that, happen 
 what mlgl^t, there was now no danger of her poor mother 
 and little ones being turned into the street. She was 
 more cheerful than she had been in a lono^, lono- time. 
 There was a certain hymn which she used to be fond of 
 singing, and George of hearing, and this evening as she 
 rocked her baby to sleep, she sang it for the first time 
 since she had heard of her husband's death. It had a 
 chorus which ran thus ; — 
 
 " Look up, my soul I be like the lark 
 That singing soars afar — 
 There's ne'er a cloud however dark 
 But veils a shining star." 
 
 When she had laid her baby down and ceased singing, 
 her mother, who had been lying very quietly for sometime, 
 said, " Sing it again, child." 
 16* 
 
186 MARY ELMJER, OR 
 
 Surprised and pleased Susan complied, and when she 
 had finished, the old woman said, 
 
 «' Once more, my child, it sounds so good." 
 
 So she sang It a third time, with a tremulous voice and 
 sheddino- thankful tears all the while. And when it w^as 
 ended, the old mother took up the last words, "shining 
 star," and murmured them over several times, each time 
 fainter, until they died away entirely, and she fell asleep. 
 
 The children, who were in their little bed, had been 
 lying awake, -listening to their mother, and presently she 
 heard Mary say in a low voice, 
 
 *' Johnny, are you awake?" 
 
 " Yes, are you?" 
 
 *' Yes, did you hear mother sing?" 
 
 '* I guess I did, didn't It sound pleasant, Mary?" 
 
 " O, It did. It made me think of the angels with shln- 
 ino' wino's that live above the clouds." 
 
 <' So It did me, how funny that we should think of the 
 same thing ! " 
 
 " So It was, Johnny, it made me think of father too, did 
 it you?" 
 
 " Yes, I thought about father while I was thinking of 
 the angels." 
 
 ** So did I. He used to like to hear mother sing that, 
 you know." 
 
 '*DIdhe? I forget." 
 
 *« Why yes, Johnny, don't you remember how he used 
 to say, « Come, Susey, sing the ''shining star "?" 
 
 *' O yes, I do remember about It now." 
 
 *' I wonder If he heard her sing it now ! " said the little 
 girl musingly. And then they went to sleep with their 
 arms round each other's necks. 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 187 
 
 As Susan sat by her little taper, she thought over these 
 childish words. She thought too of her mother's pleasure 
 while she was singing, and of her peaceful falling asleep 
 afterwards. Then she wondered that she had so long lost 
 siaht of the " shinino: star," and was glad she had found 
 it again. It had made them all so happy. And she knelt 
 down and prayed that her afflictions might soften her heart, 
 and draw her nearer to God. That she might no longer 
 look at the cloud, but through It, and ever keep her eye 
 upon the "shining star" beyond. From this time she 
 went about her daily round of toilsome duties, resigned, 
 and even cheerful, and every night she sang the " Shining 
 Star." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 RS. ELMER was much more comfortable at Mrs. 
 Maddock's than she had been before since Mrs. 
 Lee went away. Her quarters were narrow, it is 
 true, but there was a shady, pleasant door-yard, 
 where Mrs. Maddock permitted the children to play when- 
 ever they chose. There they passed several hours when the 
 weather was fine. And sometimes they had the baby with 
 them in a little wagon belonging to Jane and Sarah, 
 Mrs. Maddock's little girls. Meanwhile their mother was 
 busy within, now at the old woman's bedside, now at her 
 household work, and now patching and mending for herself 
 and children. 
 
188 MAEY ELMER, OR 
 
 Her evenings Susan devoted to sewing for ]\Irs. Mad- 
 dock. By this means she hoped to pay her rent, and she 
 was therefore surprised when after finishing the first piece, 
 that good woman proflPered her full pay. 
 
 «' O no, Mrs. Maddock," said Susan, " I wish to pay 
 the rent of my room in this way." 
 
 ''Fie! fie! dear," returned Mrs. M., throwing the 
 money into her lap, " don't speak of that again, if you do 
 I shall be offended. Don't you know you must have 
 something coming in to live on? You may just as well 
 help me about my sewing, as to take it in on your own hook, 
 I have more calls than I can possibly attend to. And 
 besides, my eyes are not as strong as they once were. I 
 can't sew of evenings any more excepting on the plainest 
 parts, and your help will be a great accommodation to me. 
 It will enable me to serve all my customers. So if you 
 will just take hold and lend me a hand whenever you feel 
 like it, and allow me to pay you what it's worth, I assure 
 you it will not only be some assistance to you, but 'twill 
 actually put money in my pocket too." 
 
 ** Thank you! thank you! Mrs. Maddock. Then I 
 will do the nicest parts and you the plainest, for my eyes 
 are perfectly strong and good yet." 
 
 ** Agreed, that's a nice arrangement. But you mustn't 
 try your eyes too much and spoil them while you're a 
 young woman. You shall have one of my lard lamps in 
 here. I have two, and the girls and I never use but one 
 at a time. They give a bright light and then they're very 
 economical. You can burn any kind of grease in them, 
 and that saves the expense of oil." 
 
 Susan thanked her again, and said she hoped there 
 would come a time when she should be able to repay some 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 189 
 
 of this kindness, and the conversation ended with Mrs. 
 Haddock's commanding her never again to speak of obli- 
 gation. 
 
 This worthy woman's kindness did not stop here. 
 Scarcely a day passed without some token of her interest in 
 the Elmers. A pie or a cake for the children. And often 
 a bit of fish, an Qgg, or some other little delicacy for the 
 old woman. And every morning a pitcher of milk. 
 
 «* You will at least take pay for the milk," said Susan, 
 almost imploringly. 
 
 " Bless your soul and body, dear woman," Mrs. Mad- 
 dock replied, " do you think I shall be any the poorer in 
 a hundred years for giving you a little milk ? I never sell 
 milk to anybody that's worse off than I am. My cow's a 
 first-rate animal. I make all my own butter and have 
 several pots to spare every fall.. And when a rich family 
 wants to buy milk of me, why I take the pay of course. 
 But as for selling milk to poor folks, I can't do that. My 
 mother before me never did it, and I never will." 
 
 " Your mother must have been very good." 
 
 *' Good ! I never saw the like of her. I didn't know 
 how good she wns when I was a young, giddy girl. It 
 wasn't so much by what she said as by what she did, that 
 she showed her goodness. But after she was dead- and 
 ffone I beo-an to realize it. And when I was married and 
 ■ w^ent away, and saw more of the world, then it struck me 
 how much better my mother was than most of people. And 
 when my family began to grow up round me, and I had 
 my own trials and troubles, I remembered how many my 
 mother had, and how patiently she bore them. O how sor- 
 ry I felt that I hadn't been more dutiful and loving to her. 
 So I tried to do as she used to, for I remembered her ac- 
 
190 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 tions better than her words. And I've tried to keep them 
 always before me. But if I should live a hundred and fifty 
 years I never should come to be what my mother was." 
 
 Susan looked at the poor wreck upon the bed, and 
 thanked God in her heart that she too had been reared by 
 a good mother, and was now privileged to sustain and care 
 for her in that state of helplessness. 
 
 Notwithstanding j\Irs. Haddock's unvarying kindness, 
 there were some circumstances which rendered Susan's situa- 
 tion rather unpleasant to one of her temperament. The feel- 
 ing of dependence which constantly weighed upon her spirit, 
 was increased by a suspicion that the two older daughters 
 of Mrs. Maddock were not satisfied with her being there. 
 They were good-tempered girls, and there was never any- 
 thing rude or unkind in their deportment towards herself. 
 But occasionally a hasty expression to her children escaped 
 them. And once, as she was passing through the entry, 
 she heard one of them say to the other, 
 
 * ' I think we have children enough of our own without 
 keeping other people's. I should think she might put 
 Mary out." Susan did not blame the girls. She thought 
 it natural that they should feel so. But it made her very un- 
 happy. She had not thought of putting Mary out before, 
 and it wrung her heart. But she felt the necessity of doing 
 something. If Mrs. Lee were only home. She knew 
 that she might count upon help from her. She was almost 
 sure that she would have been glad to take Mary, and that, 
 she could have borne, for Mary loved Mrs. Lee, and would 
 no doubt have been happy with her. But she was gone, 
 and there was no one who knew when she would be back. 
 
 While she was in this state of perplexity, an opportunity 
 offered for getting Mary a place, and she embraced it. 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 191 
 
 Not without many secret tears, still in the hope that the 
 separation would not be long. The child herself was at 
 first unwillinsf to ffo. She could not bear to leave her 
 mother and Johnny, and above all the baby. And then 
 too, Mrs. Smith, with whom she was going to live, was 
 not a bit like Mrs. Lee. She did not look as pleasant. 
 If it was Mrs. Lee she would be willing to go and live 
 always with her. 
 
 But her mother talked long and seriously to her. 
 
 " You are a little girl, Ma'ry," she said, " but you are 
 old enougii to see that I have to work very hard to get 
 clothes and food for you all. Mrs. Smith offers to feed 
 and clothe you, which Is very kind. And in return you 
 are to help take care of her baby, just as you do of your 
 own little brother. Don't you see that will be helping me 
 very much ? " 
 
 When the little girl understood that it would be a relief 
 to her mother, she became reconciled to the idea of going, 
 and the next morning, after a great many kisses all round, 
 and numerous hugs administered to the baby, she set out 
 for Mrs. Smith's, with a basket on her arm containing her 
 small wardrobe, and Sarah Maddock to show her the way. 
 
 " I don't half like the looks of that Mrs. Smith where 
 Mary's gone," said Mrs. Maddock to her daughters. 
 
 <« Nor I," said Martha. 
 
 " Nor I neither," said Anne. *' I should be very sorry 
 if the little thing wasn't well treated, for she's a good 
 child." 
 
 Both the girls felt some compunction for having wished 
 her away, and they made amends afterwards by constant 
 kindness to Johnny and the baby. 
 
 The Mrs. Smith with whom Mary had gone to live was 
 
192 MART ELMER, OR 
 
 the one before mentioned, wife of the man wlio had made 
 his fortwne in California, no longer " Jonathan Smith the 
 shoemaker," but *' J. Pixley Smith, the leather merchant." 
 The exact amount of Mr. Smith's acquisitions in California 
 was not known ; but to judge from the change in his out- 
 ward circumstances since his return, it must have been 
 considerable. He was doing business on a pretty large 
 scale; and Mrs. Smith, from a small, unpalnted house, 
 where she *' did her own work," was elevated to a tall, red 
 brick one," with bright green window blinds, and there, 
 reigned over a hired girl and also a baby nurse. An ex- 
 tract from a letter which she wrote about this time to a 
 sister in Vermont, will give some idea both of the woman 
 and her mansion : — 
 
 *' It's bllt of brick painted red, three story high, and 
 very tall chimberly tops, and a suller kitchen in the base- 
 ment underneath. The upper story we haint furnished 
 more than to put shades to the windows to make a show 
 on the outside, but the first and second stories is complete. 
 I've got two parlors with folding doors between 'em ; the 
 front parlor is furnished with mahogany chairs and a sofa 
 cushined with hair cloth, and a looking glass bigg enough 
 to see the whole of yourself in, and two ottermans, and a 
 splendid centre-table with a tremenjous bigg astorlal lamp 
 in the middle of it. The mantletry shelf is supported by 
 marble pillows, and atop of it stands three Jo Eandals, the 
 middle one nearly a yard high, with rising of a hundred 
 diamond dependants hanging from it. Over the sofa hangs 
 Mr. Smitli's portrait as natural as life, and the windows 
 has gold Cornishes as much as a foot wide, and musling 
 curtings of the most costliest description. And the carpets 
 I couldn't describe If I should try forever, they being alike 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 193 
 
 in both parlers, and all covered with magnificent flower 
 pots bright enough to dazzle common folkses eyes. In 
 the back parler stands Henrietta's piano ; we calculate to 
 have her learn music ; then there's two tater tates, you 
 know what they are I spose,.and chairs and mantletry-shelf 
 like them in the front parler, on which stands a number of 
 pappy Mash ornaments, that's very fashionable now. You 
 never saw any like em, they being intirely new fashined, 
 and named after the inventor, old Mr. Mash. I shouldn't 
 wonder if it was the one we used to know, he was always 
 inventing something you know, and a number more things 
 of various discriptlons. At the lower end I calculate to 
 have a family picture to hang ; it's nearly done now, and 
 Mr. Boggles is a painting it ; you can imagine how supe- 
 rior it is when I tell you that we shall have to pay twenty- 
 five dollars for it. It represents the four oldest children a 
 standing up in a row ; Ferdinand stands first wfth a book 
 in his hand, Henrietta next with a bokay, Josephine next 
 a holding her doll, and Columbus last a drumming on his 
 little drum. On one side sits me a holding the babe, J. 
 PIxley Junior in my arras. In the folding doors stands one 
 of these Elizabeth Ann chairs, that's considered so undis- 
 pensable in every genteel j)arler at the present time, with 
 a high-pinted back and cushined with red velvet, and very 
 uneasy if a body ever wanted to set dow^n in em, but they 
 don't. We calculate to have the house heated by a furniss 
 in the basement next fall, with legislators in the floor to let 
 the heat go up stairs you know. Stoves ain't considered 
 genteel any longer only in kitchings. I tell you Ime as 
 good as anybody now. I've had a number of calls from 
 ladies that never come near me before ; they seem to jest 
 found out we live in town. Californy gold dust aint like 
 17 
 
194 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 other dust ; it seems to open some folkses eyes all of a sud- 
 ding, instid of blinding em. I keep a bigg girl that does 
 the heft of my work, and have to pay her a dollar a week ; 
 and besides her I've got a small one to take care of J. Pix- 
 ley, and I get a good deal out of her and it's all clear gain, 
 for all I pay her is her clothing and vittals, and the cloth- 
 ing aint much, as I shall make her wear the girls' old 
 things ; the food is something, for such children eat aw- 
 fully, but 1 watch her pretty close ; she's only seven year 
 old but I never saw a child of that age so handy with a 
 babe. A good deal of the furniture I've discribed, husband 
 bought to a vandue in New York, very cheap indeed, but 
 don't you never breathe a sillyble about it to no living crea- 
 ture, but come as soon as convenient and see how we look 
 in our new residence." f 
 
 When little Mary arrived at Mrs. Smith's, Sarah took 
 her to the basement door and then left her. She knocked 
 and was told to come in. There was no one in the kitchen 
 excepting the hired girl, who was washing up the breakfast 
 things. She was an odd looking girl, almost as dark as a 
 squaw, with a flat nose and a long chin. She was cross- 
 ej^ed too, and her stiff black hair was cropped close to her 
 head. Mary was almost frightened when she first looked 
 at her. But when she spoke in a pleasant voice and asked 
 if " this was the little girl that was to live there," her fears 
 subsided, and she answered in tlie affirmative. 
 
 " Well then, take off your things and I'll put them up 
 stairs ; you'll sleep with me." 
 
 Mary surrendered her bonnet and cape, as well as her 
 basket to the queer-looking girl, who patted her head and 
 said, " How nice your hair curls ! is it natural?" 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 195 
 
 <* Natural?" said the little girl inquiringly. 
 
 *' I mean do you roll it up in papers, or does it curl 
 itself? " 
 
 *' O, it curls itself. I didn't know what you meant at 
 first." 
 
 ** Well, that's beautiful. Now I suppose you must go 
 up stairs to IMrs. Smith's room. No need of my going 
 with you ; right up this stairs and then along the hall, and 
 into the room where you hear a dreadful hullabaloo." 
 
 These directions enabled Mary to find the room without 
 difficulty. She tapped at the door, but was not heard. 
 So she opened it and went in. Such was the commotion 
 inside that her entrance was unnoticed. The two girls 
 were disputing, furiously about Josephine's sun-bonnet, 
 which she declared Henrietta had hidden. Columbus, a 
 boy about three years old, was stamping about in an old 
 pair of his father's boots, and Mrs, Smith, baby in arms, 
 was standing at the window, knocking and screaming at 
 Ferdinand, the eldest hope, who was loitering in the street, 
 instead of going to school. 
 
 <' You do know where it is, and you know you do," said 
 Josephine. 
 
 *' I don't neither, and you know I don't." 
 
 *' You lie, and you know you lie." 
 
 " I don't lie, you lie yourself. Say ma ! shan't she give 
 mc up my sun-bonnet? I want to go to school." 
 ' *' I don't care whether she does or not," shouted Mrs. 
 Smith turning quickly round. '' I'm half crazy with this 
 everlasting racket ; go to school, sun-bonnet or no sun- 
 bonnet." And she gave them each a hearty box on the 
 ear and pushed them out of the door, while they retaliated 
 by calling her a ** mean old thing," " old cross-patch," &c. 
 
196 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 As ]\Irs. Smith opened the door to eject the gh*ls, she 
 perceived little Mary, who stood trembling behind it. 
 
 " O you've come, have you? well, I'll attend to yoti 
 soon." She then seized Columbus and shook him violently 
 with the hand she had at liberty. 
 
 *' What do you mean, you little scamp, clattering round 
 in tliem boots ! get out of 'em quicker ; " and she lifted 
 him up by the arm so that the boots fell off. The boy 
 bawled lustily. At this moment Mr. Smith entered the 
 room, evidently much excited. 
 
 *' xVt it again hey ? " said he. '* You're always abusing 
 that boy. Lummy, my son, come with pa," taking hold of 
 his arm. 
 
 Mrs. Smith did not relax her gripe on the other arm. 
 The boy w^as a constant bone of contention between his 
 parents. 
 
 ** I wish," she said, "you wouldn't always interfere 
 when I'm a trying to correct him, Mr. Smith." 
 
 *' And I wish you'd be good enough to let go of his arm, 
 Mrs. Smith." 
 
 As the mother labored under a disadvantage on account 
 of one arm being occupied with J. Pixley, Junior, she was 
 in the end compelled to yield, and the affectionate father 
 led his son off in triumph to the " leather store." 
 
 Poor little Marj^ to whom such scenes w^ere new, was 
 nearly frightened out of her wats at it, and felt quite re- 
 lieved to find herself alone with Mrs. Smith and the baby. 
 Mrs. Smith was a tall, poking woman, with a sallow com- 
 plexion, and a long, sharp nose. She turned to Mary as 
 soon as the coast was cleared, and ordered her to go to the 
 kitchen and tell Jerusha to send her a basin of water, right 
 from the pump to wash the hale. Mary obeyed, and after 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 197 
 
 sending her to fetch half a dozen more things, Mrs. 
 Smith was ready to begin the ablution of J. PIxley. 
 
 He was a very fiit baby, with cheeks hanging down on 
 his shoulders, and a pointed head, crowned on the summit 
 with a tuft of stiff, black hair about an inch long, which 
 stuck up straight in spite of all his mother's efforts with 
 comb and brush, to make it lie down. Little Mary's first 
 movement was to run up and stand by Mrs. Smith, as she 
 always did by her mother when she washed their baby. 
 , " What makes him cry so?" she asked. '* Our baby 
 never does when he's washed." 
 
 ** Well, I shouldn't wonder if your ma takes the chill 
 off the water. Some folks don't know any better, but it's 
 no way. I always wash my children in the coldest water 
 I can get, and in the summer I put a chunk of ice in it." 
 
 Mary no longer w^ondered that J. PIxley cried, nor that 
 his skin was so red. She noticed when his mother put on 
 his clothes, that she pinned his waist bands as tight as she 
 could possibly draw them, and she concluded that this was 
 done to push up the flesh and make his cheeks fat. 
 
 " How funny his hair looks," remarked the child in the 
 simplicity of her heart, *« It doesn't curl round like our 
 baby's, his is real pretty; it goes so;" and she described 
 several half circles with her finger on J. PIxley 's head. 
 Mrs. Smith never forgave her this speech. She glanced 
 spitefully at the little girl's head, covered with those short 
 golden rings which are so beautiful in childhood, and. which 
 art cannot imitate, thinking as she did so, of the stiff, mud- 
 colored locks of her own children, and after a moment she 
 said, 
 
 *' So you think curly hair's mighty pretty ? Well I don't 
 agree with you. I'm glad he hasn't got curly hair, nor 
 17* 
 
198 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 any of the other children. It looks so niggery. If your 
 ma expects me to fuss with yours as she does, and keep 
 it quirled up In that ridiculous way, she's mistaken." 
 
 '* My mother doesn't fuss with it. She only combs it 
 out in the morning when I get up," said Mary, in some 
 alarm, fearing that she had done something wrong. 
 
 '* You talk too much child, " said Mrs. Smith sharply. 
 
 When she had finished J. Pixley's toilet, she laid him 
 in the cradle still screaming, and told her to rock him to 
 sleep. 
 
 * « And If he won't go to sleep so — take him up and 
 walk with him till he does ; do you hear ? " 
 
 <' Yes, ma'am," answered Mary. 
 
 *' And then sit down on that stool by the cradle and 
 sew on this till he wakes up. You can sew some, can't 
 you? you're old enough anyhow." 
 
 Mary answered that she could sew a little on coarse 
 things, and she took from Mrs. Smith's hand a towel begun 
 to be hemmed. 
 
 *' And as soon as he wakes, let me know; do you 
 hear?" 
 
 ** Yes, ma'am," said the child, and then Mrs. Smith 
 went into the kitchen. 
 
 Mary rocked the cradle, singing the while a childish 
 tune. There was something in her voice and manner 
 soothing to the poor baby after his mother's rough hand- 
 ling, and he soon ceased crying and fell asleep without 
 obliging Mary to take him up. And then the little nurse 
 began lier sewing. She felt very sorrowful, as she sat on 
 the little stool in that strange, disorderly room, and thought 
 of the angry words she had heard, and the angry faces she 
 had seen there, and then of her own home where all was so 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 199 
 
 different. It seemed as though she had been a long, long 
 time awav, and she could not prevent a few tears rolling 
 down her cheeks. But she wiped them hastily off with the 
 rough towel she was hemming, and said to herself, **I 
 mustn't do so. I must try to be good and contented, and 
 help my mother as much I can." 
 
 Poor little one ! She had entered upon her first real 
 trials. But we must reserve the account of them for 
 another chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 T this moment the little girl was startled by a 
 strange noise under Mrs. Smith's bed, and pres- 
 ently a large Newfoundland dog emerged, 
 stretched, shook himself, and looked round. As 
 soon as he caught sight of the strange child sitting by the 
 cradle, he showed his teeth, and uttered a low growl. 
 Poor Mary w^as dreadfully terrified. What should she 
 do? If she were to stir or cry out, he might spring at 
 her and tear her to pieces before any one could come to 
 her rescue. Therefore she bethought herself to try coax- 
 ing. She remembered to have seen her father once con- 
 ciliate a ferocious dog in this manner, when she was out 
 with him ; and so, frightened as she was, she ventured to 
 speak to him. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! poor old fellow." 
 
 The dog relaxed his countenance somewhat, and came a 
 
2U0 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 few ' steps nearer. She spoke again, in a low, sweet 
 voice. 
 
 *' Doggy, good cloggy, you won't bite a poor little girl, 
 will you?" 
 
 The dog advanced close to her side. She took courage 
 and patted his back, though her hand trembled a little, 
 still talking in the same pleasant way, and very soon the 
 creature sat down and laid his head caressingly on her lap. 
 Little !Mary was greatly relieved, and resumed her sewing. 
 This animal had a great antipathy to children past the age 
 of inftmcy ; caused, undoubtedly, by his having been con- 
 stantly teased and worried by the little Smiths. He was 
 the terror of all the urchins in the neighborhood, who 
 would scamper off whenever they saw him. He was not 
 accustomed to kind words, and they had a magical effect 
 upon him, when uttered by Mary's sweet, child-like voice. 
 So from this time. Bounce and the little girl were the best 
 of friends. 
 
 When Mrs. Smith came in shortly after, she was ex- 
 ceedingly surprised at the phenomenon which met her eyes. 
 After her astonishment had in a measure subsided, she in- 
 quired " how that dog came there." Mary answered that 
 he came from under the bed. 
 
 '* Well, how came he to be so friendly with you?" 
 
 " I don't know, indeed," said Mary, " only I thought 
 he was going to bite me, so I said, ' poor fellow,' and 
 talked to him, and after awhile he came up to me very 
 good." 
 
 "So you've been coaxing him, hey ! Well, I'll let you 
 know I didn't get you here to play with the dog ; here 
 Bounce, get out, you nasty squadruped ; " and she assisted 
 him with hej- foot to obey the command. 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 201 
 
 The commotion awaked the baby, whereupon his 
 mother took him up, and then ordered Mary to *' fly 
 round and put the room to rights." The child was very 
 . expert at " putting to rights," for she had been taught to 
 assist her mother in this way, but she never before had 
 quite 80 unpromising a field to work upon. 
 
 " How can I ever get it to rights?" thought she ; "it 
 is so dreadfully to wrongs." But what with her own ideas 
 of propriety, and Mrs. Smith's instructions where to place 
 this, and how to fix that, she did at length succeed in get- 
 ting the room Into a state something like order ; a nearer 
 approach to It in fact, than had been achieved In a long 
 time. 
 
 " Hereafter," said Mrs. Smith, " I shall expect you to 
 do this every morning without being told ; d'ye hear ? " 
 
 Mary answered in the affirmative, and then her mis- 
 tress told her to hing on her sewing, as she wanted to see 
 what sort of work she made of it. Mary brought it to 
 her, and she at once pronounced it *' distress-ed," the 
 stitches, she said, were a foot long — she wondered that a 
 great girl like her couldn't sew better, and ordered her to 
 take more pains in future. Mary said " she could sew 
 a good deal better when she had a thimble, but she had 
 not brouo'ht hers." 
 
 " So you haint fetcht no thimble, hey? Well, it's curi- 
 ous your ma didn't think of it. Shouldn't wonder if you 
 hadn't any." 
 
 " O, yes ma'am, I've got a nice silver one, that father 
 gave me on my last birthday before he went away." 
 
 *' Silver thimble for a young one like you that's all the 
 while a growing, a bright idee, I must say, for folks in 
 your situation." 
 
202 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 **But mother said when It's outgrown I can give it to 
 some little girl that's littler yet than I. So I mean to give 
 it to Hannah Fenno, she's only four, and when she gets 
 too big for it, she can give it to little Ellen, and after 
 Ellen, little Maria, that's a baby now can have it, and so 
 you see it never'll be lost." 
 
 *« Well, I declare ! I did not know there was anybody 
 so green in creation ! give away a silver thimble, when 
 you can't get vittals to eat, nor clothing to cover your 
 surfisses. But it's a mystery to me that your ma didn't 
 have you fetch it along." 
 
 *' I suppose she didn't think you'd want me to sew." 
 
 *« Didn't, hey? I wonder what she calcilated to have 
 you do all the time the babe's asleep ; hold your hands and 
 play lady?" 
 
 To this question the child made no reply, but she ven- 
 tured to ask if she might go home and get her thimble. 
 
 ** There ! jest as I knew 'twould be, ready to jump at 
 any excuse to trot home. But I'll tell you what, Mary 
 Elmer, once for all I tell you, and do you listen to me 
 and remcQiber what I say. I aint a going to have no run- 
 ning back and forth every day from our house to yourn, 
 d'ye hear?" 
 
 ** O, no, not every day, of course ; but only once in a 
 while to see the baby, you know," said the little girl tim- 
 idly. 
 
 *' Yes, yes," responded Mrs. Smith, snappishly. ** You 
 couldn't exist I s'pose, without seeing that elegant curly- 
 headed cherubim once in a while. And then 'twould be 
 so interesting to me to have you come back and ding-dong 
 it into my ears the rest of the time. A wonderful help 
 you'd be to me in such a case. No, you aint to go home 
 at all, I give you to understand. D'ye hear? " 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 203 
 
 Mary would have answered, but something came up in 
 her throat and prevented her. She tried to choke it 
 down, in vain, and after a moment she burst into tears. 
 
 *«You great cry-baby," said Mrs. Smith; ''I've a 
 great mind to send you home and let you all starve to- 
 gether, or go to the poor-house." 
 
 These words alarmed the child, and she said hurriedly, 
 *' O, don't send me home, Mrs. Smith, mother cannot 
 provide for us all. I'll try to be good, I won't cry any 
 more." 
 
 Mrs. Smith was graciously pleased to be mollified at 
 these promises, and after giving Mary a lecture touching 
 her future conduct, dwelling at large on the poor-house 
 and starvation in case of any act of disobedience, and her 
 own kindness in being willing to save her from such a 
 fate, she brought out Josephine's thimble for her to use 
 until she could have an opportunity to send for her own. 
 She soon after told her to take the'* babe" into the 
 kitchen for his dinner. Mary obeyed, and Mrs. Smith 
 followed. 
 
 In the kitchen Mrs. Smith passed the greater portion 
 of her time. She was unaccustomed to servants, and 
 wholly Ignorant of the proper manner of treating them. 
 She had not the slightest confidence in Jerusha. Not be- 
 cause she had any reason to doubt the girl's honesty, but 
 because she regarded all *' hired girls" as the natural ene- ' 
 mies of their employers, and ready to take advantage of 
 every opportunity to defraud them. She therefore kept 
 up a system of petty espionage over all Jerusha's move- 
 ments, both to see that she did not purloin or waste any- 
 thing, and to be sure that she was constantly busy, and 
 not trying to slight or «' shirk off" her work. 
 
204 MAEY ELMER, OR 
 
 Therefore, whether she had anythnig to do In the 
 kitchen or not, she was generally there ; for the most part 
 gossiping with Jerusha, and asking her all sorts of ques- 
 tions about ftimilies where she had lived, which the girl, 
 like many others when encouraged, was ready enough to 
 answer. 
 
 Occasionally, however, Mrs. Smith was visited with an 
 attack of reserve. A sudden sense of her own greatness 
 and importance as mistress of the house, came over her, 
 and she determined to let Jerusha " know her place." 
 At such times her bearing towards her " drumstic," as she 
 called her, was dignijied in the extreme. She moved 
 about with a queenly air, and although she continued her 
 visits to the kitchen as usmil, she always brought with her 
 '*Thaddeus of Warsaw" (the only book in the house), 
 and pretended to read while she kept a good look-out 
 upon Jerusha. These attacks occurred just after she had 
 received a call or an invitation from some one whom she 
 considered genteel, or after a spat with Jerusha, which was 
 no rare occurrence. Jerusha, who was a shrewd girl, and 
 knew the difference between a *' lady "and ** no lady," 
 was both provoked and amused at these " genteel fits," as 
 she called them. 
 
 But let us not forget J. Pixley's dinner. This consisted 
 of a large quantity of mashed potato v/ell buttered, tiie 
 soft part of a huge piece of apple-pie, and a bowl of 
 milk. Mary thought it a " funny" dinner for a baby of 
 ten months not yet weaned, but she did not dare to say 
 so. 
 
 While she was feeding him the children came in from 
 school, and a terrible uproar ensued. The girls made 
 themselves merry for a while in commenting upon little 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 2C5 
 
 Mary's appearance ; particularly her curly golden hair, 
 which they considered vastly inferior to their own mud- 
 colored pigtails, and then fell to quarrelling as usual, 
 while Ferdinand amused, himself by jogging her elbow, to 
 make her spill the baby's food. The poor child was 
 frightened at the conduct of the great rude boy, and was 
 just on the point of crying again, when the entrance of 
 Bounce diverted the young gentleman's attention from her. 
 The dog had barely time to run up and greet his new 
 friend with a wag of his tail, when the same tail was 
 seized by Ferdinand, who began to drag him about the 
 room by It. Bounce never would bite lils master's chil- 
 dren, but he often barked and snarled terribly under their 
 treatment. At this Indignity he sent forth a succession of 
 yells which alarmed Mary, although she did not blame 
 him at all. The yelling of the dog, the shouts of Ferdi- 
 nand, and the boisterous quarrelling of the two girls, cre- 
 ated a concert such as the quiet little creature had never 
 heard before. 
 
 *' Get out o' the house every live soul of you," screamed 
 Mrs. Smith. " I can't stand this racket, and I won't 
 stand It." Then seeing that the children did not start, 
 she seized a broom exclaiming, " If you won't go I'll 
 make you go," and drove them forth Into the back yard, 
 with orders to stay there till dinner was ready. 
 
 And then Jerusha proceeded to set the table. They 
 ate In the kitchen. The dining-room was only used when 
 they had company. While Mary was yet feeding the 
 baby, Mr. Smith returned from. his store drao-ajno: alonjx 
 Columbus, who was roaring at the top of his voice. 
 
 *' If ever I take this boy to the store again " — thus 
 18 . 
 
206 MART ELMER, OR 
 
 far had Mr. Smith proceeded, when Mrs. Smith broke 
 in. 
 
 " I wonder what's the reason you're forever tormenting 
 that child. Lummy, my son, what's pa been doing to 
 you?" 
 
 '« He's been 'hipping me," bhibbered the cherub. 
 
 *' Whipping you, hey? Mr. Smith, I should like to 
 know what business you have to whip this boy ? " 
 
 < ' I whipped him because he deserved it ; he's done 
 more mischief at the store this morning than his neck's 
 worth, confound him ! " 
 
 " IMischief, hey ! that's a likely story ! come here to ma, 
 Lummy, darling ! " 
 
 Columbus obeyed, and took refuge in his mother's lap ; 
 and then turning to his father, said with an air of great 
 satisfaction, 
 
 " E ce, ya ya, I don't tare for you." 
 
 Dinner was now ready, and little INIary was not sorry 
 when Mrs. Smith ?ent her back in the bed-room with the 
 baby, to wait until they were through. She was begin- 
 ning to feel very hungry, but she thought she would 
 rather go without her dinner altogether, than to sit down 
 with the children, to say nothing of their parents. When 
 at last she was called out to dinner, there was no one there 
 beside Mrs. Smith, Jerusha, and. Columbus, who was still 
 at the table, being always allowed to sit and stuff himself 
 as long as he chose. ^Irs. Smith took the baby, and mo- 
 tioned Mary to — not a seat, but a stand by a very dirty 
 plate which one of the children had used. Jerusha, who 
 had dined (she always ate with tlie family exccptin-:!: wlicn 
 they had company), offered to wait upon the little girl, 
 but Mrs. Smith declined, saying she would attend to her 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. ' 207 
 
 herself. She then pat a large potato on her plate, cut it 
 up in chunks, and sprinkled salt over it. To this she 
 added a very small piece of meat, and then told Jeruslia 
 to take off the dishes. In obeying this order, the girl, as 
 she took up the bread plate to take it away, offered it to " 
 Mary. Mrs. Smith pushed it quickly from her, saying, 
 
 " She don't need bread v^^ith her potato." 
 
 Mary did want a piece of bread, but she dared not to 
 say so. There was a small piece of pie left on Jerusha's 
 plate. To tell the truth she had reserved it on purpose 
 for little Mary. She handed the plate to her, saying as 
 she did so, "Would you like this bit of pie? " 
 
 Mary thanked her, but before she had time to take it 
 Mrs S. said with much excitement, — 
 
 *' Columbus may want that." 
 
 *' He's got more on his plate now than he can manage, 
 and he's as full as a tick already," said Jerusha. " And 
 besides it's a piece I saved a purpose for her," and she 
 slipped it oif on Mary's plate. 
 
 *' Jerusha!" said Mrs. Smith, turning very red with 
 anger. " When I said I'd attend to her myself, I meant 
 so. And I wish you'd mind your own business, and not 
 go to loading down her plate and stuffing her with vittals 
 you haint any right to." 
 
 «'I didn't mean to stuff her," replied Jerusha, ** I 
 thought there was no harm in giving her that little piece of 
 pie." 
 
 «' Don't you know that such children will always make 
 themselves sick overloading if their food aint portioned 
 out to 'em. It was for her good, of course, that I didn't 
 want she should have the pie." 
 
 *' And for Columbus's good too, I s'pose that you 
 
208 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 wanted he should have it, I don't know why 'taint as bad 
 for him to overload as for Mary." 
 
 As soon as Jerusha liad delivered this speech, she began 
 to sing, the way in which she usually terminated the fre- 
 quent spats between herself and Mrs. Smith, for whom 
 she had not the smallest respect. 
 
 After this scene, our little Mary was too much frightened 
 to eat the pie, and taking the baby returned to the bed- 
 room, (Mrs. S. had not yet learned quite enough of gen- 
 tility to call it " the nursery,") Mrs. Smith banged after 
 her, enraged at not being able to have the last word with 
 Jerusha. On reaching that apartment she threw herself 
 down in the rocking-chair, rocked furiously for a few 
 minutes, then jumped up, took down *' Thaddeus of 
 Warsaw," from a shelf in the closet, and banged back into 
 the kitchen. 
 
 Durins: i\^Q afternoon Mary had only occasional glimpses 
 of her, when she came and poked her head in at the door to 
 see how matters stood there, to administer a warning or 
 threatening word to the poor little nurse, and then hastened 
 back to her favorite post. It was a doleful afternoon to 
 the child. The baby fretted almost constantly. Mary 
 thouglit his overloading had something to do with it. It 
 rained and therefore he could not be taken out in his little 
 wagon. She tasked all her powers to amuse him. She 
 talked to him, sang to him, took him to the window and 
 tried to interest him in the sights outside. But the only 
 way that she could quiet him at all, was by carrying him 
 up and down the room. 
 
 O how her poor little arms ached ! for he was a very 
 fat, heavy child. Once they gave out entirely, and she was 
 compelled to drop him into the cradle to rest them. But 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 209 
 
 he screamed so tremendously that it brought his mother 
 from the kitchen, and she gave Mary a terrible scolding 
 for " letting him lie there and cry." Mary said she had 
 only laid him down a little while to rest her arms. 
 
 " Time enough for that when he's asleep," said the affec- 
 tionate mother, " don't you let me catch you doing so 
 again." 
 
 So Mary took him up and walked with him ; up and 
 down, up and down, until she felt as though her ankles 
 would break and her arms drop off. At last it occurred 
 to her how very tightly his mother had pinned his clothes 
 in the morning, and slie thought that after such a dinner as 
 he had eaten they must be very uncomfortable. She ven- 
 tured to examine. They were very tight indeed, she could 
 hardly get her finger under them. She knew he must be 
 sufferins: on that account, and after some hesitation she de- 
 termined to loosen them if possible. This was no light 
 task for her, but she accomplished it after a time. Slie 
 carefully extracted the pins. But when she had got them 
 all out, and begun to put them in again, her fingers 
 trembled a little, she was so fearful of pricking the baby. 
 
 " O baby," she said, *' why doesn't your mother have 
 strings on your clothes, as my mother does on little 
 Georgey's? I'm so afraid I shall hurt you." 
 
 But she did not hurt him. He was much more quiet 
 •while she was undoing and doing him Over, and when she 
 had finished, his cries ceased entirely. Marj had really 
 done this nice little piece of work as well as any grown 
 person could, and the child was completely relieved. lie 
 stretched his hmbs out to their full extent, and seemed de- 
 lighted to be able to do so. Indeed, Mary fimcied that he 
 looked up gratefully in her face, and she felt an interest in 
 18* 
 
210 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 the homely little thing, that she had not felt before. She 
 kissed him, and he tried to return the caress, then laying 
 his cheek against hers fell asleep in a few moments. 
 
 *' Dear baby," said Mary as she laid him in his cradle, 
 ** how glad you are to be made comfortable ; perhaps you 
 will get to love me though your mother doesn't, but O 
 how tired I am ! " And thro win 2: herself on the floor at full 
 length, she stretched out her arms and enjoyed for a few 
 minutes the luxury of resting. 
 
 " I must be careful not to rest too lono^," she thouofht, 
 *' or Mrs. Smith will come and be angry with me. I'll 
 be up directly and go to my sewing.'' But " directly " she 
 began to think it was very pleasant to lie so, and then she 
 had a confused idea of not carina^ whether Mrs. Smith came 
 in or not, and then — she was asleep. 
 
 Fortunately Mrs. Smith did not come in during her nap, 
 which was soon cut short by a great noise under the 
 window. It was the young Smiths returning from school. 
 She was at first alarmed to find that she had been asleep, 
 but was reassured on seeing the baby just as she left him, 
 and sitting down on her little stool began to sew. She 
 had just finished one end of the towel when the baby waked, 
 and she took him into the kitchen for his supper, as Mrs. 
 Smith had directed. The family were taking tea. 
 
 *' I was in hopes that young one wouldn't wake till we 
 got through," said Mrs. Smith, as she began to prepare 
 his supper, for which he was clamoring loudl3% This meal 
 fully equalled his dinner in quantity, although it differed in 
 quality ; being a bowl of crackers and milk, accompanied 
 by a large ginger-cake. She placed them on a stand near 
 tlie tea-table, where she could keep an eye upon Mary, 
 and see that she did not *' eat it half up herself," and then 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 211 
 
 the little girl sat down, and began the process of stuffing 
 the infant Pixley. 
 
 While Mrs. Smith was looking round to w^atch Mary, 
 Columbus, w^ho sat in a high chair near her, reached out 
 to help himself to something, and in so doing turned over 
 her tea-cup% She gave him a ringing box on the ear, 
 called him a " tormented ^?/Z:e," and was in the act of put- 
 ting him down from the table, when his father interposed, 
 caught him up, chair and all, carried him round and seated 
 him next to himself, saying it was shameful to cuiF a child 
 for a mere accident.. 
 
 Columbus, finding himself in security, cast a. look of ex- 
 ultation at his mother, and pouting out his lips informed 
 her that he didn't tare for her ! The three elder children, 
 who had successively undergone the same process of train- 
 ing in their earlier childhood, and w^ho gave daily and 
 hourly evidence of its legitimate effects, applauded the boy's 
 spirit with such expressions as these : ' ' That's you , Lum ! " 
 ' ' Stand up for your rights ! " " Give it to her ! " Fer- 
 dinand even went so far as to propose '' Three cheers for 
 Lum ! " 
 
 Mr. Smith w^as highly delighted at this piece of wit, and 
 laughed heartily ; but Mrs. Smith, not viewing it in the 
 same light, told Ferdinand to " hold his tongue." This 
 command the young gentleman obeyed literally, by thrust- 
 in 2^ out that member and takinof it between his thumb and 
 linger ; at which performance the merriment of the young- 
 ladies became excessive. Mrs. Smith stormed, Mr. Smith 
 escaped to the store, and the " table broke up in confusion." 
 
 Mrs. Smith then removed the cakes and apple-sauce 
 that remained, she kept all such things under lock and key, 
 and always took care of them herself. Having cleared the 
 
212 ' MAR Y ELMER, OR 
 
 tabic of every thing eatable, excepting one piece of bread 
 and a little apple-sauce left on her husband's plate, she 
 plastered the latter on the bread, and placing a cup of 
 water beside it, took the baby from Mary and told her to 
 go and eat her supper. Jerusha did not interfere although 
 she looked round several times as though she wondered 
 why Mrs. Smith did not go to her own room with the baby, 
 as she usually did directly after tea, there being nothing on 
 the table to require her attention. Mrs. Smith, however, 
 did not take the hint, but remained until Mary had eaten 
 her small allowance, and then giving her the " babe," sent 
 her back to the bed room, where she found that the tw^o 
 girls had preceded her. They had called Bounce in, and 
 when Mary entered were adjusting an old shawl over his 
 back, at which the dog was greatly annoyed. 
 
 One corner of the shawl had a hole in it. This they 
 drew over his tail, and having tied the other two corners 
 round his neck, pronounced it a first-ra,te saddle. Bounce 
 did not submit patiently, but growled and snarled all the 
 time. The girls, however, knew by experience that his 
 growling when directed at them meant nothing, and so they 
 continued to tease him in every possible way, and to laugh 
 and shout at his vain efforts to disengage himself from the 
 shawl. Mary felt very sorry for the poor creature. 
 
 "O girls, don't plague him so," said she, "see how 
 bad it makes him feel." 
 
 " Who told you to stick in your gab? " said Henrietta. 
 
 < ' Who cares if it does make him feel bad ? " said Jo- 
 sephine. 
 
 Mary ventured to say that she cared^and again besought 
 them to take the shawl off. 
 
 " Just hear her, Jo," said Henrietta, '' what business is 
 it of hers what we do ? " 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 213 
 
 *' Sure enough, the little nasty pot-wrasfJer,'^ responded 
 the amiable sister. *' Come, Hen, let's set him on to her." 
 
 This proposition was received by Hen with great glee. 
 
 *' Seek her, Bounce, seek her ! " she said, clapping her 
 hands, and pointing at the little girl. The dog turned and 
 looked at Mary. It was not such a look as that with which 
 he had greeted her in the morning, but one of supplication. 
 It seemed to say " Will yoti not help me ? or do you mean 
 to join my tormentors ? " 
 
 "Go it, old fellow! seek her!" cried both the mrls, 
 clapping their hands with renewed vigor. 
 
 " Poor Bouncey ! poor Bouncey ! " said Mary, in those 
 sweet low tones of hers, which had already won him. 
 
 As soon as he heard her voice, he ran directly up to her 
 and licked her face, uttering at the same time a pleadino^ 
 moan. She immediately went to work to extricate him 
 from the shawl. A rather difficult task because of the 
 baby on her lap. But she succeeded after a few moments, 
 to the great delight of the dog. He jumped about licking 
 her face and hands, and also bestowing his caresses upon 
 the baby, whom the sagacious creature had discovered to 
 be the object of her care, much to the astonishment of Hen 
 and Jo, who had witnessed the scene in silent wonder. 
 
 Just then Mrs. Smith came in and, seeing Bounce, 
 demanded angrily *' who let that dog In there." 
 
 " Mate let him in," said Henrietta without hesitation, 
 at the same time winking at Josephine. 
 
 *« O no, no, Mrs. Smith," said Mary. "I didn't let 
 him In, did I, Josephine ? " 
 
 " Indeed you dlfT, and you know you did," answered 
 that unscrupulous young lady. 
 
 *' And you lie if you say you didn't," chimed in Henri- 
 etta. 
 
214 MART ELMER, OR 
 
 «« You little hussy" — began Mrs. Smith. 
 
 «* Now I guess you'll catch it, Mate," said Jo (Mate 
 was the euphonious nickname which the children had 
 given her). 
 
 ** O how can they say I did it? " sobbed the poor child, 
 as the tears rushed to her eyes; " he was here when I 
 came in and they were putting the shawl on him." 
 
 In her agony she appealed to Bounce himself. 
 
 "Don't I tell the truth. Bounce? I didn't let you in, 
 did I?" 
 
 Bounce could only wag his tail in reply, at which the 
 girls laughed immoderately and said it meant *' yes, you 
 did." Mrs. Smith turned him out, and then catching 
 Mary by the shoulder, and shaking her almost hard enough 
 to dislodge J. Pixley from her lap, addressed her thus : 
 
 " So you expect me to believe you against both the girls 
 do you — you good-for-nothing little hussy ! Didn't I 
 tell you this morning that I wouldn't have that dog in 
 here? What possest you to let him in — say? " 
 
 ]\Iary could scarcely articulate " I didn't let him in." 
 
 *' Don't tell me such a lie as that," screamed Mrs. Smith, 
 giving her another and harder shake, while the girls looked 
 on with entire satisfaction. 
 
 ** She didn't let him in, ma," said Columbus, issuing 
 from his sister's bedroom adjoining, whither he had gone 
 on a voyage of discovery like his famous namesake. 
 
 *' What have you been doing in there, you little plague?" 
 exclaimed both the girls, hoping to prevent his giving any 
 further information. But Mary too, had caught his 
 words, and said imploringly, 
 
 " You know I didn't let him in, don't you, Lummy?" 
 
 *' Yes, I know you didn't do it. Hen letted him in, 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES, 215 
 
 she opened the window and tailed him in. Jo tailed him 
 too." 
 
 Before this speech was finished the girls had vanished. 
 Mrs. Smith saw at once that. the boy spoke the truth, and 
 that her dauo^hters had told a lie. But she said nothino- 
 to make amends to the poor child who had suffered so 
 severely in consequence of it. She commanded Lummy 
 to *' stop his talking," and then saying it was time to 
 undress the " babe," took him from Mary's arms and told 
 her to put Columbus in bed. He slept in a crib in the 
 girls' room. At first he utterly refused to go, and his 
 mother had just announced her intention to " give it to 
 him," as soon as she was done with the baby, when Mary 
 induced him to comply by promising to tell him a pretty 
 story, which promise she faithfully kept by relating the 
 wonderful history of '* Mother Hubbard arid her dog," 
 which had such a soothing effect upon Columbus that he 
 was asleep before it was finished. 
 
 When Mary returned, Mrs. Smith was ready to deliver 
 up J. Pixley to her charge to be walked to sleep. She did 
 not notice the loosening of his underpinning, which gave 
 his little nurse the courage to- go through with the process 
 of relievino; him thus as often as she found him sufferino^ 
 from being pinned too tight. She then went to the kitchen 
 where she had *'somethinoj to do." This somethino' the 
 reader will, perhaps, fancy to have been a boxing and 
 scolding of her girls for the lie they had told her. By 
 no means. This grievous sin was passed over without a 
 reprimand — without even an allusion to it, when every 
 day she punished her children for faults that were nothing 
 in comparison with it. 
 
216 MAR Y ELMER, OR 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 m 
 
 ^ARY walked with the baby for some time but he 
 ^ showed no signs of sleepiness, his afternoon nap 
 \A f| had made him wakeful. • He was quiet, however, 
 and at length she ventured to lay him down 
 
 awake, for to say the truth, her arms could hold out no 
 longer. When Mrs. Smith came back nearly an hour 
 afterwards, with a candle, she found Mary and the biiby 
 both fast asleep, the latter on her little stool with her head 
 resting against the cradle for it was long after her ordinary 
 bed-time. Mrs. Smith was vexed with herself for not 
 having left a light that Mary might have gone on with her 
 sewing. She roused her with two or three smart raps on 
 her back, called her a <'lazy thing," and scolded her 
 roundly for " shirking" in that way when she might have 
 gone and got a candle and sewed, instead of snoozing away 
 the time. Mary was too worn and sleep}^ to comprehend 
 all that Mrs. Smith said, and rubbing her eyes she asked 
 if she might go to bed. 
 
 *' You may as well," returned Mrs. Smith, '* for I see 
 plainly you aint a going to be good for anything in the 
 evening ; come along, you're to sleep with Jerusha." 
 
 She led the way up the back stairs, to a desolate look- 
 ing garret room, whose unplastered walls admitted many a 
 ray of stay-light (** there was no need of finishing off a 
 servant's room") . It contained a dirty bed and one old 
 
Widow Spriggms departs from the President's House "with oncom- 
 mon' dignity."— -See page 376. 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 217 
 
 chair. Some nails were stuck round in the beams for 
 hanging clothes on, and several of them were appropriated 
 by Jerusha's scanty wardrobe. 
 
 Mary's own little bas-ket sat on the floor In one corner, 
 Jerusha had carried it up. Mary was not a coward, but 
 she had that dread of strange, lonely sleeping rooms which 
 is natural to childhood, and she inquired timidly whether 
 Jerusha would be up soon. 
 
 *' What, you aint afraid I hope,*' said Mrs. Smith, << a 
 great girl like you afraid of the dark ! I'm ashamed of 
 you. Come ! be spry, take off your clothes and jump in. 
 J can^t stand here all night waiting for you. Hereafter 
 you're to come up alone, and without a light." 
 
 So the trembling child undressed herself as quickly as 
 possible, took a night-gown from her basket, hurried it on, 
 oot into bed, and was left alone in the dark uncomfortable 
 room. She was thoroughly awake now, and despite her 
 weariness, she could not get asleep. She felt so forlorn 
 and friendless, alone in the world as it were. She thought 
 how happy she had been with her mother and little broth- 
 ers, and she began to weep bitterly that she must be away 
 from them, not even permitted to go and see them. She 
 thought of good Mrs. Maddock, and how she had said to 
 her as she was coming away, " You must run round very 
 often to see us." She thought of, Mrs. Lee, and a vague 
 notion crossed her mind that if she had been at home, all 
 would have been different, she wondered whether she 
 would ever come back. Then she thought of her dear 
 father, and wished that she was in the "Good Place," 
 with him, where there is no more trouble, — and that re- 
 minded her that she had not said her prayers. So she 
 rose on her knees in the bed and repeated them devoutly. 
 19 
 
218 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 Then lying down again she comforted herself with the 
 thought that if she tried to be good and do right always, 
 God would take care of her, and in the end all would be 
 well. With this feeling, she soon dropped asleep. 
 
 Not long after, Jerusha came in. She stepped softly 
 up to the bedside, and holding the stump of a candle 
 which she carried so as to reveal the face of the sleeper, 
 she looked at her for a moment. The tears were still 
 standing on the quiet face, although her last waking 
 thoughts had left a peaceful expression there. 
 
 '' What a pretty little creetur ! " thought Jerusha. *' I 
 almost hate to wake her, she must be so tired." 
 
 She then put down the candle, and touched the child's 
 forehead lightly, at the same time pronouncing her name. 
 
 ''Mother! mother! did you call me!" said Mary, 
 opening her eyes and fixing them wonderingly upon quite a 
 different face from her mother's. 
 
 " Don't be frightened," Jerusha said gently. "It's 
 only me — Jerusha coming to bed." 
 
 '' O yes, I know now. I thought I heard my mother 
 calling me." 
 
 " I guess you was dreaming about your mother." 
 
 *' Perhaps I was." 
 
 «' Don't you feel pretty tired?" 
 
 *' Yes, quite tired, tlje baby is so heavy." 
 
 *' And some Imngry too, aint you? I know I often feel 
 quite hungry after I've worked hard all day." 
 
 *' Yes, I do feci rather hungry." 
 
 <' Well take this, 'taint a good thing to go to bed 
 hungry." And slie drew from her pocket one of tlie large 
 ginger-cakes that had been on the table at tea, — her own 
 allowance, which had found its way from lier plate to her 
 pocket, while Mrs. Smith was overhauling Columbus." 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 21 U 
 
 *' Thank you, Jerusha," said the little girl with evident 
 pleasure. ** Did Mrs. Smith know you brought it to rae ? " 
 
 '* She saw me take it, eat it up, you'll feel the better 
 for it." So Mary sat up in bed and ate the cake with a 
 good appetite w^iile Jerusha was undressing. In the ful- 
 ness of her gratitude, she said, 
 
 ' ' It was very good in you Jerusha to think to bring me 
 something." 
 
 *' Law no. I only reckoned»you might like a mowful. 
 I can fetch you something amost every night, but you 
 needn't say nothing about it, for Ferdinand would make 
 fun of us for eating in bed you know." 
 
 Jerusha had perceived IMary's fear and dread of this 
 odious boy, and thus availed herself of it to prevent the 
 child's exposing her. Not on her own account however. 
 As far as she was concerned, she would not have cared 
 a straw if Mrs. Smith had found it out, but she feared 
 bringing trouble upon the little girl who already had 
 enough to bear. 
 
 Jerusha, rough and coarse as she was, had good im- 
 pulses, not often drawn out, it is true, in such a life as 
 hers had been. She was naturally affectionate, but she 
 had never been treated with affection, in fact she had never 
 met with real kindness. She w^as an orphan. Her earliest 
 recollections were associated wath an almshouse from which 
 she was taken when very young by a farmer's wife who 
 felt no o-reater interest in her welfare than did Mrs. Smith 
 in Mary Elmer's. She was knocked about and treated 
 w^ith much less kindness than the domestic animals of the 
 establishment. Compelled also to perform drudgery, both 
 in and out of door?, which would have been too hard for 
 even a stout boy. Never spoken to by her mistress in any 
 
220 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 but a harsh, commanding tone, and on account of her ugly 
 face and ungainly figure made the constant subject of the 
 coarse jibes and jests of the men about the farm, who 
 irave her the name of *' handsome Josh," it is no wonder 
 that Jcrusha developed into a very disagreeable, sulky girl. 
 IMany of Mrs. Marsh's visiting acquaintances wondered at 
 Mrs. Marsh for keeping her, and that lady herself declared 
 she " only did it out of pity, for she was awfully tried with 
 the creetur." But it is not our purpose to relate Jerusha's 
 history at length. Let it suffice to say that when about 
 fifteen, she contrived to run away, and by dint of begging 
 alou"- the road, now a meal and now a ride, in the course 
 of a few days she had travelled more than a hundred miles. 
 She cared not where she went. Her only wish was to go 
 far enough to escape forever from Mrs. Marsh. She did 
 not yet consider herself entirely safe, but being very weary 
 she determined to stop for a few days at a certain large 
 town and if possible earn enough to carry her as far as she 
 wished to go. She presented herself at numerous doors 
 with the question, '* Do you want to hire?" but her ap- 
 pearance always called forth an unhesitating negative, until 
 she applied, almost discouraged, to the keeper of a very 
 large hotel, where servants were always in requisition. 
 She had so little confidence, and had learned to think her- 
 self such an object of disgust, that she was quite surprised 
 when the proprietor, after a few questions to ascertain her 
 capacity, engaged her for a month. When he inquired 
 what wages she wished, she answered, * 
 
 "O anything you please; I never worked for wages 
 and don't know what I ought to have." 
 
 lie looked at her for a moment with some surprise, but 
 not being over scrupulous about his hired people if they 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 221 
 
 but did their work well, he asked no further questions, 
 but conducted her into the kitchen where she was soon 
 hard at work. 
 
 Here for a while she experienced the same treatment 
 that she had always endured elsewhere. She was the butt 
 of all the servants, both male and female. But she never 
 answered again. In fact she never spoke at all excepting 
 as her v/ork required it. She was silent, and always busy. 
 At length they ceased to annoy her, or to try to penetrate 
 the mystery which surrounded her, and left her to herself. 
 
 That important personage, the " head cook," I should 
 have said before, had appreciated her from the first. Je- 
 rusha's business was to assist her, and she protested that she 
 had never before known a young girl so faithful, or one who 
 would do half as much hard work in a day ; without com- 
 plaining too. The work was indeed hard, but compara- 
 tively .light to the poor girl who had been accustomed to 
 such arduous tasks as were exacted from her at Farmer 
 Marsh's. The accounts of her usefulness and industry 
 rendered by tliis functionary to the master and mistress of 
 the establishment, made them very desirous to retain her 
 after the expiration of the month, and Jerusha would will- 
 ingly have stayed now that she had become contented in 
 her new situation, and found herself giving satisfaction, 
 had she not a few days previously caught a glimpse of a 
 man who was a near neighbor and intimate acquaint- 
 ance of the Marshes. He was just driving away from tlie 
 door as Jerusha came out to draw water, and did not see 
 her. But she had been very uneasy ever since, and deter- 
 mined to push on farther as soon as her month was u}). 
 No entreaties could prevail with her to prolong her stay. 
 
 Both tlie proprietor and his wife werje extremely urgent, 
 19* 
 
222 MAEY ELMER, OR 
 
 and tlie cook was still more peremptory. But the girl 
 continued firm. At length the mistress said with some 
 asperity, that it did not look altogether right for her to be 
 so anxious to leave a place with which she appeared to be 
 satisfied. Jerusha felt hurt that Mrs. May hew should 
 entertain any suspicions of her, and very sorry to be thought 
 ungrateful to the first persons who had ever treated her 
 with any consideration. She knew that she had done noth- 
 ing wrong in escaping from Mrs. Marsh's tyranny, so she 
 requested jNIrs. May hew to step aside with her a little 
 while and frankly told her painful story. 
 
 '' O Mrs. Mayhew," she said in conclusion, *' do you 
 think I would willingly leave the first place where I was 
 ever used like a human being, if I wasn't afraid every min- 
 ute of being found out and farced back to that awful place 
 where I'm bound to stay till I'm eighteen ? " 
 
 Mrs. ^layhew saw at once the truth of Jerusha's story 
 and appreciated her anxiety to be still farther removed from 
 danger, and she no longer opposed her going. She com- 
 municated it to her husband who agreed with her, and so 
 Jerusha was permitted to depart in peace, with several 
 presents from Mrs. Mayhew and more money in the shape 
 of wages from ^Ir. Mayhew than she liad ever expected to 
 possess at one time. The head cook was inconsolable and 
 gave her a new gingham apron, and tlie other female ser- 
 vants wlio had for some time felt compunctions of conscience 
 for their treatment of a poor girl who evidently had some 
 sorrow at her heart, came forward and affectionately bade 
 her good-by, wliich they accompanied each with some lit- 
 tle keepsake. JNIr. Mayhew also kindly advised her as to 
 her course, and the place which he designated as the one 
 where she would probably be as much out of danger as 
 
TRIADS AND CHANGES. 223 
 
 anywhere, proved to be our own thriving town. She ac- 
 cordingly came hither. But we have ah^eady gone much 
 farther into her history than was our original Intention and 
 must rapidly despatch it. 
 
 It was not the poor wanderer's good fortune to fall Into 
 the hands of any of those benevolent characters w^ho are 
 found in every city or village ; five years had passed since 
 she came here, and she had never experienced the treatment 
 which she met with at the hotel. Wherever she had lived, 
 her life had been rendered a burden to her by the insults 
 and jests which w^ere constantly heaped upon her. In 
 many Instances she was defrauded of her wages, and knew 
 no means of redress. She of course became constantly 
 more unamlable and surly. She regarded every one as an 
 enemy, nnd herself as an object of disgust and hatred to all 
 the world. Mrs Smith had hired her because she could 
 obtain her services at two shillings less by the week than 
 those of any others to whom she had applied. And now 
 \Qi us return to the forlorn little garret room where we left 
 our two girls. 
 
 Mary readily promised to say nothing about eating In 
 bed ; " indeed she'd not tell of it and have Jerusha laughed 
 at by such a naughty boy as Ferdinand." After Jerusha 
 had lain down, Mary said innocently, 
 
 *' You don't say your prayers until after you get In bed, 
 do you?" 
 
 Jerusha, not knowing what else to reply, said, " No." 
 
 " Well, I always say mine before I lie down when I'm 
 with my mother; we kneel down, Johnny and I, beside 
 her and say them. But to night, what do you think ! I 
 forgot It. I forgot to say my prayers until after I'd been 
 in bed a great while. Wasn't I wicked? And then I 
 
22'i MARY EL3IER, OR 
 
 had to say them where I was, for I was afraid to get out 
 of bed in the dark in this strange place. But I must stop 
 talking and give you a chance to say yours." 
 
 After waiting a few minutes, and perceiving that Jeru- 
 sha was silent, she said, 
 
 " Do you say your prayers to yourself? " 
 
 Jerusha hesitated a moment, and then answered frankly, 
 but with some petulance, 
 
 " No, I don't say any prayers ; I never had anybody to 
 learn me." t 
 
 ** Had you no father or mother?" 
 
 ** Not as I remember of." 
 
 * ' Who took care of you when you were little ? " 
 
 *' Nobody. I lived in a poor-house." 
 
 *' Poor-house! dreadful! that's where Mrs. Smith says 
 I shall go if I don't be good and mind her. It's an awful 
 place, isn't it?" 
 
 " Not so awful as some places where I've lived since." 
 
 *' Where have you lived since? " 
 
 *' Everywhere, and nowhere that anybody ever cared 
 for me, and so let's go to sleep and not talk any more." 
 
 *' But J care for you," said the child, putting her arm 
 round Jerusha. "I care for you, and I'll learn you a 
 prayer ; not my little one, but ' Our Father ; ' one tliat's 
 meant for everybody, big and little, to say; wouldn't you 
 like to learn it ? " 
 
 *' I don't believe I can learn it if I try." 
 
 *' Yes, you can if you say it over after me as I did after 
 my mother when I learnt it." 
 
 And so little jMary began saying the Lord's prayer, 
 pausing after each petition for Jerusha to repeat it after 
 her, which the girl did very correctly, and when it was 
 concluded, Mary said, 
 
 .V 
 
TRIALS AND CIIAXGES. 225 
 
 " O you can learn it very easy. If we repeat It so every 
 night, after a little while you can say it all alone, and that 
 will be so nice ! " 
 
 Then the fair and lovely little one raised her head and 
 kissed the forlorn, forsaken creature beside her, and a mo- 
 ment after -was sleeping sweetly. The first kiss that had 
 ever been Imprinted upon that distorted face. The effect 
 was wonderful ; Jerusha had from the first moment that 
 she saw the child felt an unusual interest In her ; but now 
 she knew^ that there was a bond between them which never 
 would be broken. And she vowed to herself to protect 
 the little girl to the utmost of her power. She loved Mary 
 with the first affection that had ever warmed her icy heart. 
 Long did she lie awake ; new and strange thoughts were 
 in her mind. She wondered whether she had ever been as 
 innocent as the child beside her. She was almost sure she 
 never was. i^nd then she wondered what she should have 
 been with a mother to guide, and teach, and love her in 
 childhood, and she pitied from her heart the little creature 
 who w^as compelled to be separated frpm so excellent a 
 parent as It was evident Mrs. Elmer must be. 
 
 " How entirely different she is," thought Jerusha, 
 *' from these Smith children ! It's plain enough she's had 
 quite another sort of bringing up. Poor thing ! She'll 
 have enough to bear here. I'll do all I can for her, but 
 dear me ! that won't be much among such a set." 
 
 The next morning as soon as Jerusha was dressed, she 
 called Mary, and after telling her that she need not hurry 
 her head off, went down and left her. So the little girl 
 threw on her clothes, said her prayers and followed. 
 When she reached the kitchen she found a basin of water 
 in the sink to wash herself, and a clean, coarse towel ; her 
 
226 MARY EL3IER, OR 
 
 own towel, Jeriisha told her, and no one else should use 
 it, and she would always find it in one particular spot, 
 which she showed her. Mary thanked the kind girl, who 
 then fastened her clothes, and combed her hair neatly. 
 Not long after, ding, dong, went Mrs. Smith's bell. . Mary 
 obeyed the summons, and going to the bedroom where the 
 infant J. Pixley was roaring in his cradle, was ordered by 
 his mother to take him into the kitchen till she got dressed. 
 
 But we are not intending to accompany our little hero- 
 ine through another day at Mrs. Smith's, for all succeeding 
 days varied but little from the first. Every day brought 
 with it the same round of wearying labors, of vexations and 
 insults from the children, and harshness, nay, even abuse 
 from Mrs. Smitli, and every night the same stolen kind- 
 nesses from Jerusha, who at the end of a week could say, 
 *' Our Father " without any help from her. little teacher. 
 Afterwards they repeated it together. 
 
 Susan Elmer was surprised that Mary did not come 
 home sometimes, and growing anxious, about her, went 
 one day to Mrs. Smith's to see the child. Mary was de- 
 lio'hted, and would have thrown herself into her mother's 
 arms, but the presence of Mrs. Smith restrained her. The 
 latter gave so many plausible reasons for not allowing 
 Mary to go home ; such as the fear of its making her dis- 
 contented, her extreme anxiety that she should be happy 
 and contented, &c. &c., that Susan was reluctantly com- 
 pelled to acquiesce. Mrs. Smith treated Mary with 
 unusual kindness in Mrs. Elmer's presence ; but a mother's 
 eye is quick, and Susan saw clearly by the child's counte- 
 nance that she was not happy. She told Mrs. Maddock 
 on her return that she was convinced it was not just the 
 place for Mary at INIrs. Smith's ; but she lived in hope that 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 227 
 
 something would turn up ere long, which would change 
 the order of affairs. She scarcely acknowledged to herself 
 that this something for which she looked so ardently, was 
 the return of Mrs. Lee. 
 
 In this manner several weeks elapsed, and then a change 
 took place in little Mary's circumstances, and unfortu- 
 nately, not a change for the better. Mrs. Smith's suspi- 
 cions had been for some time excited by the rapid 
 disappearance of certain articles from Jerusha's plate at 
 tea. At length, by very close watching, she actually saw 
 the transfer of a buttered rusk and piece of cheese from 
 plate to pocket. It was indeed the poor girl's own por- 
 tion. She w^as never allowed to take anything twice, and 
 this piece of self-denial she daily practised to keep her little 
 favorite from starvation. 
 
 Mrs. Smith said nothing. She pretended not to see, 
 but she determined to find out *' what became of the 
 victuals." She therefore kept her eye on Jerusha all the 
 evening, but discovering nothing, she followed stealthily 
 up stairs soon after the girl went to her room. She bent 
 her ear close down to a crack round the door, and heard 
 Mary thank Jerusha for the rusk and inquire whether she 
 would not like to eat a piece of it herself. 
 
 '* O no," returned Jerusha, ''I don't want any; I 
 brought it all for you." 
 
 This was enough for Mrs. Smith. She -opened the door 
 suddenly, and stood before the two astonished girls, a 
 perfect picture of rage and malice. 
 
 **I've caught ye at last! you nasty, underhanded 
 snoops. V\^ long suspected this, and now I'm satisfied. 
 What business have you to be a stealing victuals to bring 
 up here and stuff that young one ? say ! " 
 
228 IIAEY ELMER, OR 
 
 Jerusha, who was somewhat alarmed at first, had time 
 to recover her composure during this tirade. 
 
 ^'Stealing, did you say?" she asked, looking the 
 w^oman full in the face. 
 
 " Yes, stealing ; carrying off my victuals unbeknown to 
 me to feed that young one." 
 
 *' Mrs. Smith ! I never stole a mou'ful of victuals from 
 you in all my life, and you know I didn't. Whatever I've 
 brought to Mary I've took from my ow^n share, that you 
 w^as willing I should have. I've robbed myself to keep 
 her from starving, poor little creetur ! If that's stealing, 
 I'll steal again." 
 
 *' You would, hey? You say that to my face, do ye?" 
 
 «' Yesjl do, and to any other face of clay you'll bring 
 on." 
 
 <'You sassy, impudent trollop! quit the house this 
 minute, I won't harbor ye no longer." 
 
 *' Very well, pay me my wages and I'll quit to-night." 
 
 *' Wages! you're a pretty one to talk about wages! 
 Not a red cent do you get out o' me after such conduct." 
 
 V So you don't mean to pay what you owe me? Mrs, 
 Smith, I've w^orked hard and faithfully here for three 
 months, and you've only paid me for the first month of the 
 time. Isha'n't leave the house till I get the rest that's due 
 me." 
 
 *'Sha'n't,hey?" 
 
 *' No, I shan't." 
 
 *< Well, I iruess we'll see w^ho's mistress here." 
 
 With these words Mrs. Smith slammed the door fu- 
 riously and went down stairs. During this qoUoquy, little 
 Mary lav buried under the bed-clothes, trembling from 
 head to foot. As soon as INIrs. Smith w^as fairly gone, 
 she uncovered her head and said in great distress, 
 
TRIALS AXD CHANGES. 229 
 
 *'0, Jerusha, what have you done? What is ]\Irs. 
 Smith jroino: to do ? What will become of me if you g:o 
 
 aw 
 
 ay 
 
 ?" 
 
 ** Don't feel so bad, Mary," said Jerusha, beginning to 
 undress. " I know well enough what she'll do ; she'll be 
 all over it by morning, and want me to stay." 
 
 " O, I'm so glad." 
 
 ** Wait a minute. I sha'n't stay, if I get my wages, 
 and Mr. Smith won't dare to hold onto 'em, if sJie wants 
 to ever so much ; and I shall clear out in the morning." 
 
 " O, how badly you make me feel ! There's nobody 
 here that cares for me but you. Bounce does, but he can't 
 do much for me. He likes to stay by me, and often 
 growls at the children when they plague me. I know he 
 would bite them if they should lay a hand on me ; but he 
 i.-n't always by when they tease me. Baby loves me, too, 
 but he isn't like you, Jerusha. O, what shall I do?" 
 
 *' Jest so, that's the only reason why I hate to go, you 
 poor little creetur. But maybe I can do something for 
 you after I go." 
 
 " What can you do then? " 
 
 *' Why, if can't I do anything else, I can go and tell 
 your mother all about it, and she'll come and take you 
 home. But I know she'd like to have you get a good 
 place where they'd be kind to you ; and who knows but 
 what I can find you such a place ? " 
 
 *' O, if you only could ! Some place where they would 
 let me go and see my mother when I want to, perhaps the 
 same place where you go. But would Mrs. Smith let me 
 go?" _ . • 
 
 ** She'd have to I guess, if — but no matter, let's say 
 our prayers and go to sleep." 
 20 
 
230 . MART ELMER, OR 
 
 After prayers, Mary sobbed out, " O, how lonesome I 
 shall be, sleeping here alone." 
 
 *' Don't you remember," said Jerusha, ** what you said 
 to Jo, t'other day, when she was bragging that nobody 
 saw\\QV take that candy? you said, ' O, Jo, don't you 
 know that God is everywhere, and sees all we do ? '" 
 
 '* Yes, I remember, and how Jo laughed and made fun of 
 me. But I'm glad you spoke of it, and I'll try to think 
 about God watching over me, and the holy angels being 
 around me every night when I come to bed." 
 
 *' And I hope it won't be many nights you'll have to 
 think of it in this place." 
 
 And then they went to sleep. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HEN Mrs. Smith reached the kitchen, she found 
 her husband there, and requested him to *' go 
 straight up stairs and turn Jerusha out of the 
 house." He asked an explanation. She gave 
 it j whereupon he called her a fool for making a muss about 
 it. 
 
 ** Don't you see," he said, *' how 'twill work if you 
 send her off? She'll blaze it all round, and the whole 
 ncigliborliood will be up in arms about your starcingtlic 
 help. And nuw's tlie time, you know, for us to be 
 doing all we can to get into good society ; and there's 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. . 231 
 
 some that's envious of us who'd be glad to make tlie most 
 of it. And besides all that, you can't get another girl 
 that will work so well and so cheap as she does. I ad- 
 vise you to pass it over, and let things go right on In the 
 morning as if nothing had happened." 
 
 Mrs. Smith could but acknowledge that this would be the 
 wisest course ; and after indulging in a terrible out-pour- 
 ing against Jerusha, and Mary, too, she concluded to adopt 
 It. Accordingly In the morning she said nothing to Je- 
 rusha about leaving, nor did the latter speak of it until 
 Mr. Smith made his appearance, when she immediately 
 asked him for the money due to her, saying that Mrs. 
 Smith had told her to quit, and she wished to do so as 
 soon as possible. Mr. Smith remonstrated, but she was 
 immovable. Even Mrs. Smith condescended to request 
 her to remain, and said " she'd got over her feelings." 
 
 *' Well, J haint got over mme," said Jerusha. "I 
 can't stay another day in a house where I've been treated 
 as I was last night." 
 
 " Well, you won't get any recommend," said Mrs. 
 Smith. 
 
 ^'Iwant none from you,^^ replied Jerusha, with con- 
 tempt. 
 
 Smith at length saw that he could do no less than pay 
 her the money, which he did with a very ill grace, and 
 under a storm of words from his wife, who protested 
 " there was no need of his paying a cent," &c., &c. 
 
 When Jerusha had received the money she w^ent to her 
 room, packed up her few articles in a bundle, and started 
 off. Smith was standing in the outer door as she passed 
 through, and said to her, with a look and tone intended 
 to be very impressive, — 
 
232 . MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 ** Look here ! the less you say the better." 
 
 '* The better for ijou^ I know it," she answered, with 
 great unconcern, as she took her way down the yard. 
 Mr. Smith's emotions at this cool rejoinder, " may be 
 better imagined than described." 
 
 When she reached Mrs. Smith's bedroom window 
 which looked out upon the side yard, she saw little Mary 
 standing by it, baby in arms, and she knew that the child 
 )iad stationed herself there to see her when she passed, as 
 her favorite post was by the window next the street. 
 Mrs. Smith was still in the kitchen, brooding in impotent 
 rage over her troubles. Clary's eyes were brimful of tears 
 which she could not suppress, as she stood there waiting 
 to see the last of her only friend. But Jerusha did not 
 venture to stop and speak, for she knew that Mr. Smith 
 was watching her, and feared that it might increase the 
 little girl's trials if they were to hold any conversation. 
 So she merely said in passing, — 
 • *' Keep up, you'll hear from me soon." 
 
 It was a sultry morning in August, when Jerusha went 
 forth, as she had often done before, homeless, friendless, 
 and not knowing whither to go. 
 
 *' But first and foremost," she said to herself, as she 
 slowly pursued her way. " I must see if anything can be 
 done for jNIary. But dear me ! where. shall I go? I can't 
 tell who'd be likely to treat her well ; I'm sure I've never 
 lived at any place here where I'd be willing to have her 
 go, the precious little innocent creetur ! Well, if I can't 
 do anytliing else, I can go and tell her mother all about 
 it, and she'll take her right home, better starve there than 
 at SnTith's. If that Mrs. Lee she talks so much about 
 was only at home, I'd go straight there. Shc^s a got)d 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 233 
 
 woman, I know, and she would take her away. Who 
 knows but she has got home? Any how, I can go see. 
 So she retraced some of her steps, and turning a corner, 
 went directly to Mrs. Lee's house. As she approached 
 it, her courage rose on seeing the front windows thrown 
 open. She went round to the back door and knocked, 
 but no answer. As she was about to repeat the knock, 
 Peter Jackson, who was at work in the garden, and had 
 seen her enter the gate, came round. In answer to her 
 inquiries, he said that Mrs. Lee would be home that very 
 evening. She had sent word several days before, and he 
 had been " give7i the house a good air en, to be ready for 
 her." 
 
 ** O, dear ! " exclaimed the disappointed girl ; " I'm so 
 sorry, I want to see her dreadfully." 
 
 " Important business with the missus, has the youno- 
 'oman o^ot ? " 
 
 " Yes, very important; but I'll be sure to come in this 
 evening, rain or shine." 
 
 She then pursued her way in search of employment, 
 and at last offered herself at a large public house, where 
 she had never applied before. It was a busy time with 
 them. The court being in session, the house full of 
 boarders, and servants scarce, she was hired for a fort- 
 night, and -no recommendation required. A hard, rough 
 place, but she was used to such places. 
 
 As soon as Jerusha was out of the house, Mrs. Smith 
 began to vent her rage upon little Mary, whom she re- 
 garded as the cause of all her troubles. During the pro- 
 cess of washing the baby, she improved the time in pouring 
 forth a storm of indignation against the child. The 
 shrill tones of her voice, the incessant screaming of J. 
 
 20* 
 
234 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 Pixley, the consternation of Mary, who was flying about 
 *' settino- to riMits," altooether made it a '* scene for a 
 painter." When the washing was completed, Mrs. Smith 
 Liid the baby in the cradle, and ordered Mary to finish 
 hemming that apron, while she was rocking him to 
 sleep. 
 
 " As soon as it's done," she added, *' come out in the 
 kitchen, there's plenty to do there now." 
 
 And after dropping the curtain to shade the room, 
 Bhe went out, and Mary took her station by the cradle. 
 
 There she sits, the patient young watcher, rocking the 
 cradle with her foot, and while she sews, she sings too. 
 
 " Hnslj,my dear, lie still and slumber, 
 Holy angels ^uard thy bed," — 
 
 The baby is very quiet now. His eyes are open still, 
 but he seems to be in a serene and comfortable state of 
 mind. At length the lids begin to droop, Mary is watch- 
 ing them, and her voice falls too. And gradually as they 
 droop lower and lower, so lower and lower are the tones 
 of that childish voice, until they fall as gently on the 
 baby's ear, as the " Heavenly blessings" she sings of, on 
 his head.. And now they die quite away, for the baby is 
 fairly in Dreamland. 
 
 How fast those little fingers move over the hem ! It is 
 morning, and tlie child is not yet worn out with the day's 
 labor. Besides, there is a hope in her heart. She is 
 thinking about Jerusha, and something whispers her that 
 deliverance is not far off. Hark ! she hears a noise, a 
 very pleasant sound. She pauses in her work a moment 
 and listens to it. She knows whence it proceeds, for slie 
 hears it almost every day. A young lady who lives 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 235 
 
 opposite teaches a few scholars at her own home, and now 
 these children are out enjoying their pastime in the yard. 
 Mary loves to watch them at their play. It is next thing 
 to being out at play herself. Many a time has she stood 
 at the window with the baby in her arms, while her feelings 
 entered warmly into their animated sports. She rises and 
 steps softly across the room, as softly as she can with those 
 great clumsy shoes which were not made to Jit, but to be 
 grown into, and furnished from Mr. Smith's shop, who has 
 plenty of leather on hand of course, but Mrs. Smith " is 
 not a going to be getting shoes every month for the hussy 
 to bano* out." In fact, she thinks it all nonsense for her 
 to wear shoes at all, she wouldn't allow it if she didn't sup- 
 pose her mother would make a fuss about it, if she should 
 happen to" come in and find her barefooted. 
 
 She raises a corner of the curtain and peeps out. How 
 beautiful everything looks on this soft morning of the wa- 
 ning summer ! especially that door-yard opposite. There 
 are several fine trees in it, and the little girls are frolicking 
 so merrily under them ! A canary-bird's cage hangs 
 from one of the branches, and he too, seems blithe and 
 contented in his little prison. And ever and anon, one of 
 the number runs up and speaks to him, and he carols joy- 
 ously back. And all the time the pleasant-faced young 
 lady sits by her open window regarding their sports, with- 
 out appearing to be the slightest check upon their hilarit}^. 
 And our little nurse rejoices too, as all sweet innocent 
 natures do in seeing others happy. 
 
 She stands thus for some minutes, with one-hand holding 
 out the curtain, and her head thrust a little way behind. 
 Her sewino" is in the other hand, and has not advanced anv 
 since she came to the window. She has, however, but an 
 
23 G MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 incli or two more to hein, and she is going on with it di- 
 rectly. She does not intend to look long. But that merry 
 group is very fascinating. Ah little one ! I greatly fear 
 you will stand gazing until the teacher calls them in, unless 
 something prevents you. But something will prevent you. 
 Come away, ]Mary ! come quickly ! There is a step in the 
 passage, a step that bodes you no good, but you are too 
 absorbed to hear it. The she- wolf is close upon you, haste, 
 little lamb, to your place by the cradle side, while there is 
 yet time. She will never know that you have left it. It 
 is but an innocent fraud, we cannot bear that you should 
 fall into her hands to-day, when she is so furious. Come 
 away, little lamb ! still heedless ! The Good Shepherd 
 alone can protect you now. Look ! she dreams not of 
 danger, until she feels herself suddenly dragged backwards 
 by the arm and furiously shaken. 
 
 *' You miserable, wretched hussy ! this is the way you 
 mind me, is it? this is the way you stick to your sewing 
 when my back's turned?" (xlnother terrible shake.) " O 
 you deceitful little slut ! I've a good mind to take your 
 hide off, you richly deserve it, you viper ! " (another and 
 harder shake ; how pale the little one turns ! but she does 
 not speak a word.) " What business have you to be a 
 looking out of the window? I never gave you leave. 
 'Twould do me good to pound you within an inch of your 
 life." 
 
 See ! she is raising her arm ! Hold, woman ! you are not 
 going to strike that defenceless creature ! you cannot do it. 
 Look at that poor little white face ! as white as a dead 
 child's almost, but not so calm. It is the very image of 
 despair. Look at it ! have you no compassion ? no bowels 
 of mercy? O, have you not children of your own? 
 
TRIALS AND CIIANGEST 237 
 
 There ! the blow has fallen ! another ! yet another ! 
 God of mercy, stop her ! — Hark ! a ring at the door- 
 bell— 
 
 * ' There, run to the door, and be thankful for getting off 
 so well.'^ 
 
 But the child has sunk on the floor and she does not rise. 
 She is stunned and bruised. She did not even hear the 
 bell. 
 
 ** Get along to the door, you stupid thing you," (with a 
 kick.) " Don't you hear the bell a ringing?" 
 
 The child is on her feet now, but how changed ! The' 
 bright and hopeful look which we saw on her countenance 
 but now, is gone ; an expression of agony has taken its 
 place. But beside this, there is sometliing strange, some- 
 thing never seen there before. The colorless lips are 
 pressed closely together, and the blue eyes have an un- 
 wonted fire in them. The crushed worm will turn soon. 
 The little girl has not uttered a sound, but her spirit is 
 roused, and says within her, " It is enough, I will go to 
 my mother, I will go this very day if I can but escape." 
 
 *' Come, make haste for the door ! and don't 2^0 scuflSno: 
 along so; lift up your feet, can't ye? Show 'em into the 
 front parlor, if it's a lady." 
 
 When Mary reached the door, she opened it to a pleas- 
 ant-looking, handsomely dressed lady, who inquired for 
 Mrs. Smith. There was but one thought in Mary's mind 
 then, — how to escape, instead of answering immediately, 
 she laid her hand on the lady's arm, and looked up into- her 
 face with a strange pleading expression, that surprised her 
 not a little. But she did not speak. After a minute or 
 two, the lady said, — 
 
 ** Did you not understand me, my child? Is Mrs. Smith 
 at home ? " 
 
238 3IARY ELMER, OR 
 
 Then the little girl recovered herself, and was frightened 
 that she had dared to be so free with a stranger, and she 
 answered quickly, and led the lady to the parlor. 
 
 When she announced to Mrs. Smith the name of Mrs. 
 Bennet Squires, the former experienced no slight degree 
 of elation at the honor of a visit from so distinguished a 
 personage, for Mrs. Bennet Squires was, in fact, the leader 
 of the Pm in our town. 
 
 *' Dear me !" she exclaimed, *' so shes condescended 
 to call at last. Well, I'll let her know I'm as good as she 
 is, any how.." 
 
 So she hastened to change her dress for a flaring plaid 
 silk, stuck on her false front, with a very elaborate, un- 
 tasteful cap above It. She had plenty of her own hair, 
 but It was beginning to turn gray which she considered a 
 great disfigurement, and always concealed on important 
 occasions, either with an ugly dye, or a still uglier false 
 front and cap. She also put on her California jewelry ; 
 an audacious pair of earrings, a watch ^nd cable chain, 
 with a pencil case and half a dozen silly looking ornaments 
 besides dangling to It, several clumsy finger rings, and an 
 enormous pin — full of red, blue and green stones. She 
 was delighted with an opportunity of showing off these 
 fine things as well as the splendor of her parlors to one of 
 the " upper crust." 
 
 Mrs. Squires meantime was entertaining herself with a 
 survey of the parlor decorations. She was a woman of 
 correct taste, and a strong sense of the ridiculous, and 
 of course could not but be 'highly amused at the appear- 
 ance of this parvenu establishment. The huge pyramids 
 of brass and glass which glittered on the mantel, the 
 gaudy cornices, and other tinsel articles, she protested 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 239 
 
 made her ej^es ache for a whole week afterwards ; while 
 the stiff arrangement of the furniture, about the sides 
 of the rooms, looking as if it did not feel at home in the 
 least, gave her a very uncomfortable feeling, and a strong 
 desire to relieve it from its uneasy position. But the 
 *' family picture " astonished her more than anything else. 
 She had travelled and visited many galleries of paintings, 
 but had never seen a work of art that would in any degree 
 compare with it. Her ecstasy was so great that she could 
 not help indulging in a hearty laugh all by herself. 
 
 When her amazement at the grandeur which surrounded 
 her had in a measure subsided, the pale, pleading face 
 of the little girl returned to her recollection. There was 
 an expression about it that impressed her greatly, and she 
 knew that there must be something in the child's present 
 circumstances which had caused her singular manner when 
 she spoke to her, and she regretted that she had not said 
 more to her. 
 
 The entrance of Mrs. Smith interrupted these reflec- 
 tions. She advanced towards ^Irs. Squires with an air 
 of jDcrfect self-satisfaction, and much rustling of silk. 
 
 **rm very glad to see you," she said, seizing Mrs. 
 Squires's hand and shaking it up and down like a wood- 
 chopper. ' ' You've been so long a coming that I begun 
 to think you didn't mean to call at all. Set down in the 
 rocking-chair, do." 
 
 " I thank you, my seat is very good." 
 
 And so Mrs. Smith dumped herself down into the rock- 
 ing-chair, and immediately began to rock back and forth, 
 in a manner characteristic of nervousness and vulgarity 
 combined. '* Won't you take off your things?" and 
 " how's Mr. Squires?" exclaimed Mrs. Smith, hurriedly. 
 
 <* Mr. Squires is very well, I thank you." 
 
240 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 '* I'm very glad to hear it, health is such a blessin', I 
 feel to envy well folks, since I'm gitting so clelikit." 
 
 *' I noticed a beautiful little flower near the gate in your 
 yard, Mrs. Smith, is it an annual? " 
 
 <' I don't know whether that's the name of it or not, I 
 never troubled myself to know what it was ; you see my 
 nurse girl had some seeds, and my little boy asked me to 
 let her plant 'em somewhere, so I told her to stick 'em 
 down there ; but I aint no great hand for flowers any 
 way ; but my husband has a great deal of taste in the fine 
 arts, and so have I, and our family pictur is a satisfaction 
 to us both. I sejested the suppositions myself, and if the 
 cost of a thing is any criturion, I am sure it ought to be 
 good, for Mr. Smith had to pay thirty dollars for it ; for 
 my part I don't begrudge the money, more don't he ; law 
 what's thirty dollars to him?" 
 
 Thus she went on, rocking and talking, until Mrs. 
 Squires who had come in on an errand, felt impatient for 
 an opportunity to say what she wished and be gone. At 
 lennfth she ventured during', a momentarv pause in Mrs. 
 Smith's volubility to take out a paper and pencil, hoping 
 thus to attract her attention. 
 
 The latter, however, was only the more gratified, as she 
 took it for granted that Mrs. Squires intended copying the 
 family picture. 
 
 *' I heard you drawed beautiful and I like to have folks 
 see the pictur, that knows how to appreciate it." 
 
 <'The effect is very striking," observed Mrs. Squires, 
 *' and such a painting is certainly quite an addition to a 
 room, but of course, the greatest value of a picture is the 
 faithfulness with which it preserves the likeness of a friend." 
 
 ** Yes, it's very gratifying to have a real good picture." 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 241 
 
 "Time adds to the value of these little mementoes, when 
 God has taken our friends forever from us," said Mrs. 
 Squires, sadly as she placed her hand Instinctively upon a 
 little miniature of her own dear mother, who had died but 
 recently. 
 
 *' That's so," said Mrs. Smith, " but then fashions 
 change so fast, and I never could endure an old-fashioned 
 picture, I've got a paintin' of my mother for instance, it's 
 a real pretty face, but dear me, the hair is stuck up so 
 high on her head, and such an old-fashioned mankiller, I 
 always keep it in the back chamber. If Professor Boggles 
 will just put a new-fashioned cap and Barskeen on it, I 
 will hang it In the back parlor, for they say it's all the 
 fashion to ha,ve your parients' picturs in your^ best rooms 
 now." 
 
 Mrs. Squires had always tried to show the respect of 
 civility to opinions not in harmony with her own ; but fear- 
 ing that she might be tempted to violate her rule, if the 
 conversation continued, she determined to make the ob- 
 ject of her call apparent and to terminate it as soon as 
 possible. 
 
 Making a courageous effort for this purpose she said, 
 " I called, Mrs. Smith, to ask you to contribute som-Cthing 
 toward getting new lamps for the church. You know that 
 our lamps are getting shabby, and many of them are 
 broken." 
 
 Mrs. Smith's countenance fell, her voice seemed sud- 
 denly to lose its utterance, her heart sank within her and 
 her rocking-chair which had kept time by rapid or slow 
 vibration to the energetic or moderate demonstrations of 
 its occupant, came to an unwonted stop. 
 
 <« After all she haint come for a reglar call only a beg- 
 21 
 
242 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 ging, and I've a good mind not to give her a single cent," 
 thought Mrs. Smith, ** but then she'll see I haint got no 
 money to command," and she continued aloud. *' Oh, 
 yes, certainly, I'm glad somebody has got public spirrit 
 enough to attend to them lamps ; it's high time somebody 
 took hold, but you've happened to ketch me at an unfor- 
 tinate time. You see I dismissed my drumestic this morn- 
 ing, quite onexpected, and after Mr. Smith had gone to 
 the store, and so I was obleeged to pay her out of my 
 private purse, and it pretty near cleaned it out, — and Mr. 
 Smith not being in you know, — I haint got it replenished. 
 But when he comes home to dinner, I'll get a supply and 
 send some round to you." 
 
 As this speech was all a falsehood, it was no wonder 
 that Mrs. Smith hesitated somewhat in delivering it, and 
 Mrs. Squires, who understood it to be such, was disgusted 
 as well as amused. She, however, thanked her for the 
 promised aid, and handed her the paper, to put down her 
 name and the amount she would give. 
 
 INIrs. Smith looked over the names, and noticing that 
 two dollars was the largest sum given by any one, she 
 placed that amount opposite her own name in very large 
 figures and handed the paper back with an air of triumph. 
 
 *«I'll send it round by my nurse girl, this afternoon," 
 she said, as if to impress upon Mrs. Squires the fact that 
 she kept a girl to take the care of her child. 
 
 '' By the way, was it your nurse girl who came to the 
 door?" 
 
 " It was so." 
 
 " She is a beautiful child, and very young, I should 
 think to have the care of an infant." 
 
 " I cfuess there aint no damper of her hurting herself," 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 243 
 
 said Mrs. Smith, somewhat annoyed by the lady's expres- 
 sion of interest. ** She's a complete little shirk, I only 
 keep her out of charity, they are so awfully poor." 
 
 ' ' Whose child Is she ? " 
 
 '* Well her father's name was Elmer, he went to Cala- 
 forny and died there and left his family dreadful destitute." 
 
 *' Indeed," said Mrs. Squires, *' then she Is Susan 
 Grant's child. I had no idea they were so reduced. 
 Susan was a very good girl." 
 
 *' But poor and proud, too proud to let her sittlwatlon 
 be known, but I happened to find it out almost by acci- 
 dent, and so I took this young one off her hands ; but I 
 don't know whether I can ever make anything of her or 
 not, — can't trust her a minnit when I aint by to watch her, 
 she spends half her time a lookin' out the winder when the 
 babe's asleep, instid of sticking to her sewing." 
 
 Mrs. Squires made no reply, but soon took her leave 
 with a feeling of sorrow for the poor little child, which 
 Mrs. Smith's unkind words had failed to diminish, and as 
 she continued her labors, the pale, sad face of the little 
 girl arose often to her recollection, and she determined to 
 do what she could to rescue her from a position which she 
 felt must be full of misery. 
 
244 MAEY ELMER, OB 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 N the sinking of hopes and the rising of fears, which 
 the progress of Mrs. Squires' call had developed, 
 Mrs. Smith's amiability had in no way increased, 
 and as Mrs. Squires had not even invited her to 
 * * return the call " as she bade her a coldly polite good 
 afternoon, Mrs. Smith said to herself *' I am almost sorry 
 I signed the paper at all, but it's too late now." 
 
 The baby had awaked during the call, and little Mary's 
 hands being now literally " full," Mrs. Smith was com- 
 pelled to prepare dinner alone, but she had only succeeded 
 in replacing her finery in the clothes press when Mr. Smith 
 and the children came in, and the disorder and confusion 
 became more intolerable than ever. 
 
 At length dinner was placed on the table, and when the 
 more clamorous demands of the children were silenced as 
 Smith said by "letting their victuals stop their mouths," 
 the subject of Mrs. Squires' call was mentioned. 
 
 ** I think it'shio'h time some of them sort of folks bes^un 
 to take a little notice of us ; we have paid a big house rent 
 about long enough for nothing." 
 
 <'Isha'n't be in any hurry to return the call. I guess 
 I'm as good as anybody." 
 
 *' Hadn't better be too particular ; it's to my interest to 
 get in with them sort of folks." 
 
 ** Yes, and be dunned for a subscription every day of 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 245 
 
 your life. That's one thing she wanted this very day; all 
 the upper crust are signing round to get new lamps for the 
 meeting-house, and so she wanted to see how much she 
 could get away from us. But she's a polite beggar I must 
 say, for she didn't come right out on the start ; but it's all 
 the same if they only get the money." 
 
 '' That's so, and it's very obliging to offer to spend 
 your money for you, but I hope you let her see you could 
 give as much as any of 'em ; folks can't be popular without 
 its costing anything. I often see men signing ever so 
 much for foreign missions and such like things, when I 
 know they are distressed to death with their grocery bills ; 
 but here's the money, and you had better send Mary right 
 over with it. You see it won't be any less for waiting, and 
 then it will show her that we are prompt and on hand 
 about the matter." 
 
 ** Don't be in such a desperate hurry ; I guess Mary 
 can wash up the dishes before she goes." 
 
 The meal was finished ; Mary went about her task, 
 baby was unusually quiet and amiable, amusing himself 
 with some green apples which had rolled on the floor from 
 Ferdinand's pocket, and which he stoutly maintained a 
 schoolboy had given him, while his mother as firmly de- 
 clared that they came of her * ' don't-seek-no-farther tree 
 and she knew they did." 
 
 Mary applied herself to her task with renewed energy. 
 There was a calmness and determination in her manner 
 in which one of greater penetration than Mrs. Smith might 
 have read a sense of despotism and a disposition to resist- 
 ance, for she had felt the spirit of insurrection rising in her 
 heart, which already beat with accelerated pulse at the 
 thought of escape from thraldom. 
 21* 
 
246 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 But Mrs. Smith only congratulated herself that Mary 
 knew she had got the work to do, and as she had told her 
 ** the quicker it was done the better," she innocently 
 thought Mary was fulfilling her own instructions. Very 
 different, however, were the thoughts which occupied the 
 mind of our little heroine. <* It is not right for Mrs. 
 Smith to treat me so, and if mamma knew about it she 
 would not have me stay here another day. It will not be 
 disobeying her if I go home," and the child was glad that 
 the errand to Mrs. Squires gave her an opportunity of get- 
 ting started on her way, and when, after her bonnet and 
 shawl were on and she ready for a start, Mrs. Smith said, 
 '^ Now take that money and go straight to Squareses, 
 and then come straight home, and don't let the grass grow 
 under your feet," Mary answered, with a calmness which 
 quite surprised her mistress, 
 
 *< I shall go and see my mother first." Mrs. Smith 
 would have forbidden this rebellious act but she remem- 
 bered that the very day before a little boy had brought an 
 urgent request that Mary might be allowed to come home 
 to see her grandmother. 
 
 Amid the contending thoughts which had occupied Mrs. 
 Smith's mind she had quite forgotten the request, and now 
 when it arose to her recollection, instead of sending any 
 apology to Mrs. Elmer, she only said, 
 
 '* Well, go along, gad-about, you will be a small loss 
 here ; after you have got starved out, maybe you will un- 
 derstand what I am trying to do for you ; but mind you 
 leave the money to Squareses, and just tell her I sent it, 
 and don't make a little tattler of yourself, for tattling is 
 awful mean, do ye hear?" 
 
 Mary was soon started on her journey. She was met 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 247 
 
 at Mrs. Squires' door by that lady, who was now ready to 
 resume her morning's labors. She asked the child pleas- 
 antly to come In, but Mary was too anxious to reach her 
 own home to stop long on the way, although the tidy sit- 
 ting-room looked very inviting. A great many questions 
 suggested themselves to the lady's mind, but she deter- 
 mined not to direct the child's attention to the unpleasant- 
 ness of her present condition, until she could decide on 
 some way of improving it. 
 
 On learning that Mary was on her way home, Mrs. 
 Squires prepared a little basket of cakes and fruit for the 
 family, and as she walked along with her, learned what she 
 could of them, and asked her to call again at her house. 
 
 ** O yes, ma'am, I will come and bring back the basket." 
 
 This was just what Mrs. Squires wanted, although she 
 had not mentioned that the basket was not included in the 
 little gift, but the child's bringing it back would, she hoped, 
 give her further opportunity of learning the needs of her 
 old acquaintance, and of furnishing to her assistance in an 
 unobtrusive and acceptable manner. She felt greatly in- 
 clined to go home with the child that very day, but Mrs. 
 Squires was not in the habit of acting upon new impulses, 
 and her time had already been appropriated to the church 
 business ; therefore on bidding the little girl good-by, she 
 gave her maiden name for her mother with messages of 
 kind regard, and a promise to call very soon to see her. 
 
 The remembrance of Mrs. Squires' kindness made the 
 child continue her walk with a quicker step and a llgliter 
 heart. She thought how pleased grandma would be with 
 a nice baked apple, and how Georgy would crow and 
 laugh over his cookey, and mamma would have no excuse 
 for not taking one, as there were enough to go around she 
 was very sure. 
 
248 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 But as she reached her home she was greatly surprised, 
 and wondered what was going on. A bedstead was lean- 
 ing against the end of the house, while quilts and pillows 
 were* airing upon a clothes-line. A boy was holding 
 some horses near the gate, while two or three grave-look- 
 ing men were engaged in a quiet consultation near the 
 door. She had begun to fear that mamma had got to 
 move again, but felt reassured when David Gray spoke 
 kindly to her, and before she had fairly reached the door, 
 Johnnie came running out, saying, " Why did not you 
 come last night, Mary, when we sent for you? grandma 
 was almost gone then, and we all wished you was here." 
 
 As Mary passed into the house, there was not one famil- 
 iar face to greet her. A coffin covered with a black pall 
 rested upon the table in the front corner of the room. 
 A small bouquet of violets stood on the stand in an old- 
 fashioned wine-glass, while tw^o grave-looking women 
 were engaged on a mourning dress. The little girl paused 
 a few moments to gaze in silent reverence on that venera- 
 ble face which, though the animation of life had forever 
 Hed, yet seemed already touched with that triumphant 
 brightness which betokens the dawn of immortality, she 
 pressed her lips silently to that aged brow, and then as 
 quietly passed up stairs to her mother's room. Mrs. 
 Elmer was seated in her accustomed sewino-chair beside 
 the little table, with her child in her arms, and although 
 he had been asleep some time she did not lay him down, 
 but pressed him more closely to her heart as she thought 
 how few were left to claim her love or demand her care. 
 
 The little fellow, quite unconscious of the sorrow which 
 had deprived him of his usual lullaby, had asked for the 
 " shining star," but his mamma could not sing it for him 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 249 
 
 to-nio-lit, indeed she could scarcely see beyond the cloud 
 of desolation and sorrow which oppressed her ; yet she 
 did not despair, for in the many trials of her- faith, which 
 had led her pathway through thorns and sorrows, she still 
 cherished that " hope " which is "the companion given 
 the unfortunate by pitying Heaven," and her trusting heart 
 always found some object for gratitude or praise. And 
 even now, she was grateful that she had been able to 
 make her mother's last days comfortable ; and that as her 
 willing spirit had bent aiFectionately to her filial task, it 
 had not been hindered by the weakness of the flesh. 
 
 She wondered if she could have done anything more for 
 her mother during the long, weary illness, and then she 
 looked hopefully to that blessed place of rest, where trials 
 and changes come no more. 
 
 Mrs. Elmer clasped her daughter's hand with a faint 
 smile of welcome, and held it long in silence ; and though 
 few words were spoken, each felt how strong was the bond 
 of affection and sympathy which united them. 
 
 Little Johnnie soon came bringing up the little basket 
 of apples. 
 
 " Aint these real beauties? " said he, as he selected the 
 fairest for his mother. '* And just see what lots of 
 cakes." 
 
 *' Put them on a plate, Johnnie, and offer some to the 
 ladies down stairs," said Mrs. Elmer. 
 
 Johnnie hastened to obey the instructions, and soon re- 
 turned saying, '* Oh, there's the funniest-looking girl 
 down-stairs, and she wants to see you, to tell you about 
 Mary, she said." 
 
 «' I think it's Jerusha," said Mary, starting quickly to 
 meet her faithful friend. 
 
250 MART ELMER, OR 
 
 Whatever might have been the enthusiasm of the meet- 
 ing between the two girls, out of that house of bondage, 
 in other circumstances, there was none now. 
 
 " I'm so glad you got away from there," said Jerusha. 
 ** You see I did not know you had come, and so I thought 
 I would stop and tell your mother about matters and 
 things. I've been to Mrs. Lee's, and the colored rtkm 
 says she is expected home to-night, but I must hurry 
 along, for I have hired to the Eagle Tavern for a fort- 
 night; so good-by, Mary," and the poor homeless crea- 
 ture started back to fulfil the duties of her new ensraofe- 
 ment. 
 
 Mrs. Maddock, who had been very much occupied in 
 assisting to prepare Mrs. Grant for her last repose, had 
 gone to her own rooms to discharge the domestic 
 duties of her household ; but as soon as she learned that 
 Mary had come, she came in with Martha and Ann, to 
 welcome her home ajjain. 
 
 The funeral vras appointed for the next afternoon, and 
 passed off so quietly, that many living very near, and in 
 the same street, had not even heard of a death in the 
 neighborhood. Mrs. Lee had not been able to reach her 
 home as soon as she had anticipated, and arrived only at 
 the hour appointed for the funeral. 
 
 Mrs. Squires had heard of it through the clergyman, 
 of whom she had made inquiries after the family, and had 
 taken some pains to inform those whom she thought might 
 remember Susan Grant and her mother in better days. 
 
 Still it was only a small, quiet funeral. Mrs. Lee had 
 kindly sent her carriage and some money for the sexton's 
 fee ; although too much overcome by her journey and 
 grief at the loss of her only sister, to leave her own room. 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 251 
 
 David Grey had engaged the hearse and the bearers, and 
 his own wagon with the carriages of Mrs. Lee and Mrs. 
 Squires, formed the little procession. Yet in her heart, 
 Susan Elmer was thankful to give her mother so respect- 
 able a burial ; and when the poor old woman had been so 
 feeble, and helpless, and troublesome, that some had said, 
 ''It was strange God's providence did not remove her," 
 the devoted daughter had toiled, and waited, and prayed, 
 that her mother's life might be spared until something 
 should occur to enable her to show her mother the respect 
 of a proper sepulture ; and her trials had never yet found 
 the limit of her faith and patience ; for even when the 
 aged mother's words had become almost inarticulate, their 
 last utterances were of hope and encouragement, and she 
 had even tried to join in the chorus of the shining star, 
 when her faculties showed many sad symptoms of decay- 
 ing nature. 
 
 When the few who had come to attend the funeral had 
 again dispersed, and the little family were once more 
 alone, Susan's mind wandered to the little band in Para- 
 dise. That beautiful portion of Psalms, which the Rev. 
 Mr. Bingham had chosen as the text for his hopeful dis- 
 course on the resurrection of the just, came again and 
 again to her mind, with new significance, as she repeated, 
 *' My heart and my flesh faileth, but God is the strength 
 of my heart, and my portion forever." And as she re- 
 membered how her mother had by faith and prayer, and 
 works of charity and love, made God her portion on 
 earth, she trusted that he would now strengthen and re- 
 store the weak spirit, so long bowed by the infirmities of 
 the flesh. Then she thought of her dear father, who had 
 
252 MAEY ELMER, OR 
 
 long ago passed from the earth, and how blest and happy 
 they would be to be separated no more forever. 
 
 And in the midst of her loneliness and sorrow came a 
 gleam of joy, that those who are united on earth, in that 
 holy bond which God has blest, can be separated only by 
 Death, and that even his power is but temporary. 
 
 Then she tried to think George would be there, but her 
 thoughts of him were so much associated with their last 
 parting, when he had declared that he should be back 
 again all right in a year or so, that she involuntarily ex- 
 claimed, '* What if George should come back just as he 
 said, alive and well, and rich ! " 
 
 She had never set her heart upon riches, even when her 
 husband's prospects for success had seemed fairest, and 
 she had watched with solicitude his disappointment and de- 
 pression at the failure of his cherished plans, while her 
 heart turned more and more to the treasures which are 
 incorruptible and fade not away. She had often made 
 the humble prayer of Agar her own, and though pov- 
 erty and sickness had been suffered to remain very near 
 her, she had never denied her Lord or been tempted to 
 steal, and take the name of her God in vain. 
 
 The children nestled more closely beside their mother, 
 as the shades of evening closed around ; and as the little 
 group united in the supplicating petitions of, " Our 
 Father who art in heaven," Susan's heart found a new 
 cause for gratitude, that little Mary's voice again mingled 
 with the rest. The little ones were soon lost in the calm 
 sleep of infancy ; but Susan Elmer was unusually wakeful 
 that night, and her mind still turned to those she had 
 loved and lost ; and rememberinsj how her mother liad en- 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 253 
 
 couraged Mary's prayers for her father, even wlien Smith 
 had declared huii to be dead, her last waking thoughts 
 were a prayer '' that God would be with and protect them 
 till the great day of his final coming." 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 HE cares, the fatigues, and anxieties of the last 
 few weeks, had worn upon Mrs. Elmer more 
 than she had been aware of, and she slept much 
 later than usual the next morning, and when she 
 arose and tried to discharge her household duties, a 
 strange and ill-defined presence seemed to linger about, 
 her. A something which she could neither throw off* nor 
 account for, and when in the afternoon Mrs. Maddock 
 came in with her sewing to beguile the loneliness, she ven- 
 tured to tell her of a strange dream which had often vis- 
 ited her pillow. She had spoken of it once, she said, to 
 her mother, but as neither of them were superstitious be- 
 lievers in signs and omens, the subject had soon been 
 dismissed from their conversation ; but now as it had again 
 returned to her, she confessed she could not wholly dispel 
 Its influence from her mind, nor could she wantonly stifle 
 the faint hope born of that dream, even though it pos- 
 sessed no apparent foundation In probability ; and she felt 
 inclined to relate to Mrs. Maddock, «' That she had so 
 many times dreamed of seeing her husband, always In a 
 22 
 
254 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 strange place, and sometimes sick and in bed, and some- 
 times engaged in one or another of the occupations which 
 he had followed before leaving home ; and that on every 
 occasion he had failed to recognize her, or only spoken 
 with the indifference of a stranger." 
 
 *' That dream is as plain as day to me," replied Mrs. 
 Maddock, "you may mark my word for it, George Elmer is 
 not dead. I don't believe in witcheries and superstitions, 
 my mother did not before me ; but my mother believed in 
 some dreams, and so do I. Don't you remember Scripture 
 tells us that Daniel had understanding in all visions and 
 dreams? and don't you know how Joseph interpreted 
 Pharaoh's dreams ? 
 
 " If you had dreamed of seeing him here, I should say 
 it was only natural, and could be accounted for on the 
 ground of your thinking about him so much ; but your 
 dreaming that way so many times, of seeing him in a 
 strange place, makes me think he aint dead. 
 
 '' But, Susan, what proof did you ever have that he was 
 dead ? who told you he w^as ? " 
 
 '* I never heard anything about it from any one but 
 Smith," replied Susan. 
 
 "What, Jonathan Smith the shoemaker!" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Maddock in evident astonishment, *' I don't mean to 
 say that it necessarily ruins a man's veracity to make shoes 
 for a living,' but mercy on us ! I should sooner think of 
 believing a dream, tlian of taking his word any time. I 
 should not be a bit surprised if you heard from George 
 right off. 
 
 " My Uncle William Barber went to the Patriot war, 
 and was gone for years and years, everybody gave him up 
 for dead; but Aunt Lavina always said he would couio 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 255 
 
 back, she knew it just by a dream ; and sure enough he 
 did come back, after serving ten years at Yan Dieraan's 
 Land. Every body was as much astonished as if one had 
 arose from the dead, except Aunt Lavina ; she went round 
 smiling and smoothing out her cap-strings and saying, ' I 
 told you so ! ' I don't want to raise any expectations that 
 aint to be realized, but you may depend upon it, George 
 Elmer is alive." 
 
 Martha and Ann Maddock came in during the evening, 
 and each expressed satisfaction and pleasure that Mary was 
 safe home again. " I hope you will never have her go 
 back again," said Martha, '* if I had known how shabbily 
 she was treated, I'm sure I would have gone after her my- 
 self." 
 
 <' I should be very glad to keep the children together," 
 replied Mrs. Elmer, " but everything is so dear in the 
 market, and we have not any garden you know." 
 
 " But," continued Martha, '* it won't take a single hod 
 more of coal if she stays at home, than if she goes, and as 
 for vegetables, we always get our winter supply of Uncle 
 James ; and I know mother will engage some from him for 
 you. We do all the sewing for him and the boys, and of 
 course it don't come so high as if they went to the shop 
 with their work, and then they bring us good measure of 
 apples and vegetables." 
 
 It was all satisfactorily arranged. Ann suggested that 
 Mary could sometimes go down to the village for thread 
 and needles for them, besides holding the skeins of silk, 
 and both the girls felt a gratification in trying to make 
 amends for their former hastiness to the child. 
 
 As the fall sewing came in, and the hope of keeping her 
 little family together. and supporting them comfortably 
 
256 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 seemed about to be realized, Susan applied herself to her 
 daily tasks with renewed energy ; and as Mrs. Maddock 
 and her daughters, by their continued kindness, did all they 
 could to diminish Mrs. Elmer's sense of obligation, a feel- 
 ing of cheerful contentment, almost akin to happiness, once 
 more stole over her. 
 
 True their daily needs required her constant labor ; their 
 clothing was of the plainest material, and their table offered 
 none of those delicacies which are counted by so many as 
 necessaries. There w^ere few to sympathize with her lone- 
 liness, and she might have been less happy had not neces- 
 sity compelled her to be always caring for the comfort of 
 those dependent upon her. 
 
 It had been many months since Susan had thought of 
 rest or recreation ; but one bright Saturday afternoon in 
 October, her work for the week being completed, Susan 
 proposed to the children a walk to the village graveyard, 
 and a visit to grandma's grave. 
 
 The little ones were greatly delighted with the plan, and 
 were soon ready for a start. Georgie was carefully tucked 
 up in Mrs. Maddock's little wagon, and Johnnie and Mary 
 volunteered to draw him all the way, but they began to 
 show signs of weariness before reaching the top of the hill 
 where the burial ground was situated, and as their mamma 
 relieved them from the task, they soon began amusing 
 themselves by gathering the bright autumn leaves now 
 gently falling upon the shaded pathway. 
 
 As the little party stopped to rest before climbing the 
 rustic stile, Mary wove the leaves into bright wreaths, after 
 patterns which Jerusha had taught her, while their mother 
 smiled approvingly at their quiet enjoyment, as Mary 
 placed one of the wreaths on little Gfiorgie's head. 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 257 
 
 They soon entered the yard ; and the children were 
 silenced by that feeling of awe and reverence for the dead 
 which nature has implanted in the heart of childhood, and 
 which seems to survive only in proportion as its innocence 
 is preserved. 
 
 Mary walked beside her mother, while Johnnie went 
 before them, gazing in silence at the bright autumn flowers, 
 or the tall monuments, on which his eye rested until they 
 paused beside the new-made grave, where Johnnie was 
 first to speak, as he asked " if grandma knew they had 
 come to visit her?" While Mrs. Elmer was trying to 
 think of some answer to the question, Mary said quickly, — 
 
 '* Maybe her spirit knows it up in heaven, if her body 
 don't know it here. Keep still, Johnnie. ! " 
 
 As Susan Elmer stood beside the grave of her mother, she 
 wished that she might place upon it some memorial worthy 
 a spot made sacred by her last repose. Then, recollecting 
 the little bright-eyed violets which grew in Mrs. Maddock's 
 yard, and her mother's fondness for them, she resolved to 
 cover the mound with these humble flowers. There seemed 
 to be an appropriateness in placing there those humble 
 wayside blossoms which survive so many of Spring's earlier 
 flowers, and Susan dwelt with pleasure on her little plan. 
 
 As they were preparing to leave the ground, Mary 
 stopped to repair the little wreath^ which had come apart 
 with Georgie's rough handling, and placed it upon the 
 grave. 
 
 "I'm afraid the wind will blow it ofl*," said Johnnie, and 
 he stepped back toward the stile where he had noticed 
 some short pieces of painted slats lying on the grass beside 
 a new inclosure. 
 22* 
 
258 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 *' Will any one care if I take these? " he said, handing 
 them to his mother. 
 
 *' I think not, my dear," she answered, and placing the 
 two pieces in the form of a cross, she laid them upon the 
 little wreath. 
 
 The effect of that bright golden wreath lying upon the 
 rich, deep green grass and surmounted by the little white 
 cross, was very beautiful ; to a practised artist it might 
 have suggested the illuminated paintings of the early 
 masters, but Susan's natural taste for beautiful things had 
 never been heightened by artistic cultivation, and as she 
 looked admiringly upon it, her greatest pleasure was thait 
 she could leave some token of remembrance upon the 
 grave of her earliest and most valued friend. 
 
 While they were passing out of the yard, Mary and 
 Johnnie exclaimed together, " Aint that pretty ? " pointing 
 toward a bright little bed of immortelles, bordered with 
 pansies. Mrs. Elmer read the plain inscription and was 
 pleased to find there the name and age of Dr. Lee, with 
 the simple verse, 
 
 " He is not here, but precious is the dust 
 
 Which once enshrined the object of our love ; 
 He is not here, but fondly do we trust 
 To meet him in a brighter world above." 
 
 There was something about that little gray Italian shaft 
 and those unpretending flowers which would have pleased 
 Mrs. Elmer, had she known nothing of her whose taste 
 had marked the spot or of him whose memory w^as here so 
 tenderly cherished ; and Susan thought while looking at 
 these memorials, of the many kindnesses of her friend and 
 felt a degree of self-reproach that she had never been to 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 259 
 
 call upon Mrs. Lee since that lady's return from the East. 
 True the time had been more than occupied with care and 
 labor, but there was also another reason, which she 
 scarcely recognized as such, and It was that feeling of hesi- 
 tation which any person of true refinement has at the 
 thought of calling as a friend upon one whose worldly 
 position is so much above her own as was that of Mrs. 
 Lee and toward whom she could but feel an embarrassing 
 sense of obligation. 
 
 Then, conscious that the neglect might have the appear- 
 ance of indifference or ingratitude, she resolved to seek an 
 early opportunity to express in person the grateful regard 
 which she had heretofore sent by Peter Jackson. 
 
 Presently Johnnie discovered a carriage driving Into the 
 yard, and Mary soon espied the ebony face of Peter Jack- 
 son, who was already showing his teeth in answer to her 
 fiigns of recognition. And, strange to say, there was 
 Jerusha, too, sitting beside Mrs. Lee in the carriage as if 
 to support her, for this was Mrs. Lee's first ride since her 
 illness. 
 
 They came directly to the little inclosure, and Jerusha 
 assisted Mrs. Lee to alight from the carriage, when the 
 latter approached Mrs. Elmer and by a gentle pressure of 
 the hand, and a quiet smile of welcome, expressed the 
 pleasure which the unlooked-for meeting gave her. 
 
 Jerusha and Mary were more demonstrative In their 
 recognition , and Mrs. Lee declared the ride had benefited 
 her so much she would remain there while Peter and 
 Jerusha took the children a little drive around the ground. 
 The carriage soon rolled away, and Mrs. Lee invited Susan 
 to a seat beside her in the little yard, and as they sat there 
 alone with the dead, each felt bound to the other by the 
 
2 GO MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 tender ties of friendship and sympathy as well as the 
 strong bond of benevolence and gratitude. 
 
 Mrs. Elmer soon spoke to Mrs. Lee of Johnnie's hard 
 question and Mary's ready answer and asked what she 
 thought about the subject. 
 
 ' * I'm afraid we shall never have much definite knowl- 
 edge about it," said Mrs. Lee, ** it is a subject on which 
 I often talked with Dr. Lee, and I recollect he once said, 
 there seemed nothing unconnected with revelation which 
 was so little known and yet so generally believed. We 
 are told that the Druids, before Christianity was introduced 
 into Britain, believed that the beatified soul retained the 
 love of its country and its kind, and sometimes returned 
 to the earth to assist the brethren by teaching them 
 heavenly things, and to oppose the power of the Evil One. 
 In later times many theologians have maintained that it 
 is this mingling of the prayers and praises of the departed 
 with those of the living which forms ' the communion of 
 the Saints,' one article of the Apostles' Creed. 
 
 " In our own times, among the number of persons called 
 spiritualists, a favorite theory is, that the souls of the de- 
 parted are very near and not only take an interest in the 
 fortunes of their friends on earth, but are anxious to find 
 means of communicating that interest. While some of 
 a still less cultivated class believe in ghosts and "super- 
 natural apparitions." 
 
 " But, Mrs. Lee, will you please give me your own ideas 
 about it, if you will not think me rude. What do you 
 think about it?" 
 
 Mrs. Lee was never anxious to express her own ideas, 
 but she now ventured to say that to her it seemed, ** that 
 as far as human love was unmixed with human passion, it 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 261 
 
 mio'ht survive the death of the body, and if friendship and 
 affection be founded on piety and virtue, and have its seat 
 in the soul, it need not terminate with the existence of our 
 material part. 
 
 *^ One whose judgment we are bound to respect has said, 
 * When our souls are placed in' Paradise, the. cares and 
 secular employments of time shall cease, and our employ- 
 ments shall be symbolical, spiritual, holy, and pleasant.' 
 The nature of this subject does not admit of its being 
 made very plain to the senses, and as not much knowledge 
 is given it is not probable much will be required, and we 
 might, perhaps, better bestow our thoughts on subjects 
 more directly connected with duty here, and with salvation 
 hereafter." 
 
 Peter Jackson had now returned with Jerusha and the 
 children, and at Mrs. Lee's request Mary was permitted to 
 return home with her, while Master Johnnie, with an in- 
 creased sense of importance, assisted his mother in drawing 
 Georgie home. 
 
 Little Mary could scarce express the delight she felt in 
 being once more in the well-remembered places, and after 
 looking about the house awhile she said, *' There's that 
 dear little chair just where it was before, and there is that 
 pretty picture, but where is Harriet ? " 
 
 *' Harriet is married, and she does not live here any 
 more," replied Mrs. Lee. 
 
 ** But where does she live now?" asked Mary. 
 
 <' In the. country near her friends," &aid Mrs. Lee. 
 
 " Well I'm glad I know where she is. Mamma and I 
 have often wondered what had become of Harriet, no one 
 told us anything about her, and we thought that she had 
 gone with you." 
 
262 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 *< Have you never seen Harriet since I went away ? " said 
 Mrs. Lee, with evident surprise as she recollected the 
 unheard- from note entrusted to Harriet's care. 
 
 " No, ma'am, we never saw her after you went away, 
 and we did not know where you were gone In a long time, 
 then Peter Jackson told us, and we were very sorry your 
 sister was so sick, and we missed you a great deal all the 
 time." 
 
 The child had scarcely done speaking when Mrs. Lee 
 turned again to Harriet's letter, in which she had said, '* I 
 forwarded your note to Mrs. Elmer, before I left town, 
 and I presume you have heard from it before this time." 
 Mrs. Lee's first thought was to write for further explanation, 
 for she had many times wondered at the strange silence ; 
 then remembering Harriet's subsequent intention of visit- 
 ino: her soon, she determined to wait Harriet's intended 
 visit for the desired information. And as she did not 
 know Harriet's present address, this seemed the only way 
 practicable. 
 
 Just before little Mary started for home, Mrs. Lee told 
 her of a little school which had recently opened near her 
 house, and instructed the child to ask her mother's permis- 
 sion to attend it, kindly inviting her to come there every 
 day for dinner, and carefully Informing her that she would 
 provide for the tuition and the necessary books ; and the 
 little girl returned home full of enthusiasm over the plan. 
 
 The brightness of that October day, the enjoyment of the 
 children, and the unexpected pleasure of Mrs. Lee's visit, 
 had seemed to inspire Susan with new life, to which the 
 thought of sending the little girl to school, brought addi- 
 tional pleasure. She had often wished that Mary might 
 have such advantages, but circumstances had heretofore 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 2(33 
 
 geemed to forbid, and she therefore set about making phans 
 for the improvement of the child's wardrobe, which had 
 been in no way improved by her stay at the Smiths. 
 
 Her motherly affection was stimulated perhaps, by wom- 
 anly ambition, and long after the little ones were asleep 
 she grew more and more wakeful in planning for the new 
 enterprise, and she resolved to rise an hour earlier every 
 morning, for the purpose of preparing Mary for school. 
 But on awaking the next morning, she felt a dull, uncom- 
 fortable sensation in the head, her arms ached so that she 
 could scarcely use them at all, and she was compelled to 
 return to her bed as soon as the morning meal was finished. 
 Mary succeeded in putting the room in order, and brought 
 into practice all her little skill in nursing her mother ; but 
 spite of her efforts Susan Elmer grew rapidly worse, and 
 the child went to call Mrs. Maddock's assistance. 
 
 The ffood woman soon answered the summons, and was 
 grieved and surprised to find Susan suffering from a vio- 
 lent attack of fever. After bathing Susan's head and 
 applying such simple remedies as were at hand, Mrs. Mad- 
 dock said, *' I'm sure when I come to think of it, I aint 
 a bit surprised, in fact I've expected to see you break 
 down every day. No live woman could endure it to be 
 shut up as you have been so long, and working early and 
 late, it's a wonder you did not have to give up before. 
 You need rest and good nursing up, but you must not 
 expect to be well in a day." 
 
 '' Will my mar ever get well again?" interposed Mary, 
 timidly ; for she had been frightened before calling Mrs. 
 Maddock, whose energetic manner did not tend to dimin- 
 ish her alarm. 
 
 " O yes, I hope so, but we must take good care of her ; " 
 
264 MARY ELMER, GR 
 
 and turning again to Susan, she said, ** I'd go for a doc- 
 tor right off, but the doctors kill more than they cure; and 
 you haven't any money to waste on them." 
 
 Mrs. Maddock again volunteered her own services, and 
 Susan thanked her cordially, when Mrs. Maddock returned 
 to her own room. 
 
 In the midst of her own pain Susan noticed the expres- 
 sion of sorrow and anxiety upon her child's face, and she 
 said, 
 
 " Don't be frightened, my dear ; I hope I shall feel bet- 
 ter again when the fever goes off: and remember, Mary, 
 whatever happens, it will only make everything worse to 
 be sad and discouraged." 
 
 Then the child tried harder to summon her courage, and 
 to put in practice those lessons of faith and patience of 
 which her mother's life had been a constant lesson, both 
 in example and in precept. It was well for the child that 
 she had learned the lesson thus early. 
 
 Mrs. Maddock's fears were realized sooner than Mrs. 
 Elmer's hopes, for Susan suffered long without any signs" 
 of improvement. Now that their only means of subsistence 
 were cut off by the mother's illness, the little nurse's task 
 seemed weary and almost hopeless. 
 
 When Martha and Ann Maddock first heard of Mrs. 
 Elmer's sickness they expressed a degree of sympathy and 
 interest in the poor woman's misfortune quite consistent 
 with their late friendly conduct toward her ; but after a 
 few days they began to express a degree of surprise that 
 no one came to assist in the care of her ; and a slight im- 
 patience manifested itself in the oft-repeated wonder why 
 none of the church members came near ; for they were not 
 such faultless young ladies as we meet with in stories, but 
 such human ones as are met in actual life. 
 
Deacon Gorhara has "an oncommon' polite reception from President 
 Martin Yan Biiren."— /See ^age 377. 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 265 
 
 Mrs. Maddock suggested that like enough none of them 
 knew anything about Mrs. Elmer's sickness. 
 
 '< Then," said Ann, *' I'll make it my business to inform 
 them. I think what with the * Aid Society ' and the 
 * Home Mission,' that it is a pretty piece of work to let a 
 woman like her suffer from neglect, or else be a direct tax 
 upon us for board, and rent, and everything." 
 
 Mrs. Maddock made no objection to the plan, and Ann 
 started out that very afternoon. She met Mrs. Squires on 
 her way to the Aid Society, and soon made known to her 
 the condition of the Elmer family, which seemed almost 
 incredible to Mrs. Squires, for it was only a few days since 
 she had heard from Miss Ludlow that Mrs. Lee had re- 
 turned, and had taken the Elmers under her especial 
 charge again. Miss Ludlow declared she had seen Mary 
 Elmer in Mrs. Lee's carriage, and expressed a degree of 
 anxiety for fear the family in general and that child in par- 
 ticular, would be spoiled by being taken too much notice 
 of. 
 
 Mrs. Squires, however, made it in her way to give them a 
 short call before going to the Aid Society, and determined 
 to bring the case before them at that very meeting. 
 
 Ann Maddock continued her way to Mrs. Lee's, where 
 both Mrs. Lee and Jerusha. had been wondering at the 
 non-appearance of Mary, and had begun to fear some ill- 
 ness to the child had prevented her from coming to school. 
 Jerusha had never been in the habit of running out eve- 
 nings, and Mrs. Lee had been very much occupied with 
 the fall house-cleaning, and instructing a new girl, for 
 Jerusha had only been with her a short time. Mrs. Elmer 
 had seemed so bright and happy at their last interview that 
 Mrs. Lee was grieved and surprised to find that she wa^ 
 23 " 
 
266 . MARY EL3IER, OR 
 
 now suffering not only the pains of illness, but for the want 
 of those necessaries which that sickness had rendered her 
 unable to procure. She sent to Mrs. Elmer many expres- 
 sions of sympathy and regret, and that very evening rode 
 over with Peter Jackson to carry to her friends the more 
 substantial tokens of her regard. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 ITH the return of the cool autumn evenings there 
 came back to our busy town many who had been 
 seekinof for health or recreation at the various 
 watering-places. The spirit of locomotion which 
 had led so many from home, now seemed to .keep them 
 active, and every local enterprise revived into a new 
 life. The churches were better filled on the Sabbath, and 
 many a stylish outfit which had lost its first lustre at " The 
 Springs," now aroused bitter heart-burnings among those 
 who had perforce remained at home. 
 
 Miss Eunice Ludlow had also returned, for she too had 
 been " spending some time at the Springs." The family 
 alone knew the whys and the hows of the all important 
 though unusual event. A relative who lived at Saratoga 
 in a style which in more modern days would have been 
 called " Shoddy," had sent for Eunice, who by the way was 
 an expert needle-woman, to come and assist them with 
 their summer's sewing. 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 287 
 
 Of course Cousin John would attend to the expenses of 
 <* travelling," at least so the letter read, and he generously 
 fulfilled the promise by procuring a pass through the influ- 
 ence of a baggage master. And now the visit was over 
 and Eunice had returned home full of Cousin John's Im- 
 portance and the Saratoga fashions. 
 
 It had been at Eunice's suggestion that the Aid Society 
 was Invited to meet at Deacon Ludlow's again. Every 
 one knew that the deacon's family had declared that they 
 had done more than their part already ; but Eunice felt an 
 uneasy desire to Inform her friends of the marvellous things 
 which she had seen and heard at Saratoga. 
 
 As a regular . party was deemed quite too expensive, it 
 was decided to have the '* Society." *< It will be much 
 cheaper than a party," thought Mrs. Ludlow, as she re- 
 membered the tea regulations ; •'^ and we can take a little 
 extra pains to invite those we want, and those we don't 
 want can be left to find It out for themselves." 
 
 The appointed day came, and with it came ** The Aid 
 Society." Among the first arrivals was Mrs. J. PIxley 
 Smith arrayed in the stiff silk dress and the same prodigious 
 amount of jewelry in which she had appeared on the occa- 
 sion of Mrs. Squires' memorable call. Mrs. Bingham the 
 minister's wife, wore the same brown alpaca dress and the 
 same plain linen collar and black velvet bow which Miss 
 Eunice declared she had stuck to ever since the year one. 
 Mrs. Squires appeared In a dark worsted dress and rich 
 honiton collar fastened with a cameo pin, which Mrs. 
 Smith thought was very bad taste for any one that could 
 afford new fashioned jewelry as well as " Miss Squares," 
 as she persisted in calling her. 
 
 We shall not trouble you with the details of the dress of 
 
2(38 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 Mrs. Sharpe, Mrs. Brown, and the number of ladles who 
 are already absorbed in listening to Miss Eunice's wonder- 
 ful accounts of her travels, while she dwells with enthusi- 
 asm upon the elegance of Cousin John's establishment, and 
 the remarkable accomplishments of little Cousin Una who 
 is studying French arithmetic, although she is only eight 
 years old. 
 
 It could not but be observed, that Miss Eunice became 
 somewhat less communicative after the arrival of Mrs. 
 Squires. Knowing as she did that Mrs. Squires could 
 easily detect the parts of her story in which she had been 
 wholly indebted to imagination for her facts ; and as 
 she thought of the experiences Mrs. Squires might relate 
 if she were only disposed to appreciate her advantages, 
 she looked at Mrs. Squires with pitying wonder, for her 
 lost opportunities. 
 
 There was not any work of importance on hand. The 
 last thing the society had attempted was a dozen shirts 
 for Mr. Bingham ; and these being finished, the question 
 in order was, to what they should next devote their 
 efforts. 
 
 *' I've been telling ma," said Miss Eunice, *' that I 
 think we had better labor for the cause of foreign mis- 
 sions. I heard Mr. Simpson, while I was at Cousin 
 John's. I was so much delighted with his farewell ser- 
 mon ; he preached it in several places, and I heard it in 
 Saratoga, just before they left for the heathen land. His 
 third wife. Miss Stillman, was a particular friend of mine ; 
 he had printed copies of the sermon for sale, and I bought 
 one on her account. Some parts of it were very eloquent 
 indeed." And taking up the pamphlet she read aloud ; — 
 
 ** We are possessed of a common origin, and a common 
 
• TRIALS AND CHANGES. 2 GO 
 
 inheritance ; sent into this breathing world to work out a 
 common destiny. Then why should we limit the exercise 
 of our Christian charities and our active sympathies, to 
 the circumscribed limit of our own neighborhood or 
 county, instead of encompassing in its encircling vastness 
 the great human family of man." 
 
 " I'm very sorry he did not come here," said Mrs. 
 Smith, «* we could not possibly work for a worthier ob- 
 ject ; and to show that we aint narrow minded in our 
 views. What do you think about it, Miss Squares?" 
 
 *' I should be very sorry to be in the way of any good 
 work, but we should be careful not to overlook the duty 
 that lies nearest us ; and I was intending to suggest that 
 we give some assistance to Mrs. Elmer, who is quite sick ; 
 and both her children and herself are in great need of 
 assistance." 
 
 ** Aint you mistaken about that?" said Mrs. Ludlow; 
 "I guess there aint anything serious the matter there, you 
 can't believe half you hear now-a-days, the world is so 
 wicked." 
 
 ** I am sure I'm not mistaken, for I called there this 
 afternoon, and found her quite sick of a fever," replied 
 Mrs. Squires. 
 
 *' Dear me," said Mrs. Smith, '' then how do we know 
 but you have exposed us all to some terrible disease. If 
 you was anybody but Miss Squares, and the chief one of 
 the directorers of the society, I should say you'd done a 
 dretful uriprudent thing a going there." 
 
 ''I think they had better be sent to the poor-house 
 right off, there's no knowing but what it's the scarlet fever 
 she has got, and they always have that at the poor-house, 
 23* 
 
270 MAEY EL3IER, OR 
 
 SO she could not do any hurt by spreading It there," said 
 Mrs. Brown. ^ 
 
 ' ' Why didn't you advise the woman that owns the 
 house to turn her right out," said Mrs. Sharpe ; " the 
 rent will be more uncertain than ever If she Is sick, be- 
 sides, It's never safe to keep sick folks In a house, poor 
 folks In particular, she might die there, and make It harder 
 to rent the rooms afterward." 
 
 *' Yes," said Mrs. Smith ; ** we are all taxed enough to 
 support Idleness and poverty there, and I have always 
 thouii'ht thev would come to It yet." 
 
 Mrs. Squires Improved the first pause in the excited 
 clamor, to explain to the ladles that the sickness winch 
 Mrs. Elmer suffered from need not cause them such 
 alarm, as it was only a low fever, Induced by constant toil 
 and privation ; and that with a little assistance and rest, 
 she might soon be able to return to her employment ; for 
 she knew Mrs. Elmer better than to believe she would 
 willingly be a burden to her friends. 
 
 " I don't see anything to hinder her resting at the 
 county -house," said Miss Eunice, "I think she ought to 
 be Q-rateful that she lives In a Christian land, where a 
 place is erected and maintained for the Indigent." 
 
 "But," continued Mrs. Squires, ''would It not be 
 cruel to subject a person like Mrs. Elmer, whose only 
 crime is that of honest poverty, to the odium of being 
 classed among paupers, at a county poor-house? It does 
 not seem Christian, to me, for us, as an Aid Society In a 
 respectable church, to suffer It. I should not, perhaps, 
 express myself so fully, but as President of the society, 
 and for the credit of the organization, to say nothing of a 
 hi<dier motive, I think we ought to help her." 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 271 
 
 **I don't like to differ with a person like you," said 
 Mrs. Ludlow, *< but the sentiments you have just ex- 
 pressed wound my feelings ; they remind me painfully of 
 the awfid doctrines that Mrs. Lee teaches those that come 
 under her influence. Don't you remember the Bible 
 teaches us ' our own righteousness is filthy rags,' but if 
 you and Mrs. Lee have got so blinded as to think your 
 own works can" save you, I don't see that you can do bet- 
 ter than improve the opportunity, and leave the Society to 
 a wider field of usefuhiess. If Mrs. Lee knows about 
 'em, and she ought to I'm sure, why then she must count 
 this fever a special providence in her behalf." 
 
 " Let her try it as long as I have," said Mrs. Smith, 
 *' and I guess she'll get discouraged before she makes any- 
 thing of them. But we are taking up the Society's time 
 with all this miscellaneous talk, and I'm anxious to hear 
 about Mr. and Miss Simpson." 
 
 "I shall be most happy to gratify your wishes," said 
 Miss Eunice; " but in order to dispose of this question, 
 I propose that we put it to vote. Those, therefore, who 
 are in favor of assisting our far distant friends in their 
 laudable and honorable undertaking of carrying the Chris- 
 tian light of the gospel into heathenism's darkest recess, 
 will make their wishes manifest by standing up ; or by 
 rising to express so praiseworthy a desire ; while those 
 who are willing to have their time appropriated for the 
 benefit of a certain obscure family, who seem to be in 
 great favor in certain quarters nearer home, may sit 
 still." 
 
 ** Almost unanimous," said Eunice, as she glanced tri- 
 umphantly about the room, and saw every one upon their 
 feet except Mrs. Bingham and Mrs. Squires. 
 
272 MARY EL3IER, OR 
 
 *' Now please to continue," said Mrs. Smith. 
 
 '* Well, I was just saying, or rather I was about to re- 
 mark, Mrs. Simpson was a particular friend of mine, and 
 I thought we ought to feel it a privilege to avail ourselves 
 of such an opportunity to assist in the great cause. The 
 people in Gambletown made several suits of clothing to 
 be sent to little namesakes of theirs in Muffletegawny, 
 that was the name of the station ; and I don't think we 
 could do better than to follow their example. It's not a 
 new idea to me, and I have an embroidered handkerchief, 
 nearly finished, which I intend to mark in full, ' Eunice 
 Ludlow, of Saratoga ; ' you see it would be my name and 
 Cousin John's little girl's name too, and would be killing 
 two birds with one stone, you know." 
 
 *< I hope Miss Simpson will teach 'em better than to 
 throw stones at birds, particularly out of such a nice 
 handkerchief as that," said Mrs. Sharpe. 
 
 Mrs. Bingham, who had been a silent listener, 
 could scarcely repress her indignation, and her sense of 
 wrong, and ventured to repeat the old-fashioned maxim, 
 that *' Charity begins at home," and to mention again the 
 claims of Mrs. Elmer ; when Mrs. Smith, feeling very 
 sensitive about the family, and sustained, as she thought, 
 by the popular vote, took occasion to express herself more 
 fully in regard to them. 
 
 **I don't want to prejudice nobody, but I've tried to 
 help that family, if anybody ever tried to endeavor to do 
 anything, and I don't mean to let their ingratitude and 
 unthankfulness aiFect me, but then it's very trying." 
 
 "Ingratitude is very hard to bear," exclaimed Mrs. 
 Ludlow. 
 
 " But it does not lessen our obligations to be charitable. 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 273 
 
 The commands and the promises nowhere put in the grat- 
 itude of the recipient of favor as a condition of our 
 charity. We never find ' He that giveth to the grateful 
 poor, lendeth to the Lord/ else we might lose the reward 
 hereafter, by lowering our motives to the price of human 
 praise and human gratitude," said Mrs. Bingham. 
 
 ** Yes," answered Mrs. Smith, *' but you can't say it 
 aint discouraging to find the objects of our bounty proud 
 and extravagant, besides being low and poor. I don't 
 want to prejudice nobody, but facts is facts, and what I 
 say is to be depended on. Everybody knows that family 
 got along well enough before he went away, but the way 
 she has managed since, just shows how much she knows. 
 Miss Ludlow knows about it as well as I do, this big blue 
 velvet chair is one of her extravagances ; it looked just 
 like new when she sold it here, and they just took it out 
 of charity ; " here Mrs. Smith ceased her violent rocking, 
 and arose for the ladies to express their horror or their 
 admiration, as their expressions were divided between the 
 chair and its former owner. 
 
 * ' That's nothing at all compared to the pin that opened 
 my eyes," continued Mrs. Smith. ' * After he had been gone 
 a spell, and I heard how she was selling ofi'her fineries, I 
 knew she had a costly pin, and so I went over prepared to 
 give her full as much as it was worth in old gold. 
 But I wan't goifig to buy a cat in a bag, so I just give a 
 good look at it. I knew it was genniwine, because he sent 
 it to her from Calaforny, and everything is genniwine that 
 comes from there. But such a pin you never did see. 
 
 *' On the front side of it there -was a locket lid, and under 
 it was George Elmer just as natural as life, only his face 
 was peekeder than ever, and his bcaid longer. It looked 
 
274 3fAEr ELMER, OR 
 
 as though he had not shaved sence he went away. On the 
 outside of the lid was some plain checkered work ; but the 
 Inside of it beat everything. It was nothing more nor less 
 than a young one with a night-gown on, and a pair of 
 wings on its back. I could not see that it looked anything 
 like their cubs only them everlastin' curls. -I was glad 
 they had modesty enough to put it inside. I shouldn't be 
 willing to have one of my children taken in such a plight, 
 it's bad enougli to have them look like fury around every 
 day. But the motto capped the climax. I copied it with 
 my big gold pencil, it read ' a dieii pour vous.^ I did not 
 ask her what it meant, for I did not want to condescend, 
 but my niece translated it for me. It's French, and means 
 * ado for you.' I must say it's rather proper after all, 
 for she made a fuss about him, after he had gone, and I 
 g'pose he took this way to return the compliment, and make 
 an ado for her. Of course such a pin would not do for a 
 person of any taste, and so I did not even make her an 
 offer for it." 
 
 ^'I've heard of that pin before, my husband offered to 
 take it once, on some rent that she wanted to get out of 
 paying; he managed to get an. old clock. and that was all. 
 I guess she had rather stick to her finery, than to pay her 
 honest debts, ".said Mrs. Sharpe. 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted by the entrance 
 of Deacon Ludlow and Rev. Mr. Binghanf, who had been 
 invited to take tea with the ladles. Sam Ludlow soon 
 made his appearance also. He was being got ready for 
 school in a distant town, and this fact seemed to add so 
 much to his social importance, that he was now expected to 
 be introduced to company. 
 
 It did not however cause him to forget any of his old 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 275 
 
 tricks, for he invariably managed to say or do something 
 to vex and mortify his sisters. 
 
 The conversation seemed to take a more reliijious turn 
 upon the entrance of the minister. Mrs. Sharpe began to 
 express her interest in a revival which was in successful 
 progress in a neighboring town, and where two of her 
 nieces had been hopefully converted. 
 
 "That's just what we want here," said Mrs. Smith. 
 " I've been telling Mr. Smith I did so wish there was an 
 opportunity for him to get religion." 
 
 " There was a wonderful awakening at Saratoga, while 
 I was at Cousin John's. Mr. and Mrs. Simpson's visit 
 caused a gTcat deal of emotion there ; perhaps you would 
 like to look at his farewell sermon," said Eunice, handing 
 Mr. Bingham her printed copy. ' 
 
 ' ' Maybe the ladies would like to hear some of it read 
 aloud," suggested Mrs. Ludlow. 
 
 "" I should so," replied Mrs. Smith. 
 
 And Mr. Bingham read from the closing paragraphs : — 
 
 " We have now voluntarily banished ourselves from all 
 the endearments, the attractions and refinements, of a home 
 in civilized life. Turned our backs upon all these to 
 become laboring exiles, in that far distant portion of the 
 Lord's vineyard, to which we now pray the gales to waft 
 us swiftly onward, though at the risk of a watery grave. ^ 
 
 " I'm afraid very few of us would be willing to follow 
 Miss Simpson's noble example, and leave all to follow the 
 Lord ! " exclaimed Eunice, with a patient sigh of unappre- 
 ciated merit. 
 
 ' ' That could be decided better if more missionaries come 
 over after wives," said Sam, with a significant grin, " I 
 rather guess there would be something of a scattering 
 among the old maids." 
 
276 MAEY ELMER, OR 
 
 Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Sharpe exchanged smiles. Mrs. 
 Squires directed her eyes more closely to her work. Mr. 
 Bingham became silently interested in the sermon, and a 
 pause ensued, until Mrs. Ludlow announced that " tea 
 was ready." 
 
 On the Society book it was written that there should 
 always be a plain tea, — ** Biscuit and apple-sauce, and 
 only one kind of cake." Some of the guests were therefore 
 a little surprised, when, on taking seats at the table, they 
 were served with soda biscuit, raised biscuit, buns, and 
 strawberry shortcake, cider apple-sauce, crab-apple sauce, 
 pineapple, and apple jelly. Then there were fruit cake, 
 plain cake, and cookies. 
 
 Mrs. Sharpe thought they were liable to a fine, for break- 
 ing the rules of the Society. But Miss Eunice explained 
 it very satisfactorily, — " You all see there's only biscuit 
 and apple-sauce, and as for the cake, there is only one kind, 
 the fruit cake is just like the other, only it has some raisins 
 and a little citron stirred in, and the cookies are just the 
 same dough with a little more flour, and a few caraways 
 added." 
 
 Mrs. Smith said, that according to her Ideas, it was 
 breaking the rules in the right direction, and for her part 
 she was willing to swallow the offence, as she helped 
 herself to a large slice of fruit cake, laughing audibly at 
 her own attempted wit. 
 
 Soon after tea Mr. and Mrs. Bingham expressed their 
 desire to leave. Mr. Bingham had promised to make a 
 sick call, and Mrs. Bingham was to go to see Mrs. Lee, 
 whom she had not seen In a long time, and her husband 
 was to join her at Mrs. Lee's, to return home. 
 
 There was an immediate lengthening of faces as Mr. 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 277 
 
 Bingham spoke of going, and such a universal expression 
 of interest in the welfare of Zion, and such a desire for a 
 special effort expressed by several, that Mr. Bingham felt 
 compelled to propose obtaining the assistance of Mr. Phil- 
 lips, a noted revivalist, to help in the work, and it was 
 decided that he should write immediately for the desired aid. 
 Miss Eunice expressed her regret at the necessity of the 
 sick call, and wished the visit to Mrs. Lee could be post- 
 poned, the company would regret so much to lose them so 
 early in the evening. 
 
 *' Better have 'em find out who that chap at Mrs. Lee's 
 is," said Sam, with his usual significant leer at Eunice. 
 No one replied. Mr. Bingham was called upon to address 
 the Throne of Grace, and made a short but earnest prayer, 
 when Mr. and Mrs. Bingham bade the company good 
 night. As soon as they were out of hearing, Sam said 
 *' That was a pretty good oration to the Lord."' And on 
 being reproved for his irreverence, very gravely asked his 
 mother to explain the difference between an *' oration to 
 the Lord," and an *' address to the Throne of Grace." 
 You see I am going to school and I want to understand 
 these things." 
 24 
 
278 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 T Mrs. Lee's, Mr. Bingham found Dr. Charles 
 Lee, the person to whom Sam Ludlow had refer- 
 ence. ' He is a nephew of the late Dr. Lee, and 
 has stopped to pay a visit on his return from Cali- 
 fornia. It is not his first visit to our little town ; years before 
 he had come hither with the intention of studying medicine 
 wdth his uncle. The intention, however, had been hastily 
 overruled by the sad dispensation, with which our story 
 begins, and after his uncle's lamented death he had com- 
 pleted his course in a neighboring city, and subsequently 
 practised in San Francisco, where his earnest efforts had 
 been rewarded by the esteem and confidence of a large 
 and thriving practice, as well as by those more material 
 returns which the world counts as the criterion of success. 
 The relation of Dr. Lee's pleasant adventures, assisted 
 no doubt by her own determination not to dwell upon sad 
 or painful memories during his visit, had already told 
 favorably upon Mrs. Lee's health, and nearly every pleasant 
 day found them riding or walking out in company. 
 
 On one of these occasions, as they were passing tlie 
 residence of the Smiths, the attention of Dr. Lee was 
 arrested by the dog Bounce lying near the gate, and walk- 
 ing more slowly and eying the dog with increased interest 
 he said, ** I declare, aunty, that dog looks like an old 
 acquaintance." 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 279 
 
 His interest in the noble fellow increased as Bounce im- 
 mediately jumped up and running up to them, placed his 
 left foot immediately upon the Doctor's hand. " I really 
 believe I have found an old patient said the Doctor." 
 
 ' ' And so I am to Infer that your practice extended to 
 dogs," said Mrs. Lee, smiling at the rapid progress of 
 their mutual recognition. 
 
 *' I don't hesitate to own It did to this fellow," replied 
 the Doctor examining a well-defined scar on Bounce's still 
 extended foot. " I think there's no mistake; this Is poor 
 Elmer's dog, and that scar shows the very spot where his 
 foot was hurt while he was in the mines." 
 
 *' Was it George Elmer?" asked Mrs. Lee, with inter- 
 est, ' ' the young man who went from this place ? " 
 
 " I never knew where he was from, I think the name 
 was George- — the man was sick in the hospital, and had a 
 pretty severe time with a prevailing fever. " 
 
 *' Yes, I believe he died of it, after a time ; at least that 
 was the report which was brought back here." 
 
 *' Oh no, he did not die of the fever; he was very ill 
 for a long time, but I remember distinctly that he recov- 
 ered and went to work again." 
 
 ** Did you ever see Smith, the shoemaker? " 
 
 ' ' I don't know that I did ; there were any number of 
 Smiths there but I don't recollect having a particular 
 acquaintance with any of them." 
 
 ' ' Then you never knew what became of Elmer after his 
 sickness ? " said Mrs. Lee inquiringly. 
 
 '* I think he was in the hospital when I left, and that 
 was some months afterward." 
 
 Mrs. Lee was very much interested in what she had 
 learned of the husband of her friend, and that very even- 
 
280 MAEY ELMER, OR 
 
 ing availed herself of the opportunity, while her nephew- 
 was writing to his family, of going out to carry to Mrs. 
 Elmer the intelligence which she was so happy to be the 
 medium of conveying. 
 
 As she approached the house and was thinking how to 
 give expression to the good news in store for her friend, 
 little Mary, who had discovered her approach, ran out to 
 meet her, exclaiming, 
 
 ** How glad I am you have come ! mamma has got a 
 letter and it made her almost well, and my papa was alive 
 all the time, and Mr. Smith told a naughty story ; is it not 
 wonderful ? " 
 
 Mrs. Lee kissed the little girl in congratulation, and 
 went into the house, where her tears of sympathy were 
 soon mingled with the drops of joy that flowed freely down 
 Susan's face as they spoke together words of gratitude to 
 God for the blessed tidings which had been so long delayed. 
 
 We cannot furnish our readers a copy of the letter 
 which gave Susan so much pleasure, for she had not that 
 vulgar ambition of display which might have induced some 
 to send it to the newspapers ; nor did she circulate It about 
 for • neighborhood comment and criticism. Those, there- 
 fore, who wish to know more of George Elmer will be 
 compelled to go with us on the long journey to California. 
 And as it will only be fair to give our friends a parting 
 call before taking leave of them for the long journey, we 
 will stop at the meeting-house on the w^ay. 
 
 The new lamps are now in constant use, for while we 
 have been engaged in other matters, the revival has not 
 only been fairly Inaugurated but is going on with increased 
 activity and zeal. And as it is the opinion of those most 
 interested, that its prosperity is wholly owing to the efforts 
 
TRIALS AND CITANGES. 281 
 
 of Kev. Mr. Phillips, some may wish a more formal intro- 
 duction to this distinguished revivalist. He is a person 
 rather above the medium height, with large hazel eyes 
 which, but for a total lack of expression, might be called 
 beautiful. His coal-black hair was parted in a fashion which 
 showed no neglect from its owner ; his manner is affable 
 and conciliating, and his dress of glossy black broadcloth 
 as faultless as the most fastidious tailor could devise. Some 
 insinuating person has intimated that a sudden improve- 
 ment in his personal appearance is closely connected with 
 the recent death of his wife ; and a facetious friend has 
 hinted that even his hair has become several Shades darker 
 to match the new mourning suit ; but of the truth of these 
 hints we are not personally responsible, although certain 
 it is, that his popularity has never suffered in consequence 
 of the fact that Mr. Phillips is a widower. 
 
 His sermons, in the opinion of some, were mere plati- 
 tudes, with a faint shadow of an idea clothed in one weak 
 syllogism after another, but without force or pith, while 
 his prayers were only a medley of threatened wrath to 
 evil doers, a report of neighborhood gossip, and a dispen- 
 sation of full and free salvation to the elect ; but whatever 
 of adverse criticism might be bestowed upon these efforts, 
 there was a charm and sweetness in the melody of his voice 
 to which not even the most hostile could listen without 
 admiration. The sentiments which he made this heaven- 
 bestowed talent the means of conveying, may be better 
 learned from one of his favorite hymns, than from any 
 words of ours, and we copy one of them from the printed 
 sheets which were liberally distributed throughout the 
 
 church : — 
 
 24* 
 
282 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 JESUS PAID IT ALL. 
 
 Nothing either great or small 
 Remains for me to do; 
 
 Jesus died and paid it all, 
 Yes, all the debt I owe. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Jesus paid it all, 
 All the debt I owe, 
 Jesus died and paid it all. 
 Yes, all the debt I owe; 
 Jesus paid it, paid it, all. 
 
 When He from his lofty throne 
 . Stooped down to do and die, 
 Everything was fully done. 
 Yes <• Finished" was his cry. 
 
 CHOKUS. 
 
 Weary, working, plodding one, 
 Oh, wherefore toil you so? 
 
 Cease your doing, all was done. 
 Ages IdDg ago. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Till to Jesus' work you cling. 
 
 Alone by simple faith ; 
 " Doing " is a deadly thing, 
 Doing ends in death. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Cast your deadly doing down, 
 
 Down at Jesus, feet; 
 Stand in him, in him alone, 
 
 Glorious and complete. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 We will leave the spiritual affiiirs of our friends to the 
 pastoral care of their musical shepherd, while we make a 
 hasty trip to California for the purpose of inquiring after 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 283 
 
 our friends at San Francisco. We shall not ask you to 
 brave the perils by sea of a voyage around the Cape, nor 
 the risks and hazards of a railroad trip, because we prefer 
 the safer and more direct line of our own imagination. 
 
 It is true that Smith has left George Ehner very sick 
 indeed, and the fever has long seemed to defy the physi- 
 cian's skill and the nurse's care. Before this calamity had 
 overtaken him, however, he had, while yet the enthu- 
 siasm of a new enterprise lasted, accumulated a thousand 
 dollars which he had confided to Smith'« offered charge for 
 the little family at home. Elmer was too ill at the time 
 of the transaction to attend to any legal papers, and the 
 worse sickness which followed had so impaired his mem- 
 ory that he had never even wondered why it was never 
 heard from. He had lingered long, conscious only of the 
 change from intense pain to a languid stupor, and when 
 the violence of the disease had at last passed away, the 
 wild expression of the eye and the strange incoherence of 
 speech formed no uncertain indication of the sad havoc of 
 disease. 
 
 Thouo^i his mental faculties had suffered much under the 
 painful malady, yet as his strength returned, with it came 
 back so much of George Elmer's former enterprise that he 
 was soon able to apply himself to the practice of his old 
 business of dentistry. 
 
 A little office had been provided in a part of the hospi- 
 tal for a former patient,, and as such services were in great 
 demand and George had always been a skilful workman, 
 he was soon gaining a handsome remuneration ; he never 
 spoke of his family or friends, and was always quiet and 
 reserved towards every one except the little children, who 
 frequently came in to bring flowers or dainties to the pa- 
 
284 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 tients, and on whom he bestowed the curious little devices, 
 the manufacture of which occupied his leisure. 
 
 There was in the same ward with Elmer a man by the 
 name of Goulding, who had been seriously injured by the 
 blasting of a rock, and brought in some time after Elmer. 
 For many weeks each failed to recognize the other as an 
 old acquaintance and former partner ; yet it was not very 
 strange, for Goulding had supposed with many others that 
 Elmer had died of the fever ; and the effects of that fearful* 
 malady upon the memory of the latter, had prevented his 
 recognizing any person except those who had been con- 
 stantly with him. 
 
 It was a matter of surprise to Goulding that after a rec- 
 of^nition had taken place, Elmer received with such 
 indifference his accounts of the richness of the claims in 
 which they owned a mutual interest ; and not until one 
 evening when Mrs. Goulding had come in as usual to 
 spend an hour with her husband did Elmer appear fully 
 to have recovered his former, self. Goulding had asked 
 his wife to sing for him, and as she finished the second 
 stanza of that sweet little song entitled ' ' Star of the Eve- 
 ning,^ noticing the strange effect the words seemed to 
 have upon his friend, Goulding begged her to stop. 
 
 Elmer's face was pale with emotion, and his eyes dim 
 with unshed tears, as he asked in a tremulous voice, 
 " Where's my wife? Where's Susan, and why does not 
 she come and sing the Shining Star to me?" 
 
 Some of the attendants were alarmed, and feared a re- 
 lapse of the disease, but they soon learned that it was only 
 the sv/eet, soothing power of music that had roused that 
 hidden chain in which the thoughts of those he loved had 
 so lon'^ been lulled, and he grew calmer as the recollection 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 285 
 
 of that far-away fireside, the worn and wasted form of the 
 aged grandmother, the earnest but uncomplaining face of 
 his wife, and the happy voices of his little children, seemed 
 to come like a beacon of life and hope to the storm-bound, 
 ocean-wrecked mariner. He soon indited the letter, of the 
 safe arrival of which we have learned, and as he intends 
 very soon to follow it. we will go back to find what prepara- 
 tions are being made for his return. 
 
 The news of the arrival of a letter from George Elmer 
 soon spread through the town, where it shared with the 
 sayings and doings of the new converts, among whom 
 Sam Ludlow and J. P: Smith were prominent in being the 
 principal topics of conversation. 
 
 Mr. J. Pixley Smith was among the first to call upon 
 Mrs. Elmer to inquire the particulars of the letter ; and as 
 the facts in relation to the money, and. also some allusions 
 to the dog came to light, Smith's interest In the affair be- 
 came decidedly personal, and he interrupted Mrs. Elmer 
 before she had finished reading, by saying, 
 
 *' I've been intending this long time to come in and ex- 
 plain matters to you. You know we have tried to share 
 the burden of your children with you, and then we've kept 
 the dog; dogs are great eaters, and it would eat you out 
 of house and home to have such a voracious fellow as 
 Bounce around ; but if you want the critter, you can have 
 him. Then as to money matters, you seemed so comfort- 
 able I thought it best to save what I had for you till a 
 rainy day; but if you think you need any, Is'pose I must 
 let you have some, though women folks in general squan- 
 der it awfully." 
 
 Mrs. Elmer might perhaps have been overcome with 
 indignation at this speech had not her heart been too full 
 
286 MARY ELMER, OR 
 
 of gladness at the thought of her husband's return, and she 
 replied, *' God has taken care of us so far, and he will not 
 forsake us now. You can bring the money or leave it to 
 settle with Mr. Elmer, for I am not anxious to have any 
 transactions with you." 
 
 Mr. Smith felt very angry at the honest indignation 
 Avhich Mrs. Elmer had expressed, but as there was now no 
 apparent benefit to be derived from delay, he immediately 
 applied himself to collecting the amount. 
 
 He availed himself of the advantage which his conspicu- 
 ousness in the late revival had given him, and as he was 
 now counted among the " active brethren," and his wife 
 directress in " The Muffletegawny Missionary Aid Society," 
 the brilliant thought of circulating a subscription paper for 
 the benefit of that popular institution, occurred to him, and 
 wishing to show his liberality, his zeal, and his pecuniary 
 ability in one bold stroke, he headed the list with a donation 
 of one hundred dollars. It was soon increased by the addi- 
 tion of smaller sums, and in a short time he was able to 
 hand over the thousand to Mrs. Elmer, beside leaving a 
 comfortable sum for his own pocket. 
 
 The dog which had been pronounced " a nuisance," 
 *' a cuss," and " a filthy squadruped," at the Smith resi- 
 dence, w^as the subject of an excited " family scene " when 
 Smith declared his intention to give it away. Mrs. Smith 
 called him a cruel, hard-hearted monster to give away the 
 only thing the children ever did care anything about. The 
 girls pouted, and declared they wouldn't go to school; 
 Ferdinand shut Bounce in the bedroom, and placing him- 
 self against the door, armed with his father's cane declared 
 ** he'd see if the old man dared to touch his dorg." Mean- 
 time Smith retreated to the back yard and waited till the 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 287 
 
 excitement was over, and then coaxing Bounce with a beef 
 bone which he had picked up in the morning at a butcher's 
 stall and had been carrying for that purpose all day, he led 
 the dog in the direction of Mrs. Elmer's, where he was 
 soon discovered by Johnnie, who had been some time 
 watching for his appearance. He was soon joined by 
 Mary to whom he had conveyed information of the impor- 
 tant arrival. 
 
 There was a very joyful meeting between the little girl 
 and her old friend who seemed to forget the ill usage he 
 had received from the youthful Smiths so much as to make 
 every demonstration of friendship to Johnnie and Georgie 
 to whom she gave him the most flattering introduction. 
 As the former annoyances were removed, Bounce became 
 not only the friend and companion of the Elmers, but the 
 favorite of the neighborhood, where his somewhat unusual 
 history had made him an object of more than ordinary 
 interest. 
 
 Mrs. Maddock was quite overcome with delight at the 
 good fortune of the Elmers, although she declared it had 
 all happened just as she had expected ever since she heard 
 that dream. 
 
 Mrs. Lee improved the earliest opportunity which Har- 
 riet's visit afforded to investigate the affair of the mysterious 
 disappearance of the note, and had succeeded in settling 
 it with Deacon Ludlow by giving him a receipt in full on 
 his paying the exact amount which had been inclosed in 
 the letter. The deacon congratulated himself on being 
 abundantly able to meet the demand, expressing at the 
 same time his satisfaction that Sam was done sowing 
 his wild oats and had " got religion" now, while it was 
 evident that the thought of Sam's making any restitution 
 
288 3fARY JSLMEE, OR 
 
 for the wrong he had done never once occurred to the 
 deacon's mind. The teachers tell me Sam is doing first 
 rate now, and I am glad we had that revival just in time 
 to save him. 
 
 Those who wish to be informed of this young gentleman 
 from his own words, can do so by reading a letter which 
 has lately been received from him by John Sharpe, a son 
 of Mrs. Elmer's former landlord. 
 
 Dear Jack, — It's an awful long time since I heard from 
 you. I was dreadful sorry you got shut up just as I came 
 away, for I wanted to see you desperately. I'm sorry you 
 want there to get religion when I did ; I tell you it's the 
 best investment I've made lately, for it helps a fellow along 
 mightily. This is a first rate school ; I can stay out as late 
 as I please, and no questions asked, but if one of the chaps 
 that hasn't got religion is caught away from his room after 
 nine, he gets a walking ticket, — whew! 
 
 I tell you; Jackjwe had a gay old examination. I got ex- 
 cused from my classes to practise my oration. I wrote on 
 " Religious Forms," for I knew all the old dominies and 
 deacons would be appointed judges, and the fellow that put 
 in the most piety would get the prize. I took care to put 
 in a good rouser about the " old dragon and the old seven 
 hills." You see it's always safe to give popery 9, death 
 blow ; besides, denunciation suits my stjde of oratory. 
 
 It took like a molasses Aj'-'trap, and I got a tremendous 
 big Bible for the first prize. I sold it for four fifty, and our 
 society, the L. A.'s had a gay old spree on that, you may 
 bet. We have a uniform here for parade days and such 
 like. It's a grand arrangement, for we wear the old things 
 that the others leave, and then the money answers lots of 
 purposes. 
 
 There's an Episcopal society here ; they've got a real nice 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 289 
 
 meeting-house, and a very polite chap for a minister. They 
 are ever so popular, and I had quite a notion of joining 
 them, but the fellow has taken a pious turn of late and be- 
 gins to talk about self-denial and alms deeds in a way that 
 I don't relish. I like the notion of every-day piety ; that 
 means something you can always make useful. Now's the 
 present time, and a bird in the hand is worth two in the 
 bush. This going without your beef-steak and sticking to 
 codfish and mackerel six weeks in March is what I call a 
 scaly performance. I wish you would write as soon as pos- 
 sible and tell me how all the folks are getting along. I won- 
 der if Eunice will make out to catch Mr. Phillips. • Vm 
 glad you kept dark about that old Elmer afiair. I have 
 never felt just right about it ; I knew the old man would 
 fork over if I only got religion. After all it was not a 
 mighty sight meaner than his buying her chairs for less than 
 half they were worth, because he knew she was obliged to 
 sell them. If ever I make a lift again, it will be on an Ex- 
 press Office or a bank ; there's something mean in robbing a 
 poor widow, but then if I get as much saving faith as the 
 old man has, I shan't be so scrupulous. I am going into 
 the storage and foraging business as soon as I get through 
 here, and if that don't pay I may come back and marry 
 Mary Elmer, by way of righting old scores ; that is if 
 Elmer really brings back the dust. 
 
 Yours forever, 
 
 Sam Ludlow. 
 
 P.S. Please direct your letter to Miss Sarah Loomis 
 
 care of S. Ludlow Esq. You see we are expected to have 
 
 our letters sent to the care of the professors, who take pains 
 
 to read them for us, and I want to save them that trouble. 
 
 Yours again, 
 
 S. L. 
 
 On receiving the sums of money from Mrs. Lee and 
 25 
 
290 MART EL3IER, OR 
 
 Mr. SmltPi, Mrs. Elmer's first care was to secure for her- 
 self and family a home, where they and her expected hus- 
 band would be more comfortable. And although their 
 present prosperity, as indicated in George's letter, might 
 warrant them in selecting some more aspiring locality, it 
 was Susan's highest ambition to return to the little cot- 
 tage where they had first started housekeeping, and from 
 which George had gone forth on his journey. 
 
 Here the pleasures of their early wedded years had 
 been crowned with joy, by the birth of their first-born 
 child, the darling Mary ; and here Jolmnle had received a 
 father's smile of welcome, and a mother's kiss of love, as 
 he added new happiness to a home which had been already 
 full of light and gladness. And in later years, when the 
 rough winds of adversity seemed untempered to the shorn 
 lambs, and the dark, hard hand of poverty seemed ready 
 to crush them, had little Georgie brought the smiles of 
 infant innocence to cheer once more the desolate home, 
 and to prevent the thoughts of his mother from flowing 
 always In the same dark channel. 
 
 Here, too, had been learned many a lesson of trusting 
 hope, and patient, quiet submission, from the example of 
 that aged mother, whose memory was still embalmed In 
 the si»>-hs, and dewed with the tears of affectionate remem- 
 brance. 
 
 The little cottage was soon engaged, and the few prepa- 
 rations for moving were quickly completed. INIrs. Mad- 
 ^dock, with characteristic liberality, declared that it would 
 be time enough for her to take the rest, when George 
 Elmer was safe home again. 
 
 As Susan and the children were following their little 
 stock of furniture to their new home, she was startled by 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. ' 291 
 
 the sight of a carnage at the door, and quite excited at the 
 thought that her husband had possibly preceded her there. 
 Her surprise abated, however, when on entering the house 
 she found her visitor to be Mrs. Bennet Squires, who had 
 lately returned from an absence of several weeks. 
 
 It had been the surprise and horror of many of her 
 neighbors, that she could think of going away just in the 
 midst of the revival; and Mrs. Smith had even gone so 
 far as publicly to propose her name as a subject for their 
 prayers. 
 
 Certainly the religion of ^Irs. Squires was very differ- 
 ent from that of Mrs. Smith ; for she was always ready to 
 assist the poor by her sympathy and her bounty, without 
 makinor a cataloG:ue of their faults. While she sjave to her 
 equals or her superiors in worldly things, the offices of 
 kindness, without taking the census of their virtues ; she 
 never made it her business to censure or find fault with 
 her clergyman, even though his sermons contained doc- 
 trines and opinions quite at variance with her own. Nor 
 did she sneer at, or find fault with those persons who 
 thought they found aids to piety and excellence in things 
 wdiich to her judgment appeared only the excitement of 
 passion , or the sway of popular public sentiment ; ever 
 showing a commendable respect for honest differences of 
 opinion and of belief. 
 
 The object of the present visit added another to the 
 many kindnesses with which she had made glad the home 
 of the Elmers ; for she had come to place in its old cor- 
 ner the little clock, of whose existence she had first heard 
 at the society at Deacon Ludlow's. She had been anx- 
 ious to give to Susan some token of the pleasure she felt 
 at the new turn of events, and could not have found a 
 more welcome expression of her kindness. 
 
292 MART ELMER, OR 
 
 Many other pieces of furniture found their way back ; 
 the blue velvet rocking-chair soon took its accustomed 
 commanding position in the little front parlor, and really 
 looks almost as bright as before its stay at the Deacon's, 
 where the hospitality had never been such as to tell unfa- 
 vorably upon the parlor furniture. Susan was very glad 
 to get the chair again ; it had been one of her few wed- 
 ding presents, and was the gift of a liberal and w^ealthy 
 friend, in New York City. 
 
 Deacon Ludlow had shown considerable reluctance at 
 l\Irs. Elmer's request to repurchase the chair. *• I — I — I 
 s'pose you know I never ofieved my furniture for sale, 
 Miss Elmer," he said ; but Susan distinctly remembered 
 the well-feigned reluctance with which he had paid her the 
 paltry sum of six dollars for it. She could almost hear 
 his words again, as he said, <' 'Taint everybody that would 
 want to buy an odd piece of furniture like that, and you 
 will find it pretty heavy to carry round, if you try to sell 
 it that way." 
 
 Remembering these things as Susan did, she gained 
 courage to urge her request, which the Deacon hesitatingly 
 acknowledged. 
 
 *' I don't know, but being it's you, I shall hev to let 
 you take it for ten dollars ; 'taint a circumstance to what 
 it's worth ; besides you see furniture is riz." 
 
 Susan had just got comfortably settled, when George 
 returned. We shall not intrude upon the pleasure of their 
 first meeting ; but several weeks have now passed, since 
 the scattered members of the loving household were re- 
 united, and though tender and mournful remembrances of 
 the past mingle with the pleasures of the present hour, 
 and give them a subdued and chastened coloring, theirs 
 
TRIALS AND CHANGES. 293 
 
 is a quiet happiness which glittering splendor and dashing 
 grandeur might covet in vain. 
 
 George Elmer sits beside the work-table, reading the 
 last numl^er of the Dental Journal, while Susan sits near, 
 plying her needle as in days of old. Georgie is asleep, 
 and Johnnie is at play building a miniature village. 
 Jerusha sits in a retired corner, where Mary is assisting 
 her to learn her lesson for the Bible class. She is still 
 living at Mrs. Lee's, and frequently comes over to visit 
 her early friend. Bounce lies upon a comfortable rug 
 beside the stove, looking contented and happy, in spite of 
 all the trials and changes through which he had pas:ded, 
 and watching his matter's eyes whenever they turn, wliile 
 with an instinct almost human, he makes his master's wel- 
 come understood. 
 
 When George Elmer had finished reading the paper, he 
 folded it carefully, and laying it upon the table turned to 
 Susan, and in a tone which brought a smile of recognition 
 upon Mary's face, said, — 
 
 " Come, Susy, sing The Shining Star." 
 
 And soon that cheerful room echoed with the well- 
 remembered words, as they all united in the chorus, — 
 
 Look np,my soul,be like the lark, 
 
 That singing soars afar, 
 There's not a cloud, however dark, 
 
 But veils a shining star. 
 25* 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
 HAYE been a full year at Timberville, and have 
 never yet told you a word about it. And as you 
 know nothing concerning it, excepting that it does 
 not lie on the direct route to anywhere, but off on 
 one side by itself, I'll be bound but you think it a little bit 
 of a quiet, unimportant village, made up of a tavern, a 
 store, a meeting-house, a blacksmith's shop, and a few strag- 
 gling dwelling houses. How mistaken you are. Timber- 
 ville is a large village — a very large village. I should not 
 wonder if we should be a city in a few years ; for we are 
 a very enterprising people, and there is a deal of business 
 done here. ^Ye have ever so many streets, and any 
 quantity of tall, white houses, belonging to no particular 
 order of architecture, but invariably graced with piazzas, 
 adorned with four huge columns. We have, also, plenty 
 of red brick mansions with a great many green window 
 blinds ; and also, now and then, a handsome stone dwell- 
 ing. And, like all populous and thriving villages, we 
 have our complement of forlorn, shabby, rickety old 
 shells, stuffed full of beings as forlorn and shabby as them- 
 selves. Poverty, vice, and intemperance abound here. 
 No doubt we shall be a city in a few years. 
 
 (297) 
 
298 LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
 TImberville is delightfully situated on both sides of a 
 beautiful little stream, (or, as our enterprising villagers 
 say, 2^ has fine mill privileges,) and surrounded by tree- 
 clad hills. I am never weary looking at our hills, beauti- 
 ful at all times, but particularly so in the autumn, when 
 they are arrayed in a robe of every variety of color, from 
 the most gorgeous crimson to the softest ash. «' What 
 beautiful hills ! " said I, enthusiastically, as I was one day 
 walking with a worthy gentleman. <' Yes — yes — fine 
 timberland," said he. 
 
 Our society is very much like the society In all growing 
 villages. We have good people and bad people ; rich 
 people and poor people ; wise people and ignorant people ; 
 liberal people and stingy people; sharp people and dull 
 people ; cute people and nmib people ; industrious people 
 and lazy people. People who mind their own business 
 and people who mind their neighbors' business. Honest 
 people and dishonest people ; literary people and illiterate 
 people, and soi disant literary people (excuse that French 
 word.) We have gay people and serious people; noisy 
 people and quiet people; people who go to church and 
 people who stay away from church. We have temperate 
 people and intemperate people. People who read the 
 newspaper, and people who have *' other fish to fry." 
 People who take *' Godey" and people who borrow 
 " Godey." We shall certainly be a city before many 
 years. 
 
 We have all sorts of societies, too. Missionary socie- 
 ties, Bible societies, tract societies, sewing societies, 
 maternal societies, mutual improvement societies, sons of 
 temperance and daughters of temperance societies, odd 
 fellows' societies, and an odd ladles' society, composed 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 299 
 
 chiefly of ancient maidens. We have freemasons' socie- 
 ties, literary societies, woman's rights societies, anti-every- 
 thing societies, benevolent societies for all sorts of objects, 
 " too numerous to mention," (as the menagerie bills say 
 when they get down to the monkeys.) In short, we have 
 every kind of society that you can possibly mention. Are 
 we not in a fair way of being a city ? 
 
 As is the case in almost all new enterprising villages, 
 the chief distinction among us is that of " rich and poor." 
 So soon as a man is able to put up, or even to hire, a large 
 house with two parlors and folding-doors, and furnish it 
 showily, he takes his standing among the Jirst. The one 
 grand object of the" Timbervilllans is to get rich. They 
 are all agog just now about California. Mr. Martin, and 
 Mr. Crandal, and Mr. Wiggins, have almost made up 
 their minds to abandon their respective occupations and set 
 off for the gold country ; and their wives are quite de- 
 lighted with the idea ; for Mrs. Martin wants a great many 
 things wlilch Mr. Martin, rich as he is, cannot afford now. 
 And Mrs. Crandal is very desirous that Mr. Crandal 
 should go, in order that he may come back able to build a 
 grander house than Mr. Martin's, with larger columns and 
 more green blinds. She knows she's as good as Mrs. 
 Martin, any day, and she'd like to let other people know it. 
 And Mrs. Wi2:o:ins teases her husband from morninoj till 
 night to " Go to Californy, where they say you've only 
 to dig up the gold just as you would potaters ; " for she 
 does want a house of her own, and a sofy and some curtings 
 as good as that stuck.-\x^ Mrs. Crandal's ; and she fears 
 that Mr. Wiggins will never be able to get them as long as 
 he stays here and delves away at his trade. " Gold ! 
 gold ! gold ! " is the cry from every mouth, old and young. 
 Oh, we shall soon be a city. 
 
300 LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
 I would like to introduce you to some of our first, and 
 let you see in what sort of society I have the honor to 
 mingle. Now do not suppose that I have procured the 
 ability to present you among the *' upper ten," by one of 
 the aforesaid tall houses with big parlors and folding- 
 doors ; by no means ; I am only a boarder in Timberville. 
 But where shall we go? — to a party? Now, pray, don't 
 turn up your nose at the idea of a party in Timberville. 
 I assure you, we have our parties, real genuine ones, too, 
 as good as any in Philadelphia — assemble at ten o'clock 
 — have supper at twelve or one — dance all night, and 
 ' ' don't go home till morning " — for the Timbervillians 
 would think it very ungenteel and countrified to keep 
 reasonable hours. We must be a city very soon. 
 
 But, on reflection, I tliink I'll not take you to a party — 
 they are too promiscuous. Nor will I bore you with a 
 sociable tea-drinking — decidedly one of the most tiresome 
 things in the world, the world over. And in Timberville 
 they are just what they are everywhere else, (making 
 allowance for some few local peculiarities.) The ladies 
 collecting in little knots ; some talking scandal, some more 
 innocently discussing the fashions, but by far the greater 
 portion descanting upon the various trials and troubles they 
 have with their ' ' helps ; " while the very small sprinkling 
 of the sterner sex — who never talk at such G^atherinofs, 
 and who go only because their wives insist upon it — are 
 leaning back in their chairs against the wall, half asleep, 
 and heartily wishing themselves at home, or in some place 
 more congenial with their tastes. 
 
 Suppose you go with me to one of our numerous socie- 
 ties. Don't be alarmed ; it's not to the <* odd ladies," nor 
 the *' daughters of temperance," nor the *' woman's rights 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 301 
 
 society," that we are going. I am not a member of any 
 of them. But put on your fix-ups, and prepare to accom- 
 pany me to the " Timberville literary circle," where you 
 will be sure to meet the elite (another French word — 
 pardon me — perhaps, however, you do not dislike to see 
 French and English mixed together as badly as I do). 
 We are to meet this very evening at the hospitable mansion 
 of Mrs. Bolton, a very literary lady ; but you shall see for 
 yourself — I'll not anticipate. Stop a moment; I must 
 put " Godey" in my pocket. .Not the veritable individual 
 himself. If his own account is to be trusted, that would 
 be rather more than I could do. But my *' Godey 's 
 Lady's Book" for the month. I am one of the readers for 
 this evening, and I find, by experience, that I am not half 
 as welcome when I come armed and equipped with an 
 original article as when I bring my '* Godey." 
 
 So here we go ; and as we are on our way, I will tell 
 you something about our " circle," and how I, little J, 
 came to be a member of so august a body. It was on this 
 wise. The good people discovered that I took the news- 
 papers ; not a very common thing in Timberville, where it 
 is usually as much as the inhabitants can " aiford" to take 
 some one of the village papers, of which we have three — 
 organs of the three political parties of the place — and 
 which blaze away at each other with a zeal worthy the 
 cause, and in a style equal to any of the city organs. 
 Young Mr. Morgan, the head clerk at the post-office, was 
 the first person who promulgated the important fact. He 
 told Miss Carpenter, and Miss Carpenter, who is a member 
 oftheliterary circle, announced, at the next meeting of that 
 society, that there was a lady boarding at Mrs. Pratt's who 
 took no less than four papers ; Mr. Morgan told her so 
 26 
 
302 LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
 himself; and she was sure I must be of a decidedly literary 
 turn. In fact, she had her suspicions that I was the author- 
 ess of certain sonnets signed *' Euphrasia," which had 
 been copied into the « ' Timberville Weekly Gazette and 
 People's Advocate.' If so, I would be quite an acquisition 
 to the " circle." (Miss Carpenter herself perpetrates 
 poetry, and is considered quite hlue.') The other members 
 thought that if I was not a literary character, I must at least 
 be nVA, or I could not afford to take so many papers, not- 
 withstanding I seemed to be living in such a plain, private 
 way. In either case, they decided that it would be safe to 
 invite me to attend the circle. 
 
 In pursuance of this resolution, I was waited upon by 
 Miss Carpenter and Mrs. Stokes, and favored with a very 
 learned conversation, kept up principally by Miss Car- 
 penter. Mrs. Stokes is not particularly literary — she 
 owes her membership to her very large parlors and great 
 skill in getting up a variety of refreshments. 
 
 On rising to take leave, the ladies (as is the custom in 
 Timberville) apologized most vehemently for not having 
 called before, and urged me very strongly to return their 
 visit very soon ; and Mrs. Stokes, after Miss Carpenter 
 had winked hard at her several times, to indicate that she 
 was the proper person to perform the office, invited me to 
 attend a literary sawree at her residence on the ensuing 
 evening. Which Miss Carpenter followed up with the re- 
 mark that she hoped I might find it " a desirable relief 
 from the undi versified monotony of a boarding life." Or 
 it might, as in her own case, *' afford a relaxation to tlie 
 mind after severer application and more profound occupa- 
 tion, to indulge for a time in the perusal of the lighter 
 literature of the day." 
 
LETTERS FR03I TIMBERVILLE. 3dB 
 
 I attended the sawree, (as Mrs. Stokes called It,) and 
 being soon after elected a member, have been quite regular 
 in my attendance since. And I assure you It Is, as Miss 
 Carpenter predicted, a relief to my mind and an amuse- 
 ment to my head, to come In contact with the variety of 
 characters which I there meet. 
 
 But here we are. Sit down beside me on this sofa ; the 
 members are not all here yet, and we shall have a little 
 time to chat before we are called to order. 
 
 That short, dumpy lady, who Is bobbing about in a very 
 stiff silk dress flounced nearly to the waist, is our hostess, 
 Mrs. Bolton. She is a great patroness of literature, and 
 herself a personage of remarkable erudition, and exces- 
 sively fond of reading. As she expresses it, she liter arilij 
 devours her favorite authors. It must be confessed that 
 she knows the names of a good many authors, and a good 
 many books, though she does not always match them quite 
 correctly. She thinks that Dean Swift has some genius ; 
 his ' ' Rasselas " Is a proof of it ; but it is a great pity that 
 he ever wrote so vulgar a book as " Don Quixote." She 
 says that Byron's *' Deserted Village " interests her sympa- 
 thies exceedingly, although the majority of critics pro- 
 nounce his "John Gilpin" his master-piece. She has a 
 perfect- passion for Milton's " Tasso " and " Dante," and 
 actually dotes on his " Lady of the Lake." 
 
 Such being her acquirements, she, of course, is very 
 capable of discovering and appreciating literary qualifica- 
 tions In others. She delights in drawing modest merit 
 from obscurity, and In giving bashful genius a boost. It Is 
 through her Instrumentality that Mr. Boors, the alarmed 
 young man who sits in the corner staring so hard at 
 vacancy, and Miss Quince, the young lady with a projecting 
 
304 LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
 forehead and long ringlets, who is, bending over the table 
 as completely absorbed in a volume of Mrs. Hemans, as 
 if it was the first time she had seen the work, have been 
 introduced to the notice of the Timbervllle literati. These 
 two individuals are great admirers of Mrs. Bolton, who 
 protests that Mr. Boors is a very Intellectual young man, 
 and that Miss Quince has a great deal of talent. Neither 
 of them has as yet made any display of ability ; for Mr. 
 Boors invariably sits all the evening just as he is now, 
 and Miss Quince never speaks excepting in monosyllables. 
 Probably they both, like the celebrated owl, keep up a 
 tremendous thinking. 
 
 The tall lady, with a very long neck and little waist, is 
 Miss Carpenter, our cerulean sonnet writer. 
 
 The pretty girl with a white rose in her hair, is Miss 
 Carrol, the sweetest singer in Timberville. She is a belle, 
 and a wit withal. There is a lawlessness about her which 
 would hardly be tolerated in any one but a beauty and a 
 belle. And yet I like the girl for her truthfulness. The 
 would-be-dignified gentleman who sits beside her, is Mr. 
 Griffin, her warmest admirer and most especial butt. He 
 is a critic; a very severe one, too. He is never satisfied 
 with anything produced in the circle. Indeed, I believe 
 there is but one composition in the world that he admires 
 without qualification, and that is Poe's " Kaven." He 
 never writes for us ; but he is so very fastidious that, of 
 course, we all think he can do wonders if he will but con- 
 descend. And Miss Carrol is constantly teasing him to 
 favor us with something ravenous. 
 
 Those two gentlemen conversing together are rival 
 editors. The short, fat one, he who has what a facetious 
 friend of mine calls ii vegetable countenance^ i. e., turn-up 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 305 
 
 nose, reddish complexion, and carroty whiskers, is the 
 celebrated individual whose voice, thundering through the 
 columns of the ' ' Timberville Herald of Liberty and Free- 
 man's Journal," makes monarchs tremble, thrones totter, 
 and Old Hunkers shake in their shoes. His tall, thin 
 neighbor occupies the chair editorial of the " Timberville 
 Weekly Gazette and People's Advocate." (Our papers, 
 like our people, all have double names.) How delightful 
 to see the urbanity with which they can meet. It seems 
 hardly possible that they have just been tearing each other 
 to pieces at such a terrible rate, *' through the medium of 
 the press." 
 
 The gentleman who is just entering the room, with a 
 linen roundabout, and his pants tucked inside of his boots, 
 is Mr. Bolton, the ivorser half of our hostess, and a horse- 
 dealer by profession. He couldn't spend time to change 
 his dress ; it was as much as he could do to come in at all. 
 It is true that Mrs. Bolton, who is not very proud of her 
 unintellectual spouse, has repeatedly assured him that there 
 was no necessity for his coming in this evening ; he needn't 
 trouble himself, &c., c&c. Still, Mr. Bolton, who is a 
 kind-hearted man, thought he would just come in long 
 enough to say how d'ye do, and let his neighbors know 
 that he was glad to see them at his house. Poor Mrs. 
 Bolton ! she looks perfectly consterned at his appearance. 
 Her countenance says very plainly, *< Won't he catch it 
 for coming to the sawree in such a fix ! He might, at 
 least, have put on his best clothes." But he seems wholly 
 unconscious of her fiery glances, as he makes for a chair, 
 and poising himself miraculously on one of its legs, begins 
 to descant to Mr. Martin on the excellence of ** them 
 bosses he sold Snyder." 
 
 26* 
 
306 LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
 The tall, pale youth, with huge whiskers, who stands 
 gracefully leaning on the mantel, is Mr. Fustian, a sere- 
 nader by profession ; at least, I have never heard of his 
 doing anything else. He has great powers of endurance ; 
 for,' I am told, that he thinks nothing of standing two 
 hours, of a cold night, under Miss Carrol's window, 
 executing music. Miss Carrol tidnlcs notldng of it, too. 
 She declares that she sleeps through it all. 
 
 Those two somewhat antiquated young ladies, with low 
 necks and bare arms, whom he is entertaining, or, rather, 
 who are entertaining him, are the sisters Caroline and Lucy 
 Bigelow ; or, as they call each other, ** Carry and Lute." 
 They affect great juvenility, though nobody remembers 
 when they were young, and are fond of talking about 
 *'us girls." They have a Brother Peter somewhere in 
 New England, who, according to their account, is enor- 
 mously wealthy, and lives in princely style. *' Brother 
 Peter's establishment " is the constant and almost only 
 theme of their conversation. ** Brother Peter's garden ; " 
 " Brother Peter's conservatory ; " '^Brother Peter's library ; " 
 in short, everything at Brother Peter's is on so magnificent 
 a scale, that "Carry "and **Lute" can never see any- 
 thing that suits them anywhere else. Even Mrs. Bolton, 
 who admires their taste and refinement exceedingly, thinks 
 they have almost too much ** fastidium." They occasion- 
 ally write, and their articles are always descriptive of some- 
 thing at " Brother Peter's." 
 
 That tall brunette, in black, is Miss Mary Willis. I 
 never made up my mind that she was handsome, until she 
 adopted the ** French twist," and really looked well in it ; 
 for, certainly, it must be a handsome face that can stand 
 the test of a coiffure so universally unbecoming. She is a 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 307 
 
 very quiet, retiring girl. Many persons think her proud; 
 but I do not, and I think that I have penetrated her char- 
 acter quite thoroughly. If Mary Willis is proud, I could 
 wish that such pride were contagious. 
 
 The thin, peaked lookSng woman, to whom Mary Is talk- 
 ing, is Mrs. Stokes. She is a very nice woman — as the 
 TImbervillians say. She does not look as If she partook 
 very largely of the good things which she knows how to 
 prepare in such perfection, and with which she is always 
 cramming her friends. As I before remarked, she makes 
 no pretensions to literary merit herself, but she is a great 
 admirer of it in others, and praises, indiscriminately, every- 
 thing that Is produced or read in the circle. She pro- 
 nounces all the prose articles '* first-rate," and all the 
 poetry *' sublime." Mrs. Bolton has not a very high 
 opinion of Mrs. Stokes, but hopes that the " sawrees will 
 be an advantao;e to her intelleck." 
 
 But my letter Is already unreasonably long. If you are 
 at all Interested in our society, perhaps I may be able In 
 my next to give you some specimens of our productions. 
 And I can scarcely entertain a doubt that you will hence- 
 forth be interested in the sayings and doings of Timber- 
 ville, since you know that we are a very Important people, 
 and shall undoubtedly be a city In a few years. 
 
308 LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
 II. 
 
 TiMBERVILLE. 
 
 AM getting tired of boarding — there are so many 
 annoyances connected with it generally. And even 
 in the best-regulated boarding-houses there is a lack 
 of that pleasant home-feeling which one has in 
 housekeeping, even -though it be in a hired house. If we 
 were determined to "locate" (as the Timbervillians say) 
 permanently in this place, we should have a home of our 
 own. Until that point is decided, we shall remain with 
 Mrs. Pratt, for I would rather endure a great many incon- 
 veniences than to be changing about. I have often been 
 amused at the frivolous causes which drive some persons 
 from one boarding-house to another. I know one gentle- 
 man who never stays above a month, and seldom as long 
 as that, at the same house. At one place he had to drink 
 milk in his tea ; he hadn't been used to it, and wouldn't 
 put up with it. At another, his nose was often oifended 
 at the odor of boiled cabbage ; he didn't like cabbage, and 
 he wouldn't stand it. 
 
 Mrs. Pratt's establishment is conducted on the most 
 economical scale. Slie understands to perfection the art of 
 making much of a little. She know^ how to *' stretch out," 
 and make a very small quantity "go a great ways." 
 She is a widow of some years' standing, but has not yet 
 cease(F*to grieve for her worthy husband. She is forever 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 309 
 
 expatiating on his perfections. To hear her talk of him, 
 you would suppose that all the virtues as well as talents 
 that were ever created, were united in the person of " poor 
 Mr. Pratt." The grand object of her life seems to be to 
 marry oiF her two daughters, Ann Maria and Philura, a 
 brace of young ladies who expend upon their fair persons 
 the products of their mother's thrift, and who appear to 
 serve no other purpose in the establishment than that of 
 entertaining the youHg gentlemen boarders. They never 
 make their appearance at breakfast, but at dinner they 
 burst upon us in all their glory, looking as if they had 
 spent tiie w^hole morning at the toilet. They are rather 
 pretty girls, and with the exercise of a tolerable taste in 
 dress, would look very well ; but they are always arrayed 
 in showy frocks, gaudy sashes, flaring neck-ribbons, and, 
 to crown all, some sort of trumpery head-dresses, and all 
 of different colors, so that it really makes my eyes ache to 
 look at them. The head-dresses, above all, are my espe- 
 cial abomination. I can scarcely keep my fingers oflf them, 
 they make me so nervous. But they are young ladles to 
 whom it would not be safe for a plain person like me to 
 offer a suggestion on the subject of dress. They take but 
 little notice of me, and make no efforts to render my abode 
 wdth them pleasant, but reserve all their attentions for the 
 young men, who always find them." very easy to get ac- 
 quainted with." That part of their time which is not de- 
 voted to dressing, calling and shopping, is spent in drum- 
 ming the piano, on which they do great execution^ and in 
 embroidering slippers or netting purses for the gentlemen. 
 There are, at present, six single gentlemen boarding in 
 Mrs. Pratt's family — Mr. Wilkins, a rich old w^ower, 
 very cross and very asthmatic, — an object of tender solic- 
 
310 LETTJERS FROM TLMBERVILLE. 
 
 itude to Ann Maria, who takes a vast deal of pains to make 
 him comfortable, though he does not appear to appreciate 
 it; Mr. Stivers and Mr. Green, a couple of merchants' 
 clerks, with nothing remarkable about them excepting 
 standing collars so stiff that they cannot turn their heads 
 without turning their bodies also ; Mr. Hocum, a lumber- 
 man, who minds his own business and never says anything ; 
 Mr. Bunker, a sort of '* Jack at 'all trades," a dealer in 
 everything, an inventor of a great variety of useless articles, 
 for which he gets patents — he also fills the office of re- 
 porter to the neighborhood, and brings home every day all 
 the scandal and gossip afloat in the village ; and Monsieur 
 Laborde, a French teacher, full of whims and oddities, 
 such as rolling his hair in papers over night to make them 
 curl ; exercising his lungs out of his window, to the great 
 alarm of passers-by ; cooking all sorts of ridiculous messes 
 on the top of the parlor stove ; w^earing a great many 
 brown paper soles in his slippers, and spreading them out 
 on the rug every evening to dry, — and a hundred other 
 peculiarities. 
 
 Besides the two daughters, Mrs. Pratt has also a son, 
 a boy of some twelve years old, who, for want of proper 
 training, had grown to be, when we first came here, a 
 complete little nuisance. His sisters considered him a 
 plague and a torment; and his mother declared, with a 
 rueful shake of the head, that she didn't know what she 
 should do with Joe, he had got to be so unmanageable — 
 no comfort to her at all, so different from what his poor 
 father was. These lamentations, which were usually de- 
 livered in the boy's presence, did not contribute materially 
 to his improvement. In fact, he was universally disliked. 
 Tlie boarders were unanimous in the opinion that he was 
 
LETTERS FRO 31 TIMBERYILLE. 311 
 
 destitute of one single redeeming quality. He played all 
 sorts of tricks upon them, and they never passed him with- 
 out a kick or an oath. Particularly obnoxious was he to 
 Monsieur Laborde, who pronounced him *' one leetle 
 tliiible." 
 
 When we came to Mrs. Pratt's we heard so much about 
 Joe's precocious wickedness that we almost feared to be 
 under the same roof with him. One morning, a few days 
 after our arrival, as we were going through the hall to 
 breakfast, Monsieur rushed from his room just ahead of us, 
 and with a ferocious aspect, hurried down the stairs. On 
 his way, he encountered Nancy, the chambermaid, going 
 up to *' regulate." 
 
 *' Nancie," said he, showing her something in the palm 
 of his hand, " what you call dis ? " 
 
 " That," said Nancy, who has a spice of the wag in her 
 — '* oh, that's ix picliaxe.^^ 
 
 *' Peek-axe," said the Frenchman, throwino- it down: 
 and, as he proceeded, he kept repeating — '< peek-axe, 
 peek-axe," so as to impress it firmly upon his memory. 
 When he reached the breakfast-room, where the rest of the 
 boarders were assembled, and Mrs. Pratt, at the head of 
 the table, was just beginning to make the coffee, he bounced 
 in, and without any of his usual French fuss, shouted — 
 "Madame Pratt, I have suffer one grand insult I Peek- 
 axe ! Sho have insult me in ma chambre. Peek- axe ! It is 
 one miserable shild, dat Sho." 
 
 *' The dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Pratt, '* what shall 
 I do with that boy ? He'll be the death of me yet. What 
 has he been doing now ? " 
 
 ' ' He have insult me ver bad," continued Monsieur. ' ' It 
 is 5ne leetle diable. If I could keel him, I would be sat- 
 isfait." 
 
312 LETTERS FROM TLMBERVILLE. 
 
 '* That I should live to see the day I " groaned Mrs. 
 Pratt. *'Pra3^, what has he done, Mr. Laborde? I'll 
 punish — " 
 
 <' VYhat have he done?" said the Frenchman. *'He 
 have done plentie, te miserable — he have trow more as 
 five hondred peek-axe in ^te window of ma chambre. 
 AVhile I shave ma barbe, I understand a noise by the 
 window; one moment apres, I am convert de peek-axe." 
 
 " Pickaxes 1 " exclaimed the distressed mother. ** For- 
 ever and ever ! What would poor Mr. Pratt say? " 
 
 " Pickaxes ! " cried the gentlemen. " Impossible ! It 
 can't be so ! " 
 
 ' ' Do you not believe that I say ? " demanded Monsieur, 
 gesticulating violently. " Well, den, come to ma cham- 
 bre, and you shall see." 
 
 So we all, excepting Mrs. Pratt,* whose feelings would 
 not allow her to move, followed Monsieur to ,his room, 
 where we found Nancy, with a dust-pan and wing, busily 
 engaged in brushing up a quantity of small shot, with which 
 Joe had besieged the French fortress. 
 
 " There," said j^arlcz-vo^iz ^ " you can see for yourselve ; 
 peek-axe, plentie peek-axe." 
 
 The boarders raised a tremendous roar at Monsieur's ex- 
 pense, in the midst of which Nancy made a rapid exit. 
 The Frenchman was furiously angry at being laughed at, 
 and fearing that something serious might come of it, I re- 
 treated to my own quarters. I believe that only two or 
 three of the boarders returned to the table, so that Mrs. 
 Pratt saved a good part of the breakfast to warm iip the j 
 next morning. 
 
 After this performance, my husband proposed seeking 
 another boarding-house, as there was no telling how soon 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 313 
 
 Master Joe might begin to play off his pranks upon us. 
 But I objected to removing, and begged him to leave me to 
 manage Joe. To tell the truth, I had a sort of sympathy 
 for the child, to which, perhaps, certain recollections of 
 my own juvenile experience contributed In some degree. 
 Be that as it may, I felt a desire to know more of the un- 
 popular boy, and to discover, if possible, whether there 
 was any good In him. 
 
 A day or two after this affair, at the tea-table, Mr. 
 Bunker pulled out of his pocket a dirty piece of paper, on 
 which was scratched, in charcoal, a profile considerably re- 
 sembling his own, which is distinguished by a very lono- 
 nose and huge whiskers ; and holding it up before Mrs. 
 Pratt, exclaimed — 
 
 " Look o' there, ma'am ! — that's Joe's work ! I found 
 it stuck up on my store, right In plain sight. If that boy 
 ain't a fit subject for the House of Refuge, I don't know 
 who is I " 
 
 ** Forever and ever!" cried Mrs. Pratt. «* That I 
 should live to hear of his doing such a thing ! What is 
 that child a coming to, after all my faithfulness too ! Why, 
 I've wrestled In prayer for him hours together, and a'most 
 whipped the skin off his back, and all for nothing ! What 
 would his poor father say ? " &c. 
 
 While Mrs. Pratt was groaning and lamenting, the work 
 of art was handed round, and elicited various comments 
 from the beholders. The young ladies declared that, if 
 they were Mr. Bunker, they wouldn't care a cent about it, 
 for It didn't look a bit like him. 
 
 " I don't care a cent about It," said Bunker ; " only I'd 
 like to have the handling of that boy." 
 
 Monsieur, who was still smarting under the pickaxes, 
 
 27 
 
314 LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
 pronounced it a " grand Insult." But the other young 
 men, always delighted at a chance to tease one another, 
 thought it " a pretty fair likeness." *' It's Bunker," said 
 Mr. Stivers ; '' only wio?'e 5o." " Precisement," said Mon- 
 sieur, beginning to relish the joke, and glad of an opportu- 
 nity to laugh at Bunker. *' Precisement — it is the nose of 
 Mr. Bunker a leetle more long, and the whiskers of 
 Mr. Bunker a leetle more big." 
 
 Bunker looked as if he wished he had not exhibited the 
 likeness, since it had been the means of " getting the rig- 
 on him," as they call it here. But he was somewhat 
 mollified by Mrs. Pratt's assurance that she should punish 
 Joe severely. 
 
 In the evening, my room being very warm, I had thrown 
 open the door, and sat meditating upon Joe and his per- 
 formances, when I heard Mrs. Pratt in the dining-room 
 dealino' with that youno; gentleman in a most summarv' 
 manner; scolding him at a terrible rate, and interspersing 
 her lecture with frequent cuffs on the ears. 
 
 *' You miserable young one!" said she. "You'll be 
 the death of me yet, I know you will — (cufF) — you're 
 all the time a doing something so awful wicked — (cuff.) 
 'What did you go and make Mr. Bunker's likeness for, 
 say? "—(cuff.) 
 
 " 'Cause he misused me," said Joe. '' He don't treat 
 me like a human being ; and nobody else don't, neither." 
 
 *' Well, you don't act like a human being," said his 
 mother, with another cuff; " and you ought not to be 
 treated like one. What did3'0u want to draw that shame- 
 ful profile for — say ? " and she administered three succes- 
 sive cuffs. 
 
 " I tell you I did It because he misused mc," said Joe. 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 315 
 
 ** He knocked me off his store steps on to the ground, 
 when I wasn't a doing anything." 
 
 "Yes — I'll warrant you wasn't a doing anything," 
 said his mother; " you ain't never a doing anything, you 
 good-for-nothing, lazy, idle little wretch ! You'll never 
 be nobody — you'll grow up a miserable vagabone ! And 
 what would your poor father say if he knew how you was 
 a breaking my heart every day? — (Several cuffs.) So 
 now, just take off your boots, and go 'long to bed ; and if 
 ever I hear of your drawing any more profiles, I'll give 
 it to you about east ! " 
 
 The scolding and the cuffs alike seemed to make no 
 impression upon Joe. His ears were, doubtless, inured 
 to both. As he was passing my door on the way to his 
 own dormitory, I called him. He half paused, and was 
 going on, when I called him again. He stopped, looked 
 furtively over his shoulder, and said — 
 
 ** I hain't done anything to you, have I?" 
 
 Without noticing his question, I repeated, " Come here, 
 Joe, I want to show you something." He hesitated a mo- 
 ment, and then, reassured by my countenance, with a look 
 of bewildered astonishment, advanced into the room. A 
 new magazine, containing several fine engravings, was 
 lying by me on the table. I opened it. *' Joe," said I, 
 *' I believe you are fond of pictures ; here are some good 
 ones that I think you would like to look at." He came 
 forward and looked at the plates ; but it was some time 
 before I succeeded, by talking about the engravings and 
 pointing out their merits, in making him feel at ease. After 
 he had recovered from his surprise, he became quite inter- 
 ested in the pictures, rubbed off his dirty fingers on his still 
 dirtier trowsers, and began to turn over the leaves himself. 
 
316 LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
 " This book," said he, ** looks just like one that Mr. 
 Green gave Philura ; but the pictures are different. She 
 wouldn't let me look at it, but I got hold of it once when 
 they'd gone away, and looked at it ever so long, and she 
 don't know it yet." 
 
 " Joe,^' said I, '* you remind me of my nephew Johnny. 
 You are just about his age and size. Johnny is very fond 
 of pictures, and he draws them too. Do you ever draw 
 pictures, Joe? " 
 
 " Me ! " said Joe. '' No, not good ones ; I don't know 
 how." 
 
 ' ' Would you like to learn to draw ? " said I. 
 
 *' Gracious ! I couldn't learn," said he. 
 
 «' Why could you not learn?" I asked. 
 
 *' O because I can't learn anything," replied the child, 
 with a very decided look. 
 
 " Do you go to school?" I inquired. 
 
 *' Not now," said Joe. *' I've been to school ; but the 
 master turned me out because, he said, I couldn't learn 
 anything if he should try to flog it into me till doomsday." 
 
 ' ' But would you like to learn to draw if you could ? " 
 asked I. 
 
 *' Yes, I would most plaguily," replied Joe. " I always 
 thoudit I should like to." 
 
 I knew the boy's capacity, from the " charcoal sketch" 
 of Bunker's head, which really possessed a good deal of 
 character ; quite as much as the original — so I said — 
 
 " I think you could learn, Joe. If you have a mind to 
 try, I will teach you." 
 
 The child looked up suddenly, and after regarding me a 
 moment with an expression of wonder, said, — 
 
 ** Are you in earnest, Mrs. Waters?" 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 317 
 
 *< Certainly," said I. "I used to like very much to 
 teach Johnny, and I will be glad to teach you." I then 
 took from a portfolio one of my drawings, and asked him 
 if he would like to draw that. It was a rough sketch of 
 some children and a dog. Joe was delighted with it ; and 
 said he would give anything to know how to make such a 
 picture. I told him to come to my room every morning, 
 and I would give him lessons. 
 
 *'You will though?" said he. "O how I wish I 
 could come — but I darsent — mother'll whale me if I do. 
 She says I sha'nt go into the boarders' rooms at all." 
 
 *' But if I invite you she'll not object, will she? " 
 
 *' I don't know," said Joe, shaking his head, sorrow- 
 fully. '* I guess she'd whale me anyhow; but no matter 
 if she does — I'm used to whalin'." 
 
 *' O no, Joe," said I ; "if your mother were really un- 
 willing, I would not have you come on any account. But 
 I think that if I ask her permission to teach you, she will 
 grant it. I shall go down presently and speak to her 
 about it ; and if she consents, you may come in to-morrow 
 morning at ten o'clock. And remember, Joe, you must 
 have very clean hands, so as not to soil the paper — 
 Johnny was always particular to wash his hands very clean 
 when he was going to draw. And now you may go to 
 bed. Good-night, Joe." 
 
 '« Good -night, Mrs. Waters," said Joe. '* I hope 
 mother'll say I may come." 
 
 After Joe had retired, I went down stairs and spoke to 
 Mrs. Pratt. I told her that I thought Joe had quite a 
 turn for drawing, and with her permission I would like to 
 give him lessons. She was rather alarmed at first, and 
 said that she wasn't in the habit of taking anything but 
 27* 
 
318 LETTERS FROM TDIBERVILLE. 
 
 money for board. But when I assured her that it was for 
 pleasure, not for pay, that I wished to teach Joe, the mat- 
 ter assumed quite a different aspect in her eye, though her 
 astonishment was evidently increased. She freely consen- 
 ted, though she could not imagine what pleasure it would 
 afford me to try to teach such a child as Joe. She never 
 could do anything with him. She was completely dis- 
 couraged about him. It was the strangest thing in the 
 world, too, that he wasn't a better boy, considering how 
 faithful she'd been to him. Nobody could say he had been 
 ruined by indulgence. Very true, nobody could. 
 
 As I was returning to my room, I perceived the form of 
 Joe emerging from a small passage at the end of the hall. 
 He was partial/y disrobed, (as the novels say) , and hold- 
 ing up his trowsers with both hands. 
 
 *' What did she say?" inquired he, eagerly. 
 
 -" She says that you may come," I replied. 
 
 " Good!" shouted Joe, clapping his hands, quite for- 
 getful of the office they were performing. ** Good ! — 
 then she can't whale me ; and when I ca?i get along v/ith- 
 out being whaled, I'd rather." 
 
 The next morning, at ten o'clock precisely, came Joe, 
 with a pair of hands that fairly shone from the effects of 
 the scouring which he had given them. 
 
 " Good-morning, Joe," said I;" I'm glad to see you 
 punctual : a great deal depends upon punctuality." 
 
 It was a rare thing for poor Joe to be praised, and his 
 eyes sparkled with pleasure. To shorten my narrative, 
 Joe's progVess in drawing was rapid beyond my anticipa- 
 tions ; never was pupil more docile. Gradually, I added 
 a i'cw more branches, and he has entered with alacrity into 
 every study tluit I proposed, though he seems to prefer 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 319 
 
 drawin"- to anything else. Unbounded was the astonish- 
 ment of his worthy mother at my success. She wished 
 ihvit poor Mr, Pratt was alive to see it. The boarders too, 
 when they had discovered that I had taken Joe under my 
 patronage, ceased to abuse him, and he has consequently 
 left off his annoying tricks. Even Monsieur allows that 
 there is a " grand changement in Sho." And 1 find the 
 hour which I daily devote to him more than repaid by the 
 affection of the hitherto neglected child for me — his first 
 friend — the first one who taught him that he was neither 
 a fool nor a wretch. In short, Mrs. Pratt begins to think 
 that her faithfulness will be rewarded, her prayers will be 
 answered, and that Joe will be something after all. 
 
 Evening — Mary Wilhs has sent me this afternoon a 
 little piece for our next literary circle. I am one of the 
 appointed readers for the occasion, and Mary is too diffi- 
 dent to read her own productions. Here is an extract 
 from it : 
 
 ' ' I love to be alone — alone in the morning with the 
 trees, and the flowers, and the birds. I am not alone 
 then — they are all so friendly to me, and talk more 
 kindly witli me than any human friend. The waving 
 trees whisper to me. The flowers turn up their bright 
 faces pleasantly to greet me. And the sweet birds seem 
 to be singing solely for ray pleasure. 
 
 *«I love to be alone in the night — alone with the 
 clouds, and the stars, and the beautiful moon. The won- 
 drous stars ! how gently they look down on me. The 
 clouds, too — they are for me so many good and wonder- 
 ful sermons, full of ever new and ever varying thoughts. 
 Often I watch them gradually folding, leaf after leaf, over 
 the face of the moon in soft and dreamy beauty. But 
 
320 LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
 darker and heavier they grow, till her light is completely 
 hidden ; and I watch and wait in the darkness and long to 
 see again the ftice of the fair planet. 
 
 *'Thus, often the joys and the loves of earth come between 
 us and the haven on which our eyes should ever be fixed. 
 Very beautiful they are at first, like the light clouds before 
 the moon, and the face of our Father is not wholly hidden 
 from us. But gradually they fill our vision. They shut 
 out the light of the better world, and we are left in dark- 
 ness, to grieve and think how much dearer than all earthly 
 delights is one ray from the Sun of Righteousness." 
 
 Mrs. Bolton, also, has sent me an article for the circle, 
 accompanied by a note, saying, that, ^' my distinct enunci- 
 ation would enable me to do better justice to her produc- 
 tion than she could herself." I will give it to you entire, 
 as I know she would not object to being ''extensively pe- 
 rused." 
 
 " How delightful to the satiated mind in an ungenial 
 soil is converse with a kindred literary spirit ! This 
 remark is promulgated by the recollection of a circumstance 
 which transpired to me once while I was sojourning at 
 Saratoga Springs for the establishment of my health, which 
 had become undermined by excessive reading. 
 
 " It was on a resplendent day in August, that I was 
 meandering in a delicious grove of pines in the vicinity of 
 Congress Spring, when I perceived converging towards mo 
 a tall and elegant young man, with a rifle under his arm. 
 When he perceived the fair occupant of the forest, he 
 bowed gracefully and was diverging onwards. But being 
 excessively struck with his highly intellectual countenance, 
 I was desirous of entering into conversation with him, and 
 remarked — 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 321 
 
 ** * Seeing you, sir, with your rifle in hand amid this 
 wilderness of trees, reminds me forcibly of that celebrated 
 line of Shakspeare — 
 
 " ' Just as the trig^ger's bent, the tree's inclined.' " 
 
 ** He paused, and regarded me with evident astonish- 
 ment. It was obvious that I was the first literati he had 
 met at the Springs. After a moment he smiled, and re- 
 marked — 
 
 ** ' And I am here, as the same poet farther observes — 
 
 " ' To teach the young idea how to shoot.' " 
 
 ** From this commencement, our conversation very nat- 
 urally fell into a highly intellectual strain. I never was 
 more delighted, and the bewitching stranger appeared 
 equally so. He drew out my conversational powers on a 
 great variety of subjects. I think I was never more ani- 
 mated. I talked enthusiastically of my favorite authors, 
 and he asked me a multitude of questions — I regret that 
 I disremember the most of them at this remote period. 
 His conversation clearly evinced that he was deeply im- 
 brued with a poetic temperature. He was evidently 
 quite carried away with me, and actually laughed outrlglit 
 several times in his delight at encountering an Indlvlduul 
 of a kindred spirit. He repeated several stanzas of exqui- 
 site poetry, highly complimentary to me, which were 
 evidently suggested impromptu on the spur of the moment. 
 Our interview was prolonged until the concentrating shades 
 of evening warned us to return to our respective abodes. 
 When we reached the * United States Hotel,' he bowed 
 with superhuman grace, and was turning to ascend the 
 
322 LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
 piazza, when I remarked that it would be a source of in- 
 tense satisfaction to me to possess his card. He turned 
 his refulgent eyes upon me, and laying the forefinger of 
 his right hand gracefully beside his nasal organ, said, with 
 an expression which I shall never forget, ' Madam, I am 
 incog.' And bowing again with redoubled elegance, he 
 receded up the long vista of the piazza. I had never be- 
 held the unknown literati since ; but I have always labored 
 under a firm persuasion that he was none other than a well 
 known celebrated poet." 
 
 I fear greatly that I cannot ** do justice " to Mrs. Bol- 
 ton's article. I have half a mind to get up a cold and sore 
 throat for the occasion, which will enable me to decline the 
 honor. But in that case I must decline Mary's too. 
 What shall I do ? I'm in a quandary. 
 
 Joe and I are going to have a fine ramble over the hills 
 this evening. He is waiting for me on the piazza below, 
 and I know, by a sort of shuffling stamp which he is per- 
 forming, that he begins to grow impatient. So I'll e'en 
 close my long-enough letter and relieve him. 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 323 
 
 III. 
 
 TlMBERVILLE. 
 
 KNOW you will pardon my long silence, when 
 you learn the important fact that I am at house- 
 keeping. If you have experienced the trials and 
 vexations which usually attend the setting up of 
 an establishment, surely I shall have your hearty sym- 
 pathy. But I do not believe you know anything about 
 the enormity of such an undertaking in the country. In 
 the city, you are free from a thousand annoyances and 
 hindrances, which we have to endure In a place like Tim- 
 berville, busy, bustling, noisy, and growing; a place 
 neither city nor country, but, as it were, in a state of he- 
 tweenity, aping the former, yet possessing many of the 
 peculiarities of the latter, but in nothing resembling those 
 old-fashioned, stationary country villages, in one of which 
 I had the happiness to be born and reared. Dear old 
 Greenvalley ! It has been in appearance just what it now 
 is, ever since my earliest recollection. There was un- 
 doubtedly a time when it was new and growing, but that 
 time has faded from the memory of man. The only ex- 
 ternal changes which I remark, as I return from time to 
 time to the peaceful shade of its majestic old elms, are, 
 that here and there a roof has been newly shingled, a 
 fence repaired, and occasionally an entire house has gone 
 
324 LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
 up In the place of one that had fallen quite to decay. 
 One by one, the white-haired patriarchs of the hamlet have 
 been gathered to their final rest, while those of their de- 
 scendants who have caught this age's restless spirit of 
 adventure, have gone to *'seek their fortunes " elsewhere. 
 Only such remain as are content to pursue the tranquil 
 tenor of their fathers' way. Heaven forbid that Green- 
 valley should ever *' take a start and grow." 
 
 Here, there is no such thing as doing anything quietly. 
 The whole village must know all your proceedings ; every- 
 body must ' ' have a hand in it ; " and unless you receive 
 with a good grace the proffered assistance, you are forever 
 undone. I resolved tt) take warning from the unhappy 
 fate of a certain Mrs. D., who came here to reside about 
 two years ago, and not render myself unpopular, as she 
 had done. Unfortunate woman ! She declined the offi- 
 cious offers of the Timberville ladies, to help her " get to 
 rights," and chose rather, with the assistance of the mem- 
 bers of her own household, to fit her carpets herself, ar- 
 range her furniture, and, what was the most aggravating 
 of all, to unpack her trunks and bureaus, without so much 
 as allowing any of the aforesaid ladies a peep at their con- 
 tents. Mrs. Phllpott, animadverting to me upon Mrs. 
 D.'s conduct, remarked, " We don't know to this day 
 what was in them boxes." 
 
 As I did not desire the reputation of being '^ stuck up," 
 I surrendered, with apparent cheerfulness, my house and 
 furniture to the mercy of some ten or dozen of the Tim- 
 berville ladies, for the space of about a week. My hus- 
 band retreated in alarm from the scene of action, and 
 remained quietly at Mrs. Pratt's, until the house was pro- 
 nounced to be *' to rights." Joe Pratt said he thought it 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 325 
 
 might with more propriety be called to wrongs ; a very- 
 just remark of Joes ; for actually we were occupied a full 
 week longer in undoing the greater part of what the ladles 
 had done. Everything had to be re-arranged. The car- 
 pets, which they had insisted upon making, had been 
 sewed to2;ether in such a manner that the seams burst 
 open and the bindings gave out during the process of 
 nailing down, which was accomplished so crookedly, that 
 one would have imagined every person who assisted thereat 
 to have differed from the rest in her opinion respecting the 
 manner in which they ought to lie. Of course, they had 
 all to be taken up, re-sewed, and put down straight. 
 
 But, after the siege which the house had undergone, I 
 thought I had reason to congratulate myself that the de- 
 struction of property had been no greater than it was. 
 When they unpacked the crockery, and I saw half-a-dozen 
 pulling and hauling at it, I certainly expected to see it 
 nearly all go to pieces. Consequently, I was thankful to 
 escape with the loss of a few pieces of china, just enough 
 to spoil a set, the demolition of a large lamp-shade, which 
 Mrs. Harris had smashed in her eagerness to draw it from 
 its concealment, and the ruination of a valuable framed en- 
 graving, which Mrs. Bolton (our literati) accidentally 
 dashed against the corner of the stove, thereby breaking 
 the glass into numberless atoms, and bursting a hole 
 through the middle of the picture. The good lady fancied 
 that she made more than ample compensation by sending 
 me the next day a daub of a painting — a couple of 
 women leading a donkey, and two or three huts in tlie dis- 
 tance. She accompanied this gift with a note, wherein 
 she stated that the painting was one of a number which 
 she had recently purchased in Philadelphia ; it was ' * a 
 28 
 
326 LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
 view of Switzerland, an oriental village near Paris ; " Mr. 
 Milligan, the great traveller whom she had met in the city, 
 pronounced it to be a perfect representation. 
 
 During the readjustment of affairs, my friend, Joe 
 Pratt, was very useful to us. The little fellow was con- 
 stantly on hand, ready to assist in a thousand ways. We 
 continued to take our meals at his mother's, until every- 
 thing was arranged at our new abode. When, finally, 
 that time arrived, and I said, " Well, Joe, I believe we 
 are all fixed at last," the poor boy looked anything but 
 pleased. He would no longer have any excuse for run- 
 ning back and forth. He must stay all day at home, with 
 no relief from his mother's fretfulness and his sisters' re- 
 buffs. His daily visits to my room, his lessons, and our 
 pleasant rambles together, they must all be given up, and 
 Joe was sad. 
 
 «' Joe," said I, reading his thoughts, ** I shall miss you 
 very much." 
 
 *' And I shall be 50 lonesome," said he, stretching his 
 eyes open very wide, to prevent the tears from running 
 out; *'and mother talks of moving away to Ohio, too, 
 and then I shall never see you again." 
 
 The idea of parting with Joe was painful to me ; for I 
 had become greatly attached to him. A thought struck 
 me of keeping him with us. I, however, said nothing to 
 Joe about it at that time, wishing first to consult my hus- 
 band on the subject. When Mr. Waters came in I men- 
 tioned it to him ; he approved the plan ; and we accord- 
 ingly proposed to Mrs. Pratt, that, in case of her removing 
 from Timberville, she should leave Joe with us for at least 
 a year or two. At first, the worthy woman did not ap- 
 pear much inclined to accede to the proposal, and dwelt 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 327 
 
 with great emphasis upon the pain of parting with her 
 only son. But as soon as she fairly understood that we 
 wished to relieve her from all expense on his account, her 
 feelings underwent a modification ; her objections van- 
 ished, and she consented. And so it is settled. Mrs. 
 Pratt is to remove to Ohio next month, accompanied by 
 her dauo^hters, and Joe is to come and live with us ; an 
 arrangement highly satisfactory to that young gentle- 
 man. 
 
 The greatest trouble which I have experienced thus far 
 in housekeeping here, has arisen from the difficulty of 
 procuring servants that are good for anything. During 
 the first two months I had foitr different ones. Our first 
 specimen in this line was a girl from the wilds of Penn- 
 sylvania, whom Mrs. Stokes procured for me, and pro- 
 nounced to be " excellent help." She rejoiced in the 
 euphonious cognomen of ''Eowena Euggles." I had been 
 expecting her for several days, but she did not come until 
 the second evening after we were settled in our new home. 
 Her approach was announced by the rattling of a very noisy 
 lumber wagon, which stopped in the middle of the road 
 in front of our house. I looked up and beheld an over- 
 grown, raw-boned girl, accompanied by a gawky boy who 
 drove. The girl was seated on a huge pine box. She 
 rose up in the vehicle, and, after taking a comprehensive 
 view of the house, exclaimed : " Wal, I guess this ere's 
 the sittiwation. Jeems, PU hold the horse, while you git 
 out and go see'f the Waterses lives here, if they do, you 
 tell 'cm that Miss Euggles has arriv'." Just then a boy, 
 who was passing, gave them the desired information, and 
 the girl alighted and came in. She entered the front door 
 without takin^: the slicjjhtest notice of the bell, and walked 
 
328 LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
 into the parlor where I was sitting. ** How do ye do? " 
 said she ; then casting herself down on the sofa with na- 
 tive ease and freedom of manner, remarked: '* This is 
 Miss Waters, ain't it?" I assented. " Wal, I'm Miss 
 Ruggles," said she, *' the young lady you was suspectin'." 
 After communicating this piece of intelligence, she took 
 off her tawdry pink silk bonnet, and white gauze long 
 shawl, and, laying them on the centre-table, inquired : 
 * ' Hain't you no men folks round ? I guess Jeems'll want 
 some resistance about fetchin' in my chist." But she un- 
 derrated Jeems's abilities, for at that moment he came drag- 
 ging up the steps the enormous pine box. 
 
 Having, by this time, recovered in a measure from the 
 astonishment into which the unceremonious entrance of Miss 
 Ruggles had thrown me, I advanced and met the young 
 gentleman in the hall, and, having directed him where 
 to bestow his sister's box, returned to the parlor and re- 
 quested Rowena to bring her bonnet and shawl, and I 
 would show her where her room was. She complied ; 
 and, on the way, inquired " whether we'd been to sup- 
 per?" I answered in the affirmative; whereupon she in- 
 formed me that she " hadn't had none; and Jeems would 
 want some 'fore he went back with the survey ance." I" 
 got them supper, after which Jeems returned home ; and, 
 after cfivinjr Rowena some instructions in rei^ard to her 
 work, I retired with some misgivings, and left her to wash 
 up the dishes. 
 
 Upon further acquaintance with Miss Ruggles, I dis- 
 covered that she understood housework much better than I 
 at first supposed. She could bake, and wash, and do 
 plain cooking very well ; but her notions of equality, and 
 her utter ignorance of the proprieties of her station, ren- 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 329 
 
 clered it very difficult to get on with her. She seemed to 
 expect me to be in the kitchen at work as long as she was 
 there, though in our little family there was not enough 
 work to occupy nearly all of her own time. Every after- 
 noon, she arrayed herself in a very stiffly starched petti- 
 coat, and blue muslin dress, and "joined me in the parlor" 
 (as novels say). Her dress, which fastened in the back, 
 she could only hook a little way up, so she bawled out, as 
 she entered, " Miss Waters, I'll get you to hook up my 
 frock." After I had performed this service for her, she 
 was wont to complete her toilet before the parlor glass. 
 After having adjusted a broad, yellow ribbon around her 
 neck, put on a pair of lace cuffs decorated with pink bows, 
 and stuck an immense red and green plaid rosette in her 
 mud-colored hair, she threw herself on the sofa ; or, if I 
 did not happen to be occupying it, in my large rocking- 
 chair, and began to converse without restraint. She gen- 
 erally entertained me with an account of the various 
 " ways" of the various ladies with whom she had lived, 
 occasionally diversified with remarks like the following : 
 *' I like the way you do up your hair. Miss Waters. I 
 guess I'll git you to fix mine for me some time. I ain't 
 no great hand to do up hair myself. Sister Batsey — 
 she's married a Brigham now, and live to the Flatts out 
 here — she's quite a hand to do up hair ; hern's a'most as 
 black as your'n. That frock o' your'n looks jest like one 
 Batsey 's got ; shouldn't wonder if 'twas off the same piece. 
 What did you hef to give a yard for that? " 
 
 No matter what I was doing, — reading, writing, what- 
 ever might be my occupation, — it was no check upon Miss 
 Euggles's volubility. It was a dreadful annoyance , and I 
 resolved to get rid of it ; but not liking to ofifend her by 
 
 28* 
 
330 LETTERS FROM TIMBER VILLE. 
 
 telllno- her that I would prefer her " room to her com- 
 pany," I tried various expedients to induce her to spend 
 the afternoon elsewhere. I offered her useful books to 
 read in her own room; but she " wa'n't no hand for 
 books." I discovere^l, on investigation, that she could 
 barely spell out a few words, and had never learned to 
 write at all. I offered to teach her, and told her that I 
 had a spare writing-desk, which she might keep in her 
 room and practise every afternoon. But she declined, 
 saying that "she didn't see no use o' much eddication ; 
 her brother Brigham was eddicated, and that answered for 
 'em all." I asked if she had no sewing that she would 
 like to do, and hinted that her room possessed great con- 
 veniences for such employment. But " she wa'n't no 
 hand to sew ; sister Batsey ginerally made her things for 
 her." At length my patience was exhausted, when, on 
 returning one evening with Mr. Waters from a walk, we 
 found Eowena in the parlor, seated in my rocking-chair, 
 with her feet on an ottoman, my Cologne bottle in her 
 hand, and playing the hostess to Monsieur Laborde, Mr. 
 Griffin, and Mr. Bunker, who had called upon us. The 
 o-entlemen had evidently been highly entertained with her 
 easy manners and conversational powers. I was thor- 
 oughly vexed, and told her emphatically to leave the room. 
 Her surprise was equalled only by her indignation. She 
 went out in high dudgeon, slamming the door behind her, 
 to the great amusement of the gentlemen. M. Laborde 
 remarked that " Miss Eoogle was very divert issante.'' Her 
 proceedings were anything but amusing to we, whatever 
 they might have been to Monsieur and his companions. 
 
 When Rowena retreated from the parlor, she went out, 
 by way of compensation, to call upon Mrs. Crandal, the 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 331 
 
 baker's wife, our next door neighbor, with whom she had 
 struck up an Intimacy, and to whom she carried a dally re- 
 port of '* Miss Waters's curus ways." No doubt she 
 received that lady's sincerest sympathy In her affliction, 
 and probably acted upon her advice ; for the next morn- 
 ing, as Mr. Waters and I were sitting In the library, she 
 came In abruptly and demanded her wages. It was 
 Thursday. I had hitherto paid her on Saturdays. 
 
 *' Why do you want your money to-day, Rowena?" 
 asked I. 
 
 *' Because I'm a goln' to go," said she, angrily. 
 
 "What Is the matter, Rowena?" said I. " Why are 
 you going off so suddenly ? " 
 
 *'Pay her, Fanny, and let her go," said my husband, 
 who Is decidedly opposed to '* having words " with ser- 
 vants. 
 
 I therefore went to a drawer and got the money for her. 
 But Miss Ruggles was not disposed to depart without a 
 few last words. 
 
 " I'm a goin'," said she, '* acause you've made an un- 
 derlln' of me ever sence I come here. You hain't axed 
 me to set down to the table and take a meal o' vlttels with 
 ye onct ; and Miss Grand al's help allers eats to the table 
 with 'em, and Miss Crandal's as good as you be, any day ; 
 and she says It's an impersition ; and my sister Batsey 
 lived a year and a half to Squire Huger's, to the Flatts, 
 and she allers eat to the table with 'em ; and they was re- 
 spectabler'n you be, and lived in enough sight grander 
 house. And then, to cap all, you told me I wa'n't wanted 
 In t'other room last night, and I ain't a goin' to put up 
 with it no longer ; and so — and you may git yer work did 
 the best way ye ken, for all I care." 
 
332 LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
 Having thus relieved her mind, she retired, banging all 
 the doors, and knocking down several chairs in her exit. 
 In the afternoon, Jeems came with the survey ance and took 
 away her chist. A few days after her departure, my hus- 
 band received by mail the following note, the production 
 of her eddicated brother-in-law. 
 
 To mister fillip Wotters. sir 
 
 ef you Think that you and 
 your Stuck up wife is a goin' to Sale to hevven in a 
 grander bote than the one your help goes in, your Mistaken 
 i gess. That interesting young Lady roweny ruggles That 
 you Treted so shameful is kalkulated to Be a nornament to 
 Sociaty and would Be ef it want for such Stick ups as you 
 And miss wotters is. i rite to let you know what i And 
 all rite minded gentlemen And ladis Thinks of such karac- 
 ters as you Be. so no more From yours contemptably. 
 
 Silas Brigham. 
 
 On the evening after Rowena left in disgust, Joe Pratt 
 came round to see me, and he undertook to procure us 
 another girl. He knew, he said, one Polly Baily, who 
 had occasionally worked at his mother's when they had a 
 great deal of company. He believed she was not very 
 btiorJit, but he knew her to be (]:ood-natured. She was 
 now out of a place, and lived at a brother's. I thought I 
 would at least make a trial of her. I therefore desired 
 Joe to go and tell her to come to me for a few days. He 
 readily complied, and soon returned with the information 
 that Polly would be over in the morning. She would 
 have come with him, but she wanted to mend her things 
 and make a new calico apron that evening. 
 
 The next morning, while I was preparing breakfast, 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 333 
 
 Polly arrived. She came in at the back door, and hailed 
 me with — 
 
 " Good mornin', Miss Waters. I s'pose that's you ? " 
 ** Yes," said I ; " and I suppose you are Polly Bally ? " 
 *' 'Tain't nobody else," said she, depositing a small 
 bundle on the table and taklns^ off her bonnet, exhlbitlno- 
 thereby a most unique coiffure. Her hair, which was very 
 thin, was all drawn together at the summit of her head, 
 tied with a tape string, and twisted into a funny little pig- 
 tail. In person, Miss Baily was short and stout, her eyes 
 were set bias in her head, and her mouth was entirely on 
 one side of her face. If she lacked the dignity and state- 
 llness of her predecessor, Miss Ruggles, she fully equalled 
 that young lady In ease and self-possession. 
 
 " I should a come last night," continued she, '' only 
 my things needed mendin' and fixin', and I had a new cal- 
 icer apron to make. You see, sister-in-law's baby's ben 
 sick, and Pve had so much to do, I hain't had a minnit's 
 time to sew lately. But I didn't git at the apron last 
 night, after all, for sister-in-law went to meetin', and the 
 baby waked up and cried, and I had to tend it till she got 
 back. So I fetcht my apron along : s'pose I shall git any 
 time to make it here ? " 
 
 *' O, yes," replied I; "you will have some time to 
 yourself every afternoon, unless something unusual hap- 
 pens ; and you will find a drawer in the table in your 
 room, where you can keep your work." 
 
 " Wal, if that ain't clever ! " exclaimed Polly. " I 
 shouldn't wonder if you was a goin' to be a real good 
 woman to live with ; though Miss Crandal says " — 
 
 ''It is nearly breakfast- time, Polly," I said; "there 
 are some mutton steaks to be broiled : do you know how 
 to do them?" 
 
664: LETTERS FRO 31 TIMBERYILLE. 
 
 *' Pity If I don't," she answered. *' It takes me to 
 cook mutton steaks. Why, when I lived to Miss" — 
 
 '' Well, here is the gridiron ; the coffee is already boil- 
 ing, and will soon be done. Do you understand making 
 coffee?" 
 
 "Pity if I don't ! Why, I've made coffee ever sence I 
 was so high. Jest tell me where things is, and I can go 
 ahead, as you'll find out 'fore I've lived with ye long. I 
 ain't afeard but what I shall suit ye ; everybody that has 
 me once wants me agin." 
 
 So I gave her the necessary information, and telling her 
 to ring the bell when breakfast was on the table, was going 
 out, when she called to me — 
 
 ' ' Miss Waters ! I've heerd say liow't you don't have 
 your help eat to the table with you ; is it so ? " 
 
 "Yes, Polly," said I; " I always allow my girls the 
 privilege of eating by themselves ; they feel so much more 
 at liberty to eat as much as they w^ant, you know." 
 
 " Wal, now, ther is something in tliat," said Polly. 
 " And don't you take off none o' the vittels after you git 
 through?" 
 
 " Certainly not ; the girls always have the same that 
 Mr. Waters and I have." 
 
 " Wal, I say for't ; I don't see why that ain't a good 
 idee. Miss Crandal needn't jaw about it as she does ; for, 
 after all, it's enough better'n the way she manages. I 
 lived there a spell once, and I used to eat to the table with 
 'em, and, it's a fact, I was half starved ; for she used to 
 be forever tellin' the children 'twa'n't perlite to take any- 
 thing mor'n once, and so ye see I darsen't do it ; and then, 
 the minnit they got through, she ketcht off the vittels and 
 stuck 'em away under lock and key." 
 
LETTERS FR03f TIMBERVILLE. 335 
 
 **Iam glad you are satisfied with my arrangements, 
 Polly," said I, escaping from the kitchen, and rejoicing at 
 having thus disposed of one grand difficulty. 
 
 But that breakfast ! The mutton steaks were burnt to 
 a coal, and quite uneatable. And the coffee ! w^hat could 
 be the matter with it? At the first taste of it, Mr. 
 Waters turned pale with consternation, and rushed to the 
 door to *'make restitution" of it (as M. Laborde says). 
 I took a sip, and was obliged to follow his example. I 
 never tasted anything so perfectly horrible. I called 
 Polly, and asked her what she had done to the coffee. 
 
 " Why, nothin'," said she ; " only, when I took it up, 
 I throw'd in a tablespoonful o' salt to settle it." 
 
 I v^ent out and made a cup of tea, not daring to trust 
 Polly to do it ; and this, with the bread, which was cut in 
 pieces an inch thick at one end, and slivered up as thin as 
 a wafer at the other, constituted our breakfast. Mr. 
 Waters thought it but a sorry beginning for our new func- 
 tionary ; but I told him that these were evils which, with 
 proper training, could, I hoped, soon be remedied. I 
 spent the whole morning in instructing Polly, giving her 
 the minutest directions about everything in her department 
 of labor ; in fact, doing all that related to the prepara- 
 tion of dinner myself, in order to show her how I wished 
 it done ; while she kept constantly asserting that "she 
 hiovfd — she'd always been used to doing — but then 
 everybody liked their own ways best, and she was per- 
 fectly willin' to be teacht my ways, for she wanted to suit 
 me," &c. &c. 
 
 After dinner I was in the library, when Polly came 
 bolting in, with a look of extreme satisfaction on her face, 
 and holding in each hand a broken tumbler ; the bottoms 
 were gone. 
 
336 LETTERS FROM TIMBER VILLE. 
 
 «' Look o' there, Miss Waters ! " she said. *' Ain't you 
 astonished ? " 
 
 '* I am, indeed. How did you break those, Polly?" 
 
 ** O, law ! " said she, *' that ain't it. I mean, ain't you 
 astonished to see me come and tell on't? 'Tain't every 
 girl 'twould own up so when they broke a thing ; but I do ; 
 you won't never ketch me a breakin' crockery and then 
 stickin' on't away, out o' yer sight. I'm honest, as you'll 
 find out 'fore I've lived with ye long." 
 
 On inquiry, I found that she had poured boiling water 
 on the tumblers to wash them. I told her never to do so 
 again; though, at the same time, I commended her hon- 
 esty in telling me of the accident. After she had got the 
 kitchen '* to rights," she came again. ♦ 
 
 '' Wal, Miss Waters, the work's all did up now; and 
 I'm ready to go at that apron, if you'll lend me a needle 
 and some thread ; I didn't think to fetch none." 
 
 I furnished her with these requisites, and she retired to 
 her room. When it was nearly time for tea, she came 
 running in again, quite out of breath, exclaiming — 
 
 " Don't ye think, Miss Waters, I hain't took a stitch in 
 that apron yet ! " 
 
 *'Why, Polly," said I, "how comes that? I thought 
 you had been sewing these two hours." 
 
 " Wal, that was what I meant to do," replied Polly ; 
 *' but, ye see, I hadn't more'n got seated by my winder, 
 ready to go at it, when Miss Crandal she spied me from 
 her parlor winder, and she called to me to come over there ; 
 so I throwd down my work, ye know, and went over to see 
 what she wanted, and there I've ben ever sence ; and Miss 
 Capers and Miss Bennet was there a visitin', you know 
 and they all three sot to and axed me more'n forty 
 
LETTERS FROM TBIBERVILLE. 337 
 
 thousand questions about you, and all how I got along here, 
 and what wages I got, 'and whether I eat to the table with 
 you. I told 'em no ; I had the privilege of eatin' by 
 myself, without bein' watched every mou'ful I took, and I 
 told 'em I had enough to eat, too ; and a real nice room, 
 besides, to sleep in, with a good clean bed, and a table, 
 and a lookin'-glass in it. That made Miss Crandal feel 
 ruther shamed, I guess ; fur when I lived there, I had to 
 sleep up garret, in an old trundle-bed, you know, right 
 where all the old truck was kept, you know," &c. &c. 
 
 My hopes of Polly's improvement were doomed to 'be 
 disappointed; for I found it utterly impossible to impress 
 anything upon her mind. She could not remember from 
 onqjkour to the next, much less from one day to another. 
 Daily and hourly did I go through with the same process 
 of training and directing. Daily and hourly did Polly pro- 
 test that ** she would remember that time, Pd see 'f she 
 wouldn't," and as constantly did she continue to make the 
 very same blunders over and over again. She would act- 
 ually have salted the coiFee again the second morning, if I 
 had not discovered her intention in time to prevent such a 
 catastrophe. And the tumblers would have been broken 
 every day, had I not superintended the dish- washing. 
 
 The day after she came, the fastidious sisters Bigelow 
 (Carry and Lute) called upon me. I had just gone up 
 stairs to dress, having been engaged longer than usual with 
 my household duties, by reason of Polly's awkwardness. 
 My maid of all work answered the summons of the bell, 
 and admitted the ladies with a very vociferous ** Why, 
 girls, how do you Jo? Come in." 
 
 <« Is Mrs. Waters at home?" said Miss Carry, with 
 great dignity. 
 29 
 
338 LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
 *< O yes ; she's to hum," responded Polly ; '* she's jest 
 went up stahs to put on her t'other things. You step in 
 the parlor; take some cheers; now take off yer things." 
 The ladies declined. *' What, can't ye stay? I know 
 Miss Waters would like to hev you, and I'm sure 1 should." 
 
 '' Carry our names to !Mrs. Waters," said MissBigelow, 
 commandingly. 
 
 <« Your names ! " said Polly, ** less see, they're Carline 
 and L^^c?/, ain't they?" 
 
 <« Tell her the Miss Bigelows are here," replied Carry, 
 with a great accession of dignity to her tone and manner. 
 
 Polly was puzzled ; but, without asking further ques- 
 tions, she came to the foot of the stairs, which is close to 
 the parlor door, and bawled out to me — -0 
 
 " Miss Waters ! the Miss Bigl'ows is here. They told 
 me to tell you their names — I b'l'eve they're Carline and 
 Lucy. They hain't come to stay to tea ; so you hurry and 
 come down as quick as you kin." 
 
 I was distracted ! I rushed out half dressed, and, bend- 
 ing over the banister — 
 
 *' Polly," said I, '* don't stay there any longer. Til be 
 down in a moment." 
 
 '« O law," replied the pertinacious Polly, '* Pd jest as 
 lives stay with 'em till you git ready as not." 
 
 So she returned to the parlor, and entertained the ladies 
 with an account of the advantages of her new place ; and I, 
 knowing that to call to her again would only prolong the 
 ridiculous scene, finished dressing with all possible expedi- 
 tion and hastened down, whereupon Polly withdrew, with- 
 out waiting to be sent, saying, " she guessed she'd go at 
 that apron now." I apologized to the ladies for Polly's ig- 
 norance, and said that I hoped to be able to teach lier 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMDERVILLE. 339 
 
 something in the course of thne. Miss Bigelow trusted 
 that I would succeed in the attempt. Miss Lute remarked 
 that such scenes were excessively annoying, and they both 
 declared that the impertinence of the Timberville servants 
 was quite intolerable to them, particularly after being at 
 Brother Peter's, where the domestics were under such per- 
 fect control, notwithstanding their number. They then 
 went into a highly edifying description of the domestic 
 economy of brother Peter's establishment, which occupied 
 the remainder of the visit. 
 
 After they had gone, I spent an hour in teaching Polly 
 her duty on such occasions. She promised faithfully to ob- 
 serve my directions. The next day, Judge Conway and 
 M#. Conway called; and Polly, will you believe it? 
 went through with the very same performance which she 
 had enacted with the Bigelows ! She was incorrigible, but 
 so really desirous to please me, that I was unwilling to 
 give her up until I had taxed my ingenuity to the utmost 
 to make something of her. But it was a fruitless task, she 
 could not remember ; unless I was with her all the time, 
 everything went wrong. I kept her two weeks, and then 
 gave up in despair. The poor girl felt very badly when I 
 told her that I must discharge her. She said *' she liked 
 me better than anybody she liad ever lived with ; if I would 
 only keep her, she would remember my ways and try to suit 
 me." But I knew too well her utter incapacity to fulfil 
 this promise to trust to her good intentions. One source 
 of regret with Polly at leaving me was, that **she hadn't 
 finished * that apron ' yet, and she shouldn't have a minute's 
 time to sew at her sister-in-law's." You can therefore 
 imagine her delight wdien I presented her a black silk apron, 
 ready made, and her ecstasy at the addition of a collar and 
 pair of cuffs to this gift. 
 
340 LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 
 
 *' Why, Miss Waters ! " said she, *< you don't mean to 
 give me these right out and out, do you? " 
 
 " Certainly, Polly," I replied. 
 
 ' ' And ain't they 'ducted from my wages ? " 
 
 " By no means ; they are a present ; and here is your 
 money, too." 
 
 " Wal, I say for't ! " exclaimed she, *' you he a clever 
 woman and no mistake ! I'll show these to Miss Crandal, 
 3^ou see 'f I don't. She used to make me take mor'n half 
 my wages in old clus." 
 
 In real Timber ville style, I am boring you to death with 
 a history of my " helps." I will not enter into any more 
 particulars on this inexhaustible theme, but merely state 
 that of the two whom I have tried since Polly's departure, 
 the first was a tliievish, intemperr«te Irish woman, wl.om I 
 dismissed at the end of a week ; and the last, a lazy, saucy 
 black girl, of whom you may form a correct idea by this 
 remark of hers. She one day saw two of our most respec- 
 table citizens taking a drunken, black rioter to jail. 
 *'Miss Waters," said she, "what you s'pose dem two 
 white fellers is gwine to do wid dat colored gent ? " This 
 sable functionary " 'eluded to trabel," and accordingly set 
 out a few weeks ago for Avon Springs. Since then I have 
 been without a domestic, and, by dint of putting out the 
 washino", and having " old Sammy," an honest, faithful 
 neoro man, to come every morning and "do up tlie 
 chores," I am getting on very well — nay, I enjoy it thor- 
 ou<dily. In fact, I did not know the extent of my own 
 powers, until necessity forced the discovery upon me ; and 
 as every day strengthens my confidence in my own abilities, 
 and my husband declares that he never was so happy in 
 his life, I think I shall give myself no further trouble about 
 " helps," as long as we reside at Timberville. 
 
LETTERS FROM TIMBERVILLE. 341 
 
 Mrs. Crandal, having now no other means of espionage, 
 has struck up a back-door acquaintance with me ; and, I 
 beheve, begins to think me not so proud, after all, since I 
 am willing to ' ' take right hold and do " myself. She ac- 
 tually brought in to me, yesterday, a present of some very 
 nice *' turnpike cakes," (did you ever hear of them 
 before?) to raise bread with, and also gave me directions 
 for using them, which I intend to put into practice next 
 baking-day. 
 
 But there comes Mary Willis. The dear girl's frequent 
 and unceremonious visits constitute a great share of my 
 enjoyment. I have but lately learned something of Mary's 
 early history. I intend to give it to you at some future 
 time ; perhaps in my next, 
 
 F. M. W. 
 
 29* 
 
AUISIT MAGWIRE'S ACCOUNT 
 
 .MISSION TO MUFFLETEGAWNY. 
 
AUNT MAGWIRE^S ACCOUNT 
 
 MISSION TO MUFFLETEGAWNT. 
 
 'YE ben very lonesome lately. Jefferson's gone off 
 to attend lecters, and Isha'n't see nothin' of him in 
 several months ; but one thing comforts me : when 
 he comes back, I guess it'll be for good. He's about 
 made up his mind to settle down here, and everybody 
 thinks he'll do well here a doctorin'. There ain't but one 
 person that's advised him to leave Scrabble Hill, and that's 
 Samson Savage. He met Jeff one day when he was home . 
 last, and he says, to him in his patronizin' way, " Weil, 
 young man, they say you've nearly finished your studies. 
 Where do you calcilate to locate?" 
 
 <« I've about concluded to stick out a shingle h-ere," says 
 Jeff. 
 
 «<What!" says Mr. Savage, says he, "you surprise 
 me ! Why, you'd be a born fool to do that — a born fool, 
 take my word for it ! " 
 
 «' Why?" says Jeff. "Don't you think I'll succeed 
 here?" 
 
 " As to that matter," says Mr. Savage, " I s'pose you'll 
 
346 A UNT MA G WIRKS A CCO UNT OF THE 
 
 do well enough here In p'Int of practice, but you'll alwaj's 
 be called JefFto your dym' day, if you stay here." 
 
 " That is ruther aggravatin'/' says Jeff, ** but I guess I 
 must grin and bear it, and depend on posterity to do me 
 justice." 
 
 ** Hang posterity!" says Mr. Savage; '^ noiv's the 
 present time." 
 
 I'm very glad Jeff don't take a notion to go clear off 
 to Californy, or some other place away out of the land of 
 the livin' ; 'twould nigh about kill me if he should. The 
 fact is, he'd ruther be wilh his father and mother than 
 anywhere else, and he's a genniwine comfort to us. Most 
 folks think he'll get a good run of practice here after a 
 spell. Dr. Pratt's gittin' oW, and Dr. Tinkom ain't much 
 anj'how ; so Jeff stands a good chance to get along. I'm 
 sorry for one thing ; the Fusticks are put out with him. 
 He's got a way of blurtin' out, you know, a good deal like 
 his father ; he don't mean nothin' by it, but he made the 
 Fusticks mad. I hope he'll do his best to mend the mat- 
 ter when he comes back, for I can't bear that anybody 
 should feel hard towards my son : I'd ruther they'd be mad 
 at me. 'Twas a little time before Ann Eliza was married 
 — the last time Jeff was home. 
 
 What ! didn't you know Ann Eliza'd popped off? 
 Well, she has ; she's married a missionary, and gone away 
 off to convart the heathen in the island of Muffletegawny. 
 I don't know as that's exactly the name, but it's as nigh as 
 I can come to it, anyhow. Ain't it sing'lar that such a 
 highty-tighty, flirtin' thing should ketch a missionary? 
 She ain't much like Mr. Parson's wife ; she 'twas Urainy 
 Slammerkin, old Slammerkin's daughter. I know'd her ; 
 she was raised in Wiggletown, where I was brought up. 
 
MISSION TO 3IUFFLETEGAWNY. 347 
 
 She was quite a religious, sober-minded young woman. 
 Married Reuben Parsons, from Tuckertown, a good sort 
 of a critter, but ruther softy. They went on a mission to 
 the — the what-do-ye-call-'ems. I never can remember 
 names. Their letters used to be published In the Gosjpel 
 Trumpet. 'Twas an awful hot country where they went, 
 and the people was dreadful savages — didn't wear no 
 clothin'. Some of 'em went to Mr. Parson's meetins, 
 tJiough they couldn't understand a word he said. 
 
 Well, the WIggletown and Tuckertown ladies read the 
 accounts In the Gospel Trumpet, and they was wonderfully 
 scandalized to think the poor critters hadn't nothin' to 
 wear to meetin' ; so they clubbed together, and made up a 
 great box of clothin', and sent over to 'em all sorts of 
 things, ever so many frocks, and petticoats, and hoods, 
 and pantaloons, and so forth. The Parsonses distributed 
 'em, and made the savages understand they was to wear 
 'em to meetin'. So the next time Mr. Parsons preached, 
 In come the barbarians rlo^sjed out in hlo^h snuff. The men 
 was swelterin' under the hoods, with the sweat all streamin' 
 down their faces, and the wimmin had the pantaloons round 
 their necks, as if they'd been long shawls. The frocks and 
 petticoats they fetcht along, and spread 'em out to sit on. 
 
 After the Parsonses had been there about ten years, I 
 saw a notice In the Gospel Trumpet — I'd left WIggletown 
 then — sayin' that ** the Reverend Reuben Parsons and his 
 wife, our devoted missionaries to the — the thingumbobs, 
 (I wish I could ever remember names) had left their 
 field of labor, and returned to this country, for the purpose 
 of bringin' over their eight children, to leave 'em here. It 
 was their intention to dispose of the children here and 
 there, and then return to their Interestin' portion of the 
 
348 AUNT MAG WIRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 Lord's vineyard." I thought there must be some mistake 
 about it. " It can't be possible," says I, ** that any 
 mother would be willin' to give up her children in that 
 way. I'd as soon tear out my eyes as do it." Well, I 
 happened to meet Mr. Parsons and his wife when they 
 was in this country. I was over to Wiggletown a visitin', 
 and they came there to see their friends and bring a couple 
 of their daughters to give away. Miss Major Coon took 
 one — she hadn't no children — and Parson Potter's wife 
 took t'other ; she had nine of her own already. I says to 
 Miss Parsons, *' Urainy," says I, " 'taint true, is it, that 
 you're a gwine to leave your children scattered 'round, and 
 go back to heathen lands ? " 
 
 «* Certingly," says she. 
 
 «' Well, I'll give it up, now," says I: *«I thought it 
 must be a mistake. Why, what's your object in leavin' 
 your children, if you must go back yourself?" 
 
 *' Oh," says she, *' I want to devote the hull of my 
 time and energies to the heathen." 
 
 *« Well," says I, '* I should think if you did your duty 
 by them eight children, you couldn't 'a had much time to 
 attend to the savages. See ! you've ben there ten years ; 
 you must 'a got 'em to a pretty high state of civilization by 
 this time, for I remember hearin', when you'd ben there 
 only six months, that the wimmin had larnt what their 
 * rights ' was, and put on the pantaloons." 
 
 Miss Parsons looked at me with the greatest astonish- 
 ment, and says she, *' You don't seem to understand the 
 subject. Miss Magwire." 
 
 *' I guess I don't," says I, *« for I confess it's an onac- 
 countable mystery to me how you can be willin' to give up 
 your own children so." 
 
MISSION TO MUFFLETEGAWNT. 310 
 
 ** I never regarded 'em as my own," says she ; " I look 
 upon 'em as only lent to me by the-Lord." 
 
 '* So much the worse, then," says I. ** If they belong 
 to the Lord, and He's only lent 'em to you, of course 
 you'd ought to be all the more careful of 'em, so's to be 
 able to give a good account of your stewardship." 
 
 '* But you know," says she, '< Scripter commands us to 
 leave all and foller the Lord." 
 
 <* Well," says I, '* I never s'posed that meant we was 
 to give away our children and go off to heathen lands, 
 though I don't pretend to be much of a hand at interpretin' 
 Scripter." 
 
 ** But you know," says she, ** the great work of con- 
 vertin' a world lyin' in wickedness has got to be done. 
 The Apostles was commanded to go preach the gospel to 
 every cretur." 
 
 '*I know it," says I, *'but the wimmin wa'n't com- 
 manded to go. We don't read that the Apostles took 
 waives along. And them seventy that was sent out — 
 s'posen they'd all had wives with 'em, how much good do 
 you think they'd 'a done ? And after a few years what if 
 they'd 'a sent home eight times seventy children — granting 
 they'd each had your number — for the church to take 
 care of? I guess they'd 'a had to found an orphan asylum 
 to put 'em in." 
 
 *< Well," says she, ''I can truly say that I'm perfectly 
 willin' and resigned to part with eyery one of my children, 
 trustin' that the Lord will take care of 'em." 
 
 *<It's time enough to exercise resignation when the 
 Lord calls for 'em," says I; «* but as long as He spares 
 'em to you, it seems to me you'd ought to consider it your 
 30 
 
350 AUNT MAGWIRJU'S ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 greatest duty and privilege to stay with 'em, and do for 
 'em as nobody but a mo'ther can." 
 
 ** I see," said she, ** you don't understand the subject at 
 all. Miss Magwire." 
 
 ** I guess I don't," says I. 
 
 Whether Miss Parsons was mistaken or not, I know she 
 meant to do right, for she was a good woman, a good, 
 pious woman, enough better than I be, though I wouldn't 
 'a done as she did for all the world. 
 
 But I was gwine to tell about Deacon Fustick's daughter 
 gittin' married. I was surprised, and, I must say, 
 amused, at the performances. Her mother's a dreadful 
 manuverin' woman, you know, always figurin' round to 
 get beaux for her daughters, in an awful hurry to get 'em 
 married off. Sing'lar, ain't it, that any mother can feel 
 so? Why, when Nancy was married and left me, it eny 
 most broke my heart, though she was only an adopted 
 child. I didn't want to oppose it, you know, for she got 
 a very likely young man. But Miss Fustick don't seem 
 to care much who nor what her girls get, if she can only 
 marry 'em off. Amanda wa'n't but sixteen when she was 
 married ; her mother made the match entirely, and the 
 man's a miserable stick. There's no tellin' the trials poor 
 Amanda's underwent since she took him. But it didn't 
 seem to be no warnin' to Miss Fustick at all. She went on 
 manuverin' and ilourishin' round, pokin' her girls forrard 
 into the face and eyes of all the'young men, till she suc- 
 ceeded in gettin' rid of 'em all but Ann Eliza, and she 
 done her best for her too ; but somehow she didn't seem to 
 take. She's ruthcr a pretty-lookin' girl, but she was so 
 lazy, and so fond of dress, and so etarnally in the streets, 
 laughin', and hoUerin', and bawlin* at everybody she met, 
 
MISSION TO MUFFLE TEG AWNY. o51 
 
 and doln' everything she could to attract attention, that she 
 overshot the mark. Nobody didn't' seem to take a fancy 
 to her ; the young men seemed willin' enough to beau her 
 round, but they didn't want her for a wife. At length, 
 her mother begun to get discouraged about her ; so last 
 fall she packed her off to spend the winter in Gambletown, 
 where they've got some rich elbow cousins. The theologi- 
 cal siminary's located there, you know, and I s'pose she 
 thought 'twould be a good place to try her luck. 
 
 She called to our house one day in the winter, and told 
 me she'd had such a gratifyin' letter from Ann Eliza, she 
 wished she'd a thouo-ht to fetch it alonsf with her and read 
 it to me. Ann Eliza had become so very much interested 
 in the cause of foreign missions, and felt to regret that she 
 hadn't hitherto entered more fully into her ma's views and 
 feelin's on that subject. " You know," says Miss Fustick, 
 *' that's a cause that lies very near my heart." 
 
 I was surprised enough to hear it of Ann Eliza ; but I 
 knowd there was something behind the curt'in, and waited 
 patiently to see what Iwas. The next time I saw Miss 
 Fustick she told me that Ann Eliza had got so exercised 
 in view of the dreadful condition of the heathen, especially 
 the Muffletegawnys, that she'd made up her mind to go 
 on a mission to 'em if pa and ma was willin'. " Of 
 course we esteem it a privilege to have her go," says Miss 
 Fustick. Well, I was surprisder than ever, and couldn't 
 help tellin' her so ; but she didn't seem to consider it any- 
 thin' strangle at all. And It never once entered her head 
 to think but what Ann Eliza was a very suitable person 
 for such an undertakin'. 
 
 " Law me ! " says I, "if she's in such distress to go on 
 a mission, send her up here to Puddenbag Lane ; 'taint 
 
352 AUNT MAGWIRKS ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 far off, and she couldn't desire to see a more heathenish set 
 than the folks that live there ; 'twould be a first-rate field 
 of labor." Miss Fustick gin me one of her looks, and 
 walked off without sayin' another word. 
 
 A few weeks after that, Ann Eliza got home, and then 
 the mystery was all explained. She'd got a beau ! a Mr. 
 Simpson, a missionary to the Mufiletegawnys (I guess 
 that's the name) . He'd lost his wife about six months 
 before, and come back to get another, and fetch his six 
 children over to make this country a present of 'em. He 
 was edicated at the Gambletown Siminary. So he 
 went there to look round, got acquainted with Ann Eliza. 
 She was wonderfully interested in his accounts of Muffle- 
 teo-awny, and he was wonderfully interested in her. In 
 short, they got engaged about a week after they first saw 
 each other. He was tp sail in a few weeks, and Ann 
 Eliza came home to make preparations for leavin'. 
 
 I declare I couldn't help laughin' to see how hard she 
 tried to look dignified and solemn. I called to see her a 
 few days after she got home. Jeff went with me ; he and 
 she was old cronies ; they'd had many a frolic together. 
 She was wonderful stately to us, had her face drawd down 
 about half a yard long. 
 
 <« So, Ann Eliza," says Jeff, *« it seems you're O P H 
 for Muffletegawny ! " 
 
 <« Yes," says she, with a doleful kind of a look, << I'm 
 about to enlist in the cause of missions. Oh, Jefferson ! 
 how rejoiced I should be if you'd become a missionary ! " 
 
 *' Should ! " says Jeff, says he, *' do you think I could 
 cut out Mr. Simpson ? " 
 
 Ann Eliza skrewed the corners of her mouth and tried 
 to look dignifider than ever, but she had hard work to 
 make it out. 
 
MISSION TO 3IUFFLETEGAWNT. 3jo 
 
 <* I've a notion to try," says Jeff, cockin' up his eye. 
 ** You hold on a spell and give me a chance." 
 
 Ann Eliza snickered out, and says she, '' Git along, 
 Jeff Magwire ! you make me laugh in spite of myself." 
 
 The next day Deacon Peabody's wife come to our house 
 and told me that the congregation was gwin to make up a 
 box of clothin' for Ann Eliza, and said she s'posed I'd 
 esteem it a privilege to contribbit my share towards it. 
 Well, I didn't view it as any great privilege to be sure, 
 but I thouo'ht I'd ought to srive somethin', so I said I'd 
 send a piece of bleached muslin. Miss Peabody said that 
 Ann Eliza had received a good many presents, articles for 
 housekeepin' and so forth, from her friends in Gamble- 
 town, and she hoped there'd be enough contribbited In 
 Scrabble Hill to make up her outfit. She said that the 
 ladies that wished to avail themselves of the privilege of 
 asslstin' in this great object would meet at Deacon Fus- 
 tlck's the next Friday afternoon and sew for Ann Eliza ; 
 of course I wouldn't miss of comin', and I might fetch 
 my contribution along. I told her I'd come if I could. 
 And she went home. 
 
 I'd gin up attendin' the sewin' society since Parson 
 Tuttle was sent off, for I'd made up my mind there was 
 more hurt than good come of 'em. I held a meetin' at 
 home, alone by myself, went into a committee of the hull, 
 and past a unanimous resolution of disgust at sewin' socie- 
 ties in gineral, and the Scrabble Hill sewin' society In 
 partlc'lar, and detarmlned never to attend it agin. 
 
 But after Miss Peabody went away I thought it over, 
 
 and concluded to go, for 'twan't a reg'lar meetin' of the 
 
 society, and, to tell the truth, I had some curiosity to see 
 
 what would be done. So when Friday came, I takes my 
 
 30* 
 
354 A UNT MA G WIRE'S A CCO UNT OF THE 
 
 piece of muslin and starts off for Deacon Fustlck's. 1 
 told Mr. Magwire to come after me in the evenin', but he 
 said he'd be hanged if he would; so Jeff asked if he 
 mightn't come. ** You may if you'll promise to behave," 
 says I. " Of course I'll do that," says he. 
 
 When I got there, I found quite a number of ladies 
 collected, old and young. The old ones were knittin' 
 stockin's for Mr. Simpson, and the young ones was makin' 
 all sorts of things for Ann Eliza — capes, collars, cuiFs, 
 and what not. The Skinners was workin' a pair of foot- 
 stools with woosted. Liddy Ann Buill was makin' a 
 fancy head-dress. Polly Mariar Stillman was embraw- 
 derin' a mornin' cap. Jo Gipson's wife and Miss Brews- 
 ter was sewin' lace on to a number of pocket-han'kerchers. 
 Ann Mariar Lippincott was workin' a pair of slippers for 
 Mr. Simpson. Gloriann Billins was makin' him a green 
 velvet smokin'-cap, figurin' it all over with gilt cord. 
 Anjd Ann Eliza herself was workin' him a pair of fancy 
 suspenders. The Peabody girls was makin' a blue muslin 
 sack. Miss Samson Savage was there, too, pickin' her 
 teeth, and exercisin' a gineral supervision over the rest, 
 orderin' this one and commandin' that ; as for sewin', she 
 said they needn't expect her to do any, for she'd eat such 
 a hearty dinner she couldn't. Miss Fustick and Miss 
 Peabody had gone over to Harristown to buy Ann 
 Eliza's carpets, and engage a dressmaker to come over 
 and make her new dresses. She's got three very nice silk 
 ones, and a number more, and there want no dressmaker 
 in Scrabble Hill that was fashionable enough to rig out a 
 missionary's lady. 
 
 For a spell after I got there, I sot and looked with all 
 the eyes I had. 1 didn't know what to make on't. Thinks 
 
MISSION TO MUFFLETEGAWNY. 355 
 
 me this ain't much such an outfit as Miss Parsons had. 
 How the times is altered ! I guess they mean to astonish 
 the natives. • After a spell, Miss Samson Savage spoke 
 up and says she — 
 
 *' Well, Miss Magwire, do you want some work, or do 
 you calculate to set and hold your hands all the after- 
 noon ? " 
 
 '* No," says I, *' I want to help if there's anything I 
 can do, but I aint no hand at fancy work. I fetcht along 
 some muslin I thought would do for shirts and such ; 
 if there was some things cut out of that, I could sew 
 on 'em." 
 
 So I went into the hall and brought it in. Ann Eliza 
 got up and examined it, and said 'twas altogether too 
 coarse for such purposes, but she guessed 'twould do for 
 very common 'kitchen-chamber sheets. If I was a mind 
 to, I might tear off some and make 'em. I was kind 
 of hurt, for I'd took pains to pick out what I thought was 
 a nice fine piece. But I didn't say nothing. I tore off 
 the sheets and went to work at 'em; Margaret Pettibone 
 took hold and helped me. She kept a-tradin' on my toe 
 all the afternoon. Mag's pretty keen ; there's a good deal 
 of the "white horse" in her; she's a good hearted-girl, 
 too. 
 
 Bymeby Miss Fustick and Miss Peabody got back. 
 They was in high spirits, for they'd made some first-rate 
 bargains in carpets and hearth-rugs. The marchant had 
 throw'd off considerable when they told him the things 
 was to go on a mission. '' I says to him," says Miss 
 Fustick, *' that no doubt, under the circumstances, he'd 
 esteem it a privilege to let us have 'em as low as possible. 
 He said, * Certingly,' and I think we got 'em very reason- 
 able indeed." 
 
356 A UNT MA Q WIRE'S A CCO UNT OF THE 
 
 In the evenin' there was several young men come in. 
 And the new minister, Parson Pulsifer, he was there too. 
 He's a single man ; ben here since about the middle of 
 winter. Cappen Smalley, and a few more of the richest 
 men in the congregation, after they'd got rid of Parson 
 Tuttle, detarmined they'd have a single man ; they come 
 cheaper than married ones, you know. Of course all the 
 wimmin that had daughters to peddle off, and all others 
 that was willin' to dispose of themselves, fell in with the 
 plan, and so they gin Mr. Pulsifer 'a call. He was 
 preachin' in Punkin Hook on trial at the time, and accepted 
 the call. He's wonderful popilar with 'em all, more so 
 than any minister they've had before. He's quite a young 
 man, and very good lookin'. He was brought up a few 
 miles out of Boston, I forget the name of the place. They 
 think he's terrible eloquent here, especially the young 
 folks. But, for my part, I don't consider him nigh so 
 deep a man as Parson Scrantum was ; and in p'int of 
 plain, practical sarmonizin' he doesn't come up to Parson 
 Tuttle by a good deal. I try to make the best of him 
 though. 
 
 I always try to like my minister, for I do hate to hear 
 folks, especially wimmin, forever findin' fault with their 
 minister, complainin' about his style and manner, or his 
 want of this, and too much of that, saying they aint edi- 
 fied, and all that sort of stuff. I don't often see a minister 
 that I can't larn something from, if I'm a mind to be teach- 
 able and take home tt> myself what they say. But, some- 
 how, Mr. Pulsifer puzzles me. I listen just as close as 
 ever I can ; I give my hull attention to him when he's 
 preachin', but I can't make head nor tail on't. His lan- 
 guage is so kind of double-and-twisted, that I can't for the 
 
MISSION TO MUFFLETEGAWNY. 357 
 
 life of me make out what he's drivin' at. He mioht as 
 well preach in Dutch, for all the good it does me. 
 
 Once in a while he has a sentence that sounds some like 
 other folks, and I begin to feel encouraged, and hope he's 
 a comin' down to the level of my comprehension. But 
 the next minute he's away in the hyasticks ag'in, strino-in 
 it off about the '* great All-soul of creation," and so oil, 
 and I give it up in despair. But I never say nothing about 
 it, for I won't talk about my minister, nor discuss his qual- 
 ities with nobody ; 'taint right. 
 
 It's amusin' to hear the remarks made about him by the 
 young folks, especially the girls. *' What a delio-htful 
 preacher! " says one. '' Did you ever hear such a ser- 
 mon ? " says another. * * How animated ! " says another. 
 "I never could go to sleep under Ids preachin'." The 
 Skinners come up aside of tTeff and me one Sunday as we 
 was gwine home from meetin'. *' Don't you think Mr. 
 Pulsifer treated the subject in a \QYy original manner ? " 
 says Almira. 
 
 i i Very 1 " says Jeff, * * entirely original " — 
 
 I hunched him, for I saw he was gwine to say somethin' 
 he hadn't ousrht to. 
 
 "Don't you think him very sublime?" says Sophrony. 
 
 '< Well," says Jeff, **it's a great deal to call a man 
 sublime, but I think we may safely say our minister ain't 
 but a step from it ; for you know Burke says " — 
 
 I gin him another hunch , and so he stopt short ; for I'd 
 heard him quote that remark before. Jeff's quite inclined 
 to make fun of Parson Pulsifer, but I never encourage him. 
 When we got home, I told him never to say nothin' dispar- 
 agln' of his minister, and he promised he wouldn't. 
 
 Mr. Pulsifer writes poetry, too, and the girls go into 
 
358 A UNT MA G WIRE'S A CCO UXT OF THE 
 
 fits over it. To my mind, it's dreadful sing'lar poetry. I 
 never saw nothinVto beat it. Full of wrong-end-foremost 
 words, and goes hitcliity-hitch along. Sounds to me like 
 savs^in' through a board full of rusty nails. JeiF says the 
 minister's got a high-dutch muse, but I tell him to hold his 
 tono'ue. You'd laugh, though, to see w^hat a time there is 
 a-settin' caps at him. The young girls have all got to be 
 wonderful stiddy, go-to-meetln' characters since he came. 
 They wouldn't miss the Wensday evenin' lecter for nothin'. 
 The Skinners think Polly Maria Stillman acts like a fool 
 over Mr. Pulslfer ; and Polly Mariar thinks the Skinners 
 are desperit pious all of a sudden. Charity Grimes thinks 
 Liddy Ann Buill's conduct is ridicilous for a person of her 
 age ; and Liddy Ann thinks Charity Grimes had better 
 e-et a wis:^ if she wants to ketch Mr. Pulsifer. And so 
 they have it, back and forth, all over town. I can't help 
 bein' amused, and Jeff has lots of fun out on't. 
 
 But I was tellln' about the meetin' at Deacon Fustick's. 
 Well, in the evenin' Miss Samson Savage said she wanted 
 to see the rest of the presents that Ann Ellza'd received ; 
 so ^liss Fustick brought 'em out, and spread 'em on the 
 table. Grammany ! it a'most dazzled my eyes to look 
 at 'em. There was a dozen silver forks, presented by a 
 rich lady in Gambletown ; a splendid tea-pot from another ; 
 a lot of napkin-rings from some young ladies in that village 
 — Miss Fustick said that the Gambletown folks was deeply 
 interested in the cause of missions ; then there was a couple 
 of elegant butter-knives from Miss Samson Savage — she 
 launches out once in a while, and does somethin' grand — 
 and quite a number of articles for the table that I don't 
 know the names nor the use of; and there was no end to 
 the capes, and collars, and neck-ribbons, and flummydiddles 
 of all sorts that had been ejin to Jier. 
 
MISSION TO MUFFLETEGAWNY. 359 
 
 While we was a-lookin' at the things, Jeffcnme In. He 
 jest glanced at 'em, and then sot down by the stove and 
 went to talkin' with Deacon Fustlck. I felt relieved, for I 
 was afraid he'd be makin' some of his speeches. There 
 was a number more young men come In, and after a spell 
 Mr. Pulsifer arriv. When he made his appearance, we 
 all sot down, and there was a gineral time of puckerin' 
 and primmin' among the girls. Almira Skinner draw'd 
 her chair up to the table, and went to readin' In a Bible 
 that laid there, as If there wan't nobody In the room but 
 herself. The conversation turned on to the subject of 
 missions before long, and Isliss Fustlck said she hoped 
 Ann Ellza'd have grace to sustain her In her great under- 
 takin'." 
 
 " I hope so too, ma," says Ann Eliza. She sot twirlln' 
 a napkln-ring on her fingers. 
 
 The deacon remarked that *' 'twas a orreat thinof to give 
 up all for the sake of carryin' the Gospel to heathen lands 
 — a very great thing." 
 
 *' It is, Indeed," says Ann Eliza, glancin' at the butter- 
 knives. 
 
 Parson Pulsifer said something about *' heart devotion 
 and world-wide Influence,' and then Charity Grimes begun 
 to talk away about the duties and responsibilities of a min- 
 ister's wife, both at home and In forelm lands ; she's sot 
 a long tongue. Miss Samson Savage winked at the Still- 
 mans, and the Stillmans winked back agin. Liddy Ann 
 Bulll was settin' beside me, and says she, " Did you ever ! 
 that's to let Mr. Pulsifer know how well she understands a 
 minister's wife's duty." 
 
 Polly Mariar Stillman said she intended to propose to 
 the ladles, at the next meetin' of the sewin' society, to pay 
 
3G0 AUNT MAGYilRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 for the eddlcation of one of the Muffletegawiij boys, to be 
 named *« Jeremiah Pulsifer." Mr. Pulsifer bowed, and 
 thanked her for the compliment. I couldn't help pityin' 
 the poor little savage, whoever he might be, that had got 
 to have such a name. 
 
 Jeff spoke up, and says he, " I don't know^ much about 
 these Muffletegawmys ; desperate heathen, I s'pose, though, 
 ain't they, Ann Eliza? " 
 
 '< O yes," says she, «' they're victims of idolatry." 
 
 <« Poor benighted barbarians ! " says Jeff, with a groan, 
 **how I pity 'em!" 
 
 Miss Fustick was sittin' t'other side of Liddy Ann Buill, 
 and she reached acrost, and hunched me, and says she, 
 ** Has Jefferson experienced religion? " 
 
 *' Not in partlc'lar," says I. 
 
 *« I didn't know but he had, from the way he spoke," 
 says she. '* Thought perhaps they'd had a special effort in 
 Coonville, and he'd ben brought in." 
 
 <« Hereafter," says Jeff, very solemnly, " I shall take a 
 great interest in the Muffletegawnys." 
 
 Miss Fustick reached acrost agin, and says she, " De- 
 pend on't, Miss Mag wire, he's exercised in his mind, any- 
 how. I shouldn't wonder if Ann Eliza's mission had set 
 him a-thlnkin'." 
 
 Jeff groaned agin. *« Poor critters ! " says he ; and he 
 lookt at the wall and shook his head. You'd 'a thought 
 his hull soul was wrapt up in the heathen. The young 
 men stared and didn't say nothin' ; Parson Pulsifer lookt 
 surprised, and I confess I wondered myself what Jeff was 
 up to. 
 
 *' It's a great work, Brother Pulsifer," says Deacon 
 Fustick, '* a great and glorious work, this mission to 
 
MISSION TO MUFFLETEGAWNY. oGl 
 
 < 
 
 Maffletegawny, and I feel to rejoice that a daughter of 
 mine is about to take her life in her hand and go forth to 
 engage in it." 
 
 " Dear me ! " says I, *' I don't see how you can bear 
 the idea of partin' witli her to go so far off; like enough 
 you never'il see her agin." 
 
 *' Oh, Miss Magvvire," says Deacon Fustick, **you 
 hain't got the right kind of feelln' about it ; we'd ought to 
 rejoice " — 
 
 Miss Fustick interrupted him, and says she: " For my 
 part, if I had half a dozen daughters left, I should esteem 
 it a privilege to have 'em all devoted to such a work." 
 
 *' Well," says I, "I can't -feel so, nor I can't see how 
 anybody can." 
 
 '* Mother," says Jeff, very seriously, '' you don't under- 
 stand it all ; you don't view it in the right light." 
 
 *' You're right, Jefferson," says Ann Eliza; ''your 
 ma's views are peculiar ; I hope you'll convince her of her 
 error." 
 
 ''I shall try," said Jeff, and he gin another dreadful 
 groan. 
 
 Miss Fustick poked over to me agin, and says she, 
 *' Take my word for't, Jeff's under consairn, and he'll 
 come out before lono;." 
 
 " Mother," says he, "jest consider the condition of the 
 Muffletegawnys ; think how deplorably ignorant they are. 
 Why, they never saw nor heard of 7wpJdn-rings, butter- 
 knives, silver forks, and so forth ! and I don't s'pose they 
 know a smokin'-cap from a stage-driver's jockey ! Now, 
 ain't it important that they should be taught the use of 
 such articles as soon as possible, and learn how C/iristitms 
 live? It's a great work, mother, a very great work." 
 31 
 
362 AUNT 31 AG WIRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE 
 
 For a spell after Jeff had freed his mind, there wa'n't a 
 word said by nobody. Deacon Fustick ham'd and haw'd, 
 Miss Fustick lookt perfectly stumpt, and Ann Eliza didn't 
 seem to know what to make on't. Bymeby, Margaret 
 Pettibone whispered to me, and says she, " I guess Jeff's 
 come out ruther sooner than Miss Fustick expected." 
 
 After a spell, Deacon Fustick requested Mr. Pulslfer to 
 ** address the throne of grace." Somehow I don't like to 
 hear that ; it sounds too much like sayin' " make an ora- 
 tion to the Lord ! " When the prayer was ended, we all 
 went home. 
 
 After Jeff and I got out of hearin', I scolded him 
 soundly. ** Jeff," said I, " I'm ashamed of you. How 
 could you sarve me such a trick, after promisin' not to cut 
 up?" 
 
 *' O, no, mother dear," says he, *< you're nv!staken ; I 
 didn't promise so. I said I'd behave, and didn't I?" 
 
 Ann Eliza was married a few weeks after. They had 
 quite a weddin'. Husband and I was invited, hut Jeff 
 wasnh; and, on the hull, I was glad on't, for if he'd 'a 
 ben there, like enough he'd 'a let out another link. Hus- 
 band went with me ; he was cur'us to see Mr. Simpson, 
 and so was I. He was quite a spruce, good-lookin', 
 youngerly man, with big whiskers and gold spectacles. 
 His riggin' throughout was all in the latest fashion. Tlie 
 girls all thought his manners was very polished, but there 
 was ruther more bow and scrape about him than I like ; 
 I'm old-fashioned, though. 
 
 Parson Pulslfer married 'em, and I tell you he did it 
 higli snuff. After the cake was past round there was a 
 great time about a ring that they pretended was in it, and 
 the one that got it would be married next. Of course 
 
MISSIOJ^ TO MUFFLE TEG A WNY. 363 
 
 'twas all hurraw boys, and giggle and titter for the rest of 
 the evenin'. But Ann Eliza sot still on the sofy, and 
 lookt as interesting as she could. I didn't see her stir all 
 the evenin'. A short time before we broke up, Miss Fus- 
 tick went round and brought 'em to order, and we had 
 several ' ' addresses to the throne of grace. " Deacon Fus- 
 tick led. Deacon Parker and Deacon Peabodj follered, 
 and Mr. Pulsifer closed. After that they sung " From 
 Greenland's icy mountains," for a windin' up. Then we 
 bid Ann Eliza good-by, and went home. 
 
 They left the next day. There was quite a number of 
 waggin loads of young folks went over to Harristown with 
 'em to see 'em take the cars. Jeff went too ; he didn't 
 lay it up not being invited to the weddin'. Margaret Pet- 
 tibone said that when JefF went up to bid Ann Eliza good- 
 by, he gin her a good smack, and says he, " Now, Ann 
 Eliza, if Mr. Simpson don't use you well, let me know, 
 and ril come over." Mr. Simpson didn't know who JefF 
 was, and he stared over his gold specs in perfect astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 Parson Pulsifer writ a piece of poetry on the occasion. 
 'Twas printed in the Gospel Trumpet and copied into the 
 Scrabble Hill Liimhiary. I saved the paper that had It in. 
 I'll get It, and you may refld it ; read it out loud, and see 
 If It doesn't kind of make yer jaws ache. 
 
 THOUGHTS ON THE FAR-GOING OF THOSE TWO DEVOTED SOULS 
 TO THE MISSION-LAND OF MUFFLETEGAWNY. 
 
 Go ! haste, great-hearted pair I 
 The big,.heaven-seut message bear 
 
 To heathenism's wildernesses — 
 The niglit-darJi ref,'-ions where 
 
 Superstition's demon hisses. 
 Over darkness' realm forlorn 
 Up-raisc the gospel horn. 
 
364 THE MISSION TO MUFFLE TEG AWNY. 
 
 High ! high ! and blow I blow I blow ! 
 A blast, loud, long:, earth-sundering, 
 Which roaring, rumbling, thundering, 
 
 From pole to pole shall go ! 
 Till the black, sky-high throne, 
 
 Which the dire all-fiend uprears, 
 Tumbles down, stone after stone, 
 As a huge skeleton bone after bone 
 Cru«ables to demolition, 
 In the down depths of perdition, 
 
 And world-wide disappears. 
 
 Refislup. 
 
GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT, 
 
GOIE'G TO SEE THE PEESIDENT. 
 
 ■/Tv^:- 
 
 'OTHER evenin'the Deacon and I was a settin' by 
 the stove ('twas ruther a chilly evenin') , I a nittin' 
 and he a readin' the Paris Hill Dimocrat (my 
 husband's a terrible dimocrat, it's all there is agin 
 him), when lo and behold, our Zebidee cum in (he's the 
 deacon's son, my step son) a clappin' his hands, and kickin' 
 up like all possest. 
 
 *' What's to pay now? " interrigoried I. 
 *' Hooraw," says he; "I've ben warned." , 
 
 *' The dragon," says I, " who's had the audackity to 
 warn you agin sin and temptation, when yer father's ben 
 deacon risin' twenty year ? " 
 
 *' Don't ye know nothin'," says he, *' I've ben warned 
 to train, and I've got to go down to Skeeterburrer next 
 Monday to muster." 
 
 ** O, grandfer gracious," says I, ''I dident make no 
 fuss when Jabez had to train, 'cause there warn't no signs 
 o' war then ; but seems to me in these ere days it's awful 
 danoferous to be a trainer." 
 
 " What for," says the Deacon, says he.' 
 " Why," says I, '* my fust husband use to say how't if 
 Van Buren ever got to be President, ther'd certing be war. 
 So now he's appinted, I suspect ev'ry day when the storm 
 
 (367) 
 
368 GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT. 
 
 o' war'll bust over our heads ; and O, dear suz it's awful, 
 to think of Jabez and Zebidee a fight in' in the midst of 
 combatlin' hosts." 
 
 «« O, 'shaw," says Zeb, '' what do you know about 
 war?" 
 
 *« Or pollyticks, eyether," says the Deacon. 
 
 <' About war, you sarsebox ! " says I to Zebidee. " I 
 ruther gess I know as much about it as you do, for my 
 grandfer fit in the revolutionery tussle, and I've heern him 
 discribe it time and agin. As to pollyticks," continyd I, 
 glancin' at the deacon ; " I know as much about 'em as I 
 want tew ; my fust husband w^as quite a pollyticker, and 
 what's more, he was on the right side. He hated old 
 Jackson, and all the dimocrats, like pison, and I gess if 
 he'd a lived a spell longer. Van Buren never'd a ben pres- 
 ident, for he wouldent a voted for him, even if he'd a ben 
 sure o' bein' made supervisor for't." 
 
 " Missis Gorum," says the Deacon, says he, *< I hope 
 you don't mean to cast no refl^exions." 
 
 *''0, dear," says I, "do you s'pose you'd a ben made 
 supervisor if you hadent a quit the whigs, and jined the 
 dimocrats ? " 
 
 ** Permilly," says the deacon, says he, edgin' his cheer 
 up to me, and tappin' of me under the chin. '* Per- 
 milly," says he, " don't never say no more about that are, 
 that's a purty creetur." 
 
 *< Lemme alone," says I, shovin' oiF. *« What do I 
 know about pollyticks ? " 
 
 The deacon he lookt kinder grieved, and took up his 
 paper and went to readin' agin. Zebidee he cleared out, 
 and we tew was left alone by ourselves. Arter a spell, I 
 begun to feel ruther onpleasant, and thinks me, I show'd 
 
GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT. 3G9 
 
 ruther tew much spunk about that are speech o' the Dea- 
 con's seein' it's the fust dlzai'i-eeable thinly he ever said to 
 me. Well, we sot so much as an hour, and feeling my- 
 self intirelj onable to indure the hidins of the Deacon's 
 countenance any longer, I jumped up all of a sudding, 
 run «p to him, huv my arms round his neck, and bust into 
 a terrible flood o' tears. The Deacon was dretfully af- 
 fected ; he imbraced me tenderly, exclamagatin, — 
 
 ** Milly, darlin', you do know suthin' about pollyticks ; 
 certingly ye know enough to cum over onto the right side, 
 when you've ben on the wrong. Don't ye,blessin'? " 
 
 " O, Deacon dear," says I, *' don't never illude to the 
 dizagreeable subjick of pollyticks in my presence agin." 
 
 " Well, I won't," says he. 
 
 Jest that mlnnit sumbody knockt to the door, and says 
 I, "Walk in," and in cum Squire Jones. 
 
 '*Hooraw! hooraw ! " says he, and then he up and 
 danced a jig in the middle o' the floor. 
 
 '* What in natur's to pay," says the Deacon and me, 
 says we. 
 
 *' Why," says he, " the President's a guayne to be to 
 Utica day arter to-morrer." 
 
 *' You don't," says the Deacon, says he. 
 
 "Jest so," says the Squire ; and we're all a guayne 
 down to meet him ; all the dimocrats of this ere stiff dim- 
 ocratic town ; and you must go 'long, you know the 
 papers tells about the staunch yomandery of the kentry ; 
 the back-bone o' the nation turnin' out to meet the presi- 
 dent in their lumber wagglns, in rael republican stile. 
 Well, that's jest the way we're a guayne. He's suspected 
 to Whitestown about ten o'clock, and there "he's a guayne 
 to got off the cars, and the hull town of Utica's a cum- 
 min' up to carry him down to their place." 
 
370 GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT. 
 
 <« On a rail?" says I. 
 
 " No, by jolly," says the Squire. *' On a fust rate 
 hoss." 
 
 ''Massy sakes," says I, *'If they don't have a rail, 
 seems to me they'd or'to have a jackass, or sum sich cree- 
 tur for him, so's to look republican, and corrispond with 
 the flambergasted waggins that's a cummin' to meet him 
 from all directions." 
 
 "Oh, shaw !" says the Squire, " what do you know 
 about" — 
 
 *' Stop, Squire," says the Deacon. "• Don't talk up to 
 my wife tliat way." 
 
 So the Squire dident eend what he begun to say, but 
 says he: "My wife's beset to go long, and I tell'd her 
 how't If your wife would go, she mut go tew, so what do 
 ye say to't ? " 
 
 " Why, It depends on circumstences," says I. *' Sha'nt 
 I have to hooraw nor nothin'? 'cause 'twould go awlully 
 agin my conshence to hooraw for Van Buren." 
 
 " The old boy ! " says the Squire, "who ever heerd of 
 the wimmin's hoorawin' on sich a 'casion ? " 
 
 " Well," says I, " I dident know but what they did, 
 'cause I never went to no sich doin's. Well, He accompa- 
 nate ye." 
 
 " That's you," says the Squire, and then he went hum, 
 and jest then Zebidee cum hum, and right arterwards my 
 Amandy. Malviny returned from singin'-school, and Kicr 
 Simpson with her. (Kier's ben takin' arter her risin' tew 
 year.) Well, Amandy and Zebidee was beset to go, so 
 we concludid to let 'em. And Kier said he'd take Amandy 
 ill his survey ance. Well, the Deacon, and me and Zebidee, 
 we went Into tlic kitcliin^- and left Kier and Amandy alone, 
 
GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT. o71 
 
 (vveve ben in hopes he'd cum to the pint and ax her to have 
 him, for sum time ; and it's high time he did for he's went 
 hum with her from singin'-school and conf 'rence meetin' 
 risin' tew year, and I'm sure I don't know what the creetur 
 means by puttin' off so, for he's ividently very much be- 
 smitten with her, and no wonder, for she's an oncommon 
 interestin' young woman, looks very much as I did when I 
 was a gearl ; there ain't a feller in our place but what 
 would be glad to git her. But she's ividently more pleased 
 with Kier, than with ary other feller, and I wish to 
 gracious he'd suppose himself to her.) Well, the next day, 
 we was all day a gittin' in a state of reddyation, and the 
 Deacon he tell'd me to dew up his ruffled shirt, for he said, 
 " seein' he was a guayne to eat dinner with the President, 
 'twas recumbent upon him to look as slick as possible." 
 
 " So," says I,"yer a guayne to cat dinner with him, hay ? " 
 
 " Certingly," says he, '' what else should I go to Utica 
 for." 
 
 Well, thinks me. If the Deacon wants to eat dinner with 
 the creetur, he may, and I won't say nothin' agin it, tho' I 
 druther be hanged than to go long with him, but I will 
 neverstandin'. 
 
 Well, the next mornin' we all got reddy very airly. 
 Zebidee he harnessed the bosses, and Amandy and me we 
 habiUated ourselves as follers. She put on that are yali^r 
 figgerd silk gownd o'hern, and her black silk mankilk-r 
 with white fringe round it, and her pink slurred bunnit 
 with a master sight of artifishel roses and chany asters on't, 
 and if she dideat look purty it's no matter. I put on my 
 cumamon colored canton crape, 'cause I reckon it's more 
 becomin' to my figger than ary gownd I've got. Tlien I 
 wore my red meryno shawl, and my green silk bunnit sur- 
 
372 GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT. 
 
 mounted by one long black ostridge fether ; and I must 
 say I lookt oncommon \Yell. But goody grievous ! how 
 Missis Squire Jones did look ! Missis Jones is a master 
 nice woman and persessed of considerble intellectitude, but 
 she haint no more taste in the arrangement of her attire 
 than an old cow. But I can't spend time to discribe her 
 twilight. 
 
 Well, Kier he cum in his one horse waggin, and 
 Amandy got in with him, and the Deacon and me, and 
 Zebidee, we got into our survey ance and purty soon all the 
 rest of the folks cum along, and by seven o'clock the hull 
 sivilcade sot out. Well, by ten o'clock we arrove to 
 Whitestown and druv up to Capting Clapp's Hotell, and 
 arter takin' sum pie and cheeze we sot out to go to the rail- 
 road, the Deacon and me and Zebidee fust. Squire Jones 
 and lady next, Kier Simpson and Amandy next, and arter 
 them the rest of the remainder of our townsfolks ; and in 
 that monner we plummenaded dovv^n to the railroad, and I 
 swonny, I b'l'eve we extracted as much attention as the 
 president himself. There was thousands and millions o' 
 folks in the streets and they did stare at us consairnedly, at 
 me pertickilerly, for I must say I was the most extinguished 
 individyal in our party in pint o' looks. I never was in sich 
 a crowd in my born days. 
 
 Me and Amandy and the Squire's wife, was the ony she- 
 mules to be seen. And arter a standin' there as much as an 
 liour, and the President dident come, I says to the Deacon 
 savs I, *' Deacon, dear, I feel kind o' timersome about 
 standin' here among sich a mess o' men folks." 
 
 ** Well, I don't," says Missis Jones, " I ain't afeard of 
 their bitin' of me." (Missis Jones is awful bold.) 
 
 " O Kier," says Amandy, " I wish Ide a wore my vail, 
 the men folks stare so." 
 
GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT. 373 
 
 '< O," says Kier, " that's 'cause they am't use to seein' 
 sich honsouie faces." '< O lawful suz ! " says Amandy says 
 she, *' yer a blaggardin' of me." Jest then the folks hol- 
 lerd out " the cars is cummin'," and sure enough purty 
 soon the injine cum a smokin' and buzzin' and clatterin* 
 along, and the Deacon and Zebidee they hysted me onto 
 the fence so I could see over the folks. 
 
 *' Do ye see him? " says the Deacon. 
 
 **No," says I. 
 
 a Why," says he, *' that are gentleman with gray briches 
 on that they're jest a hystin' out 's him. " 
 
 <'0," says I, ''do ye mean that are short old feller, 
 ruther corputent, with gray and yaller hair a stickin' out 
 so consairnedly." 
 
 " That's him," says he. 
 
 "O lawful sakes," says I, "we might a seen enough 
 better lookin' men without cummin' so fur." 
 
 »* True," says the Deacon, says he, " but they wouldent 
 a ben all presidents." 
 
 Jest that minnit there was a pussy man cum puffin' and 
 blow^n', through the crowd, leadin' a very 'rantic boss, fur 
 the President to ride on ; and a number o' men took hold 
 and boosted Marting up. As soon as he was fairly sur- 
 mounted, he spied me, and he took of his hat and begun a 
 bo win' to me at an all killin' rate. I no doubt he was very 
 much struck with my appearance, for it did seem as if he'd 
 stare me thro'. *\Vell,' he kept a bowin' and I kept a cur- 
 ^chyin' on the fence, till I begun to feel ruther ilustratcd. 
 
 " O dear," says I, " I feel turrible dashed to be stared 
 at and bowed at so, Ime a blushin' like all natur. Deacon 
 dear, do take me off this ere pre-eminence." 
 
 " O lawful suz," says Missis Jones, '• I wouldeut be 
 afeard o' the face o' Clay." 
 
374 GOING TO ^EE THE PRESIDENT. ' 
 
 *' Nor me nyther," says I, *' for I don't bleve Clay's 
 got sich plagy sharp eyes as Van Buren has." 
 
 Well we went back to the tarvern to reassume our 
 waggins and perceed to Utica. It had bid fair to be rainy 
 all day and jest as we got to the capting's, it clouded up 
 wuss than ever, and lookt as if 'twould pour every minnit, 
 and Missis Jones said for her part she want a guayne a 
 step furder, she'd no notion o' gittin' as wet as muck 
 for all the presidents betvvext here and Passamaquoddy 
 Bay. 
 
 ** Me nyther," says Amandy M.alviny, *< I aint so 
 anxious to ride behind the President as to spile my buunit 
 for't." 
 
 <' Well," says I, ** I aint no frind o' Van Buren. My 
 fust husband was a stairn, uncountermisin whig, and he 
 always endeevord to distill his sentiments into me, but 
 neverstandin' that, Tme a guayne to Utica, and it's jest to 
 gratificate my dear husband the Deacon. 1 aint afeard of 
 a little rain. Ime nyther sugar nor salt, and Ime a 
 guayne to Utica, I don't ker if the Dragon stands in the 
 door." 
 
 " That's you, wife," says the Deacon, squeezin' my hand. 
 So he and me and Zebidee, we got in our waggin and rid 
 off, leavin' Missis Jones and Amandy and Kier to the 
 Capting's, where they said they meant to stay till the 
 shower was over. 
 
 We had to drive amnzin' tight to ketch up^ with the 
 republican rottenow, but at last we got tew 'em and druv 
 into the citty at the hindmost eend of 'em. Instid o' 
 stoppin' at the hotell. Van Buren went hum to eat dinger 
 with the gentleman that brung up the boss for him, and 
 I hecrd (tho' J didcnt see it) that when he rid up to the 
 
GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT. 375 
 
 door, there was a couple o' very ginteel young wimmeii 
 cum out o' the house and carried hini in on a lady's cheer. 
 
 " Well," says the Deacon, says he, *' I aint a cummin' 
 clear to Utica to eat dinner with the President, and then 
 be cheated out on't," so we left our surveyance to the 
 tavern, and the Deacon and rae and Zebidee, we walkt 
 over to the man's house. Well we kuockt to the door, 
 and nobody dident cum, so Zeb he gin a thunderin' kick 
 and then there was a nlirGjer wench cum. 
 
 *' Is the President here? " says the deacon. 
 
 *' Yis, sir," says she. ' 
 
 " Well then, show us into yer settin'-room, we've cum 
 to dinner." The nigger stared and dident offer to stir. 
 
 " Don't ye hear, you black creetur," says I, " show us 
 into yer settln'-room." 
 
 So she opened a door and rushered us Into a turrible 
 nice room. " Now," says I, " go tell yer Missis to set 
 three more addtltional plates to the table." So she went 
 off and purty soon the man that fetcht the boss up to 
 Whitestown, he cum in mighty fierce with a wonderful 
 o^Inteel lookln' woman behind him. 
 
 '* What's the meanin' o' this? " says the man. 
 
 *' Why, we've cum to eat dinner with the President," 
 says the Deacon, says he. 
 
 "Have hay," says he. *'Well, He tell ye another 
 story. My house aint a tarvern." 
 
 The Deacon he was bethunderstruck and darsent say 
 another word. So I up, and says I, " Mister, I gess if 
 you knowd who you was a-talkin' tew, you'd be ruther 
 perllter ; this ere's Deacon Gorum ; and he's not ony 
 deacon, but superviser to boot, and Ime his pardner, and 
 this ere's our son, and we've cum bettern fifteen mild a 
 purpose to eat dinner with the President." 
 
37(3 GOING TO SEE THE rilESIDENT. 
 
 "Have hay," says he. *'Well Ime sorry to say we 
 can't accommerdate ye. My wife haint cookt more'n 
 enou2:h dinner for she and I and the President, and Mr. 
 and Missis Boneset, have ye, ray dear?" says he, turnin' 
 to his wife. (She stood there with her honkercher up to 
 her face a-oio-olin'.) 
 
 '*My! no," says she, "and Ime ferful we shall cum 
 short as it is, if Mr. and Missis Boneset is very hearty to 
 eat." 
 
 " Whose Mr. and Missis Boneset? " says I. 
 
 "Lawful sakes ! " says she. " Don't ye know, why 
 it's the Secretary and Secretaryess of War." • 
 
 " There, Deacon," says I, " dident I tell ye there'd be 
 war? Now I reckon the sooner we git hum the better." 
 Jest then I happened to spy Van Buren a peekin' thro' ix 
 crack in the door, so thinks me, He giv him a stirrin' up, 
 " so," says I, castin' a look of suvering contemp at the 
 man and his wife, " Ye may go to the Dragon with yer 
 dinner. I don't want nun on't. I aint no Vanburenite, 
 and my fust husband wouldent a wiped his old shoes on 
 Martins^. He was as stiff a whio^ as ever trod shoe 
 leather, and so be I and so was the Deacon, till Satan 
 tempted him to go over to t'other side. I s'pose the evil 
 one reckoned they needed one decent man among 'em." 
 
 " Git out o' my house," says the man. 
 
 " With all the pleasure on aiith," says I, makin' an all 
 sufficient low kurchy, and walkin' off with oncommon dig- 
 nitude, the Deacon and Zcbidee follerin'. Well, it was a 
 rainin' considerable smart, so we went as fast as we could 
 to where we left our waggin, and got in and rid over to 
 Elihu Slocum's (he's an intimit frind o' the Deacon's, 
 moved from our place five years ago ; his wife's a veiy 
 
GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT. 377 
 
 ginteel woman). Well, we went there, and they was ter- 
 rible glad to see us ; got dinner for ui3, and treated us 
 very perllte. But the Deacon was dretful sober — he felt 
 awful cheap about bein' u&ed so by that dimocrat and 
 his wife. But he didn't say nothin' about It afore Mr. 
 Slocum, and he winked to me not tew, 'cause Slocum's a 
 whio", and the Deacon know'd he'd bother him to everlastin 
 about it If he heerd on't. Well, arter dinner Zeb he 
 went out, and purty soon he cum back, and says he, 
 «' Father, the President's down to the hotell a shakin' hands 
 with his frinds, don't ye want to go down and see him?" 
 
 So the Deacon he said he'd go, and he axt Mr. Slocum 
 to go. Slocum said he wouldent give a darn to shake 
 hands with the President, but seein 'twas the Deacon axt 
 him he'd go. So they went, and byme by they cum 
 back, and the Deacon lookt considerable chirker'n he did 
 afore he went; and thinks me, I wonder what's the reason. 
 Well, it slackt up rainin', and arter urgin' Missis Slocum 
 to cum and see us, we started for hum. And arter we 
 w^as in the waggin and fairly agoin, the Deacon he says to 
 me, says he, *' Well, if I dident eat dinner with the Presi- 
 dent, I've had an uncommon perllte reception from him. 
 We went into the hotell, and purty soon we war intro- 
 ducted. As soon as the President heerd my name, he 
 says, says he, — 
 
 ''' Ah, Deacon Gorham, Pm delighted to see you; set 
 down here a minnit.' So I sot down, and he whispered 
 to me, and says he, ' Deacon, that was a scurvy trick they 
 sairved ye at my frind's down here. I hope ye don't think 
 I had any hand In it. Eealy, when I peeked into the 
 door and see how they used ye, and reflected that sittyated 
 as I was, it was unproper for me to Interfere, my sufFcrina 
 
378 GOING TO SEE THE PRESIDENT. 
 
 was intolerable. You must cum to Washington next 
 winter and eat dinner with me at my own table, and bring 
 yer wife. By the way, she's a splendid woman, I was 
 very much struck with her appearance ; and that son o' 
 yourn, smart feller that, he'll make a man one o' these 
 days, and no mistake. Sorry I can't convairse a spell 
 longer with ye, but I've said more to you than I have to 
 ary one individdyal to-day. Good-by, Deacon,' ^ Good- 
 by, President,' says I ; then we shook hands agin, and I 
 cum off." Well, we went home, and I tell ye, the Deacon 
 never told nobody about tryin' to eat dinner with the Pres- 
 ident, but he's told more'n a hundred times how he had a 
 long conversation with him, and what he said about me 
 and Zebidee. For my part, Ime a whig, my first hus- 
 band was a thoro' guayne whig, and I don't think I shall 
 ever be anything else ; but arter all taint in natur for me 
 to feel so hard agin the President sence what he said about 
 me, as I did afore ; and I haint made up my mind yit 
 whether I shall oppose the Deacon's votin' for him next 
 election or not. 
 
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