LIBRARY 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 Mr. H. H. Kil iani
 
 OCSB LIBRARY
 
 I 
 
 o 
 p
 
 OF 
 
 TffiCLOR
 
 JEDition 
 
 THE WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR 
 
 VOLUME V 
 
 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE 
 
 HANNAH THURSTON 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 NK\V YORK I.ON'DON 
 
 87 WEST TWKNTV-THIKU STKKKT 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND 
 
 (The iiiuchcrbochcr 'uss
 
 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR 
 
 AUTHOR S RKVISKD EDITION
 
 S itered at cording- to Act of Congrew, in the year I8fl6, fry 
 
 G P. PUTNAM AND SON, 
 th Cork's Office of the DUtrict Court for :he Southern District of New York.
 
 DEDICATED 
 TO MY FRIEND OF MANY YF.ARS 
 
 HORACE GREELEY
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 A FAMILIAR LETTER TO THE READER . ... 7 
 
 A CRUISE ON LAKE LADOGA . , . . . . 21 
 
 BETWEEN EUROPE AND ASIA 59 
 
 WINTER- LIFE IN ST. PETERSBURG 85 
 
 THE LITTLE LAND OF APPENZELL .... . 113 
 
 FROM PERPIGNAN TO MONTSERRAT 145 
 
 BALEARIC DATS, I. ........ , 171 
 
 BALEARIC DAYS, II 197 
 
 CATALONIAN HRIDLE-ROADS . 227 
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF THE PYRENEES ... . 269 
 
 THE GRANDE CHARTREUSE .... ... 293 
 
 THE KYFKHAUSER AND ITS LEGENDS 307 
 
 A WEEK ON CAPRI .......... 335 
 
 A TRIP TO ISCHIA 365 
 
 THE LAND OF PAOLI , 391 
 
 THE ISLAND OF MADDALENA ; WITH A DISTANT VIEW or CA- 
 
 PFERA , 419 
 
 Is THB TEUTOBURGER FOREST . . . . . 449
 
 A FAMILIAR LETTER TO THE READER. 
 
 WHOEVER you may be, my friendly reader, whether 1 
 may assume the footing of familiar acquaintance which 
 comes of your having read my former books of travel, or 
 whether we stand for the first time face to face, self- intro- 
 duced to each other, and uncertain, as yet, how we shall 
 get on together, will you let me take you by the button- 
 hole and tell you some things which must be said now, if 
 at all? 
 
 This is probably the last volume of travels which I shall 
 ever publish. It closes a series of personal and literary 
 experiences which cannot be renewed, and which I have 
 no belief will be extended. Now, therefore, all that I 
 have done as a traveller detaches itself from my other 
 labors, lies clear behind me as a life by itself, and may 
 be considered with a degree of self-criticism which was 
 scarcely possible while it lay nearer. The brief review 
 which I desire to make, must necessarily be autobiograph- 
 ical in its character, and I am aware that this is question- 
 able ground. But as I have been specially styled, for so 
 many years and little to my own satisfaction, "a traveller" 
 or "a tourist," and in either character have received praise 
 aud blame, equally founded on a misconception of the 
 facts and hopes of my life, I claim the privilege, this once, 
 to set the truth before those who may care to hear it. 
 
 Only one of two courses is open to an author : either 
 to assume a dignified reserve, as who should say to his 
 reader, " There is my book it is all that concerns you 
 1
 
 8 A FAMILIAR LETTER TO THE READER. 
 
 how or why it was written is my own secret;" or, to take 
 the reader frankly into his confidence, and brave the ready 
 charge of vanity or over-estimation of self, by the free 
 communication of his message. Generally, the latter course 
 is only to anticipate the approval which is sure to come in 
 the end, ! f there is any vitality in an author's work. To 
 most critics the personal gossip of an acknowledged name is 
 delightful : posthumous confidences also somehow lose the 
 air of assertion which one finds in the living man. Death, 
 or that fixed renown which rarely comes during life, sets 
 aside the conventionalities of literature; and the very mod- 
 esty and reticence which are supposed to be a part of 
 them then become matters of regret. So there are tran- 
 sitions in life which seem posthumous to its preceding phases, 
 and the present self looks upon the past as akin, indeed, 
 but not identical. 
 
 During the past twenty-two years I have written and 
 published ten volumes of travel, which have been exten- 
 sively read, and are still read by newer classes of readers. 
 Whatever may be the quality or value of those works, I 
 may certainly assume that they possess an interest of some 
 kind, and that the reader whom I so often meet, who has 
 followed me from first to last (a fidelity which, I must con- 
 fess, is always grateful and always surprising), will not ob- 
 ject if, now, in offering Jrim this eleventh and final volume, 
 I suspend my role of observer long enough to relate how 
 the series came to be written. 
 
 The cause of my having travelled so extensively has 
 been due to a succession of circumstances, of a character 
 more or less accidental. My prolonged wanderings formed 
 no part of my youthful programme of life. I cannot dis- 
 connect my early longings for a knowledge of the Old 
 World from a still earlier passion for Art and Literature. 
 To the latter was added a propensity, which I have never 
 unlearned, of acquiring as much knowledge as possible 
 through the medium of my own experience rathei than to
 
 A FAMILIAR LETTER TO 'iHE READER. 9 
 
 accept it, unquestioned, from anybody else. When I first 
 set out for Europe I was still a boy, and less acquainted 
 with life than most boys of my age. I was driven to the 
 venture by the strong necessity of providing for myself 
 sources of education which, situated as I was, could not be 
 reached at home. In other words, the journey offered me 
 a chance of working my way. 
 
 At that time, Europe was not the familiar neighbor-con- 
 tinent which it has since become. The merest superficial 
 letters, describing cities, scenery, and the details of travel, 
 were welcome to a very large class of readers, and the nar- 
 rative of a youth of nineteen, plodding a-foot over the Old 
 World, met with an acceptance which would have been 
 impossible ten years later. I am fully aware how little 
 literary merit that narrative possesses. It is the work of a 
 boy who was trying to learn something, but with a very faint 
 idea of the proper method or discipline ; who had an im- 
 mense capacity for wonder and enjoyment, but not much 
 power, as yet, to discriminate between the important and 
 the trivial, the true and the false. Perhaps the want of 
 development which the book betrays makes it attractive 
 to those passing through the same phase of mental growth. 
 I cannot otherwise account for its continued vitality. 
 
 Having been led, after returning home, into the profes- 
 sion of journalism, the prospect of further travel seemed 
 very remote. I felt, it is true, that a visit to Greece, Egypt, 
 and Syria was desirable in order to complete my acquain- 
 tance with the lands richest in the history of civilization ; 
 and I would have been quite willing to relinquish all chance 
 of seeing more of the world, had that much been assured 
 to me. I looked forward to years of steady labor as a 
 servant of the Press ; but, being a servant, and by neces- 
 sity an obedient one, I was presently sent forth, in the line 
 of my duty, to fresh wanderings. The " New York Tribune " 
 required a special correspondent in California, in 1849 
 and the choice of its editor fell upon me. After performing
 
 10 A FAMILIAI LETTER TO THE READER. 
 
 the stipulated service I returned by way of Mexico, IB 
 order to make the best practicable use of my time. Thus, 
 and not from any roving propensity, originated my second 
 journey. 
 
 When, two years later, a change of scene and of occu- 
 pation became imperative, from the action of causes quite 
 external to my own plans and hopes, my first thought 
 naturally, was to complete my imperfect scheme of travel 
 by a journey to Egypt and the Orient. I was, moreover, 
 threatened with an affection of the throat, for which the 
 climate of Africa offered a sure remedy. The journey was 
 simply a change of position, from assistant-editor to corres- 
 pondent, enabling me to obtain the strength which I sought, 
 without giving up the service on which I relied for support. 
 How it came to be extended to Central Africa is partly 
 explained by the obvious advantage of writing from a new 
 and but partially explored field ; but there were other influ- 
 ences acting upon me which I did not fully comprehend 
 at the time, and cannot now describe without going too 
 deeply into matters of private history. I obeyed an in- 
 stinct, rather than followed a conscious plan. 
 
 After having completed my African journeys, I traversed 
 Palestine, Syria, and Asia Minor, and finally reached Con- 
 stantinople, intending to return homewards through Europe. 
 There, however, I found letters from my associates of " The 
 Tribune," insisting that I should proceed speedily to China, 
 for the purpose of attaching myself to the American Ex- 
 pedition to Japan, under Commodore Perry. I cannot say 
 that the offer was welcome, yet its conditions were such 
 that I could not well refuse, and, besides, I had then no 
 plan of my own of sufficient importance to oppose to it. 
 The circumstances of my life made me indifferent, so long 
 as the service required was not exactly distasteful, and in 
 this mood I accepted the proposition. Eight monthg still 
 intervened before the squadron could reach China, and I 
 determined *.o turn the time to good advantage, by incltid-
 
 A FAMILIAR LETTER TO THE READER. 11 
 
 Ing Spain and India in the outward journey. Thus the 
 travel of one year was extended to two and a half, and 
 instead of the one volume which I had premeditated, I 
 brought home the material for three. 
 
 It would be strange if an experience so prolonged should 
 not sensibly change the bent of an author's mind. It was 
 not the sphere of activity which I should have chosen, had 
 I been free to choose, but it was a grateful release from 
 the drudgery of the editorial room. After three years of 
 clipping and pasting, and the daily arrangement of a chaos 
 of ephemeral shreds, in an atmosphere which soon exhausts 
 the vigor of the blood, the change to the freedom of Orien- 
 tal life, to the wonders of the oldest art and to the easy 
 record of impressions so bright and keen that they put 
 themselves into words, was like that from night to day. 
 With restored health, the life of the body became a delight 
 m itself; a kindly fortune seemed to attend my steps; I 
 learned something of the patience and fatalistic content of 
 the races among whom I was thrown, and troubled myself 
 no longer with an anxious concern for the future. 
 
 I confess, too, that while floating upon the waters of the 
 White Nile, while roaming through the pine forests of 
 Phrygia or over the hills of Loo-Choo, I learned to feel 
 the passion of the P^xplorer. Almost had I eaten 01 that 
 fruit which gives its restless poison to the blood. It is 
 very likely that, had I then been able to have marked out 
 my future path, I might have given it the character which 
 was afterwards ascribed to me. 
 
 I will further confess that the unusual favor with which 
 those three volumes of travel were received, perhaps, 
 also, the ever-repeated attachment of " traveller " to my 
 name, and that demand for oral report of what I had seen 
 and learned, which threw me suddenly into the profession 
 of lecturing, with much the sensation of the priest whom 
 Henri Quatre made general by mistake, I will confess, I 
 say, that these things did for a time mislead me as to th
 
 12 A FAMILIAR LETTER TO THE READEB. 
 
 kind of work which I was best fitted to do. I did not see 
 then, that my books were still a continuation of the process 
 of development, and that, tried by a higher literary stan 1- 
 ard, they stopped short of real achievement My plan, in 
 writing them, had been very simple. Within the limits 
 which I shall presently indicate, my faculty of observation 
 had been matured by exercise ; my capacity to receive 
 impressions was quick and sensitive, and the satisfaction I 
 took in descriptive writing was much the same as that 
 of an artist who should paint the same scenes. I endeav- 
 ored, in fact, to make words a substitute for pencil and 
 palette. Having learned, at last, to analyze and compare, 
 and finding that the impression produced upon my readers 
 was proportionate to its degree of strength upon my own 
 mind, I fancied that I might acquire the power of bringing 
 home to thousands of firesides clear pictures of the remotest 
 regions of the earth, and that this would be a service worth 
 undertaking. 
 
 With a view of properly qualifying myself for the work, 
 I made a collection of the narratives of the noted travel- 
 lers of all ages, from Herodotus to Humboldt. It was a 
 rich and most instructive field of study ; but the first re- 
 sult was to open my eyes to the many requirements of a 
 successful traveller a list which increases with each gene- 
 ration. I was forced to compare myself with those wan- 
 derers of the Middle Ages, whose chief characteristic was a 
 boundless capacity for wonder and delight, but, alas ! this 
 age would not allow me their naive frankness of speech. 
 Moreover, I had now discovered that Man is vastly more 
 important than Nature, and the more I dipped into anthro- 
 pological and ethnological works, the more I became con- 
 vinced that I could not hope to be of service unless I 
 should drop all other purposes and plans, and give my life 
 wholly to the studies upon which those sciences are based. 
 But the latter lay so far away from my intentions so fai 
 from that intellectual activity which is joyous because it if
 
 A FAMILIAR LETTER TO THE READER. 18 
 
 spontaneous that I was forced to pause and consider the 
 matter seriously. 
 
 A writer whose mind has been systematically trained 
 from the start will hardly comprehend by what gradual 
 processes I attained unto a little self-knowledge. The 
 faculties called into exercise by travel so repeated and 
 prolonged, continued to act from the habit of action, and 
 subsided very slowly into their normal relation to other 
 qualities of the mind. They still continued to affect my 
 plans, when I left home, in 1856, for another visit to Europe. 
 It will, therefore, be easily understood how I came to com- 
 bine a winter and summer trip to the Arctic Zone with my 
 design of studying the Scandinavian races and languages : 
 the former was meant as a counterpart to my previous ex- 
 periences in tropical lands. This journey, and that to 
 Greece and Russia, which immediately followed, were the 
 receding waves of the tide. While I was engaged with 
 them I found that my former enjoyment of new scenes, 
 and the zest of getting knowledge at first-hand, were sen 
 sibly diminished by regret for the lack of those severe pre 
 paratory studies which would have enabled me to see and 
 learn so much more. 
 
 I never thought it worth while to contradict a story 
 which, for eight or nine years past has appeared from time 
 to time in the newspapers that Humboldt had said of me : 
 "He has travelled more and seen less than any man living." 
 The simple publication of a letter from Humboldt to my- 
 self would have silenced this invention ; but I desisted, 
 because I knew its originator, and did not care to take 
 that much notice of him. The same newspapers after- 
 wards informed me that he had confessed the slander, 
 shortly before his death. I mention the circumstance now, 
 in order to say that the sentence attributed to Humboldt 
 was no doubt kept alive by the grain of truth at the bottom 
 of it. Had Flumboldt actually said: "No man who has 
 published so many volumes of travel has contributed so
 
 14 A FAMILIAR LETTER TO THE READEB. 
 
 little to positive science" he would have spoken the 
 truth... and I should have agreed with him. But whenj 
 during my last interview with that great student of Nature, 
 I remarked that he would find in my volumes nothing of 
 the special knowledge which he needed, it was very grate 
 fill to me when he replied : " But you paint the world as we, 
 explorers of science, cannot. Do not undervalue what you 
 have done. It is a real service ; and the unscientific travel- 
 ler, who knows the use of his eyes, observes for us always, 
 without being aware of it." Dr. Petermann, the distin- 
 guished geographer, made almost the same remark to me, 
 four or five years afterwards. 
 
 I should have been satisfied with such approval and with 
 certain kindly messages which I received from Dr. Barth 
 and other explorers, and have gone forward in the path 
 into which I was accidentally led, had I not felt that it was 
 diverging more and more from the work wherein I should 
 find my true content. I may here be met by the thread- 
 bare platitude that an author is no judge of his own per- 
 formance. Very well : let me, then, be the judge of my 
 own tastes ! On the one hand there was still the tempta- 
 tion of completing an unfulfilled scheme. Two additional 
 journeys one to the Caucasus, Persia, and the more ac- 
 jessible portions of Central Asia, and the other to South 
 America would have rounded into tolerable completeness 
 my personal knowledge of Man and Nature. Were these 
 once accomplished, I might attempt the construction of a 
 work, the idea of which hovered before my mind for a long 
 time a human cosmos, which should represent the race 
 in its grand divisions, its relation to soil and climate, its 
 varieties of mental and moral development, and its social, 
 political, and spiritual phenomena, with the complex causes 
 from which they spring. The field thus opened was grander 
 than that which a mere " tourist " could claim : it had a 
 genuine charm for the imagination, and even failure therein 
 was more attractive thar. success in a superficial branch of 
 literature.
 
 A FAMILIAR LETTEK TO THE READER. 15 
 
 On the other hand, I began to feel very keenly the de- 
 moralizing influence (if one may apply such a terra to intel- 
 lectual effort) of travel. The mind flags under the strain 
 of a constant receptivity : it must have time to assimilate 
 and arrange its stores of new impressions. Moreover, 
 without that ripe knowledge which belongs to the later 
 rather than the earlier life of a man, the traveller misses 
 the full value of his opportunities. His observations, in 
 many respects, must be incomplete, and tantalize rather 
 than satisfy. While he grows weary of describing the ex- 
 ternal forms of Nature and the more obvious peculiarities 
 of races, he has little chance of following the clews to 
 deeper and graver knowledge which are continually offered 
 to his hands. Where, as in my case, other visions, of very 
 different features, obscured for a time but never suppressed, 
 beckon him onward, he must needs pause before the desul- 
 tory habit of mind, engendered by travel, becomes con- 
 firmed. 
 
 It was easy for me, at this " parting of the ways," to de 
 cide which was my better road. While I was grateful for 
 the fortune which had led me so far, and through such 
 manifold experience, I saw that I should only reach the 
 best results of what I had already gained, by giving up all 
 further plans of travel. The favor with which my narra- 
 tives had been received was, in great measure, due to a re- 
 flection in them of the lively interest which I had taken in 
 my own wandering?, to an appetite for external impres- 
 sions which was now somewhat cloyed, and a delight in 
 mere description which I could no longer feel. My activ- 
 ity in this direction appealed to me as a field which had 
 been traversed in order to reach my proper pastures. It 
 had been broad and pleasant to the feet, and many good 
 friends cried to me : " Stay where you are it is the path 
 which you should tread ! " yet 1 preferred to press onward 
 towards the rugged steeps beyond. It seemed to me that 
 the pleasure of reading a book must be commensurate with
 
 16 A FAMILIAR LETTER TO THE READEB. 
 
 the author's pleasure in writing it, and that those books 
 which do not grow from the natural productive fi rce of the 
 mind will never possess any real vitality. 
 
 The poet Tennyson once said to me : "A book of travels 
 may be so written that it shall be as immortal as a great 
 poem." Perhaps so: but in that case its immortality will 
 be dependent upon intellectual qualities which the travel- 
 ler, as a traveller, does not absolutely require. The most 
 interesting narrative of exploration is that which is most 
 simply told. A poetic apprehension of Nature, a spark- 
 ling humor, graces of style all these are doubtful merits. 
 We want the naked truth, without even a fig-leaf of fancy. 
 We may not appreciate all the facts of science which the 
 explorer has collected, but to omit them would be to weaken 
 his authority. Narratives of travel serve either to measure 
 our knowledge of other lands, in which case they stand 
 only until superseded by more thorough research, or to ex- 
 hibit the coloring which those lands take when painted for 
 us by individual minds, in which case their value must be 
 fixed by the common standards of literature. For the 
 former class, the widest scientific culture is demanded: for 
 the latter, something of the grace and freedom and keen 
 mental insight which we require in a work of fiction. The 
 only traveller in whom the two characters were thoroughly 
 combined, was Goethe. 
 
 Should I hesitate to confess that to be styled " a great 
 American traveller," has always touched me with a sense 
 of humiliation ? It is as if one should say " a great Amer- 
 ican pupil ; " for the books of travel which I have pub- 
 lished appear to me as so many studies, so many processes 
 of education, with the one advantage that, however imma- 
 ture they may be, nothing in them is forced or affected. 
 The j jurneys they describe came, as I have shown, through 
 a natural series of circumstances, one leading on the other: 
 no particular daring or energy, and no pri vatic n from 
 which a healthy man need shrink, was necessary. Dangef
 
 A FAMILIAR LETTER TO THE READER. 11 
 
 \r> oftener a creation of one's own mind than an absolute 
 fact, and 1 presume that my share of personal adventure 
 was no more than would fall to the lot of any man, in the 
 same period of travel. To be praised for virtues which 
 one does not feel to be such, is quite as unwelcome as to 
 be censured for faults which are not made evident to one's 
 self. 
 
 If I wish that these volumes of mine were worthier of 
 the opportunities granted to me, at least I do not regret 
 that they were written. Hardly a week passes, but I re- 
 ceive letters from young men, who have been stimulated 
 by them to achieve the education of travel ; and, believing 
 as I do that the more broad and cosmopolitan in his views 
 a man becomes through his knowledge of other lands, the 
 purer and more intelligent shall be his patriotic sentiment 
 the more easily he shall lift himself out of the narrow 
 sphere of local interests and prejudices I rejoice that I 
 have been able to assist in giving this direction to the 
 minds of the American youth. It is hardly necessary to 
 say that I had no such special intention in the beginning, 
 for I never counted beforehand on the favor of the public: 
 but the fact, as it has been made manifest to me, is some- 
 thing for which I am exceedingly grateful. 
 
 In this volume I have purposely dropped the form of 
 continuous narrative, which, indeed, was precluded by the 
 nature of my material. The papers it contains, each de- 
 voted to a separate By-way of Europe, were written at 
 /arious times, during two journeys abroad, within the past 
 five or six years. I employed the intervals of other occu- 
 pation, from time to time, in making excursions to outlying 
 corners of the Old World, few of which are touched by the 
 ordinary round of travel. Nearly all of them, nevertheless, 
 attracted me by some picturesque interest, either of history, 
 or scenery, or popular institutions and customs. SucL 
 points, for instance, as Lake Ladoga, Appenzell, Andorra, 
 and the Teutoburger Forest, although lying near the fre-
 
 18 A FAMIUAR LETTER TO THE READEB. 
 
 |uented highways and not difficult of access, are verj 
 rarely visited, and an account of them is not an unneces- 
 sary contribution to the literature of travel. A few of the 
 places I have included St. Petersburg in winter, Capri 
 and Ischia cannot properly be classed as " By-ways," 
 yet they form so small a proportion of the contents of the 
 volume that I may be allowed to retain its title. Being 
 the result of brief intervals of leisure, and the desire to 
 turn my season of recreation to some good account, the 
 various papers were produced without regard to any plan, 
 and each is meant to be independent of the others. If I 
 had desiontd to present a tolerably complete description 
 of all the interesting By-ways of Europe, I must have in- 
 cluded Auvergne, Brittany, the Basque provinces of Spain, 
 Friesland, the Carpathians, Apulia, Croatia, and Transyl- 
 vania. 
 
 In laying down the mantle of a traveller, which has been 
 thrown upon my shoulders rather than voluntarily assumed, 
 I do not wish to be understood as renouncing all the chances 
 of the future. I cannot foresee what compulsory influences, 
 fhat inevitable events, may come to shape the course of 
 tiy life : the work of the day is all with which a man need 
 concern himself. One thing, only, is certain ; I shall 
 never, from the mere desire of travel, go forth to the dis- 
 tant parts of the earth. * Some minds are so constituted 
 that their freest and cheerfulest activity will not accom- 
 pany the body from place to place, but is dependent on 
 the air of home, on certain familiar surroundings, and an 
 
 O 
 
 equable habit of life. Each writer has his own peculiar 
 laws of production, which the reader cannot always deduce 
 from his works. It amuses me, who have set my house- 
 hold gods upon the soil which my ancestors have tilled for 
 near two hundred years, to hear my love of home ques- 
 tioned by men who have changed theirs a dozen times. 
 
 I therefore entreat of you, my kindly reader, that you 
 will not ascribe my many wanderings to an inborn propen
 
 A FAMILIAR LET1ER TO THE READER. 19 
 
 sity to wander, that you will believe me when I say that 
 culture, in its most comprehensive sense, is more to me 
 than the chance of seeing the world, and, finally, that 
 you will consider whether I have any legitimate right to as- 
 sume the calling of an author, unless I choose the work 
 that seems fittest, without regard to that acceptance of it 
 which is termed popularity. If you have found enough in 
 my former volumes of travel to persuade you to accompany 
 me into other walks of literature, I shall do my best to 
 convince you that I am right iu the conclusions at which 
 I have arrived. If, believing me mistaken, you decide to 
 turn away, let us at least shake hands, and, while I thank 
 you for your company thus far on my way, still part as 
 
 friends ! 
 
 BAYARD TAT LOB. 
 
 CBDABCROFT, September. 1868.
 
 A CRUISE ON LAKE LADOGA.
 
 "Dear T., The steamboat Valamo is advertised to leave OB 
 Tuesday, the 26th (July 8th, New Style), for Serdopol, at the 
 very head of Lake Ladoga, stopping on the way at Schliisselburg, 
 Konewitz Island, Kexholm, and the island and monastery of Va- 
 laam. The anniversary of Saints Sergius and Herrmann, mir- 
 acle-workers, will be celebrated at the last named place on Thurs- 
 day, and the festival of the Apostles Peter and Paul on Friday. 
 If the weather is fine, the boat will take passengers to the Holy 
 Island. The fare is nine rubles for the trip. You can be back 
 again in St. Petersburg by six o'clock on Saturday even.ng ' TO- 
 visions can be had on board, but (probably) not beds ; so, if you 
 are luxurious in this particular, take along your own sheets, pil- 
 low-cases, and blankets. I intend going, and depend upon your 
 company. Make up your mind by ten o'clock, when I will call 
 for your decision. Yours, 
 
 M P." 
 
 I laid down the note, looked at my watch, and found that 
 I had an hour for deliberation before P.'s arrival. " Lake 
 Ladoga?" said I to myself; "it is the largest lake in Eu- 
 rope I learned that at school. It is full of fish ; it is 
 stormy ; and the Neva is its outlet. What else ? " I took 
 down a geographical dictionary, and obtained the following 
 additional particulars : The name Ladoga (not Laddga, as 
 it is pronounced in America) is Finnish, and means " new." 
 Th lake lies between 60 and 61 45' north latitude, is 
 175 versts about 117 miles in length, from north to 
 south, and 100 versts in breadth ; receives the great river 
 Volkhoff on the south, the Svir, which pours into it the 
 waters f Lake Onega, on the east, and the overflow of
 
 24 BY-WAYS OF EUKOPE. 
 
 nearly half the lakes of Finland, on the west ; and is, in 
 some parts, fourteen hundred feet deep. 
 
 Vainly, however, did I ransack my memory for the nar 
 rative of any traveller who had beheld and described this 
 lake. The red hand-book, beloved of tourists, did not even 
 deign to notice its existence. The more I meditated on 
 the subject, the more I became convinced that here was an 
 untrodden corner of the world, lying within easy reach of 
 a great capital, yet unknown to the eyes of conventional 
 sight-seers. The name of Valaam suggested that of Bar- 
 laam, in Thessaly, likewise a Greek monastery ; and though 
 I knew nothing about Sergius and Herrmann, the fact of 
 their choosing such a spot was the beginning of a curious 
 interest in their history. The very act of poring over a 
 map excites the imagination : I fell into conjectures about 
 the scenery, vegetation, and inhabitants, and thus, by the 
 time P. arrived, was conscious of a violent desire to make 
 the cruise with him. To our care was confided an American 
 youth whom I shall call R., we three being, as we after- 
 wards discovered, the first of our countrymen to visit the 
 northern portion of the lake. 
 
 The next morning, although it was cloudy and raw, R. 
 and I rose betimes, and were jolted on a droskky through 
 the long streets to the Valamo's landing-place. We found 
 a handsome English-builf steamer, with tonnage and power 
 enough for the heaviest squalls, and an after-cabin so com- 
 fortable that all our anticipations of the primitive modes of 
 travel were banished at once. As men not ashamed of our 
 health, we had decided to omit the sheets and pillow-cases, 
 and let the tooth-brush answer as an evidence of our high 
 civilization ; but the broad divans and velvet cushions of 
 the cabin brought us back to luxury in spite of ourselves. 
 The captain, smoothly shaven and robust, as befitted his 
 station, English in all but his eyes, which were thoroughly 
 Russian, gave us a cordial welcome in passable French. 
 P. drove up presently, and the crowd on the floating pie?
 
 A CBUISE ON LAKE LADOGA. 25 
 
 rapidly increased, as the moment of departure approached. 
 Our fellow-pilgrims were mostly peasants and deck-passen- 
 gers : two or three officers, and a score of the bourgeois, 
 were divided, according to their means, between the first 
 and second cabins. There were symptoms of crowding, and 
 we hastened to put in preemption-claims for the bench on 
 the port side, distributing our travelling sacks and pouches 
 along it, as a guard against squatters. The magic promise 
 of na cha/i (something to buy tea with) further inspired the 
 waiters with a peculiar regard for our interest, so that 
 leaving our important possessions in their care, we went on 
 deck to witness the departure. 
 
 By this time the Finnish sailors were hauling in the 
 slack hawsers, and the bearded stevedores on the floating 
 quay tugged at the gangway. Many of our presumed pas- 
 sengers had only come to say good-bye, which they were 
 now waving and shouting from the shore. The rain fell 
 dismally, and a black, hopeless sky settled down upon the 
 Neva. But the Northern summer, we knew, is as fickle as 
 the Southern April, and we trusted that Sergius and Herr- 
 mann, the saints of Valaam, would smooth for us the rugged 
 waters of Ladoga. At last the barking little bell ceased 
 to snarl at the tardy pilgrims. The swift current swung 
 our bow into the stream, and, as we moved away, the crowd 
 on deck uncovered their heads, not to the bowing friends 
 on the quay, but to the spire of a church which rose to 
 view behind the houses fronting the Neva. Devoutly cross- 
 ing themselves with the joined three fingers, symbolical 
 of the Trinity, they doubtless murmured a prayer for the 
 propitious completion of the pilgrimage, to which, I am 
 sure, we could have readily echoed the amen. 
 
 The Valamo was particularly distinguished, on this oc- 
 casion, by a flag at the fore, carrying the white Greek cross 
 on a red field. This proclaimed her mission as she passed 
 along, and the bells of many a little church pealed God
 
 26 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 speed to her and her passengers. The latter, in spite of 
 the rain, thronged the deck, and continually repeated their 
 devotions to the shrines on either bank. On the right, the 
 starry domes of the Smolnoi, rising from the lap of a linden- 
 grove, flashed upon us ; then, beyond the long front of the 
 college of demoiselles nobles and the military store-houses, 
 we hailed the silver hemispheres which canopy the tomb 
 and shrine of St Alexander of the Neva. On the left, 
 huge brick factories pushed back the gleaming groves of 
 birch, which flowed around and between them, to dip their 
 hanging boughs in the river ; but here and there peeped 
 out the bright green cupolas of some little church, none of 
 which, I was glad to see, slipped out of the panorama with- 
 out its share of reverence. 
 
 For some miles we sailed between a double row of con- 
 tiguous villages a long suburb of the capital, which 
 stretched on and on, until the slight undulations of the 
 shore showed that we had left behind us the dead level of 
 the Ingrian marshes. It is surprising what an interest one 
 takes in the slightest mole-hill, after living for a short time 
 on a plain. You are charmed with an elevation which en- 
 ables you to look over your neighbor's hedge. I once heard 
 a clergyman, in his sermon, assert that " the world was per- 
 fectly smooth before the fall of Adam, and the present in- 
 equalities in its surface were the evidences of human sin." 
 I was a boy at the tune, and I thought to myself, " How 
 fortunate it is that we are sinners ! " Peter the Great, how- 
 ever, had no choice left him. The piles he drove in these 
 marshes were the surest foundation of his empire. 
 
 The Neva, in its sudden and continual windings, in its 
 clear, cold, sweet water, and its fringing groves of birch, 
 maple, and alder, compensates, in a great measure, for the 
 flatness of its shores. It has not the slow magnificence of 
 the Hudson or the rush of the Rhine, but carries with it ft 
 sense of power, of steady, straightforward force, like that
 
 A CRUISE ON LAKE LADOGA. 27 
 
 of the ancient warriors who disdained all clothing except 
 their swords. Its river-god is not even crowned with reeds, 
 but the full flow of his urn rolls forth undiminished by 
 summer and unchecked beneath its wintry lid. Outlets of 
 large lakes frequently exhibit this characteristic, and the 
 impression they make upon the mind does not depend on 
 the scenery through which they flow. Nevertheless, we dis- 
 covered many points, the beauty of which was not blotted 
 out by rain and cloud, and would have shone freshly and 
 winningly under the touch of the sun. On the north bank 
 there is a palace of Potemkin (or Potchdmkin, as his 
 name is pronounced in Russian), charmingly placed at a 
 bend, whence it looks both up and down the river. The 
 gay color of the building, as of most of the datchas, or 
 country-villas, in Russia, makes a curious impression upon 
 the stranger. Until he has learned to accept it as a portion 
 of the landscape, the effect is that of a scenic design on the 
 part of the builder. These dwellings, these villages and 
 churches, he thinks, are scarcely intended to be permanent : 
 they were erected as part of some great dramatic spectacle, 
 which has been, or is to be, enacted under the open sky. 
 Contrasted with the sober, matter-of-fact aspect of dwell- 
 ings in other countries, they have the effect of temporary 
 decorations. But when one has entered within those walls 
 of green and blue and red arabesques, inspected their 
 thickness, viewed the ponderous porcelain stoves, tasted, 
 perhaps, the bountiful cheer of the owner, he realizes their 
 palpable comforts, and begins to suspect that all the exter- 
 nal adornment is merely an attempt to restore to Nature 
 that coloring of which she is stripped by the cold sky of 
 the North. 
 
 A little further on, there is a summer villa of the Empress 
 Catharine a small, modest building, crowning a sir pe of 
 green turf. Beyond this, the banks are draped with foliage, 
 and the thinly clad birches, with their silver stems, shiver 
 above the rush of the waters. We, also, began to sbivei
 
 28 BY-WAYS OF EUBOPE. 
 
 trader the steadily falling rain, and retreated to the cabin 
 on the steward's first hint of dinner. A table d'hote of four 
 courses was promised us, including the preliminary zakouski 
 and the supplementary coffee all for sixty copeks, which 
 is about forty-five cents. The zakcuski is an arrangement 
 peculiar to Northern countries, and readily adopted by for- 
 eigners. In Sweden it is called the smorgas, or " butter- 
 goose," but the American term (if we had the custom) would 
 be " the whetter." On a side-table there are various plates 
 of anchovies, cheese, chopped onions, raw salt herring, and 
 bread, all in diminutive slices, while glasses of corresponding 
 size surround a bottle of kiimmel, or cordial of caraway- 
 seed. This, at least, was the zakouski on board the Valamo, 
 and to which our valiant captain addressed himself, after 
 first bowing and crossing himself towards the Byzantine 
 Christ and Virgin in either corner of the cabin. We, of 
 course, followed his example, finding our appetites, if not 
 improved, certainly not at all injured thereby. The dinner 
 which followed far surpassed our expectations. The nation- 
 al shchee, or cabbage-soup, is better than the sound of its 
 name ; the fish, fresh from the cold Neva, is sure to be well 
 cooked where it forms an important article of diet ; and the 
 partridges were accompanied by those plump little Russian 
 cucumbers, which are so tender and flavorous that they 
 deserve to be called fruit rather than vegetables. 
 
 When we went on deck to light our Riga cigars, the 
 boat was approaching Schliisselburg, at the outlet of the 
 lake. Here the Neva, just born, sweeps in two broad arms 
 around the island which bears the Key-fortress the key 
 bj which Peter opened this river-door to the Gulf of Fin- 
 laud. The pretty town of the same name is on the south 
 bank, and in the centre of its front yawn the granite gates 
 of the canal which, for a hundred versts, skirts the southern 
 shore of the lake, forming, with the Volkhoff River and 
 
 O' 
 
 another canal beyond, a summer communication with the 
 vast regions watered by the Volga and its affluents. The
 
 A CRUISE ON LAKE LADOGA. 29 
 
 Ladoga Canal, by which the heavy barges laden with hemp 
 from Mid-Russia, and wool from the Ural, and wood from 
 the Valdai Hills, avoid the sudden storms of the lake, was 
 also the work of Peter the Great. I should have gone on 
 shore to inspect the locks, but for the discouraging persist- 
 ence of the rain. Huddled against the smoke-stack, we 
 could do nothing but look on the draggled soldiers and 
 nujiks splashing through the mud, the low yellow fortress, 
 which has long outlived its importance, and the dark-gray 
 waste of lake which loomed in front, suggestive of rough 
 water and kindred abominations. 
 
 There it was, at last, Lake Ladoga, and now oui 
 prow turns to unknown regions. We steamed past the 
 fort, past a fleet of brigs, schooners, and brigantines, with 
 huge, rounded stems and sterns, laden with wood from the 
 Wolkonskoi forests, and boldly entered the gray void of 
 fog and rain. The surface of the lake was but slightly 
 agitated, as the wind gradually fell and a thick mist settled 
 on the water. Hour after hour passed away, as we rushed 
 onward through the blank, and we naturally turned to our 
 fellow-passengers in search of some interest or diversion 
 to beguile the time. The heavy-bearded peasants and their 
 weather-beaten wives were scattered around the deck in 
 various attitudes, some of the former asleep on their backs, 
 with open mouths, beside the smoke-stack. There were 
 many picturesque figures among them, and, if I possessed 
 the quick pencil of Kaulbach, I might have filled a dozen 
 leaves of my sketch-book. The bourgeoisie were huddled 
 on the quarter-deck benches, silent, and fearful of sea-sick- 
 ness. But a very bright, intelligent young officer turned 
 up, who had crossed the Ural, and was able to entertain us 
 with an account of the splendid sword-blades of Zlatdoust 
 He was now on his way to the copper mines of Pitkaranda, 
 on the northeastern shore of the lake. 
 
 About nine o'clock in the evening, although still before 
 unset, the fog began to darken, and T was apprehensive
 
 80 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 that we should have some difficulty in finding the island of 
 Konewitz, which was to be our stopping-place for the night 
 The captain ordered the engine to be slowed, and brought 
 forward a brass half-pounder, about a foot long, which was 
 charged and fired. In less than a minute after the report, 
 the sound of a deep solemn bell boomed in the mist, dead 
 nhead. Instantly every head was uncovered, and the rustle 
 of whispered prayers fluttered over the deck, as the pil- 
 grims bowed and crossed themselves. Nothing was to be 
 seen ; but, stroke after stroke, the hollow sounds, muffled 
 and blurred in the opaque atmosphere, were pealed out by 
 the guiding bell. Presently a chime of smaller bells joined 
 in a rapid accompaniment, growing louder and clearer as 
 we advanced. The effect was startling. After voyaging 
 for hours over the blank water, this sudden and solemn 
 welcome, sounded from some invisible tower, assumed a 
 mystic and marvelous character. Was it not rather the 
 bells of a city, ages ago submerged, and now sending its 
 ghostly summons up to the pilgrims passing over its crystal 
 grave? 
 
 Finally a tall mast, its height immensely magnified by 
 the fog, could be distinguished ; then the dark hulk of a 
 steamer, a white gleam of sand through the fog, indistinct 
 outlines of trees, a fisherman's hut, and a landing-place. 
 The bells still rang out- from some high station near at 
 hand, but unseen. We landed as soon as the steamer had 
 made fast, and followed the direction of the sound. A few 
 paces from the beach stood a little chapel, open, and with 
 a lamp burning before its brown Virgin and Child. Here 
 our passengers stopped, and made a brief prayer before 
 going on. Two or three beggars, whose tattered dresses 
 of tow suggested the idea of their having clothed them- 
 selves with the sails of shipwrecked vessels, bowed before 
 us so profoundly and reverently Chat we at first feared they 
 had mistaken us for the shrines. Following an avenue of 
 trees, up a gentle eminence, the tall white towers and green
 
 A CRUISE ON LAKE LADOGA. 31 
 
 domes of a stately church gradually detached themselves 
 from the mist, and we found ourselves at the portal of the 
 monastery. A group of monks, in the usual black robes, 
 and high, cylindrical caps of crape, the covering of which 
 overlapped and fell upon their shoulders, were waiting, ap- 
 parently to receive visitors. Recognizing us as foreigners, 
 they greeted us with great cordiality, and invited us to take 
 up our quarters for the night in the house appropriated to 
 guests. We desired, however, to see the church before the 
 combined fog and twilight should make it too dark ; so a 
 benevolent old monk led the way, hand in hand with P., 
 across the court-yard. 
 
 The churches of the Greek faith present a general re- 
 semblance in their internal decorations. There is a glitter 
 of gold, silver, and flaring colors in the poorest. Statues 
 are not permitted, but the pictures of dark Saviours and 
 saints are generally covered with a drapery of silver, with 
 openings for the head and hands. Konewitz, however- 
 boasts of a special sanctity, in possessing the body of Saint 
 Arsenius, the founder of the monastery. His remains are 
 inclosed in a large coffin of silver, elaborately chased. It 
 was surrounded, as we entered, by a crowd of kneeling 
 pilgrims ; the tapers burned beside it, and at the various 
 altars ; the air was thick with incense, and the great bell 
 still boomed from the misty tower. Behind us came a 
 throng of our own deck-passengers, who seemed to recog- 
 nize the proper shrines by a sort of devotional instinct, and 
 were soon wholly absorbed in their prayers and prostra- 
 tions. It is very evident to me that the Russian race still 
 requires the formulas of the Eastern Church ; a fondness 
 for symbolic ceremonies and observances is far more nat- 
 ural to its character than to the nations of Latin or Saxon 
 blood. In Southern Europe the peasant will exchange 
 merry salutations while dipping his fingers in the ho'y 
 water, or turn in the midst of his devotions to inspect a 
 Stranger ; but the Russian, at such times, appears lost fo
 
 82 BY-WAYS OF EUBOPE. 
 
 the world. With his serious eyes fixed on the shrine or 
 picture, or, maybe, the spire of a distant church, his face 
 suddenly becomes rapt and solemn, and no lurking interest 
 in neighboring things interferes with its expression. 
 
 One of the monks, who spoke a little French, took us 
 into his cell. He was a tall, frail man of thirty-five, with a 
 wasted face, and brown hair flowing over his shoulders, like 
 most of his brethren of the same age. In those sharp, 
 earnest features, one could see that the battle was not yet 
 over. The tendency to corpulence does not appear until 
 after the rebellious passions have been either subdued, or 
 pacified by compromise. The cell was small, but neat and 
 cheerful, on the ground floor, with a window opening on 
 the court, and a hard, narrow pallet against the wall. 
 There was also a little table, with books, sacred pictures, 
 and a bunch of lilacs in water. The walls were white- 
 washed, and the floor cleanly swept. The chamber was 
 austere, certainly, but in no wise repulsive. 
 
 It was now growing late, and only the faint edges of the 
 twilight glimmered overhead, through the fog. It was not 
 night, but a sort of eclipsed day, hardly darker than our 
 winter days under an overcast sky. We returned to the 
 tower, where an old monk took us in charge. Beside the 
 monastery is a special building for guests, a room in which 
 was offered to us. It was so clean and pleasant, and the 
 three broad sofa-couches with leather cushions looked so 
 inviting, that we decided to sleep there, in preference to 
 the crowded cabin. Our supply of shawls, moreover, en- 
 abled us to enjoy the luxury of undressing. Before saying 
 good-night, the old monk placed his hand upon R.'s head. 
 " We have matins at three o'clock," said he ; " when you 
 hear the bell, get up, and come to the church : it will bring 
 blessing to you." We were soon buried in a slumber 
 which lacked darkness to make it profound. At two 
 o'clock the sky was so bright that I thought it six, and feil 
 asleep again, determined to make three hours before I
 
 A CRUISE ON LAKE LADC f A. 83 
 
 stopped. But presently the big bell began to swing 
 Stroke after stroke, it first aroused, but was fast lulling rne, 
 when the chimes struck in and sang all manner of inco- 
 herent and undevout lines. The brain at last grew wearv 
 of this, when, close to our door, a little, petulant, impatient 
 bell commenced barking for dear life. R. muttered and 
 twisted in his sleep, and brushed away the sound several 
 times from his upper ear, while I covered mine but to 
 no purpose. The sharp, fretful jangle went through shawls 
 and cushions, and the fear of hearing it more distinctly 
 prevented me from rising for matins. Our youth, also, 
 missed his promised blessing, and so we slept until the sun 
 was near five hours high that is, seven o'clock. 
 
 The captain promised to leave for Kexholm at eight, 
 which allowed us only an hour for a visit to the Konkamen, 
 or Horse Rock, distant a mile, in the woods. P. engaged 
 as guide a long-haired acolyte, who informed us that he 
 had formerly been a lithographer in St. Petersburg. We 
 did not ascertain the cause of his retirement from the 
 world : his features were too commonplace to suggest a 
 romance. Through the mist, which still hung heavy on 
 the lake, we plunged into the fir- wood, and hurried on over 
 its uneven carpet of moss and dwarf whortleberries. Small 
 gray boulders then began to crop out, and gradually 
 became so thick that the trees thrust them aside as they 
 grew. All at once the wood opened on a rye-field belong- 
 ing to the monks, and a short turn to the right brought us 
 to a huge rock, of irregular shape, about forty feet in diam- 
 eter by twenty in height. The crest overhung the base on 
 all sides except one, up which a wooden staircase led to a 
 small square chapel perched upon the summit. 
 
 The legends attached to this rock are various, but the 
 most authentic seems to be, that in the ages when the 
 Carelians were still heathen, they were accustomed to 
 place their cattle upon this island in summer, as a protec- 
 tion against the wolves, first sacrificing a horse upon th
 
 84 BY-WAYS 3F EUROPE. 
 
 rock. Whether their deity was the Perun of the ancient 
 Russians or the Jumala of the Finns is not stated ; the in- 
 habitants at the present day say, of course, the Devil. 
 The name of the rock may also be translated " Petrified 
 Horse," and some have endeavored to make out a resem- 
 blance to that animal, in its form. Our acolyte, for in- 
 stance, insisted thereupon, and argued very logically 
 " Why, if you omit the head and legs, you must see that it 
 is exactly like a horse." The peasants say that the devil 
 had his residence in the stone, and point to a hole which 
 he made, on being forced by the exorcisms of Saint Arse- 
 nius to take his departure. A reference to the legend is 
 also indicated in the name of the island, Konewitz, which 
 our friend, the officer, gave to me in French as Ohevalise, 
 or, in literal English, The Horsefied. 
 
 The stones and bushes were dripping from the visitation 
 of the mist, and the mosquitoes were busy with my face 
 and hands while T made a rapid drawing of the place. 
 The quick chimes of the monastery, through which we 
 fancied we could hear the warning boat-bell, suddenly 
 pierced through the forest, recalling us. The Valamo had 
 her steam up, when we arrived, and was only waiting for 
 her rival, the Letuchie (Flyer), to get out of our way. As 
 we moved from the shqre, a puff of wind blew away the 
 fog, and the stately white monastery, crowned with its 
 bunch of green domes, stood for a moment clear and bright 
 in the morning sun. Our pilgrims bent, bareheaded, in 
 devotional farewell ; the golden crosses sparkled an an- 
 swer, and the fog rushed down again like a falling curtain. 
 
 We steered nearly due north, making for Kexholm 
 formerly a frontier Swedish town, at the mouth of the 
 Ri v er Wuoxen. For four hours it was a tantalizing strug- 
 gle between mist and sunshine a fair blue sky overhead, 
 and a dense cloud sticking to the surface of the lake. The 
 western shore, though near at hand, was not visible ; but 
 our captain, with his usual skill, came within a quarter of
 
 A CRUISE ON LAKE LADOGA. 3ft 
 
 a mile of the channel leading to the landing-place. The 
 fog seemed to consolidate into the outline of trees ; hard 
 land was gradually formed, as we approached ; and as the 
 two river-shores finally inclosed us, the air cleared, and 
 long, wooded hills arose in the distance. Before us lay a 
 single wharf, with three wooden buildings leaning against 
 a hill of sand. 
 
 " But where is Kexholm ? " 
 
 " A verst inland," says the captain ; " and I will give you 
 just half an hour to see it." 
 
 There were a score of peasants, with clumsy two-wheeled 
 carts and shaggy ponies at the landing. Into one of these 
 we clambered, gave the word of command, and were 
 whirled off at a gallop. There may have been some elas- 
 ticity in the horse, but there certainly was none in the cart. 
 It was a perfect conductor, and the shock with which i 
 passed over stones and leaped ruts was instantly communi- 
 cated to the os sacrum, passing thence along the vertebrae, 
 to discharge itself in the teeth. Our* driver was a sun- 
 burnt Finn, who was bent upon performing his share of 
 the contract, in order that he might afterwards, with a bet- 
 ter face, demand a ruble. On receiving just the half, how- 
 ever, he put it into his pocket, without a word of remon- 
 strance. 
 
 " Suomi f " I asked, calling up a Finnish word with an 
 effort. 
 
 " Suomi-ldinen" he answered, proudly enough, though 
 the exact meaning is, " I am a Swamplander." 
 
 Kexholm, which was founded in 1295, has attained since 
 then a population of several hundreds. Grass grows 
 between the cobble-stones of its broad streets, but the 
 houses are altogether so bright, so clean, so substantially 
 comfortable, and the geraniums and roses peeping out 
 between snowy curtains in almost every window suggested 
 such cozy interiors, that I found myself quite attracted 
 towards the plain little town. " Here," said I to P., " is
 
 36 BY-WAYS OF EUROl'K. 
 
 flook which is really out of the world. No need of a raon 
 astery, where you have such perfect seclusion, and the in. 
 dispensable solace of natural society to make it endurable." 
 Pleasant faces occasionally looked out, curiously, at the 
 impetuous strangers : had they known our nationality, I 
 fancy the whole population would have run together. 
 Reaching the last house, nestled among twinkling birch- 
 trees on a bend of the river beyond, we turned about and 
 made for the fortress another conquest of the Great 
 Peter. Its low ramparts had a shabby, neglected look ; an 
 old draw-bridge spanned the moat, and there was no senti- 
 nel to challenge us as we galloped across. In and out 
 again, and down the long, quiet street, and over the jolting 
 level to the top of the sand hill we had seen Kexholm in 
 half an hour. 
 
 At the mouth of the river still lay the fog, waiting for us, 
 now and then stretching a ghostly arm over the woods 
 and then withdrawing it, like a spirit of the lake, longing 
 and yet timid to embrace the land. With the Wuoxen 
 came down the waters of the Saima, that great, irregular 
 lake, which, with its innumerable arms, extends for a hun- 
 dred and fifty miles into the heart of Finland, clasping the 
 forests and mountains of Savolax, where the altar-stones 
 of Jumala still stand in -the shade of sacred oaks, and the 
 song of the Kalewala is sung by the descendants of 
 Wamamoinen. I registered a vow to visit those Finnish 
 solitudes, as we shot out upon the muffled lake, heading for 
 the holy isles of Valaam. This was the great point of in 
 torest in our cruise, the shrine of our pilgrim-passengers 
 We had heard so little of these islands before leaving St. 
 Petersburg, and so much since, that our curiosity ras 
 keenly excited ; and thus, though too well seasoned bj ex- 
 perience to worry unnecessarily, the continuance of the 
 fog began to disgust us. We shall creep along as yester- 
 day, said we, and have nothing of Valaam .but the sound 
 of its bells. The air was intensely raw ; the sun had dis-
 
 A CRUISE ON LAKE LADOGA. 37 
 
 appeared, and the bearded peasants again slept, with open 
 mouths, on the deck. 
 
 Saints Sergius and Herrmann, however, were not indf- 
 ferent either to them or to us. About the middle of the 
 afternoon we suddenly and unexpectedly sailed out of the 
 fog, passing, in the distance of a ship's length, into a clear 
 atmosphere, with a far, sharp horizon ! The nuisance of 
 the lake lay behind us, a steep, opaque, white wall. Before 
 us, rising in bold cliffs from the water and dark with pines, 
 were the islands of Valaam. Off went hats and caps, and 
 the crowd on deck bent reverently towards the consecrated 
 shores. As we drew near, the granite fronts of the sepa- 
 rate isles detached themselves from the plane in which 
 they were blended, and thrust boldly out between the divid- 
 ing inlets of blue water ; the lighter green of birches and 
 maples mingled with the sombre woods of coniferae ; but the 
 picture, with all its varied features, was silent and lonely. 
 No sail shone over the lake, no boat was hauled up between 
 the tumbled masses of rock, no fisher's hut sat in the shel- 
 tered coves only, at the highest point of the cliff, a huge 
 wooden cross gleamed white against the trees. 
 
 As we drew around to the northern shore, point came out 
 behind point, all equally bold with rock, dark with pines, 
 and destitute of any sign of habitation. We were looking 
 forward, over the nearest headland, when, all at once, a 
 sharp glitter through the tops of the pines struck our eyes. 
 A few more turns of the paddles, and a bulging dome of 
 gold flashed splendidly in the sun ! Our voyage, thus far. 
 had been one of surprises, and this was not the least. 
 Crowning a slender, pointed roof, its connection with the 
 latter was not immediately visible : it seemed to spring 
 into the air and hang there, like a marvelous meteor shot 
 from the sun. Presently, however, the whole building ap- 
 peared, an hexagonal church, of pale -red brick, the 
 architecture of which was an admirable reproduction of the 
 older Byzantine forms. It stood upon a rocky islet, on
 
 88 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 either side of which a narrow channel communicated with 
 a deep cove, cleft between walls of rock. 
 
 Turning in towards the first of these channels, we pres 
 ently saw the inlet of darkest-blue water, pushing its way 
 into the heart of the island. Crowning its eastern bank, 
 and about half a mile distant, stood an immense mass of 
 buildings, from the centre of which tall white towers and 
 green cupolas shot up against the sky. This was the mon- 
 astery of Valaam. Here, in the midst of this lonely lake. 
 on the borders of the Arctic Zone, in the solitude of un- 
 hewn forests, was one of those palaces which religion is so 
 fond of rearing, to show her humility. In the warm after- 
 noon sunshine, and with the singular luxuriance of vege- 
 tation which clothed the terraces of rock on either hand, 
 we forgot the high latitude, and, but for the pines in the 
 rear, could have fancied ourselves approaching some cove 
 of Athos or Euboea. The steamer ran so near the rocky 
 walls that the trailing branches of the birch almost swept 
 her deck ; every ledge traversing their gray, even ma- 
 sonry, was crowded with wild red pinks, geranium, saxi- 
 frage, and golden-flowered purslane ; and the air, wonder- 
 fully pure and sweet in itself, was flavored with delicate 
 woodland odors. On the other side, under the monastery, 
 was an orchard of large apple-trees in full bloom, on a 
 shelf near the water ; above them grew huge oaks and 
 maples, heavy with their wealth of foliage ; and over the 
 tops of these the level coping of the precipice, with a bal- 
 ustrade upon which hundreds of pilgrims, who had arrived 
 before us, were leaning and looking down. 
 
 Beyond this point, the inlet widened into a basin where 
 the steamer had room to turn around. Here we found 
 some forty or fifty boats moored to the bank, while the 
 passengers they had brought (principally from the eastern 
 shore of the lake, and the district lying between it and 
 Onega) were scattered over the heights. . The captain 
 pointed out to us a stately, two-story brick edifice, some
 
 A CRUISE ON LAKE LADOGA. 31 
 
 three hundred feet long, flanking the monastery, as the 
 house for guests. Another of less dimensions, on the hill 
 in front of the landing-place, appeared to be appropriated 
 especially to the use of the peasants. A rich succession of 
 musical chimes pealed down to us from the belfry, as if in 
 welcome, and our deck- load of pilgrims crossed themselves 
 in reverent congratulation as they stepped upon the sacred 
 soil. 
 
 We had determined to go on with our boat to Serdopol, 
 at the head of the lake, returning the next morning in 
 season for the solemnities of the anniversary. Postponing 
 therefore, a visit to the church and monastery, we climbed 
 to the summit of the bluff, and beheld the inlet in all its 
 length and depth, from the open, sunny expanse of the 
 lake to the dark strait below us. where the overhanging 
 trees of the opposite cliffs almost touched above the water. 
 The honeyed bitter of lilac and apple blossoms in the 
 garden below steeped the air ; and as I inhaled the scent, 
 and beheld the rich green crowns of the oaks which grew 
 at the base of the rocks, I appreciated the wisdom of Ser- 
 gius and Herrmann that led them to pick out this bit of 
 privileged summer, which seems to have wandered into the 
 North from a region ten degrees nearer the sun. It is not 
 strange if the people attribute miraculous powers to them, 
 naturally mistaking the cause of their settlement on Va- 
 laam for its effect. 
 
 The deck was comparatively deserted, as we once more 
 entered the lake. There were two or three new passen 
 gers, however, one of whom inspired me with a mild inter- 
 est. He was a St. Petersburger, who according to his own 
 account, had devoted himself to Art, and, probably for 
 that reason, felt constrained to speak in the language of 
 sentiment. " I enjoy above all things," said he to me 
 " communion with Nature. My soul is uplifted, when I 
 find myself removed from the haunts of men. I live an 
 idtfe/ life, and the world grows more beautiful to me every
 
 40 BY-WAYS OP EUROPE. 
 
 /ear." Now there was nothing objectionable in this, ex 
 cept the manner of his saying it. Those are only shallow 
 emotions which one imparts to every stranger at the slight- 
 est provocation. Your true lover of Nature is as careful 
 of betraying his passion as the young man who carries a 
 first love in his heart. But my companion evidently de- 
 lighted in talking of his feelings on this point. His voice 
 was soft and silvery, his eyes gentle, and his air languish 
 ing ; so that, in spite of a heavy beard, the impression he 
 made was remarkably smooth and unmasculine. I invol- 
 untarily turned to one of the young Finnish sailors, with 
 his handsome, tanned face, quick, decided movements, and 
 clean, elastic limbs, and felt, instinctively, that what we most 
 value in every man, above even culture or genius, is the 
 stamp of sex the asserting, self-reliant, conquering air 
 which marks the male animal. 
 
 After some fifteen or twenty miles from the island, we 
 approached the rocky archipelago in which the lake ter- 
 minates at its northern end a gradual transition from 
 water to land. Masses of gray granite, wooded wherever 
 the hardy northern firs could strike root, rose on all sides, 
 divided by deep and narrow channels. " This is the scheer," 
 said our captain, using a word which recalled to my mind, 
 at once, the Swedish skdr, and the English skerry, used 
 alike to denote a coast-group of rocky islets. The rock 
 encroached more and more as we advanced ; and finally, 
 as if sure of its victory over the lake, gave place, here and 
 there, to levels of turf, gardens, and cottages. Then fol 
 lowed a calm, land-locked basin, surrounded with harvest- 
 fields, and the spire of Serdopol arose before us. 
 
 Of this town I may report that it is called, in Finnish, 
 Sordovala, and was founded about the year 1640. Its his- 
 tory has no doubt been very important to its inhabitants, 
 but I do not presume that it would be interesting to the 
 world, and therefore spare myself a great deal of laborious 
 research. Small as it is, and so secluded that Ladogt
 
 A CRUISE ON LAKE LADOGA. 41 
 
 seems a world's highway in comparison with its quiet 
 harbor, it nevertheless holds three races and three lan- 
 guages in its modest bounds. The government and its 
 tongue are Russian ; the people are mostly Finnish, with 
 a very thin upper-crust of Swedish tradition, whence the 
 latter language is cultivated as a sign of aristocracy. 
 
 We landed on a broad wooden pier, and entered the 
 town through a crowd which was composed of all these 
 elements. There was to be a fair on the morrow, and from 
 the northern shore of the lake, as well as the wild inland 
 region towards the Saima, the people had collected for 
 trade, gossip, and festivity. Children in ragged garments 
 of hemp, bleached upon their bodies, impudently begged 
 for pocket-money ; women in scarlet kerchiefs curiously 
 scrutinized us ; peasants carried bundles of freshly mown 
 grass to the horses which were exposed for sale ; ladies 
 with Hungarian hats, crushed their crinolines into queer 
 old cabriolets ; gentlemen with business faces and an as- 
 pect of wealth smoked paper cigars ; and numbers of 
 hucksters offered baskets of biscuit and cakes, of a disa- 
 greeable yellow color and great apparent toughness. It 
 was a repetition, with slight variations, of a village fair any- 
 where else, or an election day in America. 
 
 Passing through the roughly paved and somewhat dirty 
 streets, past shops full of primitive hardware, groceries 
 which emitted powerful whiffs of salt fish or new leather, 
 bakeries with crisp padlocks of bread in the windows, 
 drinking-houses plentifully supplied with qvass and vodlci. 
 and, finally, the one watch-maker, and the vender of paper, 
 pens, and Finnish almanacs, we reached a broad suburban 
 street, whose substantial houses, with their courts and 
 gardens, hinted at the aristocracy of Serdopol. The inn, 
 with its Swedish sign, was large and comfortable, and a 
 peep into the open windows disclosed as pleasant quarters 
 as a traveller :ould wish. A little farther the town ceased, 
 and we found ourselves upon a rough, sloping common, at
 
 42 BY-WA^S OF EUROPE. 
 
 the top of which stood the church with its neighboring 
 belfry. It was unmistakably Lutheran in appearance, 
 very plain and massive and sober in color, with a steep 
 roof for shedding snow. The only attempt at ornament 
 was a fanciful shingle-mosaic, but in pattern only, not in 
 color. Across the common ran a double row of small 
 booths, which had just been erected for the coming fair ; 
 and sturdy young fellows from the country, with their rough 
 carts and shaggy ponies, were gathering along the high- 
 way, to skirmish a little in advance of their bargains. 
 
 The road enticed us onwards into the country. On our 
 left, a long slope descended to an upper arm of the harbor, 
 the head of which we saw to be near at hand. The op- 
 posite shore was fairly laid out in grain-fields, through 
 which cropped out, here and there, long walls of granite, 
 rising higher and higher towards the west, until they cul- 
 minated in the round, hard forehead of a lofty hill. There 
 was no other point within easy reach which promised much 
 of a view ; so, rounding the head of the bay, we addressed 
 ourselves to climbing the rocks, somewhat to the surprise 
 of the herd-boys, as they drove their cows into the town to 
 be milked. 
 
 Once off the cultivated land, we found the hill a very 
 garden of wild blooms. Every step and shelf of the rocks 
 was cushioned with tricolored violets, white anemones, and 
 a succulent, moss-like plant with a golden flower. Higher 
 up there were sheets of fire-red pinks, and on the summit 
 an unbroken carpet of the dwarf whortleberry,. with its 
 waxen bells. Light exhalations seemed to rise from the 
 damp hollows, and drift towards us ; but they resolved 
 themselves into swarms of mosquitoes, and would have 
 made the hill-top untenable, had they not been dispersed 
 by a sudden breeze. We sat down upon a rock and con- 
 templated the wide-spread panorama. It was nine o'clock, 
 and the sun, near his setting, cast long gleams of pale 
 light ihrough the clouds, scftening the green of the fieldf
 
 A CRUISE ON LAKE LADOGA. 48 
 
 and forests where they fell, and turning the moist evening 
 haze into lustrous pearl. Inlets of the lake here and there 
 crept in between the rocky hills ; broad stretches of 
 gently undulating grain-land were dotted with the houses, 
 barns, and clustered stables of the Finnish farmers ; in the 
 distance arose the smokes of two villages ; and beyond all, 
 as we looked inland, ran the sombre ridges of the fir-clad 
 hills. Below us, on the right, the yellow houses of the 
 town shone in the subdued light, the only bright spot in 
 the landscape, which elsewhere seemed to be overlaid with 
 a tint of dark, transparent gray. It was wonderfully silent 
 Not a bird twittered ; no bleat of sheep or low of cattle 
 was heard from the grassy fields ; no shout of children, or 
 evening hail from the returning boats of the fishers. Ovei 
 all the land brooded an atmosphere of sleep, of serene, 
 perpetual peace. To sit and look upon it was in itself a 
 refreshment like that of healthy slumber. The restless 
 devil which lurks in the human brain was quieted for the 
 time, and we dreamed knowing all the while the vanity 
 of the dream of a pastoral life in some such spot, among 
 as ignorant and simple-hearted a people, ourselves as un- 
 troubled by the agitations of the world. 
 
 We had scarce inhaled or, rather, insuded, to coin a 
 word for a seusation which seems to enter at every pore 
 the profound quiet and its suggestive fancies for the space 
 of half an hour, when the wind fell at the going down of 
 the sun. and the humming mist of mosquitoes arose again. 
 Returning to the town, we halted at the top of the common 
 to watch the farmers of the neighborhood at their horse- 
 dealing. Very hard, keen, weather-browned faces had 
 they, eyes tight-set for the main chance, mouths worn thin 
 by biting farthings, and hands whose hard fingers crooked 
 with holding fast what they had earned. Faces almost of 
 the Yankee type, many of them, and relieved by the twink 
 ling of a humorous faculty or the wild gleam of imagina 
 lion. The shaggy little horses, of a dun or dull tan-color
 
 44 BY-WAYS OF EUhOPE. 
 
 seemed to understand that their best performance flras re- 
 quired, and rushed up and down the road with an amazing 
 exhibition of mettle. I could understand nothing of the 
 Finnish tongue except its music ; but it was easy to per- 
 ceive that the remarks of the crowd were shrewd, intelli 
 gent, and racy. One young fellow, less observant, ac 
 costed us in the hope that we might be purchasers. The 
 boys, suspecting that we were as green as we were evi- 
 dently foreign, held out their hands for alms, with a very 
 unsuccessful air of distress, but readily succumbed to the 
 Russian interjection "proch I " (be off !) the repetition of 
 which, they understood, was a reproach. 
 
 That night we slept on the velvet couches of the cabin, 
 having the spacious apartment to ourselves. The bright 
 young officer had left for the copper mines, the pilgrims 
 were at Valaam, and our stout, benignant captain looked 
 upon us as his only faithful passengers. The stewards, in- 
 deed, carried their kindness beyond reasonable anticipa- 
 tions. They brought us real pillows and other con- 
 veniences, bolted the doors against nightly intruders, and 
 in the morning conducted us into the pantry, to wash our 
 faces in the basin sacred to dishes. After I had com- 
 pleted my ablutions, I turned dumbly, with dripping face 
 and extended hands, for a towel. My steward understood 
 the silent appeal, and, taking a napkin from a plate of 
 bread, presented it with alacrity. I made use of it, I con- 
 fess, but hastened out of the pantry, lest I should happen 
 to see it restored to its former place. How not to observe 
 is a faculty as necessary to the traveller as its reverse. 
 I was reminded of this truth at dinner, when I saw the 
 same steward take a napkin (probably my towel!) from 
 under his arm, to wipe both his face and a plate which he 
 carried. To speak mildly, these people on Lake Ladoga 
 are not sensitive in regard to the contact of individualities. 
 But the main point is to avoid seeing what you don't like. 
 
 We got off at an early hour, and hastened back to V
 
 A CRUISE ON LAKE LADOGA. 45 
 
 laam over glassy water and under a superb sky. This 
 time the lake was not so deserted, for the white wings j>f 
 pilgrim-boats drew in towards the dark island, making for 
 the golden sparkle of the chapel dome, which shone afar 
 like a light-house of the day-time. As we rounded to in 
 the land-locked inlet, we saw that the crowds on the hills 
 had doubled since yesterday, and, although the chimes 
 were pealing for sotne religious service, it seemed prudent 
 first to make sure of our quarters for the night. Accord- 
 ingly we set out for the imposing house of guests beside 
 the monastery, arriving in company with the visitors we 
 had brought with us from Serdopol. The entrance-hall 
 led into a long, stone-paved corridor, in which a monk, be- 
 wildered by many applications, appeared to be seeking re- 
 lief by promises of speedy hospitality. We put in our 
 plea, and also received a promise. On either side of the 
 corridor were numbered rooms, already occupied, the for- 
 tunate guests passing in and out with a provoking air of 
 comfort and unconcern. We ascended to the second story, 
 which was similarly arranged, and caught hold of another 
 benevolent monk, willing, but evidently powerless to help 
 us. Dinner was just about to be served; the brother in 
 authority was not there ; we must be good enough to wait 
 a little while ; would we not visit the shrines, in the 
 mean time ? 
 
 The advice was sensible, as well as friendly, and we fol- 
 lowed it. Entering the great quadrangle of the monas- 
 tery, we found it divided, gridiron-fashion, into long, nar- 
 row court-yards by inner lines of buildings. The central 
 court, however, was broad and spacious, the church occu- 
 pying a rise of ground on the eastern side. Hundreds of 
 men and women Carelian peasants thronged around 
 the entrance, crossing themselves in unison with the con- 
 gregation. The church, we found, was packed, and the 
 most zealous wedging among the blue caftans and shining 
 flaxen heads brought us no farther than the inner door.
 
 46 BY-WAYS Oi EUROPE. 
 
 Thence we looked over a tufted level of heads that seemed 
 to touch intermingled tints of gold, tawny, sz7ver-blond ; 
 and the various shades of brown, touched with dim glosses 
 through the incense-smoke, and occasionally bending ir 
 concert, with an undulating movement, like grain before 
 the wind. Over these heads rose the vaulted nave, daz- 
 zling with gold and colors, and blocked up, beyond the in- 
 tersection of the transept, by the ikonostast, or screen 
 before the Holy of Holies, gorgeous with pictures of saints 
 overlaid with silver. In front of the screen the tapers 
 burned, the incense rose thick and strong, and the chant 
 of the monks gave a peculiar solemnity to their old Scla- 
 vonic litany. The only portion of it which I could under- 
 stand was the recurring response, as in the English Church, 
 of " Lord, have mercy upon us ! " 
 
 Extricating ourselves with some difficulty, we entered a 
 chapel-crypt, which contains the bodies of Sergius and 
 Herrmann. They lie together, in a huge coffin of silver, 
 covered with cloth of gold. Tapers of immense size burned 
 at the head and foot, and the pilgrims knelt around, bend- 
 ing their foreheads to the pavement at the close of their 
 prayers. Among others, a man had brought his insane 
 daughter, and it was touching to see the tender care with 
 which he led her to the coffin and directed her devotions. 
 So much of habit still remained, that it seemed, for the 
 time being, to restore her reason. The quietness and reg- 
 ularity with which she went through the forms of prayer, 
 brought a light of hope to the father's face. The other 
 peasants looked on with an expression of pity and sym- 
 pathy. The girl, we learned, had but recently lost her 
 reason, and without any apparent cause. She was be- 
 trothed to a joung man who was sincerely attached to her, 
 and the pilgrimage was undertaken in the hope that a mir- 
 acle might be wrought in her favor. The presence of 
 the shrine, indeed, struck its accustomed awe through her 
 wandering senses, but the effoct was only :.ionientary.
 
 A CRUISE ON LAKE LADOGA. 47 
 
 I approached the coffin, and deposited a piece of money 
 On the offering- pi ate, for the purpose of getting a glimpse 
 of the pictured faces of the saints, in their silver setting. 
 Their features were hard and regular, flatly painted, as if 
 by some forerunner of Cirnabue, but sufficiently modern to 
 make the likeness doubtful. I have not been able to obtain 
 the exact date of their settlement on the island, but I be- 
 lieve it is referred to the early part of the fifteenth century. 
 The common people believe that the island was first visited 
 by Andrew, the Apostle of Christ, who, according to the 
 Russian patriarch Nestor, made his way to Kiev and Nov- 
 gorod. The latter place is known to have been an impor- 
 tant commercial city as early as the fourth century, and 
 had a regular intercourse with Asia. The name of Valaam 
 
 O 
 
 does not come from Balaam, as one might suppose, but 
 seems to be derived from the Finnish varamo, which sig- 
 nifies " herring-ground." The more I attempted to unravel 
 the history of the island, the more it became involved in 
 obscurity, and this fact, I must confess, only heightened my 
 interest in it. I found myself ready to accept the tradition 
 of Andrew's visit, and I accepted without a doubt the grave 
 of King Magnus of Sweden. 
 
 On issuing from the crypt, we encountered a young 
 monk who had evidently been sent in search of us. The 
 mass was over, and the court-yard was nearly emptied of 
 its crowd. In the farther court, however, we found the 
 people more dense than ever, pressing forward towards a 
 small door. The monk made way for us with some diffi- 
 culty for, though the poor fellows did their best to fall 
 back, the pressure from the outside was tremendous 
 Having at last run the gauntlet, we found ourselves in the 
 refectory of the monastery, inhaling a thick steam of fisb 
 and cabbage. Three long tables were filled with monks 
 and pilgrims, while the attendants brought in the fish on 
 large wooden trenchers. The plates were of common wnite 
 ware, but the spoons were of wood- Officers in gay
 
 48 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 forms were scattered among the dark anchorites, wno oc- 
 cupied one end of the table, while the bourgeoisie, with 
 here and there a blue-caftaned peasant wedged among 
 thorn, filled the other end. They were eating with great 
 zeal, while an old priest, standing, read from a Sclavonic 
 Bible. All eyes were turned upon us as we entered, and 
 there was not a vacant chair in which we could hide our 
 intrusion. It was rather embarrassing, especially as the 
 young monk insisted that we should remain, and the curious 
 eyes of the eaters as constantly asked, " Who are these, 
 and what do they want? " We preferred returning through 
 the hungry crowd, and made our way to the guests' house. 
 
 Here a similar process was going on. The corridors 
 were thronged with peasants of all ages and both sexes, 
 and the good fathers, more than ever distracted, were in- 
 capable of helping us. Seeing a great crowd piled up 
 against a rear basement-door, we descended the stairs, and 
 groped our way through manifold steams and noises to a 
 huge succession of kitchens, where cauldrons of cabbage 
 were bubbling, and shoals of fish went in raw and came 
 out cooked. In another room some hundreds of peasants 
 were eating with all the energy of a primitive appetite. 
 Soup leaked out of the bowls as if they had been sieves ; 
 fishes gave a whisk of the tail and vanished ; great round 
 boulders of bread went off, layer after layer, and still the 
 3mpty plates were held up for more. It was grand eating, 
 pure appetite, craving only food in a general sense : no 
 picking out of tidbits, no spying here and there for a fa- 
 vorite dish, but, like a huge fire, devouring everything that 
 came in its-way. The stomach was here a patient, unques- 
 tioning serf, not a master full of whims, requiring to be 
 petted and conciliated. So, I thought, people must have 
 eaten in the Golden Age : so Adam and Eve must have 
 dined, before the fall made them epicurean and dyspeptic. 
 
 We degenerate through culture found the steams of 
 the strong, coarse dishes rather unpleasant, and retreated
 
 A CRUISE ON LAKE LADOGA. 49 
 
 by a back way, which brought us to a spiral staircase. We 
 ascended for a long time, and finally emerged into the gar- 
 ret of the building, hot, close, and strawy as a barn-loft. 
 It was divided into rooms, in which, on the floors covered 
 deep with straw, the happy pilgrims who had finished theif 
 dinner were lying on their bellies, lazily talking themselves 
 to sleep. The grassy slope in front of the house, and all 
 the neighboring heights, were soon covered in like manner. 
 Men, women, and children threw themselves down, drawing 
 off their heavy boots, and dipping their legs, knee-deep, 
 into the sun and air. An atmosphere of utter peace and 
 satisfaction settled over them. 
 
 Being the only foreign and heterodox persons present, 
 we began to feel ourselves deserted, when the favor of Ser- 
 gius and Herrmann was again manifested. P. was suddenly 
 greeted by an acquaintance, an officer connected with the 
 Imperial Court, who had come to Valaam for a week of de- 
 votion. He immediately interested himself in our behalf, 
 procured us a room with a lovely prospect, transferred his 
 bouquet of lilacs and peonies to our table, and produced 
 his bottle of lemon-syrup to flavor our tea. The rules of 
 the monastery are very strict, and no visitor is exempt from 
 their observance. Not a fish can be caught, not a bird or 
 beast shot, no wine or liquor of any kind, nor tobacco in 
 any form, used on the island. Rigid as the organization 
 seems, it bears equally on every member of the brother- 
 hood : the equality upon which such associations were orig- 
 inally based is here preserved. The monks are only in 
 an ecclesiastical sense subordinate to the abbot. Other- 
 wise, the fraternity seems to be about as complete as in the 
 early days of Christianity. 
 
 The Valamo, and her rival, the Letuchie, had advertised 
 a trip to the Holy Island, the easternmost of the Valaam 
 group, some six miles from the monastery, and the weather 
 was so fair that both boats were crowded, many of the 
 monks accompanying us. Our new-found friend was also 
 4
 
 50 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 of the party, and I made the acquaintance of a Finnish 
 student from the Lyceum at Kuopio. who gave me descrip- 
 tions of the Sauna Lake and the wilds of Savolax. Run- 
 ning eastward along the headlands, we passed Chernoi 
 Noss (Black-Nose), the name of which again recalled a 
 term common in the Orkneys and Shetlands noss, there, 
 signifying a headland. The Holy Island rose before us, 
 a circular pile of rock, crowned with wood, like a huge, 
 unfinished tower of Cyclopean masonry, built up out of the 
 deep water. Far beyond it, over the rim of the lake, glim- 
 mered the blue eastern shore. As we drew near, we found 
 that the tumbled fragments of rock had been arranged, 
 with great labor, to form a capacious foot-path around the 
 base of the island. The steamers drew up against this 
 narrow quay, upon which we landed, under a granite wall 
 which rose perpendicularly to the height of seventy or 
 eighty feet. The firs on the summit grew out to the very 
 edge and stretched their dark arms over us. Every cran- 
 ny of the rock was filled with tufts of white and pink 
 flowers, and the moisture, trickling from above, betrayed 
 itself in long lines of moss and fern. 
 
 I followed the pilgrims around to the sunny side of the 
 island, and found a wooden staircase at a point where the 
 wall was somewhat broken away. Reaching the top of the 
 first ascent, the sweet breath of a spring woodland breathed 
 around me. I looked under the broken roofage of the 
 boughs upon a blossoming jungle of shrubs and plants which 
 seemed to have been called into life by a more potent sun. 
 The lily of the valley, in thick beds, poured out the deli- 
 cious sweetness of its little cups ; spikes of a pale-green 
 orchis emitted a rich cinnamon odor ; anemones, geraniums, 
 sigillarias, and a feathery flower, white, freckled with pur- 
 ple, grew in profusion. The top of the island, five or six 
 acres in extent, was a slanting plane, looking to the south, 
 whence it received the direct rays of the sun. It was 
 an enchanting picture of woodland bloom, lighted with
 
 A CRUISE ON LAKE LADOGA. 51 
 
 sprinkled sunshine, in the cold blue setting of the lake, 
 which was visible on all sides, between the boles of the 
 trees. I hailed it as an idyl of the North a poetic 
 secret, which the earth, even where she is most cruelly 
 material and cold, still tenderly hides and cherishes. 
 
 A peasant, whose scarlet shirt flashed through the bushe? 
 like a sudden fire, seeing me looking at the flowers 
 gathered a handful of lilies, which he offered to me, saying, 
 " Prekrasnie" (beautiful). Without waiting for thanks, he 
 climbed a second flight of steps and suddenly disappeared 
 from view. I followed, and found myself in front of a nar- 
 row aperture in a rude wall, which had been built up under 
 an overhanging mass of rocks. A lamp was twinkling 
 within, and presently several persons crawled out, crossing 
 themselves and muttering prayers. 
 
 " What is this ? " asked a person who had just arrived. 
 
 " The cave of Alexander Svirski," was the answer. 
 
 Alexander of the Svir a river flowing from the Onega 
 Lake into Ladoga was a hermit who lived for twenty 
 years on the Holy Island, inhabiting the hole before us 
 through the long, dark, terrible winters, in a solitude 
 broken only when the monks of Valaam came over the ice 
 to replenish his stock of provisions. Verily, the hermits 
 of the Thebai'd were Sybarites, compared to this man ! 
 There are still two or three hermits who have charge of 
 outlying chapels on the islands, and live wholly secluded 
 from their brethren. They wear dresses covered with 
 crosses and other symbols, and are considered as dead to 
 the world. The ceremony which consecrates them for 
 this service is that for the burial of the dead. 
 
 I managed, with some difficulty, to creep into Alexandei 
 Svirski's den. I saw nothing, however, but the old, smoky, 
 and sacred picture before which the lamp burned. The 
 rocky roof was so low that I could not stand upright, and 
 all the walls I could find were the bodies of pilgrims who 
 had squeezed \u before me. A confused whisper surrounded
 
 52 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 me in the darkness, and the air was intolerably close, 1 
 therefore made my escape and mounted to the chapel, on 
 the highest part of the island. A little below it, an open 
 pavilion, with seats, has been built over the sacred spring 
 from which the hermit drank, and thither the pilgrims 
 thronged. The water was served in a large wooden bowl, 
 and each one made the sign of the cross before drinking. 
 By waiting for my turn I ascertained that the spring was 
 icy-cold, and very pure and sweet 
 
 I found myself lured to the highest cliff, whence I could 
 look out, through the trees, on the far, smooth disk of the 
 lake. Smooth and fair as the JEgean it lay before me, and 
 the trees were silent as olives at noonday on the shores of 
 Cos. But how different in color, in sentiment ! Here, 
 perfect sunshine can never dust the water with the purple 
 bloom of the South, can never mellow its hard, cold tint of 
 greenish-blue. The distant hills, whether dark or light, 
 are equally cold, and are seen too nakedly through the 
 crystal air to admit of any illusion. Bracing as is this 
 atmosphere, the gods could never breathe it. It would 
 revenge on the ivory limbs of Apollo his treatment of 
 Marsyas. No foam-born Aphrodite could rise warm from 
 yonder wave ; not even the cold, sleek Nereids could breast 
 its keen edge. We could only imagine it disturbed, tem- 
 porarily, by the bath -plunge of hardy Vikings, who must 
 have come out from it red and tingling from head to heel. 
 " Come ! " cried P., " the steamer is about to leave ! " 
 We all wandered down the steps, I with my lilies in my 
 hand. Even the rough peasants seemed reluctant to leave 
 the spot, and not wholly for the sake of Alexander Svirski. 
 We were all safely embarked and carried back to Valaam, 
 leaving the island to its solitude. Alexis (as I shall call 
 our Russian friend) put us in charge of a native artist who 
 knew every hidden beauty of Valaam, and suggested an 
 exploration of the inlet, while he went back to his devo- 
 tions. We borrowed a boat from the monks, and in*
 
 A CfcUlSE ON LAKE LADOGA. 53 
 
 pressed a hardy fisherman into our service. I supposed 
 we had already seen the extent of the inlet, but on reach- 
 ing its head a narrow side-channel disclosed itself, passing 
 away under a quaint bridge and opening upon an inner 
 lake of astonishing beauty. The rocks were disposed in 
 every variety of grouping sometimes rising in even ter- 
 races, step above step, sometimes thrusting out a sheer 
 wall from the summit, or lying slantwise in masses split off 
 by the wedges of the ice. The fairy birches, in their thin 
 foliage, stood on the edge of the water like Dryads undress- 
 ing for a bath, while the shaggy male firs elbowed each 
 other on the heights for a look at them. Other channels 
 opened in the distance, with glimpses of other and as beau- 
 tiful harbors in the heart of the islands. " You may sail 
 for seventy-five versts," said the painter, " without seeing 
 them all." 
 
 The fearlessness of all wild creatures showed that the 
 rules of the good monks had been carefully obeyed. The 
 wild ducks swam around our boat, or brooded, in conscious 
 security, on their nests along the shore. Three great 
 herons, fishing in a shallow, rose slowly into the air and 
 flew across the water, breaking the silence with their hoarse 
 trumpet note. Further in the woods there are herds of 
 wild reindeer, which are said to have become gradually 
 tame. This familiarity of the animals took away from the 
 islands all that was repellent in their solitude. It half re- 
 stored the broken link between man and the subject forms 
 of life. 
 
 The sunset light was on the trees when we started, bu: 
 here in the North it is no fleeting glow. It lingers for 
 hours even, fading so imperceptibly that you scarcely know 
 when it has ceased. Thus, when we returned after a long 
 pull, craving the Lenten fare of the monastery, the same 
 soft gold tinted its clustering domes. We were not called 
 upon to visit the refectory, but a table was prepared in our 
 room. The first dish had the appearance of a salad, with
 
 64 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 the accompaniment of black bread. On carefully tasting^ 
 I discovered the ingredients to be raw salt fish chopped 
 fine, cucumbers, and beer. The taste of the first spoon* 
 ful was peculiar, of the second tolerable, of the third de- 
 cidedly palatable. Beyond this I did not go, for we had 
 fresh fish, boiled in enough water to make a soup. Then 
 the same, fried in its own fat, and, as salt and pepper were 
 allowed, we did not scorn our supper. 
 
 The next day was the festival of Peter and Paul, and 
 Alexis had advised us to make an excursion to a place 
 called Jelesniki. In the morning, however, we learned 
 that the monastery and its grounds were to be consecrated 
 in solemn procession. The chimes pealed out quick and 
 joyously, and soon a burst of banners and a cloud of in- 
 cense issued from the great gate. All the pilgrims 
 nearly two thousand in number thronged around the 
 double line of chanting monks, and it was found necessary 
 to inclose the latter in a hollow square, formed by a linked 
 chain of hands. As the morning sun shone on the bare- 
 headed multitude, the beauty of their unshorn hair struck 
 me like a new revelation. Some of the heads, of lustrous, 
 flossy gold, actually shone by their own light. It was 
 marvelous that skin so hard and coarse in texture should 
 produce such beautiful ha,ir. The beards of the men, also, 
 were strikingly soft and rich. They never shave, and thus 
 avoid bristles, the down of adolescence thickening into a 
 natural beard. 
 
 As the procession approached, Alexis, who was walking 
 behind the monks, inside the protecting guard, beckoned 
 to us to join him. The peasants respectfully made way, 
 two hands unlinked to admit us, and we became, unex- 
 pectedly, participants in the ceremonies. From the south 
 side the procession moved around to the east, where a litany 
 was again chanted. The fine voices of the monks lost but 
 little of their volume in the open air ; there was no wind, 
 and the tapers burned and the incense diffused itself, is in
 
 A CRUISE ON LAKE LADOGA. 56 
 
 the church. A sacred picture, which two monks carried 
 on a sort of litter, was regarded with particular reverence 
 by the pilgrims, numbers of whom crept under the line of 
 guards to snatch a moment's devotion before it At e\ery 
 pause in the proceedings there was a rush from all sides, 
 and the poor fellows who formed the lines held each other's 
 hands with s.11 their strength. Yet, flushed, sweating, and 
 exhausted as they were, the responsibility of their position 
 made them perfectly proud and happy. They were the 
 guardians of cross and shrine, of the holy books, the monks, 
 and the abbot himself. 
 
 From the east side we proceeded to the north, where 
 the dead monks sleep in their cemetery, high over the. 
 watery gorge. In one corner of this inclosure, under a 
 group of giant maples, is the grave of King Magnus of 
 Sweden, who is said to have perished by shipwreck on the 
 island. Here, in the deep shade, a solemn mass for the 
 dead was chanted. Nothing could have added to the im- 
 pressiveness of the scene. The tapers burning under the 
 thick-leaved boughs, the light smoke curling up in the 
 shade, the grave voices of the monks, the bending heads 
 of the beautiful-haired crowd, and the dashes of white, 
 pink, scarlet, blue, and gold in their dresses, made a pic- 
 ture the solemnity of which was only heightened by its 
 pomp of color. I can do no more than give the features ; 
 the reader must recombine them in his own mind. 
 
 The painter accompanied us to the place called Jelesniki, 
 which, after a walk of four miles through the forests, we 
 found to be a deserted village, with a chapel on a rocky 
 headland. There was a fine bridge across the dividing 
 strait, and the place may have been as picturesque as it 
 was represented. On that side of the islands, however, 
 there was a dense fog, and we could get no view beyond a 
 hundred yards. We had hoped to see reindeer in ihe 
 woods, and an eagle's nest, and various other curiosities ; 
 but where there was no fog there were mosquitoes, and 
 the search ber.ame discouraging.
 
 06 BY-WAYS OF EUKOPE. 
 
 On returning to the monastery, a register was brought 
 to us, in which, on looking back for several years, we could 
 find but one foreign visitor a Frenchman. We judged, 
 therefore, that the abbot would possibly expect us to call 
 upon him, and, indeed, the hospitality we had received ex- 
 acted it. We found him receiving visitors in a plain but 
 comfortable room, in a distant part of the building. He 
 was a man of fifty-five, frank and self-possessed in his man- 
 ners, and of an evident force and individuality of character. 
 His reception of the visitors, among whom was a lady, was 
 at once courteous and kindly. A younger monk brought 
 us glasses of tea. Incidentally learning that I had visited 
 the Holy Places in Syria, the abbot sent for some pictures 
 of the monastery and its chosen saints, which he asked me 
 to keep as a souvenir of Valaam. He also presented each 
 of us with a cake of unleavened bread, stamped with the 
 cross, and with a triangular piece cut out of the top, to 
 indicate the Trinity. On parting, he gave his hand, which 
 the orthodox visitors devoutly kissed. Before the steamer 
 sailed, we received fresh evidence of his kindness, in the 
 present of three large loaves of consecrated bread, and a 
 bunch of lilacs from the garden of the monastery. 
 
 Through some misunderstanding, we failed to dine in 
 the refectory, as the monks desired, and their hospitable 
 regret on this account was the only shade on our enjoy- 
 ment of the visit. Alexis remained, in order to complete 
 his devotions by partaking of the Communion on the fol- 
 lowing Sabbath ; but as the anniversary solemnities closed 
 at noon, the crowd of pilgrims prepared to return home. 
 The Valamo, too, sounded her warning bell, so we left the 
 monastery as friends where we had arrived as strangers, 
 and went on board. Boat after boat, gunwale-deep with 
 the gay Carelians, rowed down the inlet, and in the space 
 of half an hour but a few stragglers were left of all the 
 multitude. Some of the monks came down to say another 
 good-bye, and the under-abbot, blessing R., made the sign 
 of the cross upon his brow and breast.
 
 A CRUISE )N LAKE LADOGA. 57 
 
 When we reached the golden dome of St. Nicholas, al 
 the outlet of the harbor, the boats had set their sails, and 
 the lake was no longer lonely. Scores of white wings 
 gleamed in the sun, as they scattered away in radii from 
 the central and sacred point, some north, some east, and 
 some veering south around Holy Island. Sergius and 
 Herrmann gave them smooth seas, and light, favorable 
 airs ; for the least roughness would have carried them, 
 overladen as they were, to the bottom. Once more the 
 bells of Valaam chimed farewell, and we turned the point 
 to the westward, steering back to Kexholm. 
 
 Late that night we reached our old moorage at Konewitz, 
 and on Saturday, at the appointed hour, landed in St. 
 Petersburg. We carried the white cross at the fore as we 
 descended the Neva, and the bells of the church^ .ilong 
 the banks welcomed our return. And now, as 1 recal. 
 those five days among the islands of the Northern Lake, 
 I see that it is good to go or. a pilgrimage, even if one \M 
 not a pi'.grim
 
 BETWEEN EUROPE AND ASIA. 
 
 " Pushed off from one shore, and not yet landed on the other." 
 
 Russian Proverb.
 
 THE railroad from Moscow to Nijni-Novgorod had been 
 opened but a fortnight before. It was scarcely finished, 
 indeed ; for, in order to facilitate travel during the con- 
 tinuance of the Great Fair at the latter place, the gaps in 
 the line, left by unbuilt bridges, were filled up with tempo- 
 rary trestle-work. The one daily express-train was so 
 thronged that it required much exertion, and the freest use 
 of the Envoy's prestige, to secure a private carriage for our 
 party. The sun was sinking over the low, hazy ridge of 
 the Sparrow Hills as we left Moscow : and we enjoyed one 
 more glimpse of the inexhaustible splendor of the city's 
 thousand golden domes and pinnacles, softened by lumi- 
 nous smoke and transfigured dust, before the dark woods 
 of fir intervened, and the twilight sank down on cold and 
 lonely landscapes. 
 
 Thence, until darkness, there was nothing more to claim 
 attention. Whoever has seen one landscape of Central 
 Russia is familiar with three fourths of the whole region. 
 Nowhere else not even on the levels of Illinois are 
 the same features so constantly reproduced. One long ? 
 low swell of earth succeeds to another ; it is rare that any 
 other woods than birch and fir are seen ; the cleared land 
 presents a continuous succession of pasture, rye, wheat, 
 potatoes, and cabbages ; and the villages are as like as 
 peas, in their huts of unpainted logs, clustering around a 
 white church with five green domes. It is a monotony 
 which nothing but the richest culture can prevent from be- 
 coming tiresome. Culture is to Nature what good manners 
 are to man, rendering poverty of character endurable. 
 
 Stationing a servant at the door to prevent intrusion at
 
 62 BY-WAYS OK EUROPE. 
 
 the way-stations, we let down the curtains before our win- 
 dows, and secured a comfortable privacy for the night, 
 whence we issued only once, during a halt for supper. I 
 entered the refreshment-room with very slender expecta 
 tions, but was immediately served with plump partridges, 
 tender cutlets, and green peas. The Russians made a 
 rash for the great samovar (tea-urn) of brass, which shone 
 from one end of the long table ; and presently each had 
 his tumbler of scalding tea, with a slice of lemon floating 
 on the top. These people drink beverages of a tempera- 
 ture which would take the skin off Anglo-Saxon mouths. 
 My tongue was more than once blistered, on beginning to 
 drink after they had emptied their glasses. There is no 
 station without its steaming samovar; and some persons, 
 I verily believe, take their thirty-three hot teas between 
 Moscow and St. Petersburg. 
 
 There is not much choice of dishes in the interior of 
 Russia ; but what one does get is sure to be tolerably good. 
 Even on the Beresina and the Dnieper I have always fared 
 better than at most of the places in our country where 
 " Ten minutes for refreshments ! " is announced day by day 
 and year by year. Better a single beef-steak, where ten- 
 derness is, than a stalled ox, all gristle and grease. But 
 then our cooking (for the public at least) is notoriously the 
 worst in the civilized world ; and I can safely pronounce 
 the Russian better, without commending it very highly. 
 
 Some time in the night we passed the large town of 
 Vladimir, and with the rising sun were well on our way to 
 the Volga. I pushed aside the curtains, and looked out, 
 to see what changes a night's travel had wrought in the 
 scenery. It was a pleasant surprise. On the right stood a 
 large, stately residence, embowered in gardens and orch- 
 ards ; while beyond it, stretching away to the southeast, 
 opened a broad, shallow valley. The sweeping hills on either 
 side were dotted with shocks of rye ; and their thousands 
 of acres of stubble shone like gold in the level rays. Herd*
 
 BETWEEN EUROPE AND AS/A. 
 
 of cattle were pasturing in the meadows, and the peasants 
 (serfs no longer) were straggling out of the villages to their 
 labor in the fields. The crosses and polished domes of 
 churches sparkled on the horizon. Here the patches of 
 primitive forest were of larger growth, the trunks cleaner 
 and straighter, than we had yet seen Nature was half 
 conquered, in spite of the climate, and, for the first time 
 since leaving St. Petersburg, wore a habitable aspect. I 
 recognized some of the features of Russian country-life 
 which Puschkin describes so charmingly in his poem of 
 " Eugene Onagin." 
 
 The agricultural development of Russia has been greatly 
 retarded by the indifference of the nobility, whose vast 
 estates comprise the best land of the empire, in those prov- 
 inces where improvements might be most easily intro- 
 duced. Although a large portion of the noble families 
 pass their summers in the country, they use the season as 
 a period of physical and pecuniary recuperation from the 
 dissipations of the past, and preparation for those of the 
 coming winter. Their possessions are so large (those of 
 Count ScheremetiefF, for instance, contain one hundred ana 
 thirty thousand inhabitants) that they push each other toe 
 far apart for social intercourse ; and they consequently live 
 <tn deshabille, careless of the great national interests in their 
 hands. There is a class of our Southern planters which 
 seems to have adopted a very similar mode of life fami- 
 lies which shabbily starve for ten months, in order to make 
 a lordly show at " the Springs " for the other two. A most 
 
 accomplished Russian lady, the Princess D , said to 
 
 me, " The want of an active, intelligent country society 
 is our greatest misfortune. Our estates thus become a sort 
 of exile. The few, here and there, who try to improve the 
 condition of the people, through the improvement of the 
 sou, :*e not supported by their neighbors, and lose heart 
 The more we gain in the life of the capital, the more we 
 are oppressed by the solitude and stagnation of the life of 
 ^e country."
 
 64 BY-WAYS OF EUROI'E. 
 
 This open, cheerful region continued through the morn* 
 ing. The railroad was still a novelty; and the peasants 
 everywhere dropped their scythes and shovels to see the 
 train pass. Some bowed with the profoundest gravity- 
 They were a fine, healthy, strapping race of men, only of 
 medium height, but admirably developed in chest and 
 limbs, and with shrewd, intelligent faces. Content, not stu- 
 pidity, is the cause of their stationary condition. They 
 are not yet a people, but the germ of one, and, as such, 
 present a grand field for anthropological studies. 
 
 Towards noon the road began to descend, by easy 
 grades, from the fair, rolling uplands into a lower and 
 wilder region. When the train stopped, women and chil- 
 dren whose swarthy skin and black eyes betrayed a mix- 
 ture of Tartar blood, made their appearance, with wooden 
 bowls of cherries and huckleberries for sale. These bowls 
 were neatly carved and painted. They were evidently held 
 in high value ; for I had great difficulty in purchasing one. 
 We moved slowly, on account of the many skeleton 
 bridges ; but presently a long, blue ridge, which for an 
 hour past had followed us in the southeast, began to curve 
 around to our front. I now knew that it must mark the 
 course of the Oka River, and that we were approaching 
 Nijni-Novgorod. 
 
 We soon saw the river itself; then houses and gardens 
 scattered along the slope of the hill ; then clusters of 
 sparkling domes on the summit ; then a stately, white- 
 walled citadel ; and the end of the blue ridge slanted down 
 in an even line to the Volga. We were three hundred miles 
 from Moscow, on the direct road to Siberia. 
 
 The city being on the farther side of the Oka, the rail- 
 road terminates at the Fair, which is a separate city, oc- 
 cupying the triangular level between the two rivers. Our 
 approach to it was first announced by heaps of cotton- 
 bales, bound in striped camel's-hair cloth, which had found 
 their way hither from the distant valleys of Turkestan and
 
 BETWEEN EUROPE AND ASIA. 66 
 
 che warm plains of Bukharia. Nearly fifty thousand camefe 
 we employed in the transportation of this staple across 
 the deserts of the Aral to Orenburg, a distance of a 
 thousand miles. The increase of price had doubled the 
 production since the previous year, aud the amount which 
 now reaches the factories of Russia through this channel 
 cannot be less than seventy-five thousand bales. The ad- 
 vance of modern civilization has so intertwined the interests 1 
 of all zones and races, that a civil war in the United States 
 affects the industry of Central Asia ! 
 
 Next to these cotton-bales which, to us, silently pro- 
 claimed the downfall of that arrogant monopoly which has 
 caused all our present woe, came the representatives of 
 those who produced them. Groups of picturesque Asians 
 Bashkirs, Persians, Bukharians, and Uzbeks appeared 
 on either side, staring impassively at the wonderful appa- 
 rition. Though there was sand under their feet, they 
 seemed out of place in the sharp north-wind and among 
 the hills of fir and pine. 
 
 The train stopped : we had reached the station. As I 
 stepped upon the platform, I saw, over the level lines of 
 copper roofs, the dragon-like pinnacles of Chinese build- 
 ings, and the white minaret of a mosque. Here was the 
 certainty of a picturesque interest to balance the uncer- 
 tainty of our situation. We had been unable to engage 
 quarters in advance : there were two hundred thousand 
 strangers before us, in a city the normal population of 
 which is barely forty thousand ; and four of our party were 
 ladies. The Envoy, indeed, might claim the Governor's 
 hospitality ; but our visit was to be so brief that we had 
 no time to expend on ceremonies, and preferred rambling 
 at will through the teeming bazaars to being led about 
 under the charge of an official escort. 
 
 A friend at Moscow, however, had considerately tele- 
 giaphed in our behalf to a French resident of Nijni, and 
 the latter gentleman met us at the station. He could give 
 I
 
 66 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 but slight hope of quarters for the night, but generouslj 
 offered us his services. Droshkies were engaged to convey 
 us to the old city, on the hill beyond the Oka ; and, crowded 
 two by two into the shabby little vehicles, we set forth. The 
 sand was knee-deep, and the first thing that happened wa* 
 the stoppage of our procession by the tumbling down of the 
 several horses. They were righted with the help of some 
 obliging spectators ; and with infinite labor we worked 
 through this strip of desert into a region of mud, with a 
 hard, stony bottom somewhere between us and the earth's 
 centre. The street we entered, though on the outskirts of 
 the Fair, resembled Broadway on a sensation-day. It was 
 choked with a crowd, composed of the sweepings of Europe 
 and Asia. Our horses thrust their heads between the shoul- 
 ders of Christians, Jews, Moslems, and Pagans, slowly shov- 
 ing their way towards the floating bridge, which was a jam 
 of vehicles from end to end. At the corners of the streets, 
 the wiry Don Cossacks, in their dashing blue uniforms and 
 caps of black lamb's-wool, regulated, as best they could, 
 the movements of the multitude. It was curious to notice 
 how they, and their small, well-knit horses, the equine 
 counterparts of themselves, controlled the fierce, fiery 
 life which flashed from every limb and feature, and did 
 their duty with wonderful patience and gentleness. They 
 seemed so many spirits of Disorder tamed to the service 
 of Order. 
 
 It was nearly half an hour before we reached the other 
 end of the bridge, and struck the superb inclined highway 
 which leads to the top of the hill. We were unwashed 
 and hungry ; and neither the tumult of the lower town, nor 
 the view of the Volga, crowded with vessels of all descrip- 
 tions, had power to detain us. Our brave little horses bent 
 themselves to the task ; for task it really was, the road 
 rising between three and four hundred feet in less than half 
 a mile. Advantage has been taken of a slight natural ra- 
 vine, formed by a short, curving spur of the hill, which
 
 BETWEEN KUROPE AND ASIA. 67 
 
 encloses a pocket of the greenest and richest foliage a 
 bit of unsuspected beauty, quite invisible from the other 
 side of the river. Then, in order to reach the level of the 
 Kremlin, the road is led through an artificial gap, a hundred 
 feet in depth, to the open square in the centre of the city. 
 
 Here, all was silent and deserted. There were broad, 
 well-paved streets, substantial houses, the square towers 
 and crenelated walls of the Old Kremlin, and the glittering 
 cupolas of twenty-six churches before us, and a lack of 
 population which contrasted amazingly with the whirlpool 
 of life below. Monsieur D., our new, but most faithful 
 friend, took us to the hotel, every corner and cranny of 
 which was occupied. There was a possibility of breakfast 
 only, and water was obtained with great exertion. While 
 we were lazily enjoying a tolerable meal, Monsieur D. was 
 bestirring himself in all quarters, and came back to us ra- 
 diant with luck. He had found four rooms in a neighboring 
 street ; and truly, if one were to believe De Custine or 
 Dumas, such rooms are impossible in Russia. Charmingly 
 clean, elegantly furnished, with sofas of green leather and 
 beds of purest linen, they would have satisfied the severe 
 eye of an English housekeeper. We thanked both our 
 good friend and St. Macarius (who presides over the Fair) 
 for this fortune, took possession, and then hired fresh drosh- 
 kies to descend the hill. 
 
 On emerging from the ravine, we obtained a bird's-eye 
 view of the whole scene. The waters of both rivers, near 
 at hand, were scarcely visible through the shipping which 
 covered them. Vessels from the Neva, the Caspian, and 
 the rivers of the Ural, were here congregated ; and they 
 alone represented a floating population of between thirty 
 and forty thousand souls. The Fair, from this point, re- 
 sembled an immense flat city, the streets of booths being 
 of a uniform height, out of which rose the great Greek 
 church, the Tartar mosque, and the curious Chinese roofs. 
 It was a vast, dark, humming plain, vanishing towards th
 
 68 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 west and northwest in clouds of sand. By this time there 
 was a lull in the business, and we made our way to the 
 central bazaar with less trouble than we hud anticipated. 
 It is useless to attempt an enumeration of the wares ex- 
 posed for sale : they embraced everything grown, trapped, 
 dug, or manufactured between Ireland and Japan. We 
 sought, of course, the Asiatic elements, which first met us 
 in the shape of melons from Astrakhan, and grapes from the 
 southern slopes of the Caucasus. Then came wondrous 
 stuffs from the looms of Turkestan and Cashmere, tur- 
 quoises from the Upper Oxus, and glittering strings of Si- 
 berian topaz and amethyst, side by side with Nuremberg 
 toys, Lyons silks, and Sheffield cutlery. About one third 
 of the population of the Fair was of Asiatic blood, embra- 
 cing representatives from almost every tribe north and west 
 of the Himalayas. 
 
 This temporary city, which exists during only two months 
 of the year, contained two hundred thousand inhabitants 
 at the time of our visit. During the remaining ten months 
 it is utterly depopulated, the bazaars are closed, and chains 
 are drawn across the streets to prevent the passage of ve- 
 hicles. A single statement will give an idea of its extent : 
 the combined length of the streets is twenty-five miles. 
 The Great Bazaar is substantially built of stone, after the 
 manner of those in Constantinople, except that it incloses 
 an open court, where a Government band performs every 
 afternoon. Here the finer wares are displayed, and the 
 shadowed air under the vaulted roofs is a very kaleidoscope 
 for shifting color and sparkle. Tea, cotton, leather, wool, 
 and the other heavier and coarser commodities, have their 
 separate streets and quarters. The several nationalities 
 are similarly divided, to some extent ; but the stranger, of 
 course, prefers to see them jostling together in the streets, 
 a Babel not only of tongues, but of feature, character, 
 and costume. 
 
 Our ladies were eager to inspect the stock of Jewell^
 
 BETWEEN EUROPE AND ASIA. 69 
 
 especially those heaps of exquisite color with which the 
 Mohammedans very logically load the trees of Paradise ; 
 for they resemble fruit in a glorified state of existence. 
 One can imagine virtuous grapes promoted to amethysts, 
 blueberries to turquoises, cherries to rubies, and green- 
 gages to aqua-marine. These, the secondary jewels (with 
 the exception of the ruby), are brought in great quantities 
 from Siberia, but most of them are marred by slight flaws 
 or other imperfections, so that their cheapness is more ap- 
 parent than real. An amethyst an inch long, throwing the 
 most delicious purple light from its hundreds of facets, 
 quite takes you captive, and you put your hand in your 
 pocket for the fifteen dollars which shall make you its pos- 
 sessor ; but a closer inspection is sure to show you either 
 a broad transverse flaw, or a spot where the color fades 
 into transparency. The white topaz, known as the " Sibe- 
 rian diamond," is generally flawless, and the purest speci- 
 mens are scarcely to be distinguished from the genuine 
 brilliant. A necklace of these, varying from a half to a 
 quarter of an inch in diameter, may be had for about 
 twenty-five dollars. There were also golden and smoky 
 topaz and beryl, in great profusion. 
 
 A princely Bashkir drew us to his booth, first by his 
 beauty and then by his noble manners. He was the very 
 incarnation of Boker's " Prince Adeb." 
 
 " The girls of Damar paused to see me pass. 
 I walking in my rags, yet beautiful. 
 One maiden said, ' He has a prince's air ! ' 
 I am a prince ; the air was all my own." 
 
 This Bashkir, however, was not in rags, he was elegantly 
 attired. His silken vest was bound with a girdle of gold 
 thread studded with jewels, and over it he wore a caftan, 
 with wide sleeves, of the finest dark-blue cloth. The round 
 cap of black lamb's-wool became his handsome head. His 
 complexion was pale olive, through which the red of his 
 cheeks shone, in the words of some oriental poem, " like
 
 70 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 A rose leaf through oil ;" and his eyes, in their dark fir 
 were more lustrous tvian smoky topaz. His voice was mel- 
 low and musical, and his every movement and gesture a 
 new exhibition of human grace. Among thousands, yea, 
 tens of thousands, of handsome men, he stood preeminent. 
 
 As our acquaintance ripened, he drew a pocket-book 
 from his bosom, and showed us his choicest treasures : tur 
 quoises, bits of wonderful blue heavenly forget-me-nots ; a 
 jacinth, burning like a live coal, in scarlet light ; and 
 lastly, a perfect ruby, which no sum less than twenty-five 
 hundred dollars could purchase. From him we learned 
 the curious fluctuations of fashion in regard to jewels. 
 Turquoises were just then in the ascendant; and one of 
 the proper tint, the size of a parsnip-seed, could not be had 
 for a hundred dollars, the full value of a diamond of equal 
 size. Amethysts of a deep plum-color, though less beauti- 
 ful than the next paler shade, command very high prices ; 
 while jacinth, beryl, and aqua-marine stones of exquisite 
 hue and lustre are cheap. But then, in this depart- 
 ment, as in all others, Fashion and Beauty are not conver- 
 tible terms. 
 
 In the next booth there were two Persians, who unfolded 
 before our eyes some of their marvelous shawls, where you 
 forget the barbaric pattern in the exquisite fineness of the 
 material and the triumphant harmony of the colors. Scar- 
 let with palm-leaf border, blue clasped by golden bronze, 
 picked out with red, browns, greens, and crimsons strug- 
 gling for the mastery in a war of tints, how should we 
 choose between them ? Alas ! we were not able to choose ; 
 they were a thousand dollars apiece ! But the Persians 
 still went on unfolding, taking our admiration in pay for 
 their trouble, and seeming even, by their pleasant smiles, 
 to consider themselves well paid. When we came to the 
 booths of European merchants, we were swiftly impressed 
 with the fact that civilization, in following the sun west- 
 ward, loses its grace in proportion as it advances. The
 
 BETWEEN EUROPE AND ASIA. 71 
 
 gentle dignity, the serene patience, the oft, fraternal, 
 affectionate demeanor of our Asiatic brethren vanished 
 utterly when we encountered French and German sales- 
 men ; and yet these latter would have seemed gracious 
 and courteous, had there been a few Yankee dealers 
 beyond them. The fourth or fifth century, which still 
 exists in Central Asia, was undoubtedly, in this particular, 
 superior to the nineteenth. No gentleman, since his time, 
 I suspect, has equaled Adam. 
 
 Among these Asiatics Mr. Buckle would have some dif- 
 ficulty in maintaining his favorite postulate, that tolerance 
 is the result of progressive intelligence. It is also the 
 result of courtesy, as we may occasionally see in well- 
 bred persons of limited intellect. Such, undoubtedly, 
 is the basis of that tolerance which no one who has had 
 much personal intercourse with the Semitic races can have 
 failed to experience. The days of the sword and fagot are 
 past; but it was reserved for Christians to employ them 
 in the name of religion alone. Local or political jealous- 
 ies are at the bottom of those troubles which still occur 
 from time to time in Turkey ; the traveller hears no insult- 
 ing epithet, and the green-turbaned Imam will receive 
 him as kindly and courteously as the skeptical Bey edu- 
 cated in Paris. I have never been so aggressively assailed, 
 on religious grounds, as at home, never so coarsely and 
 insultingly treated, on account of a presumed difference 
 of opinion, as by those who claim descent from the Cava- 
 liers. The bitter fierceness of some of our leading 
 reformers is overlooked by their followers, because it 
 springs from " earnest conviction " ; but in the Orient 
 intensest faith coexists with the most gracious and gentle 
 manners. 
 
 Be not impatient, beloved reader ; for this digression 
 brings me naturally to the next thing we saw at Novgorod. 
 As we issued from the bazaar, the sunlit minaret greeted 
 us through whirling dust and rising vapor, and I fancied I
 
 72 BY-WA1S OF EUBOPE. 
 
 could hear the muezzin's musical cry. It was about time 
 for the asser prayer. Droshkies were found, and we rode 
 slowly through the long, low warehouses of " caravan tea " 
 and Mongolian wool to the mound near the Tartar encamp- 
 ment The mosque was a plain, white, octagonal building, 
 conspicuous only through its position. The turbaned faith* 
 ful were already gathering ; and we entered, and walked 
 up the steps among them, without encountering an un- 
 friendly glance. At the door stood two Cossack soldiers, 
 specially placed there to prevent the worshippers from 
 being insulted by curious Christians. (Those who have 
 witnessed the wanton profanation of mosques in India by 
 the English officers will please notice this fact.) If we 
 had not put off our shoes before entering the hall of wor- 
 ship, the Cossacks would have performed that operation 
 for us. 
 
 I am happy to say that none of our party lacked a 
 proper reverence for devotion, though it was offered through 
 the channels of an alien creed. The ladies left their 
 gaiters beside our boots, and we all stood in our stockings 
 on the matting, a little in the rear of the kneeling crowd. 
 The priest occupied a low dais in front, but he simply led 
 the prayer, which was uttered by all. The windows were 
 open, and the sun poured a golden flood into the room. 
 Yonder gleamed the Kremlin of Novgorod, yonder rolled 
 the Volga, all around were the dark forests of the North, 
 yet their faces were turned, and their thoughts went south- 
 ward, to where Mecca sits among the burning hills, in the 
 feathery shade of her palm-trees. And the tongue of 
 Mecca came from their lips, "Allah!" "Allah akhbarf as 
 the knee bent and the forehead touched the floor. 
 
 At the second repetition of the prayers we quietly with- 
 drew ; and good Monsieur D., forgetful of nothing, sug 
 gested that preparations had been made for a dinner in the 
 great cosmopolitan restaurant. So we drove back again 
 through the Chinese street, with its red horned houses, the
 
 BETWEEN EUROPE AND ASIA. 73 
 
 roofs terminating in gilded dragons' tails, and, after press 
 ing through an immense multitude enveloped in tobacco- 
 smoke and the steam of tea-urns, found ourselves at last in 
 a low room with a shaky floor and muslin ceiling. It was 
 an exact copy of the dining-room of a California hotel. 
 If we looked blank a moment, Monsieur D.'s smile reas- 
 sured us. He had given all the necessary orders, he said, 
 and would step out and secure a box in the theatre before 
 the zakouski was served. During his absence, we looked 
 out of the window on either side upon surging, whirling, 
 humming pictures of the Great Fair, all vanishing in per- 
 spectives of dust and mist. 
 
 In half an hour our friend returned, and with him 
 entered the zakouski. I cannot remember half the appe- 
 tizing ingredients of which it was composed : anchovies, 
 sardines, herrings, capers, cheese, caviare, pate de foie, 
 pickles, cherries, oranges, and olives, were among them. 
 Instead of being a prelude to dinner, it was almost a 
 dinner in itself. Then, after a Russian soup, which always 
 contains as much solid nutriment as meat-biscuit or Arc- 
 tic pemmican, came the glory of the repast, a mighty 
 sterlet, which was swimming in Volga water when we took 
 our seats at the table. This fish-, the exclusive property of 
 Russia, is, in times of scarcity, worth its weight in silver. 
 Its unapproachable flavor is supposed to be as evanescent 
 as the hues of a dying dolphin. Frequently, at grand din- 
 ner-parties, it is carried around the table in a little tank, 
 and exhibited, alive, to the guests, when their soup is 
 served, that its freshness, ten minutes afterwards, may be 
 put beyond suspicion. The fish has the appearance of a 
 small, lean sturgeon ; but its flesh resembles the melting 
 pulp of a fruit rather than the fibre of its watery brethren. 
 It sinks into juice upon the tongue, like a perfectly ripe 
 peach. In this quality no other fish in the world can ap- 
 proach it ; yet I do not think the flavor quite so fine as 
 that of a brook-trout. Our sterlet was nearly two feet 
 long, and may have cost twenty or thirty dollars.
 
 74 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 With it appeared an astonishing salad, composed of 
 watermelons, cantaloupes, pickled cherries, cucumbers, and 
 certain spicy herbs. Its color and odor were enticing, and 
 we had all applied the test of taste most satisfactorily 
 before we detected the curious mixture of ingredients, 
 After the second course, a ragout of beef, accompanied 
 with a rich, elaborate sauce, three heavy tankards of 
 chased silver, holding two quarts apiece, were placed upon 
 the table. The first of these contained kvass, the second 
 kislischi, and the third hydromel. Each one of these national 
 drinks, when properly brewed, is very palatable and re- 
 freshing. I found the kislischi nearly identical with the 
 ancient Scandinavian mead : no doubt it dates from the 
 Varangian rule in Russia. The old custom of passing the 
 tankards around the table, from mouth to mouth, is still 
 observed, and will not be found objectionable, even in these 
 days of excessive delicacy, when ladies and gentlemen are 
 seated alternately at the banquet. 
 
 The Russian element of the dinner here terminated. 
 Cutlets and roast fowls made their appearance, with bottles 
 of Rudesheimer and Lafitte, followed by a dessert of su- 
 perb Persian melons, from the southern shore of the 
 Caspian Sea. 
 
 By this time night had fallen, and Monsieur D. sug- 
 gested an immediate adjournment to the theatre. What 
 should be the entertainment ? Dances of almehs, songs of 
 gypsies, or Chinese jugglers? One of the Ivans brought a 
 programme. It was not difficult to decipher the word 
 " MAKEFTTJ " and to recognize, further, in the name of 
 " Ira Aldridge " a distinguished mulatto tragedian, to 
 whom Maryland has given birth (if I am rightly informed) 
 and Europe fame. We had often heard of him, yea, seen 
 his portrait in Germany, decorated with the orders con 
 ferrecl by half a dozen sovereigns ; and his presence here, 
 between Europe and Asia, was not the least characteristic 
 feature of the Fair. A mulatto Macbeth, in a Russian 
 theatre, with a Persian and Tartar audience !
 
 BETWEEN EUROPE AND ASIA. 75 
 
 On arriving, we were ushered into two whitewashed 
 
 o ' 
 
 boxes, which had been reserved for our party. The man- 
 ager, having been informed of the Envoy's presence in 
 Nijni-Novgorod, had delayed the performance half an hour, 
 but the audience bore this infliction patiently. The building 
 was deep and narrow, with space for about eight hundred 
 persons, and was filled from top to bottom. The first act 
 was drawing to a close as we entered. King Duncan, with 
 two or three shabby attendants, stood in the court-yard of 
 the castle, the latter represented by a handsome French 
 door on the left, with a bit of Tartar wall beyond, and 
 made his observations on the " pleasant seat " of Macbeth's 
 mansion. He spoke Russian, of course. Lady Macbeth 
 now appeared, in a silk dress of the latest fashion, ex- 
 panded by the amplest of crinolines. She was passably 
 handsome, and nothing could be gentler than her face and 
 voice. She received the royal party like a well-bred lady, 
 and they all entered the French door together. 
 
 There was no change of scene. With slow step and 
 folded arms, Era Macbeth entered and commenced the 
 soliloquy, " If it were done," etc., to our astonishment, in 
 English ! He was a dark, strongly built mulatto, of about 
 fifty, in a fancy tunic, and light stockings over Forrestian 
 calves. His voice was deep and powerful ; and it was very 
 evident that Edmund Kean, once his master, was also the 
 model which he carefully followed in the part. There 
 were the same deliberate, over-distinct enunciation, the 
 same prolonged pauses and gradually performed gestures) 
 as I remember in imitations of Kean's manner. Except 
 that the copy was a little too apparent, Mr. Aldridge's 
 acting was really very fine. The Russians were enthusias- 
 tic in their applause, though very few of them, probably, 
 understood the language of the part. The Oriental audi- 
 tors were perfectly impassive, and it was impossible to guess 
 how they regarded the performance. 
 
 The second act was in some respects the most amusing
 
 76 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 thing I ever saw upon the stage. In the dagger-scene 
 Ira was, to my mind, quite equal to Forrest ; it was impos- 
 sible to deny him unusual dramatic talent ; but his com 
 plexion, continually suggesting Othello, quite confounded 
 me. The amiable Russian Lady Macbeth was much better 
 adapted to the part of Desdemona : all softness and gen- 
 tleness, she smiled as she lifted her languishing eyes, and 
 murmured in the tenderest accents, " Infirm of purpose ! 
 give me the dagger ! " At least, I took for granted that 
 these were her words, for Macbeth had just said, "Look 
 on't again I dare not." Afterwards, six Russian soldiers, 
 in tan-colored shirts, loose trousers, and high boots, filed 
 in, followed by Macduff and Malcolm, in the costume of 
 Wallenstein's troopers. The dialogue one voice Eng- 
 lish, and all the others Russian proceeded smoothly 
 enough, but the effect was like nothing which our stage 
 can produce. Nevertheless, the audience was delighted, 
 and when the curtain fell there were vociferous cries of 
 "Aira ! Aira ! Aldreetch ! Aldreetch ! " until the swarthy 
 hero made his appearance before the foot-lights. 
 
 Monsieur D. conducted our friend P. into the green- 
 room, where he was received by Macbeth in costume. He 
 found the latter to be a dignified, imposing personage, who 
 carried his tragic chest-tones into ordinary conversation. 
 On being informed by P. that the American minister was 
 present, he asked, 
 
 " Of what persuasion ? " 
 
 P. hastened to set him right, and Ira then remarked, in 
 his gravest tone, "I shall have the honor of waiting 
 upon him to-morrow morning ; " which, however, he failed 
 to do. 
 
 This son of the South, no doubt, came legitimately (or 
 at least, naturally) by his dignity. His career, for a man 
 of his blood and antecedents, has been wonderfully success- 
 ful, and is justly due, I am convinced, since I have seen 
 him, to his histrionic talerts. Both black and yellow skin
 
 BETWEEN EUROPE AND ASIA. ^7 
 
 are sufficiently rare in Europe to excite a particular in- 
 terest in those who wear them ; and I had surmised, up to 
 this time, that much of his popularity might be owing to 
 his color. But he certainly deserves an honorable place 
 among tragedians of the second rank. 
 
 "We left the theatre at the close of the third act, and 
 crossed the river to our quarters on the hill. A chill mist 
 hung over the Fair, but the lamps still burned, the streets 
 were thronged, and the Don Cossacks kept patient guard 
 at every corner. The night went by like one unconscious 
 minute, in beds unmolested by bug or flea ; and when I 
 arose, thoroughly refreshed, I involuntarily called to mind 
 a frightful chapter in De Custine's " Russia," describing the 
 prevalence of an insect which he calls the persica, on the 
 banks of the Volga. He was obliged to sleep on a table, 
 the legs whereof were placed in basins of water, to escape 
 their attacks. I made many inquiries about these terrible 
 persicas, and finally discovered that they were neither more 
 fior less than cockroaches ! called Prossdki (Prus- 
 sians) by the Russians, as they are sometimes called Schwa- 
 ben (Suabians) by the Germans. Possibly they may be 
 found in the huts of the serfs, but they are rare in decent 
 houses. 
 
 "We devoted the first sunny hours of the morning to a visit 
 to the citadel and a walk around the crest of the hill. On 
 the highest point, just over the junction of the two rivers, 
 there is a commemorative column to Minim, the patriotic 
 butcher of Novgorod, but for whose eloquence, in the year 
 1610, the Russian might possibly now be the Polish Em- 
 pire. Vladislas, son of Sigismund of Poland, had been 
 called to the throne by the boyards, and already reigned in 
 Moscow, when Minim appealed to the national spirit, per- 
 suaded General Pojarski to head an anti-Polish movement, 
 which was successful, and thus cleared the way for the 
 election of Michael Romanoff, the first sovereign of the 
 present dynasty. Minim is therefore one of the historic 
 names of Russia.
 
 78 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 When I stood beside his monument, and the finest land 
 scape of European Russia was suddenly unrolled befor* 
 my eyes, I could believe the tradition of his eloquence, 
 for here was its inspiration. Thirty or forty miles away- 
 stretched the rolling swells of forest and grain-land, fading 
 into dimmest blue to the westward and northward, dotted 
 with villages and sparkling domes, and divided by shining 
 reaches of the Volga. It was truly a superb and imposing 
 view, changing with each spur of the hill as we made the 
 circuit of the citadel. Eastward, the country rose into 
 dark, wooded hills, between which the river forced its way 
 in a narrower and swifter channel, until it disappeared 
 behind a purple headland, hastening southward to find a 
 warmer home in the unfrozen Caspian. By embarking on 
 the steamers anchored below us, we might have reached 
 Perm, among the Ural Mountains, or Astrakhan, in less 
 than a week ; while a trip of ten days would have taken us 
 past the Caucasus, even to the base of Ararat or Demavend. 
 Such are the splendid possibilities of travel in these days. 
 
 The Envoy, who visited Europe for the first time, de- 
 clared that this panorama from the hill of Novgorod was 
 one of the finest tilings he had seen. There could, truly, 
 be no better preparation to enjoy it than fifteen hundred 
 miles of nearly unbroken level, after leaving the Russian 
 frontier ; but I think it would be a noted landscape any- 
 where. Why it is not more widely celebrated I cannot 
 guess. The only person in Russia whom I heard speak of 
 it with genuine enthusiasm was Alexander II. 
 
 Two hours upon the breezy parapet, beside the old 
 Tartar walls, were all too little ; but the droshkies waited 
 in the river-street a quarter of a mile below us ; our return 
 to Moscow was ordered for the afternoon ; there were ame- 
 thysts and Persian silks yet to be bought, and so we sighed 
 farewell to an enjoyment rare in Russia, and descended the 
 steep foot-path. 
 
 P. and I left the rest of the party at the booth of the
 
 BETWEEN EUROPE AUD ASIA. 79 
 
 hmdsome Bashkir, and set out upon a special mission to 
 the Tartar camp. I had ascertained that the national 
 beverage of Centra. Asia might be found there, the gen- 
 uine koumiss or fermented milk of the mares of the Uralian 
 steppes. Having drunk palm-wine in India, samshoo in 
 China, saki in Japan, pulque in Mexico, bouza in Egypt, 
 mead in Scandinavia, ale in England, bock-bier in Germany, 
 mastic in Greece, calabogus in Newfoundland, and soda- 
 water in the United States, I desired to complete the bibu- 
 lous cosmos, in which koumiss was still lacking. My friend 
 did not share my curiosity, but was ready for an adventure, 
 which our search for mare's milk seemed to promise. 
 
 Beyond the mosques we found the Uzbeks and Kirghiz, 
 some in tents, some in rough shanties of boards. But 
 they were without koumiss : they had had it, and showed 
 us some empty kegs, in evidence of the fact. I fancied a 
 gleam of diversion stole over their grave, swarthy faces, as 
 they listened to our eager inquiries in broken Russian. 
 Finally we came into an extemporized village, where some 
 women, unveiled and ugly, advised us to apply to the 
 traders in the khan, or caravanserai. This was a great 
 barn-like building, two stories high, with broken staircases 
 and creaking floors. A corridor ran the whole length of 
 the second floor, with some twenty or thirty doors opening 
 into it from the separate rooms of the traders. We ac- 
 costed the first Tartar whom we met, and he promised, 
 with great readiness, to procure us what we wanted. He 
 ushered us into his room, cleared away a pile of bags, 
 saddles, camel-trappings, and other tokens of a nomadic 
 life, and revealed a low divan covered with a ragged carpet. 
 On a sack of barley sat his father, a blind graybeard, 
 nearly eighty years old. On our way through the camp I 
 had noticed that the Tartars saluted each other with the 
 Arabic, " Salaam aleikoom ! " and I therefore greeted the 
 old man with the familiar words. He lifted his head : his 
 face brightened, and he immediately answered, "Aleikoom 
 talonm, my son ! "
 
 80 BY-WAYS OF EUBOPE. 
 
 u Do you speak Arabic ? " I asked. 
 
 " A little ; I have forgotten it," said he. " But thine ii 
 a new voice. Of what tribe art thou ? " 
 
 " A tribe far away, beyond Bagdad and Syria," I an- 
 swered. 
 
 " It is the tribe of Damascus. I know it now, my son. 
 I have heard the voice, many, many years ago." 
 
 The withered old face looked so bright, as some pleas- 
 ant memory shone through it, that I did not undeceive the 
 man. His son came in with a glass, pulled a keg from 
 under a pile of coarse caftans, and drew out the wooden 
 peg. A gray liquid, with an odor at once sour and pun- 
 gent, spirted into the glass, which he presently handed to 
 me, filled to the brim. In such cases no hesitation is per- 
 mitted. I thought of home and family, set the glass to my 
 lips, and emptied it before the flavor made itself clearly 
 manifest to my palate. 
 
 " Well, what is it like ? " asked my friend, who curiously 
 awaited the result of the experiment. 
 
 " Peculiar," I answered, with preternatural calmness, 
 " peculiar, but not unpleasant." 
 
 The glass was filled a second time ; and P., not to be 
 behindhand, emptied it at a draught. Then he turned to 
 me with tears (not of delight) in his eyes, swallowed very 
 hard two or three times, suppressed a convulsive shudder, 
 and finally remarked, with the air of a martyr, "Very 
 curious, indeed ! " 
 
 " Will your Excellencies have some more ? " said the 
 friendly Tartar. 
 
 " Not before breakfast, if you please," I answered ; 
 " your koumiss is excellent, however, and we will take a 
 bottle with us," which we did, in order to satisfy the 
 possible curiosity of the ladies. I may here declare that 
 the bottle was never emptied. 
 
 The taste was that of aged buttermilk mixed with am- 
 monia. We could detect no flavor of alcohol, yet were
 
 BETWEEN EUROPE AND ASIA. 81 
 
 conscious of a light exhilaration from the small quantity 
 we drank. The beverage is said, indeed, to be very in- 
 toxicating. Some German physician has established a 
 " koumiss-cure " at Piatigorsk, at the northern base of the 
 Caucasus, and invites invalids of certain kinds to come 
 and be healed by its agency. I do not expect to be one of 
 the number. 
 
 There still remained a peculiar feature of the Fair, 
 which I had not yet seen. This is the subterranean net- 
 work of sewerage, which reproduces, in massive masonry, 
 the streets on the surface. Without it, the annual city of 
 two months would become uninhabitable. The peninsula 
 between the two rivers being low and marshy, frequently 
 overflowed during the spring freshets, pestilence would 
 soon be bred from the immense concourse of people : hence 
 a system of cloacae, almost rivaling those of ancient Rome. 
 At each street-corner there are wells containing spiral 
 staircases, by which one can descend to the spacious sub- 
 terranean passages, and there walk for miles under arches 
 of hewn stone, lighted and aired by shafts at regular inter- 
 vals. In St. Petersburg you are told that more than half 
 the cost of the city is under the surface of the earth ; at 
 Nijni-Novgorod the statement is certainly true. Peter the 
 vireat at one time designed establishing his capital here. 
 Could he have foreseen the existence of railroads, he would 
 certainly have done so. Nijni-Novgorod is now nearer to 
 Berlin than the Russian frontier was fifty years ago. St. 
 Petersburg is an accidental city ; Nature and the destiny 
 of the empire are both opposed to its existence ; and a time 
 will come when its long lines of palaces shall be deserted 
 for some new capital, in a locality at once more southern 
 and more central. 
 
 Another walk through the streets of the Fair enabled 
 
 me to analyze the first confused impression, and separate 
 
 the motley throng of life into its several elements. I shah 
 
 not attempt, however, to catch and paint its ever-changing, 
 
 6
 
 02 Bl-WAYS OF EUKOPfc. 
 
 fluctuating character. Our limited visit allowed us to see 
 only the more central and crowded streets. Outside of 
 these, for miles, extend suburbs of iron, of furs, wool, and 
 other coarser products, brought together from the Ural, 
 Trom the forests towards the Polar Ocean, and from the 
 vast extent of Siberia. Here, from morning till night, the 
 beloved kvass flows in rivers, the strong stream of shchee 
 (cabbage-soup) sends up its perpetual incense, and the 
 samovar of cheap tea is never empty. Here, although im- 
 portant interests are represented, the intercourse between 
 buyers and sellers is less grave and methodical than in the 
 bazaar. There are jokes, laughter, songs, and a constant 
 play of that repartee in which even the serfs are masters. 
 Here, too, jugglers and mountebanks of all sorts ply their 
 trade ; gypsies sing, dance, and tell fortunes ; and other 
 vocations, less respectable than these, flourish vigorously. 
 For, whether the visitor be an Ostiak from the Polar Cir- 
 cle, an Uzbek from the Upper Oxus, a Grim-Tartar or 
 Noga'i, a Georgian from Tiflis, a Mongolian from the Land 
 of Grass, a Persian from Ispahan, a Jew from Hamburg, a 
 Frenchman from Lyons, a Tyrolese, Swiss, Bohemian, or 
 an Anglo-Saxon from either side of the Atlantic, he meets 
 his fellow-visitors to the Great Fair on the common ground, 
 not of human brotherhood, but of human appetite ; and all 
 the manifold nationalities succumb to the same allurements. 
 If the various forms of indulgence could be so used as to 
 propagate ideas, the world would speedily be regenerated ; 
 but as things go, u cakes and ale " have more force than 
 the loftiest ideas, the noblest theories of improvement ; and 
 the impartial observer will make this discovery as readil} 
 at Nijni- Novgorod as anywhere else. 
 
 Before taking leave of the Fair, let me give a word to 
 the important subject of tea. It is a much-disputed ques- 
 tion with the connoisseurs of that beverage which neither 
 cheers nor inebriates (though, I confess, it is more agree- 
 able than koumiss), whether the Russian " caravan tea*
 
 BETWEEN EUROPE AND ASIA. 
 
 a really superior to that which is imported by sea. AJlei 
 much patient observation, combined with serioua reflection 
 I incline to the opinion that the flavor of tea depends, not 
 upon the method of transportation, but upon the price paid 
 for the article. I have tasted bad caravan tea in Russia, 
 and delicious tea in New York. In St. Petersburg you 
 cannot procure a good article for less than three roubles 
 ($2.25, gold) per pound; while the finer kinds bring 
 twelve and even sixteen roubles. Whoever is willing tr- 
 import at that price can no doubt procure tea of equal ev- 
 cellence. The fact is, that this land-transportation is slow, 
 laborious, and expensive ; hence the finer kinds of tea are 
 always selected, a pound thereof costing no more tot car- 
 riage than a pound of inferior quality ; whence tde supe- 
 rior flavor of caravan tea. There is, however, one variety 
 to be obtained in Russia which I have found nowhere else, 
 not even in the Chinese sea-ports. It is called " imperial 
 tea," and comes in elegant boxes of yellow silk emblazoned 
 with the dragon of the Hang dynasty, at the rate of from 
 six to twenty dollars a pound. It is yellow, and the decoc- 
 tion from it is almost colorless. A small pinch of it, 
 added to ordinary black tea, gives an indescribably delicious 
 flavor the very aroma of the tea-blossom ; but one cup 
 of it, unmixed, is said to deprive the drinker of sleep for 
 three nights. 
 
 Monsieur D. brought our last delightful stroll through 
 the glittering streets to an untimely end. The train for 
 Moscow was to leave at three o'clock ; and he had ordered 
 an early dinner at the restaurant. By the time this was 
 concluded, it was necessary to drive at once to the station, 
 in order to secure places. We were almost too late ; the 
 train, long as it was, was crammed to overflowing ; and 
 although both station-master and conductor assisted us, the 
 eager passengers disregarded their authority. With great 
 difficulty, one compartment was cleared for the ladies ; in 
 the adjoining one four merchants, in long caftans, with
 
 84 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 sacks of watermelons as provision for the journey, took 
 their places, and would not be ejected. A scene of con- 
 fusion ensued, in which station-master, conductor, Mon- 
 sieur D., my friend P., and the Russian merchants were 
 curiously mixed ; but when we saw the sacks of water 
 melons rolling out of the door, we knew the day was ours 
 In two minutes more we were in full possession ; the doors 
 were locked, and the struggling throngs beat against them 
 in vain. 
 
 With a grateful farewell to our kind guide, whose rather 
 severe duties for our sake were now over, we moved away 
 from the station, past heaps of cotton-bales, past hills of 
 drifting sand, and impassive groups of Persians, Tartars, 
 and Bukharians, and slowly mounted the long grade to 
 the level of the upland, leaving the Fair to hum and whirl 
 in the hollow between the rivers, and the white walls and 
 golden domes of Novgorod to grow dim on the crest of the 
 receding hill. 
 
 The next morning at sunrise, we were again in MM
 
 WINTER-LIFE IN ST. PETERSBURG,
 
 As September drew to an end, with only here and thert 
 a suggestion of autumn in chrome-colored leaves on the 
 ends of birch-branches, we were told that any day n/ight 
 suddenly bring forth winter. I remembered that five years 
 before, in precisely the same season, I had travelled from 
 Upsala to Stockholm in a violent snow-storm, and there- 
 fore accepted the announcement as a part of the regular 
 programme of the year. But the days came and went; 
 fashionable equipages forsook their summer ground of the 
 Islands, and crowded the Nevskoi Prospekt ; the nights 
 were cold and raw; the sun's lessening declination was 
 visible from day to day, and still Winter delayed to make 
 his appearance. 
 
 The Island drive was our favorite resort of an afternoon ; 
 and we continued to haunt it long after every summer 
 guest had disappeared, and when the datchas and palaces 
 showed plank and matting in place of balcony and window. 
 In the very heart of St. Petersburg the one full stream of 
 the Neva splits into three main arms, which afterwards 
 subdivide, each seeking the Gulf of Finland at its own 
 swift, wild will. The nearest of these islands, Vassili Os- 
 trow, is a part of the solid city : on Kammenoi and Apte- 
 karskoi you reach the commencement of gardens and 
 groves ; and beyond these the rapid waters mirror only 
 palace, park, and summer theatre. The widening streams 
 continually disclose the horizon-line of the Gulf; and at 
 the farthest point of the drive, where the road turns 
 sharply back again from the freedom of the shore into 
 mixed woods of birch and pine, the shipping at Cronstadt 
 and sometimes the phantoms of fortresses detach
 
 88 BY-WAYS Off EUROPE. 
 
 themselves from the watery haze, and the hill of Pargola, 
 in Finland, rises to break the dreary level of the Ingrian 
 marshes. 
 
 During the sunny evenings and the never-ending twi 
 lights of midsummer, all St. Petersburg pours itself upon 
 these islands. A league-long wall of dust rises from the 
 carriages and droshkies in the main highway ; and the 
 branching Neva-arms are crowded with skiffs and diminu 
 tive steamers bound for pleasure-gardens where gypsies 
 sing and Tyrolese yodel and jugglers toss their knives and 
 balls, and private rooms may be had for gambling and 
 other cryptic diversions. Although with shortened days 
 and cool evenings the tide suddenly took a reflux and the 
 Nevskoi became a suggestion of Broadway (which, of all 
 individual streets, it most nearly resembles), we found an 
 indescribable charm in the solitude of the fading groves 
 and the waves whose lamenting murmur foretold their 
 speedy imprisonment. We had the whole superb drive to 
 ourselves. It is true that Ivan, upon the box, lifted his 
 brows in amazement, and sighed that his jaunty cap of 
 green velvet should be wasted upon the desert air, when- 
 ever I said, " Na Oslrowa" but he was too genuine a Rus- 
 sian to utter a word of remonstrance. 
 
 Thus, day by day, unfashionable, but highly satisfied, we 
 repeated the lonely drive, until the last day came, as it al- 
 ways will. I don't think I shall ever forget it. It was the 
 first day of November. For a fortnight the temperature 
 had been a little below the freezing-point, and the leaves 
 of the alder-thickets, frozen suddenly and preserved as in 
 a great out-door refrigerator, maintained their green. A 
 pale blue mist rose from the Gulf and hung over the 
 islands, the low sun showing an orange disk, which touched 
 the shores with the loveliest color, but gave no warmth to 
 the windless air. The parks and gardens were wholly de- 
 serted, and came and went, on either side, phantom-like in 
 their soft, gray, faded tints. Under every bridge flashed
 
 WINTER-LIFE IN ST. PETERSBURG. 89 
 
 and foamed the clear, beryl-green waters. And nobody in 
 St. Petersburg, except ourselves, saw this last and sunniest 
 flicker of the dying season ! 
 
 The very next day was cold and dark, and so the ftreathci 
 remained, with brief interruptions, for months. On the 
 evening of the 6th, as we drove over the Nikolai Bridge 
 to dine with a friend on Vassili Ostrow, we noticed frag- 
 ments of ice floating down the Neva. Looking up the 
 stream, we were struck by the fact that the remaining 
 bridges had been detached from the St Petersburg side, 
 floated over, and anchored along the opposite shore. This 
 seemed a needless precaution, for the pieces of drift-ice 
 were hardly large enough to have crushed a skiff. How 
 surprised were we, then, on returning home, four hours 
 later, to find the noble river gone, not a green wave to be 
 seen, and, as far as the eye could reach, a solid floor of ice, 
 over which people were already crossing to and fro ! 
 
 Winter, having thus suddenly taken possession of the 
 world, lost no time in setting up the signs of his rule. The 
 leaves, whether green or brown, disappeared at one swoop ; 
 snow-gusts obscured the little remaining sunshine ; the in- 
 habitants came forth in furs and bulky wrappings ; oysters 
 and French pears became unreasonably dear ; and sledges 
 of frozen fish and game crowded down from the northern 
 forests. In a few days the physiognomy of the capital was 
 completely changed. All its life and stir withdrew from 
 the extremities and gathered into a few central thorough- 
 fares, as if huddling together for mutual warmth and en- 
 couragement in the cold air and under the gloomy sky. 
 
 For darkness, rather than cold, is the characteristic of 
 the St. Petersburg winter. The temperature, which at 
 Montreal or St. Paul would not be thought remarkably 
 low, seems to be more severely felt here, owing to the ab- 
 sence of pure daylight. Although both Lake Ladoga and 
 the Gulf of Finland are frozen, the air always retains a 
 damp, raw, penetrating quality, and the snow is more fre-
 
 90 BY- VAYS OP EUROPE. 
 
 quently sticky and clammy than dry and crystalline. Few, 
 indeed, are the days which are not cheerless and depress- 
 ing. In December, when the sky is overcast for weeks to- 
 gether, the sun, rising after nine o'clock, and sliding along 
 just above the horizon, enables you to dispense with lamp- 
 light somewhere between ten and eleven ; but by two in 
 the afternoon you must call for lights again. Even when 
 a clear day comes, the yellow, level sunshine is a combina- 
 tion of sunrise and sunset, and neither tempers the air nor 
 mitigates the general expression of gloom, almost of de- 
 spair, upon the face of Nature. 
 
 The preparations for the season, of course, have been 
 made long before. In most houses the double windows 
 are allowed to remain through the summer, but they must 
 be carefully examined, the layer of cotton between them, 
 at the bottom, replenished, a small vessel of salt added to 
 absorb the moisture and prevent it from freezing on the 
 panes, and strips of paper pasted over every possible crack. 
 The outer doors are covered with wadded leather, over- 
 lapping the frames on all sides. The habitations being thus 
 almost hermetically sealed, they are easily warmed by the 
 huge porcelain stoves, which retain warmth so tenaciously 
 that one fire per day is sufficient for the most sensitive 
 constitutions. In my owji room, I found that one armful of 
 birch-wood, reduced to coal, every alternate morning, created 
 a steady temperature of 64. Although the rooms are 
 always spacious, and arranged in suites of from three to a 
 dozen, according to the extent and splendor of the residence s 
 the atmosphere soon becomes close and characterized by 
 an unpleasant odor, suggesting its diminished vitality ; for 
 which reason pastilles are burned, or eau de Cologne re- 
 duced to vapor in a heated censer, whenever visits are an- 
 ticipated. It was a question with me, whether or not the 
 advantage of a thoroughly equable temperature was counter- 
 balanced by the lack of circulation. The physical depress- 
 ion we all felt seemed to result chiefly from the absence 
 of daylight
 
 WINTER-UP*: IN ST. PETERSBURG. 91 
 
 One winter picture remains clearly outlined upon my 
 memory. In the beginning of December we happened 
 once to drive across the Admiralty Square in the early 
 evening twilight, three o'clock in the aftern Don. The 
 temperature was about 10 below zero, the sky a low roof 
 of moveless clouds, which seemed to be frozen in theii 
 places. The pillars of St. Isaac's Cathedral splendid 
 monoliths of granite, sixty feet high had precipitated the 
 moisture of the air, and stood silvered with rime from base 
 to capital. The Column of Alexander, the bronze statue 
 of Peter, with his horse poised in air on the edge of the 
 rock, and the trees on the long esplanade in front of the 
 Admiralty, were all similarly coated, every twig rising 
 as rigid as iron in the dark air. Only the huge golden 
 hemisphere of the Cathedral dome, and the tall, pointed 
 golden spire of the Admiralty, rose above the gloom, and 
 half shone with a muffled, sullen glare. A few people, 
 swaddled from head to foot, passed rapidly to and fro, or 
 a droshky, drawn by a frosted horse, sped away to the en- 
 trance of the Nevskoi Prospekt. Even these appeared 
 rather like wintry phantoms than creatures filled with warm 
 blood and breathing the breath of life. The vast spaces of 
 the capital, the magnitude of its principal edifices, and the 
 display of gold and colors, strengthened the general aspect 
 of unreality, by introducing so many inharmonious ele- 
 ments into the picture. A bleak moor, with the light of a 
 single cottage-window shining across it, would have been 
 less cold, dead, and desolate. 
 
 The temperature, I may here mention, was never very 
 severe. There were three days when the mercury fluctu- 
 ated between 15 and 20 below zero, five days when it 
 reached 10 below, and perhaps twenty when it fell to zero, 
 01 a degree or two on either side. The mean of the five 
 winter months was certainly not lower than -j-12. Quite 
 as much rain fell as snow. After two or three days of 
 sharp cold, there was almost invaiiably a day of rain oi
 
 92 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 fog, and for many weeks walking was so difficult that we 
 were obliged to give up all out-door exercise except 
 skating or sliding. The streets were either coated with 
 glassy ice or they were a foot deep in slush. There is more 
 and better sleighing in the vicinity of Boston almost any 
 winter than in St. Petersburg during the winter of 1862-3. 
 In our trips to the Observatory of Pulkova, twelve miles 
 distant, we were frequently obliged to leave the highway 
 and put our sled-runners upon the frosted grass of the 
 meadows. The rapid and continual changes of temperature 
 were more trying than any amount of steady cold. Grippe 
 became prevalent, and therefore fashionable, and all the 
 endemic diseases of St. Petersburg showed themselves in 
 force. The city, it is well known, is built upon piles, and 
 most of the inhabitants suffer from them. Children look 
 pale and wilted, in the absence of the sun, and special care 
 must be taken of those under five years of age. Some 
 little relatives of mine, living in the country, had their 
 daily tumble in the snow, and thus kept ruddy ; but in the 
 city this is not possible, and we had many anxious days be- 
 fore the long darkness was over. 
 
 As soon as snow had fallen and freezing weather set in, 
 the rough, broken ice of the Neva was flooded in various 
 places for skating-ponds, and the work of erecting ice-hills 
 commenced. There were speedily a number of the latter 
 in full play, in the various suburbs, a space of level 
 ground, at least a furlong in length, being necessary. They 
 are supported by subscription, and I had paid ten rubles 
 for permission to use a very fine one on the farther island, 
 when an obliging card of admission came for the gardens 
 of the Taurida Palace, where the younger members of the 
 Imperial family skate and slide. My initiation, however, 
 took place at the first-named locality, whither we were con- 
 ducted by an old American resident of St Petersburg. 
 
 The construction of these ice-hills is very simple. They 
 are rude towers of timber, twenty k> thirty feet in height.
 
 WINTER-LIFE IN ST. PETERSBURG. 93 
 
 the summit of which is reached by a staircase at the back, 
 while in front descends a steep concave of planking upon 
 which water is poured until it is covered with a six-inch 
 coating of solid ice. Raised planks at the side keep the 
 Bled in its place until it reaches the foot, where it enters 
 upon an icy plain two to four hundred yards in length (in 
 proportion to the height of the hill), at the extremity of 
 which rises a similar hill, facing towards the first, but a 
 little on one side, so that the sleds from the opposite ends 
 may pass without collision. 
 
 The first experience of this diversion is fearful to a per- 
 son of delicate nerves. The pitch of the descent is so 
 sheer, the height so great (apparently), the motion of the 
 sled so swift, and its course so easily changed, even the 
 lifting of a hand is sufficient, that the novice is almost 
 sure to make immediate shipwreck. The sleds are small 
 and low, with smooth iron runners, and a plush cushion, 
 upon which the navigator sits bolt upright with his legs 
 close together, projecting over the front. The runners 
 must be exactly parallel to the lines of the course at start- 
 ing, and the least tendency to sway to either side must be 
 instantly corrected by the slightest motion of the hand. 
 
 I engaged one of the mujiks in attendance to pilot me 
 on my first voyage. The man having taken his position 
 well forward on the little sled, I knelt upon the rear end, 
 where there was barely space enough for my knees, placed 
 my hands upon his shoulders, and awaited the result. He 
 shoved the sled with his hands, very gently and carefully, 
 to the brink of the icy steep : then there was a moment's 
 adjustment: then a poise: then sinking of the heart, 
 cessation of breath, giddy roaring and whistling of the air, 
 and I found myself scudding along the level with the speed 
 of an express train. I never happened to fall out of a 
 fourth-story window, but I immediately understood the sen- 
 sations of the unfortunate persons who do. It was an 
 frightful that I shuddered when we reached the end of tfce
 
 94 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 course and the man coolly began ascending the step.? of 
 the opposite hill, with the sled under his arm. But my com- 
 panions were waiting to see me return, so I mounted after 
 him, knelt again, and held my breath. This time, knowing 
 what was coming, I caught a glimpse of our descent, and 
 found that only the first plunge from the brink was threat- 
 ening. The lower part of the curve, which is nearly a 
 parabolic line, is more gradual, and the seeming headlong 
 fall does not last more than the tenth part of a second. 
 The sensation, nevertheless, is very powerful, having all the 
 attraction, without the reality, of danger. 
 
 The ice-hills in the Taurida Gardens were not so high, 
 and the descent was less abrupt: the course was the 
 smooth floor of an intervening lake, which was kept clear 
 for skating. Here I borrowed a sled, and was so elated at 
 performing the feat successfully, on the first attempt, that 
 I offered my services as charioteer to a lady rash enough 
 to accept them. The increased weight gave so much ad- 
 ditional impetus to the sled, and thus rendered its guidance 
 a more delicate matter. Finding that it began to turn even 
 before reaching the bottom, I put down my hand suddenly 
 upon the ice. The effect was like an explosion ; we struck 
 the edge of a snow-bank, and were thrown entirely over it 
 and deeply buried on the opposite side. The attendants 
 picked us up without relaxing a muscle of their grave, re- 
 spectful faces, and quietly swept the ice for another trial. 
 But after that I preferred descending alone. 
 
 Good skaters will go up and down these ice-hills on their 
 skates. The feat has a hazardous look, but I have seen it 
 performed by boys of twelve. The young Grand Dukes 
 who visited the Gardens generally contented themselves 
 with skating around the lake at not too violent a speed- 
 Some ladies of the court circle also timidly ventured to try 
 the amusement, but its introduction was too recent for their: 
 to show much proficiency. On the Neva, in fact, the English 
 were the best skaters. During the winter, one of them
 
 WINTER-LIFE IN ST. PETERSBURG. 96 
 
 crossed the Gulf to Cronstadt, a distance of twenty- two 
 miles, in about two hours. 
 
 Before Christmas, the Lapps came down from the North 
 with their reindeer, and pitched their tents on the river, in 
 front of the Winter Palace. Instead of the canoe-shaped 
 pulk, drawn by a single deer, they hitched four abreast to 
 an ordinary sled, and took half a dozen passengers at a 
 time, on a course of a mile, for a small fee. I tried it once, 
 for a child's sake, but found that the romance of reindeer 
 travel was lost without the pulk. The Russian sleighs are 
 very similar to our own for driving about the city : in very 
 cold weather, or for trips into the country, the kibitka, a 
 heavy closed carriage on runners, is used. To my eye, 
 the most dashing team in the world is the troika, or three- 
 spar, the thill-horse being trained to trot rapidly, while 
 the other two, very lightly and loosely harnessed, canter 
 on either side of him. From the ends of the thills 
 springs a wooden arch, called the duga, rising eighteen 
 inches above the horse's shoulder, and usually emblazoned 
 with gilding and brilliant colors. There was one magnifi- 
 cent troika on the Nevskoi Prospekt, the horses of which 
 were full-blooded, jet-black matches, and their harness 
 formed of overlapping silver scales. The Russians being 
 the best coachmen in the world, these teams dash past each 
 other at furious speed, often escaping collision by the 
 breadth of a hair, but never coming in violent contact. 
 
 With the approach of winter the nobility returned from 
 their estates, the diplomatists from their long summer va- 
 cation, the Imperial Court from Moscow, and the previous 
 social desolation of the capital came speedily to an end 
 There were dinners and routs in abundance, but the sea- 
 son of balls was not fairlv inaugurated until invitations had 
 
 *> O 
 
 been issued for the first at the Winter Palace. This is 
 usually a grand affair, the guests numbering from fifteen 
 hundred to two thousand. We were agreeably surprised at 
 finding half-past nine fixed as the hour of arrival, and
 
 96 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 took pains to be punctual ; but there were already a hun- 
 dred yards of carriages in advance. The toilet, of course^ 
 must be fully completed at home, and the huge pelisses of 
 fur so adjusted as not to disarrange head-dresses, lace, crin 
 oline, or uniform : the footmen, must be prompt, on reach- 
 ing the covered portal, to promote speedy alighting and 
 unwrapping, which being accomplished, each sits guard for 
 the night over his own special pile of pelisses and furred 
 boots. 
 
 When the dresses are shaken out and the gloves 
 smoothed, at the foot of the grand staircase, an usher, in a 
 short, bedizened red tunic and white knee-breeches, with a 
 cap surmounted by three colossal white plumes, steps before 
 you and leads the way onward through the spacious halls, 
 ablaze with light from thousands of wax candles. I always 
 admired the silent gravity of these ushers, and their slow, 
 majestic, almost mysterious inarch until one morning 
 at home, when I was visited by four common-looking Rus- 
 sians, in blue caftans, who bowed nearly to the floor and 
 muttered congratulations. It was a deputation of the Im- 
 perial ushers, making their rounds for New Year's gifts ! 
 
 Although the streets of St. Petersburg are lighted with 
 gas, the palaces and private residences are still illuminated 
 only with wax candles. * Gas is considered plebeian, but it 
 has probably also been found to be disagreeable in the 
 close air of the hermetically sealed apartments. Candles 
 are used in such profusion that I am told thirty thousand 
 are required to light up an Imperial ball. The quadruple 
 rows of columns which support the Hall of St. George are 
 spirally entwined with garlands of wax-lights, and immense 
 chandeliers are suspended from the ceiling. The wicks 
 of each column are connected with threads dipped in some 
 inflammable mixture, and each thread, being kindled at 
 the bottom at the same instant, the light is carried in a few 
 seconds to every candle in the hall. This instantaneous 
 kindling of so many thousand wicks has a magical effect
 
 WINTER-LIFE IN ST. PETERSBURG. 97 
 
 At the door of the great hall the usher steps aside, 
 bows gravely, and returns, and one of the deputy masters 
 of ceremonies receives you. .These gentlemen are chosen 
 from among the most distinguished families of Russia, and 
 are, without exception, so remarkable for tact, kindness, 
 and discretion, that the multitude falls, almost uncon- 
 sciously, into the necessary observances ; and the perfection 
 of ceremony, which hides its own external indications, is 
 attained. Violations of etiquette are most rare, yet no 
 court in the world appears more simple and unconstrained 
 in its forms. 
 
 In less than fifteen minutes after the appointed time the 
 hall is filled, and a blast from the orchestra announces the 
 entrance of the Imperial family. The ministers and chief 
 personages of the court are already in their proper places, 
 and the representatives of foreign nations stand on one 
 side of the door-way in their established order of prece- 
 dence (determined by length of residence near the court), 
 with the ladies of their body on the opposite side. 
 
 Alexander II. was much brighter and more cheerful 
 than during the preceding summer. His care-worn, pre- 
 occupied air was gone; the dangers which then encom- 
 passed him had subsided ; the nobility, although still chaf- 
 ing fiercely against the decree of emancipation, were slowly 
 coming to the conclusion that its consummation is inevita- 
 ble ; and the Emperor began to feel that his great work 
 will be safely accomplished. His dark-green uniform well 
 becomes his stately figure :ind clearly chiseled, symmetri- 
 cal head. He is Nicholas recast in a softer mould, wherein 
 tenacity of purpose is substituted for rigid, inflexible will, 
 and the development of the nation at home supplants the 
 ambition for predominant political influence abroad. This 
 difference is expressed, despite the strong personal resem- 
 blance to his father, in the more frank and gentle eye, the 
 fuller and more sensitive mouth, and the rounder lines of 
 jaw and forehead. A free> natural directness of manner 
 
 7
 
 98 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 and speech is his principal characteristic. He wears easily, 
 almost playfully, the yoke of court ceremonial, temporarily 
 casting it aside when troublesome. In two respects he 
 differs from most of the other European rulers whom I 
 have seen : he looks the sovereign, and he unbends as 
 gracefully and unostentatiously as a man risen from the 
 ranks of the people. There is evidently better stuff than 
 kings are generally made of in the Romanoff line. 
 
 Grace and refinement, rather than beauty, distinguish 
 the Empress, though her eyes and hair deserve the latter 
 epithet. She is an invalid, and appears pale and some- 
 what worn ; but there is no finer group of children in 
 Europe than those to whom she has given birth. Six sons 
 and one daughter are her jewels ; and of these, the third 
 son, Vladimir, is almost ideally handsome. Her dress was 
 at once simple and superb a cloud of snowy tulle, with 
 a scarf of pale-blue velvet, twisted with a chain of the 
 largest diamonds and tied with a knot and tassel of pearls 
 resting half-way down the skirt, as if it had slipped from 
 her waist. On another occasion, I remember her wearing 
 a crown of five stars, the centres of which were single 
 enormous rubies and the rays of diamonds, so set on invis- 
 ible wires that they burned in the air over her head. The 
 splendor which was a part of her role was always made 
 subordinate to rigid taste, and herein prominently distin- 
 guished her from many of the Russian ladies, who carried 
 great fortunes upon their heads, necks, and bosoms. I 
 had several opportunities of conversing with her, generally 
 upon Art and Literature, and was glad to find that she 
 had both read and thought, as well as seen. The honored 
 
 O * 
 
 author of " Evangeline " numbers her among his apprecia- 
 tive readers. 
 
 After their Majesties have made the circle of the diplo- 
 matic corps, the Polonaise, which always opens a Court 
 ball, commences. The Grand Dukes Nicholas and Mi- 
 chael (brothers of the Emperor), and the younger mem-
 
 WINTER-LIFE IN ST. PETERSBURG. 99 
 
 bcrs of the Imperial family, take part in it, the latter evi- 
 dently impatient for the succeeding quadrilles and waltres. 
 When this is finished, all palpable, obtrusive ceremony is 
 at an end. Dancing, conversation, cards, strolls through 
 the sumptuous halls, fill the hours. The Emperor wanders 
 freely through the crowd, saluting h'ere and there a friend, 
 exchanging badinage with the wittiest ladies (which they 
 all seem at liberty to give back, without the least embar- 
 rassment), or seeking out the scarred and gray-haired 
 officers who have come hither from all parts of the vast 
 empire. He does not scrutinize whether or not your back 
 is turned towards him as he passes. Once, on entering a 
 door rather hastily, I came within an ace of a personal col- 
 lision ; whereupon he laughed good-humoredly, caught me 
 by the hands, and saying, " It would have been a shock, 
 n'est-ce pas ? " hurried on. 
 
 To me the most delightful part of the Winter Palace 
 was the garden. It forms one of the suite of thirty halls, 
 some of them three hundred feet long, on the second story. 
 In this garden, which is perhaps a hundred feet square by 
 forty in height, rise clumps of Italian cypress and laurel 
 from beds of emerald turf and blooming hyacinths. In 
 the centre, a fountain showers over fern-covered rocks, 
 and the gravel-walks around the border are shaded by tall 
 camellia-trees in white and crimson bloom. Lamps of 
 frosted glass hang among the foliage, and diffuse a mellow 
 golden moonlight over the enchanted ground. The cor- 
 ridor adjoining the garden resembles a bosky alley, so 
 completely are the walls hidden by flowering shrubbery. 
 
 Leaving the Imperial family, and the kindred houses of 
 Leuchtenberg, Oldenburg, and Mecklenburg, all of which 
 are represented, let us devote a little atter tion to the 
 ladies, and the crowd of distinguished, though unroyal per- 
 sonages. The former are all decolletees, of course. even 
 the Countess , who. I am positively assured, is ninety- 
 five years old ; but I do not notice much uniformity of
 
 100 BV-WAVS OF EUROPE. 
 
 taste, except in the matter of head-dresses. Chignon* have 
 not yet made their appearance, but there are huge coils 
 and sweeps of hair a mane-like munificence, so disposed 
 as to reveal the art and conceal the artifice. The orna 
 ments are chiefly flowers, though here and there I see 
 jewels, coral, mossy sticks, dead leaves, birds, and birds'- 
 nests. From the blonde locks of yonder princess hang 
 bunches of green brook-grass, and a fringe of the same 
 trails from her bosom and skirt : she resembles a fished-up 
 and restored Ophelia. Here passes a maiden with a 
 picket-fence of rose coral as a berthe, and she seems to 
 have another around the bottom of her dress ; but, as the 
 mist of tulle is brushed aside in passing, we can detect 
 that the latter is a clever chenHk imitation. There is an- 
 other with small moss-covered twigs arranged in the same 
 way ; and yet another with fifty black-lace butterflies, of 
 all sizes, clinging to her yellow satin skirt. All this swim- 
 ming and intermingling mass of color is dotted over with 
 sparkles of jewel-light ; and even the grand hall, with its 
 gilded columns and thousands of tapers, seems but a sober 
 frame for so gorgeous a picture. 
 
 I can only pick out a few of the notable men present, 
 because there is no space to give biographies as well as 
 portraits. That man of sixty, in rich civil uniform, who 
 entered with the Emp'eror, and who at once reminds an 
 American of Edward Everett both in face and in the pol- 
 ished grace and suavity of his manner, is one of the first 
 statesmen of Europe Prince Alexander Gortchakoff. 
 Of medium height and robust frame, with a keen, alert eye, 
 a broad, thoughtful forehead, and a wonderfully sagacious 
 mouth, the upper lip slightly covering the under one at the 
 corners, he immediately arrests your attention, and your eye 
 unconsciously follows him as he makes his way through the 
 crowd, with a friendly word for this man and an elegant 
 rapier-thrust for that. His predominant mood, however, 
 is a cheerful good nature ; his wit and irony belong
 
 WINTER-LIFE IN ST. PETERSBURG. 101 
 
 to the diplomatist than to the man. There is no sounder or 
 more prudent head in Russia. 
 
 But who is this son of Anak, approaching from the cor- 
 ridor? Towering a full head above the throng, a figure of 
 superb strength and perfect symmetry, we give him thai 
 hearty admiration which is due to a man who illustrates 
 and embellishes manhood. In this case we can give it 
 freely ; for that finely balanced head holds a clear, vig- 
 orous brain ; those large blue eyes look from the depths 
 of a frank, noble nature ; an<i/ in that broad breast beats 
 a heart warm with love for his country, and good-will for 
 his fellow-men, whether high or low. I* is Prince Su- 
 vdroff, the Military Governor of St. Petersburg. If I 
 were to spell his name " Suwarrow," you would know who 
 his grandfather was, and what place in Russian history he 
 fills. In a double sense the present Prince is cast in an 
 heroic mould. It speaks well for Russia that his qualities 
 are so truly appreciated. He is beloved by the people, and 
 trusted by the Imperial Government : for, while farm in his 
 administration of affairs, he is humane, while cautious, 
 energetic, and while shrewd and skillful, frank and 
 honest. A noble man, whose like I wish were oftener tc 
 be found in the world. 
 
 Here are two officers, engaged in earnest conversation 
 The little old man, with white hair, and thin, weather- 
 beaten, wrinkled face, is Admiral Baron Wrangel, whose 
 Arctic explorations on the northern coast of Siberia are 
 known to a\ geographers. Having read of them as a boy, 
 and then as things of the past, I was greatly delighted at 
 finding the brave old Admiral s'ill alive, and at the privi- 
 lege of taking his hand and hearing him talk in English 
 as fluent as my own. The young officer, with rosy face, 
 brown moustache, and profile strikingly like that of Gen- 
 eral McClellan. has already made his mark. He is Gen- 
 eral Ignatieflf, the most prominent young man of the em- 
 pire. Although scarcely thirty-five, he has already filled
 
 102 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 special missions to Bukharia and Peking, and took a lead 
 ing part in the Treaty of Tientsin. At the time of which 
 I write, he was Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs and 
 Chief of the Asiatic Department. 
 
 I might mention Count Bludoff, the venerable President 
 of the Academy of Sciences ; General Todleben ; Admiral 
 Liittke ; and the distinguished members of the Galitzin. 
 Narischkin, Apraxin, Dolgorouky, and Scheremetieff fami- 
 lies, who are present, but by this time the interminable 
 mazourka is drawing to a close, and a master of ceremonies 
 suggests that we shall step into an adjoining hall to awail 
 the signal for supper. The refreshments previously fur- 
 nished consisted simply of tea, orgeat, and cooling drinks 
 made of cranberries, Arctic raspberries, and other fruits ; 
 it is two hours past midnight, and we may frankly confess 
 hunger. 
 
 While certain other guests are being gathered together, 
 I will mention another decoration of the halls, peculiar to 
 St. Petersburg. On either side of all the doors of com- 
 munication in the long range of halls, stands a negro in 
 rich oriental costume, reminding one of the mute palace- 
 guards in the Arabian tales. Happening to meet one of 
 these men in the Summer Garden, I addressed him in 
 Arabic ; but he knew only enough of the language to in- 
 form me that he was born in Dar-Fur. I presume, there- 
 fore, they were obtained in Constantinople. In the large 
 halls, which are illustrated with paintings of battles, in all 
 the Russian campaigns from Pultowa to Sebastopol, are 
 posted companies of soldiers at the farther end a differ- 
 ent regiment to each hall. For six hours these men and 
 their officers stand motionless as statues. Not a move- 
 ment, except now and then of the eyelid, can be detected 
 even their respiration seems to be suspended. There is 
 something weird and uncanny in such a preternatural 
 silence and apparent death-in-life. I became impressed 
 with the 'dea that some form of catalepsy had seized and
 
 WINTER-LIFE IN ST. PETERSBURG. 103 
 
 bound them in strong trance. The eyeballs were fixed: 
 they stared at me and saw me not : their hands were glued 
 to the weapons, and their feet to the floor. I suspect there 
 must have been some stolen relief when no guest happened 
 to be present, yet, come when I might, I found them un- 
 changed. When I reflected that the men were undoubtedly 
 very proud of the distinction they enjoyed, and that their 
 case demanded no sympathy, I could inspect and admire 
 them with an easy mind. 
 
 The Grand Chamberlain now advances, followed by the 
 Imperial family, behind which, in a certain order of pre- 
 cedence, the guestis fall into place, and we presently reach 
 a supper-hall, gleaming with silver and crystal. There 
 are five others, I am told, and each of the two thousand 
 guests has his chair and plate. In the centre stands the 
 Imperial table, on a low platform : between wonderful 
 epergnes of gold spreads a bed of hyacinths and crocuses. 
 Hundreds of other epergnes, of massive silver, flash from 
 the tables around. The forks and spoons are gold, the 
 decanters of frosted crystal, covered with silver vine-leaves ; 
 even the salt-cellars are works of art. It is quite proper' 
 that the supper should be substantial ; and as one such en- 
 tertainment is a pattern for all that succeed, I may be al- 
 lowed to mention the principal dishes : creme de Vorge, pate 
 de foie gras, cutlets of fowl, game, asparagus, and salad, 
 followed by fruits, ices, and bon-bons, and moistened with 
 claret, Sauterne, and Champagne. I confess, however, that 
 the superb silver chasing, and the balmy hyacinths which 
 almost leaved over my plate, feasted my senses quite as 
 much as the delicate viands. 
 
 After supper the company returns to the Hall of S( 
 George, a quadrille or two is danced to promote digestion, 
 and the members of the Imperial family, bowing first to 
 the diplomatic corps, and then to the other guests, retire 
 to the private apartments of the palace. Now we are at 
 liberty to leave, not sooner, and rapidly, yet not with
 
 104 BY-WAYS OP EUfcOPE. 
 
 undigu.fied haste, seek the main staircase. Cloaking and 
 booting (Ivan being on hand, with eyes like a lynx) are 
 performed without regard to head-dress or uniform, and 
 we wait T-hile the carriages are being called, until the 
 proper pozlannik turns up. If we envied those who got ofl 
 sooner, we are now envied by those who still must wait, 
 bulky in black satin or cloth, in sable or raccoon skin. It 
 is half past three when we reach home, and there are still 
 six hours until sunrise. 
 
 The succeeding balls, whether given by the Grand 
 Dukes, the principal members of the Russian nobility, or 
 the heads of foreign legations, were conducted on the 
 same plan, except that, in the latter instances, the guests 
 were not so punctual in arriving. The pleasantest of the 
 season was one given by the Emperor in the Hermitage 
 Palace. The guests, only two hundred in number, were 
 bidden to come in ordinary evening-dress, and their Im- 
 perial Majesties moved about among them as simply and 
 unostentatiously as any well-bred American host and host- 
 ess. On a staircase at one side of the Moorish Hall sat a 
 distinguished Hungarian artist, sketching the scene, with 
 its principal figures, for a picture. 
 
 I was surprised to find how much true social culture ex- 
 ists in St. Petersburg.' Aristocratic manners, in their per- 
 fection, are simply democratic ; but this is a truth which is 
 scarcely recognized by the nobility of Germany, and only 
 partially by that of England. The habits of refined society 
 are very much the same everywhere. The man or woman 
 of real culture recognizes certain forms as necessary, that 
 social intercourse may be ordered instead of being arbitrary 
 and chaotic ; but these forms must not be allowed to limit 
 the free, expansive contact of mind with mind and charac- 
 ter with character which is the charm and blessing of society. 
 Those who meet within the same walls meet upon an equal 
 footing, and all accidental distinctions cease for the time. I 
 found these principles acted upon to quite as full an e*
 
 WINTER-LIFE IN ST. PETERSBURG. 105 
 
 tent as (perhaps even more so thau) they art it home. 
 One of the members of the Imperial family, even, expressed 
 to me the intense weariness occasioned by the observance 
 of the necessary forms of court life, and the wish that they 
 might be made as simple as possible. 
 
 I was interested in extending my acquaintance among 
 the Russian nobility, as they, to a certain extent, represent 
 the national culture. So far as my observations reached, I 
 found that the women were better read, and had more 
 general knowledge of art, literature, and even politics, than 
 the men. My most instructive intercourse was with the 
 former. It seemed that most men (here I am not speak- 
 ing of the members of the Imperial Government) had each 
 his specialty, beyond which he showed but a limited in 
 terest. There was one distinguished circle, however, 
 where the intellectual level of the conversation was as high 
 as I have ever found it anywhere, and where the only title 
 to admission prescribed by the noble host was the capacity 
 to take part in it. In that circle I heard not only the 
 Polish Question discussed, but the Unity or Diversity of 
 Races, Modern and Classic Art, Strauss, Emerson, and 
 Victor Hugo, the ladies contributing their share. At a 
 soiree given by the Princess Lvoff, I met Richard 'Wagner, 
 the composer, Rubinstein, the pianist, and a number of 
 artists and literary men. 
 
 A society, the head of which is a court, ami where ex- 
 ternals, of necessity, must be first considerea, is not the 
 place to seek for true and lasting intimacies ; out one may 
 find what is next best, in a social sense rheerful and 
 cordial intercourse. The circle of agreeable ind friendly 
 
 O *, 
 
 acquaintance continually enlarged ; and I leained to know 
 one friend (and perhaps one should hardly expect more 
 than that in any year) whom I shall not forgei, nor he me, 
 though we never meet again. The Russians have been 
 unjustly accused of a lack of that steady, tender, faithful 
 depth of character upon which friendship must rest Let
 
 106 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 us not forget that one of Washington Irving's cleared 
 friends was Prince Dolgorouki. 
 
 Nevertheless, the constant succession of entertainments, 
 agreeable as they were, became in the end fatiguing to 
 quiet persons like ourselves. The routs and soirees, it is 
 true, were more informal and unceremonious : one was not 
 obliged to spend more than an hour at each, but then one 
 was not expected to arrive before eleven o'clock. We fell^ 
 perforce, into the habits of the place, of sleeping two or 
 three hours after dinner, then rising, and after a cup of 
 strong tea, dressing for the evening. After Carnival, the 
 balls ceased ; but there were still frequent routs, until 
 Easter week closed the season. 
 
 I was indebted to Admiral Liittke, President of the Im- 
 perial Geographical Society, for an invitation to attend its 
 sessions, some of which were of the most interesting char- 
 acter. My great regret was, that a very imperfect knowl- 
 edge of the language prevented me from understanding 
 much of the proceedings. On one occasion, while a paper 
 on the survey of the Caspian Sea was being read, a tall, 
 stately gentleman, sitting at the table beside me, obligingly 
 translated all the principal facts into French, as they were 
 stated. I afterwards foynd that he was Count Panin, Min- 
 ister of Justice. In the transactions of the various literary 
 and scientific societies, the Russian language has now en- 
 tirely supplanted the French, although the latter keeps its 
 place in the salons, chiefly on account of the foreign ele- 
 ment. The Empress has weekly conversazioni, at which 
 only Russian is spoken, and to which no foreigners are 
 admitted. It is becoming fashionable to have visiting- 
 cards in both languages. 
 
 Of all the ceremonies which occurred during the winter, 
 that of New Year's Day (January 13th, N. S.) was most 
 interesting. After the members of the different legations 
 had called in a body to pay their respects to the Emperoi 
 and Empress, the latter received the ladies :f the Court
 
 WINTER-LIFE IN ST. PETERSBURG. 107 
 
 who, on this occasion, wore the national costume, in the 
 grand hall. We were permitted to witness the spectacle, 
 which is unique of its kind and wonderfully beautiful. The 
 Empress, having taken her place alone near one end of 
 the hall, with the Emperor and his family at a little dis- 
 tance on her right, the doors at the other end three hun- 
 dred feet distant were thrown open, and a gorgeous pro- 
 cession approached, sweeping past the gilded columns, and 
 growing with every step in color and splendor. The ladies 
 walked in single file, about eight feet apart, each holding 
 the train of the one preceding her. The costume consists 
 of a high, crescent-shaped head-dress of velvet covered with 
 jewels ; a short, embroidered corsage of silk or velvet, with 
 open sleeves ; a full skirt and sweeping train of velvet or 
 satin or moire, with a deep border of point-lace. As the 
 first lady approached the Empress, her successor dropped 
 the train, spreading it, by a dexterous movement, to its 
 full breadth on the polished floor. The lady, thus re- 
 leased, bent her knee, and took the Empress's hand to kiss 
 it, which the latter prevented by gracefully lifting her and 
 saluting her on the forehead. After a few words of con- 
 gratulation, she passed across the hall, making a profound 
 obeisance to the Emperor on the way. 
 
 This was the most trying part of the ceremony. She 
 was alone and unsupported, with all eyes upon her, and it 
 required no slight amount of skill and self-possession to 
 cross the hall, bow, and carry her superb train to the op- 
 posite side, without turning her back on the Imperial pres- 
 ence. At the end of an hour the dazzling group gathered 
 on the right equaled in numbers the long line marching up 
 on the left and still they came. It was a luxury of color, 
 scarcely to be described, all flowery and dewy tints, in 
 a setting of white and gold. There were crimson, maroon, 
 blue, lilac, salmon, peach-blossom, mauve, magenta, silver- 
 gray, pearl-rose, daffodil, pale orange, purple, pea-green, 
 sea-green, scarlet, violet, drab, and pink and, whether
 
 108 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 by accident or design, the succession of colors nevei 
 shocked by too violent contrast. This was the perfection 
 of scenic effect ; and we lingered, enjoying it exquisitely, 
 until the last of several hundred ladies closed the radiant 
 spectacle. 
 
 The festival of Epiphany is celebrated by the blessing 
 of the waters of the Neva, followed by a grand military 
 review on the Admiralty Square. We were invited to 
 witness both ceremonies from the windows of the Winter 
 Palace, where, through the kindness of Prince Dolgorouki, 
 we obtained favorable points of view. As the ceremonies 
 last two or three hours, an elegant breakfast was served 
 to the guests in the Moorish Hall. The blessing of the 
 Neva is a religious festival, with the accompaniment of 
 tapers, incense, and chanting choirs, and we could only see 
 that the Emperor performed his part uncloaked and bare- 
 headed in the free/ing air, finishing by descending the 
 steps of an improvised chapel and well (the building an- 
 swered both purposes), and drinking the water from a hole 
 in the ice. Far and wide over the frozen surface similar 
 holes were cut, where, during the remainder of the day, 
 priests officiated, and thousands of the common people 
 were baptized by immersion. As they generally came out 
 covered with ice, warm booths were provided for them on 
 the banks, where they thawed themselves out, rejoicing 
 that they would now escape sickness or misfortune for a 
 year to come. 
 
 The review requires a practiced military pen to do it 
 justice, and I fear I must give up the attempt. It was a 
 " small review," only about twenty-five thousand troops be- 
 ing under arms. In the uniformity of size and build of 
 the men, exactness of equipment, and precision of move- 
 ment, it would be difficult to imagine anything more per- 
 fect All sense of the individual soldier was lost in the 
 grand sweep and wheel and march of the columns. The 
 Circassian chiefs, in their steel skull-caps and shirts of chain
 
 WINTER-LIFE IN ST. PETERSBURG. 109 
 
 mail seemed to have ridden into their places direct from 
 the Crusades. The Cossacks of the Don, the Ukraine, and 
 the Ural, managed their little brown or black horses (each 
 regiment having its own color) so wonderfully, that, as we 
 looked down upon them, each line resembled a giant cater- 
 pillar, moving sidewise with its thousand legs creeping as 
 one. These novel and picturesque elements constituted 
 the principal charm of the spectacle. 
 
 The passing away of winter was signalized by an increase 
 of daylight rather than a decrease of cold. The rivers 
 were still locked, the ice-hills frequented, the landscape 
 dull and dead ; but by the beginning of February we could 
 detect signs of the returning sun. When the sky was clear 
 (a thing of rarest occurrence), there was white light at noon- 
 day, instead of the mournful yellow or orange gloom of the 
 previous two months. After the change had fairly set in, 
 it proceeded more and more rapidly, until our sunshine was 
 increased at the rate of seven or eight minutes per day. 
 When the vernal equinox came, and we could sit down to 
 dinner at sunset, the spell of death seemed to be at last 
 broken. The fashionable drive, of an afternoon, changed 
 from the Nevskoi Prospekt to the Palace Quay on the 
 Neva : the Summer Garden was cleared of snow, and its 
 statues one by one unboxed ; in. fine days we could walk 
 there, and there coax back the faded color to a child's 
 face. There, too, walked Alexander II., one of the crowd, 
 leading his little daughter by the hand ; and thither, in a 
 plain little caleche, drove the Empress, with her youngest 
 baby on her lap. 
 
 But when the first ten days of April had passed and 
 there was still no sign of spring, we began to grow impa- 
 tient. How often I watched the hedges around the Michai- 
 loffsky Palace, knowing that the buds would there first 
 swell ! How we longed for a shimmer of green under the 
 browu grass, an alder tassel, a flush of yellow on the willow 
 wands, a sight of rushing green water ! One day, a week or
 
 110 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 so later, we we.e engaged to dine on Vassili Ostrow. I l.ad 
 been busily occupied until late in the afternt ion, and when 
 we drove out upon the square, I glanced, as usual, towards 
 Peter the Great. Lo! behind him flashed and glittered 
 the free, the rejoicing Neva! Here and there floated a 
 cake of sullen ice, but the great river had bared his breast 
 to the sun, which welcomed him after six months of ab- 
 sence. The upper pontoon-bridges were already spanned 
 and crowded with travel, but the lower one, carried away 
 before it could be secured, had been borne down by the 
 stream and jammed against and under the solid granite 
 and iron of the Nikolai Bridge. There was a terrible 
 
 o 
 
 crowd and confusion at the latter place; all travel was 
 stopped, and we could get neither forward nor backward. 
 Presently, however, the Emperor appeared upon the scene ,' 
 order was the instant result ; the slow officials worked 
 with a will ; and we finally reached our host's residence 
 half an hour behind the time. As we returned, at night, 
 there was twilight along the northern sky, and the stars 
 sparkled on the crystal bosom of the river. 
 
 This was the snapping of winter's toughest fetter, but it 
 was not yet spring. Before I could detect any sign of re- 
 turning life in Nature, May had come. Then, little by 
 little, the twigs in the maYshy thickets began to show yel- 
 low and purple and brown, the lilac-buds to swell, and some 
 blades of fresh grass to peep forth in sheltered places. 
 This, although we had sixteen hours of sunshine, with an 
 evening twilight which shifted into dusky dawn under the 
 North Star! I think it was on the 13th of May that I 
 first realized that the season had changed, and for the last 
 
 O ' 
 
 time saw the noble-hearted ruler who is the central figure 
 of these memories. The People's Festival a sort of 
 Russian May-day took place at Catharinenhof, a park 
 and palace of the famous Empress, near the shore of the 
 Finnish Gulf. The festival, that year, had an" unusual sig 
 oificance. On the 3d of March the edict of Emancipation
 
 WINTER-LIFE IN ST. PETERSBURG. Ill 
 
 wras finally consummated, and twenty-two millions of serfs 
 became forever free : the Polish troubles and the monace 
 of the Western powers had consolidated the restless nobles 
 the patient people, and the plotting revolutionists, the or- 
 thodox and dissenting sects, into one great national party 
 resolved to support the Emperor and maintain the integ- 
 rity of the Russian territory: and thus the nation was 
 marvelously strengthened by the very blow intended to 
 cripple it. 
 
 At least a hundred thousand of the common people 
 (possibly, twice that number) were gathered together in 
 the park of Catharinenhof. There were booths, shows, 
 flying-horses, refreshment saloons, jugglers, circuses, bal- 
 loons, and exhibitions of all kinds : the sky was fair, the 
 turf green and elastic, and the swelling birch-buds scented 
 the air. I wandered about for hours, watching the lazy, 
 contented people, as they leaped and ran, rolled on the 
 grass, pulled off their big boots and aired their naked legs, 
 or laughed and sang in jolly chorus. About three in the 
 afternoon there was a movement in the main avenue of the 
 park. Hundreds of young mujiks appeared, running at 
 full speed, shouting out, tossing their caps high in the air, 
 and giving their long, blonde locks to the wind. Instantly 
 the crowd collected on each side, many springing like cats 
 into the trees ; booths and shows were deserted, and an 
 immense multitude hedged the avenue. Behind the leap- 
 ing, shouting, cap-tossing avant-garde came the Emperor, 
 with three sons and a dozen generals, on horseback, canter- 
 ing lightly. One cheer went up from scores of thousands ; 
 hats darkened the air ; eyes blazing with filial veneration 
 followed the stately figure of the monarch, as he passed by, 
 gratefully smiling and greeting on either hand. I stood 
 among the people and watched their faces. I saw the 
 phlegmatic Slavonic features transformed with a sudden 
 and powerful expression of love, of devotion, of gratitude, 
 and then I knew that the throne of Alexander II. rested
 
 112 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 on a better basis than tradition or force. J saw therein an- 
 other side of this shrewd, cunning, patient, and childlike 
 race, whom no other European race yet understands and 
 appreciates a race yet in the germ, but with qualities 
 out of which a people, in the best sense of the word, may 
 be developed. 
 
 The month of May was dark, rainy, and cold ; and when 
 I left St. Petersburg, at its close, everybody said that a few 
 days would bring the summer. The leaves were opening, 
 almost visibly from hour to hour. Winter was really over, 
 and summer was just at the door , but I found, upon reflec- 
 tion, that I had not had the slightest experience of spring.
 
 THE LITTLE LAND OF APPENZEL1
 
 THE traveller who first reaches the Lake of Constance 
 at Lindau, or crosses that sheet of pale green water to one 
 of the ports on the opposite Swiss shore, cannot fail to 
 notice the bold heights to the southward which thrust 
 themselves between the opening of the Rhine Valley and 
 the long, undulating ridges of the Canton Thurgau. These 
 heights, broken by many a dimly hinted valley and ravine, 
 appear to be the front of an Alpine table-land. Houses 
 and villages, scattered over the steep ascending plane, 
 present themselves distinctly to the eye ; the various green 
 of forest and pasture land is rarely interrupted by the gray 
 of rocky walls ; and the afternoon sun touches the topmost 
 edge of each successive elevation with a sharp outline of 
 golden light, through the rich gloom of the shaded slopes. 
 Behind and over this region rise the serrated peaks of the 
 Sentis Alp, standing in advance of the farther ice-fields of 
 Glarus, like an outer fortress, garrisoned in summer by 
 the merest forlorn hope of snow. 
 
 The green fronts nearest the lake, and the lower lands 
 falling away to the right and left, belong to the Canton of 
 St. Gall ; but all aloft, beyond that frontier marked by the 
 sinking sun, lies the Appenzeller Landli, as it is called in 
 the endearing diminutive of the Swiss German tongue, 
 the Little Land of Appenzell. 
 
 If, leaving the Lake of Constance by the Rhine Valley, 
 you ascend to Ragatz and the Baths of Pfeffers, thence 
 turn westward to the Lake of Wallenstatt. cross into the 
 valley of the Toggenburg, and so make your way northward 
 and eastward around the base of the mountains back to 
 the starting point, you will have passed only through the
 
 116 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 territory of St. Gall. Appenzell is an Alpine island, wholly 
 surrounded by the former canton. From whatever side 
 you approach, you must climb in order to get into it It is 
 a nearly circular tract, falling from the south towards the 
 aorth, but lifted, at almost every point, over the adjoining 
 ands. This altitude and isolation is an historical as well 
 \s a physical peculiarity. When the Abbots of St. Gall, 
 ifter having reduced the entire population of what is now 
 two cantons to serfdom, became more oppressive as their 
 power increased, it was the mountain shepherds who, in 
 the year 1403, struck the first blow for liberty. Once free, 
 they kept their freedom, and established a rude democracy 
 on the heights, similar in form and spirit to the league 
 which the Forest Cantons had founded nearly a century 
 before. An echo from the meadow of Griitli reached the 
 wild valleys around the Sentis, and Appenzell, by the mid- 
 dle of the fifteenth century, became one of the original 
 states out of which Switzerland has grown. 
 
 I find something very touching and admirable in this 
 fragment of hardly noticed history. The people isolated 
 themselves by their own act, held together, organized a 
 simple yet sufficient government, and maintained their 
 sturdy independence, while their brethren on every side, 
 in the richer lands below them, were fast bound in the 
 gyves of a priestly despotism. Individual liberty seems to 
 be a condition inseparable from mountain life ; that once 
 attained, all other influences are conservative in their char- 
 acter. The cantons of Unterwalden, Schwytz, Glarus, and 
 Appenzell retain to-day the simple, primitive forms of 
 democracy which had their origin in the spirit of the peo- 
 ple nearly six hundred years ago. 
 
 Twice had I looked up to the little mountain republic 
 from the lower lands to the northward, with the desire and 
 the determination to climb one day the green buttresses 
 which support it on every side ; so, when I left St. Gall on 
 % misty morning, in a little open carriage, bound for Trogen,
 
 THE LITTLE LAND OP APPENZELL. lit 
 
 it was with the pleasant knowledge that a land almost un- 
 known to tourists lay before me. The only summer visit- 
 ors are invalids, mostly from Eastern Switzerland and 
 Germany, who go up to drink the whey of goats' milk ; 
 and, although the fabrics woven by the people are known 
 to the world of fashion in all countries, few indeed are the 
 travellers who turn aside from the near highways. The 
 landlord in St. Gall told me that his guests were almost 
 wholly commercial travellers, and my subsequent experi- ' 
 ence among an unspoiled people convinced me that I was 
 almost a pioneer in the paths I traversed. 
 
 It was the last Saturday in April, and at least a month 
 too soon for the proper enjoyment of the journey ; but on 
 the following day the Landsgemeinde, or Assembly of the 
 People, was to be held at Hundwyl, in the manner and with 
 the ceremonies which have been annually observed for the 
 last three or four hundred years. This circumstance de- 
 termined the time of my visit. I wished to study the 
 character of an Alpine democracy, so pure that it has not 
 yet adopted even the representative principle, to be with 
 and among a portion of the Swiss people at a time when 
 they are most truly themselves, rather than look at them 
 through the medium of conventional guides, on lines of 
 travel which have now lost everything of Switzerland ex- 
 cept the scenery. 
 
 There was bad weather behind, and, I feared, bad 
 weather before me. " The sun will soon drive away these 
 mists," said the postilion, " and when we get up yonder, 
 you will see what a prospect there will be." In the rich 
 valley of St. Gall, out of which we mounted, the scattered 
 houses and cloud-like belts of blossoming cherry-trees 
 almost hid the green ; but it sloped up and down, on 
 either side of the rising road, glittering with flowers and 
 dew, in the flying gleams of sunshine. Over us hung 
 masses of gray cloud, which stretched across the valley, 
 hooded the opposite hills, and sank into a dense mass ovef
 
 118 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 the Lake of Constance. As we passed through this 
 and rejoiced in the growing clearness of the upper sky, I 
 saw that my only prospect would be in cloud-land. After 
 many windings, along which the blossoms and buds of the 
 fruit-trees indicated the altitude as exactly as any barom- 
 eter, we finally reached the crest of the topmost height, the 
 frontier of Appenzell and the battle-field of Voglisegg. 
 where the herdsman first measured his strength with the 
 soldier and the monk, and was victorious. 
 
 "Whereabouts was the battle fought?" I asked the 
 postilion. 
 
 " Up and down, and all around here," said he, stopping 
 the carriage at the summit. 
 
 I stood up and looked to the north. Seen from above, 
 the mist had gathered into dense, rounded clouds, touched 
 with silver on their upper edges. They hung over the lake, 
 rolling into every bay and spreading from shore to shore, 
 so that not a gleam of water was visible ; but over their 
 heaving and tossing silence rose, far away, the mountains 
 of the four German states beyond the lake. An Alp in 
 Vorarlberg made a shining island in the sky. The postil- 
 ion was loud in his regrets, yet I thought the picture best 
 as it was. On the right jay the land of Appenzell not a 
 table-land, but a region of mountain ridge and summit, of 
 valley and deep, dark gorge, green as emerald up to the 
 line of snow, and so thickly studded with dwellings, grouped 
 or isolated, that there seemed to be one scattered village 
 as far as the eye could reach. To the south, over forests 
 of fir, the Sentis lifted his huge towers of rock, crowned 
 with white, wintry pyramids. 
 
 " Here, where we are," said the postilion, " was the first 
 battle ; but there was another, two years afterwards, over 
 there, the other side of Trogen, where the road goes down 
 to the Rhine. Stoss is the place, and there's a chapel built 
 on the very spot. Duke Frederick of Austria came to help 
 the Abbot Kuno, and the Appenzellers were only one to
 
 THE LITTLE LAND OF APPENZELL. 119 
 
 ten against them. It was a great fight, they say, and the 
 worn en helped not with pikes and guns, but in this way : 
 they put on white shirts, and came out of the woods, above 
 where the fighting was going on. Now, when the Austrians 
 and the Abbot's people saw them, they thought there were 
 spirits helping the Appenzellers (the women were all white, 
 you see, and too far off to show plainly), and so they gave 
 up the fight after losing nine hundred knights and troopers. 
 After that, it was ordered that the women should go first 
 to the sacrament, so that no man might forget the help they 
 gave in that battle. And the people go every year to the 
 chapel, on the same day when it took place." 
 
 I looked, involuntarily, to find some difference in the pop- 
 ulation after passing the frontier. But I had not counted 
 upon the leveling influence which the same kind of labor 
 exercises, whether upon mountain or in valley. So long 
 as Appenzell was a land of herdsmen, many peculiarities 
 of costume, features, and manners must have remained. 
 For a long time, however, Outer-Rhoden, as this part of 
 the Canton is called, has shared with that part of St. Gall 
 which lies below it the manufacture of fine muslins and 
 embroideries. There are looms in almost every house, and 
 this fact explains the density of population and the signs 
 of wealth on every hand, which would otherwise puzzle 
 the stranger. The houses are not only so near together 
 that almost every man can call to his neighbors and be 
 heard, but they are large, stately, and even luxurious, in 
 contrast to the dwellings of other country people in Eu- 
 rope. The average population of Outer-Rhoden amounts 
 to four hundred and seventy-five persons to the square 
 mile, being nearly double that of the most thickly settled 
 portions of Holland. 
 
 If one could only transport a few of these houses to the 
 United States ! Our country architecture is not only hid 
 eous, but frequently unpractical, being at worst shanties, 
 gnd at best city residences set in the fields. An Appenzell
 
 120 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 former lives in a house from forty to sixty feet square, and 
 rarely less than four stories in height The two upper sto- 
 ries, however, are narrowed by the high, steep roof, so thai 
 the true front of the house i one of the gables. The roof 
 projects at least four feet on all sides, giving shelter to bal- 
 conies of carved wood, which cross the front under each 
 row of windows. The outer walls are covered with upright, 
 overlapping shingles, not more than two or three inches 
 broad, and rounded at the ends, suggesting the scale armor 
 of ancient times. This covering secures the greatest warmth ; 
 and when the shingles have aquired from age that rich 
 burnt-sienna tint which no paint could exactly imitate, the 
 effect is exceedingly beautiful. The lowest story is gen- 
 erally of stone, plastered and whitewashed. The stories are 
 low (seven to eight feet), but the windows are placed side 
 by side, and each room is thoroughly lighted. Such a 
 house is very warm, very durable, and, without any appa- 
 rent expenditure of ornament, is externally so picturesque 
 that no ornament could improve it. 
 
 Many of the dwellings, I was told, could not be built 
 with the present means of the population, at the present 
 prices of labor and material. They date from the palmy 
 days of Appenzell industry, before machinery had reduced 
 the cost of the finer fabrics. Then, one successful manu- 
 facturer competed with another in the erection of showy 
 houses, and fifty thousand francs (a large sum for the 
 times) were frequently expended on a single dwelling. 
 The view of a broad Alpine landscape, dotted all over 
 with such beautiful homes, from the little shelf of green 
 hanging on the sides of a rocky gorge and the strips of 
 sunny pasture between the ascending forests, to the very 
 summits of the lower heights and the saddles between 
 them, was something quite new in my experience. 
 
 Turning around the point of Voglisegg, we made for 
 Trogen, one of the two capitals of Outer-Rhoden, which 
 lay before us, across the head of the deep and wild St
 
 THE LITTLE LAND OF APPENZELL. 12] 
 
 Martin's Tobel. (Tobd is an Appenzell word, correspond- 
 ing precisely to the gulch of California.) My postilion 
 mounted, and the breathed horse trotted merrily along the 
 winding level. One stately house after another, with a 
 clump of fruit-trees on the sheltered side, and a row of 
 blooming hyacinths and wall-flowers on the balcony, passed 
 by on either side. The people we met were sunburnt and 
 ugly, but there was a rough air of self-reliance about them, 
 and they gave me a hearty " God greet you ! " one and all. 
 Just before reaching Trogen, the postilion pointed to an 
 old, black, tottering platform of masonry, rising out of a 
 green slope of turf on the right. The grass around it 
 seemed ranker than elsewhere. 
 
 This was the place of execution, where capital criminals 
 are still beheaded with the sword, in the sight of the people. 
 The postilion gave me an account, with all the horrible de- 
 tails, of the last execution, only three years ago, how the 
 murderer would not confess until he was brought out of 
 prison to hear the bells tolling for his victim's funeral, 
 how thereupon he was sentenced, and but I will not re- 
 late further. I have always considered the death penalty 
 a matter of policy rather than principle ; but the sight of 
 that blood-stained platform, the blood-fed weeds around it, 
 and the vision of the headsman, in his red mantle, looking 
 down upon the bared neck stretched upon the block, gave 
 me more horror of the custom than all the books and 
 speeches which have been said and written against it. 
 
 At Trogen I stopped at the principal inn, two centuries 
 old, the quaint front painted in fresco, the interior neat and 
 fresh as a new toy a very gem of a house ! The floor 
 >;pon which I entered from the street was paved with flat 
 stones. A solid wooden staircase, dark with age, led to the 
 guests' room in the second story. One side of this room 
 was given up to the windows, and there was a charming 
 hexagonal oriel in the corner. The low ceiling was of 
 Jrood, in panels the stove a massive tower, faced with por
 
 122 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 celain tiles, the floor polished nearly into whiteness, and all 
 the doors, cup-boards, and tables, made of brown nut-wood, 
 gave an air of warmth and elegance to the apartment. All 
 other parts of the house were equally neat and orderly. 
 The hostess greeted me with, " Be you welcome ! " and set 
 about preparing dinner, as it was now nearly noon. In the 
 pauses of her work she came into the room to talk, and 
 was very ready to give information concerning the country 
 and people. 
 
 There were already a little table and three plates in the 
 oriel, and while I was occupied with my own dinner I did 
 not particularly notice the three persons who sat down to 
 theirs. The coarseness and harshness of their dialect, 
 however, presently struck my ear. It was pure Appenzell, 
 a German made up of singular and puzzling elisions, and 
 with a very strong guttural k and g, in addition to the ch. 
 Some knowledge of the Alemannic dialect of the Black 
 Forest enabled me to understand the subject of conversa- 
 tion, which, to my surprise, was the study of the classics ! 
 It was like hearing an Irishman talk of Shelley's " Witch 
 of Atlas " in the broadest Tipperary brogue. I turned and 
 looked at the persons. They were well dressed young men, 
 evidently the best class of Appenzellers possibly tutors 
 in the schools of Trogen. Their speech in no wise differed 
 from that of the common herdsmen, except that they were 
 now and then obliged to use words which, being unknown 
 to the people, had escaped mutilation. I entered into con- 
 versation, to ascertain whether true German was not pos- 
 sible to them, since they must needs read and write the 
 language ; but, although they understood me, they could 
 only partly, and with evident difficulty, lay aside their own 
 patois. I found this to be the case everywhere throughout 
 the Canton. It is a circumstance so unusual, that, in spite 
 of myself, associating a rude dialect with ignorance, I was 
 always astonished when those who spoke it showed culture 
 and knowledge of the world.
 
 THE LITTLE LAND OF APPENZELL. 123 
 
 The hostess provided me with a guide and pack-bearer 
 and I set out on foot across the country towards Hundwyl 
 This guide, Jakob by name, made me imagine that I had 
 come among a singular people. He was so short that he 
 could easily walk under my arm ; his gait was something 
 between a roll and a limp, although he stoutly disclaimed 
 lameness ; he laughed whenever I spoke to him, and an- 
 swered in a voice which seemed the cuneiform character 
 put into sound. First, there was an explosion of gutturals, 
 and then came a loud trumpet-tone, something like the 
 Honk ! honk ! of wild geese. Yet, when he placed his squat 
 figure behind a tavern table, and looked at me quietly with 
 his mouth shut, he was both handsome and distinguished 
 in appearance. We walked two miles together before I 
 guessed how to unravel his speech. It is almost as difficult 
 to learn a dialect as a new language, and but for the key 
 which the Alemannic gave me, I should have been utterly 
 at sea. Who, for instance, could ever guess that a' Ma g 'si, 
 pronounced " amaari " (the x representing a desperate gut- 
 tural), really stands for einen Mann gewesen f 
 
 The road was lively with country people, many of whom 
 were travelling in our own direction. Those we met in- 
 variably addressed us with "God greet you ! " or " Guat 
 ti ! " which it was easy to translate into "Good-day!" 
 Some of the men were brilliant in scarlet jackets, with 
 double rows of square silver buttons, and carried swords 
 under their arms ; they were bound for the Landsgemeinde, 
 whither the law of the Middle Ages still obliges them to 
 go armed. When I asked Jakob if he would accompany 
 me as far as Hundwyl, he answered, " I can't ; I daren't 
 go there without a black dress, and my sword, and a cylin- 
 der hat." 
 
 The wild Tobels, opening downward to the Lake of Con- 
 stance, which now shimmered afar through the gaps, were 
 left behind us, and we passed westward along a broken, 
 irregular valley. The vivid turf was sown with all the
 
 124 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 flowers of spring, primrose, violet, buttercup, anemone 
 and veronica, faint, but sweetest-odored, and the heralds 
 of spring in all lands. So I gave little heed to the weird 
 lines of cloud, twisting through and between the severed 
 pyramids of the Sends, as if weaving the woof of storms. 
 The scenery was entirely lovely, and so novel in its popu- 
 lation and the labor which, in the long course of time, had 
 effaced its own hard traces, turning the mountains into 
 lifted lawns and parks of human delight, that my own slow 
 feet carried me through it too rapidly. We must havo 
 passed a slight water-shed somewhere, though I observed 
 none ; for the road gradually fell towards another region 
 of deeply cloven Tobels, with snowy mountains beyond. 
 The green of the landscape was so brilliant and uniform, 
 under the cold gray sky, that it almost destroyed the per- 
 spective, which rather depended on the houses and the 
 scattered woods of fir. 
 
 On a ridge, overlooking all this region, was the large 
 village of Teufen, nearly as grand as Trogen in its archi- 
 tecture. Here Jakob, whose service went no further, con- 
 ducted me to the " Pike " inn, and begged the landlady to 
 furnish me with " a' Me? " in his place. We had refresh- 
 ments together, and took leave with many shakings of the 
 hand and mutual wishes of good luck. The successor was 
 an old fellow of seventy, who had been a soldier in Hol- 
 land, and who with proper exertion could make his speech 
 intelligible. The people nowhere inquired after my busi- 
 ness or nationality. When the guide made the latter 
 known, they almost invariably said, " But, of course, you 
 were born in Appenzell ? " The idea of a traveller coming 
 among them, at least during this season of the year, did 
 not enter their heads. In Teufen, the large and hand- 
 some houses, the church and schools, led me, foolishly, to 
 hope for a less barbarous dialect ; but no, it was the same 
 thing everywhere. 
 
 The men in black, with swords under their arms in-
 
 THE LITTLE LAND OF APPENZELL. 126 
 
 creased in number as we left the village. They were prob- 
 ably from the furthest parts of the Canton, and were thus 
 abridging the morrow's journey. The most of them, how- 
 ever turned aside from the road, and made their way to 
 one farm-house or another. I was tempted to follow their 
 example, as I feared that the little village of Hundwyl 
 would be crowded. But there was still time to claim pri- 
 vate hospitality, even if this should be the case, so we 
 marched steadily down the valley. The Sitter, a stream 
 fed by the Sentis, now roared below us, between high, 
 rocky walls, which are spanned by an iron bridge, two 
 hundred feet above the water. The roads of Outer- 
 Rhoden, built and kept in order by the people, are most 
 admirable. This little population of forty-eight thousand 
 souls has within the last fifteen years expended seven hun- 
 dred thousand dollars on means of communication. Since 
 the people govern themselves, and regulate their expenses, 
 and consequently their taxation, their willingness to bear 
 such a burden is a lesson to other lands. 
 
 After crossing the airy bridge, our road climbed along 
 the opposite side of the Tobel, to a village on a ridge thrust 
 out from the foot of the Hundwyl Alp, beyond which we 
 lost sight of Teufen and the beautiful valley of the Sitter. 
 We were now in the valley of the Urnasch, and a walk of 
 two miles more brought us to the village of Hundwyl. I was 
 encouraged, on approaching the little place, by seeing none 
 except the usual signs of occupation. There was a great 
 new tank before the fountain, and two or three fellows in 
 scarlet vests were filling their portable tubs for the even- 
 ing's supply ; a few children came to the doors to stare at 
 me, but there was no sign that any other stranger had 
 arrived. 
 
 " I'll take you to the Crown," said the guide ; " all the 
 Landamanner will be there in the morning, and the music; 
 and you'll see what our Appenzell government is." The 
 landlady gave me a welcome, and the promise of a lodging
 
 126 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 whereupon I sat clown in peace, received the greetings of 
 all the members of the family, as they came and went, and 
 made myself familiar with their habits. There was only 
 rae other guest in the house, a man of dignified face 
 and intellectual head, who carried a sword tied up with an 
 umbrella, and must be, I supposed, one of the chief offi- 
 cials. He had so much the air of a reformer or a philoso- 
 pher that the members of a certain small faction at home 
 might have taken him for their beloved W. P. ; others 
 might have detected in him a resemblance to that true 
 philanthropist and gentleman W. L. G. ; and the believers 
 in the divinity of slavery would have accepted him as 
 Bishop . As no introductions are required in Ap- 
 penzell, I addressed myself to him, hoping to open a prof- 
 itable acquaintance ; but it was worse than Coleridge's ex- 
 perience with the lover of dumplings. His sentiments 
 may have been elevated and refined, for aught I knew, but 
 what were they? My trumpeter Jakob was more intel- 
 ligible than he ; his upper teeth were gone, and the muti- 
 lated words were mashed out of all remaining shape against 
 his gums. Then he had the singular habit of ejaculating 
 the word Ja ! (Yes!) in three different ways, after answer- 
 ing each of my questions. First, a decided, confirmatory 
 Ja ! then a pause, followed by a slow, interrogative Ja ? as 
 if it were the echo of some mental deubt ; and finally, after 
 a much longer pause, a profoundly melancholy, despond- 
 ing, conclusive Ja-a-a ! sighed forth from the very bottom 
 of his lungs. Even when I only said, " Good-morning!'' 
 the next day, these ejaculations followed, in the same order 
 rf succession. 
 
 One may find a counterpart to this habit in the Wa'al 
 of the Yankee, except that the latter never is, nor could it 
 well be, so depressing to hear as the Ja of Appenzell. 
 
 In the evening a dozen persons gathered aiound one of 
 the long tables, and drank a pale, weak cider, made of ap- 
 ples and pears, and called " Most." I gave to one, witk
 
 THE LITTLE LAND OF APPENZELL. 127 
 
 whom I found I could converse most easily, a glass of red 
 wine, whereupon he said, " It is very impudent in me to 
 take it." 
 
 Upon asking the same person how it was that I could 
 understand him so much more readily than the others, he 
 answered, " 0. I can talk the written language when I try, 
 but these others can't." 
 
 " Here," said I, pointing to the philosopher, " is one who 
 is quite incomprehensible." 
 
 " So he is to me." 
 
 They were all anxious to know whether our American 
 troubles were nearly over ; whether the President had the 
 power to do further harm (he had too much power, they 
 all thought) ; and whether our Congress could carry out 
 its plan of reconstruction. Lincoln they said, was the best 
 man we ever had ; when the play of " Lincoln's Death " 
 was performed in the theatre at St. Gall, a great many 
 Appenzellers hired omnibuses and went down from the 
 mountains to see it. 
 
 I was aroused at daybreak by the chiming of bells, and 
 soon afterwards muskets began to crack, near and far. 
 Then there were noises all over the house, and presently 
 what seemed to be a procession of horses or elephants be- 
 gan to thunder up and down the wooden stairs. In vain I 
 tried to snatch the last and best morning nap ; there was 
 no end to the racket. So I arose, dressed, and went forth 
 to observe. The inn was already transformed, from top to 
 bottom, into a vast booth for meat and drink. Bedding 
 and all other furniture had disappeared ; every room, and 
 even the open hall on each story, was filled with tables, 
 benches, and chairs. My friend of the previous evening, 
 who was going about with a white apron on and sleeves 
 rolled up, said to me : u I am to be one of the waiters to- 
 day. We have already made places for six hundred." 
 
 There were at least a dozen other amateur waiters on 
 hand and busy. The landlord wore a leathern apron, and
 
 128 BY-WAYS OF EUBOPE. 
 
 went from room to room, blowing into the hole of a wooden 
 tap whidh he carried in his hand, as if thereby to collect 
 his ideas. A barrel of red and a barrel of white wine 
 stood on trestles in the guests' room, and they were already 
 filling the schoppins by hundreds and ranging them on 
 shelves, honestly filling, not as lager-bier is filled in New 
 York, one third foam, but waiting until the froth subsided, 
 and then pouring to the very brim. In the kitchen there 
 were three fires blazing, stacks of Bratwurst on the tables, 
 great kettles for the sour-krout and potatoes ; and eggs, let- 
 tuce, and other finer viands, for the dignitaries, on the 
 shelves. " Good morning," said the landlady, as I looked 
 into this sanctuary, " you see we are ready for them." 
 
 While I was taking my coffee, the landlord called the 
 waiters together, gave each a bag of small money for 
 change, and then delivered a short, practical address con- 
 cerning their duties for the day, who were to be trusted 
 and who not, how to keep order and prevent impatience, 
 and, above all, how to preserve a proper circulation, in or- 
 der that the greatest possible number of persons might be 
 entertained. He closed with : " Once again, take notice 
 and don't forget, every one of you, Most 10 rappen (2 
 cents), bread 10, Wurst 15, tongue 10, wine 25 and 40," etc. 
 
 In the village there were signs of preparation, but not a 
 dozen strangers had arrived. Wooden booths had been 
 built against some of the houses, and the owners thereof 
 were arranging their stores of gingerbread and coarse con- 
 fectionery ; on the open, grassy square, in front of the par- 
 sonage, stood a large platform, with a handsome railing 
 around it, but the green slope of the hill in front was as 
 deserted as an Alpine pasture. Looking westward over 
 the valley, however, I could already see dark figures mov- 
 ing along the distant paths. The morning was overcast, 
 but the Hundwyl Alp, streaked with snow, stood clear, and 
 there was a prospect of good weather for the important 
 day. As I loitered about the village, talking with the
 
 THE LITTLE LAND OF APPENZELL. 12? 
 
 people, who, busy as they were, always found time for a 
 friendly word, the movement in the landscape increased 
 Out of firwoods, and over the ridges and out of the fold- 
 ings of the hills, came the Appenzellers, growing intd 
 groups, and then into lines, until steady processions began 
 to enter Hundwyl by every road. Every man was dressed 
 in black, with a rusty stove-pipe hat on his head, and a 
 sword and umbrella in his hand or under his arm. 
 
 From time to time the church bells chimed ; a brass 
 band played the old melodies of the Canton ; on each side 
 of the governing Landamman's place on the platform stood 
 a huge two-handed sword, centuries old, and the temper of 
 the gathering crowd became earnest and solemn. Six old 
 men, armed with pikes, walked about with an air of im- 
 portance i their duty was to preserve order, but they had 
 nothing to do. Policeman other than these, or soldier, was 
 not to be seen ; each man was a part of the government, 
 and felt his responsibility. Carriages, light carts, and hay 
 wagons, the latter filled with patriotic singers, now began 
 to arrive, and I took my way to the " Crown," in order to 
 witness the arrival of the members of the Council. 
 
 In order to make the proceedings of the day more intel- 
 ligible, I must first briefly sketch certain features of this 
 little democracy, which it possesses in common with three 
 other mountain cantons the primitive forms which the 
 republican principle assumed in Switzerland. In the first 
 place the government is only representative so far as is re- 
 quired for its permanent, practical operation. The highest 
 power in the land is the Landsgemeinde. or General Assem- 
 bly of the People, by whom the members of the Executive 
 Council are elected, and who alone can change, adopt, or 
 abolish any law. All citizens above the age of eighteen, 
 and all other Swiss citizens after a ye.ir's residence in the 
 Canton, are not only allowed, but required, to attend the 
 Landsgemeinde. There is a penalty for non-attendance. 
 Outer- Rhoden contains forty-eight thousand inhabitants, 
 8
 
 180 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 of whom eleven thousand are under obligations to be pre 
 ent and vote, from beginning to end of the deliberations. 
 
 In Glarus and Unterwalden, where the population is 
 smaller, the right of discussion is still retained by these 
 assemblies, but in Appenzell it has been found expedieu 
 to abolish it. Any change in the law, however, is first 
 discussed in public meetings in the several communities, 
 then put into form by the Council, published, read from all 
 the pulpits for a month previous to the coming together 
 of the Landsgemeinde, and then voted upon. But if the 
 Council refuses to act upon the suggestion of any citizen 
 whomsoever, and he honestly considers the matter one of 
 importance, he is allowed to propose it directly to the peo- 
 ple, provided he do so briefly and in an orderly manner. 
 The Council, which may be called the executive power, 
 consists of the governing Landamman and six associates, 
 one of whom has the functions of treasurer, another of 
 military commander, in fact, a ministry on a small scale* 
 The service of the persons elected to the Council is obli- 
 gatory, and they receive no salaries. There is, it is true, a 
 secondary Council, composed of the first, and representa- 
 tives of the communities, one for every thousand inhabit- 
 ants, in order to administer more intelligently the various 
 departments of education, religion, justice, roads, the mili- 
 tia system, the poor, etc. ; but the Assembly of the People 
 can at any time reject or reverse its action. All citizens 
 are not only equal before the law, but are assured liberty 
 of conscience, of speech, and of labor. The right of sup- 
 port only belongs to those who are born citizens of the 
 Canton. The old restriction of the Heimathsrecht, the 
 claim to be supported at the expense of the community in 
 case of need, narrow and illiberal as it seems to us, pre- 
 vails all over Switzerland. In Appenzell a stranger can 
 only acquire the right, which is really the right of citizen- 
 ship, by paying twelve hundred francs into the cantonal 
 treasury.
 
 THE LITTLE LAND OF APPENZELL. 131 
 
 The governing Landamman is elected for two years, but 
 the other members of the Council may be reflected from 
 year to year, as often as the people see fit. The obligation 
 to serve, therefore, may sometimes seriously incommode 
 the person chosen ; he cannot resign, and his only chance 
 of escape lies in leaving the Canton temporarily, and pub- 
 lishing his intention of quitting it altogether in case the 
 people refuse to release him from office ! This year, it 
 happened that two members of the Council had already 
 taken this step, while three others had appealed to the 
 people not to reelect them. The Landsgemeinde at Hun- 
 dwyl was to decide upon all these applications, and there- 
 fore promised to be of more than usual interest. The 
 people had had time to consider the matter, and it was sup- 
 posed had generally made up their minds ; yet I found no 
 one willing to give me a hint of their action in advance. 
 
 The two remaining members presently made their ap- 
 pearance, accompanied by the Chancellor, to whom I was 
 recommended. The latter kindly offered to accompany me 
 to the parsonage, the windows of which, directly in the 
 rear of the platform, would enable me to hear, as well as 
 see the proceedings. The clergyman, who was preparing 
 for the service which precedes the opening of the Lands' 
 gemeinde, showed me the nail upon which hung the key of 
 the study, and gave me liberty to take possession at any 
 time. The clock now struck nine, and a solemn peal of 
 bells announced the time of service. A little procession 
 formed in front of the inn ; first the music, then the cler- 
 gyman and the few members of the government, bare- 
 headed, and followed by the two Weibels (apparitors), who 
 wore long mantles, the right half white and the left half 
 black. The old pikemen walked on either side. The 
 people uncovered as the dignitaries took their way around 
 the church to the chancel door ; then as many as could be 
 accommodated entered at the front. 
 
 I entered with them, taking my place on the men's side
 
 182 BY-WAYS !F EUROPE. 
 
 the sexes being divided, as is usual in Germany. Af>e 
 the hymn, in which boy's voices were charmingly heard 
 and the prayer, the clergyman took a text from Corin- 
 thians, and proceeded to preach a good, sound political 
 sermon, which, nevertheless, did not in the least shock the 
 honest piety of his hearers. I noticed with surprise that 
 most of the men put on their hats at the close of the 
 prayer. Only once did they remove them afterwards, 
 when the clergyman, after describing the duties before 
 them, and the evils and difficulties which beset every good 
 work, suddenly said, " Let us pray to God to help and 
 direct us ! " and interpolated a short prayer in the midst 
 of his sermon. The effect was all the more impressive, 
 because, though so unexpected, it was entirely simple ana 
 natural. These democrats of Appenzell have not yet made 
 the American discovery that pulpits are profaned by any 
 utterance of national sentiment, or any application of Chris- 
 tian doctrine to politics. They even hold their municipal 
 elections in the churches, and consider that the act of 
 voting is thereby solemnized, not that the holy building is 
 desecrated ! But then, you will say, this is the democracy 
 of the Middle Ages. 
 
 When the service was over, I could scarcely make my 
 way through the throrfg which had meanwhile collected. 
 The sun had come out hot above the Hundwyl Alp, and 
 turned the sides of the valley into slopes of dazzling sheen. 
 Already every table in the inns was filled, every window 
 crowded with heads, the square a dark mass of voters of 
 all ages and classes, lawyers and clergymen being packed 
 together with grooms and brown Alpine herdsmen ; and, 
 after the government had been solemnly escorted to its 
 private chamber, four musicians in antique costume an- 
 nounced, with drum and fife, the speedy opening of the 
 Assembly. But first came the singing societies of Heri- 
 sau, and forced their way into the centre of the throng 
 where they sang, simply yet grandly, the songs of Appen
 
 THE LITTLE LAND OF APPENZELL. 133 
 
 ell. The people listened with silent satisfaction ; rot a 
 man seemed to think of applauding. 
 
 I took my place in the pastor's study, and inspected the 
 crowd. On the steep slope of the village square and the 
 rising field beyond, more than ten thousand men were 
 gathered, packed as closely as they could stand. The law 
 requires them to appear armed and " respectably dressed." 
 The short swords, very much like our marine cutlasses, 
 which they carried, were intended for show rather than 
 service. Very few wore them : sometimes they were tied 
 up with umbrellas, but generally carried loose in the hand 
 or under the arm. The rich manufacturers of Trogen and 
 Herisau and Teufen had belts and silver-mounted dress- 
 swords. With scarce an exception, every man was habited 
 in black, and wore a stove-pipe hat, but the latter was in 
 most cases brown and battered. Both circumstances were 
 thus explained to me : as the people vote with the uplifted 
 hand, the hat must be of a dark color, as a background, to 
 bring out the hands more distinctly ; then, since rain would 
 spoil a good hat (and it rains much at this season), they 
 generally take an old one. I could now understand the 
 advertisements of "second hand cylinder hats for sale," 
 which I had noticed, the day before, in the newspapers of 
 the Canton. The slope of the hill was such that the hats 
 of the lower ranks concealed the faces of those imme- 
 diately behind, and the assembly was the darkest and den- 
 sest I ever beheld. Here and there the top of a scarlet 
 waistcoat flashed out of the cloud with astonishing bril- 
 liancy. 
 
 With solemn music, and attended by the apparitors, in 
 their two colored mantles, and the ancient pikemen, the 
 few officials ascended the platform. The chief of the two 
 Landammanner present took his station in front, between 
 the two-handed swords, and began to address the assembly. 
 Suddenly a dark cloud seemed to roll away from the faces 
 of the people ; commencing in front of the platform, and
 
 134 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 spreading rapidly to the edges of the compact throng, the 
 hats disappeared, and the ten thousand faces, in the full 
 light of the sun, blended into a ruddy muss. But no ; each 
 head retained its separate character, and the most surpris- 
 ing circumstance of the scene was the distinctness with 
 which each human being held fast to his individuality in 
 the multitude. Nature has drawn no object with so firm a 
 hand, nor painted it with such tenacious clearness of color, 
 as the face of man. The inverted crescent of sharp light 
 had a different curve on each individual brow before me ; 
 the little illuminated dot on the end of the nose under it 
 hinted at the form of the nostrils in shadow. As the hats 
 had before concealed the faces, so now each face was re- 
 lieved against the breast of the man beyond, and in front 
 of me were thousands of heads to be seen, touching each 
 other like so many ovals drawn on a dark plane. 
 
 The address was neither so brief nor so practical as it 
 might have been. Earnest, well meant, and apparently 
 well received, there was nevertheless much in it which the 
 plain, semi-educated weavers and Alpadores in the assem- 
 bly could not possibly have comprehended ; as, for instance, 
 " May a garland of confidence be twined around your de- 
 liberations ! " At the close, the speaker said, " Let us 
 pray ! " and for a few' moments there were bowed heads 
 and utter silence. The first business was the financial 
 report for the year, which had been printed and distributed 
 among the people weeks before. They were now asked 
 whether they would appoint a commission to test its accu- 
 racy, but they unanimously declined to do so. The ques- 
 tion was put by one of the apparitors, who first removed 
 his cocked hat, and cried, in a tremendous voice, " Faith- 
 ful and beloved fellow-citizens, and brethren of the Union ! " 
 
 Now came the question of releasing the tired Landam- 
 niiinner of the previous year from office. The first appli- 
 cation in order was that of the governing Landamman, 
 Dr. Ziircher. The people voted directly thereupon ; there
 
 THE LITTLE LAND OF APPENZELL. 186 
 
 was a strong division of sentiment, but the majority allowed 
 him to resign. His place was therefore to be filled at once. 
 The names of candidates were called out by the crowd. 
 There were six in all ; and as both the members of the 
 Council were among them, the latter summoned six well- 
 known citizens upon the platform, to decide the election. 
 The first vote reduced the number of candidates to two. 
 and the voting was then repeated until one of these re- 
 ceived an undoubted majority. Dr. Roth, of Teufen, was the 
 fortunate man. As soon as the decision was announced, 
 several swords were held up in the crowd to indicate 
 where the new governor was to be found. The musicians 
 and pikemen made a lane to him through the multitude, 
 and he was conducted to the platform with the sound of 
 fife and drum. He at once took his place between the 
 swords, and made a brief address, which the people heard 
 with uncovered heads. He did not yet, however, assume 
 the black silk mantle which belongs to his office. He was 
 a man of good presence, prompt, and self-possessed in man- 
 ner, and conducted the business of the day very success- 
 fully. 
 
 The election of the remaining members occupied much 
 more time. All the five applicants were released from 
 service, and with scarcely a dissenting hand : wherein, I 
 thought, the people showed very good sense. The case of 
 one of these officials, Herr Euler, was rather hard. He 
 was the Landesscickelmeister (Treasurer), and the law makes 
 him personally responsible for every farthing which passes 
 through his hands. Having, with the consent of the Coun- 
 cil, invested thirty thousand francs in a banking-house at 
 Rheineck, the failure of the house obliged him to pay this 
 sum out of his own pocket He did so, and then mad 
 preparations to leave the Canton in case his resignatiol 
 was not accepted. 
 
 For most of the places from ten to fourteen candidates 
 vrere named, and when these were reduced to two, neatly
 
 136 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 equally balanced in popular favor, the voting became vefj 
 spirited. The apparitor, who was chosen on account of his 
 strength of voice (the candidates for the office must be 
 tested in this respect), had hard work that day. The same 
 formula must be repeated before every vote, in this wise : 
 " Herr Landamman, gentlemen, faithful and beloved fellow- 
 citizens and brethren of the Union, if it seems good to you 
 to choose so-and-so, as your treasurer for the coming year, 
 so lift up your hands ! " Then, all over the dark mass, 
 thousands of hands flew into the sunshine, rested a mo- 
 ment, and gradually sank with a fluttering motion, which 
 made me think of leaves flying from a hill-side forest in 
 the autumn winds. As each election was decided, and the 
 choice was announced, swords were lifted to show the loca- 
 tion of the new official in the crowd, and he was then 
 brought upon the platform with fife and drum. Nearly 
 two hours elapsed before the gaps were filled, and the gov- 
 ernment was again complete. 
 
 Then followed the election of judges for the judicial dis 
 tricts. who, in most cases, were almost unanimously re 
 elected. These are repeated from year to year, so long as 
 the people are satisfied. Nearly all the citizens of Outer- 
 Rhoden were before me ; I could distinctly see three fourths 
 of their faces, and I detected no expression except that of 
 a grave, conscientious interest in the proceedings. Their 
 patience was remarkable. Closely packed, man against 
 man, in the hot, still sunshine, they stood quietly for nearly 
 three hours, and voted upwards of two hundred and seven 
 times before the business of the day was completed. A 
 few old men on the edges of the crowd slipped away for a 
 quarter of an hour, in order, as one of them told me, " to 
 keep their stomachs from giving way entirely," and some 
 of the younger fellows took a schoppin of Most for the same 
 purpose ; but they generally returned and resumed their 
 places as soon as refreshed. 
 
 The close of the Landsgemeinde was one pf the most in*
 
 THE LITTLE LAND OF APPENZELL. 137 
 
 pressive spectacles I ever witnessed. When the elections 
 were over and no further duty remained, the Pastor Etter 
 of Hundwyl ascended the platform. The governing Land- 
 amman assumed his black mantle of office, and, after f 
 brief prayer, took the oath of inauguration from the clergy- 
 man. He swore to further the prosperity and honor of the 
 land, to ward off misfortune from it, to uphold the Consti- 
 tution and laws, to protect the widows and orphans, and to 
 secure the equal rights of all, nor through favor, hostility, 
 gifts, or promises to be turned aside from doing the same. 
 The clergyman repeated the oath sentence by sentence, 
 both holding up the oath-fingers of the right hand, the 
 people looking on silent and uncovered. 
 
 The governing Landamman now turned to the assembly, 
 and read them their oath, that they likewise should further 
 the honor and prosperity of the land, preserve its freedom 
 and its equal rights, obey the laws, protect the Council and 
 the judges, take no gift or favor from any prince or poten- 
 tate, and that each one should accept and perform, to the 
 best of his ability, any service to which he might be chosen. 
 After this had been read, the Landamman lifted his right 
 hand, with the oath-fingers extended; his colleagues on 
 the platform, and every men of the ten or eleven thousand 
 present did the same. The silence was so profound that 
 the chirp of a bird on the hillside took entire possession 
 of the air. Then the Landamman slowly and solemnly 
 spoke these words: "I have well understood that which 
 has been read to me; I will always and exactly observe 
 it, faithfully and without reservation, so truly as I 
 wish and pray that God help me ! " At each pause, the 
 same words were repeated by every man, in a low, subdued 
 "X)ne The hush was else so complete, the words were 
 spoken with such measured firmness, that I caught each as 
 it came, not as from the lips of men, but from a vast super- 
 natural murmur in the air. The effect was indescribable. 
 F'ai off on the horizon was the white vision ot an Alp, but
 
 138 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 all the hidden majesty of those supreme mountains WM 
 nothing to the scene before me. When the last words had 
 been spoken, the hands sank slowly, and the crowd stood a 
 moment locked together, with grave faces and gleaming 
 eyes, until the spirit that had descended upon them passed. 
 Then they dissolved ; the Landsgemeinde was over. 
 
 In my inn, I should think more than the expected six 
 hundred had found place. From garret to cellar, every 
 corner was occupied ; bread, wine, and steamy dishes 
 passed in a steady whirl from kitchen and tap-room into all 
 the roaring chambers. In the other inns it was the same, 
 and many took their drink and provender in the open air. 
 I met my philosopher of the previous evening, who said, 
 " Now, what do you think of our Landsgemeinde ? " and 
 followed my answer with his three Jo's, the last a more 
 desponding sigh than ever. Since the business was over, 
 I judged that the people would be less reserved which, 
 indeed, was the case. Nearly all with whom I spoke ex- 
 pressed their satisfaction with the day's work. I walked 
 through the crowds in all directions, vainly seeking for 
 personal beauty. There were few women present, but a 
 handsome man is only less beautiful than a beautiful 
 woman, and I like to look at the former when the latter is 
 absent. I was surprised at the great proportion of under- 
 sized men ; only weaving, in close rooms, for several gen- 
 erations, could have produced so many squat bodies and 
 short legs. The Appenzellers are neither a handsome nor 
 a picturesque race, and their language harmonizes with 
 their features ; but I learned, during that day at Hundwyl, 
 to like and to respect them. 
 
 Pastor Etter insisted on my dining with him ; two 
 younger clergymen were also guests, and my friend the 
 Chancellor Engwiller came to make further kind offers of 
 service. The people of each parish, I learned, elect their 
 own pastor, and pay him his salary. In municipal matters 
 the same democratic system prevails as in the cantonal
 
 THE LITTLE LAND OF APPENZELI.. 139 
 
 government. Education is well provided for, and the mor- 
 als of the community are watched and guarded by a com- 
 mittee consisting of the pastor and two officials elected by 
 the people. Outer-Khoden is almost exclusively Protes- 
 tant, while Inner-Rhoden the mountain region around 
 the Sentis is Catholic. Although thus geographically 
 and politically connected, there was formerly little inter- 
 course between the inhabitants of the two parts of the 
 Canton, owing to their religious differences ; but now thej 
 come together in a friendly way, and are beginning to in- 
 termarry. 
 
 After dinner, the officials departed in carriages, to the 
 sound of trumpets, and thousands of the people followed 
 Again the roads and paths leading away over the green 
 hills were dark with lines of pedestrians ; but a number of 
 those whose homes lay nearest to Hundwyl lingered to 
 drink and gossip out the day. A group of herdsmen, over 
 whose brown faces the high stove-pipe hat looked doubly 
 absurd, gathered in a ring, and while one of them yodelled 
 the Ram des Vaches of Appenzell, the others made an ac- 
 companiment with their voices, imitating the sound of cow^ 
 bells. They were lusty, jolly fellows, and their song* 
 hardly came to an end. I saw one man who might be 
 considered as positively drunk, but no other who was more 
 than affectionately and socially excited. Towards sunset 
 they all dropped off, and when the twilight settled down 
 heavy, and threatening rain, there was no stranger but my- 
 self in the little village. " I have done tolerably well," 
 said the landlord, " but I can't count my gains until day 
 after to-morrow, when the scores run up to-day must be 
 paid off." Considering that in my own bill lodging was 
 *et down at six, and breakfast at twelve cents, even the fif- 
 teen hundred guests whom he entertained during the day 
 could not have given him a very splendid profit. 
 
 Taking a weaver of the place as guide, I set off early 
 the next morning for the village of Appenzell, the capital
 
 140 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 of Inner-Rhoden. The way led me back into the vallej 
 of the Sitter, thence up towards the Sentis Alp, winding 
 around and over a multitude of hills. The same smooth, 
 even, velvety carpet of grass was spread upon the land- 
 scape, covering every undulation of the syrface, except 
 where the rocks had frayed themselves through. There is 
 no greener land upon the earth. The grass, from centuries 
 of cultivation, has become so rich and nutritious, that the 
 inhabitants can no longer spare even a little patch of 
 ground for a vegetable garden, for the reason that the 
 same space produces more profit in hay. The green comes 
 up to their very doors, and they grudge even the foot-paths 
 which connect them with their neighbors. Their vegeta- 
 bles are brought up from the lower valleys of Thurgau. 
 The first mowing had commenced at the time of my visit, 
 and the farmers were employing irrigation and manure to 
 bring on the second crop. By this means they are enabled 
 to mow the same fields every five or six weeks. The pro- 
 cess gives the whole region a smoothness, a mellow splen- 
 dor of color, such as I never saw elsewhere, not even in 
 England. 
 
 A walk of two hours through such scenery brought me 
 out of the Sitter Tobel, and in sight of the little Alpine 
 basin in which lies Appenzell. It was raining slowly and 
 dismally, and the broken, snow-crowned peaks of the Ka- 
 mor and the Hohe Kasten stood like livid spectres of 
 mountains against the stormy sky. I made haste to reach 
 the compact, picturesque little town, and shelter myself in 
 an inn, where a landlady with rippled golden hair and fea- 
 tures like one of Dante Rossetti's women, offered me trout 
 for dinner. Out of the back window I looked for the shat- 
 tered summits of the Sentis, which rise five thousand feet 
 above the valley, but they were invisible. The vertical 
 walls of the Ebenalp. in which are the grotto and chapel 
 of Wildkirchli, towered over the nearer hills, and I saw 
 with regret that they were still above the snow line. It
 
 THE LITTLE LA.ND OF APPENZELL. 141 
 
 was impossible to penetrate much further without better 
 weather; but I decided, while enjoying my trout, to mak 
 another trial to take the road to Urnasch, and thence 
 pass westward into the renowned valley of the Toggen 
 burg. 
 
 The people of Inner-Rhoden are the most picturesque 
 of the Appenzellers. The men wear a round skull-cap of 
 leather, sometimes brilliantly embroidered, a jacket of 
 coarse drilling, drawn on over the head, and occasionally 
 knee-breeches. Early in May the herdsmen leave their 
 winter homes in the valleys and go with their cattle to the 
 Matten, or lofty mountain pastures. The most intelligent 
 cows, selected as leaders for the herd, march, in advance, 
 with enormous bells, sometimes a foot in diameter, sus- 
 pended to their necks by bands of embroidered leather ; 
 then follow the others, and the bull, who, singularly enough 
 carries the milking-pail garlanded with flowers, between 
 his horns, brings up the rear. The Alpadores are in their 
 finest Sunday costume, and the sound of yodel-songs 
 the very voice of Alpine landscapes echoes from every 
 hill. Such a picture as this, under the cloudless blue of a 
 fortunate May day, makes the heart of the Appenzeller 
 light. He goes joyously up to his summer labor, and 
 makes his herb-cheese on the heights, while his wife 
 weaves and embroiders muslin in the valley until his re 
 turn. 
 
 In the afternoon I set out for Urnasch, with a bright 
 boy as guide. Hot gleams of sunshine now and then 
 struck like fire across the green mountains, and the Sentis 
 partly unveiled his stubborn forehead of rock. Behind 
 him, however, lowered inky thunder-clouds, and long before 
 the afternoon's journey was made it was raining below and 
 snowing aloft The scenery grew more broken and abrupt 
 the further I penetrated into the country, but it was every- 
 where as thickly peopled and as wonderfully cultivated 
 At Gonteu, there is a large building for the whey-cure of
 
 142 BY-WAYS OF El ROPE. 
 
 overfed people of the world. A great many such, I was 
 told, come to Appenzell for the summer. Many of the 
 persons we met not only said, " God greet you ! " but im 
 mediately added, " Adieu ! " like the Salve et vale / of 
 classical times. 
 
 Beyond Gonten the road dropped into a wild ravine, the 
 continual windings of which rendered it very attractive. I 
 found enough to admire in every farm-house by the way- 
 side, with its warm wood-color, its quaint projecting bal- 
 conies, and coat of shingle mail. When the ravine opened, 
 and the deep valley of Urnasch, before me, appeared be- 
 tween cloven heights of snow, disclosing six or eight square 
 miles of perfect emerald, over which the village is scat- 
 lered, I was fully repaid for having pressed farther into the 
 heart of the land. There were still two hours until night, 
 and I might have gone on to the Rossfall, a cascade 
 three or four miles higher up the valley, but the clouds 
 were threatening, and the distant mountain-sides already 
 dim under the rain. 
 
 At the village inn I found several herdsmen and mechan- 
 ics, each with a bottle of Rheinthaler wine before him. 
 They were ready and willing to give me all the information 
 I needed. In order to reach the Toggenburg, they said, I 
 must go over the Kratzernwald. It was sometimes a dan- 
 gerous journey ; the snow was many cubits deep, and at 
 this time of the year it was frequently so soft, that a man 
 would sink to his hips. To-day, however, there had been 
 thunder, and after thunder the snow is always hard-packed, 
 so that you can walk on it ; but to cross the Kratzernwald 
 without a guide, never! For two hours you were in a 
 wild forest, not a house, nor even a Sennhutt' (heidsmau's 
 cabin) to be seen, and no proper path, but a clambering 
 hither and thither, in snow and mud ; with this weather, 
 yes, one could get into Toggenburg that way, they said, but 
 not alone, and only because there had been .thunder on the 
 mountains.
 
 THE LITTLE LAND Of APPENZELL. 143 
 
 But all night the rain beat against my chamber window, 
 and in the morning the lower slopes on the mountains 
 were gray with new snow, which no thunder had packed. 
 Indigo-colored clouds lay heavily on all the Alpine peaks , 
 the air was raw and chilly, and the roads slippery. In such 
 weather the scenery is not only shrouded, but the people 
 are shut up in their homes, wherefore further travel 
 would not have been repaid. I had already seen the greater 
 part of the little land, and so gave up my thwarted plans 
 the more cheerfully. When the post-omnibus for Herisau 
 came to the inn door, I took my seat therein, saying, like 
 Schiller's " Sennbub'," " Ihr Matten, lebt wohl! ihr sonnige 
 Weiden ! " 
 
 The country became softer and lovelier as the road grad- 
 ually fell towards Herisau, which is the richest and state- 
 liest town of the Canton. I saw little of it except the 
 hospitable home of my friend the Chancellor, for we had 
 brought the Alpine weather with us. The architecture of 
 the place, nevertheless, is charming, the town being com- 
 posed of country-houses, balconied and shingled, and set 
 down together in the most irregular way, every street shoot- 
 ing off at a different angle. A mile beyond, I reached the 
 edge of the mountain region, and again looked down upon 
 the prosperous valley of St. Gall. Below me was the rail- 
 way, and as I sped towards Zurich that afternoon, the top of 
 the Sentis, piercing through a mass of dark rain-clouds, 
 was my last glimpse of the Little Land cf Appenzell.
 
 FROM PERPIGNAN TO MONTSERRAT.
 
 " GOT of France and into Spain," says the old nursery 
 rhyme ; but at the eastern base of the Pyrenees one seems 
 to have entered Spain before leaving France. The rich 
 vine-plains of Roussillon once belonged to the former 
 country ; they retain quite as distinct traces of the earlier 
 Moorish occupancy, and their people speak a dialect almost 
 identical with that of Catalonia. I do not remember the 
 old boundaries of the province, but I noticed the change 
 immediately after leaving Narbonne. Vine-green, with the 
 grays of olive and rock, were the only colors of the land- 
 scape. The towns, massive and perched upon elevations, 
 spoke of assault and defense ; the laborers in the fields 
 were brown, dark-haired, and grave, and the semi-African 
 silence of Spain seemed already to brood over the land. 
 
 I entered Perpignan under a heavy Moorish gateway, 
 and made my way to a hostel through narrow, tortuous 
 streets, between houses with projecting balconies, and win- 
 dows few and small, as in the Orient. The hostel, though 
 ambitiously calling itself a hotel, was filled with that 
 Mediterranean atmosphere and odor which you breathe 
 everywhere in Italy and the Levant, a single charac- 
 teristic flavor, in which, nevertheless, you fancy you detect 
 the exhalations of garlic, oranges, horses, cheese, and oil. 
 A mild whiff of it stimulates the imagination, and is no 
 detriment to physical comfort. When, at breakfast, red 
 mullet came upon the table, and oranges fresh from the 
 tree, I straightway took off my Northern nature as a gar- 
 ment, folded it and packed it neatly away in my knapsack, 
 and took, out in its stead, the light, beribboned, and be- 
 spangled Southern nature, which I had not worn for some
 
 148 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 eight or nine years. It was like a dressii.g-gown after a 
 dress-coat, and I went about with a delightfully free play 
 of the mental and moral joints. 
 
 There were four hours before the departure of the dili- 
 gence for Spain, and I presume I might have seen various 
 historical or architectural sights of Perpignan ; but I was 
 really too comfortable for anything else than a lazy mean- 
 dering about the city, feeding my eyes on quaint houses 
 groups of people full of noise and gesture, the scarlet blos- 
 soms of the pomegranate, and the glitter of citron-leaves 
 in the gardens. A one-legged fellow, seven feet high, who 
 called himself a commissionaire, insisted on accompanying 
 me, and I finally accepted him, for two reasons; first, he 
 knew nothing whatever about the city ; and secondly, tour- 
 ists are so rare that he must have been very poor. His 
 wooden leg, moreover, easily kept pace with my loitering 
 steps, and though, as a matter of conscience, he sometimes 
 volunteered a little information, he took my silence meekly 
 and without offense. In this wise, I gained some pleasant 
 pictures of the place ; and the pictures which come with 
 least effort are those which remain freshest in memory. 
 
 There was one point, however, where my limping giant 
 made a stand, and set his will against expostulation or en- 
 treaty. I must see the avenue of sycamores, he said ; there 
 was plenty of time ; France, the world, hud no such avenue ; 
 it was near at hand ; every stranger went to see it and was 
 amazed ; and therewith he set off, without waiting for my 
 answer. I followed, for I saw that otherwise he would not 
 have considered his fee earned. The avenue of sycamores 
 was indeed all that he had promised. I had seen largei 
 trees in Syria and Negropont, but here was a triple avenue, 
 nearly half a mile in length, so trained and sculptured that 
 they rivaled the regularity of masonry. Each trunk, at 
 the height of ten or twelve feet, divided into two arms, 
 which then leaned outwards at the same angle, and mingled 
 their smaller boughs, fifty feet overhead The aisles be*
 
 P1IRP1GNAN TO MONTSERRAT. 
 
 tween them thus took the form of very slender pyramids, 
 truncated near the top. If the elm gives the Gothic, this 
 was assuredly the Cyclopean arch. In the beginning, the 
 effect must have been artificially produced, but the trees 
 were now so old, and had so accustomed themselves to the 
 forms imposed, that no impression of force or restraint re- 
 mained. Through the roof of this superb green minster 
 not a beam of sunshine found its way. On the hard gravel 
 floor groups of peasants, soldiers, nurses, and children 
 strolled up and down, all with the careless and leisurely air 
 of a region where time has no particular value. 
 
 We passed a dark-haired and rather handsome gentle- 
 man and lady. " They are opera-singers, Italians," said my 
 companion, " and they are going with you in the diligence." 
 I looked at my watch and found that the hour of departure 
 had nearly arrived, and I should have barely time to pro- 
 cure a little Spanish money. When I reached the office, 
 the gentleman and lady were already installed in the two 
 corners of the coupe. My place, apparently, was between 
 them. The agent was politely handing me up the steps, 
 when the gentleman began to remonstrate ; but in France 
 the regulations are rigid, and he presently saw that the in- 
 trusion could not be prevented. With a sigl. and a groan 
 he gave up his comfortable corner to me, and took the 
 middle seat, for which I was booked ! " Will you have 
 your place ? " whispered the agent I shook my head. 
 " You get the best seat, don't you see ? " he resumed, " be- 
 cause " But the rest of the sentence was a wink and a 
 laugh. I am sure there is the least possible of a Don Juan 
 in my appearance ; yet this agent never lost an opportunity 
 to wink at me whenever he came near the diligence, and 
 I fancied I heard him humming to himself, as we drove 
 
 away, 
 
 " Ma nella Spagna mille e tre ! " 
 
 I endeavored to be reasonably courteous, without famili- 
 arity, towards the opera-singers, but the effect of the mali-
 
 160 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 cious winks and smiles made the lady appear to me timid 
 and oppressed, and the gentleman an unexploded mine of 
 jealousy. My remarks were civilly if briefly answered, and 
 then they turned towards each other and began conversing 
 in a language which was not Italian, although melodious, nor 
 French, although nasal. I pricked up my ears and listened 
 more sharply than good manners allowed but only until 
 I had recognized the Portuguese tongue. Whomsoever I 
 may meet in wandering over the world, it rarely happens 
 that I cannot discover some common or " mutual " friend, 
 and in this instance I determined to try the experiment. 
 After preliminaries, which gently led the conversation to 
 Portugal, I asked, 
 
 " Do you happen to know Count M ?" 
 
 " Only by name." 
 
 "Or Senhor , a young man and an astronomer?" 
 
 " Very well ! " was the reply. " He is one of the most 
 distinguished young men of science in Portugal." 
 
 The ice was thereupon broken, and the gentleman be- 
 came communicative and agreeable. I saw, very soon, that 
 the pair were no more opera-singers than they were Ital- 
 ians ; that the lady was not timid, nor her husband jealous ; 
 but he had simply preferred, as any respectable husband 
 would, to give up his comfortable seat rather than have a 
 stranger thrust between himself and his wife. 
 
 Once out of Perpignan, the Pyrenees lay clear before 
 us. Over bare red hills, near at hand, rose a gray moun- 
 tain rampart, neither lofty nor formidable ; but westward, 
 between the valleys of the Tech and the Tet, towered 
 the solitary pyramid of the Canigou, streaked with snow- 
 filled ravines. The landscapes would have appeared bleak 
 and melancholy, but for the riotous growth of vines which 
 cover the plain and climb the hillsides wherever there is 
 room for a torrace of earth. These vines produce the dark, 
 rich wine of Roussillon, the best vintage of Southern 
 France. Hedges of aloes, clumps of Southern cypress,
 
 FROM PERPIGNAN TO MONTSERRAT. 151 
 
 poplars by the dry beds of winter streams, with brown tinis 
 in the houses and red in the soil, increased the resemblance 
 to Spain. Eough fellows, in rusty velvet, who now and 
 then dug their dangling heels into the sides of the mules 
 or asses they rode, were enough like arrieros or contraban- 
 distas to be the real article. Our stout and friendly coach- 
 man, even, was hailed by the name of Moreno, and spoke 
 French with a foreign accent. 
 
 At the post-station of Le Boulou, we left the plain of 
 Roussillon behind us. At this end of the Pyrenean chain 
 there are no such trumpet-names as Roncesvalles, Font- 
 arabia, and Bidassoa. Hannibal, Csesar, Charlemagne, and 
 the Saracens have marched through these defiles, and left 
 no grand historic footprint, but they will always keep the 
 interest which belongs to those natural barriers and division 
 walls whereby races and histories were once separated. It 
 was enough for me that here were the Pyrenees, and I 
 
 / 
 
 looked forward, perhaps, with a keener curiosity, to the char- 
 acter and forms of their scenery, than to the sentiment 
 which any historic association could produce. A broad and 
 perfect highway led us through shallow valleys, whose rocky 
 sides were hung with rows of olive-trees, into wilder and 
 more abrupt dells, where vegetation engaged in a struggle 
 with stone, and without man's help would have been driven 
 from the field. Over us the mountains lifted themselves in 
 bold bastions and parapets, disforested now, if those gray 
 upper plateaus ever bore forests, and of a uniform slaty 
 gray in tone except where reddish patches of oxidation 
 showed like the rust of age. 
 
 But, like " all waste and solitary places," the scenery had 
 its own peculiar charm. Poussin and Salvator Rosa would 
 havr seated themselves afresh at every twist of the glen, 
 and sketched the new picture which it unfolded. The huge 
 rocks, fallen from above, or shattered in the original up- 
 heaval of the chain, presented a thousand sharp, forcible 
 outlines and ragged facets of shadow, and the two native
 
 152 BY-WAYS OF LUROPR. 
 
 growths of the Pyrenees box and cork-oak fringed 
 them as thickets or overhung them as trees, in the wildest 
 and most picturesque combinations. Indeed, during this 
 portion of the journey, I saw scores of sketches waiting for 
 the selected artist who has not yet come for them, 
 sketches full of strength and beauty, and with a harmony 
 of color as simple as the chord of triple tones in music. 
 When to their dark grays and greens came the scarlet Phry- 
 gian cap of the Catalonian, it was brighter than sunshine. 
 
 The French fortress of Bellegarde, crowning a drum- 
 shaped mass of rock, which blocked up the narrow valley 
 in front, announced our approach to the Spanish frontier. 
 The road wound back and forth as it climbed through a 
 stony wilderness to the mouth of a gorge under the fortress, 
 and I saw, before we entered this last gateway into Spain, 
 the peak of the Canigou touched with sunset, and the sweep 
 of plain beyond it black under the shadow of storm-clouds. 
 On either side were .some heaps of stone, left from forts 
 and chapels of the Middle Ages, indicating that we had al- 
 ready reached the summit of the pass, which is less than a 
 thousand feet above the sea-level. In ten minutes the 
 gorge opened, and we found ourselves suddenly rattling 
 along the one street of the gay French village of Perthus. 
 Officers from Bellegarde sat at the table in front of the 
 smart cafe, and drank absinthe ; soldiers in red trousers 
 chatted with the lively women who sold tobacco and gro- 
 ceries ; there were trees, little gardens, arbors of vine, and 
 the valley opened southwards, descending and broadening 
 towards a cloudless evening sky. 
 
 At the end of the village I saw a granite pyramid, with 
 the single word ' Gallia " engraved upon it; a few paces 
 farther, two marble posts bore the half-obliterated arms of 
 Spain. Here the diligence paused a moment, and an offi- 
 cer of customs took his seat beside the coachman. The 
 telegraph pole behind us was of barked pine, the next one 
 in front was painted gray ; the venti de. tabac became
 
 FROM PEBPIGNAN TO MCNTSERRAT. 158 
 
 ettanco national, and the only overlapping of the two na- 
 tionalities vhich I observed all things else being sud- 
 denly and sharply divided was that some awkward and 
 dusty Spanish soldiers were walking up the street of Per- 
 thus. and some trim, jaunty French soldiers were walking 
 down the road, towards the first Spanish wine-shop. We 
 also went down, and swiftly, in the falling twilight, through 
 which, erelong, gardens and fields began to glimmer, am" 
 in half an hour drew up in the little Spanish town of La 
 Junquera, the ancient '< place of rushes." Here there was 
 a rapid and courteous examination of baggage, a call for 
 passports, which were opened and then handed back to us 
 without vise or fee being demanded, and we were declared 
 free to journey in Spain. Verily the world is becoming 
 civilized, when Spain, the moral satrapy of Rome, begins 
 to pull down her barriers and let the stranger in 1 
 
 I inspected our " insides," as they issued forth, and found, 
 in addition to a priest and three or four commercial indi- 
 viduals with a contraband air, a young French naval officer, 
 and an old German who was too practical for a professor 
 and too stubborn in his views to be anything else. He had 
 made fifteen journeys to Switzerland, he informed me, 
 knew Scotland from the Cheviots to John o' Groat's, and 
 now proposed the conquest of Spain. Here Moreno sum- 
 moned us to our places, and the diligence rolled onward. 
 Past groups of Catalans, in sandals and scarlet bonnets, 
 returning from the harvest fields ; past stacks of dusky 
 grain and shadowy olive-orchards ; past open houses, where 
 a single lamp sometimes flashed upon a woman's head : 
 past a bonfire, turning the cork-trees into transparent 
 bronze, cind past the sound of water, plunging undei the 
 idle mill-wheel, in the cool, delicious summer air. we 
 journeyed on. The stars were beginning to gather in the 
 sky, when square towers and masses of cubic houses rose 
 against them, and the steady roll of our wheels on the 
 smooth highway became a dreadful clatter on the rough 
 cobble-stones of Figueras.
 
 154 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 The Pyrenees were already behind us ; the town over. 
 looks a wide, marshy plain. But the mountains make theii 
 vicinity felt in a peculiar manner. The north-wind, gath- 
 ered into the low pass of Bellegarde and drawn to a focus 
 of strength, blows down the opening valley with a force 
 which sometimes lays an embargo on travel. Diligences 
 are overturned, postilions blown out of their saddles, aiu! 
 pedestrians carried off their feet. The people then pray 
 to their saints that the tramontana may cease ; but, on the 
 other hand, as it is a very healthy wind, sweeping away 
 the feverish exhalations from the marshy soil, they get up 
 a grand annual procession to some mountain-shrine of the 
 Virgin, and pray that it may blow. So, when the Virgin 
 takes them at their word, the saints are invoked on the 
 other side, and the wonder is that both parties don't get 
 out of patience with the people of Figueras. 
 
 The diligence drew up at the door of a fonda, and 
 Moreno announced that we were to take supper and wait 
 until midnight. This was welcome news to all ; but the 
 old German drew me aside as we entered the house, and 
 whispered, " Now our stomachs are going to be tried." 
 " Not at all," I answered, " we shall find very good prov- 
 ender." " But the guide-book says it is very bad," he 
 persisted. And he looked despondent, even with a clean 
 table-cloth and a crisp roll of bread before him, until the 
 soup steamed under his nose. His face brightened at the 
 odor, grew radiant at the flavor, and long before we reached 
 the roast pullet and salad, he expressed his satisfaction 
 with Spanish cookery. With the dessert came a vino rancio, 
 full of summer fire, and the tongues of the company were 
 loosened. From the weather and the Paris Exposition 
 we leaped boldly into politics, and, being on SpaniEh soil, 
 discussed France and the Mexican business. The French 
 officer was silent and annoyed ; he was a pleastnt fellow, 
 and I, for one, had a little sympathy with Tiis annoyance, 
 but I could not help saying that all Americans (except thf
 
 FROM PKRPIGNAN TO MONTSERRAT. 
 
 Rev. ) considered the action of France as an out 
 
 rage and an impertinence, and were satisfied with her 
 miserable failure. The Spanish passengers nodded and 
 smiled. 
 
 I should not have spoken, had I foreseen one conse- 
 quence of my words. The German snatched the reins ol 
 conversation out of our hands, and dashed off at full speed, 
 trampling France and her ruler under his feet At the 
 first pause, I said to him, in German : " Pray don't be so 
 violent in your expressions, the gentleman beside me is 
 a naval officer." But he answered : " 1 don't care, I must, 
 speak my mind, which I could not do in Paris. France 
 has been the curse of Spain, as well as of all Europe, and 
 there will be no peace until we put a stop to her preten- 
 sions ! " Thereupon he said the same thing to the com- 
 pany ; but the Spaniards were too politic to acquiesce openly. 
 The officer replied, " France has not injured Spain, but, 
 on the contrary, has protected her ! " and he evidently had 
 not the slightest suspicion that there was anything offensive 
 in his words. The Spaniards still remained silent, but 
 another expression came into their eyes. It was time 
 to change the subject ; so the principle of non-intervention, 
 in its fullest, most literal sense, was proposed and ac- 
 cepted. A grave Majorcan gentleman distributed cigars ; 
 his daughter, with her soft, melodious voice, was oil to the 
 troubled waters, and before midnight we were all equally 
 courteous and cosmopolitan. 
 
 Of the four ensuing hours I can give no account. 
 Neither asleep nor awake, hearing with closed eyes or see- 
 with half-closed senses, one can never afterwards distinguish 
 between what is seen and what is dreamed. This is a 
 state in which the body may possibly obtain some rest, but 
 the mind becomes inexpressibly fatigued. One's memory 
 of it is a blurred sketch, a faded daguerreotype. I wel 
 corned that hour when 
 
 " The wind blows cold 
 While the morning doth unfold."
 
 156 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 for it blow away this film, which usurped the place of the 
 blessed mantle of sleep. Chill, even here in African 
 Spain, where the pale pearl of the dawn foretold a burning 
 noon, and where, in May. the harvests were already reaped, 
 the morning brightened ; but we were near the end of the 
 journey. At sunrise, the towers of Girona stood fast and 
 firm over the misty level of the shimmering olive-groves ; 
 then the huge dull mass of the cathedral, the walls and 
 bastions of the hill-forts, which resisted a siege of seven 
 months during the Peninsular War, and finally the monot 
 onous streets of the lower town, through which we drove. 
 
 The industrious Catalans were already awake and stir- 
 ring. Smokes from domestic hearths warmed the cool 
 morning air ; cheerful noises of men, animals, and fowls 
 broke the silence ; doors were open as we entered the town, 
 and the women were combing and twisting their black 
 hair in the shadows within. At the post some brown 
 grooms lounged about the door. A priest passed, a gen- 
 uine Don Basilio, in inky gown and shovel hat ; and these 
 graceless grooms looked after him, thrust their tongues 
 into their cheeks, and made an irreverent grimace. The 
 agent at Perpignan came into my mind ; I winked at the 
 fellows, without any clear idea wherefore, but it must have 
 expressed something, fo'r they burst into a laugh and re 
 peated the grimace. 
 
 The lower town seemed to be of immense length. Once 
 out of it, a superb avenue of plane trees received us, at the 
 end of which was the railway station. In another hour the 
 train would leave for Barcelona. Our trunks must be 
 igain examined. When I asked the reason why this an- 
 noying regulation, obsolete elsewhere in Europe, is here 
 retained, the Spaniards gravely informed me that, if it were 
 abolished, a great many people would be thrown out of 
 employment. Not that they get much pay for the exam- 
 ination, but they are constantly bribed not to examine ! 
 There was a cafe attached to the station, and I advised mj
 
 FBOM PERPIGNAN TO MONTSERRAT. 157 
 
 fellow-passengers to take a cup of the delicious .opy choco- 
 late of Spain, after which one accepts the inevitable more 
 patisr.tly. 
 
 I found the landscapes from Girona to Barcelona very 
 bright and beautiful. Our locomotive had fallen into the 
 national habit : it was stately and deliberate, it could not 
 be hurried, its very whistle was subdued and dignified. 
 We went forward at an easy pace, making about fifteen 
 miles an hour, which enabled me to notice the patient in- 
 dustry of the people, as manifested on every plain and hill- 
 side. The Catalans are called rough and ungraceful ; beside 
 the sprightly Andalusians they seem cold and repellent ; 
 they have less of that blue blood which makes the beggar as 
 proud as the grandee, but they possess the virtue of labor, 
 which, however our artistic tastes may undervalue it, is the 
 basis from which all good must spring. When I saw how 
 the red and rocky hills were turned into garden-terraces, 
 how the olive-trees were pruned into health and produc- 
 tiveness, how the wheat stood so thick that it rolled but 
 stiffly under the breeze, I forgot the jaunty majos of Seville, 
 and gave my hearty admiration to the strong-backed reap- 
 ers in the fields of Catalonia. 
 
 The passengers we took up on the way, though belong- 
 ing to the better class, and speaking Spanish whenever it 
 was necessary, all seemed to prefer the popular dialect. 
 Proprietors of estates and elegant young ladies conversed 
 together in the rough patois of the peasants, which to me 
 was especially tantalizing, because it sounded so familiar, 
 and yet was so unintelligible. It is in reality the old langue 
 limousine of France, kindred to the Proven9al, and differs 
 very slightly from the dialect spoken on the other side of 
 the Pyrenees. It is terse, forcible, and expressive, and I 
 must confess that the lisping Spanish, beside it, seems to 
 gain in melody at the expense of strength. 
 
 We approached Barcelona across the wide plain of the 
 Llobregat, where orange gardens and factory chimneys,
 
 158 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 fountains " i* the midst of roses," and machine-shops full of 
 grimy workmen, succeed each other in a curious tangle oi 
 poetry and greasy fact The Mediterranean gleams in a 
 blue line on the left, the citadel of Monjuich crowns a bluff 
 in front ; but the level city hides itself behind the foliage 
 of the plain, and is not seen. At the station you wait half 
 an hour, until the baggage is again deposited on the dis- 
 secting-tables of the custom officers ; and here, if, instead 
 of joining the crowd of unhappy murmurers in the ante- 
 room, you take your station in the doorway, looking down 
 upon porters, peddlers, idlers, and policemen, you are sure 
 to be diverted by a little comedy acted in pantomime. 
 An outside porter has in some way interfered with the 
 rights of a station -povter ; a policeman steps between the 
 two, the latter of whom, lifting both hands to heaven in a 
 wild appeal, brings them down swiftly and thrusts them 
 out before him, as if descending to earthly justice. The 
 outsider goes through the same gestures, and then both, 
 with flashing eyes and open mouths, teeth glittering under 
 the drawn lips, await the decision. The policeman first 
 makes a sabre-cut with his right arm, then with his left ; 
 then also lifts his hands to heaven, shakes them there a 
 moment, and, turning as he brings them down, faces the 
 outside porter. The latter utters a passionate cry, and his 
 arms begin to rise ; but he is seized by the shoulder and 
 turned aside ; the crowd closes in, and the comedy is over. 
 We have a faint interest in Barcelona for the sake of 
 Columbus; but, apart from this one association, we set it 
 down beside Manchester, Lowell, and other manufacturing 
 cities. It was so crowded within its former walls, that 
 little space was left for architectural display. In many of 
 the streets I doubt whether four persons could walk 
 abreast. Only in the Rambla, a broad central boulevard, is 
 there any chance for air and sunshine, and all the leisure 
 and pleasure of the city is poured into this one avenue. 
 Since the useless walls have been removed, an ambitious
 
 FROM PERPIGNAN TO MONTSEPRAT. 159 
 
 modern suburb is springing up on the west, and then; wilJ, 
 in time, be a new city better than the old. 
 
 This region appears to be the head- quarters of political 
 discontent in Spain, probably because the people get to 
 be more sensible of the misrule under which they languish, 
 in proportion as they become more active and industrious. 
 Nothing could have been more peaceable upon the surface 
 than the aspect of things ; the local newspapers never re- 
 ported any disturbance, yet intelligence of trouble in Cata- 
 lonia was circulating through the rest of Europe, and 
 something I could not ascertain precisely what it was 
 took place during my brief visit. The telegraph-wires 
 were cut, and some hundreds of soldiers were sent into the 
 country ; but the matter was never mentioned, unless two 
 persons whom I saw whispering together in the darkest cor- 
 ner of a cafe were discussing it. I believe, if a battle had 
 been fought within hearing of the cannon, the Barcelonese 
 would have gone about the streets with the same placid, 
 unconcerned faces. Whether this was cunning, phlegm, 
 or the ascendency of solid material interests over the fiery, 
 impulsive nature of the Spaniard, was not clear to a pass- 
 ing observer. In either case it was a prudent course. 
 
 If, in the darkened streets or rather lanes of Bar- 
 celona, I saw some suggestive pictures ; if the court-yard 
 of the cathedral, with its fountains and orange - trees, 
 seemed a thousand miles removed from the trade and 
 manufacture of the city ; if the issuing into sunshine on 
 the mole was like a blow in the eyes, to which the sapphire 
 bloom of the Mediterranean became a healing balm ; and 
 if the Rambla, towards evening, changed into a shifting 
 diorama of color and cheerful life, none of these things 
 inclined me to remain longer than the preparation for my 
 further journey required. Before reaching the city, I ,Sad 
 caught a glimpse, far up the valley of the Llobregat, ol' a 
 high, curiously serrated mountain, and that old book of the 
 u Wonders of the World" (now, alas ! driven from the
 
 160 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 libraiy of childhood) opened its pages and showed its 
 rough woodcuts, in memory, to tell me what the mountain 
 was. How many times has that wonderful book been the 
 chief charm of my travels, causing me to forget Sulpicius 
 on the .^Egean Sea, Byron in Italy, and Humboldt in Mex- 
 ico! 
 
 To those who live in Barcelona, Montserrat has become 
 a common-place, the resort of Sunday excursions and pic- 
 nics, one fourth devotional, and three fourths epicurean. 
 Wild, mysterious, almost inaccessible as it stands in one's 
 fancy, it sinks at this distance into the very material atmos- 
 phere of railroad and omnibus ; but, for all that, we are 
 not going to give it up, though another " Wonder of the 
 World " should go by the board. Take the Tarragona 
 train then with me, on a cloudless afternoon. In a few 
 minutes the scattered suburban blocks are left behind, and 
 we enter the belt of villas, with their fountained terraces 
 and tropical gardens. More and more the dark red earth 
 shows through the thin foliage of the olives, as the hills 
 draw nearer, and it finally gives color to the landscapes. 
 The vines covering the levels and lower slopes are won- 
 derfully luxuriant ; but we can see how carefully they are 
 cultivated. Hedges of aloe and cactus divide them ; here 
 and there some underground cavern has tumbled in, let- 
 ting down irregular tracts of soil, and the vines still flour- 
 ish at the bottom of the pits thus made. As the plain 
 shrinks to a valley, the hills on either side ascend into 
 rounded summits, which begin to be dark with pine for- 
 este ; villages with square, brown church-towers perch on 
 the lower heights ; cotton-mills draw into their service the 
 scanty waters of the river, and the appearance of cheerful, 
 thrifty labor increases as the country becomes rougher. 
 
 All this time the serrated mountain is drawing nearer, 
 and breaking into a wilder confusion of pinnacles. It stands 
 alone, planted across the base of a triangular tract of open 
 country, a strange, solitary, exiled peak, drifted away
 
 FBOM PERPIGNAN TO MONTSERRAT. 161 
 
 in the beginning of things from its brethren of the Pyre- 
 nees, and stranded in a different geological period. This 
 circumstance must have long ago impressed the inhabit- 
 ants of the region even in the ante-historic ages. When 
 Christianity rendered a new set of traditions necessary, 
 the story arose that the mountain was thus split and shat- 
 tered at the moment when Christ breathed his last on the 
 cross of Calvary. This is still the popular belief; but the 
 singular formation of Montserrat, independent of it, was 
 sufficient to fix the anchoretic tastes of the early Christians. 
 It is set apart by Nature, not only towering above all the 
 surrounding heights, but drawing itself haughtily away 
 from contact with them, as if conscious of its earlier ori- 
 gin. 
 
 At the station of Martorel I left the train, and took a 
 coach which was in waiting for the village of Collbatd, at 
 the southern base of the mountain. My companion in the 
 coupe was a young cotton-manufacturer, who assured me 
 that in Spain the sky and soil were good, but the entresot 
 (namely, the human race) was bad. The interior was 
 crowded with country-women, each of whom seemed to 
 have four large baskets. I watched the driver for half an 
 hour attempting to light a broken cigar, and then rewarded 
 his astonishing patience with a fresh one, whereby we be- 
 came good friends. Such a peaceful light lay upon the 
 landscape, the people were so cheerful, the laborers worked 
 so quietly in the vineyards, that the thought of a political 
 disturbance the day before seemed very absurd. The 
 olive-trees, which clothed the hills wherever their bony 
 roots could find the least lodgment of soil, were of re- 
 markably healthy and vigorous growth, and the regular 
 cubic form into which they were pruned marked the climb- 
 ing terraces with long lines of gray light, as the sun 
 slanted across them. 
 
 " You see," said the Spaniard, as I noticed this peculiar 
 ity, * the entresol is a little better in this neighborhood than
 
 162 BY-WAYS OP EUROPE. 
 
 elsewhere in Spain. The people cut the trees intc thii 
 shape in order that they may become more compact and 
 produce better ; besides which, the fruit is more easily 
 gathered. In all those orchards you will not find a decayed 
 or an unhealthy tree ; such are dug up and burned, and 
 young ones planted in their place." 
 
 At the village of Esparaguerra the other passengers 
 left, and I went on towards Collbatd alone. But I had 
 Montserrat for company, towering more grandly, more 
 brokenly, from minute to minute. Every change in the 
 foreground gave me a new picture. Now it was a clump 
 of olives with twisted trunks ; now an aloe, lifting its giant 
 candelabrum of blossoms from the edge of a rock ; now a 
 bank of dull vermilion earth, upon which goats were hang- 
 ing. The upper spires of the mountain disappeared be- 
 hind its basal buttresses of gray rock, a thousand feet in 
 perpendicular height, and the sinking sun, as it crept west- 
 ward, edged these, with sharp lines of light. Up, under 
 the tremendous cliffs, and already in shadow, lay Collbatd, 
 and I was presently set down at the gate of the posada. 
 
 Don Pedro, the host, came forward to meet and welcome 
 me, and his pretty daughter, sitting on the steps, rose up 
 and dropped a salute. In the entrance hall I read, painted 
 in large letters on tKe wall, the words of St. Augustine : 
 " In necessariis unitas ; in dubiis libertas ; in omnibus, caritas" 
 Verily, thought I, Don Pedro must be a character. I had 
 no sooner comfortably seated myself in the doorway to 
 contemplate the exquisite evening landscape, which the 
 Mediterranean bounded in the distance, and await my sup- 
 per, than Don Pedro ordered his daughter to bring the 
 guests' book, and then betook himself to the task of run- 
 ning down a lean chicken. In the record of ten years I 
 found that Germans were the most frequent visitors ; Amer- 
 icans appeared but thrice. One party of the latter regis- 
 tered themselves as " gentlemen," and stated that they had 
 een the " promanent points," which gave occasion to
 
 PROM PERPIGNAN 10 MONTSERRAT. 163 
 
 later Englishman to comment upon the intelligence of 
 American gentlemen. The host's daughter, Pepita, was 
 the theme of praise in prose and raptures in poetry. 
 
 "Are you Pepita?" I asked, turning to the girl, who sat 
 on the steps before me, gazing into the evening sky with an 
 expression of the most indolent happiness. I noticed for 
 the first time, and admired, her firm, regular, almost Roman 
 profile and the dark masses of real hair on her head. Her 
 attitude, also, was very graceful, and she would have been, 
 to impressible eyes, a phantom of delight, but for the un- 
 graceful fact that she inveterately scratched herself when- 
 ever and wherever a flea happened to bite. 
 
 " No, senor," she answered ; " I am Carmen. Pepita 
 was married first, and then Mariquita. Angelita and my- 
 self are the only ones at home." 
 
 " I see there is also a poem to Angelita," I remarked, 
 turning over the last leaves. 
 
 " 0, that was a poet ! " said she, "a funny man ! Every- 
 body knows him : he writes for the theatre, and all that is 
 about some eggs which Angelita fried for him. We can't 
 understand it all, but we think it's good-natured." 
 
 Here the mother came, not as duenna, but as companion, 
 with her distaff and spindle, and talked and span until I 
 could no longer distinguish the thread against her gray 
 dress. When the lean chicken was set before me, Don 
 Pedro announced that a mule and guide would be in readi- 
 ness at sunrise, and I could, if I chose, mount to the top- 
 most peak of San Geronimo. In the base of the moun- 
 tain, near Collbato, there are spacious caverns, which most 
 travellers feel bound to visit ; but I think that six or seven 
 caves, one coal mine, and one gold mine are enough for a 
 life-time, and have renounced any further subterranean re- 
 searches. Why delve into those dark, moist, oppressive 
 crypts, when the blessed sunshine of years shows one so 
 little of the earth and of human life? Let any one that 
 chooses come and explore the caverns of Montserrat, and
 
 164 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 then tell me (as people have a passion for doing), "Yon 
 missed the best ! " The best is that with which cine is satis- 
 fied. 
 
 Instead of five o'clock, when I should have been called, 
 I awoke naturally at six, and found that Don Pedro had 
 set out for San Geronimo four hours before, while neither 
 guide nor mule was forthcoming. The old woman pointed 
 to some specks far up in the shadow of the cliffs, which 
 she assured me were travellers, and would arrive with 
 mules in fifteen minutes. But I applied the words in dubiii 
 libertas, and insisted on an immediate animal and guide, 
 both of which, somewhat to my surprise, were produced. 
 The black mule was strong, and the lank old Catalan shoul- 
 dered my heavy valise and walked off without a murmur. 
 The sun was already hot ; but once risen above the last 
 painfully constructed terrace of olives, and climbing the 
 stony steep, we dipped into the cool shadow of the moun- 
 tain. The path was difficult but not dangerous, winding 
 upward through rocks fringed with dwarf ilex, box, and 
 mastic, which made the air fragrant. Thyme, wild flax, 
 and aconite blossomed in the crevices. The botany of the 
 mountain is as exceptional as its geology ; it includes five 
 hundred different species. 
 
 The box-tree, which my Catalan guide called bosch in his 
 dialect, is a reminiscence, wherever one sees it, of Italy 
 and Greece of ancient culture and art. Its odor, as 
 Holmes admirably says, suggests eternity. If it was not 
 the first plant that sprang up on the cooling planet, it 
 -ght to have been. Its glossy mounds, and rude, stat- 
 esque clumps, which often seem struggling to mould 
 themselves into human shape, cover with beauty the ter- 
 rible rocks of Montserrat. M. Delaviorne had warned me 
 
 O 
 
 of the dangers of the path I was pursuing, walls on one 
 side, and chasms a thousand feet deep on the other, but 
 l he box everywhere shaped itself into protecting figures, 
 and whispered as I went bj , " Never fear ; if you slip s I 
 will hold you ! "
 
 FROM PEBPIGNAN TO MONTSERRAT. 1(55 
 
 The mountain is an irregular cone, about thirty-five hun- 
 dred feet in height, and cleft down the middle by a torrent 
 which breaks through its walls on the northeastern side. 
 It presents a perpendicular face, which seems inaccessible, 
 for the shelves between the successive elevations, when 
 seen from below, appear as narrow fringes of vegetation, 
 growing out of one unbroken wall. They furnish, indeed, 
 but scanty room for the bridle-path, which at various points 
 is both excavated and supported by arches of masonry. 
 After nearly an hour, I found myself over Collbatd, upon 
 the roofs of which, it seemed, I might fling a stone. At 
 the next angle of the mountain, the crest was attained, and 
 I stood between the torn and scarred upper wilderness of 
 Montserrat on the one hand, and the broad, airy sweep of 
 landscape, bounded by the sea, on the other. To the north- 
 ward a similar cape thrust out its sheer walls against the 
 dim, dissolving distances, and it was necessary to climb 
 along the sides of the intervening gulf, which sank under 
 me into depths of shadow. Every step of the way was 
 inspiring, for there was the constant threat, without the 
 reality, of danger. My mule paced securely along the 
 giddy brinks; and through the path seemed to terminate fifty 
 paces ahead, I was always sure to find a loop-hole or coigne 
 of vantage which the box and mastic had hidden from sight. 
 So in another hour the opposite foreland was attained, and 
 from its crest I saw, all along the northern horizon, the 
 snowy wall of the Pyrenees. 
 
 Here a path branched off to the peak of San Geronimo, 
 a two hours' clamber through an absolute desert of rock. 
 My guide, although panting and sweating with his load, 
 proposed the ascent ; but in the film of heat which over- 
 spread the land I should have only had a wider panorama 
 n which all distinct forms were lost, vast, no doubt, but 
 as blurred and intangible as a metaphysical treatise. I 
 judged it better to follow the example of a pious peasant 
 and his wife whom we had overtaken, and who, setting
 
 166 BY-WATS OF EUROPE. 
 
 their faces toward the renowned monastery, murmured an 
 Ave from time to time. Erelong, on emerging from the 
 thickets, we burst suddenly upon one of the wildest and 
 most wonderful pictures I ever beheld. A tremendous 
 wall of rock arose in front, crowned by colossal turrets, 
 pyramids, clubs, pillars, and ten-pin shaped masses, which 
 were drawn singly, or in groups of incredible distortion, 
 against the deep blue of the sky. At the foot of the rock, 
 the buildings of the monastery, huge and massive, the 
 church, the houses for pilgrims, and the narrow gardens, 
 completely filled and almost overhung a horizontal shelf 
 of the mountain, under which it again fell sheer away, 
 down, down into misty depths, the bottom of which was 
 hidden from sight. I dropped from the mule, sat down 
 upon the grass, and, under pretense of sketching, studied 
 this picture for an hour. In all the galleries of memory I 
 could find nothing resembling it. 
 
 The descriptions of Montserrat must have made a power- 
 ful impression upon. Goethe's mind, since he deliberately 
 appropriated the scenery for the fifth act of the Second 
 Part of Faust. Goethe was in the steadfast habit of choos- 
 ing a local and actual habitation for the creations of his 
 imagination ; his landscapes were always either painted 
 from nature, or copied from the sketch-books of others. 
 The marvelous choruses of the fifth act floated through 
 my mind as I drew ; the " Pater Ecstaticus " hovered in the 
 sunny air, the anchorites chanted from their caves, and the 
 mystic voices of the undeveloped child-spirits came between, 
 like the breathing of an ^Eolian harp. I suspect that the 
 sanctity of the mountain really depends as much upon iis 
 extraordinary forms, as upon the traditions which have beea 
 gradually attached to it. These latter, however, are so 
 strange and grotesque, that they could only be accepted 
 here. 
 
 The monastery owes its foui/dation to a miraculous statue 
 of the Virgin, sculptured by St. Luke, and brought to Spain
 
 FROM PKRPIGNAN TO MONTSERRAT. 16? 
 
 by no less a peisonage than St. Peter. In the year 880, 
 some shepherds who had climbed the mountain in search of 
 stray goats heard celestial harmonies among the rocks. This 
 phenomenon coming to the ears of Bishop Gondemar, he 
 climbed to the spot, and was led by the music to the mouth 
 of a cave, which exhaled a delicious perfume. There, en- 
 shrined in light, lay the sacred statue. Gondemar and his 
 priests, chanting as they went, set out for Manresa, the 
 seat of the diocese, carrying it with them ; but on reaching 
 a certain spot, they found it impossible to move farther. 
 The statue obstinately refused to accompany them which 
 was taken as a sign that there, and nowhere else, the shrine 
 should be built. Just below the monastery there still 
 stands a cross, with the inscription, " Here the Holy Image 
 declared itself immovable. 880." 
 
 The chapel when built was intrusted to the pious care 
 of Fray Juan Garin, whose hermitage is pointed out to you, 
 on a peak which seems accessible only to the eagle. The 
 Devil, however, interfered, as he always does in such cases. 
 He first entered into Riquilda. the daughter of the Count of 
 Barcelona, and then declared through her mouth that he 
 would not quit her body except by the order of Juan Garin,* 
 the hermit of Montserrat. Riquilda was therefore sent to 
 the mountain and given into the hermit's charge. A temp- 
 tation similar to that of St. Anthony followed, but with ex- 
 actly the opposite result. In order to conceal his sin, Juan 
 Garin cut off Riquilda's head, buried her, and fled. Over- 
 taken by remorse, he made his way to Rome, confessed him- 
 self to the Pope, and prayed for a punishment proportioned 
 to his crime. He was ordered to become a beast, never 
 lifting his face towards heaven, until the hour when God 
 Himself should signify his pardon. 
 
 Jjan Garin went forth from the Papal presence on his 
 hands and knees, crawled back to Montserrat, and there 
 lived seven years as a wild animal, eating grass and bark, 
 nnd never lifting his face towards heaven. At the end of 
 
 O
 
 168 BY-WAYS OK EUROPE. 
 
 this time his body was entirely covered with hair, and it so 
 happened that the hunters of the count snared him as a 
 strange beast, put a chain around his neck, and took him 
 to Barcelona. In the mansion of the Count there was an 
 infant only five months old, in its nurse's arms. No sooner 
 had the child beheld the supposed animal, than it gave a 
 loud cry and exclaimed : " Rise up, Juan Garin ; God has 
 pardoned thee ! " Then, to the astonishment of all, the 
 beast arose and spoke in a human tongue. He told his 
 story, and the Count set out at once with him to the spot 
 where Riquilda was buried. They opened the grave and 
 the maiden rose up alive, with only a rosy mark, like a 
 thread, around her neck. In commemoration of so many 
 miracles, the Count founded the monastery. 
 
 At present, the monks retain but a fragment of their 
 former wealth and power. Their number is reduced to 
 nineteen, which is barely enough to guard the shrine, per- 
 form their offices, and prepare and bless the rosaries and 
 other articles of devotional traffic. I visited the church, 
 courts, and corridors, but took no pains to get sight of the 
 miraculous 'statue. I have already seen both the painting 
 and the sculpture of St. Luke, and think him one of the 
 worst artists that ever existed. Moreover, the place is fast 
 assuming a secular, not to say profane air. There is a 
 modern restaurant, with bill of fare and wine list, inside 
 the gate, ticket-office for travellers, and a daily omnibus to 
 the nearest railway station. Ladies in black mantillas 
 lounge about the court-yards, gentlemen smoke on the bal- 
 conies, and only the brown-faced peasant pilgrims, arriving 
 with weary feet, enter the church with an expression of awe 
 and of unquestioning faith. The enormous wealth which 
 he monastery once possessed the offering of kings 
 has disappeared in the vicissitudes of Spanish history, the 
 French, in 1811, being the last pillagers. Since then, the 
 treasures of gold and jewels have not returned ; for the 
 crowns offered to the Virgin by the city of Barcelona and
 
 FROM PERPIGNAX TO MONTSERRAT. 169 
 
 by a rich American are of gilded silver, set with diamonds 
 of paste ! 
 
 I loitered for hours on the narrow terraces around the 
 monastery, constantly finding some new and strange com 
 bination of forms in the architecture of the mountain. 
 The bright silver-gray of the rock contrasted finely with 
 the dark masses of eternal box, and there was an endless 
 play of light and shade as the sun burst suddenly through 
 some unsuspected gap, or hid himself behind one of the 
 giant ten-pins of the summit. The world below swam in 
 dim red undulations, for the color of the soil showed every- 
 where through its thin clothing of olive-trees. In hue as 
 in form, Montserrat had no fellowship with the surround 
 ing region. 
 
 The descent on the northern side is far less picturesque, 
 inasmuch as you are perched upon the front seat of an 
 omnibus, and have an excellent road a work of great 
 cost and labor the whole way. But, on the other hand, 
 you skirt the base of a number of the detached pillars and 
 pyramids into which the mountain separates, and gain fresh 
 pictures of its remarkable structure. There is one isolated 
 shaft, visible at a great distance, which I should judge to 
 be three hundred feet in height by forty or fifty in diameter. 
 At the western end, the outline is less precipitous, and 
 here the fields of vine and olive climb much higher than 
 elsewhere. In an hour from the time of leaving the mon- 
 astery, we were below the last rampart, rolling through 
 dust in the hot valley of the Llobregat, and tracing the 
 course of the invisible road across the walls of Montserrat, 
 with a feeling of incredulity that we had really descended 
 from such a point. 
 
 At the village of Montrisol, on the river, there is a large 
 cotton factory. The doors opened as we approached, and 
 the workmen came forth, their day's labor done. Men and 
 women, boys and girls, in red caps a"nd sandals, or bare- 
 headed and barefooted, they streamed merrily abng the
 
 170 BY-WAYS OF EUKOPE. 
 
 road, teeth and eyes flashing as they chatted and sang. 
 They were no pale, melancholy factory slaves, but joyous 
 and light-hearted children of labor, and, it seemed to me, 
 the proper successors of the useless idlers in the monastery 
 oi Montserrat. Up there, on the mountain, a system, all- 
 powerful in the past, was swiftly dying ; here, in the valley 
 was the first life of the only system that can give a future 
 to Spain.
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 
 
 i.
 
 As the steamer Mallorca slowly moved out of the har- 
 bor of Barcelona, I made a rapid inspection of the passen- 
 gers gathered on deck, and found that I was the only 
 foreigner among them. Almost without exception they 
 were native Majorcans, returning from trips of business or 
 pleasure to the Continent. They spoke no language ex- 
 cept Spanish and Catalan, and held fast to all the little 
 habits and fashions of their insular life. If anything more 
 had been needed to show me that I was entering upon un- 
 trodden territory, it was supplied by the joyous surprise of 
 the steward when I gave him a fee. This fact reconciled 
 me to my isolation on board, and its attendant awkward- 
 ness. 
 
 I knew not why I should have chosen to visit the Bale- 
 anc Islands, unless for the simple reason that they lie so 
 much aside from the highways of travel, and are not rep- 
 resented in the journals and sketch-books of tourists. If 
 any one had asked me what I expected to see, I should 
 have been obliged to confess my ignorance ; for the few 
 dry geographical details which I possessed were like the 
 chemical analysis of a liquor wherefrom no one can recon- 
 struct the taste. The flavor of a land is a thing quite 
 apart from its statistics. There is no special guide-book 
 for the islands, and the slight notices in the works on 
 Spain only betray the haste of the authors to get over a 
 field with which they are unacquainted. But this very 
 circumstance, for me, had grown into a fascination. One 
 gets tired of studying the bill of fare in advance of the 
 repast. When the sun and the Spanish coast had set to- 
 gether behind the placid sea, I went to my berth with the
 
 174 BY-WAYS OF EJKOPE. 
 
 delightful certainty that the sun of the morrow, and of 
 many days thereafter, would rise upon scenes and adven 
 tures which could not be anticipated. 
 
 The distance from Barcelona to Palma is about a hun- 
 dred and forty miles ; so the morning found us skirting 
 the southwestern extremity of Majorca a barren coast, 
 thrusting low headlands of gray rock into the sea, and hills 
 covered with parched and stunted chaparral in the rear. 
 The twelfth century, in the shape of a crumbling Moorish 
 watch-tower, alone greeted us. As we advanced eastward 
 into the Bay of Palma, however, the wild shrubbery 
 melted into plantations of olive, solitary houses of fisher- 
 men nestled in the coves, and finally a village, of those 
 soft ochre-tints which are a little brighter than the soil, 
 appeared on the slope of a hill. In front, through the 
 pale morning mist which still lay upon the sea, I saw the 
 cathedral of Palma, looming grand and large beside the 
 towers of other churches, and presently, gliding past a 
 mile or two of country villas and gardens, we entered the 
 crowded harbor. 
 
 Inside the mole there was a multitude of the light craft 
 of the Mediterranean, xebecs, feluccas, speronaras, or 
 however they may be termed, with here and there abrig- 
 antine which had come from beyond the Pillars of Her- 
 cules. Our steamer drew into her berth beside the quay, 
 and after a very deliberate review by the port physician we 
 were allowed to land. I found a porter, Arab in everything 
 but costume, and followed him through the water-gate into 
 the half-awake city. My destination was the Inn of the 
 " Four Nations," where I was cordially received, and after- 
 wards roundly swindled, by a French host My first de- 
 mand was for a native attendant, not so much from any need 
 of guide as simply to become more familiar with the people 
 thiough him ; but I was told that no such serviceable spirit 
 was to be had in the place. Strangers are so rare that a 
 class of people who live upon them has not yet been created
 
 BALEARLC DAYS. 17o 
 
 u But how shall I find the Palace of the Government, or 
 the monastery of San Domingo, or anything else ? " 1 
 asked. 
 
 " 0, we will give you directions, so that you cannot miss 
 them," said the host ; but he laid before me such a confu- 
 sion of right turnings and left turnings, ups and downs, 
 that I became speedily bewildered, and set forth, deter- 
 mined to let the spirit in my feet guide me. A labyrinthine 
 place is Palma, and my first walks through the city were 
 so many games of chance. The streets are very narrow, 
 changing their direction, it seemed to me, at every tenth 
 step ; and whatever landmark one may select at the start 
 is soon shut from view by the high, dark houses. At first, 
 I was quite astray, but little by little I regained the lost 
 points of the compass. 
 
 After having had the Phoenicians, Greeks, Carthagin- 
 ians, Romans, Vandals, and Saracens as masters, Majorca 
 was first made Spanish by King Jaime of Aragon, the 
 Conquistador, in the year 1235. For a century after the 
 conquest it was an independent kingdom, and one of its 
 kings was slain by the English bowmen at the battle of 
 Crecy. The Spanish element has absorbed, but not yet 
 entirely obliterated, the characteristics of the earlier races 
 who inhabited the island. Were ethnology a more posi- 
 tively developed science, we might divide and classify this 
 confused inheritance of character ; as it is, we vaguely feel 
 the presence of something quaint, antique, and unusual, in 
 walking the streets of Palma, and mingling with the inhab- 
 itants. The traces of Moorish occupation are still notice- 
 able everywhere. Although the Saracenic architecture no 
 longer exists in its original forms, its details may be de- 
 tected in portals, court-yards, and balconies, in almost 
 every street. The conquerors endeavored to remodel the 
 city, but in doing so they preserved the very spirit which 
 they sought to destroy. 
 
 My wanderings, after all, were not wholly undirected
 
 170 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 I found an. intelligent guide, who was at the same time an 
 old acquaintance. The whirligig of time brings about, not 
 merely its revenges, but also its compensations and coinci- 
 dences. Twenty-two years ago, when I was studying Ger- 
 man as a boy in the old city of Frankfort, guests from the 
 south of France came to visit the amiable family with 
 whom I was residing. They were M. Laurens, a painter 
 and a musical enthusiast, his wife, and Mademoiselle Ro- 
 salba, a daughter as fair as her name. Never shall I for- 
 
 o 
 
 get the curious letter which the artist wrote to the manager 
 of the theatre, requesting that Beethoven's Fidelio might 
 be given (and it was !) for his own especial benefit, nor the 
 triumphant air with which he came to us one day, sayingj 
 " I have something of most precious," and brought forth, 
 out of a dozen protecting envelopes, a single gray hair from 
 Beethoven's head. Nor shall I forget how Madame Lau- 
 rens taught us French plays, and how the fair Rosalba 
 declaimed Andre Che'nier to redeem her pawns ; but I 
 might have forgotten all these things, had it not been for 
 an old volume l which turned up at need, and which gave 
 me information, at once clear, precise, and attractive, con- 
 cerning the streets and edifices of Pal ma. The round, 
 solid head, earnest eyes, and abstracted air of the painter 
 came forth distinct from 'the limbo of things overlaid but 
 never lost, and went with me through the checkered blaze 
 and gloom of the city. 
 
 The monastery of San Domingo, which was the head- 
 quarters of the Inquisition, was spared by the progressive 
 government of Mendizahal, but destroyed by the people. 
 Its ruins must have been the most picturesque sight of 
 Palma ; but since the visit of M. Laurens they have been 
 removed, and their broken vaults and revealed torture- 
 chambers are no longer to be seen. There are, however, 
 
 l Souvtnirt <ftm Voyage d Art a flsle dt, Majorque,. Par J. B. Ln-
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 177 
 
 two or three buildings of more than ordinary interest. The 
 Casa Consistorial, or City Hall, is a massive Palladian pile 
 of the sixteenth century, resembling the old palaces of 
 Pisa and Florence, except in the circumstance that its 
 roof projects at least ten feet beyond the front, resting on 
 a massive cornice of carved wood with curious horizontal 
 caryatides in the place of brackets. The rich burnt-sienna 
 tint of the carvings contrasts finely with the golden-brown 
 of the massive marble walls a combination which is 
 shown in no other building of the Middle Ages. The 
 sunken rosettes, surrounded by raised arabesque borders, 
 between the caryatides, arc sculptured with such a care- 
 ful reference to the distance at which they must be seen, 
 that they appear as firm and delicate as if near the spec- 
 tator's eye. 
 
 The Cathedral, founded by the Conquistador, and built 
 upon, at intervals, for more than three centuries, is not yet 
 finished. It stands upon a natural platform of rock, over- 
 hanging the sea, where its grand dimensions produce the 
 greatest possible effect. In every view of Palma, it towers 
 solidly above the houses and bastioned walls, and insists 
 upon having the sky as a background for the light Gothic 
 pinnacles of its flying buttresses. The government has 
 recently undertaken its restoration, and a new front of 
 very admirable and harmonious design is about half com- 
 pleted. The soft amber-colored marble of Majorca is en- 
 riched in tint by exposure to the" air, and even when built 
 in large, unrelieved masses retains a bright and cheerful 
 character. The new portion of the cathedral, like the old, 
 has but little sculpture, except in the portals ; but that 
 little is so elegant that a greater profusion of ornament 
 would seem out of place. 
 
 Passing from the clear, dazzling day into the interior, one 
 finds himself, at first; in total darkness ; and the dimen- 
 sions of the nave nearly three hundred feet in length 
 by one hundred and forty in height are amplified by the 
 12
 
 178 BT-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 gloom. The wind, I was told, came through the windows 
 on the sea side with such force as to overturn the chalices, 
 and blow out the tapers on the altar, whereupon every 
 opening was walled up, except a rose at the end of the 
 chancel, and a few slits in the nave, above the sidwaisles. 
 A sombre twilight, like that of a stormy day, fills the edi- 
 fice. Here the rustling of stoles and the muttering of 
 prayers suggest incantation rather than worship ; the or- 
 gan has a hollow, sepulchral sound of lamentation ; and 
 there is a spirit of mystery and terror in the stale, clammy 
 air. The place resembles an ante-chamber of Purgatory 
 much more than of Heaven. The mummy of Don Jaime 
 II., son of the Conquistador and first king of Majorca, is 
 preserved in a sarcophagus of black marble. This is the 
 only historic monument in the Cathedral, unless the stran- 
 ger chooses to study the heraldry of the island families 
 from their shields suspended in the chapels. 
 
 When I returned to the " Four Nations " for breakfast, I 
 found at the table a gentleman of Palma, who invited me 
 to sit down and partake of his meal. For the first time 
 this Spanish custom, which really seems picturesque and 
 fraternal when coming from shepherds or muleteers in a 
 mountain inn, struck me as the hollowest of forms. The 
 gentleman knew that I would not accept his invitation, nor 
 he mine ; he knew, moreover, that I knew he did not wish 
 me to accept it. The phrase, under such conditions, be- 
 comes a cheat which offends the sacred spirit of hospitality. 
 How far the mere form may go was experienced by George 
 Sand, who having accepted the use of a carriage most ear- 
 nestly offered to her by a Majorcan count, found the equip- 
 age at her door, it is true, but with it a letter expressing 
 so much vexation, that she was forced to withdraw her ac- 
 ceptance of the favor at once, and to apologize for it ! I 
 have always found much hospitality among the common 
 people of Spain, and I doub/ not that the spirit exists in 
 all classes ; but it requires some practice to distinguish
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 17& 
 
 between empty phrase and the courtesy which comes from 
 the heart A people who boast of some special virtue gen- 
 erally do not possess it. 
 
 My own slight intercourse with the Majorcans was very 
 pleasant. On the day of my arrival, I endeavored to pro- 
 cure a map of the island, but none of the bookstores pos- 
 sessed the article. It could be found in one house in a 
 remote street, and one of the shopmen finally sent a boy 
 with me to the very door. When I offered money for the 
 service, my guide smiled, shook his head, and ran away. 
 The map was more than fifty years old, and drawn in the 
 style of two centuries ago, with groups of houses for the 
 villages, and long files of conical peaks for the mountains. 
 The woman brought it down, yellow and dusty, from a 
 dark garret over the shop, and seemed as delighted with 
 the sale as if she had received money for useless stock. 
 In the streets, the people inspected me curiously, as a 
 stranger, but were always ready to go out of their way to 
 guide me. The ground-floor being always open, all the 
 features of domestic life and of mechanical labor are ex- 
 posed to the public. The housewives, the masters and 
 apprentices, busy as they seem, manage to keep one eye 
 disengaged, and no one passes before them without notice. 
 Cooking, washing, sewing, tailoring, shoemaking, cooper- 
 ing, rope and basket making, succeed each other, as one 
 passes through the narrow streets. In the afternoon, the 
 mechanics frequently come forth and set up their business 
 in* the open air, where they can now and then greet a coun- 
 try acquaintance, or a city friend, or sweetheart. 
 
 When I found that the ruins of San Domingo had been 
 removed, and a statue of Isabella II. erected on the Ala- 
 meda, I began to suspect that the reign of old things was 
 over in Majorca. A little observation of the people made 
 this fact more evident. The island costume is no longer 
 worn by the young men, even in the country ; they have 
 passed into a very comica transition state. Old men
 
 180 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 mounted on lean asses or mules, still enter the gates of 
 Palma, with handkerchiefs tied over their shaven crowns, 
 and long gray locks falling on their shoulders, with 
 short, loose jackets, shawls around the waist, and wide 
 Turkish trousers gathered at the knee. Their gaunt brown 
 legs are bare, and their feet protected by rude sandals. 
 Tall, large-boned, and stern of face, they hint both of 
 Vandal and of Moslem blood. The younger men are of 
 inferior stature, and nearly all bow-legged. They have 
 turned the flowing trousers into modern pantaloons, the 
 legs of which are cut like the old-fashioned gigot sleeve, 
 very big and baggy at the top, and tied with a drawing- 
 string around the waist. My first impression was, that the 
 men had got up in a great hurry, and put on their trousers 
 hinder end foremost. It would be difficult to invent a cos- 
 tume more awkward and ungraceful than this. 
 
 In the city the young girls wear a large triangular piece 
 of white or black lace, which covers the hair, and tightly 
 incloses the face, being fastened under the chin and the 
 ends brought down to a point on the breast. Their al- 
 mond-shaped eyes are large and fine, but there is very little 
 positive beauty among them. Most of the old country 
 women are veritable hags, and their appearance is not im- 
 proved by the broad-brimmed stove-pipe hats which they 
 wear. Seated astride on their donkeys, between panniers 
 of produce, they come in daily from the plains and moun- 
 tains, and you encounter them on all the roads leading out 
 of Palma. Few of the people speak any other language 
 than the Mallorquin, a variety of the Catalan, which, from 
 the frequency of the terminations in ch and tz, constantly 
 suggests the old Proven9al literature. The word vitch 
 (son) is both Celtic and Slavonic. Some Arabic terms 
 are also retained, though fewer, I think, than in Andalusia. 
 
 In the afternoon I walked out into the country. The 
 wall, on the land side, which is very high and massive, is 
 pierced by five guarded gates. The dry moat, both wide
 
 BALEARIC LAYS. 181 
 
 and deep, is spanned by wooden bridges, after crossing 
 which one has the choice of a dozen highways, all scantily 
 shaded with rows of ragged mulberry-trees, glaring white 
 in the sun and deep in impalpable dry dust. But the 
 sea-breeze blows freshening across the parched land ; shad- 
 ows of light clouds cool the arid mountains in the distance ; 
 the olives roll into silvery undulations ; a palm in full, re- 
 joicing plumage rustles over your head ; and the huge 
 spatulate leaves of a banana in the nearest garden twist 
 and split into fringes. There is no languor in the air, no 
 sleep in the deluge of sunshine ; the landscape is active 
 with signs of work and travel. Wheat, wine, olives, al- 
 monds, and oranges are produced, not only side by side, 
 but from the same fields, and the painfully thorough sys- 
 tem of cultivation leaves not a rood of the soil unused. 
 
 1 had chosen, at random, a road which led me west 
 toward the nearest mountains, and in the course of an hour 
 I found myself at the entrance of a valley. Solitary farm- 
 houses, each as massive as the tower of a fortress and of 
 the color of sunburnt gold, studded the heights, overlook- 
 ing the long slopes of almond orchards. T looked about 
 for water, in order to make a sketch of the scene ; but the 
 bed of the brook was as dry as the highway. The nearest 
 house toward the plain had a splendid sentinel palm beside 
 its door, a dream of Egypt, which beckoned and drew 
 me towards it with a glamour I could not resist. Over the 
 wall of the garden the orange-trees lifted their mounds of 
 impenetrable foliage ; and the blossoms of the pomegran- 
 ates, sprinkled against such a background, were like coals 
 of fire. The fig-bearing cactus grew about the house in 
 clumps twenty feet high, covered with pale-yellow flowers. 
 The building was large and roomy, with a court-yard, 
 around which ran a shaded gallery. The farmer who was 
 issuing therefrom as I approached wore the shawl and 
 Turkish trousers of the old generation, while his two sons, 
 reaping in the adjoining wheat-fields, were hideous in th
 
 182 BT-WAYS OF EUBOPK. 
 
 \ 
 
 modern gigots. Although I was manifestly an intruder, 
 the old man greeted me respectfully, and passed oi_ to his 
 work. Three boys tended a drove of black hogs in the 
 stubble, and some women were so industriously weeding 
 and hoeing in the field beyond, that they scarcely stopped 
 to cast a glance upon the stranger. There was a grateful 
 air of peace, order, and contentment about the place ; no 
 one seemed to be suspicious, or even surprised, when I 
 seated myself upon a low wall, and watched the laborers. 
 
 The knoll upon which the farm-house stood sloped down 
 gently into the broad, rich plain of Palma, extending many 
 a league to the eastward. Its endless orchards made a 
 dim horizon-line, over which rose the solitary double-headed 
 mountain of Felaniche, and the tops of some peaks near 
 Arta. The city wall was visible on my right, and beyond 
 it a bright arc of the Mediterranean. The features of the 
 landscape, in fact, were so simple, that I fear I cannot 
 make its charm evident to the reader. Looking over the 
 nearer fields, I observed two peculiarities of Majorca, upon 
 which depends much of the prosperity of the island. The 
 wheat is certainly, as it is claimed to be, the finest of any 
 Mediterranean land. Its large, perfect grains furnish a 
 flour of such fine quality that the whole produce of the 
 island is sent to Spain for the pastry and confectionery of 
 the cities, while the Majorcans import a cheap, inferior 
 kind in its place. Their fortune depends on their absti- 
 nence from the good things which Providence has given 
 them. Their pork is greatly superior to that of Spain, and 
 it leaves them in like manner ; their best wines are now 
 bought up by speculators and exported for the fabrication 
 of sherry ; and their oil, which might be the finest in the 
 world, is so injured by imperfect methods of preservation 
 that it might pass for the worst. These things, however, 
 give them no annoyance. Southern races are sometimes 
 indolent, but rarely Epicurean in their habits; it is the 
 Northern man who sighs for his flesh-pots.
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 183 
 
 I walked forward between the fields towards anothei 
 road, and came upon a tract which had just been ploughed 
 and planted for a new crop. The soil was ridged in a 
 labyrinthine pattern, which appeared to ha\ e been drawn 
 with square and rule. But more remarkable than this was 
 the difference of level, so slight that the eye could not pos- 
 sibly detect it, by which the slender irrigating streams 
 were conducted to every square foot of the field, without a 
 drop being needlessly wasted. The system is an inherit- 
 ance from the Moors, who were the best natural engineers 
 the world has ever known. Water is scarce in Majorca, 
 and thus every stream, spring, rainfall even the dew of 
 heaven is utilized. Channels of masonry, often covered 
 to prevent evaporation, descend from the mountains, branch 
 into narrow veins, and visit every farm on the plain, what- 
 ever may be its level. Where these are not sufficient, the 
 rains are added to the reservoir, or a string of buckets, 
 turned by a mule, lifts the water from a well. But it is in 
 the economy of distributing water to the fields that the 
 most marvelous skill is exhibited. The grade of the sur- 
 face must not only be preserved, but the subtle, tricksy 
 spirit of water so delicately understood and humored that 
 the streams shall traverse the greatest amount of soil with 
 the least waste or wear. In this respect, the most skillful 
 application of science could not surpass the achievements 
 of the Majorcan farmers. 
 
 Working my way homeward through the tangled streets. 
 I was struck with the universal sound of wailing which 
 filled the city. All the tailors, shoemakers, and basket- 
 makers, at work in the open air, were singing, rarely in 
 measured strains, but with wild, irregular, lamentable cries, 
 exactly in the manner of the Arabs. Sometimes the song 
 was antiphonal, flung back and forth from the furthest 
 visible corners of a street ; and then it became a contest of 
 lungs, kept up for an hour at a time. While breakfasting, 
 I had heard, as I supposed, a miserere chanted by some
 
 184 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 procession of monks, and wondered when the doleful strain* 
 would cease. I now saw that they came from the mouth* 
 of some cheerful coopers, who were heading barrels a little 
 further down the street. The Majorcans still have their 
 troubadours, who are hired by languishing lovers to im- 
 provise strains of longing or reproach under the windows 
 of the fair, and perhaps the latter may listen with delight ; 
 but I know of no place where the Enraged Musician would 
 so soon become insane. The isle is full of noises, and a 
 Caliban might say that they hurt not ; for me they mur- 
 dered sleep, both at midnight and at dawn. 
 
 I had decided to devote my second day to an excursion 
 to the mountain paradise of Valldemosa, and sallied forth 
 early, to seek the means of conveyance. . Up to this time I 
 had been worried tortured, I may say, without exagger- 
 ation by desperate efforts to recover the Spanish tongue, 
 which I had not spoken for fourteen years. I still had the 
 sense of possessing it, but in some old drawer of memory, 
 the lock of which had rusted and would not obey the key. 
 Like Mrs. Dombey with her pain, I felt as if there were 
 Spanish words somewhere in the room, but I could not 
 positively say that I had them a sensation which, as 
 everybody knows, is far worse than absolute ignorance. I 
 had taken a carriage for "Valldemosa, after a long talk with 
 the proprietor, a most agreeable fellow, when I suddenly 
 stopped, and exclaimed to myself, "You are talking 
 Spanish, did you know it? " It was even so : as much of 
 the language as I ever knew was suddenly and unaccount- 
 ably restored to me. On my return to the " Four Nations," 
 I was still further surprised to find myself repeating songs, 
 without the failure of a line or word, which I had learned 
 from a Mexican as a school-boy, and had not thought of 
 for twenty years. The unused drawer had somehow been 
 .inlocked or broken open while I slept. 
 
 Valldemosa is about twelve miles north of "Palma, in the 
 heart of the only mountain-chain of the island, which form?
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 186 
 
 its western, or rather northwestern coast The average 
 altitude of these mountains will not exceed three thousand 
 feet ; but the broken, abrupt character of thur outlines, and 
 the naked glare of their immense precipitous walls, give 
 them that intrinsic grandeur which does not depend on 
 measurement. In their geological formation they resemble 
 the Pyrenees ; the rocks are of that palombino, or dove- 
 colored limestone, so common in Sicily and the Grecian 
 islands pale bluish gray, taking a soft orange tint on the 
 faces most exposed to the weather. Rising directly from 
 the sea on the west, they cease almost as suddenly on the 
 land side, leaving all the central portion of the island a 
 plain, slightly inclined toward the southeast, where occa- 
 sional peaks or irregular groups of hills interrupt its mo- 
 notony. 
 
 In due time my team made its appearance an omni- 
 bus of basket-work, with a canvas cover, drawn by two 
 horses. It had space enough for twelve persons, yet was 
 the smallest vehicle I could discover. There appears to be 
 nothing between it and the two-wheeled cart of the peas- 
 ant, which, on a pinch, carries six or eight. For an hour 
 and a half we traversed the teeming plain, between stacks 
 of wheat worthy to be laid on the altar at Eleusis, carob 
 trees with their dark, varnished foliage, almond-orchards 
 bending under the weight of their green nuts, and the 
 country houses with their garden clumps of orange, cactus, 
 and palm. As we drew near the base of the mountains, 
 olive-trees of great size and luxuriance covered the earth 
 
 O 
 
 with a fine sprinkle of shade. Their gnarled and knotted 
 trunks, a thousand years old, were frequently split into 
 three or four distinct and separate trees, which in the pro- 
 cess assumed forms so marvelously human in their distor- 
 tion, that I could scarcely believe them to be accidental. 
 Dore never drew anything so weird and grotesque. Here 
 were two club-headed individuals fighting, with interlocked 
 knees, convulsed shoulders, and fists full of each other*!
 
 186 BY-WAYS OF EUBOPE. 
 
 hair ; yonder a bully was threatening attack, and three 
 cowards appeared to be running away from him with such 
 speed that they were tumbling over one another's heels. 
 In one place a horrible dragon was devouring a squirming, 
 shapeless animal ; in another, a drunken man, with whirl- 
 ing arms and tangled feet, was pitching forward upon his 
 face. The living wood in Dante was tame beside these 
 astonishing trees. 
 
 We now entered a wild ravine, where, nevertheless, the 
 mountain-sides, sheer and savage as they were, had suc- 
 cumbed to the rule of man, and nourished an olive or a 
 carob tree on every corner of earth between the rocks 
 The road was built along the edge of the deep, dry bed of 
 a winter stream, so narrow that a single arch carried i 
 from side to side, as the windings of the glen compelled. 
 After climbing thus for a mile in the shadows of threaten- 
 ing masses of rock, an amphitheatre of gardens, enframed 
 by the spurs of two grand, arid mountains, opened before 
 us. The bed of the valley was filled with vines and or- 
 chards, beyond which rose long terraces, dark with orange 
 and citron trees, obelisks of cypress and magnificent groups 
 of palm, with the long white front and shaded balconies 
 of a hacienda between. r Far up, on a higher plateau be- 
 tween the peaks I saw the church-tower of Valldemosa 
 The sides of the mountains were terraced with almost in- 
 credible labor, walls massive as the rock itself being raised 
 to a height of thirty feet, to gain a shelf of soil two or 
 three yards in breadth. Where the olive and the carob 
 ceased, box and ilex took possession of the inaccessible 
 points, carrying up the long waves of vegetation until their 
 foam-sprinkles of silver-gray faded out among the highest 
 clefts. The natural channels of the rock were straightened 
 and made to converge at the base, so that not a wandering 
 cloud could bathe th wild growths of the summit without 
 being caught and hurried into some tank below. The 
 wilderness was forced, by pure toil, to become a Paradise
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 187 
 
 and each stubborn feature, which toil could not subdue, 
 now takes its place as a contrast and an ornament in the 
 picture. Verily, there is nothing in all Italy so beautiful 
 as Valldemosa ! 
 
 Lest I should be thought extravagant in my delight, let 
 me give you some words of George Sand, which I have 
 since read. " I have never seen," she says, "' anything so 
 bright, and at the same time so melancholy, as these per- 
 spectives where the ilex, the carob, pine, olive, poplar, and 
 cypress mingle their various hues in the hollows of the 
 mountain abysses of verdure, where the torrent precipi- 
 tates its course under mounds of sumptous richness and 
 an inimitable grace. .... While you hear the sound 
 of the sea on the northern coast, you perceive it only as a 
 faint shining line beyond the sinking mountains and the 
 great plain which is unrolled to the southward a sub- 
 lime picture, framed in the foreground by dark rocks cov- 
 ered with pines ; in the middle distance by mountains of 
 boldest outline, fringed with superb trees ; and beyond 
 these by rounded hills which the setting sun gilds with 
 burning colors, where the eye distinguishes, a league away, 
 the microscopic profile of trees, fine as the antennae of 
 butterflies, black and clear as pen-drawings of India ink on 
 a ground of sparkling gold. It is one of those landscapes 
 which oppress you because they leave -nothing to be desired, 
 nothing to be imagined. Nature has here created that 
 which the poet and the painter behold in their dreams. 
 An immense ensemble, infinite details, inexhaustible variety, 
 blended forms, sharp contours, dim, vanishing depths 
 all are present, and art can suggest nothing further. 
 Majorca is one of the most beautiful countries of the world 
 for the painter, and one of the least known. It is a green 
 Helvetia under the sky of Calabria, with the solemnity and 
 silence of the Orient." 
 
 The village of Valldemosa is a picturesque, rambling 
 place, brown with age, and buried in the foliage of fig and
 
 188 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 orange trees. The highest part of the narrow plateau 
 where it stands is crowned by the church and monastery 
 of the Trappists ( Cartusa), now deserted. My coachman 
 drove under the open roof of a venta, and began to unhar- 
 ness his horses. The family, who were dining at a table so 
 low that they appeared to be sitting on the floor, gave me 
 the customary invitation to join them, and when I asked 
 for a glass of wine brought me one which held nearly a 
 qi.art. I could not long turn my back on the bright, won- 
 derful landscape without ; so, taking books and colors, I 
 entered the lonely- cloisters of the monastery. Followed 
 first by one small boy, I had a retinue of at least fifteen 
 children before I had completed the tour of the church, 
 court-yard, and the long drawn, shady corridors of the 
 silent monks ; and when I took my seat on the stones at 
 the foot of the tower, with the very scene described by 
 George Sand before my eyes, a number of older persons 
 added themselves to the group. A woman brought me a 
 chair, and the children then planted themselves in a dense 
 row before me, while I attempted to sketch under such 
 difficulties as I had never known before. Precisely be- 
 cause I am no artist, it makes me nervous to be watched 
 while drawing ; and the remarks of the young men on this 
 occasion were not calculated to give me courage. 
 
 When I had roughly mapped out the sky with its few 
 floating clouds, some one exclaimed, " He has finished the 
 mountains, there they are ! " and they all crowded around 
 me, saying, " Yes, there are the mountains ! " While J 
 was really engaged upon the mountains, there was a violent 
 discussion as to what they might be ; and I don't know how 
 long it would have lasted, had I not turned to some 
 cypresses nearer the foreground. Then a young man cried 
 out : " O, that's a cypress ! I wonder if he will make them 
 all, how many are there ? One, two, three, four, five, 
 yes, he makes five ! " There was an immediate rush, shut- 
 ting out earth and heaven from my sight, and they all
 
 BALEARIC DATS. 189 
 
 cried in chorus, "One, two, three, four, fire yes, he has 
 made five ! " 
 
 " Cavaliers and ladies," I said, with solemn politeness 
 " have the goodness not to stand before me." 
 
 " To be sure ! Santa Maria ! How do you think he can 
 see ? " yelled an old woman, and the children were hustled 
 away. But I thereby won the ill-will of those garlic- 
 breathing and scratching imps, for very soon a shower of 
 water-drops fell upon my paper. Next a stick, thrown 
 from an upper window, dropped on my head, and more 
 than once my elbow was intentionally jogged from behind. 
 The older people scolded and threatened, but young 
 Majorca was evidently against me. I therefore made 
 haste to finish my impotent mimicry of air and light, and 
 get away from the curious crowd. 
 
 Behind the village there is a gleam of the sea, near, yet 
 at an unknown depth. As I threaded the walled lanes 
 seeking some point of view, a number of lusty young fel- 
 lows, mounted on unsaddled mules, passed me with a cour- 
 teous greeting. On one side rose a grand pile of rock, 
 covered with ilex-trees a bit of scenery so admirable, 
 that I fell into a new temptation. I climbed a little knoll 
 and looked around me. Far and near no children were to 
 be seen ; the portico of an unfinished house offered both 
 shade and seclusion. I concealed myself behind a pillar, 
 and went to work. For half an hour I was happy ; then a 
 round black head popped up over a garden wall, a small 
 brown form crept towards me, beckoned, and presently a 
 new multitude had assembled. The noise they made pro- 
 voked a sound of cursing from the interior of a stable ad- 
 joining the house. They only made a louder tumult in 
 answer ; the voice became more threatening, and at the 
 end of five minutes the door burst open. An old man, 
 with wrath flashing from his eyes, came forth. The chil- 
 dren took to their heels ; I greeted the new-comer politely, 
 but he hardly returned the salutation. He was a very
 
 190 BT-WAYS OF EUBOPE. 
 
 fountain of curses, and now hurled stones wit/ rtieni aftc* 
 the fugitives. When they had all disappeared behind the 
 walls, he went back to his den, grumbling and muttering 
 It was not five minutes, however, before the children wero 
 back again, as noisy as before ; so, at the first thunder from 
 the stable, I shut up my book, and returned to the inn. 
 
 While the horses were being harnessed, I tried to talk 
 with an old native, who wore the island costume, and was 
 as gritn and grizzly as Ossawatomie Brown. A party of 
 country people from the plains, who seemed to have come 
 up to Valldemosa on a pleasure trip, clambered into a two- 
 wheeled cart drawn by one mule, and drove away. My 
 old friend gave me the distances of various places, the 
 state of the roads, and the quality of the wine ; but he 
 seemed to have no conception of the world outside of the 
 island. Indeed, to a native of the village, whose fortune 
 has simply placed him beyond the reach of want, what is 
 the rest of the world ? Around and before him spreads 
 one of its loveliest pictures ; he breathes its purest air ; 
 and he may enjoy its best luxuries, if he heeds or knows 
 how to use them. 
 
 Up to this day the proper spice and flavor had been 
 wanting. Palma had only interested me, but in Vallde- 
 mosa I found the inspiration, the heat and play of vivid, 
 keen sensation, which one (often somewhat unreasonably) 
 expects from a new land. As my carriage descended, 
 winding around the sides of the magnificent mountain 
 amphitheatre, in the alternate shadows of palm and ilex, 
 pine and olive, I looked back, clinging to every marvelous 
 picture, and saying to myself, over again, " I have not 
 come hither in vain." When the last shattered gate of 
 rock closed behind me, and the wood of insane olive- 
 trunks was passed, with what other eyes I looked upon the 
 rich orchard-plain ! It had now become a part of one 
 superb whole ; as the background of my mountain view, it 
 had caught a new glory, and still wore the bloom of the in 
 visible sea.
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 191 
 
 In the evening I reached the " Four Nations," where I 
 was needlessly invited to dinner by certain strangers, and 
 dined alone, on meats cooked in rancid oil. When the 
 cook had dished the last course, he came into a room ad- 
 joining the dining apartment, sat down to a piano in his 
 white cap, and played loud, long, and badly. The landlord 
 had papered this room with illustrations from all the period- 
 icals of Europe : dancing-girls pointed their toes under 
 cardinals' hats, and bulls were baited before the shrines of 
 saints. Mixed with the wood-cuts were the landlord's own 
 artistic productions, wonderful to behold. All the house 
 was proud of this room, and with reason ; for there is as- 
 suredly no other room like it in the world. A notice in 
 four languages, written with extraordinary flourishes, an- 
 nounced in the English division that travellers will find 
 " confortation and modest prices." The former advantage, 
 I discovered, consisted in the art of the landlord, the music 
 and oil of the cook, and the attendance of a servant so 
 distant that it was easier to serve myself than seek him ; 
 the latter may have been "modest" for Palma, but in any 
 other place they would have been considered brazenly im- 
 pertinent. I should therefore advise travellers to try the 
 " Three Pigeons," in the same street, rather than the 
 " Four Nations." 
 
 The next day, under the guidance of my old friend, M. 
 Laurens, I wandered for several hours through the streets? 
 peeping into court-yards, looking over garden-walls, or 
 idling under the trees of the Alameda. There are no 
 pleasant suburban places of resort, such as are to be found 
 in all other Spanish cities ; the country commences on the 
 other side of the moat. Three small cafes exist, but can- 
 not be said to flourish, for I never saw more than one 
 table occupied. A theatre has been built, but is only open 
 during the winter, of course. Some placards on the walls, 
 however, announced that the national (that is, Majorcan) 
 diversion of baiting bulls with dogs would be given in a 
 few days.
 
 192 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 The noblesse appear to be even haughtier than in Spain 
 perhaps on account of their greater poverty ; and much 
 more of the feudal spirit lingers among them, and gives 
 character to society, than on the main-land. Each family 
 has still a crowd of retainers, who perform a certain amount 
 of service on the estates, and . are thenceforth entitled to 
 support. This custom is the reverse of profitable ; but it 
 keeps up an air of lordship, and is therefore retained. 
 Late in the afternoon, when the new portion of the Ala- 
 meda is in shadow, and swept by a delicious breeze from 
 the sea, it begins to be frequented by the people ; but I 
 noticed that very few of the upper class made their ap- 
 pearance. So grave and sombre are these latter, that one 
 would fancy them descended from the conquered Moors, 
 rather than the Spanish conquerors. 
 
 M. Laurens is of the opinion that the architecture of 
 Palma cannot be ascribed to an earlier period than the 
 beginning of the sixteenth century. I am satisfied, how- 
 ever, either that many fragments of Moorish sculpture 
 must have been used in the erection of the older buildings, 
 or that certain peculiarities of Moorish art have been 
 closely imitated. For instance, that Moorish combination 
 of vast, heavy masses of masonry with the lightest and 
 airiest style of ornamerft, which the Gothic sometimes at- 
 tempts, but never with the same success, is here found at 
 every step. I will borrow M. Laurens' words, descriptive 
 of the superior class of edifices, both because I can find no 
 better of my own, and because this very characteristic has 
 been noticed by him. " Above the ground-floor," he says, 
 " there is only one story and a low garret. The entrance 
 is a semi-circular portal without ornament ; but the num- 
 ber and dimensions of the stones, disposed in long radii, 
 give it a stately aspect. The grand haHs of the main story 
 are lighted by windows divided by excessively slender 
 columns, which are entirely Arabic in appearance. This 
 character is so pronounced, that I was obliged to examine
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 193 
 
 raore than twenty houses constructed in the same manner, 
 and to study all the details of their construction, in order 
 to assure myself that the windows had not really been 
 taken from those fairy Moresque palaces, of which the Al- 
 hambra is the only remaining specimen. Except in Ma- 
 jorca, I have nowhere seen columns which, with a height 
 of six feet, have a diameter of only three inches. The 
 fine grain of the marble of which they are made, as well 
 as the delicacy of the capitals, led me to suppose them to 
 be of Saracenic origin." 
 
 I was more impressed by the Lonja, or Exchange, than 
 any other building in Palma. It dates from the first half 
 of the fifteenth century, when the kings of the island had 
 built up a flourishing commerce, and expected to rival 
 Genoa and Venice. Its walls, once crowded with merchants 
 and seamen, are now only opened for the Carnival balls 
 and other festivals sanctioned by religion. It is a square 
 edifice, with light Gothic towers at the corners, displaying 
 little ornamental sculpture, but nevertheless a taste and 
 symmetry, in all its details, which are very rare in Spanish 
 architecture. The interior is a single vast hall, with a 
 groined roof, resting on six pillars of exquisite beauty. 
 They are sixty feet high, and fluted spirally from top to 
 bottom, like a twisted cord, with a diameter of not more 
 than two feet and a half. It is astonishing how the airy 
 lightness and grace of these pillars relieve the immense 
 mass of masonry, spare the bare walls the necessity of 
 ornament, and make the ponderous roof light as a tent. 
 There is here the trace of a law of which our modern ar- 
 chitects seem to be ignorant. Large masses of masonry 
 are always oppressive in their effect ; they suggest pain and 
 labor, and the Saracens, even more than the Greeks, seem 
 to have discovered the necessity of introducing a sportive, 
 fanciful element, which shall express the delight of the 
 workman in his work. 
 
 In the afternoon, I sallied forth from the western coast- 
 
 13
 
 194 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 gate, and found there, sloping to the shore, a village inhab 
 ited apparently by sailors and fishermen. The houses 
 were of one story, flat-roofed, and brilliantly whitewashed. 
 Against the blue background of the sea, with here and 
 there the huge fronds of a palm rising from among them, 
 they made a truly African picture. On the brown ridge 
 above the village were fourteen huge windmills, nearly all 
 in motion. I found a road leading along the brink of the 
 overhanging cliffs, toward the castle of Belver, whose brown 
 mediaeval turrets rose against a gathering thunder-cloud 
 This fortress, built as a palace for the kings of Majorca 
 immediately after the expulsion of the Moors, is now a 
 prison. It has a superb situation, on the summit of a conical 
 hill, covered with umbrella-pines. In one of its round, 
 massive cowers, Arago was imprisoned for two months in 
 1808. He was at the time employed in measuring an arc 
 of the meridian, when news of Napoleon's violent meas- 
 ures in Spain reached Majorca. The ignorant populace 
 immediately suspected the astronomer of being a spy and 
 political agent, and would have lynched him at once. 
 Warned by a friend, he disguised himself as a sailor, es- 
 caped on board a boat in the harbor, and was then placed 
 in Belver by the authorities, in order to save his life. He 
 afterwards succeeded in reaching Algiers, where he was 
 seized by order of the Bey, and made to work as a slave. 
 Few men of science have known so much of the romance 
 of Hfe. 
 
 I had a long walk to Belver, but I was rewarded by a 
 grand view of the Bay of Palma, the city and all the south- 
 ern extremity of the island. I endeavored to get into the 
 fields, to seek other points of view ; but they were sur- 
 rounded by such lofty walls that I fancied the owners of 
 the soil could only get at them by scaling-ladders. The 
 grain and trees on either side of the road were hoary with 
 dust, and the soil, of the hue of burnt chalk, seemed never 
 to have known moisture. But while I loitered on the cliffs
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 196 
 
 the cloud in the west had risen and spread ; a cold wind 
 blew over the hills, and the high gray peaks behind Vail 
 detnosa disappeared, one by one, in a veil of rain. A 
 rough tartana, which performed the service of an omnibus, 
 passed me returning to the city, and the driver, having no 
 passengers, invited me to ride. " "What is your fare ? " 
 I asked. " Whatever people choose to give," said he, 
 which was reasonable enough ; and I thus reached the 
 u Four Nations " in time to avoid a deluge. 
 
 The Majorcans are fond of claiming their island as the 
 birthplace of Hannibal. There are some remains supposed 
 to be Carthaginian near the town of Alcudia, but, singularly 
 enough, not a fragment to tell of the Roman domination, 
 although their Balearis Major must have been then, as now, 
 a rich and important possession. The Saracens, rather 
 than the Vandals, have been the spoilers of ancient art 
 Their religious detestation of sculpture was at the bottom 
 of this destruction. The Christians could consecrate the 
 old temple to a new service, and give the names of saints 
 to the statues of the gods ; but to the Moslem every repre- 
 sentation of the human form was worse than blasphemy. 
 For this reason, the symbols of the most ancient faith, mas- 
 sive and unintelligible, have outlived the monuments of 
 those which followed. 
 
 In a forest of ancient oaks near the village of Arta, 
 there still exist a number of Cyclopean constructions, the 
 character of which is as uncertain as the date of their erec- 
 tion. They are cones of huge, irregular blocks, the jambs 
 and lintels of the entrances being of single stones. In a 
 few the opening is at the top, with rude projections resem- 
 bling a staircase to aid in the descent. Cinerary urns have 
 been found in some of them, yet they do not appear to 
 have been originally constructed as tombs. The Romans 
 may have afterwards turned them to that service. In the 
 vicinity there are the remains of a Druid circle, of large 
 upright monoliths. These singular structures were formerlj
 
 196 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 much more numerous, the people (who call them " the al 
 tars of the Gentiles ") having destroyed a great many iu 
 building the village and the neighboring farm-houses. 
 
 I heard a great deal about a cavern on the eastern coast 
 of the island, beyond Arta. It is called the Hermit's Cave, 
 and the people of Palma consider it the principal thing to 
 be seen in all Majorca. Their descriptions of the place, 
 however, did not inspire me with any very lively desire to 
 undertake a two days' journey for the purpose of crawling 
 on the belly through a long hole, and then descending a 
 shaky rope-ladder for a hundred feet or more. When one 
 has performed these feats, they said, he finds himself in an 
 immense hall, supported by stalactitic pillars, the marvels 
 of which cannot be. described. Had the scenery of the 
 eastern part of the island been more attractive, I should 
 have gone as far as Arta ; but I wished to meet the steamer 
 Minorca at Alcudia, and there were but two days remain- 
 ing.
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 
 
 ii.
 
 THE same spacious omnibus and span of dun-colored 
 ponies which had taken me to Valldemosa came to carry 
 me across the island. As there is an excellent highway, 
 and the distance to Alcudia is not more than ten leagues, 
 I could easily have made the journey in a day ; but I pur- 
 posely divided it, in order to secure a quiet, unhurried en- 
 joyment of the scenery of the interior. It had rained 
 violently all night, and the morning of my departure from 
 Palma was cold and overcast. The coachman informed 
 me that four months bad elapsed since a drop of rain had 
 fallen, and that Tor two years past the island had suffered 
 from drought. I therefore wrapped myself in my cloak, 
 contented with *he raw air and threatening sky, since the 
 dry acequias would now flow with new streams, and the 
 empty tanks of the farmers be filled. 
 
 It was like a rainy day in the tropics. There was a gray 
 veil all over the sky, deepening into blackness where the 
 mountains drew down the showers. The soil, yesterday 
 as dry as a cinder, already looked soggy and drenched, 
 and in place of white, impalpable dust, puddles of water 
 covered the road. For the first two leagues we drove 
 over a dead level, seeing nothing but fig, olive, and almond 
 trees, with an occasional palm or cactus, fading out of sight 
 in the rain. Majorca is in reality the orchard of the Med- 
 iteranean. All its accessible surface is not only covered 
 with fruit-trees, but the fruit is of the most exquisite qual- 
 ity. The apricots are not dry and insipid, but full of 
 juice, and with a flavor as perfect as that of a peach. The 
 oranges and figs seemed to me the finest I had ever tasted ; 
 
 O O 
 
 even the date-palm matures its fruit, and the banana grows
 
 200 BY-WAYS Or n EUROPE. 
 
 iu the same garden with the cherry and apple. The vallej 
 of Soller, the only port on the western side of the moun- 
 tains, was described to me as one unbroken orchard of 
 superb orange-trees, a league or two in length. The diffi- 
 culty of transportation has hitherto robbed the people of 
 the profits of their production, and a new prosperity has 
 come with the recent improvement of their roads. Within 
 a league of Palma an entire village has been built within 
 the last five years ; and most of the older towns are in 
 rapid process of enlargement. 
 
 After the second league, the country became undulating, 
 the trees were loftier and more luxuriant, and woods of 
 picturesque Italian pine covered the rocky crests of the 
 hills. The mountains on the left assumed very bold and 
 violent forms, rising through the dim atmosphere like so 
 many detached towers and fortresses. There were two 
 dominant peaks, which in the sheer escarpment of their 
 summits resembled the crags of Konigstein and Lilienstein 
 in Saxony. They were the Torrella and the Puig (Peak) 
 Major grand, naked, almost inaccessible mountains, 
 which shed the rain like a roof. The water-courses which 
 came down from them were no longer dry hollows, but 
 filled to the brim with swift, roaring, turbid floods. These 
 peaks appeared to be' detached nearly to the base, and 
 between their steep abutments the mouths of dim, folding 
 gorges gave promise of rare and original scenery within 
 their recesses. 
 
 We passed Santa Maria, a beautiful little village of two 
 streets, at the intersection of which rises a fine square 
 belfry, connected with the buildings of a defunct monas- 
 tery. The picture was so pleasant that I brought its out- 
 lines away with me. In spite of the rain, the people were 
 at work in the fields, turning the red soil about the roots 
 of the olive-trees. The flowing trousers were no longer to 
 be seen ; even the old men here wore the gigot. Others, 
 with the words Peon caminero on their caps, were breaking
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 201 
 
 stones by the roadside. I received a friendlj Bon df ' 
 from each and all. Both robbery and beggary are un- 
 known in Majorca ; they have no place in a iand of so 
 much material order and cheerful industry. 
 
 Beyond Santa Maria the road again became quite level, 
 and the courses of the streams pointed to the northern 
 shore. The fruit-trees temporarily gave place to vineyards 
 so luxuriant that the shoots, unsupported by stake or trel - 
 lis, threw their tendrils around each other, and hid the soil 
 under a deluge of green. The wine of Benisalem (Arabic 
 beni-salaam, " the children of peace ") is considered the 
 best on the island. It is a fiery, golden-brown vintage, 
 resembling ripe old Malaga in flavor. 
 
 We were within a league of Inca, my destination, 
 when the rain, which had already blotted out the moun- 
 tains, began to drive over the plain. A fine spray beat 
 through the canvas cover of the omnibus, condemning me 
 to a blind, silent, and cheerless half-hour of travel. Then, 
 between garden-walls, over which the lemon-trees hung 
 great boughs breaking with fruit, and under clumps of 
 rustling and dripping palms. I entered Inca. My equipage 
 Jrew up before the door of a new fonda in a narrow old 
 street. There were billiards and coffee on the ground- 
 floor ; over them a long hall, out of which all the doors and 
 staircases issued, served as a dining-room. The floors were 
 tiled, the walls white-washed and decorated with the litho- 
 graphed histories of Mazeppa and Hernan Cortez. and the 
 heavy pine joists of the ceiling were fresh and unpainted. 
 There was an inconsiderate waste of space in the disposi- 
 tion of the rooms and passages which was pleasant to be- 
 hold. Contrary to the usual habit of travellers, I ventured 
 into (he kitchen, and found it as it ought to be the 
 most cheerful and attractive part of the house. The land- 
 lord brought a glass of the wine of Benisalem to stay my 
 hunger ; but I was not obliged to wait overlong for the 
 excellent meal of eggs, kid with pepper-sauce, and an ex-
 
 202 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 quisite dish of lobster stewed with leeks and tomatoes, 
 which I tasted for the first time. 
 
 Towards evening the rain subsided, and I went forth 
 to view the place, finding a picture at every turn. First, 
 a group of boys burning shavings before a church-door ; 
 then a gable embowered with one enormous grape-vine, 
 and touched with sunshine, while beneath, in the gloom of 
 a large arch, the family ate their supper ; then a guitar- 
 player in the door of a barber's shop, with a group around 
 him, or a company of women, filling their jars at a foun- 
 tain. The town is built upon an irregular hill, overlooking 
 the finest orchards of Majorca. The clusters of palm- 
 trees which spring from its topmost gardens are far more 
 beautiful than its church-towers. Nothing can be more 
 picturesque than the narrow valleys on either side, which 
 slope sufficiently to bring out in sumptuous contrast the 
 foliage of the terraced gardens. The people looked at me 
 curiously, but with no unfriendly air, as I followed the 
 winding streets into the country, or loitered through some 
 country lane back into the town. Only two persons spoke 
 to me the letter-carrier, and a boy who was trying to 
 knock down swallows with a long pole. The latter made 
 a remark which I did not understand, but it was evidently 
 witty, for we both laughed. The workmen at their avoca- 
 tions sang with all their force, and very dismally. It was 
 difficult to say which were the more insignificant the 
 melodies or the words of their songs. One specimen of 
 the latter will suffice to give an idea of both : 
 
 " On Sundays the young girls you may view, 
 (Since they nothing better have then to do), 
 Watering their pots of carnations sweet: 
 Saying, Drink, my dears, for you cannot eat! " 
 
 When I returned to the fonda, the landlord took me into 
 ft part of his house which was built like a tower above the 
 level of the city roofs. A thunderous mass of clouds still 
 hung over the Puig Major, but between its rifts the low
 
 BALEARIC DATS. 208 
 
 un cast long lines of brassy radiance over the wide land- 
 scape. Westward rose the torn and shattered mountains ; 
 eastward the great orchard-plain stretched away into pur- 
 ple dimness, only broken by the chapel-crowned peak of 
 Santa Maddalena, near at hand, and the signal mountain 
 of Felaniche in the distance. Inca, under my feet, re- 
 sounded with wailing noises, which, nevertheless, expressed 
 the cheerfulness and content of the inhabitants. Through 
 the lanes dividing the rich vegetation, the laborers were 
 flocking homeward from their fields ; rude tartanas rat- 
 tled along the broad white highway ; and the chimes of 
 vesper presently floated over the scene in slow, soothing 
 vibrations. " You see how beautiful the country is ! " said 
 the landlord ; " I suppose there is nothing finer in the 
 world. You will think so too, when you have been to the 
 cemetery, and have seen the new monument. It is won- 
 derful ! A basket full of flowers, and if they were not all 
 white, you would take them to be real. They say it cost 
 an immense amount of money." 
 
 When I asked forjuevos (eggs) for my suppe~ *he land- 
 lady shook her head, until somebody suggested jodos ! with 
 a sound like the whistling of wind through a keyhole. 
 They were then speedily forthcoming, with another dish of 
 the lobster and leeks, and a bottle of excellent wine. I 
 was kept awake for a long time, that night, by the thrum- 
 ming of guitars and the click of billiard balls in the cafe 
 below ; and when sleep finally came, it was suddenly broken 
 by the bursting open of the doors and windows of my room. 
 The house seemed to rock under the stress of the hurri- 
 cane ; the lightning played through the torrents of rain in 
 rapid flashes of transparent silver, accompanied with peals 
 like the crashing down of all the Puigs in the mountain- 
 chain. But at sunrise, when I went upon the roof, I found 
 the island sparkling under the purest of morning skies, 
 every leaf washed, every outline of the landscape recut 
 and all its colors bright as if newly dyed. A bracing
 
 204 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 north wind blew over the fields, and there was an exprefr 
 sion of joy in the very dance of the boughs and the waving 
 of the vines. 
 
 When we set out for Alcudia, the coachman first drove 
 to a fountain at the foot of the hill, and watered his horses. 
 There was a throng about the place, old women with 
 huge earthen amphorae, young girls with jars which they 
 carried on the hip, donkeys laden with casks, and children 
 carrying all sorts of smaller vessels. The water is brought 
 from the mountains to this fountain, which never fails in 
 its supply. It is shaded by grand old plane and carob 
 trees, which throw a network of light and gloom over the 
 great stone tanks and the picturesque moving crowds. 
 Rising out of the glen where it stands, I saw the mountains 
 bare in the morning sun, every crevice and jag of their 
 rocky fronts painted with a pre-Raphaelite pencil. Past 
 flie foot of the solitary mountain of Santa Maddalena ran 
 our road, and then northward over a second plain, even 
 richer than that of Palma. 
 
 The olive and almond trees by the roadside had been 
 washed clean of dust, but they hissed in the breeze as dryly 
 as if they had never known rain. The very colors of the 
 olive, ilex, and myrtle express aridity. Their dry leaves 
 seem to repel moisture, even as the mellow, sappy green of 
 the North seems to attract it. But their soft grays relieve 
 the keen, strong tints of soil, sea, and sky, and we could ill 
 spare them from these landcapes. As accessories to sun- 
 browned houses, or masses of ruined architecture, they are 
 invaluable. They belong naturally to an atmosphere of age 
 and repose, while fresh turf and deciduous trees perpetually 
 reproduce the youth of Nature. Something of Attica al- 
 ways conies to me with the olive, something of Tusculum 
 and the Sabine Farm with the ilex. The box, I know not 
 why, suggests the Euphrates ; and the myrtle in bloom, the 
 Garden of Eden. 
 
 While these thoughts were passing through my mind,
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 205 
 
 the road slowly feL to the northward ; and I beheld in the 
 distance fields of a green so dazzling that the hackneyed 
 term " emerald " seems much too dull to express it. It 
 positively burned in the sun, drawing into itself the lustre 
 of the sky, the distant sea. and the leagues of glittering 
 foliage. Over it rose, as a completer foil, the gray moun- 
 tains of the peninsula dividing the bays of Pollenza and 
 Alcudia. I was at a loss to guess what plant could give 
 such an indescribable color ; and not until we were within 
 a stone's throw did I recognize the leaves of hemp. An 
 open, marshy plain, entirely bare of trees, bordered the bay 
 at this point. The splendid orchards ceased ; the road 
 crossed some low hills overgrown with ilex and pine, a 
 turbid, roaring stream, with poplars on its banks ; and then 
 a glimmer of the sea on either hand showed that we had 
 reached the peninsula. There were Moorish atalayas, 01 
 watch-towers, on the summits nearest the sea, and a large 
 ruined fortress of the Middle Ages on a hill inland. 
 Alcudia, with its yellow walls, its cypress and palm trees, 
 now appeared at the foot of the barren heights, oriental in 
 every feature. It was a picture from the Syrian coast, 
 needing only the old Majorcun costume for the laborers in 
 the fields to be perfect. 
 
 Contrasted with those parts of the island which I had 
 seen, the country appeared singularly lonely and deserted. 
 Few persons met us on the road, and we passed none on 
 their way to the town. Grass grew on the huge walls of 
 defense, the stones were slipping from the arch of the gate- 
 way, and we passed into a silent street without seeing a liv- 
 ing thing. My coachman stopped before a mean-looking 
 house, with no sign or other indication of its character, and 
 informed me that it was the only fonda in the place. A 
 woman who came to the door confirmed this statement, 
 modestly adding. u We are not very fine, but we will give 
 you what we have." A narrow room on the ground-floor 
 was at once entrance-hall, dining-room, and kitchen ; it
 
 206 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 contained one table, three chairs, much dirt, and very nim- 
 ble inserts. The inmates were two women, and a small 
 dog with a bell on his neck, which, whenever he scratched 
 his head with his hind foot, rang a peal of alarm through 
 the house. Feeling the need of consolation, I summoned 
 a boy from the street, and gave him some money to bring 
 me cigars from the estanco ; but the hostess, taking the 
 coin, cried out in great excitement : " Don't send that ! 
 Holy Mother, don't send that ! You'll lose a 'chavo on 
 it ! " The coachman burst into a laugh, repeating, " Lose 
 a 'chavo ! " which is about the eighth part of a cent ; but 
 the woman was so horrified at the idea that I gave the boy 
 another coin. 
 
 While the eggs and tough scraps of beef destined for 
 my meal were simmering in pans of strong oil, the hostess 
 conducted me into a room above, which contained a large 
 and very ancient bed, five blue chests, and twenty-three 
 pictures of saints. " There ! " she exclaimed, with a wave 
 of the arm and a look of triumph, " my own room, but you 
 shall have it ! We may not be very fine, but we give what 
 we have." Whatever my thoughts may have been, it was 
 quite impossible to avoid expressing my entire satisfaction. 
 
 I took my books, went outside the walls to a tower which 
 I had noticed on the ridge, and there found the very view 
 of the town, the mountains, and the bay, which a stranger 
 would desire to take home with him. In the full noonday 
 sunshine, there was scarcely shadow enough to relieve the 
 clear golden tints of the landscape ; but the place was en- 
 tirely deserted, which was a better fortune than I enjoyed 
 at Valldemosa. Three peasants were reaping wheat in a 
 little field behind the tower ; now and then a donkey and 
 rider jogged slowly along the distant highway ; but no one 
 seemed to notice the mysterious stranger. I had an undis- 
 turbed dream of two hours, for the forms before rne, half 
 borrowed from my memories of Oriental life, half drawn 
 from those landscapes which rise in our minds as we read
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 207 
 
 the stories of the Middle Ages, satisfied both the eye and 
 the fancy. Some scenes suggest the sound of a flute and 
 Theocritan idyls ; others, horns and trumpets, and frag 
 ments of epic poetry ; but here the only accompaniment 
 was cymbals, the only poems suggested were " Fatima 
 and " Rudel to the Lady of Tripoli." 
 
 In the afternoon I walked around the city walls, climbed 
 upon them, visited the deserted monastery of San Diego, 
 and wandered at will through its picturesque ruins. The 
 place is surrounded by double walls of great strength, 
 divided by a moat cut out of the solid rock. The caper- 
 plant, the ivy, and the wild fig-tree have taken possession 
 of the parapet and the rifts between the stones, goats 
 browse in the bottom of the moat, and children's faces 
 peep forth from the watch-towers on the ramparts. Out- 
 side the principal gate, I came upon a Gothic cross, rest- 
 ing on an octagonal base, so very old and weather-beaten 
 that it must certainly have been erected during the first 
 years of the conquest. The walls of the city are said to be 
 Saracenic ; but the people are poor authority on this or 
 any other historical point. It is certain, at least, that 
 Alcudia was formerly much more important than now. Its 
 bay was a naval station, whence expeditions were sent out 
 to Africa or the Levant ; and there were times when the 
 kings of Spain built whole fleets from the forests of the 
 island. 
 
 Of late, a little fresh life has begun to flow into the silent 
 old town. On the shore of the bay, a few miles off, an 
 English company has undertaken agricultural operations 
 on a grand scale. Many square leagues of the former use- 
 less, pestiferous marshes have been drained, steam-engines 
 erected to supply water for irrigation, and an attempt made 
 to cultivate cotton. Concerning the success of the under- 
 taking, I heard the most contradictory accounts. The 
 people could only tell me of the immense sums expended, 
 sums which appeared almost fabulous to them. The
 
 208 BY-WAYS OF EUKOPE. 
 
 agents, of course, claimed to be entirely successful, not 
 withstanding the cotton-plants, this year, will scarcely pro- 
 duce enough to pay for the seed. Last year (1866), I wig 
 informed, the yield was very fine : the staple being equal le 
 that of our Sea-island cotton. The intention of the Eng 
 lish capitalists was probably to produce a similar article, 
 and it cannot be denied that they have shrewdly chosen 
 the spot for the experiment. 
 
 When the afternoon shadow filled the street, I seated 
 myself at the door of the fonda, and amused myself with 
 the movements of some carpenters in an opposite shop. 
 Two lusty apprentices were engaged in the slow labor of 
 sawing beams into boards, while the master fitted together 
 the parts of a door. The former used an upright saw, one 
 standing on a frame overhead, and the other on the floor 
 
 o 
 
 below ; they were just an hour and a half in sawing five 
 boards from a beam a foot wide and sixteen feet long. 
 Whenever a neighbor dropped in to gossip with the master, 
 the saw stopped, and the apprentices took an active part 
 in the conversation. There was also a boy of twelve years 
 old, who did no work except in the way of singing. With 
 his head thrown back, and his mouth open to its fullest ex- 
 tent, he poured forth an endless succession of piercing cries, 
 recommencing, at the end of each lamentable close of the 
 measure, with a fury and frenzy which nearly drove me 
 wild. The little dog in the fonda, from time to time, rang 
 a suggestive peal upon his bell, and echoes from other 
 streets, and distant bells from other tormented dogs, filled 
 up the pauses of the performance. 
 
 At sunset the other inmates of the fonda began to collect. 
 First, there arrived two French workmen, of mean aspect ; 
 then a Spanish cavalier, who was evidently a person of some 
 importance, for he invited nobody to partake of his supper. 
 He was a large, olive-colored man, with a loud voice and 
 opaque gray eyes, in which, as he fixed them upon my face, 
 I read the question, " Are you not going to salute me ? " I
 
 BALEABIC DAYS. 205 
 
 returned the look, and my eyes answered, " Who art thou, 
 that I should salute thee ? " After these remarks, tfhicb 
 both understood, we spoke no more. Several natives came, 
 during the evening, to be paid for some service ; but they 
 received no money. The two Frenchmen supped with the 
 hostess and her family, but the important Spaniard and 
 myself had our meals apart. Finally the comedy became 
 tiresome, and I went to bed. 
 
 Not to sleep, alas ! The little dog's bell was silent 
 through the night, but had there been one around my neck 
 it would have chimed the quarter-hours without a single 
 failure. The steamer for Minorca was expected in the bay 
 at sunrise ; so T arose with the first stir in the house, and 
 found two gentlemen who had come from Palma during the 
 night, and three man-of-war's men, waiting in the street for 
 an omnibus which was to carry us to the mole. We all 
 waited together an hour, took chocolate, and then, after an- 
 other half-hour, were requested to climb into a two-wheeled 
 cart, drawn by a single horse. The hostess said to me, ' We 
 are not very fine, and I don't know how much you ought 
 to pay, but I will take what you think right," which she 
 did, with honest thanks, and then we clattered out of the gate. 
 
 A descent of two miles between fields of wheat and olives 
 brought us to the mole, where we found only a few lazy 
 boatmen lying upon heaps of iron castings, which were 
 waiting, apparently, for the English engineers. Shoals of 
 young sardines sprinkled the clear green deeps of the sea 
 with a million points of light, and some dead flounders lay 
 like lozenges of silver among the dark weeds of the bottom. 
 A. new fish-crate, floating beside the pier, was a mild evi- 
 dence of enterprise. The passengers sat in the sun until 
 it became too powerful, then in the shade, and so another 
 hour and a half rolled away. With the first appearance of 
 the steamer, we got into a boat, and slowly floated out be- 
 tween two crystal atmospheres (so transparent is the sea* 
 into the roadstead. 
 14
 
 210 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 The extent of the Bay of Alcudia cannot be less thau 
 fifteen miles, for our deliberate steamer was nearly two 
 hours in getting its southern headland abeam. Once out- 
 side, the eastern coast of Majorca opened finely with a long, 
 diminishing group of mountains, and the dim, nearly level 
 outline of Minorca appeared in front. The sea was like a 
 mirror, broken only at times by a floating turtle or the leap 
 of a dolphin. I found the Mahonese on board to be a very 
 different class of persons from the Majorcans in whose com. 
 pany I had left Barcelona. Port Mahon was for twenty 
 years our Mediterranean naval station ; and although for 
 twenty years it has ceased to be so, there are still traces of 
 intelligence, of sympathy, of language, and of blood, which 
 our quasi-occupation has left behind. Two of the passen- 
 gers had visited America, one had an American wife in 
 Minorca, and all became friendly and communicative when 
 my nationality was announced. They had faithfully fol- 
 lowed the history of our navy through the war, and took 
 especial pains to claim Admiral Farragut as a countryman. 
 His father, they said, was a Minorcan, and the farm in the 
 interior of the island upon which he once lived still bears 
 the family name. I was brought back suddenly from the 
 times of Tancred (which had faded out of sight with the 
 walls of Alcudia) to our stormy politics and the new names 
 they have given to history. 
 
 All the afternoon we skirted the southern coast of Mi- 
 norca. The town of Ciudadela, at its western extremity) 
 showed like a faint white mark in the distance ; then some 
 groups of hills interrupted the level table of the island, and, 
 farther eastward, the solitary mountains of El Toro. The 
 two gentlemen of Pal ma, neither of whom had ever before 
 made a journey, went below and slept the sleep of indiffer- 
 ence. Many of the Mahonese followed their example ; and, 
 the quarter-deck being left clear. I stretched myself out over 
 the cabin skylight, and quietly watched the moving shore, as 
 if it were some immense diorama unrolled for my eyes only
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 211 
 
 The white cliffs along the sea, the tawny harvest- fields, the 
 gray olives embosoming villages and country-houses, and the 
 occasional shafts of cypress or palm, slowly photographed 
 themselves upon my consciousness, and became enduring 
 pictures. Had I climbed and hammered the cliffs as a 
 geologist, scoured the fields as a botanist, analyzed the soil, 
 or even measured its undulations, I could not have obtained 
 a completer impression of Minorca. 
 
 El Toro was drifting astern, and the island of Ayre 
 showed its light-house in front, when the sound of a guitar 
 disturbed my^omfortable process of absorption, and brought 
 the sleepy passengers upon deck. The performer was a 
 blind Spaniard, a coarse-featured, clumsy man, whose life 
 and soul had gone into his instrument, separating light, 
 beauty, and refinement from earthy darkness. When he 
 played, the guitar really seemed to be the man, and his 
 body a mere holder, or music-stand. The Mahonese, I was 
 glad to see, not only appreciated the performance, but were 
 very liberal in their contributions. 
 
 The island of Ayre lies off the southeastern extremity of 
 Minorca. In the intervening strait, the sea was so wonder- 
 fully transparent that the alternations of bare limestone floor 
 and fields of sea-weed far below our keel, changed the color 
 of the water from a turquoise so dazzling that I can only 
 call it blue fire to an emerald gloom pierced with golden 
 lightning^. Even that southern temperament which cares 
 so little for Nature, was aroused by the sight of these splen- 
 dors. The passengers hung over the railing with cries of 
 admiration, and the blind minstrel was left to soliloquize on 
 his guitar. Against a headland in front, the smooth sea 
 suddenly rose in a crest of foam, behind which a gleam of 
 darker sapphire denoted the mouth of a harbor. In a few 
 minutes more we were abreast of the entrance to Port Ma- 
 hon, with a great ascending slope of new fortifications on the 
 north. Hundreds of men are now employed on defenses 
 which the new developments in na^ al warfare have rendered
 
 212 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 useless ; and the officials conceal, with the most jealous few 
 the plan of a system of forts and batteries which no othef 
 nation need care to know. 
 
 The lower ground, on the southern side of the entrance 
 to the inner harbor, is entirely covered with the ruins of the 
 immense fortress of San Felipe, built by the English during 
 their occupation of Minorca from 1708 to 1802. The fate 
 of Admiral Byng, executed for a naval victory over the 
 French, gives a tragic interest to these ruins, which, in 
 their extent, resemble those of a city. All governments 
 (our own included) know how to make their individual ser- 
 vants the scapegoats for their blunders or their incapacity; 
 but I know not, in all history, of a case so flagrant as that 
 of Byng. The destruction of Fort San Felipe cost nearly 
 half a million of dollars, and yet it appears to be only partial. 
 
 On passing the channel between the fort and Cape Mola, 
 we found ourselves in the port, but only at its entrance ; the 
 city was not yet visible. A bright white town crowned the 
 low cliffs of the southern shore the former Georgetown 
 of the English, the present Villa Carlos of the Spaniards. 
 Opposite to it, the long quarantine island divided the in- 
 tensely blue water ; and my fellow-passengers claimed with 
 pride that it was capable ^of accommodating a whole fleet. 
 Beyond this island the harbor bends southward, shutting out 
 of sight the sea entrance ; it becomes a still lake, inclosed 
 by bare, bright hills. The Isle of the King, with a splendid 
 military hospital ; the ship-yard, with a vessel of a thousand 
 tons on the stocks, and various other public constructions, 
 appeared successively on our right. The nearer southern 
 shore, a wall of dark gray rock, broken by deep gashes in 
 which houses were hidden and steep roads climbed to the 
 summit, increased in height : as we approached the end of 
 the harbor, quays along the water, and a fresh, many-colored, 
 glittering town on the rocks, showed that we had reached 
 Port Malion. Nature has made this basin as picturesque 
 as it is secure. The wild cliffs of the coast here pierc*
 
 BALEABIC DAYS. 218 
 
 inland, but they are draped with splendid gardens ; fields 
 of wheat climb the hills, and orchards of olive clothe their 
 feet ; over the table-land of the island rises in the distance 
 the purple peak of El Toro ; and the city before you, raised 
 on a pedestal a hundred feet in height, seems to be one of 
 the most beautiful of the Mediterranean. " Did you ever 
 see a place like that ? " asked a Mahonese at my elbow. 
 
 " Captain , of your navy, used to say that there were 
 
 only three good harbors in the Mediterranean, the 
 months of July and August, and Port Mahon ! " Captain 
 , however, as my friend perhaps did not know, bor- 
 rowed the remark from Admiral Andrea Doria, who made 
 it centuries ago. 
 
 The " Fonda del Oriente " looked down upon me invit- 
 ingly from the top of the rock, which was made accessible 
 by a road carried up in steep, zigzag ramps. At the door 
 of the hotel I was received by a stout old man with a cos- 
 mopolitan face, who, throwing his head on one shoulder, 
 inspected me for a few moments with a remarkably know- 
 ing air. Then, with a nod of satisfaction at his own acute- 
 ness, he said, "Walk in, sir; how do you find yourself?" 
 Ushering me into a chamber furnished with an old mahog- 
 any secretary, heavy arm-chairs, and antiquated prints, 
 the atmosphere of Portsmouth or Gravesend hanging over 
 everything, he continued, after another critical survey, 
 " Mr. Alexander, I believe ? " 
 
 ' ; That is not my name," I said. 
 
 " Not Alexander ! Then it must be Sykes ; they are 
 brothers-in-law, you know," persisted the stout old man. 
 
 I answered him with a scrutinizing stare, and the words, 
 " Your name is Bunsby, I think ? " 
 
 ' v no ! " he exclaimed ; " I am Antonio. You can't be 
 Mr. Sykes, either, or you'd know me." 
 
 " You are talking of Englishmen ; I am not English." 
 
 " Not English ? " he cried. " H'm, well, that's queer j 
 but, to be sure, you must be American. I know all the
 
 BY-WAYS OF EUKOPE. 
 
 American officers that ever were here, and they know me. 
 Ask Commodore and if they don't know An- 
 tonio ! The greatest mistake I ever made was that I didn't 
 move to Spezia with the squadron." 
 
 " Can you give me dinner ? " I asked, cutting off the 
 coming yarn. 
 
 " Stop ! " he said ; " don't tell me ; I can guess what you 
 want. A beefsteak rare, hey ? and mixed pickles, hey ? and 
 potatoes with their jackets on, hey ? But it's too late to 
 make a pudding, and there's no Stilton cheese ! Never 
 mind! let me alone; nobody in Port Mahon can come 
 nearer the real thing than I can." 
 
 In vain I declared my willingness to take the Minorcan 
 dishes. Such a taste had probably never before been ex- 
 pressed in all Antonio's experience of English and Ameri- 
 cans ; and my meals then and thenceforth were a series of 
 struggles to reproduce Portsmouth or Gravesend. But the 
 hotel was large, airy, and perfectly clean ; Antonio honestly 
 endeavored to make me comfortable ; he knew a great many 
 of my naval friends, and I had no complaint to make with 
 his reckoning at the close of my stay. He was, moreover, 
 a man of progress ; he corned beef, and cured hams, and 
 introduced the making of butter (not very successfully), 
 and taught the people how to cook potatoes. He even 
 dispatched a cheese, as a present, to Marshal Serrano, 
 before I left Port Mahon. 
 
 Refreshed by a long sleep, which was not disturbed by 
 any little dog with a bell on his neck, or that which the 
 sound of the latter suggested, I sallied forth in the morning 
 without any objective point. The city must first be seen, 
 because it lay between me and the country. I was delighted 
 to find wide, well-paved streets as compared with those of 
 Palma, clean, cheerful houses, and an irregularity sufficient 
 for picturesque effect, without being bewildering to a stran- 
 ger. Very few of the buildings appeared to be older than 
 the last century ; there was nothing characteristic in theif
 
 ALEABIC DATS. 215 
 
 architecture ; but tl:e city, from end to end, was gay, sunny, 
 full of color, riante, and without a trace of the usual Spanish 
 indolence and uncleanliness. It has somewhat fallen from 
 its former estate. Grass grows in many of the streets, and 
 there is less noise and movement than one would look for 
 with the actual population some fifteen thousand. Three 
 or four small craft in the harbor did not indicate an active 
 commerce, and I presume the place is kept alive mainly 
 by the visits of foreign men-of-war. A great many of the 
 common people speak a few words of English, and you 
 may even read " Adams, Sastre," over the door of a native 
 tailor ! 
 
 The climate, although considered harsh by the Spaniards, 
 seemed to me perfect. The sun of June shone in a cloud- 
 less sky, flooding the sharp, clear colors of the town with a 
 deluge of light ; yet a bracing wind blew from the north, 
 and the people in the fields and gardens worked as steadily 
 as Connecticut farmers. I saw no loafers upon the island ; 
 and I doubt whether there are enough of them to form a 
 class among the native population. While there was evi- 
 dently a great deal of poverty, I encountered no beggars. 
 I felt, as in Majorca, that I was among a simple-minded, 
 ignorant but thoroughly honest and industrious people. 
 
 The street I had chosen gradually rose as I proceeded 
 inland ; walled gardens succeeded to the houses, and then 
 fields of wheat or vines, separated by huge agglomerations 
 of stones. I looked over an undulating table-land, cov- 
 ered with such lines and mounds of rocky debris, that they 
 seemed to be the ruins of a city. Every patch of grain or 
 fruit was inclosed by a cannon-proof fortification, and the 
 higher ridges terminated in bald parapets, whereon the 
 dark mounds of box and ilex held fast and flourished with- 
 out any appearance of soil. At the foot of these wild 
 growths the fig-tree grew with wonderful luxuriance, and 
 very often the foliage of the untamable rock was mingled 
 with that of the gardens Here every foot of ground had
 
 216 BY-WAYS OF EUBOPE. 
 
 been won by the rudest, the most patient toil. Even tht 
 fields conquered centuries ago are not yet completely man- 
 ageable ; hundreds of stony fangs still protrude from the 
 surface, and the laborer is obliged to follow the plough 
 with hoe and spade. Thus, in spite of the almost incred- 
 ible triumphs of agriculture with which the island is covered, 
 its general aspect is that of a barren, torn, hopeless wilder- 
 ness. Without broad or grand features of landscape, it is 
 crowded with startling contrasts and picturesque details. 
 
 I wandered southward between the high, loose walls, 
 towards a mound which promised me a wider inland view ; 
 but on approaching it, the road entered an impenetrable 
 shade, and passed beyond. There was no gate or entrance 
 of any kind into the fields, so I took advantage of a jagged 
 corner of the wall, and climbed to the top. On the other 
 side there was a wheat-field, in which three men were reap- 
 ing. I now saw that what I had taken for a mound was a 
 circular tower, the top of which had been torn down, form- 
 ing a slope around its base, which was covered with rank 
 thickets of mastic and myrtle. I asked the men, who had 
 stopped work, and were curiously regarding me, whether I 
 might cross their field and visit the ruin. " Certainly, 
 Senor," said the master ; " come down and walk about 
 where you please." He then called, in a loud voice, 
 " Miguel ! " and presently a small boy came to light from 
 behind a pile of rocks. " Miguel," said he, " go with the 
 Senor to the atalaya, and show him the steps." 
 
 I clambered down into the little field, which, sunken 
 between enormous walls of stone, somewhat resembled a 
 volcanic crater. Miguel piloted me silently across the 
 stubble, between solid mounds of ilex, which seemed no 
 less ancient and indestructible than the rocks upon which 
 they grew, and by a gap in an outer wall into the bed of a 
 dry moat around the tower. The latter, though only ten 
 feet wide, stood thick with ripe wheat ; but it was bridged 
 in one place by a line of stones, and we thus crossed with-
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 217 
 
 out trampling down the precious stalks. There were no 
 steps to the tower, but a zigzag path had been trampled 
 among the ruins, at the foot of which I dismissed Miguel, 
 and then mounted to the summit. I first looked abroad 
 upon the bright, busy, wild, savage, wonderfully cultivated 
 fields and gardens, the white towers and tiled roofs of the 
 city behind me, and a single blue fragment of the sea (like 
 a piece chipped out of the edge of a bowl) in the east. The 
 characteristics of Minorcan scenery, which I have" already 
 described, gave the view a character so novel and so re 
 markable, that I studied them for a long time before ex 
 amining more closely the ruin upon which I stood. 
 
 The farmer had called it an atalaya, and the tower was 
 clearly of Moorish construction. Its height must have 
 been originally much greater, or it could not have answered 
 its purpose of watching the sea. The hollow interior is en- 
 tirely filled with the fragments, so that nothing of the struc- 
 ture remains except its circular form. Outside of the dry 
 moat there is a massive pentangular wall, with a lozenge- 
 shaped pile of solid masonry at each corner ; the whole 
 evidently designed for defense, and of later date than the 
 tower itself. Such quantities of stones had been heaped 
 upon the old foundations by the farmers, in clearing spaces 
 for their crops, that very little of the masonry was to be 
 seen. To be of service, however, the walls must have been 
 at least twenty feet higher than at present. Many of the 
 stones have no doubt been carried away for buildings, and 
 there are still huge piles of them in the adjacent fields. 
 Towering out of one of these piles I caught a glimpse of 
 another relic of a still remoter past an object so unex- 
 pected that I at first took it for an accidental disposition 
 of the stoiies. I descended to the moat, clambered over 
 the outer wall, and made my way to the spot. 
 
 It was a Celtic tor, or altar a large upright block of 
 gray limestone, supporting a horizontal block about ten 
 feet in length. The pillar was so buried in fragments
 
 218 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 which had been piled about it, that I could not ascertain 
 its height ; but the character of the monument was too dis- 
 tinctly marked to admit of a question. After returning to 
 Port Mahon, I found that its existence was well known. 
 In fact, the first question asked me was, " Have you seen 
 the Pho3nician altar?" When and by whom these re- 
 markable monuments which are found in all the Medi- 
 terranean islands between Greece and Gibraltar were 
 erected,' is a point which I will leave antiquarians to dis- 
 cuss. It pleased me, as I sat under a fig-tree which shot 
 up through the stones, to fancy that the remains of three 
 memorable phases in the history of man were before me, 
 of the Druids in the crumbling altar, of the Saracens in 
 the watch-tower, and of the house of Aragon or Castile in 
 the fortress enclosing it. 
 
 According to Strabo, the Balearic Islands were colonized 
 by the Rhodians ; but Strabo probably knew less about the 
 matter than any respectable antiquarian of our own day. 
 The people of Minorca firmly believe that Magon, the 
 brother of Hannibal, founded Port Mahon, and they attrib- 
 ute the Drtiidic stones and the Cyclopean constructions 
 (which are here found side by side) to the Phrenicians. 
 The English occupation, which left at least a good map be- 
 hind it, led to no historic investigations ; and I cannot learn 
 that any detailed account of the antiquities of the island 
 has ever been published. Those remains which we call 
 Druidic are very numerous ; some of the upright monoliths 
 are more' than twenty feet in height, supporting horizontal 
 stones of nearly equal dimensions. Nothing but the lack 
 of archaeological knowledge prevented me from making a 
 journey through the interior for the purpose of examining 
 the other monuments. 
 
 I made use of my brief visit, however, to test the truth of 
 another story, which is among the permanent traditions of 
 the American navy. Every one has read the account of a 
 captain's son leaping from the main-truck of a frigate ; and
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 21S 
 
 in the days when Morris was popular, his verses co/nmen- 
 cing 
 
 " Old Ironsides at anchor lay 
 In the harbor of Mahon," 
 
 went the rounds of all the country newspapers. There 
 was a melodramatic air about the incident which made me 
 suspicious. I suppose the lines recalled themselves to my 
 mind from the fact that Port Mahon is nowhere else noted 
 in song. The Consul, who kindly seconded my curiosity 
 in a matter of so little importance, went to an old 
 Mahonese, who has had the greatest experience of our ves- 
 sels and officers, and questioned him, taking care not to 
 suggest the story in advance. But the old man instantly 
 said : " O yes ! I remember all about it. Fifty years ago, 
 or more, when the Constitution frigate was here, a boy 
 climbed to the very top of the mainmast, and was obliged to 
 jump into the harbor, as there was no other way of getting 
 down. Not many persons saw the act, but it was much 
 talked about, and nobody doubted that the boy had done 
 it" Whether the captain forced his son to take the ter- 
 rible leap by threatening to shoot him with a rifle, the old 
 man could not tell. 
 
 The next morning the Consul accompanied me on an- 
 other excursion into the country. We passed through the 
 town, and descended to an alameda which skirts the har- 
 bor to its western end, where the highway to Ciudadela 
 strikes off towards the centre of the island. The harbor 
 once penetjjated a mile deeper into the country than at 
 present, so the people say ; but it must have been a shal- 
 low, marshy basin, as the hills around could not possibly 
 spare enough soil to fill up and make fruitful the valley 
 which one now enters after leaving the harbor-wall. This 
 valley is the largest tract of unbroken garden land which 
 I saw in Minorca. Its productiveness is apparently un- 
 limited. Maize, cabbages, sweet potatoes, hemp, vines, 
 vegetables of all kinds, covered the surface ; date-palms
 
 220 BY-WAVS OF EUROPE. 
 
 and orange-trees, so overwhelmed with fruit that scarcelj 
 a green leaf showed through the dazzling gold, turned it 
 into a garden of the tropics ; while precipitous walls ol 
 limestone, resting on rough natural vaults and arches, shut 
 out the rocky upper plateau from view. The h borers were 
 planting new crops in the place of the old ; so valuable is 
 this rich basin that no part of its surface is allowed to lie 
 fallow for a day. 
 
 On the left, the inclosing walls were broken by the 
 mouth of a glen, the sides of which regular terraces of 
 rock, resting on arched foundations seemed at first sight 
 to be the work of art. Here, in the shade of a group of 
 poplars and sycamores, stood the chapel of San Juan, 
 white, cool, and solitary. A fountain, issuing from the base 
 of the rocks near it, formed a little pool in which some 
 women were washing clothes. The picture was Oriental 
 in every feature, so much so that I was surprised not to 
 hear " Saba' el-kheyr ! " when the women said to us, " Bon 
 di' tenga ! " 
 
 Entering the glen behind the chapel, a few paces 
 brought us into a different world. Except upon some 
 painfully constructed shelf of soil, built up or rescued in 
 some way from the rocks, there was no cultivation. Our 
 path was a natural pavement, torn by the occasional rains ; 
 bare cliffs of gray limestone, vaulted at the base, overhung 
 us on either side, and the mounds of box on the summit 
 sparkled against the sky. Every feature of the scenery 
 bore the marks of convulsion. Enormous blocks had been 
 hurled from above ; the walls were split with deep, irregu- 
 lar crevices ; and even the stubborn evergreen growths 
 took fantastic shapes of horns, fluttering wings, tufts of 
 hair, or torn garments. Now and then a dry-leaved ilex 
 rustled and rattled in the breeze ; and the glen, notwith- 
 standing it brimmed over with intensest sunshine, would 
 have seemed very drear and desolate but for the incessant 
 songs of the nightingales. While I crept under a rock to
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 221 
 
 sketch a singularly picturesque combination of those crag- 
 forms, every one of which was a study, the joyous 
 birds made the place ring with their paeans. The day- 
 song of the nightingale is as cheerful as that of the lark ; 
 its passion and sorrow is kept for the night. 
 
 If I had been an artist, I should have spent a fortnight 
 in the glen of San Juan ; but as it was, having only an- 
 other day in Minorca, I could not linger there beyond an 
 hour. At the point where I sat it divides into two 
 branches, which gradually rise, as they wind, to the level 
 of the table-land ; and the great stone-heaps commence 
 immediately behind the topmost fringe of box. The 
 island, in fact, is a single rock, upon the level portions of 
 which a little soil has lodged. Wherever one may travel 
 in the interior, it presents the same appearance. The dis- 
 tance from Port Mahon to the old town of Ciirdadela, at 
 the western extremity of Minorca, is about twenty-five 
 miles ; and the Consul informed me that I should find 
 the same landscapes all the way. There is nothing re- 
 markable in Ciudaclela except a cathedral of the thirteenth 
 century, and some Saracenic walls. On the way are the 
 three other principal towns of the island Alayor, Mer- 
 cadal, and Ferrerias, all of which are rudely built, and 
 have an equal air of poverty. It was for a moment a ques- 
 tion with me whether I should employ my little remaining 
 time in a rapid journey to Ciudadela and back, or in stroll- 
 ing leisurely through the country around Port Mahon, and 
 setting down my observations as typical of all Minorca. 
 The reports of the Consul justified me in adopting the lat- 
 ter and easier course. 
 
 In the afternoon we walked to the village of San Luis, 
 about four miles distant, and recently made accessible by 
 a superb highway. The great drought which has prevailed 
 in all the Balearic Islands during the past two years has 
 seriously injured the crops, and there is much suffering in 
 Minorca, which is so much less favored by nature than its
 
 222 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 larger sister island. I heard of families of five persona 
 living for months on less than twenty-five cents a day. 
 Agriculture is profitable in good seasons, on account of the 
 excellent quality of the wheat, oil, and oranges ; but the 
 deposit of soil, as I have already explained, is very shallow, 
 there is no sheltering range of mountains as in Majorca, 
 no supply of water for irrigation, and the average produc- 
 tion is therefore much less certain. The price of land is 
 nigh, for the reason that the proprietors are satisfied if it 
 yields them annually two per cent, of its value. Shoe- 
 making is one of the principal branches of industry in 
 Port Mahon ; but of late the foreign market has been dis- 
 turbed, and the profits are so slight whether through 
 slow and imperfect labor or the sharpness of contractors I 
 did not ascertain that any check in the trade brings im- 
 mediate suffering. The people, nevertheless, are very 
 patient ; they invariably prefer work to mendicancy, and 
 are cheerful and contented so long as they succeed in 
 clothing and feeding themselves. 
 
 The Minorcans seemed to me even more independent 
 and original in character than the Majorcans. There is 
 still less of the Spaniard, but also less of the Moor, about 
 them. I should guess their blood to be mostly Vandal, 
 but I stand ready to be corrected by any ethnologist who 
 knows better. They have a rugged, sturdy air, little grace 
 and elegance, either of body or of manner, and a simpli- 
 city which does not exclude shrewdness or cunning. It is 
 considered almost an insult if the stranger speaks of them 
 as Spaniards. The Governor of the island said to Mar- 
 shal Serrano, the other day, when the latter was in Port 
 Mahon in temporary exile : " The Minorcans are a curious 
 people. You probably find that they do not take off their 
 hats to you in the street, as you are accustomed to be 
 saluted in Madrid ? " " Yes," answered the Marshal, " I 
 have already learned that they care nothing whatever for 
 either you or me." The older people look back on the
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 
 
 English occupation with regret ; the younger generation 
 would be exceedingly well satisfied if Spain would sell the 
 island to the United States for a naval station. But all 
 unite in calling themselves Minorcans, or Mahonese, and 
 in drawing a very broad line between themselves and the 
 Spaniards of the Peninsula. 
 
 The Consul confirmed my first impressions of the hon- 
 esty of the people. " You may walk on any road in the 
 island," said he, " at any hour of the day or night, with 
 the most perfect security." He also gave them the highest 
 praise for cleanliness and order in their domestic life, 
 which are certainly not Spanish qualities. The young 
 men and women who are betrothed save every penny of 
 their earnings, and invest them in the articles of furniture 
 necessary to the establishment of a household. Simple 
 as are these latter, many years often elapse before they are 
 all procured and the nuptials may be celebrated, the par- 
 ties remaining steadfastly constant to each other during 
 the long time of waiting. They are a people in whom 
 almost any honest system of education, any possible sound 
 ideas of progress, would take immediate root ; but under 
 the combined shadow of Spain and Rome, what progress 
 is possible ? 
 
 I have never seen Broek, in Holland, but I think San 
 Luis must be the cleanest village in Europe. I attributed 
 its amazing brightness, as we approached, to the keen, 
 semi- African sun and the perfectly clear air ; but I found 
 that all the houses had been whitewashed that very after- 
 noon, as they regularly are every Saturday. The street 
 was swept so conscientiously that we might have seated 
 ourselves and taken our dinner anywhere, without getting 
 more than each man's inevitable proportion of dust in the 
 dishes. In the open doors, as I passed, I saw floors of 
 shining tiles, clean wooden furniture, women in threadbare 
 but decent dresses, and children no, the children were 
 dirty, and I confess I should not have been pleased to see
 
 224 BY-WAYS OF EUBOPE. 
 
 them otherwise. The sand and fig-stains on those little 
 faces and hands were only health-marks, and they made 
 the brightness of the little village endurable. It would 
 else have seemed to be struck with an unusual disease. 
 We went into a house where two old women very, very 
 poor they were, but uncomplaining received us with 
 simple, unaft'ected friendliness. I spoke in Spanish and 
 they in Minorcan, so that the conversation was not very in- 
 telligible ; but the visit gave me a fleeting impression of 
 the sterling qualities of the people, inasmuch as it harmo- 
 nized with all that I had previously seen and heard. 
 
 The Consul conducted me to a little casino, where re- 
 freshments, limited in character, were to be procured. The 
 maestro, a stout fellow, with the air of a Bowery butcher, 
 opened his heart on learning that we were Americans. He 
 had served a year on board one of our men-of-war, and re- 
 peated, over and over again, " The way things were man- 
 aged there satisfied me, it corresponded with my own 
 ideas ! " He made me read, around a spiral pillar, the 
 words, " Casino del Progreso," saying, " That 's what I go 
 for ! " There was a church nearly opposite, and from its 
 architecture a man with half an eye could see that the 
 Jesuits had had a hand in building it. This I sketched, 
 and the progressive host, leaning over my shoulder, inter- 
 preted the drawing correctly. His extravagant admiration 
 made me feel that I had done well, and we parted mutually 
 satisfied. Indeed, this little village interested me even 
 more than Port Mahon, because it was more purely Minor- 
 can in character. 
 
 The quantities of the fig-bearing cactus about the coun- 
 try-houses surprised me, until I learned that the fleshy 
 leaves are used during the dry season as food for the mules 
 and asses. The fruit, which is said to be remarkably fine 
 on the island, is eaten by the inhabitants, and must form, 
 in times of want, an important article of their food ; yet 
 so much space would not be given to the plant, or rathei
 
 BALEARIC DAYS. 225 
 
 tree, if the animals had not been taught to subsist upon 
 it. I have never before heard, in any part of the world, 
 of the cactus being made useful in this way. Its huge, 
 grotesque masses are an inseparable part of every land- 
 scape on the island. 
 
 We walked back to Port Mahon in the face of a north 
 wind which was almost cold, which blew away the rich 
 color from the sunset sky, leaving it pale, clear, and melan- 
 choly in tone ; yet thunder and violent rain followed in the 
 night. I spent my last evening with the Consul and his 
 agreeable family, and embarked on the steamer for Bar- 
 celona in the morning. As we passed out of the harbor, 
 Antonio's daughter waved her handkerchief from the win- 
 dow high above, on the cliff. The salute was not intended 
 for me, but for her husband, who was bound for Madrid, 
 carrying with him the cheese for Marshal Serrano. Rocked 
 on a rough sea, and with a keen wind blowing, we again 
 coasted along the southern shore of Minorca, crossed the 
 strait, touched at Alcudia. and then, passing the mouth of 
 the Bay of Pollenza, reached the northern headland of 
 Majorca at sunset. Here the mountain-chain falls off in 
 perpendicular walls a thousand feet in height, the bases of 
 which are worn into caverns and immense echoing vaults. 
 The coast-forms are as grand and wonderful as those of 
 Norway. Point after point, each more abrupt and distorted 
 than the last, came into view as we cleared the headland 
 all growing luminous in the mist and the orange light of 
 the setting sun. 
 
 Then the light faded ; the wild mountain-forms were 
 fused together in a cold gray mass above the sea ; the stars 
 came out, and my last Balearic day was at an end,
 
 CATALONIAN BRIDLE-KOADS. 
 
 " And mule-bells tinkling down the mountain-paths of Spain." 
 
 Whiting.
 
 J LEARNED something of the bridle-roads of Catalonia 
 
 in defiance of advice and warning, and almost against mj 
 own inclination. My next point of interest, after leaving 
 the Balearic Islands, was the forgotten Republic of Andorra, 
 in the Pyrenees ; and the voice of the persons whom I 
 consulted in Barcelona none of whom had made the 
 journey, or knew any one who had was unanimous that 
 1 should return to France, and seek an entrance from that 
 side. Such a course would certainly have been more com- 
 fortable ; but the direct route, from the very insecurity 
 which was predicted, offered a prospect of adventure, the 
 fascination of which, I regret to say, I have not yet entire- 
 ly outgrown. " It is a country of smugglers and robbers," 
 said the banker who replenished my purse ; " and I serious- 
 ly advise you not to enter it. Moreover, the roads are al- 
 most impassable, and there is nothing to be seen on the 
 way." 
 
 These words, uttered with a grave face by a native Cata- 
 lan, ought to have decided the matter, yet they did not 
 To be sure, I thanked the man for his warning, and left 
 him to suppose that I would profit by it, rather than enter 
 into any discussion ; but when I quitted his office, with 
 fresh funds in my pocket, and corresponding courage in 
 my bosom, my course was already decided. Had I not 
 heard the same warnings, in all parts of the world, and had 
 not the picturesque danger always fled as I approached it? 
 Nevertheless, there came later moments of doubt, the sug- 
 gestions of that convenient life which we lead at home, and 
 the power of which increases with our years. Fatigue and 
 hardship do not become lighter from repetition, but the re
 
 230 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 verse; the remembrance of past aches and past hungei 
 returns whenever the experience is renewed, and aggra- 
 vates it. 
 
 So, when I had descended from Montserrat, and was 
 waiting in the cool of the evening at the door of the rudest 
 possible restaurant, at the railway station of Monistrol, a 
 little imp whispered : " The first train is for Barcelona. 
 Take it and you will be in France to-morrow night. This 
 way is safe and speedy ; you know not what the other may 
 be." I watched the orange-light fade from the topmost 
 pinnacles of Montserrat ; a distant whistle sounded, and 
 the other pilgrims hurried towards the ticket-office. I 
 followed them as far as the door, paused a moment, and 
 then said to myself: " No, if I back out now, I shall never 
 be sure of myself again ! " Then I returned to my seat 
 beside the door, and saw the train go by, with the feeling 
 of a man who has an appointment with a dentist. 
 
 In another hour came the upward train, which would 
 carry me as far as the town of Manresa, where my doubt- 
 ful journey commenced. It was already dusk, and deli- 
 ciously cool after the fierce heat of the day. A full moon 
 shone upon the opposite hills as I sped up the valley of 
 *he Llobregat, and silvered the tops of the olives ; but I 
 .nly saw them in glimpses of unconquerable sleep, and 
 finally descended at the station of Manresa not fully awake. 
 
 A rough, ragged porter made a charge upon my valise, 
 which I yielded to his hands. " Take it to the best hotel," 
 I said. " Ah, that is the ' Chicken ! '" he replied. Now, the 
 driver of the omnibus from Montserrat had recommended 
 the " San Domingo," which had altogether a better sound 
 than the " Chicken ; " but I did not think of resisting my 
 fate. I was conscious of a wonderful moonlight picture, 
 of a town on a height, crowned by a grand cathedral ; of a 
 winding river below , of steep slopes of glimmering houses ; 
 of lofty hills, seamed with the shadows of glens : and of 
 the sparkle of orange-leaves in the hanging gardens. This
 
 CAtALONIAN BRIDLE-ROADS. 231 
 
 while we were crossing a suspension- bridge ; at the end, we 
 plunged into narrow, winding streets, full of gloom and dis- 
 agreeable odors. A few oil-lamps burned far apart ; there 
 were lights in the upper windows of the houses, and the 
 people were still gossiping with their neighbors. When 
 we emerged into a plaza, it was more cheerful ; the single 
 cafe was crowded, the estanco for the sale of tobacco, and 
 the barber's shop were still open. A little farther and we 
 reached the " Chicken," which was an ancient and uninvit- 
 ing house, with a stable on the ground-floor. Here the 
 porter took his fee with a grin, and saying, " You will want 
 me in the morning ! " wished me good night. 
 
 I mounted to a dining-room nearly fifty feet in length, in 
 which a lonely gentleman sat, waiting for his supper. When 
 the hostess had conducted me to a bedroom of equal dimen- 
 sions, and proceeded to put clean sheets upon a bed large 
 enough for four Michigan soldiers, I became entirely recon- 
 ciled to my fate. After trying in vain to extract any intel- 
 ligence from a Madrid newspaper, I went to bed and slept 
 soundly ; but the little imp was at my ear when I woke, say- 
 ing : " Here you leave the railway ; after this it will not be 
 so easy to turn back." " Very well," I thought, " I will go 
 back now." I opened the shutters, let the full morning sun 
 blaze into the room, dipped my head into water, and then 
 cried out : " Begone, tempter ! I go forwards." But, alas ! 
 it was not so once. There is a difference between spring- 
 ing nimbly from one's rest with a " Hurrah ! there's another 
 rough day before me ! " and a slow clinging to one's easy 
 pillow, with the sigh, " Ah ! must I go through another 
 rough day ? " However, that was my last moment of weak- 
 ness, and physical only being an outcry of the muscles 
 against the coming aches and strains, like that of the pack- 
 camel before he receives his load. 
 
 The first stage of my further journey, I learned, could be 
 made by a diligence which left at eleven o'clock. In the 
 mean time I wandered about the town, gathering in im<
 
 BY-WAYS OP EUROfrfc. 
 
 pression of its character quite distinct from that of the pre- 
 vious evening. It has no architectural monuments ; for the 
 cathedral, like all such edifices in Spain, is unfinished, inter- 
 nally dark, and well supplied with bad pictures. Its posi- 
 tion, nevertheless, is superb, and the platform of rock upon 
 which it stands looks over a broad, bright, busy landscape. 
 The sound of water-wheels and the humming looms of fac- 
 tories fills the air ; however primitive the other forms of 
 labor may be, the people all seem to be busy. The high 
 houses present an agreeable variety of color, although a 
 rich brown is predominant ; many of them have balconies, 
 and the streets turn at such unexpected angles that light and 
 shade assist in making pictures everywhere. Manresa has 
 a purely Spanish aspect, and the groups on the plaza and in 
 the shady alleys are as lively and glowing as any in Anda- 
 lusia. 
 
 I read the history of the place, as given in the guide- 
 books, but will not here repeat it. According to my En- 
 glish guide, it was sacked and its inhabitants butchered by 
 the French, during the Peninsular War ; according to the 
 French guide, nothing of the kind ever took place. As I 
 read the books alternately, I came to the conclusion that 
 both sides must have .been splendidly victorious in the 
 battles which were fought in Spain. When the Englishman 
 said : " Here our army, numbering only eighteen thousand 
 men (of whom eight thousand were Spanish allies, of doubt- 
 ful service), encountered thirty-seven thousand French, and 
 completely routed them," the Frenchman had : " Here our 
 army, numbering only fifteen thousand, including seven 
 thousand Spaniards, put to flight thirty-three thousand 
 English one of the most brilliant actions of the war." 
 At this rate of representation, it will be a disputed ques- 
 tion, in the next century, whether Soult or Wellington was 
 driven out of Spain. 
 
 My porter of the night before made his appearance, and 
 as I had suspected him of interested motives in condu ;ting
 
 CATALONIAN BRIDLE-ROADS. 288 
 
 me to the " Chicken," I tested his character bj giving a 
 smaller fee for an equal service ; but he took it with the same 
 thanks. Moreover, the diligence office was in the " San Do- 
 mingo Hotel," and I satisfied myself that the " Chicken " was 
 really better than the Saint. Two lumbering yellow coaches 
 stood in the spacious stable, which was at the same time en- 
 trance-hall and laundry. On one side some lean mules were 
 eating their barley ; on another, a pump and stone trough 
 supplied the house with water ; a stone staircase led to the 
 inhabited rooms, and three women were washing clothes at 
 a tank in the rear. Dogs ran about scratching themselves ; 
 country passengers, with boxes and baskets, sat upon stone 
 posts and did the same ; and now and then a restless horse 
 walked forth from the stalls, snuffing at one person after 
 another, as if hoping to find one who might be eatable. 
 Two mayorah or coachmen, followed by two grooms, bustled 
 about with bits of harness in their hands, and the washer- 
 women made a great clatter with their wooden beetles; but 
 the time passed, and nothing seemed to be accomplished on 
 either side. The whole scene was so thoroughly Spanish 
 that no one would have been surprised had the Don and 
 Sancho ridden into the doorway. One of the women at the 
 tank was certainly Maritornes. 
 
 At length, after a great deal of ceremony, one of the 
 vehicles drove off " It's going to Berga," said a man in 
 faded velvet, in answer to my question ; " and all I know is, 
 that that 's the way to Puigcerda." The mules were now 
 harnessed to our diligence and we took our places my 
 friend in velvet ; two stout women, one of whom carried 
 six dried codfish tied in a bundle ; a shriveled old man. a 
 mild brown soldier, and myself. It was an hour behind the 
 appointed time, but no one seemed to notice the delay. We 
 rolled out of the ammoniated shadows of the stable into a 
 blaze which was doubled on the white highway, and thrown 
 back to us from the red, scorched rocks beside it. The 
 valley of the Cardoner, which we entered on lear'ng Man
 
 234 BY-WAY'S OF EUROPE. 
 
 resa, quivered in the breathless heat : the stream was almost 
 exhausted in its bed, and the thin gray foliage of the poplars 
 and olives gave but a mockery of shadow. Everywhere the 
 dry, red soil baked in the sunshine. Tie only refreshing 
 thing I saw was a break in an irrigating canal, which let 
 down a cascade over the rocks into the road. No water in 
 the world ever seemed so cool, so fresh, so glittering ; in the 
 thirsty landscape it flashed like a symbol of generous, prod- 
 igal life. Who could fling gold around him with so beauti- 
 ful a beneficence ? 
 
 The features of the scenery, nevertheless, were too bold 
 and picturesque to be overlooked. As we gained a longer 
 vista, Montserrat lifted his blue horns over the nearer hills, 
 and a dim streak of snow, far in the northwest, made signal 
 for the Pyrenees. Abrupt as were the heights inclosing the 
 valley, they were cultivated to the summit, and the brown 
 country-houses, perched on projecting spurs, gave them a 
 life Which the heat and thirsty color of the soil could not 
 takt away. Our destination was Cardona, and after a 
 smothering ride of two hours we reached the little village 
 of Suria, half-way in distance, but by no means in time. 
 Beyond it, the country became rougher, the road steep and 
 toilsome ; and our three mules plodded slowly on, with 
 drooping heads and tails, while, inside, the passengers nod- 
 ded one after the other, and became silent. We crossed the 
 Cardoner. and ascended a long slope of the hills, where the 
 view, restricted to the neighboring fields, became so monot- 
 onous that I nodded and dozed with the rest. 
 
 We were all aroused by the diligence stopping beside a 
 large farm-house. There was a general cry for water, and 
 the farmer's daughter presently came out with a stone 
 pitcher, cool and dripping from the well. The glass was 
 first given to me, as a stranger ; and I was about setting it 
 to my lips, when two or three of the passengers suddenly 
 cried out, " Stop ! " I paused, and looked around in sur- 
 prise. The man in velvet had already dropped a piece of
 
 CATALONIAN BREDLE-KOADS. 23fi 
 
 sugar into the water, and the old woman op\ osite took A 
 bottle from her basket, saying, " This is better ! " and addex 1 
 a spoonful of anise-seed brandy. " Now," exclaimed both al 
 the same time, " you can drink with safety." The supply of 
 sugar and anise-seed held out, and each passenger was re- 
 galed at the expense of the two Samaritans. After this, con- 
 versation brightened, and we all became talkative and friend- 
 ly. The man in velvet, learning my destination, exclaimed : 
 " O, you ought to have gone by way of Berga ! It is a dread- 
 ful country about Solsona and the Rio Segre." But the old 
 woman leaned over and whispered : " Don't mind what he 
 says. I come from Solsona, and it's a good country a 
 very good country, indeed. Go on, and you will see ! " 
 
 The valley of the Cardoner had become narrower, the 
 mountains were higher, and there were frequent ruins of 
 mediaeval castles on the summits. When we had reached 
 the top of the long ascent, the citadel of Cardona in front 
 suddenly rose sharp and abrupt over the terraced slopes of 
 vine. It appeared to be within a league, but our coachman 
 was so slow and the native passengers so patient, that we did 
 not arrive for two hours. Drawing nearer, the peculiar colors 
 of the earth around the base of an isolated mountain an- 
 nounced to us the celebrated salt-mines of the place. Red, 
 blue, purple, yellow, and gray, the bare cliffs glittered in the 
 sun as if frosted over with innumerable crystals. This mass 
 of native salt is a mile and a half in circumference, with a 
 height of about two hundred and fifty feet. The action of 
 the atmosphere seems to have little effect upon it, and the 
 labor of centuries has no more than tapped its immense 
 stores. As in Wieliczka, in Poland, the workmen in the 
 mines manufacture cups, ornaments, pillars, and even chan- 
 deliers, from the pure saline crystal objects which, 
 although they remain perfect in the dry atmosphere of 
 Spain, soon melt into thin air when carried to Northern 
 lands. 
 
 The town of Cardona occupies the crest of a sharp hill.
 
 236 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 rising above the mountain of salt. Between it and the rhrar 
 on the north, stands the citadel, still more loftily perchedt 
 like a Greek acropolis. Our road passed entirely around 
 the latter and mounted to the town on the opposite side, 
 where the diligence set us down in front of a rudefonda. 
 The old gate was broken down, the walls ruined, and the 
 first houses we passed were uninhabited. There was no 
 longer an octroi ; in fact, the annoyances of travel in Spain 
 diminish in proportion as one leaves the cities and chief 
 thoroughfares. As I dismounted, the coachman took hold 
 of my arm, saying, " Cavalier, here is a decent man who will 
 get a horse for you, and travel with you to the Seo de Urgel. 
 I know the man, and it is I who recommend him." The per- 
 son thus introduced was a sturdy, broad-shouldered fellow, 
 with short black hair, and hard, weather-beaten features. 
 He touched his red Catalan cap, and then looked me stead- 
 ily in the face while, in answer to my inquiries, he offered to 
 be ready at four o'clock the next morning, and demanded 
 six dollars for himself and horse, the journey requiring two 
 days. There were two or three other arrieros present, but 
 I plainly saw that none of them would enter into competi- 
 tion with a man recommended by the coachman. More- 
 over, as far as appearances went, he was the best of the lot, 
 and so I engaged him at once. 
 
 While the fat hostess of ihefonda was preparing my din- 
 ner, I strolled for an hour or two about the town. The 
 church is renowned for having been founded in the year 
 820, immediately after the expulsion of the Moors from this 
 part of Spain, and for containing the bodies of St. Celadonio 
 and St. Erneterio whoever those holy personages may 
 have been. I confess I never heard of them before. What 
 I admired in the church was the splendid mellow brown tint 
 of its massive ancient front. Brown* is the characteristic 
 color of Spain, from the drapery of Murillo and the walls 
 of cathedrals to the shadow of cypresses and the arid soil 
 of the hills. Whether brightening into gold or ripenino
 
 CATALONIAN BRIDLE-ROADS. 
 
 into purple, it always seems to give the key of color. In 
 the streets of Cardona, it was the base upon which endless 
 picturesque groups of people were painted, women spin 
 ing flax, children cooling their bare bodies on the stones, 
 blacksmiths and cobblers forging and stitching in the open 
 air all with a keen glance of curiosity, but also a respect- 
 ful greeting for the stranger. The plaza, which was called, 
 like all plazas in Catalonia, de la Constitution, overhung the 
 deep ravine at the foot of the salt mountain. From its 
 parapet I looked upon the vineyard-terraces into which the 
 hills have been fashioned, and found them as laboriously 
 constructed as those of the Rheingau. A cliff of salt below 
 sparkled like prismatic glass in the evening light, but all the 
 nearer gardens lay in delicious shadow, and the laden asses 
 began to jog homewards from the distant fields. There was 
 a cafe on the plaza patronized only by two or three military 
 idlers ; the people still worked steadily while the daylight 
 lasted, charming away their fatigue by the most melancholy 
 songs. 
 
 The inn was not an attractive place. The kitchen was 
 merely one corner of the public room, in which chairs lay 
 overturned and garments tumbled about, as if the house 
 had been sacked. The members of the family sat and 
 chattered in this confusion, promising whatever I de- 
 manded, but taking their own time about getting it I had 
 very meagre expectations of dinner, and was therefore not 
 a little surprised when excellent fresh fish, stewed rabbits, 
 and a roasted fowl were set successively before me. The 
 merry old landlady came and went, anxious to talk, but 
 prevented by her ignorance of the pure Spanish tongue. 
 However, she managed to make me feel quite at home, 
 and well satisfied that I had ventured so far into the re- 
 gion of ill-repute. 
 
 What was going on in the town that night I cannot ima- 
 gine ; but it was a tumult of the most distracting kind. 
 First, there were drums and as it seemed to me tin
 
 238 BY-WATS OF EUROPE. 
 
 pans beaten for an hour or two in the street below ; then 
 a chorus of piercing, dreadfully inharmonious voices ; then 
 a succession of short cries or howls, like those of the 
 oriental dervishes. Sometimes the noises moved away, 
 and I settled myself to sleep, whereupon they came back 
 worse than before. " children of Satan ! " I cried, " will 
 ye never be still ? " Some time after midnight the voices 
 became hoarse : one by one dropped off, and the charivari 
 gradually ceased, from the inability of the performers to 
 keep it up longer. Then horses were led forth from the 
 stable on the ground-floor, whips were violently cracked, 
 and the voices of grooms began to be heard. At three 
 o'clock Juan, my new guide, came into the room with a 
 coarse bag, in which he began packing the contents of my 
 valise, which could not otherwise be carried on horseback, 
 and so my rest was over before it had commenced. 
 
 I found the diligence about starting on its return to 
 Manresa, and my horse, already equipped, standing in the 
 stable. The sack, valise, and other articles were so packed, 
 before and behind the saddle, that only a narrow, deep 
 cleft remained for me to sit in. The sun had not yet risen, 
 and the morning air was so cool that I determined to walk 
 down the hill and mount at the foot. Stepping over two 
 grooms who were lying across the stable door on a piece of 
 hide, sound asleep, we set forth on our journey. 
 
 The acropolis rose dark against the pearly sky, and the 
 valley of the Cardoner lay cool and green in the lingering 
 shadows. Early as was the hour, laborers were already on 
 their way to the fields ; and when we reached the ancient 
 bridge of seven arches, I saw the two old ladies of Solsona 
 in advance, mounted on mules, and carrying their baskets, 
 boxes, and dried codfish with them. Although my French 
 guide-book declared that the road before me was scarcely 
 practicable, the sight of these ladies was a better authority 
 to the contrary. I mounted at the bridge, and joined the 
 cavalcade, which was winding across a level tract of land
 
 CATALONIAN BRIDLE-ROADS. 239 
 
 between walled fields and along the banks of irrigating 
 canals. Juan, however, found the mules too slow, and 
 soon chose a side-path, which, in the course of a mile or 
 two, brought us into the main track, some distance in ad 
 vance of the old ladies. By this time the sun was up and 
 blazing on all the hills ; the wide, open country about Car- 
 dona came to an end, and we struck into a narrow glen, 
 covered with forests of pine. Juan directed me to ford 
 the river and follow the track on the opposite side, while 
 he went on to a foot-bridge farther up. " In a few mi- 
 nutes," he said, " you will find a carretera" a cart-road, 
 which proved to be a superb macadamized highway, yet 
 virgin of any wheel. Men were working upon it, smooth- 
 ing the turf on either side, and leveling the gravel as care- 
 fully as if the Queen's mail-coach travelled that way ; but 
 the splendid piece of workmanship has neither beginning 
 nor end, and will be utterly useless until it touches a fin- 
 ished road somewhere. 
 
 A short distance farther the glen expanded, and I re- 
 crossed the river by a lofty new bridge. The road was 
 carried over the bottom-land on an embankment at least 
 forty feet high, and then commenced ascending the hills 
 on the northern bank. After passing a little village on the 
 first height, we entered a forest of pine, which continued 
 without interruption for four or five miles. The country 
 became almost a wilderness, and wore a singular air of 
 loneliness, contrasted with the busy region I had left be- 
 hind. As I approached the summit, the view extended 
 far and wide over a dark, wooded sweep of hills, rarely 
 broken by a solitary farm-house and the few cleared fields 
 around it. On the nearer slope below me there was now 
 and then such a house ; but the most of them were in 
 ruins, and young pines were shooting up in the deserted 
 vineyards. The Catalans are so laborious in their habits, 
 so skilled in the art of turning waste into fruitful land, 
 that there must have been some special reason for thia
 
 240 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 desolation. My guide either could not or would not ex 
 plain it. 
 
 When we reached the northern side of the mountain^ 
 cultivation again commenced, and I saw the process of 
 clearing woodland and preparing the soil for crops. The 
 trees are first removed, the stumps and roots dug up, and 
 then all the small twigs, brambles, weeds, and dry sticks, 
 everything, in fact, which cannot be used for lumber 
 and firewood, are gathered into little heaps all over the 
 ground, and covered with the top soil. A year, probably, 
 must elapse, before these heaps are tolerably decomposed ; 
 then they are spread upon the surface and ploughed under. 
 The virgin soil thus acquired is manured after every crop, 
 and there is no such thing as an exhausted field. 
 
 The fine highway came to an end as suddenly as it had 
 commenced, in the rough forest, with no village near. The 
 country became broken and irregular, and the bridle-path 
 descended continually through beautiful groves of oak, 
 with an undergrowth of box and lavender, the odors from 
 which filled the air. I was nearly famished, when, after 
 a journey of five or six leagues, we emerged from the 
 woods, and saw the rich valley-basin of Solsona before us, 
 with the dark old town in its centre. Here, again, every 
 available foot of soil was worked into terraces, drained or 
 irrigated as the case might be, and made to produce its 
 utmost. As I rode along the low walls, the ripe, heavy 
 ears of wheat leaned over and brushed my head. Although 
 there is no wheeled vehicle not even a common cart 
 in this region, all the roads being the rudest bridle paths, 
 the town is approached by a magnificent bridge of a dozen 
 arches, spanning a grassy hollow, at the bottom of which 
 flows a mere thread of a brook. 
 
 At the farther end of the bridge, a deserted gateway 
 ushers the traveller into Solsona. Few strangers, I sus- 
 pect, ever enter the place ; for labor ceased as I passed 
 along the streets, and even Don Basilio, on his way home
 
 CATALONIAN BRIDLE-ROADS. 241 
 
 from morning mass, lifted his shovel hat, and bowed pro- 
 foundl). Many of the houses were in ruins, and bore the 
 marks of fire and balls. I rode into the ground-floor of a 
 dark house which bore no sign or symbol over the door, 
 but Juan assured me that it was an inn. A portly, digni- 
 fied gentleman advanced out of the shadows, and addressed 
 me in the purest Castilian ; he was the landlord, and his 
 daughter was cook and waiting-maid. The rooms above 
 were gloomy and very ancient ; there was scarcely a piece 
 of furniture which did not appear to be two centuries old ; 
 yet everything was clean and orderly. 
 
 " Can we have breakfast ? " I asked. 
 
 " Whatever we have is at your disposition," said the land- 
 lord. " What would you be pleased to command ? " 
 
 " Egg 8 ' mea t, bread, and wine ; but nothing that cannot 
 be got ready in a few minutes." 
 
 The landlord bowed, and went into the kitchen. Pres- 
 ently he returned and asked, " Did I understand you to 
 wish for meat, Cavalier ? " 
 
 " Certainly, if you have it," I replied. 
 
 " Yes, we have it in the house," said he ; " but I didn't 
 know what your custom was." 
 
 I did not guess what he meant until a plate of capital 
 mutton-chops was smoking under my nose. Then it 
 flashed across my mind that the day was Friday, and I no 
 better than a heathen in the eyes of my worthy host. Ac- 
 cording to the country custom of Spain, master and groom 
 fare alike, and Juan took his seat beside me without wait- 
 ing for an invitation. I ought to have invited the landlord^ 
 but I was too hungry to remember it. To my surprise 
 and relief also Juan ate his share of the chops, and there 
 was a radiant satisfaction on his countenance. I have no 
 doubt he looked upon me as the responsible party, and did 
 not even consider it worth while to confess afterwards. 
 
 * You have a beautiful country here," I remarked to th 
 
 16
 
 242 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 landlord, knowing that such an expression is always ao 
 cepted as a half-compliment. 
 
 " It is a country," he exclaimed with energy, " que nada 
 falta, which lacks nothing ! There is everything you 
 want; there is not a better country under the sun ! No, it 
 is not the country that we complain of." 
 
 " What then ? " I asked. 
 
 For a moment he made no reply, then, apparently chang- 
 ing the subject, said, " Did you see the houses in ruins as 
 you came into Solsona? That was done in the Carlist 
 wars. We suffered terribly : nearly half the people of this 
 region were slaughtered." 
 
 " What good comes of these wars ? " I asked. " Is any- 
 thing better than it was before ? What have you to offse* 
 all that fire and murder ? " 
 
 " That's it ! " he cried ; " that was what I meant." 
 
 He shook his head in a melancholy way, drank a glass 
 of wine, and said, as if to prevent my continuing the sub- 
 ject : " You understand how to travel, or you would not 
 come into such wild parts as these. But here, instead of 
 having the rattling of cart-wheels in your ears all day, you 
 have the songs of the nightingales. You don't have dust in 
 your nose, but the smell of grain and flowers ; you can 
 start when you please, and ride as far as you like. That's 
 my way to travel, and I wish there were more people of the 
 same mind. We don't often see a foreign cavalier in 
 Solsona yet it's not a bad country, as you yourself say." 
 
 By this time Juan and I had consumed the chops and 
 emptied the bottle ; and, as there were still six leagues to 
 be travelled that day, we prepared to leave Solsona. The 
 town, of barely two thousand inhabitants, has an ancient 
 church, a deserted palace of the former Dukes of Cardona, 
 and a miraculous image of the Virgin neither of which 
 things is sufficiently remarkable in its way to be further 
 described. The age of the place is apparent ; a dark, cool, 
 mournful atmosphere of the Past fills its streets, and the
 
 CATALONIAN BRIDLE-ROADS. 
 
 traces of recent war seem to have been left from mediaeval 
 times. 
 
 The sky was partly overcast, but there was an intense, 
 breathless heat in the air. Our path led across the boun- 
 teous valley into a wild ravine, which was spanned by two 
 ancient aqueducts. The pointed arch of one of them 
 hinted of Moorish construction, as well as the platform and 
 tank of a fountain in a rocky nook beyond. Here the 
 water gushed out in a powerful stream, as in those foun- 
 tains of the Anti-Lebanon in the country of Galilee. 
 Large plane-trees shaded the spot, and the rocks overhung 
 it on three sides, yet no one was there to enjoy the shade 
 and coolness. The place was sad, because so beautiful 
 and so lonely. 
 
 At the farther end of the ravine we entered a forest of 
 pine, with an undergrowth of box, and commenced ascend- 
 ing the mountain-range dividing the Valley of Solsona from 
 that of the Rio Salado. It might have been the Lesser 
 Atlas, and the sky that of Africa, so fierce was the heat, so 
 dry and torn the glens up the sides of which toiled my 
 laboring horse. Birds and insects were alike silent : the 
 lizard, scampering into his hole in the red bank of earth, 
 was the only living thing. For an hour or more we slowly 
 plodded upward ; then, emerging from the pine wood upon 
 a barren summit, I looked far and wide over a gray, for- 
 bidding, fiery land. Beyond the Salado Valley, which lay 
 beneath me, rose a range of uninhabited mountains, half 
 clothed with forest or thicket, and over them the outer 
 Pyrenees, huge masses of bare rock, cut into sharp, irreg- 
 ular forms. A house or two, and some cultivated patches, 
 were visible along the banks of the Salado ; elsewhere, 
 there was no sign of habitation. 
 
 O 
 
 The bajada, or descent to the river, was so steep and 
 rough that I was forced to dismount and pick my way 
 down the zigzags of burning sand and sliding gravel. Al 
 the bottom I forded the river, the water of which is saline
 
 244 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 and then hastened to a mill upon the further bank, to pro 
 cure a cup of water. The machinery was working in 
 charge of a lusty girl, who shut off the water while she ran 
 to a spring in the ravine behind, and filled an earthen jar. 
 There was nothing of Spanish grace and beauty about her. 
 She had gray eyes, a broad, flat nose, brown hair, broad 
 shoulders, and the arms and legs of a butcher. But she 
 was an honest, kind-hearted creature, and the joyous good- 
 will with which she served me was no less refreshing than 
 the water. 
 
 The path now followed the course of the Rio Salado, 
 under groves of venerable ilex, which fringed the foot of 
 the mountain. Thickets of box and tamarisk overhurij.- 
 the stream, and the sight of the water rushing and mur- 
 muring through sun and shade, made the heat more endur- 
 able. Another league, however, brought me to the little 
 hamlet of Ojern, where my road took to the hills again. 
 Nature has given this little place a bay of rich soil betweet 
 the river and the mountains, man has blackened it with 
 fire and riddled it with shot ; and between the two it has 
 become a complete and surprising picture. Out of superb 
 gardens of orange and fig trees, over hedges of roses and 
 wild mounds of woodbine, rise the cracked and tottering 
 walls heaps of ruin, hot still inhabited. Nothing could 
 be finer than the contrast of the riotous vegetation, strug- 
 gling to grow away from the restraining hand into its sav- 
 age freedom, with the firm texture, the stubborn forms and 
 the dark, mellow coloring of the masonry. Of course the 
 place was dirty, and offended one sense as much as it de- 
 lighted the other. It is a pity that neatness and comfort 
 cannot be picturesque. 
 
 I knew that the Rio Segre could not be very distant, but 
 1 ifas far from guessing how much the way might be 
 lengthened by heat and almost impracticable roads. This 
 ascent was worse than the former, since there- was no forest 
 to throw an occasional shade. A scrubby chaparral covered
 
 CATALONIAN BRIDLE-ROADS. 246 
 
 the red and flinty slopes, upon which the sun beat until 
 the air above them quivered. My horse was assailed with 
 a large gad-fly, and kicked, stamped, and whirled his head 
 as if insane. I soon had occasion to notice a physiological 
 fact that the bones of a horse's head are more massive 
 than those of the human shin. .When we reached the sum- 
 mit of the mountain, after a long, long pull, I was so 
 bruised, shaken, and exhausted that Juan was obliged to 
 help me out of the saddle, or rather, the crevice between 
 two piles of baggage in which I was wedged. The little 
 imp came back chuckling, and said, " I told you so ! " In 
 such cases. I always recall Cicero's consolatory remark, and 
 go on my way with fresh courage. 
 
 Moreover, far below, at the base of the bare peaks of 
 rock which rose against the western sky, I saw the glitter 
 of the Rio Segre, and knew that my day's labor was nearly 
 at an end. The descent was so rugged that I gave the 
 reins to Juan, and went forward on foot. After getting 
 down the first steep, the path fell into and followed the 
 dry bed of a torrent, which dropped rapidly towards the 
 river. In half an hour I issued from the fiery ravine, and 
 was greeted by a breeze that had cooled its wings on the 
 Pyrenean snow. Olive-trees again shimmered around me, 
 and a valley-bed of fruitful fields expanded below. A mile 
 further, around the crest of the lower hills. I found myself 
 on a rocky point, just over the town of Oliana. It was the 
 oldest and brownest place I had seen, up to this time ; but 
 there was shade in its narrow streets, and rest for me under 
 one of its falling roofs. A bell in the tall, square tower of 
 the church chimed three ; and Juan, coming up with the 
 horse, insisted that I should mount, and make my entrance 
 as became a cavalier. 
 
 I preferred comfort to dignity ; but when everybody can 
 see that a man has a horse, he really loses nothing by 
 walking. The first houses we passed appeared to be de- 
 serted ; then came the main street, in which work, gossip,
 
 246 BY-WAYS OP EUBJPE. 
 
 and recreation were going on in the open air. Here there 
 was a swinging sign with the word " Hostal " over the inn 
 door, and most welcome was that inn, with its unwashed 
 floors, its fleas, and its odors of garlic. I was feverish with 
 the absorption of so much extra heat, and the people 
 gave me the place of comfort at an open window, with a 
 view of green fields between the poplars. Below me there 
 was a garden belonging to the priest, who, in cassock and 
 shovel-hat, was inspecting his vegetables. Gathering up 
 his sable skirts, he walked mincingly between the rows of 
 lettuce and cauliflower, now and then pointing out a lan- 
 guishing plant, which an old woman in attendance then 
 proceeded to refresh by flinging water upon it with a pad- 
 dle, from a tank in a corner of the garden. Browning's 
 " Soliloquy in a Spanish Cloister " came into my head, and 
 I think I should have cried out, could the padre have un- 
 derstood the words : " O, that rose has prior claims ! " I 
 must say, however, that the garden was admirably kept, 
 and the priest's table was all the better for his horticultural 
 tastes. 
 
 There were three or four jolly fellows in the inn, who 
 might have served in Sherman's army, they were so tall 
 and brown and strong. My attention was drawn from the 
 priest by their noise and laughter, and I found them gath- 
 ered about a wild-looking man, dressed in rags. The lat- 
 ter talked so rapidly, in the Catalan dialect, that I could 
 understand very little of what he said ; but the landlady 
 came up and whispered, " He's a loco (an idiot), but he 
 does no harm." To me he seemed rather to be a genius, 
 with a twist in his brain. He was very quick in retort, 
 and often turned the laugh upon his questioner ; while 
 from his constant appeals to " Maria Santissima," a strong 
 religious idea evidently underlay his madness. The land- 
 lord gave him a good meal, and he then went on his way. 
 cheerful, perhaps happy, in his isolation. 
 
 I suppose Juan must have been well satisfied to eat
 
 CATALONIAN BRIDLE-ROADS. 247 
 
 meat on a Friday without the sin being charged to his per- 
 Bonal account, and must therefore have given a hint to the 
 landlord; for, without my order, a chicken was set before 
 me at dinner, and he took the drumsticks as of right 
 When the sun got behind the tall mountain opposite, I 
 wandered about the town, seeing nothing that seems worthy 
 of being recorded, yet every view was a separate delight 
 which I cannot easily forget. There were no peculiarities 
 of architecture or of costume ; but the houses were so 
 quaintly irregular, the effects of light and shade so bold 
 and beautiful, the colors so balanced, that each street with 
 its inhabitants might have been painted without change. 
 There was a group before the shoemaker's door the 
 workman on his bench, a woman with a shoe, a young fel- 
 low in a scarlet cap, who had paused to say a word, and 
 two or three children tumbling on the stones ; another at 
 the fountain women filling jars, coming and going with 
 the load on hip or head ; another at the barber's, and all 
 framed by houses brown as Murillo's color, with a back- 
 ground of shadow as rich as Rembrandt's. These are sub- 
 jects almost too simple to paint with the pen ; they require 
 the pencil. 
 
 In the evening, the sultry vapors which had been all day 
 floating in the air settled over the gorge, and presently 
 thunder-echoes were buffeted back and forth between the 
 rocky walls. The skirts of a delicious rain trailed over the 
 valley, and Isight breathed odor and coolness and healing 
 balsam as she came down from the western peaks. Rough 
 and dirty as was the guests' room of the " hostal," my bed- 
 room was clean and pleasant. A floor of tiles, a simple 
 iron washstand resembling an ancient tripod, one chair, 
 and a bed, coarsely, but freshly spread what more can a 
 reasonable man desire ? The linen (though it is a bull to 
 say so) was of that roughly woven cotton which one finds 
 only in southern Europe, Africa, and the Orient, which al- 
 ways seems cool and clean, and has nothing in common
 
 248 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 with the froi.zy, flimsy stuff we find in cheap places at 
 home. Whoever has slept in a small new town (I beg jar- 
 don, " city ") on an Illinois prairie, knows the feeling of 
 soft, insufficient sheets and flabby pillows, all hinting of 
 frequent use, between which he thinks, ere sleep conquers 
 his disgust, of the handkerchief which awaits him as towel 
 in the morning. In the poorest inn in Spain I am better 
 lodged than in the Jimplecute House in Roaring City. 
 
 Juan called me at three o'clock, for another severe day 
 was before us. Our road followed the course of the Rio 
 Segre, and there were no more burning mountains to 
 climb ; but both M. de Lavigne and Mr. Ford, in the little 
 which they vouchsafed to say of this region, mentioned the 
 frightful character of the gorges through which the river 
 breaks his way downward to the Ebro ; and their accounts, 
 if the timid traveller believes them, may well deter him 
 from making the journey. In the cool half-hour before 
 sunrise, as I rode across the circular valley, or conque, of 
 Oliana, towards the gloomy portals of rock out of which 
 the river issues, my spirits rose in anticipation of the wild 
 scenery beyond. The vineyards and orchards were wet 
 and fresh, and the air full of sweet smells. Clouds rested 
 on all the stony summits, rising or falling as the breeze 
 shifted. The path moifnted to the eastern side of the 
 gorge, where, notched along the slanting rock, it became a 
 mere thread to the eye, and finally disappeared. 
 
 As I advanced, however, I found that the passage was 
 less dangerous than it seemed. The river roared far 
 below, and could be reached by a single plunge ; but there 
 was a good, well-beaten mule-track the same, and prob- 
 ably the only one, which has been used since the first 
 human settlement. Soon after entering the gorge, it de- 
 scended to within a hundred feet of the river, and then 
 crossed to the opposite bank by a bold bridge of a single 
 arch, barely wide enough for a horse to walk upon. The 
 parapet on either side was not more than two feet Ugh,
 
 CATALONiAN BRIDLE-ROADS. 249 
 
 and it was not a pleasant sensation to look down from the 
 saddle upon the roaring and whirling flood. Yet the feel- 
 ing was one which must be mastered ; for many a mile of 
 sheer precipice lay before me. The Segre flows through a 
 mere cleft in the heart of the terrible mountains, and the 
 path continuously overhangs the abyss. Bastions of naked 
 rock, a thousand feet high, almost shut out the day ; and 
 the traveller, after winding for hours in the gloom of theii 
 shadows, feels as if buried from the world. 
 
 The sides of the gorge are nearly perpendicular, and the 
 dark gray rock is unrelieved by foliage, except where soil 
 enough has lodged to nourish a tuft of box ; yet here and 
 there, wherever a few yards of less abrupt descent occur, 
 in spots not entirely inaccessible, the peasants have built 
 a rude wall, smoothed the surface, and compelled a scanty 
 tribute of grass or grain. Tall, wild-looking figures, in 
 brown jackets and knee-breeches, with short, broad-bladed 
 scythes flashing on their shoulders, met us; and as they 
 leaned back in the hollows of the rock to let us pass, with 
 the threatening implements held over their heads, a very 
 slight effort of the imagination made them more dangerous 
 than the gulf which yawned on the opposite side of the 
 path. They were as rough and savage as the scenery in 
 appearance ; but in reality they were simple-hearted, honest 
 persons. All that I saw of the inhabitants of this part of 
 Catalonia assured me that I was perfectly safe among them. 
 After the first day of my journey, I gave up the prospect 
 of finding danger enough to make an adventure. 
 
 By and by the path, so lonely for the first hour after 
 starting, began to be animated. The communication be- 
 tween the valleys of the Spanish Pyrenees and the lower 
 Segre, as far as Lerida, is carried on through this defile, 
 and pack-mules were met from time to time. Juan walked 
 in advance, listening for the tinkling bells of the coming 
 animals, and selecting places were the road was broad 
 enough for us to puss without danger. Sometimes I waited,
 
 250 BY-WAYS OP EUROPE 
 
 sometimes .hey one leaning close against the rock, one 
 pacing slowly along the brink, with the river below boom- 
 ing into caverns cut out of the interlocking bases of the 
 mountains. As the path sank or rose, accommodating it- 
 self to the outline of the cliffs, and the bells of the unseen 
 mules or horses chimed in front around some corner of the 
 gorge, they chimed to my ears the words of another, who 
 foresaw as well as remembered. 
 
 O. dear and distant Friend and Poet ! henceforth I shall 
 hear your voice in this music of Spain. All that day, in 
 the wild and wonderful canons of the Segre, you rode with 
 me ; and poetical justice demanded that I should have paid, 
 like Uhland to his boatman, for the other spirit who sat 
 upon my weary steed. I tried to look with your clear eyes, 
 so quick to detect and interpret beauty ; and I try now to 
 write of the scenery, so that you may behold it through 
 mine. As turn after turn of the winding gorge disclosed 
 some grander conformation of the overhanging heights, 
 some new pinnacle of rock piercing the air, or cavern 
 opening its dark arch at the base of a precipice, I drew 
 you from your quiet cottage by the Merrimack, and said, as 
 we paused together in a myrtle-roofed niche in the rocks, 
 " All this belongs to us, for we alone have seen it ! " 
 
 But, alas ! how much of subtle form, of delicate grada- 
 tion of color, of fleeting moods of atmosphere, escapes us 
 when we try to translate the experience of the eyes ! I 
 endeavor to paint the living and breathing body of Nature, 
 and I see only a hard black silhouette, like those shadows 
 of grandfathers which hang in old country homes. Only 
 to minds that of themselves understand and can guess is 
 the effort not lost. A landscape thus partly describes it- 
 self; and so, in this case, I must hope that something of 
 the grand and lonely valley of the Rio Segre may have 
 entered into my words. 
 
 Perhaps the best general impression of the scenery may 
 be suggested by a single peculiarity Two hours aftet
 
 CATALONIAN BBIDLE-ROADS. 251 
 
 entering the defile, I issued from it into the conque of 
 Nargo an open circular basin some three miles in 
 breadth, beyond which the mountains again interlock. 
 The term conque (shell ?) is applied to these valleys, which 
 occur regularly at intervals of from six to ten miles ; and 
 their arrangement is picturesquely described in French as 
 as being en chapekt, for they are literally strung like beads 
 on the thread of the river. No part of Europe is so old 
 (to the eye) as these valleys. There seems to have been 
 no change for a thousand years. If the air were not so 
 dry, one could fancy that the villages would be gradually 
 buried under a growth of moss and lichens. The brown 
 rust on their masonry is almost black, the walls of the ter- 
 raced fields are as secure in their places as the natural rock, 
 and the scars left by wars are not to be distinguished from 
 those of age. Whenever there is a surplus of population it 
 must leave, for it cannot be subsisted. There may be 
 mountain-paths leading inland from these valleys, but none 
 are visible ; each little community is inclosed by a circle 
 of tremendous stony walls and pinnacles, which the river 
 alone has been able to pierce. 
 
 At the further end of the conque of Nargo lay the vil- 
 lage, perched upon a bold crag. Several sharp, isolated 
 mountains, resembling the horns and needles of the Alps, 
 rose abruptly out of the open space ; and their lower faces 
 of dark vermilion rock made a forcible contrast with the 
 splendid green of the fields. We did not pause in the 
 village, but descended its ladder of a street to the river- 
 wall, and plunged at once into a second gorge, as grand 
 and savage as the first, though no more than a league in 
 extent. Juan again went ahead and warned the coming 
 muleteers. In another hour I reached the conque of Or- 
 gafid, a rich and spacious tract of land, with the village of 
 the same name on a rock, precisely like Nargo. A high, 
 conical peak on the left appeared to be inaccessible, yet 
 there was a white chapel on its very summit " Look 
 there ! " said Juan, " that saint likes a cool place."
 
 252 ijY-Vl AYS OF EUfcOPE. 
 
 Fine old walnut-tree made their appearance in thii 
 valley ; water was everywhere abundant, and the gardens 
 through which I approached the village were filled with 
 shade and the sound of streams. Indeed, the terraces of 
 ancient vines and fruit-trees, mixed with cypresses and 
 bosky alleys of flowering shrubs, might have belonged to 
 the palaces of an extinct nobility ; but the houses which 
 followed were those of peasants, smoky with age, low, dark, 
 and dirty. A pack of school-children, in the main street, 
 hailed me with loud shouts, whereat the mechanics looked 
 up from their work, and the housewives came to the doors. 
 There was a dusky inn, with a meek, pinched landlady, 
 who offered eggs and a guisado (stew) with tomatoes. 
 While these were cooking, she placed upon the table a 
 broad-bellied bottle with a spout, something like an old- 
 fashioned oil-can in shape. I was not Catalan enough to 
 drink without a glass ; but Juan raising the bottle above 
 his head, spirted a thin stream of wine into his open mouth, 
 and drank long and luxuriously. When he was satisfied, a 
 dexterous turn of the wrist cut off the stream, and not a 
 drop was spilled. At the table, these bottles pass from 
 hand to hand one cannot say from mouth to mouth, for 
 the lips never touch them. I learned to drink in the same 
 fashion without much difficulty, and learned thereby that 
 much of the flavor of the wine is lost. The custom seems 
 to have been invented to disguise a bad vintage. 
 
 While we were breakfasting, a French peasant, whom I 
 had seen at Oliana, arrived. He was on foot, and bound 
 for Foix, by way of Andorra. This was also my route, and 
 I accepted his offer of engaging another horse for me at 
 Urgel, in the evening, and accompanying me over the Pyr- 
 enees. He was not a very agreeable person, but it was a 
 satisfaction to find some one with whom I could speak. I 
 left him at the table, with a company of Spanish muleteerSj 
 Bud never saw him afterwards. 
 
 Before leaving Organa, I was stopped in the street by
 
 CATALONIAN BRIDLE-ROADS. 258 
 
 man who demanded money, saying something about the 
 " Pons," which I could not comprehend. It fi.ially oc- 
 curred to me that the defile through which I was about to 
 pass is named Los tres Pons (The Three Bridges) on the 
 old maps of Catalonia, and that the man was asking for 
 toll which proved to be the case. The three cuartos 
 which 1 paid were the veriest trifle for the privilege of 
 passing over such a road as followed. The mountains were 
 here loftier, and therefore more deeply cloven ; the former 
 little attempts at 'cultivation ceased, for even Catalonian 
 thrift shrank from wresting any profit out of walls so bare 
 and bluff that scarcely a wild goat could cling to their 
 ledges. Two hundred feet below, the river beat against 
 the rocks with a sullen, mysterious sound, while, from one 
 to two thousand feet above, the jagged coping of the pre- 
 cipices cut the sky. A cool, steady wind drew down the 
 cleft, filling it with a singular humming sound. The path 
 crossed to the eastern side by a tremulous wooden bridge 
 laid flat upon natural abutments ; then, a mile further, re- 
 crossed by a lofty stone arch, under which there was a 
 more ancient one, still perfect. Several miles of the same 
 wonderful scenery succeeded scenery the like of which 
 I know not where to find in Switzerland. The gorge of 
 Gondo, on the Italian side of the Simplon, is similar in 
 character, but less grand and majestic. Far up in the enor- 
 mous cliffs, I saw here and there the openings of cav- 
 erns, to which no man has ever climbed ; cut into the 
 heart of inaccessible walls were unexpected glens, green 
 nests of foliage, safe from human intrusion, where the 
 nightingales sang in conscious security ; and there were 
 points so utterly terrible in all their features that the ex- 
 istence of a travelled path was the greatest wonder of all. 
 In the preceding defiles, Nature had accidentally traced 
 out the way, but here it had been forced by sheer labor 
 and daring. Sometimes it was hewn into the face of the 
 upright rock ; sometimes it rested on arches built up fitnu
 
 254 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 below, the worn masonry of which threatened to give raj 
 as I passed over. Now. fortunately, the tinkling of mule* 
 bells was rare, for there were few points where travellers 
 could safely meet. Convulsion was as evident in the struc- 
 ture of the mountains themselves as in their forcible sep- 
 aration. In some places the perpendicular strata were 
 curiously bent, as if the top had cooled rapidly and begun 
 to lean over upon the fluid ascending mass. The summits 
 assumed the wildest and most fantastic forms, especially 
 about the centre of the mountain range. When I had 
 crossed the third bridge, which is more than a league 
 above the second, the heights fell away, the glen gradually 
 opened, and I saw before me the purple chain of the Pyr- 
 enees, mottled with dark patches of forest, and crested 
 with snow. 
 
 The pass of The Three Bridges has its tragic episode 
 of recent history, in addition to those which the centuries 
 have forgotten. Here, forty years ago, the Count of Spain, 
 who governed Catalonia in the name of Ferdinand VIL, 
 was. betrayed by his own adjutant, by whom, and by a priest 
 named Ferrer, he was murdered. The deed is supposed to 
 have been committed at the instigation of Don Carlos. A 
 stone was tied to the corpse, and it was flung from the 
 rocks into the torrent of the Segre. The place breathes 
 of vengeance and death ; and one seems to inhale a new 
 air when he emerges into the conque of Le Pla, after 
 being inclosed for two hours within those terrible gates. 
 
 It was a double delight to me to come upon lush mead- 
 ows, and smell the vernal sweetness of the flowering grass. 
 Leaving the river on my left, I struck eastward along the 
 sides of clayey hills, with slopes of vine above me, and the 
 broad green meadows below. The vegetation had already 
 a more northern character ; clumps of walnut, poplar, and 
 willow grew by the brooksides, and the fields of wheat were 
 not yet ripe for harvest. I passed a picturesque, tumbling 
 village called Arfa, crossed the Segre for the last time, and
 
 CATALONIAN BRIDLE-ROADS. 265 
 
 then rode onward into a valley several miles in diameter, 
 the bed of which was broken by rounded hills. This was 
 the Valley of Urgel, or " the See," el seu, as it is called 
 by the people in their dialect. The term recalls the days 
 when the Bishop was a sovereign prince, and his see a 
 temporal, as well as ecclesiastical government 
 
 Juan pointed out a fortress in advance, which I supposed 
 to be the town. Near it, on the slope of the hill, there was 
 a mass of buildings, baking in the afternoon sun ; and I 
 know not which was most melancholy, the long lines of 
 cracked, deserted ramparts on the hill, or the crumbling, 
 uninhabited houses on the slope below. I did not see six 
 persons in the place, which was not Urgel, but Castel 
 Ciudad. The former city is a mile further, seated in the 
 centre of the plain. I saw, on my left, the mouth of a glen 
 of the Pyrenees, and guessed, before the groom said so, 
 that within its depths lay the forgotten Republic of An- 
 dorra. The Valira, the one stream of the Republic, poured 
 upon the plain its cold green waters, which I forded, in 
 several channels, before reaching the gates of Urgel. 
 
 Juan had cheered me with the promise of a good inn. 
 The exterior of the house was, if anything, a trifle meaner 
 than that of the neighboring houses ; the entrance was 
 through a stable, and the kitchen and public room very 
 dirty ; yet, these once passed, I entered a clean, spacious, 
 and even elegant bedroom. A door therefrom opened 
 upon a paved terrace, with a roof of vine and a superb 
 view of the Pyrenees ; and hither, as I sat and rested my 
 weary bones, came the landlord, and praised the country. 
 There was inexhaustible coal in the mountains, he said ; 
 there was iron in the water ; the climate was the best in 
 Spain ; people were healthy and lived long and the only 
 thing wanting was a road to some part of the world. 
 
 The towns through which I had passed seemed as old 
 and lonely as any towns could well be ; but they are tame 
 beside the picturesque antiquity of Urgel. Nothing seems
 
 256 BY-WAYS OF EUROFh. 
 
 to have been changed here since the twelfth century. 
 streets are narrow and gloomy, but almost every house 
 rests on massive arches, which form continuous arcades, 
 where the mechanics sit and ply their avocations. The 
 vistas of these arched passages are closed either with a 
 single building of very primitive and ponderous architec- 
 ture, or by the stones of a wall as old as the times of the 
 Moors. The place is like a gallery of old sepia drawings. 
 I attracted the usual wonder, as I loitered through the 
 gloom of the arcades ; work was suspended while I passed, 
 and tongues were silent. When I entered the venerable 
 cathedral, which was finished six hundred years ago, the 
 solitary worshipper stopped in the midst of an ave, and 
 stared at me with open mouth. The spacious Gothic nave, 
 however, was less attractive than the pictures outside ; so 1 
 passed from the interior to the exterior shadows one 
 about as dense as the other. Presently I came upon a 
 massive house, with a magnificent flat-roofed arbor of 
 grapes beside it, and was saying to myself that there was 
 one fortunate person in the poverty-stricken capital, when 
 the door opened and Don Basilio came forth with sweeping 
 cassock and enormous hat. A little further, I found my- 
 self in a small plaza, ojie side of which was occupied by a 
 building resembling a fortress. Over the door I read the 
 inscription, " Princeps soberan del Vails de Andorra." 
 This was the residence of the bishop, who claims the title 
 of sovereign of the little republic ; his powers, in fact, being 
 scarcely more than nominal. 
 
 I was tempted to present myself to his Reverence, and 
 state my intention of visiting Andorra ; but my information 
 with regard to the republic was so vague that I knew not 
 how such a visit mighi be regarded. I might be creating 
 difficulty where none existed. With this prudent reflec- 
 tion I returned to the inn, and engaged a fresh horse and 
 
 O O 
 
 guide for the morrow, sending Juan back to Carclona. It 
 was but an hour's ride, the landlord said, to the frontier
 
 CATALONIAN BRIDLE-ROADS. 257 
 
 The region of ill-repute lay behind me ; the difficult bridle- 
 roads were passed, and all evil predictions had come to 
 naught. By-ways are better than highways, and if an in- 
 telligent young American, who knows the Spanish language, 
 will devote a year to the by-ways of Spain, living with the 
 people and in their fashion, he will find that all the good 
 books of observation and adventure have not yet been 
 written. 
 
 IT
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF THE PYRENEES.
 
 THERE are remote, forgotten corners of history as there 
 are of geography. When Hale*vy brought out his opera Le 
 Val d'Andorre, the name meant no more to the most of 
 those who heard it than the Valley of Rasselas to our ears. 
 a sound, locating a fiction. But the critic, who must 
 seem to know everything, opened one of his lexicons, and 
 discovered that Andorra was an actual valley, buried in the 
 heart of the Pyrenees. Furthermore, he learned, for the 
 first time, that its territory was an independent republic, 
 preserved intact since the days of Charlemagne ; that both 
 France and Spain, incredible as the fact may appear, have 
 always scrupulously respected the rights granted to its 
 inhabitants more than a thousand years ago. While the 
 existence of every other -state has in turn been menaced, 
 while hundreds of treaties have been made only to be 
 broken, here is a place where, like the castle of the Sleep- 
 ing Beauty, time has stood still, and History shut up her 
 annals. 
 
 Napoleon, when a deputation from the little republic 
 visited him in Paris, said : " I have heard of this Andorra, 
 and have purposely abstained from touching it, because I 
 thought it ought to be preserved as a political curiosity." 
 Louis Philippe, thirty years later, exclaimed : "What! is it 
 possible that I have a neighbor whose name I never heard 
 before ? " I suspect that the name of Andorra on the ex- 
 cellent German maps, which overlook nothing, was the 
 first indication of the existence of the state to many of those 
 who are now acquainted with it. It was so in my case. 
 From noting its position, and seeing its contracted bound- 
 aries, so carefully marked out, I went further, and picked
 
 262 . BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 up what fragments of information could be found in French 
 and German geographical works. These were sufficiently 
 curious to inspire me with the design of visiting the valley. 
 
 On reaching Urgel, in the Spanish Pyrenees, I was 
 within a league of the Andorran frontier. My way thither 
 lay through the deep gorge out of which the river Valira 
 issues, on its way to the Segre. The bald, snow-streaked 
 summits in the north belonged to the territory of the re- 
 public, but whatever of life and labor it contained was 
 buried out of sight in their breast Nevertheless, the 
 vague and sometimes threatening reports of the people 
 which had reached me at a distance here vanished. Every- 
 body knew Andorra, and spoke well of it. I had some 
 difficulty in finding a horse, which the landlord declared 
 was on account of the unpractical shape and weight of my 
 valise ; but, when I proposed going on foot, an animal was 
 instantly produced. The arrieros could not let a good 
 bargain slip out of their hands. 
 
 It was a wonderful morning in mid June. The shadow 
 of the Pyrenees still lay cool upon the broad basin of 
 Urgel ; but the brown ramparts of Castel Ciudad on the 
 rocks, and all the western heights, sparkled in sunshine. 
 I found a nimble mouptain pony waiting for me at the door 
 of the inn, and Julian, my guide, a handsome fellow of 
 twenty, in rusty velvet jacket and breeches, and scarlet 
 Phrygian cap. A skin as brown as an Arab's ; an eye full 
 of inexpressible melancholy ; a grave, silent, but not gloomy 
 nature all these had Julian ; yet he was the very com- 
 panion for such a journey. He strode from the gate of 
 Urgel with a firm, elastic step, and I followed through the 
 gray olive orchards across the plain. The lower terraces 
 of the mountain were silvery with the olive ; but when 
 the path turned into the gorge of the Valira, the landscape 
 instantly changed. On one side rose a rocky wall ; on the 
 other, meadows of blossoming grass, divided by thickets of 
 aider and willow, slanted down to the rapid stream, the
 
 THI REPUBIIC OF THE PYBENEE.1. 
 
 noise of which could scarcely be heard for the songs of the 
 nightingales. Features like these, simple as they may 
 seem, sometimes have a singular power to warm one's an- 
 ticipations of what lies beyond. There is a promise in 
 certain scenery ; wherein it exists I cannot tell, but I have 
 felt it frequently, and have never yet been disappointed. 
 
 After I had threaded the gorge for two miles, it expanded 
 into a narrow valley, where the little Spanish village of 
 Arcacel lay huddled among the meadows. Beyond it, the 
 mountains closed together again, forming an almost impas- 
 sable canon, along the sides of which the path was labo- 
 riously notched. There were a great many people abroad, 
 and Julian was obliged to go in advance, and select spots 
 where my horse could pass their mules without one or the 
 other being pushed into the abyss below. Some of those 
 I met were probably Andorrans, but I found as yet no 
 peculiarities of face or costume. This is the only road 
 from Spain into the republic, and is very rarely, if ever, 
 traversed by a foreign tourist. The few persons who have 
 visted Andorra, made their way into the valley from the 
 side of France. 
 
 As I rode forward, looking out from time to time, for 
 some mark which would indicate the frontier, I recalled 
 what little I had learned of the origin of the republic. 
 There is not much which the most patient historian could 
 establish as positive fact ; but the traditions of the people 
 and the few records which they have allowed to be pub- 
 lished run nearly parallel, and are probably as exact as 
 most of the history of the ninth century. On one point 
 all the accounts agree that the independence of the val- 
 ley sprang indirectly from the struggle between the Franks 
 and Saracens. When the latter possessed themselves of the 
 Peninsula, in the beginning of the eighth century, a rem- 
 nant of the Visigoths took refuge in this valley, whence, 
 later, they sent to Charlemagne, imploring assistance. 
 After Catalonia had been icconquered, the Emperor so
 
 264 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 runs the popular tradition gave them the valley as a re- 
 ward for their bravery in battle. The more probable ac- 
 count is, that Charlemagne sent his son, Louis le Debon- 
 naire, who followed the last remnants of the Saracen army 
 up the gorge of the Valira, and defeated them on the spot 
 where the town of Andorra now stands. After the victory 
 he gave the valley to certain of his soldiers, releasing them 
 from all allegiance except to himself. This was in the 
 year 805. What is called the " Charter of Charlemagne," 
 by some of the French writers, is evidently this grant of 
 his son. 
 
 Within the following century, however, certain difficulties 
 arose, which disturbed the inhabitants of the little state less 
 than their powerful neighbors. Charlemagne had pre- 
 viously given, it appears, the tithes of all the region tc 
 Possidonius, Bishop of Urgel, and the latter insisted on 
 retaining his right. Moreover, Charles the Bald, in 843, 
 presented to Siegfrid, Count of Urgel, the right of sove- 
 reignty over Andorra, which Louis le De"bonnaire had re- 
 served for himself and his successors. Thus the spiritual 
 and temporal lords of Urgel came in direct conflict, and 
 the question remained undecided for two centuries ; the 
 Andorrans, meanwhile, r quietly attending to their own af- 
 fairs, and consolidating the simple framework of their gov- 
 ernment. Finally, at the consecration of the Cathedral of 
 Urgel, in the year 1040, the widowed Countess Constance 
 publicly placed the sovereignty claimed by her house in the 
 hands of Bishop Heribald. (How curious it seems to find 
 the name of Garibaldi occurring in this obscure history !} 
 But this gift of Constance was not respected by her suc- 
 cessors, and the trouble broke out anew in the following 
 century. We have but a meagre chain of detached inci- 
 dents, yet what passion, what intrigue, what priestly thirst 
 of power and jealous resistance on the part of the nobles 
 are suggested, as we follow the scanty record ! The 
 Bishop of Urgel triumphs to this day, as he reads the in
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF THE PYRENEES. 265 
 
 scription over his palace-door : " Princeps soberan del Vails 
 de Andorra." , 
 
 At the end of the twelfth century, Arnald, Count of 
 Castelbo, purchased certain privileges in the valley from 
 Ermengol, Count of Urgel. The sale was resisted by the 
 bishop, and a war ensued, in which the latter was defeated. 
 Raymond-Roger, Count of Foix, was then called to aid the 
 episcopal cause his promised reward being a share in 
 the sovereignty of Andorra, the territory of which bordered 
 his own. Notwithstanding he was victorious, having taken 
 and sacked the city of Urgel, he seems to have considered 
 his claim to the reward still insecure. In the year 1202 
 he married his son and successor, Roger-Bernard II., to 
 the daughter and only child of the Count of Castelbo. 
 Thus the Bishop of Urgel saw the assumption of sove- 
 reignty which he had resisted transferred to the powerful 
 house of Foix. It is stated, however, that, in all the wars 
 which followed, both parties refrained from touching the 
 disputed territory, in order that the value of the revenue 
 expected from it might not be diminished. The Andor- 
 rans themselves, though certainly not unconcerned, re- 
 mained perfectly passive. The fastnesses of the Pyrenees 
 on all sides of them resounded with the noise of war, while 
 they, one generation after another, tended their flocks and 
 cultivated their fields. 
 
 The quarrel (and it is almost the end of all history re- 
 lating to Andorra) came to a close in the year 1278. 
 Roger-Bernard III. of Foix, before the gates of Urgel, 
 which must soon have yielded to him, accepted the pro- 
 posal for an arbitration Don Pedro of Aragon having 
 offered his name as security for th? fulfillment of the terms 
 which might be agreed upon. Two priests and four knights 
 were the arbitrators ; and the Pariatges (Partitions) which 
 they declared on the 7th of September of the year already 
 mentioned settled the question of the sovereignty of An- 
 dorra from that day to this. Its principal features were
 
 266 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 that a slight tribute should be paid by the people, on alter 
 nate years, to the Counts of Foix and the Bishops of Urgel 
 and that certairfofficials of the Valley should, in like man- 
 ner, be named alternately by the two parties. In all other 
 respects, the people were left free. The neutrality of theit 
 territory, which had been so marvelously preserved for 
 four centuries and a half, was reaffirmed ; and it has never 
 since been violated. During the wars of Napoleon, a 
 French army appeared on the frontiers of the republic 
 with the intention of marching through it into Spain ; but 
 on the judges and consuls representing to the commanding 
 general the sacred neutrality of their valley, he turned 
 about and chose another route. 
 
 The house of Foix became merged in that of Be"arn, and 
 the inheritance of the latter, in turn, passed into the hands 
 of the Bourbons. Thus the crown of France succeeded to 
 the right reserved by Louis le Debonnaire, and presented 
 by Charles the Bald to Siegfrid, Count of Urgel. The 
 Andorrans, who look upon their original charter as did 
 the Hebrews on their Ark of the Covenant, consider that 
 the Pariatges are equally sanctioned by time and the favor 
 of God ; and, so far from feeling that the tribute is a sign 
 of subjection, they consider that it really secures their in- 
 dependence. They therefore do not allow the revolutions, 
 the change of dynasties which France has undergone, to 
 change their relation to the governing power. They were 
 filled with dismay, when, in 1793, the representative of the 
 French Republic in Foix refused to accept the tribute, on 
 the ground that it was a relic of the feudal system. For 
 six or seven years thereafter they feared that the end of 
 things was at hand ; but the establishment of the Empire, 
 paradoxical as it may appear, secured to them their repub- 
 lic. They seem never to have considered that the refusal 
 of the French authorities gave them a valid pretext io 
 cease the further payment of the tribute. 
 
 This is the sum and substance of the history of Andorra
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF 1HE PYRENEES. 267 
 
 No one can help feeling that a wholly exceptional fortune 
 has followed this handful of people. All other rights given 
 by Charlemagne and his successors became waste paper 
 long since the Counts of Urgel, the houses of Foix and 
 Beam, have disappeared, and the Bourbons have ceased to 
 reign in France, yet the government of the little re- 
 public preserves the same forms which were established in 
 the ninth century, and the only relations \hich at present 
 connect it with the outer world date from the year 1278. 
 I endeavored to impress these facts upon my mind, as the 
 gorge opened into a narrow green valley, blocked up in 
 front by the Andorran mountains. I recalled that pic- 
 turesque legend of the knight of the Middle Ages, who, 
 penetrating into some remote nook of the Apennines, found 
 a forgotten Roman city, where the people still kept their 
 temples and laid their offerings on the altars of the gods. 
 The day was exquisitely clear and sunny; the breezes of 
 the Pyrenees blew away every speck of vapor from the 
 mountains, but I saw everything softly through that veil 
 which the imagination weaves for us. 
 
 Presently we came upon two or three low houses. At 
 the door of the furthest two Spanish soldiers were standing, 
 one of whom stepped forward when he saw me. A picture 
 of delay, examination, bribery, rose in my mind. I as- 
 sumed a condescending politeness, saluted the man gravely, 
 and rode forward. To my great surprise no summons fol- 
 lowed. I kept on my way without looking back, and in 
 two minutes was out of Spain. Few travellers have ever 
 left the kingdom so easily. 
 
 The features of the scenery remained the same nar- 
 row, slanting shelves of grass and grain, the Valira foam- 
 ing below, and the great mountains of gray rock towering 
 into the sky. In another half-hour I saw the little town 
 of San Julian de Loria, one of the six municipalities of 
 Andorra. As old and brown as Urgel, or the villages 
 along the Rio Segre, it was in no wise to be distinguished
 
 268 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 from them. The massive stone walls of the houses were 
 nearly black ; the roofs of huge leaves of slate were cov- 
 ered with a red rust ; and there were no signs that any- 
 thing had been added or taken away from the place foi 
 centuries. As my horse clattered over the dirty paving- 
 stones, mounting the one narrow, twisted street, the people 
 came to the doors, and looked upon me with a grave curi- 
 osity. I imagined at once that they were different from 
 the Catalans, notwithstanding they spoke the same dialect, 
 and wore very nearly the fame costume. The expression 
 of their faces was more open and fearless ; a cheerful gravity 
 marked their demeanor. I saw that they were both self- 
 reliant and contented. 
 
 While Julian stopped to greet some of his friends, I rode 
 into a very diminutive plaza, where some thirty or forty of 
 the inhabitants were gossiping together. An old man, 
 dressed in pale blue jacket and knee-breeches, with a red 
 scarf around his waist, advanced to meet me, lifting his 
 scarlet cap in salutation. 
 
 " This is no longer Spain ? " I asked. 
 
 " It is neither France nor Spain," said he ; " it is An- 
 lorra." 
 
 "The Republic of Andorra?" 
 
 " They call it so." . 
 
 " I am also a citizen of a republic," I then said ; but, 
 although his interest was evidently excited, he asked me no 
 questions. The Andorran reserve is proverbial throughout 
 Catalonia ; and as I had already heard of it, I voluntarily 
 gave as much information respecting myself as was neces- 
 sary. A number of men, young and old, had by this time 
 collected, and listened attentively. Those who spoke Span- 
 ish mingled in the conversation, which, on my part, was 
 purposely guarded. Some degree of confidence, however 
 seemed to be already established. They told me that they 
 were entirely satisfied with their form, of government 
 and their secluded life ; that they were poor, but much
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF THE PYRENEES. 269 
 
 wealth would be of no service to them, and, moreovei 
 (which was true), that they were free because they were 
 poor. When Julian appeared, he looked with surprise upon 
 the friendly circle around me, but said nothing. It was still 
 two hours to Andorra la VeU% (Old Andorra), the capital, 
 which I had decided to make my first resting-place ; so T 
 said, " Aclios ! " all the men responding, " Dios guarda ! " 
 
 Beyond the village I entered upon green meadow-land, 
 shaded by grand walnut-trees, mounds of the richest fo- 
 liage. The torrent of Avina came down through a wild 
 glen on the left, to join the Valira, and all the air vibrated 
 with the sound of waters and the incessant songs of the 
 nightingales. People from the high, unseen mountain 
 farms and pasture-grounds met me on their way to San 
 Julian ; and their greeting was always " God guard you ! " 
 hinting of the days when travel was more insecure than 
 now. When the mountains again contracted, and the path 
 clung to the sides of upright mountain walls, Julian wenc 
 in advance, and warned the coming muleteers. Vegetation 
 ceased, except the stubborn clumps of box, which had fas- 
 tened themselves in every crevice of the precipices ; and 
 the nightingales, if any had ventured into the gloomy gorge, 
 were silent. For an hour I followed its windings, steadily 
 mounting all the while ; then the rocks began to lean 'away, 
 the smell of flowering grass came back to the air, and I 
 saw, by the breadth of blue sky opening ahead, that we 
 were approaching the Valley of Andorra. 
 
 The first thing that met my eyes was a pretty pastoral 
 picture. Some rills from the melting snows had been caught 
 and turned into an irrigating canal, the banks of which 
 were so overgrown with brambles and wild-flowers that it 
 
 O 
 
 had become a natural stream. Under a gnarled, wide- 
 armed ilex sat a father, with his two youngest children ; twc 
 older ones gathered flowers in the sun ; and the mother, 
 with a basket in her hand, paused to look at me in the 
 meadow below. The little ones laughed and shouted ; the
 
 270 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 father watched them with bright, happy eyes, and over and 
 around them the birds sang without fear. And this is the 
 land of smugglers and robbers! I thought. Turning in 
 the saddle, I watched the group as long as it was visible. 
 
 "When I set my face forward again, it was with a sudden 
 catch of the breath and a cry of delight. The promise of 
 the morning was fulfilled ; beautiful beyond anticipation 
 was the landscape expanded before me. It was a valley 
 six miles in length, completely walled in by immense moun- 
 tains, the bases of which, withdrawn in the centre, left a 
 level bed of meadows, nearly a mile broad, watered by the 
 winding Valira. Terraces of grain, golden below, but still 
 green above, climbed far up the slopes ; then forest and 
 rock succeeded ; and finally the gray pinnacles, with snow 
 in their crevices, stood mantled in their own shadows. 
 Near the centre of the valley, on a singular rocky knoll, 
 the old houses and square tower of Andorra were perched, 
 as if watching over the scene. In front, where the river 
 issued from a tremendous split between two interlocking 
 mountains, I could barely distinguish the houses of Escal- 
 das from the cliffs to which they clung. Nothing could be 
 simpler and grander than the large outlines of the scene, 
 nothing lovelier than its minuter features, so wonderfully 
 suggesting both the garden and the wilderness, the fresh 
 green of the North and the hoary hues and antique forms 
 of the South. Brimming with sunshine and steeped in 
 delicious odors, the valley after the long, dark gorge I 
 had threaded seemed to flash and sparkle with a light 
 unknown to other lands. 
 
 Shall I ever forget the last three miles of my journey ? 
 Crystal waters rushed and murmured beside my path ; 
 great twisted ilex-trees sprang from the masses of rock ; 
 mounds of snowy eglantine or purple clematis crowned the 
 cliffs or hung from them like folded curtains ; and the dark 
 shadows of walnut and poplar lay upon the lush fields of 
 grass and flowers. The nightingale and thrush sang or
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF THE PYRENEES. 271 
 
 the earth, and the lark in the air ; and even the melan 
 choly chant of the young farmer in his fields seemed to be 
 only that soft undercurrent of sadness which was needed 
 to make the brightness and joy of the landscape complete 
 
 Climbing the rocks to the capital, I was pleasantly sur- 
 prised to see the sign " Hostal " before I had made more 
 than two turns of the winding street. The English guides, 
 both for France and Spain, advise the adventurous tourist 
 who wishes to visit Andorra to take his provender with 
 him, since nothing can be had in the valley. A friendly 
 host came to the door, and welcomed me. Dinner, he said, 
 would be ready in an hour and a half; but the appearance 
 of the cheerful kitchen into which I was ushered so pro- 
 voked my already ravenous hunger that an omelette was 
 made instantly, and Julian and I shared it between us. 
 An upper room, containing a coarse but clean bed, which 
 barely found room for itself in a wilderness of saddles and 
 harness, was given to me, and I straightway found myself 
 at home in Andorra. So much for guide-books ! 
 
 I went forth to look at the little capital before dinner. 
 Its population is less than one thousand ; the houses are 
 built of rudely broken stones of schist or granite, and 
 roofed with large sheets of slate. The streets seem to 
 have been originally located where the surface of the rock 
 rendered them possible ; but there are few of them, and 
 what the place has to show may be speedily found. I felt 
 at once the simple, friendly, hospitable character of the 
 people : they saluted me as naturally and genially as if I 
 had been an old acquaintance. Before I had rambled 
 many minutes, I found myself before the Casa del Vatts^ 
 the House of Government. It is an ancient, cracked build- 
 ing, but when erected I could not ascertain. The front is 
 simple and massive, with three irregular windows, and a 
 large arched entrance. A tower at one corner threatens 
 
 O 
 
 to fall from want of repair. Over the door is the inscrip- 
 tion : " Domus consilii, sedes justitiae." There is also a
 
 272 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 marble shield, containing the arms of the Republic, and 
 apparently inserted at a more recent date. The shield is 
 quartered with the mitre and crosier of the Bishop of Ur 
 gel, the four crimson bars of Catalonia, the three bars on 
 an azure field of Foix, and the cows of Be'arn. Under the 
 shield is sculptured the Latin verse : 
 
 " Suspice : sunt vallis neutrius stemmata ; sunt que 
 
 Regna, quibus gaudent nobiliora tegi : 
 
 Singula si populos alios, Andorra, beabunt, 
 
 Quidni juncta ferent aurea secla tibi ! " 
 
 I suspect, although I have no authority for saying so, that 
 this verse conies from Fiter, the only scholar Andorra ever 
 produced, who flourished in the beginning of the last cen- 
 tury. The ground-floor of the building consists of stables, 
 where the members of the council lodge their horses when 
 they meet officially. A tumbling staircase leads to the 
 second story, which is the council-hall, containing a table 
 and three chairs on a raised platform, a picture of Christ 
 between the windows, and oaken benches around the walls. 
 The great object of interest, however, is a massive chest, 
 built into the wall, and closed with six strong iron locks, 
 connected by a chain. This contains the archives of An- 
 dorra, including, as the people devoutly believe, the origi- 
 nal charters of Charlemagne and Louis le De'bonnaire. 
 Each consul of the six parishes is intrusted with the keep- 
 ing of one key, and the chest can only be opened when all 
 six are present. It would be quite impossible for a stran- 
 ger to get a sight of the contents. The archives are said 
 to be written on sheets of lead, on palm-leaves, on parch- 
 ment, or on paper, according to the age from which they 
 date. The chest also contains the " Politar," or Annals 
 of Andorra, with a digest of the laws, compiled by the 
 scholar Fiter. The government did not allow the work to 
 be published, but there is another manuscript copy in the 
 possession of the Bishop of Urgel. 
 
 I climbed the huge mass of rock behind the building,
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF THE PYRENEES. 273 
 
 and sat down upon its crest to enjoy the grand, sunny pic- 
 ture of the valley. The mingled beauty and majesty of 
 the landscape charmed me into a day-dream, in which the 
 old, ever-recurring question was lazily pondered, whether 
 or not this plain, secluded, ignorant life was the happiest 
 lot of man. But the influences of the place were too sweet 
 and soothing for earnest thought, and a clock striking noon 
 
 o & o 
 
 recalled me to the fact that a meal was ready in the hostal. 
 The host sat down to the table with Julian and myself, and 
 the spout of the big-bellied Catalonian bottle overhung our 
 mouths in succession. We had a rough but satisfactory 
 dinner, during which I told the host who I was and why I 
 came, thereby winning his confidence to such an extent 
 that he presently brought me an old, dirty Spanish pam- 
 phlet, saying, " You may read this." 
 
 Seeing that it was a brief and curious account of An- 
 dorra, I asked, " Cannot I buy this or another copy?" 
 
 " No," he answered ; " it is not to be bought. You can 
 read it ; but you must give it to me again." 
 
 I selected a dark corner of the kitchen, lit my cigar, 
 and read, making rapid notes when I was not observed. 
 The author was a nephew of one of the bishops of Urgel, 
 and professed to have seen with his own eyes the charter 
 of Louis le Debonnaire. That king, he stated, defeated 
 the Saracens on the plain towards Escaldas, where the 
 western branch of the Valira comes down from the Valley 
 of Ordino. Before the battle, a passage from the Book of 
 Kings came into his mind : " Endor, over against Mount 
 Tabor, where the children of Israel, preparing for war 
 against the heathen, pitched their camp " ; and after the 
 victory he gave the valley the name of Endor, whence An- 
 dorra. The resemblance, the author innocently remarks, 
 is indeed wonderful. In both places there are high moun- 
 tains ; the same kinds of trees grow (!) ; a river flows 
 through each ; there are lions and leopards in Endor, and 
 bears and wolves in Andorra ! He then gives the following 
 IS
 
 274 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 quotation from the charter, which was written in Latin 
 " The men who actually live in this country are Licindo 
 Laurentio, Obaronio, Antimirio, Guirinio, Suessonio, Bar- 
 rulio, rustic laborers, and many others." Louis le D^bon- 
 naire returned to France by the present Porte de Fontar- 
 gente, where, on the summit of the Pyrenees, he caused 
 a chain to be stretched from rock to rock. The holes 
 drilled for the staples of the rings are still to be seen, the 
 people say. 
 
 When I had finished the book, I went out again, and 
 in the shade of a willow in the meadow below, made a 
 rough sketch of the town and the lofty Mont Anclar (mow 
 clavus) behind it. As I returned, the lower part of the 
 valley offered such lovely breadths of light and shade that 
 I sought a place among the tangle of houses and rocks to 
 make a second drawing. The women, with their children 
 around them, sat at their doors, knitting and chatting. One 
 cried out to another, as I took my seat on the ground, 
 " Why don't you bring a chair for the cavalier ? " The 
 chair was brought immediately, and the children gathered 
 around, watching my movements. The mothers kept 
 them in good order, every now and then crying out, " Don't 
 go too near, and don't stand in front ! " Among themselves 
 they talked freely about me ; but, as they asked no ques- 
 tions, I finally said, " I understand you ; if you will ask, I 
 will answer," whereupon they laughed and were silent. 
 
 I have already said that reserve is a marked character- 
 istic of the Andorrans. No doubt it sprang originally 
 from their consciousness of their weakness, and their fear 
 to lose their inherited privileges by betraying too much 
 about themselves. When one of them is questioned upon 
 a point concerning which he thinks it best to be silent, he 
 assumes a stupid expression of face, and appears not to 
 understand. That afternoon a man came to me in the inn, 
 produced a rich specimen of galena, and said, "Do you 
 know what that is ? " " Certainly," I answered -, " it is tht
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF THE I YRENEES. 275 
 
 ore of lead. Where did you get it ? " He put it in his 
 pocket, looked up at the sky, and said, " What fine weather 
 we have ! " It is known that there is much lead in the 
 mountains, yet the mines have never been worked. The 
 people say, " We must keep poor, as our fathers have been. 
 If we become rich, the French will want our lead and the 
 Spaniards our silver, and then one or the other will rob us 
 of our independence." 
 
 So well is this peculiarity of the inhabitants understood, 
 that in Catalonia to assume ignorance is called '' to play 
 the Andorran." A student from the frontier, on entering 
 a Spanish theological seminary, was called upon to trans- 
 late the New Testament. When he came to the words, 
 " Jesus autem tacebat," he rendered them, in perfect good 
 faith, " Jesus played the Andorran." For the same reason, 
 the hospitality of the people is of a passive rather than of 
 an active character. The stranger may enter any house in 
 the valley, take his seat at the family board, and sleep 
 under the shelter of the roof; he is free to come and go; 
 no questions are asked, although voluntary information is 
 always gladly received. They would be scarcely human if 
 it were not so. 
 
 The principal features of the system of government 
 which these people have adopted may be easily described. 
 They have no written code of laws, the Politar being only 
 a collection of precedents in certain cases, accessible to the 
 consuls and judges, and to them alone. When we come to 
 examine the modes in which they are governed, proce- 
 dures which, based on long custom, have all the force of 
 law, we find a singular mixture of the elements of de- 
 mocracy, aristocracy, and monarchy. The sovereignty of 
 France and the Bishop of Urgel is acknowledged in the 
 appointment of the two viguiers (vicarii), who, it is true, 
 are natives of the valley, and devoted to its interests. In 
 all other respects the forms are democratic ; but the cir 
 cumstance that the officials are unpaid, that they must be
 
 276 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 married, and that they must be members of families in 
 good repute, has gradually concentrated the government in 
 the hands of a small number of families, by whom it is 
 virtually inherited. Moreover, the law of primogeniture 
 prevails to the fullest extent, still further lessening the 
 number of qualified persons. 
 
 The Republic consists of six communes, or parishes, each 
 of which elects two consuls and two councillors, whose 
 term of service is four years; one official of each class 
 being elected every two years. There is no restriction of 
 the right of suffrage. The twenty-four officials form the 
 deliberative body, or Grand Council, who alone have the 
 power of electing the Syndic, the executive head of the 
 government. He is chosen for life ; he presides over the 
 Council, and carries its decisions into effect, yet is respon- 
 sible to it for his actions. Only half the Council being 
 chosen at one time, the disadvantage of having an entirely 
 new set of men suddenly placed in office is obviated. The 
 arrangement, in fact, is the same which we have adopted in 
 regard to the election of United States Senators. 
 
 The consuls, in addition, have their municipal duties. 
 Each one names ten petty magistrates, called decurions, 
 whose functions are not much more important than those 
 of our constables. They simply preserve order, and assist 
 in bringing offenses to light. All the persons of property, 
 or who exercise some useful mechanical art, form what is 
 called the Parish Council, whose business it is to raise the 
 proportionate share of the tribute, to apportion the pastures, 
 fix the amount of wood to be sold (part of the revenue of 
 Andorra being derived from the forests), and to regulate 
 ; 1! ordinary local matters. These councils, of course, are 
 self-existing ; every person who is not poor and insignifi- 
 cant taking his place naturally in them. No one can be 
 chosen as consul who is under thirty years of age, who has 
 not been married, who is blind, deaf, deformed, or epileptic, 
 who is addicted to drink, or who has committed any offense 
 against the laws.
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF THE PYRENEES. 277 
 
 The functions of the parish councils and the Grand 
 Council of the Republic are carefully separated. The 
 former have charge of inns, forges, bakeries, weaving, and 
 the building of dwelling-houses ; the latter has control 
 of the forests, the ways of communication, the chase, the 
 fisheries, the finances, and the building of all edifices of a 
 public character. It has five sessions a year. Its mem- 
 bers are not paid, but they are lodged and fed, during these 
 sessions, at the public expense. Each parish owns two 
 double-beds in the upper story of the Casa del Vails at 
 Andorra ; in each bed sleep two consuls or two councillors. 
 There is a kitchen, with an enormous pot, in which their 
 frugal meals are cooked, and a dining-room in which they 
 are served. Formerly their sessions were held in the 
 church-yard, among the tombs, as if to render them more 
 solemnly impressive; but this practice has long been dis- 
 continued. 
 
 The expenses of the state, one will readily guess, must be 
 very slight. The tribute paid to France is nineteen hun- 
 dred and twenty francs ; that to the Bishop of Urgel, eight 
 hundred and forty-two francs an average of two hundred 
 and seventy-five dollars per annum. The direct tax is five 
 cents annually for each person ; but a moderate revenue is 
 derived from the sale of wood and charcoal, and the rent 
 of pastures on the northern slope of the Pyrenees. Im- 
 port, export, and excise duties, licenses, and stamps are 
 unknown, although, in civil cases, certain moderate fees are 
 established. The right of tithes, given by Charlemagne to 
 Possidonius, remains in force ; but they are generally paid 
 in kind ; and in return the Bishop of Urgel, who appoints 
 the priests, contributes to their support. The vicars, of 
 whom there is one to each parish, are paid by the govern- 
 ment. The inhabitants are, without exception, devout Cath- 
 olics, yet it is probably ancient custom, rather than the 
 influence of the priests, which makes them indifferent to 
 education. The schools are so few that they hardly de
 
 2T BY-^AYS OF EUfcOt>E. 
 
 serve to be mentioned. Only one man in a hundred, and 
 one woman in five hundred can read and write. 
 
 The two viguiers, one of whom is named by France and 
 the other by the Bishop of Urgel, exercise the functions of 
 judges. They are the representatives of the two sovereign 
 powers, and their office is therefore surrounded with every 
 mark of respect. Although nominally of equal authority 
 their activity is in reality very unequally divided. Usually 
 some prominent official of the Department de PArie'ge is 
 named on the part of France, and contents himself with an 
 annual visit to the valley. The Bishop, on the other hand, 
 always names a native Andorran, who resides among the 
 people, and performs the duties of both viguiers. When a 
 new viguier is appointed, he must be solemnly installed at 
 the capital. The members of the Grand Council then ap- 
 pear in their official costume a long surtout of black 
 cloth, with crimson facings, a red shawl around the waist, 
 gray knee-breeches, sky-blue stockings, and shoes with 
 silver buckles. The Syndic of the Republic wears a crim- 
 son mantle ; but the viguier is dressed in black, with a 
 sword, cocked hat, and gold-headed staff. As the tribute 
 paid to France is much larger than that paid to the Bishop, 
 the people have voluntarily added to the latter a Christmas 
 offering of the twelve best h'ams, the twelve richest cheeses, 
 and the twelve fattest capons to be found in the six par- 
 ishes. 
 
 The sovereign powers have two other representatives in 
 addition to the viguiers. These are the batlles (bailes, 
 bailiffs ?) who are chosen from a list of six persons selected 
 by the Grand Council. Their principal duty is to hear 
 and decide, in the first instance, all civil and criminal cases, 
 except those which the government specially reserves for 
 its own judgment. The batlles, however, are called upon 
 to prevent, rather than solve litigation. When a case oc- 
 curs, they first endeavor to reconcile the partie's, or substt 
 tute a private arbitration. If that fails- the case is con
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF THE PYRENEES. 279 
 
 ridered ; and, after the help of God is solemnly invoked, 
 judgment is pronounced. Where the dispute involves a 
 delicate or doubtful point, the batlle consults separatelj 
 the three men of best character and most familiar with the 
 laws who are to be found in the parish, and decides as the 
 judgment of two of them may coincide. It rarely happens 
 that any serious lawsuit occurs, or that any capital crime is 
 committed. The morals of the people are guarded with 
 equal care ; any slip from chastity is quietly looked after 
 by the priests and officials, and the parties, if possible, 
 legally united. 
 
 The more important cases, or appeals from the decision 
 of the batlles, come before the Supreme Tribunal of Jus- 
 tice, which is composed of the two viguiers, a judge of ap- 
 peal (chosen to give the casting vote when there is a dif- 
 ference of opinion between the viguiers), a government 
 prosecutor, and two rahonadors (pleaders) chosen for the 
 defense by the Grand Council. This tribunal has the 
 power to pronounce a capital sentence, which is then car- 
 ried out by an executioner brought either from France or 
 Spain. 
 
 The army, if it may be called such, consists of six hun- 
 dred men, or one from each family. They are divided into 
 six companies, according to the parishes, with a captain for 
 each ; the decurions acting as subaltern officers. The only 
 special duty imposed upon them, beyond the occasional 
 escort and guard of prisoners, is an annual review by the 
 viguiers and the Grand Council, which takes place on the 
 meadow below Andorra. The officials are seated in state 
 around a large table, upon which a muster-roll of the army 
 is laid. When the first name is read, the soldier to whom 
 it belongs steps forward, discharges his musket in the air, 
 then advances to the table and exhibits his ammunition, 
 which must consist of a pound of powder, twenty-four balls, 
 and as many caps. Each man is called in turn, until the 
 whole six hundred have been thus reviewed.
 
 280 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 Such is an outline of the mode of government and the 
 forms of judicial procedure in this little republic. I have 
 not thought it necessary to add the more minute details 
 which grow naturally out of the peculiarities already de- 
 scribed. Two things will strike the reader : first, the suffi- 
 ciency of the system, quaint and singular as it may be in 
 some respects, to the needs of the people ; secondly, the 
 skill with which they have reconciled the conditions im- 
 posed upon them by the Pariatges, in 1278, with the struc- 
 ture of government they had already erected. For a people 
 so ignorant, so remote from the movement of the world, 
 and so precariously situated, their course has been directed 
 by a rare wisdom. No people value independence more ; 
 they have held it, with fear and trembling, as a precious 
 gift ; and for a thousand years they have taken no single 
 step which did not tend to secure them in its possession. 
 
 According to the host's volume, the population of the 
 towns is as follows : Andorra, 850 inhabitants ; San Julian 
 de Loria, 620 ; Encamp, 520 ; Canillo, 630 ; Ordino, 750 ; 
 and Massana, 700. The population of the smaller hamlets, 
 and the scattered houses of the farmers and herdsmen, will 
 probably amount to about as many more, which would give 
 eight thousand persons as the entire population of the state. 
 I believe this estimate to be very nearly correct. It is a 
 singular circumstance, that the number has not materially 
 changed for centuries. Emigration from the valley has 
 been rare until recent times ; the climate is healthy ; the 
 people an active, vigorous race ; and there must be some 
 unusual cause for this lack of increase. A young man, a 
 native of the parish of Ordino, with whom I had a long 
 conversation in the evening, gave me some information 
 upon this point. The life of families in Andorra is still 
 regulated on the old patriarchal plan. The landed prop- 
 erty descends to the oldest son or daughter, or, in default 
 of direct issue, to the nearest relative. This, indeed, is not 
 the law,' which gives only a third to the chief inheritor, and
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF THE PYRENEES. 281 
 
 divides the remainder equally among the other members 
 of the family. But it has become a custom stronger than 
 law a custom which is now never violated to preserve 
 the old possessions intact. The caps, or heads of families, 
 are held in such high estimation, that all other family and 
 even personal rights are subordinate to theirs. They are 
 rich and respected, while the younger brothers and sisters, 
 who, by this arrangement, may be left too poor to marry, 
 cheerfully accept a life of celibacy. " I am a younger son," 
 said my informant ; " but I have been able to marry, be- 
 cause I went down into Catalonia, entered into business, 
 and made some money." When a daughter inherits, she 
 is required to marry the nearest relative permitted by 
 canonical law, who takes her family name and perpetuates 
 it 
 
 In the course of centuries, however, the principal fami- 
 lies have become so inter-related that their interests fre- 
 quently require marriages within the prohibited degrees. 
 In this case the Andorran undertakes a journey to Rome, 
 to procure a special dispensation from the Pope. He is 
 generally the representative of other parties, similarly sit- 
 uated, who assist in defraying the expenses of the journey. 
 After a collective dispensation has been issued, all the 
 marriages must be celebrated by proxy the Andorran 
 and a Roman woman who is paid for the service represent- 
 ing, in turn, each bridal pair at home. The latter must 
 afterwards perform public penance in church, kneeling 
 apart from the other worshippers, with lighted tapers in 
 their hands and ashes upon their heads. 
 
 Owing to the strictness of these domestic laws, the re- 
 markable habit of self-control among the people, and the 
 careful guard over their morals exercised by the officials, 
 they have become naturally virtuous, and hence great free- 
 dom of social intercourse is permitted among the sexes. 
 Their sports and pleasures are characterized by a pastoral 
 implicity and temperance. Excesses are very rare because
 
 282 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 all ages and classes of both sexes meet together, and the 
 presence of the priests and caps grossos (chief men) acts 
 as a check upon the young men. At the festival of some 
 patron saint of the valley, mass in the chapel is followed 
 by a festive meal in the open air, after which the priest 
 himself gives the signal for the dances to commence. The 
 lads and lasses then assemble on a smooth piece of turf, 
 where the sounds of bagpipe and tambourine set their feet 
 in motion. The old people are not always gossiping spec- 
 tators, speculating on the couples that move before them 
 in the rude, wild dances of the mountains ; they often enter 
 the lists, and hold their ground with the youngest. 
 
 Thus, in spite of acquired reserve and predetermined 
 poverty, the life of the Andorrans has its poetical side. 
 The republic has produced one historian (perhaps I should 
 say compiler), but no author ; and only Love, the source 
 and soul of Art, keeps alive a habit of improvisation in the 
 young which they appear to lose as they grow older. Dur- 
 ing Carnival, a number of young men in the villages as- 
 semble under the balcony of some chosen girl, and praise, 
 in turn, in words improvised to a familiar melody, her 
 charms of person and of character. When this trial of the 
 Minnesingers begins to lag, for want of words or ideas, the 
 girl makes her appearance on the balcony, and with a cord 
 lets down to her admirers a basket containing cakes of 
 her own baking, bottles of wine, and sausages. Before 
 Easter, the unmarried people make bets, which are won by 
 whoever, on Easter morning, can first catch the other and 
 cry out, " It is Easter, the eggs are mine ! " Tricks, false- 
 hoods, and deceptions of all kinds are permitted : the young 
 man may even surprise the maiden in bed, if he can suc- 
 ceed in doing so. Afterwards they all assemble in public, 
 relate their tricks, eat their Easter eggs, and finish the day 
 with songs and dances. 
 
 Two ruling ideas have governed the Andorrans for cen- 
 turies past, and seem to have existed independent of anj
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF THE PYBENEES. 288 
 
 special tradition. One is, that they must not become rich { 
 the other, that no feature of their government must be 
 changed. The former condition is certainly the more diffi- 
 cult of fulfillment, since they have had frequent opportu- 
 nities of increasing their wealth. There is one family which, 
 on account of the land that has fallen to it by inheritance, 
 would be considered rich in any country; half a dozen 
 others possessing from twenty to thirty thousand dollars ; 
 and a large number who are in comfortable circumstances 
 simply because their needs are so few. I had heard that a 
 party opposed to the old traditional ideas was growing up 
 among the young men, but it was not so easy to obtain 
 information on the subject. When I asked the gentleman 
 from Ordino about it, he " acted the Andorran," put on 
 an expression of face almost idiotic, and talked of something 
 else. He and two others with whom I conversed during the 
 evening admitted, however, that a recent concession of the 
 government (of which I shall presently speak) was the 
 entering wedge by which change would probably come 
 upon the hitherto changeless republic. 
 
 With the exception of this incommunicativeness, in 
 itself rather- an interesting feature no people could have 
 been more kind and friendly. When I went to bed among 
 the saddles and harness in the little room, I no longer felt 
 that I was a stranger in the place. All that I had heard of 
 
 O * 
 
 the hoispitality of the people seemed to be verified by their 
 demeanor. I remembered how faithfully they had asserted 
 the neutrality of their territory in behalf of political exile?; 
 from France and Spain. General Cabrera, Armand Carrel, 
 and Ferdinand Flocon have at different times found a ref- 
 uge among them. Although the government reserves the 
 right to prohibit residence to any person whose presence 
 may threaten the peace of the valley, I have not heard that 
 the right was ever exercised. Andorra has been an ark of 
 safety to strangers, as well as an inviolate home of freedom 
 to its own inhabitants.
 
 284 BY-WAYS OF EUBOPE. 
 
 Julian called me at four o'clock, to resume our journej 
 up the valley, and the host made a cup of chocolate while 
 my horse was being saddled. Then I rode forth into the 
 clear, cold air, which the sun of the Pyrenees had not yet 
 warmed. The town is between three and four thousand 
 feet above the sea, and the limit of the olive tree is found 
 in one of its sheltered gardens. As I issued from the 
 houses, and took a rugged path along the base of Mont 
 Anclar, the village of Escaldas and the great gorge in front 
 lay in a cold, broad mantle of shadow, while the valley was 
 filled to its topmost brims with splendid sunshine. I looked 
 between the stems of giant ilexes upon the battle-field of 
 Louis le De*bonnaire. Then came a yawning chasm, down 
 which foamed the western branch of the Valira, coming 
 from an upper valley in which lie the parishes of Ordino 
 and Massana. The two valleys thus form a Y, giving the 
 territory of Andorra a rough triangular shape, about forty 
 miles in length its base, some thirty miles in breadth, 
 overlapping the Pyrenees, and its point nearly touching the 
 Rio Segre, at Urgel. 
 
 A bridge of a single arch spanned the chasm, the bottom 
 of which was filled with tumbling foam; while every ledge 
 of rock, above and below, was draped with eglantine, wild 
 fig, clematis, and ivy. Thence, onward towards Escaldasi 
 my path lay between huge masses which had fallen from 
 the steeps, and bowers completely snowed over with white 
 roses, wherein the nightingales were just beginning to 
 awaken. Then, one by one, the brown houses above me 
 clung like nests to the rocks, with little gardens hanging on 
 seemingly inaccessible shelves. I entered the enfolding 
 shadows, and, following the roar of waters, soon found my- 
 self at Escaldas a place as wonderfully picturesque as 
 Ronda or Tivoli, directly under the tremendous perpen- 
 dicular walls of the gorge ; the arrowy Valira sweeping the 
 foundations of the houses on one side, while the dark 
 masses of rook crowded against and separated them on the
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF THE PYRENEES. 28fi 
 
 other. From the edge of the river, and between the thick 
 foliage of ilex and box behind the houses, rose thin columns 
 of steam, marking the hot springs whence the place (ayua* 
 caldas} was named. 
 
 Crossing the river. I halted at the first of these springs, 
 and took a drink. Some old people who collected informed 
 me that there were ten in all, besides a number of cold 
 mineral fountains, furnishing nine different kinds of water 
 all of which, they said, possessed wonderful healing prop- 
 erties. There were both iron and sulphur in that which I 
 tasted. A little further, a rude fulling-mill was at work in 
 the open air ; and in a forge on the other side of the road 
 three blacksmiths were working the native iron of the 
 mountains. A second and third hot spring followed ; then 
 a fourth, in which a number of women were washing clothes. 
 All this in the midst of a chaos of rock, water, and foliage. 
 
 These springs of Escaldas have led to the concession 
 which the Andorrans described to me as opening a new, 
 and, I fear, not very fortunate, phase of their history. The 
 exploiters of the gambling interest of France, on the point 
 of being driven from Wiesbaden, Homburg. and Baden- 
 Baden, ransacked Europe for a point where they might at 
 the same time ply their business and attract the fashionable 
 world. They detected Andorra; and by the most consum- 
 mate diplomacy they have succeeded in allaying the sus- 
 picions of the government, in neutralizing the power of its 
 ancient policy, and in acquiring privileges which, harmless 
 as they seem, may in time wholly subvert the old order of 
 things. It is impossible that this result could have been 
 accomplished unless a party of progress, the existence of 
 which has been hinted, has really grown up among tne 
 people. The French speculators, I am told, undertake to 
 build a carriage-road across the Pyrenees ; to erect bathing- 
 establishments and hotels on a magnificent scale at Escal- 
 das, and to conduct the latter, under the direction of the 
 %uthorities of Andorra, for a period of forty years, at the
 
 286 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 end of which time the latter shall be placed in possession 
 of the roads, buildings, and all other improvements. The 
 expense of the undertaking is estimated at ten millions of 
 francs. A theatre and a bank (faro?) are among the. 
 features of the speculation. Meanwhile, until the carriage- 
 road shall be built, temporary hotels and gaming-houses 
 are to be erected in the valley of the Ariege, on the French 
 side of the Pyrenees, but within the territory belonging to 
 Andorra. 
 
 I do not consider it as by any means certain that the plan 
 will be carried out ; but if it should be, the first step towards 
 the annexation of Andorra to France will have been taken. 
 In any case, I am glad to have visited the republic while it 
 is yet shut from the world. 
 
 Behind Escaldas an affluent of the Valira dashed down 
 the mountain on the right, breaking the rich masses of 
 foliage with silver gleams. I halted on the summit of the 
 first rocky rampart, and turned to take a last view of the 
 valley. What a picture ! I stood in the deep shadow of 
 the mountains, in the heart of a wilderness of rocks which 
 towered out of evergreen verdure, and seemed to vibrate 
 amidst the rush, the foam, and the thunder of streams. 
 The houses of the village, clinging to and climbing the 
 sides of the opening pas's, made a dark frame, through 
 which the green and gold of the splendid valley, drowned 
 in sunshine, became, by the force of contrast, limpid and 
 luminous as a picture of the air. The rocks and houses of 
 Old Andorra and the tower of the House of Government 
 made the central point of the view ; dazzling meadows 
 below and mountain terraces above basked in the faint 
 prismatic lustre of the morning air. High up, in the rear 
 of the crowning cliffs, I caught glimpses of Alpine pastures ; 
 and on the right, far away, streaks of snow. It was a vision 
 never to be forgotten : it was one of the few perfect land- 
 scapes of the world. 
 
 As the path rose in rapid zigzags beside the split through
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF THE PYRENEES. 287 
 
 which the river pours, I came upon another busy village. 
 In an open space among the rocks there were at least a 
 /undred bee-hives, formed of segments of the hollowed 
 crunks of trees. They stood in rows, eight or ten feet 
 apart ; and the swarms that continually came and went 
 seemed to have their separate paths marked out in the air. 
 They moved softly and swiftly through each other without 
 entanglement. After passing the gateway of the Valira, 
 the path still mounted, and finally crept along the side of a 
 deep trough, curving eastward. There were fields on both 
 slopes, wherever it was possible to create them. Here I 
 encountered a body of road-makers, whom the French 
 speculators had set to work. They were engaged in widen- 
 ing the bridle-path, so that carts might pass to Escaldas 
 from the upper valleys of Encamp and Canillo. The rock 
 was blasted on the upper side ; while, on the lower, work- 
 men were basing the walls on projecting points of the preci- 
 pice. In some places they hung over deep gulfs, adjusting 
 the great masses of stone with equal skill and coolness. 
 
 In an hour the gorge opened upon the Valley of Encamp, 
 which is smaller, but quite as wild and grand in its features 
 as that of Andorra. Here the fields of rye and barley were 
 only beginning to grow yellow, the flowers were those of an 
 earlier season, and the ilex and box alone remained of the 
 southern trees and shrubs. Great thickets of the latter 
 fringed the crags. A high rock on the left served as a 
 pedestal for a church, with a tall, square belfry, which 
 leaned so much from the perpendicular that it was not 
 pleasant to ride under it. The village of Encamp occupied 
 a position similar to that of Escaldas, at the farther end of 
 the valley, and in the opening of another gorge, the sides of 
 which are so closely interfolded that the river appears to 
 ksue out of the very heart of the mountain. It is a queer, 
 dirty, mouldy old place. Even the immemorial rocks of 
 the Pyrenees look new and fresh beside the dark rust of 
 its walls. The people had mostly gone away to their fields
 
 288 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 and pastures; only a few old men and women, and th 
 youngest children, sunned themselves at the doors. The 
 main street had been paved once, but the stones were now 
 displaced, leaving pits of mud and filth. In one place the 
 houses were built over it, forming dark, badly smelling 
 arches, under which I was forced to ride. 
 
 The path beyond was terribly rough and difficult, climb- 
 ing the precipices with many windings, until it reached a 
 narrow ledge far above the bed of the gorge. There were 
 frequent shrines along the way, at the most dangerous 
 points ; and Julian, who walked ahead, always lifted his 
 cap and muttered a prayer as he passed them. After three 
 or four miles of such travel, I reached the church of 
 Merichel, on an artificial platform, cut out of the almost 
 perpendicular side of the mountain. This is the shrine of 
 most repute in Andorra, and the goal of many a summer 
 pilgrimage. Here the mass, the rustic banquet, and the 
 dance draw old and young together from all parts of the 
 republic. 
 
 I climbed another height, following the eastern curve of 
 the gorge, and finally saw the village of Canillo, the capital 
 of one of the six parishes, lying below me, in the lap of 
 a third valley. It had a brighter and fresher air than En- 
 camp ; the houses were larger and cleaner, and there were 
 garden-plots about them. In this valley the grain was quite 
 green ; the ilex had disappeared, making way for the pop- 
 lar and willow, but the stubborn box still held its ground. 
 In every bush on the banks of Valira sat a nightingale ; 
 the little brown bird sings most lustily where the noise of 
 water accompanies his song. I never saw him so fearless ; 
 I could have touched many of the minstrels with my hand 
 as I passed. 
 
 At Canillo I crossed the Valira, and thenceforward the 
 path followed its western bank. This valley was closed, 
 like all the others, by a pass cloven through the mountains. 
 Upon one of the natural bastions guarding it there is an
 
 THE REPUBLIC OF THE PYRENEES. 289 
 
 ancient tower which the people say was built by the Sara- 
 cens before the Frank conquest. The passage of the gorge 
 which followed was less rugged than the preceding ones, 
 an indication of -my approach to the summit of the Pyre- 
 nees. In following the Rio Segre and the Valira, I had 
 traversed eight of those tremendous defiles, varying fron> 
 one to six miles in length ; and the heart of the mountain 
 region, where the signs of force and convulsion always 
 diminish, was now attained. One picture on the way was 
 so lovely that I stopped and drew it. In the centre of the 
 valley, on a solitary rock, stood an ancient church and 
 tower, golden-brown in the sun. On the right were moun- 
 tains clothed with forests of pine and fir ; in the distance, 
 fields of snow. All the cleared slopes were crimson with 
 the Alpine-rose, a dwarf variety of rhododendron. Per- 
 fect sunshine covered the scene, and the purest of breezes 
 blew over it. Here and there a grain-field clung to the 
 crags, or found a place among their tumbled fragments, but 
 no living being was to be seen. 
 
 The landscapes were now wholly northern, except the 
 sun and sky. Aspens appeared on the heights, shivering 
 among the steady pines. After a time I came to a point 
 where there were two valleys, two streams, and two paths. 
 Julian took the left, piloting me over grassy meadows, 
 where the perfume from beds of daffodil was almost too 
 powerful to breathe. On one side, all the mountain was 
 golden with broom-flowers ; on the other, a mass of fiery 
 crimson, from the Alpine-rose. The valley was dotted 
 with scattered cottages of the herdsmen, as in Switzerland. 
 In front there were two snowy peaks, with a " saddle " be- 
 tween evidently one of the portes of the Pyrenees ; yet 
 I saw no indications of the hamlet of Soldeu, which we 
 must pass. Julian shouted to a herdsman, who told us we 
 had taken the ^frong valley. The porte before us was that 
 of Fontar<rente. across which Louis le De"bonnaire stretched 
 
 O 
 
 his chain on leaving Andorra. 
 19
 
 290 BY-WAYS OF EURCl'K. 
 
 We retraced our steps, and in half an hour reached Sol 
 deu, in a high, bleak pasture-valley, where cultivation 
 ceases. It is at least six thousand feet above the sea, and 
 the vegetation is that of the high Alps. ' We were nearly 
 famished, and, as there was no sign of a "hostal," entered 
 the first house. The occupant, a woman, offered to give 
 us what she had, but said that there was another family 
 who made a business of entertaining travellers, and we 
 would there be better served. We found the house, and 
 truly, after waiting an hour, were refreshed by a surprising 
 dinner of five courses. There was another guest in the 
 person of a French butcher from the little town of Hos- 
 pitalet, in the valley of the Arie*ge. It was so cold that we 
 all crowded about the kitchen fire. Two Andorrans came 
 in, and sat down to the tabte with us. I have dined at 
 stately entertainments where there was less grace and re- 
 finement among the company than the butcher and the 
 two peasants exhibited. There was a dessert of roasted 
 almonds and coffee (with a chasse) ; and after the meal we 
 found the temperature of the air very mild and balmy. 
 
 Hospitalet being also my destination, I accepted the 
 butcher's company, and at one o'clock we set forth for the 
 passage of the Pyrenees. On leaving Soldeu I saw the 
 last willow, in which sat and sang the last nightingale. 
 The path rose rapidly along the steep slopes of grass, with 
 an amphitheatre of the highest summits around us. The 
 forests sank out of sight in the glens ; snow-fields multi- 
 plied far and near, sparkling in the thin air, and the scenery 
 assumed a bleak, monotonous grandeur. I traced the Va 
 lira, now a mere thread, to its source in seven icy lakes* 
 fed by the snow : in those lakes, said the butcher, arc the 
 finest trout of the Pyrenees. The Porte de Vcdira was 
 immediately above us, on the left ; a last hard pull up the 
 steep, between beds of snow, and we stood* on the summit. 
 
 The elevation of the pass is nearly eight thousand feet 
 above the sea. On either hand you descry nothing but the
 
 THE REP-JBLIC OF THE PYRENEES. 291 
 
 irregular lines of the French and Spanish Pyrenees, rising 
 and falling in receding planes of distance. Rocks, grass, 
 and snow make up the scenery, which, nevertheless, im- 
 presses by its very simplicity and severity. 
 
 The descent into France is toilsome, tut not dangerous 
 A mile or two below the crest we saw the fountain of the 
 Ariege, at the base of a grand escarpment of rock. Thence 
 for two hours we followed the descending trough of the 
 river through bleak, grassy solitudes, uncheered by a single 
 tree, or any sign of human life except the well-worn path. 
 Finally the cottage of a grazing-farm came into view, but 
 it was tenantless all the inhabitants having been over- 
 whelmed by an avalanche three years ago. Then I dis- 
 covered signs of a road high up on the opposite mountain, 
 saw workmen scattered along it, and heard a volley of ex- 
 plosions. This was the new highway to Porte St. Louis and 
 Puigcerda. On a green meadow beside the river walked 
 two gentlemen and two ladies in round hats and scarlet 
 petticoats 
 
 "They are picking out a spot to build their gaming- 
 houses upon," said the butcher ; " this is still Andorra." 
 
 A mile further there was a little bridge fhe Pont de 
 Cerda. A hut, serving as a guard-house, leaned against 
 the rocks, but the gens (Parmes were asleep or absent, and 
 I rode unquestioned into France. It was already sunset 
 in the valley, and the houses of Hospitalet, glimmering 
 through the shadows, were a welcome sight. Here was the 
 beginning of highways and mail-coaches, the movement of 
 the living world again. I supped and slept (not very com- 
 fortably, I must confess) in the house of my friend the 
 butcher, said good-by to Julian in the morning, and by 
 noon was resting from my many fatigues in the best inn of 
 Foix. 
 
 But henceforth the Valley of Andorra will be one of mj 
 enthusiasms.
 
 THE GRANDE CHARTREUSE.
 
 ON my way from the Pyrenees to Germany, I tinned 
 aside from the Rhone highway of travel to make acquaint- 
 ance with a place of which everybody has heard, yet which 
 seems to have been partly dropped from the rapid itinera- 
 ries which have come into fashion with railways. This is 
 the celebrated monastery called the " Grande Chartreuse," 
 situated in an Alpine wilderness known as the " Desert," 
 on the borders of Savoy. During the last century, when 
 Gray and Horace Walpole penetrated into those solitudes, 
 it was a well-known point of interest in the " grand tour ; " 
 but it seems to have been neglected during and since the 
 great upheaval of the French Revolution and the Napo- 
 leonic Empire. The name, however, is kept alive on 
 the tongues of gourmands by a certain greenish, pungent, 
 perfumed liquor, which comes upon their tables at the end 
 of dinner. 
 
 The traveller from Lyons to Marseilles passes within a 
 six-hours' journey of the Grande Chartreuse. If he leave 
 the train at Valence, the branch road to Grenoble will 
 take him up the Valley of the Isere, and he will soon ex 
 change the rocky vine-slopes of the Rhone for Alpine 
 scenery on a scale hardly surpassed in Switzerland. This 
 was the route which I took, on my way northward. The 
 valley of the Isere, at first broad, and showing on its flat, 
 stony fields traces of frequent inundations, gradually con- 
 tracted ; the cultivation of silk gave place to that of grain 
 and vines, and the meadows of deep grass, studded with 
 luge walnut-trees, reproduced, but on a warmer and richer 
 scale, the character of Swiss scenery. Night came on 
 before I reached the Vale of Gresivaudan, which is consid-
 
 296 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 ered the paradise of Dauphine", and when the jrain halted 
 at the station of Voreppe, it was pitch-dark under a gather- 
 ing rain. There was a rustic omnibus in waiting, into 
 which I crowded with a priest and two farmers, all of whom 
 recommended the " Petit Paris " as the best inn, and 
 thither, accordingly, I went when we reached the village. 
 
 It was a primitive, but picturesque and inviting place. 
 I was ushered into a spacious kitchen, with a paved floor 
 and a huge stone range standing in the centre. The lana- 
 lady stood before her pans and gave the finishing touch to 
 some cutlets while she received my orders and those of the 
 priest The latter, when he came into the light, proved to 
 be a young man, pale, thin, and melancholy, with a worn 
 breviary under his arm. He asked to have a bed imme- 
 diately. In an adjoining room, a company of peasants were 
 drinking cider and thin wine, and discussing crops around 
 a deal' table. I listened awhile, but finding it impossible 
 to understand their dialect, followed the example of the 
 priest. The landlady gave me a clean bed in a clean room, 
 and I speedily slept in spite of rain and thunder. 
 
 I had barely taken coffee in the morning before an om- 
 nibus drove up, on its way to St. Laurent du Pont, a, vil- 
 lage at the mouth of the^ ravine which descends from the 
 Grande Chartreuse. There was a place inside, between 
 two sharp-featured women and opposite another priest, who 
 was middle-aged and wore an air of cheerful resignation. 
 This place I occupied, and was presently climbing the 
 long mountain road, with a glorious picture of the Vale 
 of Gre*sivaudan deepening and widening below. Half- 
 way up the mountains beyond the Isere floated shining 
 belts of cloud, the shadows of which mottled the sunlit 
 fields and gardens. Above us, huge walls of perpendicular 
 rock, crowned with forests, shut out the morning sky, bu* 
 the glens plunging down from their bases were filled with 
 the most splendid vegetation. Our way upward was 
 through the shadows of immense walnut-trees, beside the
 
 THE GRANDE CHARTREUSE. 297 
 
 rushing of crystal brooks, and in the perfume of blossom 
 ing grass and millions of meadow flowers. It seemed 
 incredible that we should be approaching H " Desert " 
 through such scenery. 
 
 My fellow-travellers were inclined to be social. We lost 
 the women at the first little hamlet above Voreppe, and 
 there only remained the priest and a stout, swaggering 
 person, who had the appearance and manners of a govern- 
 ment contractor. The former told us that he had a parish 
 on the high, windy table-lands of Champagne, and had 
 never before seen such wonderful mountain landscapes. 
 He was now on his way to Rome one of the army of 
 six thousand " migratory ravens " (as the Italians called 
 them), who took part in the Festival of St. Peter. He was 
 cheerful and tolerant, with more heart than intellect, and 
 we got on very agreeably. The contractor informed us 
 that the monks of the Chartreuse had an income of a mil- 
 lion francs a year, a part of which they spend in building 
 churches and schools. They have recently built a new 
 church for the village of St. Laurent du Pont. 
 
 In an hour or more we had reached the highest point of 
 the road, which now ran eastward along the base of a line 
 of tremendous mountains. On the topmost heights, above 
 the gray ramparts of rock, there were patches of a bright 
 rosy color, which I at first took to be the Alpine rhododen- 
 dron in blossom, but they proved to be forests of beech, 
 which the recent severe frosts had scorched. The streams 
 from the heights dropped into gulfs yawning at the base 
 of the mountains, making cataracts of several hundred 
 feet. Here the grain, already harvested in the valley of 
 the Rhone, was still green, and the first crop of hay uncut. 
 
 St. Laurent du Pont is a little village directly in the 
 mouth of the gorge. The omnibus drew up before the 
 cafe", and my clerical friend got into a light basket wagon 
 for the journey to the monastery, two leagues distant, I 
 preferred to climb the gorge leisurely, on foot, and set
 
 296 BY-WAYS OF EUEOPE. 
 
 about engaging a man as companion rather than gride 
 The sky was full of suspicious clouds, there were mutter- 
 ings of thunder in the mountains, and the sun stung with 
 an insupportable power ; but after breakfast I set out with 
 a middle-aged man, who had an eye to profit, followed the 
 stream for a mile, and found myself in the heart of a ter- 
 rific wilderness of rock and forest. In front the mountains 
 closed, and only a thin line of shadow revealed the split 
 through which we must pass. Before reaching it, there is 
 an ancient forge on the left, and a massive building on the 
 right, which the monks have recently erected for the man- 
 ufacture of the liqueur which bears the name of their mon- 
 astery. 
 
 Just beyond the forge are the remains of an ancient gate, 
 which once closed the further passage. The road is hewn 
 out of the solid rock, and the sides of the cleft are so near 
 together that the masonry supporting the road is held firm 
 by timbers crossing the abyss and morticed into the op- 
 posite rock. Formerly there was only a narrow and dan- 
 gerous mule-path, and the passage must have had an exhil- 
 arating character of danger which the present security of 
 the road destroys. It was so in Gray's time, inspiring him 
 with these almost Horatian lines : 
 
 " Per invias rapes, fera per j uga, 
 Clivosque praruptos, sonantes 
 
 Inter aquas, nemorumque noctem." 
 
 This closed throat of the mountains is short : it soon ex- 
 pands a little, allowing the splendid deciduous forests to 
 descend to the water's brink. But above, on all sides, the 
 rocks start out in sheer walls and towers, and only a nar- 
 row strip of sky is visible between their crests. After a 
 mile of this scenery I reached a saw-mill, beside which 
 there was some very fine timber. Still another mile, and 
 the road was carried across the defile by a lofty stone 
 bridge of a single arch. " This is the bridge of San
 
 THE GRANDE CHABTEEUSE. 299 
 
 Bruno," said the guide, " and we are now just half-way to 
 the monastery." In spite of the shadows of the forests, the 
 Air was almost stifling in its still heat, and I sat down on 
 the parapet of the bridge to take breath. This was the 
 " Desert," whither the Bishop of Grenoble directed San 
 Bruno to fly from the temptations of the world. At that 
 time it could have been accessible only with great labor 
 and danger, and was much more secluded than the caves 
 of the Thebaid. But the word conveys no idea of the 
 character of the scenery. For the whole distance it is a 
 deep cleft in the heart of lofty mountains, overhung with 
 precipices a thousand feet high, yet clothed, wherever a 
 root can take hold, by splendid forests. Ferns and wild 
 flowers hang from every ledge, and the trees are full of 
 singing birds. 
 
 Still climbing, we mounted high above the stream, and 
 in twenty minutes reached a natural gateway, formed by a 
 solitary pillar of rock, three hundred feet high, and not 
 more than forty feet in diameter. Here, six weeks before, 
 a wagon with six young peasants went over the brink, and 
 fell into the terrible abyss. The driver, whose carelessness 
 occasioned the accident, leaped from the wagon ; the other 
 five went down, and were dashed to pieces. Between the 
 aiguille (needle), as it is called, and the mountain-wall, 
 there was formerly a gate, beyond which no woman was 
 allowed to pass. The sex is now permitted to visit the 
 monastery, but not to enter its gates. This part of the 
 road is almost equal to the famous Via Mala. A series of 
 tunnels have been cut through the sheer, projecting crags, 
 the intervening portions of the road being built up with 
 great labor from below. One hangs in mid-air over the 
 dark chasm, where the foam of the rushing waters shines 
 like a phosphoric light. 
 
 Finally, the slope of the mountains becomes less abrupt, 
 the shattered summits lean back, and the glen grows 
 brighter under a broader field of sky. On the right the
 
 800 BY-WAYS OF EUKOPE. 
 
 forests are interrupted by pasture grounds ; the road is now 
 safe, though very steep, and the buildings of the monastery 
 presently come into view, a mass of quadrangular piles of 
 masonry, towers, and pyramidal roofs, inclosed by a higb 
 wall which must be considerably more than a mile in cit- 
 cuit. The place, in fact, resembles a fortified city. The 
 gateway was closed on the side by which I approached^ but 
 an old monk, with shaven head and flowing beard, who was 
 driving an ox-cart (the first time I ever saw one of his 
 class so usefully employed), directed me to go around to 
 the eastern front. An isolated house, shaded by a group 
 of old linden-trees, is set apart for the use of the female 
 visitors, who are attended by an old woman, usually a sister 
 of some conventual order. 
 
 My guide rang the bell at the entrance, and the door 
 was immediately opened by a young monk in a long, brown 
 gown. " Can I be admitted ? " I asked. " Yes," said he 
 in a whisper, " the guide will take you to the father who 
 receives strangers." I was conducted across a grassy 
 court-yard, in which there were two large stone fountains, 
 to the main building. Several brethren in brown were 
 passing swiftly to and fro in the cool, spacious corridors, 
 but they took no notice of me. I found the father in a 
 comfortable chamber, hung with maps. He was a bright, 
 nimble man of sixty, with shaven head and face ; but for 
 his keen eyes, he would not have seemed more than half 
 alive, his complexion and his shroud-like gown being 
 nearly the same color. I told him who I was, why I came, 
 and asked permission to stay until the next day. " Cer- 
 tainly," he whispered, " as long as you please. I will show 
 you into the refectory, and order that you have a room." 
 
 I was somewhat unwell, and the heat and fatigue had 
 made me weak, which the father piobably noticed, for on 
 reaching the refectory a great, bare apartment, with an 
 old-fashioned chimney-place for burning logs he said : 
 "You must have a glass of our liqueur, the green kind,
 
 THE GRANDE CHARTREUSE. 301 
 
 which is the strongest." It was like an aromatic flame, 
 but it really gave me a different view of life, in the space 
 of fifteen minutes. The garfon was a sturdy fellow in a 
 blue blouse, evidently a peasant hired for the season. His 
 services were confined to the refectory. Another brother 
 in brown, with a mild, ignorant countenance, conducted me 
 to an upper chamber, or rather cell, containing a bed, a 
 table, a chair, and bowl of water, with a large private altar 
 and prie-dieu. Having taken possession and put the key 
 in my pocket, I returned to the refectory, where the white 
 father begged me to make myself at home, and likewise 
 vanished. There are fixed hours when strangers are con- 
 ducted through the buildings, and, as I had still some time 
 to wait, I went forth from the monastery and set to work 
 at a sketch of the place. 
 
 The monks of the Chartreuse now belong to the order 
 of La Trappe. San Bruno first came hither in the year 
 1084, and the foundation of the monastery dates from 1137. 
 The Trappist, or silent system, arose in the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, but 1 am ignorant of the date when it was here in- 
 troduced. It is probably the severest and most unnatural 
 of all forms of monastic discipline. Isolation is cruel 
 enough in itself, without the obligation of silence. The 
 use of monasteries, as conservatories of learning, as sanc- 
 tuaries of peace in the midst of normal war, has long since 
 ceased : they are now an anachronism and they will soon 
 become an offense. The grand pile of buildings before me 
 was ravaged during the French Revolution, and the monks 
 turned adrift. Although the government still keeps its 
 hold on the greater part of the property then sequestrated. 
 it has favored the monastery in every other possible way. 
 France swarms with black robes, as it has not before for a 
 hundred years. The Empress Eugenie is a petted daughter 
 of the Church of Rome, and the willing instrument of its 
 plans, so far as her influence extends. The monks of La 
 Chartreuse, however, to judge from what I saw of theii
 
 302 BY-WATS OF EUROPE. 
 
 industry and business talent, are far less objectionable than 
 those of their brethren who are not bound to solitude and 
 silence. 
 
 At the appointed hour I was again admitted with a whis 
 per, and joined three dark priests (also on their way tc 
 Rome) for a tour of the interior. The mild brother in 
 brown was our guide. After calling our attention to a 
 notice which requested that all visitors to the monastery 
 would neither stand still nor speak above their breath, he 
 unlocked a gate and ushered us into the inner corridors. 
 We walked down the dim echoing vaults of solid masonry 
 and paused at a door, through which came the sound 
 of a sepulchral chant. It was the church, wherein two 
 ancient fathers were solemnly intoning a service which 
 seemed like a miserere. The brother conducted us to an 
 upper gallery, dipped his fingers into the font, and pre- 
 sented the holy water to me with a friendly smile. I am 
 afraid he was cut to the heart when I shook my head, say- 
 ing : ' Thank you, I don't need it." There was an ex- 
 pression of stupefaction in his large, innocent eyes, and 
 thenceforward he kept near me, always turning to me with 
 a tender, melancholy interest, as if hoping and praying that 
 there might, for me, be r some escape from the hell of 
 heretics. 
 
 There was nothing worthy of notice in the architecture 
 of the church, or the various chapels. That for the dead 
 was hung with skulls and cross-bones, on a ground of 
 black ; the grave-yard, in which the dead monks lie, like 
 the Quakers, under unmarked mounds, was more cheerful. 
 Here, at least, grass and wild-flowers are not prohibited, 
 the sweetest mountain breezes find their way over the 
 monastic walls, and the blue sky above is filled with a 
 silence, in which there is nothing painful. The most in- 
 teresting thing I saw was the Hall of the Order, filled with 
 portraits of its generals, and with frescoes illustrating the 
 life of San Bruno. A statue of the Saint represents him
 
 THE GRANDE CHARTREUSE. 308 
 
 as a venerable man, of pure, noble, and benevolent aspect 
 The head, I suspect, is imaginary, but it is very fine. As 
 works of art, the pictures have no merit ; the three priests, 
 however, looked upon them with awful reverence. So 
 much depends on place, circumstance, and sentiment! 
 The brush of Raphael could have added nothing to the 
 impression which these men drew from the stiff workman- 
 ship of some unknown painter. 
 
 I was astonished at the extent of the buildings. There 
 is a single corridor, Gothic, of solid stone, six hundred and 
 sixty feet in length. Looking down it, the perspective 
 dwindles almost to a point. Opening from it and from the 
 other intersecting corridors are the cells of the monks, each 
 with a Biblical sentence in Latin (generally of solemn im- 
 port) painted on the doors. The furniture of these cells is 
 very simple, but a human skull is always part of it. In the 
 rear of each is a small garden, inclosed by a wall, where 
 the fathers and brothers attend to their own flowers and 
 vegetables. They must have, it seems, some innocent sol- 
 ace ; the silence, the fasting, the company of the skull, and 
 the rigid ceremonials, would else, I imagine, drive the most 
 of them mad. Those whom we met in the corridor walked 
 with an excited, flying step, as if trying to outrun their own 
 thoughts. Their faces were pale and stern ; they rarely 
 looked at us, and, of course, never spoke. The gloom and 
 silence, the hushed whispers of the priests and guide, and 
 the prohibition put upon my own tongue, oppressed me 
 painfully at last. I longed to startle the dead repose of 
 the corridors by a shout full of freedom and rejoicing. 
 
 There are at present forty patres and twenty fratres in the 
 monastery. The direction of external matters is intrusted 
 to a few, who enjoy more contact with the world, and must 
 be absolved from the obligation of silence. Moreover the 
 
 O 
 
 rules in this respect are not so strenuously enforced as 
 formerly. The monks are allowed to converse slightly on 
 Sundays and saints' days, and once a week, when they walk
 
 804 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 in procession to the Chapel of St. Bruno, higher up the 
 mountain. An experienced father has charge of the manu- 
 facture of the liqueur, which is made, I learned, from the 
 young shoots of the mountain fir, mixed with certain 
 aromatic herbs. Some parts of the process are kept secret 
 The Chartreuse is sold, even on the spot, at a high price, 
 and is sent to all parts of the world. 
 
 When we returned to the refectory, I found several 
 gentlemen from Chambery in waiting. They, also, in- 
 tended to stay all night, and to start at one in the morning for 
 the ascent of the Grand Somme, the highest pinnacle of the 
 mountain. I predicted rain, but they were not to be dis- 
 couraged. The result was, as I learned next morning, that 
 they rose at the appointed time, groped about in the for- 
 est in perfect darkness, and came back in half an hour 
 drenched to the skin. The servitor informed me that two 
 Englishmen had arrived, and were entertained in another 
 part of the monastery. I learned for the first time that, the 
 better to preserve quiet and order, the guests are separated 
 according to their nationalities. This explained the mean- 
 ing of " Salle de la France " on the door of the hall in which 
 I found myself. Americans are rare visitors, and I presume 
 they thought it safest to put me with the Frenchmen. 
 
 It is always Lent in flie Grand Chartreuse. Neverthe- 
 less, the dinner of eggs, fish, fruits, cheese, and wine which 
 was served to us was of excellent quality. The bed wag 
 coarse but clean, and after putting out my lamp to hide the 
 reproachful eyes of the Virgin, I slept soundly. Breakfast, 
 however, was a little too lean for my taste. Instead of coffee 
 they gave me half-cooked cabbage soup and a lump of black 
 bread. The bill was five francs. Herein, I think, the monks 
 are right They make a moderate charge for what they 
 furnish, instead of expecting -he traveller (as in other 
 monasteries) to give five times the worth of it as a dona- 
 tion. Living in such a wilderness, at the height of 4,300 
 feet above the sea, it is a great labor to keep the requisite
 
 THF GRANDE CHARTREUSE. 305 
 
 supplies on hand. Poor travellers are not only lodged and 
 fed gratuitously, but sometimes receive a small addition to 
 their funds. 
 
 Nevertheless, while I felt a positive respect for the indus- 
 try, fortitude, and charity of the monks of the Chartreuse, I 
 drew a long breath of relief as I issued from its whispering 
 corridors. I believe I talked to my guide in a much louder 
 voice than usual, as we returned down the gorge. The visit 
 had been full of interest, yet I could not have guessed, in 
 advance, how oppressive was the prohibition of speech. I 
 shall never again admire the silent and solitary system of 
 some of our penitentiaries. 
 
 At St. Laurent du Pont I took the omnibus, getting a 
 front seat beside the coachman, which I kept, not only to 
 Voreppe, but down the magnificent valley of Gresivaudan 
 to Grenoble. The mountains, on the side toward the Isere, 
 appear to be absolutely inaccessible. No one would guess, 
 on looking up at them from below, what a remarkable settle 
 ment has existed for centuries within their solitudes.
 
 THE KYFFHAUSER AND ITS LEGENDS.
 
 THORINGIA, " The Heart of Germany ," has for many a 
 century ceased to be a political designation, yet it still lives 
 in the mouths and the songs of the people as the well- 
 beloved name for all that middle region lying between the 
 Hartz on the north and the mountain-chain stretching from 
 the Main to the Elbe on the south. A few points, such as 
 Eisenach, Weimar, and Jena, are known to the tourist ; the 
 greater part, although the stage whereon many of the most 
 important events in early and mediaeval German history 
 were enacted, has not yet felt the footstep of the curious 
 stranger. From the overthrow of its native monarchy by 
 the Franks, in the sixth century, to the close of 4;he Thirty 
 Years' War, in the seventeenth, the fortunes of this land 
 symbolized, in a great measure, those of the Teutonic race. 
 Behind battle and crime and knightly deed sprang up those 
 flowers of legend whose mature seed is poetry. In no part 
 of Europe do they blossom so thickly as here. 
 
 I had already stood in the hall of the Minnesingers on the 
 Wartburg ; had crept into the Cave of Venus, on the moun- 
 tain of Tannhiiuser ; had walked through the Valley of Joy, 
 where the two wives of the Count of Gleichen first met face 
 to face ; and had stood on the spot where Winfried, the 
 English apostle, cut down the Druid oaks, and set up in 
 their stead the first altar to Christ. But on the northern 
 border of Thuringia, where its last mountains look across 
 the Golden Mead towards the dark summits of the Hartz, 
 there stands a castle, in whose ruins sleeps the favorite 
 tradition of Germany, a legend which, changing with the 
 ages, became the embodiment of an idea, and now repre- 
 sents the national unity, strength, and freedom. This is
 
 310 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 the Kyffhauser; and the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa 
 sleeps under it, in a crypt of the mountain, waiting for the 
 day when the whole land, from the Baltic to the Alps, shall 
 be ready to receive a single ruler. Then he will come forth, 
 and the lost Empire will be restored. 
 
 Many a time, looking towards the far-away Brocken from 
 the heights of the Thiiringian Forest, had I seen the tower 
 of the Kyffhauser like a speck on the horizon, and as often 
 had resolved to cross the twenty intervening leagues. The 
 day was appointed and postponed for years, as it hap- 
 pened ; but a desire which is never given up works out its 
 own fulfillment in the course of time, and so it was with 
 mine. It is not always best to track a legend too closely. 
 The airy brow of Tannhauser's Mountain proved to be very 
 ugly rock and very tenacious clay, when I had climbed it ; 
 and I came forth from the narrow slit of a cavern torn, 
 squeezed out of breath, and spotted with tallow. Some- 
 thing of the purple atmosphere of the mountain and the 
 mystery of its beautiful story has vanished since then. But 
 the day of my departure for the Kyffhauser was meant for 
 an excursion into dream-land. When the Summer, depart- 
 ing, stands with reluctant feet ; when the Autumn looks 
 upon the land, yet has not taken up her fixed abode ; when 
 the freshness of Spring is revived in every cloudless morn- 
 ing, and the afternoons melt slowly into smoke and golden 
 vapor, then comes, for a short space, the season of illu- 
 sion, of credulity, of winsome superstition. 
 
 On such a day I went northward from Gotha into a 
 boundless, undulating region of tawny harvest and stubble 
 fields. The plain behind me, stretching to the foot of the 
 Thiiringian Forest, was covered with a silvery, shimmering 
 atmosphere, on which the scattered villages, the orchards, 
 and the poplar-bordered highways were dimly blotted, like 
 the first timid sketch of a picture, which shall grow into 
 clear, confident color. Far and wide, over the fields, the 
 peasants worked silently and steadily among their flax,
 
 THE KYFFHAUSER AND ITS LEGENDS. 311 
 
 oats, and potatoes, perhaps rejoicing in the bounty of the 
 sunshine, but too much in earnest to think of singing. 
 Only the harvest of the vine is gathered to music. The 
 old swallows collected their flocks of young on the 
 ploughed land, and drilled them for the homeward flight 
 The sheep, kept together in a dense gray mass, nibbled 
 diligently among the stubble, guarded only by a restless 
 dog. At a corner of the field the box -house of the shep- 
 herd rested *n its wheels, and he was probably asleep 
 within it Wains, laden with sheaves, rumbled slowly 
 along the road towards the village barns. Only the ravens 
 wheeled and croaked uneasily, as if they had a great deal 
 of work to do, and couldn't decide what to undertake first 
 I stretched myself out luxuriously in the carriage, and 
 basked in the tempered sunshine. I had nothing to do but 
 to watch the mellow colors of the broadening landscape, as 
 we climbed the long waves of earth, stretching eastward and 
 westward out of sight. Those mixed, yet perfect moods 
 which come equally from the delight of the senses and 
 the release of the imagination, seem to be the very essence 
 of poetry, yet how rarely do they become poetry ! The 
 subtile spirit of song cannot often hang poised in thin air ; 
 it must needs rest on a basis, however slender, of feeling 
 or reflection. Eichendorff is the only poet to whom com- 
 pletely belongs the narrow border-land of moods and sen- 
 sations. Yet the key-note of the landscape around me 
 was struck by Tennyson in a single fortunate word, 
 
 " In looking on the happy Autumn-fields." 
 
 The earth had finished its summer work for man, and now 
 breathed of rest and peace from tree, and bush, and shorn 
 stubble, and reviving grass. It was still the repose of lusty 
 life ; the beginning of death, the sadness of the autumn 
 was to come. 
 
 In crossing the last hill, before descending to the city of 
 Langensalza, I saw one of the many reverse sides of this 
 fair picture of life. A peasant girl, ragged, dusty, and
 
 312 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 tired, with a young child in her lap, sat on a stone seat bj 
 the wayside. She had no beauty ; her face was brown and 
 hard, her hair tangled, her figure rude and strong, and she 
 held the child with a mechanical clasp, in which there was 
 instinct, but not tenderness. Yet it needed but a single 
 glance to read a story of poverty, and of shame and de- 
 sertion ignorantly encountered and helplessly endured. 
 Here was no acute sense of degradation ; only a blind, 
 brutish wretchedness. It seemed to me, * I saw her, 
 looking stolidly into the sunny air, that she was repeating 
 the questions, over and over, without hope of answer: 
 " Why am I in the world ? What is to become of me ? " 
 
 At Langensalza I took a lighter carriage, drawn by a 
 single horse, which was harnessed loosely on the left side 
 of a long pole. Unfortunately I had a garrulous old driver 
 who had seen something of last year's battle, and supposed 
 that nothing could interest me more than to know precisely 
 where certain Prussian regiments were posted. Before I 
 had divined his intention, he left the highway, and carried 
 me across the fields to the top of the Jews' Hill, which was 
 occupied at the commencement of the battle by the Prus- 
 sian artillery. The turf is still marked with the ragged 
 holes of the cannon-balls. In the plain below, many trees 
 are slowly dying from an overdose of lead. In the fields 
 which the farmers were ploughing one sees here and there 
 a headstone of granite or an iron crucifix ; but all other 
 traces of the struggle have disappeared. The little mill, 
 which was the central point of the fight, has been well re- 
 paired ; only some cannon-balls, grim souvenirs, are left 
 sticking in the gable-wall. A mile further, across the 
 Unstrut, at the commencement of the rising country, is the 
 village of Merxleben, where the Hanoverians were posted. 
 Its streets are as dull and sleepy as ever before. Looking 
 at the places where the plaster has been knocked off the 
 houses, one would not guess the instruments by which H 
 was done.
 
 THE KYFFHAUSER AND ITS LEGENITS. 318 
 
 Some distance further, at a safe height, my old mat 
 halted beside two poplars. " Here," he said, " the King 
 of Hanover stood." Did he keep up the mimicry of sight, 
 I wonder, while the tragedy was going on ? This blind 
 sovereign represents the spirit of monarchy in its purest 
 essence. Though totally blind, from a boy, he pretends 
 to see, because the people must perceive no defect in a 
 king. When he rides out, the adjutants on both sides are 
 attached to his arms by fine threads ; and he is thus 
 guided, while appearing to guide himself. He visits pic- 
 ture-galleries, admires landscapes, and makes remarks 
 upon the good or ill appearance of his courtiers. After 
 the battle of Langensalza, which he pretended to direct, 
 he sent his uniform to the museum at Hanover, with some 
 straws and wheat-blades from the field where he stood 
 sewed upon it in various places 1 Other monarchs of 
 Europe have carried the tattered trappings of absolutism 
 into a constitutional form of government, but none of them 
 has been so exquisitely consistent as this man. 
 
 We plodded forward over vast tawny waves of land- 
 scape, as regular as the swells of the sea. All this terri- 
 tory, once so rich and populous, was reduced to a desert 
 during the Thirty Years' War, and two centuries have 
 barely sufficed to reclaim it. After that war, Germany 
 possessed only twenty-five per cent, of the men, the cattle, 
 and the dwellings which she owned when it began, and 
 this was the least of the evil. The new generation had 
 grown up in insecurity, in idleness, immorality, and crime ; 
 the spirit of the race was broken, its blood was tainted, 
 and it has ever since then been obliged to struggle frona 
 decadence into new power. We must never lose sight of 
 these facts when we speak of the Germany of the present 
 day. Well for us that we have felt only the shock and 
 struggle, the first awakening of the manly element, not the 
 later poison of war ! 
 
 After more than two hours on the silent, lonely heights,
 
 814 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 scarcely a man being here at work in the fields of 
 abroad on the road, I approached a little town called 
 Ebeleben, in the principality of Schwarzburg-Sondershau- 
 sen. The driver insisted on baiting his horse at the " mu- 
 nicipal tavern," as it was called ; and I remembered that 
 in the place lived a gentleman whom I had met nine years 
 before. Everybody knew the Amtsrath ; he was at home ; 
 it was the large house beside the castle. Ebeleben was 
 a former residence of the princess ; but now its wonderful 
 rococo gardens have run wild, the fount^.ns and waterfalls 
 are dry, the stone statues have lost their noses and arms, 
 and the wooden sentries posted at all the gates have rotted 
 to pieces. The remains are very funny. Not a particle 
 of melancholy can be attached to the decayed grotesque. 
 
 I went into the court-yard of the house to which I had 
 been directed. A huge parallelogram of stone and steep 
 roofs inclosed it ; there were thirteen ploughs in a row on 
 one side, and three mountains of manure on the other. 
 As no person was to be seen, I mounted the first flight of 
 steps, and found myself in a vast, antiquated kitchen. A 
 servant, thrusting her head from behind a door, told me to 
 go forward. Pantries and store-rooms followed, passages 
 filled with antique household gear, and many a queer nook 
 and corner ; but I at last reached the front part of the 
 building, and found its owner. His memory was better 
 than I had ventured to hope ; I was made welcome so 
 cordially, that only the sad news that the mistress of the 
 nouse lay at the point of death made my visit brief. The 
 Amtsrath, who farms a thousand acres, led me back to the 
 tavern through his garden, saying, " We must try and bear 
 all that comes to us," as I took leave. 
 
 A few years ago there was a wild, heathery moorland, 
 the haunt of gypsies and vagabonds, beyond Ebeleben. 
 Now it is all pasture and grain-field, of thin and barren 
 aspect, but steadily growing better. The dark-blue line I 
 had seen to the north, during the day, now took the shape
 
 THE KYFFHAUSER AND ITS LEGENDS. 316 
 
 of hills covered with forest, and the road passed between 
 *:hem into the head of a winding valley. The green of 
 Thiiringian meadows, the rich masses of beech and oak, 
 again refreshed my eyes. The valley broadened as it fell, 
 and the castle and spires of Sondershausen came into view. 
 An equipage, drawn by four horses, came dashing up from 
 a side-road. There were three persons in it ; the short, 
 plain-faced man in a felt hat was the reigning prince, Giin- 
 ther von Schwarzburg. There was not much of his illus- 
 trious namesake, the Emperor, in his appearance ; but he 
 had an honest, manly countenance, and I thought it no 
 harm to exchange greetings. 
 
 I think Sondershausen must be the quietest capital in 
 Europe. It is said to have six thousand inhabitants, about 
 two hundred of whom I saw. Four were walking in a 
 pleasant, willow-shaded path beside the mills ; ten were 
 wandering in the castle-park ; and most of the remainder, 
 being children, were playing in the streets. When I left, 
 next morning, by post for the nearest railway station, be- 
 yond the Golden Mead, I was the only passenger. But the 
 place is well built, and has an air of contentment and 
 comfort 
 
 I was here on the southern side of the mountain ridge 
 which is crowned by the Kyffhauser, and determined to 
 cross to Kelbra, in the Golden Mead, at its northern base. 
 The valley was draped in the silver mists of the morning 
 as I set out ; and through them rose the spire of Jecha- 
 burg, still bearing the name of the Druid divinity there 
 overthrown by the apostle Winfried. But there was an- 
 other point in the landscape where my fancy settled the 
 Trauenberg, at the foot of which was fought the first great 
 Hunnenschlacht (battle of the Huns). When that gallant 
 emperor, Henry the Bird-Snarer, sent a mangy dog to 
 Hungary, instead of the usual tribute, he knew and pre- 
 pared for the consequences of his act. The Huns burst 
 into Germany ; he met and defeated them, first here, and
 
 816 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 then near Merseburg (A. D. 933), so f.tterly that the* 
 never again attempted invasion, Kaulbach's finest cartoon 
 represents one or the other of these battles. Those fierce 
 groups of warriors, struggling in a weird atmosphere, made 
 the airy picture which I saw. One involuntarily tries to 
 vivify history, and the imagination holds fast to any help. 
 
 After an hour and a half among the hills, I saw the 
 Golden Mead, so bright, so beautiful, that I compre- 
 hended the love which the German emperors, for centuries, 
 manifested for it. I looked across a level valley, five or 
 six miles wide, meadows green as May interrupting the 
 bands of autumnal gold, groves and winding lines of trees 
 marking the watercourses, stately towns planted at inter- 
 vals, broad, ascending slopes of forest beyond, and the 
 summit of the Brocken crowning all. East and west, the 
 Mead faded out of sight in shining haze. It is a favored 
 region. Its bounteous soil lies low and warm, sheltered 
 by the Hartz ; it has an earlier spring and a later sum- 
 mer than any other part of Northern Germany. This I 
 knew, but I was not prepared to find it, also, a delight to 
 the eye. Towards Nordhausen the green was dazzling, 
 and there was a blaze of sunshine upon it which recalled 
 the plain of Damascus., 
 
 At Kelbra, I looked in vain for the Kyff hauser, thougL 
 so near it; an intervening summit hides the tower. Oii 
 the nearest headland of the range, however, there is a 
 ruined castle called the Rothenburg, which has no history 
 worth repeating, but is always visited by the few who find 
 their way hither. I procured a small boy as guide, and 
 commenced my proper pilgrimage on foot. An avenue of 
 cherry-trees gave but scanty shade from the nerce sun, 
 while crossing the level of the Golden Mead ; but, on 
 reaching the mountain, I found a path buried in forests. 
 It was steep, and hard to climb ; and I soon found reason 
 for congratulation in the fact that -he summit has an alti- 
 tude of only fifteen hundred feet. It was attained at las* ;
 
 THE KYFFHA'JSEB AND ITS LEGENDS. 317 
 
 the woods, which had been nearly impenetrable, ceased, 
 and I found myself in front of a curious cottage, with a 
 thatched roof, built against the foot of a tall round tower 
 of other days. There were benches and tables under the 
 adjoining trees ; and a solid figure, with a great white 
 beard, was moving about in a semi-subterranean apartment, 
 inserted among the foundations of the castle. 
 
 Had it been the Kyffhiiuser, I should have taken him 
 for Barbarossa. The face reminded me of Walt Whitman, 
 and, verily, the man proved to be a poet. I soon discov- 
 ered the fact ; and when he had given us bread and beer, 
 he brought forth, for my purchase, the third edition of 
 " Poems by the Hermit of the Rothenburg," published by 
 Brockhaus, Leipzig. His name is Friedrich Beyer. His 
 parents kept an inn on ground which became the battle- 
 field of Jena, three or four years after he was born His 
 first recollection is of cannon, fire, and pillage. This is all 
 that I learned of his history; his face suggests a great deal 
 more. The traces of old passions, ambitions, struggles, 
 and disappointments have grown faint from the exercise of 
 a cheerful philosophy. He is proud to be called a poet, yet 
 serves refreshments with as much alacrity as any ordinary 
 kellner. 
 
 After a time he brought an album, saying : " I keep this 
 for such poets as happen to come, but there are only two 
 names, perhaps, that you have ever heard Ludwig Storch 
 and M'uller von der Werra. Uhland was once in the Hartz, 
 but he never came here. Riickert and a great many others 
 have written about the Kyffhauser and Barbarossa; but 
 the poets, you know, depend on their fancies, rather than 
 on what they see. I can't go about and visit them, so I 
 can only become acquainted with the few who travel this 
 way." 
 
 He then took an immense tin speaking-trumpet, stationed 
 himself on a rock, pointed the trumpet at an opposite ridge 
 of the mountain, and bellowed forth four notes which
 
 818 BY-WAYS OF EUBOPi. 
 
 sounded like the voice of a dying bull. But, after a pause 
 of silence, angels replied. Tones of supernatural sweet- 
 ness filled the distant air, fading slowly upwards, until the 
 blue, which seemed to vibrate like a string that has been 
 struck, trembled into quiet again. It was wonderful ! I 
 have heard many echoes, but no other which so marvel- 
 ausly translates the sounds of earth into the langnage of 
 heaven. " Do you notice," said the poet, " how one tone 
 grows out of the others, and silences them ? Whatever 
 sound I make, that same tone is produced not at first, 
 but it comes presently from somewhere else, and r^akes it- 
 self heard. I call it reconciliation atonement ; the prin- 
 ciple in which all human experience must terminate. You 
 will find a poem about it in my book." 
 
 The Rothenburg has been a ruin for about thret hundred 
 years. It was a small castle, but of much more elegant 
 and symmetrical architecture than most of its crumbling 
 brethren. The trees which have grown up in court-yard 
 and hall have here and there overthrown portions of the 
 walls, but a number of handsome Gothic portals and win- 
 dows remain. The round tower appears to have belonged 
 to a much earlier structure. The present picturesque 
 beauty of the place compensates for the lack of history and 
 tradition. Its position Is such that it overlooks nearly the 
 whole extent of the Golden Mead and the southern slope 
 of the Hartz a hemisphere of gold and azure at the time 
 of my visit. It was a day which had strayed into Septem- 
 ber out of midsummer. Intense, breathless heat filled the 
 earth and sky, and there was scarcely a wave of air, even 
 upon that summit. 
 
 The Kyffhauser is two or three miles further eastward, 
 upon the last headland of the range, in that direction. 
 The road connecting the two castles runs along the crest, 
 through forests of the German oak, as is most fit. Taking 
 leave of the poet, and with his volume in rhy pack, I plod- 
 ded forward in the shade, attended by " spirits twain," in
 
 THE KYFFHAUSER AND ITS LEGENDS. 319 
 
 visible to my young guide. Poetry walked on my right 
 hand, Tradition on my left. History respectfully declined 
 to join the party ; the dim, vapory, dreamful atmosphere 
 did not suit her. Besides, in regard to the two points con- 
 cerning 'which I desired to be enlightened she could have 
 given me little assistance. Why was the dead Barbarossa 
 supposed to be enchanted in a vault under the Kyff hauser, 
 a castle which he had never made his residence ? Fifteen 
 years ago, at the foot of the Taurus, in Asia Minor, I had 
 stood on the banks of the river in which he was drowned ; 
 and in Tyre I saw the chapel in which, according to such 
 history as we possess, his body was laid. Then, why should 
 he, of all the German emperors, be chosen as the symbol 
 of a political resurrection ? He defied the power of the 
 popes, and was placed under the ban of the Church ; he 
 gained some battles and lost others; he commenced a 
 crusade, but never returned from it ; he did something 
 towards the creation of a middle class, but in advance of 
 the time when such a work could have been appreciated. 
 He was evidently a man of genius and energy, of a noble 
 personal presence, and probably possessed that individual 
 magnetism, the effect of which survives so long among the 
 people ; yet all these things did not seem to constitute a 
 sufficient explanation. 
 
 The popularity of the Barbarossa legend, however, is not 
 to be ascribed to anything in the Emperor's history. In 
 whatever way it may have been created, it soon became 
 the most picturesque expression of the dream of German 
 unity a dream to which the people held fast, while the 
 princes were doing their best to make its fulfillment impos- 
 sible. Barbarossa was not the first, nor the last, nor the 
 best of the great Emperors ; but the legend, ever willful in 
 its nature, fastened upon him, and Art and Literature are 
 forced to accept what they find already accepted by the 
 people. This seemed to me, then, to be the natural ex- 
 planation, and I am glad to find it confirmed in the main
 
 320 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 points by one of the best living writers of Germany. The 
 substance of the popular tradition is embodied in this little 
 song of Biickert : 
 
 " The Ancient Barbarossa, 
 
 Friedrich, the Kaiser great, 
 Within the castle-cavern 
 Sits in enchanted state. 
 
 " He did not die ; but ever 
 
 Waits in the chamber deep, 
 Where, hidden under the castle, 
 He sat himself, to sleep. 
 
 " The splendor of the Empire 
 
 He took with him away, 
 And back to earth will bring it 
 When dawns the chosen day. 
 
 " The chair is ivory purest 
 
 Whereof he makes his bed; 
 The table is of marble 
 
 Whereon he props his head. 
 
 " His beard, not flax, but burning 
 With fierce and tier}' glow, 
 Right through the marble table 
 Beneath his chin doth grow. 
 
 " He nods in dreams, and winketh 
 
 With dull, half-open eye, 
 And, once an age, he beckons 
 A page that standeth by. 
 
 
 " He bids the boy in slumber: 
 
 1 dwarf, go up this hour, 
 And see if still the ravens 
 
 Are flying round the tower. 
 
 " ' And if the ancient ravens 
 
 Still wheel above me here, 
 Then must I sleep enchanted 
 For many a hundred year.' M 
 
 Hlf-way from the Rothenburg after passing t nou
 
 THE K"i FFHAUSEK AND ITS LEGENDS. 321 
 
 pyramid of petrified wood, I. caught sight of the tower of 
 the Kyffhauser, a square dark-red mass, looming over the 
 oak woods. The path dwindled to a rude forest road, and 
 the crest of the mountain, on the left, hid from view the 
 glimmering level of the Golden Mead. I saw nothing but 
 the wooded heights on the right, until, after climbing a 
 space, I found myself suddenly in the midst of angular 
 mounds of buried masonry. The " Kaiser Friedrich's 
 tower," eighty feet high and about thirty feet square, ap- 
 peared to be all that remained of the castle. But the ex- 
 tensive mounds over which I stumbled were evidently 
 formed from the debris of roofs and walls, and something 
 in their arrangement suggested the existence of vaults 
 under them. The summit of the mountain, four or five 
 hundred feet in length, is entirely covered with the ruins 
 A cottage in the midst, occupied by three wild women, is 
 built over an ancient gateway, the level of which is con- 
 siderably below the mounds ; and I felt sure, although the 
 women denied it, that there must be subterranean cham- 
 bers. They permitted me, in consideration of the pay- 
 ment of three cents, to look through a glass in the wall, 
 and behold a hideous picture of the sleeping Emperor. 
 Like Macbeth's witches, they cried in chorus : 
 
 "Show! show! 
 
 Show his eyes and grieve his heart; 
 Take his money, a^.1 let him depart ! " 
 
 That, and a bottle of bad beer, which my small boy 
 drank with extraordinary facility, was all the service they 
 were willing to render me. But the storied peak was de- 
 serted ; the vast ring of landscape basked in the splendid 
 day ; the ravens were flying around the tower ; and there 
 were seats at various points where I could rest at will and 
 undisturbed. The Kyffhauser \vas so lonely that its 
 gnomes might have allowed the wonder-flower to grow for 
 me, and have opened their vaults without the chance of a 
 21
 
 822 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 profane foot following. I first sketched the tower, to sat 
 isfy Duty ; and then gave myself up to the guidance of 
 Fancy, whose face, on this occasion was not to be distin- 
 guished from that of Indolence. There was not a great 
 deal to see, and no discoveries to make ; but the position 
 of the castle was so lordly, the view of the Golden Mead so 
 broad and beautiful, that I could have asked nothing more. 
 I remembered, as I looked down, the meadows of Tarsus, 
 and pictured to myself, in the haze beyond the Brocken, 
 the snowy summits of the Taurus. " What avails the truth 
 of history ? " I reflected ; " I know that Barbarossa never 
 lived here, yet I cannot banish his shadowy figure from my 
 thoughts. Nay, I find myself on the point of believing the 
 legend." 
 
 The word " Kyff hauser " means, simply, " houses on the 
 peak " (Mppe or kuppe). The people, however, have a 
 derivation of their own. They say that, after Julius Caesar 
 had conquered the Thiiringian land, he built a castle for 
 his praetor on this mountain, and called it Confasio, to 
 signify the state to which he had reduced the ancient mon- 
 archy. Long afterwards, they add, a stag was found in the 
 forest, with a golden collar around its neck, on which were 
 the words : "' Let no one hurt me ; Julius gave me my 
 liberty." The date of the foundation of the castle cannot 
 be determined. It was probably a residence, alternately, 
 of the Thuringians and Franks, in the early Christian cen- 
 turies ; the German emperors afterwards occasionally in- 
 habited it ; but it was ruined in the year 1189, just before 
 the departure of Barbarossa for the Orient. Afterwards 
 rebuilt, it appears to have been finally overthrown and de- 
 serted in the fourteenth century. It is a very slender his- 
 tory wnich I have to relate ; but, as I said before, History 
 did not accompany me on the pilgrimage. 
 
 The Saga, however, whose word is often as good as 
 the written record, had a great deal to say. She told 
 me, first, that the images and ideas of a religion live among
 
 THE KYFFHAUSER AND ItS LEGENDS. 
 
 the people for ages after the creed is overthrown ; that the 
 half of a faith is simply transferred, not changed. Here is 
 the thread by which the legend of the Kyffhauser may be 
 unraveled. The gods of the old Scandinavian and Teutonic 
 mythology retreated into the heart of certain sacred moun- 
 tains during the winter, and there remained until the 
 leaves began to put forth in the forests, when the people 
 celebrated their reappearance by a spring festival, the 
 Druid Pentecost. When Christianity was forced upon the 
 land, and the names of the gods were prohibited, the prom- 
 inent chiefs and rulers took their place. Charlemagne sat 
 with his paladins in the Untersberg, near Salzburg, under 
 the fortress of Nuremberg, and in various other mountains. 
 Two centuries later, Otto the Great was, in like manner, 
 invested with a subterranean court; then, after an equal 
 space of time, came Barbarossa's turn. Gustav Freytag, 1 
 to whom I am indebted for some interesting information on 
 this point, read to me, from a Latin chronicle of the year 
 1050, the following passage: "This year there was great 
 excitement among the people, from the report that a ruler 
 would come forth and lead them to war. Many believed 
 that it would be Charlemagne ; but many also believed 
 that it would be another, whose name cannot be men- 
 tioned." This other was Wuotan (Odin), whose name the 
 people whispered three centuries after they had renounced 
 his worship. r 
 
 This explanation fits every particular of the legend. 
 The Teutonic tribes always commenced their wars in the 
 spring, after the return of the gods to the surface of the 
 earth. The ravens flying around the tower are the well- 
 known birds of Odin. When Barbarossa comes forth, he 
 will first hang his shield on the barren tree, which will 
 then burst into leaf. The mediaeval legend sprang natu- 
 rally from the grave of the dead religion. Afterwards, 
 
 1 The well-known author of Debit and Credit, and Pictures of the Germa* 
 Pa*.
 
 824 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 probabl} during the terrible depression which followed the 
 Thirty Years' War, another transfer took place. The 
 gods were at last forgotten ; but the aspirations of the peo- 
 ple, connecting Past and Future, found a new meaning in 
 the story, which the poets, giving it back to them in a glo- 
 rified form, fixed forever. 
 
 We have only two things to assume, and they will give 
 us little trouble. The Kyffhauser must have been one of 
 those sacred mountains of the Teutons in which the gods 
 took up their winter habitation. Its character corresponds 
 with that of other mountains which were thus selected. It 
 is a projecting headland, partly isolated from the rest of 
 the range, like Tabor, " a mountain apart." This would 
 account for the 'location of the legend. The choice of 
 Barbarossa may be explained partly by the impression 
 which his personal presence and character made upon the 
 people (an effect totally independent of his place in his- 
 tory), and partly from the circumstance, mysterious to 
 them, that he went to the Holy Land, and never returned. 
 Although they called him the " Heretic Emperor," on ac- 
 count of his quarrel with the Pope, this does not appear to 
 have diminished the power of his name among them. The 
 first form of the legendf as we find it in a fragment of 
 poetry from the fourteenth century, says that he disap- 
 peared, but is not dead ; that hunters or peasants some- 
 times meet him as a pilgrim, whereupon he discovers him- 
 self to them, saying that he will yet punish the priests, and 
 restore the Holy Roman Empire. A history, published ir 
 the year 1519, says : " lie was a man of great deeds, mar- 
 velously courageous, lovable, severe, and with the gift of 
 speech, renowned in many things as was no one before 
 him save Carolus the Great, and is at last lost, so that 
 no man knows what is become of him." 
 
 I know not where to look for another tradition made up 
 of such picturesque elements. Although it may be told in 
 a few words, it contains the quintessence of the history of
 
 THE KYFFHAUSER AND ITS LEGENDS. 326 
 
 two thousand years. Based on the grand Northern my. 
 thology, we read in it the foundation of Christianity the 
 Crusades, that hatred of priestcraft which made the Refor- 
 mation possible, the crumbling to pieces of the old German 
 Empire, and finally that passionate longing of the race 
 which is now conducting it to a new national unity and 
 power. For twenty years the Germans have been collect- 
 ing funds to raise a monument to Herrmann, the Cheru- 
 skian chief, the destroyer of Varus and his legions in the 
 Teutoburger Forest; yet Germany, after all, grew great 
 from subjection to the laws and learning of Rome. The 
 Kyffhauser better deserves a monument, not specially to 
 Barbarossa, but to that story which for centuries symbolized 
 the political faith of the people. 
 
 The local traditions which have grown up around the 
 national one are very numerous. Some have been trans- 
 planted hither from other places, as, for instance, that 
 of the key-flower, but others, very naive and original, 
 belong exclusively here. It is possible, however, that they 
 may also be found in other lands ; the recent researches in 
 fairy lore teach us that scarcely anything of what we pos- 
 sess is new. Here is one which suggests some passages 
 in Wieland's " Oberon." 
 
 In Tilleda, a village at the foot of the Kyffhauser, some 
 lads and lasses were met, one evening, for social diversion. 
 Among them was a girl whom they were accustomed to 
 make the butt of their fun whom none of them liked, 
 although she was honest and industrious. By a secret 
 understanding, a play of pawns was proposed; and when 
 this girl's turn came to redeem hers, she was ordered to 
 go up to the castle and bring back three hairs from the 
 sleeping Emperor's beard. She set out on the instant, 
 while the others made themselves merry over her sim- 
 plicity. To their great surprise, however, she returned in 
 an hour, bringing with her three hairs, fiery-red in color 
 and of astonishing length. She related that, having en-
 
 326 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 tered the subterranean chambers, she was conducted by 
 dwarf to the Emperor's presence, where, after having 
 drained a goblet of wine to his health, and that of the 
 Frau Empress, she received permission to pluck three 
 hairs from the imperial beard, on condition that she would 
 neither give them away nor destroy them. She faithfully 
 kept the promise. The hairs were laid away among her 
 trinkets ; and a year afterwards she found them changed 
 into rods of gold, an inch in diameter. Of course the 
 former Cinderella then became the queen. 
 
 There are several stories, somewhat similar in character, 
 of which musicians or piping herdsmen are the heroes. 
 Now it is a company of singers or performers, who, passing 
 the Kyff hauser late at night, give the sleeping Emperor a 
 serenade; now it is a shepherd, who saying to himself, 
 " This is for the Kaiser Friedrich " plays a simple melody 
 upon his flute. In each case an entrance opens into the 
 mountain. Either a princess comes forth with wine, or a 
 page conducts the musicians into the Emperor's presence. 
 Sometimes they each receive a green bough in payment, 
 sometimes a horse's head, a stick, or a bunch of flax. All 
 are either dissatisfied with their presents, or grow tired of 
 carrying them, and throw them away, except one (gener- 
 ally the poorest and silliest of the company), who takes his 
 home with him as a souvenir of the adventure, or as an 
 ironical present to his wife, and finds it, next morning, 
 changed into solid gold. How faithful are all these legends 
 to the idea of compensation ! It is always the poor, the 
 simple, the persecuted to whom luck comes. 
 
 I have two more stories, of a different character, to re- 
 peat. A poor laborer in Tilleda had an only daughter, 
 who was betrothed to a young man equally pooi, but good 
 and honest. It was the evening before the wedding-day ; 
 the guests were already invited, and the father suddenly 
 remembered with dismay that there was only one pot, one 
 dish, and two plates in the house. " What shall we do?"
 
 tBE KYFFHAUSEB AND ITS LEGENDS. 827 
 
 he cried. " You must go up to the Kyffhauser, and ask 
 the Princess to lend us some dishes." Hand in hand the 
 lovers climbed the mountain, and at the door of the cavern 
 found the Princess, who smiled upon them as they came. 
 They made their request timidly and with fear ; but she 
 bade them take heart, gave them to eat and drink, and 
 filled a large basket with dishes, spoons, and everything 
 necessary for a wedding feast. When they returned to the 
 village with their burden, it was day. All things were 
 strange ; they recognized neither house nor garden : the 
 people were unknown to them, and wore a costume they 
 had never before seen. Full of distress and anxiety, they 
 sought the priest, who, after hearing their story, turned 
 over the church-books, and found that they had been ab- 
 sent just two hundred years. 
 
 The other legend is that of Peter Klaus, the source frono 
 which Irving drew his Rip Van Winkle. I had read it 
 before (as have, no doubt, many of my readers), but was 
 not acquainted with its local habitation until my visit to 
 the Kyffhauser. It was first printed, so far as I can learn, 
 in a collection made by Otmar, and published in Bremen 
 in the year 1800. Given in the briefest outline, it is as 
 follows : Peter Klaus, a shepherd of Sittendorf, pastured 
 his herd on the Kyffhauser, and was in the habit of collect- 
 ing the animals at the foot of an old ruined wall. He 
 noticed that one of his goats regularly disappeared for 
 some hours every day ; and. finding that she went into an 
 opening between two of the stones, he followed her. She 
 led him into a vault, where she began eating grains of oats 
 which fell from the ceiling. Over his head he heard the 
 stamping and neighing of horses. Presently a squire in 
 ancient armor appealed, and beckoned to him without 
 speaking. He was led up stairs, across a court-yard, and 
 into an open space in the mountain, sunken deep between 
 rocky walls, where a company of knights, stern and silent 
 were playing at bowls. Peter Klaus was directed by ge
 
 328 BY-WAYS OF ELBOPE. 
 
 tures 1 i set up the pins, which he did in mortal fear, until 
 the quality of a can of wine, placed at his elbow, stimulated 
 his courage. Finally, after long service and many deep 
 potations, he slept. When he awoke, he found himself 
 lying among tall weeds, at the foot of the ruined wall. 
 Herd and dog had disappeared ; his clothes were in tatters, 
 and a long beard hung upon his breast. He wandered 
 back to the village, seeking his goats, and marveling that 
 he saw none but strange faces. The people gathered 
 around him, and answered his questions, but each name he 
 named was that upon a stone in the church-yard. Finally, 
 a woman who seemed to be his wife pressed through the 
 crowd, leading a wild-looking boy, and with a baby in her 
 arms. " What is your name ? " he asked. 
 
 " Maria." 
 
 " And your father ? " 
 
 " He was Peter Klaus, God rest his soul ! who went up 
 the Kyffhauser with his herd, twenty years ago, and has 
 never been seen since." 
 
 Irving has taken almost every feature of his story from 
 this legend ; but his happy translation of it to the Catskills. 
 and the grace and humor which he has added to it, have 
 made it a new creation. ' Peter Klaus is simply a puppet of 
 the people's fancy, but Rip Van Winkle has an immortal 
 vitality of his own. Few, however, who look into the wild 
 little glen, on climbing to the Catskill Mountain House, 
 suspect from what a distance was wafted the thistle-down 
 which there dropped and grew into a new plant, with the 
 richest flavor and color of the soil. Here, on the Kyffhau- 
 ser, I find the stalk whence it was blown by some fortunate 
 wind. 
 
 No doubt some interesting discoveries might be made, 
 if the ruins were cleared and explored. At the eastern 
 end of the crest are the remains of another tower, from 
 which I detected masses of masonry rising through the 
 oaks, on a lower platform of the mountain. The three
 
 THE KYFFHA'USER AND ITS LEGENDS. 329 
 
 wild women informed me that there was a chapel dowt 
 there ; but my small boy had never heard of it, and didn't 
 know the way. 
 
 " Where do you come from, boy ? " the woman asked. 
 
 " From Kelbra." 
 
 " O . ah ! To be sure you don't know ! The Kelbra 
 people are blockheads and asses, every one of 'em. They 
 think their Rothenburg is everything, when the good Lord 
 knows that the Kaiser Red-beard never lived there a day 
 of his life. From Kelbra, indeed ! It's the Tilleda people 
 that know how to guide strangers ; you've made a nice 
 mess of it, Herr, taking a Kelbra boy ! " 
 
 Perhaps I had ; but it wasn't pleasant to be told of it in 
 that way. So I took my boy, said farewell to Barbarossa's 
 tower, and climbed down the steep of slippery grass and 
 stones to the ruins of the lower castle. The scrubby oaks 
 and alder thickets were almost impenetrable ; a single path 
 wound among them, leading me through three ancient 
 gateways, but avoiding several chambers, the walls of which 
 are still partially standing. However, I finally reached the 
 chapel a structure more Byzantine than Gothic, about 
 fifty feet in length. It stands alone, at the end of a court- 
 yard, and is less ruined than any other part of the castle. 
 The windows remain, and a great part of the semicircular 
 chancel, but I could find no traces of sculpture. The floor 
 had been dug up in search of buried treasure. Looking 
 through an aperture in the wall, I saw another inclosure 
 of ruins on a platform further below. The castle of Kyff- 
 hauser, then, embraced three separate stages of buildings, 
 nil connected, and forming a pile nearly a quarter of a mile 
 in length. Before its fall it must have been one of the 
 stateliest fortresses in Germany. 
 
 I descended the mountain in the fierce, silent heat which 
 made it seem so lonely, so far removed from the bright 
 world of the Golden Mead. There were no flocks on the 
 dry pasture-slopes, no farmers in tho stubble-fields undei
 
 830 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 them ; and the village of Tilleda, lying under my eye* 
 bared its deserted streets to the sun. There, nevertheless, 
 I found rest and refreshment in a decent inn. My desti 
 nation was the town of Artern, on the Unstrut, at the east- 
 ern extremity of the Golden Mead ; and I had counted on 
 finding a horse and hay-cart, at least, to carry me over the 
 intervening nine or ten miles. But no ; nothing of the 
 kind was to be had in Tilleda even a man to shoulder 
 my pack was an unusual fortune, for which I must be grate- 
 ful. " Wait till evening," said the landlady, after describing 
 to me the death of her husband, and her business troubles, 
 " and then Hans Meyer will go with you." 
 
 The story being that the family of Goethe originally came 
 from Artern, and that some of its members were still living 
 in the neighborhood, I commenced my inquiries at Tilleda. 
 
 " Is there anybody of the name of Goethe in the village ?" 
 I asked the landlady. 
 
 " Yes," said she, " there 's the blacksmith Goethe, but I 
 believe he 's the only one." 
 
 The poet's great-grandfather having been a blacksmith, 
 and the practice of a certain trade or profession being so 
 frequently hereditary among the Germans, I did not doubt 
 but that this was a genuine branch of the family. All that 
 the landlady could say of the man, in reply to my questions, 
 was, " He 's only a blacksmith." 
 
 The sun had nearly touched the tower on the Kyffhauser 
 when Hans Meyer and I set out for Artern ; but the fields 
 still glowed with heat, and the far blue hills, which I must 
 reach, seemed to grow no nearer, as I plodded painfully 
 along the field-roads. The man was talkative enough, and 
 his singular dialect was not difficult to understand. He 
 knew no tradition which had not already been gathered, 
 but, like a genuine farmer, entertained me with stories of 
 hail-storms, early and late frosts, and inundations. He was 
 inveterately wedded to old fashions, and things of the past, 
 had served against the Republicans in 1849. and not a glim
 
 THE OFFHAUSER AND ITS LEGENDS. 331 
 
 mering idea of the present national movement had ever 
 entered his mind. I had heard that this region was the 
 home of conservative land-owners, and ignorant peasants 
 who believe in them, but I am not willing to take Hans 
 Meyer as a fair specimen of the people. 
 
 It is wearisome to tell of a weary journey, The richest 
 fields may be monotonous, and the sweetest pastoral scenery 
 become tame, without change. I looked over the floor of 
 the Golden Mead, with ardent longing towards the spire of 
 Artern in the east, and with a faint interest towards the 
 castle of Sachsenberg, in the south, perched above a gorge 
 through which the Unstrut breaks its way. The sun went 
 down in a splendor of color, the moon came up like a 
 bronze shield, grain-wagons rolled homewards, men and 
 women flocked into the villages, with rakes and forks on 
 their shoulders, and a cool dusk slowly settled over the 
 great plain. Hans Meyer was silent at last, and I was in 
 that condition of tense endurance when an unnecessary re- 
 mark is almost as bad as an insult ; and so we went over 
 the remaining miles, entering the gates of Artern by moon- 
 light. 
 
 The first thing I did in the morning, was to recommence 
 my inquiries in regard to Goethe. " Yes," said the land- 
 lord, " his stammhaus (ancestral house) is here, but the 
 family don't live in it any longer. If you want to see it, 
 one of the boys shall go with you. There was formerly a 
 smithy in it ; but the smiths of the family left, and then it 
 was changed." 
 
 I followed the boy through the long, roughly-paved main 
 street, until we had nearly reached the western end of the 
 town, when he stopped before an old yellow house, two 
 stories high, with a steep tiled roof. Its age, I should 
 guess, was between two and three hundred years. The 
 street-front, above the ground floor, which, having an 
 arched entrance and only one small window, must have 
 been thefoimer smithy, showed its framework Df timber
 
 882 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 as one sees in all old German houses. Before the closelj 
 ranged windows of the second story there were shelves with 
 pots of gilliflowers and carnations in blossom. It was a 
 genuine mechanic's house, with no peculiar feature to dis- 
 tinguish it particularly from the others in the street A 
 thin-faced man, with sharp black mustache, looked out of 
 one of the windows, and spoke to the boy, who asked 
 whether I wished to enter. But as there was really nothing 
 to be seen, I declined. 
 
 According to the chronicles of Artern, the great-grand- 
 father Goethe, the blacksmith, had a son who was appren- 
 ticed to a tailor, and who, during his wander schaft, sojourned 
 awhile in Frankfort-on-the-Main. He there captivated the 
 fancy of a rich widow, the proprietress of the Willow-Bush 
 Hotel (the present " Hotel Union"), and married her, or 
 she married him, a fact which presupposes good looks, 
 or talents, or both, on his part. His son, properly edu- 
 cated, became in time the Councillor Goethe, who begat 
 the poet The latter, it is said, denied that the tailor was 
 his grandfather, whence it is probable that an additional 
 generation must be interpolated ; but the original black- 
 smith has been accepted, I believe, by the most of Goethe's 
 biographers. A generation, more or less, makes no differ- 
 ence. Goethe's ancestry, like that of Shakespeare, lay in 
 the ranks of the people, and their strong blood ran in the 
 veins of both. 
 
 No author ever studied himself with such a serene, ob- 
 jective coolness as Goethe ; but when he speaks to the 
 world, one always feels that there is a slight flavor of dich- 
 inng infused into his wahrheit. Or perhaps, with the arro- 
 gance natural to every great intellect, he reasoned outward, 
 and assumed material from spiritual facts. Fiction being 
 only Truth seen through a different medium, the poet who 
 can withdraw far enough from his own nature to contem- 
 plate it as an artistic study, works under a different law 
 from that of the autobiographer. So when Goethe illus-
 
 THE KYFFHAUSEK AND ITS LEGENDS. 333 
 
 bates himself, we must not always look closely for facts. 
 The only instance, which I can recall at this moment, 
 wherein he speaks of his ancestors, is the poetical frag 
 ment : 
 
 " Stature from father, and the mood 
 
 Stern views of life compelling; 
 From mother I take the joyous heart, 
 
 And the love of story-telling; 
 Great-grandsire's passion was the fair 
 
 What if I still reveal it? 
 Great-grandam's was pomp, and gold, and show, 
 
 And in my bones I feel it." 
 
 It is quite as possible, here, that Goethe deduced the 
 character of his ancestors from his own, as that he sought 
 an explanation of the latter in their peculiarities. The 
 great-gran dsire may have been Textor, of his mother's 
 line ; it is not likely that he knew much of his father's 
 family-tree. The burghers of Frankfurt were as proud, in 
 their day, as the nobility of other lands ; and Goethe, at 
 least in his tastes and habits, was a natural aristocrat. It 
 is not known that he ever visited Artern. 
 
 Concerning the other members of the original family, the 
 landlord said : " Not one of them lives here now. The last 
 Goethe in the neighborhood was a farmer, who had a lease 
 of the scharfrichterei " (an isolated property, set apart for 
 the use of the government executioner), " but he left here 
 some six or eight years ago, and emigrated to America." 
 " Was he the executioner ? " I asked. " O, by no means ! " 
 the landlord answered ; " he only leased the farm ; but it 
 was not a comfortable place to live upon, and, besides, he 
 didn't succeed very well." So the blacksmith in Tilleda 
 and the American Goethe are the only representatives left. 
 What if a great poet for our hemisphere should, in time, 
 spring from the loins of the latter ? 
 
 I ordered a horse and carriage with no compunctions of 
 conscience, for I was really unable to make a second day's 
 journey on foot. The golden weather had lasted just long
 
 884 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE 
 
 enough to complete my legendary pilgrimage. The mom 
 ing at Artern came on with cloud and distant gray sweeps 
 of rain, which soon blotted out the dim headland of the 
 Kyff hauser. 1 followed the course of the Unstrut, which 
 here reaches the northern limit of his wanderings, and 
 winds southward to seek the Saale. The valley of the river 
 is as beautiful as it is secluded, and every hour brings a 
 fresh historical field to the traveller. No highway enters 
 it; only rude country roads lead from village to village, and 
 rude inns supply plain cheer. Tourists are here an unknown 
 variety of the human race. 
 
 I passed the ruins of Castle Wendelstein, battered during 
 the Thirty Years' War, a manufactory of beet-sugar now 
 peacefully smokes in the midst of its gray vaults and but- 
 tresses, and then Memleben, where Henry the Bird. 
 Snarer lived when he was elected Emperor, and Otto II. 
 founded a grand monastery. Other ruins and ancient 
 battle-fields followed, and finally Nebra, where, in 531, the 
 Thuringians fought with the Franks three days, and lost 
 their kingdom. On entering Nebra, I passed an inn with 
 the curious sign of " Care " (Sorge), represented by a 
 man with a most dismal face, and his head resting hope- 
 lessly upon his hand. An inn of evilest omen ; and, as 
 suredly, I did not stop the're. 
 
 Further down the valley, green vineyards took the place 
 of the oak forests, and the landscapes resembled those of 
 the Main and the Neckar. There were still towns, and 
 ruined castles, and battle-fields, but I will not ask the 
 reader to explore the labyrinthine paths of German history. 
 The atmosphere of the legend had faded, and I looked with 
 an indifferent eye on the storied scenes which the windings 
 of the river unfolded. At sunset, I saw it pour its waters 
 into those of the Saale, not far from the railway station at 
 Naumburg, where I came back to the highways of travel
 
 A WEEK ON CAPEI.
 
 Lo OKING seaward from Naples, the island oi Capri lies 
 across the throat of the bay like a vast natural breakwater, 
 grand in all its proportions, arid marvelously picturesque in 
 outline. The fancy is at once excited, and seeks to find 
 some definite figure therein. Long ago, an English traveller 
 compared it to a coucbant lion ; Jean Paul, on the strength 
 of some picture he had seen, pronounced it to be a sphinx ; 
 while Gregorovius, most imaginative of all, finds that it is 
 " an antique sarcophagus, with bas-reliefs of snaky-haired 
 Eumenides, and the figure of Tiberius lying ipon it." 
 
 Capri is not strictly a by-way of travel, inasmuch as most 
 of the tourists who come to Naples take the little bay- 
 steamer, visit the Blue Grotto, touch an hour at the marina, 
 or landing-place, and return the same evening via Sorrento. 
 But this is like reading a title-page, instead of the volume 
 behind it. The few who climb the rock, and set themselves 
 quietly down to study the life and scenery of the island, find 
 an entire poem, to which no element of beauty or interest 
 is wanting, opened for their perusal. Like Venice, Capri is 
 a permanent island in the traveller's experience detached 
 from the mainland of Italian character and associations. It 
 is not a grand dramatic epic, to which light waves keep time, 
 tinkling on the marble steps ; but a bright, breezy pastoral 
 of the sea, with a hollow, rumbling undertone of the Past, 
 like that of the billows in its caverns. Venice has her 
 generations, her ages of heroic forms : here one sole figure, 
 supiemely fierce and abominable, usurps the historic back- 
 ground. Not only that : its shadow is projected over the 
 life of the island, now and for all time to come. Here> 
 where Nature has placed terror and beauty side I y side* 
 
 22
 
 338 BT-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 the tragedy of one man is inextricably blended with the 
 idyllic annals of a simple, innocent people. To feel this, 
 one must live a little while on Capri. 
 
 It was nearly the end of January, when Antonio, our boat 
 man, announced that we had the "one day. out of a dozen,'' 
 for crossing the ten miles of sea between Sorrento and the 
 
 o 
 
 island. I had my doubts, placing my own weather-instinct 
 against the boatman's need of making a good fare in a dull 
 season ; but we embarked, nevertheless. The ripple of a 
 sirocco could even then be seen far out on the bay, and a 
 cloudy wall of rain seemed to be rising from the sea. " Non 
 c'e paura" said the sailors ; " we have a god-mother at the 
 marina of Capri, and we are going to burn a lamp for her 
 to-night. She will give us good weather." They pulled 
 gayly, and we soon passed the headland of Sorrento, beyond 
 which the mouth of the Bay of Naples opened broadly to 
 view. Across the water, Ischia was already dim with rain ; 
 and right in front towered Capri, huge, threatening, and to 
 the eye inaqcessible but for the faint glimmer of houses at 
 the landing-place. 
 
 Here we met the heavy well rolling in from the sea. 
 The men bent to their oars, with cries of " Hal-li ! mac- 
 cheroni a Capri ! " The ,spray of the coming rain struck 
 us, but it was light and warm. Antonio set the sail, and we 
 steered directly across the strait, the sky becoming darker 
 and wilder every minute. The bold Cape of Minerva, with 
 its Odyssean memories, and the Leap of Tiberius, on Capri ? 
 were the dim landmarks by which we set our course. It 
 was nearly two hours before we came to windward of the 
 latter, and I said to Antonio : " It is one day out of a dozen 
 for cold and wet." He was silent, and made an attempt to 
 look melancholy. However, the rocks already overhung us 
 in front was a great curving sweep of gardens, mounting 
 higher and ever higher in the twilight ; and the only boat 
 we had seen on the deserted bay drew in towards us, and 
 made for the roadstead.
 
 A WEEK ON CAPRI. 339 
 
 The row of fishermen's houses on the beach beckoned 
 welcome after the dreary voyage. At first I saw no human 
 being, but presently some women and children appeared, 
 hurrying to the strand. A few more lifts on the dying 
 swell, and our keel struck the shore. The sailors jumped 
 into the water; one of the women planted a tall bench 
 against the bow, and over this bridge we were landed. 
 There was already a crowd surrounding us with clamor? 
 for gifts and service. The woman with the bench was the 
 noisiest : " It is mine ! " she continually cried, "/brought 
 it ! " I gave her H copper coin, expecting, after my Nea- 
 politan experiences to hear wilder cries for more ; but she 
 only uttered, " Eh f due bajocchi ! " in an indescribable tone, 
 shouldered her bench, and walked away. Antonio picked 
 out two maidens, piled our baggage upon their heads, and 
 we set off for the town of Capri. The clamorous crowd 
 dissolved at once ; there was neither insult nor pursuit It 
 was a good-humored demonstration of welcome nothing 
 more. 
 
 It was but a single step from the strand the only little 
 fragment of beach on ten miles of inaccessible shore to 
 the steep and stony pathway leading up the height. It still 
 rained, and the night was rapidly falling. High garden 
 walls further darkened the way, which was barely wide 
 enough to allow two persons to pass, and the bed of which, 
 collecting the rain from the steeps on either side, was like 
 that of a mountain torrent. Before us marched the bare- 
 legged porteresses, with astonishing lightness and swiftness, 
 while we plodded after, through the rattling waters, often 
 slipping on the wet stones, and compelled to pause at every 
 corner to regain our breath. The bright houses on the 
 ndge overhead shone as if by their own light, crowning the 
 dusky gardens, and beckoning us upwards. 
 
 After neariy half an hour of such climbing, we emerged 
 from between the walls. A vast, hollow view opened dimly 
 down to the sea for a moment ; then we passed under an arch,
 
 840 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 and found ourselves in the little square of the town, which 
 is planted on the crest of the island, at its lowest point. 
 There are not forty feet of level ground ; the pavement 
 falls to both shores. A few paces down the southern slope 
 brought us to a large white mansion, beside which the 
 crown of a magnificent palm-tree rustled in the wind. 
 This was the hostelry of Don Michele Pagano, known to 
 all artists who have visited Capri for the last twenty years. 
 A stately entrance, an ample staircase, and lofty, vaulted 
 chambers, gave the house a palatial air, as we came into it 
 out of the stormy night. The two maidens, who had car- 
 ried forty pounds apiece on their heads, were not in the 
 least flushed by their labor. The fee I gave seemed to me 
 very small, but they were so well pleased that Antonio's 
 voice, demanding, " Why don't you thank the Signore ? " 
 made them start out of a dream, perhaps of pork and 
 macaroni. At once, like children saying their lessons, they 
 dipped a deep courtesy, side by side, saying, " Grazie, Sig- 
 nore ! " I then first saw how pretty they were, how bright 
 their eyes, how dazzling their teeth, and how their smiles 
 flashed as they said " Good-night ! " Meanwhile, Don 
 Michele's daughter had kindled a fire on the hearth, there 
 was a promise of immediate dinner, and we began to like 
 Capri from that moment. 
 
 My first walk satisfied me that no one can make ac- 
 quaintance with the island, from a boat. Its sea-walls of 
 rock are so enormous, that they hide almost its entire habit- 
 able portion from view. In order to make any description 
 of its scenery clear to the reader, the prominent topograph- 
 ical features must be first sketched. Capri lies due south 
 of Naples, its longer diameter running east and west, so 
 that it presents its full broadside to the capital. Its out- 
 line, on the ground plan, is that of a short, broad-topped 
 boot, the toe pointing towards the Sorrentine headland. 
 The breadth, across the top, or western end, is two miles, 
 and the length of the island is about four miles. The town
 
 A WEEK ON CAPRI. 
 
 of Capri lies just at the top of the instep, where the ankle 
 is narrowest, occupying also the crest between the northern 
 and southern shores. Immediately to the west of it rises a 
 tremendous mountain-wall, only to be scaled at one point. 
 All the island beyond this wall is elevated considerably 
 above the eastern half, the division being also municipal 
 and social. The eastern part, however, possesses the only 
 landing-places on both shores, whence it is the most ani- 
 mated and populous, claiming at least two thirds of the 
 entire number of five thousand souls on the island. The 
 most elevated points are the Salto (leap) di Tiberio, the 
 extreme eastern cape, which rises nearly a thousand feet 
 above the sea ; and Monte Solaro, a part of the dividing 
 wall which I have just mentioned, about double the height 
 of the Salto. In addition to the landing-place on the 
 northern shore, there is a little cove just opposite, below 
 the town, where boats can land in still weather. Else- 
 where, the rocks descend to the water in a sheer wall, from 
 one to eight hundred feet in height. Although so near 
 Naples, the winds from the mountains of the Peninsula are 
 somewhat softened in crossing the bay, and the winter 
 temperature is about ten degrees higher in consequence. 
 
 When we crossed the little square of the town to the 
 entrance-gate, on the morning after our arrival, there was a 
 furious tramontana blowing. The whole circuit of the Bay 
 of Naples was visible, drawn in hard, sharp outlines, and 
 the blue basin of water was freckled with thousands of 
 shifting white-caps. The resemblance of the bay to a vast 
 volcanic crater struck my fancy : the shores and islands 
 seem to be the ruins of its rim. Such a wind, in Naples, 
 would have been intolerable : here it was only strong at 
 exposed points, and its keen edge was gone. We turned 
 eastward, along the narrow, dirty street, to get into the 
 country. In a hundred yards the town ceased, and the 
 heavy walls gave place to enormous hedges of cactus. A 
 boy, walking the same way, asked : " Are you going to
 
 842 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 Timberio " (Tiberius) ? The ruins of the Villa Jovis, the 
 principal palace of the Emperor, were already to be seen, 
 on the summit of the eastern headland of the island. 
 Along a roughly paved lane, under the shade of carob and 
 olive trees, we finally came to a large country-house in a 
 most picturesque state of ruin. A crumbling archway, 
 overhung by a fringe of aloes, which had thrust their roots 
 between the stones, attracted my attention, and I began to 
 sketch it. Not many minutes elapsed before five or six 
 boys came out, and watched me from the arch. They 
 would have been good accessories, but, whenever I looked 
 at one, he got out of the way. Presently they brought an 
 aloe, and set it upon the rocks ; but, seeing that I paid no 
 attention to it, one of them remarked with a grimace, " No 
 butiglia," meaning that he expected no gratuity from me. 
 They were lively, good-natured imps, and so it was a pleas- 
 ure to disappoint them agreeably. 
 
 We went also down the southern slope of the island, and 
 came at random into the Val Tragara, a peaceful sol- 
 itude, where twenty-five centuries of labor have turned the 
 hostile rocks into tiers of ever-yielding gardens. One range 
 of these is supported upon arches of masonry that formerly 
 upheld the highway which Tiberius constructed between 
 his palaces. I afterwards found other traces of the road, 
 leading in easy zigzags to the site of the fourth palace on 
 San Michele. Descending deeper in the Val Tragara we 
 missed the main path, and stumbled down the channels of 
 the rain between clumps of myrtle and banks whereon the 
 red anemone had just begun to open its blossoms. The 
 olive-trees, sheltered from the wind, were silent, and their 
 gray shadows covered the suggestive mystery of the spot. 
 For here Tiberius is supposed to have hidden those rites of 
 the insane Venus to which Suetonius and Tacitus so darkly 
 allude. 
 
 " Non ragioniam di lor, ma guarda e passa." 
 
 A single almond-tree, in flower, made its own sunshine
 
 A WEEK ON CAPRI. 
 
 in the silvery gloom ; and the secluded beauties of the 
 place tempted us on, until the path dropped into a ravine, 
 which fell towards the sea. Following the line of the an- 
 cient arches there is another path the only level walk on 
 the island leading to a terrace above the three pointed 
 rocks off the southern coast, called the Faraglioni. In the 
 afternoon, when all the gardens and vineyards from the 
 edge of the white cliffs to the town along the ridge lie in 
 light, and the huge red and gray walls beyond, literally 
 piled against the sky, are in hazy shadow, the views from 
 this path are poems written in landscape forms. One does 
 not need to remember that here once was Rome ; that 
 beyond the sea lie Sicily and Carthage ; that Augustus con- 
 secrated the barren rock below to one of his favorites, and 
 jested with Thrasyllus at one of his last feasts. The de- 
 light of the eye fills you too completely ; and Capri, as you 
 gaze, is released from its associations, classic and diabolic. 
 If Nature was here profaned by man, she has long ago 
 washed away the profanation. Her pure air and healthy 
 breezes tolerate no moral diseases. Such were brought 
 hither ; but they took no root, and have left no trace, ex- 
 cept in the half-fabulous " Timberio " of the people. 
 
 It is time to visit the Villa Jovis, the Emperor's chief 
 residence. The tramontana still blew when we set out; 
 but, as I said, it had lost its sharp edge in coming over the 
 bay, and was deliciously bracing. As the gulf opened 
 below us, after passing Monte San Michele, we paused to 
 look at the dazzling panorama. Naples was fair in sight ; 
 and the smoke of Vesuvius, following the new lava, seemed 
 nearly to have reached Torre del Greco. While we were 
 studying the volcano through a glass, a tall man in Scotch 
 cap and flannel shirt came up, stopped, and addressed us 
 in Italian. 
 
 "You see that white house yonder on the cliff? "said 
 he ; "a Signore Inglese lives there. It's a nice place, a 
 beautiful situation. There's the place for the cows and
 
 844 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 there are the columbaria, and all sorts of things. It's what 
 they call a quinta in Portugal." 
 
 " Is the P^nglishman married ? " I asked. 
 
 "I don't know," he replied ; " I believe there's a certain 
 woman in the house." 
 
 I handed him the glass, which he held to his eyes for 
 five minutes, without saying a word. Suddenly he broke 
 out in English : " Yes, as you say, the powdery appearance 
 the ah, the sudden change ! Boreal weather, you 
 know ; but the indications seem to me, having watched and 
 kept the thing in view, quite ah quite of your opin- 
 ion : " 
 
 I was speechless, as may easily be imagined ; and, before 
 I could guess what to reply, he handed me the glass, took 
 off his cap, said : " Here's hoping ah, wishing that we 
 may meet again perhaps!" and went off with tremen- 
 dous strides. 
 
 " Who is that, Augusto ? " I asked of the small Caprese 
 boy who carried our books and umbrellas. 
 
 " Un Signo' Inglese." 
 
 " Is anything the matter with him ? " 
 
 " _& un ptf pazzo " (a little cracked). 
 
 " Where does he live ? "* 
 
 " Yonder ! " said Augusto, pointing to the very house, 
 and place for the cows, and the columbaria, to which the 
 gentleman himself had called my attention. It was his 
 own house ! The " certain woman," I afterwards learned, 
 was his legal wife, a girl of Capri. As for himself, he 
 bears a name noted in literature, and is the near relative 
 of three authors. 
 
 Two pleasant girls kept us company a little further, and 
 then we went on alone, by a steep, slippery path, paved 
 with stone, between the poor little fields of fig and olive. 
 The patches of wheat were scarcely bigger than cottage 
 flower-beds, and in many places a laborious terrace sup- 
 ported only ground enough to produce a half-peck of grain.
 
 A WEEK ON CAPRI. 346 
 
 Lupines and horse-beans are the commonest crop at this 
 season. Along our path bloomed " the daisy-star that 
 never sets," with anemone and golden broom. The Villa 
 Jovis was full in view, and not distant ; but the way first 
 led us to the edge of the cliffs on the southeastern side of 
 tEe island. From a rough pulpit of masonry we looked 
 down on the wrinkled sea near a thousand feet below. 
 The white-caps were but the tiniest sprinkles of silver on 
 its deep-blue ground. 
 
 As we mounted towards the eastern headland, the tremen- 
 dous walls of the western half of Capri rose bold and bright 
 against the sky ; but the arcs of the sea horizon, on either 
 side, were so widely extended that they nearly clasped be- 
 hind Monte Solaro. It was a wonderful, an indescribable 
 view ; how can I give it in words ? Here I met an old man. 
 in a long surtout, who stopped and conversed a minute in 
 French. He was a soldier of Napoleon, now the keeper of 
 a little restaurant at the Salto di Tiberio, and had just been 
 made happy by the cross and a pension. The restaurant 
 was opened by a peasant, and we passed through it to the 
 Salto. A protecting rampart of masonry enables you to 
 walk to the very brink. The rock falls a thousand feet, 
 and so precipitously that the victims flung hence must 
 have dropped into the waves. We looked directly across the 
 strait to the Cape of Minerva, and towards Salerno as well 
 as Naples. The snow-crowned Monte Sant' Angelo, rising 
 in the centre, gave the peninsula a broad pyramidal form 
 buttressed by the headlands on either side. The Isles of 
 the Sirens were full in view ; and. beyond them, the whole 
 curve of the Salernic gulf, to the far Calabrian cape of 
 Licosa The distance was bathed in a flood of airy gold, 
 and the gradations in the color of the sea, from pale ame- 
 thyst to the darkest sapphire below us, gave astonishing 
 breadth and depth to the immense perspective. But the 
 wind, tearing round the point in furious gusts, seemed try- 
 ing to snatch us over the rampart, and the hoiror of th 
 height became insupportable.
 
 846 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 Much of the plan of the Villa Jovis may still be traced 
 As we approached the ruins, which commence a few pacea 
 beyond the Salto, a woman made her appearance, and 
 assumed the office of guide. " Here lived Timberio," said 
 she ; " he was a great man, a beautiful man, but 0, he was 
 a devil ! Down there are seven chambers, which you can 
 only see by a torch-light ; and here are the piscine, one for 
 salt water and one for fresh ; and now I'll show you the 
 mosaic pavement all made by Timberio. 0, the devil 
 that he was ! " Timberio is the favorite demon of the 
 people of Capri. I suspect they would not give him up for 
 any consideration. A wine of the island is called the " Tears 
 of Tiberius " (when did he ever shed any, I wonder ? ), just 
 as the wine of Vesuvius is called the Tears of Christ. When 
 I pointed to the distant volcano, whose plume of silver smoke 
 was the sign of the active eruption, and said to the woman, 
 " Timberio is at work yonder ! " she nodded her head, and 
 answered : " Ah, the devil ! to be sure he is." 
 
 We picked our way through the ruins, tracing three 
 stories of the palace, which must have been four, if not 
 five stories high on the land side. Some drums of marble 
 columns are scattered about, bits of stucco remain at the 
 bases of the walls ; there' is a corridor paved with mosaic, 
 descending, curiously enough, in an inclined plane, and the 
 ground-plan of a small theatre ; but the rubbish left does 
 not even hint of the former splendor. It is not one of those 
 pathetic ruins which seem to appeal to men for preserva- 
 tion ; it rather tries to hide itself from view, welcoming the 
 broom, the myrtle, and the caper-shrub to root-hold in its 
 masses of brick and mortar. 
 
 On the topmost platform of ruin is the little chapel of 
 Santa Maria del Soccorso, together with the hermitage of 
 a good-natured friar, who brings you a chair, offers you bits 
 of Tiberian marble, and expects a modest alms. Here I 
 found the wild Englishman, sitting on a stone bench beside 
 the chapel. He pointed over the parapet to the awful
 
 A WEEK ON CAPRI. 347 
 
 precipice, and asked me : " Did you ever go over there ? 1 
 did once to get some jonquils. You know the rock- 
 jonquils are the finest." Then he took my glass, looked 
 through it at the distant shores, and began to laugh. f ' This 
 reminds me," said he, " of a man who was blown up with his 
 house several hundred feet into the air. He was immensely 
 frightened, when, all at once, he saw his neighbor's house 
 beside him blown up too. And the neighbor called out : 
 ' How long do you think it will take us to get down again ?' 
 Cool wasn't it ? " Thereupon he went to the ladies of 
 the party, whom he advised to go to the marina, and see the 
 people catch shrimps. " It's a beautiful sight," he said. 
 " The girls are so fresh and rosy but, then, so are the 
 shrimps ! " 
 
 It is no lost time, if you sit down upon a block of marble 
 in the Villa Jovis, and dream a long, bewildering day-dream. 
 Here it is almost as much a riot for the imagination to 
 restore what once was, as to create what might be. The 
 temples of Minerva and Apollo, across the strait, were both 
 visible from this point. Looking over Capri, you place the 
 second palace of Tiberius on the summit of Monte Tuoro. 
 which rises against the sea on your right ; the third on the 
 southern side of the island, a little further ; the fourth on 
 Monte San Michele ; the fifth and sixth beyond the town 
 of Capri, near the base of the mountain wall. Roads con- 
 necting these piles of splendor cross the valleys on high 
 arches, and climb the peaks in laborious curves. Beyond 
 the bay, the headland of Misenum and the shores of Baise 
 are one long glitter of marble. Villas and temples crown 
 the heights of Puteoli, and stretch in an unbroken line to 
 Neapolis. Here the vision grows dim, but you know what 
 magnificence fills the whole sweep of the shore Portici 
 and Pompeii and Stabiae, growing visible again as the pal- 
 aces shine above the rocks of Surrenttim ! 
 
 After the wonder that such things were, the next greatest 
 wonder is that they have so utterly vanished. What u
 
 848 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 preserved is so fresh and solid that Time seems to have 
 done the least towards their destruction. The masonry of 
 Capri can scarcely have been carried away, while such 
 quarries still unexhausted were supplied by the main- 
 land ; and the tradition is probably correct, that the palaces 
 of Tiberius were razed to the ground immediately after his 
 fall. The charms of the island were first discovered by 
 Augustus. Its people were still Greek, in his day ; and it 
 belonged to the Greek Neapolis, to which he gave the larger 
 and richer Ischia in exchange for it. The ruins of the Villa 
 Jovis are supposed to represent, also, the site of his palace ; 
 and Tiberius, who learned diplomacy from the cunning 
 Emperor, and crime from the Empress, his own mother, 
 first came hither with him. A period > of twenty or thirty 
 years saw the splendors of Capri rise and fall. After 
 Tiberius, the island ceased to have a history. 
 
 Every walk on these heights, whence you look out far 
 over bays, seas, and shores, is unlike anything else in the 
 world. It is surprising what varieties of scenery are 
 embraced in this little realm. In the afternoon we saw 
 another phase of it on the southern shore, at a point 
 called the Marina Piccola. After passing below the town 
 and the terraced fields, we came upon a wild slope, grown 
 with broom and mastic and arbutus, among which cows 
 were feeding. Here the island shelves down rapidly be- 
 tween two near precipices. The wind was not felt ; the air 
 was still and warm, and the vast, glittering sea basked in the 
 sun. At the bottom we found three fishers' houses stuck 
 among the rocks, more like rough natural accretions than 
 the work of human hand ; a dozen boats hauled up on the 
 stones in a cove about forty feet in diameter ; and one soli- 
 tary man. Silence and savage solitude mark the spot. East- 
 ward, the Faraglioni rise in gray-red, inaccessible cones ; 
 the ramparts of the Castello make sharp, crenelated zigzags 
 on the sky, a thousand feet above one's head ; and only a 
 few olive-groves, where Monte Tuoro falls into the Val
 
 A WEEK ON CAPRI. 
 
 Tragara, speak of cultivation. One might fancy himself to 
 be upon some lone Pacific island. The fisher told us thai 
 in tempests the waves are hurled entirely over the houses, 
 and boats in the cove are then dashed to pieces. But in 
 May, the quails, weary with their flight from Africa, land on 
 the slope above, and are caught in nets by hundreds and 
 thousands. 
 
 We had not yet exhausted the lower, or eastern half of 
 the island. Another morning was devoted to the Arco 
 Naturale, on the southern coast, between Monte Tuoro and 
 the Salto. Scrambling along a stony lane, between the 
 laborious terraces of the Capri farmers, we soon reached 
 the base of the former peak, where, completely hidden from 
 view, lay a rich circular basin of level soil, not more than a 
 hundred yards in diameter. Only two or three houses were 
 visible ; some boys, hoeing in a field at a distance, cried out, 
 " Signo', un baioc 1 ! " with needless iteration, as if the words 
 were a greeting. Presently we came upon a white farm- 
 house, out of which issued an old woman and four wild, 
 frouzy girls all of whom attached themselves to us, and 
 would not be shaken off. 
 
 We were already on the verge of the coast. Over the 
 jagged walls of rock we saw the plain of Paestum beyond 
 the sea, which opened deeper and bluer beneath us with 
 every step. The rich garden-basin and the amphitheatre 
 of terraced fields on Monte Tuoro were suddenly shut from 
 view. A perpendicular cliff of white rock arose on the 
 right ; and below some rough shelves wrought into fields 
 stood the Natural Arch, like the front of a shattered Gothic 
 cathedral. Its background was the sea, which shone through 
 the open arch. High up on the left, over the pointed crags, 
 stood a single rock shaped like a Rhine-wine beaker, hold- 
 ing its rounded cup to the sky. There is scarcely a wilder 
 view on Capri. 
 
 Following the rough path by which the people reach their 
 little fields, we clambered down the v ocks, along the brink
 
 350 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 of steeps which threatened danger whenever the gusts of 
 wind came around the point. The frouzy girls were at hand, 
 and eager to help. When we declined, they claimed money 
 for having given us their company, and we found it prudent 
 to settle the bill at once. The slope was so steep that every 
 brink of rock, from above, seemed to be the last between us 
 and the sea. Our two boy-attendants went down somewhere, 
 out of sight; and their song came up through the roar of 
 the wind like some wild strain of the Sirens whose isles we 
 saw in the distance. The rock is grandly arched, with a 
 main portal seventy or eighty feet high, and two open 
 windows at the sides. 
 
 Half-way down the cliff on the right is the grotto of 
 Mitromania a name which the people, of course, have 
 changed into " Matrimonio," as if the latter word had an 
 application to Tiberius ! There were some two hundred 
 steps to descend, to a little platform of earth, under the 
 overhanging cliffs. Here the path dropped suddenly into 
 a yawning crevice, the floor of which was traversed with 
 cracks, as if ready to plunge into the sea which glimmered 
 up through them. Passing under the gloomy arch, we came 
 upon a chamber of reticulated Roman masonry, built in a 
 side cavity of the rock, which forms part of the main grotto 
 or temple of Mithras. The latter is about one hundred feet 
 deep and fifty wide, and opens directly towards the sunrise. 
 
 Antiquarians derive the name of the grotto from Magnum 
 Mithrce Antrum. There seems to be no doubt as to its 
 character : one can still perceive the exact spot where the 
 statue of the god was placed, to catch the first beams of his 
 own luminary, coming from Persia to be welcomed and 
 worshipped on the steeps of Capri. T-t is difficult to say 
 what changes time and earthquakes may not have wrought ; 
 but it seems probable that the ancient temple extended to 
 the front of the cliffs, and terminated in a platform hanging 
 over the sea. A Greek inscription found in this grotto 
 associates it both with the superstition and the cruelty of
 
 A WEEK ON CAPBI. 851 
 
 Tiberius. I have not seen the original, which is in the 
 Museum at Naples, but here repeat it from the translation 
 of Gregorovius : 
 
 44 Ye who inhabit the Stygian land, beneficent demons. 
 Me, the unfortunate, take ye also now to your Hades, 
 Me, whom not the will of the gods, but the power of the Ruler, 
 Suddenly smote with death, which, guiltless, I never suspected. 
 Crowned with so many a gift, enjoying the favor of Caesar, 
 Now he destroyeth my hopes and the hopes of my parents. 
 Not fifteen have I reached, not twenty the years I have numbered, 
 Ah ! and no more I behold the light of the beautiful heavens. 
 Hypatos am I by name: to thee I appeal, my brother, 
 Parents, also, I pray you, unfortunate, mourn me no longer! " 
 
 A. human sacrifice is here clearly indicated. This mys- 
 terious cavern, with its diabolical associations, the giddy 
 horror of the Salto, and the traces of more than one con- 
 cealed way of escape, denoting the fear which is always 
 allied with cruelty, leave an impression which the efforts of 
 those historiasters who endeavor to whitewash Tiberius 
 cannot weaken with all their arguments. Napoleon was 
 one of his admirers, but his opinion on such matters is of 
 no great weight. When Dr. Adolf Stahr, however, devotes 
 a volume to the work of proving Tiberius to have been a 
 good and much-abused man, we turn to the pages of Sue- 
 tonius and the Spintrian medals, and are not convinced. 
 The comment of the old woman at the Villa Jovis will 
 always express the general judgment of mankind, " 0, 
 cAe diavolo era Timberio!" 
 
 If you^stand at the gate of the town, and look eastward 
 towards the great dividing wall, you can detect, on the 
 corner nearest the sea, the zigzag line of the only path 
 which leads up to Anacapri and the western part of the 
 island. One morning when the boy Manfred, as he brought 
 our coffee, told us that the tramontana had ceased blowing, 
 we sent for horses, to make the ascent. We had been 
 awakened by volleys of musketry ; the church-bells were 
 chiming, and there were signs of a festa, but Felice, the
 
 B52 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 owner of the horses, explained the matter. Two young 
 men, manners of Capri, had recently suffered shipwreck on 
 the coast of Calabria. Their vessel was lost, and they only 
 saved their lives because they happened, at the critical 
 moment, to call on the Madonna del Carmine. She heard 
 and helped them : they reached home in safety, and on this 
 day they burned a lamp before her shrine, had a mass said 
 in their names, and invited their families and friends to 
 share in the thanksgiving. I heard the bells with delight, 
 for they expressed the poetry of superstition based on 
 truth. 
 
 We set out, in 
 
 " The halcyon mom 
 To hoar February born." 
 
 Indeed, such a day makes one forget tramontana, sirocco, 
 and all the other weather-evils of the Italian winter. Words 
 cannot describe the luxury of the air, the perfect stillness 
 and beauty of the day, and the far, illuminated shores of 
 the bay as they opened before us. We saw that the season 
 had turned, in the crocusses and violets which blossomed 
 beside the path the former a lovely pale-purple flower, 
 with fire-tinted stamens. With Felice came two little girls, 
 Luigia and -Serafina, the former of whom urged on a 
 horse, while the other carried on her head the basket of 
 provisions. Our small factotum, Augusto, took charge of 
 the bottles of wine, and Felice himself bore the shawls 
 and books. Beyond the town, the path wound between 
 clumps of myrtle, arbutus, and the delicate white erica, 
 already in bud. Under us lay the amphitheatre of vine- 
 yards and orange-groves ; and the town of Capri, behind, 
 stretching from San Michele to the foot of the Castello, 
 seemed a fortified city of the Middle Ages. Over the 
 glassy sea rose Vesuvius, apparently peaceful, yet with a 
 demon at work under that silvery cloud ; Monte St. Angelo, 
 snowy and bleak ; and the rich slopes of Sorrento and 
 Massa.
 
 A WEEK ON CAPRI. 868 
 
 One of the giumente (as Felice called his horses) turned 
 on seeing the rocky staircase, and tried to escape. But it 
 was a sign of protest, not of hope. They were small, un 
 shod, very peaceful creatures, doomed to a sorry fate, but 
 they never had known anything better. Their horse-ideal 
 was derived from the hundred yards of Mnstony path below 
 Capri, and the few fresh turnips and carrots which they get 
 on holidays. It was, perhaps, a waste of sympathy to pity 
 them ; yet one inclines to pity beasts more readily than men. 
 
 At the foot of the staircase we dismounted, and prepared 
 to climb the giddy steep. There are five hundred and 
 sixty steps, and they will average more than a foot in 
 height. It is a fatiguing but not dangerous ascent, the 
 overhanging side being protected by a parapet, while the 
 frequent landings afford secure resting-places. On the 
 white precipices grew the blue " flower of spring " (jiore 
 della primaverd), and the air was sweet with odors of un- 
 known buds. Up and still up, we turned at each angle to 
 enjoy the wonderful aerial view, which, on such a morning, 
 made me feel half-fledged, with sprouting wings which ere- 
 long might avail to bear me across the hollow gulf. We 
 met a fellow with a splendid Roman head, whereon he was 
 carrying down to the marina the huge oaken Ijnee of some 
 future vessel. Surprised at the size of the timber, I asked 
 Felice whether it really grew upon the island, and he said 
 there were large oaks about and beyond Anacapri. 
 
 Half-way up, the chapel of Sant' Antonio stands on a 
 little spur, projecting from the awful precipices. Looking 
 down, you see the ruins of the Palazzo a' Mare of Tiberius, 
 the bright turquoise patches where the water is shallow, 
 and its purple tint in shadow. White sails were stretching 
 across from the headland of Sorrento, making for the Blue 
 Grotto. There were two more very long and steep flights 
 of steps, and then we saw the gate on the summit, arched 
 against the sky. Hanging from the rocks, but inaccessible, 
 were starry bunches of daffodils. It had seemed to me on 
 23
 
 354 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 looking at the rocky walls from Capri, that an easier point 
 of ascent might have been chosen, and I believe it is settled 
 that Tiberius visited his four western palaces by a differ- 
 ent path ; but I now saw that the islanders (not possessing 
 despotic power) have really chosen the most accessible 
 point. The table-land beyond does not, as I had imagined, 
 commence at the summit of the cliffs, but far below them, 
 and this staircase strikes the easiest level. 
 
 There are few equal surprises on Capri. Not many 
 more steps, and we found ourselves on a rich garden-plain, 
 bounded on the left by stony mountains, but elsewhere 
 stretching away to sky and sea, without a hint of the tre- 
 mendous cliffs below. Indeed, but for the luminous, trem- 
 bling haze around the base of the sky, one would not sur- 
 mise the nearness of the sea, but rather think himself to 
 be in some inland region. The different properties are 
 walled, but there is no need of terraces. Shining white 
 houses, with domed roofs, stand in the peaceful fields. The 
 fruit-trees grow rank, huge oaks and elms with ivied trunks 
 rise above them, and the landscape breathes a sweet, idyllic 
 air. I noticed many cherry-trees of great size. The oaks, 
 though deciduous, still wore the green leaves of last sum- 
 mer, which will only be "pushed from the twigs when this 
 year's buds open. High over this pleasant land, on a bare 
 rock, are the towers of a mediaeval castle, now named after 
 Barbarossa the corsair, not the Emperor. 
 
 Presently we came to Anacapri, cleanest, most pictur- 
 esque and delightful of Italian villages. How those white 
 houses, with their airy loggias, their pillared pergolas, and 
 their trim gardens, wooed us to stay, and taste the delight 
 of rest, among a simple, beautiful, ignorant, and honest peo- 
 ple ! The streets were as narrow and shady as those of 
 my oriental city, and thii houses mostly presented a blank 
 side to them ; but there were many arches," each opening 
 on a sunny picture of slim, dark-haired beauties spinning 
 silk, or grandams regulating the frolics of children. The
 
 A WEEK ON CAPBI. 356 
 
 latter, seeing us, begged for bajocchi ; and even the girls 
 Jid the same, but laughingly, with a cheerful mimicry of 
 mendicancy. The piazza of the village is about as large aa 
 the dining-room of a hotel. A bright little church occu- 
 pies one side ; and, as there was said to be a view from the 
 roof, we sent for the key, which was brought by three girls. 
 I made out the conjectured location of the ninth, tenth, 
 eleventh, and twelfth palaces of Tiberius, whereof only a 
 few stones remain, and then found that the best view was 
 that of the three girls. They had the low brow, straight 
 nose, short upper lip, and rounded chin which belongs to 
 the Caprese type of beauty, and is rather Hellenic than 
 Roman. Their complexion was dark, sunburnt rather than 
 olive, and there was a rich flush of blood on their cheeks ; 
 the eyes long and large, and the teeth white as the kernels 
 of fresh filberts. Their bare feet and hands, spoiled by 
 much tramping and hard work, were out of keeping with 
 their graceful, statuesque beauty. A more cheerful picture 
 of Poverty (for they are all miserably poor), it would be 
 difficult to find. 
 
 It was but a mile further to the headland of Damecuta. 
 Felice, however, advised us rather to visit the tower of 
 Lima, above the Punta della Carena, the northwestern 
 extremity of the island, and his advice proved to be good 
 in the end. We descended a stony steep into a little val- 
 ley, shaded by superb olive-groves, under which the crops 
 of lupines were already beginning to blossom. The dell 
 fell deeper as we advanced ; the grass was starred with red 
 anemones, and there were odors of concealed violets. A 
 mile further, we came upon a monastery, with a square, 
 crenelated tower, beyond which the fields gave place to a 
 narrow strip of stony down. All at once the shore yawned 
 beneath us, disclosing the extremity of the island, with 
 three deserted batteries on as many points of rock, a new 
 light-house, and the little cove where the troops of Murat 
 landed, when they surprised the English and recaptured
 
 356 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 Capri, in 1808. Westward, there was a wide sweep of 
 sunny sea ; northward, Ischia, Procidu with its bright town, 
 Baiae and Pozzuoli. Here, at the foot of an old martellc 
 tower, we made our noon halt, relieving Serafina of the 
 weight of her basket, and Augusto of his bottles. 
 
 The children and young girls, going out to their work in 
 the fields, begged rather pertinaciously. " We are very 
 poor," they cried ; ' and you are so grand and beautiful you 
 can surely give us something." On the return, we met a 
 group of lively maidens coming up from Capri, who said, 
 when I told them there were no more bajocchi in my pock- 
 ets : " Well, then, give us a franc, and we will divide it 
 among us ! " Nevertheless, begging is not the nuisance 
 on Capri that it is on the main-land. It is always good- 
 humored, and refusal is never followed by maledictions. 
 The poor are positively and certainly poor, and they seem 
 to think it no shame to take what they can get over and 
 above their hard earnings. When one sees how very in- 
 dustrious and contented they are, it is rather a pleasure to 
 add a few coppers to the little store laid aside for their 
 holidays. 
 
 With every day, every hour, of our residence, we more 
 fully realized the grandeur and variety of the landscapes 
 of Capri. The week which I thought sufficient to enable 
 us to see the island thoroughly drew towards its close ; and 
 although we had gone from end to end of the rocky shores, 
 climbed all the principal peaks, and descended into every 
 dell and ravine, our enjoyment was only whetted, not ex- 
 hausted. The same scenes grow with every repetition. 
 There is not a path or crooked lane among the old houses, 
 irhich does not keep a surprise in reserve. The little 
 town, with only here and there a stone to show for the 
 Past, with no architectural interest whatever, is neverthe- 
 less a labyrinth of picturesque effects. In -the houses, all 
 the upper chambers are vaulted, and the roofs domed above 
 them as in the Orient ; while on one or more sides there
 
 A WEEK ON CAPRI. 367 
 
 is a loggia or arched veranda, overhung with cornice of 
 grapevines, or gay with vases of blooming plants. Thick 
 walls, narrow windows, external staircases, palm-trees in 
 the gardens, and raised platforms of masonry placed so as 
 to catch the breezes of summer nights, increase the resem- 
 blance to the Orient. Living there, Syria seems to be 
 nearer than Naples. 
 
 In the Val Tragara, near the sea, there is a large de- 
 serted monastery, the Certosa, dating from the fourteenth 
 century. Here, as elsewhere, the monks have either picked 
 out the choicest spot for their abode or have made it beau- 
 tiful by their labor. The Certosa is still stately and im- 
 posing in its ruin. In the church the plaster is peeling off, 
 leaving patches of gay fresco on the walls and ceiling. 
 The sacristy and an adjoining chapel are riddled with can- 
 non-balls; and two recumbent marble statues of the foun- 
 ders, resting on their sarcophagi, look at each other from 
 opposite sides, and seem to wonder what the desolation 
 means. The noble court-yard, surrounded with arched cor- 
 ridors, is dug up for a garden ; there is straw and litter in 
 the crumbling cells ; and the prior's apartment, with its 
 wonderful sea and coast views, is without an occupant. 
 The garden only has not forgotten its former luxury. Its 
 vines and fig-trees equal those of Crete and Syria ; and its 
 cactuses have become veritable trees, twenty feet in height. 
 The monks succeeded in getting hold of the best land on 
 the island ; yet 1 have no doubt that the very people they 
 impoverished wish them back again. 
 
 The Caprese are very devout and superstitious. They 
 have two devils (" Timberio " being one), and a variety of 
 saints. The beautiful little church in the A own, external!) 
 so much like a mosque, is filled with votive offerings, 
 painted or modeled in wax, each of which has its own 
 story of miraculous interposition and escape. On one side 
 of the nave sits in state the Madonna del Carmine, a 
 life-sized doll, with fair complexion, blue eyes, and a pro.
 
 358 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 fusion of long curling tresses of real blonde hair. In hei 
 lap she holds a dwarfish man, with hair of nearly equal 
 length. A dozen wax-candles were burning before her, in 
 anticipation of her coming festa, which took place before 
 we left Capri. She is the patron saint of the coral-fishers, 
 none of whom neglected to perform their share of the cel- 
 ebration. 
 
 The day was ushered in with volleys of musketry, and 
 the sounds, or rather cries, of the worst brass band I ever 
 heard, which went from house to house, blowing, and col- 
 lecting coppers. After the forenoon mass, the procession 
 was arranged in the church, and then set out to make the 
 tour of the town. First came the members of a confrater- 
 nity, mostly grizzly old men, in white gowns, with black 
 capes, lined with red ; then followed a number of small 
 boys, behind whom marched the coral-fishers, forty or fifty 
 in number brown, weather-beaten faces, burned by the 
 summers of the African coast. They were dressed with 
 unusual care, and their throats seemed ill at ease inside of 
 collar and cravat. Every one in the procession carried a 
 taper, which he shielded from the wind with the hollow left 
 hand, while his right managed also to collect the melted 
 wax. Next appeared the Madonna, on her litter of state, 
 followed by six men, who bore her silken canopy. In her 
 train were the priests, and about a hundred women and 
 girls brought up the rear. 
 
 Among the latter there were some remarkably lovely 
 faces. The mixture of yellow, blue, and scarlet colors 
 which they delight to wear contrasted brilliantly with the 
 glossy blackness of their hair and the sunny richness of 
 their complexion. The island costume, however, is begin- 
 ning to disappear. Only a few girls wore the mucadore, or 
 folded handkerchief, on the head, while several were grand 
 in wide silk skirts and crinolines. The people are not en- 
 vious, but many a longing glance followed those progres- 
 sive maidens.
 
 A WEEK ON CAPRI. 369 
 
 In so small a domain as Capri, all that happens is known 
 to everybody. A private romance is not possible ; and so, 
 on this occasion, the crowd on the little piazza were moved 
 by a curiosity which had no relation to the Madonna del 
 Carmine. The story, as I received it, is this : Nearly a 
 year ago, the aunt of a beautiful girl who was betrothed to 
 one of the young coral-fishers was visited by an Englishman 
 then staying at the Hotel Tiberio, who declared to her his 
 violent love for the niece, and solicited her good offices to 
 have the previous engagement broken off. Soon after this 
 the Englishman left ; the aunt informed the girl's father of 
 the matter, the betrothal with the coral-fisher was sus- 
 pended, and the father spent most of his time in frequent- 
 ing the hotels to ascertain whether a rich young English- 
 man had arrived. A few days before our visit to Capri, 
 the girl received presents from her unseen and unknown 
 wooer, with a message requesting her not to appear in the 
 procession of the Madonna del Cnrmine. The Englishman 
 stated that he was at the Hotel Tiberio. and only waited 
 the arrival of certain papers in order to claim her as his 
 bride. Thereupon the father came to the hotel, but failed 
 to discover the mysterious stranger. Two artists, and 
 several ladies who were there, offered to assist him ; but 
 the mystery still remained unsolved. Other letters and 
 presents came to the girl ; but no young, rich Englishman 
 could be found on the island. The artists and ladies took 
 up the matter (determined, I am very glad to say, to drive 
 away the Englishman, if there were one, and marry the 
 girl to the coral-fisher), but T have not yet heard of any 
 denouement. The young fisher appeared in the procession, 
 but the girl did not ; consequently, everybody knew that the 
 mysterious letters and presents had made her faithless. 
 For my part, I hope the coral-fisher a bright, stalwart, 
 handsome young fellow will find a truer sweetheart. 
 
 After making the complete tour of the town, which oc- 
 cupied about half an hour, the procession returned to the
 
 860 BY-WAYS OF EUBOPE. 
 
 church. The coral-fishers were grave and devout ; oue 
 could not question their sincerity. I was beginning to 
 find the scene touching, and to let my sympathy go fortL 
 with the people, when the sight of them dropping on their 
 knees before the great, staring doll of a Madonna, as sh 
 bobbed along on the shoulders of her bearers, turned all my 
 softness into granite. The small boys, carrying the tapers 
 before her, were employed in trying to set fire to each other's 
 shocks of uncombed hair. Two of them succeeded, and 
 the unconscious victims marched at least a dozen steps with 
 blazing heads, and would probably have been burned to 
 the scalp had not a humane by-stander extinguished the 
 unfragrant torches. Then everybody laughed ; the victims 
 slapped those who had set fire to them ; and a ridiculous 
 comedy was enacted in the very presence of the Madonna, 
 who, for a moment, was the only dignified personage. The 
 girls in the rear struck up a hymn without the least regard 
 to unison, and joked and laughed together in the midst of 
 it. The procession dissolved at the church door, and not 
 a moment too soon, for it had already lost its significance. 
 
 I have purposely left the Blue Grotto to the last, as for 
 me it was subordinate in interest to almost all else that I 
 saw. Still it was part of the inevitable programme. One 
 calm day we had spent in the trip to Anacapri, and another, 
 at this season, was not to be immediately expected. Never 
 theless, when we arose on the second morning afterwards 
 the palm-leaves hung silent, the olives twinkled withoul 
 motion, and the southern sea glimmered with the veiled 
 light of a calm. Vesuvius had but a single peaceful plume 
 of smoke, the snows of the Apulian Mountains gleamed 
 rosily behind his cone, and the fair headland of Sorrento 
 shone in those soft, elusive, aerial grays, which must be the 
 despair of a painter. It was a day for the Blue Grotto, 
 and so we descended to the marina. 
 
 On the strand, girls with disordered hair and beautiful 
 teeth offered shells and coral. We found mariners readily
 
 A WEEK ON CAPBI. 361 
 
 and, after a little hesitation, pushed off in a large boat, 
 leaving a little one to follow. The tramontana had left a 
 faint swell behind it, but four oars carried us at a lively 
 speed along the shore. We passed the ruins of the baths 
 of Tiberius (the Palazzo a' Mare), and then slid into the 
 purple shadows of the cliffs, which rose in a sheer wall five 
 hundred feet above the water. Two men sat on a rock, 
 fishing with poles ; and the boats further off the shore were 
 sinking their nets, the ends of which were buoyed up with 
 gourds. Pulling along in the shadows, in less than half an 
 hour we saw the tower of Damecuta shining aloft, above a 
 slope of olives which descended steeply to the sea. Here, 
 under a rough, round bastion of masonry, was the entrance 
 to the Blue Grotto. 
 
 We were now transshipped to the little shell of a boat 
 which had followed us. The swell rolled rather heavily 
 into the mouth of the cave, and the adventure seemed a 
 little perilous, had the boatmen been less experienced. We 
 lay flat in the bottom ; the oars were taken in, and we had just 
 reached the entrance, when a high wave, rolling up, threat- 
 ened to dash us against the iron portals. " Look out ! " 
 cried the old man. The young sailor held the boat back 
 with his hands, while the wave rolled under us into the 
 darkness beyond ; then, seizing the moment, we shot in 
 after it, and were safe under the expanding roof. At first, 
 all was tolerably dark : I only saw that the water near the 
 entrance was intensely and luminously blue. Gradually, 
 as the eye grew accustomed to the obscurity, the irregular 
 vault of the roof became visible, tinted by a faint reflection 
 from the water. The effect increased, the longer we re- 
 mained ; but the rock nowhere repeated the dazzling sap- 
 phire of the sea. It was rather a blue-gray, very beautiful, 
 but far from presenting the effect given in the pictures 
 sold at Naples. The silvery, starry radiance ot foam or 
 bubbles on the shining blue ground was the loveliest phe- 
 nomenon of the grotto. To dip one's hand in the sea, and
 
 362 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 scatter the water, was to create sprays of wonderful, phos- 
 phorescent blossoms, jewels of the Sirens, flashing and 
 vanishing garlands of the Undines. 
 
 3 O 
 
 A chamber, and the commencement of a gallery leading 
 somewhere, probably to the twelfth palace of Tiberius, 
 on the headland of Damecuta, were to be distinguished 
 near the rear of the cavern. But rather than explore fur- 
 ther mysteries, we watched our chance and shot out, after 
 a full-throated wave, into the flood of white daylight Keep- 
 ing on our course around the island, we passed the point of 
 Damecuta. making a chord to the arc of the shore, to 
 the first battery, beyond which the Anacapri territory 
 opened fairly to view. From the northern to the north- 
 western cape the coast sinks, like the side of an amphithea- 
 tre, in a succession of curving terraces, gray with the 
 abundant olive. Two deep, winding ravines, like the 
 wndies of Arabia, have been worn by the rainfall of thou- 
 sands of years, until they have split the shore-wall down to 
 the sea. Looking up them, we could guess the green banks 
 where the violets and anemones grew, and the clumps of 
 myrtle that perfumed the sea-breeze. 
 
 Broad and grand as was this view, it was far surpassed 
 by the coast scenery to come. No sooner had we passed 
 the pharos, and turned eastward along the southern shore 
 of the island, than every sign of life and laborious industry 
 ceased. The central mountain-wall, suddenly broken off 
 as it reached the sea, presented a face of precipice a thou- 
 sand feet high, not in a smooth escarpment, as on the 
 northern side, but cut into pyramids and pinnacles of ever- 
 changing form. Our necks ached with gazing at the far 
 summits, piercing the keen blue deeps of air. In one 
 place the vast gable of the mountain was hollowed into 
 arches and grottos, from the eaves of which depended 
 fringes of stalactite ; it resembled a Titanic cathedral in 
 ruins. Above the orange and dove-colored facets of the 
 cliff, the jagged topmost crest wore an ashen tint which no
 
 A WEEK ON CAPRI. 368 
 
 longer suggested the texture of rock. It seemed rather a 
 soft, mealy substance, which one might crumble between 
 the fingers. The critics of the realistic school would damn 
 the painter who should represent this effect truly. 
 
 Under these amazing crags, over a smooth, sunny sea, 
 we sped along towards a point where the boatman said we 
 should find the Green Grotto. It lies inside a short, pro- 
 jecting cape of the perpendicular shore, and our approach 
 to it was denoted by a streak of emerald fire flashing along 
 the shaded water at the base of the rocks. A few more 
 strokes on the oars carried us under an arch twenty feet 
 high, which opened into a rocky cove beyond. The water 
 being shallow, the white bottom shone like silver ; and the 
 pure green hue of the waves, filled and flooded with the 
 splendor of the sun, was thrown upon the interior facings 
 of the rocks, making the cavern gleam like transparent 
 glass. The dance of the waves, the reflex of the " netted 
 sunbeams," threw ripples of shifting gold all over this 
 green ground ; and the walls and roof of the cavern, so 
 magically illuminated, seemed to fluctuate in unison with 
 the tide. It was a marvelous surprise, making truth of 
 Undine and the Sirens, Proteus and the foam-born Aphro- 
 dite. The brightness of the day increased the illusion, and 
 made the incredible beauty of the cavern all the more 
 startling, because devoid of gloom and mystery. It was 
 an idyl of the sea, born of the god-lore of Greece. To 
 the light, lisping whisper of the waves, the sound near- 
 est to that of a kiss, there was added a deep, dim, sub- 
 dued undertone of the swell caught in lower arches beyond ; 
 and the commencement of that fine posthumous sonnet of 
 Keats chimed thenceforward in my ears : 
 
 '* It keeps eternal whisperings around 
 Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell 
 Gluts twice ten thousand caverns, till the spell 
 Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound." 
 
 After this, although the same enormous piles of rock
 
 864 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 overhung us, there were no new surprises. Thu sublimity 
 and the beauty of this southern coast had reached their 
 climax ; and we turned from it to lean over the gunwale 
 of the boat, and watch the purple growth of sponges 
 through the heaving crystal, as we drew into the cove of 
 the piccolo, marina. There A.ugusto was waiting our ar- 
 rival, the old fisher was ready with a bench, and we took 
 the upper side of Capri. 
 
 My pen lingers on the subject, yet it is time to leave. 
 When the day of our departure came, I wished for a tramon- 
 tana, that we might be detained until the morrow ; but no, 
 it was a mild sirocco, setting directly towards Sorrento, and 
 Antonio had come over, although, this time, without any 
 prediction of a fine day. At the last fatal and prosaic mo- 
 ment, when the joys that are over must be paid for, we found 
 Don Michele and Manfred as honest as they had been kind 
 and attentive. Would we not come back some time? 
 asked the Don. Certainly we will. 
 
 When the sail was set, and our foamy track pointed to 
 the dear isle we were leaving, I, at least, was conscious of a 
 slight heart-ache. So I turned once more and cried out, 
 "Addio, Capri!" but the stern Tiberian rocks did not 
 respond, Ritornate . " and so Capri passed into memory.
 
 A TRIP TO ISCHIA.
 
 THE island of Ischia, rising like a loftier Sa.amis at the 
 northern entrance of the Bay of Naples, is so unlike its op- 
 posite sentinel, Capri, that the landscape-painter, to whom 
 the peculiarities of mountain forms are as familiar as to 
 the geologist, would pronounce as readily on the diversity 
 of its origin. The latter might say : " This island is Plu- 
 tonic, that Neptunic ; " and the former : " Here are long, 
 finely broken outlines, and sharp, serrated summits ; yon- 
 der, broad masses and sudden, bold escarpments ; " but 
 both would express the same fact in different dialects. 
 The two islands are equidistant from the main land ; they 
 occupy the same relative position to the bay and to the 
 central Vesuvian peak ; they are equally noble land-marks 
 to the mariners coming from the Tyrrhene or the Ionian 
 Sea. Here the resemblance ends. Capri is the resort of 
 artists, Ischia of invalids. Tiberius and the Blue Grotto 
 belong to the litany of travel ; but Ischia larger, richer, 
 more accessible than Capri has no such special attrac- 
 tions to commend it. It must be sought for its own sake. 
 
 The little steamer upon which I embarked at Naples 
 was called the Tifeo, from Typhceus, the Titan who lies 
 buried under Epomeo, like Enceladus under Etna. The 
 decks were crowded ; but every face was Italian, and every 
 tongue uttered the broad, barbaric dialect of Southern 
 Italy. Priests, peasant-women, small traders, sailors, and 
 fishermen were mingled in a motley mass, setting their 
 faces together in earnest gossip, and turning their backs 
 upon sea, shore, and sky. As we passed Castell' dell' Ovo, 
 the siorns of the recent terrible land-slide on the rock of 
 
 o 
 
 Pizzofalcone drew their attention for a minute ; and I, too,
 
 868 BY-WAYS OF EUBJPE. 
 
 looked with a shudder at the masses of rock under which 
 I had lived, unsuspectingly, until within three days of the 
 catastrophe. The house wherein we had chosen quarters 
 was crushed to atoms ; and, although nearly a month had 
 elapsed, the great pile of ruin was not yet cleared away. 
 
 Onward over the bright blue sea, past the shores of 
 Posilippo, the marine villa of Lucullus, and the terraced 
 steep, yonder, where the poet Silius Italicus kept sacred 
 the tomb of his master. Virgil, past the burnt-out crater 
 of Nisida, and the high, white houses of Pozzuoli, until the 
 bay of Baiae opens to the right, and we fetch a compass 
 for the ancient Cape Miseimm. How these names stir the 
 blood ! Yet my fellow-voyagers never lifted their eyes to 
 the shores ; and if they mentioned the names, it was, per- 
 haps, to say, " I bought some pigs at Baiae the other day," 
 or, " What is land worth about Lake Avernus ? " or, " Do 
 you raise pumpkins at Cumae ? " 
 
 Between Cape Misenum and the island of Procida there 
 is a strait two or three miles in width. The town of Pro- 
 cida rests on the water like a long, white wedge, the butt of 
 which bears up the immense old fortress. Approaching 
 from Naples, the whole island lies before the loftier Ischia 
 like Imbros before Samothrace, and seems to belong to it, 
 as ancient geographers declare that it once did. The town 
 is like a seaport of the Grecian Archipelago, and, as seen 
 from the water, one could not wish it cleaner or less irreg- 
 ular. Fronting the sea, it presents a crescent of tall white 
 houses, broken with arched balconies, and deep, scattered 
 windows, and stained with patches of gray and moss-green. 
 Over the domed roofs rises here and there a palm. The 
 castle to the left, on its rock, rejoices in its ancient strength, 
 and seems to command the Bay of Gaeta as well as that of 
 Naples. 
 
 I tried to recall something of the history of Procida, 
 and struck in the middle of the thirteenth century on the 
 famous Giovanni, " John of Procida," before and after
 
 A TBIP TO ISCHIA. 869 
 
 whom there was a blank. The island once belonged to 
 him in toto, and must have been a goodly possession. T 
 believe he lost it for a time, on account of the part which 
 he took in the Sicilian Vespers. Meanwhile the steamer 
 came to a stop in the little port, and boats crowded about 
 the gangways. I determined to go the length of the island 
 towards Ischia by land, and so scrambled down with the rest 
 
 I landed on a narrow quay, so filthy and malodorous that 
 1 made haste to accept the guidance of the first boy who 
 offered his services. He led me into a street just as bad ; 
 but, as we mounted towards the castle, the aspect of the 
 town improved. This is the only place in Italy where the 
 holiday costume is Greek, and one might therefore expect 
 to find faces of the Hellenic type ; yet such are fewer than 
 on Capri. The costume disappears more and more, and 
 only on grand festas do the women appear in bodices em- 
 broidered with gold, and gowns edged with the ancient 
 labyrinth pattern. They have splendid eyes, like all the 
 islanders ; but I saw no beauties in my rapid march across 
 Procida. 
 
 After the view from the castle, there is really nothing of 
 interest in the little town. The island is low and nearly 
 level, so that the high walls which inclose the road shut 
 out all view of its vineyards and gardens. The eastern 
 shore, near which my path led, is formed by three neighbor- 
 ing craters, the rims of which are broken down on the sea- 
 side, and boats anchor on the lava of the bottoms. The 
 road was almost a continuous street, the suburb of Procidd 
 running into that of the large village of L' Olmo. A crowd 
 of wayfarers went to and fro, and in all the open arches 
 women sat spinning in the sun. There were no beggars ; 
 one of the women, indeed, called across the road to another, 
 as I passed, " Ask him for a bajocco ! " but the latter 
 laughed, and turned her head aside. Although so little of 
 the island was to be seen, there was no end to the picture* 
 made by the windings of the road, the walls draped with 
 24
 
 370 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 fern and ivy, the deep arches of shade with bright, sunlit 
 court-yards behind them, and the quaint terraces overhung 
 with vines. 
 
 A walk of two miles brought me to the western shore- 
 where the road descended to the fishing hamlet of Chiai- 
 olella. The place seemed to be deserted ; I walked be- 
 tween the silent old houses, and had nearly reached the 
 beach, when a brown old mariner glided out from the 
 shadow of a buttress, and followed me. Some boats lay on 
 the sand in the little land-locked crater-bay ; and presently 
 three other men, who had been sleeping somewhere in the 
 corners, came forward, scenting a fee. Of course they asked 
 too much ; but, to my surprise, they gradually abated the 
 demand, although there was no competition. The old man 
 said, very frankly, " If you give us a franc apiece, we shall 
 only make ten sous, and we should like to earn a little 
 more." We thereupon soon came to terms ; two of them 
 carried me into the boat, and we set off for Ischia. 
 
 Just beyond the last point of Procida rises the rocky 
 island of Vivara, which is nothing but a fragment left from 
 the ruin of a volcanic crater. Its one slanting side is 
 covered with olive-trees, and a single house stands on the 
 summit. The landing-place is a rocky shelf a yard or so in 
 width, only accessible when the sea is quite smooth. The 
 island belongs to Signer Scotti, of Procida, so the boatmen 
 told me, but he is too shrewd to live upon it. As we floated 
 past it into the open strait, the Bay of Gaeta opened broadly 
 on the right, stretching away to the far Cape of Circe, 
 beyond Terracina. In front Ischia, grand in its nearness, 
 possessed the sea. One is here still in Odyssean waters. 
 Here Homer once sailed, so sure as there ever was a 
 Homer, and heard Typhceus groaning under Inarime. 
 What Kinglake so finely says of the Troad is here equally 
 true. The theories of scholars go to the winds ; one learns 
 to believe in Homer, no less than in Moses. 
 
 The picture of Ischia, from the sea, is superb. In front
 
 A TRIP TO ISCfflA. 371 
 
 towers the castle, on a thrice bolder and broader wedge of 
 rock than that of Procida ; withdrawn behind It, as if for 
 protection, the white crescent of the town sweeps along the 
 water ; garden-groves rise in the rear, then great, climbing 
 slopes of vine, and, high over all, Monte Epomeo converges 
 the broken outlines of the island, and binds them together 
 in his knotted peak. The main features are grandly broad 
 and simple, yet there is an exquisite grace and harmony in 
 the minor forms of the landscape. As we ran under the 
 shadows of the castle-rock, whereon the Marquis Pescara 
 was born, my thoughts were involuntarily directed to two 
 women, his sister, the heroic Costanza, whose defense of 
 the castle gave the governorship of Ischia to her family for 
 two hundred and fifty years ; and his wife, Vittoria Colonna. 
 Her, however, we remember less as the Marchesa Pescara 
 than as the friend of Michael Angelo, in whose arms she 
 died. Theirs was the only friendship between man and 
 woman, which the breath of that corrupt age did not dare 
 to stain, noble on both sides, and based on the taste and 
 energy and intellect of both. Vittoria, of whom Ariosto 
 
 says, 
 
 "Vittoria fc '1 nome; e ben conviensi a nata 
 Fra le vittorie," 
 
 retired to this castle of Ischia to mourn her husband's 
 death. Strange that her sorrow excites in us so little 
 sympathy ; while, at this distance of time, the picture of 
 Michael Angelo after her death gives us a pang. Moral, 
 it is better to be the friend of a great artist than the wife of 
 a great general. 
 
 The landino- at Ischia is as attractive as that at Procida 
 
 o 
 
 is repulsive. The town conies down to the bright, sunny 
 quay in a broad, clean street ; the houses are massive, and 
 suggestive of comfort, and there are glimpses of the richest 
 gardens among them. " You must go to the locanda nobile," 
 said the sailors ; and to make sure they went with me. It 
 is, in fact, the only tolerable inn in the place ; yet my first
 
 372 BY- -WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 impression was not encouraging. The locanda consisted of 
 a large hall, filled with mattresses, a single bare bedroom, 
 and the landlord's private quarters. The only person I saw 
 was a one-eyed youth, who came every five minutes, while I 
 sat watching the splendid sunset illumination of the castle 
 and sea, to ask, " Shall I make your soup with rice or mac- 
 aroni ? " " Will you have your fish fried or in umido ? " 
 Notwithstanding all this attention, it was a most meagre 
 dinner which he finally served, and I longed for the flesh- 
 pots of Capri. In spite of Murray, artists are not stoics, 
 and where they go the fare is wont to be good. The Eng- 
 lish guide says, very -complacently : " Such or such an hotel 
 is third-rate, patronized by artists!" or, "The accommoda- 
 tions are poor ; but artists may find them sufficient '. " as if 
 " artists " had no finer habits of palate or nerves ! When I 
 contrasted Pagano's table in Capri with that of the nobile 
 locanda of Ischia, I regretted that artists had not been stay- 
 ing at the latter. 
 
 In walking through the two cold and barren rooms of the 
 hotel I had caught a glimpse, through an open door, of a 
 man lying in bed, and an old Franciscan friar, in a brown 
 gaberdine, hanging over him. Now, when my Lenten 
 dinner (although it was Carnival) was finished, the padrona 
 came to me, and said : " Won't you walk in and see Don 
 Michele ? He's in bed, sick, but he can talk, and it will 
 pass away the time for him." 
 
 " But the Frate " here I hesitated, thinking of extreme 
 unction. 
 
 " O, never mind the Frate," said the padrona ; " Don 
 Michele knows you are here, and he wants to have a talk 
 with you." 
 
 The invalid landlord was a man of fifty, who lay in bed, 
 groaning with a fearful lumbago, as he informed me. At 
 the foot of the bed sat the old friar, gray-headed, with a 
 snuffy upper lip, and an expression of amiable imbecility on 
 his countenance. The one-eyed servant was the landlord's
 
 A TRIP TO ISCHIA. 378 
 
 son ; and there were two little daughters, one of whom. 
 Filoruena, carried the other, Maria Teresa. There was 
 also a son, a sailor, absent in Egypt. "Four left out of 
 twelve," said Don Michele ; " but you notice there will soon 
 be thirteen ; so I shall have five, if the Lord wills it." 
 
 " And so you are from America," he continued ; " my son 
 was there, but, whether in North or South, I don't know 
 They say there is cholera in Africa, and I hope the saints 
 will protect him from it. Here on Ischia as perhaps you 
 don't know we never had the cholera ; we have a saint 
 who keeps it away from the island. It was San Giuseppe 
 della Croce, and nobody can tell how many miracles he has 
 wrought for us. He left a miraculous plant, it's inside 
 the castle, and there it grows to this day, with wonderful 
 powers of healing ; but no one dares to touch it. If you 
 were to so much as break a leaf, all Ischia would rise in 
 revolution." 
 
 " What a benefit for the island ! " I remarked. 
 
 " Ah, you may well say that ! " exclaimed Don Michele. 
 " Here everything is good, the fish, the wine, the people. 
 There are no robbers among us, no, indeed ! You may 
 go where you like, and without fear, as the Frate will tell 
 you. This is my brother " (pointing to the friar). " I am 
 affiliated with the Franciscans, and so he comes to keep me 
 company." 
 
 The friar nodded, took a pinch of snuff, and smiled in the 
 vague, silly way of a man who don't know what to say. 
 
 " I have met many of your brethren in the Holy Land," 
 I said, to the latter. 
 
 ' Gran Dio ! you have been there ? " both exclaimed. 
 
 I must needs tell them of Jerusalem and Jericho, of 
 Nazareth and Tiberias ; but Don Michele soon came back 
 to America. " You are one of the nobility, I suppose ? " he 
 said. 
 
 " What ! " I answered, affecting a slight indignation j 
 "don't you know that we have no nobility? All are equal
 
 374 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 before the law, and the poorest man may become the high- 
 est ruler, if he has the right degree of intelligence." (I was 
 about to add, and honesty, but checked myself in time.) 
 
 " Do you hear that ? " cried Don Michele to the friar. 
 I call that a fine thing." 
 
 " Che bella cosa ! " repeated the friar, as he took a fresh 
 pinch of snuff. 
 
 " What good is your nobility ? " I continued. " They 
 monopolize the offices, they are poor and proud, and they 
 won't work. The men who do the most for Italy are not 
 nobles." 
 
 " True ! true ! listen to that ! " said Don Michele. " And 
 so, in America, all have an equal chance ? " 
 
 " If you were living there," I answered, " your son, if he 
 had talents, might become the governor of a State, or a 
 minister to a foreign court. Could he be that here, what- 
 ever might be his intellect?" 
 
 " Gran Dio ! Che betta cosa ! " said the friar. 
 
 " It is the balance of Astraea ! " cried Don Michele, for- 
 getting his lumbago, and sitting up in bed. I was rather 
 astonished at this classical allusion ; but it satisfied me that 
 I was not improvidently wasting my eloquence ; so I went 
 on : 
 
 " What is a title ? Is a man any the more a man for 
 having it ? He may be a duke and a thief, and, if so, I put 
 him far below an honest fisherman. Are there titles in 
 heaven ? " Here I turned to the friar. 
 
 " Behold ! A noble a beautiful word ! " cried the Don 
 again. The friar lifted his hands to heaven, shook his head 
 in a melancholy way, and took another pinch of snuff. 
 
 We were in a fair way to establish the universal fraternal 
 republic, when a knock at the door interrupted us. It was 
 Don Michele's sister, accompanied by an old man, and a 
 young one, with a handsome but taciturn face. 
 
 " Ah, here is my figliuccio ! " said Don Michele, beckon- 
 ing forward the latter. " He will furnish a donkey, and
 
 A TRIP TO ISCfflA. 875 
 
 guide you all over Ischia up to the top of Epomeo, to 
 Fori', and Casamich'." 
 
 Now I had particularly requested a young and jovial 
 fellow, not one of your silent guides, who always hurry you 
 forward when you want to pause, and seem to consider you 
 as a bad job, to be gotten rid of as soon as possible. Gio 
 vanni's was not the face I desired, but Don Michele in 
 sisted stoutly that he was the very man for me ; and so the 
 arrangement was concluded. 
 
 I went to bed. feeling more like a guest of the family 
 than a stranger; and, before sleeping, determined that I 
 would make an experiment. The rule in Italy is, that the 
 man who does not bargain in advance is inevitably cheated ; 
 here, however, it seemed that I had stumbled on an unso- 
 phisticated region. I would make no bargains, ask no mis- 
 trustful questions, and test the natural honesty of the 
 people. 
 
 Mounted on the ass, and accompanied by Giovanni, I left 
 the locanda nobile the next morning to make the tour of the 
 island. " Be sure and show him everything and tell him 
 everything ! " cried Don Michele, from his bed ; whereat 
 Giovanni, with a short " Yes ! " which promised nothing to 
 my ear, led the way out of the town. 
 
 We ascended the low hill on which the town is built, 
 under high garden walls, overhung by the most luxuriant 
 foliage of orange and olive. There were fine cypresses, 
 a tree rare in Southern Italy, and occasional palms. We 
 very soon emerged into the country, where Epomeo 
 towered darkly above us, in the shadow of clouds which 
 the sirocco had blown from the sea. The road was not 
 blinded by walls, as on Procida, but open and broad, wind- 
 ing forward between vineyards of astonishing growth. 
 Here the threefold crops raised on the same soil, about 
 Naples and Sorrento, would be impossible. In that rich 
 volcanic earth wheat is only the parterre or ground-floor of 
 tultivation. The thin shade of the olive, or the young
 
 376 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 loaves of vine, do not intercept sun enough to hinder its 
 proper maturity ; and thus oil or wine (or sometimes both) 
 becomes a higher crop, a bel etage ; while the umbrella- 
 pines, towering far above all, constitute an upper story for 
 the production of lumber and firewood. Ischia has the 
 same soil, but the vine, on account of the superior quality 
 of its juice, is suffered to monopolize it. Stems of the 
 thickness of a man s leg are trained back and forth on 
 poles thirty feet high. The usual evergreen growths of 
 this region, which make a mimicry of summer, have no 
 place here ; far and wide, high and low, the landscape is 
 gray with vines and poles. I can only guess what a Bac- 
 chic labyrinth it must be in the season of vintage. 
 
 The few trees allowed to stand were generally fig or 
 walnut. There are no orange-groves, as about Sorrento, 
 for the reason that the wine of Ischia, being specially im- 
 ported to mix with and give fire and temper to other 
 Italian wines, is a very profitable production. The little 
 island has a population of about thirty thousand, very few 
 of whom are poor, like the inhabitants of Capri. During 
 my trip I encountered but a single beggar, who was an old 
 wt^nan on crutches. Yet, although the fields were gray, 
 the banks beside the road were bright with young grass, 
 and gay with violets, anemones, and the golden blossoms 
 of the broom. 
 
 On our left lay the long slopes of Mon^e Campagnano, 
 which presents a rocky front to the sea. Between this 
 mountain and Epomeo the road traversed a circular valley, 
 nearly a mile in diameter, as superbly rich as any of the 
 favored gardens of Syria. The aqueduct which brings 
 water from the mountains to the town of Ischia crosses it 
 on lofty stone arches. Beyond this valley, the path entered 
 a singular winding ravine thirty or forty feet in depth, and 
 barely wide enough for two asses to pass each other. Its 
 walls of rock were completely hidden in mosses and ferns, 
 and old oak-trees, with ivied trunks, threw their arms
 
 A TRIP TO ISCHTA. 377 
 
 acix>ss it. The country people, in scarlet caps and velvet 
 jackets, on their way to enjoy the festa (the Carnival) at 
 the villages, greeted me with a friendly " buon dl! " I was 
 constantly reminded of those exquisitely picturesque passe." 
 of Arcadia, which seem still to be the haunts of Pan and 
 the Nymphs. 
 
 Bishop Berkeley, whose happiest summer (not even ex- 
 cepting that he passed at Newport) was spent on Ischia, 
 must have frequently travelled that path ; and, without 
 having seen more of the island, I was quite willing to ac- 
 cept his eulogies of its scenery. I had some difficulty, 
 however, in adjusting to the reality Jean Paul's imaginary 
 description, which it is conventional to praise, in Germany. 
 The mere enumeration of orange-trees, olives, rocks, chest- 
 nut woods, vines, and blue sea, blended into a glimmering 
 whole, witn no distinct outlines, does not constitute de- 
 scription of scenery. An author ventures upon dangerous 
 ground, when he attempts to paint landscapes which he has 
 never seen. Jean Paul had the clairvoyant faculty of the 
 poet, and was sometimes able to " make out " (to use Char- 
 lotte Bronte's expression) Italian atmospheres and a tol- 
 erable dream of scenery ; but he would have described Is- 
 chia very differently if he had ever visited the island. 
 
 Winding on and upward through the ravine, I emerged 
 at last on the sunny hillside, whence there was a view of 
 the sea beyond Monte Campagnano. A little further, we 
 reached the village of Barano, on the southeastern slope 
 of Epomeo a deep, gray gorge below it, and another vil- 
 lage beyond, sparkling in the sun. The people were con- 
 gregated on the little piazza, enjoying the day in the com- 
 pletest idleness. The place was a picture in itself, and 1 
 should have stopped to sketch it, but Giovanni pointed to 
 the clouds which were hovering over Epomeo, and pre- 
 dicted rain. So T pushed on to Moropano, the next vil- 
 lage, the southern side of the island opening more clearly 
 and broadly to view. A succession of vine-terrace*
 
 378 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 mounted from fte sea to a height of two thousand 
 ceasing only under the topmost crags. At intervals, how- 
 ever, the slopes were divided by tremendous fissures, worn 
 hundreds of feet deep through the ashen soil and volcanic 
 rock. Wherever a little platform of shelving soil had been 
 left on the sides of the sheer walls, it was covered with a 
 growth of oaks. 
 
 The road obliged me to cross the broadest of these 
 chasms, and, after my donkey had once fallen on the steep 
 path notched along the rock, I judged it safest to climb 
 the opposite side on foot. A short distance further we 
 came to another fissure, as deep but much narrower, and 
 resembling the cracks produced by an earthquake. The 
 rocky walls were excavated into wine-cellars, the size of 
 which, and of the tuns within, gave good token^of the Ts- 
 chian vintages. Out of the last crevice we climbed to the 
 village of Fontana, the highest on the island. A review 
 of the National Guards was held in a narrow open space 
 before the church. There were perhaps forty men fish- 
 ermen and vine-growers under arms, all with military 
 caps, although only half a dozen had full uniforms. The 
 officers fell back to make room for me, and I passed the 
 company slowly in review, as I rode by on the donkey. 
 The eyes were " right," as I commenced, but they moved 
 around to left, curiously following me, while the heads re- 
 mained straight. Gallant-looking fellows they were never- 
 theless ; and moreover, it was pleasant to see a militia 
 system substituted for the former wholesale conscription. 
 
 At the end of the piazza, a dry laurel-bush hanging over 
 the door, denoted a wine-shop ; and Giovanni and I emp- 
 tied a bottle of the Fontana vintage before going further. I 
 ordered a dinner to be ready on our return from Epomeo, 
 and we then set out for the hermitage of San Nicola, on the 
 very summit. In a ravine behind the village we met a man 
 carrying almost a stack of straw on his head, his body so 
 concealed by it that the mass seemed to be walking upon
 
 A TRIP TO ISCHIA. 37* 
 
 its own feet. It stopped on approaching us, and an unin- 
 telligible voice issued 'from it; but Giovanni understood 
 the sounds. 
 
 " The hermit of San Nicola is sick," he said ; " this is his 
 brother." 
 
 " Then the hermit is a'one on the mountain ? " I asked. 
 
 " No, he is now in Fontana. When he gets sick, he 
 comes down, and his brother goes up in his place, to keep 
 the lamp a-burning." / 
 
 We were obliged to skirt another fissure for some dis- 
 tance, and then took to the open side of the mountain, 
 climbing between fields where the diminishing vines strug- 
 gled to drive back the mountain gorse and heather. In 
 half an hour the summit was gained, and I found myself in 
 front of a singular, sulphur- colored peak, out of which a 
 chapel and various chambers had been hewn. A man ap 
 peared, breathless with climbing after us, and proved to be 
 the moving principle of the straw-stack. He unlocked a 
 door in the peak, and allowed the donkey to enter ; then, 
 conducting me by a passage cut in the living rock, he led 
 the way through, out of the opposite side, and by a flight 
 of rude steps, around giddy corners, to a platform about six 
 feet square, on the very topmost pinnacle of the island, 
 2,700 feet above the sea. 
 
 Epomeo was an active volcano until just before Vesuvius 
 awakened, in A. D. 79 ; and as late as the year 1302 there 
 was an eruption on Ischia, at the northern base of the 
 mountain. But the summit now scarcely retains the crater 
 form. The ancient sides are broken in, leaving four or five 
 jagged peaks standing apart ; and these, from the platform 
 on which I stood, formed a dark, blasted foreground, shaped 
 like a star with irregular rays, between which I looked down 
 and off on the island, the sea, and the Italian shores. The 
 clouds, whose presence I had lamented during the ascent, 
 now proved to be marvelous accessories. Swooping so low 
 that their skirts touched me, they covered the whole vault
 
 880 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 of heaven, down to the sea horizon, with an impenetrable 
 veil ; vet, beyond their sphere, the sunshine poured full upon 
 the water, which became a luminous under-sky, sending the 
 reflected light upward on the island landscape. In all my 
 experience, I have never beheld such a phenomenon. 
 Looking southward, it was scarcely possible not to mistake 
 the sea for the sky ; and this illusion gave the mountain an 
 immeasurable, an incredible height. All the base of the 
 island the green shores and shining towns visible in 
 deep arcs between the sulphury rocks of the crater 
 basked in dazzling sunshine ; and the gleam was so intense 
 and golden under the vast, dark roof of cloud, that I know 
 not how to describe it. From the Cape of Circe to that of 
 Palinurus, two hundred miles of the main-land of Italy were 
 full in view. Vesuvius may sweep a wider horizon, but the 
 view from Epomeo, in its wondrous originality, is far more 
 impressive. 
 
 When I descended from the dizzy pinnacle, I found 
 Giovanni and the hermit's brother drying their shirts 
 before a fire of brush. The latter, after receiving a fee for 
 his services, begged for an additional fee for St. Nicholas. 
 " What does St. Nicholas want with it ? " I asked. " You 
 will buy food and drink, I suppose, but the saint needs 
 nothing." Giovanni turned away his head, and I saw that 
 he was laughing. 
 
 " 0, I can burn a lamp for the saint," was the answer. 
 
 Now, as St. Nicholas is the patron of children, sailors, 
 and travellers, I might well have lit a lamp in his honor ; 
 but as I could not stay to see the oil purchased and the 
 lamp lighted, with my own eyes, I did not consider that 
 there was sufficient security in the hermit's brother for 
 such an investment. 
 
 When I descended to Fontana the review was over, and 
 several of the National Guards were refreshing themselves 
 in the wine-shop. The black-bearded host, who looked like 
 an affectionate bandit, announced that he had cooked a pig's
 
 A TBIP TO ISCHIA. 881 
 
 liver for us, and straight-way prepared a table in the shop 
 beside the counter. There was but one plate, but Giovanni, 
 whc kept me company, ate directly from the dish. I have 
 almost a Hebrew horror of fresh pork ; but since that day I 
 confess that a pig's liver, roasted on skewers, and flavored 
 with the smoke of burning myrtle, is not a dish to be de- 
 spised.- Eggs and the good Ischian wine completed the re- 
 past ; and had I not been foolish enough to look at the host 
 as he wiped out the glasses with his unwashed fingers, I 
 should have enjoyed it the more. 
 
 The other guests were very jolly, but I could comprehend 
 little of their jargon when they spoke to each other. The 
 dialect of Ischia is not only different from that of Capri, but 
 varies on different sides of the island. Many words are 
 identical with those used on Sardinia and Majorca ; they 
 have a clear, strong ring, which barbaric as it may be 
 I sometimes prefer to the pure Italian. For instance, 
 freddo (with a tender lingering on the double rf) suggests 
 to me only a bracing, refreshing coolness, while in the 
 Ischian frett one feels the sharp sting of frost. Filicaja's 
 pathetic address to Italy, 
 
 " Deh fossi tu men bella, o almen piii forte I " 
 
 might also be applied to the language. The elision of the 
 terminal vowels, which is almost universal in this part of 
 Italy, roughens the language, certainly, but gives it a more 
 masculine sound. 
 
 When the people spoke to me, they were more careful in 
 the choice of words, and so made* themselves intelligible. 
 They were eager to talk and ask questions, and after one 
 of them had broken the ice by pouring a bottle of wine into 
 a glass, while he drank from the latter as fast as he poured, 
 the Captain of the Guard, with many apologies for the 
 liberty, begged to know where I came from. 
 
 " Now tell me, if you please." he continued, " whethel 
 your country is Catholic or Protestant?"
 
 382 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 " Neither," said I ; "it is better than being either." 
 
 The people pricked up their ears, and stared. " How do 
 you mean ? " some one presently asked. 
 
 " All religions are free. Catholics and Protestants have 
 equal rights ; and that is best of all is it not?" 
 
 There was a unanimous response. " To be sure that is 
 best of all ! " they cried ; " avete ragione" 
 
 " But," said the Captain, after a while, " what religion is 
 your government ? " 
 
 " None at all," I answered. 
 
 " I don't understand," said he ; " surely it is a Christian 
 government" 
 
 It was easy to explain my meaning, and I noticed that 
 the village magistrate, who had entered the shop, listened 
 intently. He was cautiously quiet, but I saw that the idea 
 of a separation of Church and State was not distasteful to 
 the people. From religion we turned to politics, and I gave 
 them a rough sketch of our republican system. Moreover, 
 as a professed friend of Italian nationality, I endeavored to 
 sound them in regard to their views of the present crisis. 
 This was more delicate ground; yet two or three spoke 
 their minds with tolerable plainness, and with more judg- 
 ment and moderation than I expected to find. On two 
 points all seemed to be agreed, that the people must be 
 educated, aud must have patience. 
 
 In the midst of the discussion a mendicant friar appeared, 
 barefooted, and with a wallet on his shoulder. He was a 
 man of thirty, of tall aud stately figure, and with a singu- 
 larly noble and refined countenance. He did not beg, but 
 a few bajocchi were handed to him, and the landlord placed 
 a loaf of bread on the counter. As he was passing me, 
 without asking alms. I gave him some money, which he 
 took with a slight bow and the words, " Providence will 
 requite you." Though so coarsely dressed, he was not one 
 of those friars who seem to think filth necessary to their 
 holy character. I have rarely seen a man whose features
 
 A TRIP TO ISCHIA. 
 
 nd bearing harmonized so ill with his vocation. He looked 
 like a born teacher and leader ; yet he was a useless beggar. 
 
 The rain, which had come up during dinner, now cleared 
 away, and I resumed my journey. Giovanni, who had made 
 one or two desperate efforts at jollity during the ascent of 
 the mountain, was remarkably silent after the conversation 
 in the inn, and I had no good of him thenceforth. A mis- 
 trustful Italian is like a tortoise ; he shuts up his shell, and 
 crow-bars can't open him. I have not the least doubt that 
 Giovanni believed, in his dull way, in the temporal power 
 of the Pope and the restoration of the Bourbons. 
 
 There were no more of the great volcanic fissures to be 
 crossed. The road, made slippery by the rain, descended 
 so rapidly that I was forced to walk during the remainder 
 of the day's journey. It was a country of vines, less pic- 
 turesque than I had already passed ; but the sea and south- 
 western shore of the island were constantly in view. I first 
 reached the little village of Serrara, on a projecting spur of 
 Epomeo ; then, after many steep and rugged descents, came 
 upon the rich garden-plain of Panza. Here the surface of 
 the island is nearly level, the vegetation is wonderfully 
 luxuriant, and the large gray farm-houses have a stately 
 and commanding air. In another hour, skirting the west- 
 ern base of Epomeo, the towers of Foria, my destination for 
 the night, came into view. There were some signs of the 
 Carnival in the lively streets here and there a mask, 
 followed by shouting and delighted children; but the 
 greater part of the inhabitants contented themselves with 
 sitting on the doorsteps and exchanging jokes with their 
 neighbors. 
 
 O 
 
 The guide-book says there is no inn in Foria. Don 
 Michele, however, assured me that Signor Scotti kept a 
 locanda for travellers, and I can testify that the Don is 
 right. I presume it is " noble," also, for the accommoda- 
 tions were like those in Ischia. On entering, I was re- 
 ceived by a woman, who threw back her shoulders and
 
 384 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE, 
 
 lifted her head in such an independent way that I asked, 
 " Are you the padrona ? " 
 
 " No," she answered, laughing ; " I'm the modestica ; but 
 that will do just as well." (She meant domestica, but I like 
 her rendering of the word so well that I shall retain it) 
 
 " Can you get me something for dinner ? " 
 
 '' Let us see," said she, counting upon her fingers ; " fish, 
 that's one ; kid, that's two ; potatoes, that's three ; and 
 and surely there's something else." 
 
 " That will do," said I ; " and eggs ? " 
 
 " Sicuro ! Eggs ? I should think so. And so that will 
 suit your Excellency ! " 
 
 Thereupon the modestica drew back her shoulders, threw 
 out her chest, and, in a voice that half Foria might have 
 heard, sang I know not what song of triumph as she de- 
 scended to the kitchen. Signer Scotti, for whom a messen- 
 ger had been sent, now arrived. He had but one eye, and 
 I began to imagine that I was on the track of the Arabian 
 Prince. After a few polite commonplaces, I noticed that 
 he was growing uneasy, and said, " Pray, let me not keep 
 you from the Carnival." 
 
 " Thanks to your Excellency," said he, rising ; " my pro- 
 fession calls me, and wih your leave I will withdraw." I 
 supposed that he might be a city magistrate, but on ques- 
 tioning the modestica, when she came to announce dinner, 
 I found that he was a barber. 
 
 I was conducted into a bedroom, in the floor of which the 
 modestica opened a trap-door, and bade me descend a pre- 
 cipitous flight of steps into the kitchen. There the table 
 was set, and I received my eggs and fish directly from the 
 fire. The dessert was peculiar, consisting of raw stalks of 
 anise, cut off at the root, very tough, and with a sickly sweet 
 flavor. Seeing that I rejected them, the modestica ex- 
 claimed, in a strident voice, 
 
 " Eh ? What would you have ? They are beautiful, 
 they are superb ! The gentry eat them, nay, what do 1
 
 A TRIP TO ISCHIA. 385 
 
 know ? the King himself, and the Pope ! Behold ! " 
 And with these words she snatched a stalk from the plate> 
 and crunched it between two rows of teeth which it was 
 a satisfaction to see. .,,, 
 
 Half an hour afterwards, as I was in the bedroom which 
 had been given to my use, a horribly rough voice at my back 
 exclaimed. '* What do you want ? " 
 
 I turned, and beheld an old woman as broad as she was 
 short, a woman with fierce eyes and a gray mustache on 
 her upper lip. 
 
 " What do you want ? " I rejoined. 
 
 She measured me from head to foot, gave a grunt, and 
 said, " I'm the padrona here." 
 
 I was a little surprised at this intrusion, and considerably 
 more so, half an hour afterwards, as I sat smoking in the 
 common room, at the visit of a gendarme, who demanded 
 my passport. After explaining to him that the document 
 had never before been required in free Italy, that the law 
 did not even oblige me to carry it with me, I handed it to 
 him. 
 
 He turned it up and down, and from side to side, with a 
 puzzled air. " I can't read it," he said, at last. 
 
 " Of course you can't," I replied ; " but there is no better 
 passport in the world, and the Governor of Naples will tell 
 you the same thing. Now," I added, turning to the padrona, 
 " if you have sent for this officer through any suspicion of 
 me, I will pay for my dinner and go on to Casamicciola, 
 where they know how to receive travellers." 
 
 The old woman lifted up her hands, and called on the 
 saints to witness that she did not mistrust me. The gen- 
 darme apologized for his intrusion, adding : " We are out 
 of the way, here, and therefore I am commanded to do this 
 duty. I cannot read your passport, but I can see that you 
 are a galaniuomo." 
 
 This compliment obliged me to give him a cigar, after 
 which I felt justified in taking a little revenge. " I am n 
 25
 
 386 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE 
 
 republican," I cried, " and a friend of the Italian Republi- 
 cans ! I don't believe in the temporal power of the Pope 
 I esteem Garibaldi ! " 
 
 " Who doesn't esteem him ? " said the old woman, but 
 with an expression as if she didn't mean it The gendarme 
 twisted uneasily on his seat, but he had lighted my cigar, 
 ind did not feel free to leave. 
 
 I shall not here repeat my oration, which spared neither 
 the Pope, nor Napoleon the Third, nor even Victor Kman- 
 uel. I was as fierce and reckless as Mazzini, and exhausted 
 my stock of Italian in advocating freedom, education, the 
 overthrow of priestly rule, and the abolition of the nobility. 
 When I stopped to take breath, the gendarme made his 
 escape, and the padrona's subdued manner showed that she 
 began to be afraid of me. 
 
 In the evening there was quite an assemblage in the 
 room, two Neapolitan engineers, a spruce young Forian, 
 a widow with an unintelligible story of grievances, and the 
 never-failing modestica, who took her seat on the sofa, and 
 made her tongue heard whenever there was a pause. I grew 
 so tired with striving to unravel their dialect, that I fell 
 asleep in my chair, and .nearly tumbled into the brazier of 
 coals ; but the chatter went on for hours after I was in bed. 
 
 In the heavenly morning that followed I walked about the 
 town, which is a shipping port of wine. The quay was piled 
 with tuns, purple-stained. The situation of the place, at the 
 foot of Epomeo, with all the broad Tyrrhene sea to the west- 
 ward, is very beautiful, and, as usual, a Franciscan monas- 
 tery has usurped the finest position. No gardens can be 
 richer than those in the rear, mingling with the vineyards 
 that rise high on the mountain slopes. 
 
 After the modestica had given me half a tumbler of coffee 
 and a crust of bread for my breakfast, I mounted the donke^, 
 and set out for Casamicciola. The road skirts the sea for a 
 short distance, and then enters a wild dell, where I saw 
 clumps of ilex for the first time on the island. After a mile
 
 A TRIP TO ISCfflA. 381 
 
 of rugged, but very beautiful, scenery, the dell opened or 
 the northern shore of Ischia, and I saw the bright towr 
 and sunny beach of Lacco below me. There was a sudden 
 and surprising change in the character of the landscape. 
 Dark, graceful carob-trees overhung the road ; the near 
 gardens were filled with almonds in light green leaf, and 
 orange-trees covered with milky buds ; but over them, afar 
 and aloft, from the edge of the glittering sapphire to the 
 sulphur-crags of the crowning peak, swept a broad, grand 
 amphitheatre of villas, orchards, and vineyards. Gayly 
 colored palaces sat on all the projecting spurs of Epomeo, 
 rising above their piles of garden terraces ; and, as I rode 
 along the beach, the palms and cypresses in the gardens 
 above me were exquisitely pencilled on the sky. Here 
 everything spoke of old cultivation, of wealth and luxurious 
 days. 
 
 In the main street of Lacco I met the gendarme of 
 Foria, who took off his cocked hat with an air of respeci, 
 which, however, produced no effect on my donkey-man ; 
 Giovanni. We mounted silently to Casamicciola, which, 
 as a noted watering-place, boasts of hotels with Neapolitan 
 prices, if not comforts. I felt the need of one, and selected 
 the Sentinella Grande on account of its lordly position. It 
 was void of guests, and I was obliged to wait two hours for 
 a moderate breakfast. The splendor of the day, the per- 
 fect beauty of the Ischian landscapes, and the soft hum- 
 ming of bees around the wall-flower blossoms, restored my 
 lost power to enjoy the dolce far niente, and I had forgotten 
 all about my breakfast when it was announced. 
 
 From Casamicciola it is little more than an hour's ride 
 to Ischia, and my tour of the island lacked but that much 
 of completion. The season had not commenced, and the 
 marvelous healing fountains and baths were deserted ; yet 
 the array of stately villas, the luxury of the gardens, and 
 the broad, well-made roads, attested the popularity of the 
 watering-place. Such scenery as surrounds it is not sur-
 
 888 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 passed by any on the Bay of Naples. I looked longinglj 
 up at the sunny mountain-slopes and shadowed glens, as I 
 rode away. What I had seen was but the promise, the 
 hint, of a thousand charms which I had left unvisited. 
 
 On the way to Ischia I passed the harbor, which is a 
 deep little crater connected with the sea by an artificial 
 channel. Beside it lies the Casino Reale, with a magnifi- 
 cent park, uninhabited since the Bourbons left. Beyond 
 it I crossed the lava-fields of 1302, which are still unsub- 
 dued. Here and there a house has been built, some pines 
 have been planted, clumps of broom have taken root, and 
 there are a few rough, almost hopeless, beginnings of fields. 
 Having passed this dreary tract, the castle of Ischia sud- 
 denly rose in front, and the bright town received me. I 
 parted from the taciturn Giovanni without tears, and was 
 most cordially welcomed by Don Michele, his wife, the one- 
 eyed son, and the Franciscan friar. The Don's lumbago 
 was not much better, and the friar's upper lip, it seemed to 
 me, was more snuffy than ever. 
 
 In the evening I heard what appeared to be a furious 
 altercation. I recognized Don Michele's voice, threaten- 
 ing vengeance, at its highest pitch, while another voice, 
 equally excited, and the screams of women, gave additional 
 breath to the tempest. But when I asked my one-eyed 
 servitor, " What in Heaven's name has happened ? " he 
 mildly answered, " O, it's only the uncle discoursing with 
 papa ! " 
 
 I arose at dawn, the next day, to take the steamer for 
 Naples. The flaming jets of Vesuvius, even against the 
 glowing morning sky, were visible from my window, twenty- 
 five miles distant. I was preparing to bid farewell to 
 Ischia with a feeling of profund satisfaction. My experi- 
 ment had succeeded remarkably well. I had made no 
 bargains in advance, and had not been overcharged to the 
 extent of more than five francs during the whole trip. 
 But now came the one-eyed son, with a bill fifty per cent
 
 J TRIP TO ISCHIA. 
 
 i 
 
 higher than at first, for exactly the same accommodation. 
 This, too, after I had promised to send my friends to the 
 locanda nofrile, and he had written some very grotesque 
 cards, which I was to disseminate. 
 
 Don Michele was calling me to say good-by. I went to 
 his chamber, and laid the grotesque cards upon the bed. 
 " Here ! " I exclaimed ; " I have no use for these. I shall 
 recommend no friends of mine to this hotel. You ask 
 another price now for the same service." 
 
 The Don's countenance fell. " But we kept the same 
 room for you," he feebly urged. 
 
 " Of course you kept it," I said, "because you have no 
 other, and nobody came to take it ! This is not the bal- 
 ance of Astraea ! You lament over the condition of Italy, 
 you say she has fallen behind the other nations of 
 Europe, and here is one of the causes ! So long as you, 
 and the people of whom you are one, are dishonest, so 
 long as you take advantage of strangers, just so long will 
 you lack the order, the security, the moral force which 
 every people possess who are ashamed to descend to such 
 petty arts of cheating ! " 
 
 " Ma Signore ! " pleaded Don Michele. 
 
 " It is true ! " I continued ; " I, who am a friend of Italy, 
 say it to you. You talk of corruption in high places, 
 begin your reforms at home ! Learn to practice common 
 honesty; teach your children to doit; respect yourselves 
 sufficiently to be above such meanness, and others will re- 
 spect you. What were my fine, my beautiful words worth 
 to you ? I thought I was sowing seed on good ground " 
 
 " Signore, Signore, hear me ! " cried the Don. 
 
 " I have only one word more to say, and that is Addio 
 and not a rivederci ! I am going, and I shall not corm 
 back again." 
 
 Don Michele jumped up in bed, but I was already at the 
 door. I threw it open, closed it behind me, and dashed 
 down the stairs. A faint cry of " Signore ! " followed me-
 
 390 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 In two minutes more I was on the pier, waiting foi the 
 steamer to come around the point from Casamicciola. The 
 sweet morning air cooled my excitement, and disposed me 
 to gentler thoughts. I fancied Don Michele .in his bed, 
 mortified and repentant, and almost regretted that I had 
 not given him a last chance to right himself in my eyes. 
 Moreover, reviewing the incidents of my trip, I was amused 
 at the part which I had played in it. Without the least 
 intent or premeditation, I had assumed the character of a 
 missionary of religious freedom, education, and the Univer- 
 sal Republic. But does the reader suppose that I imagine 
 any word thus uttered will take root, and bring forth fruit, 
 that any idea thus accidentally planted will propagate 
 itself further ? 
 
 No, indeed!
 
 THE LAND OF PAOLI.
 
 THE Leghorn steamer slid smoothly over the glassy T/r 
 rhene strait, and sometime during the nigl.t came to an- 
 chor in the harbor of Bastia. I sat up in my berth at sun- 
 rise, and looked out of the bull's eye to catch my first near 
 glimpse of Corsican scenery ; but, instead of that, a pair 
 of questioning eyes, set in a brown, weather-beaten face, 
 met my own. It was a boatman waiting on the gangway, 
 determined to secure the only fare which the steamer had 
 brought that morning. Such persistence always succeeds, 
 and in this rase justly ; for when we were landed upon the 
 quay, shortly afterwards, the man took the proffered coin 
 with thanks, and asked for no more. 
 
 Tall, massive houses surrounded the little circular port 
 An old bastion on the left, perhaps that from which thfc- 
 place originally took its name, a church ID front, and 
 suburban villas and gardens on the shoulders of the steep 
 mountain in the rear, made a certain impression of pride 
 and stateliness, notwithstanding the cramped situation of 
 the city. The Corsican coast is here very bold and abrupt, 
 and the first advantage of defense interferes with the pres- 
 ent necessity of growth. 
 
 At that early hour few persons were stirring in the 
 streets. A languid officer permitted us to pass the douane 
 and sanitary line ; a large-limbed boy from the mountains 
 became a porter for the nonce ; and a waiter, not full} 
 awake, admitted us into the ^ Hotel d'Europe," a building 
 with more space than cleanliness, more antiquated furni- 
 ture than comfort. It resembled a dismantled palace 
 huge, echoing, dusty. The only tenants we saw then, or 
 later, were the waiter aforesaid, who had not yet learned
 
 394 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 the ordinary wants of a traveller, and a hideous old woman, 
 who twice a day deposited certain oily and indescribable 
 dishes upon a table in a room which deserved the name of 
 manger, in the English sense of the word. 
 
 However, I did not propose to remain long in Bastia , 
 Corte, the old capital of Paoli, in the heart of the island, 
 was my destination. After ascertaining that a diligence 
 left for the latter place at noon, we devoted an hour or two 
 to Bastia. The breadth and grandeur of the principal 
 streets, the spacious new place with a statue of Napoleon 
 in a Roman toga, the ample harbor in process of con- 
 struction to the northward, and the fine coast-views from 
 the upper part of the city, were matters of surprise. The 
 place has grown rapidly within the past fifteen years, and 
 now contains twenty-five thousand inhabitants. Its ge- 
 graphical situation is good. The dagger-shaped Cape 
 Corso, rich with fruit and vines, extends forty miles to the 
 northward ; westward, beyond the mountains, lie the fortu- 
 nate lands of Nebbio and the Balagna, while the coast 
 southward has no other harbor for a distance of seventy 
 r eighty miles. The rocky island of Capraja, once a 
 menace of the Genoese, rises over the sea in the direction 
 of Leghorn ; directly eastward, and nearer, is Elba, and 
 far to the southeast, faintly seen, Monte Cristo, the three 
 representing mediaeval and modern history and romance, 
 and repeating the triple interest which clings around the 
 name of Corsica. 
 
 The growth of Bastia seems to have produced but little 
 effect, as yet, on the character of the inhabitants. The\ 
 have rather the primitive air of mountaineers ; one looks 
 in vain for the keenness, sharpness, and, alas ! the dishon- 
 esty, of an Italian seaport town. Since the time of Seneca, 
 who, soured by exile, reported of them, 
 
 '" Prima est ulcisci lex, altera vivere rapt a, 
 Tertia ment? -i, quarta negare Deos, " 
 
 the Corsicans have no* been held in good repute. Yet GUI
 
 THE LAND OF PAOLI. 396 
 
 first experience of them was by no means unprepossessing 
 We entered a bookstore, to get a map of the island 
 While I was examining it, an old gentleman, with the Le 
 gion of Honor in his button-hole, rose from his seat, took 
 the sheet from my hands, and said : " What's this ? what's 
 this?" After satisfying his curiosity, he handed it back to 
 me, and began a running fire of questions : " Your first 
 visit to Corsica ? You are English ? Do you speak Italian : 
 your wife also ? Do you like Bastia ? does she also ? How 
 long will you stay ? Will she accompany you ? " etc. I an- 
 swered with equal rapidity, as there was nothing obtrusive 
 in the old man's manner. The questions soon came to an 
 end, and then followed a chapter of information and advice, 
 which was very welcome. 
 
 The same naive curiosity met us at every turn. Even 
 the rough boy who acted as porter plied me with questions, 
 yet was just as ready to answer as to ask. I learned much 
 more about his situation and prospects than was really nec- 
 essary, but the sum of all showed that he was a fellow 
 determined to push his way in the world. Self-confidence 
 is a common Corsican trait, which Napoleon only shared 
 with his fellow-islanders. The other men of his time who 
 were either born upon Corsica or lived there for a while 
 Pozzo di Borgo, Bernadotte, Massena, Murat, Sebastian! 
 seem to have caught the infection of this energetic, self- 
 reliant spirit. 
 
 In Bastia there is neither art nor architecture. It is a 
 well-built, well-regulated, bustling place, and has risen in 
 latter years quite as much from the growth of Italian com- 
 merce as from the favor of the French government. From 
 the quantity of small coasting craft in the harbor, I should 
 judge that its trade is principally with the neighboring 
 shores. In the two book-shops I found many devotional 
 works and Renucci's History, but only one copy of the 
 Storicke Corse, which I was glad to secure. 
 
 When the hour of departure came, we found the inquis
 
 396 BY-WAYS OF EUKOPE. 
 
 itive old gentleman at the diligence office. Ho was out 
 companion in the coupe, and apparently a personage of 
 some note, as at least a score of friends came to bid him 
 adieu. To each of these he announced in turn : " These 
 are my travelling companions an American gentleman 
 and his wife. They speak French and Italian ; they have 
 never been in Corsica before ; they are going to Corte ; 
 they travel for pleasure and information." Then there 
 were reciprocal salutations and remarks ; and if the pos- 
 tilion had not finally given the signal to take our places, 
 we should soon have been on speaking terms with half 
 Bastia. 
 
 The road ran due south, along the base of the moun- 
 tains. As we passed the luxuriant garden-suburbs, our 
 companion pointed out the dusky glitter of the orange- 
 trees, and exclaimed : " You see what the Corsican soil 
 produces. But this is nothing to the Balagna. There 
 you will find the finest olive culture of the Mediterranean. 
 I was prefect of the Balagna in 1836, and in that year the 
 exportation of oil amounted to six millions of francs, while 
 an equal quantity was kept for consumption in the island." 
 
 Brown old villages nestled high up in the ravines on our 
 right ; but on the left the plain stretched far away to the 
 salt lake of Biguglia, the waters of which sparkled between 
 the clumps of poplars and elms studding the meadows. 
 The beds of the mountain streams were already nearly 
 dry, and the summer malaria was beginning to gather on 
 the low fields through which they wandered. A few 
 peasants were cutting and tedding hay here and there, or 
 lazily hauling it homewards. Many of the fields were 
 given up to myrtle and other wild and fragrant shrubs ; 
 but there were far too few workers abroad for even the 
 partial cultivation. 
 
 Beyond the lake of Biguglia, and near the mouth of the 
 Golo River, is the site of Mariana, founded by Marius. 
 Except a scattering of hewn stones, there are no remains
 
 THE LAND OF PAOLI. 397 
 
 of the Roman town ; but the walls of a church and chapei 
 of the Middle Ages are still to be seen. The only other 
 Roman colony on Corsica Aleria, at the mouth of the 
 Tavignano was a restoration of the more ancient Alalia, 
 which tradition ascribes to the Phoceans. Notwithstand- 
 ing the nearness of the island to the Italian coast, and 
 its complete subjection to the Empire, its resources were 
 imperfectly developed by the Romans, and the accounts of 
 it given by the ancient writers are few and contradictory. 
 Strabo says of the people : " Those who inhabit the moun- 
 tains live from plunder, and are more untamable than wild 
 beasts. When the Roman commanders undertake an ex- 
 pedition against the island, and possess themselves of the 
 strongholds, they bring back to Rome many slaves ; and 
 then one sees with astonishment the savage animal nature 
 of the people. For they either take their own lives vio- 
 lently, or tire out their masters by their stubbornness and 
 stupidity ; whence, no matter how cheaply they are pur- 
 chased, it is always a bad bargain in the end." 
 
 Here we have the key to that fierce, indomitable spirit 
 of independence which made the Genoese occupation one 
 long story of warfare ; which produced such heroes as 
 Sambucuccio, Sampieri, and Paoli ; and which exalted Cor- 
 sica, in the last century, to be the embodiment of the dem 
 ocratic ideas of Europe, and the marvelous forerunner ol 
 the American Republic. Verily, Nature is " careful of the 
 type." After the Romans, the Vandals possessed Corsica ; 
 then the Byzantine Greeks ; then, in succession, the Tuscan 
 Barons, the Pisans, and the Genoese yet scarcely one of 
 the political forms planted among them took root in the 
 character of the islanders. The origin of the Corsican Re- 
 public lies back of all our history ; it was a natural growth, 
 which came to light after the suppression of two thousand 
 years. 
 
 As we approached the gorge through which the Colo 
 breaks its way to the sea. the town of Borgo, crowning
 
 398 BY-WAYS OP EUROPE. 
 
 mountain summit, recalled to memory the last Corsicaft 
 victory, when Clement Paoli, on the 1st of October, 1768. 
 defeated and drove back to Bastia a French force much 
 greater than his own. Clement, the brooding monk in his 
 cloister, the fiery leader of desperate battle, is even a 
 nobler figure than his brother Pascal in the story of those 
 days. 
 
 We changed horses at an inn under the mountain of 
 Borgo, and then entered the valley of the Golo, leaving the 
 main road, which creeps onward to Bonifacio through 
 lonely and malarious lands. The scenery now assumed a 
 new aspect. No more the blue Tyrrhene Sea, with its 
 dreams of islands ; a valley wilder than any infolded 
 among the Appenines opened before us. Slopes covered 
 with chestnut groves rose on either side ; slant ravines 
 mounted between steep escarpments of rock ; a village or 
 two, on the nearer heights, had the appearance of refuge 
 and defense, rather than of quiet habitation, and the brown 
 summits in the distance held out no promise of softer 
 scenes beyond. 
 
 Our companion, the prefect, pointed to the chestnut 
 groves. " There," said he, " is the main support of our 
 people in the winter. Our Corsican name for it is 'the 
 bread tree.' The nuts are ground, and the cakes of chest- 
 nut-flour, baked on the hearth, and eaten while fresh, are 
 really delicious. We could not live without the chestnut 
 and the olive." 
 
 The steep upper slopes of the mountains were covered 
 with th 2 macchia a word of special significance on the 
 island. It is equivalent to "jungle " or " chaparral " ; but 
 the Corsican macchia has a character and a use of its own. 
 Fancy an interminable thicket of myrtle, arbutus, wild 
 laurel, lentisk, box, and heather, eight or twelve feet in 
 height, interlaced with powerful and luxuriant vines, and 
 with an undergrowth of rosemary, lavender, and sage 
 Between the rigid, stubby stems the wild boar can scarcelj
 
 THE LAND OF PAOLI. 399 
 
 make his way ; thorns and dagger-like branches meet 
 above yet the richest balm breathes from this impene- 
 trable wilderness. When the people say of a man, " he 
 has taken to the macchia," every one understands that he 
 has committed a murder. Formerly, those who indulged 
 in the fierce luxury of the vendetta sometimes made their 
 home for years in the thickets, communicating privately, 
 from time to time, with their families. But there is now 
 no scent of blood lurking under that of the myrtle and 
 lavender. Napoleon, who neglected Corsica during his 
 years of empire (in fact, he seemed to dislike all mention 
 of the island), remembered the odors of the macchia upon 
 St. Helena. 
 
 Our second station was at a saw-mill beside the river. 
 Here the prefect left us, saying : " I am going to La Porta, 
 in the country of Morosaglia. It is a beautiful place, 
 and you must come and see it. I have a ride of three 
 hours, on horseback across the mountains, to get there." 
 
 His place in the coupe was taken by a young physician 
 bound for Pontenuovo, further up the valley. I was struck 
 by the singular loneliness of the country, as we advanced 
 further into the interior. Neither in the grain-fields be- 
 low, nor the olive-orchards above, was any laborer to be 
 seen. Mile after mile passed by, and the diligence was 
 alone on the highway. " The valley of the Golo is so un- 
 healthy," said the physician, " that the people only come 
 down to their fields at the time for ploughing, sowing, and 
 reaping. If a man from the mountains spends a single 
 night below here, he is likely to have an attack of fever." 
 
 " But the Golo is a rapid mountain stream," T remarked ; 
 " there are no marshes in the valley, and the air seems to 
 me pure and bracing. Would not the country become 
 healthy through more thorough cultivation ? " 
 
 " I can only explain it," he answered, " by the constant 
 variation of temperature. During the day there is a close 
 heat, such as we feel now, while at night the air becomef
 
 400 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 suddenly chill and damp. As to agriculture, it don't seem 
 to be the natural business of the Corsican. He will range 
 the mountains all day, with a gun on his shoulder, but he 
 hates work in the fields. Most of the harvesting on the 
 eastern coast of the island, and in the Balagna, is done by 
 the Lucchese peasants, who come over from the main- 
 land every year. Were it not for them, the grain would 
 rot where it stands." 
 
 This man's statement may have been exaggerated, but 
 further observation convinced me that there was truth in 
 it. Yet the people are naturally active and of a lively 
 temperament, and their repugnance to labor is only one 
 of the many consequences of the vendetta. When Paoli 
 suppressed the custom with an iron hand, industry revived 
 in Corsica ; and now that the French government has suc- 
 ceeded in doing the same thing, the waste and pestilent 
 lands will no doubt be gradually reclaimed. 
 
 The annals of the Corsican vendetta are truly something 
 terrible. Filippini (armed to the teeth and protected by a 
 stone wall, as he wrote) and other native historians esti- 
 mate the number of murders from revenge in the three 
 and a half centuries preceding the year 1729 at three 
 hundred and thirty-three r thousand, and the number of 
 persons wounded in family feuds at an equal figure ! 
 Three times the population of the island killed or wounded 
 in three hundred and fifty years ! Gregorovius says : " If 
 this island of Corsica could vomit back all the blood of 
 battle and vendetta which it has drunk during the past 
 ages, its cities and towns would be overwhelmed, its popula- 
 tion drowned, and the sea be incarnadined as far as Genoa. 
 Verily, here the red Death planted his kingdom." France 
 has at last, by two simple, practical measures, stayed the 
 deluge. First, the population was disarmed ; then the 
 bandits and blood-outlaws were formed into a body of 
 Vobigeurs Corses, who, knowing all the hiding-places in 
 the macchia, easily track the fugitives. A few executions
 
 THE LAND OF PAOLI. 401 
 
 tamed the thirst for blood, and within the past ten years 
 the vendetta has ceased to exist. 
 
 While we were discussing these matters with the physi- 
 cian, the diligence rolled steadily onwards, up the valley of 
 the Go!o. With every mile the scenery became wilder, 
 browner, and more lonely. There were no longer villages 
 on the hill-summits, and the few farm-houses perched be- 
 side the chestnut-orchards appeared to be untenanted. As 
 the road crossed by a lofty stone arch to the southern bank 
 of the river, the physician said : " This is Pontenuovo, and it 
 is just a hundred years to-day since the battle was fought." 
 He was mistaken ; the battle of Pontenuovo, fatal to Paoli 
 and to the independence of Corsica, took place on the 9th 
 of May, 1769. It was the end of a struggle all the more 
 heroic 'because it was hopeless from the start. The stony 
 slopes on either side of the bridge are holy ground ; for 
 the Corsicans did not fight in vain. A stronger people 
 beyond the sea took up the torch as it fell from their 
 hands, and fed it with fresh oil. History (as it has hith- 
 erto been written) deals only with events, not with popular 
 sympathies and enthusiasms ; and we can therefore scarcely 
 guess how profoundly the heart of the world was stirred by 
 the name of Corsica, between the years 1755 and 1769. 
 To Catharine of Russia as to Rousseau, to Alfieri as to Dr. 
 Johnson, Paoli was one of the heroes of the century. 
 
 Beyond Pontenuovo the valley widens, and a level road 
 carried us speedily to Ponte alia Leccia, at the junction of 
 the Golo with its principal affluent, the Tartaglia. Ponte- 
 lech and Tartatch are the Corsican words. Here the scen- 
 ery assumes a grand Alpine character. High over the 
 nearer mountains rose the broken summits of Monte 
 Padro and Capo Bianco, the snow-filled ravines glittering 
 between then dark pinnacles of rock. On the south, a by- 
 road wandered away through the chestnut-woods to Moro- 
 saglia ; villages with picturesque belfries overlooked the 
 valley, and the savage macchia gave place to orchards
 
 *02 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 of olive. Yet the character of the scenery was sombre, 
 almost melancholy. Though the myrtle flowered snowily 
 among the rocks, and the woodbine hung from the banks, 
 and the river filled the air with the incessant mellow 
 sound of its motion, these cheerful features lost their 
 wonted effect beside the sternness and solitude of the 
 mountains. 
 
 Towards the end of this stage the road left the Golo, and 
 ascended a narrow lateral valley to the village of Omessa, 
 where we changed horses. Still following the stream to 
 its sources, we reached a spur from the central chain, and 
 slowly climbed its sides to a higher region a land of 
 rocks and green pasture-slopes, from the level of which a 
 wide sweep of mountains was visible. The summit of 
 the pass was at least two thousand feet above the sea. On 
 attaining it, a new and surprising vista opened to the south- 
 ward, into the very heart of the island. The valley before 
 us dropped in many windings into that of the Tavignano, 
 the second river of Corsica, which we overlooked for an 
 extent of thirty miles. Eastward the mountains sank into 
 hills of gentle undulation, robed with orchards and vine- 
 yards, and crowned with villages ; westward they towered 
 into dark, forbidding ranges, and the snows of the great 
 central peaks of Monte Rotondo and Monte d" Oro, nearly 
 ten thousand feet in height, stood gray against the sunset 
 Generally, the landscapes of an island have a diminished, 
 contracted character; but here the vales were as amply 
 spread, the mountains as grandly planted, as if a continent 
 lay behind them. 
 
 For two leagues the road descended, following the bays 
 and forelands of the hills. The diligence sped downward 
 so rapidly that before it was quite dusk we saw the houses 
 and high rock fortress of Corte before us. A broad ave- 
 nue of sycamores, up and down which groups of people 
 were st; oiling, led into the town. We were set down at a 
 hotel of primitive fashion, where we took quarters for th<:
 
 THE LAND OF PAOL1. 403 
 
 night, leaving the diligence, which would have carried us 
 to Ajaccio by the next morning. Several French officials 
 had possession of the best rooms, so that we were but indif- 
 ferently lodged ; but the mountain trout on the dinner- 
 table were excellent, and the wine of Corte was equal to 
 that of Tuscany. 
 
 While the moon, risen over the eastern mountains, 
 steeps the valley in misty silver, and a breeze from the Al- 
 pine heights deliciously tempers the air, let us briefly recall 
 that wonderful episode of Corsican history of which Pascal 
 Paoli is the principal figure. My interest in the name 
 dates from the earliest recollections of childhood. Near 
 my birthplace there is an inn and cluster of houses named 
 Paoli or, as the people pronounce it, Peoli. Here 
 twenty-three American soldiers were murdered in cold 
 blood by the British troops, in September, 1777. Wayne's 
 battle-cry at the storming of Stony Point was, " Remember 
 Paoli ! " The old tavern-sign was the half-length portrait 
 of an officer (in a red coat, I think), whom, I was told, was 
 " General Paoli," but I knew nothing further of him, 
 until, some years later, I stumbled- on Boswell's work ; my 
 principal authority, however, is a recent volume, 1 and the 
 collection of Paoli's letters published by Tommaseo. 
 
 It is unnecessary to review the long struggle of the Cor- 
 sicans to shake off the yoke of Genoa ; I need only allude 
 to the fact. Pascal, born in 1724 or 1725, was the son of 
 Hyacinth Paoli, who was chosen one of the chiefs of the 
 people in 1734, and in connection with the other chiefs, 
 Ceccaldi and Giaffori, carried on the war for independence 
 wit- the greatest bravery and resolution, but with little 
 success, for two years. In March, 1736, when the Corsi- 
 cans were reduced to the last extremity, the Westphalian 
 adventurer, Theodore von NeuhofF, suddenly made his ap- 
 pearance. The story of this man, who came ashore in a 
 caftan of scarlet silk, Turkish trousers, yellow shoes, I 
 
 i Histoire dt Pascal Paoli, par M. Bartoli. Largentiere, 1866.
 
 404 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 Spanish hat and feather, and a sceptre in his right hand, 
 and coolly announced to the people that he had come to be 
 their king, is so fantastic as to be scarcely credible ; but 
 we cannot dwell upon it. His supplies of money and ran 
 nitions of war, and still more his magnificent promises, 
 beguiled those sturdy republicans into accepting the cheat, 
 of a crown. The fellow was not without ability, and bu( 
 for a silly vanity, which led him to ape the state and show 
 of other European courts, might have kept his place. His 
 reign of eight months was the cause of Genoa calling in 
 the aid of France ; and, after three years of varying for- 
 tunes, the Corsicans were obliged to submit to the condi- 
 tions imposed upon them by the French commander, 
 Maillebois. 
 
 Hyacinth Paoli went into exile, and found a refuge at 
 the court of Naples with his son Pascal. The latter was 
 carefully educated in the school of Genovesi, the first 
 Italian political-economist of the last century, and then 
 entered the army, where he distinguished himself during 
 campaigns in Sicily and Calabria. Thus sixteen years 
 passed away. 
 
 The Corsicans, meanwhile, had continued their struggle 
 under the leadership of Giaffori, another of the many he- 
 roes of the island. "When, in 1753, he was assassinated, 
 the whole population met together to celebrate his obse- 
 quies, and renewed the oath of resistance to death against 
 the Genoese rule. Five chiefs (one of whom was Clement 
 Paoli, Pascal's elder brother) were chosen to organize a 
 provisional government and carry on the war. But at the 
 end of two years it was found prudent to adopt a more 
 practical system, and to give the direction of affairs into 
 the hands of a single competent man. It was no doubt 
 Clement Paoli who first suggested his brother's name. 
 The military experience of the latter gave him the confi- 
 dence of the people, and their unanimous voice called him 
 to be their leader.
 
 THE LAND OF PAOLI. 405 
 
 In April, 1755, Pascal Paoli, then thirty years old, 
 landed at Aleria, the very spot where King Theodore had 
 made his theatrical entry into Corsica nineteen years be- 
 fore. Unlike him, Paoli came alone, poor, bringing only 
 his noble presence, his cultivated intelligence, and his fame 
 as a soldier, to the help of his countrymen. " It was a 
 singular problem," says one of the historians of Corsica ; 
 " it was a new experiment in history, and how it might 
 succeed at a time when similar experiments failed in the 
 most civilized lands would be to Europe an evidence that 
 the rude simplicity of nature is more capable of adapting 
 itself to democratic liberty than the refined corruption of 
 culture can possibly be." 
 
 Paoli, at first reluctant to accept so important a post, 
 finally yielded to the solicitations of the people, and on the 
 loth of July was solemnly invested with the Presidency of 
 Corsica. His first step shows at once his judgment and 
 his boldness. He declared that the vendetta must instantly 
 cease ; whoever committed blood-revenge was to be 
 branded with infamy, and given up to the headsman. He 
 traversed the island, persuading hostile families to bury 
 their feuds, and relentlessly enforced the new law, although 
 one of his relatives was the first victim. But he was not 
 allowed to enter upon his government without resistance. 
 Matra, one of the Corsican chiefs, was ambitious of Paoli's 
 place, and for a year the island was disturbed with civil 
 war. Matra claimed and received assistance from Genoa, 
 and Paoli, defeated and besieged in the monastery of 
 Bozio, was almost in the hands of his rival, when rein- 
 forcements appeared, headed by Clement and by Carnoni, 
 a blood-enemy of the Paolis, forced by his noble mo f hei 
 to forswear the family enmity, and deliver instead of ulay. 
 Matra was killed, and thenceforth Paoli was the undisputed 
 chief of Corsica. 
 
 It was not difficult for the people, once united, to with* 
 stand the weakened power of Genoa. That republic po
 
 406 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 sessed only Bastia, Ajaccio, and Calvi ; the garrisoning of 
 which fortresses, by a treaty with France in 1756, was 
 transferred to the latter power, in order to prevent them 
 from falling into the hands of the Corsicans. The French 
 proclaimed a neutrality which Paoli perforce was obliged 
 to respect. He therefore directed his attention to the thor- 
 ough political organization of the island, the development 
 of its resources, and the proper education of its people. 
 He had found the country in a lamentable condition when 
 he returned from his exile. The greater part of the people 
 had relapsed into semi-barbarism in the long course of 
 war; agriculture was neglected, laws had fallen into dis- 
 use, the vendetta raged everywhere, and the only element 
 from which order and industry could be evolved was the 
 passionate thirst for independence, which had only been 
 increased by defeat and suffering. 
 
 Paoli made the completest use of this element, bending 
 it all to the purposes of government, and his success was 
 truly astonishing. The new seaport of Isola Rossa was 
 built in order to meet the necessity of immediate com- 
 merce ; manufactories of all kinds, even powder-mills were 
 established ; orchards of chestnut, olive, and orange trees 
 were planted, the culture -of maize introduced, and plans 
 made for draining the marshes and covering the island 
 with a network of substantial highways. An educational 
 system far in advance of the times was adopted. All chil- 
 dren received at least the rudiments of education, and in 
 the year 1765 the University of Corsica was founded at 
 Corte. One provision of its charter was the education of 
 poor scholars, who showed more than average capacity, at 
 the public expense. 
 
 Paoli was obliged to base his scheme of government on 
 the existing forms. He retained the old provincial and 
 municif '! divisions, with their magistrates and-elders, mak- 
 ing only such changes as were necessary to bind the scat- 
 tered local jurisdictions into one consistent whole, to which
 
 THE LAND OF PAOL1. 40*1 
 
 he gavo a national power and character. He declared the 
 people to be the sole source of law and authority ; that his 
 office was a trust from their hands, and to be exercised ac- 
 cording to their will and for their general good ; and that 
 the central government must be a house of glass, allowing 
 each citizen to watch over its action. " Secrecy and mys- 
 tery in governments," he said, " not only make a people 
 mistrustful, but favor the growth of an absolute irrespon- 
 sible power." 
 
 All citizens above the age of twenty-five years were en- 
 titled to the right of suffrage. Each community elected 
 its own magistrates, but the voters were obliged to swear 
 before the officials already in power, that they would nom- 
 inate only the worthiest and most capable men as their 
 successors. These local elections were held annually, but 
 the magistrates were not eligible to immediate reelection. 
 A representative from each thousand of the population 
 was elected to the General Assembly, which in its turn 
 chose a Supreme Executive Council of nine members 
 one from each province of the island. The latter were re- 
 quired to be thirty-five years of age, and to have served as 
 governors of their respective provinces. A majority of 
 two thirds gave the decisions of the General Assembly the 
 force of law ; but the Council, in certain cases, had the 
 right of veto, and the question was then referred for final 
 decision to the next Assembly. Paoli was President of 
 the Council and General-in-chief of the army. Both he 
 and the members of the Council, however, were responsible 
 to the nation, and liable to impeachment, removal, and 
 punishment by the General Assembly. 
 
 Pitoli, while enforcing a general militia system, took the 
 strongest ground against the establishment of a standing 
 army. " In a free land," he said, " every citizen must be a 
 soldier, and ready to arm at any moment in defense of his 
 rights. But standing armies have always served Despot- 
 ism rather than Liberty." He only gave way that a lira
 
 408 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 ited number should be enrolled to garrison the fortified 
 places. As soon as the people were sufficiently organized 
 to resist the attempts which Genoa made from time to 
 time to recover her lost dominion, he devoted his energies 
 wholly to the material development of the island. The 
 Assembly, at his suggestion, appointed two commissioners 
 of agriculture for each province. The vendetta was com- 
 pletely suppressed ; with order and security came a new 
 prosperity, and the cities held by the neutral French began 
 to stir with desires to come under Paoli's paternal rule. 
 
 The resemblance in certain forms as in the general spirit 
 and character of the Constitution of the Corsican Repub- 
 lic to that of the United States, which was framed more 
 than thirty years afterwards, is very evident. Indeed, we 
 may say that the latter is simply an adaptation of the same 
 political principles to the circumstances of a more advanced 
 race and a broader field of action. But if we justly ven- 
 erate the courage which won our independence and the 
 wisdom which gave us our institutions, how shall we suffi- 
 ciently honor the man and the handful of half-barbarous 
 people who so splendidly anticipated the same great work ! 
 Is there anything nobler in history than the Corsican epi- 
 sode ? No wonder that the' sluggish soul of Europe, then 
 beginning to stir with the presentiment of coming changes, 
 was kindled and thrilled as not for centuries before. What 
 effect the example of Corsica had upon the American 
 Colonies is something which we cannot now measure. I 
 like to think, however, that the country tavern-sign of 
 " General Paoli," put up before the Revolution, signified 
 more than the mere admiration of the landlord for a for- 
 eign hero. 
 
 At the end of ten years the Genoese Senate became 
 convinced that the recovery of Corsica was hopeless ; and 
 wheu Paoli succeeded in creating a small fleet, under the 
 command of Perez, Knight of Malta, they saw their Med- 
 iterranean commerce threatened with destruction. In the
 
 THE LAND OF PACLI. 409 
 
 /ear 1767 the island of Capraja was captured by the Coi- 
 sicans; then Genoa set the example which Austria has 
 recently followed in the case of Venetia. A treaty was 
 signed at Versailles on the 15th of May, 1768, between the 
 French Minister, the Duke de Choiseul, and the Genoese 
 Ambassador, whereby Genoa transferred to France all her 
 right and title to the island of Corsica. This was a death- 
 blow to the Republic ; but the people armed and organized, 
 determined to resist to the end. The splendid victory at 
 Borgo gave them hope. They asked and expected the 
 assistance of England ; but when did England ever help a 
 weak and struggling people? The battle of Pontenuovo, 
 on the 9th of May, 1769, sealed the fate of the island. A 
 month afterwards Paoli went into exile with three hundred 
 of his countrymen. Among those who fled, after the bat- 
 tle, to the wild Alpine fastnesses of Monte Rotondo, was 
 his secretary, Carlo Bonaparte, and the latter's wife, Letitia 
 Ramolino, then seven months enceinte with the boy who 
 afterwards made Genoa and France suffer the blood-re- 
 venge of Corsica. Living in caves and forests, drenched 
 with rain, and almost washed away by the mountain tor- 
 rents, Letitia bore her burden to Ajaccio, and Napoleon 
 Bonaparte was one of the first Corsicans who were born 
 Frenchmen. 
 
 Paoli's journey through Italy and Germany to England 
 was a march of triumph. On reaching London he was re- 
 ceived by the king in private audience ; all parties joined 
 in rendering him honor. A pension of two thousand 
 pounds a year was granted to him (the greater part of 
 which he divided among his fellow exiles), and he took up 
 his residence in the country from which he still hoped the 
 liberation of Corsica. For twenty years we hear of him 
 as a member of that society which included Burke, Rey- 
 nolds, Johnson, Garrick, and Goldsmith ; keeping clear ot 
 parties, yet, we may be sure, following with an interest he 
 hardly dared betray the events of the American struggle.
 
 410 BY-WAYS OP EUROPE. 
 
 But the French revolution did not forget him. Th 
 Corsicans, in November, 1789, carried away by the repub- 
 lican movement in France, had voted that their islanj 
 should be an integral part of the French nation. There 
 was a general cry for Paoli, and in April 1790, he reached 
 Paris. Lafayette was his friend and guide ; the National 
 Assembly received him with every mark of respect ; the 
 club of the Amis de la Constitution seated him beside its 
 President Robespierre; Louis XVI. gave him an audi- 
 ence, and he was styled by the enthusiastic populace " the 
 Washington of Europe." At Marseilles he was met by a 
 Corsican deputation, two of the members of which were 
 Joseph and Napoleon Bonaparte, who sailed with him to 
 their native island. On landing at Cape Corso, he knelt 
 and kissed the earth, exclaiming, " my country, I left 
 thee enslaved and I find thee free ! " All the land rose to 
 receive him ; Te Deums were chanted in the churches, and 
 the mountain villages were depopulated to swell his tri- 
 umphal march. In September of the same year the rep- 
 resentatives of the people elected him President of the 
 Council and General of the troops of the island. 
 
 Many things had been changed during his twenty years' 
 absence, under the rule of 'France. It was not long before 
 the people divided themselves into two parties one French 
 and ultra-republican ; the other Corsican, working secretly 
 for the independence of the island. The failure of the 
 expedition against Sardinia was charged to Paoli, and he 
 was summoned by the Convention to appear and answer 
 the charges against him. Had he complied, his head would 
 probably have fallen under the all-devouring guillotine ; he 
 refused, and his refusal brought the two Corsican parties 
 Into open collision. Paoli was charged with being ambi- 
 cious, corrupt, and plotting to deliver Corsica to England. 
 His most zealous defender was the young Napoleon Bona- 
 parte, who wrote a fiery, indignant address, which I should 
 like to quote. Among other things he says, " We owe ah 
 to him even the fortune of being a republic ! "
 
 THE LAND OF PAOLl. 411 
 
 The story now becomes one of intrigue and deception, 
 and its heroic atmosphere gradually vanishes. Pozzo di 
 Borgo, the blood-enemy of Napoleon, alienated Paoli 
 from the latter. A fresh, cunning, daring intellect, he ac- 
 quired a mischievous influence over the gray-haired, sim- 
 ple-hearted patriot. That which Paoli's enemies charged 
 against him came to pass ; he asked the help of England, 
 and in 1794 the people accepted the sovereignty of that 
 nation, on condition of preserving their institutions, and 
 being governed by a viceroy, who it was presumed would 
 be none other than Pascal Paoli. The English fleet, un- 
 der Admiral Hood, speedily took possession of Bastia, 
 Calvi, Ajaccio, and the other seaports. But the English 
 government, contemptuously ignoring Paoli's services and 
 claims, sent out Sir Gilbert Elliott as viceroy; and he, 
 jealous of Paoli's popularity, demanded the hitter's recall 
 to England. George III. wrote a command under the form 
 of an invitation ; and in 1795, Paoli, disappointed in all 
 his hopes, disgusted with the treatment he had received, 
 and recognizing the hopelessness of healing the new dis- 
 sensions among the people, left Corsica for the last time. 
 He returned to his former home in London, where he died 
 in 1807, at the age of eighty-two years. What little prop- 
 erty he had saved was left to found a school at Stretta, his 
 native village ; and another at Corte, for fifteen years his 
 capital. Within a year after his departure the English 
 were driven out of Corsica. 
 
 Paoli rejoiced, as a Corsican, at Napoleon's ascendency 
 in France. He illuminated his house in London when the 
 latter was declared Consul for life, yet he was never re- 
 called. During his last days on St. Helena, Napoleon 
 regretted his neglect or jealousy of the old hero ; his lame 
 apology was. " I was so governed by political considera- 
 tions, that it was impossible for me to obey my persona] 
 impulses ! " 
 
 Our first object, on the morning after our arrival ic
 
 412 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 Corte, was to visit the places with which Paoli's name U 
 associated. The main street conducted us to the public 
 square, where stands his bronze statue, with the inscrip- 
 tion on the pedestal: "A PASCAL PAOLI LA CORSE RE~ 
 CONNAISSANTE." On one side of the square is the Pa- 
 huza, or Hall of Government ; and there they show you his 
 room, the window-shutters of which still keep their lining 
 of cork, as in the days of assassination, when he founded 
 the Republic. Adjoining it is a chamber where the Exec 
 utive Council met to deliberate. Paoli's school, which still 
 flourishes, is his best monument. 
 
 High over the town rises the battered citadel, seated on a 
 rock which on the western side falls several hundred feet 
 sheer down to the Tavignano. The high houses of brown 
 stone climb and cling to the eastern slope, rough masses 
 of browner rock thrust out among them ; and the place 
 thus has an irregular pyramidal form, which is wonderfully 
 picturesque. The citadel was last captured from the Geno- 
 ese by Paoli's forerunner, Giaffori, in the year 1745. The 
 Corsican cannon were beginning to breach the walls, when 
 the Genoese commander ordered Giaffori's son, who had 
 previously been taken prisoner, to be suspended from the 
 ramparts. For a moment but only for a moment 
 Giaffori shuddered, and turned away his head ; then he 
 commanded the gunners, who had ceased firing, to renew 
 the attack. The breach was effected, and the citadel taken 
 by storm ; the boy, unhurt amidst the terrible cannonade, 
 was restored to his father. 
 
 We climbed towards the top of the rock by streets which 
 resembled staircases. At last the path came to an end in 
 some unsavory back-yards, if piles of shattered rock behind 
 the houses can be so called. I asked a young fellow who 
 was standing in the doorway, watching us, whether any 
 view was to be had by going further. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " but there is a better prospect from the 
 other house yonder, where you see the old woman."
 
 THE LAND OF PAOLI. 
 
 We clambered across the intervening rocks, and found 
 the woman engaged in shearing a goat, which a boy held by 
 the horns. " Certainly," she said, when I repeated the 
 question ; " Come into the house, and you shall look from 
 the windows." 
 
 She led us through the kitchen into a bright, plainly fur 
 nished room, where four women were sewing. They all 
 greeted us smilingly, rose, pushed away their chairs, and 
 then opened the southern window. " Now look ! " said the 
 old woman. 
 
 We were dazzled by the brightness and beauty of the pic- 
 ture. The house was perched upon the outer angle of the 
 rock, and the valle) of the Tavignano, with the gorge through 
 which its affluent, the Restonica, issues from the mountains, 
 lay below us. Gardens, clumps of walnut and groves of 
 chestnut trees, made the valley green ; the dark hues of the 
 mountains were softened to purple in the morning air, 
 and the upper snows shone with a brilliancy which I have 
 rarely seen among the Alps. The breeze came down to 
 us with freshness on its wings, and the subdued voices of 
 the twin rivers. 
 
 u Now the other window ! " the women spid. 
 
 It opened eastward. There were, first, the roofs of 
 Corte, dropping away to the water-side ; then a wide, boun- 
 teous valley, green, flecked with harvest gold ; then village- 
 crowned hills, and, behind all, the misty outlines of moun- 
 tains that slope to the eastern shore. It is a fair land, 
 this Corsica, and the friendly women were delighted when 
 I told them so. 
 
 The people looked at us with a natural curiosity as we 
 descended the hill. Old women, invariably dressed in 
 black, gossiped or spun at the doors, girls carried water on 
 their heads from the fountains below, children tumbled 
 about on the warm stones, and a young mother, beside hei 
 cradle, sang the Corsican lullaby :
 
 414 BY-WAYb OF EUROPE. 
 
 " Ninni ninni, ninna nanna, 
 Ninni ninni, ninni nolu, 
 Allegrezza di la mamma, 
 Addormentati, o figliolu ! " 
 
 There is another Corsican cradle song which has a sin- 
 gular resemblance to Tennyson's, yet it is quite unlikely 
 that he ever saw it. One verse runs : 
 
 " A little pearl-laden ship, my darling, 
 Thou earnest silken stores, 
 And with the silken sails all set 
 Com'st from the Indian shores, 
 And wrought with the finest workmanship 
 Are all thy golden oars. 
 Sleep, my little one, sleep a little while, 
 Ninni nanna, sleep ! " 
 
 The green waters of the Tavignano, plunging and foam- 
 ing down their rocky bed, freshened the warm summer air. 
 Beyond the bridge a vein of the river, led underground, 
 gushes forth as a profuse fountain under an arch of mason- 
 ry ; and here a number of people were collected to wash 
 and to draw water. One of the girls, who gave us to 
 drink, refused to accept a proffered coin, until a country- 
 man who was looking on said, " You should take it, since 
 the lady wishes ft." A few paces further a second bridge 
 crosses the Restonica, which has its source in some small 
 lakes near the summit of Monte Rotondo. Its volume of 
 water appeared to me to be quite equal to that of the Tavig- 
 nano. 
 
 The two rivers meet in a rocky glen a quarter of a mile 
 below the town ; and thither we wandered in the after- 
 noon, through the shade of superb chestnut-trees. From 
 this, as from every other point in the neighborhood, the 
 views are charming. There is no threat of malaria in the 
 pure mountain air ; the trees are of richest foliage, the 
 water is transparent beryl, and the pleasant, communica- 
 tive people one meets impress one with a sense of theii 
 honest simplicity. We wandered around Corte, surrender
 
 THE LAND OF PAOLI. 415 
 
 ing ourselves to the influences of the scenery and its asso- 
 ciations, and entirely satisfied with both. 
 
 Towards evening we climbed the hill by an easier path, 
 which brought us upon the crest of a ridge connecting 
 the citadel-rock with the nearest mountains. Directly 
 before us opened the gorge of the Tavignano, with a bridle- 
 path notched along its almost precipitous sides. A man 
 who had been sitting idly on a rock, with a pipe in his 
 mouth, came up, and stood beside me. " Yonder," said he, 
 pointing to the bridle-path, "yonder is the road to the 
 land of Niolo. If you follow that, you will come to a forest 
 that is four hours long. The old General Arrighi the 
 Duke of Padua, you know travelled it some years ago, 
 and I was his guide. I see you are strangers ; you ought 
 to see the land of Niolo. It is not so rich as Corte here ; 
 but then the forests and the lakes, ah, they are fine ! " 
 
 Presently the man's wife joined us, and we sat down to- 
 gether, and gossiped for half an hour. They gave us the 
 recipe for making broccio; a kind of Corsican curd, or 
 junket, which we had tasted at the hotel, and found deli- 
 cious. I also learned from them many details of the coun- 
 try life of the island. They, like all the Corsicans with 
 whom I came in contact, were quite as ready to answer 
 questions as to ask them. They are not so lively as the 
 Italians, but more earnestly communicative, quick of ap- 
 prehension, and gifted with a rude humor of their own. 
 In Bastia I bought a volume of Pruverbf Corse, which con- 
 tains more than three thousand proverbs peculiar to the 
 island, many of them exceedingly witty and clever. I 
 quote a single one as a specimen of the dialect : 
 
 " Da gattivu calzu un ne piglik magliolu, 
 Male u babbu e pegghiu u figliolu." 
 
 During our talk I asked the pair, " Dp you still have 
 the vendetta in this neigborhood ? " 
 
 They both professed not to know what I meant by " ven-
 
 <t!6 BY-WAYS OF EUKOPE. 
 
 detta," but I saw plainly enough that they understood the 
 question. Finally tlie man said, rather impatiently, " Ther 
 are a great many kinds of vendetta." 
 
 "I mean blood-revenge assassination murder." 
 
 His hesitation to speak about the matter disappeared as 
 mysteriously as it came. (Was there, perhaps, a stain upon 
 his own hand ?) '' 0," he answered, " that is all at an end. 
 I can remember when five persons were killed in a day in 
 Corte, and when a'man could not travel from here to Ajac 
 cio without risking his life. But now we have neither mur- 
 ders nor robberies ; all the roads are safe, the people live 
 quietly, and the country everywhere is better than it was." 
 
 I noticed that the Corsicans are proud of the present 
 Emperor on account of his parentage ; but they have also 
 some reason to be grateful to his government. He has 
 done much to repair the neglect of his uncle. The work 
 of Paoli has been performed over again ; law and order 
 prevail from the sea-shore to the highest herdsman's hut 
 on Monte Rotondo; admirable roads traverse the island, 
 schools have been established in all the villages, and the 
 national spirit of the people is satisfied by having a semi- 
 Corsican on the throne of France. I saw no evidence of 
 discontent anywhere, nor' need there be ; for Europe has 
 nearly reached the Corsican ideal of the last century, and 
 the pride of the people may well repose for a while upon 
 the annals of their heroic past. 
 
 It was a serious disappointment that we were unable to 
 visit Ajaccio and the Balagna. We could only fix the in- 
 spiring scenery of Corte in our memories, and so make its 
 historical associations vital and enduring. There was nc 
 
 O 
 
 other direct way of returning to Bastia than the road by 
 which we came ; but it kept a fresh interest for us. The 
 conductor of the diligence was one of the liveliest fellows 
 living, and entertained us with innumerable -stories; and 
 at the station of Oniessa we met with a character so orig 
 inal that I wish I could record every word he said.
 
 TH] LAND OF PAOLI. 417 
 
 The man looked more like a Yankee than any Italian 1 
 had seen for six months. He presented the conductor with 
 what appeared to be a bank-note for one thousand francs ; 
 but it proved to be issued by the " Bank of Content," and 
 entitled the holder to live a thousand years. Happiness 
 was the president, and Temperance the cashier. 
 
 " I am a director of the bank," said the disseminator of 
 the notes, addressing the passengers and a group of coun- 
 trymen, " and I can put you all in the way of being stock- 
 holders. But you must first bring testimonials. Four are 
 required one religious, one medical, one legal, and one 
 domestic. What must they be ? Listen, and I will tell. 
 Religious from a priest, vouching for four things : that 
 you have never been baptized, never preached, don't be- 
 lieve in the Tope, and are not afraid of the Devil. Medi- 
 cal from a doctor, that you have had the measles, that 
 your teeth are sound, that you are not flatulent, and that 
 he has never given you medicine. Legal from a law- 
 yer, that you have never been accused of theft, that you 
 mind your own business, and that you have never em- 
 ployed him. Domestic from your wife, that you don't 
 lift the lids of the kitchen pots, walk in your sleep, or lose 
 the keyhole of your door! There! can any one of you 
 bring me these certificates ?" 
 
 The auditors, who had roared with laughter during the 
 speech, became suddenly grave which emboldened the 
 man to ply them with other and sharper questions. Our 
 departure cut short the scene ; but I heard the conductor 
 laughing on his box for a league further. 
 
 At Ponte alia Leccia we breakfasted on trout, and, 
 speeding down the grand and lonely valley of the Golo, 
 reached Bastia towards evening. As we steamed out of 
 the little harbor the next day, we took the words of our 
 friend Greeorovius, and made them ours : 
 
 o 
 
 27
 
 418 BY-WAYS OP EUROPE. 
 
 " Year after year, thy slopes of olives hoar 
 Give oil, thy vineyards still their bounty poor! 
 Thy maize on golden meadows ripen well, 
 And let the sun thy curse of blood dispel, 
 Till down each vale and on each mountain-side 
 The stains of thy heroic blood be dried ! 
 Thy sons be like their fathers, strong and sure, 
 Thy daughters as thy mountain rivers pure, 
 And still thy granite crags between them stand 
 And all corruptions of the older land. 
 Fair isle, farewell ! thy virtues shall not sleep; 
 Thy fathers' valor shall their children keep, 
 That ne'er this taunt to thee the stranger eMt, -- 
 Thj heroes were bat tables of the Parti "
 
 THE ISLAND OF MADDALENA. 
 
 WITH A DISTANT VIEW OF CAPRERA.
 
 BEFORE leaving Florence for the trip to Corsica, in which 
 1 intended to include, if possible, the island of Snrdinia, I 
 noticed that the Rubattino steamers touched at Maddalena, 
 on their way from Bastia to Porto Torres. The island of 
 Maddalena, I knew, lay directly over against Caprera, sep- 
 arated by a strait not more than two or three miles in 
 breadth, and thus a convenient opportunity was offered of 
 visiting the owner and resident of the latter island, the 
 illustrious General Giuseppe Garibaldi. I have no special 
 passion for making the personal acquaintance of distin- 
 guished men, unless it happens that there is some point of 
 mutual interest concerning which intelligence may be given 
 or received. In this case, I imagined there was such a 
 point of contact. Having followed the fortunes of Italy 
 for the past twenty years, with the keen sympathy which 
 springs from a love for the land, and having been so near 
 the events of the last unfortunate expedition against Rome 
 as to feel from day to day the reflection of those events in 
 the temper of the Italian people, I had learned, during a 
 subsequent residence in Rome, certain facts which added 
 to the interest of the question, while they seemed still more 
 to complicate its solution. There were some things, I felt, 
 an explanation of which (so far as he would be able to 
 give it) might be asked of Garibaldi without impropriety, 
 and which he could communicate without any necessity of 
 reserve. 
 
 Another and natural sentiment was mingled with my 
 desire to meet the hero of Italian unity. I knew how 
 shamefully he had been deceived in certain respects, be- 
 fore undertaking- the expedition which terminated so fruit-
 
 422 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 lessh at Mentana, and could, therefore, guess the mortifi- 
 cation which accompanied him in his imprisonment 'for 
 such it virtually is) at Caprera. While, therefore, I should 
 not have sought an interview after the glorious Sicilian and 
 Calabrian campaign, or when the still excited world was 
 reading Nelaton's bulletins from Spezzia, so confounding 
 myself with the multitude who always admire the hero of 
 the day, and risk their necks to shake hands with him, I 
 felt a strong desire to testify such respect as the visit of a 
 stranger implies, in Garibaldi's day of defeat and neglect. 
 
 " I did not praise thee, when the crowd, 
 
 Witched with the moment's inspiration, 
 Vexed thy still ether with hosannas loud, 
 And stamped their dusty adoration." * 
 
 Of all the people who crowded to see him at Spezzia in 
 such throngs that a false Garibaldi, with bandaged foot, 
 was arranged to receive the most of them, there is no trace 
 now. The same Americans who come from Paris chant- 
 ing paeans to Napoleon III., go to Rome and are instantly 
 stricken with sympathy for Pius IX., and a certain respect 
 for the Papacy, temporal power included. They give Ca- 
 prera a wide berth. Two or three steadfast English 
 friends do what they can to make the hero's solitude pleas- 
 ant, and he has still, as always, the small troop of Italian 
 followers, who never forsake him, because they live from 
 his substance. 
 
 Before deciding to visit Caprera, I asked the candid ad- 
 vice of some of the General's most intimate friends in 
 Florence. They assured me that scarcely any one had 
 gone to see him for months past ; that a visit from an 
 American, who sympathized with the great and generous 
 aims to which he has devoted his life, could not be other- 
 wise than welcome ; and, while offering me cordial letters 
 of introduction, declared that this formality was really un- 
 necessary. It was pleasant to hear him spoken of as a 
 
 1 Lowell, Ode to Lamartin* .
 
 THE ISLAND OF MADDALENA. 423 
 
 tnau whose refined amiability of manner was e.{uU to his 
 unselfish patriotism, and who was as simple, unpretending^ 
 and accessible personally, as he was rigorously democratic 
 in his political utterances. 
 
 I purposely shortened my tour in Corsica, in order to 
 take the Italian steamer which touches at Bastia, on its 
 way to Maddalena. Half smothered in the sultry heat, we 
 watched the distant smoke rounding the rocks of Capraja, 
 and the steamer had no sooner anchored outside the mole, 
 than we made haste to embark. The cloth was already 
 spread over the skylight on the quarterdeck, and seven 
 plates denoted six fellow-passengers. Two of these were 
 ladies, two Italians, with an old gentleman, who proved to 
 English, although he looked the least like it, and an unmis- 
 takable Garibaldian, in a red shirt. The latter was my 
 vis-a-vis at table, and it was not long before he startled the 
 company by exclaiming : " In fifty years we shall have the 
 Universal Republic ! " 
 
 After looking around the table, he fixed his eyes on me, 
 as if challenging assent. 
 
 " In five hundred years, perhaps," I said. 
 
 " But the priests will go down soon ! " he shouted ; " and 
 as for that brute" (pointing with his fork towards Corsica), 
 " who rules there, his time is soon up." 
 
 As nobody seemed inclined to reply, he continued : 
 " Since the coming of the second Jesus Christ, Garibaldi, 
 the work goes on like lightning. As soon as the priests 
 are down, the Republic will come." 
 
 This man, so one of the passengers informed me, had 
 come on board en bourgeois, but as the .steamer approached 
 Corsica, he suddenly appeared on deck in his red shirt. 
 After we left Bastia, he resumed his former costume. In 
 the capacity to swagger, he surpassed any man I had seen 
 since leaving home. His hair hung about his ears, his 
 nose was long, his beard thick and black, and he had the 
 air of a priest rather than a soldier, but it was an ah
 
 424 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 which pompously announced to everybody : u Garibaldi ii 
 the Second Christ, and I am his Prophet ! " 
 
 Over the smooth sea we sped down the picturesque Cor- 
 sican coast. An indentation in the grand mountain chain 
 showed us the valley of the Golo ; then came the heights 
 of Vescovato, where Filippini wrote the history of the 
 island, and Murat took refuge after losing his Neapolitan 
 kingdom ; then, Cervione, where the fantastic King The- 
 odore, the First and Last, held his capital ; after which 
 night fell upon the shores, and we saw only mountain 
 phantoms in the moonlight. 
 
 At sunrise the steward called me. 
 
 " We are passing the bocca" the Straits of Bonifacio, 
 said he, " and will soon be at Maddalena." 
 
 It was an archipelago of rocks in which the steamer was 
 entangled. All around us, huge gray masses, with scarcely 
 a trace of vegetation, rose from the wave ; in front, the 
 lofty, dark blue, serrated mountains of Sardinia pierced the 
 sky, and far to the right faded the southern shores of Cor- 
 sica. But, bleak and forsaken as was the scene, it had a 
 curious historical interest. As an opening between the 
 islands disclosed the white rocks, citadel, and town of Bon- 
 ifacio, some fifteen miles' distant, I remembered the first 
 important episode in the life of Napoleon It was in the 
 year 1792, while Pascal Paoli was still President of Cor- 
 sica. An expedition against Sardinia having been deter- 
 mined upon by the Republic, Napoleon, after, perhaps, the 
 severest struggle of his life, was elected second in com- 
 mand of the battalion of Ajaccio. A work 1 written by M. 
 Nasica, of the latter place, gives a singular picture of the 
 fierce family feuds which preceded the election. It was 
 the commencement of that truly Corsican vendetta between 
 Pozzo di Borgo and the future emperor, which only ter- 
 minated when 4he former was able to say, after "Waterloo : 
 " I have not killed Napoleon, but I have thrown the lasl 
 shovelful of earth upon him." 
 
 l Memmrct tvr fEnfance et la Jeunetse de Napoleon. Ajaccio, 1853.
 
 THE ISLAND OF MADDALENA. 426 
 
 The first attempt of the expedition was to be directed 
 against the island of Maddalena. A battery was planted 
 on the uninhabited rock of Santa Teresa (beside which we 
 passed), and Maddalena was bombarded, but without effect. 
 Napoleon prepared a plan for its capture, but Colonna, the 
 first in command, refused to allow him to make the at- 
 tempt. A heated discussion took place in the presence of 
 the other officers, and Napoleon, becoming at last indig- 
 nant and impatient, turned to the latter, and said : " He 
 doesn't know what I mean." 
 
 " You are an insolent fellow," retorted Colonna. 
 
 Napoleon muttered, as he turned away : " We have only 
 a cheval de parade for commander." 
 
 At Bonifacio, afterwards, his career came near being 
 suddenly terminated. Some Marseilles marines who landed 
 there provoke:! a quarrel with the soldiers of the Corsican 
 battalion. Napoleon interfered to restore order, where- 
 upon he was seized by the fierce Marseillaise, who would 
 have hung him to a lamp-post, but for the timely aid of the 
 civil authorities. The disfavor of Paoli, who was at that time 
 under the control of Pozzo di Borgo, finally drove Napo- 
 leon from Corsica ; so that the machinations of his bitter- 
 est enemy really forced him into the field where he was so 
 suddenly and splendidly successful. 
 
 While we were recalling this fateful fragment of history, 
 the steamer entered the narrow strait between Maddalena 
 and the main land of Sardinia, and at the same moment 
 two stately French vessels made their appearance, crossing 
 tracks on the route between Marseilles and the Orient 
 The rocky island of San Stefano, lying opposite Madda- 
 lena, forms a sheltered harbor, which Caprera, rising east- 
 ward against the sea, renders completely landlocked. But 
 what a wild, torn, distorted, desolate panorama ! A thin 
 sprinkling of lavender, rosemary, and myrtle serves but to 
 set off the cold gray of the granite rocks ; the summits 
 rise in natural bastions, or thrust out huge fangs or twisted
 
 426 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 horns. There is nowhere any softening of these violent 
 outlines. They print themselves on the farthest distance, 
 and one is not surprised that the little village of Madda- 
 lena, the white house on Caprera, and two or three fishing- 
 Hits on the Sardinian shore, are the only signs of human 
 habitation. 
 
 Beside the village, however, there was a little valley, 
 near the head of which a cool, white villa, perched on a 
 mass of rocks, shone against the rugged background. 
 
 " That is my place," said the old Englishman, " and I 
 shall be happy to see you there." 
 
 " I shall certainly come, if we have time enough after 
 visiting Caprera," I replied. 
 
 The Englishman, an entire stranger, was very kind in 
 his offers of service ; the Garibaldian was so pompous and 
 arrogant in his manner, that I soon perceived that no 
 assistance could be expected from him. Nevertheless, 
 chance threw us into the same boat, on landing in the 
 little harbor. I had ascertained that there was a hotel, 
 kept by one Remigio, in Maddalena ; and although one of 
 "our mutual friends" had advised me to go directly to 
 Caprera, Garibaldi's hospitality being as certain as sun- 
 rise, or the change of the tide, I determined to stop with 
 Remigio, and forward my letters. When the Prophet of 
 the Second Coming stepped on shore, he was accosted by 
 an old veteran, who wore a red shirt and blue goggles. 
 They embraced and kissed each other, and presently came 
 up another weather-beaten person, with an unmistakably 
 honest and amiable face, who was hailed with the name of 
 " Basso ! " 
 
 I knew the name as that of one of Garibaldi's most faith- 
 ful followers, and as the boat, meanwhile, had been re- 
 tained to convey the party to Caprera, I stepped up to 
 Basso and the Prophet and asked : " Will one of you be 
 good enough to take these letters to General Garibaldi, 
 and let the boatman bring me word when it will be con- 
 venient for him to receive me ? "
 
 THE ISLAND OF MADD.ALENA. 427 
 
 " Certainly," said the Prophet, taking the letters, and re- 
 marking, as he pointed to Basso, " this is the General's 
 secretary." 
 
 The latter made a modest gesture, disclaiming the honor, 
 and said : u No ; you know that you are really his secre- 
 r tary." 
 
 The boat shoved off with them. " It is a queer com- 
 pany," I said to myself, " and perhaps I ought not to have 
 intrusted the letters to their care." One letter was from a 
 gentleman in a high diplomatic position, whose reputation 
 as a scholar is world-wide, and who possesses the most gen- 
 erous, and at the same time the most intelligent, sympathy 
 with the aspirations of the Italian people. The other was 
 from a noble woman, who has given the best energies of 
 her life to the cause, who shared the campaigns of Sicily 
 snd Calabria, and even went under fire at Monte Rotondo 
 and Mentana to succor the wounded. Probably no two 
 persons had a better right to claim the courtesy of Gari- 
 baldi in favor of one, who, though a stranger, was yet an 
 ardent friend. 
 
 The Hotel Remigio directly fronted the quay. No sign 
 announced its character, but the first room we entered had 
 a billiard-table, beyond which was a kitchen. Here we 
 found La Remigia, who conducted us up a sumptuous stair- 
 case of black and white marble (unwashed) into a shabby 
 Jining-room, and then left us to prepare coffee. A dooi 
 into an adjoining apartment stood half-open. I looked in, 
 but seeing a naked leg stretched out upon a dirty blanket, 
 made a speedy retreat. In a quarter of an hour coffee 
 came, without milk, but with a bottle of rum instead. The 
 servitress was a little girl, whose hands were of so ques- 
 tionable a complexion, that we turned away lest we should 
 see her touch the cups. I need not say that the beverage 
 was vile ; the reader will have already guessed that. 
 
 We summoned La Remigia, to ascertain whether a 
 breakfast was possible. " Eh, che vuole ? " (" What can you
 
 428 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 expect ? ") said she. " This is a poor little island. What 
 would you like to have ? " 
 
 Limiting our wishes to the probabilities of the place, we 
 modestly suggested eggs and fish, whereat La Remigia 
 looked relieved, and promised that we should have both. 
 Then, although the heat was furious, I went forth for a* 
 stroll along the shore. A number of bronze boys had 
 pulled off their tow shirts, and were either sitting naked 
 on the rocks, or standing in the shallow coves, and splash- 
 ing each other with scallop-shells. Two or three fishing- 
 boats were lazily pulling about the strait, but the greater 
 part of the population of Maddalena sat in the shade and 
 did nothing. 
 
 The place contains about fifteen hundred inhabitants, 
 but scarcely one half that number were at home. The 
 others were sailors, or coral fishers, who are always absent 
 during the summer months. The low, bright-colored 
 houses are scattered along the shore, in such order as the 
 huge, upheaved masses of granite will allow, and each 
 street terminates in a stony path. In the scanty garden- 
 inclosures, bristling masses of the fruit-bearing cactus over- 
 hang the walls, repellant as the rocks from which they 
 spring. Evidently the place supplies nothing except the 
 article of fish ; all other necessaries of life must be brought 
 from Sardinia. The men are principally pensioned vet- 
 erans of the Italian navy, who are satisfied with the sight 
 of blue water and passing vessels ; the women (rock- 
 widows, one might call them), having the very simplest 
 household duties to perform, usually sit at their doors, 
 with some kind of knitting or netting, and chatter with 
 their nearest neighbors. I had scarcely walked a quarter 
 of a mile before the sleepy spirit of the place took hold of 
 my feet, and I found myself contemplating the shadowy 
 spots among the rocks, much more than the wild and 
 rugged island scenery across the strait. 
 
 Garibaldi's house on Caprera flashed 'n the sun, and
 
 THE ISLAND 01 MAI DALENA. 429 
 
 after a while I saw a boat pulling away from the landing- 
 place below it. I returned to the harbor to meet the boat 
 man, and receive the answer which my letters required 
 It was a red-headed fellow, with a face rather Scotch than 
 Italian, and a blunt, direct manner of speech which cor- 
 responded thereto. 
 
 " The General says he is not well, and can't see you," 
 said he. 
 
 " Have you a letter ? " I asked. 
 
 " No ; but he told me so." 
 
 ' He is sick, then ? " 
 
 " No," said the boatman, " he is not sick." 
 
 " Where did you see him ? " 
 
 " Out of doors. He went down to the sea this morning 
 and took a bath. Then he worked in the garden." 
 
 The first sensation of a man who receives an unexpected 
 blow is incredulity, and not exasperation. It required a 
 slight effort to believe the boatman's words, and the next 
 impression was that there was certainly some misunder- 
 standing. If Garibaldi were well enough to walk about 
 his fields, he was able to receive a visitor ; if he had read 
 the letters I forwarded, a decent regard for the writers 
 would have withheld him from sending a rude verbal an- 
 swer by the mouth of a boatman. The whole proceeding 
 was so utterly at variance with all I had heard of his per- 
 sonal refinement and courtesy, that I was driven to the 
 suspicion that his followers had suppressed the letters, and 
 represented me, perhaps, as a stranger of not very repu- 
 table appearance. 
 
 Seeing that we were stranded for three days upon Mad* 
 dalena, until the steamer returned from Porto Tor 'es. 
 I determined to assure myself whether the suspicion 
 was just. I could, at least, give the General a chance to 
 correct any misunderstanding. I therefore wrote a note, 
 mentioning the letters and the answer I had received 
 through the boatman ; referring to other friends of his in
 
 430 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 America and Italy, whom I knew ; assuring him that I had 
 had no intention of thrusting myself upon his hospitality, 
 but had only meant to desire a brief personal interview. 
 I abstained, of course, from repeating the request, as he 
 would thus be able to grant it more gracefully, if a misrep- 
 resentation had really been made. Summoning the red- 
 headed boatman, I gave him the note, with the express 
 command that he should give it into Garibaldi's own 
 hands, and not into those of any of the persons about him. 
 
 La Remigia gave us as good a breakfast as the house 
 could furnish. The wine was acutely sour, but the fish 
 were fresh and delicate. Moreover, the room had been 
 swept, and the hands of the little servant subjected to 
 a thorough washing. There was a dessert of cherries, 
 brought all the way from Genoa, and then the hostess, as 
 she brought the coffee, asked : " When will your Excel- 
 lencies go to Caprera? " 
 
 " If the General is sick," I remarked, " we shall prob- 
 ably not be able to see him." 
 
 " He was not well two or three weeks ago," said she ; 
 " he had the rheumatism in his hands. But now he goes 
 about his fields the same as before." 
 
 A second suspicion came into my head. What if the 
 boatman should not go to ' Caprera with my letter, but 
 merely sleep two or three hours in the shade, and then 
 come back to me with an invented verbal answer ? It was 
 now high noon, and a truly African sun beat down on the 
 unsheltered shores. The veterans had been chased from 
 their seats on the quay, and sat in dozing, silent rows on 
 the shady sides of the houses. A single boat, with sail 
 spread, hardly moved over the dazzling blue of the harbor, 
 There was no sign of active life anywhere, except in the 
 fleas. 
 
 Leaving my wife in La Remigia's care, I took one of the 
 rough paths behind the town, and climbed to a' bold mass 
 of rocks, which commanded a view of the strait from Ca
 
 THE ISLAND OF MADDALENA. 431 
 
 prera to Sardinia. Far off, beyond the singular horns and 
 needles of rock, cresting the mountains of the latter island, 
 a thunder-gust was brewing ; but the dark, cool shadows 
 there only served, by contrast, to make the breathless heat 
 on Maddalena more intense. Nevertheless, a light wind 
 fir ally came from somewhere, and I stretched myself out 
 on the granite, with Caprera before my eyes, and reflected 
 on the absurdity of any one human being taking pains to 
 make the acquaintance of any other particular human 
 being, while I watched the few boats visible on the surface 
 of the water below. One, rowing and sailing, rounded the 
 point of San Stefano, and disappeared ; another crept 
 along the nearer shore, looking for fish, coral, or sponges ; 
 and a third, at last, making a long tack, advanced into the 
 channel of La Moneta, in front of Garibaldi's residence. 
 It was Red-head, honestly doing his duty. Two or three 
 hours went by, and he did not return. When the air had 
 been somewhat cooled by the distant thunder, we set forth 
 to seek the English recluse. The path followed the coast, 
 winding between rocks and clumps of myrtle in blossom, 
 until the villa looked down upon us from the head of a 
 stony dell. On three sides, the naked granite rose in ir- 
 regular piles against the sky, while huge blocks, tumbled 
 from above, lay scattered over the scanty vineyards below. 
 In sheltered places there were a few pines and cedars, of 
 stunted growth. The house, perched upon a mass of rock 
 forty or fifty feet high, resembled a small fortress. As we 
 approached it, over the dry, stony soil, the bushes rustling 
 as the lizards darted through them, the place assumed an 
 air of savage loneliness. No other human dwelling was 
 visible on any of the distant shores, and no sail brightened 
 tho intervening water. 
 
 The Englishman came forth and welcomed us with a 
 
 O 
 
 pleasant, old-fashioned courtesy. A dark-eyed Sardinian 
 lady, whom he introduced to us as his daughter-in-law, and 
 her father, were his temporary guests. The people after
 
 432 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 wards told me, in Maddalena, that he had adopted and 
 educated a Neapolitan boy, who, however, had turned out 
 to be a mauvafs sujet. We were ushered into a large 
 vaulted room, the walls of which, to my astonishment, were 
 covered with admirable paintings genuine works of the 
 Flemish and Italian masters. There was a Cuyp, a Paul 
 Potter, a Ruysdael, a Massimo, and several excellent pic- 
 tures of the school of Corregio. A splendid library filled 
 the adjoining hall, and recent English and Italian news- 
 papers lay upon the table. I soon perceived that our host 
 was a man of unusual taste and culture, who had studied 
 much and travelled much, before burying himself in this 
 remote corner of the Mediterranean. For more than 
 twenty years, he informed us, the island had been his 
 home. He first went thither accidentally, in his search for 
 health, and remained because he found it among those 
 piles of granite and cactus. One hardly knows whether to 
 admire or commiserate such a life. 
 
 Our host, however, had long outlived his yearning for 
 the busy world of men. His little plantation, wrung from 
 Nature with immense labor and apparently great expense, 
 now absorbed all his interest. He had bought foreign 
 trees Mexican, African, and Australian and set them 
 in sheltered places, built great walls to break the sweep of 
 the wind which draws through the Straits of Bonifacio, 
 constructed tanks for collecting the rains, terraces for vine- 
 yards, and so fought himself into the possession of a little 
 productive soil. But the winds kept down the growth of 
 his pines, the islanders cut his choicest trees and carried 
 them off for fire-wood, and it was clear that the scanty be- 
 ginnings we saw were tne utmost he would be able to keep 
 and hold against so many hostile influences. 
 
 After we had inspected the costly picture-gallery, and 
 partaken of refreshments, he took us to his orange-garden, 
 a square inclosure, with walls twenty feet high, at the foot 
 of the rocks. The interior was divided by high rampart*
 
 THE ISLAND OF MADDALENA. 433 
 
 of woven brushwood into compartments about thirty feet 
 square, each of which contained half a dozen squat, bat 
 tered-looking trees, I should have imagined the outer 
 walls high enough to break the strongest wind, but our 
 host informed me that they merely changed its character, 
 giving to the current a spiral motion which almost pulled 
 the trees out of the earth. The interior divisions of brush- 
 wood were a necessity. Above the house there was a sim- 
 ilar inclosure for pear and apple trees. The vines, kept 
 close to the earth, and tied to strong stakes, were more 
 easily tended. But the same amount of labor and ex- 
 pense would have created a little paradise on the shores of 
 Sorrento, or the Riviera di Ponente; in fact, as many 
 oranges might have been raised in Minnesota, with less 
 trouble. 
 
 According to the traditions of the people, the whole isl- 
 and was wooded a hundred and fifty years ago. But, as 
 savage tribes worship trees, so the first inclination of the 
 civilized man is to destroy them. I still hold to the be- 
 lief that the disforested Levant might be reclothed in fifty 
 years, if the people could be prevented from interfering 
 with the young growth. 
 
 When we reached Maddalena, the boatman had re- 
 turned from Caprera. This time he brought me a note, 
 in Garibaldi's handwriting, containing two or three lines, 
 which, however, were not more satisfactory than the previ- 
 ous message. " Per motivo de miei incomodi " (on account 
 of my ailments), said the General, he could not receive 
 me. This was an equivocation, but no explanation. His 
 motive for slighting the letters of two such friends, and re- 
 fusing to see one who had come to Maddalena to testify a 
 sympathy and respect which had nothing in common with 
 the curiosity of the crowd, remained a mystery. In the 
 little fishing-village, where nothing could long be kept 
 secret, the people seemed to be aware of all tha 4 had oc- 
 curred. They possessed too much natural tact and deli 
 28
 
 484 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 cacy to question us, but it was easy to see that they wei 
 much surprised. Red-head made quite a long face when 
 I told him, after reading the letter, that I should not need 
 his boat for a trip to Caprera. 
 
 After allowing all possible latitude to a man's individual 
 right to choose his visitors, the manner in which my appli- 
 cation had been received still appeared to me very rude 
 and boorish. Perhaps one's first experience of the kind is 
 always a little more annoying than is necessary; but the 
 reader must consider that we had no escape from the burn- 
 ing rocks of Maddalena until the third day afterwards, and 
 the white house on Caprera before our eyes was a constant 
 reminder of the manner or mood of its inmate. Questions 
 of courtesy are nearly as difficult to discuss as questions of 
 taste, each man having his own private standard ; yet, I 
 think, few persons will censure me for having then and 
 there determined that, for the future, I would take no par- 
 ticular pains to seek the acquaintance of a distinguished man. 
 
 We were fast on Maddalena, as I have said, and the 
 most we could make of it did not seem to be much. I 
 sketched a little the next morning, until the heat drove me 
 indoors. Towards evening, following La Remigia's coun- 
 sel, we set forth on a, climb to the Guardia Vecchia, a 
 deserted fortress on the highest point of the island. Thun- 
 der-storms, as before, growled along the mountains of Sar- 
 dinia, without overshadowing or cooling the rocks of the 
 desert archipelago. The masses of granite, among which 
 we clambered, still radiated the noonday heat, and the 
 clumps of lentisk and arbutus were scarcely less arid in 
 appearance than the soil from which they grew. Over the 
 summit, however, blew a light breeze. We pushed open 
 the door of the fort, mounted to a stone platform with ram- 
 parte pierced for six cannon, and sat down in the shade of 
 the watch-tower. The view embraced the whole Strait of 
 Bonifacio and its shores, from the peak of Incudine in Cor- 
 sica, to the headland of Terranova, on the eastern < oast of
 
 THE ISLAND OF MADDALENA. 435 
 
 Sardinia. Two or three villages, high up on the mountains 
 of the latter island, the little fishing-town at our feet, the 
 far-off citadel of Bonifacio, and still persistently visible 
 the house on Caprera, rather increased than removed 
 the loneliness and desolation of the scenery. Island rising 
 behind island thrust up new distortions of rock of red or 
 hot-gray hues which became purple in the distance, and the 
 dark-blue reaches of sea dividing them were hard and life- 
 less as plains of glass. Perhaps the savage and sterile 
 forms of the foreground impressed their character upon 
 every part of the panorama, since we knew that they were 
 everywhere repeated. In this monotony lay something 
 sublime, and yet profoundly melancholy. 
 
 As we have now the whole island of Caprera full and 
 fair before us, let us see what sort of a spot the hero of 
 Italian Unity has chosen for his home. I may at the same 
 time, without impropriety, add such details of his life and 
 habits, and such illustrations of his character, as were 
 freely communicated by persons familiar with both, during 
 our stay in Maddalena. 
 
 Caprera, as seen from the Guardia Vecchia, is a little 
 less forbidding than its neighbor island. It is a mass of 
 reddish-gray rock, three to four miles in length and not 
 more than a mile in breadth, its axis lying at a right angle 
 to the course of the Sardinian coast. The shores rise 
 steeply from the water to a central crest of naked rock, 
 some twelve hundred feet above the sea. The wild shrub- 
 bery of the Mediterranean myrtle, arbutus, lentisk, and 
 box is sprinkled over the lower slopes, and three or four 
 lines of bright, even green, betray the existence of ter- 
 raced grain-fields. The house, a plain white quadrang'e, 
 two stories in height, is seated on the slope, a quarter of a 
 mile from the landing-place. Behind it there are fields 
 and vineyards, and a fertile garden-valley called the Fon- 
 tanaccia. which are not visible from Maddalena. The 
 house, in its present commodious form, w^< built by Victor
 
 436 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 Emanuel, during Garibaldi's absence from the island, and 
 without his knowledge. The latter has spent a great deal 
 of money in wresting a few fields from the unwilling rock, 
 and his possession, even yet, has but a moderate value. 
 The greater part of the island can only be used as a range 
 for cattle, and will nourish about a hundred head. 
 
 Garibaldi, however, has a great advantage over all the 
 political personages of our day, in the rugged simplicity of 
 his habits. He has no single expensive taste. Whether 
 he sleeps on a spring -mattress or a rock, eats filet or fish 
 and macaroni, is all the same to him nay, he prefers the 
 simpler fare. The persons whom he employs eat at the 
 same table with him, and his guests, whatever their char- 
 acter or title, are no better served. An Englishman who 
 went to Caprera as the representative of certain societies, 
 and took with him, as a present, a dozen of the finest hams, 
 and four dozen bottles of the choicest Chateau Margaux, 
 was horrified to find, the next day, that each gardener, 
 herdsman, and fisherman at the table had a generous lump 
 of ham ^>n his plate and a bottle of Chateau Margaux 
 beside it ! Whatever delicacy comes to Garibaldi is served 
 in the same way ; and of the large sums of money contrib- 
 uted by his friends and admirers, he has retained scarcely 
 anything. All is given to " The Cause." 
 
 Garibaldi's three prominent traits of character hon- 
 esty, unselfishness, and independence are so marked, 
 and have been so variously illustrated, that no one in Italy 
 (probably not even Pius IX. or Antonelli) dares to dis- 
 pute his just claim to them. Add the element of a rare 
 and inextinguishable enthusiasm, and we have the qualities 
 which have made the man. He is wonderfully adapted to 
 be the leader of an impulsive and imaginative people, dur- 
 "ng those periods when the rush and swell of popular senti- 
 ment overbears alike diplomacy and armed force. Such a 
 time came to him in 1860, and the Sicilian and Calabrian 
 campaign will always stand as the climax of his achieve
 
 THE ISLAND OF MADDALENA. 437 
 
 nients I do not speak of Aspromonte or Mentana now ; 
 The history of those attempts cannot be written un*il Gari- 
 baldi's private knowledge of them may be safely made 
 known to the world. 
 
 It occurred to me, as I looked upon Caprera, that only 
 an enthusiastic, imaginative nature could be content to live 
 in such an isolation. It is hardly alone disgust with the 
 present state of Italy which keeps him from that seat in 
 the Italian Parliament, to which he is regularly reelected. 
 He can neither use the tact of the politician, nor employ 
 the expedients of the statesman. He has no patience with 
 adverse opinion, no clear, objective perception of character, 
 no skill to calculate the reciprocal action and cumulative 
 force of political ideas. He simply sees an end, and strikes 
 a bee-line for it. As a military commander he is admir- 
 able, so long as operations can be conducted under his im- 
 mediate personal control. In short, he belongs to that 
 small class of great men, whose achievements, fame, and 
 influence rest upon excellence of character and a certain 
 magnetic, infectious warmth of purpose, rather than on 
 high intellectual ability. There may be wiser Italian pat- 
 riots than he ; but there is none so pure and devoted. 
 
 From all that was related to me of Garibaldi, I should 
 judge that his weak points are, an incapacity to distin- 
 guish between the steady aspirations of his life and those 
 sudden impulses which come to every ardent and passion- 
 ate nature, and an amiable weakness (perhaps not dis- 
 connected from vanity) which enables a certain class of 
 adventurers to misuse and mislead him. His impatience 
 of contrary views naturally subjects him to the influence 
 of the latter class, whose cue it is to flatter and encourage. 
 I know an American general whose reputation has been 
 much damaged in the same way. The three men who 
 were his companions on Caprera during my stay in Mad- 
 dalena were Basso, who occasionally acts as secretary; he 
 whom I termed the Prophet, a certain Dr. Occhipinti
 
 438 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 (Painted Eyes), a maker of salves and pomatums, and 
 Guzmaroli, formerly a priest, and ignominiously expelled 
 from Garibaldi's own corps. There are other hangers-on, 
 whose presence from time to time in Caprera is a source 
 of anxiety to the General's true friends. 
 
 Caprera formerly belonged to an English gentleman, a 
 passionate sportsman, who settled there thirty years ago on 
 account of the proximity of the island to the rich game 
 regions of Sardinia. Garibaldi, dining with this gentle- 
 man at Maddalena in 1856, expressed his desire to procure 
 a small island on the coast for his permanent home, where- 
 upon the former offered to sell him a part of Caprera at 
 cost The remainder was purchased by a subscription 
 made in England, and headed by the Duke of Sutherland. 
 I was informed that Garibaldi's faithful and noble-hearted 
 friends. Colonel and Mrs. Chambers of Scotland, had done 
 much towards making the island productive and habitable, 
 but I doubt whether its rocks yet yield enough for the sup- 
 port of the family. 
 
 The General's oldest son, Menotti, his daughter Teresa, 
 her husband Major Canzio, and their five children, Mameli, 
 Anzani, Lincoln, Anita, and John Brown, have their home 
 at Caprera. Menotti is reported to be a good soldier and 
 sailor, but without his father's abilities. The younger son, 
 Ricciotti, spends most of his time in England. Teresa, 
 however, is a female Garibaldi, full of spirit, courage, and 
 enthusiasm. She has great musical talent, and a voice 
 which would give her, were there need, a prima donna's 
 station in any theatre. Her father, also, is an excellent 
 singer, and the two are fond of making the rocks of Ca- 
 prera resound with his Inno ai Romani. 
 
 Garibaldi was born at Nice in 1807, and is therefore now 
 sixty-ont, years old. His simple habits of life have pre 
 served his physical vigor, but he suffers from frequent se 
 vere attacks of rheumatism. The wound received at Aspro- 
 monte, I was told, no longer occasions him inconvenience
 
 THE ISLAND OP MADDALENA. 439 
 
 In features and complexion he shows his Lombard and Ger- 
 man descent. His name is simply the Italian for Heribalc( 
 11 bold in war." In the tenth century Garibald I. and II. 
 were kings of Bavaria. In fact much of the best blood of 
 Italy is German, however reluctant the Italians may be to 
 acknowledge the fact. The Marquis D'Azeglio, whose 
 memoirs have recently been published, says in his auto- 
 biographical sketch, " Educated in the hatred of the Tedes- 
 chi (Germans), I was greatly astonished to find from my 
 historical studies, that I was myself a Tedesco" The 
 "pride of race" really is one of the absurdest of human 
 vanities. I have heard half-breed Mexicans boast of their 
 " Gothic blood," born Englishmen who settled in Virginia 
 talk of their " Southern blood," and all the changes rung on 
 Cavalier, Norman, or Roman ancestry. The Slavic Greeks 
 of Athens call themselves " Hellenes," and Theodore of 
 Abyssinia claimed a direct descent from Solomon. Gari- 
 baldi might have become purely Italian in name, as Duca 
 di Calatafimi, if he had chosen. His refusal was scarcely a 
 virtue, because the offer of the title was no temptation. 
 
 The strait opening eastward to the sea was not wholly in 
 sight from the Guardia Vecchia, but we saw enough of it to 
 enable us to track the path of Garibaldi's escape, the previ- 
 ous October. An intervening point hid the cove of Stag- 
 natello, where he embarked in his little boat called " The 
 Snipe " (beccacino) : yet its position was shown by the Punta 
 dell' Arcaccio beyond. On the Maddalena shore we saw 
 the gardens and cottage of the English lady, the " Hermit- 
 ess of La Moneta," who received him after his passage of 
 the strait, and concealed him the following day. While he 
 was thus concealed, he wrote an account of the adventure 
 for his daughter Teresa, yet so evidently with an eye to its 
 future publication, that its style unconsciously reflects the 
 vein of vanity which runs through his character. Before 
 leaving his imprisonment at Varignano, he gave permission 
 to the Frau von S , an intimate friend, to publish a
 
 440 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 German translation, from which I take the chief part of 
 the narrative The Italian original has not yet been pub- 
 lished. 
 
 Garibaldi, who speaks of himself in the third person, 
 as " The Solitary," left his house on the evening of the 14th 
 of October (1867), accompanied by two friends, Frosci- 
 anti and Barberini, and a boatman whom he calls Gio- 
 vanni. They descended through the valley of the Fontanac- 
 cia to the cove of Stagnatello, off which, in the strait, the 
 Italian war-steamers lay at anchor. What followed must 
 be given in his own words : 
 
 '' Having reached the wall " (at the bottom of the culti- 
 vated fields of the Fontanaccia), " the Solitary took off his 
 poncho, and exchanged his white hat for a cap of his son, 
 Menotti. He gave the garments, which he had removed, 
 to Barberini, and after he had convinced himself that 
 there was no one on the other side of the wall, he climbed 
 upon it, and sprang down, with an astonishing activity. 
 
 " A memory of his adventurous youth inspired him, and 
 he felt himself twenty years younger. Besides, were not 
 his sons and his companions in arms already fighting 
 the mercenaries of the priestly power? Could he keep 
 quiet? content himself with the pruning of his trees, and 
 lead the shameful life of the moderati? When the Sol- 
 itary was fortunately over the wall, he said to Barberini : 
 ' It is still too bright ; we will wait a little while here, and 
 smoke half a cigar.' Thereupon he drew a match-box 
 it was a treasured souvenir of the amiable Lady S. out 
 of his left pocket, used it, and then offered his lighted 
 ' cavour ' to his companion, who had a cigarette in readi- 
 ness. The Solitary is accustomed to cut these long, 
 black Tuscan cigars through the middle, and only smoke 
 half a one at a time. 
 
 " Soon the nightly shadows began to obscure the atmos- 
 ohere, but in the east a faint gleam made itself seen as the 
 Herald of the approaching queen of night
 
 THE ISLAND OF MADI AJLENA. 441 
 
 " ' Within three-quarters of an hour the moon will have 
 risen behind the mountains,' remarked the Solitary ; ' we 
 dare not longer delay.' 
 
 " Both men arose and betook themselves to the little 
 harbor. Giovanni was there at his post, and with his and 
 Barberini's help, the beccacino was soon launched upon the 
 water. This is our smallest boat, designed for duck-shoot- 
 ing, and so flat that the one person who- has room therein 
 must lie upon the bottom and propel it with a paddle. In 
 a moment the Solitary took his place, lying flat upon his 
 poncho. After Giovanni had pushed the light vessel into 
 the sea, and convinced himself that everything was prop- 
 erly arranged, he himself got into the becca, a boat built 
 exactly like the beccacino, only of greater dimensions, and 
 rowed, singing loudly, in the direction of the yacht 
 
 " ' Halt ! who goes there ? ' called out the marines of the 
 war-vessels, degraded to alguazik, to police-servants, hail- 
 ing the boat of the Sardinian, who, meanwhile, did not 
 allow himself to be disturbed either in his song or his jour- 
 ney. 
 
 " But when a third challenge came to his ears he an- 
 swered : ' I am going on board ! ' for, however without re- 
 sult the musket-shots might be in the darkness, they never 
 fail to strike an inexperienced man with terror. The Sol- 
 itary, now propelling his beccacino with strokes, now with a 
 small paddle, as is customary with the American canoes, 
 followed his course along the shore of Paviano, between 
 the cove of Stagnatello and the cape of Arcaccio ; and 
 verily the humming-bird, fluttering around the fragrant 
 flowers of the torrid zone, and sipping their honey in 
 the manner of the industrious bee, is more noisy than was 
 the light beccacino, as it rapidly shot over the bosom 
 of the Tyrrhene sea. Arrived at the Punta dell' Arcac- 
 cio, the Solitary recognized the faithful Froscianti among 
 the lofty masses of stone. 'Nothing new as far as the 
 rocks of Arcaccio,' whispered the latter from a distance.
 
 44 2 BY-WAYS 01 
 
 Then I am safe ! ' replied the Solitary, directing hi* 
 boat with increasing swiftness past the steep cliffs, un- 
 til he reached a point whence he could see the little Rab- 
 bit Isle (the southernmost of three which inclose the 
 harbor of Stagnatello) and then struck out boldly on the 
 sea, in a northwestern direction. 
 
 " As the Solitary perceived how fast the moonlight in- 
 creased, he paddled more rapidly, and, driven by the si- 
 rocco, his boat passed the Strait de la Moneta with a swift- 
 ness which a steamer might have envied. 
 
 " By moonlight and seen at a certain distance, each rock 
 rising out of the sea more or less resembles a vessel, and 
 since the commander of the Ratazzi squadron had laid a 
 requisition upon all the barks of Maddalena in order to 
 increase the number of boats with which he besieged 
 Caprera, it appeared as if the little archipelago of Moneta 
 swarmed with shallops and boats, all for the purpose of hin- 
 dering one man in the performance of his duty. 
 
 " As soon as the Solitary had reached the little island of 
 Giardinelli, off the northeastern coast of Maddalena, he 
 turned the beccacino into the labyrinth of rocky reefs, 
 which lift themselves like a bulwark along the shore, and 
 from out this secure concealment he sharply inspected the 
 coast, stretching before him in the light of the moon. 
 
 " When the Solitary found himself near the island of 
 Giardinelli, he saw that there were three different ways by 
 which he could reach the channel separating it from Mad- 
 dalena : by water, paddling around it either on the northern 
 or the southern side, or by landing and crossing the island 
 on foot. After full consideration, he determined to try the 
 latter plan. 
 
 " Whether it was owing to the skill of the boatman of the 
 beccacino, or the neglect of the unsuspicious, sleeping senti- 
 nels, I will not discuss ; but this is certain, that the Sol- 
 itary landed upon Giardinelli, not only with a whole skin, 
 but without being disturbed by a single ' Who goes thore ? '
 
 THE ISLAND OF MADDALENA. 44S 
 
 Yet he had scarcely hauled his skiff ashore before he noticed 
 that there were many impediments in his way to the chan 
 ael ; since the island, which serves as a pasture to the cat- 
 tle of Maddalena, is divided into several fields, all of which 
 are inclosed by high walls, covered with thorny shrubs. 
 
 " When, after many detours and much break-neck climb- 
 ing, the Solitary was about to pass the last of these walls, 
 he imagined that he saw on the other side a row of crouch- 
 ing sailors. If this were no optical delusion, it would not 
 have surprised him in the least, since it had been reported 
 to him on Caprera, that several seamen and soldiers had 
 landed on the island in the course of the day. The loss 
 of time, which this circumstance occasioned to the Solitary 
 explained also to him, why two of his friends, whom he 
 should have found near the channel, were not at their 
 posts. 
 
 " It was not until ten o'clock, and after he had looked 
 very sharply about him, that the Solitary undertook to cross 
 the shallow arm of the sea which divides Giardinelli from 
 Maddalena. He had not taken ten steps when loud calls 
 from the watching war-vessels, accompanied with musket- 
 shots, were heard but this did not disconcert the Solitary 
 in his zealous passage through the salt flood. He soon had 
 the critical passage behind him, and set foot upon Madda- 
 lena. But a very fatiguing way was still before him, for 
 his boots, filled with water, creaked and incommoded him 
 on the uneven ground. 
 
 " When, finally, the sight of the house of Mrs. C. 
 showed the Solitary the vicinity of a hospitable refuge, he 
 strode more cautiously forward, through fear that the villa 
 might be surrounded by spies ; and only when a cloud 
 covered the moon, did he dare to knock lightly upon one 
 of the windows with his Scotch stick. Mrs. C., however, 
 had had faith in the Solitary's lucky star. Advised in ad- 
 vance of his plan, she had been keenly listening to his foot- 
 steps, so that at the first tap on the window, she hurried
 
 444 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 from the door, and welcomed her old neighbor with hei 
 accustomed gracious smile." 
 
 O 
 
 All the next day Garibaldi remained concealed in the 
 English lady's cottage. The following night he crossed 
 from the northern shore of Maddalena to Sardinia, where 
 his friends had a sloop in readiness. In three or four days 
 more he was in Tuscany, and the Italian Government was 
 astounded at his appearance in Florence before his escape 
 from Caprera had been discovered by the blockading 
 squadron. 
 
 While upon the rocky summits of Maddalena, we made 
 search for the former dwellings of the inhabitants, but be- 
 came bewildered in the granite labyrinth, and failed to find 
 them. The present village on the shore owes its existence 
 to Nelson. Previous to his day those waters were swept by 
 Barbary corsairs, and the people of the island, being with- 
 out protection, lived almost like troglodytes, in rude hovels 
 constructed among the rocks. Nelson, while in the Med- 
 iterranean, at the end of the last century, made Maddalena 
 one of his stations, and encouraged the inhabitants to come 
 forth from their hiding-places. On the altar of the church 
 in the town which they then began to build there are still 
 the silver candlesticks which he presented. This, and 
 Napoleon's previous attempt to gain possession of the 
 island, are the two incidents which connect Maddalena 
 with history. 
 
 We made a few other scrambles during our stay, but they 
 simply repeated the barren pictures we already knew by 
 heart. Although, little by little, an interest in the island 
 was awakened, the day which was to bring the steamer from 
 Porto Torres was hailed by us almost as a festival. But 
 the comedy (for such it began to seem) was not yet at an 
 end. 1 had procured the return tickets to Leghorn, and 
 was standing in Remigia's door, watching tne pensioners as 
 they dozed in the shade, when two figures appeared at the 
 end of the little street. One was Painted-Eyes, the makei
 
 THE ISLAND OF MADDALENA 445 
 
 of salves, and I was edified by seeing him suddenly turn 
 when he perceived me, and retrace his steps. The other, 
 who came forward, proved to be one of Garibaldi's strnich- 
 est veterans, a man who had been in his service twenty- 
 five years, in Montevideo, Rome, America, China, and 
 finally in the Tyrol. 
 
 " Where is the man who was with you ? " I asked. 
 
 " He was coming to the locanda," said he ; " but when 
 he saw you, he left ine without explaining why." 
 
 The veteran knew so much of what had happened that 
 I told him the rest. He was no less grieved than sur- 
 prised. His general, he said, had never acted so before ; 
 he had never refused to see any stranger, even though he 
 came without letters, and he was at a loss to account for it. 
 
 There was a stir among the idlers on the quay ; a thread 
 of smoke arose above the rocky point to the westward, and 
 welcome sight ! the steamer swept up and anchored 
 in the roadstead. La Remigia, who had been unremitting 
 in her attentions, presented a modest bill, shook hands 
 with us heartily, and Red-head, who was in waiting with 
 his boat, carried us speedily on board. The steamer was 
 not to leave for two hours more, but now the certainty of 
 escape was a consolation. The few islanders we had 
 known parted from us like friends, and even the boatman 
 returned to the deck on purpose to shake hands, and wish 
 us a pleasant voyage. I found myself softening towards 
 Maddalena, after all. 
 
 In one of the last boats came the same Occhipinti again, 
 accompanied by Guztnaroli, the ex-priest. The former 
 was bound for Leghorn, and the prospect of having him 
 for a fellow-passenger was not agreeable. He avoided 
 meeting us, went below, and kept very quiet during the 
 passage. I felt sure, although the supposition was dispar- 
 aging to Garibaldi, that this man was partly responsible 
 for the answer I had received.
 
 446 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 A fresh breeze blew through the Strait of Bonifacio, ai < 
 we soon lost sight of the rocks which had been the scene 
 of our three days' Robinsoniad. The only other passen- 
 ger, by a singular coincidence, proved to be " the Hermit- 
 ess of La Moneta," as she is called on Maddalena, the 
 widow of the gentleman who sold Caprera to Garibaldi, 
 and herself one of the General's most trusted friends. 
 Through her, the island acquired a new interest. In the 
 outmost house on the spur which forms the harbor lay an 
 English captain, eighty years old, and ill ; in the sterile glen 
 to the north lived another Englishman alone among his 
 books and rare pictures ; and under a great rock, two miles 
 to the eastward, was a lonely cottage, opposite Caprera, 
 where this lady has lived for thirty years. 
 
 In the- long twilight, as the coast of Corsica sped by, we 
 heard the story of those thirty years. They had not dulled 
 the keen, clear intellect of the lady, nor made less warm 
 one human feeling in her large heart. We heard of trav- 
 els in Corsica on horseback nearly forty years ago ; of 
 lunching with bandits in the mountains ; of fording the 
 floods and sleeping in the caves of Sardinia ; of farm-life 
 (if it can be so called) on Caprera, and of twenty years 
 passed in the cottage of. La Moneta, without even a jour- 
 ney to the fishing-village. Then came other confidences, 
 which must not be repeated, but as romantic as anything 
 in the stories of the Middle Ages yet in all, there was 
 no trace of morbid feeling, of unused affection, of regret 
 for the years that seemed lost to us. Verily, though these 
 words should reach her eyes, I must say, since the chances 
 of life will scarcely bring us together again, that the fresh- 
 ness and sweetness with which she had preserved so many 
 noble womanly qualities in solitude, was to me a cheering 
 revelation of the innate excellence of human nature. 
 
 " Yet," she said, at the close, " I would never advise any 
 one to attempt the life I have led. Such a seclusion is 
 neither natural nor healthy. One may read, and one may
 
 THE ISLAND OF MADDALENA. 447 
 
 think ; but the knowledge lies in one's mind like an inert 
 mass, and only becomes vital when it is actively communi- 
 cated or compared. This mental inertness or deadness is 
 even harder to bear than the absence of society. But 
 there always comes a time when we need the face of a 
 friend the time that comes to all. No, it is not good to 
 be alone." 
 
 After all, we had not come to Maddalena in vain. We 
 had made the acquaintance of a rare and estimable nature 
 
 which is always a lasting gain, in the renewed faith it 
 awakens. The journey, which had seemed so wearisome 
 in anticipation, came rapidly to an end, and there was 
 scarcely a regret left for Caprera when we parted with the 
 Hermitess of Maddalena at Leghorn, the next afternoon. 
 A few days afterwards she sent me the original manuscript 
 of Garibaldi's " Hymn to the Romans," which he had pre- 
 sented to her. I shall value it as much for the giver's, as 
 for the writer's sake. 
 
 Our friends in Florence received the news of our adven- 
 ture with astonishment and mortification ; but, up to the 
 time of this present writing, the matter remains a mystery. 
 One conjecture was made, yet it seemed scarcely credible, 
 
 that Garibaldi was getting up a new expedition against 
 Rome. 
 
 A short time after my trip to Maddalena, a German 
 professor of note, who had a special interest in communi- 
 cating personally with Garibaldi, made the journey from 
 Germany for that solo purpose, and was similarly repelled.
 
 IN THE TEUTOBURGER FOREST.
 
 No part of Germany is so monotonous and unlovely aa 
 that plain which the receding waves of the North Sea left 
 behind them. The stranger who lands at Bremen or 
 Hamburg enters upon a dead, sandy level, where fields of 
 lean and starveling cereals interchange with heathery moor- 
 lands and woods of dwarfish pine. Each squat, ugly farm- 
 house looks as lonely as if there were no others in sight ; 
 the villages are collections of similar houses, huddled 
 around a church-tower so thick and massive that it seems 
 to be the lookout of a fortress. The patient industry of 
 the people is here manifested in its plainest and sturdiest 
 forms, and one cannot look for the external embellish- 
 ments of life, where life itself is so much of an achieve- 
 ment. 
 
 As we advance southward the scenery slowly improves. 
 The soil deepens and the trees rise ; the purple heather 
 clings only to the occasional sandy ridges, between which 
 greenest meadows gladden our eyes. Groves of oak make 
 their appearance ; brooks wind and sparkle among alder 
 thickets; the low undulations swell into broad, gently 
 rounded hills, and at last there is a wavy blue line along 
 the horizon. If you are travelling from Hanover to Min- 
 den, some one will point out a notch, or gap, in that rising 
 mountain outline, and tell you that it is the Porta West- 
 phalica the gateway by which the river Weser issues 
 from the Teutoburger Forest 
 
 I had already explored nearly every nook of Middle 
 Germany, from the Hartz to the Odenwald ; yet this the 
 storied ground of the race was still an unknown region. 
 Although so accessible, especially from the celebrated
 
 4f)2 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 watering-place of Pyrmont, whence any of its many points 
 of interest may be reached in a day's drive, I found little 
 about it in the guide-books, and less in books of travel. 
 Yet here, one may say, is the starting-point of German 
 history. Hermann and Wittekind are the two great rep- 
 resentatives of the race, in its struggles against Roman 
 and Christian civilization ; and the fact that it adopted both 
 the one and the other, and through them developed into 
 its later eminence, does not lessen the value of those 
 names. Indeed, the power of resistance measures the 
 power of acceptance and assimilation. 
 
 It was harvest-time as I sped by rail towards Minden, 
 along the northern base of the mountains. Weeks of 
 drought and heat had forced the fields into premature ripe- 
 ness, and the lush green meadows were already waiting 
 for the aftermath. About Biickeburg the rye-fields were 
 full of reapers, in an almost extinct costume, the men 
 in heavy fur caps, loose white over-shirts, and boots reach- 
 ing to the knee ; the women with black head-dress, bodice, 
 and bright scarlet petticoat. These tints of white, scarlet, 
 and black shone splendidly among the sheaves, and the 
 pictures I saw made me keenly regret that progress has 
 rendered mankind so Commonplace in costume. When I 
 first tramped through Germany, in 1845, every province 
 had its distinctive dress, and the stamp of the country 
 people was impressed upon the landscapes of their homes ; 
 but now a great leveling wave has swept over the country, 
 washing out all these picturesque characteristics, and leav- 
 ing the universal modern commonplace in their stead. If 
 the latter were graceful, or cheap, or practically conven- 
 ient, we might accept the change ; but it is none of these. 
 Fashion has at last combined ugliness and discomfort in 
 our clothing, and the human race is satisfied. 
 
 Soon after leaving Minden the road bends sharply south- 
 wards, and enters the Porta West phalica a break in the 
 Weser mountains which is abrupt and lofty enough to pos-
 
 IF THE TEUTOBURGER FOREST. 458 
 
 sess a certain grandeur. The eastern bank rises from the 
 water in a broken, rocky wall to the height of near five 
 hundred feet ; the western slants sufficiently to allow foot- 
 hold for trees, and its summit is two hundred feet higher. 
 The latter is called " Wittekind's Mount," from a tradition 
 that the famous Saxon king once had a fortress upon it 
 Somewhere in the valley which lies within this Westpha- 
 lian Gate is the scene of the last battle between Hermann 
 and Germanicus. Although the field of action of both 
 these leaders extended over the greater part of Northern 
 Germany, the chief events which decided their fortunes 
 took place within the narrow circle of these mountains. 
 
 I passed through Oeynhausen, a bright, cheerful wa- 
 tering-place, named after the enterprising baron who drove 
 an artesian shaft to the depth of two thousand feet, and 
 brought a rich saline stream to the surface, and at Her- 
 ford, the next station, left the line of rail. I looked in 
 vain for the towers of Enger, a league or so to the west, 
 where Wittekind died as a Christian prince, and where his 
 bones still rest. Before turning aside for Detmold and the 
 hills of the Teutoburger Forest, let me very briefly recall 
 the career of that spiritual successor of Hermann. 
 
 Nothing certain is known of Wittekind's descent or early 
 history. We first hear of -him as one of the leaders of the 
 Saxons in the invasion of Westphalia, which they under- 
 took in the year 774, while Charlemagne was occupied in 
 subduing the Lombards. Three years later, when this 
 movement was suppressed and the greater part of the 
 Saxon chiefs took the oath of fidelity to the Emperor at 
 Paderborn, Wittekind fled to the court of his brother-in- 
 law, King Siegfried of Jutland. He returned in 778, while 
 Charlemagne was in Spain, driving back the Saracens, 
 and devastated the lands of the Rhine. After carrying on 
 the war with varying success for four years, he finally sur- 
 prised and almost annihilated the Frank army at the Siin- 
 telberg, not far from Hameln, on the Weser. Enraged at
 
 454 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 his defeat, Charlemagne took a horrible revenge : he exe 
 cuted forty-five hundred Saxons, who were in his hands 
 All the tribes rose in revolt, acknowledged Wittekind m 
 their king, and for three years more continued the desper- 
 ate struggle, the end of which was a compromise. Witte- 
 kind received Christian baptism, was made duke of Saxony, 
 and, according to tradition, governed the people twenty 
 years longer, from his seat at Enger, as a just and humane 
 prince. The Emperor Karl IV. there built him a monu- 
 ment in the year 1377. 
 
 At Herford I took my place in the diligence for Det- 
 mold, with a horse-dealer for company on the way. It wa? 
 a journey of three hours, through a very pleasant and 
 beautiful country, lying broad and warm in the shelter 
 of circling mountains, veined with clear, many-branched 
 streams, and wooded with scattered groves of oak and 
 beech. If there was any prominent feature of the scenery, 
 as distinguished from that of other parts of Germany, it 
 was these groves, dividing the bright meadows and the gol- 
 den slopes of harvest, with their dark, rounded masses of 
 foliage, as in the midland landscapes of England. The 
 hills to the south, entirely clothed with forests, increased 
 in height as we fo'xwed their course in a parallel line, and 
 long before we reached Detmold I saw the monument to 
 Hermann, crowning the Grotenburg, a summit more than 
 a thousand feet above the valley. 
 
 The little capital was holding its annual horse-fair, yet I 
 had no trouble in finding lodgings at one of its three inns, 
 and should have thought the streets deserted if I had not 
 been told that they were unusually lively. The princi- 
 pality of Lippe has a population of a little more than a 
 hundred thousand, yet none of the appurtenances of a 
 court and state are wanting. There is an old ancestral 
 castle, a modern palace, a theatre, barracks and govern- 
 ment buildings not so large as in Berlin, to be sure, 
 but just as important in the eyes of the people. A stream
 
 tN THE TEUTOBUEGER FOREST. 45f 
 
 which comes down from the mountains feeds a broad, still 
 moat, encompassing three sides of the old castle and park 
 beyond which the fairest meadows stretch away to the set- 
 ting sun. Ducks and geese on the water, children pad- 
 dling in the shallows, cows coming home from the pastures, 
 and men and women carrying hay or vegetables, suggested 
 a quiet country village rather than a stately residmz ; but 
 I was very careful not to say so to any Detmolder. The 
 repose and seclusion of the place took hold of my fancy : 
 I walked back and forth, through the same streets and lin 
 den-shaded avenues in the long summer evening, finding 
 idyls at every turn ; but alas ! they floated formlessly by 
 and faded in the sunset. 
 
 Detmold is the birthplace of the poet Freiligrath, and I 
 went into the two bookstores to see if they kept his poems 
 which they did not Fifty years hence, perhaps, they 
 will have a statue of him. As I sat in my lonely room at 
 the inn, waiting for bedtime, my thoughts went back to 
 that morning by the lake of Zurich, when I first met the 
 banished poet ; to pleasant evenings at his house in Hack- 
 ney ; and to the triumphant reception which, at Cologne, a 
 few days before, had welcomed him back to Germany. 
 This was the end of twenty-three years of exile, the be- 
 ginning of which I remembered. Noble, unselfish, and 
 consistent as his political course had been, had he followed 
 it to his detriment as a poet, or had he bridged the gulf 
 which separates the Muses from party conflicts? That was 
 t.he question, and it was not so easy to resolve. Poesy will 
 theer as a friend, but she will not serve. She will not be 
 driven from that broad field of humanity, wherein the noise 
 of parties is swallowed up, and the colors of their banners 
 are scarcely to be distinguished. Freiligrath has written 
 the best political poems in the German language, and his 
 life has been the brilliant illustration of his principles ; yet 
 I doubt whether %i The Dead to the Living "w 11 outlive 
 the " Lion-Ride."
 
 456 BY-WAY& Of EUROPE. 
 
 1 picked up, however, a. description of the Teutoburger 
 Forest, written by the Cantor Sauerlander of Detmold 
 a little book which no one but a full-blooded Teuton could 
 have written. Fatiguingly minute, conscientious to the last 
 degree, overflowing with love for the subject, exhaustive 
 on all points, whether important or not, the style or, 
 rather, utter lack of style so placed the unsuspecting au- 
 thor before the reader's mind, that it was impossible to 
 mistake him, a mild, industrious, harmless egotist, who 
 talks on and on, and never once heeds whether you are 
 listening to his chatter. 
 
 I took him with me, but engaged, in addition, a young 
 gardener of the town, and we set out in the bright, hot 
 morning. My plan for the day embraced the monument 
 to Hermann on the Grotenburg, the conjectured field of 
 the defeat of Varus, and the celebrated Extern Rocks. 
 Cool paths through groves of oak led from the town to the 
 foot of the mountain, having reached which I took out the 
 Cantor, and read : ' From this point to the near forest the 
 foot-path mounts by a very palpable grade, wherefore the 
 wanderer will find himself somewhat fatigued, besides suf- 
 fering (frequently) from the burning rays of the sun, 
 against which, however, it is possible to screen one's self 
 by an umbrella, for which reason I would venture to sug- 
 gest a moderate gait, and observant pauses at various 
 points ! " Verily, if his book had been specially prepared 
 for the reigning prince, Paul Friedrich Emil Leopold, he 
 could not have been more considerate. 
 
 The fatiguing passage, nevertheless, was surmounted in 
 ten minutes, and thenceforth we were in the shade of the 
 forest At about two thirds of the height the path came 
 upon a Hunenring, or Druid circle, one of the largest in Ger- 
 many. Jt is nearly five hundred feet in diameter, with 
 openings on the north and south, and the walls of rough 
 stones are in some places twenty feet high. Large trees 
 are growing upon them. There was another and greatef
 
 IN THE TEUTOBURGER FOREST. 457 
 
 ring around the crest of the mountain, but it has been 
 thrown down and almost obliterated. German antiquari- 
 ans consider these remains as a sufficient evidence to prove 
 that this is the genuine Teutoburg, the fortress of Teut, 
 or Tuisco, the chief personage of the original Teutonic 
 mythology. They also derive the name of Detmold from 
 " laea malle," the place of Teut. There can be no doubt 
 as to the character of the circles, or their great antiquity ; 
 and, moreover, to locate the Teutoburg here explains the 
 desperate resistance of the tribes of this region both to 
 Rome and to Charlemagne. 
 
 Near the summit I found some traces of the greater 
 circle, many of the stones of which were used, very appro- 
 priately, for the foundation of the monument to Hermann. 
 This structure stands in an open, grassy space, inclosed 
 by a young growth of fir-trees. It is still incomplete ; but 
 we, who long ago stopped work on the colossal Washing- 
 ton obelisk, have no right to reproach the German people. 
 Thirty years ago the Bavarian sculptor Von Bandel exhib- 
 ited the design of a statue to Hermann. The idea ap- 
 pealed to that longing for German unity the realization of 
 which seemed then so far distant ; societies were formed, 
 collecti?ns made, fairs held for the object, and the temple- 
 shaped pedestal, commenced in 1841, was finished in 
 1846, at a cost of forty thousand thalers. The colossal 
 statue which should crown it demanded an equal sum 
 two thirds of which, I am told, has been contributed. 
 Parts of the figure have been already cast, and the 
 sculptor, no\v nearly seventy years old, still hopes to see 
 the dream of his life fulfilled. But the impression has 
 gone abroad that the strength of the winds, sweeping un- 
 checkc.. from the Rhine and from Norway across the 
 Northern Sea, is so great upon this Teutoburger height, 
 that the statue would probably be thrown down, if erected. 
 A committee of architects and engineers has declared that, 
 with proper anchorage, the figure will stand ; yet the con- 
 tributions have ceased.
 
 458 BY-WAYS OF El, ROPE. 
 
 The design of the temple-base is very simple and 
 sive. On a circular foundation, sixty feet in diameter bj 
 eleven in height, stands a structure composed of tei clus- 
 tered pillars, connected by pointed arches, the outer spana 
 of which are cut to represent stems of oak, while heavy 
 garlands of oak-leaves are set in the triangular interspaces. 
 The first rude beginning of Gothic art is here suggested, 
 not as a growth from the Byzantine and Saracenic schools, 
 but as an autochthonous product Over the cornice, which is 
 fifty feet above the base, rises a solid hemisphere of ma- 
 sonry, terminating in a ring twenty-five feet in diameter, 
 which is to receive the metal base of the colossus. The 
 latter will be ninety feet in height to the point of the 
 sword, making the entire height of the monument a hun- 
 dred and eighty-two feet. 
 
 I mounted to the summit, and looked over the tops of 
 the forest upon a broad and beautiful panoramic ring of 
 landscape. The well-wooded mountains of the region 
 divided the rich valleys and harvest lands which they 
 inclosed. On all sides except the west they melted away 
 in the summer haze; there, they sank into the tawny 
 Westphalian plain, once the land of marshes, traversed 
 by the legions of Varus. While yonder, beyond the ring 
 of the forest sacred to Teut, the fields were withering 
 and the crops wasting in the sun, here they gave their 
 fullest bounty ; here the streams were full, the meadows 
 green, and the land laughed with its abundance. From 
 this point I overlooked all the great battle-fields of Her- 
 mann and Wittekind. The mountains do not constitute, as 
 1 had supposed, a natural stronghold ; but in their heart 
 lies the warmest and most fertile region of Northern Ger- 
 
 O 
 
 many. 
 
 In the neighboring hostelry there is a plaster model of 
 the waiting statue. Hermann, with the winged helmet 
 upon his head, and clad in a close leathern coat reaching 
 uearly to the knee, is represented as addressing his war-
 
 IN THE TEUTOBUBGER FOBFST. 459 
 
 riors. The action of the uplifted arm is good, but the left 
 hand rests rather idly upon the shield, instead of uncon- 
 sciously repeating in the grip of the fingers the energy of 
 the rest of the figure. The face ideal, of course is 
 quite as much Roman as Teuton, the nose being aquiline, 
 the eyebrows straight, and the lips very clearly and regu- 
 larly cut. To me the physiognomy would indicate dark hair 
 and beard. I found the body somewhat heavy and un- 
 graceful ; but as it was to be seen from below, and in very 
 different dimensions, the effect may be all that is de- 
 signed. 
 
 In the Hall of Busts in the Museum of the Capitol, in 
 Borne, there is a head which has recently attracted the 
 interest of German archaeologists. It stands alone among 
 the severe Roman and the exquisitely balanced Grecian 
 heads, like a genial phenomenon of character totally distinct 
 from theirs. When I stood before it, a little puzzled, and 
 wondering at the absurd label of " CECROPS ? " affixed to 
 the pedestal, I had not learned the grounds for conjectur- 
 ing that it may be a portrait of him whom Tacitus calls 
 Arminius ; yet I felt that here was a hero, of whom history 
 must have some knowledge. It is certainly a blonde head, 
 with abundant locks, a beard sprouting thinly and later than 
 in the South, strong cheek-bones, a nose straight but not 
 Grecian, and lips which somehow express good fellowship, 
 vanity, and the habit of command. The sculptor Bandel 
 made a great mistake in not boldly accepting the conjec- 
 ture as fact, and giving Hermann this head. Dr. Emil 
 Braun considers that it is undoubtedly u bust of one of 
 the young German chiefs who were educated at the court 
 of Augustus ; and he adds, very truly, " If this can be 
 proven, it will be of great importance as a testimony of 
 the intellectual development of the German race, even in 
 those early times." 
 
 Hermann, who was born in the year 16s. c., must have 
 gone to Rome as a boy, during the campaigns of Drusus
 
 460 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 and Tiberius in Northern Germany. He became not only 
 a citizen, but a Roman knight, was intrusted with the com 
 nnuid of a German legion, and fought in Pannonia. He 
 acquired the Latin tongue, and acquainted himself with 
 the military and civil science of the Romans. Had the 
 wise and cautious policy of Tiberius been followed, he 
 might have died as a Consul of the Empire ; but the 
 brutal rule of Varus provoked the tribes to resistance, and 
 Hermann became a German again. He turned against 
 Rome the tactics he had learned in her service, enticed 
 Varus away from the fortified line of the Rhine, across the 
 marshes of the Lippe, and on the southern slope of the 
 Teutoburger Forest, in a three days' battle fought amid 
 the autumn storms, annihilated the Roman army of fitly 
 thousand men. Well might the Imperial city tremble, and 
 the old Augustus cry out to the shade of the slain com- 
 mander, " Varus, Varus, give me back my legions ! " 
 
 For five years the sovereignty of Hermann and the in- 
 dependence of his people were not disturbed. But after 
 the death of Augustus, in the year 14 A. D., Germanicus 
 determined to restore the prestige of the Roman arms. 
 In the mean time Hermann had married Thusnelda, 
 daughter of Segestus, another chief of the Cheruski, who 
 had reclaimed her by force in consequence of a quarrel, 
 and was then besieged by his son-in-law. Segestus called 
 the Romans to his aid, and delivered Thusnelda into their 
 hands to grace, two years later, the triumph decreed to 
 Germanicus. Hermann, infuriated by the loss of a wife 
 whom he loved, summoned the tribes to war, and the 
 Roman commander collected an army of eighty thousand 
 men. The latter succeeded in burying the bones of Varus 
 and his legions, and was then driven back with great loss. 
 Returning in the year 16 with a still larger army, he met 
 the undaunted Hermann on the Weser, near Hameln. 
 The terrible battle fought there, and a second near the 
 P&rta Westphalioaj were claimed as victories by the
 
 IN THE TEUTOBURGER FOREST. 461 
 
 Romans, yet were followed by a retreat to the fortresses 
 on the Rhine. Gerrnanicus was preparing a third cam- 
 paign when he was recalled by the jealous Tiberius. The 
 Romans never again penetrated into this part of Germany. 
 
 Hermann might have founded a nation but for the fierce 
 jealousy of the other chieftains of his race. He was vic- 
 torious in the civil wars which ensued, but was waylaid and 
 murdered by members of his own family in the year 21. 
 His short life of thirty-seven years is an unbroken story 
 of heroism. Even Tacitus, to whom we are indebted for 
 these particulars, says of him : " He was undoubtedly the 
 liberator of Germany, having dared to grapple with the 
 Roman power, not in its beginnings, like other kings and 
 commanders, but in the maturity of its strength. He was 
 not always victorious in battle, but in war he was never 
 subdued. He still lives in the songs of the Barbarians, 
 unknown to the annals of the Greeks, who only admire 
 that which belongs to themselves nor celebrated as he 
 deserves by the Romans, who, in praising the olden times, 
 neglect the events of the later years." 
 
 Leaving the monument, my path followed the crest of 
 the mountain for two or three miles, under a continuous roof 
 of beech. Between the smooth, clean boles I looked down 
 upon the hot and shining valley, where the leaves hung 
 motionless on the trees, but up on the shaded ridge of the 
 hills there was a steady, grateful breeze. The gardener 
 was not a very skillful guide, and only brought me to the 
 Winnefeld (Winfield) after a roundabout ramble. I found 
 myself at the head of a long, bare slope, falling to the 
 southwest, where it terminated in three dells, divided by 
 spurs of the range. The town of Lippspringe, in the dis- 
 tance, marked the site of the fountains mentioned by Taci- 
 itus. The Winnefeld lies on the course which an army 
 would take, marching from those springs to assault the 
 Teutobur, and the three dells, wooded then as now, would 
 
 O' 
 
 offer rare chances of ambuscade and attack. There is no
 
 6*2 6Y-WAYS OP EUROPE. 
 
 difficulty in here locating the defeat of Varus. That the 
 Teuton victory was not solely the result of Hermann's 
 military skill is proven by the desperate bravery with 
 which his warriors confronted the legions of Germanicus 
 five years later. 
 
 Standing upon this famous battle-field, one cannot but 
 recall the subsequent relations of Germany and Rome, 
 which not only determined the history of the Middle Ages, 
 but set in action many of the forces which shape the pres- 
 ent life of the world. The seat of power was transplanted, 
 it was exercised by another race, but its elements were not 
 changed. Hermann, a knight of Rome, learned in her 
 service how to resist her, and it was still the Roman mind 
 which governed Italy while she was a defiant dependency 
 of the German Empire. Charlemagne took up the un- 
 completed work of Germanicus, and was the true avenger 
 of Varus after nearly eight hundred years. The career of 
 Hermann, though so splendidly heroic, does not mark the 
 beginning of Germany; the race only began to develop 
 after its complete subjection to the laws and arts and ideas 
 of Rome. Thus the marvelous Empire triumphed at 
 last 
 
 I descended the bare and burning slopes of the moun- 
 tain into a little valley, plunged into a steep forest beyond, 
 and, after plodding wearily for an hour or more, found my- 
 self, as nearly as I could guess, on the banks of a brook 
 that descends to the town of Horn. The gardener seemed 
 at fault, yet insisted on leading me contrary to my instinct 
 of the proper course. We had not gone far, however, 
 when a mass of rock, rising like a square tower above the 
 wooded ridge to the eastward, signaled our destination ; 
 and my discomfited guide turned about silently, and made 
 towards it, I following, through thickets and across swamps, 
 until we reached the highway. 
 
 The Extern Rocks (Exlernsteine) have a double interest 
 for the traveller. They consist of five detached masses
 
 tK THE TEUTOBURGEiS FOREST. 468 
 
 of gray sandstone, one hundred and twenty-five feet in 
 height, irregularly square in form, and .vith diameter? 
 varying from thirty to fifty feet. They are planted on a 
 grassy slope, across the mouth of a glen opening from the 
 mountains. Only a few tough shrubs hang from the crev- 
 ices in their sides, but the birch-trees on the summits shoot 
 high into the air and print their sprinkled leaves on the 
 sky. The hills of the Teutoburger Forest are rounded and 
 cliffless, and the same formation, it is said, does not reap- 
 pear elsewhere. 
 
 In the base of the most northern of these rocks a chapel, 
 thirty-six feet long, has been hewn but when, or by 
 whom, are matters of conjecture. Some very imaginative 
 antiquaries insist that the Romans captured by Hermann 
 were here sacrificed to the pagan gods ; others find evi- 
 dence that the place was once dedicated to the worship of 
 Mithras (the sun) ; but the work must probably be ascribed 
 to the early Teutonic Christians. The rocks are first men- 
 tioned in a document of the year 1093. On the outer wall 
 of the chapel there is a tablet of sculpture, in high relief, 
 sixteen feet by twelve, which is undoubtedly the earliest 
 work of the kind in Germany. Its Byzantine character is 
 not to be mistaken, and, judging by the early Christian 
 sculptures and mosaics in Italy, it may be as old as the 
 ninth or tenth century. The tablet is in three compart- 
 ments, the lower one representing the Fall of Man, the 
 centre the Descent from the Cross, while at the top the 
 Almighty receives the soul of the Son in his arms, and 
 holds forth the Banner of the Cross. Although mutilated, 
 weather-beaten, and partly veiled in obscuring moss, the 
 pathos of the sculpture makes itself felt through all the 
 grotesqueness of its forms. Goethe, who saw it, says : 
 " The head of the sinking Saviour leans against the coun- 
 tenance of the mother, and is gently supported by her 
 hand a beautiful, reverent touch of expression which 
 we find in no other representation of the subject" Th
 
 464 BY-WAYS DF EUROPE. 
 
 drapery also, ihough stiff, has yet the simplicity and dig- 
 nity which we so rarely find in modern art 
 
 Two of the rocks may be ascended by means of winding 
 stairways cut in their sides. On the summit of the first 
 there is a level platform, with a stone table in the centre 
 probably the work of the monks, to whom the place 
 belonged in the Middle Ages. By climbing the central 
 rock, and crossing a bridge to the next, one reaches a 
 second chapel, eighteen feet in length, with a rock-altar at 
 the further end. It is singular that there is no record of 
 the origin of this remarkable work. We know that the 
 spirit of the Teutonic mythology lived long after the intro- 
 duction of Christianity, and the monks may have here 
 found and appropriated one of its sacred places. 
 
 By the time I reached the town of Horn, a mile or so 
 from the base of the mountains, I was too scorched and 
 weary to go further afoot, and, while waiting dinner in the 
 guests'-room of the inn, looked about for a means of con- 
 veyance. Three or four stout Phi-lister, drinking beer at 
 an adjoining table, were bound for Steinheim, which was 
 on my way ; and the landlord said, " An ' extra post' will 
 be expensive, but these gentlemen might make room for 
 you in their carriage." 
 
 They looked at each other and at me. " We are already 
 seven" said one, " and must be squeezed as it is." 
 
 " By no means," I replied to the landlord ; " get me an 
 extra post." 
 
 Both vehicles were ready at the same time. In the 
 meantime I had entered into conversation with one of the 
 party, a bright, cheerful young man, and told him that 
 I should be glad to have company on the way. 
 
 " Why did you engage an extra post ? " they all ex 
 claimed. " It is expensive! we are only Jive; you might 
 have gone with us, we could easily make room for 
 you!" 
 
 Yet, while making these exclamations, they picked out
 
 IN THE TEUTOBURGER FOREST. 465 
 
 the oldest and least companionable of their party, and 
 bundled him into my " expensive " carriage ! I never sa* 
 anything more coolly done. I had meant to have the 
 agreeable, not the stupid member, but was" caught, and 
 jould not help myself. However, I managed to extract a 
 little amusement from my companion as we went along. 
 He was a Detmolder, after confessing which he re- 
 marked, 
 
 " Now 1 knew where you came from before you had 
 spoken ten words." 
 
 Indeed ! Where, then ? " 
 
 Why, from Bielefeld ! " 
 
 My laughter satisfied the old fellow that he had guessed 
 correctly, and thenceforth he talked so much about Biele- 
 feld that it finally became impossible to conceal my igno- 
 rance of the place. I set him down in Steinheim, dis- 
 missed the extra post, and, as the evening was so bright 
 and balmy, determined to go another stage on foot. I had 
 a letter to a young nobleman, whose estate lay near a vil- 
 lage some four or five miles further on the road to Hoxter. 
 The small boy whom I took as guide was communicative ; 
 the scenery was of the sweetest pastoral character ; the 
 mellow light of sunset struck athwart the golden hills of 
 harvest, the lines of alder hedge, and the meadows of 
 winding streams, and I loitered along the road full of de- 
 light in the renewal of my old pedestrian freedom. 
 
 It was dusk when I reached the village. The one cot- 
 tage inn did not promise much comfort ; but the baron's 
 castle was beyond, and I was too tired to go further. The 
 landlord was a petty magistrate, evident!) one of the pillars 
 of the simple village society ; and he talked well and intel- 
 ligently, while his daughter cooked my supper. The bare 
 rooms were clean and orderly, and the night was so warm 
 that no harm was done when the huge globe of feathers 
 under which I was expected to sleep rolled off the bed and 
 lay upon the floor until morning. 
 30
 
 466 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 Sending my letter to the castle, I presently received word 
 that the young baron was absent from home, but that his 
 mother would receive me. As I emerged from the shad- 
 ows of the narrow village street into the breezeless, burning 
 air of the morning, the whole estate lay full and fair in 
 view a thousand acres of the finest harvest land, lying 
 in the lap of a bowl-shaped valley, beyond which rose a 
 wooded mountain range. In the centre of the landscape 
 a group of immemorial oaks and lindens hid the castle 
 from view, but a broad and stately linden avenue connected 
 it with the highway. There were scores of reapers in the 
 fields, and their dwellings, with the barns and stables, 
 almost formed a second village. The castle a square 
 mass of building, with a paved court-yard in the centre 
 was about three hundred years old ; but it had risen upon 
 the foundations of a much older edifice. 
 
 The baroness met me at the door with her two daugh- 
 ters, and ushered me into a spacious room, the ceiling of 
 which, low and traversed by huge beams of oak, was sup- 
 ported by a massive pillar in the centre. The bare oaken 
 floor was brightly polished ; a gallery of ancestral por- 
 traits decked the walls, but the furniture was modern and 
 luxurious. After a friendly scolding for not claiming the 
 castle's hospitality the night before, one of the daughters 
 brought refreshments, just as a Burgfraulein of the Middle 
 Ages might have done, except that she did not taste the 
 goblet of wine before offering it The ladies then con- 
 ducted me through a range of apartments, every one of 
 which contained some picturesque record of the past. The 
 old building was pervaded with a mellow atmosphere of 
 age and use ; although it was not the original seat of the 
 family, their own ancestral heirlooms had adapted them- 
 selves to its physiognomy, and seemed to continue its tradi- 
 tions. Just enough of modern taste was visible' to suggest 
 home comforts and conveniences ; all else seemed as old 
 as the Thirty Years' War.
 
 IK THE TEUTOBURGER FOBIST. 467 
 
 After inspecting the house, we issued upon the float 
 uunce a high bosky space resting on the outer wall of 
 the castle, and looking down upon the old moat, still par- 
 tially full of water. It was a labyrinth of "shady paths, of 
 arbors, with leaf-enframed windows opening towards the 
 mountains, and of open, sunny spaces rich with flowers. 
 The baroness called my attention to two splendid magno- 
 lia-trees, and a clump of the large Japanese polygonum. 
 " This," she said, pointing to the latter, " was given to my 
 husband by Dr. von Siebold, who brought it from Japan ; 
 the magnolias came from seeds planted forty years ago." 
 They were the most northern specimens of the trees I had 
 found upon the continent of Europe. But the oaks and 
 lindens around the castle were more wonderful than these 
 exotic growths. Each one was " a forest waving on a single 
 stem." 
 
 The young baron was not expected to return before the 
 evening, and I was obliged to continue my journey, though 
 every feature of the place wooed me to stay. " But at 
 least," urged the hostess, "you must visit my husband's 
 twin brother, who is still living at the old burg. We were 
 going to send for him to-day, and we will send you along.*' 
 This was a lift on my way ; and, moreover, it was a pleas- 
 ure to meet a gentleman of whom I had heard so much 
 
 o 
 
 a thinker, a man of scientific culture, and a poet, yet un- 
 known to the world in either of these characters. 
 
 The youngest daughter of the house made ready to ac- 
 company me, and presently a light open wagon, drawn by 
 a span of ponies, came to the door After my yesterday's 
 tramp in the forest it was a delightful change. The young 
 lady possessed as much intelligence as refinement, and with 
 her as a guide the rich scenery through which we passed 
 assumed a softer life, a more gracious sentiment. From 
 the ridge before us rose the lofty towers of a church at- 
 tached to an extinct monastery, the massive buildings of 
 which are now but half tenanted by some farmers ; on tbfl
 
 468 BY-WAYS OF EUROPE. 
 
 right a warm land of grain stretched away to the Teuto 
 burger Forest ; on the left, mountains clothed with beech 
 and oak basked in the sun. We passed the monastery, 
 crossed a wood, and dropped into a wild, lonely valley 
 among the hills. Here the Oldenburg, as it is called, al- 
 ready towered above us, perched upon the bluff edge of a 
 mountain cape. It was a single square mass of the brownest 
 masonry, seventy or eighty feet high, with a huge, steep, 
 and barn-like roof. It dominated alone over the beech 
 woods ; no other human habitation was in sight. 
 
 When we reached the summit, however, I found that 
 the old building was no longer tenanted. Behind it lay a 
 pond, around which were some buildings connected with the 
 estate, and my fair guide led the way to the further door 
 of a house in which the laboring people lived. She went 
 to seek her uncle, while I waited in a room so plainly fur- 
 nished that an American farmer would have apologized for 
 it. Presently I was summoned up stairs, where the old 
 baron caught me by both hands, and pressed me down into 
 his own arm-chair before it was possible to say a word. 
 His room was as simple as the first ; but books and water- 
 color drawings showed the tastes of its occupant. 
 
 It was truly the head of a poet upon which I looked. 
 Deep-set, spiritual eyes shone under an expansive brow, 
 over which fell some thin locks of silky gray hair; the 
 nose was straight and fine, with delicate, sensitive nostrils, 
 and there was a rare expression of sweetness and purity 
 in the lines of the mouth. It needed no second glance to 
 see that the old man was good and wise and noble and per- 
 fectly lovable. My impulse was to sit on a stool at his 
 feet, as I have seen a young English poet sitting at the 
 feet of good Barry Cornwall, and talk to him with my 
 arms resting upon his knees. But he drew his chair close 
 beside me, and took my hand from time to time, as be 
 talked ; so that it was not long before our thoughts ran to- 
 gether, and each anticipated the words of the other.
 
 IN THE TEUTOBUKGEB FOREST. 469 
 
 " Now tell me about my friend," said he. " "We were 
 inseparable as students, and as long as our paths lay near 
 each other. They say that three are too many for friend- 
 ship, but we twin-brothers only counted as one in the bond. 
 We had but one heart and one mind, except in matters of 
 science, and there it was curious to see how far apart we 
 sometimes were. Ah, what rambles we had together, in 
 Germany and on the Alps ! I remember once we were 
 merry in the Thiiringian Forest, for there was wine enough 
 and to spare ; so we buried a bottle deep among the rocks. 
 We had forgotten all about it when, a year or two after- 
 wards, we happened all three to come back to the spot, and 
 there we dug up the bottle, and drank what seemed to be 
 the best wine in the world. I wonder if he remembers 
 that I wrote a poem about it" 
 
 Then we walked out through the beech woods to a point 
 of the mountain whence there was a view of the monastery 
 across the wild valley. " It was but yesterday," said the 
 old baron, u since I stood here with my brother both 
 little boys and listened to the chimes of vesper. There 
 were monks in the old building then. What is life, after 
 all ? I don't understand it. My brother was a part of my- 
 self. We had but one life ; he married and his home was 
 mine ; his children are mine still. We were born together; 
 three years ago he died, and I should have died at the 
 same time. How is it that I live ? " 
 
 He turned to me with tears in his eyes 1 and a sad, mys- 
 terious wonder in his voice. I could only shake my head, 
 for he who could have answered the question would be 
 able to solve all the enigmas of life. The man seemed to 
 me like a semi-ghost, attached to the earth by only half the 
 relation of other men. " I live here as you see," he con- 
 tinued ; " but I am not lonely. All my life of seventy- 
 three years I have been laying aside interest for this sea- 
 son. I have still my thoughts and questions, as well as my 
 memories. I am part of the great design which I have
 
 470 RY-WAYS OF EUROPfe. 
 
 always found in the world and in man, and 1 have learned 
 enough to accept what I cannot fathom." 
 
 These were brave and wise words, and they led on to 
 others, as we walked in the shadows of the beech woods, 
 until summoned to dinner. The baron's niece superin- 
 tended the meal, and a farmer's daughter waited at the 
 table. I was forced to decline a kind invitation to return 
 t the castle with the old man, and spend the night there 
 for I could take but a brief holiday in the Teutoburger 
 Forest. Then they proposed taking me to the town of 
 Hoxter, on the Weser, whither I was bound ; but while I 
 was trying to dissuade the young lady from a further drive 
 of ten miles, the sound of a horn suddenly broke the soli- 
 tude of the woods. A post-carriage came in sight, drove 
 to the door, and from it descended the Kreisrichter (Dis- 
 trict Judge), on a visit to the old baron. As I noticed that 
 he intended remaining for the night, I proposed taking the 
 carriage by which he had arrived, though I should have 
 preferred making the journey on foot. 
 
 It was so arranged, and half an hour afterwards I took 
 leave of the noble old man, with the promise which all 
 the battle-fields of Hermann and Wittekind would not have 
 suggested to me of some day returning to the Teuto- 
 burger Forest Leaving the mountains behind me, I fol- 
 lowed a road which slowly descended to the Weser through 
 the fairest winding valleys, and before sunset reached 
 Hoxter. A mile further, at the bend of the river, is the 
 ancient Abbey of Corvey, where, in the year 1515, the first 
 six books of the Annals of Tacitus, up to that time lost, 
 were discovered. The region which that great historian 
 has alone described, thus preserved and gave back to the 
 world a portion of his works.
 
 HANNAH THURSTON 
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR 
 
 AUTHOR'S REVISED EDITION
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 
 District of New York. 
 
 COPYUIGHT, 1801, 
 
 BY MARIE TAYLOR.
 
 TO GEORGE P. PUTNAM. 
 
 Mi DEAB FRIEND : 
 
 WHEN I decided to write a brief letter of Dedication 
 for this book, and thus evade a Preface since all that 
 need be said to the reader can be said just as well, if not 
 better, to the friend I began to cast about in my mind 
 for the particular individual willing to stand by my side in 
 this new literary venture, deserving of all the fleeting com- 
 pliment which possible success may give, and too secure, 
 in the shelter of his own integrity, to be damaged by 
 whatever condemnation may fall upon the author. While 
 various cherished names arose, one after the other, the cab 
 in which I rode and meditated passed down .Regent Street 
 into Waterloo Place, and my eyes fell upon that door, 
 where, seventeen years ago, I entered for the first time 
 one dreary March afternoon entered as a timid, despond- 
 ing stranger, and issued thence with the cheer and encour- 
 agement which I owed to your unexpected kindness. The
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862, by 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 
 District of New York. 
 
 COPYIUGHT. 1891, 
 BY MARIE TAYLOR.
 
 TO GEORGE P. PUTNAM. 
 
 Mi DEAR FRIEND : 
 
 WHEN 1 decided to write a brief letter of Dedication 
 for this book, and thus evade a Preface since all that 
 need be said to the reader can be said just as well, if not 
 better, to the friend I began to cast about in iny mind 
 for the particular individual willing to stand by my side in 
 this new literary venture, deserving of all the fleeting com- 
 pliment which possible success may give, and too secure, 
 in the shelter of his own integrity, to be damaged by 
 whatever condemnation may fall upon the author. While 
 various cherished names arose, one after the other, the cab 
 in which I rode and meditated passed down .Regent Street 
 into Waterloo Place, and my eyes fell upon that door, 
 where, seventeen years ago, I entered for the first time 
 one dreary March afternoon entered as a timid, despond- 
 ing stranger, and issued thence with the cheer and encour- 
 agement which I owed to your unexpected kindness. The
 
 4 DEDICATION. 
 
 conditions which I sought are all fulfilled in you. From 
 that day to this, in all our intercourse, I have found in you 
 the faithful friend, the man of unblemished honor and un 
 selfish ambition, to whom the author's interests were nevei 
 secondary to his own. According to the poet Campbell, 
 we should be " natural enemies," but I dedicate this book 
 to you as my natural friend. 
 
 1 am aware how much is required for the construction 
 of a good work of fiction how much I venture in entering 
 upon a field so different from those over which I have 
 hitherto been ranging. It is, however, the result of ne 
 sudden whim, no ambition casually provoked. The plan 
 of the following story has long been familiar to my mind. 
 I perceived peculiarities of development in American life 
 which have escaped the notice of novelists, yet which are 
 strikingly adapted to the purposes of fiction, both in the 
 originality and occasional grotesqueness of their external 
 manifestation, and the deeper questions which lie beneath 
 the surface. I do not, therefore, rest the interest of the 
 book on its slender plot, but on the fidelity with which it 
 represents certain types of character and phases of society. 
 That in it which most resembles caricature is oftenest the 
 transcript of actual fact, and there are none of the opinions 
 uttered by the various characters which may not now and 
 then be heard in almost any country community of the
 
 DEDICATION. 9 
 
 Northern aud Western States. Whether those opinions 
 are to be commended or condemned, the personages of the 
 story are alone responsible for them. I beg leave, once 
 more, to protest against the popular superstition that an 
 author must necessarily represent himself in one form or 
 another. I am neither Mr. Woodbury, Mr. Waldo, nor 
 Seth Wattles. 
 
 This is all I have to say. The intelligent reader will 
 require no further explanation, and you no further assu- 
 rance of how steadily and faithfully I am your friend, 
 
 BAYARD T AYLOB. 
 
 WOOD'S HOTEL, LONDOV, 
 August, 1863.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 ( WHICH WT& ATTEND THE GREAT SEWING- UNION AT PTOLBMT. .. ... 9 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 If a WOODBURY'S INTRODUCTION TO LAKESIDE ...................... 21 
 
 CHAPTER HL 
 AN EVENING OP GOSSIP, IN WHICH WE LEARN SOMETHING ABOUT THE PER- 
 
 SONS ALREADY MENTIONED ..................................... 37 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 AN INTERVIEW ON THE ROAD, AND A NEW HOUSEHOLD ............. 48 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 tS WHICH MR. WOODBURY HEARS A WOMAN SPEAK ................ 61 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 IK WHICH LAKESIDE BECOMES LIVELY ............................. 71 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 WHAT HAPPENED DURING THE EVENING ......................... 90 
 
 CHAPTER VHL 
 IN WHICH MR. WOODBURY PAYS AN UNEXPECTED Viarr ............ 105 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 SPIRITUAL AND OTHER RAPPINGS ................................. 113 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 L\ WHICH WE HEAR A DIVERTING STOEY .......................... 129 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 CONTAINING Two DECLARATIONS, AND THE ANSWERS THERETO. ....... 143 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER ........................................ 156 
 
 CHAPTER 
 IN WHICH SPRING OPENS ........................................ 167 
 
 CHAPTER XTV. 
 CONTAINING CONVERSATIONS MORE IMPORTANT THAN THEY SESM TO BE 177 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 WHICH COMES NEAR BEING TRAGIC ............................... 18f 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 CONCERN-ING AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY TO TIBERIUS. .............. 206 
 
 CHAPTER XYH. 
 WHICH SOLVES THE PRECEDING OKE .............................. 311
 
 I CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. PAOi 
 
 OKI OF THK SUMMER DIVERSIONS OF PTOLEMY 233 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 for WHICH THERE IS BOTH ATTRACTION AND REPULSION 24l 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 I* WHICH SETH WATTLES is AGAIN DISAPPOINTED 258 
 
 CHAPTER XXT. 
 
 W ITH AN ENTIRE CHANGE OF SCENE 269 
 
 CHAPTER TTTT 
 
 IK WHICH TROUBLE COMES TO LAKESIDE 281 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 J^HfCH CONTAINS BOTH LOVE AND DEATH 193 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 V ABJOUS CHANGES, BUT UTTLK PROGRESS IN THE STOUT 308 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 IK WHICH HANNAH THURSTON MAKES A NEW ACQUAINTANCE 319 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 Is WHICH A WEDDING TAKES PLACE 333 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIL 
 DESCRIBING CERTAIN TROUBLES OP MR. WOODBURT 344 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 EH WHICH HANNAH THURSTON ALSO HAS HER TROUBLES 356 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 IK WHICH A CRISIS APPROACHES 368 
 
 CHAPTER TTT 
 
 MB, WOODBURY'S CONFESSION 38 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 IN WHICH THE STRONG-MINDED WOMAN BECOMES WEAK 39 J 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 IK WHICH ALL RETREAT is CUT OFF 401 
 
 CHAPTER XXXTIL 
 
 OONCE2NING MARRIAGE, DEATH, GOSSIP, AND GOING HOME 41 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 CONCERNING THE NEW HOUSEHOLD OF LAKESIDE 430 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 IK WHICH WE ATTEND ANOTHER MEETING IN FAVOR OF " WOMEN'8 
 
 RIGHTS'' 44 J 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 fH WHICH THK M\N AND WOMAN COME TO A\ L*N!>ERST. XDl>'Q . ... 451
 
 HANNAH THURSTOX 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN WHICH WE ATTEND THE GREAT SEWING-UNION AT PTOLEMY 
 
 NEVER before had the little society of Ptolemy known so 
 animated a season. For an inland town, the place could not at 
 any time be called dull, and, indeed, impressed the stranger 
 with a character of exuberant life, on being compared with 
 other towns in the neighborhood. Mulligansville on the east, 
 Anacreon on the north, and Atauga City on the west, all fierce 
 rivals of nearly equal size, groaned over the ungodly cheerful- 
 ness of its population, and held up their hands whenever ita 
 name was mentioned. But, at the particular time whereof we 
 write November, 1852 the ordinarily mild flow of life ii. 
 Ptolemy was unusually quickened by the formation of the great 
 Sewing-Union. This was a new social phenomenon, which 
 many persons looked upon as a long stride in the direction of 
 the Millennium. If, however, you should desire an opposite 
 view, you have but to mention the subject to any Mulligan* 
 villain, any Anacreontic, or any Atauga citizen. The simple 
 fact is, that the various sewing-circles of Ptolemy three in 
 number, and working for very different ends had agreed to 
 hold their meetings at the same time and place, and labor in 
 company. It was a social arrangement which substituted on
 
 10 HANNAH THTJBSTON: 
 
 large gathering, all the more lively and interesting from iti 
 mixed constitution, in place of three small and somewhat 
 monotonous circles. The plan was a very sensible one, and it 
 must be said, to the credit of Ptolemy, that there are very few 
 communities of equal size in the country where it could have 
 leen carried into effect. 
 
 First, the number of members being taken as the test of rela- 
 tive importance, there was the Ladies' Sewing-Circle, for raising 
 a fund to assist in supporting a Mission at Jutnapore. It was 
 drawn mainly from the congregation of the Rev. Lemuel Styles. 
 Four spinsters connected with this circle had a direct interest 
 in four children of the converted Telugu parents. There waa 
 a little brown Eliza Clancy, an Ann Parrott, and a Sophia 
 Stevenson, in that distant Indian sheepfold ; while the remain 
 ing spinster, Miss Ruhaney Goodwin, boasted of a (spiritual) 
 eon, to whom she had given the name of her deceased brother, 
 Elisha. These ladies were pleasantly occupied in making 
 three mousseline-de-laine frocks, an embroidered jacket, and 
 four half-dozens of pocket handkerchiefs for their little Telugu 
 children, and their withered bosoms were penetrated with a 
 secret thrill of the lost maternal instinct, which they only 
 dared to indulge in connection with such pious and charitable 
 labors. 
 
 The second Circle was composed of ladies belonging to the 
 Cimmerian church, who proposed getting up a village fair, 
 the profits of which should go towards the repair of the Par- 
 sonage, now sadly dilapidated. Mrs. Waldo, the clergyman's 
 wife, was at the head of this enterprise. Her ambition waa 
 limited to a new roof and some repairs in the plastering, and 
 there was a good prospect that the Circle would succeed in 
 raising the necessary sum. This, however, was chiefly owing 
 to Mrs. Waldo's personal popularity. Ptolemy was too small 
 a place, and the Cimmerians too insignificant a sect, for the 
 Church, out of its own resources, to accomplish much for its 
 shepherd. 
 
 Lastly, there was the Sewing-Circle for the Anti-S'avery
 
 A. STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 11 
 
 Fair, winch was limited to five or six families. For the pre- 
 vious ten years, this little community, strong in the faith, had 
 prepared and forwarded their annual contribution, not dis- 
 6ouraged by the fact that the circulation of their beloved 
 special organ did not increase at the Ptolemy Post-Office, nor 
 that their petitions to Congress were always referred, an<] 
 never acted upon. They had outlived the early persecution, and 
 could no longer consider themselves martyrs. The epithets 
 "Infidel!" "Fanatic!" and "Amalgamationist!" had been hurled 
 at them until their enemies had ceased, out of sheer weariness, 
 and they were a little surprised at finding that their impor- 
 tance diminished in proportion as their neighbors became 
 tolerant. The most earnest and enthusiastic of the little band 
 were Gulielma Thurston, a Quaker widow, and her daughter 
 Hannah ; Mrs. Merryfield, the wife of a neighboring farmer, 
 and Seth Wattles, a tailor in the village. Notwithstanding 
 the smallness of this circle, its members, with one exception, 
 were bright, clear-minded, cheerful women, and as the suspi- 
 cions of their infidelity had gradually been allayed (mainly by 
 their aptness in Biblical quotation), no serious objection was 
 made to their admittance into the Union. 
 
 The proposition to unite the Circles came originally, we 
 believe, from Mrs. Waldo, whose sectarian bias always gave 
 way before the social instincts of her nature. The difficulty 
 of carrying it into execution was much lessened by the fact 
 that all the families were already acquainted, and that, fortu- 
 nately, there was no important enmity existing between any 
 two of them. Besides, there is a natural instinct in women 
 tfhich leads them to sew in flocks and enliven their labor by 
 u he discussion of patterns, stuffs, and prices. The Union, witt 
 from twenty-five to forty members in attendance, was found 
 to be greatly more animated and attractive than either of the 
 Circles, separately, had been. Whether more work was 
 accomplished, is a doubtful question ; but, if not, it made 
 little difference in the end. The naked Telugus would not 
 suffer from a scantier supply of clothing ; the Cimmerians
 
 12 HANNAH THURSTON. 
 
 would charge outrageous prices for useless articles, in anx 
 case : nor would The Slavery Annihilator perish for want of 
 support, if fewer pen-wipers, and book-marks, inscribed witl 
 appropriate texts, came from Ptolemy. 
 
 The Sewing-Union was therefore pronounced a great socia! 
 success, and found especial favor in the eyes of the gentlemen, 
 who were allowed to attend " after tea," with the understand- 
 ing that they would contribute something to either of the. 
 three groups, according to their inclinations. Mrs. Waldo, by 
 general acquiescence, exercised a matronly supervision over 
 the company, putting down any rising controversy with a 
 gentle pat of her full, soft hand, and preventing, with cheerful 
 tyranny, the continual tendency of the gentlemen to interrupt 
 the work of the unmarried ladies. She was the oleaginous 
 solvent, in which the hard yelk of the Mission Fund, the vine- 
 gar of the Cimmerians, and the mustard of the Abolitionists 
 lost their repellant qualities and blended into a smooth social 
 compound. She had a very sweet, mellow, rounded voice, 
 and a laugh as comforting to hear as the crackling of a wood- 
 fire on the open hearth. Her greatest charm, however, was 
 her complete unconsciousness of her true value. The people 
 of Ptolemy, equally unconscious of this subduing and harmo- 
 nizing quality which she possessed, and seeing their lionesses 
 and lambs sewing peaceably together, congiatulated them- 
 selves on their own millennial promise. Of course everybody 
 was satisfied even the clergymen in Mulligansville and 
 Anacreon, who attacked the Union from their pulpits, secretly 
 thankful for such a near example of falling from the stifi, 
 narrow, and carefully- enclosed ways of grace. 
 
 It was the third meeting of the Union, and nearly all the 
 u embers were present. Their session was held at the house 
 of Mr. Hamilton Bue, Agent of the " Saratoga Mutual" for 
 the town of Ptolemy, and one of the Directors of the Bank at 
 Tiberius, the county-seat. Mrs. Hamilton Bue was interested 
 in the contribution for the mission at Jutnapoi-e, and the Rev 
 Lemuel Styles, pastor of the principal church in the village
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN UFB. II 
 
 had been specially invited to come " before tea,'' for the pur 
 pose of asking a blessing on the bountiful table of the hostess, 
 The parlor, large as it was (for Ptolemy), had been somewhat 
 overcrowded during the afternoon ; therefore, anticipating a 
 large arrival of gentlemen in the evening, Mrs. Bue had the 
 tables transferred from the sitting-room to the kitchen, locked 
 the hall door, and thus produced a suite of three apartments, 
 counting the hall itself as one. The guests were admitted at 
 the side-entrance, commonly used by the family. Two or 
 three additional lamps had been borrowed, and the general 
 aspect of things was so bright and cheerful that Mr. Styles 
 whispered to Mrs. Hamilton Bue : " Really, I am afraid this 
 looks a little like levity." 
 
 " But it's trying to the eyes to sew with a dim light," said 
 she ; " and we want to do a good deal for The Fund this even- 
 ing." 
 
 " Ah ! that, indeed !" he ejaculated, smiling blandly as he 
 contemplated Miss Eliza Clancy and Miss Ann Parrott, who 
 were comparing the dresses for their little brown name- 
 sakes. 
 
 " I think it looks better to be gored," said the former. 
 
 " Well I don't know but what it does, with that figure,' 5 
 remarked Miss Parrott, " but my Ann's a slim, growing girl, 
 and when you've tucks and I'm making two of 'em it 
 seems better to pleat" 
 
 " How will this do, Miss Eliza ?" asked Mrs. "Waldo, coming 
 up at the moment with a heavy knitted snood of crimson 
 wool, which she carefully adjusted over her own abundant 
 black hair. The effect was good, it cannot be denied. The 
 contrast of colors was so pleasing that the pattern of the 
 mood became quite a subordinate affair. 
 
 " Upon my word, very pretty !" said the lady appealed to. 
 
 " Pity you haven't knit it for yourself, it suits you so well," 
 Miss Parrott observed. 
 
 " I'd rather take it to stop the leak in my best bed-room,* 1 
 Mrs. Waldo gayly rejoined, stealing a furtive glance at her
 
 14 HANNAH THUKSTON t 
 
 head in the mirror over the mantel-piece. " Oh, Miss Thurt 
 ton, will you let us see your album-cover ?" 
 
 Hannah Thurston had caught sight of a quiet nook in tht 
 ball, behind the staircase, and was on her way to secure pos- 
 session of it. She had found the warmth of the sitting-room 
 intolerable, and the noise of many tongues began to be dis- 
 tracting to her sensitive Quaker ear. She paused at once, and 
 in answer to Mrs. Waldo's request unfolded an oblong piece 
 of warm brown cloth, upon which a group of fern-leaves, 
 embroi lered with green silk, was growing into shape. The 
 thready stems and frail, diminishing fronds were worked 
 with an exquisite truth to nature. 
 
 " It is not much more than the outline, as yet," she re- 
 marked, as she displayed the embroidery before the eager 
 eyes of Mrs. Waldo and the two spinsters. 
 
 The former, who possessed a natural though uncultivated 
 sense of beauty, was greatly delighted. " Why it's perfectly 
 lovely !" she exclaimed : " if I was younger, I'd get you to 
 teach me how you do it. You must be sure and let me see 
 the book when it's finished." 
 
 " I don't see why my Eliza couldn't make me one of the 
 flowers around Jutnapore," said Miss Clancy. " I'll mention 
 it in my next letter to Mrs Bocrum the missionary's wife, 
 you know. It would be such a nice thing for me to remem- 
 ber her by." 
 
 Meanwhile the gentlemen began to drop in. Mr. Merryfield 
 arrived, in company with the Hon. Zeno Harder, member of 
 the Legislature for Atauga county. Then followed the Rev. 
 Mr. Waldo, a small, brisk man, with gray eyes, a short nose, 
 et ont from his face at a sharper angle than is usual with 
 noses and a mouth in which the Lord had placed a set of 
 teeth oelonging to a man of twice his size for which reason hie 
 lips could not entirely close ovei them. His face thus received 
 an expiession of perpetual hunger. The air of isolation, com- 
 mon to clergymen of those small and insignificant sects which 
 seem to exist by sheer force of obstinacy, was not very per-
 
 II 
 
 ceptible ir him. It had been neutralized, if not suppressed, 
 by the force of a strong animal temperament. On that side 
 of his nature, there was no isolation. 
 
 A number of young fellows bashful hobbledehoys, or 
 over-assured men of two or three and twenty, with rigorouslj 
 fashionable shirt-collars now made their appearance and 
 distributed themselves through Mrs. Hamilton Bue's rooms. 
 In the rising noise of conversation the more timid ventured to 
 use their tongues, and the company soon became so animated 
 that all of Mrs. Waldo's authority was necessary, to prevent 
 the younger ladies from neglecting their tasks. The Cimme- 
 rians, as a point of etiquette, were installed in the parlor, 
 which also accommodated a number of the workers for the 
 Mission Fund, the remainder being gathered in the sitting- 
 room, where Mr. Styles and Mr. Waldo carried on an ex- 
 ceedingly guarded and decorous conversation. Hannah Thurs- 
 ton had secured her coveted nook behind the staircase in the 
 hall, where she was joined by Mrs. Merryfield and Miss Sophia 
 Stevenson. Mrs. Waldo, also, kept a chair at the same table, 
 for the purpose of watching the expanding fern-leaves in the 
 intervals of her commandership. Seth Wattles tilted his chair 
 in a corner, eager for an opportunity to usurp the conver- 
 sation. 
 
 Seth was an awkward, ungainly person, whose clothes were 
 a continual satire on his professional skill. The first impres 
 sion which the man made, was the want of compact form. 
 His clay seemed to have been modelled by a bungling ap- 
 prentice, and imperfectly baked afterwards. The face was 
 long and lumpy in outline, without a proper coherence be- 
 tween the Matures the forehead being sloping and contracted 
 at the temples, the skull running backwards in a high, narrow 
 ridge. Thick hair, of a faded brown color, parted a little on 
 one side, was brushed behind his ears, where it hung in stiff 
 half-curls upon a broad, foiling shirt-collar, which revealed his 
 neck down to the crest of the breast-bone. His eyes were 
 opaque gray, prominent, and devoid of expression. His nose
 
 16 HANNAH THUKSTON : 
 
 was long and coarsely constructed, with blunt end and thicL 
 nostrils, and his lips, though short, of that peculiar, shapeless for- 
 mation, which prevents a clear line of division between them. 
 Heavy, and of a pale purplish-red color, they seemed to run 
 together at the inner edges. His hands were large and hang- 
 ing, and all his joints apparently knobby and loose. His skin 
 aad that appearance of oily clamminess which belongs to such 
 an organization. Men of this character seem to be made of 
 sticks and putty. There is no nerve, no elasticity, no keenj 
 alert, impressible life in any part of their bodies. 
 
 Leaving the ladies of the Fund to hear Mrs. Boerum's last 
 letter describing the condition of her school at Jutnapore, and 
 the Cimmerians to consult about the arrangements for their 
 E]air, we will join this group in the hall. Mrs. Waldo had 
 just taken her seat for the seventh time, saying: "Well, I 
 never shall get any thing done, at this rate !" when her atten- 
 tion was arrested by hearing Hannah Thurston say, in answer 
 to some remark of Mrs. Merryfield : 
 
 " It is too cheerful a place, not to be the home of cheer- 
 ful and agreeable people." 
 
 " Oh, you are speaking of Lakeside, are you not ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes, they say it's sold," said Mrs. Merryfield ; " have you 
 heard of it?" 
 
 " I believe Mr. Waldo mentioned it at dinner. It's a Mr. 
 Woodbury, or some such name. And rich. He was related, 
 in some way, to the Dennisons. He's expected immediately, 
 I'm glad of it, for I want to put him under contribution. Oh, 
 how beautiful! Did you first copy the pattern from the 
 leaves, Hannah, or do you keep it in your head ?" 
 
 " Woodbury ? Related to the Dennisons ?" mused Mrs. 
 Merryfield. "Bless me! It can't be little Maxwell Max. 
 we always called him, that used to be there summers well, 
 nigh twenty years ago, at least. But you were not here 
 then, Mrs. Waldo nor you, neither, Hannah. I heard after- 
 wards that he went to Calcutty I remember him very
 
 A STORY OP AMERICAN LIFE. H 
 
 well a smart, curly-headed youngster, but knowed nothing 
 about farming. Him and my poor Absalom" here she 
 r-mothered a rising sigh "used to be a good deal with 
 other." 
 
 An unusual stir in the sitting-room interrupted the con 
 versation. 
 
 There were exclamations noises of moving chairs iudis 
 Linct phrases and presently the strong voice of the Hon. 
 Zeno Harder was heard : " Very happy to make your ao- 
 qaaintance, Sir very happy!" Mrs. Waldo slipped to the 
 door and peeped in, telegraphing her observations in whis- 
 pers to the little party behind the stairs. "There's Mr. 
 Hammond the lawyer, you know, from Tiberius, and another 
 gentleman a stranger. Tall and sunburnt, with a moustache 
 but I like his looks. Ah !" Here she darted back to hei 
 seat. " Would you believe it ? the very man we were talk- 
 ing about Mr. Woodbury !" 
 
 In accordance with the usages of Ptolemy society, the new- 
 comers were taken in charge by the host, and formally intro- 
 duced to every person present. In a few minutes the round 
 of the sitting-room was completed and the party entered the 
 hall. Miss Thurston, looking up with a natural curiosity, en- 
 countered a pair of earnest brown eyes, which happened, at 
 the moment, to rest mechanically upon her. Mr. Hamilton 
 Bue advanced and performed his office. The stranger bowed 
 w ith easy self-possession and a genial air, which asserted his 
 determination to enjoy the society. Mrs. Waldo, who was no 
 respecter of persons in fact, she often declared that she 
 would not be afraid of Daniel Webster cordially gave him 
 ).ier hand, exclaiming: " We were this minute talking of you, 
 Mr. Woodbury ! And I wished you were here, that I might 
 levy a contribution for our Sewing-Circle. But you're go- 
 ing to be a neighbor, and so I'll ask it in earnest, next 
 time." 
 
 " Why not now ?" said the gentleman, taking out hifl 
 purse. " First thoughts are often best, and you know tht
 
 18 a ANN AH THUESTON: 
 
 proverb about short settlements. Pray accept this, as a tokea 
 that you do not consider me a stranger." 
 
 " Oh, thank you !" she cried, as she took the bank-note ; 
 " but" (hesitatingly) " is this a donation to our Society, or 
 must I divide it with the others ?" The peculiar tone in 
 which the question was put rendered but one answer possible^ 
 No man could have uttered it with such artful emphasis. 
 
 The constitution of the Sewing-Union was explained, and 
 Mr. Woodbury purchased a universal popularity by equal 
 contributions to the three Circles. Had he been less impul- 
 siveless kindly inclined to create, at once, a warm atmos- 
 phere around his future home he would not have given so 
 much. The consequences of his generosity were not long in 
 exhibiting themselves. Two days afterwards, the Seventh- 
 Day Baptists, at Atauga City, waited on him for a subscrip- 
 tion towards the building of their new church ; and even the 
 ladies of Mulligansville so far conquered their antipathy to 
 the Ptolemy district, as to apply for aid to the Mission at 
 Pulo-Bizam, in the Ladrone Islands, which was a subject of 
 their especial care. 
 
 The introduction of a new element into a society so purely 
 local as that of Ptolemy, is generally felt as a constraint. 
 Where the stranger is a man of evident cultivation, whose su- 
 periority, in various respects, is instinctively felt, but would be 
 indignantly disclaimed if any one dared to assert it, there is, 
 especially, a covert fear of his judgment. His eye and ear are 
 supposed to be intensely alert and critical : conversation be- 
 comes subdued and formal at his approach : the romping youthi 
 and maidens subside into decorous and tedious common-places, 
 until the first chill of his presence is overcome. Mr. Wood- 
 bury had tact enough to perceive and dissipate this impression, 
 His habitual manners were slightly touched with reserve, but 
 no man could unbend more easily and gracefully. To the few 
 who remembered him as "Little Max." among them Mrs. 
 Merryfield he manifested the cordial warmth of an old 
 friend, and laughed with a delight which came from the
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 1* 
 
 heart, at their mention of certain boyish mishaps which mark 
 ed his summers at Lakeside. The laborers for the Mission 
 Fund were rejoiced to learn that, though he had never been at 
 Jutnapore, yet he had once seen Mr. JBoerum, on that gentle- 
 man's arrival at Calcutta. (" What a pity he did'nt go to 
 Jutnapore ! He might have told me about my Eliza," re- 
 marked Miss Clancy, aside.) In short, the ice between Mr. 
 Woodbury and the rest of the company was broken so quickly 
 what even the formation of the first thin crust was scarcely 
 perceived. His introduction to Ptolemy society was in the 
 social technology of Boston " a success." 
 
 Again the clacking of tongues rose high and shrill, lessen- 
 ing only for a few minutes after the distribution of wedges ol 
 molasses-cake, offered by Mrs. Hamilton Bue's black-mitted 
 hands. Mr. Hamilton Bue followed in her wake with a jing- 
 ling tray, covered with glasses of lemonade, which the ladies 
 sipped delicately. The four spinsters, observing that Mrs. 
 Lemuel Styles drank but the half of her glass, replaced theirs 
 also half-filled, though it went to their hearts to do so. The 
 needles now stood at ease, no longer marching, with even 
 stitch, over their parade-grounds of silk, or cotton, or mous- 
 seline-de-laine. One straggler after another fell out of the 
 ranks, until it was finally declared that " we have done enough 
 for this evening." Then came singing, commencing with 
 " From Greenland's Icy Mountains," in which half the com- 
 pany joined. Miss Sophia Stevenson, who had a good voice, 
 w ith it must be admitted an occasional tendency to sharps, 
 led the hymn; but the parts were unequally distributed, 
 which Mr. Woodbury perceiving, he struck in with a rich 
 baritone voice. This acquisition was immediately noticed, 
 End, at the conclusion of the hymn, Mrs. Waldo requested 
 that he would favor them with a solo. 
 
 " I prefer to listen," he answered. " I know none but the 
 old, old songs, which you all have heard. But you are wel- 
 come to one of them, if you will first let me hear something 
 newer and fresher.'' Unconsciously, he had hit the custom
 
 20 HANNAH THUKSTON: 
 
 of Ptolemy, never to sing until somebody else has first sung, 
 to encouiage you. The difficulty is, to find the eucourager. 
 
 Mrs. Waldo seized upon Seth Wattles, who, nothing loth* 
 ooinmeticed in a gritty bass voice : 
 
 ' ^Viiy-ee dooz the why-eet man follah mee pawth, 
 
 y ke the ha-ound on the ty-eeger's tra-hack ? 
 Dooz the flu-hush on my da-hark cheek waken his wrawth 
 Looz he co-hovet the bow a-hat mee ba-hack ?" 
 
 " Wbut in the world is the song about ?" whispered Mr, 
 Woodbu/y. 
 
 " It's -he Lament of the Indian Hunter," said Mrs. Waldo, 
 ''he al\\ ys sings it. Now comes the chorus: it's queer: 
 listen !" 
 
 Thereupon, from the cavernous throat of the singer, issued 
 a series of howls in the minor key, something in this wise : 
 
 " VO-HO \o-ho! Yo-HO-O yo-no-ho-Ao-ho !" 
 
 " Aftei this," thought Woodbury, " they can bear to hear 
 an old so,g, though a thousand times repeated." And being 
 again presuvid, hu gave simply, without any attempt at brilliancy 
 of execution : " The Harp of Tara." 
 
 There was profound silence, as his voice, strung with true 
 masculine ftwre, rang through the rooms. Generally, the least 
 intellectual ^erpons sing with the truest and most touching ex- 
 pression, becnuse voice and intellect are rarely combined : but 
 Maxwell Woodbury's fine organ had not been given to him at 
 the expense of his brain. It was a lucky chance of nature. His 
 hearers did not really know how admirably he interpreted that 
 sigh of the Irish heart, but they were pleased, and not nig- 
 gardly in their expressions of delight. 
 
 More songs were called for, and refused. There was the 
 usual coaxing, and a shocking prevalence of hoarseness, com- 
 bined with sudden loss of memory. One young lady com- 
 menced with "Isle" (which she pronounced eye-heel) "of 
 Beauty," but broke down at the end of the first verse, and all 
 the cries of: "Do go on !" " It's so pretty !" could not encour
 
 A STOBY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 21 
 
 age her to resume. Finally some one, spying Hannah TLurston, 
 who had folded up her embroidery and was sitting in a shaded 
 corner, cried out : 
 
 " Oh, Miss Thurston ! Give us that song you sang the last 
 time that one about the mountains, you know." 
 
 Mi&s Thurston started, as if aroused out of a profound 
 revery, while a flitting blush, delicate and transient as the 
 shadow of a rose tossed upon marble, visited her face. She 
 had felt and followed, word by word and tone by tone, the 
 glorious Irish lay. The tragic pathos of the concluding lines 
 
 " For freedom now so seldom wakes, 
 
 The only throb she gives 
 Is when some heart indignant breaks, 
 To show that still she lives I" 
 
 thrilled and shook her with its despairing solemnity. What 
 a depth of betrayed trust, of baffled aspiration, it revealed! 
 Some dormant sentiment in her own heart leapt up and an- 
 swered it, with that quick inner pang, which would be a cry 
 were it expressed in sound. Yet was the despair which the 
 melody suggested of a diviner texture than joy. It was that 
 sadness of the imaginative nature which is half triumph, be- 
 cause the same illumination which reveals the hopelessness of 
 its desires reveals also their beauty and their divinity. 
 
 The request addressed to her was a shock which recalled 
 her to herself. It was so warmly seconded that refusal would 
 have been ungracious, and a true social instinct told her that 
 her revery, though involuntary, was out of place. She prof- 
 ited by the little delay which ensued in order to secure silenc* 
 for in our country communities silence always precedes the 
 song to recover her full self-possession. There was no tre- 
 mor in her voice, which soared, with the words, into a still, 
 clear ether, in which the pictures of the song stood out 
 pure, distinct, and sublime. It was one of those lyrics of 
 Mrs. Hemans, which suggest the trumpet at woman's lips 
 horn of its rough battle-snarl, its fierce notes tenderly
 
 22 HANNAH THUBSTON : 
 
 fled, but a trumpet still. She sang, with the bride of tht 
 Alpine hunter : 
 
 11 Thy heart is in the upper world, 
 
 And where the chamois bound; 
 Thy heart is where the mountain-fir 
 
 Shakes with the torrent's sound: 
 And where the snow-peaks gleam like stars 
 
 In the stillness of the air, 
 And where the lawine's voice is heard, 
 
 Hunter, thy heart is there I" 
 
 It was rather musical declamation, than singing. Her voice, 
 pure, sweet, and strong, distinctly indicated the melody, in- 
 stead of giving it positively, beyond the possibility of a mista- 
 ken semitone. It was a ringing chant of that " upper world" 
 of the glaciers, where every cry or call is followed by a musi- 
 cal echo, where every sound betrays the thin air and the 
 boundless space. Hannah Thurston sang it with a vision of 
 Alpine scenery in her brain. She saw, gleaming in the paler 
 sunshine, beneath the black-blue heaven, the sharp horns of 
 frosted silver, the hanging ledges of short summer grass, the 
 tumbled masses of gray rock, and the dust of snow from fall- 
 ing avalanches. Hence, he who had once seen these things in 
 their reality, saw them again while listening to her. She knew 
 not, however, her own dramatic power : it was enough that 
 she gave pleasure. 
 
 Maxwell Woodbury's eyes brightened, as the bleak and 
 lofty landscapes of the Bernese Oberland rose before him. 
 Over the dark fir-woods and the blue ice-caverns of the 
 Rosenlaui glacier, he saw the jagged pyramid of the Wetter- 
 horn, toppling in the morning sky; and involuntarily asked 
 himself what was the magic which had started that half-for- 
 go uteu picture from the chambers of his memory. How 
 snould this pale, quiet girl who, in a musical sense, was no 
 singer, and who had assuredly never seen the Alps, have 
 caught the voice which haunts their desolate glory? But 
 these were questions which came afterwards. The concluding
 
 A 8TORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 23 
 
 rere, expressing only the patience and humility of lo^e in the 
 valley, blurred the sharp crystal of the first impression and 
 brought him back to the Sewing-Union without a rude shock 
 of transition. He cordially thanked the singer an act rather 
 unusual in Ptolemy at that tune, and hence a grateful surprise 
 to Hannah Thurston, to whom his words conveyed a more 
 earnest meaning than was demanded by mere formal cour- 
 tesy. 
 
 By this time the assembled company had become very 
 genial and anconstrained. The Rev. Lemuel Styles had entirely 
 forgotten the levity of Mrs. Bue's illumination, and even in- 
 dulged in good-humored badinage (of a perfectly mild and 
 proper character) with Mrs. Waldo. The others were gath- 
 ered into little groups, cheerfully chatting the young gentle- 
 men and ladies apart from the married people. Scandal was 
 sugar-coated, in order to hide its true character . love put on 
 a bitter and prickly outside, to avoid the observation of oth- 
 ers : all the innocent disguises of Society were in as full opera- 
 tion as in the ripened atmosphere of great cities. 
 
 The nearest approach to a discord was in a somewhat heated 
 discussion on the subject of Slavery, which grew up between 
 Seth Wattles and the Hon. Zeno Harder. The latter was 
 vehement in his denunciation of the Abolitionists, to which 
 the former replied by quoting the Declaration of Indepen- 
 dence. The two voices either of them alike unpleasant to a 
 sensitive ear finally became loud enough to attract the atten- 
 tion of Mrs. Waldo, who had a keen scent for opportunities 
 fcr the exercise of her authority. 
 
 "Come, come !" she cried, placing one hand on Seth's shoul- 
 l<?r, while she threatened the Honorable Zeno with the other 
 ' this is forbidden ground. The Sewing-Union would m-vet 
 Hold together, if \ve allowed such things. Besides, what's the 
 ewe? You two would talk together all night, I'll warrant, and 
 be no nearer agreeing in the morning." 
 
 "No," cried Seth, "because your party politicians ignore 
 tbe questions of humanity !"
 
 14 HANNAH THURSTOH: 
 
 "And youi fanatical abstractionists never look at any thing 
 in a practical way!" rejoined the Honorable Zeno. 
 
 "And both are deficient in a sense of propriety I shall 
 have to say, if you don't stop," was Mrs. Waldo's ready com- 
 ment. 
 
 This little episode had attracted a few spectators, whr 
 ivere so evidently on Mrs. Waldo's side, that " the Judge,' 
 as the Hon. Zeno was familiarly called, at once saw the politic 
 course, and rising magnificently, exclaimed: "Although we 
 don't advocate Women's Rights, we yield to woman's author- 
 ity." Then, bowing with corpulent condescension, he passed 
 away. Seth Wattles, having no longer an opponent, was con- 
 demned to silence. 
 
 In the mean time, it had been whispered among the company 
 that the next meeting of the Union would be held at the 
 Merryfield farm-house, a mile and a half from Ptolemy. This 
 had been arranged by the prominent ladies, after a good deal 
 of consultation. Mr. Merryfield still belonged to the congre- 
 gation of the Rev. Lemuel Styles, although not in very good 
 repute. His farm-house was large and spacious, and he was 
 an excellent " provider," especially for his guests. Moreover, 
 he was the only one of the small clan of Abolitionists, who 
 could conveniently entertain the Union, so that in him were 
 discharged all the social obligations which the remaining mem- 
 bers could fairly exact. The four spinsters, indeed, had ex 
 changed patient glances, as much as to say : " This is a cross 
 which we must needs bear." Mr. Merryfield, be it known, 
 had refused to contribute to Foreign Missions, on the ground 
 that we had already too many black heathen at home. The 
 younger persons, nevertheless, were very well satisfied, and 
 thus the millennial advance of Ptolemy was not interrupted. 
 
 The more staid guests had now taken leave, and there was 
 presently a general movement of departure. The ladies put 
 on their bonnets and shawls in the best bedroom up-stairs, and 
 the gentlemen picked out their respective hats and coats from 
 the miscellaneous heao on the kitchen settee. The hall-dooi
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFK. t6 
 
 was unlocked to facilitate egress, and lively groups lingered 
 on the stairs, in the doorway, and on the piazza. The gen- 
 tlemen dodged about to secure their coveted privilege ol 
 escort : now and then a happy young pair slipped away in tho 
 belief that they were unnoticed: there were calls of "Do 
 come and see us, now!" last eager whispers of gossip, a great 
 deal of superfluous female kissing, and the final remarks to 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton Bue : " Good-bye ! we've had a nice 
 time !" as the company filtered away. 
 
 When the last guest had disappeared, Mr. Hamilton Bue 
 carefully closed and locked the doors, and then remarked to 
 his wife, who was engaged in putting out the extra lamps : 
 " Well, Martha, I think we've done very well, though I say it 
 that shouldn't. Mr. Styles liked your tea, and the cake must 
 have been pretty good, judging from the way they stowed it 
 out of sight." 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Bue; "I was afraid at one time, there 
 wouldn't be enough to go .round. It's well I made up my 
 mind, at the last minute, to bake five instead of four. Mo- 
 lasses is so high." 
 
 " Oh, what's the odds of two shillings more or less," her 
 husband consolingly remarked, " when you've got to make a 
 regular spread ? Besides, I guess I'll clear expensed, by per- 
 suading Woodbury to insure his house in our concern. Dei 
 oisons always took the Etna." 
 2
 
 94 HANNAH THUKSTOH ! 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 MB. WOODBURY'S INTRODUCTION TO LAKESIDE. 
 
 On the very day when the Sewing-Union met in Ptolemy 
 there was an unusual commotion at Lakeside. Only four or 
 tive days had elapsed since the secluded little household had 
 been startled by the news that the old place was finally sold, 
 and now a short note had arrived from Mr. Hammond, of Ti- 
 berius, who was the agent for the estate, stating that the new 
 owner would probably make his appearance in the course of 
 the day. 
 
 The first thing that suggested itself to the distracted mind 
 of Mrs. Fortitude Babb, the housekeeper, was immediately to 
 summon old Melinda, a negro woman, whose specialty was 
 house-cleaning. Had there been sufficient time, Mrs. Babb 
 would have scoured the entire dwelling, from garret to cellar. 
 A stranger, indeed, would have remarked no appearance of 
 disorder, or want of proper cleanliness, anywhere : but the 
 tall housekeeper, propping her hands upon her hips, exclaimed, 
 in despair : " Whatever snail I do ? There 's hardly time to 
 have the rooms swep', let alone washin' the wood-work. 
 Then, ag'in, I dunno which o' the two bed-rooms he'd like 
 best. Why couldn't Mr. Hammond hold him back, till things 
 was decent ? And the libery 's been shet up, this ever so 
 long ; and there's bakin' to do squinch tarts, and sich likes 
 and you must kill two chickens, Arbutus, right away !" 
 
 " Don't 1)6 worried, Mother Forty," replied Arbutus Wil- 
 son, the stout young man whom Mrs. Babb addressed, " tilings 
 a 'n't lookiii' so bad, after all. Max. well, Mr. Woodbury, I 
 must say now, though it'll go rather queer, at first was al- 
 ways easy satisfied, when he was here afore."
 
 A STORY OF AMEEICAN LIFE. 27 
 
 , " I reckon you think people doesn't change in twenty year. 
 There's no tellin' what sort of a man he's got to be. But 
 here comes Melindy. I guess I'll open the libery and let it 
 air, while she fixes the bedrooms." 
 
 Mrs Babb's nervousness had a deeper cause than the con- 
 dition of the Lakeside mansion. So many years had elapsed 
 since she first came to the place as housekeeper, that it seemed 
 to have become her own property as surely as that of the 
 Deunison family. The death of Mrs. Dennison, eight months 
 before, recalled her to the consciousness of her uncertain ten 
 ure. Now, since the estate was finally sold and the new 
 owner about to arrive, a few days, in all probability, would 
 determine whether her right was to be confirmed or herself 
 turned adrift upon the world. Although her recollections of 
 Maxwell Woodbury, whose last visit to Lakeside occurred 
 during the first year of her reign, were as kindly as was con- 
 sistent with her rigid nature, she awaited his arrival with a 
 mixture of jealousy and dread. True, he was somewhat 
 nearer to her than those relatives of Mrs. Dennison who had 
 inherited the property at her death, for the latter Mrs. Babb 
 had never seen, while him she had both gently scolded and 
 severely petted : but she felt that the removal of Arbutus 
 Wilson and herself from the place would be a shameful piece 
 of injustice, and the fact that such removal was possible indi- 
 cated something wrong in the world. 
 
 Arbutus, who was a hardy, healthy, strapping fellow,- of 
 eight-and-twenty, was her step-step-son, if there can be such a 
 relation. His father, who died shortly after his birth, was one 
 of those uneducated, ignorant men, whose ears are yet quick to 
 catch and retain any word of grandiloquent sound. Nothing 
 delighted him so much as to hear the Biblical genealogies 
 read, He had somewhere picked up the word arbutus, the 
 Bound of which so pleased him that he at once conferred it 
 upon his baby, utterly unconscious of its meaning. A year or 
 two after his death, the widow Wilson married Jason Babb, 
 an honest, meek-natured carpenter, who proved a good father
 
 28 HANNAH THUBSTON : 
 
 to the little Arbutus. She, however, was carried away by 
 malignant fever, in the first year of her second marriage. The 
 widower, who both mourned and missed her, cherished her 
 ehild with a conscientious fidelity, and it was quite as much 
 from a sense of duty towards the boy, as from an inclination 
 of the heart, that he married Miss Fortitude Winterbottom, a 
 Lit], staid, self-reliant creature, verging on spinsterhood. 
 
 The Fates, however, seemed determined to interfere with 
 J ason B.ibb's connubial plans ; but the next time it was upon 
 himself, and not upon his wife, that the lot fell. Having no 
 children of his own, by either wife, he besought Fortitude, 
 with his latest breath, to be both father and mother to the 
 doubly-orphaned little Bute Wilson. It must be admitted 
 that Mrs. Babb faithfully performed her promise. The true 
 feeling of parental tenderness had never been granted to her, 
 and the sense of responsibility of ownership which came in 
 its stead was a very mild substitute ; but it impressed the 
 boy, at least, with a consciousness of care and protection, 
 which satisfied his simple nature. Mrs. Dennison, with her 
 kind voice, and gentle, resigned old face, seemed much more 
 the mother, while Mrs. Babb, with her peremptory ways and 
 strict idea of discipline, unconsciously assumed for him the 
 attitude of a father. The latter had come to Lakeside at a 
 time when Mr. Dennison's confirmed feebleness required his 
 wife to devote herself wholly to his care. Mrs. Babb, there 
 fore, took charge of the house, and Arbutus, at first a younger 
 companion of Henry Dennison, afterwards an active farm-boy, 
 finally developed into an excellent farmer, and had almost the 
 exclusive management of the estate for some years before Mra, 
 Dermison's death. 
 
 Thus these two persons, with an Irish field-hand, had been 
 tLi 1 only occupants of Lakeside, during the summer and au- 
 tumn. Arbutus, or Bute, as he was universally called in the 
 neighborhood, was well-pleased with the news of Mr. "W Dod- 
 bury's purchase. He remembered him, indistinctly, as the 
 44 town-boy" who gave him his first top and taught him how
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 2f 
 
 to spin it, though the big fellow couldn't tell a thrush's egg 
 from a robin's, and always said " tortoise" instead of " tortle." 
 Bute thought they'd get along together somehow or, if they 
 didn't, he could do as well somewheres else, he reckoned, 
 Nevertheless, he felt anxious that the owner should receive a 
 satisfactory impression on his arrival, and busied himself, with 
 Patrick's assistance, in " setting every thing to rights" about 
 Jie barn and out-houses. 
 
 After all, there was scarcely need of such hurried prepa- 
 ration. Mr. Hammond and Woodbury, detained by some 
 necessary formalities of the law, did not leave Tiberius until 
 the afternoon of that day. The town being situated at the 
 outlet of Atauga Lake, they took the little steamer to Atauga 
 City, near its head, in preference to the long road over the 
 bills. The boat, with a heavy load of freight, made slow pro- 
 gress, and it was dusk before they passed the point on the 
 eastern shore, beyond which Lakeside is visible from the 
 water. On reaching Ptolemy by the evening stage from 
 Atauga City, Maxwell Woodbury found the new " Ptolemy 
 House" so bright and cheerful, that he immediately proposed 
 their remaining for the night, although within four miles of 
 their destination. 
 
 " I have a fancy for approaching the old place by daylight," 
 said he to his companion. " Here begins my familiar ground, 
 and I should be sorry to lose the smallest test of memory. 
 Besides, I am not sure what kind of quarters I should be able 
 to offer you, on such short notice." 
 
 " Let us stay, then, by all means," said the lawyer. " I can 
 'ippreciate feelings, although I am occupied entirely with 
 deeds." Here he quietly chuckled, and was answered by a 
 roar from the landlord, who came up in time to hear the 
 remark. 
 
 "Ha! ha! Good, Mr. Hammond!" exclaimed the latter. 
 "Very happy to entertain you, gentlemen. Mr. Woodbury 
 can ha^e the Bridal Chamber, if he likes. But you should go 
 to the Great Sewing-Union, gentlemen. You will find aU
 
 80 HANNAH THUESTON: 
 
 Ptolemy there to-night. It's at Hamilton Bue's: you 
 him, Mr. Hammond Director of the Bank." 
 
 The results of this advice have already been described, 
 After breakfast, on the following morning, the two gentlemep 
 set out for Lakeside in a light open carriage. It was one of 
 the last days of tht Indian summer, soft and hazy, with a fore- 
 boding of winter in the air. The hills, enclosing the head of 
 tlit- lake, and stretching away southwards, on opposite sides 
 of the two valleys, which unite just behind Ptolemy, loomed 
 through their blue veil with almost the majesty of mountain 
 ranges. The greeu of the pine-forests on their crests, and of 
 those ragged lines of the original woods which marked the 
 courses of the descending ravines, was dimmed and robbed of its 
 gloom. The meadows extending towards the lake were still 
 fresh, and the great elms by the creek-side had not yet shed 
 all of their tawny leaves. A moist, fragrant odor of decay per- 
 vaded the atmosphere, and the soft south western wind, occasion- 
 ally stealing down the further valley, seemed to blow the som- 
 bre colors of the landscape into dying flickers of brightness. 
 
 As they crossed the stream to the eastward of the village, 
 and drove along the base of the hills beyond, Woodbury ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " You cannot possibly understand, Mr. Hammond, how 
 refreshing to me are these signs of the coming winter, after 
 nearly fifteen years of unbroken summer. I shall enjoy the 
 change doubly here, among the scenes of the only country-life 
 which I ever knew in America, where I was really happiest, 
 as a boy. I suppose," he added, laughing, "now that the 
 business is over, I may confess to you how much I congratu- 
 late myself on having made the purchase." 
 
 "As if I did not notice how anxious you were to buy!" re- 
 joined the lawyer. " You must be strongly attached to th 
 old place, to take it on the strength of former associations. I 
 wish it were nearer Tiberius, that we might have more of your 
 society. Did you pass much of your youth here?" 
 
 " Only my summers, from the age of twelve to fifteen. My
 
 A STOBY OP AMERICAN LIFE. 81 
 
 Constitution was rather delicate when I was young, and Mrs, 
 Dennisoii, who was a distant relative of my father, and some- 
 times visited us in New York, persuaded him to let me try 
 the air of Lakeside. Henry was about my own age, and we 
 eoon became great friends. The place was a second homo to 
 mo, thenceforth, until my father's death. Even after I went 
 to Calcutta, I continued to correspond with Henry, but my 
 last letter from Lakeside was written by his mother, after his 
 body was brought home from Mexico." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Hammond, "the old lady fairly broke 
 down after that. Henry was a fine fellow and a promising 
 officer, and I believe she would have borne his loss better, had 
 he fallen in battle. But he lingered a long time in the hospi- 
 tal, and she was just beginning to hope for his recovery, when 
 the news of his death came instead. But see ! there is Roar- 
 ing Brook. Do you hear the noise of the fall ? How loud it 
 is this morning !" 
 
 The hill, curving rapidly to the eastward, rose abruptly from 
 the meadows in a succession of shelving terraces, the lowest of 
 which was faced with a wall of dark rock, in horizontal strata, 
 but almost concealed from view by the tall forest trees which 
 grew at its base. The stream, issuing from a glen which de- 
 scended from the lofty upland region to the eastward of the 
 lake, poured itself headlong from the brink of the rocky steep, 
 a glittering silver thread in summer, a tawny banner of 
 angry sound in the autumn rains. Seen through the hazy air, 
 its narrow white column seemed to stand motionless between 
 the pines, and its mellowed thunder to roll from some region 
 beyond the hills. 
 
 Woodbury, who had been looking steadily across the mead- 
 ows to the north, cried out : " It is the same it has not yet 
 run itself dry ! Now we shall see Lakeside ; but no yet I 
 certainly used to see the house from this point. Ah ! twenty 
 years! I had forgotten that trees cannot stand still; that 
 ash, or whatever it is, has quite filled up the gap. I am afraid 
 I shall find greater changes than this."
 
 His eyes mechanically fell, as the wheels rumbled suddenly 
 on the plank bridge over Roaring Brook. Mr. Hammond looked 
 up, gave the horse a skilful dash of the whip and shot past 
 the trees which lined the stream. " Look and see !" he pres- 
 ently said. 
 
 The old place, so familiar to Woodbury, and now his own 
 property, lay before him. There was the heavy white house, 
 with its broad verandah, looking southward from the last low 
 shelf of the hills, which rose behind it on their westward 
 sweep back to the lake. The high-road to Anacreon and 
 thence to Tiberius, up the eastern shore, turned to the right 
 and ascended to the upland, through a long winding glen. 
 A small grove of evergreens still further protected the house 
 on its northwestern side, so that its position was unusually 
 sunny and sheltered. The head of the lake, the meadows 
 around Ptolemy and the branching valleys beyond, were all 
 visible from the southern windows; and though the hills to 
 the east somewhat obscured the sunrise, the evenings wore a 
 double splendor in the lake and in the sky. 
 
 "Poor Henry!" whispered Woodbury to himself, as Mr. 
 Hammond alighted to open the gate into the private lane. 
 The house had again disappeared from view, behind the rise 
 of the broad knoll upon which it stood, and their approach 
 was not visible until they had reached the upper level, with 
 its stately avenue of sugar-maples, extending to the garden 
 wall. 
 
 The place was really unchanged, to all appearance. Per- 
 haps the clumps of lilac and snowball, along the northern 
 wall were somewhat higher, and the apple-trees in the orchard 
 behind the house more gnarled and mossy ; but the house it- 
 self, the turfed space before it, the flagged walk leading to the 
 door, the pyramids of yew and juniper, were the same as 
 ever, and the old oaks at each corner seemed, twig for twig, 
 to have stood still for twenty years. A few bunches of chrys 
 anthemum, somewhat nipped by the frost, gave their sober 
 autumnal coloring and wholesome bitter-sweet odor to the
 
 A STOKY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 88 
 
 garden-alleys. The late purple asters were shrivelled and 
 drooping, and the hollyhocks stood like desolate floral towers, 
 tottering over the summer's ruin. 
 
 For the first time in twenty years, Woodbury felt the al 
 most forgotten sensation of home steal through his heart. 
 Quickly and silently he recognized each familiar object, and 
 the far-off days of the past swept into the nearness of yester 
 day. His ear took no note of Mr. Hammond's rattling re- 
 marks: the latter was not preciselv the man whose atmosphere 
 lures forth the hidden fragrance of one's nature. 
 
 As they drove along the garden-wall, a strong figure ap- 
 peared, approaching with eager strides. He glanced first at 
 the horse and carriage. " Fairlamb's livery the bay," was 
 his mental remark. The next moment he stood at the gate, 
 waiting for them to alight. 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Hammond?" he cried. "You're 
 late a-comin' : we expected ye las' night. And is this really 
 Mr. Maxwell, I mean Mr. Woodbury well, I'd never ha 
 knowed him. I s'pose you don't know me, nuther, Mr 
 Max.?" 
 
 " God bless me ! it must be little Bute !" exclaimed Wood- 
 bury, taking the honest fellow's hand. " Yes, I see it now 
 man instead of boy, but the same fellow still." 
 
 "Yes, indeed, that I be!" asserted the delighted Arbu 
 tus. He meant much more than the words indicated. 
 Fully expressed, his thoughts would have run something in 
 this wise: "I guess we can git on together, as well as 
 when we was boys. If you ha'n't changed, I ha'n't. I'll 
 do my dooty towards ye, and you won't be disapp'inted ir 
 me." 
 
 In the mean time, Mrs. Fortitude Babb had made her ap 
 pearance, clad in the black bombazine which she had pur- 
 chased for Jason's funeral, and was waiting, tall and rigid, but 
 with considerable internal " flusteration " (as she would have 
 expressed it), ou the verandah. One mental eye was directed 
 towards the new owner, and the other to the fowls in the
 
 34 HANNAH THUBSTON. 
 
 kitchen, which she had cut up the evening before, for a ftio 
 assee> and which were thus rendered unfit for roasting. " Why, 
 he's a perfick stranger !" " If there's only time to make a pie 
 of 'em 1" were the two thoughts which crossed each other in 
 her brain. 
 
 " Mrs. Babb ! there's no mistaking who you arel" exclaimed 
 Woodbury, as he hastened with outstretched hand up th 
 flagged walk. 
 
 The old housekeeper gave him her long, bony hand in 
 return, and made an attempt at a courtesy, a thing which 
 she had not done for so long that one of her knee-joints 
 cracked with the effort. " Welcome, Sir !" said she, with be- 
 coming gravity. Woodbury thought she did not recognize 
 him. 
 
 " Why, don't you remember Max. ?" he asked. 
 
 " Tes, I recollex you as you was. And now I some to 
 look, your eyes is jist the same. Dear, dear!" and in spite 
 of herself two large tears slowly took their way down her 
 lank cheeks. " If Miss Dennison and Henry could be here !" 
 Then she wiped her eyes with her hand, rather than spoil the 
 corner of her black silk apron. Stiffening her features the 
 next moment, she turned away, exclaiming in a voice un- 
 necessarily sharp: "Arbutus, why don't you put away the 
 horse ?" 
 
 The gentlemen entered the house. The hall-door had evi- 
 dently not been recently used, for the lock grated with a 
 sound of rust. The sitting-room on the left and the library 
 beyond, were full of hazy sunshine and cheerful with the 
 crackling of fires on the open hearth. Dust was nowhere to 
 be seen, but the chairs stood as fixedly in their formal places as 
 if screwed to the floor, and the old books seemed to be glued 
 together in regular piles. None of the slight tokens of habit- 
 ual occupation caught the eye no pleasant irregularity of do- 
 mestic life, a newspaper tossed here, a glove there, a chair 
 placed obliquely to a favorite window, or a work-stand oi 
 foot-stool drawn from its place. Mrs. Babb, it is true, with I
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 81 
 
 desperate attempt at ornament, had gathered the most pre- 
 sentable of the chrysanthemums, with some sprigs of arbor- 
 vitse, and stuck them into an old glass flower-jar. Their 
 oungent odor helped to conceal the faint musty smell which 
 till lingered in the unused rooms. 
 
 "I think we will sit here, Mrs. Babb," said Woodbury, 
 leading the way into the library. " It was always my favorite 
 room," he added, turning to the lawyer, " and it has the finest 
 view o^ the lake." 
 
 " I'm afeard that's all you'll have," the housekeeper grimly 
 remarked. "Things is terrible upside-down: you come so 
 onexpected. An empty house makes more bother than a full 
 one. But you're here now, an' you'll have to take it sich as 
 't is." 
 
 Therewith she retired to the kitchen, where Bute soon 
 joined her. 
 
 "Well, Mother Forty," he asked, "how do you like his 
 looks? He's no more changed than I am, only on th' out- 
 side. I don't s'pose he knows more than ever about farmin', 
 but he's only got to let me alone and things '11 go right." 
 
 "Looks is nothin'," the housekeeper answered. "Hand- 
 some is that handsome does, I say. Don't whistle till you're 
 out o' the woods, Bute. Not but what I'd ruther have him 
 here than some o' them people down to Po'keepsy, that never 
 took no notice o' her while she lived." 
 
 "There's no mistake, then, about his havin' bought the 
 farm?" 
 
 " I guess not, but I'll soon see." 
 
 She presently appeared in the library, with a pitcher of 
 cider and two glasses on a tray, and a plate of her best "jum- 
 bles." " There's a few bottles o' Madary in the cellar," she 
 said ; " but you know I can't take nothin' without your leave, 
 Mr. Hammo'ud leastways, onless it's all fixed." 
 
 Woodbury, however, quietly answered: "Thank you, we 
 will leave the wine until dinner. You can give us a meal, 1 
 presume, Mrs. Babb?"
 
 86 HANNAH THTJKSTON. 
 
 " J T wo'nt be what I'd like. I'd reckoned on a supper las' 
 night, instid of a dinner to-day. Expect it ? U be pretty much 
 pot-luck. However, I'll do what I can." 
 
 Mrs. Babb then returned to the kitchen, satisfied, at least, 
 that Mr. Maxwell Woodbury was now really the mast ex of 
 Lakeside
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 AW EVENING OP GOSSIP, IN WHICH WE LEABN SOMETHING 
 ABOUT THE PEBSONS ALEEADY MENTIONED. 
 
 AFTEE a long absence in India, Woodbury had come home 
 to find all his former associations broken, even the familiar 
 landmarks of his boyish life destroyed. His only near relative 
 was an older sister, married some years before his departure, 
 and now a stately matron, who was just beginning to enjoy a 
 new importance in society from the beauty of her daughters. 
 There was a small corner in her heart, it is true, for the exiled 
 brother. The floor was swept, there; the room aired, and 
 sufficient fire kept burning on the hearth, to take off the chill : 
 but it was the chamber of an occasional guest rather than of 
 an habitual inmate. She was glad to see him back again, es- 
 pecially as his manners were thoroughly refined and his wealth 
 was supposed to be large (indeed, common report greatly 
 magnified it) : she would have lamented his death, and have 
 worn becoming mourning for him would even have per- 
 suaded her husband to assist him, had he returned penni- 
 less. In short, Woodbury could not complain of his recep- 
 tion, and the absence of a more intimate relation of a sweet, 
 sympathetic bond, springing from kinship of heart as well as 
 of blood, was all the more lightly felt because such bond had 
 never previously existed. 
 
 In the dreams of home which haunted him in lonely hours, 
 on the banks of the Hoogly or the breezy heights of Darjeel 
 ing, Lakeside always first arose, and repeated itself most fre- 
 quently and distinctly. " Aunt Dennison," as he was ac cus- 
 tomed to call her, took the place, in his affectionate memor"
 
 88 HANNAH THTJRSTOH; 
 
 of the lost mother whose features he could trace but dimly, 
 far back in the faint consciousness of childhood. There 
 seemed to be no other spot in the world to which he had a 
 natural right to return. The friends whom he had left, in 
 New York, as a youug man of twenty-one, had become rest- 
 less, impetuous men of business, from whose natures every 
 element of calm had been shaken, while he had slowly an3 
 comfortably matured his manhood in the immemorial repose 
 of Asia. The atmosphere of the city at first excited, then 
 wearied him. The wish to visit Lakeside was increasing in 
 his mind, when he was one day startled by seeing the prop- 
 erty advertised for sale, and instantly determined to become 
 the purchaser. A correspondence with Mr. Hammond en- 
 sued, and, as there was another competitor in the field, Wood- 
 bury 's anxiety to secure the old place led him to close the 
 negotiations before he had found tune to see it again. Now, 
 however, he had made arrangements to spend the greater part 
 of the winter there, as much on account of the certain repose 
 and seclusion which he craved, as from the physical necessity 
 of that tonic which the dry cold of the inland offered to his 
 languid tropical blood. 
 
 No disposal had yet been made of the stock and implements 
 belonging to the farm, which had not been included in the 
 purchase of the estate. Woodbury's object in buying the 
 land had no reference to any definite plan of his future life. 
 He had come back from India with a fortune which, though 
 moderate, absolved him from the necessity of labor. He sim- 
 ply wished to have a home of his own an ark of refuge to 
 which he could at any time return a sheltered spot where 
 some portion of his life might strike root. His knowledge of 
 farming was next to nothing. Yet the fields could not be al- 
 lowed to relapse into wilderness, the house must have a house- 
 keeper, and the necessity of continuing the present occupants 
 in their respective functions was too apparent to be discussed, 
 For the present, at least, Mrs. Babb and Arbutus were indi* 
 pensable adherents of the property.
 
 A STOEY OF AMERICAN LEFB. 3D 
 
 After dinner, Mr. Hammond paid them what was duo from 
 the estate. Bute turned the money over uneasily in his hand, 
 grew red in the face, and avoided meeting the.eye of the ne\ 
 owner. Mrs. Babb straightened her long spine, took out a 
 buckskin purse, and, having put the money therein, began 
 rubbing the steel clasp with the corner of her apron. Wood- 
 oury, then, with a few friendly words, expressed his pleasure 
 at haeing found them in charge of Lakeside, and his desire 
 that each should continue to serve him in the same capacity as 
 before. 
 
 Mrs. Babb did not betray, by the twitch of a muscle, the 
 relief she felt. On the contrary, she took credit to herself for 
 accepting her good fortune. " There's them that would like 
 to hare me," said she. "Mrs. Dennison never havin' said 
 nothin' ag'in my housekeeping but the reverse; and I a'n't 
 bound to stay, for want of a good home ; but somebody must 
 keep house for ye, and I'd hate to see things goin' tc wrack, 
 after keerin' for 'em, a matter o' twenty year. Well I'll 
 stay, I guess, and do my best, as I've always done it." 
 
 " Et tu, Bute ?" said Mr. Hammond, whose small puns 
 had gained him a reputation for wit, in Tiberius. 
 
 Bute understood the meaning, not the words. "I'm glad 
 Mr. Max. wants me," he answered, eagerly. " I'd hate to leave 
 the old place, though I'm able to get my livin' most anywheres. 
 But it'd be like leavin' home and jist now, with that two 
 year old colt to break, and a couple o' steers that I'm goin' to 
 yoke in the spring it wouldn't seem natural, like. Mr. Max. 
 and me was boys together here, and I guess we can hitch 
 teams without kickin' over the traces." 
 
 After arranging for an inventory and appraisal of the live 
 took, farming implements, and the greater part of t^e furni- 
 ture, which Woodbury decided to retain, Mr. Hammn-ud took 
 his departure. Mrs. Babb prepared her tea at the usual early 
 hour. After some little hesitation, she took her seat at the 
 table, but evadud participation in the meal. Mr. Woodbury 
 sat much longer than she was accustomed to see, in the people
 
 40 HANNAH TUURSTON: 
 
 of Ptolemy : he sipped his tea slowly, and actually accepted 
 fourth cup. Mrs. Babb's gratification reached its height when 
 he began to praise her preserved quinces, but on his unthink- 
 ingly declaring them to be " better than ginger," her grimnest 
 returned. 
 
 " Better than ginger ! I should think so 1" was her mental 
 exclamation. 
 
 Throwing himself into the old leather arm-chair before the 
 library fire, Woodbury enjoyed the perfect stillness of the No- 
 vember evening. The wind had fallen, and the light of a half- 
 moon lay upon the landscape. The vague illumination, the 
 shadowy outlines of the distant hills, and that sense of isola- 
 tion from the world which now returned upon him, gratefully 
 brought back the half-obliterated moods of his Indian life. He 
 almost expected to hear the soft whish of the punka above his 
 head, and to find, suddenly, the " hookah-burdar" at his 
 elbow. A cheerful hickory-fed flame replaced the one, and a 
 ripe Havana cigar the other ; but his repose was not des- 
 tined to be left undisturbed. " The world" is not so easy to 
 escape. Even there, in Ptolemy, it existed, and two of its 
 special agents (self-created) already knocked at the door of 
 Lakeside. 
 
 The housekeeper ushered Mr. Hamilton Bue and the lion, 
 Zeno Harder into the library. The latter, as Member of the 
 Legislature, considered that this call was due, as, in some sort, 
 an official welcome to his district. Besides, his next aim was 
 the State Senate, and the favor of a new resident, whose 
 wealth would give him influence, could not be secured toe 
 soon. Mr. Bue, as the host of the previous evening, enjoyed 
 an advantage over the agent of the " Etna," which he wis not 
 slow to use. His politeness was composed of equal parts of 
 curiosity and the " Saratoga Mutual." 
 
 " We thought, Sir," said the Hon. Zeno, entering, " that 
 your first evening here might be a little lonesome, and you'd 
 be glad to have company for an hour or so." 
 
 The Member was a coarse, obese man, with heavy chops,
 
 A STOET OF AMERICAN LIFE. 41 
 
 thick, flat lips, small eyes, bald crown, and a voice which had 
 been made harsh and aggressive in its tone by much vigorous 
 oratory in the open air. The lines of his figure were rounded, 
 it is true, but it was the lumpy roundness of a potato rather 
 than the swelling, opulent curves of well-padded muscle 
 Mr Hamilton Bue, in contrast to him, seemed to be made 
 angles. His face and hands had that lean dryness which sug 
 gests a body similarly constructed, and makes us thankful for 
 the invention of clothing. He was a prim, precise business 
 man, as the long thin nose and narrow lips indicated, with a 
 trace of weakness in the retreating chin. Neither of these 
 gentlemen posfcessed a particle of that grapy bloom of ripe 
 manhood, which tells of generous blood in either cell of the 
 double heart. In one the juice was dried up; in the other it 
 had become thick and slightly rancid. 
 
 They were not the visitors whom Woodbury would hav*j 
 chosen, but the ostensible purpose of their call demanded 
 acknowledgment. He therefore gave them a cordial welcome, 
 and drew additional chairs in front of the fire. The Hon. 
 Zeno, taking a cigar, elevated his feet upon the lower mould- 
 ing of the wooden mantel-piece, spat in the fire, and re- 
 marked : 
 
 " You find Ptolemy changed, I dare say. Let me see 
 when were you here last ? In ' 82 ? I must have been study- 
 ing law in Tiberius at that time. Oh, it's scarcely the same 
 place. So many went West after the smash in '37, and new 
 people have come in new people and new idees, I may 
 say." 
 
 " We have certainly shared in the general progression ol 
 the country, even during my residence here," said Mr. Ham- 
 ilton Bue, carefully assuming his official style. "Ten years 
 ago, there were but thirty-seven names on the books of th 
 Saratoga Mutual. Now we count a hundred and thirteen 
 But there is a reason for it : the Company pays its loss punc- 
 tually most punctually." 
 
 Unconscious of this dexterous advertising, Woodburj
 
 42 HANNAH THUESTON: 
 
 answered the Hon. Zeno : " Since I am to be, for a while, a 
 member of your community, I am interested in learning some- 
 thing more about it. What are the new ideas you mentioned, 
 Mr. Harder?" 
 
 " Well, Sir, I can't exactly say that Hunkerism is a ne~w 
 thing in politics. I'm a Barnburner, you must know, and 
 since the split it seems like new parties, though we hold on to 
 the old principles. Then there's the Temperance Reform 
 swep' every thing before it, at first, but slacking off just now 
 The Abolitionists, it's hardly worth while to count there's so 
 few of them but they make a mighty noise. Go for Non- 
 Resistance, Women's Rights, and all other Isms. So, you see, 
 compared to the old times, when 'twas only Whig and Demo- 
 crat, the deestrict is pretty well stirred up." 
 
 Mr. Bue, uncertain as to the views of his host upon some of 
 the subjects mentioned, and keeping a sharp eye to his own 
 interests, here remarked in a mild, placable tone : " I don't 
 know that it does any harm. People must have their own 
 opinions, and there's no law to hinder it. In fact, frequent 
 discussion is a means of intellectual improvement." 
 
 " But what's the use of discussing what's contrary to Scrip- 
 tur' and Reason?" cried the Hon. Zeno, in his out-door voice. 
 " Ow party is for Free Soil, and you can't go further under 
 the Constitution, so, what's the use in talking? Non- 
 Resistance might be Christian enough, if all men was saints ; 
 but we've got to take things as we find 'em. When you're 
 hit, hit back, if you want to do any good in these times. As 
 for Women's Rights, it's the biggest humbug of all. A 
 pretty mess we should be in, if it could be carried out! Think 
 of my wife taking the stump against Mrs. Blackford, and me 
 and him doing the washing and cooking !" 
 
 " Who was the Abolitionist for such I took him to be 
 with whom you were talking, last evening, at Mr. Bue's?" 
 Woodbury asked. 
 
 " Wattles a tailor in Ptolemy one of the worst fanatic* 
 among 'em!" the irate Zeuo replied. "Believes in all thf
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 48 
 
 Isms, and thinks himself a great Reformer. It's disgusting to 
 hear a man talk about Women's Rights, as he does. I don't 
 mind it so much in Hannah Thurston ; but the fact is, she's 
 more of a man than the most of 'em. r 
 
 " Hannah Thurston 1 Is not that the lady who sang- a 
 pale, earnest-looking girl, in a gray dress ?" 
 
 " I did'nt notice her dress," the Member answered. " She 
 ings, though not much voice, but what she has tells amaz- 
 ingly. Between ourselves, I'll admit that she's a 6rst-rate 
 speaker that is, for a woman. I was tempted to have a 
 round with her, at the last meeting they held ; but then, you 
 know, a woman always has you at a disadvantage. You 
 daren't give it back to them as sharp as you get it." 
 
 " Do you really mean that she makes public harangues ?" 
 exclaimed Woodbury, who, in his long absence from home, 
 had lost sight of many new developments in American 
 society. 
 
 " Yes, and not bad ones, either, when yon consider the sub- 
 ject. Her mother used to preach in Quaker Meetings, so it 
 doesn't seem quite so strange as it might. Besides, she isn't 
 married, and one can make some allowance. But when Sarah 
 Merryfield gets up and talks of the tyranny of man, it's a 
 little too much for me. I'd like to know, now, exactly what 
 her meek lout of a husband thinks about it." 
 
 " Is Mrs. Waldo, also, an advocate of the new doctrine ?" 
 
 " She ? No indeed. She has her rights already : that is, 
 all that a woman properly knows how to use. Though I don't 
 like the Cimmerian doctrine Mr. Waldo is pastor of thfl 
 Cimmerians yet I think she's a much better Christian than 
 the Merryfields, who still hang on to our Church." 
 
 " What are the Cimmerians ?" inquired Woodbury. " Are 
 they so called from the darkness of their doctrines ?" 
 
 The Hon. Zeno did not understand the classical allusion 
 " They're followers of the Rev. Beza Cimmer," he said. " He 
 was first a Seceder, I believe, but differed with them on thft 
 doctrine of Grace. Besides, they think that Baptism, to b
 
 44 HANNAH THUR8TON : 
 
 saving, must be in exact imitation of that of the Saviour 
 The preacher wears a hair garment, like John the Baptis^ 
 when he performs the ceremony, and the converts long, white 
 robes. They pick out some creek for their Jordan, and do 
 not allow outsiders to be present. They don't grow in nura 
 bers, and have but a very small congregation in Ptolemy. IB 
 fact, Mr. Waldo is considered rather shaky by some of the 
 oder members, who were converted by Cimmer himself. He 
 don't hold very close communion." 
 
 A part of this explanation was incomprehensible to Wood- 
 bury, who was not yet familiar with the catch-words which 
 fall so glibly from the mouths of country theologians. He 
 detected the Member's disposition to harangue instead of 
 converse a tendency which could only be prevented by a 
 frequent and dexterous change of subject. " Your church," 
 he said : " I take it for granted you refer to that of Mr. 
 Styles, seems to be in a flourishing condition." 
 
 "Yes," replied Mr. Hamilton Bue, "we have prospered 
 under his ministry. Some have backslidden, it is true, but we 
 have had encouraging seasons of revival. Our ladies are now 
 very earnest in the work of assisting the Jutnapore Mission. 
 Mrs. Boerum is from Syracuse, and a particular friend of Miss 
 Eliza Clancy. I think Miss Eliza herself would have gone 
 if she had been called in time. You know it requires a 
 double call." 
 
 " A double call ! Excuse me if I do not quite understand 
 you," said the host. 
 
 " Why, of course, they must first be called to the work; 
 md then, as they can't go alone among the heathen, they 
 must afterwards depend on a personal call from some m> 
 married missionary. Now Miss Clancy is rather too old 
 for that." 
 
 Woodbury could not repress a smile at this naive statement, 
 although it was made with entire gravity. " I have seen some- 
 thing of your missions in India," he at last remarked, " and 
 believe that they are caoable of accomplishing much good.
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 41 
 
 Still, you must not expect immediate returns. It is only tlw 
 lowest caste that is now reached, and the Christianizing of 
 India must come, eventually, from the highest.'-' 
 
 Rather than discuss a subject of which he was ignorant, the 
 Hon, Zeno started a new topic. " By the way, the next meet- 
 ing of the Sewing Union will be at Merryfield's. Shall you 
 Attend, Mr. Woodbury ?" 
 
 " Yes. They are among the few persons who have kept me 
 m good remembrance, though they, too, from what you have 
 said, must be greatly changed since I used to play with their 
 eon Absalom. I am very sorry to hear of his death." 
 
 " It is a pity," replied the Member, biting off the end of a 
 fresh cigar. " Absalom was really a fine, promising fellow, 
 but they spoiled him with their Isms. They were Grahamites 
 for a year or two lived on bran bread and turnips, boiled 
 wheat and dried apples. Absalom took up that and the 
 water-cure, and wanted to become a patent first-class reformer. 
 Now, Temperance is a good thing though I can't quite go 
 the Maine Law but water inside of you and outside of you, 
 summer and winter alike, isn't temperance, according to my 
 idee. He had a spell of pleurisy, one winter, and doctored 
 himself for it. His lungs were broken up, after that, and he 
 went off the very next fall. They set a great deal of store 
 by him." 
 
 " Is it possible that such delusions are held by intelligent 
 persons ?" exclaimed Woodbury, shocked as well as sur- 
 prised. " I hope these theories are not included in the gene- 
 ral progress of which Mr. Bue spoke. But I have almost for- 
 gotten my duty as a host. The nights are getting cold, gen 
 lleuien, and perhaps you will take a glass of wine." 
 
 The Hen. Zeno's small eyes twinkled, and his lips twitched 
 'liquorously. " Well I don't care if I do," said be. 
 
 Mr. Hamilton Bue was silent, and slightly embarrassed. He 
 had found it necessary to join the Temperance Society, be- 
 cause the reform was a popular one. He always went with 
 the current as soon as it became too strong to stem con
 
 id HANNAH THUBSTON: 
 
 leniently. But the temptation to indulge still lurked in hit 
 thin blood. It was evident that the Member, for his own 
 sake, would not mention the circumstance, and Mr. Wood 
 bury, in all probability, would never think of it again. 
 
 Some of Mrs. Bubb's "Madary" presently twinkled like 
 smoky topaz in the light of the wood-fire. Mr. Bue at first 
 sipped hesitatingly, like a bather dipping his toes, with a 
 shudder, into the waters of a cold river ; but having once 
 reached the bottom of the glass so quickly, indeed, that it 
 excited his own surprise he made the next plunge with the 
 boldness of a man accustomed to it. 
 
 " You will attend church, I presume, Mr. Woodbury ?" 
 said he. " Of course you have convictions. v 
 
 " Certain! v. " Woodbury answered, without a clear idea of 
 wnai was meant by the word " very strong ones." 
 
 " Of course it could not be otherwise. I shall be very 
 glad if you will now and then accept a seat in my pew. Mr, 
 Styles is a great authority on Galatians, and I am sure you 
 will derive spiritual refreshment from his sermons." 
 
 Here the Hon. Zeno rose and commenced buttoning his 
 coat, as a signal of departure. Growing confidential from his 
 inner warmth, he placed one hand affectionately on Wood- 
 bury's shoulder, somewhat to the latter's disgust, and said: 
 " Now you are one of us, Woodbury, you must take an active 
 part in our political concerns. Great principles are at stake, 
 Sir, and the country has need of men like you. Let me warn 
 you against the Hunkers their game is nearly played out 
 I'll be most happy, Sir, to explain to you the condition of 
 parties. You'll find me well posted up." 
 
 Mr. Bue took occasion to make a parting hint in the interest 
 of the Saratoga Mutual. " If you wish to have your house in- 
 sured, Mr. Woodbury," said he, " I shall be glad to send yow 
 our pamphlets. The Company is so well known, fortunately, 
 that its name is a sufficient recommendation." 
 
 The owner of Lakeside stood on the verandah, watching 
 bis guests drive down the maple avenue. As the sound o/
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 41 
 
 Iheir wheels sank below the brow of the hill, the muffled 
 voice of Roaring Brook came softly to him, across the dark 
 meadows. A part of Atauga Lake threw back the light of 
 the descending moon. "Here," thought he, "is the com- 
 mencement of a new existence. It is not the old, boyish life 
 of which I dreamed, but something very different. I foresee 
 that I shall have to accustom myself to many features of this 
 society, which are not attractive some of them even repug- 
 nant and perhaps the only counterbalancing delight left to 
 me will be the enjoyment of this lovely scenery, the peace of 
 this secluded life. Will that be sufficient? Or will these 
 oaks and pines at last pall upon my eye, like the palms and 
 banyans of the East ? No : one cannot be satisfied with ex- 
 ternal resources. I must study, with a liberal human interest 
 the characteristics of this little community, however strango 
 or repellant they may seem; and certainly, after making 
 friends among the fossilized Brahmins, there must be a few 
 among my fellow-Christians and fellow-countrymen, whom 1 
 can heartily respect and love. Those long Indian years must 
 be placed in a closed Past, and I must adapt myself to habits 
 and associations, which have become more foreign than 
 familiar to me."
 
 HANNAH THUB8TOV : 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AH INtEBVOTW ON THE KOAD, AND A NEW HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 THE Indian Summer still held its ground, keeping back the 
 winter's vanguard of frost and keen nor 1 westers. Day by 
 day the smoky air became more densely blue and still, and 
 the leaves, long since dead, hung upon the trees for want of a 
 loosening wind. The hickory-nuts fell by their own weight, 
 pattering here and there in the woods, in single smart raps, 
 and giving out a vigorous balsamic odor, as their cleft rinds 
 burst open. Only at night a gathering chill and a low moan- 
 ing in the air gave the presage of an approaching change in 
 the season. 
 
 On one of those warm forenoons which almost reproduce 
 the languor and physical yearning of the opening Spring, 
 Bute Wilson, mounted on Dick, the old farm-horse, jogged 
 slowly along the road to Ptolemy, whistling " The Rose that 
 All are Praising," a melody which he had learned at the 
 singing-school. Bute was bound for the village, on a variety 
 of errands, and carried a basket on his arm. Dick's delibe- 
 rate gait seemed to be in harmony with the current of hia 
 thoughts, The horse understood his rider, and knew very 
 well when to take his ease, and when to summon up the little 
 life left in his stiff old legs. Horses are better interpreters of 
 one's moods than the most of one's human friends. 
 
 Bute was a very good specimen of the American country- 
 man. A little over the average height, and compacted ol 
 coarse, hardy fibre, he possessed, in spite of the common 
 stock from which he had sprung, the air of independent self- 
 respect which a laboring man can only acquire ; " a commu-
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 4 
 
 nity where caste is practically ignored. His independence, 
 however, had not degenerated into impudence : he knew his 
 deficiencies of nature and education, and did not attempt to 
 off-set them by a vulgar assertion of equality. He could sit 
 t Mr. Woodbary's table (using the knife a little too freely) 
 without embarrassment, and could take his dinner in the 
 kitchen without being conscious of degradation. His horses, 
 cattle, and crops occupied the first place in his mind him 
 self no, another person had the second place and his own 
 personality gave him the least trouble. He was a general 
 favorite in the neighborhood, and his position was, perhaps, 
 more fortunate than he knew, though the knowledge of it 
 would not have made him happier than he was. He was hon- 
 estly respected by those below, and not looked down upon by 
 those above him. This consideration was won by his thorough 
 frankness, simplicity, and kindness of heart. His face was too 
 broad and his nose too thick, to be called handsome; but 
 there were fewer eyes into which men looked with more satis- 
 faction than the pair of large blue-gray ones, divided by the 
 nose aforesaid. His forehead was rather low, but open and 
 smooth, and his yellow hair, curling a little at the ends, grew 
 back from the temples with a sturdy set, as if determined that 
 they should not be hidden. Add to these traits a voice mel- 
 low in spite of its volume the cattle understood its every in 
 flection and it is easy to perceive that Bute was in especial 
 favor with the opposite sex. From head to foot, Nature had 
 written upon him : This man is a male. 
 
 Bute had climbed the rise beyond Roaring Brook, when his 
 reveries, whatever they might have been, were interrupted by 
 the sight of a woman, walking towards Ptolemy, a short dis- 
 tance in advance of him. Although no other person was near, 
 to play the spy, he felt the blood creeping up to his ears, as 
 he looked keenly and questioningly at the little figure, in its 
 dark-blue merino dress, tripping forward with short, quick 
 steps. Dick noticed the change in his master, and broke into 
 * trot down the gentle slope. At the sound of hoofs, the figure 
 8
 
 (0 HANNAH THTTBSTON: 
 
 * 
 
 turned, disclosing a bunch of brown ringlets and a saucy littl* 
 nose, then drew to one side of the road and stopped. 
 
 u Good-morning, Miss Carrie !" cried Bute, as he drew rein, 
 on approaching : " I thought it was you. Goin' to Ptolemy ? 
 So am I. Git up on the bank, and I'll take ye on behind me. 
 Dick 11 carry double he's as quiet as a lamb. Here, I'll jerk 
 off my coat for you to set on." And he had his right arm oat 
 of the sleeve before he had finished speaking. 
 
 "Ah!" cried the lady, affecting a mild scream; "No, in- 
 deed, Mr. Wilson ! I am so afraid of horses. Besides, I don't 
 think it would look right." 
 
 It suddenly occurred to- Bute's mind, that, in order to ride 
 as he had proposed, she would be obliged to clasp him with 
 both arms. Heaving a sigh of regret, he drew on his coat and 
 jumped off the horse. 
 
 "Well, if you won't ride with me, I'll walk with you, anv 
 how. How's your health, Miss Carrie ?" offering his hand. 
 
 " Very well, I thank you, Mr. Wilson. How's Mrs. Babb ? 
 And I hear that Mr. Woodbury has come to live with you." 
 
 Miss Caroline Dilworth was too well satisfied at meeting with 
 Bute, to decline his proffered company. She was on her way 
 from the house of a neighboring farmer, where she had been 
 spending a fortnight as seamstress, to the cottage of the widow 
 Thurston, who lived on the edge of the village. The old 
 lady's health was declining, and Miss Dilworth occasionally 
 Tendered a friendly assistance to the daughter. They were 
 both ahvays glad to see the lively, chattering creature, in spite 
 of her manifold weaknesses and affectations. She was twenty 
 five years of age, at least, but assumed all the timidity and in- 
 experience of a girl of sixteen, always wearing her hair in a 
 mesh of natural ringlets which hung about her neck, and talk- 
 ing with a soft childish drawl, unless which rarely happen 
 ed she was so very much in earnest as to forget herself. Her 
 QOSQ was piquantly retrousse, her mouth small and cherry-red, 
 and her complexion fair (for she took great care of it) ; but 
 her eyes inclined to pale-green rather than blue, and she had
 
 A 81 GUY OF AMERICAN UEE. 51 
 
 an affected habit of dropping the lids. Perhaps this was to 
 conceal the unpleasant redness of their edges, for they wer 
 oftentimes so inflamed as to oblige her to suspend her occupa- 
 tion. Her ambition was, to become a teacher a post foi 
 which she was not at all qualified. Hannah Thurston, how 
 ever, had kindly offered to assist her in preparing herself foi 
 the coveted career. 
 
 What it was that attracted Bute Wilson to Miss Dilworth, 
 he was unable to tell. Had the case been reversed, we should 
 not wonder at it. Only this much was certain ; her society 
 was a torment to him, her absence a pain. He would have cut 
 off his little finger for the privilege of just once lifting her in 
 his strong arms, and planting a kiss square upon the provok- 
 ing mouth, which, as if conscious of its surplus of sweetness, 
 could say so many bitter things to him. Bute had never 
 spoken to her of the feeling which she inspired in him. Why 
 should he ? She knew just how he felt, and he knew that she 
 knew it. She played with him as he had many a time piayed 
 with a big trout at the end of his line. Over and over again 
 he had been on the point of giving her up, out of sheer worri- 
 ment and exhaustion of soul, when a sudden look from those 
 downcast eyes, a soft word, half whispered in a voice whose 
 deliberate sweetness tingled through him, from heart to finger- 
 ends, bound him faster than ever. Miss Dilworth little sus- 
 pected Low many rocks she had sledged to pieces, how many 
 extra swaths she had mowed in June, and shocks of corn she 
 had husked in October, through Bute Wilson's arm. If Mr. 
 Woodbury were a cunning employer, he would take measures 
 to prolong this condition of suspense. 
 
 On the present occasion, the affected little minx was un- 
 Dsually gracious towards her victim. She had a keen curiosity 
 to gratify. " Now, Bute," said she, as they started together 
 towards Ptolemy, Bute leading Dick by the bridle ; " I wan* 
 you to tell me all about this Mr. Woodbury. What kind of a 
 man is he ?" 
 
 " He's only been with us three or four days. To be sure, 7
 
 52 11ANNA1I THUKSTON : 
 
 kuowed him as a boy, but that's long ago, and I may have to 
 learn him over ag'in. It won't be a hard thing to do, though : 
 he's a gentleman, if there ever was one. He's a man that'll 
 always do what's right, if he knows how." 
 
 "I mean, Bute, how he looks. Tall or short? Is he hand- 
 aome ? Isn't he burnt very black, or is it worn off?" 
 
 " Not so many questions at once, Miss Carrie. He a'n't 
 blacker 'n I'd be now, if I was complected like him. Tall, you 
 might call him nigh two inches more'n I am, and a reg'lar 
 pictur' of a man, though a bit thinner than he'd ought to be. 
 But I dunno whether you'd call him handsome : women has 
 sich queer notions. Now, there's that Seth Wattles, that you 
 think sich a beauty " 
 
 % Bute Wilson! You know I don't think any such thing! 
 It's Seth's mind that I admire. There's such a thing as moral 
 and intellectual beauty, but that you don't understand." 
 
 " No, hang it ! nor don't want to, if he's got it ! I believe 
 in a man's doin' what he purtends to do keepin' his mind on 
 his work, whatever it is. If Seth Wattles lays out to be a 
 tailor, let him be one : if he wants to be a moral and intel- 
 lectual beauty, he may try that, for all I keer but he can't do 
 both to once't. I wish he'd make better trowsus, or give up 
 his business." 
 
 Miss Dilworth knew her own weakness, and carefully avoid- 
 ed entering into a discussion. She was vexed that one of the 
 phrases she had caught from Hannah Thurston, and which she 
 had frequently used with much effect, had rattled harmlessly 
 against the hard mail of Bute's common sense. At another 
 time she would have taken or have seemed to take offence, 
 at his rough speech ; but she had not yet heard enough of Mr. 
 Woodbuiy. 
 
 " Well, never mind Seth," she said, " you've not finished tell- 
 ing me about your new master." 
 
 If she had intended to prick Bute with this word, she utterly 
 failed. He quietly resumed the description: "Every man 
 that I like is handsome to me ; but I think any woman would
 
 A STOKY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 53 
 
 admire to see Mr. Max. He's got big brown eyes, like ti MB 
 o' the doe Master Harry used to have, and a straight nose, like 
 one o' the plaster heads in the libery. He wears a beard on 
 his upper lip, but no whiskers, and his hair is brown, and sort 
 o',curlin'. He's a man that knows what he's about, and can 
 make up his mind in five minutes, and looks you straight in 
 the face when he talks ; and if he'd a hard thing to say (though 
 he's said nothin' o' the kind to me), he'd say it without flinchin', 
 a little worse to your face than what he'd say behind y'r back. 
 But what I like best in him, is, that he knows how to mind his 
 own business, without botherin' himself about other folks'8. 
 You wouldn't ketch him a pitchin' into me because I chaw 
 tobacco, like Seth Wattles did, with all his moral and intellec- 
 tual beauty." 
 
 " Oh, but, Bute, you know it's so unhealthy. I do wisd 
 you'd give it up." 
 
 " Unhealthy ! Stuff and nonsense look at me !" And, in 
 deed Bute, stopping, straightening himself, throwing out his 
 breast, and striking it with a hard fist until it rang like a muf- 
 fled drum, presented a picture of lusty, virile strength, which 
 few men in the neighborhood of Ptolemy could have matched. 
 " Unhealthy !" he continued ; " I s'pose you'd call Seth 
 healthy, with his tallow face, and breast-bone caved in. Why, 
 the woman that marries him can use his ribs for a wash-board, 
 when she's lost her'n. Then there was Absalom Merryfield, 
 you know, killed himself out and out, he was so keerful o' hit 
 health. I'd ruther have no health at ah 1 , a darned sight, than 
 worry my life out, thinkin' on it. Not that I could'nt give 
 up chawin' tobacco, or any thing eke, if there was a good 
 reason for it. What is it to you, Carrie, whether I chaw or 
 not ?" 
 
 Miss Dilworth very well understood Bute's meaning, but 
 let it go without notice, as he knew she would. The truth is, 
 she was not insensible to his many good qualities, but she was 
 ambitious of higher game. She had not attended all the meet- 
 ings held in Ptolemy, in favor of Temperance, Anti-Slavery
 
 E4 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 and Women s Rights, without imbibing as much conceit fta 
 the basis of her small mind could support. The expressions 
 which, from frequent repetition, she had caught and retained, 
 were put to such constant use, that she at last fancied them 
 half original, and sighed for a more important sphere than 
 that of a sempstress, or even a teacher. She knew she could 
 never become a speaker she was sure of that but might sh 
 not be selected by some orator of Reform, as a kindled soul, 
 to support him with her sympathy and appreciation ? Thus 
 far, however, her drooping lids had been lifted and her curls 
 elaborately tangled, in vain. The eloquent disciples, not 
 understanding these mute appeals, passed by on the other side. 
 
 She drew the conversation back to Mr. Woodbury, and 
 kept it to that theme until she had ascertained all that Bute 
 knew, or was willing to tell ; for the latter had such a strong 
 sense of propriety about matters of this kind, as might have 
 inspired doubts of his being a native-born American. By this 
 time they had reached the bridge over East Atauga Creek, 
 whence it was but a short distance to the village. 
 
 " There is Friend Thurston's cottage, at last," said Miss 
 Dilworth. " Have you seen Miss Hannah lately ? But, of 
 course, she can't visit Lakeside now." 
 
 " I'm sorry for it," Bute remarked. " She's a fine woman, 
 in spite of her notions. But why can't she ?" 
 
 " It would not be proper." 
 
 " Wouldn't it be proper for a man to visit us ?" 
 
 " To be sure. How queer you talk, Bute !" 
 
 " Well she says a woman should be allowed to do what 
 ever a man does. If Women's Rights is worth talkin' about, 
 t's worth carryin' out. But I guess Miss Hannah's more of 
 woman than she knows on. I like to hear her talk, might j 
 well, and she says a good many things that I can't answer, 
 but they're ag'in nature, for all that. If she was married and 
 had a family growin' up 'round her, she wouldn't want to be a 
 lawyer or a preacher. Here we are, at the gate. Good-by { 
 Miss Carrie 1"
 
 A STOEY OF AMERICAN LIFE. U 
 
 u Good-by, Bute !" said Miss Dilworth, mechanically, 
 pausing at the gate to see him spring into the saddle and trot 
 rapidly down the street. She was confounded, and a littl 
 an g r yi at the nonchalance with which he treated her oracle. 
 " I wish it had been Hannah Thurston, instead of me," sh 
 said to herself, with a spiteful toss of her head " she hat 
 in answer ready for everybody." 
 
 The plot of ground in front of the cottage already wore 
 ts winter livery. The roses were converted into little obe- 
 lisks of straw, the flower-beds were warmly covered, and only 
 the clumps of arbor-vitse and the solitary balsam-fir were al- 
 lowed to display their hardy green. Miss Dilworth passed 
 around the bouse to the kitchen entrance, for she knew the 
 fondness of the inmates for warmth and sunshine, and thr 
 sitting-room which they habitually occupied looked south 
 ward, over the vegetable garden, to the meadows of the east- 
 ern valley. Every thing was scrupulously neat and ordered. 
 The tops of vegetables left for seed and the dead stalks of 
 summer flowers had been carefully removed from the garden. 
 The walks had been swept by a broom, and the wood-shed, 
 elsewhere more or less chaotic in its appearance, was here 
 visited by the same implement. Its scattered chips seemed 
 to have arranged themselves into harmonious forms, like the 
 atoms of sand under the influence of musical tones. 
 
 In the kitchen a girl of thirteen the only servant the 
 house afforded was watching the kettles and pans on the 
 cooking-stove. This operation might have been carried on in 
 the parlor just as well, so little appearance was there of the 
 isual " slops" and litter of a kitchen. This was Friend 
 Churston's specialty as a housekeeper her maxim was, that 
 there should be no part of a house where a visitor might not 
 be received. Her neighbors always spoke of her kitchen with 
 in admiration wherein there was a slight mixture of despair. 
 
 The sitting-room, beyond, was made cheerful by windows 
 opening to th south and east ; but more so by the homely 
 simplicity and comfort oi' its arrangement. Every object
 
 (6 HJLNTtfAH THTTOSTOW t 
 
 spoke of limited means, but nothing of pinched self-denial 
 The motley-colored rag carpet was clean, thick, and warm j 
 the chintz sofa was relieved by inviting cushions ; the old- 
 fashioned rocking-chair was so stuffed and padded as to remedy 
 its stiffness; the windows were curtained, and a few brands were 
 smouldering among white ashes in the grate. A shelf inside 
 the southern window held some tea-roses in pots, mignionette, 
 heliotrope, and scarlet verbenas. There were but three pictures 
 a head of Milton, an old wood-engraving of the cottage where 
 George Fox was born, and a tolerable copy of the Madonna 
 della Seggiola. On a stand in the corner were the favorite 
 volumes of the old lady, very plainly bound, as was meet, i& 
 calf of a drab color Job Scott's Works, Woolman's Journal, 
 and William Penn's " No Cross, No Crown." A swinging 
 book-shelf, suspended on the wall, contained a different collec- 
 tion, which evidently belonged to the daughter. Several 
 volumes of Carlyle, Margaret Fuller, Shelley, Bettina von 
 Arnim, De Stael's " Corinne," the " Record of Woman," 
 Milton, George Sands' "Consuelo," Mrs. Child's "Letters 
 from New York," Hugh Miller, and bound numbers of the 
 "Liberty Bell," were among them. Had a certain drawer 
 been opened, one would have found files of The Slavery An- 
 nihilato'', Mrs. Swisshelm's Saturday Visitor, and the weekly 
 edition of the New-York Tribune. A rude vase of birch 
 bark, on a bracket, was filled with a mass of flowering grasses, 
 exquisitely arranged with regard to their forms and colors, 
 from pale green and golden-gray to the loveliest browns and 
 purples. This object was a work of art, in its way, and shod 
 a gleam of beauty over the plainness of the apartment. 
 
 Friend Gulielma Thurston, leaning back in the rocking chair 
 had Buffered her hands, with the knitting they held, to suifc 
 into her lap, and looked out upon the hazy valley. Her thiE 
 face, framed in the close Quaker cap, which barely allowed hei 
 gray hair to appear at the temples, wore a sweet, placid ex- 
 pression, though the sunken eyes and set lips told of physical 
 suffering. The spotless book-muslin handkerchief, many-folded,
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN UFB. 5? 
 
 covered her neck and breast, and a worsted aj iron was tied 
 over her drab gown, rather from habit than use. As she bask 
 ed in the baimy warmth of the day, her wasted fingers uncon 
 sciously clasped themselves in a manner that expressed patience 
 and trust. These were the prominent qualities of her nature 
 Vbe secret of her cheerfulness and the source of her 3ourage. 
 
 Late married, she had lost her first child, and shortly after 
 the birth of her daughter Hannah, her husband also. The lat- 
 ter was a stern, silent man, rigid in creed and in discipline, but 
 with a concealed capacity for passion which she had not under- 
 stood while she possessed him. Her mind first matured in 
 the sorrow of his loss, and she became, from that natural 
 neea which is content with no narrower comfort, a speaker in 
 the meetings of her sect. The property she inherited at her 
 husband's death was very small, and she was obliged to labo 
 beyond her strength, until the bequest of an unmarried brother 
 relieved her from pressing want. Hannah, to whom she had 
 managed to give a tolerably thorough education, obtained a 
 situation as teacher, for which she proved so competent that 
 a liberal offer from the Trustees of the Young Ladies' Semi- 
 navy at Ptolemy induced both mother and daughter to remove 
 thither. Her earnings, added to the carefully husbanded pro- 
 perty, finally became sufficient to insure them a modest sup- 
 port, so that, when her mother's failing health obliged Hannah 
 to give up her place, there was no serious anxiety for the 
 future to interfere with her filial duty. 
 
 The daughter was seated at the eastern window, beside a 
 small table, which was covered with gorgeously tinted autnmn 
 leaves. She was occupied in arranging them in wreathe and 
 groups, on sheets of card-board, which were designed to form 
 an album, and to wear, as binding, the embroidery of fern- 
 leaves, upon which w r e first found her engaged. Such an 
 album, contributed by her to the Anti-Slavery Fair, the previ 
 ous year, had enriched the treasury of the Society by the som 
 often dollars, and the managers had begged a second donation 
 of the same kind. 
 S*
 
 68 HANNAH THUKSTON ! 
 
 Catching a glimpse of Miss Dilworth through the window 
 she rose to receive her. In stature, she was somewhat abov 
 the average height of women, though not noticeably tall, aud 
 \ little too slender for beauty. Her hands were thio, but 
 finely formed, and she carried them as if they were a conscious 
 portion of herself, not an awkward attachment. Her face 
 would have been a perfect oval, except that the forehead, in 
 stead of being low and softly rounded, was rather squarely 
 developed in the reflective region, and the cheeks, though not 
 thin, lacked the proper fulness of outline. Her hair was of a rich, 
 dark-brown, black in shadow, and the delicate arches of the 
 eye-brows were drawn with a clear, even pencil, above the 
 earnest gray eyes, dark and deep under the shadow of their 
 long lashes. The nose was faultless, and the lips, although no 
 longer wearing their maidenly ripeness and bloom, were so 
 pure in outline, so sweetly firm in their closing junction, so 
 lovely in their varying play of expression, that the life of her 
 face seenu-d to dwell in them alone. Her smile had a rare 
 benignity and beauty. The paleness of her face, being, to 
 some extent, a feature of her physical temperament, did not 
 convey the impression of impaired health : a ruddy tint would 
 not have harmonized with the spiritual and sensitive character 
 of her countenance. No one would have dreamed of calling 
 Hannah Thurston a beauty. In society nine men would have 
 passed her without a thought ; but the tenth would have stood 
 still, and said : " Here is a woman ' to sit at a king's right 
 hand, in thunder-storms,' " and would have carried her face in 
 his memory forever. 
 
 The severest test of a woman is to play an exceptional part 
 in the world. Her respect, her dignity, her virtue itself, be 
 come doubtful, if not mythical, in the eyes of men. In the 
 small circle of Ptolemy, Hannah Thurston had subjected her- 
 self to this test, and it was no slight triumph for her, had she 
 known it, that, while her views were received with either hor- 
 ror or contempt, while the names of her fellow priestesses 01 
 prophetesses were bandied about in utter disrespect, she wst
 
 A SICK? OF AMEMCAN LIFE. 69 
 
 never personally ridiculed. No tongue dared to whisper an 
 insinuation against either her sincerity or her purity. This, 
 however, was partly owing to the circumstanpes of her life in 
 the place. She had first achieved popularity as a teacher, and 
 honor as a daughter. Among other things, it was generally re- 
 ported and believed that she had declined an offer of marriage, 
 advantageous in a worldly point of view, and the act was set 
 down to her credit as wholly one of duty towards her mother. 
 
 In her plain brown dress, with linen collar and cuffs, the 
 only ornament being a knot of blue ribbon at the throat, she 
 also, appeared to be a Quakeress ; yet, she had long since per- 
 ceived that the external forms of the sect had become obsolete, 
 and no longer considered herself bound by them. Some con- 
 cession in dress, however, was still due for her mother's sake, 
 beyond whose rapidly shortening span of life she could see no 
 aim in her own, unless it were devoted to righting the wrongs 
 of her sex. She had had her girlish dreams ; but the next 
 birthday was her thirtieth, and she had already crossed, in re- 
 solve, that deep gulf in a woman's life. 
 
 Miss Caroline Dilworth, in her blue dress, came as if dipped 
 in the Indian Summer, with a beryl gleam in her eyes, as she 
 darted into the sitting-room. She caught Hannah Thurston 
 around the waist, and kissed her twice : she was never known 
 to greet her female friends with less. Then, leaning gently 
 over the rocking-chair, she took the old woman's hand. 
 
 " Take off thy bonnet, child," said the latter, " and push 
 thy hair back, so that I can see thy face. I'm glad thee's 
 come." 
 
 " Oh, Friend Thurston, I was so afraid I couldn't get away 
 from Parkman's. It's a lonely place, you know, over the hill, 
 and she's hard of hearing. Ah ! I'm out of breath, yet" and 
 therewith heaving a sigh of relief, the little creature threw off 
 her shawl and untied the strings of her bonnet. 
 
 Their life had so much in it that was grave and earnest 
 their conversation naturally turning to the past rather than 
 ihe future that the Thurstons always felt themselves cheered
 
 60 HANNAH THUB8TON : 
 
 by Miss Dilworth's visits. She dropped her affratauons in 
 their presence, and became, for the time, a light-hearted, ami- 
 able, silly woman. She never arrived without a fresh budget 
 of gossip, generally of slight importance, but made piquant by 
 her rattling way of telling it. 
 
 " How thee does run on !" Friend Thurston would some 
 times say, whereupon the sempstress would only toas her curli 
 and run on all the more inveterately. 
 
 " Oh, I must tell you all about Lakeside and the new owner !" 
 she exclaimed, as she settled herself into a chair. 
 
 Hannah Thurston could probably have told her more about 
 Mr. Woodbury than she already knew; but it would have 
 been unkind to cut short the eager narrative, and uo Bute's re- 
 port, with many additions and variations, was served out to 
 them in chapters, during the afternoon.
 
 * STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IH WHICH MR. WOODBURT HEARS A WOMAN SPBUK. 
 
 1st his intercourse with the society of his new home, Wood 
 bury found fewer distasteful circumstances to be overlooked, 
 than he had at first feared. The novelty of the experience 
 had its charm, and, as bis mind recovered something of that 
 active irterest in men which he had almost unlearned, he was 
 surprised to find how vital and absorbing his relations with 
 them became. From the very earnestness of his views, how- 
 ever, he was reticent in the expression of them, and could with 
 difficulty accustom himself to the discussion, in mixed society, of 
 subjects which are usually only broached in the confidential inti- 
 macy of friends. Not merely " Fate, free-will, foreknowledge 
 absolute," but the privacy of individual faiths, doubts, and as- 
 pirations, became themes of discussion ; even the shrinking 
 sanctity of love was invaded, and the ability to converse 
 fluently was taken by the community of Ptolemy as a sign of 
 capacity to feel deeply on these subjects. 
 
 At the dinners and evening parties of the English, an intel- 
 lectual as well as a social propiiety is strictly observed, and the 
 man who makes a habit of producing for general inspection, 
 bis religious convictions or his moral experiences, is speedily 
 voted a bore. Maxwell Woodbury, whose long residence in 
 Calcutta had fixed his habits, in this respect, was at first more 
 amused than shocked, at the abandon with which spiritual 
 intimacies were exchanged, in the society of Ptolemy. He soon 
 learned, however, that much of this talk was merely a superfi- 
 cial Beutimentalism, and that the true sanctities of the speakers'
 
 62 HA1TNAH THURSTON: 
 
 hearts were violated more in appearance than in fact. Never- 
 theless, he felt no inclination to take part in conversation of 
 this character, and fell into the habit of assuming a mystical, 
 paradoxical tone, whenever he was forcibly drawn into th 
 discussion. Sometimes, indeed, he was tempted to take the 
 opposite side of the views advocated, simply in order to extort 
 m'>re reckless and vehement utterances from their defenders. 
 It i& not surprising, therefore, that his lack of earnestness, aa 
 t seemed to the others was attributed by many to a stolid 
 .ndifference to humanity. Seth Wattles even went so far aa 
 to say : " I should not wonder if he had made his money in 
 the accursed opium traffic." 
 
 The two topics which, for him, possessed an intrinsically re- 
 pellant character, happened to be those which were at that 
 time most actively discussed: Spiritualism and Women's 
 Rights. He had seen the slight-of-hand of the Indian jugglers, 
 far more wonderful than any feats supernaturally performed 
 in the presence of mediums, and the professed communications 
 from the world of spirits struck him as being more inane 
 twaddle than that which fell from the lips of the living be- 
 lievers. He had not lived thirty-six years without as much 
 knowledge of woman as a single man may profitably acquire; 
 and the better he knew the sex, the more tender and profound 
 became his regard. To him, in his strength, however, the re- 
 lation of protector was indispensable ; the rudest blows of life 
 must first fall upon his shield. The idea of an independent 
 strength, existing side by side with his, yet without requiring 
 its support, was unnatural and repulsive. Aunt Dennison, in 
 her noble self-abnegation as wife and mother, was more queenly 
 in his eyes, than Mary Wollstonecraft or Madame de Slae'L 
 It was difficult for him to believe how any truly refined and 
 feminine woman could claim for her sex a share in the special 
 occupations of man. 
 
 There is always a perverse fate which attracts one into the 
 very situations he wishes to avoid. On the evening when the 
 Sewing-Union met at Merryfield's, Woodbury happened to \*
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 68 
 
 drawn into a group which contained Mrs. Waldo, Hannah 
 Thurston, and the host. The latter was speaking of a plan 
 for a Female Medical College. 
 
 " It is the first step," said he, " and its success will over- 
 throw the dynasty of ideas, under which woman has beer 
 crushed, as it were." The phrase: "dynasty of ideas," h 
 had borrowed from a recent lecturer. 
 
 " Well", said Mrs. Waldo, musingly, "if it went no further 
 I should not have much to say against it, for we know that 
 women are the best nurses, and they may make tolerable doc 
 tors. But I should prefer that somebody else than myself 
 made the beginning." 
 
 " You are right," remarked Woodbury ; "it is not pleasant 
 to think of a woman standing at a dissecting-table, with a 
 scalpel in her hand, and a quarter of a subject before her." 
 
 Hannah Thurston shuddered inwardly, but at once took np 
 the gauntlet. " Why not ?" she asked. " Are not women 
 capable of this, and more than this, for the sake of knowledge 
 that will enable them to do good? Or is it because their 
 minds are too weak to grapple with the mysteries of science ?" 
 
 Woodbury, to avoid a discussion to which he was so 
 strongly averse, assumed a gay, bantering tone. "In the 
 presence of ladies," he said, smiling, and partly directing his 
 words to Mrs. Waldo, " there is only one way of answering 
 the latter question." 
 
 Hannah Thurston was of too earnest a nature to endure 
 trifling for such seemed his reply. Her gray eyes kindled 
 with an emotion a very little milder than contempt. "So!" 
 she exclaimed, " we must still endure the degradation of 
 hollow compliment. We are still children, and our noise cat 
 be quieted with sugar-plums!" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Miss Thurston !" Woodbury gravely 
 answered. " My apparent disrespect was but a shift to avoid 
 discussing a subject which I have never seriously considered, 
 and which, I will only say, seems to me a matter of instinct 
 rather than of argument. Besides," he added, "I believ
 
 64 HANNAH THtTRSTON: 
 
 Mrs. Waldo, as our dictatress, prohibits debate on theM 
 occasions." 
 
 The lady referred to immediately came to his assistance. 
 " 1 do prohibit it ;" said she, with a magisterial wave of the 
 hand; "and you cannot object to my authority, Hannah, 
 jince you have a chance to defend our sex, and cover with 
 confusion all such incorrigible bachelors as Mr. Woodbury, on 
 Thursday next. I'm sure he's a misanthrope, or mis what 
 ever you call it." 
 
 "A misogynist?" Woodbury gayly suggested. "No, no, 
 Mrs. Waldo. Do not you, as a clergyman's wife, know that 
 there may be a devotional feeling so profound as to find the 
 pale of any one sect too narrow ?" 
 
 Hannah Thurston looked earnestly at the speaker. What 
 did he mean ? was that also jest ? she asked herself. She 
 was unaccustomed to such mental self-possession. Most of 
 the men she knew would have answered her with spirit, con- 
 sidering that to decline a challenge thrown down by a woman 
 was equivalent to acknowledging the intellectual equality of 
 the sexes this being the assertion which they most strenu- 
 ously resisted. Mr. Woodbury, however, had withdrawn as 
 a matter of taste and courtesy. She had given him the 
 opportunity of doing so, a little to her own discomfiture, and 
 was conscious that her self-esteem was wounded by the result. 
 She could not quite forgive him for this, though his manner, 
 she felt, compelled respect. At the risk of having her silence 
 misinterpreted, she made no reply. 
 
 Woodbury, who had not understood Mrs. Waldo's allusion, 
 took an opportunity, later in the evening, to ask for an ex 
 planation. 
 
 " I thought you had heard," said she. " There is to be a 
 meeting in favor of Women's Rights, on Thursday afternoon, 
 at the Hah 1 , in Ptolemy. Mr. Bemis, the great advocate of 
 the reform, is to be there, and I believe they expect Beside 
 Stryker." 
 
 " Who is Bess'.e Stryker ?"
 
 A 6TOBY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 66 
 
 " Mr. Woodbury ! It's well you did not ask Hannah Thurt- 
 ton that question. You've been out of the country I had 
 forgotten that ; but I should think you must have heard of 
 her in Calcutta. She has travelled all over the country, 
 lecturing on the subject, and has made such a name as a 
 speaker that everybody goes to hear her. She is quite pretty, 
 and wears the new Bloomer dress." 
 
 * Really, you excite my curiosity. I must attend thig 
 meeting, if only to show Miss Thurston that I am above th* 
 vulgar prejudice which I presume she imputes to me." 
 
 " Oh, no, Mr. Woodbury. Hannah Thurston is not unjust, 
 whatever faults she may have. But you should know that she 
 has a dislike morbid, it seems to me of the compliments 
 which you men generally pay to us women. For my part, I 
 see no harm in them." 
 
 "Both of you, at least, are candid," replied Woodbury, 
 laughing, "and that trait, with me, covers a multitude of 
 weaknesses." 
 
 Woodbury went to the meeting on the following Thursday, 
 much as he would have attended a Brahminical festival in 
 honor of the Goddess Unna-Purna. He felt no particular 
 interest in the subject to be treated, except a curiosity to know 
 how it could be rendered plausible to a semi-intelligent 
 auditory. Of Ptolemy, privately and socially, he had seen 
 something, but he had not yet mingled with Ptolemy in 
 public. 
 
 " The Hall,'' as it was called (being the only one in the 
 place), was a brick building, situated on the principal street. 
 Its true name was Tumblety Hall, from the builder and owner, 
 Mr. Jabez Tumblety, who had generously bestowed his namt 
 npon it in consideration of receiving ten per cent, on his in- 
 vestment, from the lease of it to phrenologists, the dancing 
 school, Ethiopian Minstrels, exhibitors of laughing gas, lec- 
 turers on anatomy (the last lecture exclusively for gentlemen), 
 jugglers, temperance meetings, caucuses of the Hunkers and 
 Barnburners, and, on Sundays, to the Bethesdeans in thf
 
 60 HANNAH THUBSTOK: 
 
 morning and the Spiritualists in the evening. Its intern* 
 aspect was rather shabby. The roughly-plastered walls offered 
 too great a temptation for the pencils and charcoal of un- 
 fledged artists, when bored by a windy orator. Various 
 grotesque heads, accompanied by names and dates, made up 
 for the absence of frescoes, but the talent thus displayed did 
 not seem to be appreciated, for under some of them was 
 written, in a later hand : " he is a fool." The benches were 
 of unpainted pine, with long back-rails, which, where they 
 had not been split off by the weight of the leaning crowd, 
 were jagged with whittled notches. Along the further end 
 of the hall ran a platform, raised three feet above the floor, 
 and containing a table, three arm-chairs, and two settees. The 
 floor might have been swept, but had not recently been 
 washed, to judge from the stains of tobacco-juice by which it 
 was irottled. 
 
 When Woodbury entered, the seats were nearly all ocou 
 pied, an audience of five hundred persons being in attendance. 
 Most of them were evidently from the country; some, indeed, 
 who were favorably inclined to the cause, had come from Mul- 
 ligansville and Atauga City. All the loafers of Ptolemy were 
 there, of course, and occupied good seats. The few members 
 of the respectable, conservative, moneyed class, whose curiosity 
 drew them in, lingered near the door, on the edges of the 
 crowd, in order that they might leave whenever so disposed, 
 without attracting attention to their presence. 
 
 Mr. Merryfield occupied the middle chair on the platform, 
 with a heavy-faced, bald-templed, belligerent looking gentleman 
 on his right, and a middle-aged lady in black silk, on his left. 
 Tho settees were also occupied by persons of both sexes who 
 were interested in the cause. Among them was Ilanuah 
 Thurston. 
 
 A whispered consultation was carried on for some time 
 among the party on the platform, the belligerent gentleman 
 evidently having the most to say. Finally Mr. Merryfield 
 arose, thumped upon the table, and after waiting a minute
 
 A STORY Or AMERICAN LIFE. 6? 
 
 for the " sh& /" to subside, announced : " The meeting will now 
 come to order !" 
 
 The meeting being already in order, no efljsct was produced 
 by this announcement. 
 
 " As we have assembled together, as it were," he continued, 
 " principally to listen to the noble advocates of the glorioui 
 cause who are to appear before us, my friends suggest that 
 that there should be no that we should dispense, as it were, 
 with a regular organization, and proceed to listen to their 
 voices. The only I would suggest, if the meeting is willing, 
 that we should appoint that is, that a committee should be 
 named, as it were, to draw up resolutions expressing their 
 our sense on the subject of Women's Rights. Perhaps," he 
 added, turning around, " some one will make the motion." 
 
 " I move that a committee of six be appointed !" " I second 
 the motion !" were heard, almost simultaneously. 
 
 " Those in favor of that motion will signify their assent by 
 saying ' Aye !' " said Mr. Merryfield. 
 
 " Aye !" rang through the house with startling unanimity, 
 all the boys expressing their enthusiastic assent. 
 
 " Contrary' No !' " 
 
 Dead silence. 
 
 "The Ayes have it. Who shah 1 the Committee be com- 
 posed of." 
 
 " Both sexes must be represented. Three men and three 
 women," said the belligerent gentleman, suddenly, half rising 
 from his seat. 
 
 In a short time the members of the Committee were appoint- 
 ed, and, there being no further business on hand, Mr. Merry- 
 field said : " I have now the pleasure, as it were, of introducing 
 to the audience the noble advocate of Women's Rights, Isaiah 
 Bemis. who whose name is is well known to you all as the 
 champion of his I mean, her persecuted sex." Mr. Merry- 
 field was so disconcerted by the half-suppressed laughter which 
 followed this blunder, that the termination of his eulogium bfr 
 ame still more confused " The name of Isaiah Bemis," h
 
 88 HATSTNAH 
 
 said, "does not need my condera commendation. When 
 Woman shall fill her true spere, it will shine will be written 
 among the martyrs of Reform, as it were, for Truth, crushed 
 to Earth, rises up in spite of of though the heavens fall !" 
 
 Mr. Bemis, who was no other than the gentleman of bel- 
 ligerent aspect, already mentioned, at once arose, bowing 
 gravely in answer to a slight, hesitating, uncertain sound of 
 applause. The Ptolemy public had not listened for years to 
 speakers of all kinds, and on all subjects, without acquiring 
 some degree of critical perception. They both enjoyed and 
 prided themselves on their acumen, and a new man, whatever 
 his doctrines might be, was sure that he would find a full 
 house to receive him. If he possessed either eloquence or 
 humor, in any appreciable degree, he had no reason to com- 
 plain of his reception. The class of hearers to which we refer 
 did not consider themselves committed to the speaker's views 
 by their manifestations of applause. Off the platform, there 
 were not twenty advocates of Women's Rights in the whole 
 audience, yet all were ready to hear M Bemis, and to approve 
 a good thing, if he should happen to say it. 
 
 A few minutes, however, satisfied them that he was not the 
 kind of speaker they coveted. He took for his text that maxim 
 of the Declaration of Independence, that " all governments de- 
 rive their just powers from the consent of the governed," first 
 proved the absolute justice of the theory, and then exhibited 
 the flagrant violation of it in the case of woman. She is 
 equally obliged, with man, to submit to the laws, he said, but 
 has no voice in making them ; even those laws which control 
 her property, her earnings, her children, her person itself, are 
 enacted without consultation with her. She not only loses hei 
 name, but her individual privileges are curtailed, as if she be- 
 longed to an inferior order of beings. The character of his 
 harangue was aggressive throughout. He referred as little 
 as possible, to any inherent difference in the destiies of sex ; 
 men and women were simply human beings, and in Society, and 
 Law, and Government, there should be no distinction mad*
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFJt. 60 
 
 between them. There was a certain specious display of logic 
 in his address ; the faulty links were glozed over, so that his 
 chain of argument appeared sound and strong, from end to 
 end. Granting his premises, indeed, which he assumed with 
 an air, as if they were beyond dispute all the rest readily fol- 
 lowed. Those who believed with him, not perceiving the de- 
 fect in his basis, were charmed with the force and clearness of 
 hie* views. 
 
 A crowd feels, not reasons, and the auditors, after an hour 
 of this talk, began to manifest signs of weariness. Even 
 Woodbary, to whom the whole scene was a study or, rather, 
 a show only kept his place from a desire to hear the famous 
 Bessie Stryker. 
 
 Mr. Bemis at last sat down, and some further whispering 
 ensued. There was a slight hitch in the proceedings, it was 
 evident. In a few minutes, Mr. Merryfield again arose. " My 
 friends," said he ; "I regret to be able to state that we are 
 disappointed, as it were, in listening in the arrival of Bessie 
 Stryker. We expected her in the afternoon stage coming from 
 Cephaloni-*, and was to have lectured there last night, but ha? 
 arrived without her. But I hope, nevertheless, that you will 
 that it will be agreeable to you, as it were, to hear a few 
 words from our friend, Hannah Thurston, who requires whom 
 you know already." 
 
 Hearty signs of approbation greeted this announcement. 
 Thus appealed to, Hannah Thurston, who at first made a move- 
 ment of hesitation, rose, quietly removed her bonnet, and 
 walked forward to the table. Her face seemed a little paler 
 than usual, but her step was firm, and the hand which she 
 placed upon the table did not tremble. After a pause, as if 
 to collect and isolate her mind from external impressions, she 
 commenced speaking, in a voice so low that only its silver 
 purity of tone enabled her to be heard. Yet the slight tremu- 
 lousness it betrayed indicated no faltering of courage ; it was 
 imply a vibration of nerves rather tensely strung. 
 
 "J will not repeat," she began, "the arguments by which
 
 70 HAKNAH THFBSTON : 
 
 the eloquent speaker has illustrated the wrongs endured bj 
 woman, under all governments and all systems of law, whethei 
 despotic or republican. These are considerations which lie 
 further from us; we are most concerned for those injuriei 
 which require an immediate remedy. When we have removed 
 die social prejudices which keep our sex in a false position 
 when we have destroyed the faith of the people in the tyran- 
 nical traditions by which we are ruled the chains of the law 
 will break of themselves. As a beginning to that end, womau 
 must claim an equal right to education, to employment, and re- 
 ward. These are the first steps in our reform, to reach the 
 sources of those evils which cause our greatest suffering. We 
 can endure a little longer, to be deprived of the permission to 
 vote and to rule, because the denial is chiefly an assault upon 
 our intelligence ; but we need now at once and, my friends, 
 I am pleading for millions who cannot speak for themselves 
 we need an equal privilege with'man, to work and to be justly 
 paid. The distinction which is made, to our prejudice, renders 
 us weak and helpless, compared with our brethren, to whom 
 all fields are open, and who may claim the compensation which 
 is justified by their labor, without incurring ridicule or con- 
 tempt. They are even allowed to usurp branches which, if 
 the popular ideas of woman's weakness, and man's chivalry 
 towards her be true, should be left for us. Even admitting 
 that our sphere is limited that there are only a few things 
 which we may properly do is it generous, is it even just, that 
 man, who has the whole range of life to choose from, should 
 srowd us out from these few chances of earning our bread ? 
 Or to force us to perform the same labor for a smaller remti- 
 aeration, because we are women? Could we not measure t 
 yard of calico as rapidly, or choose a shade of zephyr as ccr- 
 rectly as the elegant young men who stand behind the coun' 
 ter? With our more sensitive physical organization, might 
 not all tasks requiring quickness, nicety of touch, and careful 
 arrangement, be safely confided to our hands ?" 
 
 At this point the audience, which had quite lost its air at
 
 A STOET OF AMEKICAN LIFE. 71 
 
 weariness, broke into subdued but cordial applause. Hannah 
 Thurstou's voice, as she acquired possession of her subject, in- 
 creased in strength, but at no time appeared to rise above a 
 convei national tone. Her manner also, was simply converse 
 lional. The left hand slightly touched the table, as if she only 
 * ished to feel a support at hand, not use it ; while she now 
 and then, involuntarily, made a simple movement with the 
 right. The impression she produced was that of a woman 
 jompelled by some powerful necessity or duty to appear 
 before a public assembly, not of one who coveted and enjoyed 
 the position. Woodbury was profoundly interested in the 
 speaker, and in her words. Both were equally new to him. 
 
 11 What we now ask, therefore, my friends," she continued, 
 "is that the simple justice be meted out to us, which we feel 
 that man without adopting any of our views concerning the 
 true position of woman is bound to give. We ask that his 
 boasted chivalry be put into practice, not merely in escorting 
 us to concerts, or giving us his seat in a railroad-car, or serv- 
 ing us first at the table or in all other ways by which the 
 reputation of chivalry and gallantry towards our sex is earned 
 at little cost ; but in leaving open to us those places which he 
 confesses we are fitted to fill in paying us, as teachers, clerks, 
 tailors, or operatives, the same wages for the same woik which 
 men do!" 
 
 Tnis was so simply and fairly stated, that the audience again 
 heartily approved. There was nothing, in fact, of the peculiar 
 doctrines of Women's Rights in what she said nothing to 
 which they could not have individually assented, without com- 
 promising their position in regard to the main point. Mr. 
 Bemis, however, drew down his heavy brows, and whispered 
 to the chairman : " Very good, so far as it goes, but timidly 
 Hated. We must strike the evil at its root." 
 
 After dwelling for some time on this aspect of the question, 
 and illustrating it by a number of examples, Hannah Thurstou 
 went a step further. 
 
 "But we deny," she said, "that Man has any natural righl
 
 71 HANNAH THUBSTON: 
 
 to prescribe the bounds within which Woman may labor an? 
 live. God alone has that right, and His laws govern both 
 sexes with the same authority. Man has indeed assumed it, 
 because he disbelieves in the intellectual equality of women. 
 He has treated her as an older child, to whom a certain amount 
 of freedom might be allowed, but whom it was not safe to 
 release entirely from his guardianship. He has educated her 
 in this belief, through all the ages that have gone by since the 
 creation of the world. Now and then, women have arisen, it 
 is true, to vindicate the equal authority of their sex, and have 
 nobly won their places in history; but the growth of the truth 
 has been slow so slow, that to-day, in this enlightened ma- 
 turity of the world, we must plead and prove all that which 
 you should grant without our asking. It is humiliating that 
 a woman is obliged to collect evidence to convince men of her 
 equal intelligence. She, who is also included in the one word, 
 Man ! Placed side by side with him in Paradise Mother of 
 the Saviour who came to redeem his fallen race first and 
 holiests among the martyrs and saints ! Young men ! Think 
 of your own mothers, and spare us this humiliation !" 
 
 These words, uttered with startling earnestness, produced a 
 marked sensation in the audience. Perhaps it was a peculiarity 
 springing from her Quaker descent, that the speaker's voice 
 gradually assumed the character of a musical recitative, be- 
 coming a clear, tremulous chant, almost in monotone. This 
 gave it a sad, appealing expression, which touched the emo- 
 tional nature of the hearer, and clouded his judgment for the 
 time being. After a pause, she continued in her ordinary 
 tone: 
 
 " The pages of history do not prove the superiority of man. 
 When we consider the position which he has forced woman to 
 Dccupy, we should rather wonder that she has so often resist- 
 ed his authority, and won possession of the empire which he 
 had appropriated to himself. In the earliest ages he admitted 
 her capacity to govern, a power so high and important in its 
 nature, that we should be justified in claiming that it embrace!
 
 A STOBY OF AMEKICAN UFB. 71 
 
 *n other capacities, and in resting our defence on that alone. 
 Such women as Semiramis and Zenobia, Margaret of Denmark, 
 and Elisabeth of England, Maria Theresa, and Catharine of 
 Russia, are not the least not second, even among great 
 rulers. Jael and Judith, and the Maid of Orleans stand no 
 less high among the deliverers of nations, than Leonidas and 
 W illiam Tell. The first poet who sang may have been Homer, 
 but the second was Sappho.* Even in the schools of Philoso- 
 phy, the ancients had their Hypatia, and the scholars of the 
 Middle Ages honored the learning of Olympia Morata. Men 
 claim the field of scientific research as being exclusively their 
 own ; but the names of Caroline Herschel in England, and 
 Maria Mitchell in America, prove that even here women can 
 not justly be excluded. Ah, my friends! when God calls a 
 human being to be the discoverer of His eternal laws, or the 
 illustrator of His eternal beauty, He does not stop to consider 
 the question of sex ! If you grant human intellect at all to 
 Woman, you must grant the possibility of inspiration, of gen- 
 ius, of a life divinely selected as the instrument of some great 
 and glorious work. Admitting this, you may safely throw 
 open to us all avenues to knowledge. Hampered as Woman 
 still is circumscribed in her spheres of action and thought 
 (for her false education permanently distorts her habits of 
 mind) she is yet, at present, fur above the Saxon bondmen 
 from whom the most of you are descended. You know that 
 she has risen thus far, not only without injury to herself, but 
 to your advantage : why check her progress, here? Nay, why 
 check it any where ? If Man's dominion be thereby limited, 
 would his head be less uneasy, if the crown he claims were 
 shared with another ? Is not a friend better than a servant ? 
 If Marriage were & partnership for Woman, instead of a clerk 
 thipj the Head of the House would feel his burthen so much 
 the lighter. If the physician's wife were competent to prepare 
 his medicines, or the merchant's to keep his books, or the law 
 
 * Miss Thurston makes these statements on her own responsibility. 
 4
 
 74 HANNAH THFBSTON: 
 
 yer*8 to draw up a bond, the gain would be mutual. For Wo 
 man, to be a true helpmeet to Man, must know all that Man 
 knows ; and, even as she is co-heir with him of Heaven re- 
 ceiving, not the legal ' Third part,' but all of its infinite ble 
 sedness, so she should be co-proprietor of the Earth, equally 
 armed to subdue its iniquities, and prepare it for a bettet 
 future !" 
 
 With these words, Hannah Thurston closed her addresa 
 As she quietly walked back to her seat and resumed her bon 
 net, there was a stir of satisfaction among the audience, ter 
 minating in a round of applause, which, however, she did not 
 acknowledge in any way. Although, in no part of the dis- 
 course, had she touched the profounder aspects of the subject, 
 especially the moral distinctions of sex, she had given utter- 
 ance to many absolute truths, which were too intimately con 
 nected, in her mind, with the doctrine she had adopted, foi 
 her to perceive their real independence of it. Thus, most of 
 her hearers, while compelled to agree with her in many re- 
 spects, still felt themselves unconvinced in the main particular. 
 She was not aware of her own inability to discuss the question 
 freely, and ascribed to indifference or prejudice that reluc- 
 tance among men, which really sprang from their generous 
 consideration for her sex. 
 
 As for Woodbury, he had listened with an awakened in- 
 terest in her views,. which, for the time, drew his attention 
 from the speaker's personality. Her first appearance had 
 excited a singular feeling of compassion partly for the trial 
 which, he fancied, she must undergo, and partly for the 
 mental delusion which was its cause. It was some time be- 
 fore he was reassured by her calmness and self-possession.. 
 At the close, he was surprised to discover in himself a lurking 
 sensation of regret that she had not spoken at greater length. 
 44 1 was wrong the other night," he -thought. " This woman 
 u in severe earnest, and would have been less offended if I 
 had plumply declined her challenge, instead of evading it. J 
 have yet something to learn from these people."
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFB. 78 
 
 The Committee of Six now made their report. Seth "Wat- 
 tles, who was one of the number, and had assumed to himself 
 the office of Chairman, read a string of Resolutions, setting 
 forth, That : Whereas, this is an Age of Progress, and no re- 
 form should be overlooked in the Great Battle for the Right 
 Therefore, Resolved That we recognize in this movement 
 for the Equal Rights of Woman a cause without the support 
 of which no other cause can be permanently successful : and, 
 Resolved, That we will in every way help forward the good 
 work, by the Dissemination of Light and Information, tending 
 to set forth the claims of Woman before the Community : also, 
 Resolved, That we will circulate petitions to the State Legis- 
 lature, for the investment of Woman with all civil and political 
 rights : and, lastly, Resolved, That, we will use our best en- 
 deavors to increase the circulation of T/ie Monthly Hollyhock^ 
 a journal devoted to the cause of Women's Rights. 
 
 Mr. Merryfield arose and inquired : " Shall the Report of 
 the Committee be adopted ?" He fortunately checked himself 
 in time not to add : " as it were." 
 
 " I move its adoption !" " I second the motion !" were im- 
 mediately heard from the platform. 
 
 " All who are in favor of adopting the Resolutions we have 
 just heard read, will signify their assent by saying 'Aye !' " 
 
 A scattering, irregular fire of " Ayes" arose in reply. The 
 boys felt that their sanction would be out of place on this occa- 
 sion, with the exception of two or three, who hazarded their 
 voices, in the belief that they would not be remarked, in the 
 general vote. To their dismay, they launched themselves into 
 an interval of silence, and their shrill pipes drew all eyes to 
 their quarter of the house. 
 
 " Contrary,' No !' " 
 
 The opponents of the movement, considering that this was 
 Dot their meeting, refrained from voting. 
 
 " Before the meeting adjourns," said Mr. Merryfield, again 
 rising, " I must I take the liberty to hope, as it were, that 
 the truths we have heard this doy may spread may sink
 
 76 HANKAH THTTRSTON: 
 
 deeply into our hearts. We expect to be able to announce, 
 before long, a visit from Bessie Stryker, whose failure whom 
 we have missed from among our eleg eloquent champions. 
 But we trust she is elsewhere, and our loss is their gain. I 
 thank the audience for your attendance attention, I should 
 say, and approbation of our glorious reform. As there is no 
 farther business before the meeting, and our friends from Mul 
 ligansville and Atauga City have some distance to return home, 
 we will now adjourn in time to reach their destination." 
 
 At this hint the audience rose, and began to crowd out the 
 narrow door-way and down the steep staircase. Woodbury, 
 pushed and hustled along with the rest, was amused at the 
 remarks of the crowd: "He? oh, he's a gassy old fellow!" 
 " Well, there's a good deal of truth in it !" " Bessie Stryker ? 
 Fd rather hear Hannah Thurston any day !" " He didn't half 
 like it !" " She has a better right to say such things than he 
 has !" and various other exclamations, the aggregate of which 
 led him to infer that the audience felt no particular interest in 
 the subject of Women's Rights, but had a kindly personal feel- 
 big towards Hannah Thurston.
 
 1. STORY OF AMERICAN LIFB. 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 IN WHICH LAKESIDE BECOMES LIVELY. 
 
 WINTER at last set in the steady winter of Central New 
 Fork, where the snow which falls at the beginning of Decem- 
 ber usually covers the ground until March. Ptolere^y, at least, 
 which lies upon the northern side of the watershed between 
 the Susquehanna and the rivers which flow into Lake Ontario, 
 has a much less variable winter temperature than the great 
 valley, lying some thirty miles to the southward. Atauga 
 Lake, in common with Cayuga and Seneca, never freezes, 
 except across the shallows at its southern end ; but its waters, 
 so piercingly cold that they seem to cut the skin like the blade 
 of a knife, have no power to soften the northern winds. The 
 bottoms between Ptolemy and the lake, and also, in fact, the 
 Eastern and Western Valleys, for some miles behind the vil- 
 lage, are open to the North ; and those sunny winter days 
 which, in more sheltered localities, breathe away the snow, 
 here barely succeed in softening it a little. On the hills it is 
 even too deep for pleasure. As soon as a highway has been 
 broken through the drifts, the heavy wood-sleds commence 
 running, and very soon wear it into a succession of abrupt 
 hollows, over which the light cutters go pitching like their 
 nautical namesakes in a chopping sea. 
 
 Woodbury, in obedience to a promise exacted by his sister, 
 went to New York for the holidays, and, as might have been 
 anticipated, became entangled in a succession of social engage- 
 ments, which detained him until the middle of January. He 
 soon grew tired of acting as escort to his two pretty, but (it
 
 HANNAH THUR8TON I 
 
 mast be confessed, in strict confidence), shallow nieces, whoM 
 sole aesthetic taste was opera and in opera, especially Verdi 
 After a dozen nights of " darling Bosio," and " delightful Be- 
 neventano," and " all the rest of them," he would have been 
 glad to hear, as a change, even the "Taza be-taza" of the Hin- 
 doo nnutch-girls. A season of eastern rains and muddy streets 
 made the city insupportable, and greatly to the wonder of 
 his sister's family he declined an invitation to the grand 
 Fifth Avenue ball of Mrs. Luther Leathers, in order to return 
 to the wilderness of Ptolemy. 
 
 Taking the New York and Erie express-train to the town 
 of Miranda, he there chartered a two-horse cutter, with an 
 Irish attachment, and set out early the next morning. He 
 had never before approached Ptolemy from this side, and the 
 journey had all the charm of a new region. It was a crisp, 
 clear day, the blood of the horses was quickened by the frosty 
 air, and the cutter slid rapidly and noiselessly over the well- 
 beaten track. With a wolf-skin robe on his knees, Woodbury 
 sat in luxurious warmth, and experienced a rare delight in 
 breathing the keen, electric crystal of the atmosphere. It was 
 many years since he had felt such an exquisite vigor of life 
 within him such a nimble play of the aroused blood such 
 lightness of heart, and hope, and courage ! The snow-crystals 
 sparkled in the sunshine, and the pure shoulders of the hills 
 before him shone like silver against the naked blue of the sky. 
 He sang aloud, one after another, the long-forgotten songs, 
 until his moustache turned to ice and hung upon his mouth 
 like the hasp of a padlock. 
 
 Rising out of the Southern valleys, he sped along, over tbe 
 sold, rolling uplands of the watershed, and reached Mulligans- 
 nlle towards noon. Here the road turned westward, and a 
 further drive of three miles brought him to 'the brink of the 
 long descent to East Atauga Creek. At this point, a superb 
 winter landscape was unfolded before him. Ptolemy, with ita 
 spires, its one compactly-built, ambitious street, its scattered 
 houses and gardens, lay in the centre of the picture. On the
 
 A. STOEY OF AMERICAN LIFE. f 9 
 
 white floor of the valley were drawn, with almost painfttl 
 eharpness and distinctness, the outlines of farm-houses, and 
 barns, fences, isolated trees, and the winding lifles of elm and 
 alder which marked the courses of the streams. Beyond the 
 mouth of the further valley rose the long, cultivated sweep of 
 the western hill, flecked with dull-purple patches of pine forest. 
 Koi th ward, across the white meadows and the fringe of trees 
 along Roaring Brook, rose the sunny knoll of Lakeside, shel- 
 tered by the dark woods behind, while further, stretching far 
 away between the steep shores, gleamed the bard, steel-blue 
 sheet of the lake. The air was so in tensely clear that the dis- 
 tance was indicated only by a difference in the hue of objects, 
 not by their diminished distinctness. 
 
 " By Jove ! this is glorious !" exclaimed Woodbury, scarcely 
 conscious that he spoke. 
 
 " Shure, an' it's a fine place, SUIT!" said the Irish driver, ap 
 propriating the exclamation. 
 
 Shortly after commencing the descent, a wreck was descried 
 ahead. A remnant of aristocracy or, at least, a fondness for 
 aristocratic privilege still lingers among our republican peo- 
 ple, and is manifested in its most offensive form, by the drivers 
 of heavy teams. No one ever knew a lime- wagon or a wood- 
 sled to give an inch of the road to a lighter vehicle. In this 
 case, a sled, on its way down, had forced an ascending cutter 
 to turn out into a deep drift, and in attempting to regain the 
 track both shafts of the latter had been snapped off. The sled 
 pursued its way, regardless of the ruin, and the occupants of 
 the cutter, a gentleman, and lady, were holding a consultation 
 Over their misfortune, when Woodbury came in sight of them, 
 &$ the gentleman leading his horse back into the drift to give 
 room, turned his face towards the approaching cutter, Wood- 
 bury recognized, projecting between ear-lappets of fur, the cu- 
 riously-planted nose, the insufficient lips, and the prominent 
 teeth, which belonged to the Rev. Mr. Waldo. The recogni- 
 tion was mutual. 
 
 " My dear, it is Mr. Woodbury !" the latter joyfully cried.
 
 80 HANNAH THUESTON. 
 
 turning to the muffled lady. She instantly stood up in th 
 cutter, threw back her veil, and hailed the approaching deliverer: 
 " Help me, good Samaritan ! The Levite has wrecked me, and 
 the Priest has enough to do, to take care of himself !" 
 
 Woodbury stopped his team, sprang out, and took a survey 
 f the. case. "It is not to be mended," said he; "you must 
 crowd yourselves in with me, and we will drive on slowly, lead- 
 ing the norse." 
 
 " But I have to attend a funeral at Mulligansville the child 
 of one of our members," said Mr. Waldo, " and there is no 
 time to lose. My dear, you must go back with Mr. Wood- 
 bury. Perhaps he can take the harness and robes. I will 
 ride on to Van Horn's, where I can borrow a saddle." 
 
 This arrangement was soon carried into effect. Mr. Waldo 
 mounted the bare-backed steed, and went off up the hill, thump- 
 ing his heels against the animal's sides. The broken shafts 
 were placed in the cutter, which was left " to be called for," 
 and Mrs. Waldo took her seat beside Woodbury. She had 
 set out to attend the funeral, as a duty enjoined by her hus- 
 band's office, and was not displeased to escape without damage 
 to her conscience. 
 
 " I'm glad you've got back, Mr. Woodbury," she said, as 
 they descended the hill. " We like to have our friends about 
 us, in the winter, and I assure you, you've been missed." 
 
 " It is pleasant to feel that I have already a place among 
 you," he answered. " What is the last piece of gossip ? Is 
 the Great Sewing-Union still in existence ?" 
 
 " Not quite on the old foundation. Our fair has been held 
 -by the bye, there I missed you. I fully depended on selling 
 you a quantity of articles. The Anti-Slavery Fair is over, too ; 
 but they are still working for the Jutnapore Mission, as there 
 is a chance of sending the articles direct to -Madras, before 
 long ; and so the most of us still attend, and either assist them 
 or take our own private sewing with us." 
 
 ** Where do you next meet ?" 
 
 ** Ah, that's our principal trouble. We have exhausted all
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 81 
 
 the available houses, besides going twice to Bue's and Wilkin- 
 son's. Our parsonage is so small a mere pigeon-house that 
 it's out of the question. I wish I had some of your empty 
 rooms at Lakeside. Now, there's an idea ! Capital ! Confess 
 that my weak feminine brain is good at resorts I" 
 
 " What is it ?" Woodbury asked. 
 
 " Can't you guess ? You shall entertain the Sewing-Union 
 one evening. We will meet at Lakeside : it is just the thing !" 
 
 " Are you serious, Mrs. Waldo ? I could not, of course, be 
 so ungracious as to refuse, provided there is no impropriety 
 in compliance. What would Ptolemy say to the plan ?" 
 
 " I'll take charge of that !" she cried. " Impropriety ! Are 
 you not a steady, respectable Member of Society, I should like 
 to know ? If there's any thing set down against you, we must 
 go to Calcutta to find it. And we are sure there are no trap- 
 doors at Lakeside, or walled-up skeletons, or Blue Beard cham 
 bers. Besides, this isn't Mulligan sville or Anacreon, and it is 
 not necessary to be so very straight-laced. Oh yes, it is the 
 very thing. As for the domestic preparations, count on my 
 help, if it is needed." 
 
 " I afn afraid," he replied, " that Mrs. Babb would resent 
 any interference with her authority. In fact," he added, 
 laughing, " I am not certain that it is safe to decide, without 
 first consulting her." 
 
 " There, now !" rejoined Mrs. Waldo. " Do you remember 
 what I once told you ? Yes, you bachelors, who boast of 
 your independence of woman, are the only real slaves to the 
 sex. No \vife is such a tyrant as a housekeeper. Not but 
 what Mrs. Babb is a very honest, conscientious, proper sort of 
 a person, but she don't make a home, Mr. Woodbury. You 
 should get married." 
 
 "That is easily said, Mrs. Waldo," he replied, with a laugh 
 which covered, like a luxuriant summer vine, the entrance tc 
 a sighing cavern, " easily said, and might be easily done, if 
 one were allowed to choose a wife for her domestic qualities 
 valued at so much per month." 
 4*
 
 82 HANNAH THtJKSTOW: 
 
 "Pshaw!" said she, with assumed contempt. "You are 
 not a natural cynic, and have no right to be single, at yom 
 age, without a good reason." 
 
 " Perhaps there is a good reason, Mrs. Waldo. Few per 
 sons, I imagine, remain single from choice. I have lost the 
 susceptibility of my younger days, but not the ideal of a true 
 wedded life. I should not dare to take the only perfect 
 woman in the world, unless I could be lover as well as hus- 
 band. I sincerely wish my chances were better : but would 
 you have me choose one of the shallow, showy creatures 1 
 have just been visiting, or one of your strong-minded orators, 
 here in Ptolemy ?" 
 
 Mrs. Waldo understood both the earnest tone of the speaker, 
 and the veiled bitterness of his concluding words. She read 
 his heart at a glance, thorough woman as she was, and honored 
 him then, and forever thenceforth. 
 
 " You must not take my nonsense for more than it is worth, 
 Mr. Woodbury," she answered softly. " Women at my age, 
 when God denies them children, take to match-making, in the 
 h ope of fulfilling their mission by proxy. It is unselfish in us, 
 at least. But, bless me ! here we are, at the village. Remem- 
 ber, the Sewing-Union meets at Lakeside." 
 
 " As soon as the Autocrat Babb has spoken," said he, as he 
 handed her out at the Cimmerian Parsonage, " I will staid 
 word, and then the matter will rest entirely in your hands." 
 
 "Mine? Oh, I am a female General Jackson I take the 
 responsibility !" she cried, gayly, as the cutter drove away. 
 
 Woodbury, welcomed at the gate of Lakeside by the cheery 
 face of Bute Wilson, determined to broach the subject at one* 
 to the housekeeper. Mrs. Fortitude Babb was glad to se 
 him again, but no expression thereof manifested itself in her 
 countenance and words. Wiping her bony right-hand on her 
 apron she had been dusting the rooms, after sweeping she 
 took the one he offered, saying: "How's your health, Sir?" 
 and then added : " I s'pose you've had a mighty fine 
 rhile you was away ?"
 
 A STORY OF AMEBICAN LIFE. 81 
 
 ** Not so fine but that I'm glad to get home again," he 
 answered. The word " home" satisfied Mrs. Babb's sense of 
 justice. His sister, she was sure, was not the housekeeper 
 she herself was, and it was only right that he should see and 
 acknowledge the fact. 
 
 " I want your advice, Mrs. Babb," Woodbury continued. 
 fl The Sewing-Union propose to meet here, one evening. 
 They have gone the round of all the large houses in Ptolemy, 
 and there seems to be no other place left. Since I have 
 settled in Lakeside, I must be neighborly, you know. Could 
 we manage io entertain them ?" 
 
 " Well comin' so suddent, like, I don't hardly know what 
 to think. Things has been quiet here for a long time :" the 
 housekeeper grimly remarked, with a wheezy sigh. 
 
 " That is true," said Woodbury ; " and of course you must 
 have help." 
 
 " No !" she exclaimed, with energy, " I don't want no help 
 leastways only Melindy. The rooms must be put to rights 
 not but what they're as good as Mrs. Bue's any day ; and 
 there'll be supper for a matter o' twenty ; and cakes and 
 things. When is it to be ?" 
 
 " Next Friday, I presume ; but can you get along without 
 more assistance?" 
 
 " 'Taint every one that would do it," replied Mrs. Babb, 
 " There's sich a settin' to rights, afterwards. But I can't have 
 strange help mixin' in, and things goin' wrong, and me to have 
 the credit of it. Melindy's used to my ways, and there's not 
 many others that knows what housekeepin' is. Sich a. mess as 
 tome people makes of it !" 
 
 Secretly, Mrs. Babb was well pleased at the opportunity ot 
 publicly displaying her abilities, but it was not in her nature 
 to do any thing out of the regular course of her housekeeping, 
 without having it understood that she was making a great 
 sacrifice. She was not so unreasonable as to set herself up for 
 ail independent power, but she stoutly demanded and main- 
 tained the rights of a belligerent. This point having onc
 
 84 HANNAH THUBSTON I 
 
 been conceded, however, she exhibited a wonderft^ energy b 
 making the necessary preparations. 
 
 Thanks to Mrs. Waldo, all Ptolemy soon knew of the ar 
 rangement, and, as the invitation was general, nearly every- 
 ^ody decided to accept it. Few persons had visited Lakeside 
 ince Mrs. Dennison's funeral, and there was some curiosity 
 to know what changes had been made by the new owner. 
 Besides, the sleighing was superb, and the moon nearly full. 
 The ladies connected with the Sewing-Union were delighted 
 with the prospect, and even Hannah Thurston, finding that 
 her absence would be the only exception and might thus seem 
 intentional, was constrained to accompany them. She had 
 seen Woodbury but once since their rencontre at Merryfield's, 
 and his presence was both unpleasant and embarrassing to her. 
 But the Merryfields, who took a special pride in her abilities, 
 cherished the hope that she would yet convert him to the true 
 faith, and went to the trouble of driving to Ptolemy in order 
 to furnish her with a conveyance. 
 
 Early in the afternoon the guests began to arrive. Bute, 
 aided by his man Patrick, met them at the gate, and, after a 
 hearty greeting (for he knew everybody), took the horses and 
 cutters in charge. Woodbury, assuming the character of host 
 according to Ptolemaic ideas, appeared at the door, with Mrs. 
 Babb, rigid in black bombazine, three paces in his rear. The 
 latter received the ladies with frigid courtesy, conducted them 
 up-stairs to the best bedroom, and issued the command to 
 each of them, in turn: "lay off your Things!" Their 
 curiosity failed to detect any thing incomplete or unusual in 
 the appointments of the chamber. The furniture was of the 
 Dennison period, and Mrs. Fortitude had taken care that no 
 fault should be found with the toilet arrangements. Misa 
 Eliza Clancy had indeed whispered to Miss Ruhaney Good- 
 win : " AVell, I think they might have some lavender, or bay- 
 water, fcr us," but the latter immediately responded with 
 a warning " sh /" and drew from her work-bag a small 
 oiled silk package, which she unfolded, producing therefrom a
 
 A SI OUT OF AMERICAN LIFE. 88 
 
 diminutive bit of sponge, saturated with a mild extract of 
 lemon verbena. " Here," she said, offering it to the othei 
 spinster, " I always take care to be pervided." __ 
 
 The spacious parlor at Lakeside gradually filled with 
 vorkers for the Mission Fund. Mrs. Waldo was among the 
 )ariiest arrivals, and took command, by right of her undis- 
 puted social talent. She became absolute mistress for the 
 time, hav : ng, by skilful management, propitiated Mrs. Babb, 
 and fastened her in her true place, at the outset, by adaman- 
 tine chains of courtesy and assumed respect. She felt herself, 
 therefore, in her true element, and distributed her subjects 
 with such tact, picking up and giving into the right hands the 
 threads of conversation, perceiving and suppressing petty 
 jealousies in advance, and laughing away the awkwardness or 
 timidity of others, that Woodbury could not help saying to 
 himself: "What a queen of the salons this woman would 
 have made !" It was a matter of conscience with her, as he 
 perhaps did not know, that the occasion should be agreeable, 
 not only to the company, but also to the host. She was re- 
 sponsible for its occurrence, and she felt that its success would 
 open Lakeside to the use of Ptolemy society. 
 
 There was also little in the principal parlor to attract the 
 attention of the guests. The floor was still covered b*y the old 
 Brussels carpet, with its colossal bunches of flowers of impos- 
 sible color and form, the wonder of Ptolemy, when it wag 
 new. There were the same old-fashioned chairs, and deep 
 sofas with chintz covers : and the portraits of Mrs. Dennison, 
 and her son Henry, as a boy of twelve, with his hand upon the 
 heal of a Newfoundland dog, looked down from the walls, 
 We odbury had only added engravings of the Madonna di San 
 Sisto and the Transfiguration, neither of which was greatly ad- 
 mired by the visitors. Mrs. Hamilton Bue, pausing a moment 
 to inspect the former, said of the Holy Child : "Why, it looks 
 just like my little Addy, when she's got her clothes off!" 
 
 In the sitting-room were Landseer's " Challenge" and Arj 
 Scheffer's " Francesca da Rimini." Miss Ruhaney Goodwill
 
 86 HANTSTAH THUBSTON : 
 
 turned suddenly away from the latter, with difficulty suppres- 
 sing an exclamation. "Did you ever?" said she to Miss Eliza 
 Clancy ; " it isn't right to have such pictures hung up." 
 
 " Hush 1" answered Miss Eliza, " it may be from Scripture.*' 
 
 Miss Ruhane) now contemplated the picture without hesita- 
 tion. It was a proof before lettering. " What can it be, then ?' 
 she asked. 
 
 "Well I shouldn't wonder if 'twas Jephthah and Lii 
 daughter. They both look so sorrowful." 
 
 The Rev. Lemuel Styles and his wife presently arrived. 
 They were both amiable, honest persons, who enjoyed their 
 importance in the community, without seeming to assume it. 
 The former was, perhaps, a little over-cautious lest he should 
 forget the strict line of conduct which had been prescribed for 
 him as a theological student. He felt that his duty properly 
 required him to investigate Mr. Woodbury's religious views, 
 before thus appearing to endorse them by his presence at 
 Lakeside ; but he had not courage to break the dignified re- 
 serve which the latter maintained, and was obliged to satisfy 
 bis conscience with the fact that Woodbury had twice at- 
 tended his church. Between Mr. Waldo and himself there 
 was now a very cordial relation. They had even cautiously 
 discussed the differences between them, and had in this way 
 learned, at least, to respect each other's sincerity. 
 
 The last of all the arrivals before tea was Mr. and Mi's. Mer- 
 ryfield, with Hannah Thurston. The latter came, as already 
 mentioned, with great reluctance. She would rather have 
 faced an unfriendly audience than the courteous and self-pos- 
 sessed host who came to the door to receive her. He op- 
 pressed her, not only with a sense of power, but of power 
 controlled and directed by some cool faculty in the brain, 
 Wflich she felt she did not possess. In herself, whatever of 
 intellectual force she recognized, was developed through the 
 excitement of her feelings and sympathies. His personality, 
 it seemed to her, was antagonistic to her own, and the knowl- 
 edge gave her a singular sense of pain. She was woman
 
 A. STOKY OF AMERICAN LIFE. Vl 
 
 enough not to tolerate a difference of this kind without a 
 
 struggle. 
 
 "Thank you for coming, Miss Thurston," said Woodbury 
 as he frankly offered his haud. " I should not like any mem- 
 ber of the Union to slight my first attempt to entertain it I 
 am glad to welcome you to Lakeside." 
 
 Hannah Thurston lifted her eyes to his with an effort that 
 brought a fleeting flush to her face. But she met his gaze, 
 steadily. " We owe thanks to you, Mr. Woodbury," said she, 
 " that- Lakeside still belongs to our Ptolemy community. I 
 confess I should not like to see so pleasant a spot isolated, or 
 what the people of Ptolemy would consider much worse,' 
 she added, smiling " attached to Anacreon." 
 
 " Oh, no !" he answered, as he transferred her to the charge 
 of Mrs. Babb. " I have become a thorough Ptolemaic, or a 
 Ptolemystic, or whatever the proper term may be. I hurl defi- 
 ance across the hill to Anacreon, and I turn my back on the 
 south-east wind, when it blows from Mulligansville." 
 
 " Come, come ! We won't be satirized ;" said Mrs. Waldo, 
 who was passing through the hall. " Hannah, you are just in 
 time. There are five of the Mission Fund sitting together, and 
 I want their ranks broken. Mr. Woodbury, there will be no 
 more arrivals before tea ; give me your assistance." 
 
 " Who is the tyrant now ?" he asked. 
 
 "Woman, always, in one shape or other,'' she answered 
 leading the way into the parlor. 
 
 After the very substantial tea which Mrs. Babb had pre- 
 pared, and to which, it must be whispered, the guests did 
 ample justice, there was a pause in the labors of the Union. 
 The articles intended for the Jutnapore Mission were nearly 
 completed, in fact, and Mrs. Waldo's exertions had promoted 
 & genial flow of conversation, which did not require the aid of 
 the suggestive needle. The guests gathered in groups, chat- 
 ting at the windows, looking out on the gray, twilight land- 
 scape, or watching the approach of cutters from Ptolemy, a? 
 they emerged from the trees along Roaring Brook. Mr
 
 88 HANNAH THTJRSTON: 
 
 Hamilton Bue and the Hon. Zeno Harder were the first to 
 make their appearance, not much in advance, however, of the 
 crowd of ambitious young gentlemen. Many of the latter were 
 personally unknown to Woodbury, but this was not the least 
 embarrassment to them. They gave him a rapid salutation, 
 ince it was not to be avoided, and hurried in to secure advan- 
 tageous positions among the ladies. Seth Wattles not only 
 came, to enjoy a hospitality based, as he had hinted, on the 
 "accursed opium traffic," but brought with him a stranger 
 from Ptolemy, a Mr. Grindle, somewhat known as a lecturer 
 on Temperance. 
 
 The rooms were soon filled and Woodbury was also obliged 
 to throw open his library, into which the elderly gentlemen 
 withdrew, with the exception of the Rev. Mr. Styles. Mr. 
 Waldo relished a good story, even if the point was somewhat 
 coarse, and the Hon. Zeno had an inexhaustible fund of such. 
 Mr. Bue, notwithstanding he felt bound to utter an occasional 
 mild protest, always managed to be on hand, and often, in his 
 great innocence, suggested the very thing which he so evi- 
 dently wished to avoid. If the conversation had been for some 
 time rather serious and heavy, he would say : " Well, Mr. 
 Harder, I am glad we shall have none of your wicked stories 
 to-night" a provocation to which the Hon. Zeno always re- 
 sponded by giving one. 
 
 Bute Wilson, after seeing that the horses were properly 
 attended to, washed his hands, brushed his hair carefully, and 
 put on his Sunday frock-coat. Miss Caroline Dilworth was 
 one of the company, but he had been contented with an occa- 
 sional glimpse of her through the window, until the arrival of 
 Seth Wattles. The care of the fires in the grates, the lamps, 
 and other arrangements of the evening, gave him sufficient 
 opportunity to mix with the company, and watch both his 
 sweetheart and his presumed rival, without appearing to do so. 
 " Darn that blue-gilled baboon !" he muttered to himself; " 1 
 believe his liver's whiter than the milt of a herrin'. au' if you'd 
 cut his yaller skin, he'd bleed whey 'stid o' blood."
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFB. &* 
 
 Seth Wattles, nevertheless, was really guiltless of any designs 
 on the heart of the little seamstress. Like Jherself, he was am- 
 bitious of high game, and, in the dreams of bis colossal con 
 ceit, looked forward with much confidence to the hour when 
 Hannah Thurston should take his name, or he hers : he waa 
 prepared for either contingency. To this end he assumed a 
 tender, languishing air, and talked of Love, and A Mission, 
 and The Duality of The Soul, in a manner which, in a more 
 cultivated society, would have rendered him intolerable. He 
 had a habit of placing his hand on the arm or shoulder of the 
 person with whom he was conversing, and there were in 
 Ptolemy women silly enough to be pleased by these tokens of 
 familiarity. Hannah Thurston, though entirely harmonizing 
 with him as a reformer, and therefore friendly and forbearing 
 in her intercourse, felt a natural repugnance towards him 
 which she could not understand. Indeed, the fact gave hei 
 some uneasiness. " He is ugly," she thought ; " and I am so 
 weak as to dislike ugliness it must be that :" which conclu- 
 sion, acting on her sensitive principle of justice, led her to 
 treat him sometimes with more than necessary kindness. Many 
 persons, the Merryfields included, actually fancied that there 
 was a growing attachment between them. 
 
 "Miss Carrie," whispered Bute, as he passed her in the hall, 
 " Do you like your lemonade sweet ? We're goin' to bring it 
 in directly, and I'll git Mother Forty to make a nice glass of 
 it, o' purpose for you." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Wilson : yes, if you please," answered the 
 soft, childish drawl and the beryl-tinted eyes, that sent a thou- 
 sand cork-screw tingles boring through and through him. 
 
 Bute privately put six lumps of sugar into one glass, which 
 he marked for recognition ; and then squeezed the last bittei 
 drops of a dozen lemons into another. 
 
 The lattei was for Seth Wattles.
 
 90 HANK AH THUBSTOH: 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 WHAT HAPPENED DUEING THE EVENING. 
 
 WOODBUEY had prudently left the preparations for the re- 
 freshment of his numerous guests in the hands of Mrs. Babb, 
 who, aided by the sable Melinda, had produced an immense 
 supply of her most admired pastry. By borrowing freezers 
 from the confectioner in Ptolemy, and employing Patrick to do 
 the heavy churning, she had also succeeded in furnishing very 
 tolerable ices. The entertainment was considered to be and, 
 for country means, really was sumptuous. Nevertheless, the 
 housekeeper was profuse in her apologies, receiving the abun- 
 dant praises of her guests with outward grimness and secret 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " Try these crullers," she would say : " p'r'aps you'll find 
 'em better 'n the jumbles, though I'm afeard they a'n't hardly 
 done enough. But you'll have to put up with sich as there 
 is." 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Babb !" exclaimed Mrs. Hamilton Bue, " don't 
 say that! Nobody bakes as nice as you do. I wish you'd 
 give me the receipt for the jumbles." 
 
 " You're welcome to it, if you like 'em, I'm sure. But it 
 depends on the seasonin', and I don't never know if they're 
 goin' to come out right." 
 
 " Mrs. Babb," said Woodbury, coming up at this moment, 
 " will you please get a bottle of Sherry. The gentlemen, I see, 
 have nothing but lemonade." 
 
 "1 toii Bute to git some for them as likes it." 
 
 "A-hm!" Mrs. Bue ejaculated, as the housekeeper de- 
 parted to look after the wine ; " I think, Mr. Woodbury, they 
 don't tako any thing more."
 
 A STOBY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 91 
 
 "Let me give them a chance, Mrs. Bue. Ah, here cornea 
 Bute, with the glasses. Shall I have the pleasure ?" offering 
 her one of the two which he had taken. 
 
 " Oh, dear me, no not for any thing !" she exclaimed, look- 
 ing a little frightened. 
 
 " Mr. Bue," said Woodbury, turning around to that gentle 
 man, " as Mrs. Bue refuses to take a glass of wine with me 
 you must be her substitute." 
 
 " Thank you, I'd I'd rather not, this evening," said Mr. 
 Bue, growing red in the face. 
 
 There was an embarrassing pause. Woodbury, looking 
 around, perceived that Bute had already offered his tray to the 
 other gentlemen, and that none of the glasses upon it had been 
 taken. He was about to replace his own without drinking, 
 when the Hon. Zeno Harder said : " Allow me the pleasure, 
 Sir !" and helped himself. At the same moment the Rev. Mr. 
 Waldo, in obedience to a glance from his wife, followed his 
 example. 
 
 " I have not tasted wine for some years," said the latter, 
 " but I have no objection to its rational use. I have always 
 considered it sanctioned," he added, turning to Mr. Styles, 
 " by the Miracle of Caiia." 
 
 Mr. Styles slightly nodded, but said nothing. 
 
 " Your good health, Sir !" said the Hon. Zeno, as he emptied 
 his glass. 
 
 ''Healthy somebody echoed, in a loud, contemptuous 
 whisper. 
 
 Woodbury bowed and drank. As he was replacing his 
 glass, Mr. Grindle, who had been waiting for the consumma- 
 tion of the iniquity, suddenly stepped forward. Mr. Grindle 
 was a thin, brown individual, with a long, twisted nose, and a 
 voice which acquired additional shrillness from the fact of its 
 appearing to proceed entirely from the said nose. He had oc- 
 casionally lectured in Ptolemy, and was known, by sight, at 
 least, to all the company. Woodbury, however, was quite 
 ignorant of the man and every thing concerning him.
 
 2 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 "I am surprised," exclaimed Mr. Grindle, with his eyed 
 fixed on vacancy, " that a man who has any regard for hii 
 reputation will set such a pernicious example." 
 
 "To what do you refer?" asked Woodbury, uncertain 
 whether it was he who was addressed. 
 
 " To that /" replied the warning prophet, pointing to tht 
 empty wine-glass " the source of nine-tenths of all the sin 
 and suffering in the world !" 
 
 " I think you would have some difficulty in finding Sherry 
 enough to produce such a result, ' Woodbury answered 
 beginning to understand the man. 
 
 " Sherry, or Champagne, or Heidsick !" retorted Mr. Grin- 
 die, raising his voice : " it's all the same all different forms 
 of Rum, and different degrees of intemperance !" 
 
 Woodbury's brown eyes flashed a little, but he answered 
 coolly and sternly : " As you say, Sir, there are various forms 
 of intemperance, and I have too much respect for my guests 
 to allow that any of them should be exhibited here. Mrs. 
 Waldo," he continued, turning his back on the lecturer, and 
 suddenly changing his tone, " did you not propose that we 
 should have some music ?" 
 
 " I have both persuaded and commanded," she replied, " but 
 singers, I have found, are like a flock of sheep. They huddle 
 together and hesitate, until some one takes the lead, and then 
 they all follow, even if it's over your head. You must be 
 bell-wether, after all." 
 
 " Any thing for harmony," he answered, gayly. " Ah ! I 
 have it a good old song, with which none of our friends can 
 find fault." 
 
 And he sang, in his mellow voice, with an amused air, -which 
 Mrs. Waldo understood and heartily enjoyed : " Drink to me 
 only with thine eyes" 
 
 Mr. Grindle, however, turned to Seth Wattles and said ; 
 gneeringly : " It's easy enough to shirk an argument you can't 
 answer." A fortnight afterwards he exploited the incident in 
 a lecture which he gave before the Sons of Temperance, at
 
 A STOST OF AMERICAN LIFE. 93 
 
 Ptolemy, Commencing with the cheap groggeries, he gradu- 
 ally rose in his attacks until he reached the men of wealth and 
 education. "There are some of these in our^ neighborhood," 
 he said : " it is not necessary for me to mention nances- -men 
 whom perhaps we might excuse for learning the habit of rum- 
 drinking on foreign shores, where our blessed reform has not 
 ^et penetrated, if they did not bring it here with them, to cor- 
 rupt and destroy our own citizens. Woe unto those men, say I! 
 Better that an ocean of fire had rolled between those distant 
 shores of delusion and debauchery and this redeemed land, so 
 that they could not have returned ! Better that they had pei % - 
 ished under the maddening influence of the bowl that stingeth 
 like an adder, before coming here to add fresh hecatombs to the 
 Jaws of the Monster!" Of course, everybody in Ptolemy 
 knew who was meant, and sympathizing friends soon carried 
 the report to Lakeside. 
 
 The unpleasant episode was soon forgotten, or, from a natural 
 sense of propriety, no longer commented upon. Even the 
 strongest advocates of Temperance present felt mortified by 
 Mr. Grindle's vulgarity. Hannah Thurston, among others, 
 was greatly pained, yet, for the first time, admired Wood- 
 bury's coolness and self-possession, in the relief which it gave 
 her. She wished for an opportunity to show him, by her man- 
 ner, a respect which might in some degree counterbalance the 
 recent rudeness, and such an opportunity soon occurred. 
 
 She was standing before the picture of Francesca da Rimini, 
 lost in the contemplation of the wonderful grace and pathos 
 of the floating figures, when Woodbury, approaching her, said: 
 
 " I am glad that you admire it, Miss Thurston. The pic- 
 ture is a great favorite with me." 
 
 " The subject is from Dante, is it not ?" she asked ; " that 
 figure is he, I think." 
 
 Woodbury was agreeably surprised at her perception, espe- 
 cially as she did not say "Dant" which he might possibly have 
 expected. He explained the engraving, and found that she 
 recollected the story, having read Gary's translation.
 
 4 HANNAH THTJESTON: 
 
 
 
 " Since you are so fond of pictures, Miss Thurston," said 
 he, " let me show you another favorite of mine. Here, in the 
 library." 
 
 Taking a large portfolio from its rack, he opened it on th 
 table, under a swinging lamp. There were views of Indian 
 .scenery strange temples, rising amid plumy tufts of palm ; 
 elephants and tigers grappling in jungles of gigantic grass; 
 pillared banians, with gray-bearded fakirs sitting in the 
 shade, and long ghauts descending to the Ganges. The glimp- 
 ses she caught, as he turned the leaves, took away her breath 
 with sudden delight. 
 
 At last he found the plate he was seeking, and laid it be- 
 fore her. It was a tropical brake, a tangle of mimosa-trees, 
 with their feathery fronds and balls of golden down, among 
 which grew passion-flowers and other strange, luxuriant vines. 
 In the midst of the cool, odorous darkness, stood a young In- 
 dian girl of wonderful beauty, with languishing, almond-shaped 
 eyes, and some gorgeous unknown blossom drooping from 
 her night-black hair. Her only garment, of plaited grass or 
 rushes, was bound across the hips, leaving the lovely form bare 
 in its unconscious purity. One hand, listlessly hanging among 
 the mimosa leaves, which gradually folded up and bent away 
 where she touched them, seemed to seek the head of a doe, 
 thrust out from the foliage to meet it. At the bottom of the 
 picture a fawn forced its way through the tangled greenery. 
 The girl, in her dusky beauty, seemed a dryad of the sump- 
 tuous forest the child of summer, and perfume, and rank, 
 magnificent bloom. 
 
 " Oh, how beautiful !" exclaimed Hannah Thurston, at onoe 
 impressed by the sentiment of the picture : " It is like the scent 
 of the tube rose." 
 
 " Ah, you comprehend it !" exclaimed Woodbury, surprised 
 and pleased : " do you know the subject ?" 
 
 "Not at all, but it scarcely needs an explanation." 
 
 " Have you ever heard of Kalidasa, the Hindoo poet ?" 
 
 ** I have not, I am sorry to say," she answered ; " I have
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN L1FB. M 
 
 sometimes found references to the old Sanscrit literature in 
 modern authors, but that is all I know about it." 
 
 " My own knowledge has been derived entirely from trans 
 lations," said he, " and I confess that this picture was the cause 
 of my acquaintance with Kalidasa. I never had patience to 
 read their interminable epics. Shall I tell you the story of 
 Sakontala, this lovely creature ?" 
 
 " Certainly, if you will be so kind : it must be beautiful." 
 
 Woodbury then gare her a brief outline of the drama, to 
 which she listened \vvth the greatest eagerness and delight. 
 At the close, he said : 
 
 " I am sorry I have not a copy of the translation to offei 
 you. But, if you vrouiu like to read another work by the 
 same poet, I think I havo the ' Megha-DutaJ or ' Cloud-Mes- 
 senger,' somewhere in my library. It is quite as beautiful a 
 poem, though not in the dramatic form. There are many cha- 
 racteristic allusions to Indian life, but none, I think, that you 
 could not understand." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Woodbury. It is not often that I am 
 able to make the acquaintance of a new author, and the pleas- 
 ure is all the greater. I know very little of literature outside 
 of the English language, and this seems like the discovery oi 
 a new world in the Past. India is so far-off and unreal." 
 
 " Not to me," he answered, with a smile. " We are crea 
 tures of habit to a greater extent than the most of us guess. 
 If you could now be transplanted to India, in less than five 
 years you would begin to imagine that you were born undei 
 the lotus-leaf, and that this life in Ptolemy had occurred onlj 
 in the dreams of a tropical noonday." 
 
 "Oh, no, no!" said she, with earnestness. "We cannot sc 
 orget the duties imposed upon us we cannot lose sight oi 
 nr share in the great work intrusted to our hands. Right, 
 aud Justice, and Conscience, are everywhere the same!" 
 
 " Certainly, as absolute principles. But our individual duties 
 vary with every change in our lives, and our individual actioL 
 is affected, in spite of ourselves., by the influences of the exter-
 
 96 HAlTffAH TfiFBSTOJT t 
 
 nal world. Are you not to take the simplest evidence of thi 
 fact cheerful and hopeful on some days, desponding and 
 irresolute on others, without conscious reason ? And can you 
 not imagine moods of Nature which would permanently color 
 your own?" 
 
 Hannah Thurston felt that there was a germ of harsh, ma- 
 le rial truth in his words, beside which her aspirations lost 
 irmewhat of their glow. Again she was conscious of a pain- 
 ful, unwelcome sense of repulsion. " Is there no faith ?" she 
 asked herself; " are there no lofty human impulses, under this 
 ripe intelligence?" The soft, liquid lustre faded out of her 
 eyes, and the eager, animated expression of her face passed 
 away like the sunshine from a cloud, leaving it cold and gray. 
 
 Woodbury, seeing Miss Eliza Clancy, in company with 
 other ladies, entering the library, tied up the portfolio and 
 replaced it in its rack. Mrs. Waldo, pressing forward at the 
 same time, noticed upon the table a Chinese joss-stick, in its 
 lackered boat. She was not a woman to disguise or restrain 
 an ordinary curiosity. 
 
 " What in the world is this ?" she asked, taking the boat in 
 her hands. The other ladies clustered around, inspecting it 
 from all sides, but unable to guess its use. 
 
 " Now," said Woodbury, laughing, " I have half a mind to 
 torment you a little. You have all read the Arabian Nights ? 
 Well, this is an instrument of enchantment." 
 
 "Enchantment! Do the Indian jugglers use it?" asked 
 Mrs. Waldo. 
 
 " /use it," said he. " This rod, as it appears to be, is made 
 of a mysterious compound. It has been burned at one end, 
 you see. When lighted, it is employed to communicate fira 
 to another magical substance, through which the Past ia 
 recalled and the Future made clear." 
 
 Miss Clancy and the other spinsters opened their eyes wide, 
 in wonderment. "Provoking! Tell us now!" cried Mrs. 
 Waldo. 
 
 "It is just as I say," he answered. " See, when I light the
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 07 
 
 end thus it burns with a very, slow fire. This single piece 
 would burn for nearly a whole day." 
 
 " But what is the other magical substance ?-' she asked. 
 
 " Here is a specimen," said he, taking the lid from a circulai 
 box of carved bamboo, and disclosing to their view some cigara 
 
 The spinsters uttered a simultaneous exclamation. " Dread 
 ftil!" cried Mrs. Waldo, in affected horror. "Hannah, can 
 you imagine such depravity ?" 
 
 "I confess, it seems to me an unnatural taste," Hannah 
 Fhurston gravely answered ; " but I presume Mr. Woodbury 
 has some defence ready." 
 
 " Only this," said he, with an air between jest and earnest, 
 "that the habit is very agreeable, and, since it produces a 
 placid, equable tone of mind, highly favorable to reflection, 
 might almost be included in the list of moral agencies." 
 
 " Would it not be more satisfactory," she asked, " if you 
 could summon up the same condition of mind, from an earnest 
 desire to attain the Truth, without the help of narcotic drugs ?" 
 
 " Perhaps so," he replied ; " but we are all weak vessels, as 
 you know, Mrs. Waldo. I have never yet encountered such a 
 thing as perfect harmony in the relations between body and 
 mind. I doubt, even, if such harmony is possible, except at 
 transient intervals. For my part, my temper is so violent and 
 uncontrollable that the natural sedative qualities of my mind 
 are insufficient." 
 
 Mrs. Waldo laughed heartily at this assertion, and the 
 serious tone in which it was uttered. H*anah Thurston, to 
 Arhom every fancied violation of the laws of nature was more 
 91 less an enormity, scarcely knew whether to be shocked or 
 irunsed. She had determined to carefully guard herself against 
 committing such an indiscretion as Mr. Grindle, but it was 
 hard to be silent, when Duty demanded that she should bear 
 a stern testimony against evil habits. 
 
 " You should be charitable, ladies," Woodbury continued, 
 " towards some of our masculine habits, seeing that we do not 
 interfere with yours."
 
 8 HANNAH TH HUSTON : 
 
 " Bless me ! what habits have we, I should like to know 1" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Waldo. 
 
 " A multitude : I don't know the half of them. Crochet- 
 work, and embroidery, and patterns, for instance. Tea is 
 milder than tobacco, I grant, but your systems are more senni- 
 live. Then, there are powders and perfumes ; eau de Cologne, 
 lavender, verbena, heliotrope, and what not against all of 
 which I have nothing to say, because their odors are nearly 
 jqual to that of a fine Havana cigar." 
 
 Miss Eliza Clancy and Miss Ruhaney Goodwin exchanged 
 glances of horror. They were both too much embarrassed to 
 reply. 
 
 " You understand our weaknesses," said Hannah Thurston, 
 with a smile in which there was some bitterness. 
 
 " I do not call them weaknesses," he answered. " I should 
 be glad if this feminine love of color and odor were more conv- 
 mon among men. But there are curious differences of taste, 
 in this respect. I have rarely experienced a more exquisite 
 delight than in riding through the rose-fields of Ghazeepore, at 
 the season for making attar : yet some persons cannot endure 
 the smell of a rose. Musk, which is a favorite perfume with 
 many, is to me disagreeable. There is, however, a physical 
 explanation for this habit of mine, which, perhaps, you do not 
 know." 
 
 " No," said she, still gravely, " I know nothing but that it 
 seems to me unnecessary, and if you will pardon me the 
 word pernicious." 
 
 u Certainly. It is so, in many cases. But some constitutions 
 possess an overplus of active nervous life, which suggests the 
 nse of a slight artificial sedative. The peculiar fascination of 
 smoking is not in the taste of the weed, but the sight of the 
 amoke. It is the ear of corn which we hold out to entice into 
 harness the skittish thoughts that are running loose. In the 
 Orient, men accomplish the same result by a rosary, the beads 
 of which they run through their fingers." 
 
 "Yesl" interrupted Mrs. Waldo: "My brother George,
 
 A StORT OF AMERICAN LIFE. 09 
 
 irho was always at the Lead of his class, had a habit of twistr 
 ing a lock of his hair while he was getting his lessons. It 
 stuck out from the side of his head, like n horn. When 
 mother had his hair cut, he went down to the foot, and he 
 never got fairly up to head till the horn grew out again." 
 
 *' A case in point," said Woodbury. " Now, you, ladies, 
 have an exactly similar habit. Sewing, I have heard, is often- 
 timefe this soothing agent, but knitting is the great feminine 
 narcotic. In fact, women are more dependent on these slight 
 belps to thought these accompaniments to conversation 
 than men. There are few who can sit still and talk a whole 
 evening, without having their hands employed. Can you not 
 see some connecting link between our habits ?" 
 
 The spinsters were silent. The speaker had, in fact, rather 
 gone beyond their depth, with the exception of Mrs. Waldo, 
 whose sympathy with him was so hearty and genial that she 
 would have unhesitatingly accepted whatever sentiments he 
 might have chosen to declare. Hannah Thurston was not a 
 little perplexed. She scarcely knew whether he was entirely 
 sincere, yet his views were so novel and unexpected that she 
 did not feel prepared to answer them. Before this man's ap- 
 pearance in Ptolemy, her course had been chosen. She had 
 taken up, weighed, and decided for herself the questions of 
 life : a period of unpleasant doubt and hesitation had been 
 solved by the acceptance of (to her) great and important theo- 
 ries of reform. Was a new and more difficult field of doubt to 
 be opened now ? more difficult, because the distinctions of the 
 sexes, which had been almost bridged over in her intercourse 
 with reformers of kindred views, were suddenly separated by 
 a new gulf, wider than the old. 
 
 Woodbury, noticing something of this perplexity in her conn 
 tenance, continued in a lighter tone : " At least, Miss Thurs- 
 ton, I think you will agree with me that a physical habit, 
 tf you prefer to call it so, is not very important in comparison 
 with those vices of character which are equally common and 
 not so easy to eradicate. Is not the use of a ' narcotic drug 1
 
 100 HAITOAH THTJRSTON: 
 
 less objectionable than the systematic habit of avarice, or envy, 
 or hypocrisy ?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed !" said Mrs. "Waldo, recollecting his generoun 
 donation to the Cimmerians, " and I, for one, will not prohibit 
 the tise of your magical ingredients." 
 
 " I cannot judge for you, Mr. Woodbury," said Hannah 
 Thurston, feeling that some response was expected ; " but hare 
 you no duty towards those who may be encouraged in the 
 name habit, to their certain injury, by your example ?" 
 
 "There, Miss Thurston, you touch a question rather too 
 vague to enter practically into one's life. After accepting, in 
 its fullest sense, the Christian obligation of duty towards our 
 fellow-men, there must be a certain latitude allowed for indi- 
 vidual tastes and likings. Else we should all be slaves to each 
 other's idiosyncrasies, and one perverted or abnormal trait 
 might suppress the healthy intellectual needs of an entire com- 
 munity. Must we cease to talk, for example, because there is 
 scarcely a wholesome truth which, offered in a certain way, 
 might not operate as poison to some peculiarly constituted 
 mind ? Would you cease to assert an earnest conviction from 
 the knowledge that there were persons unfitted to receive 
 it?" 
 
 "I do not think the analogy is quite correct," she answered, 
 after a moment's pause, "because you cannot escape the re- 
 cognition of a truth, when it has once found access to your 
 mind. A habit, which you can take up or leave off at will, is 
 a very different thing." 
 
 "Perhaps, then," said Woodbury, who perceived" by the 
 rising shade on Mrs. Waldo's smooth brow that it was time to 
 end the discussion, "I had best plead guilty, at once, to being 
 icmething of an Epicurean in my philosophy. I am still too 
 much of an Oriental to be indifferent to slight material com- 
 forts." 
 
 "In consideration of your hospitality," interposed Mrs. 
 Waldo, brightening up, " the Sewing Union will not judge 
 you very severely. Is it not so, Miss Clancy ?"
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 101 
 
 "Well really oh no, we are under obligations to Mr. 
 Woodbury ;" said the spinster, thus unexpectedly appealed to, 
 and scarcely knowing how to reply. 
 
 "Our community have reason to congratulate themselves, 
 Sir," here broke in the Hon. Zeno Harder, who had entered 
 the library in time to hear the last words. 
 
 Woodbury bowed dryly and turned away. 
 
 Soon afterwards, the sound of sleigh-bells in front of the 
 house announced the first departures. The company became 
 thinner by slow degrees, however, for the young gentlemen 
 and ladies had found the large parlor of Lakeside full of con- 
 venient nooks, which facilitated their habit of breaking into 
 litlle groups, and were having such agreeable conversation that 
 they would probably have remained until the small hours, but 
 for the admonitions of the older folks. Among the earliest to 
 leave were the Merryfields, taking with them Hannah Thurs- 
 ton and Miss Dil worth, greatly to Bute's regret. The latter, 
 unable to detect any signs of peculiar intimacy between Seth 
 Wattles and the little seamstress, became so undisguised in his 
 fondness for her society as to attract, at last, Mrs. Babb's at- 
 tention. The grim housekeeper had a vulture's beak for 
 scenting prey of this kind. While she assisted Mrs. Styles to 
 find her " Things," in the bedroom up-stairs, she steadfastly 
 kept one eye on the snowy front yard, down which the Merry- 
 field party were moving. Bute, as she anticipated, was hover- 
 ing around the last and smallest of the hooded and cloaked 
 females. He put out his arm two or three times, as if to 
 steady her steps. They had nearly reached the cutter, where 
 Patrick was holding the impatient horses, when she saw 
 another male figure hurry down the walk. There was a sud- 
 den tangle among the dim forms, and one of them, she noticedi 
 plunged full length into a bank of snow. 
 
 Mrs. Babb was so agitated by this tableau, that she sud- 
 denly threw up her hands, exclaiming : " Well, if that don't 
 beat all !" 
 
 Mrs. Styles, carefully mumed for the journey home, had just
 
 109 TTAXNAH THURSTOtti 
 
 turned to say good-night to the housekeeper, and stood petrl 
 Bed, unable to guess whether the exclamation was one of ad 
 miration or reproach. She slightly started back before the 
 energy with which it was uttered. 
 
 " Well, to be sure, how I do forgit things !" said Mrs. Babb 
 doming to her senses. " But you know, Ma'am, when you're 
 aot used to havin' company for a while, y'r head gits bothered. 
 'Pears to me I haven't been so flustered for years. You're 
 sure, Ma'am, you're right "warm. I hope you won't take no 
 cold, goin' home." 
 
 The scene that transpired in front of the house was suffi 
 ciently amusing. Bute Wilson, as deputy -host, escorted Miss 
 Dilworth to the cutter, and was delighted that the slippery 
 path gave him at least one opportunity to catch her around the 
 waist. Hearing rapid footsteps behind him, he recognized 
 Seth Wattles hard upon his track, and, as the ungainly tailor 
 approached, jostled him so dexterously that he was tumbled 
 headlong into a pile of newly-shovelled snow. 
 
 " Ah 1 Who is it ? Is he hurt ?" exclaimed Miss Dilworth. 
 
 A smothered sound, very much resembling " Damn !" came 
 from the fallen individual. 
 
 " Let me help you up," said Bute ; " you pitched ag'in me 
 like an ox. Why, Seth, is it you? You ha'n't tore your 
 trowsus, nor nothin', have you ?" 
 
 Seth, overwhelmed before the very eyes of Hannah Thurg- 
 ton, whom he was hastening to assist into the cutter, grum- 
 bled : " No, I'm not hurt." Meantime, Bute had said good- 
 night to the party, and the cutter dashed away. 
 
 " Well, it's one comfort that you can always mend your own 
 rips," the latter remarked, consolingly. 
 
 Finally, the last team departed, and the sound of the bell 
 diminished into a faint, fairy sweetness, as if struck by th 
 frosty arrows of the starlight from the crystals of the snow. 
 Lakeside returned to more than its wonted silence and seclu- 
 sion. Woodbury closed the door, walked into his library, 
 lighted a cigar at the still burning piece of joss-stick, and
 
 A STOEY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 108 
 
 threw himself into a chair before the fire. Now and then 
 puffing & delicate, expanding ring of smoke from his lips, he 
 watched it gradually break and dissolve, while reviewing, in 
 his thoughts, the occurrences of the evening. They were not 
 wholly agreeable, yet the least so Mr. Grindle's rude attack,* 
 <vas not to be dismissed from the mind like an ordinary piec 
 yf vulgarity. It was a type, he thought, of the manners which 
 self-constituted teachers of morality must necessarily assume 
 in a community where intellect is characterized by activity 
 rather than development. Society, in its broader sense, is tin 
 known to these people, was his reflection. In the absence of 
 cultivation, they are ruled by popular ideas: Reforms are 
 mai shalled in, as reserve corps, behind the ranks of Religion, 
 and not even the white flag of a neutral is recognized in the 
 grand crusade. "Join us and establish your respectability, 
 or resist us and be cut down !" is the cry. 
 
 " Yet" he mused further " is it not something that, in a 
 remote place like this, Ideas have vitality and power? Ad- 
 mitting that the channels in which they move are contracted, 
 and often lead in false directions, must they not rest on abasr 
 of honest, unselfish aspiration ? The vices which spring froib 
 intolerance and vulgar egotism are not to be lightly pardoned, 
 but, on the other hand, they do not corrupt and demoralize like 
 those of the body. One must respect the source, while resist- 
 ing the manifestation. How much in earnest that Quaker girl 
 seemed ! It was quite a serious lecture she gave me, about 
 such a trifle as this" (puffing an immense blue ring into the 
 air). " But it was worth taking it, to see how she enjoyed 
 the Sakontala. She certainly possesses taste, and no doub* 
 thinks bet ter than she talks. By the by, I quite forgot to 
 give her the translation of the Jfegha-Duta" 
 
 Springing up, Woodbury found the volume, after some 
 search, and soon became absorbed, for the second time, in its 
 pages. 
 
 " Bute," said Mrs. Babb, as she wiped the dishes, and care- 
 fully put away the odds and ends of the refreshments ; " 'Peari
 
 104 HANNAH THUKSTON : 
 
 to me you was gallivantin' round that Carrline Dilwuth, more 
 than's proper." 
 
 Bute, standing with legs spread out and back to the fire, 
 answered, as he turned around to face it, whereby, if h 
 blushed, the evidence was covered by the glow of the flame: 
 " Well, she's a gay little creetur, and 'taint no harm." 
 
 " I dunno about that," sharply rejoined the housekeeper. 
 " She's a cunnin', conceited chit, and '11 lead you by the nose. 
 You're just fool enough to be captivated by a piece o' wax- 
 work and curls. It makes me sick to look at 'em. Gals used 
 to comb their hair when I was young. I don't want no sich 
 a thing as she is, to dance at my buryin'." 
 
 " Oh, Mother Forty, don't you go off about it !" said Bute, 
 deprecatingly. " I ain't married to her, nor likely to be." 
 
 " Married ! I guess not ! Time enough for that when T'm 
 dead and gone. Me that brought you up, and to have some- 
 body put over my head, and spendin' all your earnins on fine 
 clothes, and then hankerin' after my money. But it's locked 
 up, safe and tight, I can tell you that." 
 
 " I'm man-grown, I reckon," said Bute, stung into resistance 
 by this attack, " and if I choose to git married, some day or 
 other, I don't see who can hinder me. It's what everybody 
 else does, and what you've done, yourself." 
 
 Bute strode off to bed, and the housekeeper, sitting down 
 before the fire, indulged in the rare luxury of shedding seve- 
 ral tears.
 
 A 8TOBY OF AMERICAN LEFB. 108 
 
 CHAPTER VIH 
 
 Or WHICH ME. WOODBUBT PAYS AN UNEXPECTED VISIT. 
 
 ON the following Monday, Woodbury having occasion to 
 visit Ptolemy, took with him the volume of Kalidasa, intend- 
 ing to leave it at the cottage of" the widow Thurston. The 
 day was mild and sunny, and the appearance of the plank 
 sidewalk so inviting to the feet, that he sent Bute forward to 
 the Ptolemy House with the cutter, on alighting at the cot- 
 tage gate. 
 
 The door of the dwelling, opening to the north, was pro- 
 tected by a small outer vestibule, into which he stepped, 
 designing simply to leave the book, with his compliments, and 
 perhaps a visiting-card though the latter was not de riguewr 
 in Ptolemy. There was no bell-pull ; he knocked, gently at 
 first, and then loudly, but no one answered. Turning the knob 
 of the door he found it open, and entered a narrow little hall, 
 in which there was a staircase leading to the upper story, and 
 two doors on the left. Knocking again at the first of these, 
 an answer presently came from the further room, and the 
 summons, " Come in !" was repeated, in a clear though weak 
 yoice. 
 
 He no longer hesitated, but advanced into the sitting-room. 
 Fnend Thurston, sunning herself in her comfortable chair, 
 looked around. A fleeting expression of surprise passed over 
 her face, but the next moment she stretched out her hand, 
 Baying : " How does thee do ?" 
 
 " My name is Woodbury," said he, as he took it respectfully 
 K j 
 
 /;*
 
 106 HANNAH TIIUBSTON: 
 
 " I thought it must be thee," she interrupted. " Hannah 
 described thy looks to me. Won't thoe sit down ?" 
 
 " I have only called to leave a book for your daughter, and 
 will not disturb you." 
 
 "Thee won't disturb me. I feel all the better for a liltle 
 lulu now and then, and would be glad if thee could sit and chat 
 awhile. Thee's just about the age my little Richard would 
 have been if he had lived. 5 ' 
 
 Thus kindly invited, Woodbury took a seat. His eye ap 
 predated, at a glance, the plainness, the taste, and the cozy 
 comfort of the apartment, betraying in every detail, the touches 
 of a woman's hand. Friend Thurston's face attracted and 
 interested him. In spite of her years, it still bore the traces 
 of former beauty, and its settled calm of resignation recalled 
 to his mind the expression he remembered on that of Mrs. 
 Dennison. Her voice was unusually clear and sweet, and the 
 deliberate evenness of her enunciation, so different from the 
 sharp, irregular tones of the Ptolemy ladies, was most agree- 
 able to his ear. 
 
 "Hannah's gone out," she resumed ; " but I expect her back 
 presently. It's kind of thee to bring the book for her. Thee 
 bears no malice, I see, that she lectured thee a little. Thee 
 must get used to that, if thee sees much of our people. We 
 are called upon to bear testimony, in season and out of season, 
 and especially towards men of influence, like thee, whose re- 
 sponsibilities are the greater." 
 
 " I am afraid you over-estimate my influence," Woodbury 
 replied ; " but I am glad you do not suppose that I could 
 bear malice on account of a frank expression of opinion. 
 Every man has his responsibilities, I am aware, but our ideas 
 of duty sometimes differ." 
 
 "Thee's right there," said the old lady; "and peihaps we 
 ought not to ask more than that the truth be sought for, in a 
 Bincere spirit. I don't think, from thy face, that there is much 
 of stubborn worldly pride in thy nature, though thee belongi 
 to the world, as we Friends say."
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 107 
 
 * I have found that a knowledge of the world cures one of 
 unreasonable pride. The more I mingle with men, the more 1 
 find reflections of myself, which better enable me to estimate 
 my own character." 
 
 "If thee but keeps the heart pure, the Holy Spirit may 
 come to thee in the crowded places, even as The Saviour wai 
 caught up from the midst of His Disciples !" she czclaimed 
 with fervor. Gazing on her steady, earnest eyes, Woodbury 
 could not help thinking to himself: "The daughter cornea 
 legitimately by her traits." 
 
 " Can thee accustom thyself to such a quiet life as thee leads 
 now ?" she asked ; and then gazing at him, continued, as if 
 speaking to herself: " It is not a restless face. Ah, but that is 
 not always a sign of a quiet heart. There are mysteries hi 
 man, past finding out, or only discovered when it is too late !" 
 
 " This life is not at all quiet," he answered, " compared with 
 that which I have led for the past ten or twelve years. In a 
 foreign country, and especially within the tropics, the novelty 
 of the surroundings soon wears ofi^ and one day is so exactly 
 the repetition of another, that we almost lose our count of 
 time. It seems to me, now, as if I were just awaking out of a 
 long sleep. I have certainly thought more, and felt more, in 
 these three months than in as many years abroad ; for I had 
 come to believe that the world was standing still, while now I 
 see that it really moves, and I must move with it." 
 
 " I like to hear thee say that !" exclaimed the widow, turn- 
 ing suddenly towards him, with a bright, friendly interest in 
 her face. " Men are so apt to be satisfied with their own opin- 
 ions at least, when they've reached thy age. Thee's over 
 thirty, I should think ?" 
 
 " Thirty six," Woodbury respectfully answered, " but I hop* 
 I shall never be so old as to suppose, like the counsellors of 
 Job, that wisdom will die with me." 
 
 Tae widow understood his allusion, in the literal sense 
 which Le intended : not so another auditor. Hannah Thurs- 
 ton, who heard the last words as she entered the room, at one*
 
 JOS HANNAH 
 
 suspected a bidden sarcasm, aimed principally at herself. Th 
 indirect attacks to which she had been subjected, especially 
 from persons of her own sex, had made her sensitive and sus 
 picious. Her surprise at Woodbury's presence vanished in the 
 spirit of angry antagonism which suddenly arose within her 
 She took the hand he frankly offered, with a mechanical col J 
 ness strangely at variance with her flushed cheeks and earnest 
 eyes. 
 
 " I'm glad thee's come, Hannah," said the old lady. " Friend 
 Woodbury has been kind enough to bring thee a book, and 
 I've been using an old woman's privilege, to make his acquain- 
 tance. He'll not take it amiss, I'm sure !" 
 
 Woodbury replied with a frank smile, which he knew she 
 would understand. His manner towards the daughter, how- 
 ever, had a shade of formal deference. Something told him 
 that his visit was not altogether welcome to her. " I found 
 the translation of the MeghctrDuta, Miss Thurston," he said, 
 " and have called to leave it, on my way to the village. If it 
 interests you, I shall make search for whatever other frag- 
 ments of Indian literature I may have." 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you," she forced herself to say, 
 inwardly resolving, that, whether interesting or not, this was 
 the first and last book she would receive from the library of 
 Lakeside. 
 
 " It is really kind of thee," interposed the widow ; " Hannah 
 finds few books here in Ptolemy that she cares to read, and we 
 cannot afford to buy many. What was the work, Hannah, 
 thee spoke of the other night ?" 
 
 Thus appealed to, the daughter, after a moment's reluctance, 
 answered: "I was reading to mother Carlyle's Essay on 
 Goethe, and his reference to ' Wilhelm Meister' excited my 
 curiosity. I believe Carlyle himself translated 'it, and therefore 
 the translation must be nearly equal to the original." 
 
 " I read it some years ago, in Calcutta," said Woodbury, 
 "but I only retain the general impression which it left upon 
 my mind. It seemed to me, then, a singular medley of wift
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 100 
 
 dom and weakness, of the tenderest imagination and th 
 coarsest reality. But I have no copy, at present, by which to 
 test the correctness of that impression. I am not a very criti 
 i al reader, as you will soon discover, Miss Thurston. Do yon 
 like Carlyle ?" 
 
 " I like his knowledge, his earnestness, and his clear insight 
 into characters and events, though I cannot always adopt hia 
 conclusions. His thought, however, is strong and vital, and it 
 refreshes and stimulates at the same time. I am afraid he 
 spoils me for other authors." 
 
 " Is not that, in itself, an evidence of something false in his 
 manner ? That which is absolutely greatest or truest should 
 not weaken our delight in the lower forms of excellence. Pe- 
 culiarities of style, when not growing naturally out of the sub- 
 ject, seem to me like condiments, which disguise the natural 
 flavor of the dish and unfit the palate to enjoy it. Have you 
 ever put the thought, which Carlyle dresses in one of his 
 solemn, involved, oracular sentences, into the Quaker garb of 
 plain English ?" 
 
 " No," said Hannah Thurston, somewhat startled. " I con- 
 fess," she added, after a pause, "the idea of such an experi- 
 ment is not agreeable to me. I cannot coldly dissect an au- 
 thor whom I so heartily admire." 
 
 Woodbury smiled very, very slightly, but her quick eye 
 caught and retained his meaning. "Then I will not dissect 
 him for you," he said; "though I think you would find & 
 pleasure in the exercise of the critical faculty, to counter- 
 balance the loss of an indiscriminate admiration. I speak for 
 myself, however. I cannot be content until I ascertain the 
 real value of a man and his works, though a hundred pleasant 
 illusions are wrecked in the process. I am slow to acknowl 
 edge or worship greatness, since I have seen the stuff of which 
 many idols are composed. The nearer an author seems to re- 
 flect my own views, the more suspicious I am, at first, of his 
 influence upon me. A man who knows how to see, to think, 
 and to judge, though he may possess but an average intellect^
 
 110 HANNAH THURSTON t 
 
 is able to get at all important truths himself, without taking 
 them at second-hand." 
 
 There was no assumption of superiority not the slightest 
 trace of intellectual arrogance in Woodbury's manner. He 
 spoke with the simple frankness of a man who was utterly un 
 conscious that he was dealing crushing blows on the mental 
 habits of his listener not seeming to recognize, even, that 
 they were different from his own. This calmness, so unlike 
 the heat and zeal with which other men were accustomed to 
 discuss questions with her, disconcerted and silenced Hannah 
 Thurston. He never singled out any single assertion of hers 
 as a subject of dispute, but left it to be quietly overwhelmed 
 in the general drift of his words. It was a species of mental 
 antagonism for which she was not prepared. To her mother, 
 who judged men more or less by that compound of snow and 
 fire who had been her husband, Woodbury's manner was ex- 
 ceedingly grateful. She perceived, as her daughter did not, 
 the different mental complexion of the sexes ; and moreover, 
 she now recognized, in him, a man with courage enough to 
 know the world without bitterness of heart. 
 
 "I thank thee," said she, as he rose to leave with an apology 
 for the length of his stay ; " I have enjoyed thy visit. Come 
 again, some time, if thee finds it pleasant to do so. I see thee 
 can take a friendly word in a friendly way, and thee may be 
 sure that I won't judge thy intentions wrongly, where I am 
 led to think differently." 
 
 " Thank you, Friend Thurston : it is only in differing, that 
 we learn. I hope to see you again." He took the widow'i 
 ttffered hand, bowed to Hannah, and left the room. 
 
 "Mother!" exclaimed the latter, as she heard the outer 
 loor close behind him, "why did thee ask him to come 
 again ?" 
 
 " Why, Hannah ! Thee surprises me. It is right to bear 
 testimony, but we are not required to carry it so far as that 
 Has thee heard any thing against his character?" 
 
 " No, mother : he is said to be upright and honorable, but I
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 1U 
 
 do not like to be obliged to him for kindnesses, when he, 
 no doubt, thinks my condemnation of his habits impertinent, 
 when, I know, he despises and sneers at my views !" 
 
 "Hannah," said the mother, gravely, "I think thee does him 
 injustice. He is not the man to despise thee, or any one who 
 thinks earnestly and labors faithfully, even in a cause he cannot 
 appreciate. We two women, living alone here, or only seeing 
 the men who are with us in sympathy, must not be too hasty 
 to judge. Is thee not, hi this way, committing the very fault 
 of which thee accuses him ?" 
 
 " Perhaps so," said Hannah: "I doubt whether I know what 
 16 true." She sank wearily into a chair. The volume Wood- 
 bury left behind, caught her eye. Taking it up, she turned 
 over the leaves listlessly, but soon succumbed to the tempta- 
 tion and read read until the fairy pictures of the Indian 
 moonlight grew around her, as the Cloud sailed on, over jun- 
 gle and pagoda, and the dance of maidens on the marble ter- 
 races. 
 
 Meanwhile, Woodbury having transacted his business and 
 Bute Wilson his, the two were making preparations to return 
 to Lakeside, when a plump figure, crossing the beaten snow- 
 track in front of the Ptolemy House, approached them. Even 
 before tne thick green veil was thrown back, Woodbury recog- 
 nized the fat hand which withdrew itself from a worn chinchil- 
 la muff, as the hand of Mrs. Waldo. Presently her round dark 
 eyes shone full upon him, and he heard what everybody in 
 Ptolemy liked to hear the subdued trumpet of her voice. 
 
 "Justin time to catch you!" she laughed. "How do you 
 do, Bute? Will you call at the parsonage, Mr. Woodbury? 
 No ? Then I must give you my message in the open street 
 Is anybody near ? You must know it's a secret." After hav- 
 ing said this in a loud tone, she lowered her voice : " Well, I 
 don't mind Bute knowing it : Bute is not a leaky pitcher, I'm 
 sure." 
 
 " I reckon Mr. Max knows that," said Arbutus, with a broad 
 laugh dancing in his blue eyes.
 
 112 HANNAH THUESTON: 
 
 "What is it? Another fair for the Cimmerians? Or ii 
 Miss Eliza Clancy engaged to a missionary ?" asked Woodbury. 
 
 " Be silent, that you may hear. If it were not for my feet 
 
 getting cold, I \yould be a quarter of an hour telling you. But 
 
 I must hurry there's Mrs. Bue coming out of her yard, and 
 
 he scents a secret a mile off. Well it's to be at Merryficld's 
 
 on Saturday evening. You must be sure to come." 
 
 " What the Sewing Union ?" 
 
 " Bless me ! I forgot. No Dyce is to be there." 
 
 " Dyce ?" 
 
 " Yes. They don't want it to be generally known, as so many 
 would go out of mere curiosity. I must say, between us, that 
 is my only reason. Neither you nor I have any faith in it ; but 
 Mrs. Merryfield says she will be glad if you can come." 
 
 " First tell me who Dyce is, and what is to be done," said 
 Woodbury, not a little surprised. The expression thereof 
 was instantly transferred to Mrs. Waldo's face. 
 
 " Well to be sure, you're as ignorant as a foreigner. Bute 
 knows, I'll be bound. Tell him, Bute, on the way home. 
 Good-by ! How do you do, Mrs. Bue ? I was just telling 
 Mr. Woodbury that the vessel for Madras" and the remainder 
 of the sentence was lost in the noise of the departing bells. 
 
 " Dyce is what they call a Mejum," explained Bute, as they 
 dashed out on the Anacreon road : " Merryfields believe in it. 
 I was there once't when they made the dinner-table jump like 
 a wild colt Then there's sperut-raps, as they call 'em, but 
 it's not o' much account what they say. One of 'em spoke to 
 me, lettin' on to be my father. ' Arbutus,' says he (they spelt 
 it out), 'I'm in the third spere, along with Jane.' Ha! ha I 
 and my mother's name was Margaretta! But you'd better 
 see it for yourself, Mr. Max. Seein' 's believin', they say, 
 bat you won't believe more'n you've a mind to, after alL"
 
 A BTOBY OP A.MEBIOAN LTFK. 113 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SPraiTUAL AND OTHEB BAPPINGS. 
 
 UAD the invitation to a spiritual seance been given by any 
 one but Mrs. Waldo, Woodbury would probably have felt lit- 
 tle inclination to attend. The Merryfields alone, with their 
 ambitious sentiment and negative intellect, were beginning to 
 be tiresome acquaintances, now that the revival of old memo- 
 ries was exhausted ; but the warm heart and sound brain of 
 that one woman made any society tolerable. His thoughts re- 
 verted to Hannah Thurston : would she be there? Of course : 
 was his mental reply yet she certainly could not share in the 
 abominable delusion. Why not, after all ? Her quick, eager 
 intelligence, too proud and self-reliant to be restrained by tra- 
 ditional theories, too unbalanced, from the want of contact 
 with equal minds, too easily moved by the mere utterance 
 of attractive sentiment, was it not, rather, the soil in which 
 these delusions grew strong and dangerous? He would go 
 and see. 
 
 Nevertheless, he was conscious of a feeling of reluctance, al- 
 most of shame at his own curiosity, as he left Lakeside. The 
 night was overcast, with a raw, moaning wind hi the tree-tops, 
 and Bute was forced to drive slowly, feeling rather than seeing 
 the beaten tracks. This employment, with the necessary re- 
 marks to the old horse Dick, fully occupied his attention. 
 Finally, however, he broke silence with : 
 
 " I s'pose they'll have Absalom up to-night ?" 
 
 " What ! Do they go so far as that ? Can they really be 
 fieve it ?" Woodbury asked. 
 
 "They jest do. They want to b'lieve it, and it comes easy
 
 J J 4 HAITNAH THTJRSTOW C 
 
 If brains was to be ground, between you and me, neither ol 
 'em would bring much grist to the mill. I don't wonder at 
 her so much, for she set a good deal of store by Absalom, and 
 't seems natural, you know, for women to have notions o' that 
 kind." 
 
 " Are there many persons in Ptolemy who believe in such 
 things?" 
 
 "Well I don't hardly think there be. Leastways, they 
 don't let on. There's Seth Wattles, o' course : he's fool enough 
 for any thing ; and I guess Lawyer Tanner. Ever sence Mr. 
 Styles preached ag'in 'em, it a'n't considered jist respectable. 
 Infidel-like, you know." 
 
 Woodbury laughed. "Well, Bute," said he, "we shall 
 hardly find Mr. Waldo there to-night, if that is the case." 
 
 " He'll be there, Mr. Max, if she is. She'll bring him clear, 
 no matter what folks says. Miss Waldo's a wife worth hav- 
 in' not but what he's got considerable grit, too. He's not 
 strong at revivals, but he's a good hand at holdin' together all 
 he gits." 
 
 As they drove up the lane to Merryfield's farm-house, all wag 
 dark and silent. The shutters were closed, and there was no 
 appearance of other visitors having arrived. At the noise of 
 the bells, however, the door opened, and the owner, after sum- 
 moning his hired man from the kitchen, to assist Bute in tak- 
 ing charge of the horse, waited until Woodbury approached, 
 in order to help him off with his overcoat. "They are all 
 here that are likely to come," he announced in a whisper. 
 
 James Merryfield was a man of fifty, or a little more, in 
 whom the desire to be a reformer had been excited long after 
 he had reached his maturity as a simple, unpretending farmer. 
 The fictitious character but imperfectly overlaid the natural 
 one, giving him an uncertain, hesitating air. .Indeed, with afi 
 his assertion and self-gratulation, he never could overcome 
 secret doubt of his ability to play the new part. But he wan 
 honest and sincerely conscientious, and a more prominent posi 
 tion than he would have assumed, of his own choice, waf
 
 A. STOBT OF AMEBICAN LIFE. 115 
 
 forced upon him by his friends. He possessed a comfortable 
 property, and they were well aware of the advantage of being 
 represented by men with bases. 
 
 His frame had been soundly developed, not over-worn, by 
 labor in his own fields, yet he was awkward, almost shambling 
 in his movements. His head was usually held on the left side, 
 tn'i a straight line dropped from the centre of his brow would 
 not nearly have coincided with the axis of his nose. The large, 
 irregular mouth expressed both the honesty and the weakness 
 of the man. His voice, always nasal, rose into a shrill, decla- 
 matory monotone when he became excited a key which he 
 continually let drop, and again resumed, in disagreeable fluc- 
 tuations. Thus Woodbury, while heartily respecting his char- 
 acter, found much of his society tiresome. 
 
 His wife, Sarah, who was six or seven years younger, was 
 one of those women, who, without the power of thinking for 
 themselves, have, nevertheless, a singular faculty for accepting 
 the thoughts and conclusions of others. She was entirely de- 
 pendent on two or three chosen leaders in the various "Re- 
 forms," without the slightest suspicion of her mental serfdom. 
 Every ne\v phase of their opinions she appropriated, and 
 reproduced as triumphantly as if it had been an original dis- 
 covery. She had, in fact, no intellectual quality except a -tol- 
 erable fluency of speech. This, alone, gave her some consider- 
 ation in her special circle, and kept her hesitating husband in 
 the background. Both had been touched by the Hand of Pro- 
 gress, rather too late for their equilibrium. They had reached 
 the transition state, it is true, but were doomed never to pass 
 through it, and attain that repose which is as possible to shal- 
 low as to deep waters. 
 
 In person she was thin, but not tall, with a face expressive 
 of passive amiability, slightly relieved by dyspepsia. The pale, 
 anhealthy color of her skin, the dulness of her eyes, and the 
 lustreless hue of her thin, reddish-brown hair, hinted at a sys- 
 tem hopelessly disordered by dietetic experiments. Her chil- 
 dren had all died young, with the exception of Absalom, wh*
 
 116 HANNAH THUBSTON: 
 
 had barely readied manhood, when the care of his health, M 
 Bute said, proved too great a burden to him. 
 
 Woodbury was ushered, not into the parlor^but into the 
 room ordinarily occupied by the family. A single candle wai 
 burning on the table, dimly lighting the apartment. Mrs, 
 Merrytield carne forward to receive her guest, followed by Mrs. 
 Waldo v who said, with unusual gravity : " You are in time 
 we were just about to commence." 
 
 Seated around the table were Hannah Thurston, Mr. Waldo, 
 Seth Wattles, Tanner, the lawyer, and a cadaverous stranger, 
 who could be no other than Mr. Dyce. A motion of his hand 
 dissuaded the company from rising, and they gravely bowed 
 to Woodbury without speaking. Mr. Dyce, after a rapid 
 glance at the new-comer, fixed his eyes upon the table. He 
 was a middle-aged man, broad-shouldered but spare, with long, 
 dark hair, sunken cheeks, and eyes in which smouldered some 
 powerful, uncanny magnetic force. 
 
 After Woodbury had taken his seat at the table, and Mr. 
 Merry field had closed the door, the medium spoke, in a low 
 but strong voice : 
 
 " Take away the candle." 
 
 It was placed upon a small stand, in a corner of the room. 
 " Shall I put it out ?" asked the host. 
 
 Mr. Dyce shook his head. 
 
 Presently a succession of sharp, crackling raps was heard, aa 
 if made on the under surface of the table. They wandered 
 about, now fainter, now stronger, for a few moments, and then 
 approached Mrs. Merryfield. 
 
 " It's Absalom !" she cried, the yearning of a mother's heart 
 overleaping the course of experiment. " What has he to say 
 to-night?" 
 
 " Will the spirit communicate through the alphabet ?" asked 
 the medium. 
 
 Three raps" Yes." 
 
 Lettered cards were laid upon the table, and the medium, 
 commencing at A, touched them in succession until a rap an
 
 A STOBY OF AMERICAN LIFE. li 
 
 nounced the correct letter. This was written, and the procesi 
 repeated until the entire communication was obtained. 
 
 " / have been teaching my sisters. They are waiting for 
 me on the steps of the temple. Good-night, mother /" was 
 Absalom's message. 
 
 " How beautiful !" exclaimed Seth Wattles. " The temple 
 aaust mean the future life, and the steps are the successive 
 spheres. Will any spirit communicate with me ?" 
 
 The raps ceased. Mr. Dyce raised his head, looked around 
 with his glow-worm eyes, and asked : " Does any one desire 
 to speak with a relative or friend ? Does any one feel im- 
 pressed with the presence of a spirit ?" His glance rested on 
 Hannah Thurston. 
 
 " I would like to ask," said she, as the others remained si- 
 lent, " whether the person whose name is in my mind, has any 
 message for me." 
 
 After a pause, the medium shuddered, stretched out his 
 hands upon the table, with the fingers rigidly crooked, lifted 
 his head, and fixed his eyes on vacancy. His lips scarcely 
 seemed to move, but a faint, feminine voice came from his 
 throat. 
 
 "lam in a distant sphere" it said, " engaged in the labort 
 I began while on earth. I bear a new name, for the promise 
 of that which I once had is fulfilled" 
 
 Hannah Thurston said nothing. She seemed to be ponder- 
 ing the meaning of what she had heard. Mrs. Waldo turned 
 to Woodbury, with a face which so distinctly said to him, 
 without words : " It's awful 1" that he answered her, in a 
 similar way : " Don't be afraid !" 
 
 "Will you ask a question, Mr. Woodbury?" said the 
 host. 
 
 "I have no objection," he said, in a serious tone, ; 'to select 
 ft name, as Miss Thurston has done, and let the answer test 
 from what spirit it comes." 
 
 After a rapid glance at the speaker, the medium pushed 
 pencil and paper across the table, saying : " Write the name,
 
 118 HANNAH THUESTOK: 
 
 fold the paper so that no one can see it, and hold it in yout 
 hand." He then placed one elbow on the table, and coveted 
 his face with his hand, the fingers slightly separated. 
 
 Woodbury wrote a king name, it seemed to be and 
 folded the paper as directed. Some wandering, uncertain 
 raps followed. Communication by means of the alphabet 
 was proposed to the spirit, without a response. After a 
 sufficient pause to denote refusal, the raps commenced 
 again. 
 
 Mr. Dyce shuddered several times, but no sound proceeded 
 from his mouth. Suddenly turning towards Woodbury with 
 set eyes, and pointing his finger, he exclaimed : " He is stand- 
 ing behind you !" 
 
 The others, startled, looked towards the point indicated, and 
 even Woodbury involuntarily turned his head. 
 
 " I see him," continued the medium " a dark man, not of 
 our race. He wears a splendid head-dress, and ornaments of 
 gold. His eyes are sad and his lips are closed : he is permit- 
 ted to show his presence, but not to speak to you. Now he 
 raises both hands to his forehead, and disappears." 
 
 " Who was it ?" asked Mrs. Waldo, eagerly. 
 
 Woodbury silently unfolded the paper, and handed it to her. 
 Even Mr. Dyce could not entirely conceal his curiosity to hear 
 the name. 
 
 " What is this !" said she. "I can scarcely read it: Bab- 
 Baboo Rugbutty Churn Chuckerbutty 1 It is certainly no 
 body's name!" 
 
 " It is the actual name of an acquaintance of mine, in Cal 
 cutta," Woodbury answered. 
 
 " A Hindoo !" exclaimed Mr. Dyce, with a triumphant air, 
 * that accounts for his inability to use the alphabet." 
 
 M I do not see why it should," rejoined Woodbury, '' unlesn 
 he has forgotten his English since I left India." 
 
 "He did speak English, then ?" several asked. 
 
 " Did, and still does, I presume. At least, he was not dead, 
 three months ago," he answered, so quietly and gravely thai
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 119 
 
 ttone of the company (except, perhaps, the medium) supposed 
 that a trick had been intended. 
 
 "Not dead!" some one exclaimed, in great amazement. 
 " Why did you summon him ?" 
 
 " Because I did not wish to evoke any friend or relative 
 whom I have lost, and I had a curiosity to ascertain whether 
 the sp ; rits of the living could be summoned, as well as those 
 *f the dead." 
 
 There was a blank silence for a few moments. Only Bute, 
 who had stolen into the room and taken" a quiet seat in one 
 corner, with his eyes wide open, gave an audible chuckle. 
 
 Mr. Dyce, who had concealed a malignant expression under 
 his hand, now lifted a serene face, and said, in a solemn voice : 
 "The living, as we call them, cannot usurp the powers and 
 privileges of those who have entered on the spiritual life. The 
 spirit, whose name was written, has either left the earth, or 
 that of another, unconsciously present in the gentleman's mind, 
 has presented itself." 
 
 The believers brightened up. How simple was the explana 
 tion ! The mere act of writing the name of one Hindoo had 
 recalled others to Mr. Woodbury's memory, and his thoughts 
 must have dwelt, en passant, probably without his being in 
 the least aware of it, so rapid is mental action, on some other 
 Hindoo friend, long since engaged in climbing the successive 
 spheres. In vain did he protest against having received even 
 a flying visit from the recollection of any such person. Seth 
 Wattles triumphantly asked: "Are you always aware of 
 every thing that passes through your mind ?" 
 
 Mrs Merryfield repeated a question she had heard the week 
 before : " Can you always pick up the links by which you pas 
 from one thought to another ?" 
 
 Her husband modestly thrust in a suggestion: "Perhaps 
 your friend Chuckerclrirn is now among the spirits, as it 
 were." 
 
 Mr. Dyce, who had been leaning forward, with his arms un 
 der the table, during these remarks, suddenly lifted his head,
 
 120 HANNAH THTTRSTOV 
 
 exclaiming : " He has come back !" which produced a momen 
 tary silence. "Yes I cannot refuse you!" he added, as if 
 addressing the spirit, and then started violently from his seat, 
 twisting his left arm as if it had received a severe blow. He 
 drew up his coat-sleeve, which was broad and loose, then the 
 sleeve of his shirt, and displayed a sallow arm, upon the skin 
 of Avhich were some red marks, somewhat resembling the let- 
 ters "R. R." In a few moments, however, the marks faded 
 away. 
 
 " His initials ! Who can it be ?" said Seth. 
 
 "Rammohun Roy!" said Hannah Thurston, betrayed, as it 
 almost seemed, into a temporary belief in the reality of the 
 visitation. 
 
 "I assure you," Woodbury answered, "that nothing was 
 further from my thoughts than the name of Rammohun Roy, 
 a person whom I never saw. If I wished to be convinced 
 that these phenomena proceed from spirits, I should select some 
 one who could give me satisfactory evidence of his identity." 
 
 " The skeptical will not believe, though one came from 
 heaven to convince them," remarked the medium, in a hollov 
 tone. 
 
 There was an awkward silence. 
 
 " My friends, do not disturb the atmosphere !" cried Mr. 
 Merryfield ; " I hope we shall have further manifestations." 
 
 A loud rap on the table near him seemed to be intended as a 
 reply. 
 
 Mr. Dyce's hand, after a few nervous jerks, seized the pen- 
 cil, and wrote rapidly on a sheet of paper. After completing 
 the message and appending the signature to the bottom, he 
 heaved a deep sigh and fell back in his chair. 
 
 Mr. Merryfield eagerly grasped the paper. "Ah !" said he, 
 ** it is my friend '" and read the following : 
 
 " Be ye not weak of vision to perceive the coming triumph 
 of Truth. Even though she creep like a tortoise hi the race, 
 nhile Error leaps like a hare, yet shall f he first reach t\f
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN tIFE. Ifcl 
 
 The light from the spirit-world is only beginning to dawn up- 
 on the night of Earth. When the sun shall rise, only the owh 
 Mid bats among men will be blind to its rays.' Then the per- 
 fect day of Liberty shall fill the sky^ and even the spheres of 
 tpirits be gladdened by reflections from the realm of mortal* t 
 
 "BENJAMIN LUNDY." 
 
 In spite of certain inaccuracies in the spelling of this mes- 
 sage, the reader's face brightened with satisfaction. " There !" 
 he exclaimed " there is a genuine test ! No one but the 
 spirit of Lundy, as it were, could have written those words." 
 
 " Why not ?" asked Woodbury. 
 
 " Why why the foot of Hercules sticks out !" said Mr. 
 Merryfield, falling, in his confusion, from the lofty strain. 
 " You never knowed the sainted Lundy, the purest and most 
 beautiful spirit of this age. Those are his very yes, he would 
 make the same expressions, as it were, if his voice could, if 
 be were still in the flesh." 
 
 Woodbury's eyes, mechanically, wandered to Mrs. Waldo 
 and Hannah Thurston. The former preserved a grave face, 
 but a smile, perceptible to him alone, lurked at the bottom of 
 her eyes. The latter, too earnest in all things to disguise the 
 expression of her most fleeting emotions, looked annoyed and 
 uneasy. Woodbury determined to take no further part in the 
 proceedings a mental conclusion which Mr. Dyce was suffi- 
 ciently clairvoyant to feel, and which relieved while it discon- 
 certed him. 
 
 Various other spirits announced their presence, but their 
 communications became somewhat incoherent, and the semi- 
 believers present were not strengthened by the evening's ex- 
 peiiments. Mr. Waldo, in answer to a mental question, re- 
 ceived the folio wing message: 
 
 " I will not say that my mind dwelt too strongly on the 
 tymbols by which Faith is expressed, for through symbols the 
 Truth was made clear to me. There are many patha^ but they 
 att have the $<tr/te ending"
 
 122 HtNtfAl* TIIUBSTOtf: 
 
 " There can be no doubt of that. Are you not satisfied f " 
 asked Seth Wattles. 
 
 " Not quite. I had expected a different message from tho 
 spirit I selected," said Mr. Waldo. 
 
 " Was it not Beza Cimmer ?" 
 
 "No!" was the astonished reply: "I was thinking ot a 
 chool-mate and friend, who took passage for the West Indiei 
 in a vessel that was never heard of afterwards." 
 
 "We must not forget," said Mr. Dyce, "that our friends in 
 the spirit-world still retain their independence. You may send 
 for a neighbor to come and see you, and while you are waiting 
 for him, another may unexpectedly step in. It is just so in our 
 intercourse with spirits : we cannot control them. We cannot 
 say to one : 'come!' and to another: 'go!' We must abide 
 their pleasure, in faith and humility." 
 
 Mr. Waldo said nothing, and made no further attempt at 
 conversation with his lost school-mate. Seth Wattles summon- 
 ed, in succession, the spirits of Socrates, Touissant L'Ou\ er- 
 ture, and Mrs. Ilemans, but neither of them was inclined to 
 communicate with him. 
 
 After a while, some one remarked : " Will they not more 
 palpably manifest themselves?" 
 
 " We can try," said Mr. Dyce. 
 
 Mr. Merryfield thereupon took the solitary candle into an ad- 
 joining room. As the shutters were closed, the apartment was 
 thus left in complete darkness. The guests kept their seats 
 around the table, and it was specially enjoined upon them not 
 to move. At the end of a few minutes rustling noises were 
 heard, loud raps resounded on the table, which was several 
 times violently lifted and let down, and blows were dealt at 
 random by invisible hands. Those who were so fortunate as 
 to be struck, communicated the news in a ^yhisper to their 
 aeighbors. Presently, also, the little old-fashioned piano, 
 itanding on one side of the room, began to stir its rusty 
 keys. After a few discordant attempts at chords, a sin- 
 gle hand appeared to be endeavoring to play ''Days oj
 
 ( A 8TOEY OF AMERICAN LIFB. 12? 
 
 Absence" the untuned keys making the melody still more 
 dismal. 
 
 It was enough to set one's teeth on edge, but Mrs. Merry 
 field burst into tears. " Oh !" she cried, " it's Angelina her 
 elf J She was taking lessons, and had just got that far when 
 Bh^ died." 
 
 The sounds ceased, and light was restored to the room. Mr, 
 Dyce was leaning on the table, with his face in his hands. As 
 he lifted his head, a large dark stain appeared under his right 
 eye. 
 
 " Why, what has happened to you ?" cried Merryfield. 
 " Your eye is quite black 1" 
 
 . The medium, whose glance happened to fall upon his right 
 hand, closed it so suddenly that the gesture would have at- 
 tracted notice, if he had not skilfully merged it into one of his 
 convulsive shudders. A rapid flush came to his face, and pass- 
 ed away, leaving it yellower than before. 
 
 "The unfriendly spirits are unusually active to-night," he 
 finally answered : " They are perhaps encouraged by the pres- 
 ence of doubters or scoffers. I name no names. I received 
 several severe blows while the light was removed, and feel ex- 
 hausted by the struggles I have undergone. But it is noth- 
 ing. The spirit of Paracelsus will visit me to-night, and re- 
 move the traces of this attack. Had the atmosphere been 
 pure, it could not have occurred. But some who are here 
 present are yet incapable of receiving the Truth, and their 
 presence clouds the divine light through which the highest 
 manifestations are made." 
 
 Woodlmry was too much disgusted to answer. His eye fell 
 upor Bute, who sat in the corner, with his large hand cover- 
 ng Ins mouth, and his face scarlet. 
 
 '' I confess," said Mr. Waldo, turning to the medium, " that I 
 ani uot convinced of the spiritual character of these phenomena. 
 I do not profess to explain them, but neither can I explain 
 inucii that I see in Nature, daily ; and I do uot perceive the 
 necessity of referring them at once to supernatural causesi
 
 124 HANNAH THUKSTON : 
 
 By such an assumption, the spiritual world is degraded in out 
 eyes, without, in ray opinion, any increase of positive truth, 
 even if the assumption were correct. A man who is really so 
 blind as to disbelieve in the future life, would not be converted 
 by any thing we have seen here to-night ; while for us, who be> 
 lieve, the phenomena are unnecessary." 
 
 " What I" exclaimed Mr. Dyce. " You do not appreciate 
 the divine utterances from the world of spirits! You do not 
 recognize the new and glorious Truths, the germs of a more 
 perfect Creed !" 
 
 "I would prefer," the parson mildly answered, "not to hear 
 the word ' divine' so applied. No : to be entirely frank, I see 
 nothing new, or even true, in comparison with the old, Eternal 
 Truth." 
 
 " But," interrupted Merryfield, desperately, seeing the bright 
 assent on Hannah Thurston's face ; " do you not believe in 
 Progress ? Have we, as it were, exhausted are we at the 
 end of truth ?" 
 
 " Most certainly I believe in the forward march of our race. 
 We are still children in wisdom, and have much to learn. But 
 let me ask, my friend, do you not believe that the future life is 
 an immeasurable advance upon this ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Merryfield. 
 
 "Then," Mr. Waldo continued, " why is it that the profess- 
 ed communications from great minds, such as Socrates, Luther 
 or the Apostles themselves, are below the expressions of even 
 average human intellect ?" 
 
 The believers stared at each other in dumb amazement. 
 The coolness with which the parson took hold of and trampled 
 upon their gems of superhuman wisdom, was like that of St 
 Boniface, when he laid the axe to the sacred Hessian oak. 
 His hearers, like the Druids on that occasion, were passive, 
 from the sheer impossibility of comprehending the sacrilege 
 Mr. Dyce shook his head and heaved a sigh of commiseration. 
 Seth Wattles clasped his hands, lifted his eyes, and muttered 
 in a hoarse voice: "The time will come." Mrs. Merryfield
 
 A STOKY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 12A 
 
 was unable to recall any phrase that applied to the case, but 
 wiped her eyes for the tbird time since tbe mysterious peifoi 
 mance on the piano. 
 
 Mrs. Waldo, however, looked at ber husband with a smila 
 which said to him : " I knew you could silence them wheueve. 
 jou choose to show your strength." Then, rising, she added 
 aloud : " Now the atmosphere is certainly disturbed. Let us 
 eome back to our present existence, which, after all, is very 
 good, when one has health, friends, and a contented spirit." 
 
 Mr. Merryfield whispered to his wife, who disappeared in 
 the kitchen. " Don't go yet," be said to his guests, who 
 had risen from the table ; " we must warm you, before you 
 start." 
 
 " Is it possible ? whiskey-punch ?" asked Woodbury, aside, 
 of Mrs. Waldo. 
 
 " Hush ! The very suggestion of such a thing would ruin 
 you, if it were known," she replied. 
 
 At the end of a few minutes, Mrs. Merryfield reappeared, 
 followed by a negro girl, who bore several steaming plates on 
 n japanned tray. They proved to contain slices of mince-pie, 
 rechauffee, and rather palatable, although heavy, in the absence 
 of brandy. Mrs. Merryfield, during the day, had seriously 
 thought of entertaining her guests with coffee ; but as she was 
 thoroughly convinced of the deleterious nature of the bever- 
 age, she decided that it would be no less criminal to furnish it 
 
 O * 
 
 to others than if she drank it herself. Consequently they re- 
 ceived, instead, glasses of hot lemonade, which, by an associa- 
 tion of ideas, almost convinced Woodbury, in spite of himself, 
 hat he was suffering under an attack of influenza. 
 
 Mr. Dyce, who adroitly managed to keep the left side oi 
 his face towards the candle, ate his portion with great relish. 
 His spiritual office being ended for the day, he returned with 
 avidity to the things of this world, and entered into a defence 
 of animal food, addressed to Seth Wattles, who was inclined 
 lo be a Vegetarian. Indeed, the medium dropped hints unfa- 
 vorable to the Temperance reform, which would have shocked
 
 126 HANNAH TUUKSTON ' 
 
 some of his hearers, if he had not based them, like the most ol 
 his opinions, on spiritual communications. 
 
 As the guests were putting on their coats and cloaks hi the 
 hall, Woodbury overheard Mrs. Waldo, furtively saying to her 
 spouse : " I am so glad you spoke your mind." 
 
 " I must thank you, also, Mr. Waldo," said Hannah Thura- 
 ton. " One should not too willingly accept any thing so nevf 
 and strange. For the sake of the truth we already possess, 
 it is right to be cautious " 
 
 " And now it is my turn to thank you, Miss Thurston," re- 
 joined Woodbury, gayly, as they went out into the cool night- 
 air. 
 
 She understood him. For one instant her habitual antago- 
 nism asserted itself, but she conquered it by a strong effort. 
 The night hid her face, and her voice was even-toned and 
 sweet as ever, as she answered* "I am glad there is one point 
 on which we can agree." 
 
 " Oh, there are a great many, I assure yon," he exclaimed, 
 with a lightness which, she knew not why, struck her unpleas- 
 antly : " If we could take away from your surplus of earnest- 
 ness, to complete my lack of it, we should get on very well 
 togethei." 
 
 " Can one be too much in earnest ?" she asked. 
 
 " Decidedly. There are relative values in ethics, as in every 
 thing else. You would not pull a pink with the same serious 
 application of strength which you would use, to wind a bucket 
 out of a well. But Mrs. Waldo waits : good-night !" 
 
 He lifted her into the cutter, the horses started, and she was 
 off before she had fairly time to consider what he meant. But 
 the words were too singular to be forgotten. 
 
 Bute now made his appearance, and Woodbury took his seat 
 in the cutter beside him. Dick was another* horse when hii 
 head was pointed towards home, and the bells danced to a 
 lively measure as they passed up the valley in the face of the 
 wind. The rising moon struggled through clouds, and but two 
 or three stars were visible overhead. The night was weird
 
 and sad, and in its presence the trials and the indulgencies of 
 daylight became indistinct dreams. Woodbury recalled, with 
 a feeling of intense repugnance, the occurrences of the even- 
 ing, " Better," he said to himself, " a home for the soul with- 
 in the volcanic rings of yonder barren moon, with no more than 
 the privacy it may command in this life, than to be placed on 
 the fairest star of the universe, and be held at the beck and 
 call of every mean mind that dares to juggle with sanc- 
 tities." 
 
 Plunged in these meditations, he did not at first notice the 
 short, half-suppressed spirts of laughter into which Bute occa 
 sionally broke. The latter, at last, unable to enjoy his fun 
 alone, said : 
 
 "When you looked at me, Mr. Max., I thought I'd ha' 
 bust. I never was so nigh givin' way in my life." 
 
 "What was it ?" asked Woodbury. 
 
 " Well, you musn't say nothin'. I done it." 
 
 "You!" 
 
 "Yes, ha ! ha ! But he's no idee who it was." 
 
 " Did you strike him in the face, Bute ?" 
 
 " Lord, no ! He done all the strikin' there was done to-night 
 I fixed it better 'n that. You see I suspicioned they'd git Ange- 
 lina's spirut to playin' on the pyanna, like th' other time I was 
 there. Thinks I, I've a notion how it's done, and if I'm right, 
 it's easy to show it. So, afore comin' into the settin'-room, I 
 jist went through the kitchen, and stood awhile on the hearth, 
 to warm my feet, like. I run one arm up the chimbley, when 
 nobody was lookiu', and rubbed my hand full o' soft sut. 
 Then I set in the corner, and held my arm behind me over the 
 back o' the cheer, till the candle was took out. Now's the 
 time, thinks I, and quick as wink I slips up to the pyanna i 
 knowed if they'd heerd me they'd think it was a spirut and 
 rubbed my sutty hand very quietly over the black keys. I 
 didn't dare to bear on, but, thinks I, some '11 come off, and he '11 
 be sure to git it on Ids hands. Do you see it, Mr. Max. ? 
 When the light come back, there he was, solemn enough, with
 
 128 HAT^AH THtTRSTOJr: 
 
 a black eye, ha ! ha ! I couldn't git a sight of his hand, 
 though ; he shet his fist and kep' it under the table." 
 
 Woodbury at first laughed heartily, but his amusement sooo 
 gave place to indignation at the swindle. " Why did you not 
 expose the fellow ?" he asked Bute. 
 
 " Oh, what's the use! Them that believes wouldn't believi 
 any the less, if they'd seen him play the pyanna with their owr, 
 eyes. I've no notion o' runnin' my head into a hornet's nest, 
 and gittin' well stung, and no honey to show for my pains." 
 
 With which sage observation Bute drove up to the door of 
 Lakeside.
 
 A STOEY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 129 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 OS WHICH WE HEAR A DIVERTING STOBT. 
 
 THE winter wore away, slowly to the inhabitants of Ptol- 
 emy, rapidly and agreeably to the owner of Lakeside, who 
 drank life, activity, and cheerfulness from the steady cold. 
 Every day, while the snow lasted, his cutter was to be seen on 
 the roads. Dick proved entirely inadequate to his needs and 
 was turned over to Bute's use, while the fastest horse out of 
 Fairlamb's livery-stable in Ptolemy took his place. Wood 
 bury's drives extended not only to Anacreon and the neighbor- 
 ing village of Nero Corners a queer little place, stuck out of 
 sight in a hollow of the upland, but frequently as far as Tibe- 
 rius, which, being situated on a branch of the New York Cen- 
 tral, considered itself quite metropolitan. The inhabitants took 
 especial delight in its two principal streets, wherein the houses 
 were jammed together as compactly as possible, and huge 
 brick blocks, with cornices and window-caps of cast-iron, star- 
 ted up pompously between one-story buildings of wood, saying 
 to the country people, on market days : " Behold, a city !" 
 
 The farmers around Ptolemy, who believe that every man 
 born in a large town, and ignorant of either farming or some 
 mechanical employment, must necessarily be soft, weak, and 
 effeminate in his nature "spoiled," so far as true masculine 
 grit is concerned were not a little astonished at Woodbury'g 
 activity and powers of endurance. More than once some of 
 them had met him, sheeted with snow and driving in the teeth 
 of a furious north-eastern storm, yet singing merrily to himself 
 as if he liked it all ! It was noticed, too, that a vigorous red 
 was driving away the tan of Indian summers from his cheek* 
 6*
 
 130 II ANN AH THDKSTON . 
 
 that a listless, iudifferent expression, which at first made them 
 say " he has sleepy eyes," had vanished from those organs, ae 
 if a veil had been withdrawn, leaving them clear and keen, 
 with a cheerful, wide-awake nature looking out. Thus, 
 although his habitual repose of manner remained, it no longer 
 impressed the people as something foreign and uncomfortable ; 
 and the general feeling towards him, in spite of the attacks of 
 Mr. Grindle and the insinuations of Seth Wattles, was respect- 
 ful and friendly. Bute, who was a confirmed favorite among 
 the people, would suffer no word to be said against his master, 
 and went so far as to take a respectable man by the throat, in 
 the oyster-cellar under the Ptolemy House, for speaking of 
 him as a " stuck-up aristocrat." 
 
 That part of a man's life which springs from his physical 
 temperament seemed, in Woodbury's case, to have stood still 
 during his sojourn abroad. After the tropical torpidity of his 
 system had been shaken off, he went back ten years in the 
 sudden refreshment of his sensations. The delicate cuticle of 
 youth, penetrated with the finer nerves which acknowledge 
 every touch of maturing existence as a pleasure, was partially 
 restored. The sadness engendered by hard experience, the 
 scorn which the encounter with human meanness and selfish- 
 ness left behind, the half contemptuous pity which the pride 
 of shallow brains provoked these were features of his nature, 
 which, impressed while it was yet plastic, were now too firmly 
 set to be erased ; but they were overlaid for the time by the 
 joyous rush of physical sensation. His manner lost that first 
 gravity which suggested itself even in his most relaxed and 
 playful moods ; he became gay, brilliant, and bantering, and 
 was the life of the circles in which he moved. As the owner 
 of Lakeside, all circles, of course, were open to him ; but he 
 soon discovered the most congenial society and selected it, 
 without regard to the distinctions which prevailed in Ptolemy. 
 As no standard of merely social value was recognized, the 
 little community was divided according to the wealth, or the 
 religious views of its members j whence arose those jealousiei
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 131 
 
 tod rivalries which the Great Sewing-Union had for a time 
 suppressed. Woodbury soon perceived this. fact, and deter- 
 mined, at the start, to preserve his social independence. 
 Neither of the circles could complain of being neglected, yet 
 neither could claim exclusive possession of him. He took tea 
 twice in one week with the Rev. Lemuel Styles, and the heart 
 of Miss Legrand, the clergyman's sister-in-law, began to be 
 agitated by a vague hope ; but, in a few days afterwards, he 
 accompanied the Misses Smith (Seventh-day Baptists) on a 
 sleighing party to Atauga City, and was seen, on the foUow 
 ing Sunday, to enter the Cimmerian church. 
 
 Between the Waldos and himself, a sincere friendship had 
 grown up. The parson and his wife possessed, in common 
 with Woodbury, a basis of healthy common sense, which, in 
 spite of the stubborn isolation of their sect, made them tole- 
 rant. They had no idea of turning life into a debating-school, 
 and could hear adverse opinions incidentally dropped, in the 
 course of conversation, without considering that each word 
 was thrown down as a gage of combat. Hence, Woodbury 
 found no pleasnnter house than theirs, in all his rounds, and the 
 frank way in which he occasionally claimed their scanty hospi- 
 tality was so much like that of a brother, that the parson de- 
 clared to his wife, it expressed his idea of Christian society. 1 
 am afraid I shall injure Mr. Waldo's" reputation, but I am 
 bound to state that Woodbury was the last man whom he 
 would have attempted to secure, as a proselyte. 
 
 One evening in March, after the winter had begun to melt 
 away on the long hill sweeping from the eastern valley around 
 to Lakeside, a little party accidentally assembled in Mrs. 
 Waldo's parlor. Since the proceeds of the Fair had enabled 
 her to cover its walls with a cheap green paper, and to substitute 
 a coarse carpet of the same color for the tattered thing which 
 she had transferred to her bed-room, the apartment was vastly 
 improved. The horse-hair sofa and chairs, it is true, had per- 
 formed a great deal of service, but they were able to do it ; 
 the sheet-iron stove gave out a comfortable warmth ; and the
 
 l?2 TtA^tfAJI 
 
 one treasure of the parsonage, a melodeon, which did th 
 duty of an organ on Sundays, was in tolerable tune. Hannah 
 Thurston contributed a vase of grasses, exquisitely arranged, 
 which obliged Mrs. Waldo to buy a plaster bracket from an 
 itinerant Italian. She could ill afford to spare the half-dollar 
 which it cost and, indeed, most of the women in her 
 husband's congregation shook their heads and murmured: 
 " Vanity, vanity !" when they saw it but a little self-denial in 
 her housekeeping, which no one else than herself ever knew, 
 reconciled the deed to her conscience. Woodbury brought to 
 her from New York an engraving of Ary Scheffer's " Cl.ristus 
 Consolator," which not only gave her great delight, but was 
 of service in a way she did not suspect. It hung opposite to 
 the grasses, and thus thoroughly counterbalanced their pre- 
 sumed " vanity," in the eyes of Cimmerian visitors. Indeed, 
 they were not sure but a moral effect was intended, and this 
 uncertainty stopped the remarks which might otherwise have 
 spread far and wide. 
 
 The party in Mrs. Waldo's parlor was assembled by acci- 
 dent, we have said ; but not entirely so. Hannah Thurston 
 had been invited to tea by the hostess, and Woodbury by Mr. 
 Waldo, who had met him in the streets of Ptolemy. This 
 coincidence was unintentional, although not unwelcome to the 
 hosts, who, liking both their guests heartily, could not account 
 for the evident prejudice of the one and the indifference of 
 the other. Mrs. Waldo had long since given up, as insane, 
 her first hope of seeing the two drawn together by mutual 
 magnetism ; all she now desired was to establish an entente 
 cordiale, since the entente tfamour could never be. On this 
 occasion, the parties behaved towards each other with such 
 thorough courtesy and propriety, that, had Hannah Thurston 
 been any other woman, Mrs. Waldo would have suspected the 
 existence of an undying enmity. . 
 
 After tea Mr. and Mrs. Merryfield made their appearance. 
 They had come to Ptolemy to attend a lecture on Temperance 
 by Abirum Stokes, a noted orator of the cause, who, however,
 
 A STORY OP AMERICAN LIFK. 133 
 
 foiled to arrive. Seth Wattles presently followed, apparentlj 
 by accident, but really by design. He had ascertained where 
 Hannah intended to pass the evening, from the widow Thurs- 
 ton's little seivant-maid, whom he waylaid as she was coming 
 out of the grocery-store, and did not scruple to thrust himself 
 upon the company. His self-complacency was a little dis- 
 turbed by the sight of Woodbury, whose discomfiture, during 
 the evening, he mentally resolved to accomplish. 
 
 His victim, however, was in an unusually cheerful mood, and 
 every arrow which the indignant Seth shot, though feathered 
 to the barb with insinuation, flew wide of the mark. Wood- 
 bury joined in denunciation of the opium traffic ; he trampled 
 on the vices of pride, hypocrisy, and selfishness ; he abhorred 
 intemperance, hated oppression, and glorified liberty. But he 
 continually brought the conversation back to its key-note of 
 playful humor, cordially seconded by Mrs. Waldo, whose only 
 fault, in the eyes of her reforming friends, was that she had 
 no taste for serious discussion. Seth, finally, having exhausted 
 his quiver, began to declaim against the corrupting influence 
 of cities. 
 
 " It is time that hackneyed superstition were given up," said 
 Woodbury. "Everybody repeats, after poor old Cowper, 
 ' God made the country and man made the town ;' therefore, 
 one is divine, and the other the opposite. As if God had no 
 part in that human brain and those human affections, out of 
 which spring Art, and Discovery, and the varied fabric of 
 Society ! As if man had no part in making Nature attractive 
 and enjoyable to us !" 
 
 " Cities are created by the selfishness of man," cried Seth 5 i 
 little pompously. 
 
 "And farms, I suppose, are created entirely by bene^o 
 lence !" retorted Woodbury, laughing. " You Reformers 
 have the least cause to complain of cities. You got your 
 Temperance from Baltimore, and your Abolition from Bos- 
 ton." 
 
 "That proves nothing: there was one just man e^en ia
 
 l4 HANNAH TUUKSTON : 
 
 Sodom !" exclaimed Seth, determined not to be put down 
 "But, of course, people who think fashion more important 
 than principle, will always admire a city life." 
 
 " Yes, it is Fashion," added Mrs. Merryfield, who was un- 
 usually dyspeptic that evening "it is Fashion that has im- 
 peded the cause of woman. Fashion is the fetters which 
 chains her down as the slave of man. How can she know her 
 rights, when she is educated, as a child, to believe that Dresi 
 is her Doom ?" 
 
 " If you were familiar with cities, Mrs. Merryfield," said 
 Woodbury, " you would find that they admit of the nearest 
 approach to social independence. Fashion is just as rigid in 
 Ptolemy as it is in New York ; among the Hottentots or Dig- 
 ger Indians, far more so. Not only that, but Fashion is 
 actually necessary to keep us from falling into chaos. Suppose 
 there were no such thing, and you and Mr. Merryfield lived in 
 tents, dressed in oriental costume, while Mr. Waldo preached 
 in feathers and war-paint, to Miss Thurston, in a complete suit 
 of steel armor, Mr. Wattles with Chinese pig-tail and fan, and 
 myself in bag- wig, powder, and ruffles !" 
 
 The hearty laughter Avhich followed this suggestion did not 
 silence Seth. " It is not a subject for frivolity," he exclaimed; 
 " you cannot deny that Fashion corrupts the heart and de- 
 stroys all the better impulses of human nature." 
 
 " I do deny it," replied Wooclbury, whose unusual patience 
 was nearly exhausted. " All sweeping, undiscriminating asser- 
 tions contain much that is both false and absurd, and yours is 
 no exception. The foundation of character lies deeper than 
 external customs. The honor of man, the virtue of woman, 
 the pure humanity of both, is not affected by the cut or colors 
 of their dress. If the race is so easily corrupted as one might 
 infer from your assertions, how can you ever expect to suc- 
 ceed with your plans of reform ?" 
 
 " I should not expect it," interposed Mrs. Merryfield, " if 1 
 had to depend ou the women that worships the Moloch o/ 
 fashion. Why, if I was the noblest and wisest of my sex,
 
 A STORT OF AMERICAN LIFE. 185 
 
 they'd turn up their noses at me, unless I lived in FifH 
 Avenue." 
 
 A sweet, serious smile, betraying that breath of dried roses 
 which greets us as we open some forgotten volume of the 
 past, stole over Woodbury's face. His voice, also, when 
 he spoke, betrayed the change. Some memory, suddenly 
 awakened, had banished the present controversy from his 
 mind. 
 
 " It is strange," said he, slowly, addressing Mrs. Waldo, 
 rather than the speaker, " how a new life, like mine in India, 
 can make one forget what has gone before it. In this mo- 
 ment, a curious episode of my youth suddenly comes back to 
 me, distinct as life, and I wonder how it could ever have been 
 forgotten. Shall I give you a story in place of an argument, 
 Mrs. Merryfield ? Perhaps it may answer for both. But if 
 you can't accept it in that light, you may have the last word." 
 
 " Pray tell us, by all means !" exclaimed Mrs. "Waldo. 
 
 Woodbury looked around. Hannah Thurston, meeting his 
 questioning glance, silently nodded. Seth was sullen and gave 
 no sign. Mrs. Merryfield answered, " Fd like to hear it, well 
 enough, I'm sure," whereto her husband added : " So would 
 I, as as it were." Thus encouraged, Woodbury began : 
 
 " It happened after my father's death, and before I left New 
 York for Calcutta. I was not quite twenty when he died, and 
 his bankruptcy left me penniless, just at the time of life when 
 such a condition is most painfully felt. In my case it waa 
 worse than usual, because so utterly unexpected, and my 
 education had in no way prepared me to meet it. Every thing 
 went : house, furniture, library, and even those domestic trifles 
 which are hardest to part with. A few souvenirs of int 
 mother were saved, and a friend of the family purchased and 
 gave to me my father's watch. My brother-in-law was unable 
 to help me, because he was greatly involved in the ruin. He 
 sent my sister and their children to live in a cheap New Jer- 
 sey village, while he undertook a journey to New Orleans, in 
 the hope of retrieving his position by a lucky stroke of
 
 1 36 HANNAH THURSTON I 
 
 business. Thus, within a month after the funeral of mj 
 father, I found myself alone, poor, and homeless. It was iu 
 1837, and the great financial crash was just beginning to 
 thunder in men's ears. My father's friends were too much 
 concerned about their own interests to care especially foi 
 mine. It was no single case of misfortune : there were ex- 
 tmjik's equally hard, on all sides, very soon. 
 
 " Nevertheless, I was not suffered to become a vagabond. 
 A subordinate clerkship was procured for me, at a salary of 
 two hundred and fifty dollars a year I was ignorant of 
 business, for my father had intended that I should study Law, 
 after completing my collegiate course, and the character of 
 my mind was not well adapted for commercial life. The 
 salary, small as it was, fully equalled the value of my services, 
 and I should have made it suffice to meet my wants, if I had 
 received it punctually. But my employer so narrowly escaped 
 ruin during the crisis that he was often unable to pay me, or 
 my fellow-clerks, our monthly wages, and I, who had no little 
 hoard to draw upon, like the others, sometimes suffered the 
 most painful embarrassment. I have frequently, this winter, 
 heard the praises of a vegetable diet. I have some right to 
 give my opinion on the subject, as I tried the experiment for 
 two months at a time, und must say that it totally failed. 
 
 " I was too proud to borrow money, at such times, and was, 
 moreover, exceedingly sensitive lest my situation should become 
 known. The boarding-house, where I first made my home, be 
 came uncomfortable, because I was not always ready with my 
 money on Saturday morning. Besides, it was a cheap place, kept 
 by an old woman with two sentimental daughters, who wore 
 their hair in curls and always smelt of sassafras soap. There were 
 various reasons which you will understand, without my tellirg 
 you, why my residence there grew at last to be insufferable. 1 
 accidentally discovered that the owner of a corner grocery ji 
 the Bowery had a vacant room over his store, with a separate 
 entrance from the cross-street, and that he could supply me, at 
 a cheap rent, with the most necessary furniture. The bargair
 
 A STOET OF AMERICAN LIFE. 157 
 
 was soon made. The room and furniture cost me a dollar a week, 
 and my food could be regulated according to my means. The 
 common eating-houses supplied me, now and then, with a meal, 
 but I oftenest bought my bread at the baker's, and filled my 
 pitcher from the hydrant in the back-yard. I was also so far 
 independent that I could choose my associates, and regulate 
 diy personal habits. I assure you that I never wasbed my 
 face with sassafras soap." 
 
 Mrs. Waldo laughed heartily at this declaration, and Mrs. 
 Merryfield innocently exclaimed: "Why, I'm sure it's very 
 good for the skin." 
 
 "Meanwhile," Woodbury continued, "I still kept up inter- 
 course with the circle in which my father moved, and which, 
 at that time, would have been called ' fashionable.' Some 
 families, it is true, felt a restraint towards me which I was too 
 sensitive not to discover. The daughters had evidently been 
 warned against too great a display of sympathy. On the other 
 hand, I made new and delightful acquaintances, of equal social 
 standing, by whom I was treated with a delicacy and a gener- 
 ous consideration which I shall never forget. In fact, what- 
 ever Christian respect I may exhibit, in my intercourse with 
 others, I learned from those families. You may know what 
 they were, Mr. Waldo, by imagining how you would treat me, 
 now, if I should suddenly lose my property. 
 
 " I had been living in this manner for a year, or thereabouts, 
 when the main incident of my story occurred. In the circle 
 where I was most intimate, there were two or three wealthy 
 bachelors, who had handsome residences in the neighborhood 
 of Bleecker street (there was no Fifth Avenue then). These 
 gentlemen had, in turn, given entertainments luring the win- 
 ter, and had taken such pains to make them agreeable to the 
 young ladies, that they constituted a feature of the season. 
 The company was small and select, on these occasions, two or 
 three married pairs being present for the sake of propriety, 
 but no society was ever more genial, joyous, and unconstrained 
 in tone. At the last entertainment, our host finished by giving
 
 188 HAJTNAH THURSTON: 
 
 as a choice supper, to which we sat down in order to enjoy it 
 thoroughly. I have had a prejudice against all ambulatory 
 suppers since. There were songs and toasts, and fun of the 
 purest and most sparkling quality. At last, one of the young 
 ladies said, with a mock despair: ' So, this is the end of oui 
 bachelor evenings. What a pity ! I am ready to wish that 
 jou other gentlemen had remained single, for our sakes. You 
 know you cannot give us such delightful parties as this.' 
 
 " * Are there really no more bachelors ?' exclaimed Miss 
 Remington, a tall, beautiful girl, who sat opposite to me. 
 * Must we sing : Lochaber no more ? But that will never do : 
 gome married man must retract his vow, for our sakes.' 
 
 " One of the latter, looking around the table, answered : 
 Let us be certain, first, that we are at the end of the list. 
 Belknap, Moulton, Parks yes but stop ! there's Woodbury ! 
 too modest to speak for himself.' 
 
 " ' Woodbury ! Woodbury !' they all shouted, the young 
 ladies insisting that I should and must entertain them in my 
 turn. My heart came into my throat. I attempted to laugh 
 off the idea as a jest, but they were too joyously excited to 
 heed me. It was a cruel embarrassment, for none of the com 
 pany even knew where I lived. My letters were always sent 
 to the office of my employer. Moreover, I had but five dol- 
 lars, and had made a resolution never to live in advance of my 
 wages. What was I to do? The other guests, ignorant of 
 my confusion, or not heeding it, were already talking of the 
 entertainment as settled, and began to suggest the evening 
 when it should take place. I Avas meditating, in a sort of des- 
 peration, whether I should not spring up and rush out of the 
 house, when I caught Miss Remington's eye. I saw that she 
 understood my embarrassment, and wanted to help me. Her 
 look said 'Accept!' a singular fancy darted through my 
 mind, and I instantly regained my self-possession. I informed 
 the company that I should be very happy to receive them, and 
 that my entertainment should bear the same proportion to my 
 means as that of our host. The invitations were given and
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 13C 
 
 accepted on the spot, ana an evening selected from the follow 
 ing week. 
 
 " ' But where is it to be ?' asked one of the young ladies. , 
 
 " ' Oh, he will let you know in time,' said Miss Remington, 
 who took occasion to whisper to me, before the company sepa- 
 rated : ' Come to me first, and talk the matter over.' 
 
 " I called upon her the next evening, and frankly confided 
 to her my situation and means. She was three or four yeara 
 older than myself, and possessed so much natural judgment 
 and good sense, in addition to her social experience, that I had 
 the utmost confidence in her advice. A woman of less tact 
 would have ofiered to assist me, and that would have been an 
 end of the matter. She saw at once what was best to be done, 
 and we very soon agreed upon the preparations. Every thing 
 was to be kept secret from the rest of the company, whom she 
 determined to mystify to her heart's content. She informed 
 them that the entertainment would be unlike any thing they 
 had ever seen ; that the place was not to be divulged, but the 
 guests were to assemble at her father's house on the appointed 
 evening ; and that they must so dress as to do the highest 
 honor to my hospitality. The curiosity of all was greatly ex- 
 cited ; the afiair was whispered about, and others endeavored 
 to join the party, but it was strictly confined to the original 
 company. 
 
 " On my part I was not idle. Adjoining my chamber was 
 a large room, in which the grocer kept some of his stores. 
 This room I thoroughly cleaned, removing some of the articles, 
 but retaining all the kegs and boxes. The grocer, an honest, 
 amiable man, supposed that I was preparing a little festival 
 for some of my relatives, and gave me the free use of his ma- 
 terial. I arranged tl.e kegs and boxes around the walls, 
 and covered them with coarse wrapping-paper, to serve aa 
 seats. The largest box was stationed in a corner, with a keg 
 on the top, as a post for the single musician I had engaged 
 an old Irish fiddler, whom I picked up in the street I went 
 ut towards Yorkville and brought home a bundle of cedar
 
 140 HANNAH TIIUKSTON: 
 
 boughs, with which I decorated the walls, constructing a large 
 green word WELCOME above the fireplace. I borrowed 
 . twelve empty bottles in which I placed as many tallow candles, 
 and disposed them about the room, on extemporized brackets, 
 For my owe chamber, which was designed to answer as a dreg 
 'ing-room for the ladies, I made candlesticks out of the largest 
 turnips I could find in the market. In fact, I purposely remov- 
 ed some little conveniences I possessed, and invented substi- 
 tutes of the most grotesque kind. I became so much inte- 
 rested in my preparations, and in speculating upon the effect 
 they would produce, that I finally grew as impatient as my 
 guests for the evening to arrive. 
 
 " Nine o'clock was the hour appointed, and, punctually to the 
 minute, five carriages turned out of the Bowery and drew up, 
 one after another, at the side-door. I was at the entrance, in 
 complete evening dress> with white gloves (washed), to receive 
 my guests. I held a tray, upon which there were as many 
 candles fixed in large turnips, as there were gentlemen in the 
 party, and begged each one to take a light and follow me. 
 The ladies, magnificently dressed in silks and laces, rustled 
 up the narrow staircase, too much amazed to speak. As I 
 threw open the door of my saloon, the fiddler, perched near 
 the ceiling, struck up 'Hail to the Chief.' The effect, I as- 
 sure you, was imposing. Miss Remington shook hands with 
 me, heartily, exclaiming : ' Admirable ! You could not have 
 done better.' To be sure, there were some exclamations of 
 surprise, and perhaps one or two blank faces but only for a 
 moment. The fun was seen immediately, and the evening 
 commenced with that delightful social abandon in which other 
 evenings generally end. The fiddler played a Scotch reel, and 
 the couples took their places on the floor. Two of the older 
 gentlemen were familiar with both the Scotch and Irish dances, 
 and the younger ladies set about learning them with a spirit 
 which charmed the old musician's heart. The superb silka 
 floated about the room to the jolliest tuues, or rested, in the 
 intervals, on the grocer's kogs, and once a string of pearls
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN" LIFE 141 
 
 broke and rolled into the fireplace. After a while, the gro- 
 cer's boy, in his shirt-sleeves, made his appearance with a large 
 market-basket on his arm, containing a mixture of cakes, 
 raisins, and almonds. He was in great demand, especially 
 as I furnished no plates. It was then agreed to put the 
 basket on a keg, as a permanent refreshment-table, and the boy 
 brought in lemonade, in all kinds of drinking-vessels. I had 
 taken some pains to have them all of different patterns. Then 
 were tin-cups, stoneware mugs, tea-cups, bowls, and even a ' 
 sologne bottle. By this time all had fully entered into the 
 spirit of the affair: I was not only at ease but jubilant. The 
 old fiddler played incessantly. Miss Remington sang 'The 
 Exile of Erin' to his accompaniment, and the old man cried : 
 we had speeches, toasts, recitations : we revived old games : 
 we told fortunes with cards (borrowed from the porter-house 
 across the way) : in short, there was no bound to the extent of 
 our merriment, and no break in its flow. 
 
 " It occurred to some one, at last, to look at his watch. 
 4 God bless me ! it's three o'clock !' he cried. Three ! and six 
 hours had already passed away ! The ladies tore up my green 
 word ' WELCOME,' to get sprigs of cedar as souvenirs of the 
 evening : some even carried off the turnip-candlesticks. Miss 
 Remington laughed in her sleeve at the latter. ' I know bet- 
 ter than to do that,' she said to me ; ' turnips have a habit of 
 rotting.' It was unanimously voted that I had given them 
 the best entertainment of the season ; and I am sure, for my 
 own part, that none had been so heartily enjoyed. 
 
 " The story, as you may suppose, soon became known ; and 
 it was only by sheer resolution that I escaped a social popu- 
 larity which might have turned ray head at that age. I was 
 even asked to repeat the entertainment, so that others might 
 have a chance to participate in it; but I knew that its wh<>le 
 success lay in the spontaneous inspiration which prompted, 
 anl the surprise which accompanied it. The incident, how- 
 ever, proved to be one of the influences to which I must attri 
 bute wy subsequent good fortune."
 
 142 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 " Pray, how was that ?" asked Mr. Waldo. 
 
 "My employer heard, in some way or other, that I had 
 given a splendid entertainment. Knowing my means, and 
 fearing that I had fallen into reckless habits, he called me into 
 his private office and very seriously asked for an explana- 
 tion of my conduct. I related the circumstances, precisely aa 
 they had occurred. He easily ascertained that my story was 
 true, and from that day forward took an increased interest in 
 me, to which I must attribute, in part, my rapid advancement. 
 Now, if there is any moral in all this, I think you can easily 
 find it. If there is not, perhaps you have been diverted 
 enough to pardon me for talking so much about myself." 
 
 "Why, it's delightful! I never heard anything better!" 
 cried Mrs. Waldo. 
 
 " It shows, though," interposed Mrs. Merryfield, " how in- 
 consistent those fashionable women are. They can be coura- 
 geous and independent for the sake of pleasure, but they'd be 
 horrified at venturing so far for the sake of principle." 
 
 "You are hardly just," said Hannah Thurston, addressing 
 the last speaker ; " Mr. Woodbury's story has a moral, and I 
 am very glad he has given it to us." 
 
 Seth Wattles had been interested and amused, in spite of 
 himself, but he was not the man to acknowledge it. He was 
 endeavoring to find some point at which he might carp, with 
 a show of reason, when Miss Carrie Dilworth entered the room, 
 and presently Bute Wilson, who had driven from Lakeside to 
 take Woodbury home. 
 
 "Mr. Max.!" cried the latter, whose face had a flushed, 
 strange expression, " Diamond won't stand alone, and I must 
 go out and hold him till you're ready." 
 
 'Til come at once, then," said Woodbury, and took leavi 
 at .he company.
 
 A STORY OF AMEBICAJ* LIFE. 143 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 TWO DECLABAHONS, AND THE AN8WEB8 THERB10, 
 
 As Bute, on entering the village, passed the Widow Thurs- 
 ton's cottage, he noticed a dim little figure emerging from the 
 gate. Although the night was dark, and the figure was su 
 muffled as to present no distinct outline, Bute's eyes were 
 particularly sharp. Like the sculptor, he saw the statue iu 
 the shapeless block. Whether it was owing to a short jerk- 
 ing swing hi the gait, or an occasional sideward toss of what 
 seemed to be the head, he probably did not reflect ; but he 
 immediately drew the rein on Diamond, and called out " JVIish 
 Carrie !" 
 
 "Ah!" proceeded from the figure, as it stopped, with a 
 start ; " who is it ?" 
 
 Bute cautiously drove near the plank sidewalk, before 
 answering. Then he said : " It's me." 
 
 "Oh, Bute," exclaimed Miss Dilworth, "how you fright 
 ened me ! Where did you come from ?" . 
 
 " From home. I'm a-goin' to fetcU Mr. Max., but there's no 
 hurry. I say, Miss Carrie, wouldn't you like to take a littJe 
 sleigh-ride ? Where are you goin' to ?" 
 
 " To Waldo's." 
 
 " Why, so am I ! Jump in, and I'll take you along." 
 
 Miss Dilworth, nothing loath, stepped from the edge of the 
 lidewalk into the cutter, and took her seat. Bute experienced 
 a singular feeling of comfort, at having the soft little body 
 wedged so closely beside him, with the same wolf-skin spread 
 over their mutual knees. His heart being on the side next
 
 144 HANNAH THUBSTON : 
 
 ner, it presently sent a tingling warmth over his whole frame; 
 the sense of her presence impressed him with a vague physical 
 delight, and he regretted that the cutter was not so narrow as 
 lo oblige him to take her upon his knees. It was less than 
 half a mile to the parsonage about two minutes, as Diamond 
 trotted and then the doors of heaven would close upon him. 
 
 " No ! by Jimminy !" he suddenly exclaimed, turning 
 around in the track, at the imminent risk of upsetting the 
 cutter. 
 
 " Wliat's the matter ?" cried Miss Dilworth, a little alarmed 
 it this unexpected manoeuvre. 
 
 " It isn't half a drive for you, Carrie," Bute replied. " The 
 sleddin's prime, and I'll jist take a circuit up the creek, and 
 across into the South Road. We'll go it in half an hour, and 
 there's plenty of time." 
 
 Miss Dilworth knew, better even than if he had tried to tell 
 her, that Bute was proud and happy at having her beside 
 him. Her vanity was agreeably ministered to ; she enjoyed 
 sleighing ; and, moreover, where was the harm ? She would 
 not have objected, on a pinch, to be driven through Ptolemy 
 by Arbutus Wilson, hi broad daylight ; and now it was too 
 dark for either of them to be recognized. So she quietly 
 submitted to what was, after all, not a hard fate. 
 
 As they sped along merrily over the bottoms of East 
 Atauga Creek, past the lonely, whispering elms, and the 
 lines of ghostly alders fringing the stream, where the air 
 struck their faces with a damp cold, the young lady shud- 
 iered. She pressed a little more closely against Bute, as if 
 to make sure of his presence, and said, hi a low tone : M 1 
 ihould not like to be alone, here, at this hour." 
 
 Poor Bute felt that the suspense of his heart was no longer 
 lo be borne. She had played with him, and he had allowed 
 himself to be played with, long enough. He would ask a 
 serious question and demand a serious answer. His resolution 
 was fixed, yet, now that the moment had arrived, his tougue 
 seecacd to become paralyzed. The words were in his mind,
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LlFE. 145 
 
 every one of them he had said them over to himself, a hun- 
 dred times but there was a muzzle on his mouth which pre- 
 vented their being put into sound. He looked at the panels 
 of fence as they sped past, and thought, " so much more of 
 the road has gone, and I have said nothing." 
 
 Miss Dilworth's voice was like a palpable hand stretched 
 out to draw him from that quagmire of silence. "Oh, 
 Carrie!" he exclaimed, "you needn't be alone, anywheres 
 leastways where there's any thing to skeer or hurt you." 
 
 She understood him, and resumed her usual tactics, half- 
 accepting, half-defensive. " We can't help being alone some- 
 times, Bute," she answered, " and some are born to be alone 
 always. Alone in spirit, you know; where there is no con- 
 genial nature." 
 
 " You're not one o' them, Carrie," said Bute, desperately. 
 " You know you're not a genus. If you was, T shouldn't keer 
 whether I had your good-will or not. But I want that, and 
 more'n that, because I like you better than any thing in this 
 world. I've hinted the same many a time, and you know it, 
 and I don't want you to turn it off no longer." 
 
 The earnestness of his voice caused Miss Dilworth to trem- 
 ble. There was a power in the man which she feared she 
 could not withstand. Still he had made no definite proposal, 
 and she was not bound to answer more than his words literally 
 indicated. 
 
 " Why, of course I like you, Bute," said she ; " everybody 
 does. And you've always been so kind and obliging towards 
 me." 
 
 " Like ! I'd ruther you'd say hate than like- There's two 
 kinds c' likin', and one of 'em's the kind that doesn't fit any 
 body that comes along. Every man, Carrie, that's wuth hi 
 fcalt, must find a woman to work for, and when he's nigh onto 
 thirty, as I am, he wants to see a youngster growin' up, to 
 take his place when he gits old. Otherways, no matter how 
 lucky he is, there's not much comfort to him in livin'. Now, 
 I'm awful serious about this. I don't care whether we're con-
 
 146 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 genial spirits, or not, but I want you, Carrie, for my wife 
 Ton may hunt far and wide, but you'll find nobody that'll 
 feeer for you as I will. Perhaps I don't talk quite as fine as 
 gome, but talkin's like the froth on the creek ; maybe it's 
 shallow, and maybe it's deep, you can't tell. The heart's the 
 main thing, and, thank God, I'm right there. Carrie, this 
 once, jist this once, don't trifle with me." 
 
 Bute's voice became soft and pleading, as he closed. Misa 
 Dilworth was moved at last ; he had struck through her affec- 
 ted sentimentalism, and touched the small bit of true womanly 
 nature beneath it. But the impression was too sudden. She 
 had not relinquished her ambitious yearnings ; she knew and 
 valued Bute's fidelity, and, precisely for that reason, she felt 
 secure in seeming to decline it. She would have it in reserve, 
 in any case, and meanwhile, he was too cheerful and light- 
 hearted to suffer much pain from the delay. Had he taken 
 her in his arms, had he stormed her with endearing words, 
 had he uttered even one sentence of the hackneyed sentiment 
 in which she delighted, it would have been impossible to re- 
 sist. But he sat silently waiting for her answer, while the 
 horse slowly climbed the hill over which they must pass to 
 reach the South Road ; and in that silence her vanity regained 
 as strength. 
 
 " Carrie ?" he said, at last 
 
 " Bute ?" 
 
 " You don't answer me." 
 
 " Oh, Bute !" said she, with a curious mixture of tenderness 
 and coquetry, "I don't know how. I never thought you 
 were more than half in earnest. And I'm not sure, after all, 
 that we were meant for each other. I like you as well as 1 
 like anybody, but " 
 
 Here she paused. 
 
 " But you won't have me, I s'pose ?" said Bute, in a tone 
 that was both bitter and sad. 
 
 "I don't quite mean that," she answered. " But a woman 
 has so much at stake, you know. She must love more than a
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 1*7 
 
 man, I've been told, before she can give up her name and hei 
 life to him. I don't know, Bute, whether I should do right to 
 promise myself to you. I've never thought of it seriously 
 Besides, you come upon me so sudden you frightened me a 
 little, and I really don't exactly know what my own mind is." 
 
 " Yes, I see," said Bute, in a stern voice. 
 
 They had reached the top of the hill, and the long descent 
 to Ptolemy lay before them. Bute drew the reins and held 
 the horse to his best speed. Some inner prop of his strong 
 breast seemed to give way all at once. He took the thick 
 end of his woollen scarf between his teeth and stifled the con- 
 vulsive movements of his throat. Then a sensation of heat 
 rushed through his brain, and the tears began to roll rapidly 
 down his cheeks. He was grateful for the darkness which hid 
 his face, for the bells which drowned his labored breathing, 
 and for the descent which shortened the rest of the drive. He 
 said nothing more, and Miss Dil worth, in spite of herself, was 
 awed by his silence. By the time they had reached the par- 
 sonage he was tolerably calm, and the traces of his passion 
 had disappeared from his face. 
 
 Miss Dilworth lingered while he was fastening the horse. 
 She felt, it must be confessed, very uneasy, and not guiltless of 
 what had happened. She knew not how to interpret Bute's 
 sudden silence. It was probably anger, she thought, and 
 she would therefore lay the first stone of a temple of recon- 
 ciliation. She liked him too well to lose him wholly. 
 
 " Good-night, Bute !" she said, holding out her hand : " you 
 are not angry with me, are you ?'' 
 
 " No," was his only answer, as he took her hand. There 
 was no eager, tender pressure, as before, and the tone of his 
 voice, to her ear, betrayed indiiference, which was worse than 
 nger. 
 
 After Woodbury had taken leave, there was a general move- 
 ment, of departure. The sempstress had come to spend a few 
 days with Mrs. Waldo, and did not intend returning; it was 
 rather late, and the Mcrryfields took the nearest road home, so
 
 148 HANNAH TIIUKSTON ! 
 
 that Hannah Thurston must have walked back, alone, to her 
 mother's cottage, had not Seth Wattles been there to escort her. 
 Seth foresaw this duty, and inwardly rejoiced thereat. The 
 absence of Woodbury restored his equanimity of temper, and 
 ho was as amiably disposed as was possible to his incoherent 
 aature. He was not keen enough to perceive the strong relief 
 into which his shapeless mind was thrown by the symmetry 
 and balance of the man whom he hated that he lost ground, 
 even in his own circle, not merely from the discomfiture of the 
 moment, but far more from that unconscious comparison of the 
 two which arose from permanent impressions. He was not 
 aware of the powerful magnetism which social culture exer- 
 cises, especially upon minds fitted, "by their honest yearning 
 after something better, to receive it themselves. 
 
 Seth was therefore, without reason, satisfied with himself as 
 he left the house. He had dared, at least, to face this self- 
 constituted lion, and had found the animal more disposed to 
 gambol than to bite. He flattered himself that his earnestness 
 contrasted favorably with the levity whereby Woodbury had 
 parried questions so important to the human race. Drawing 
 a long breath, as of great relief, he exclaimed : 
 
 " Life is real, life is earnest ! We feel it, under this sky : 
 here the frivolous chatter of Society is hushed." 
 
 Hannah Thurston took his proffered arm, conscious, as she 
 did so, of a shudder of something very like repugnance. For 
 the fiist time it struck her that she would rather hear the 
 sparkling nothings of gay conversation than Seth's serious 
 platitudes. She did not particularly desire his society, just 
 now, and attempted to hasten her pace, under the pretext that 
 the night was cold. 
 
 Seth, however, hung back. " We do not enjoy the night as 
 we ought," said he. " It elevates and expands the soul. It ia 
 the time for kindred souls to hold communion." 
 
 " Scarcely out of doors, in winter, unless they are disembod- 
 ied," remarked Miss Thurston. 
 
 Seth was somewhat taken aback. He had not expected so
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 149 
 
 tight a tone from so grave and earnest a nature. It was tin- 
 rtsual with her, and reminded him, unpleasantly, of Wood- 
 bury's frivolity. But he summoned new courage, and con. 
 tinued : 
 
 " We can say things at night for which we have no courags 
 in daylight. We are more sincere, somehow less selfish, you 
 know, and more affectionate." 
 
 " There ought to be no such difference," said she, mechani- 
 cally, and again hastening her steps. 
 
 " I know there oughtn't. And I didn't mean that I wasn't 
 as true as ever ; but but there are chosen times when our 
 souls are uplifted and approach each other. This is such a 
 time, Hannah. We seem to be nearer, and and " 
 
 He could get no farther. The other word in his mind was 
 too bold to be used at the outset. Besides, having taken one 
 step, he must allow her to take the next : it would make the 
 crisis easier for both. But she only drew her cloak more 
 closely around her, and said nothing. 
 
 " The influences of night and other things," he resumed, 
 "render us insensible to time and temperature. There is 
 one thing, at least, which defies the elements. Is there not ?" 
 
 " What is it ?" she asked. 
 
 "Can't you guess?" 
 
 " Benevolence, no doubt, or a duty so stern and sacred that 
 life itself is subordinate to its performance." 
 
 " Yes, that's true but I mean something else!" Seth ex- 
 claimed. " Something I feel, now, deep in my buzzum. Shall 
 I unveil it to your gaze ?" 
 
 "I have no right to ask or accept your confidence," she 
 replied. 
 
 "Yes, you have. One kindred soul has the right to demand 
 every thing of the other. I might have told you, long ago, 
 but I waited so that you might find it out for yourself, with- 
 out the necessity of words. Surely you must have seen it in my 
 eyes, and heard it in my voice, because every thing powerful 
 in us expresses itself somehow in spite of us. The deepest
 
 150 HANNAH THUKSTON: 
 
 emotions, you know, are silent ; but you understand my silenc* 
 now, don't you ?" 
 
 Hannah Thurston was more annoyed than surprised by this 
 declaration. She saw that a clear understanding could not be 
 avoided, and nerved herself to meet it. Her feeling of repug 
 nance to the speaker increased with every word he uttered 
 yet, if his passion were genuine (and she had no right to doubt 
 that it was so), he was entitled at least to her respect and her 
 pity. Still, he had spoken only in vague terms, and she could 
 not answer the real question. Why ? Did she not fully un- 
 derstand him ? Was the shrinking sense of delicacy in her 
 heart, which she was unable to overcome, a characteristic of 
 sex, separating her nature, by an impassable gulf, from that of 
 man ? 
 
 " Please explain yourself clearly, Seth," she said, at last. 
 
 " Oh, don't your own heart explain it for you ? Love don't 
 want to be explained : it comes to us of itself. See here 
 we've been laboring together ever so long in the Path of Pro- 
 gress, and our souls are united in aspirations for the good of our 
 fellow-men. All I want is, that we should now unite our lives 
 in the great work. You know I believe in the equal rights of 
 Woman, and would never think of subjecting you to the 
 tyranny your sisters groan under. I have no objection to 
 taking your name, if you want to make that sort of a protest 
 against legal slavery. We'll both keep our independence, and 
 show to the world the example of a true marriage. Somebody 
 must begin, you know, as Charles Macky, the glorious poet of 
 our cause, says in his Good Time Coming." 
 
 " Seth," said Hannah Thurston, with a sad, deliberate sweet- 
 ness in her voice, " there is one thing, without which there 
 should be no union between man and woman." 
 
 "What is that?" he asked. 
 
 "Love." 
 
 " How? I don't understand you. That is the very reason 
 
 " You forget," she interrupted, " that love must be recipro-
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 161 
 
 cal. You have taken it for granted that I returned, in equal 
 measure, the feelings you have expressed towards me. Where 
 the fortune of a life is concerned, it is best to be frank, though 
 frankness give pail. Seth, I do not, I never can, give you 
 love. A coincidence of opinions, of hopes and aspirations, ia 
 not love. I believe that you have made this mistake in your 
 o\t n mind, and that you will, sooner or later, thank me for 
 having revealed it to you. I have never suspected, in you, 
 the existence of love in its holiest and profoundest meaning, 
 nor have I given you reason to suppose that my sentiments 
 towards you were other than those of friendly sympathy and 
 good-will. I deeply regret it, if you have imagined otherwise. 
 I cannot atone to you for the ruin of whatever hopes you may 
 have cherished, but I can at least save you from disappoint- 
 ment in the future. I tell you now, therefore, once and for- 
 ever, that, whatever may happen, however our fates may 
 change, you and I can never, never be husband and wife." 
 
 Sweet and low as was her voice, an inexorable fate spoke in 
 it. Seth felt, word by word, its fatal significance, as the con- 
 demned culprit feels the terrible phrases of his final sentence. 
 He knew, instinctively, that it was vain to plead or expostulate. 
 He must, perforce, accept his doom; but, in doing so, his in- 
 jured self-esteem made a violent protest. It was the fretful 
 anger of disappointment, rather than the unselfish sorrow of 
 love. He could only account for the fact of his refusal by the 
 supposition that her affections were elsewhere bestowed. 
 
 " I see how it is," said he, petulantly ; " somebody else ia in 
 the way." 
 
 " Do not misunderstand me," she answered. " I, only, am 
 responsible for your disappointment. You have no right to 
 question me, and I might well allow your insinuation to pass 
 without notice ; but my silence may possibly mislead you, as 
 it seems my ordinary friendly regard has done. I will, there- 
 fore, for my own sake no less than yours for I desire, in so 
 solemn a matter, to leave no ground for self-reproach volun 
 tarily say to you, that I know no man to whom I could surren-
 
 1X9 HATOTAH THTJBSTOtt: 
 
 der my life in the unquestioning sacrifice of love. I have long 
 ince renounced the idea of marriage. My habits of thought 
 the duties I have assumed my lack of youth and beauly, 
 perhaps" (and here the measured sweetness of her voice was 
 interrupted for a moment), " will never attract to me the man, 
 unselfish enough to be just to my sex, equally pure in his as- 
 pirations, equally tender in his affections, and wiser in the 
 richness of his experience, whom my heart would demand, if 
 it dared still longer to cherish a hopeless dream. I have not 
 even enough of an ideal love remaining, to justify your jeal- 
 ousy. In my association with you for the advancement of 
 mutual aims, as well as in our social intercourse, I have treated 
 you with the kindly respect which was your due as a fellow- 
 being, but I can never recognize in you that holy kinship of 
 the heart, without which Love is a mockery and Marriage is 
 worse than death !" 
 
 Seth felt it impossible to reply, although his self-esteem waa 
 cruelly wounded. She thought herself too good for him, then : 
 that was it! Why, the very man she had described, as the 
 ideal husband she would never meet it was exactly himself! 
 It was of no use, however, for him to say so. She had reject- 
 ed him with a solemn decision, from which there was no ap- 
 peal. He must, also, needs believe her other declaration, that 
 she loved no one else. Her inordinate mental pride was the 
 true explanation. 
 
 They had stopped, during the foregoing conversation. Han 
 nah Thurston had dropped her hold on his arm, and stood, 
 facing him, on the narrow sidewalk. The night was so dark 
 that neither could distinctly see the other's face. A melan- 
 iholy wind hummed in the leafless twigs of the elms above 
 fhem, and went off to sough among a neighboring group of 
 pines. Finding that Seth made no answer, Miss Thurston 
 slowly resumed her homeward walk. He mechanically ac 
 companied her. As they approached the widow's cottage, he 
 heaved a long, hoarse sigh, and muttered : 
 
 "Well, there's another aspiration deceived. It seein*
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN i,IFE. 153 
 
 there's no quality of human nature which we can depend 
 upon." 
 
 " Do not let this disappointment make you unjust, Seth," 
 she said, pausing, with her hand upon the gate. " You have 
 deceived yourself, and it is far better to become reconciled to 
 the truth at once. If I have ignorantly, in any way, assisted 
 in the deception, I beg you to pardon me." 
 
 She turned to enter the cottage, but Seth still hesitated. 
 " Hannah," he said at last, awkwardly : " You you won't say 
 any thing about this ?" 
 
 She moved away from him with an instant revulsion of feel- 
 ing. " What do you take me for ?" she exclaimed. "Repeat 
 that question to yourself, and perhaps it may explain to you 
 why your nature and mine can never approach !" Without 
 saying good-night, she entered the house, leaving Seth to wan- 
 der back to his lodgings in a very uncomfortable frame of 
 mind. 
 
 Hannah Thurston found the lighted lamp waiting for her in 
 the warm sitting-room ; her mother was already in bed. She 
 took off her bonnet and cloak, and seated herself in the widow's 
 rocking-chair. Tears of humiliation stood in her eyes. " He 
 does not deserve," she said to herself, " that I should have 
 opened my heart before him. I wanted to be just, for I thought 
 that love, however imperfect or mistaken, was always at least 
 delicate and reverent. I thought the advocacy of moral truth 
 presupposed some nobility of soul that a nature which ac- 
 cepted such truth could not be entirely low and mean. I have 
 allowed a profane eye to look upon sanctities, and the very 
 effort I made to be true and just impresses me with a sense of 
 self-degradation. What must I do, to reconcile my instinctt 
 with the convictions of my mind ? Had I not suppressed the 
 exhibition of my natural repugnance to that man, I should have 
 been spared the pain of this evening spared the shrinking 
 shudder which I must feel whenever the memory of it re- 
 turns." 
 
 Gradually her self-examination went deeper, and she oon
 
 164 H JLNNAH THURSTON f . 
 
 fessed to herself that Seth's declaration of love was in itself hei 
 greatest humiliation. She had not told him the whole truth, 
 though it had seemed to be so, when she spoke. She had not 
 renounced the dream of her younger years. True, she had 
 forcibly stifled it, trodden upon it with the feet of a stern 
 resolution, hidden its ruins from sight in the remotest 
 chamber of her heart but now it arose again, strong in its 
 im mortal life. Oh, to think who should have wooed her under 
 the stars, in far other words and with far other answers the 
 man whom every pulse of her being claimed and called upon, 
 the man who never came ! In his stead this creature, whose 
 love seemed to leave a stain behind it whose approach to 
 her soul was that of an unclean footstep. Had it come to this ? 
 Was he the only man whom the withheld treasures of her 
 heart attracted towards her ? Did he, alone, suspect the 
 splendor of passion which shone beneath the calmness and 
 reserve of the presence she showed to the world ? 
 
 It was a most bitter, most humiliating thought. With hei 
 head drooping wearily towards her breast, and her hands 
 clasped in her lap, with unheeded tears streaming from her 
 eyes, she sought refuge from this pain in that other pain of the 
 imagined love that once seemed so near and lovely lovelier 
 now, as she saw it through the mist of a gathering despair. 
 Thus she sat, once more the helpless captive of her dreams, 
 while the lamp burned low and the room grew cold.
 
 A. STOKT OF AMERICAN LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 THB morning came, late and dark, with a dreary March 
 rain, the commencement of that revolutionary anarchy in the 
 weather, through which the despotism of Winter is over 
 thrown, and the sweet republic of Spring established on the 
 Earth. Even Woodbury, as he looked out on the writhing 
 trees, the dripping roofs, and the fields of soggy, soaked snow 4 
 could not suppress a sigh of loneliness and yearning. Bute, 
 whose disappointment, bitter though it was, failed to counter- 
 act the lulling warmth of the blankets after his ride home 
 against the wind, and who had therefore slept soundly all 
 night, awoke to a sense of hollowness and wretchedness which 
 he had never experienced before. His duties about the barn 
 attended to, and breakfast over, he returned to his bedroom 
 to make his usual Sunday toilet. Mr. Woodbury had decided 
 not to go to church, and Bute, therefore, had nothing but his 
 own thoughts, or the newspapers, to entertain him through the 
 day. Having washed his neck and breast, put on the clean 
 shirt which Mrs. Babb took care to have ready for him, and 
 combed his yellow locks, he took a good look at himself in the 
 little mirror. 
 
 "' I a'n't handsome, that's a fact," he thought to himself 
 "but nuther is she, for that matter. I've got good healthy 
 blood in me, though, and if my face is sunburnt, it don't look 
 like taller. I don't see why all the slab-sided, lantern-jawed, 
 holler-breasted fellows should have no trouble o' gittin' wives, 
 and me, of a darned sight better breed, though I do say it, to
 
 *5fl HANNAH THUBSTON: 
 
 have sich bad luck ! I can't stand it. I've got every thing 
 here that a man could want, but 'ta'n't enough. O Lord ! to 
 think her children should have somebody else than me for a 
 father !'' 
 
 Bute groaned and threw himself on the bed, where he 
 thrust both hands through his carefully combed hair. His 
 elrong masculine nature felt itself wronged, and the struggle 
 was none the less severe, because it included no finer spiritua 
 disappointment. He possessed only a true, honest, tender 
 heart, as the guide to his instincts, and these, when baffled, 
 suggested no revenge, such as might occur to a more recklesa 
 or more imaginative nature. His life had been blameless^ 
 heretofore, from the simple force of habit, and the pure atmos- 
 phere in which he lived. To confess the truth, he was no\ 
 particularly shocked by the grosser experiences of some of his 
 friends, but to adopt them himself involved a change so vio- 
 lent that he knew not where it might carry him. If the 
 thought crossed his mind at all, it was dismissed without a 
 moment's hospitality. He did not see, because he did not 
 seek, any escape from the sore, weary, thirsty sensation which 
 his disappointment left behind. The fibres of his nature, which 
 were accustomed to give out a sharp, ringing, lusty twang to 
 every touch of Life, were now muffled and deadened in tone : 
 that was all. 
 
 It might have been some consolation to Bute, if he could 
 have known that his presumed rival was equally unfortunate. 
 In the case of the latter, however, there was less of the pang 
 of blighted hopes than of the spiteful bitterness of wounded 
 vanity. Seth Wattles was accustomed to look upon himself, 
 and not without grounds of self-justification, as an unusuai 
 man. The son of a poor laborer, orphaned at an early ag<?, 
 and taken in charge by a tailor of Ptolemy, who brought, him 
 up to his own business, he owed his education mostly to a 
 quick ear and a ready tongue. His brain, though shallow, 
 was acti e, its propelling power being his personal conceit ; but 
 he was destitute of imagination, and hence his attempted
 
 A STORY OP AMERICAN LIFE. 15 
 
 flights of eloquence were often hopelessly confused and illogi- 
 cal. T\ e pioneer orators of Abolition and Temperance, who 
 visited Ptolemy, found in him a willing convert, and he was 
 quick enough to see and to secure the social consideration 
 which he had gained in the small community of " Reformers" 
 An advantage which the conservative society of the village de* 
 nied to him. Indeed, the abuse to which he was occasionally 
 subjected, was in itself flattering ; for only men of importance, 
 he thought, are thus persecuted. Among his associates, it was 
 customary to judge men by no other standard than their views 
 on the chosen reforms, and he, of course, stood among the 
 highest. His cant, his presumption, his want of delicacy, 
 were all overlooked, out of regard to an advocacy of " high 
 moral truths," which was considered to be, and doubtless was, 
 sincere. 
 
 Let us not, therefore, judge the disappointed tailor too 
 harshly. His weaknesses, indeed, were a part of his mental 
 constitution, and could, under no circumstances, have been 
 wholly cured ; but it was his own fault that they had so 
 thoroughly usurped his nature. 
 
 Whatever spiritual disturbance he might have experienced, 
 on awaking next morning to the realities of the world, the 
 woman who rejected him was much more deeply and painfully 
 troubled. Years had passed since her heart had known so 
 profound an agitation. She felt that the repose which she had 
 only won after many struggles, had deceived herself. It was 
 a false calm. The smooth mii-ror, wherein the sunshine and 
 the stars saw themselves by turns, was only smooth so long 
 as the south-wind failed to blow. One warm breath, coming 
 over the hills from some far-off, unknown region, broke into 
 fragments the steady images of her life. With a strange conflict 
 of feeling, in which there was some joy and much humiliation, 
 ehe said to herself: " I am not yet the mistress of my fate." 
 
 She rose late, unrefreshed by her short, broken sleep, and 
 uncheered by the <lark, cold, and wet picture of the valley. It 
 was one of those days when only a heart filled 4 ,o the brim
 
 158 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 with unmingled happiness can take delight in life when the 
 simplest daily duties present themselves as weary tasks when 
 every string we touch is out of tune, and every work at- 
 tempted is one discord the more. Descending to the sitting- 
 room, she found her mother in the rocking-chair, before a 
 brisk fire, while the little servant-girl was busy, preparing 
 the table for breakfast a work which Hannah herself usually 
 performed. 
 
 " Thee's rather late, Hannah," said the widow. " I thought 
 thee might be tired, and might as well sleep, while Jane set 
 the table. She must learn it some time, thee knows." 
 
 " Fm obliged to thee, mother," the daughter replied. " I 
 have not slept well, and have a little headache this morning. 
 It is the weather, I think." 
 
 " Now thee mentions it, I see that thee's quite pale. Jane, 
 put two spoonfuls of tea in the pot ; or, stay, thee'd better 
 bring it here and let me make it." 
 
 Hannah had yielded to the dietetic ideas of her friends, so 
 far as to give up the use of tea and coffee a step in which 
 the widow was not able to follow her. A few months before, 
 the former would have declined the proposal to break her 
 habit of living, even on the plea of indisposition ; she woulu 
 have resisted the natural craving for a stimulant or a sed- 
 ative as something morbid; but now she was too listless, 
 too careless of such minor questions, to refuse. The unac- 
 customed beverage warmed and cheered her, and she rose 
 from the table strengthened to resume her usual manner. 
 
 u I thought it would do thee good," said the widow, noting 
 the effect, slight as it was, with the quick eye of a mother. 
 " I'm afraid, Hannah, thee carries thy notions about diet a 
 little too far." 
 
 " Perhaps thee's right, mother," was the answer. She had 
 no inclination to commence a new discussion of one of the fev 
 subjects on which the two could not agrue. 
 
 After the house had been put in order for the day, prepa- 
 rations made for the frugal dinner, and the servant-girl de-
 
 A STOUT OF AMERICAN LITE* 159 
 
 spatched to the Cimmerian Church, Hannah took her usual 
 Beat by the window, saying : " Shall I read to thee, mother?" 
 
 " If thee pleases." 
 
 There was no Quaker Meeting nearer than Tiberius, and 
 iwnce it had been the widow's custom, on "First-Days," 
 to read, or hear her daughter read, from the classics of the 
 sect. To Hannah, also, in spite of her partial emancipation, 
 there was a great charm in the sweet simplicity and sincerity 
 of the early Friends, and she read the writings of Fox, Bar- 
 clay, El wood, and William Penn, with a sense of refreshment 
 and peace. To these were added some other works of a similar 
 character, which the more cultivated Quakers have indorsed 
 as bei^g inspired by the true spirit Thomas a Kempis, 
 Jererjy Taylor, Madame Guyon, and Pascal. She now took 
 the o^t-read " No Cross, No Crown," of William Penn, the 
 tone of which was always consoling to her ; but this time its 
 sweet, serious utterances seemed to have lost their effect. 
 She gave the words in her pure, distinct voice, and strove to 
 take them into her mind and make them her own : in vain ! 
 something interposed itself between her and the familiar 
 meaning, and made the task mechanical. The widow felt, by 
 a sympathetic presentiment, rather than from any external 
 evidence which she could detect, that her daughter's mind 
 was in .some way disturbed ; yet that respectful reserve which 
 was habitual in this, as in most Quaker families, prevented 
 her from prying into the nature of the trouble. If it was a 
 serious concern, she thought to herself, Hannah would men- 
 tion it voluntarily. There are spiritual anxieties and strug- 
 gles, she knew, which must be solved in solitude. No one, 
 not even a mother, should knock at the door of that chamber 
 where the heart keeps its privacies, but patiently and silently 
 wait until bidden to approach and enter. 
 
 Nevertheless, after dinner, when the household order was 
 again restored, and Hannah, looking from the window upon 
 the drenched landscape, unconsciously breathed a long, wearj 
 gigh, Friend Thurston felt moved to speak.
 
 160 HANNAH THtmSTON! 
 
 " Hannah," she said, gravely and softly, " tfiee seems to 
 have something on thy mind to-day." 
 
 For a minute the daughter made no reply. Turning away 
 from the window, she looked upon her mother's worn, pale 
 face, almost spectral in the cloudy light, and then took her 
 accustomed seat. 
 
 " Yes, mother," she answered, in a low voice, " and I ought 
 to tell thee." 
 
 " If thee feels so, tell me then. It may lighten thy own 
 ourden, without making mine heavier." 
 
 " It is scarcely a burden, mother," said Hannah. " I know 
 that I have done what is right, but I fear that I may have un- 
 consciously brought it upon myself, when it might have been 
 avoided." She then repeated the conversation which had 
 taken place between Seth Wattles and herself, omitting only 
 that secret, impassioned dream of her heart, a glimpse of 
 which she had permitted to escape her. She did not dare to 
 betray it a second time, and thus her own sense of humiliation 
 was but half explained. 
 
 Friend Thurston waited quietly until the story was finished. 
 " Thee did right, Hannah," she said, after a pause, " and I do 
 not think thee can justly reproach thyself for having given 
 him encouragement. He is a very vain and ignorant man, 
 though well-meaning. It is not right to hold prejudice 
 against any one, but I don't mind telling thee that my feeling 
 towards him comes very near being that. Thee never could 
 be happy, Hannah, with a husband whom thee did not re- 
 spect : nay, I mean something more whom thee did not feel 
 was wiser and stronger than thyself." 
 
 A transient flush passed over the daughter's face, but she 
 made no reply. 
 
 " Thee has a gift, I know," the widow continued, " and thee 
 has learned much. There is a knowledge, though, that comes 
 with experience of life, and though I feel my ignorance in 
 many ways, compared to thy learning, there are some things 
 which I am able to see more clearly than thee. It requires n<r
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 161 
 
 book-learning to read the heart, and there is less difference in 
 the hearts of women than thee may suppose. We cannot be 
 wholly independent of the men : we need their help and com- 
 panionship : we acknowledge their power even while we 
 resist it. There are defects in us which we find supplied in 
 them, as we supply theirs where marriage is perfect and ho'y, 
 But we cannot know this, except through our own experience 
 I have agreed with thee in most of thy views about the rights 
 of our sex, but thee never can be entirely wise on this subject 
 so long as thee remains single. No, Hannah, thee won't 
 think hard of me for saying it, but thee does not yet truly 
 know either woman or man. I have often quietly wished that 
 thee had not set thy heart against marriage. The Lord 
 seems to have intended a mate for every one, so that none of 
 His children should be left alone, and thee should not shut 
 thy eyes against the signs He gives. 
 
 " Mother !" 
 
 Even while uttering this exclamation, into which she was 
 startled by the unexpected words of her mother, Hannah 
 Thurston felt that she was betraying herself. 
 
 " Child ! child ! thy father's eyes thee has his very look ! 
 I am concerned on thy account, Hannah. Perhaps I have been 
 mistaken in thee, as I was mistaken in him. Oh, if I could have 
 known him in time ! I shall not be much longer with thee, 
 my daughter, and if I tell thee how I failed in my duty it may 
 help thee to perform thine, if if my prayers for thy sake 
 should be fulfilled." 
 
 The widow paused, agitated by the recollections which hei 
 own words evoked. The tears trickled down her pale cheeks, 
 but she quietly wiped them away. Her countenance thua 
 changed from its usual placid repose, Hannah was shocked to 
 see how weak and wasted it had grown during the winter, 
 The parting, which she did not dare to contemplate, might bfi 
 nearer than she had anticipated. 
 
 " Do not say any thing that might give thee pain," sh 
 aid.
 
 162 HANNAH TIIUKSTON. 
 
 ** Give thyself no concern, child. It will bring me relief. 
 I have often felt moved to tell thee, but there seemed to b 
 no fitting time before now." 
 
 " Is it about my father ?" Hannah asked. 
 
 " Yes, Hannah. I wish he could have lived long enough to 
 leave his face in thy memory, but it was not to be. Thee often 
 reminds me of him, especially when I feel that there is some- 
 thing in thy nature beyond my reach. I was past thy age 
 when we were married, and he was no longer a young 
 man. We had known each other for some years, but 
 nothing passed between us that younger persons would 
 have called love. I was sincerely drawn towards him, and 
 it seemed right that my life should become a part of his. 
 It came to me as a natural change. Richard was not a man 
 of many words; he was considered grave and stern; and 
 when he first looked upon me with only a gentle smile on hia 
 face, I knew that his heart had made choice of me. From 
 that time, although it was long before he spoke his mind, I ac- 
 customed myself to think of him as my husband. This may 
 seem strange to thee, and, indeed, I never confessed it to him. 
 When we came to live together, and I found, from every cir 
 cumstance of our daily life, how good and just he was, how 
 strong and upright and rigid in the ways that seemed right to 
 him, I leaned upon him as a helper and looked up to him as a 
 guide. There was in my heart quite as much reverence as 
 love An unkind word never passed between us. When I 
 happened to be wrong in any thing, he knew how to turn 
 my mind so gently and kindly that I was set right without 
 knowing how. He was never wrong. Our married life was 
 n season of perfect peace yes, to me, because my own con 
 tentment made me careless, blind. 
 
 " I sometimes noticed that his eyes rested on me with a sin- 
 gular expression, and I wondered what was in his mind. There 
 was something unsatisfied in his face, a look that asked for I 
 knew not what, but more than the world contains. Once> 
 when I said : ' Is any thing the matter, Richard ?' he turned
 
 A SrOKY OP AMERICAN LIFE. 168 
 
 quickly away and answered sharply. After that, I said 
 ing, and I finally got accustomed to the look. I recollect 
 when thy brother was born, he seemed like another man 
 though there was no outward change. When he spoke to me 
 his voice was trembly, and sounded strange to my ears ; but 
 my own weakness, I thought, might account for that. He 
 would take the babe to the win low, before its eyes could bear 
 the light ; would pick it up when asleep, and hold it so tightly 
 as to make the poor thing cry ; then he would put it down 
 quickly and walk out of the room without saying a word. I 
 noticed all this, as I lay, but it gave me no concern: I knew 
 not but that all men found their first children so strange and 
 curious. To a woman, her first babe seems more like some- 
 thing familiar that is brought back to her, than something en- 
 tirely new that is added to her life. 
 
 " I scarcely know how to make clear to thy mind another 
 change that came over thy father while our little Richard still 
 lived. I never could be entirely certain, indeed, when it com- 
 menced, because I fancied these things were passing moods 
 connected with his serious thoughts he was a man much 
 given to reflection and did not dream that they concerned 
 myself. Therein, our quiet, ordered life was a misfortune. 
 One day was like another, and we both, I think, took things 
 as they were, without inquiring whether our knowledge of 
 each other's hearts might not be imperfect. Oh, a storm would 
 have been better, Hannah a storm which would have shown 
 us the wall that had grown up between us, by shaking it down ! 
 But thee will see that from the end thee will see it, without 
 my telling thee. Richard seemed graver and sterner, I thought, 
 but he was much occupied with business matters at that tune. 
 After our child was taken from us, I began to see that he was 
 growing thinner and paler, and often felt very uneasy about 
 him. His manner towards me made me shy and a little afraid, 
 though I could pick out no word or act that was not kind and 
 tender. When I ventured to ask him what was the matter, he 
 only answered : ' Nothing that can be helped.' I knew
 
 164 HANNAH THUESTON ' 
 
 that, that all was not right, but ray eyes were not opened to 
 the truth." 
 
 Here Friend Thurston paused, as if to summon strength to 
 K>ntinue her narrative. Her withered hands were trembling, 
 and she clasped them together in her lap with a nervous ener- 
 gy which did not escape her daughter's eye. The latter had 
 stened with breathless attention, waiting with mingled eager 
 ness and dread for the denouement, which she felt must be 
 more or less tragic. Although her mother's agitation touched 
 her own heart with sympathetic pain, she knew that the story 
 had now gone too far to be left unfinished. She rose, brought 
 a glass of water, and silently placed it on the little table beside 
 her mother's chair. When she had resumed her seat, the latter 
 continued : 
 
 " Within a year after our boy's death, thee was born. It 
 was a great consolation to me then, although it has been a much 
 greater one since. I hoped, too, that it would have made 
 Richard a little more cheerful, but he was, if any thing, quiet- 
 er than ever. I sometimes thought him indifferent both to 
 me and the babe. I longed, in my weakness and my comfort, 
 to lay my head upon his breast and rest a while there. It 
 seemed a womanly fancy of mine, but oh, Hannah, if I had had 
 the courage to say that much ! Once he picked thee up, 
 stood at the window for a long while, with thee in his arms, 
 then gave thee back to me and went out of the room without 
 saying a word. The bosom of thy little frock was damp, and 
 I know now that he must have cried over thee. 
 
 " I had not recovered my full strength when I saw that he 
 was really ailing. I began to be anxious and uneasy, though 
 I scarcely knew why, for he still went about his business a- 
 usual. But one morning it was the nineteenth of the Fifth 
 month, I remember, and on Seventh-day he started to go to 
 the village, and came back to the house in half an hour, look- 
 ing fearfully changed. His voice, though, was as steady as 
 ever. ' I believe I am not well, Gulielma,' he said to me; 
 ' oerhaos I'd better lie down a while. Don't trouble thyself-
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 165 
 
 it will soon be over.' I made him undress and go to bed, foi 
 my anxiety gave me strength. Then I sent for the doctor, 
 without telling Richard what I had done. It was evening 
 when the doctor came ; thee was rather fretful that day, and 
 I had taken thee into another room, for fear Richard might be 
 disturbed. I only noticed that the doctor stayed a long time, 
 but they were old friends, I thought, and might like to talk. 
 By the time I had put thee to sleep, he had left and Richard was 
 alone. I went directly to him. ' What is thee to take ?' I asked. 
 ' N othing,' he said, so quietly that I ought to have been relieved, 
 but I do not know how it was I turned to him trembling 
 like a leaf, and cried out : ' Richard, thee has not told me all !' 
 
 " ' Yes, all, Gulielma,' said he, ' nothing will help : I must 
 leave thee.' I stared at him a while, trying to stand still, 
 while every thing in the room went spinning around me, until 
 I saw nothing more. I was lying beside him on the bed 
 when I came to myself) My hair was wet : he had picked me 
 up, poured water on his handkerchief and bathed my face. 
 When I opened my eyes, he was leaning over me, looking 
 into my eyes, with a look I cannot describe. He breathed 
 hard and painfully, and his voice was husky. ' I have fright- 
 ened thee, Gulielma,' said he ; ' but but can thee not resign 
 thyself to lose me ?' His look seemed to draw my very soul 
 from me ; I cried, with a loud and bitter cry, ' Richard, 
 Richard, take me with thee V and threw my arms around his 
 neck. Oh, my child, how can I tell thee the rest ? He put 
 away my arms, he held me back, and gasped, as he looked at 
 rne with burning eyes : ' Take care what thee says, Gulielnr a j 
 I am dying, and thee dare not deceive me ; does thee love me 
 as I love thee more than life, more, the Lord pardon me, 
 more than heaven ?' For the first time, I knew that I did. If it 
 was a sin, it has been expiated. I cannot remember what was 
 aid, after that. It was all clear between us, and he would 
 ftliow no blame to rest on me ; but he could not speak, except 
 at intervals. He held my hand all night, pressing it faintly in 
 his sleep. Tne next day he died.
 
 166 nA>r^An TIIURSTON: 
 
 " He had loved me thus all the time, Hannah, and it was thi 
 pride and the strength of his love which deceived me. He 
 would not ask for a caress or a tender word, because he 
 thought that a woman who loved would freely give it nor 
 would he offer one, so long as he suspected that the sacred ex 
 pression of his heart might be only passively received. Ah, it 
 tvas a sad doubt of me on his part, a sad blindness towards 
 him on mine. When he began to suffer from disease of the 
 heart, and knew that his life was measured, his self-torture in- 
 creased. He purposely tried to subdue the mild, tempered 
 affection which he supposed I felt for him, in order that his 
 death might be a lighter grief to me. And I lived with him^ 
 day after day, never guessing that his stern, set manner was 
 not his real self! I do not dare to think on the cross he must 
 have borne : my own seems heavy, and my spirit sometimes 
 grows weary under it, and is moved to complain. Then I re- 
 member that by bearing it cheerfully 1 am brought nearer to 
 him, and the burden becomes light." 
 
 Hannah Thurston listened to the last words with her face 
 buried in her hands, and her heart full of pity and self-reproach. 
 What was the pang of her own fruitless dream, her baffled 
 ideal, beside the sharp, inconsolable sorrow which consumed 
 her mother's years ? What availed her studies, her intellec- 
 tual triumphs, her fancied comprehension of life, in comparison 
 with that knowledge of the heart of man thus fearfully won ? 
 Humble, as when, a child, she listened to her mother's words 
 as the accents of infallible wisdom, she now bowed dowr 
 before the sanctity of that mother's experience. 
 
 The widow leaned back in her chair, with closed eyes, but 
 with a happy serenity on her weary face. Hannah took hot 
 hand, and whispered, with a broken voice: "Thank thee, 
 mother !" The weak old arms drew her gently down, and 
 the pale lips kissed her own. 
 
 " Bless thee, my daughter. Now take thy book and let tat 
 rest a while." 
 
 Hannah took the book, but not to read.
 
 A 8TOBY OF AMERICAN LITE. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 OT WHICH SPRING OPENS. 
 
 THE rainy Sunday was the precursor of a thaw, which lasted 
 for a fortnight, and stripped the landscapes of Ptolemy of 
 every particle of snow, except such as found a lodgment in 
 fence-corners, behind walls, or in shaded ravines. The wands 
 of the willow clumps along the streams brightened to a vivid 
 yellow, and the myriad twigs of low-lying thickets blushed 
 purple with returning sap. Frozen nights and muddy days 
 enough were yet in store ; but with every week the sun gained 
 confidence in his own alchemy, and the edge of the north-wind 
 was blunted. Very slowly, indeed, a green shimmer crept 
 up through the brown, dead grass ; the fir-woods breathed a 
 resinous breath of awaking ; pale green eyes peeped from the 
 buds of the garden-lilacs, and, finally, like a tender child, igno- 
 rant of danger, the crocus came forth full blown and shamed 
 the cowardly hesitation of the great oaks and elms. 
 
 During this season, Woodbury's intercourse with the soci- 
 ety of the village was mostly suspended. After the termina- 
 tion of the Great Sewing-Union, families fell back into their 
 narrower circles, and rested for a time both from their social 
 and their charitable labors. Even the itinerant prophets and 
 philanthropists ceased their visits, leaving Ptolemy in its nor- 
 mal darkless. Only Mr. Dyce, it was whispered, had agaiu 
 made his appearance at the Merry fields', where his spiritual 
 sessions were attended by a select circle of the initiated. 
 Neither Woodbury nor Mr. Waldo had been again invited to 
 attend. 
 
 All minor gossip, however, was lost sight of, in the i
 
 168 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 occasioned by an event which occurred about this time. Miss 
 Eliza Clancy, to the surprise of everybody, had at last re 
 ceived " a call." During a visit to Syracuse, she had made the 
 acquaintance of the Rev. Jehiel Preeks, a widower who, hav- 
 ing been driven away from Tristan d'Acunha after losing his 
 wife there, had been commissioned by the A. B. C. F. M. to a 
 new field of labor in the Telugu country. His station was to 
 be O'uddapah, only a day's journey from Jutnapore. Miss 
 Eliza displayed such an intimate knowledge of the latter mis- 
 sion, derived from Mrs. Boerum's letters, and such a vital con- 
 cern in the spiritual welfare of the Telugus, that the Rev. 
 Jehiel, at their third interview, asked her to share his labors. 
 There were persons in Ptolemy so malicious as to declare that 
 the proposal really came from Miss Eliza herself; but this is 
 not for a moment to be believed. The missionary made a bet- 
 ter choice than such persons were willing to admit. Although 
 verging on forty, and ominously thin, Miss Clancy was sincere, 
 active, and patient, and thought more of the heathen souls 
 whom she might enlighten than of the honors of her new posj 
 tion. When she returned to Ptolemy as Mrs. Preeks, with 
 her passage engaged to Madras in the very vessel which was 
 to carry out the contributions of the Mission Fund, she was 
 too thoroughly happy to be disturbed by the village gossip. 
 The other ladies of the Fund foremost among them he* 
 sister spinsters, Miss Ann Parrott and Miss Sophia Stevenson 
 immediately resumed work, in order to provide her with * 
 generous outfit for the voyage. Early in April the parting 
 took place, with mutual tears, and thenceforth the pious pat 
 ronage of Ptolemy was transferred from Jutnapore and Mr* 
 Boerum to Cuddapah and Mrs. Preeks. 
 
 The Hon. Zeno Harder occupied his seat in the Legislature, 
 through the winter. Several times during the session "Wood- 
 bury received the compliment of documents, one of them entl 
 tied: "Remarks of the Hon. Zeno Harder, of Atauga County, 
 on the Mohawk and Adirondac Railroad Bill." Occasionally, 
 , the Albany Cerbo^us was sent to him with one of the
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFK. 169 
 
 leading editorials marked, by way of directing his attention 
 to it. The Hon. Zeno looked upon Woodbuiy, who had been 
 so long absent from the country as to have lost " the run" of 
 politics, as fair prey. By securing him before the hostile party 
 had a chance, he would gain two votes (one of them Bute's), 
 and possibly more, besides a President of character and sub- 
 stance, for mass-meetings. Woodbury, however, was too 
 shrewd, and the Member too clumsy in his diplomacy, for the 
 success of this plan. The former, although foreseeing that he 
 would be inevitably drawn to take sides, sooner or later, 
 determined to preserve his independence as long as possible. 
 
 The churches in the village undertook their periodical " re- 
 vivals," which absorbed the interest of the community while 
 thoy lasted. It was not the usual season in Ptolemy for such 
 agitations of the religious atmosphere, but the Methodist cler- 
 gyman, a very zealous and impassioned speaker, having initia- 
 ted the movement with great success, the other sects became 
 alarmed lest he should sweep all the repentant sinners of the 
 place into his own fold. As soon as they could obtain help 
 from Tiberius, the Baptists followed, and the Rev. Lemuel 
 Styles was constrained to do likewise. For a few days, the 
 latter regained the ground he had lost, and seemed about *o 
 distance his competitors. Luckily for him, the Rev. Jehiel 
 Preeks accompanied his wife on her farewell visit, and was 
 immediately impressed into the service. His account of his 
 sufferings at Tristan d'Acunha, embracing a description of the 
 sickness and triumphant death of his first wife, melted the audi- 
 tors to tears, and the exhortation which followed was like seed 
 planted in well-ploughed ground. The material for conversion, 
 draw?;, upon from so many different quarters, was soon exhaust- 
 ed, but the rival churches stoutly held out, until convinced th&t 
 neither had any further advantage to gain over the other. 
 
 Mr. Waldo, of course, was not exempt from the general 
 
 necessity, although conscious of the disadvantage under which 
 
 he labored in representing so unimportant a sect. Its founder 
 
 had been a man of marked character, whose strong, peculiar 
 
 8
 
 170 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 / 
 
 intellect, combined with his earnestness of heart, -wrought pow 
 erfully upon those with whom he came in personal contact, but 
 his views were not broad enough to meet the wants of a large 
 class. After his death, many of his disciples, released from the 
 influence of his personality, saw how slight a difference sepa- 
 lated them from their brethren, and yearned to be included in 
 a more extensive fold. Among these was Mr. Waldo, whose 
 native good sense taught him that minor differences in interpre 
 tation and observances do not justify Christians in dividing theil 
 strength by a multitude of separate organizations. His congre- 
 gation, however, was very slowly brought to view the matter 
 in the same light, and he was too sincerely attached to its 
 members to give up his charge of them while any prospect of 
 success remained. 
 
 On this occasion, nevertheless thanks to the zeal of some of 
 hia flock, rather than his own power of wielding the thunder 
 bolts of Terror Mr. Waldo gained three or four solitary fish 
 out of the threescore who were hauled up from the deeps by 
 the various nets. The Cimmerian rite of baptism had this ad- 
 vantage, that it was not performed in public, and its solemnity 
 was not therefore disturbed by the presence of a crowd of curious 
 spectators, such as are especially wont to be on hand when the 
 water is cold. Mr. Waldo even disregarded the peculiar form 
 of initiation which characterized his sect, affirming that it added 
 no sanctity to the rite. 
 
 During the period of the revivals, there was a temporary 
 suspension 01 the social life of Ptolemy. Even kindred fami- 
 lies rarely assembled at tea except to discuss the absorbing 
 topic and compare the results obtained by the various churche? 
 There was a great demand for Baxter's " Saint's Rest, 
 Alleine's " Alarm," Young's Night Thoughts," and Pollok'i 
 
 Course of Time," at the little bookstore. Two feathers dis- 
 appeared from the Sunday bonnet of Mrs. Hamilton Bue, and 
 the Misses Smith exchanged their red ribbons for slate-colored. 
 Still, it was not the habit of the little place to be sombre ; its 
 gayety was never excessive, and hence its serious moods
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAS LIFE. 1 
 
 never assumed a penitential character, and soon wore off! Ir 
 this respect it presented a strong contrast to Mulligansville 
 and Anacreon, both of which communities retained a severe 
 and mournful expression for a long time after their revivals 
 had closed. 
 
 By this time the meadows were covered with young grass, 
 the willows hung in folds of misty color, and a double row of 
 daffodils bloomed in every garden. The spring ploughing and 
 all the other various forms of farm labor commenced in the 
 valleys, and on the warm, frostless hillsides. The roads were 
 again dry and hard ; the little steamer resumed its trips on the 
 lake ; and a new life not only stirred within the twin valleys, 
 but poured into them from without. 
 
 As the uniformity of winter life at Lakeside gave way to 
 r.he changes exacted by the season, Woodbury became dimly 
 sensible that Mrs. Fortitude Babb, with all her virtues as a 
 housekeeper, stood too prominently in the foreground of his 
 home. Her raw, angular nature came so near him, day by day, 
 as to be felt as a disturbing element. She looked upon her 
 dominion as reassured to her, and serenely continued the exer- 
 cise of her old privileges. While entertaining the profoundest 
 respect, not unmixed with a moderate degree of affection, for 
 her mabter, she resisted any attempt to interfere with the 
 regular course of household procedure which she had long 
 since established. He was still too ignorant, indeed, to dis- 
 pute her authority with any success, in-doors ; but when the 
 gardening weather arrived, and she transferred her rule to the 
 open air, his patience was sometimes severely tried. 
 
 He knew, from his boyish days, every square foot in the 
 sunny plot of ground the broad alley down the centre, with 
 flower-beds on either side, producing pinks, sweet-williams, 
 Larkspurs, marigolds, and prince's-feathers, in their succession , 
 the clumps of roses at regular intervals ; the low trellis, to be 
 overrun with nasturtiums and sweet-peas ; the broad vegeta- 
 ble beds, divided by rows of currant and gooseberry bushes, 
 and the crooked old quince-trees against the northern wall
 
 1 72 HANNAH THURSTON t 
 
 There were they all, apparently unchanged ; but, reverently 
 as he looked upon them for the sake of the Past, he felt that 
 if Lakeside was to be truly his home, its features must, to 
 some extent, be moulded by his own taste. The old arrange- 
 ments could not be retained, simply for the sake of the old 
 associations ; the place must breathe an atmosphere of life, 
 not of death. In spite of the admirable situation of the house, 
 its surroundings had been much neglected, and the trained 
 ej e of its master daily detected new capacities for beauty 
 
 Nothing of all this, however, suggested itself to the ossified 
 brain of the housekeeper. In her eyes, Woodbury was but a 
 tenant of Mrs. Dennison, and that lady would cry down from 
 Paradise to forbid the position of her favorite plants and her 
 trees from being changed. Hence, Mrs. Babb was almost 
 petrified with astonishment, one warm morning, on Woodbury 
 saying to her, as they stood in the garden : 
 
 " I shall extend the garden, so as to take in another half- 
 acre. The ground must be first prepared, so it can scarcely 
 be done this spring ; but, at least, this first row of currants 
 can be taken up and set beyond the second. The vegetables 
 will then be partly hidden from sight, and these beds can be 
 planted with flowers." 
 
 " O, the land !" exclaimed the housekeeper. " Did a body 
 ever aear o' sich a thing ! Where'll you get your currans for 
 pics, I'd like to know ? They won't bear a mite if you take 
 'em up now. Besides, where am I to plant peas and early 
 beans, if you put flowers here ?" 
 
 " There," said Woodbury, pointing to the other end of the 
 garden. 
 
 " Why, I had 'em there last summer. Here, where these 
 Oribbages was, is the right place. To rny 'thinkin', there's 
 flowers enough, as it is. Not that I'd take any of 'em up : 
 the was always fond of 'em, and she was satisfied with my 
 fixin' of the garden. But there's them that thinks they knowa 
 better. 'T'an't any too big as it was, and if you take off all 
 this here ground, we'll run out o' vegetables afore the sunv
 
 A STOKT OF AMERICAN LIFE. 173 
 
 tner's over. Then, I'll git the blame, all over the neighbor 
 hood. People knows / 'tend to it." 
 
 " Mrs. Babb," said Woodbury, a little sternly, " I shall take 
 care that your reputation does not suffer. It is my intention 
 to engage an experienced gardener, who will take all thif 
 work off your hands, for the future. But the improvements I 
 intend to make cannot be carried out immediately, and I must 
 ask you to superintend the planting, this spring. You shall 
 have sufficient ground for all the vegetables we need, and it 
 can make little difference to you where they grow." 
 
 The housekeeper did not venture upon any further remon- 
 strance, but her heart was filled with gall and bitterness. She 
 could not deny to herself "Woodbury's right to do what he 
 pleased with his own, but such innovations struck her as be- 
 ing almost criminal. They opened the door to endless con- 
 fusions, which it distressed her to contemplate, and the end 
 whereof she could not foresee. 
 
 That evening, as Bute was shelling his seed-corn in the 
 kitchen, he noticed that her thin lips were a little more tightly 
 compressed than usual, while she plied her knitting-needles 
 with an energy that betrayed a serious disturbance of mind. 
 Bute gave himself no concern, however, well knowing that, 
 whatever it was, he should hear it in good time. 
 
 Mrs. Babb sighed in her usual wheezy manner, drawing up 
 and lotting down her shoulders at the same time, and knit a 
 few minutes longer, with her eyes fixed on the kitchen clock. 
 At last she said : " Ah, yes, it's well she's gone." 
 
 Bute looked up, but as she was still inspecting the clock, he 
 naid nothing. 
 
 " I was afeard things couldn't stay as they was," she again 
 remarked. 
 
 Bute picked up a fresh ear, and began grinding the butt- 
 end with a cob, to loosen the grains. 
 
 " It's hard to see sich things a-comin' on, in a body's old 
 days," groaned the housekeeper. This time her gaze was re- 
 moved from the clock, and fell grimly upon her adopted son
 
 174 HANNAH THURSTON ' 
 
 " What's the matter, Mother Forty ?" he asked. 
 
 " Matter, Bute ? I should think you'd ha' seen it, if yoa 
 was in the habit o' seein' furder than your nose. Things i 
 goin' to wrack, fast enough. He will have his way, no matte 
 how onreasonable it is." 
 
 " Well, why shouldn't he ? But as for bein' unreasonable, 
 I don't see it. He's gettin' the hang of farmin' matters ama- 
 ein'ly, and is goin' to let me do what I've been wantin' to, 
 these five year. Wait till we get the gewano, and phosphate, 
 and drainin' and deep ploughin', and you won't see such 
 another farm in the hull county." 
 
 " Yes, and the garden all tore to pieces," rejoined the house 
 keeper ; " if she could come out of her grave next year, she 
 won't know it ag'in. And me, that's tended to it this ever so 
 long, to have a strange man, that nobody knows, stuck over 
 my head !" 
 
 Bute bent his face over the ear of corn, to conceal a 
 malicious smile. He knew that all the housekeeper wanted, 
 was to " speak out her mind" after which she would resign 
 herself to the inevitable. He accordingly made no further 
 reply, and commenced whistling, very softly, " Barbara 
 Allen," a tune which of late seemed to harmonize with his 
 mood. 
 
 Woodbury, on his part, was conscious of a restless stirring 
 of the blood, for which his contact with the housekeeper was 
 in the least degree responsible. Her figure, nevertheless, 
 formed a hard, sharp, rocky background, against which waa 
 projected, in double sweetness from the contrast, the soft out- 
 lines of a younger form, glimmering indistinctly through a 
 inist which concealed the face. 
 
 He did not deceive himself. He saw that his apparent in' 
 dependence was a belligerent condition, in which Ge could 
 never find adequate peace ; but not for this reason cot from 
 any cool calculations of prudence did he long to see th 
 household of Lakeside governed by its legitimate mistress, 
 If the long years of summer hud made his heart apathetic 01
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. IY5 
 
 indifferent, it had not deadened his nature to the subtle magic 
 of spring. A more delicate languor than tfiat of the tropics 
 crept over him in the balmy mornings ; all sounds and odors 
 of tue season fostered it, and new images began to obtrude 
 npon his sleeping as well as his waking dreams. lie knew 
 the symptoms, and. rejoiced over the reappearance of the old 
 disease. It was not now the fever of youth, ignorantly given 
 up to its own illusions. He could count the accelerated pulsa- 
 tions, hold the visions steadily fast as they arose in his brain, 
 and analyze while he enjoyed them. Love and Experience 
 must now go hand in hand, and if an object presented itself, 
 the latter must approve while the former embraced. 
 
 Reviewing, in his mind, the women whom he knew, there 
 was not one, he confessed to himself, whom he would ever, 
 probably, be able to love. His acquaintances in New York 
 were bright, lively girls the associates of his nieces in some 
 of whom, no doubt, there was a firm basis of noble feminine 
 character. It could not be otherwise; yet the woman who 
 must share his seclusion, finding in him, principally, her 
 society, in his home her recreation, in his happiness her own, 
 could scarcely be found in that circle. Coming back to Ptole- 
 my, his survey was equally discouraging. He could never 
 overlook a lack of intellectual culture in his wife. Who pos- 
 sessed that, unless, indeed, Hannah Thurston ? She, i*e ad- 
 mitted, had both exquisite taste and a degree of culture re- 
 markable for the opportunities she enjoyed ; but a union with 
 her would be a perpetual torment. She, with her morbid 
 notions of right, seeing an unpardonable sin in every innocent 
 personal habit ! What little she had observed of his external 
 life had evidently inspired her with a strong dislike of him ; 
 how could she bear to know him as he was to look over the 
 pages of his past life ? His wife, he felt, must be allowed no 
 illusions. If she could not find enough of truth and manliness 
 in his heart to counterbalance past errors and present defects, 
 she should find no admittance there. 
 
 In spite of these unavailing reviews, one important result
 
 176 HANNAII THUBSTON: 
 
 was attained. He would no longer, as heretofore, shrink from 
 the approach of love. From whatever quarter the guust 
 might come, the door should be found open, and the word 
 " Welcome," woven of the evergreen leaves of immortal 
 longing, should greet the arrival
 
 OF AMERICAN UOTt. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 OOJTTAINJfG CONVERSATIONS MORE IMPORTANT THAN 
 SEEM TO BE. 
 
 ONE balmy'afternoon, when the dandelions were beginning to 
 show their golden disks among the grass, Woodbury started on 
 foot for Ptolemy, intending to take tea with the Waldos, whom 
 he had not seen for a fortnight. Sauntering along the road, 
 at the foot of the eastern hill, with the dark, pine-fringed rocks 
 and the sparkling cascade on one hand, and the fresh, breath- 
 ing meadows on the other, he found himself, at last, at the 
 end of the lane leading to the Merryfield farm-house, and 
 paused, attracted by the roseate blush of a Judas-tree in the 
 garden. The comfortable building, with its barn and out- 
 houses, seemed to bask in happy warmth and peace, half-hid- 
 den in a nest of fruit-trees just bursting into bloom. The 
 fences around them had been newly whitewashed, and gleamed 
 like snow against the leafing shrubbery. An invigorating 
 smell of earth came from the freshly-ploughed field to the south. 
 Every feature of the scene spoke of order, competence, and 
 pastoral contentment and repose. 
 
 In such a mood, he forgot the occasional tedium of the 
 farmer's talk, and the weak pretensions of his wife, and only 
 remembered that he had not seen them for some time. Turning 
 into the lane, he walked up to the house, where he was cordi- 
 ally received by Mr. Merryfield. "Come in," said the latter: 
 " Sarah's looking over seeds, or something of the kind, with 
 Miss Thurston, but she'll be down presently. You recollect 
 Mr. Dyce ?" The lust words were spoken as they entered th 
 e*
 
 1'jfc HANNAH TIIUKSTOW; 
 
 room, where the medium, with his sallow, unwholesome face, 
 at at an open window, absorbed in the perusal of a thick 
 pamphlet. He rose and saluted "Woodbury, though by no 
 means with cordiality. 
 
 " How delightful a home you have here, Mr. Merryfield," 
 Woodbury said. " You need not wish to change places with 
 any one. An independent American fanner, with his affair*, 
 in such complete order that the work almost goes on of it- 
 self, from year to year, seems to me the most fortunate of 
 men." 
 
 " Well yes 1 ought to be satisfied," answered the host : 
 " I sometimes wish for a wider spere, but I suppose it's best 
 as it is." 
 
 " Oh, be sure of that !" exclaimed Woodbury : " neither is 
 your sphere a narrow one, if it is rightly filled." 
 
 " Nothing is best as it is," growled Mr. Dyce, from the win- 
 dow, at the same time; "private property, family, isolated 
 labor, are all wrong." 
 
 Woodbury turned to the speaker, with a sudden doubt of 
 his sanity, but Mr. Merryfield was not in the least surprised. 
 
 " You know, Mr. Dyce," said he, " that I can't go that far. 
 The human race may come to that in the course of time, as it 
 were, but I'm too old to begin." 
 
 "Nobody is too old for the Truth," rejoined the medium, so 
 insolently that Woodbury felt an itching desire to slap him in 
 the face, "especially, when it's already demonstrated. Here's 
 the whole thing," he continued, giving the pamphlet a whack 
 on the window-sill : " read it, and you'll find how much better 
 off we are without those selfish institutions, marriage and the 
 right to property." 
 
 "What is it?" asked Woodbury. 
 
 " It's the annual report of the Perfectionists. They have a 
 community near Aqueauda, where their principles are put in 
 practice. Every thing is in common : labor is so divided that 
 no one feels the burden, yet all live comfortably. The children 
 are brought ap all together, and so the drudgery of a family it
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 17ft 
 
 avoided. Besides, love is not slavery, but freedom, and the 
 affections are true because they do not wear legal chains." 
 
 " Good God ! Is this true ?" exclaimed Woodbury, turning 
 tc Mr. Merryfield. 
 
 " I believe it is," he answered. " I've read part of the re 
 port, and there are queer things in it. Even if the doctrine is 
 right, I don't think mankind is fit for it yet. I shouldn't like 
 even, to let everybody read that book : though, to be sure, 
 we might be much more outspoken than we are." 
 
 "Read it," said Mr. Dyce, thrusting the pamphlet into 
 Woodbury's hand. "It's unanswerable. If you are not 
 blinded by the lies and hypocrisies of Society, you will see 
 what the true life of Man should be. Society is the Fall, sir, 
 and we can restore the original paradise of Adam whenever 
 we choose to free ourselves from its tyranny." 
 
 " No doubt, provided we are naturally sinless, like Adam,' 
 Woodbury could not help saying, as he took the pamphlet. 
 He had no scruples in receiving and reading it, for he was not 
 one of those delicate, effeminate minds, who are afraid to look 
 on error lest they may be infected. His principles were so 
 well-based that every shock only settled them the more firmly. 
 He had never preferred ignorance to unpleasant knowledge, 
 and all of the latter which he had gained had not touched the 
 sound manliness of his nature. 
 
 " We are !" cried Mr. Dyce, in answer to his remark. 
 " The doctrine of original sin is the basis of all the wrongs of 
 society. It is false. Human nature is pure in all its instincts, 
 and we distort it by our selfish laws. Our life is artificial and 
 unnatural. If we had no rights of property we should have 
 oo theft : if we had no law of marriage we should have no li- 
 centiousness : if we had no Governments, we should have no 
 war." 
 
 Mr. Merryfield did not seem able to answer these declara- 
 tions, absurd as they were, and Woodbury kept silent, from 
 self-respect. The former, however, was stronger in his instincts 
 than in his powers of argument, and shrank, with a sense o*
 
 180 HANNAH THUKSTON : 
 
 painful repugnance, from a theory which he was unable to com- 
 bat. Mr. Dyce's prolonged visit was beginning to be disar 
 greeable to him. His ambition to be considered a prominent 
 reformer was his weak side, and his freely-offered hospitality 
 o the various apostles had given him a consideration which 
 misled him. His kindness had thus frequently been imposed 
 upon, but the secret fear of losing his place had prevented him 
 hitherto, from defending himself. 
 
 Mr. Dyce, on the other hand, was one of those men who are 
 not easily shaken off. He led a desultory life, here and there, 
 through New York and the New England States, presiding at 
 spiritual sessions in the houses of the believers, among whom 
 he had acquired a certain amount of reputation as a medium. 
 Sometimes his performances were held in public (admittance 
 ten cents), in the smaller towns, and he earned enough in this 
 way to pay hir necessary expenses. When he discovered a be- 
 lieving family, in good circumstances, especially where the 
 table was well supplied, he would pitch his tent, for days, or 
 weeks, as circumstances favored. Such an oasis in the desert 
 of existence he had found at Mr. Merryfield's, and the discom- 
 fort of the meek host at his prolonged stay, which would have 
 been sufficiently palpable to a man of the least delicacy of feel- 
 ing, was either unnoticed by him, or contemptuously ignored. 
 
 Woodbury read the man at a glance, and received, also, a 
 faint suspicion of Mr. Merryfield's impatience at his stay ; but 
 he, himself, had little patience with the latter's absurdities, and 
 was quite content that he should endure the punishment he 
 had invoked. 
 
 Putting the pamphlet in his pocket, and turning to Mr. Dyce, 
 he said : " I shall read this, if only to find out the point at 
 which Progress becomes Reaction- -where Moral Reform 
 shakes hands with Depravity." 
 
 The medium's sallow face grew livid, at the firm coolness 
 with M hich these words were spoken. He half-started from hia 
 seat, but sank back again, and turning his head to the window, 
 gave a conteir'ptuo is snort from his thin nostrils.
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 181 
 
 " There is mischief in that man," thought Woodbury. 
 
 Mr. Merry-field, in spite of his trepidation for he was a 
 thorough physical coward, and the moral courage on which he 
 plumed himself was a sham article, principally composed of 
 vanity nevertheless felt a sense of relief from Woodbury's 
 composed, indifferent air. Here, at least, was one man who 
 could meet the vampire unconcernedly, and drive, if need be, 
 a stake through his gorged carcass. For once, he regretted 
 .that he did not possess a similar quality. It was almost resist- 
 ance, he was aware, and the man capable of it might probably 
 be guilty of the crime (as he considered it) of using physical 
 force ; but he dimly recognized it in a refreshing element of 
 strength. He did not feel quite so helpless as usual in Wood- 
 bury's presence, after that. 
 
 Still, he dreaded a continuance of the conversation. " Will 
 you come, as it were" said he ; " that is, would you like" 
 
 Woodbury, who had turned his back upon Mr. Dyce, after 
 speaking, suddenly interrupted him with : " How do you do, 
 Mrs. Merry-field ?" 
 
 The mistress of the house, passing through the hall, had 
 paused at the open door. Behind her came Hannah Thurstonj 
 in her bonnet, with a satchel on her arm. 
 
 After the greetings were over, Mrs. Merryfield said : " We 
 were going into the garden." 
 
 " Pray, allow me to accompany you," said Woodbury. 
 
 " Oh, yes, if you care about flowers and things." 
 
 The garden was laid out on the usual plan : a central alley, 
 bordered with flower-beds, vegetables beyond, and currants 
 planted along the fence. It lay open to the sun, sheltered by 
 a spur of the eastern ridge, and by the orchard to the left of the 
 house. In one corner stood a Judas-tree, every spray thickly 
 hung with the vivid rose-colored blossoms. The flowers wene 
 further advanced than at Lakeside, for the situation was much 
 lower and warmer, and there had been no late frosts. The 
 hyacinths reared their blue and pink pagodas, filling the walk 
 with their opulent breath ; the thick green buds of the tulipi
 
 189 HAMTi-H THURSTON: 
 
 began to show points of crimson, and the cushiony masses of 
 mountain-pink fell over the boarded edges of the beds. 
 
 Mrs. Merryfield had but small knowledge of floriculture. Her 
 beds were well kept, however, but from habit, rather than taste. 
 " My pineys won't do well, this year, I don't think," said she : 
 t; this joon-dispray rose is too near them. Here's plenty of 
 larkspurs and coreopsisses coming up, Hannah ; don't you want 
 some ?" 
 
 " Thank you, my garden is wild with them," Miss Thurston 
 answered, " but I will take a few plants of the flame-colored 
 marigold, if you have them to spare." 
 
 " Oh, that's trash ; take them all, if you like." 
 
 " Miss Thurston," said Woodbury, suddenly, " would yot 
 like to have some bulbs of gladeolus and tiger-lily ? I have just 
 received a quantity from Rochester." 
 
 " Very much indeed : you are very kind," she said. " How 
 magnificent they are, in color !" The next moment, she was 
 vexed at herself for having accepted the offer, and said no 
 more. 
 
 Mrs. Merryfield, having found the marigolds, took up a 
 number and placed them in a basket, adding various other 
 plants of which she had a superfluity. As they left the gar- 
 den, Woodbury quietly took the basket, saying : " I am walk- 
 ing to Ptolemy also, Miss Thurston." 
 
 It was impossible to decline his company, though the 
 undefinable sense of unrest with which his presence always 
 affected her, made the prospect of the walk far from agreeable. 
 >Side by side they passed down the lane, and had nearly gained 
 the highway, when Woodbury broke the silence by saying : 
 
 " What do you think of Mr. Dyce?" 
 
 Hannah Thurston was a little startled by the unexpected 
 question. "I have scarcely formed an opinion," uhe answered: 
 " it may not be just to decide from impressions only. If I did 
 BO, the decision would not be iavorable to him." 
 
 "You are right!" lie exclaimed, with energy. "Do not 
 speak to him again ! I beg pardon," he added, apologetically
 
 A 8TOET OF AMERICAN LIFE. 183 
 
 " I did not mean to be dictatorial ; but the man is thoroughly 
 false and bad." 
 
 "Do you know any thing of him?" she asked. 
 
 "Only what I have myself observed. I have learned to 
 trust my instincts, because I find that what we call instinct it 
 only a rapid and subtle faculty of observation. A man can 
 never completely disguise himself, and we therefore see him 
 most truly at the first glance, before his powers of deception 
 can be exercised upon us." 
 
 "It may be true," she said, as if speaking to herself, "but 
 one's prejudices are so arbitrary. How can we know that we 
 are right, in yielding to them ?" 
 
 For a moment, a sharp retort hovered on Woodbury's 
 tongue. How can we know, he might have said, that we are 
 right in accepting views, the extreme character of which is 
 self-evident? How can we, occupying an exceptional place, 
 dare to pronounce rigid, unmitigated judgment on all the rest 
 of mankind ? But the balmy spring day toned him to gentle- 
 ness. The old enchantment of female presence stole over him, 
 as when it surrounded each fair face with a nimbus, to the nar- 
 cotized vision of youth. One glance at his companion swept 
 away the harsh words. A tender gleam of color flushed her 
 cheeks, and the lines of her perfect lips were touched with a 
 pensive softness. Her eyes, fixed at the moment on the hill 
 beyond the farther valley, were almost as soft as a violet in hue 
 He had never before seen her in the strong test of sunshine, 
 and remarked that for a face like hers it was no disenchant- 
 ment. She might be narrow and bigoted, he felt, but she was 
 nevertheless true, earnest, and pure. 
 
 " We are not required to exhibit our prejudices," he said 
 "In Society, disagreeable persons are still individuals, and 
 have certain claims upon us. But, after all the latitude we are 
 required to grant, a basis of character must be exacted. DC 
 you think a man consciously false and depraved should be tol 
 erated on account of a coincidence in opinions?" 
 
 " Certainly not," she replied-
 
 184 HANNAH THURSTOK: 
 
 Woodbury then related the incident of the piano. He ba 
 gan to feel a friendly pity for the girl walking besiie him. 
 Her intense earnestness, he saw, and her ignorance of the true 
 nature of men, were likely to betray her, as in the present case, 
 into associations, the thought of which made him shudder. He 
 would at least save her from this, and therefore told the story, 
 with an uncomfortable sense, all the while, of the pamphlet in 
 nis pocket. 
 
 Hannah Thurston was unfeignedly shocked at the deception 
 of Mr. Dyce. " I am glad you have told me this," said she, 
 "for I wanted a justification for avoiding him. Have you 
 mentioned it to the Merryfields ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 lt Why not?" 
 
 " In the first place, you know that they are too infatuated 
 with the spiritual delusion to believe it. He would have an 
 explanation ready, as he had that night. Moreover, it would 
 cost Bute, who gave me the details in confidence, the loss of 
 two friends. For his sake let it still be confidential." 
 
 She met his deep brown eyes, and bowed in reply. He 
 plucked the stalk of a dandelion, as they went along, pinched 
 off the flower, split the lower end, and putting it into his 
 mouth, blew a tiny note, as from a fairy trumpet. His man- 
 ner was so serious that Hannah Thurston looked away lest he 
 should see her smile. 
 
 " You are laughing, I know," said he, taking the stalk from 
 his mouth, " and no wonder. I suddenly recollected having 
 blown these horns, as a boy. It is enough to make one boy- 
 ish, to see spring again, for the first time in fifteen years. 1 
 wonder if the willow switches are too dry. Henry Denison 
 and I used to make very tolerable flutes of them, but we never 
 oould get more than four or five notes." 
 
 " Then you value your early associations ?" she asked. 
 
 " Beyond all others of my life, I think. Is it not pleasant, 
 to look back to a period when every thing was good, when aD 
 men aud women were infinitely wise and benevolent, when life
 
 took care of itself and the future was whatever you chose to 
 make it? Now, when I know the world know it, Miss 
 Thurston" and his voice was grave and sad " to be far 
 worse than you, or any other pure woman suspects, and still 
 keep my faith in the Good that shall one day be triumphant, 
 I can smile at my young ignorance, but there is still a glory 
 around it. Do you know Wordsworth's Ode ?" 
 
 " Yes ' the light that never was on sea or land.' " 
 
 " Never until after it has gone by. We look back and see 
 it. Why, do you know that I looked on Mrs. Merryfield as a 
 Greek must have looked on the Delphian Pythoness ?" 
 
 Hannah Thurston laughed, and then suddenly checked her- 
 seif. She could not see one of her co-workers in the Great 
 Cause ridiculed, even by intimation. The chord he had 
 touched ceased to vibrate. The ease with which he recov- 
 ered from a deeper tone and established conversation again in 
 mental shallows, annoyed her all the more, that it gratified 
 some latent instinct of her own mind. She distrusted the 
 influence which, in spite of herself, Woodbury exercised upon 
 her. 
 
 " I see your eyes wander off to the hills," he said, after an 
 interval of silence. " They are very lovely to-day. In this 
 spring haze the West Ridge appears to be as high as the 
 Jura. How it melts into the air, far up the valley ! The 
 effect of mountains, I think, depends more on atmosphere 
 than on their actual height. You could imagine this valley to 
 be one of the lower entrances to the Alps. By the way, Misa 
 Thurston, this must have given you a suggestion of them. 
 How did you manage to get such a correct picture in your 
 mind ?" 
 
 She turned her surprised face full towards him. The 
 dreamy expression which softened its outline, and hovered 
 in the luminous depth of her eyes, did not escape him. 
 
 "Oh, I know it," he added, laughing. "What was the 
 gong you sang at Mr. BUG'S ? Something about an Alpine 
 hunter : it made me think I was standing on the Schei
 
 166 HANNAH THtTRSlON ' 
 
 deck, watching the avalanches tumbling down from the Jung 
 frau." 
 
 "You have been in Switzerland, Mr. Woodbury!" sh 
 exclaimed, with animation. 
 
 " Yes, on my way from England to India." 
 
 Me described to her his Swiss tour, inspired to prolong the 
 uarrative by the eager interest she exhibited. The landscapes 
 of the higher Alps stood clear in his memory, and he had the 
 faculty of translating them distinctly into words. Commenc- 
 ing with the valley of the Reuss, he took her with him over 
 the passes of the Furca and the Grimsel, and had only reached 
 the falls of the Aar, when the gate of the Widow Thurston'fi 
 cottage shut down upon the Alpine trail. 
 
 " We will finish the trip another time," said Woodbury, an 
 he opened the gate for her. 
 
 " How much I thank you ! I seem to have been in Switzer- 
 land, myself. I think I shall be able to sing the song better, 
 from knowing its scenery." 
 
 She offered him her hand, which he pressed cordially. A I 
 should like to call upon your mother again," he said. 
 
 " She will be very glad to see you." 
 
 As he walked down the street towards the Cimmerian par- 
 sonage, his thoughts ran somewhat in this wise : " How much 
 natural poetry and enthusiasm that girl has in her nature ! It 
 is refreshing to describe anything to her, she is eo absorbed in 
 receiving it. What a splendid creature she might have be- 
 come, under other circumstances ! But here she is hopelessly 
 warped and distorted. Nature intended her for a woman and 
 a wife, and the role of a man and an apostle is a monstrous per- 
 version. I do not know whether she most attracts me throogh 
 what she might have been, or repels me through what she is. 
 She suggests the woman I am seeking, only to show me how 
 vain the search must be. I am afraid I shall have to give it up." 
 
 Pursuing these reflections, he was about passing the parson- 
 age without recognizing it, when a cheery voice rang out to 
 him from the open door :
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 18? 
 
 " Have you lost the way, Mr. Woodbury ?" 
 
 "'Not lost, but gone before,' " said he, as Le turned back 
 to the gate. 
 
 "What profanity!" exclaimed Mrs. Waldo, though she 
 laughed at the same time. " Come in : our serious season ia 
 over. I suppose I ought to keep a melancholy face, for two 
 weeks longer, to encourage the new converts, but what is one 
 to do, when one's nature is dead against it?" 
 
 " Ab, Mrs. Waldo," replied Woodbury, " if you suffered 
 under your faith, instead of rejoicing in it, I should doubt your 
 Christianity. I look upon myself as one of your converts." 
 
 " I am afraid you are given to backsliding." 
 
 " Only for the pleasure of being reconverted," said he ; " but 
 come be my mother-confessoress. I am in great doubt and 
 perplexity." 
 
 " And you come to a woman for help ? Delightful !" 
 
 " Even so. Do you remember what you said to me, when 
 I picked you up out of the wreck, last winter ? But I see you 
 do not. Mrs. Fortitude Babb is a tyra it." 
 
 Mrs. Waldo was not deceived by this mock lamentation. 
 He would not first have felt the tyranny now, she knew, unless 
 a stronger feeling made it irksome. 
 
 " Ah ha ! you have found it out," she said. " Well you 
 know the remedy." 
 
 " Yes, I know it ; but what I do not know is the woman 
 who should take her place." 
 
 "Don't you?" said Mrs. Waldo, with a sigh, "then, of 
 course, I do not." 
 
 " I walked from Merryfield's, this afternoon, with Hannak 
 Thurston," he presently remarked. 
 
 " Well ?" she asked eagerly. 
 
 " What a perversion of a fine woman ! I lose my tem- 
 per when I think of it. I came very near being rude to her." 
 
 " You rude ?" exclaimed Mrs. Waldo, " then she must have 
 provoked you beyond endurance." 
 
 " Not by any thing she said, but simply by what she is. M
 
 188 HANNAH THURSTOW : 
 
 " What, pray ?" 
 
 " A * strong-minded woman.' Heaven keep me from all 
 such ! I have will enough for two, and my household shall 
 never have more than one bead." 
 
 " That's sound doctrine," said Mr. Waldo, hearing the last 
 word* as he entered the room.
 
 A 8TOEY OF AMEEICAN LIFE. 139 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 WHICH COMES NEAR BEING TBAGIC. 
 
 IN the beginning of June, the Merryfields received ad 
 ditional guests. Among their acquaintances in New Yort 
 city were Mr. and Mrs. Whitlow, whom they had met during 
 the Annual Convention of the Anti-Slavery Society. Mr. 
 Whitlow was a prosperous grocer, who had profited by selling 
 " free sugar" at two cents a pound more than the product of 
 slave labor, although the former was an inferior article. He 
 was very bitter in his condemnation of the Manchester manu- 
 facturers, on account of their consumption of cotton. The 
 Merryfields had been present at a tea-party given by him to 
 Mr. Wendell Phillips, and the circumstance was not forgotten 
 by their hosts. When the latter shut up their house in the 
 respectable upper part of Mercer street, in order to make a 
 summer trip to Lake Superior by way of Niagara, they de- 
 termined to claim a return for their hospitality. Tea in Mercer 
 street was equivalent, in their eyes, to a week's entertainment 
 at Ptolemy. If not, they could invite the Merryfields again, 
 at the next Convention, which would certainly balance the 
 account. 
 
 Accordingly, one fine evening, the stage from Atauga City 
 brought to Ptolemy, and a carriage from Fail iamb's livery- 
 etable forwarded to the Merryfield farm, Mr. and Mrs. Whit- 
 
 ow, and their two daughters, Mary Wollstonecraft Whitlow, 
 aged thirteen, and Phillis Wheatley Whitlow, aged nine 
 together with four trunks. The good-natured host waa 
 overwhelmed with this large and unexpected visit, and feebly 
 
 ndeavored to obtain u signal from his wife as to whether thej
 
 190 HANNAH THUKSTOW: 
 
 could be conveniently accommodated, during the bustle of 
 arrival 
 
 " If I had knowed, as it were, that you were coming," 
 said he. 
 
 " Oh, we thought we would take you by surprise : it's so 
 luch pleasanter," exclaimed Mrs. Whitlow, a tall, gaunt 
 woman, who displayed a pair of large feet as she clambered 
 down from the carriage. She thereupon saluted Mrs. Merry- 
 field with a kiss which sounded like the splitting of a 
 dry chip. 
 
 Mary Wollstonecraft and Phillis Wheatley scampered off 
 around the house and into the garden as soon as they touched 
 ground. They amused themselves at first by pulling up the 
 early radishes, to see how long their roots were, but after a 
 while were attracted by the tulips, and returned to ths house 
 with handfuls of the finest. 
 
 "Where did you get those?" said their mother; "I am 
 afraid they have taken too many," she added, turning towards 
 Mrs. Merryfield, " but the dear children are so fond of flowers. 
 I think it elevates them and helps to form their character. 
 The Beautiful and the Good, you know, are one and the same." 
 
 " Yes, but it ought to be directed," replied Mrs. Merryfield, 
 without exactly knowing what she was saying. She saw, in 
 imagination, her garden stripped bare, and was meditating 
 how she could prevent it. Her husband put a padlock on the 
 gate next morning, and in the course of the forenoon Phiilia 
 Wheatley was discovered hanging by her frock from th 
 paling. 
 
 There was no help for it. The Whitlows had come to stay, 
 and they stayed. Mr. Dyce was obliged to give up his oc- 
 cupancy of the best bedroom, and take a small chamber under 
 the roof. Merryfield hoped, but in vain, that this new dis- 
 comfort would drive him away. The new-comers were ac- 
 quaintances of his, and although not spiritualists, yet they were 
 very free to discuss the peculiar doctrines of the Aqueanda 
 community.
 
 A STORY OP AMERICAN LIFB. 191 
 
 Day by day, Mrs. Merryfield saw her choice hams and her 
 cherished fowls disappearing before the onslaught of her 
 guests. Her reserve of jams and marmalades was so drawn 
 upon that she foresaw its exhaustion before the summer's fruit 
 could enable her to replenish it. Mary Wollstonecraft and 
 l*hillis Wheatley were especially destructive, in this respect, 
 and very frankly raised a clamor for " preserves," when there 
 happened to be none on the table. Then- mother mildly tol- 
 erated this infraction of good behavior on their part. 
 
 " They make themselves at home," she would remark, turn- 
 ing to the hostess with an amiable smile. " I think we should 
 allow some liberty to the dietetic instincts of children. Alcott 
 says, you know, that ' like feeds like the unclean spirit licks 
 carnage and blood from his trencher.' " 
 
 " Gracious me !" exclaimed Mrs. Merryfield, shuddering. 
 
 " Yes : and in the scale of Correspondences saccharine sub- 
 stances are connected with gentleness of heart. I rejoice to 
 see this development in the dear children. Do you preserve 
 with free sugar ?" 
 
 " No," replied the hostess, with a faint salmon-colored blush, 
 " we can't get it in Ptolemy. I should like to bear testimony 
 in this way, if it was possible, but there are so few in this 
 neighborhood who are interested in the cause of Humanity, 
 that we cannot do as much as we desire." 
 
 " Why don't you apply to me?" said Mr. Whitlow. "No- 
 thing easier than to buy two or three barrels at a time, and 
 have it sent by rail. It will cost you no more than this" - 
 putting a spoonful of quince jelly into his mouth " which is 
 stained with the blood of the slave/' He said nothing, how- 
 ever, about the quality of the sugar, which was a very coarse, 
 brown article, purporting to come from Port-au-Prince. 
 
 Fortunately, Mr. Merryfield's corn had been planted before 
 the arrival of his guests. Otherwise, there would have been a 
 Berious interference with his fanning operations. Every 
 pleasant afternoon, the Whitlows laid claim to his carriage and 
 horses, and, accepting the services of Mr. Dyce as coachmstn,
 
 192 ttAtfNAH THtmSTOlC: 
 
 drove up and down the valleys, and even to the summits oi 
 the hills, to obtain the best views. The very freedom with 
 which they appropriated to their use and comfort all the ap- 
 pliances which the farm furnished, imposed upon their kind- 
 hearted hosts. In the eyes of the latter, claims so openly 
 made involved the existence of a right of some kind, thougl 
 precisely what the right was, they could not clearly under- 
 stand. 
 
 When Mrs. Whitlow, therefore, whose devotion to "Na- 
 ture" was one of her expressed characteristics, proposed a 
 pic-nic for the following Saturday afternoon, it was accepted 
 without demur, as one of the ordinances of Destiny. The 
 weather had suddenly grown warm, and the deciduous trees 
 burst into splendid foliage, the luxuriant leaves of summer still 
 wearing the fresh green of spring-time. All the lower portion 
 of the valley, and its cleft branches beyond Ptolemy, from 
 rim to rim of the enclosing hills, hummed and stirred with 
 au overplus of life. The woods were loud with birds ; a tiny 
 overture of insect horns and drums, in the meadows, preluded 
 the drama of their ephemeral life ; the canes of maize shot the 
 brown fields with points of shining green, and the wheat be- 
 gan to roll in shallow ripples under the winds of the lake. 
 Mrs. Whitlow's proposal was well-timed, in a land where the 
 beautiful festival of Pentecost is unknown, and it did the 
 Merryfields no harm that they were forced, against their habit, 
 to celebrate the opening season. 
 
 Not more than a mile from the farm-house there was a spot 
 
 admirably adapted for the purpose. It was a favorite resort, 
 
 dining the summer, of the young gentlemen and Ialie8 of 
 
 *tolemy, and sometimes, even, had been honored by the visit 
 
 f a party from Tiberius. Roaring Brook, which had its rise 
 
 -ome miles distant, among the hollows of the upland, issued 
 
 from a long glen which cleft East Atauga Hill at the point 
 
 where it bent away from the head of the lake, to make its 
 
 wider sweep around to the cape beyond Lakeside. At this 
 
 point there was :i slightly shelving terrace, a quarter of a mile
 
 A STORY 01 AMEJUCAX LIFE. 10S 
 
 in breadth, thrust out like the corner of a pedestal upon which 
 the hill had formerly rested. The stream, after lending a part 
 of its strength to drive a saw-mill at the mouth of the glen, 
 passed swiftly across the terrace, twisting its way through 
 broken, rocky ground, to the further edge, whence it tumbled 
 n a cataract to the valley. The wall of rock was crowned 
 with a thick growth of pine, cedar, maple, and aspen trees, and 
 the stream, for the last hundred yards of its course, slid 
 through deep, cool shadows, to flash all the more dazzlingly 
 into the sunshine of its fall From the brink there were lovely 
 vi. -ws of the valley and lake; and even within the grove, aa 
 far as a flat rock, which served as a table for the gay parties, 
 penetrated glimpses of the airy distance. 
 
 The other members of the little band of " Reformers " in 
 Ptolemy were invited to take part in the pic-nic. The Whit- 
 lows desired and expected this, and would have considered 
 themselves slighted, had the invitations been omitted. Mrs 
 Waldo was included, at the request of Hannah Thurston, who 
 knew her need of recreation and her enjoyment of it. Be- 
 sides, she was sure that Mr. Dyce would be there, and sus- 
 pected the presence of Seth Wattles, and she felt the advan- 
 tage of being accompanied by a brave and sensible friend. 
 Mr. Waldo was obliged to attend a meeting of the Trustees 
 of the Cimmerian Church, and so the two women, taking pos- 
 session of his phlegmatic horse and superannuated gig, started 
 early in the afternoon for the appointed spot. Before reaching 
 the gate to the farm-house, they overtook Seth Wattles and 
 Mr. Tanner, on foot, the latter carrying his flute in his hand. 
 He was celebrated throughout the neighborhood for his per- 
 formance of "Love Not' 1 ' 1 and " The Pirate's Serenade," on 
 that instrument. 
 
 The spot was reached by following the highway, past the 
 foot of Roaring Brook cataract, and then taking a side-road 
 which led across the embaying curve of the valley and, ascen- 
 ded to the sa\v-mill at the mouth of the glen. Some of the 
 party had gone directly across the fields from the Merryfield 
 9
 
 194 UAKXAH 
 
 farm-house, as there was one point in the rocky front of th 
 terrace where an ascent was practicable without danger. Thus 
 they nearly all met in the grove at the same time. 
 
 The day was warm and still, oppressively sultry in the sun- 
 shine, but there, under the trees and beside the mossy rocks, 
 the swift brook seemed to bring a fresh atmosphere with it, 
 out of the heart of the hills. A light wind, imperceptible else- 
 where, softly rustled among the aspen-leaves, and sighed off 
 from the outer pine-boughs into the silence of the air. The 
 stream, swollen by late rains, yet cleansed of their stain, ran 
 deep and strong, curving like bent glass over the worn rocks 
 in its bed, with a suppressed noise, as if hoarding its shout for 
 the leap from the cliff. The shade was sprinkled with patches 
 of intense golden light, where the sun leaked through, and the 
 spirit of the place seemed to say, in every feature, "I wait 
 for color and life." Both were soon given. The Whitlow 
 children, in pink frocks, scampered here and there; Mrs. 
 Waldo's knot of crimson ribbon took its place, like a fiery trop- 
 ical blossom, among the green; Mrs. Merryfield hung her 
 orange-colored crape shawl on a bough ; and even Seth's un- 
 gainly figure derived some consistency from a cravat of sky- 
 blue satin, the ends of which hung over his breast. Mr. Tan- 
 ner screwed together the pieces of his flute, wet his lips several 
 times with his tongue, and played, loud and shrill, the " Mac- 
 gregor's Gathering." 
 
 " The moon's on the lake and the mist's on the brae," 
 
 sang Hannah Thurston to herself, as she stood on the edge of 
 the stream, a little distance from the others. The smell of the 
 moss, and of the woolly tufts of unrolling ferns, powerfully ex- 
 citini and warmed her imagination. She was never heard to 
 say, in such a spot, like many young ladies, "How romantic 1" 
 but her eyes seemed to grow larger and darker, her pale cheek 
 glowed without an increase of color, and her voice was thrilled 
 with an indescribable mixture of firmness and sweetness. Tim 
 was her first true enjoyment of the summer. The anxiety oo
 
 A STOBY OF AMERICA LIFB. 105 
 
 casioned by her mother's failing health, the reawakening of 
 dreams she had once conquered, the painful -sense of incom- 
 pleteness in her own aspirations, and the growing knowledge 
 of unworthiness in others, which revealed more clearly nei 
 spiritual isolation, were all forgotten. She bathed her sod in 
 the splendor of summer, and whatever pain remained was not 
 distinguishable from that which always dwells in the heart of 
 joy. 
 As she reached the line : 
 
 " O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall steer," 
 
 a coarse bass voice behind her joined in the song. She turned 
 and beheld Seth Wattles and Dyce, seated on a rock. They 
 had been listening, and might have heard her to the end, had 
 not the former been too anxious to display his accomplish- 
 ments. Her repugnance to both the men had unconsciously 
 increased, and she could no longer resist the impulse which 
 prompted her to avoid them. Mary Wollstonecraft was fortu- 
 nately at hand, in the act of chewing fern-stems, and Hannah 
 Thurston, unacquainted with the young lady's " dietetic in- 
 stincts," seized her arm in some alarm and conducted her to 
 her mother. 
 
 "Let go!" cried the girl; "mamma lets me eat what I 
 please." 
 
 "But, my dear," mildly expostulated the mother, "these 
 are strange plants, and they might not agree with you." 
 
 " I don't care ; they're good," was the amiable reply. 
 
 " Would you not rather have a cake ?" said Mrs. Waldo, 
 coming to the rescue. " I have some in my basket, and will 
 bring you one, if you will not put those stems in your mouth." 
 
 " I was playing cow, but I'll stop if you'll bring me two." 
 
 Mrs. Waldo took her way towards the old gig, which was 
 left, with the other vehicles, at the edge of the grove. As she 
 emerged from the shade, and looked up towards the saw-mill, 
 where the sawyer, in his shirt-sleeves, was tilting about over 
 a pile of scantling, she saw a horseman coming down the glen
 
 196 HANNAH TIItTRSTOH: 
 
 -oad. Something in his appearance caused her to stop and 
 scan him more closely. At the same instant he perceived her, 
 turned his horse out of the road, and cantered lightly up to 
 the gove, 
 
 " You here !" he exclaimed ; " is it a camp-meeting ?" 
 
 "You there, Mr. Woodbury ! Where have you been? 
 Are you to monopolize all the secular enjoyments ? No ; it ia 
 a pic nic, small, but select, though I say it." 
 
 " Ah ! who are here ?" he asked, leaning forward on his 
 horse and peering into the shade " My God !" 
 
 Mrs. Waldo, watching his countenance with merry eyes, saw 
 a flush of horror, quick as lightning, pass over it. With one 
 bound he was off the horse, which sprang away startled, and 
 trotted back towards the road. The next instant she saw him 
 plunge headlong into the stream. 
 
 Phillis Wheatley, in whom the climbing propensity was at 
 its height, had caught sight of a bunch of wild scarlet colum- 
 bine, near the top of a rock, around which the stream turned. 
 Scrambling up the sloping side, she reached down for the 
 flowers, which were still inaccessible, yet so near as to be tan- 
 talizing. She then lay down on her face, and, stretching her 
 arm, seized the bunch, at which she jerked with all her force. 
 The roots, grappling fast in the crevices of the rock, did not 
 give way as she expected. On the contrary, the resistance of 
 the plant destroyed her own balance, and she whirled over 
 into the water. 
 
 Woodbury saw her dangerous position on the rock, at the 
 very moment the catastrophe occurred. With an instant intu 
 ition, he perceived that the nearest point of the stream was t 
 bend a little below ; a few bounds brought him to the bank. 
 in time to plunge in and catch the pink frock as it was swept 
 down the swift current. He had no time to think or calculate 
 chances. The stream, although not more than four or five 
 feet deep and twenty in breadth, bore him along with such 
 force that he found it impossible to gain his feet. At the last 
 turn where the current sheered toward the opposite bank, a
 
 A STOET OF AMERICAN LIFE. 101 
 
 hrub hung over the watel. His eye caught it, and, half 
 springing up as he dashed along, he seized it with one hand 
 The momentary support enabled him to resist the current suf- 
 ficiently to get his feet on the bottom, but they could gain n< 
 hold on the slippery rock. As he slipped and caught alter 
 nately, in a desperate struggle, Phillis, struggling blindly with 
 him, managed to get her arms around his neck. Thin as they 
 were, they seemed to have the muscular power of snakes, and, 
 in his hampered condition, he found it impossible to loosen 
 her hold. The branch of the shrub gave way, and the resist 
 less current once more bore them down. 
 
 Mrs. Waldo's fearful shriek rang through the grove, and 
 startled the light-hearted company from their discussion of the 
 evils of Society. Every one felt that something dreadful had 
 happened, and rushed towards the sound in helpless and un- 
 certain terror. She was already on the bank of the stream, 
 her hair torn by the branches through which she had plunged, 
 and her face deadly pale, as she pointed to the water, gaspmg ( 
 " Help !" One glance told the whole story. Mrs. Whitlow 
 covered her face and dropped on the ground. Merryfield 
 and the father ran down the bank, stretching out their 
 hands with a faint hope of catching the two as the current 
 brought them along. Hannah Thurston looked around in a 
 desperate search for some means of help, and caught sight of a 
 board which had been placed across two low rocks, for a seat. 
 " The board quick !" she cried, to Seth and Dyce, who stood 
 as if paralyzed " at the head of the fall !" Mechanically, but 
 as rapidly as possible, they obeyed her. 
 
 Woodbury, after letting go his hold of the shrub, turned 
 his face with the stream, to spy, in advance, some new point 
 of escape. He saw, a hundred feet ahead, the sharp edge of 
 silver where the sun played on the top of the fall : the sudden 
 turns of the stream were all behind him, and it now curved 
 gradually to the right, slightly widening as it approached the 
 brink. His perceptions, acting with the rapidity of lightning, 
 told him that he must either ^ain the left bank before making
 
 198 HANNAH THTTRSTON": 
 
 half the remaining distance, or keep in the middle of the our 
 rent, and trust to the chance of grasping a rock which roso a 
 little above the water, a few' feet in advance of the fall. Ha 
 was an experienced swimmer, but a few strokes convinced 
 him that the first plan would not succeed. Before reaching 
 the rock the water grew deeper, and the current whirled in 
 itrong eddies, which would give him some little power to di- 
 rect his course. In a second they seethed around him, and. 
 though the bottom fell away from under his feet, he felt a sud 
 den support from the back water from the rock. One tremer 
 dous effort and he reached it. 
 
 To the agonized spectators on the bank, the scene was terri- 
 ble. Unable to avert their eyes from the two lives sweeping 
 like a flash to destruction feeling, instinctively, that there 
 was no instantaneous power of action which could save they 
 ottered low, incoherent cries, too benumbed to speak or think. 
 Only Seth and Dyce, who had conveyed the board to the head 
 of the fall, were hurriedly endeavoring to thrust it out over 
 che water. In their excitement they had placed it too low to 
 reach the rock. 
 
 " Bring it further up !" shouted Mr. Whitlow. 
 
 Seth, nervously attempting to slide it up the bank, allowed 
 ihe outer end to drop into the current. It was instantly twist- 
 ed out of his hands and whirled over the fall. 
 
 Woodbury had gained a firm hold of the rock, but the 
 water was up to his shoulders, the conflicting currents tugged 
 him this way and that, and he was unable to clasp his charge 
 securely. Her arms were still tight about his neck, but if her 
 Strength should give way, their situation would become criti- 
 cal. He saw the effort made for their rescue, and its failure. ' 
 
 " Another board !" he shouted. 
 
 Seth and Dyce darted through the grove in search of one, 
 while Merryfield, more practical, made off with his utmost 
 speed for the saw-mill. Hannah Thurston, in spite of her re- 
 lief at the escape, recognized the danger which still impended. 
 A single glance showed her the difficulty under which Wood
 
 A. STOEY OF AMEBICAN LIFE. 198 
 
 bury labored, and a sickening anxiety again overcame her 
 To stand still was impossible ; but what could she do ? On a 
 etump near her lay a fragment of board about four feet in 
 length. The distance from the bank to the rock was at least 
 twelve. Another glance at the rapid current, and an ide% 
 jhich, it seemed to her afterwards, some passing angel mus( 
 l iave let fall, flashed through her brain. Snatching her silk 
 mmmer-shawl from the bough where it hung, she tied one end 
 of it tightly around the middle of the board, drawing it to a 
 firm knot on the edge. Mrs. Waldo was no less quick in com- 
 prehending what she intended. By the time the knot was tied, 
 her own and Mrs. Merryfield's shawls were brought and quickly 
 fastened, one to another. By this means a length considerably 
 greater than the breadth of the stream was obtained. 
 
 "One thing more," said Hannah Thurston, breathlessly, as 
 she took the scarf from her neck. Knotting one end and 
 drawing the other through, so as to form a running noose, she 
 fastened it to her shawl, near the board. Her plan came to 
 her in a complete form, and hence there was no delay in put- 
 ting it into execution. Taking her stand on a point of the 
 bank, some feet above the rock where Woodbury clung, she 
 gathered the shawls in loose links and held the board ready to 
 throw. Woodbury, whose position was such that he could 
 see her movements without risking his hold, now called to her : 
 
 " As far as you can throw !" 
 
 Mrs. Waldo had followed to the bank, and stood behind 
 Hannah Thurston, grasping a handful of her dress, lest she, 
 too, should lose her balance. But excitement gave Hannah 
 firmness of nerve, when other women trembled. She flung the 
 board with a steady hand, throwing the weight of the shawls, 
 as much as possible, with it. It fell beyond the centre of the 
 current, whirled around once or twice upon an eddy, and was 
 eheering back towards the bank again, when Woodbury, 
 whispering to Phillis, " Hold fast, darling !" put out one hand 
 and caught it. With some difficulty, and with more risk to 
 himself than the two anxious women on the bank were aware
 
 200 HANNAII THURSTON: 
 
 of, he drew the wet, sticky slip- noose of the scarf over Phillii'i 
 head and one arm, bringing it under her elbow before he could 
 loosen her hold upon his neck. Thrusting the board under this 
 arm, it was an easier task to disengage the other. 
 
 "Wind the end of the shawl around that sapling beside 
 you !" he called to Hannah Thurston. " One of you go below 
 to meet her." 
 
 Mrs. Waldo was on the spot before his words were finished, 
 
 " Now, hold fast, my little girl, and you will be safe in a 
 minute. Ready !" he cried. 
 
 Phillis obeyed, rather through blind trust in him, than from 
 her consciousness of what was going on. The poor creature 
 was chilled and exhausted, half strangled by the water she had 
 swallowed, and wild with terror. Her arms having once been 
 loosened, she clasped them again around the board in a last 
 convulsive effort of strength. Woodbury let go the frail raft, 
 which, impelled by the dragging weight of the shawls, darted 
 at once half-way across the stream. Then it began to move 
 more slowly, and the force of the current seemed to ingulf it. 
 For a moment the water rushed over the child's head, but her 
 dress was already within reach of Mrs. Waldo's hand, and she 
 was drawn upon the bank, gasping and nearly insensible. Mrs. 
 Merryfield picked her up and carried her to the mother, who 
 still lay upon the ground, with her face in her hands. 
 
 Woodbury, relieved of his burden, now held his position 
 with less difficulty. The coldness of the water, not yet tem- 
 pered by the few days of summer, nevertheless, began to be- 
 numb him, and he was obliged to struggle against a growing 
 exhaustion. Hannah Thurston, as soon as the child was 
 rescued, drew in the board, examined the knots of the shawls 
 and gathered them together for another throw ; but at th< 
 same instant Mr. Merryfield, out of breath and unable to speal^ 
 appeared with a plank on his shoulder. With the aid of tut 
 others, the end was secured between two trees, and it waft 
 then run out above the water, a little below the rock, where 
 the stream was shallower. Woodbury cautiously slid down-
 
 A STOET OF AMERICAN LIFE. ?01 
 
 gained a firm foothold, and slowly crossed, walking sidewise, 
 supported by the plank. As he neared the bank, he stretched 
 out his left hand, which was grasped by Merryfield, who drew 
 BO tremendously that he almost lost his footing at the last 
 moment. As he felt the dry earth under him, a singulai 
 numbness fell upon him. He saw, as in a dream, Mrs. Waldo 
 nd Hannah Thurston ; the former streaming with grateful 
 ears, the latter pale and glad, with a moist light in her eyes. 
 He sat down upon the nearest rock, chilled to the bone ; hia 
 lips were blue and his teeth chattered. 
 
 " It is cold bathing," said he : " have you any wine ?" 
 
 "We do not use intoxicating beverages," said Mr. Whitlow, 
 who could not forget, even in his gratitude for his daughter's 
 rescue, the necessity of bearing testimony against popular vices, 
 
 Mrs. Waldo, however, hastily left the company. Mr. 
 Merryfield took off his coat, and having removed Woodbury's 
 with some little trouble, substituted it. The dry warmth be- 
 gan to revive him. "Where is my new acquaintance?" he asked. 
 
 Mrs. Whitlow, after an hysterical outburst of alternate 
 laughter and tears, had wrapped Phillis Wheatley in the 
 only remaining dry shawl and given her a saucer of mar- 
 malade ; but the child was still too much frightened to eat. 
 Her father brought her in his arms and set her down before 
 Woodbury. " There, Phillis," said he, and his voice trembled 
 a little, " you must thank the gentleman for saving your life." 
 
 " Thank you for saving my life [" said Phillis, in a rueful 
 voice. 
 
 " Not me," said Woodbury, rising slowly and wearily, and 
 turning towards Hannah, " but Miss Thurston. Your cool 
 ness and presence of mind saved both of us." 
 
 He took her hand. His fingers were as cold as ice, yet a 
 w armth she never before felt streamed from them through her 
 whole frame. 
 
 Mrs. Waldo suddenly made her appearance, as breathless a* 
 before Mr. Merryfield had been, with the plank on his should e*. 
 She carried in her hand a tumbler full of a yellowish liquid. 
 9*
 
 202 HANNAH THUESTON: 
 
 M There," she panted, " drink it. Thankful am I that ther 
 are still sinners in the world. The sawyer had a Hack jug. 
 It's poisonous stuff, I know leads to the gates of death, and 
 all that but T thanked God when I saw it." 
 
 " Good Samaritan !" exclaimed Woodbury fervently, as he 
 drank. It was, in truth, the vilest form of whiskey, but H 
 steadied his teeth and thawed his frozen blood. 
 
 " Now for my horse and a gallop home !" he said. 
 
 " Where is the horse ?" they asked. 
 
 " I'll get him," exclaimed Seth, with alacrity. 
 
 "Hadn't you better go up to Jones's, as it were,** said 
 Merry field " He's stopped the saw-mill, and run to the hous-j 
 to get a fire kindled. You can dry yourself first, and SaraL 
 can make you some tea or coffee." 
 
 Jones made his appearance at almost the same instant. 
 " I ketched y'r horse, Mr. Maxwood," said he, running tht 
 names together in his excitement. " He's all right. Come up 
 t' th' house: Mary Jane's made a rousin' fire, and you kin 
 dry y'rself." 
 
 " Thank you, my friends," "Woodbury answered. " Your 
 whiskey has done me great sendee, Mr. Jones, and what I now 
 want more than any thing else is a little. lively motion. Will 
 you please lend Mr. Merryfield one of your coats, since he has 
 kindly given me his? I shall ride over and see you to- 
 morrow ; but now let me get to my horse as soon as possible." 
 
 He put his hand on the sawyer's shoulder, to steady him- 
 self, for his .steps were still tottering, and was turning away, 
 when he perceived his wet coat, spread out on a rock. Pick- 
 ing it up, he took a note-book and some pulpy letters from the 
 breast-pocket. After examining the latter, he crushed then 
 in his hand, and tossed them into the stream.' He then feu 
 the deep side-pockets : in one there was a wet handkerchief, 
 but on reaching the other he dropped the coat. 
 
 "There, Mr. Dycc," said he, "you will find your pamphlet 
 I had it in my pocket, intending to leave it with Mr. Merry, 
 field this afternoon. It is pretty thoroughly soaked by this
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 203 
 
 time, but all the waters of Roaring Brook could not wash it 
 clean." 
 
 Nodding a cheerful good-by to Mrs. Waldo, a respectful 
 one to Hannah Thurston, and giving Phillis a kiss which left 
 lier staring at him in open-mouthed astonishment, he left the 
 company. The sawyer, with a rough tenderness, insisted on 
 keeping his arm around Woodbury's waist, and on reaching 
 the mill produced the black jug, from which it was impossible 
 to escape without a mild libation. Woodbury repaid it the 
 next day with a bottle of smoky " Islay," the remembrance of 
 which made Jones's mouth water for years afterwards. 
 
 The pic-nic, of course, was at an end. Without unpacking 
 the refreshments, the party made immediate preparations to 
 return. The fire Mrs. Jones had kindled was employed to dry 
 Phillis and the shawls, while the gentlemen harnessed the 
 horses. Mr. Merryfield went about in the sawyer's Sunday 
 coat, which had been first made for his wedding, sixteen years 
 before. It was blue, with brass buttons, a high rolling collar, 
 very short waist, and tails of extraordinary length. No one 
 laughed, however, except Mary Wollstonecraft. 
 
 In spite of the accident, which left an awed and subdued 
 impression upon all minds, the ride home was very animated. 
 Each was anxious to describe his or her feelings, but Mrs. 
 Whitlow was tacitly allowed to play the chief part. 
 
 " You were all running here and there," said she, " and the 
 movement was some relief. What I suffered, no tongue can 
 describe. But I am reconciled to it now. I see in it a 
 mysterious sign that Phillis Wheatley is to have an im- 
 portant mission in the world, and my duty is to prepare her 
 tor it." 
 
 Fortunately, no injury resulted to the girl thus mysteriously 
 commissioned, from the manner in which it was done. She 
 was obliged, very much against her will, to lie down for the 
 rest of the day ; but the next morning she was discovered in 
 the stable, pulling the tail-feathers out of an old cock she had 
 caught.
 
 264 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 On Monday, the Windows took their departure for Niagar% 
 greatly to the relief of their hosts. As they do not appeal 
 again in the course of this history, we may hope that the re- 
 mainder of their journey was agreeable.
 
 A. 8TORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. MM 
 
 CONCERNING AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY TO TIBEBIUB. 
 
 Two days after the departure of the Whitlows, Mr. Dyce, 
 during breakfast, announced his intention of leaving Ptolemy. 
 " I have promised to visit the Community," said he, " and it is 
 now a pleasant time to be there. Could you lend me your 
 horse and carriage as far as Tiberius, Merryfield?" 
 
 " Not to-day, I guess," said the farmer ; " I must go to 
 Mulligan sville this afternoon, to see about buying another cow, 
 and Henry has the hill-field to hoe. You could take Jinny and 
 the carriage, but how would I get them back again ?" 
 
 " I will go," said his wife, with an unusual eagerness. " I 
 must go there soon, any way. I've things to buy, you know, 
 James, and there's Mrs. Nevins that I've been owing a visit 
 to, this ever so long." 
 
 " Well, if you want to, Sarah," he answered, " I've nothing 
 against it. Are you sure it won't be too much for you ? You 
 know you've been having extra work, and you're not strong." 
 
 Mrs. Merryfield drew up the corners of her mouth, and gave 
 a spasmodic sob. " ifes, I know I am the weaker vessel," she 
 wailed, " and my own judgment don't pass for any thing." 
 
 " Sarah, Sarah, don't be foolish !" said her husband ; " yon 
 tiiovv I never interfere unreasonably with your ways. You 
 aan do as you please. I spoke for your own good, and you 
 needn't cry about it." 
 
 He rose with an impatient air, and left the table. He could 
 not but admit to himself, sometimes, that the happiness of hia 
 married life had not increased iu proportion to his progress in
 
 206 HANNAH THUKSTOtf: 
 
 (he knowledge of Reform. When he looked back and recalled 
 the lively, rosy young woman, with her first nuptial bashful- 
 ness and air of dependence on her husband fresh about her, 
 whom he had brought to the farm-house twenty-five years 
 before, when they lived in utter ignorance of dietetic laws and 
 flolemu duties towards the Human Race, he could not repress 
 a feeling of pain. The sallow, fretful woman, who now con- 
 sidered her years of confiding love as a period of servitude, 
 which she strove to balance by claiming more than an equal 
 ihare in the direction of the household, was another (and less 
 agreeable) creature, in comparison with her former self. Of 
 late, she had grown more than usually irritable and unsatisfied, 
 and, although he had kindly ascribed the fact to housekeeping 
 perplexities, his patience was sorely tried. There was no 
 remedy but endurance, so far as he could see. It was impos- 
 sible, now, to change his convictions in regard to woman's 
 rights, and he was too sincere to allow the practice of his life 
 to be inconsistent with them. 
 
 When he returned at noon from a distant field, where he had 
 been engaged all the morning, he was surprised to find the 
 carriage still at home, although his man Henry was engaged 
 in greasing the hubs of the wheels. " Why, Sarah," said he, 
 as he sat down to dinner, " I thought you would have been 
 off." 
 
 " I couldn't get ready," she answered, rather sullenly. " But 
 I need not come back to-night. It will be better for Jinny, 
 anyhow." 
 
 Mr. Dyce was unusually talkative on the subject of the Com- 
 munity, the charms of which he painted in the liveliest colors. 
 Mis host was tired of the subject, but listened with an air of 
 tolerance, as he was so soon to get rid of the speaker. 
 
 Bidding the latter good-by, immediately after dinner, he 
 saddled his horse and rode to Mulligan svi lie. The new cow 
 met his requirements, and a bargain was soon concluded. She 
 was to be brought to the farm next day, when the price agreed 
 upon would be paid. Mr. Merry field had adopted the seusibl*
 
 A STOKY OF AMERICAN LIFK. 207 
 
 rule of defraying all such expenses as they arose. Hence his 
 crops were never mortgaged in advance, and fey waiting until 
 they could be sold to the best advantage, he prospered from 
 year to year. 
 
 When he reached home again, it was nearly four o'clock 
 Putting up his horse, he entered the house and went directly 
 U> the old-fashioned mixture of book-case, writing-desk, and 
 chest of drawers, which stood in a corner of the sitting-room. 
 He must make a note of the purchase, and, since he was alone, 
 might as well spend an hour, he thought, in looking over his 
 papers and making his calculations for the summer. 
 
 He was very methodical in his business arrangements, and 
 the desk was in such perfect order that he always knew the 
 exact place of each particular paper. This was one of the 
 points of controversy with his wife, which he never yielded : 
 he insisted that she should not open the desk in his absence. 
 This time, however, as he seated himself, drew out the sap 
 ports for the lid, and let it down upon them, his exact eye 
 showed him that something had been disturbed. The papers 
 in one of the pigeon-holes projected a little further than usual, 
 and the corners were not square as they should be. Besides, 
 the pile appeared to be diminished in height. He knew every 
 paper the pigeon-hole contained, took them out and ran rapid- 
 ly through them. One was missing ! an envelope, containing 
 bonds of the New York Central Railroad, to the amount of 
 three thousand dollars, the private property of his wife. It 
 was the investment of a sum which she had inherited at hei 
 father's death, made in her own name, and the interest of 
 which she had always received for her separate use. 
 
 He leaned back in his chair, thunderstruck at the discovery 
 Could one of the servants have taken the envelope ? Impossi 
 ble. Dyce ? how should he know where to find it ? Evi- 
 dently, nothing else had been touched. Had his wife, perhaps, 
 taken it with her, to draw the semi-annual interest at Tiberius? 
 It was not yet due. Mechanically, hardly conscious of what he 
 suspected or feared, he arose and went up-stairs. In the bed-
 
 ^08 HANNAH THURSTON . 
 
 room which Dyce had last occupied, every thing was in order 
 He passed into his own, opening closets and wardrobes, ex- 
 pecting either to find or miss something which might enlight- 
 en him. In his wife's wardrobe three pegs, upon which dresses 
 had hung, were empty. He jerked open, in haste, the draw- 
 ers of her bureau : many things had apparently been removed. 
 Closing them again, he raised his head, and a little note, stick- 
 ing among the bristles of the hair-brush, which lay on its back 
 in front of the looking-glass, caught his eye. He seized it ; un- 
 folded it with shaking hands, put on his spectacles and road. 
 There were but two lines : 
 
 " Send to Tiberius for the carriage. I am going to the 
 Community." 
 
 It was a hard blow for the poor man. The idea of conjugal 
 infidelity on the part of his wife was simply incredible, and no 
 suspicion of that nature entered his mind. It was a deliberate 
 case of desertion, and the abstraction of the bonds indicated 
 that it was meant to be final. What her motives were, he 
 could only guess at in a confused way ; but he knew that she 
 would never, of her own accord, have determined upon a course 
 so mad and ruinous. Many things were suddenly clear to him. 
 The evil influence of Dyce, strengthened by his assumed pow- 
 er, as a medium, of bringing her children near to her ; the mag- 
 netic strength, morbid though it was, of the man's words and 
 presence ; the daily opportunities of establishing some intan- 
 gible authority over the wife, during her husband's absence, 
 until she became, finally, the ignorant slave of his will all this, 
 or the possibility of it, presented itself to Merryfield's mind in 
 a rush of dim and tangled impressions. He had neither the 
 time nor the power to unravel them, but he felt that there was 
 truth at the core. Following this conviction came the deter 
 mination lo save her yes ! save her at once. There was no 
 time to be lost. Tiberius was eighteen miles distant, and they 
 could not yet have arrived there. He must follow instantly, 
 and overtake them, if possible, before the departure of the train 
 from the west.
 
 A STOftY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 209 
 
 Why was lie delaying there ? The ten minutes that he had 
 been standing, motionless, in the centre of the room, with the 
 note in his hand, his eyes mechanically reading the two linea 
 over and over, until the first terrible chaos of his feelings sub- 
 sided, had lengthened themselves into hours. Breaking the 
 ipell at last, he drew a long breath, which resolved itself into 
 i groan, and lifted his head. The little looking-glass on the 
 bureau was before him: moving a step nearer, he examined his 
 own face with a pitiful curiosity. It looked old and haggard ; 
 the corners of his mouth were rigidly drawn and tightened, and 
 the pinched nostrils twitched in spite of himself, but his eyes 
 were hard and dry. 
 
 " It don't make much difference in my looks, after all," he 
 said to himself, with a melancholy laugh ; and the next instant 
 the eyes overflowed. 
 
 After this brief outbreak, he recovered some strength and 
 steadiness, and rapidly arranged in his mind what was first to 
 be done. Taking off his work-day clothes, he put on a better 
 suit, and descended the stairs. Calling to the servant-girl in 
 the kitchen, he informed her, in a voice which he strove to 
 make natural and unconcerned, that he was suddenly obliged 
 to visit Tiberius on business, but would return the next day, 
 with his wife. He left directions with her for Henry, the 
 field-hand, regarding the morrow's work, then resaddled his 
 horse and rode rapidly to Ptolemy. 
 
 On the way, his thoughts involuntarily went in advance, and 
 he endeavored to prefigure the meeting with his wife. It was 
 impossible for him, however, to decide what course he should 
 pursue in case she should persist in her determination. It was 
 not enough to overtake her ; he must be armed at all points 
 to subdue and reclaim her. She had a stubborn power of re- 
 iistance with which he was well acquainted ; and, moreover, 
 Dyce would be ready enough to assist her. He foreboded his 
 own helplessness in such a case, though the right was on hia 
 Bide and the flagrant wrong on hers. 
 
 "It's my own fault, 1 ' be groaned, bitterly j "I've given
 
 210 ttANNA.II THUKSTO?*! 
 
 way to her so long that I've lost ray rightful influence orei 
 her." 
 
 One means of help suggested itself to his mind, and was 
 immediately accepted. Leaving his horse at the livery stable, 
 and ordering a fast, fresh animal and a light buggy to be sent 
 to the Cimmerian Parsonage, he proceeded thither on foot. 
 
 Mr Waldo was in his " study," which was one corner of 
 his wife's sitting-room. He was engaged in an epistolary con 
 trove rsy with a clergyman of the Free-will Baptists, occasion- 
 ally reading aloud a paragraph as he wrote. His wife, busiry 
 at work in remaking an old dress, listened and commended. 
 They were both startled by the entrance of Mr. Merryfield, 
 whose agitation was apparent in his face, and still more so in 
 his voice, as he greeted them. 
 
 " Whai has happened ?" exclaimed Mrs. Waldo. 
 
 " I don't hardly know, as yet," he stammered. " I want 
 your help, Mr. Waldo. Come with me I'm going to Tiberius. 
 
 My wife" Here he paused, blushing with utter shame 
 
 for her. 
 
 " Would you rather speak to my husband alone ?" said Mrs. 
 Waldo, rising from her seat. 
 
 " No, you must hear the rest, now," he answered. " You're 
 a good woman, Mrs. Waldo good and true, and perhaps you, 
 too, can help. Sarah wants to leave me, and I must bring her 
 back I must, this night." 
 
 He then told them, briefly and brokenly, his painful story. 
 Amazement and pity filled the hearts of the two good people, 
 who felt his misfortune almost as keenly as if it were their 
 own. Mrs. Waldo commenced making the few preparations 
 necessary for her husband's departure, even before his consent 
 wad uttered. When the team was announced as ready, sb 
 took Mi. Merryfield's hand and bade him God-speed, with tears 
 in her eyes. The poor man was too much moved to reply, 
 Then, catching her husband's arm, as he was issuing from th 
 room, she whispered earnestly, "No harshness I know her: 
 she must be coaxed and persuaded."
 
 A STORY OF AMEKICAN LIFE. 211 
 
 " J wish it were you who were going, my good wife," said 
 Mr. Waldo, kissing her ; ''you would make no mistake. Bui 
 be sure that I will act tenderly and carefully." 
 
 They drove uway. She watched them turn the next coiner, 
 and went into the house powerfully excited by such a sudder 
 and singular catastrophe. Her quick, intuitive mind, and her 
 knowledge of Mrs. Merryfield's weak points, enabled her to 
 comprehend the action more correctly than the husband him 
 self. This very knowledge was the source of her gieatest 
 anxiety ; for she saw that the success of the journey hung by 
 a hair. Having already committed herself, Mrs. Merryfield, 
 she foresaw, would not give up her plan from the discovery 
 of it, merely. She was not the woman to fall at her husband's 
 feet, repentant, at the first sight of him, and meekly return to 
 her forsaken home. The utmost tact would be required tact 
 of a kind, of which, with all her respect for the sex, she felt 
 that a man was not capable. 
 
 The more she pondered on the matter, the more restless 
 and anxious she grew. Her husband's last words remained 
 in her ears : " You would make no mistake." That was not 
 certain, but she would make none, she knew, which could not 
 at once be rectified. An inner voice continually said to her, 
 " Go !" Her unrest became at last insupportable ; she went 
 to the stable, and harnessed their horse to the old gig with her 
 own hands. Then taking her shawl, and thrusting some re- 
 freshments into a basket for she would not delay even long 
 enough to make a cup of tea she clambered into the creaking 
 vehicle, and drove off. 
 
 Mrs. Waldo, however, like many good women whose moral 
 courage is equal to any emergency, was in some respects a 
 ridiculous coward. Even in company with her husband, she 
 never passed along the country roads, at night, without an in- 
 cessant sensation of fear, which had no positive shape, and 
 therefore could not be battled against. It was now six o'clock, 
 and the darkness would be upon her long before she could 
 reach Tiberius. The thought of making the journey alone,
 
 212 HANNAU TIIUKSTON: 
 
 was dreadful ; if the suspended fate of the Merryfr/ds was ta 
 be decided by her alone, she would have been aliaost readj 
 to hesitate. There was but one person in Ptolemy to whom 
 she dared tell the story, and who was equally authorized with 
 herself, to go that person was Hannah Thurston. 
 
 All these thoughts passed through her mind, and her reso- 
 lution was taken, while she was harnessing the horse. She 
 Irove at once to the Widow Thurston's cottage, and was for- 
 tunate enough to find her and her daughter at their early tea 
 Summoning them into the next room, out of ear-shot of the 
 little servant, she communicated the story and her request hi 
 the fewest possible words. She left them no time to recover 
 from the news. " Don't stop to consider, Hannah," she said, 
 " we can talk on the way. There is not a moment to lose." 
 
 Miss Thurston hesitated, overcome by a painful perplexity. 
 The matter had been confided to her, without the knowledge 
 of the principal actors, and she was not sure that her unex- 
 pected appearance before them would lead to good. Besides, 
 Mrs. Merryfield's act was utterly abhorrent to all her womanly 
 instincts, and her virgin nature shrank from an approach to it, 
 even in the way of help. She stood irresolute. 
 
 The widow saw what was passing in her mind. " I know 
 bow thee feels, Hannah," said she, " and I would not advise 
 thee, if thy way were not cleai to my mind. I feel that it is 
 right for thee to go. The Saviour took the hand of the fallen 
 woman, and thee may surely take Sarah's hand to save her, 
 maybe, from falling. Now, when thy gift may be of service 
 now is the time to use it freely. Something tells me that 
 thy help will not be altogether in vain." 
 
 " I will go, mother," the daughter replied. " Thy judg- 
 ment is safer than mine." 
 
 In five minutes more the two women were on their way. 
 The loveliest evening sunshine streamed across the valley, 
 brightening the meadows and meadow-trees, and the long, 
 curving sweep of the eastern hill. The vernal grass, which, in 
 its flowering season, has a sweeter breath than the roses of Gu-
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 213 
 
 Us tan, was cut in many places, and lay in balmy windrows. The 
 air was still and warm, and dragon-flies, emitting blue and 
 emerald gleams from their long wings, hovered in zigzag lines 
 along the brooksides. Now and then a thrush fluted from 
 the alder-thickets, or an oriole flashed like a lighted brand 
 through the shadows of the elms. The broad valley basked 
 in the lazy enjoyment of its opulent summer hues ; and what 
 ever sounds arose from its bosom, they all possessed a tone of 
 passive content or active joy. But the travellers felt nothing 
 of all this beauty : that repose of the spiritual nature, in which 
 the features of the external world are truly recognized, had 
 been rudely disturbed. 
 
 They passed the Merryfield farm-house. How sadly at vari- 
 ance with its sunny air of peace was the tragic secret of its 
 owners, which the two women carried with them ! The huge 
 weeping willow trailed its hanging masses of twigs against the 
 gable, and here and there a rose-tree thrust its arm through 
 the white garden paling and waved a bunch of crimson, as if 
 to say : " Come in and see how we are blooming !" Towards 
 the barn, the field-hand was letting down bars for the waiting 
 cows, and the servant-girl issued from the kitchen-door with 
 her tin milk-kettle, as they gazed. What a mockery it all 
 seemed! 
 
 A little further, and the cataract thundered on their right. 
 All below the rocky wall lay in shadow, but the trees on its 
 crest were still touched by the sun, and thin wreaths of spray, 
 whirling upward, were suddenly converted into dust of gold. 
 Hannah Thurston looked up at the silent grove, and shuddered 
 as she recalled the picture she had last seen there. The brook 
 could never again wear to her its former aspect of wayward, 
 impetuous jubilation. Under its green crystal and glassy 
 lides lurked an element of terror, of pitiless cruelty. Yet 
 even the mirmtes of agonizing suspense she had there endured 
 were already softened in her memory, and seemed less terribl* 
 than the similar trial which awaited her. 
 
 Near the entrance to Lakeside they met B to "Wilson, with
 
 214 HANNAH TIIURSTON: 
 
 a yoke of oxen. He recognized the old gig, and with a loud 
 ' Haw, Buck, come hither !" drew his team off the road." 
 
 " Takin' a drive, are ye ? How d'you do, Mrs. Waldo- 
 Miss Hannah ?" 
 
 " Good -evening, Bute !" said Mrs. Waldo. "How is Mr 
 Woodbury? 1 hope he has not suffered from being so long 
 in the water." 
 
 " Bless you, no ! Mr. Max. is as sound as a roach. He rid 
 over to Tiberius this afternoon. I say, wasn't it lucky that 
 jist he should ha' come along at the right time ?" Bute's face 
 glowed with pride and delight. 
 
 " It was Providential : good-by !" 
 
 Slowly climbing the long ravine, through dark woods, it 
 was after sunset when they reached the level of the upland. 
 The village of Anacreon soon came in sight, and they drove 
 rapidly through, not wishing to be recognized. Beyond this 
 point the road was broad, straight, and firm, and they could 
 make better progress. A low arch of orange light lingered 
 in the west, but overhead the larger stars came out, one after 
 another. Belts of warm air enveloped them on the heights, 
 but the dusky hollows were steeped in grateful coolness, and 
 every tree by the roadside gave out its own peculiar odor. 
 The ripe, antique breath of the oak, the honeyed bitter of the 
 tulip-tree, and the perfect balsam of the hickory, were breathed 
 upon them in turn. A few insects still chirped among the 
 clover, and the unmated frogs serenaded, by fits, their reluctant 
 sweethearts. At one of the farm-houses they passed, a girl, 
 eated in the porch, was singing : 
 
 " We have lived and loved together, 
 Through, many changing years." 
 
 Every circumstance seemed to conspire, by involuntary con- 
 trast, to force the difficult and painful task they had under- 
 taken more distinctly upon their minds. After Mrs. Waldo 
 bad imparted all she knew, with her own conjectures of the
 
 A 8TOfcY OF AACERICAJf LIFE. 315 
 
 causes of the desertion, both women were silent for a long 
 time, feeling, perhaps, that it was impossible to arrange, in 
 advance, any plan of action. They must trust to the sugges- 
 tions which the coming interview would supply. 
 
 " I cannot understand it," said Hannah Thurston, at last. 
 * After BO many years of married life after having children 
 born to them, and lost, uniting them by the more sacred bond 
 )f sorrow how is it possible? They certainly loved each 
 other : what has become of her love ?" 
 
 " She has it somewhere, yet, you may be sure," said Mrs. 
 Waldo. " She is weak and foolish, but she does not mean to 
 be criminal. Dyce is a dangerous man, and he has led her to 
 the step. No other man she knows could have done it." 
 
 " Can she love him ?" 
 
 " Probably not. But a strong, unscrupulous man who 
 knows our sex, Hannah, has a vast power which most women 
 do not understand. He picks up a hundred little threads of 
 weakness, each of which is apparently insignificant, and 
 twists them into a chain. He surprises us at times when our 
 judgment is clouded, his superior reason runs in advance of 
 our thoughts and we don't think very hard, you know and 
 will surely bind us hand and foot, unless some new personality 
 comes in to interrupt him. We women are governed by per- 
 sonal influences there is no use in denying the fact. And 
 men, of course, have the strongest." 
 
 " I have sometimes feared as much," said Hannah Thurston, 
 sadly, "but is it not owing to a false education? Are not 
 women trained to consider themselves inferior, and thus de- 
 pendent? Do not the daughters learn the lesson of their 
 mothers, and the fathers impress the opposite lesson on their 
 sons ?" 
 
 " 1 know what you mean, and you are partly right. But 
 
 that is not ail. There are superior women whom we look up 
 
 o look up to you, Hannah, who are, intellectually, t:o far 
 
 sbo^'c me but they never impress us with the same sense of 
 
 I wer, oi protecting capacity, that we feel in the presence of
 
 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 almost any man. It is something I cannot explain a sort of 
 physical magnetism, I suppose. I respect men : I like them 
 because they are men, I am not ashamed to confess : and I ain 
 cot humiliated as a woman, by acknowledging the difference n 
 
 " Habit and tradition !" Hannah Thurston exclaimed. 
 
 " I know you witt think so, Hannah, and I am not able to an- 
 swer you. When I hear you speak, sometimes, every word you 
 ay seems just and true, but my instincts, as a woman, remain 
 the same. Your life has been very different from mine, and 
 perhaps you have taken, without knowing it, a sort of warlike 
 position towards men, and have wilfully resisted their natural 
 influence over you. For your sake, I have often longed and 
 you must pardon me, if I ought not to say such a thing that 
 some man, in every respect worthy of you, should come to 
 know you as you are, and love you, and make you his wife." 
 
 " Don't don't speak of that," she whispered. 
 
 " I couldn't help it, to-night, dear," Mrs. Waldo soothingly 
 replied. " I have been thinking as I came along, what cause 
 I have to thank God for having given me a good and faithful 
 husband. / should never have been happy as a single womaii, 
 and for that reason, no doubt, your life seems imperfect to 
 me. But we cannot always judge the hearts of others by our 
 own." 
 
 By this time the glimmering arch of summer twilight had 
 settled behind the hills, and only the stars lighted them on 
 their way. The road stretched before them like a dusky 
 band, between the shapeless darkness of woods and fields, on 
 either side. Indistinct murmurs of leaves and rustlings among 
 the grass began to be heard, and at every sound Mrs. Waldo 
 started nervously. 
 
 " Was there ever such a coward as I am ! " she exclaimed, 
 in a low voice. " If you were not with me, I should go wild 
 with fear. Do you suppose any man in the world is so 
 timid ?" 
 
 " There, again, I cannot judge," Miss Thurston answered. 
 "I only know that I am never alarmed at night, and that thii
 
 A STORY QV AMERICAN LtFE. 217 
 
 journey would be a perfect enjoyment, if we were not going 
 on such an unfortunate errand." 
 
 "I always knew you were an exception among women. 
 Your nerves are like a man's, but mine are altogether feminine, 
 and I can't help myself." 
 
 The horse stopped at a toll-gate. They were only two 
 miles from Tiberius, and the road descended the greater part 
 of the way. Mrs. Waldo recovered her courage, for the 
 houses were now more thickly scattered, and the drive would 
 soon be at an end. The old horse, too, had by this time recog- 
 nized the extent of his task, and determined to get through 
 wun it. They rattled rapidly onwards, and from the next rise 
 saw the lights of the town, twinkling around the foot of 
 Atauga Lake. 
 
 As they reached the suburban belt, where every square, 
 flat-roofed, chocolate-colored villa stood proudly in the centre 
 of its own square plot of ground, Hannah Thurston asked: 
 
 " Where shall we go ?" 
 
 " Bless me, I never thought of that. But I think my hus- 
 band generally stops at ' The Eagle,' and we can at least leave 
 the horse there. Then we must try to find him and the 
 others. I think our best plan would be to go to the railroad 
 station." 
 
 The gardens and villas gradually merged into the irregular, 
 crowded buildings which lined the principal street. Many 
 stores were open, the side-walks were lively with people, 
 transparencies gleamed before ice-cream saloons, and gas- 
 lamps burned brilliantly at the corners. 
 
 " What time is it ?" asked Mrs. Waldo. 
 
 Hannah Thurston looked at her watch. "A quarter pasJ 
 tine." 
 
 " We have made good time," said her companion; "Heaves 
 grant that we are not too late !" 
 10
 
 HA3TNAH THUK8TOV: 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 WHICH SOLVES THE PRECEDING ONB. 
 
 M.i6. MERRYFIELD, on forsaking her home, had not anticipated 
 the possibility of an immediate pursuit. She supposed, of 
 course, that her husband would first discover her intention the 
 next morning, when he would have occasion to use the hair- 
 brush. He would then, sooner or later, she believed, follow 
 h'ir to the Community, where the sight of a Perfect Society, 
 of an Eden replanted on the Earth, would not only eonvincu 
 him of the wisdom of her act, but compel him to imitate it. 
 If their convictions had been reversed, and he had desired to 
 try the new social arrangement, could he not have done so 
 with impunity, regardless of her opposition? Then, their 
 rights being equal, why should she consult his pleasure ? 
 
 Thus she reasoned, or, rather, Dyce reasoned for her. She 
 was a very weak and foolish woman, afflicted with that worst 
 of temperaments which is at the same time peevish and stub- 
 bo. n, and did not at all appreciate the gravity of the step she 
 had taken. An inner voice, indeed, told her that its secrecy 
 was unjustifiable that she should openly and boldly declare 
 her intention to her husband ; but her base friend easily per- 
 suaded her that it vas better to draw him after her wlen she 
 had reached the Community, and settle the difference there. 
 His own eyes would then convince him of her wisdom : oppo- 
 sition would be impossible, with the evidence before him. She 
 would thus spare herself a long and perhaps fruitless encounter 
 of opinions, which, owing to the finer organization of her 
 spiritual nature, she ought to avoid. Such differences, he 
 said, disturbed the atmosphere in which spirits most readily
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LUTE. 218 
 
 approacned aid communicated with her. In the pure and 
 harmonious life of the Community, she might perhaps attain tc 
 the condition of a medium, and be always surrounded by ail 
 gelic company. 
 
 The afternoon was hot and they drove slowly, so that even 
 before they reached Tiberius, the two parties of pursuers were 
 on the way. Just as they entered the town, Mr. Woodbury 
 passed the carriage on horseback. Glancing at its occupants, 
 he recognized Mrs. Merryfield, bowed, and reined in his horse 
 as if to speak, but seeing Dyce, his cordial expression became 
 suddenly grave, and he rode on. This encounter troubled 
 Mrs. Merryfield. A secret uneasiness had been growing upon 
 her during the latter part of the way, and Woodbury's look 
 inspired her with a vague fear. She involuntarily hoped that 
 she might not meet him again, or any one she knew, before 
 leaving Tiberius. She would not even visit Mrs. Nevins, aa 
 she had proposed. Moreover, Woodbury would probably put 
 up at the hotel which she and her husband usually visited. 
 Another must be selected, and she accordingly directed Dyce 
 to drive through the town to a tavern on its northern side, not 
 far from the railroad station. 
 
 At half-past eight in the evening her husband and Mr. 
 Waldo alighted in front of " The Eagle." As the former was 
 giving orders about the horse to the attendant ostler, Wood- 
 bury came down the steps and immediately recognized the 
 new arrivals. 
 
 " What !" he exclaimed, " is all Ptolemy coming to Tiberius 
 to-day ? Your wife has the start of you, Mr. Merryfield : I 
 passed her this-evening" 
 
 A violent grasp on his arm interrupted him. " Where if 
 he ? Have they left ?" the husband hoarsely asked. 
 
 The light from the corner-lamp fell full upon his face. Its 
 expression of pain and anxiety was unmistakable, and a pre 
 sentiment of the incredible truth shot through Woodbury'i 
 mind. 
 
 "Hush, my friend!" said Mr. Waldo. "Control yourself
 
 220 llAJSNAii TliUKSTON : 
 
 while we register our names, and then we will go to work 
 It is fortunate that you have betrayed yourself to Mr. Wood- 
 bury instead of some one else. Come with us !" he added, 
 turning to the latter ; " you must now know the rest. We 
 can trust every thing to your honor." 
 
 They entered the office of the hotel. Merryfield, after 
 .Irinking a large tumbler of ice-water, recovered some degree 
 of composure. Mr. Waldo ascertained from the landlord that 
 the next train for the east would leave at midnight, the pre- 
 vious train having left at five o'clock. Woodbury, seeing the 
 necessity of a private understanding, invited them both to his 
 room, where the whole affair was explained to him, and he 
 was able to assure them, by recalling the hour of his own ar- 
 rival, that Dyce and Mrs. Merryfield must be still in the town. 
 
 " We have three hours," said he, "and they must be found 
 in half the time. There must not be a meeting at the station. 
 Have you no idea, Mr. Merryfield, where your wife would go ?" 
 
 " She spoke of visiting Mrs. Nevins, as it were," he replied. 
 
 " Then it is quite unlikely that she is there," said Woodbury. 
 " But we must first settle the point. Let us go at once : where 
 is the house ?" 
 
 Merryfield led the way, much supported and encouraged by 
 Woodbury's prompt, energetic manner. He had now less 
 dread of the inevitable encounter with Dyce. 
 
 A walk of ten minutes brought them to the Kevins mansion. 
 It was a small villa, with a Grecian portico, seated in a diminu 
 live garden. There was a light in the front room. Mr. 
 Waldo was unacquainted with the inmates, and afraid to 
 allow Merryfield to entei the house alone. There was a 
 moment of perplexity. 
 
 " I have it," said Woodbury, suddenly. " Move on a littj*, 
 and wait for me." He boldly entered the garden and stepped 
 upon the Grecian portico. The windows had muslin curtains 
 across their lower half, but he easily looked over them into 
 if, -e room. A middle-aged woman, in a rocking-chair, was 
 knitting some worsted stuff with a pair of wooden needles,
 
 A STOBiT OF AilKlUCAJtf LIFE. 221 
 
 On the other side of the lamp, with his back to her, sat a man, 
 absorbed in a newspaper. A boy of ten years old lay asleep 
 on the carpet. Noting all this at a glance, Woodbury knocked 
 at the door. A rustling of the newspaper followed, footsteps 
 entered the hall, and the outer door was opened. 
 
 Woodbury assumed a natural air of embarrassed disappoint 
 ment, " I am afraid," said he, " that I have made a mistake. 
 Does Mr. Israel Thompson live here?" 
 
 " Israel Thompson ? I don't know any such person. There's 
 James Thompson, lives further down the street, on the other 
 side." 
 
 " Thank you. I will inquire of him. I am a stranger here," 
 and he rejoined his friends. " Now," said he, " to save time, 
 Mr. Waldo, you and I must visit the other hotels, dividing 
 them between us. Mr. Merryfield had better not take any part 
 in the search. Let him wait for us on the corner opposite 
 ' The Eagle.' We can make our separate rounds in twenty 
 minutes, and I am sure we shall have discovered them by that 
 time." 
 
 An enumeration of the hotels was made, and the two gen- 
 tlemen divided them in such a manner as to economize tune 
 in making their rounds. They then set out in different direc- 
 tions, leaving Merryfield to walk back alone to the rendezvous. 
 Hitherto, the motion and excitement of the pursuit had kept 
 him up, but now he began to feel exhausted and desponding. 
 He had not eaten since noon, and experienced all the weakness 
 without the sensation of hunger. A powerful desire for an 
 artificial stimulant came over him, and, for a moment, he halted 
 before the red light of a drinking-saloon, wondering whether 
 there was any one inside who could recognize him. The door 
 opened, and an atmosphere of rank smoke, tobacco-soaked saw- 
 dust, and pungent whiskey gushed out ; oaths and fragments 
 of obscene talk met his ears, and he hurried away in disgust. 
 At "The Eagle" he fortified himself again with ice-water, 
 and then took his stand on the opposite corner, screened from 
 the lamp-light by an awning-post.
 
 222 HANNAH THUKSTON: 
 
 The late storekeepers up and down the street were putting 
 ap their shutters, but the ice-cream transparencies still shone 
 brightly, and the number of visitors rather increased than di 
 minished. From a neighboring house came the sound of a 
 piano, and presently a loud, girlish voice which sang : " I dreamt 
 that I dwe-helt in ma-harble halls." What business, he 
 thought, had people to be eating ice-cream and singing songs ? 
 It was an insulting levity. How long a time his friends had 
 been absent ! A terrible fear came over him what if he 
 should not find his wife ? At night no, he dared not think 
 of i' He looked down the crossing streets, in all four direc- 
 tions, as far as his eye could pierce, and inspected the approach- 
 ing figures. Now he was sure he recognized Woodbury'a 
 commanding form; now the brisk gait of the short clergy- 
 man. But they came nearer and resolved themselves into 
 strangers. Then he commenced again, striving to keep an 
 equal watch on all the streets. The appointed time was past, 
 and they did not come ! A cold sweat began to gather on 
 his forehead, and he was ready to despair. All at once, Mr 
 Waldo appeared, close at hand, and hurried up to him, breath- 
 less. 
 
 " I have finished my list," said he. 
 
 "Have you found them?" 
 
 "No, but what does this mean!" cried the clergyman, 
 
 starting. " That is my horse, certainly and the old gig ! 
 Can my wife" 
 
 He did not finish the sentence, but sprang into the streel 
 and called. The horse turned his head from a sudden jerk of 
 the linoF, and in a moment was drawn up beside the pave- 
 ment. 
 
 " H rff glad I am we have met you ! I could not stay at 
 home, indeed. You will let us help, will you not? Are wo 
 in time ?" cried Mrs. W^ldo, apology, entreaty, and anxiety 
 all mingling in her voice. 
 
 *' With God's favor, we are still in time," her husband an> 
 s \vured.
 
 A STOBY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 222 
 
 " I lhank you for coming you and Hannah, both," Merry- 
 field sadly added, " but I'm afraid it's no use." 
 
 " Cheer up," said the clergyman, " Mr. Woodbury will b 
 here in a moment." 
 
 " He is here already," said Woodbury, joining them at the 
 
 Instant. "I have " He paused, recognizing the gig and 
 
 its occupants, and looked inquiringly at Mr. Waldo. 
 
 i: They know it," answered the latter, " and for that reason 
 they have come." 
 
 " Brave women ! We may need their help. I have found 
 the persons we are looking for at the Beaver House, in the 
 second-story parlor, waiting for the midnight train." 
 
 " Then drive on, wife," said Mr. Waldo ; " you can put up the 
 horse there. You are known at the Eagle, and we had better 
 avoid curiosity. Follow us : Mr. Woodbury will lead the way." 
 
 They passed up the street, attracting no notice, as the con- 
 nection between the movements of the women in the gig, and 
 the three men on the sidewalk, was not apparent. In a short 
 time they reached the Beaver House, a second-rate hotel, with 
 a deserted air, on a quiet street, and near the middle of the 
 block. T\vo or three loafers were in the office, half sliding 
 out of the short arm-chairs as they lounged, and lazily talk- 
 ing. Woodbury called the landlord to the door, gave the 
 horse into his charge, and engaged a private room until mid- 
 night. There was one, he had already ascertained, adjoining 
 the parlor on the second story. He offered liberal pay, pro- 
 vided no later visitors were thrust upon them, and the landlord 
 was very willing to make the arrangement. It was not often 
 that he received so much patronage in one evening. 
 
 After a hurried consultation, in whispers, they entered the 
 house. The landlord preceded them up-stairs with a lamp, 
 and ushered them into the appointed room. It was a smaU 
 oblong chamber, the floor decorated with a coarse but very 
 gaudy carpet, and the furniture covered with shiny hair-cloth, 
 very cold, and stiff, and slippery. There was a circular table 
 of mahogany, upon which lay a Bible, and the Odd-Fellow 1 !
 
 224 HAfraAn THUBSTON: 
 
 Annual, bound in red. Beside it was a huge spittoon of brown 
 stone- ware. Folding-doors connected with the adjoining par- 
 lor, and the wood- work, originally of unseasoned pine, gotten 
 up without expense but regardless of durability, was sc 
 warped and sprung that these doors would not properly close. 
 Privacy, so far as conversation was concerned, was impossible. 
 In fact, no sooner had the landlord departed, and the noise oi 
 entrance subsided a little, than Dyce's voice was distinctly 
 heard : 
 
 " You should overcome your restlessness. All pioneers in 
 great works have their moments of doubt, but they are caused 
 by the attacks of evil spirits." 
 
 Merryfield arose in great agitation. Perhaps he would have 
 spoken, but Mr. Waldo lifted his hand to command silence, 
 beckoned to his wife, and the three left the room. At the 
 door the clergyman turned and whispered to Woodbury and 
 Hannah Thurston : " You may not be needed : wait until I 
 summon you." 
 
 The next instant he knocked on the door of the parlor. 
 Dyce's voice replied : " Come in." He entered first, followed 
 by his wife, and, last of all, the injured husband. Dyce and 
 Mrs. Merryfield were seated side by side, on a sofa. Both, as 
 by an involuntary impulse, rose to their feet. The latter 
 turned very pale ; her knees trembled under her, and she sank 
 down again upon her seat. Dyce, however, remained stand- 
 ing, and, after the first surprise was over, regained his brazen 
 effrontery. 
 
 Merryfield was the first to speak. "Sarah," he cried, 
 * What does this mean ?" 
 
 She turned her head towards the window, and made no 
 answer. 
 
 " Mrs. Merryfield," said Mr. "Waldo, gravely, yet with no 
 harshness in his tone, " we have come, as your friends, be- 
 lieving that you have taken this step hastily, and without con- 
 sidering what its consequences would be. We do not think 
 you appreciate its solemn importance, both for time and for
 
 A STOET OF AMEBICAN LIFE. 225 
 
 eternity. It is not yet too late to undo what you have doncj 
 nd we are ready to help you, in all kindness and tenderness." 
 
 "I want nothing more than my rights," said Mrs. Merry- 
 field, in a hard, stubborn voice, without turning ner head. 
 
 " I will never interfere with your just rights, as a woman, a 
 wife, and an immortal soul," the clergyman replied. " But 
 you have not alone rights to receive : you have duties to per- 
 form. You have bound yourself to your husband in holy 
 marriage ; you cannot desert him, whose faith to you has never 
 been broken, who now stands ready to pardon your present 
 fault, as he has pardoned all your past ones, without incurring 
 a greater sin than infidelity to him. Your married relation 
 includes both the moral laws by which society is bound, and 
 the Divine laws by which we are saved." 
 
 " The usual cant of theologians !" interrupted Dyce, with a 
 sneer. " Mrs. Merryfield owes nothing to the selfish and arti- 
 ficial machinery which is called Society. Marriage is a part 
 of the machinery, and just as selfish as the rest. She claims 
 equal rights with her husband, and is doing no more than he 
 would do, if he possessed all of her convictions." 
 
 " I would never do it !" cried Merryfield, " not for all the 
 Communities in the world ! Sarah, I've been faithful to you, 
 in every thought, since you first agreed to be my wife. If I've 
 done you wrong in any way, tell me!" 
 
 " I only want nay rights," she repeated, still looking away. 
 
 " If you really think you are deprived of them," said Mr. 
 Waldo, " come home with us, and you shall be fairly heard 
 and fairly judged. I promise you, as an impartial friend, that 
 no advantage shall be taken of your mistake: you shall be 
 treated as if it had not occurred. Have you reflected how 
 this act will be interpreted, in the eyes of the world ? Can 
 you bear, no matter how innocent you may be, to be lollowed, 
 through all the rest of your life, by the silent suspicion, if not 
 the open reproach, of the worst shame that can happen to 
 woman? Suppose you reach your Community. These ex- 
 periments have often been tri<d. and they have always failed, 
 10*
 
 226 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 You might hide yourself for a while from the judgment of t he 
 world, but if the association should break to pieces what 
 then ? Does the possession of some right which you fancy is 
 withheld, compensate you for incurring this fearful risk nay, 
 for euauring this fearful certainty ?" 
 
 " What do you know about it ?" Dyce roughly exclaimed, 
 " You, a petrified fossil of the false Society ! What right have 
 you to judge for her? She acts from motives which your 
 narrow mind cannot comprehend. She is a disciple of the 
 Truth, and is not afraid to show it in her life. If she lived 
 only for the sake of appearances, like the rest of you, she 
 might still be a Vegetable !" 
 
 Mrs. Merryfield, who had colored suddenly and violently, as 
 the clergyman spoke, and had turned her face towards him, for 
 a moment, with an agitation which she could not conceal, now 
 lifted her head a little, and mechanically rocked on her lap a 
 travelling-satchel, which she had grasped with both hands. 
 She felt her own inability to defend herself, and recovered a 
 little courage at hearing it done so fiercely by her com- 
 panion. 
 
 Mr. Waldo, without noticing the latter, turned to her again. 
 " I will not even condemn the motives which lead you to this 
 step," said he, " but I must show you its inevitable conse- 
 quences. Only the rarest natures, the most gifted intellects, 
 may seem to disregard the ruling habits and ideas of man- 
 kind, because God has specially appointed them to some great 
 work. You know, Mrs. Merryfield, as well as I do, that you 
 are not one of such. The world will make no exception in 
 your favor. It cannot put our kindly and tolerant construe 
 tion upon your motives : it will be pitiless and inflexible, and 
 its verdict will crush you to the dust." 
 
 "Sarah," said her husband, more in pity than in reproach, 
 * do stop and think what you are doing ! What Mr. Waldo 
 says is true : you will bring upon yourself more than you can 
 bear, or I can bear for you. I don't charge you with any 
 thing wrong; I don't believe you would be guilty of of I
 
 A STORY Of AMERICAN LIFE. 227 
 
 Can't say it but I couldn't hold up my head, as as it were, 
 and defend you by a single word." 
 
 " Oh, no ! of course you couldn't !" Dyce broke in again, 
 with an insufferable impudence. " You know, as well as I do, 
 or Mr. Waldo, for that matter, what men are. Don't brag 
 to me about your morality, and purity, and all that sort of 
 humbug: what's fit for one sex is fit for the other. Men, yot< 
 know, have a natural monopoly in the indulgence of passion : 
 it's allowed to them, but woman is damned by the very sus- 
 picion. You know, both of you, that any man would as lief 
 be thought wicked as chaste that women are poor, ignorant 
 
 fools" 
 
 One of the folding-doors which communicated with the ad- 
 joining room was suddenly torn open, and Woodbury ap- 
 peared. His brown eyes, flashing indignant fire, were fixed 
 upon Dyce. The sallow face of the latter grew livid with 
 mingled emotions of rage and fear. With three strides, 
 Woodbury was before him. 
 
 " Stop !" he cried, " you have been allowed to say too much 
 already. If yow," he added, turning to the others, " have 
 patience with this beast, I have not." 
 
 " Ah ! he thinks he's among his Sepoys," Dyce began, but 
 was arrested by a strong hand upon his collar. Woodbury's 
 face was pale, but calm, and his lips parted in a smile, the 
 expression of which struck terror to the heart of the medium. 
 "Now, leave !" said he, in a low, stern voice, "leave, or I 
 hurl you through that window !" Relinquishing his grasp on 
 the collar, he opened the door leading to the staircase, and 
 waited. For a moment, the eyes of the two men met, and in 
 that moment each took the measure of the other. Dyce's 
 figure seemed to contract ; his breast narrowed, his shoulders 
 fell, and his knees approached each other. He walked slowly 
 and awkwardly to the end of the sofa, picked up his valise, 
 and shuffled out of the room without saying a word. Wood- 
 bury followed him to the door, and said, before he closed it. 
 " Recollect, you leave here by the midnight train." Nona
 
 128 HANXAII TUUESTON: 
 
 of those who heard it had any doubt that the command would 
 be obeyed. 
 
 Mr. Merryfield experienced an unbounded sensation of reliel 
 on Dyce's departure ; but his wife was only frightened, not 
 conquered. Although pale and trembling, she stubbornly held 
 out, her attitude expressing her collective defiance of the com- 
 pany. She avoided directly addressing or meeting the eye* 
 of any one in particular. For a few moments there was silence 
 in the room, and she took advantage of it to forestall the 
 appeals which she knew would be made, by saying : 
 
 " Well, now you've got me all to yourselves, I suppose you'll 
 try to bully me out of my rights." 
 
 " "We have no intention to meddle with any of your rights, 
 as a wife," Mr. Waldo answered. "You must settle that 
 question with your husband. But does not your heart tell 
 you that he has rights, as well ? And what has he done to 
 justify you in deserting him ?" 
 
 " He needn't be deserted," she said ; " he can come after me." 
 "Never !" exclaimed her husband. " If you leave me now, 
 and in this way, Sarah, you will not see me again until you 
 voluntarily come back to me. And think, if you go to that 
 place, what you must then seem to me ! I've defended you, 
 Sarah, and will defend you against all the world ; but if you 
 go on, you'll take the power of doing it away from me. 
 Whether you deserve shame, or not, it'll come to you and 
 it'll come to me, just the same." 
 
 The deluded wife could make no reply. The consequences 
 of her step, if persisted in, were beginning to dawn upon hei 
 mind, but, having defended it on the ground of her equal 
 rights as a woman, a pitiful vanity prevented her from yield- 
 Ing. It was necessary, therefore, to attack hei' from anothei 
 quarter. Hannah Thurston felt that the moment had arrived 
 when she might venture to speak, and went gently forward tc 
 the sofa. 
 
 " Sarah," she said, " I think you feel that I am your friend; 
 you not believe me, then, when I say to you that w
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 229 
 
 have ali followed you. prompted only by the pity and distress 
 which we feel for your sake and your husband's ? We beg 
 you not to leave us, your true friends, and go among strangers. 
 Listen to us calmly, and if we convince you that you are mis- 
 taken, the admission should not be difficult." 
 
 " You, too, Hannah !" cried Mrs. Merryfield. " You, that 
 taught me what my rights were ! Will you confess, first, that 
 you are mistaken ?" 
 
 An expression of pain passed over Hannah Thurston's face. 
 " 1 never meant to claim more than natural justice for woman," 
 said she, " but I may have been unhappy in my advocacy of it. 
 I may even," turning towards Mrs. Waldo, " have seemed to 
 assume a hostile position towards man. If so, it was a mis- 
 take. If what I have said has prompted you to this step, 1 
 will take my share of humiliation. But we will not talk of 
 that now. Blame me, Sarah, if you like, so you do not forgei 
 the tenderness you cannot wholly have lost, for him whose life 
 is a part of yours, here and hereafter. Think of the children 
 who are waiting for you in the other life waiting for both 
 parents, Sarah." 
 
 The stubborn resistance of the wife began to give way. 
 Tears came to her eyes, and she shook as if a mighty struggle 
 had commenced in her heart. " It was for them," she mur- 
 mured, in a broken voice, " that I was going. He said they 
 would be nearer to me." 
 
 " Can they be nearer to you when you are parted from their 
 father? Was it only your heart that was wrung at their loss? 
 If all other bonds were broken between you, the equal share 
 in the beings of those Immortals should bind you in life and 
 death ! Pardon me for renewing your sorrow, but I must 
 fcvoke the purer spirit that is born of trial. If your mutual 
 watches over their cradles cannot bring back the memory of 
 your married love, I must ask you to remember who held 
 your hand beside their coffins, whose arm supported you in- 
 the lonely nights !" 
 
 The husband could endure no more. Lifting his face from
 
 180 HANNAH THTJBSTON: 
 
 6is hands, he cried : " It was me, Sarah. And now, if yon 
 .eave me, there will be no one to talk with me about Absalom, 
 *nd Angelina, and our dear little Robert. Don't you mind 
 fiow I used to dance him on my knee, as as it were, and tell 
 Him he should have a horse when he was big ? He had such 
 retty hair ; you always said he'd make a handsome man, 
 -Jarah : but now they're all gone. There's only us two, now 
 as it were, and we can't no, we daren't part. We won't 
 part, will we ?" 
 
 Mrs. Waldo made a quiet sign, and they stole gently from 
 the room. As he closed the door, Woodbury saw the con- 
 quered and penitent wife look up with streaming eyes, sobbing 
 convulsively, and stretch out her arms. The next instant, Mrs. 
 Waldo had half embraced him, in the rush of her pent-up 
 gratitude. 
 
 " Oh !" she exclaimed, striving to subdue her voice, " how 
 grand it was that you put down that that man. I never 
 believed in non-resistance, and now I know that I am right." 
 
 Hannah Thurstcn said nothing, but her face was radiant 
 with a tranquil light. She could not allow the doubts which 
 had arisen in her mind the disturbing influences which had, of 
 late, beset her, to cloud the happy ending of such a painful 
 day. A whispered conversation was carried on between 
 Woodbury and the Waldos, so as not to disturb the low voices 
 in the next room ; but at the end of ten minutes the door 
 opened and Merryfield appeared. 
 
 " We will go home to-night, as it were," said he. " The 
 moon rises about this time, and the night is warm." 
 
 " Then we will all go !" was Mrs. Waldo's decision. " The 
 carriages will keep together husband, you must drive one of 
 them, alone and I shall not be so much alarmed. It is better 
 o : curious folks will not see that we have been absent, and 
 need not know." 
 
 Woodbury whispered to her : " I shall wait until the train 
 leaves." 
 
 " Will you follow, afterwards ?"
 
 A STOEY OF AMERICAN LIFB. 232 
 
 " Yes but no : my intention to stay all night is known, and 
 ought properly to remain, unless you need my escort." 
 
 " Stay," said Hannah Thurston. 
 
 The vehicles left the two hotels with the same persons whc 
 had arrived in them Dyce excepted. Outside of Tiberiui 
 they halted, and Merryfield joined his wife. The two women 
 followed, and Mr. Waldo, alone, acted as rear-guard. Thus, in 
 the silent night, over the moonlit hills, and through the rust- 
 ling darkness of the woods, they went homewards. 
 
 Vague suspicions of something haunted the community of 
 Ptolemy for a while, but nothing was ever discovered or be- 
 trayed which could give them a definite form. Arid yet, of 
 the five persons to whom the truth was known, three wer 
 women.
 
 HANNAH THUBSTOM' 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 ONB OP THE SUMMER DIVERSIONS OF PTOLEMY. 
 
 TEN days after the journey to Tiberiue, the highways in 
 both valleys, and those descending from the hills on either 
 side, were unusually thronged. Country carriages, buggies 
 of all fashions, and light open carts, rapidly succeeded each 
 other, all directing their course towards the village. They 
 did not halt there, however, but passed through, and, climbing 
 the gentle acclivity of the southern hill, halted at a grove, 
 nearly a mile distant. Here the Annual Temperance Conven- 
 tion of Atauga County was to be held. The cause had been 
 languishing for the past year or two ; many young men had 
 become careless of their pledges, and the local societies were 
 beginning to fall to pieces, because the members had heard afl 
 that was to be said on the subject, and had done all that could 
 conveniently be done. The plan of procuring State legislation 
 in their favor rendered it necessary to rekindle, in some meas- 
 ure, the fires of zeal if so warm an expression can be applied 
 to so sober a cause and one of the most prominent speakers 
 on Temperance, Mr. Abiram Stokes, was called upon to brush 
 up his well-used images and illustrations for a new campaign. 
 
 It was announced, by means of large placards, posted 
 in all the village stores, post-offices, and blacksmiths' shopS| 
 far and wide, that not only he, but Mr. Grindle and several 
 other well-known speakers were to address the Convention. 
 Strange as it may seem, the same placard was conspicuously 
 displayed in the bar-room of tne Ptolemy House, the landlord 
 candidly declaring that he would be glad if such a convention
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 238 
 
 were held every week, as it brought him a great deal of cus- 
 tom. The friends of the cause were called upon for a special 
 effort ; the day was carefully arranged to come at the end of 
 haying, yet before the wheat-harvest had fairly commence! ; 
 moreover, it was Saturday, and the moon was nearly full 
 The weather favored the undertaking, and by noon the line of 
 the roads could be distinguished, at some distance, by the 
 dust which arose from the strings of vehicles. 
 
 The principal members of the local societies especially 
 those of Atauga City, Anacreon, Nero Corners, Mulligansville, 
 and New Pekin came in heavy lumber- wagons, decoratec 
 with boughs of spruce and cedar, carrying with them theii 
 banners, whenever they had any. With some difficulty, a 
 sufficient sum was raised to pay for the services of the Ptolemy 
 Cornet Band, in performing, as the placard stated, " melodies 
 appropriate to the occasion." What those melodies were, it 
 was not very easy to determine, and the managing committee of 
 the Ptolemy Society had a special meeting on the subject, the 
 night before. A wag suggested " The Meeting of the Waters," 
 which was at once accepted with delight. " Bonny Doon'' 
 .found favor, as it "minded" the hearers of a Scottish brook. 
 " The Campbells are Comin' " was also on the list, until some 
 one remembered that the landlord of the Ptolemy House bore 
 the name of that clan. " A wet sheet and a flowing sea" hinted 
 too strongly at " half-seas over," and all the familiar Irish airs 
 were unfortunately associated with ideas of wakes and Donny- 
 brook Fairs. After much painful cogitation, the " Old Oaken 
 Bucket," "Allan Water," "Zurich's Waters," and "The 
 Haunted Spring" were discovered ; but the band was not ablo 
 to play more than half of them. Its most successful perform- 
 ance, we are bound to confess, was the air of " Landlord, fill 
 the flowing bowl," which the leader could not resist giving 
 once or twice during the day, to the great scandal of those 
 votaries of the cause who had once been accustomed to sing it 
 in character. 
 
 The grove was a beautiful piece of oak and hickory timber
 
 284 HANNAII TUUKSTON: 
 
 sloping towards the north, and entirely clear of underbrusK 
 It covered about four acres of ground, and was neither so 
 dense nor fell so rapidly as to shut out a lovely glimpse of 
 the valley and the distant, dark-blue sheet of the lake, between 
 the boles. It was pervaded with a grateful smell, from the 
 trampled grass and breathing leaves ; and wherever a beam of 
 iunshine pierced the boughs, it seemed to single out some bit 
 of gay color, in shawl, or ribbon, or parasol, to play upon and 
 utilize its brightness. At the bottom of the grove, against 
 two of the largest trees, a rough platform was erected, in 
 front of which, rising and radiating amphitheatrically, were 
 plank benches, capable of seating a thousand persons. Those 
 who came from a distance were first on hand, and took their 
 places long before the proceedings commenced. Near the 
 main entrance, venders of refreshments had erected their 
 stands, and displayed to the thronging visitors a tempting 
 variety of indigestible substances. There was weak lemonade, 
 in tin buckets, with huge lumps of ice glittering defiantly at 
 the sun ; scores of wired bottles, filled with a sarsaparilla mix- 
 ture, which popped out in a rush of brown suds ; ice-cream, 
 the cream being eggs beaten up with watei, and flavored with 
 lemon sirup ; piles of dark, leathery ginger-cakes, and rows 
 of glass jars full of candy-sticks ; while the more enterprising 
 dealers exhibited pies cut into squares, hard-boiled eggs, and 
 even what they called coffee. 
 
 Far down the sides of the main road to Ptolemy the vehicles 
 were ranged, and even inside the adjoining fields the owner 
 of which, being a friend to the cause, had opened his bars tc 
 the multitude. Many of the farmers from a distance brought 
 their own oats with them, and unharnessed and fed their horsea 
 in the fence-corners, before joining the crowd in the grove. 
 Then, accompanied by their tidy wives, who, meanwhile, ex- 
 amined the contents of the dinner-baskets and saw that every 
 thing was in order, they approached the meeting with satisfied 
 and mildly exhilarated spirits, occasionally stopping to greet 
 an acquaintance or a relative. The daughters had already pre-
 
 A STOK1 OF AMERICAN LIFB. 23ft 
 
 ceded them, with their usual independence, well knowing the. 
 impatience of the young men, and hoping that the roost agree- 
 able of the latter would discover them before the meeting was 
 called to order. This was the real charm of the occasion, to 
 old as well as young. The American needs a serious pretext 
 for his recreation. He does not, in fact, recognize its ne- 
 cessity, and would have none at all, did not Nature, with 
 benevolent cunning, occasionally furnish him with diversion 
 under the disguise of duty. 
 
 As the banners of the local societies arrived, they were set 
 up in conspicuous positions, on and around the speaker's plat- 
 form. That of Tiberius was placed in the centre. It was of 
 b'ue silk, with a gold fringe, and an immense geyser-like foun- 
 tain in its field, under which were the words : " Ho ! every one 
 that thirsteth !" On the right was the banner of Ptolemy a 
 brilliant rainbow, on a white ground, with the warning : "Look 
 not upon the Wine when it is Red." What connection there 
 was between this sentence and the rainbow was not apparent, 
 unless the latter was meant to represent a watery deluge. The 
 banner of Anacreon, on the left, held forth a dancing female, 
 in a crimson dress. One foot was thrown far out behind her, 
 and she was violently pitching forward; yet, in this un- 
 comfortable position, she succeeded in pouring a thick 
 stream of water from a ewer of blue china into the open 
 mouth of a fat child, who wore a very scanty dress. The 
 inscription was : " The Fountain of Youth." The most inge- 
 nious device, however, was that from Nero Corners. This lit- 
 tle community, too poor or too economical to own a temper- 
 ance banner, took a political one, which they had used in the 
 campaign of the previous year. Upon it were the names of 
 the candidates for President and Vice-President: "PiEKCB 
 and KING." A very little alteration turned the word " Pierce" 
 into "Prince, "and the word " WATER" being prefixed, the 
 inscription became: "Water, Prince and King." Those 
 from other neighborhoods, who were not in the secret, greatly 
 admired tne simplicity and force of the expression.
 
 236 HANNAH THUESTON: 
 
 Woodbury, who was early upon the ground, was much ii* 
 forested in the scene. Between two and three thousand per- 
 sons were present, but an order and decorum prevailed, which 
 would be miraculous "n lauds where the individual is not per- 
 mitted to grow up self-ruled, or swayed only by the example 
 of his fellows, and self-reliant. No servant of the law was pres- 
 ent to guard against disorder, because each man was his own 
 policeman. Even some tipsy rowdies, who came out from 
 Ptolemy towards the close of the afternoon, were sobered 
 by the atmosphere of the place, and had no courage to make 
 their intended interruptions. The effect of such meetings, 
 Woodbury confessed to himself, could not be otherwise 
 than good ; the reform was necessary among a people whose 
 excitable temperament naturally led them to excesses, and 
 perhaps it was only one extreme which could counteract 
 the other. There was still too little repose, too little mental 
 balance among them, to halt upon the golden middle-ground 
 of truth 
 
 The band occupied the platform for some time after he ar- 
 rived, and its performances gave intense satisfaction to the 
 people. The clear tones of the horns and clarionets pealed 
 triumphantly through the shade, and an occasional slip in an 
 instrument was unnoticed in the hum of voices. Gradually, 
 the hearers were lifted a little out of the material sphere in 
 which they habitually moved, and were refreshed accordingly. 
 They were made capable, at least, of appreciating some senti- 
 ment and imagination in the speakers, and words were now 
 heard with delight, which, in their common moods, would have 
 been vacant sound. They touched, in spite of themselves, tha' 
 upper atmosphere of poetry which hangs over all human life- 
 where the cold marsh-fogs in which we walk become the rosy 
 cloud-islands of the dawn ! 
 
 At two o'clock, the band vacated the platform, and the Con- 
 vention was called to order. After an appropriate prayer by 
 the Kev. Lemuel Styles, a temperance song was sung by a large 
 chorus of the younger members. It was a parody on Hoff-
 
 A STORT OP AMERICAN LIFE. 28 T 
 
 man's charming anacreontic : " Sparkling and Bright." th 
 words of which were singularly transformed. Instead of; 
 
 " As the bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, 
 And break on the lips at meeting," 
 
 the refrain terminated with : 
 
 " There's nothing so good for the youthful blood, 
 Or so sweet as the sparkling water I" 
 
 in the style of a medicinal prescription. Poor Hoffman ! 
 Noble heart and fine mind, untimely darkened! He was at 
 least spared this desecration ; or perhaps, with the gay humor 
 with which even that darkness is still cheered, he would have 
 parodied the parody to death. 
 
 The Annual Report was then read. It was of great length, 
 being mainly a furious appeal to voters. The trick of basing 
 a political issue upon a personal habit was an innovation in the 
 science of government, which the natural instincts of the peo- 
 ple were too enlightened to accept without question. The 
 County Committee, foreseeing this difficulty, adopted the usual 
 tactics of party, and strove to create a headlong tide of sym- 
 pathy which would overbear all hesitancy as to the wisdom of 
 the movement, or the dangerous precedent which it introduced 
 into popular legislation. " Vote for the Temperance Candi- 
 dates," they cried, in the Report, " and you vote for morality, 
 and virtue, and religion ! Vote against them, and you vote for 
 disease, and misery, and crime ! Vote for them, and you vote 
 reason to the frantic brain, clearness to the bleared eye, steadi- 
 ness to the trembling hand, joy to the heart of the forsaken 
 wife, and bread to the mouths of the famishing children ! Vote 
 against them, and you vote to fill our poor-houses and peniten- 
 liaries to tighten the diabolical hold of the rumseller on hia 
 struggling victim to lead our young men into temptation, and 
 bring ruin on our beloved land ! Yes, you would vote to fill 
 the drunkard's bottle ; you would vote oaths and obscenity into 
 his speech ; you would vote curses to his wife, blows to his 
 children, the shoes off their feet, the shirts off their backs, 
 the beds from under them, and the roofs from over their heads.''
 
 238 HANNAH THU^STON : 
 
 The Report was adopted with tremendous unanimity, and 
 the faces of the members of the Committee beamed with sat- 
 isfaction. The political movement might be considered as 
 successfully inaugurated. This was the main object of the 
 Convention, and the waiting orators now saw that they had a 
 clear and pleasant field before them. "Woodbury, who wa 
 leaning against a tree, near the end of a plank upon which his 
 friends the Waldos were seated, listened with an involuntary 
 sensation of pain and regret. The very character of the Report 
 strengthened him in the conviction that the vice to be cured 
 had its origin in a radical defect of the national temperament, 
 which no legislation could reach. 
 
 Mrs. Waldo looked up at him, inquiringly. He shook his 
 head. " It is a false movement," said he ; " good works are 
 not accomplished by violence." 
 
 " But sometimes by threatening it," she answered, with a 
 meaning smile. 
 
 Me was about to reply, when the President announced that 
 Byron Baxter, of the Anacreon Seminary, would recite a poem, 
 after which the meeting would be addressed by Mr. Abiram 
 Stokes. 
 
 Byron Baxter, who was an overgrown, knock-kneed youth 
 of nineteen, with long hair, parted in the middle, advanced to 
 the front of the platform, bowed, and then suddenly started 
 back, with both hands extended before him, in an attitude of 
 horror. In a loud voice, he commenced to recite : 
 
 " Oh, take the maddening bowl away I 
 
 Remove the poisonous cup 1 
 My soul is sick ; its burning ray 
 Hath drunk my spirit up. 
 
 ' Take, take it from my loathing lip 
 
 Ere madness fires my brain : 
 Oh, take it hence, nor let me sip 
 Its liquid death again!" 
 
 As the young man had evidently never tAstec* aiij tiling
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAS LIPK. 239 
 
 stronger than molasses-and-water, the expression of his abhor- 
 rence was somewhat artificial. Nevertheless, a shudder ran 
 through the audience at the vehemence of his declamation, 
 and he was greeted with a round of applause, at the close. 
 
 The orator of the day, Mr. Abiram Stokes, then made hi 
 appearance. He was a man of forty-five, with a large, hand 
 some head, and an imposing presence. His hair and eyes were 
 dark, and his complexion slightly tinted with olive. This trait, 
 with his small hands and showy teeth, seemed to indicate a 
 mixture of Spanish blood. He had a way of throwing his 
 head forward, so as to let a large lock of his hair fall over hit 
 forehead with a picturesque effect, and then tossing it back to 
 its place with a reverse motion. His voice was full and sono- 
 rous ; although, to a practised ear, its pathos, in passages in- 
 tended for effect, was more dramatic than real. Few of his 
 present auditors, however, were able to discriminate in this 
 respect; the young ladies, especially, were in raptures. It 
 was rumored that his early life had been very wild and dissi- 
 pated, and he was looked upon as one of the most conspicuous 
 brands which had been snatched from the burning. This ru- 
 mor preceded him wherever he went, created a personal inte- 
 rest for him, in advance, and added to the effect of his oratory. 
 
 His style of speaking, nevertheless, was showy and specious. 
 He took no wide range, touched but slightly on the practical 
 features of the subject, and indulged sparingly in anecdotes 
 and illustrations. Xone of the latter professed to be drawn 
 from his personal experience : his hearers might make what- 
 ever inference they pleased, he knew the value of mystery too 
 well, to enlighten them further. He was greatest in apostro- 
 phes to Water, to Reform, to Woman, to any thing that per- 
 mitted him, according to his own expression, " to soar." This 
 feature of his orations was usually very effective, the first time 
 he was heard. He was in the habit of introducing some of 
 his favorite passages on every occasion. Woodbury, who was 
 not aware of this trick, was agreeably surprised at the nataral 
 warmth an 1 eloquence of the speaker's language.
 
 240 HANNAH THUBSTON? 
 
 His peroration ran something in this wise : " This, the purest 
 and most beneficent of the Virtues, comes not to achieve her 
 victory in battles and convulsions. Soft as the dews of heaveix 
 her white feet are beautiful upon the mountains, bringing glad 
 tidings of great joy! Blessed are we that she has chosen her 
 abode among us, and that she has selected us to do her work ! 
 No other part of the world was fitted to receive her. She 
 never could have been produced by the mouldering despotisms 
 of Europe, where the instincts of Freedom are stifled by wine 
 and debauchery ; the Old World is too benighted to behold 
 her face. Here only here on the virgin bosom of a new Con- 
 tinent here, in the glorious effulgence of the setting sun 
 here only could she be born ! She is the child of the West 
 Temperance and before her face the demon Alcohol flees 
 to his caverns and hides himself among the bones of his vic- 
 tims, while Peace sits at her right hand and Plenty at her left !" 
 
 " Beautiful !" " splendid !" was whispered through the au- 
 dience, as the speaker took his seat. Miss Carrie Dil worth 
 wiped her eyes with a very small batiste handkerchief, and 
 sighed as she reflected that this man, her beau-ideal (which 
 she understood to mean an ideal beau), would never know what 
 an appreciative helpmeet she would have made him. 
 
 " Oh, Hannah !' 1 she whispered, leaning forward, to Miss 
 Thurston, who was seated on the next plank, " did you ever 
 hear any thing so beautiful ?" 
 
 "I thought it fine, the first time I heard it," Hannah re- 
 plied, with a lack of enthusiasm which quite astounded the 
 little sempstress. She began to fear she had made a mistake, 
 when the sight of Miss Ruhaney Goodwin, equally in tears, 
 (and no wonder, for her brother Elisha had been a miserable 
 irunkard), somewhat revived her confidence. - 
 
 " Flashy, but not bad of its kind," said Woodbury, hi re- 
 ply to Mrs. Waldo's question. 
 
 " Are you not ashamed ? It's magnificent. And he's such 
 a handsome man !" she exclaimed. " But I see, you are de- 
 termined not to admire any of them ; you've not forgotten
 
 A STOUT OF AMERICAN LIFE. 24 J 
 
 Grindle's attack. Or else you're a pess what's the name oi 
 it ? Mr. Waldo explained the word to me yesterday pess " 
 
 "Oh, a pessimist? Not at all, Mrs. Waldo. On the con- 
 trary, I am almost an optimist." 
 
 " Well, that's just as bad though I am not sure I knour 
 vrhat it is Oh, there's Grindle going to speak. Now you'll 
 catch it !" 
 
 She shook her hand menacingly, and Woodbury, much 
 amused and not a little curious to hear the speaker, resumed 
 nis position against the tree. 
 
 Mr. Grindle, who carried on a moderate lumber business in 
 AtaugaCity, neglected no opportunity of making himself heard 
 in public. He was a man of shallow faculties, but profound 
 conceit of himself, and would have preferred, at any time, to 
 be abused rather than ignored. His naturally fluent speech 
 had been cultivated by the practice of years, but as he was 
 neither an earnest thinker nor a close reasoner, and, moreover, 
 known to be unscrupulous in the statement of facts, the consider- 
 ation which he enjoyed as a speaker would soon have become 
 exhausted, but for the boldness and indecency of his personal 
 attacks, whereby he replenished that element of hot water iu 
 which he rejoiced. Mr. Campbell, the landlord of the Ptolemy 
 House, had several times threatened him with personal chas- 
 tisement, and he only escaped by avoiding an encounter until 
 the landlord's wrath had a little cooled. He was so accus- 
 tomed to insulting epithets that they never produced the slight- 
 est impression upon him. 
 
 He had spoken nearly half an hour, airing a quantity of sta- 
 tistics, which he bad mostly committed to memory where 
 that failed, he supplied the figures from his imagination 
 whon he perceived that the audience, after having tasted the 
 epiced meats of Mr. Abiram Stoke ; seemed to find the plain 
 food he oifered them rather insipid. But he had still the re- 
 source of personality, which he knew, from long experience, is 
 always entertaining, whether or not the hearers approve of it. 
 The transition was easily made. "Looking at this terrible 
 11
 
 242 HANNAH THUESTON: 
 
 array of facts," said he, "how can any man, who is worthy the 
 name of a human being, dare to oppose the doctrines of Tem- 
 perance? How dare any man suppose that his own miserable 
 personal indulgences are of more consequence than the moral 
 salvation of his fellow-creatures? Yet there are such men 
 not poor, ignorant, deluded creatures, who know no better 
 ind are entitled to some allowances but men who are rich, 
 who appear to be educated, and who claim to be highly moral 
 and respectable. What are we to think of those men ?" 
 
 Mrs. Waldo glanced up at Woodbury with a look which 
 said : " Now it's coming !" 
 
 " Let it come !" his look replied. 
 
 "They think, perhaps," the speaker continued, "that there 
 are different laws of morality for different climates that they 
 can bring here among us the detestable practices of heathen 
 races, which we are trying to root out ! I tell such, they had 
 better go back, and let their unhappy slaves hand them the 
 hookah, filled with its intoxicating draught, or steady their 
 tottering steps when the fumes of sherbet have mounted to 
 their brains !" 
 
 Many persons in the assembly knew who was meant, and 
 as Woodbury's position made him easily distinguished, they 
 watched him with curiosity as the speaker proceeded. He 
 leaned against the tree, with his arms folded, and an amused 
 half-smile on his face, until the foregoing climax was reached, 
 when, to the astonishment of the spectators, he burst into an 
 uncontrollable fit of laughter. 
 
 Mr. Grindle, too, had discovered his victim, and occasionally 
 darted a side look at him, calculating how far he might carry 
 the attack with safety to himself. Woodbury's sudden and 
 violent merriment encouraged while it disconcerted him : there 
 was, at least, nothing to be feared, and he might go on. 
 
 "Yes, I repeat it," he continued; " whatever name may be 
 given to the beverage, we are not to bo cheated. Such men 
 may drink their sherbet, or their Heidsick ; they may call their 
 drinka by respectable cames, and the demon of Alcohol laugLi
 
 A STORY OP .AMERICAN LIFE. 243 
 
 as he claims them for his own. St. Paul says ' the Prince of 
 Darkness is a gentleman :' beware, beware, my friends, lest the 
 accursed poison, which is harmless to you "under its vulgar 
 names, should beguile you with an aristocratic title !" 
 
 " Will the speaker allow me to make a remark ?" 
 
 Woodbury, controlling his laughter with some difficulty k 
 straightened himself from his leaning position against the tree, 
 and, yielding to the impulse of the moment, spoke. His voice 
 not loud, but very clear, was distinctly heard all over the 
 crowd, and there was a general rustling sound, as hundreds of 
 heads turned towards him. Mr. Grindle involuntarily paused 
 in his speech, but made no reply. 
 
 " I will only interrupt the proceedings for a moment," Wood- 
 bury resumed, in a cool, steady tone, amidst the perfect silence 
 of the multitude " in order to make an explanation. I will 
 not wrong the speaker by supposing that his words have a 
 personal application to myself; because that would be charging 
 him with advocating truth by means of falsehood, and defend- 
 ing morality by the wenpons of ignorance and insult. But 
 I know the lands of which he speaks and the habits of their 
 people. So far from drunkenness being a ' detestable heathen 
 habit' of theirs, it is really we who should go to them to learn 
 temperance. I must confess, also, my great surprise at hearing 
 the speaker's violent denunciation of the use of sherbet, after 
 seeing that it is openly sold, to-day, in this grove after hav- 
 ing, with my own eyes, observed the speaker, himself, drink 
 a large glass of it with evident satisfaction." 
 
 There was a sudden movement, mixed here and there with 
 laughter, among the audience. Mr. Grindle cried out, in s 
 hoarse, excited voice: ''The charge is false! I never use in- 
 toxicating beverages !" 
 
 "I made no such charge," said Woodbury, calmly, "but it 
 may interest the audience to know that sherbet is simply t?ie 
 Arabic name for lemonade." 
 
 The laughter 'was universal, Mr. Grirdle excepted. 
 
 " Tho speaker, also," he continued, 'mentioned the intoii
 
 244 HANNAH THTJBSTON: 
 
 eating beverage of the hookah. As the hookah is a pipe, in 
 which the smoke of the tobacco passes through water before 
 reaching the mouth, it may be considered a less dangerous 
 beverage than the clay-pipe of the Irish laborer. I beg pardon 
 of the meeting for my interruption." 
 
 The laughter was renewed, more heartily than before, and 
 /or a minute after Woodbury ceased the tumult was so great 
 that Mr. Grindle could not be heard. To add to the confusioii, 
 the leader of the Ptolemy band, taking the noise as a sign that 
 the Convention had adjourned, struck up "Malbrook," which 
 air, unfortunately, was known in the neighborhood by the less 
 classical title of " We won't go home till morning." 
 
 The other members of the Committee, on the platform, pri- 
 vately begged Mr. Grindle to take his seat and allow them to 
 introduce a new orator; but he persisted in speaking for an- 
 other quarter of an hour, to show that he was not discomfited, 
 The greater portion of the audience, nevertheless, secretly re- 
 joiced at the lesson he had received, and the remainder of his 
 speech was not heard with much attention. Woodbury, to 
 escape the curious gaze of the multitude, took a narrow and 
 uncomfortable seat on the end of the plank, beside Mrs. Waldo. 
 He was thenceforth, very much against his will, an object of 
 great respect to the rowdies of Ptolemy, who identified him 
 with the opposite cause. 
 
 There was another song, commencing : 
 
 " The wine that all are praising 
 Is not the drink for me. 
 But there's a spring in yonder glen, 
 Whose waters flow for Temperance men," etc., 
 
 which -was likewise sung in chorus. Then succeeded other 
 speakers, of less note, to a gradually diminishing circle of hear- 
 ers. The farmers and their wives strayed off to gossip with 
 acquaintances on the edges of the grove; baskets of provisions 
 were opened and the contents shared, and the stalls of cake 
 and sarsaparilla suds experienced a reflux of custom. As the
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 245 
 
 young men were not Lord Byrons, the young ladies did not 
 scruple to eat in their presence, and flirtations were carried oil 
 with a chicken-bone in one hand and a piece of bread in the 
 other. The sun threw softer and slanter lights over the beau- 
 tiful picture of the valley, and, gradually creeping below tho 
 ooughs, shot into the faces of those who were still seated ir 
 front of the platform. It was time to close the performancei 
 of the day, and they were accordingly terminated with a third 
 song, the refrain of which was : 
 
 " Oh, for the cause is rolling on, rolling on, rolling on, 
 Over the darkened land." 
 
 Woodbury and the Waldos, to avoid the dust of the road, 
 walked back to Ptolemy by a pleasant path across the fields. 
 Ere long they overtook Hannah Thurston and Miss Dilworth. 
 Mr. Grindle was, of course, the theme of conversation. 
 
 " Wasn't he rightly served, Hannah ?" Mrs. Waldo ex 
 claimed, with enthusiasm. Woodbury was fast assuming 
 heroic proportions, in her mind. 
 
 " I think Mr. Woodbury was entirely justifiable in his inter- 
 ruption," Miss Thurston answered, " and yet I almost wish 
 that it had not occurred." 
 
 " So do I !" Woodbury exclaimed. 
 
 "Well you two are quer people 1" was Mrs. Waldo'i 
 unazed
 
 240 HANNAH 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 IH WHICH THERE IS BOTH ATTRACTION AND REPUL8IOV. 
 
 HANNAH THURSTON'S remark remained in Woodbury's eari 
 long after it was uttered. His momentary triumph over, he 
 began to regret having obeyed the impulse of the moment. 
 Mr. Grindle's discomfiture had been too cheaply purchased ; 
 he was game of a sort too small and mean for a man of refined 
 instincts to notice even by a look. His own interruption, cool 
 and careless as he felt it to have been, nevertheless betrayed 
 an acknowledgment that he had understood the speaker's in- 
 sinuation ; and, by a natural inference, that he was sufficiently 
 sensitive to repel it. Mr. Grindle was acute enough to make 
 this inference, and it was a great consolation to htm, in his 
 own overthrow, to think that he had stung his adversary. 
 
 Woodbury, however, forgot his self-blame in the grateful 
 surprise of hearing its echo from Miss Thurston's lips. Her 
 remark betrayed a delicacy of perception which he had not 
 expected more than this, indeed, it betrayed a consideration 
 for his character as a gentleman, which she could not have felt, 
 had she not, in imagination, placed herself in his stead. He 
 knew that a refined nature must be born so ; it can only bo 
 partially imitated by assiduous social study ; and his previous 
 intercourse with Miss Thurston had not prepared him to find 
 her instincts so true. He looked at her, as she walked beside 
 him, with a renewed feeling of interest. Her slender figure 
 moved along the grassy path with a free, elastic step. She 
 wore a dross of plain white muslin, with wide sleeves, and a 
 knot of pearl-colored ribbon at the throat. Her parasol, and 
 the trimming of her hat, wore of the same quiet color j the
 
 A STORY OP AMERICAN LIFE. 247 
 
 only ornament she wore was a cluster of little pink flowers in 
 the latter. The excitement of the occasion, or the act of 
 walking, had brought a soft tinge to her usually pale cheek, 
 and as her eyes dropped to avoid the level light of the sun, 
 Woodbury noticed how long and dark were the lashes that 
 fringed her lids. " At eighteen she must have been lovely,' 
 he said to himself, "but, even then, her expression could 
 scarcely have been more virginly pure and sweet, than now." 
 
 He turned away, repressing a sigh. How one delusion 
 could spoil a noble woman ! 
 
 Before descending the last slope to the village, they paused, 
 involuntarily, to contemplate the evening landscape. The sun 
 was just dipping behind the western hill, and a portion of 
 Ptolemy lay in shadow, while the light, streaming through the 
 gap made by a lateral glen, poured its dusty gold over the 
 distant elms of Roaring Brook, and caused the mansion of 
 Lakeside to sparkle like a star against its background of firs. 
 Far down the lake flashed the sail of a pleasure-boat, and the 
 sinking western shore melted into a vapory purple along the 
 dim horizon. The strains of the band still reached them from 
 the grove, but softened to the airy, fluctuating sweetness of 
 an ^Eolian harp. 
 
 " Our lines are cast in pleasant places," said Mr. Waldo, 
 looking from hill to hill with a cheerful content on his face. 
 
 "Every part of the earth has its moments of beauty, I 
 think," Woodbury replied : " but Ptolemy is certainly a 
 favored spot. If the people only knew it. I wonder whether 
 happiness is not a faculty, or a peculiarity of temperament, 
 quite independent of the conditions of one's life ?" 
 
 " That depends on what you cah 1 happiness," Mrs. "Waldo 
 rejoined. " Come, now, let us each define it, and see bow we 
 lhall agree. 3Iy idea is, it's in making the best of every 
 thing." 
 
 " Xo, it's 'finding a congenial spirit!" cried Miss Carrie. 
 
 " You tor ire t the assuram-u of Gnuv," said the clergyman. 
 
 "Fairly caught, Mrs. Waldo! You are no better than I
 
 248 HANNAH THURSTOW: 
 
 you confess yourself an optimist!" Woodbury merrily ex 
 claimed. " So far, you are right but, unfortunately, there 
 are some things we cannot make the best of." 
 
 " We can always do our duty, for it is proportioned to ouf 
 Dower," said Hannah Thurston. 
 
 " If we know exactly what it is." 
 
 " Why should we not know ?" she asked, turning quickly 
 towards him. 
 
 " Because the simple desire to know is not enough, althougt 
 I trust God gives us some credit for it. How much of Truth 
 is there, that we imperfectly grasp ! How much is there, also, 
 that we shrink from knowing!" 
 
 "Shrink from Truth!" 
 
 " Yes, since we are human, and our nearest likeness to God 
 is a compassionate tenderness for our fellow-men. Does not 
 the knowledge of a vice in a dear friend give us pain ? Do 
 we not cling, most desperately, to our own cherished opinions, 
 at the moment when we begin to suspect they are untenable ? 
 No : we are not strong enough, nor stony-hearted enough, to 
 do without illusions." 
 
 " Yet you would convince me of mine !" Hannah Thurston 
 exclaimed, with a shade of bitterness in the tone of her voice. 
 The next moment she felt a pang of self-rebuke at having 
 spoken, and the color rose to her face. The application she 
 had made of his words was uncalled-for. He must not thus be 
 met. He was so impregnable in his calmness, and in the con- 
 clusions drawn from his ripe experience of life ! Her own 
 faith tottered whenever their minds came in contact, yet if she 
 gave up it, how could she be certain, any longer, what was 
 Truth ? He was not a hard materialist ; he possessed fancy, 
 and feeling, and innate reverence; but his approach seemed t. 
 chill her enthusiasm and benumb the free action of her mind. 
 
 " Oh, no !" he answered, with kindly seriousness, "I would 
 not consciously destroy a single innocent illusion. There are 
 even forms of Error which are only rendered worse b^ antag- 
 onism. I have no idea of assailing all views that do not liar
 
 A STOKY OP AMERICAN LIFE. 24P 
 
 monize with my own. I am but one among many millions, 
 and my aim is to understand Life, not forcibly change its 
 character." 
 
 Walking a little in advance of the others, as they spoke, the 
 conversation was interrupted by their arrival in Ptolemy. 
 Woodbury declined an invitation to take tea with the Waldos, 
 and drove home with Bute, in the splendor of sunset. The 
 latter took advantage of the first opportunity to describe to 
 Mrs. Fortitude Babb the confusion which his master had 
 inflicted on Mr. Grindle. 
 
 " And sarved him right, too," said she, with a grim satisfac- 
 tion. " To think o' him turmn' up his nose at her best Sherry, 
 and callin' it pizon !" 
 
 She could not refrain from expressing her approbation to 
 Woodbury, as she prepared his tea. Her manner, however, 
 made it seem very much like a reproof. " I've heerd, Sir," 
 she remarked, with a rigid face, " that you've been speakin'. I 
 s'pose you'll be goin' to the Legislatur', next." 
 
 Woodbury smiled. " 111 news travels fast," he said. 
 
 " Ta'n't ill, as I can see. She wouldn't ha' thought so, 
 nuther. Though, to be sure, sich fellers didn't come here, in 
 her time." 
 
 " He will not come again, Mrs. Babb." 
 
 " I'd like to see him try it !" With which words Mrs. 
 Babb slapped down the lid of the teapot, into which she had 
 been looking, with a sound like the discharge of a pocket-pistol. 
 
 Woodbury went into the library, wheeled his arm-chair to 
 the open window, lighted a cigar, and watched the risen moon 
 brighten against the yielding twilight. The figure of Hannah 
 Thurston, in her white dress, with the pearl-colored ribbon at 
 her throat, with the long lashes falling over her dark-gray eyes, 
 the flush on her cheek, and the earnest sweetness of her lips, 
 rose before him through the rings of smoke, in the luminous 
 dusk of the evening. A persistent fate seemed to throw them 
 together, only to show him how near they might have been, 
 how far apart they really were. When he recalled her cour- 
 11*
 
 250 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 age and self-possession during the scene in the grove above tut 
 cataract, and the still greater courage which led her to Tiberius, 
 daring reproach in order to rescue a deluded creature from im- 
 pending ruin, he confessed to himself that for no other living 
 woman did he feel equal respect. He bowed down in rever- 
 ence before that highest purity which is unconscious of what 
 it ventures, and an anxious interest arose in his heart as he re- 
 cognized the dangers into which it might lead her. He felt 
 thai she was capable of understanding him; that she possessed 
 the finer instincts which constituted what was best in his own 
 nature ; that she yielded him, also, a certain respect : but it 
 was equally evident that her mind was unnecessarily alert and 
 suspicious in his presence. She assumed a constant attitude 
 of defence, when no attack was intended. He seemed to ex- 
 ercise an unconscious repellant force towards her, the secret of 
 which he suspected must be found hi herself in the tenacity 
 with which she held to her peculiar views, and a feminine im 
 patience of contrary opinions. 
 
 But, as he mused, his fancies still came back to that one pic- 
 ture the pure Madonna face, with its downcast eyes, touched 
 with the mellow glory of the sunset. A noiseless breath of 
 the night brought to his window the creamy odor of the locust 
 blossoms, and lured forth the Persian dreams of the roses. 
 The moonlight silver on the leaves the pearly obscurity of 
 the sky the uncertain murmurs of the air combined to steep 
 his senses in a sweet, semi-voluptuous trance. He was too 
 truly and completely man not to know what was lacking to 
 his life. He was accustomed to control passion because he 
 had learned its symptoms, but this return of the fever of youtf 
 was now welcome, with all its pain. 
 
 Towards midnight, he started suddenly and closed the win- 
 dow. " My God !" he exclaimed, aloud ; " she in my arms ! 
 her lips on mine! What was I thinking of? Pshaw a strong- 
 minded woman! Well -the very strongest-minded of them ~ 
 all is still very far from being a man." With which consoling 
 excuse for the absurdity of his thoughts, he went to bed.
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 251 
 
 The next morning he spent an hour in a careful inspection 
 of the library, aiid, after hesitating between a ponderous trans- 
 lation of the " Mahorbharata" and Lane's " Arabian Nights," 
 finally replaced them both, and took down Jean Paul's "Sie 
 benkas " and " Walt and Vult." After the early Sunday din 
 ner, he put the volumes into his pockets, and, mounting his 
 horse, rode to Ptolemy. 
 
 Hannah Thurston had brought a chair into the open air, and 
 seated herself on the shady side of the cottage. The afternoon 
 was semi-clouded and mildly breezy, and she evidently found 
 the shifting play of sun and shade upon the eastern hill better 
 reading than the book in her hand, for the latter was closed. 
 She recognized "Woodbury as he came into the street a little 
 distance below, and watched the motion of his horse's legs 
 under the boughs of the balsam-firs, which hid the rider from 
 sight. To her surprise, the horse stopped, opposite the cot- 
 tage-door : she rose, laid down her book, and went forward to 
 meet her visitor, who, by this time, had entered the gate. 
 
 After a frank and unembarrassed greeting, she said : " My 
 mother is asleep, and her health is so frail that I am very care- 
 ful not to disturb her rest. Will you take a seat, here, in the 
 shade?" 
 
 She then withdrew for a moment, in order to bring a second 
 chair. In the mean time, Woodbury had picked up her book 
 it was Bettine's Correspondence with Gilnderode. " I am glad," 
 said he, looking up at her approach, " that I was not wrong in 
 my selection." 
 
 She answered his look with an expression of surprise. 
 
 " I am going away, in a few days, for a summer excursion,* 
 he added, by way of explanation, taking the books from hi 
 pockets, " and in looking over my library this morning I found 
 two works, which, it occurred to me, you might like to read. 
 The sight of this volume convinces me that I have judged 
 correctly : they are also translations from the German." 
 
 llanuah Thurston's eyes brightened as she took the books 
 and looked at their title-pages. " Oh !" she exclaimed, " I
 
 252 HANNAH THUBSTON: 
 
 thank you very much ! I have long wished to soe these works 
 Lydia Maria Child speaks very highly of them." 
 
 " Who is Lydia Maria Child?" 
 
 She looked at him, almost in dismay. " Have you nevet 
 
 read her ' Letters from New York ?' " she asked. " I do not 
 
 up pose you are a subscriber to the Slavery Annihilator 
 
 which she edits, but these letters have been collected and pub 
 
 lished." 
 
 " Are they doctrinal ?" 
 
 " Perhaps you would call them so. She has a generous sym- 
 pathy with all Progress ; yet her letters are mostly descriptive. 
 I would offer them to you, if I were sure that you would read 
 them willingly not as a task thrust upon you." 
 
 "You would oblige me," said Woodbury, cordially. "I 
 am not unwilling to hear new views, especially when they are 
 eloquently presented. Anna Maria Child, I presume, is an 
 advocate of Woman's Rights ?" 
 
 " You will, at least, find very little of such advocacy in her 
 letters." 
 
 " And if I should ?" he asked. " Do not confound me, Miss 
 Thurston, with the multitude who stand in hostile opposition 
 to your theory. I am very willing that it should be freely dis- 
 cussed, because attention may thereby be drawn to many real 
 wrongs. Besides, in the long run, the practice of the human 
 race is sensible and just, and nothing can be permanently 
 adopted which is not very near the truth." 
 
 "'Real wrongs !'" she repeated ; " yes, I suppose our wrongs 
 are generally considered imaginary. It is a convenient way 
 of disposing of them." 
 
 " Is that charge entirely fair ?" 
 
 She colored slightly. Is the man's nature flint or iron, she 
 thought, that his mind is sc equably clear and cold ? Would 
 not antagonism rouse him into warmth, imparting an answer- 
 ing warmth to her thoughts, which his unimpassioned manner 
 chilled to death ? Then she remembered his contagious gay- 
 ety during the walk to Ptolemy, bis terrible indignation in the 
 inn at Tiberias, and felt that she had done him wrong.
 
 A STOBY OF AMERICAN LTPJi. 251 
 
 " I ask your pardon," she answered, presently. " I did not 
 mean to apply the charge to you, Mr. Woodbury. I waa 
 thinking of the prejudices we are obliged to encounter. We 
 present what we feel to be serious truths in relation to our sex, 
 and they are thrown aside with a contemptuous indifference, 
 which wounds us more than the harshest opposition, because 
 *t implies a disbeh'ef in our capacity to think for ourselves. You 
 /ttust know that the word 'feminine,' applied to a man, is the 
 greatest reproach that the phrase ' a woman's idea' is never 
 uttered but as a condemnation." 
 
 u I have not looked at the subject from your point of view," 
 said Woodbury, with an expressed respect in his manner, 
 "but I am willing to believe that you have reason to feel 
 aggrieved. You must remember, however, that the reproach 
 is not all on one side. You women are just as ready to con- 
 demn masculine habits and ideas in your own sex. Among 
 children a molly-coddle is no worse than a tomboy. The fact, 
 after all, does not originate in any natural hostility or contempt, 
 on either side, but simply from an instinctive knowledge of 
 the distinctions of sex, in temperament, in habits, and in 
 mind." 
 
 "In mind ?" Hannah Thurston asked, with unusual calmness. 
 " Then you think that minds, too, are male and female ?" 
 
 " That there are general distinctions, certainly. The exact 
 boundaries between them, however, are not so easily to be 
 defined. But there is a radical difference in "the texture, and 
 hence in the action of the two. Do you not always instinctive- 
 ly feel, in reading a book, whether the author is a man or a 
 woman ? Can you name any important work which might 
 have been written, indifferently, by either ?" 
 
 Miss Thurston reflected a while, and then suggested: "Mrs. 
 Somerville's ' Physical Geography ?' " 
 
 "Fairly answered," said Woodbury, smiling. "I will not 
 reject the instance. I will even admit that a woman might 
 write a treatise on algebraic equations, in which there should 
 be no sign of her sex. Still, this would not affect the main
 
 254 HANNAH THUBSTON ' 
 
 fact, which I think you will recognize upon reflection. I admit 
 the greatness of the immortal women of History. Nay, more : 
 I claim that men are not only willing, without the least touch 
 Df jealousy, to acknowledge genius in Woman, but are always 
 the first to recognize and respect it. What female poet has 
 selected for her subject that ' whitest lily on the shield oi 
 France,' the Maid of Orleans ? But Schiller and Southey have 
 not forgotten her. How rare it is, to see one of these famous 
 women eulogized by a woman ! The principal advocate of 
 your cause what is her name? Bessie Stryker, would be 
 treated with more fairness and consideration by men than by 
 those of her own sex who are opposed to her views." 
 
 " Yes, that is it," she answered, sadly ; " we are dependent 
 on men, and fear to offend them." 
 
 "This much, at least, seems to be true," said he, "that a sense 
 of reliance on the one hand and protection on the other consti- 
 tutes a firmer and tenderer form of union than if the natures 
 were evenly balanced. It is not a question of superiority, 
 but of radical and necessary difference of nature. Woman 
 is toe finely organized for the hard, coarse business of the 
 world, and it is for her own sake that man desires to save her 
 from it. He stands between her and human nature in the 
 rough." 
 
 " But could she not refine it by her presence ?" 
 
 " Never never !" exclaimed Woodbury. " On the con- 
 trary, it would drag her down to unutterable depths. If 
 woman had the right of suffrage there would be less swearing 
 among the rowdies at the polls, the first time they voted, but 
 at the end of five years both sexes would swear together 
 That is" he added, seeing the shocked expression of Hannah 
 Thurston's face, "supposing them to be equally implicated hi 
 the present machinery of politics. The first time a female 
 candidate went into a bar-room to canvass for votes, she would 
 see the inmates on their best behavior ; but this could not last 
 long. She would soon either be drivea from the field, or 
 brought down to the same level. Nay, she would go belot
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 266 
 
 it, for the rudest woman would be injured by associations 
 through which the most refined man might pass unharmed." 
 
 The tone of grave conviction in his words produced a strong 
 though painful impression upon his hearer. She had heard 
 very nearly the same things said, in debate, but they were 
 Iways met and apparently overcome by the millennial assuran 
 ces of her friends by their firm belief in the possible perfec- 
 tion of human nature, an illusion which she was too ready to 
 accept. A share in all the special avocations of Man, she had 
 believed, would result in his elevation, not in the debasement 
 of Woman. 
 
 " I should not expect a sudden change," she said, at last, 
 " but might not men be gradually redeemed from their low 
 tastes and habits ? Might not each sex learn from the other 
 only what is best and noblest in it ? It would be very sad if 
 all hope for the future must be taken away from us." 
 
 " All hope ? No !" said Woodbury, rising from his seat. 
 " The human race is improving, and will continue to improve 
 Better hope too much than not at all. But between the na- 
 tures of the sexes there is a gulf as wide as all time. The lawe 
 by which each is governed are not altogether arbitrary; they 
 have grown, age after age, out of that difference in mental and 
 moral development of which I spoke, and which pardon me 
 you seem to overlook. Whatever is, is not always right, but 
 you may be sure there is no permanent and universal rela- 
 tion founded on error. You would banish profanity, excesses, 
 brute force from among men, would you not ? Have you ever 
 reflected that these things are distorted forms of that energy 
 which has conquered the world ? Mountains are not torn 
 down, rivers bridged, wildernesses subdued, cities built, states 
 founded, and eternal dikes raised against barbarism, by the 
 eaters of vegetables and the drinkers of water ! Every man who 
 is. worth the name possesses something of the coarse, original 
 fibre of the race: he lacks, by a wise provision of Providence, 
 that finer protecting instinct \\hich holds woman back from 
 the rude, material aspects of human nature. He knows and
 
 256 HANNAH 
 
 recognizes as inevitable facts, many things, of which she doei 
 not even suspect the existence. Therefore, Miss Thurston, 
 when you apply to men the aspirations of progress which you 
 have formed as a woman, you must expect to be disappointed. 
 E*ardon me for speaking so plainly, in opposition to views 
 which I know you must cherish with some tenderness. I 
 Dave, at least, not been guilty of the offence which you 
 charged upon my sex." 
 
 "No," she answered, "you have been frank, Mr. Wood- 
 bucy, and I know that you are sincere. But may not your 
 \riews be still somewhat colored by the old prejudice ?" 
 
 She blushed, the moment after she spoke. She had endeav- 
 ored to moderate her expressions, yet her words sounded 
 harsh and offensive. 
 
 But Woodbury smiled as he answered : " If it be so, why 
 should old prejudices be worse than new ones? A prejudice 
 is a weed that shoots up over night. It don't take two years 
 to blossom, like this foxglove." 
 
 He broke off one of the long purple bells, and stuck it in the 
 button-hole of his coat. 
 
 " I like what slowly matures, and lasts long," said he. 
 
 Hannah Thurston repeated some words of thanks for the 
 books, as he gave her his hand. From the shade of the fir sho 
 watched him mount and ride into the village. " He will prob- 
 ably take tea with the Waldos," she thought : " I shah 1 stay at 
 home." 
 
 She resumed her seat, mechanically taking up the volumes 
 he had left, but did not open them. His words still lingered 
 in her mind, with a strange, disturbing effect. She felt that 
 he exercised an influence over her which she was not able sat- 
 isfactorily to analyze. The calmness of his utterance, the ripe- 
 ness of his opinions, the fairness of his judgment, attracted 
 her : she knew no man who compelled an equal respec* : yet 
 there seemed to be very little in common between them. She 
 never met him without a painful doubt of herself being awa- 
 kened, which lasted long after his departure. She determined
 
 A STOET OP AMERICAN LIFE. 467 
 
 again and again, to avoid these mental encounters, but some 
 secret force irresistibly led her to speak. She felt, in her in- 
 most soul, the first lifting of a current, which, if it rose, would 
 carry her, she knew not where. A weird, dangerous power 
 in his nature seemed to strike at the veiy props on which her 
 life rested. With a sensation, almost of despair, she whis- 
 pered to herself: "I will see him no more." 
 
 "Woodbury, riding down the street, shook his he^.?, and 
 thought, as he unnecessarily pricked his horse with the spur ; 
 u 1 fear she is incorrigible."
 
 358 EIA.NNAH THUR&TOH: 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 IN WHICH SETH WATTLES IS AGAIN DISAPPOINTED. 
 
 AFTER their return from Tiberius the life of the Merryfieliii 
 was unusually quiet and subdued. The imprudent wife, re- 
 leased from the fatal influence which had enthralled her, grad- 
 ually came to see her action in its proper light, and to under- 
 stand the consequences she had so happily escaped. She 
 comprehended, also, that there was a point beyond which her 
 husband could not be forced, but within which she was secure 
 of his indulgent love. Something of the tenderness of their 
 early married life returned to her in those days ; she forgot 
 her habit of complaint; suspended, out of very shame, her 
 jealous demand for her " rights ;" and was almost the busy, 
 contented, motherly creature she had been to James Merry- 
 field before either of them learned that they were invested 
 with important spiritual missions. 
 
 He, also, reflected much upon what had happened. He per- 
 ceived the manner in which his wife's perverted views had 
 grown out of the belief they had mutually accepted. The 
 possible abuses of this belief became evident to him, yet hia 
 mind was unable to detect its inherent error. It rested en a 
 few broad, specious propositions, which, having accepted, hot 
 was obliged to retain, with all their consequences. He had 
 neither sufficient intellectual culture nor experience of life to 
 understand that the discrepancy between the ideal reform and 
 its practical realization arose, not so much from the truths 
 assorted as from the truths omitted or concealed. Thus, tha 
 <b'-mer serenity of his views became painfully clouded and dis 
 Curbed, and there were times when he felt that he doubted
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 255 
 
 what he knew must be true. It was better, he said to himself, 
 that he should cease, for a while, to speculate on the subject ; 
 but his thoughts continually returned to it in spite of himself. 
 He greatly felt the need of help in this extremity, yet an un 
 conquerable shyness prevented him from applying to either of 
 the two persons Woodbury or Mr. Waldo who were capa 
 ble of giving it. Towards his wife he was entirely kind and 
 considerate. After the first day or two, the subject of the 
 journey to Tiberius was tacitly dropped, and even the question 
 of Woman's Rights was avoided as much as possible. 
 
 While he read aloud the " Annihilator" in the evening, and 
 Mrs. Merry field knit or sewed as she listened, the servant-girl 
 and the field-hand exchanged their opinions in the kitchen. 
 They had detected, the first day, the change in the demeanor 
 of the husband and wife. " They've been havin' a row, and 
 no mistake," said Henry, " and I guess he's got the best of it." 
 
 " No sich a thing," replied Ann, indignantly. " Him, in- 
 deed ! It's as plain as my hand that he's awfully cut up, and 
 she's took pity on him." 
 
 " Why, she's as cowed as can be !" 
 
 " And he's like a dog with his tail between his legs." 
 
 There was a half-earnest courtship going on between the 
 two, and each, of course, was interested in maintaining the 
 honor of the sex. It was a prolonged battle, renewed from 
 day to day with re-enforcements drawn from observations made 
 at meal-times, or in the field or kitchen. Most persons who 
 attempt to conceal any strong emotion are like ostriches with 
 their heads in the sand : the dullest and stupidest of mankind 
 will feel, if not see, that something is the matter. If, to a mat 
 who knows the world, the most finished result of hypocrisy 
 often fails of its effect, the natural insight of those who do not 
 think at all is scarcely less sure and true. The highest art 
 that ever a Jesuit attained could not blind a ship's crew or a 
 company of soldiers. 
 
 It was fortunate for the Merry fields, that, while their de 
 pendents fel 1 the change, the truth was beyond their suspicions
 
 200 HANNAH THTJRSTON ! 
 
 Towards the few who knew it, there was of course no necessity 
 for disguise, and hence, after a solitude of ten days upon the 
 farm, Mr. Merryfield experienced a sense of relief and satisfac- 
 tion, as, gleaning the scattered wheat with a hay-rake in a field 
 adjoining the road, he perceived Hannah Thurston approach- 
 ing from Ptolemy. Hitching his horse to the fence, he climbed 
 over into the road to meet her. It was a warm afternoon, and 
 he was in his shirt-sleeves, with unbuttoned waistcoat ; but, 
 in the country, conventionalities have not reached the point of 
 the ridiculous, and neither he nor his visitor was aware of the 
 least impropriety. The farmers, in fact, would rather show 
 their own brawny arms and bare breasts than see the bosoms 
 of their daughters exposed to the public gaze by a fashionable 
 ball-dress. 
 
 " I'm glad you've come, Hannah," said he, as he gave her 
 his hard hand. " It seems a long time since I seen you before. 
 We've been quite alone ever since then." 
 
 " I should have come to see you sooner, but for mother's ill- 
 ness," she replied. " I hope you are both well and happy." 
 
 Her look asked more than her words. 
 
 " Yes," said he, understanding the question in her mind, 
 " Sarah's got over her delusion, I guess. Not a hard word 
 has passed between us. We don't talk of it any more. But, 
 Hannah, I'm in trouble about the principle of the thing. I 
 can't make it square in my mind, as it were. There seems to 
 be a contradiction, somewhere, between principles and work- 
 ing them out. You've thought more about the matter than I 
 have : can you make things straight ?" 
 
 The struggle in Hannah Thurston's own mind enabled her 
 to comprehend his incoherent questions. She scarcely knew 
 how to answer him, yet would fain say something to soothe 
 and comfort him in his perplexity. After a pause, she an- 
 swered : 
 
 " 1 fear, James, that I have over-estimated my own wisdom 
 that we have all been too hasty in drawing conclusions from 
 abstract reasoning. We have, perhaps, been presumptuous in
 
 A STORY OP AMERICAN LIFE. 26 J 
 
 taking it foi granted that we, alone, possessed a truth which 
 the world at large is too blind to see or, admitting that all is 
 true which we believe, that we are too hasty in endeavoring 
 to fulfil it in our lives, before the needful preparation is made. 
 You know that the field must be properly ploughed and har- 
 rowed, before you sow the grain. It may be that we are so 
 impatient as to commence sowing before we have ploughed. 1 ' 
 
 This illustration, drawn from his own business, gave Merry- 
 field great comfort. " That must be it !" he exclaimed. " 1 
 don't quite understand how, but I feel that what you say must 
 be true, nevertheless." 
 
 "Then," she continued, encouraged by the effect of her 
 words ; " I have sometimes thought that we may be too strict 
 in applying what we know to be absolute, eternal truths, to a 
 life which is finite, probationary, and liable to be affected by a 
 thousand influences over which we have no control. For in- 
 stance, you may analyze your soil, and the stimulants you 
 apply to it measure your grain, and estimate the exact yield 
 you ought to receive but yon cannot measure the heat and 
 moisture, the wind and hail, and the destructive insects which 
 the summer may bring ; and, therefore, you who sow accord- 
 ing to agricultural laws may lose your crop, while another, 
 who disregards them, shall reap an abundant harvest. Yet 
 the truth of the laws you observed remains the same." 
 
 " What would you do, then, to be sure that you are right ?" 
 the farmer asked, as he opened the gate leading into his lane. 
 
 " To continue the comparison, I should say, act as a prudent 
 Lusbandmau. Believe in the laws which govern the growth 
 and increase of the seed, yet regulate your tillage according 
 to the season. The crop is the main thing, and, though it 
 ouiids like heresy, the farmer may be right who prefers a 
 good harvest secured hi den'ance of rules to a scanty one with 
 the observance of them. But I had better drop the figure 
 before I make a blunder." 
 
 " Not a bit of it !" he cried. " You've cheered me up 
 mightily. There's sense in what you say; queer that it didnt
 
 262 HANNAH TUUKSTON: 
 
 come into m) mind before. I'm not sure that I can work my 
 own case so's to square with it but I'll hold on to the idee." 
 
 As they reached the garden, Hannah Thurstou plucked a 
 white rosebud which had thrust itself through the paling, and 
 fastened it to the bosom of her dress. Mr. Merryfield imme- 
 diately gathered six of the largest and reddest cabbage -roses, 
 and presented them with a friendly air. 
 
 " There," said he, " stick them on ! That white thing doii'l 
 show at all. It's a pity the pineys are all gone." 
 
 Mrs. Merryfield, sitting on the shaded portico, rose and met 
 her visitor at the gate. The women kissed each other, as 
 usual, though with a shade of constraint on the part of the for- 
 mer. The farmer, judging it best to leave them alone for a 
 little while, went back to finish his gleaning. 
 
 After they were comfortably seated on the portico, and 
 Hannah Thurston had laid aside her bonnet, there was an awk- 
 ward pause. Mrs. Merryfield anticipated an attack, than which 
 nothing was further from her visitor's thought. 
 
 " How quiet and pleasant it is here !" the latter finally said 
 " It is quite a relief to me to get away from the village." 
 
 " People are differently constituted," answered Mrs. Merry 
 field, with a slight defiance in her manner : " I like society, and 
 there's not much life on a farm." 
 
 " You have enjoyed it so long, perhaps, that you now 
 scarcely appreciate it properly. A few weeks in our little cot- 
 tage would satisfy you which is best." 
 
 " I must be satisfied, as it is ;" Mrs. Merryfield replied. 
 ' We women have limited missions, I suppose." 
 
 She intended herewith to indicate that, although she had do- 
 Ksted from her purpose, she did not confess that it had becc 
 wrong. She had sacrificed her own desires, and-the fact should 
 be set down to her credit. With Mr. Waldo she would havo 
 been candidly penitent more so, perhaps, than she had yet 
 allowed her husband to perceive but towards one of her own 
 sex, especially a champion of social reform, her only feeling waa 
 a btubboru determination to vindicate her action as far as pos-
 
 A STORY OP AMERICAN LIFE. 263 
 
 lible. Hannah Thurston detected the under-current of hei 
 thought, and strove to avoid an encounter with it. 
 
 " Yes," said she ; " I suspect there are few persons of aver 
 age ambition who find a sphere broad enough to content them, 
 But our merits, you know, are not measured by that. Too 
 may be able to accomplish more good, here, in your quiet cir 
 de of neighbors, than in some more conspicuous place." 
 
 "/should be the judge of that," rejoined Mrs. Merryfield, 
 tartly. Then, feeling that she had been a little too quick, she 
 added, with mournful meekness : " But I suppose some lights 
 are meant to be hid, otherways there wouldn't be bushels." 
 
 As she spoke, a light which did not mean to be hid, what- 
 ever the accumulation of bushels, approached from the lane. 
 It was Seth Wattles, gracefully attired in a baggy blouse of 
 gray linen, over which, in front, hung the ends of a huge pur- 
 ple silk cravat. He carried a roll of paper in one hand, and 
 his head was elevated with a sense of more than usual impor- 
 tance. The expression of his shapeless mouth became almost 
 triumphant as he perceived Hannah Thurston. She returned 
 his greeting with a calmness and self-possession which he mis- 
 took for a returning interest in himself. 
 
 By the time the usual common-places had been exchanged, 
 Merryfield had returned to the house. Seth, therefore, hastened 
 to communicate the nature of his errand. "I have been work- 
 ing out an idea," said he, " which, I think, meets the wants of 
 the world. It can be improved, no doubt, I don't say that 
 it's perfect but the fundamental basis is right, I'm sure." 
 
 " What is it ?" asked Merryfield, not very eagerly. 
 
 " A Plan for the Reorganization of Society, by which we can 
 Fight on the burden of labor, and avoid the necessity of Govern- 
 ments, with all their abuses. It is something like Fourier's plan 
 of Phalansteries, only that don't seem adapted to this country. 
 And it s too great a change, all at once. My plan can be applied 
 immediately, because it begins on a smaller scale. I'm sure 
 it will work, if I can only get it started. A dozen persons are 
 enough to begin with."
 
 204 HANNAIJ THURSTON: 
 
 " Well, how would you begin ?" asked the farmer. 
 
 " Take any farm of ordinary size yours for instance and 
 make of it a small community, who shall represent all the neces- 
 sary branches of labor. With the aid of machinery, it will be 
 entirely independent of outside help. You want a small steam 
 engine, or even a horse-power, to thresh, grind, saw, churn 
 turn, and hammer. Then, one of the men must be a black 
 smith and wheelwright, one a tailor, and another a shoe and 
 harness maker. Flax and sheep will furnish the material foi 
 clothing, maple and Chinese cane will give sugar, and there 
 will really be little or nothing to buy. I assume, of course, 
 that we all discard an artificial diet, and live on the simplest 
 substances. Any little illness can be cured by hydropathy, 
 but that would only be necessary in the beginning, for diseases 
 would soon vanish from such a community. The labor of the 
 women must also be divided : one will have charge of the gar- 
 den, another of the dairy, another of the kitchen, and so on. 
 When any branch of work becomes monotonous, there can be 
 changes made, so that, in the end, each one will understand all 
 the different departments. Don't you see ?" 
 
 " Yes, I see," said Merryfield. 
 
 " I was sure you would. Just consider what an advantage 
 over the present system ! There need not be a dollar of out- 
 lay : you can take the houses as they are. Nothing would be 
 bought, and all the produce of the farm, beyond what the 
 community required for its support, would be clear gain. In 
 a few years, this would amount to a fund large enough to hire 
 all the necessary labor, and the members could then devote the 
 rest of their lives to intellectual cultivation. My plan is diplo 
 inatic that's the word. It will reform men, in spice of them 
 selves, by appealing to two of their strongest passions- 
 acquisitiveness and love of ease. They would get into a 
 higher moral atmosphere before they knew it." 
 
 " I dare say," Merryfield remarked, as he crossed one leg 
 over the other, and then put it down again, restlessly. " And 
 who is to have the general direction of affairs ?"
 
 A STOriY OF AMERICA!! LIFE. 26ft 
 
 " Oil, there I apply the republican principle !" Seth exclaimed. 
 "It -will be decided by vote, after discussion, in which all take 
 part, women as well as men. Here is my plan for the day. 
 Each takes his or her turn, week about, to rise before sunrise, 
 make the fires, and ring a bell to rouse the others. After * 
 cold plunge-bath, one hour's labor, and then breakfast, accom- 
 panied by cheerful conversation. Then work until noon, when 
 dinner is prepared. An hour's rest, and labor again, when 
 necessary. I calculate, however, that six hours a day will 
 generally be sufficient. Supper at sunset, followed by discus- 
 sion and settlement of plans for the next day. Singing in 
 chorus, half an hour ; dancing, one hour, and conversation on 
 moral subjects until eleven o'clock, when the bell rings for rest. 
 You see, the plan combines every thing ; labor, recreation, 
 society, and mental improvement. As soon as we have estab- 
 lished a few communities, we can send messengers between 
 them, and will not be obliged to support the Government 
 through the Post-Office. Now, I want you to begin the reform." 
 
 " Me !" exclaimed Merryfield, with a start. 
 
 " Yes, it's the very thing. You have two hundred acres, 
 and a house big enough for a dozen. I think we can raise the 
 community in a little while. We can call it ' Merryfield,' or, 
 if you choose, in Latin Tanner says it's Campus Gaudius, or 
 something of the kind. It will soon be known, far and wide, 
 and we must have a name to distinguish it. I have no doubt 
 the Whitlows would be willing to join us ; Mrs. Whitlow 
 could take the dairy, and Miss Thurston the garden. He'a 
 been in the grocery-line : he could make sugar, until he got 
 acquainted with other kinds of work." 
 
 " Dairy, indeed !" interrupted Mrs. Merryfield. " Yes, she'd 
 like to skim cream and drink it by the tumbler-full, no doubt. 
 A delightful community it would be, with the cows in her 
 charge, somebody else in the bedrooms, and me seeing to the 
 kitchen !' 
 
 "Before I'd agree to it, I'd see all the communities " 
 
 Mr. Merryfield' s exclamation terminated with a stronger 
 12
 
 266 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 word than his wife had heard him utter for years. He jumped 
 from his seat, as he spoke, and strode up and down the portico. 
 Hannah Thurston, in spite of a temporary shock at the unex- 
 pected profanity, felt that her respect for James Merryfield 
 had undergone a slight increase. She was a little surprised at 
 horself, that it should be so. As for Seth Wattles, he was 
 completely taken aback. He had surmised that his plan might 
 meet with some technical objections, but he was certain that 
 it would be received with sympathy, and that he should finally 
 persuade the farmer to accept it. Had the latter offered him 
 a glass of whiskey, or drawn a bowie-knife from his sleeve, he 
 could not have been more astounded. He sat, with open 
 mouth and staring eyes, not knowing what to say. 
 
 " Look here, Seth," said Merryfield, pausing in his walk ; 
 " neither you nor me aVt a-going to reform the world. A 
 good many things a'n't right, I know, and as far as talking 
 goes, we can speak our mind about 'em. But when it comes 
 to fixing them yourself, I reckon you want a little longer ap- 
 prenticeship first. I sha'n't try it at my age. Make as pretty 
 a machine as you like, on paper, but don't think you'll set it 
 up in my house. There's no inside works to it, and it won't go." 
 
 " Why why," Seth stammered, " I always thought you 
 were in favor of Social Reform." 
 
 " So I am but I want, first, to see how it's to be done 
 I'll tell you what to do. Neither you nor Tanner are married, 
 and have no risk to run. Take a couple more with you, and 
 et up a household : do your cooking, washing, sweeping, and 
 bed-making, by turns, and if you hold together six months, 
 and say you're satisfied, I'll have some faith in your plan." 
 
 "And get Mrs. Whitlow to be one of your Community," 
 added Mrs. Merryfield, "or the experiment won't be worth 
 much. Let her take care of your dairy, and Mary Wollstone- 
 craft and Phillis Wheatley tend to your garden. Send me 
 word when you're ready, and I'll come and see how you get 
 onl" 
 
 " I don't need to work, as it is, more than's healthy for me,"
 
 A STOKT OF AMERICAN LIPB. 267 
 
 her husband continued, " and I don't want Sarah to, neither. 
 I can manage my farm without any trouble, and I've no notion 
 of taking ten green hands to bother me, and then have to di- 
 vide my profits with them. Show me a plan that'll give me 
 something more than I have, instead of taking away the most 
 of it." 
 
 " Why, the society, the intellectual cultivation," Seth re- 
 marked, but in a hopeless voice. 
 
 "I don't know as I've much to learn from either you or Tan- 
 ner. As for Whitlows, all I can say is, I've tried 'em. But 
 what do you think of it, Hannah ?" 
 
 " Very much as you do. I, for one, am certainly not ready 
 to try any such experiment," Miss Thurston replied. " I still 
 think that the family relation is natural, true, and necessary, 
 yet I do net wonder that those who have never known it should 
 desire something better than the life of a boarding-house. I 
 know what that is." 
 
 " Seth," said Merryfield, recovering from his excitement, 
 which, he now saw, was quite incomprehensible to the disap- 
 pointed tailor, " there's one conclusion I've come to, and I'd 
 advise you to turn it over in your own mind. You and me may 
 be right in our idees of what's wrong and what ought to be 
 changed, but we're not the men to set things right. I'm not 
 Garrison, nor yet Wendell Phillips, nor you a what's his 
 name ? that Frenchman ? oh, Furrier, and neither of them's 
 done any thing yet but talk and write. We're only firemen on 
 the train, as it were, and if we try to drive the engine, we may 
 just run every thing to smash " 
 
 The trying experience through which Merryfield had passed, 
 was not without its good res alts. There was a shade more of 
 drmness in his manner, of directness in his speech. The mere 
 tentiment of the reform, which had always hung about him 
 awkwardly, and sometimes even ludicrously, seemed to have 
 quite disappeared ; and though his views had not changed at 
 least, not consciously so they passed through a layer of re- 
 awakened practical sense somewhere between the organs of
 
 268 HANNAH TIIURSTO.V : 
 
 thought and speech, and thus assumed a different coloring. 
 He was evidently recovering from that very prevalent disor- 
 der an actual paralysis of the reasoning faculties, which the 
 rictim persists in considering as their highest state of activity 
 
 Seth had no spirit to press any further advocacy of his sub- 
 lime scheme. He merely heaved a sigh of coarse texture, and 
 remarked, in a desponding tone : " There's not much satisfac- 
 tion in seeing the Right, unless you can help to fulfil it. I may 
 not have more than one talent, but I did not expect you to 
 offer me a napkin to tie it up in." 
 
 This was the best thing Seth ever said. It surprised him- 
 self, and he repeated it so often afterwards, that the figure be- 
 came as inevitable a part of his speeches, as the famous two 
 horsemen, in a certain author's novels. 
 
 Merry field, seeing how completely he was vanquished, be- 
 came the kind host again and invited him to stay for tea. 
 Then, harnessing one of his farm-horses, he drove into Ptolemy 
 for his semi-weekly mail, taking Hannah Thurston with him. 
 As they were about leaving, Mrs. Merryfield suddenly ap- 
 peared at the gate, with a huge bunch of her garden flowers, 
 and a basket of raspberries, for the Widow Thurston. She was, 
 in reality, very grateful for the visit. It had dissipated a secret 
 anxiety which had begun to trouble her during the previous 
 two or three days. 
 
 "Who knows" she said to herself, sitting on the portico in 
 the t wilight, while a breeze from the lake shook the woodbines 
 on the lattice, and bathed her in their soothing balm " who 
 kno w but there are Mrs. Whitlows, or worse, there, too 1"
 
 A. 6TOBY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 WTTH AN ENTIRE CHANGE OF SCE2HB. 
 
 AFTEB leaving Lakeside, Maxwell Woodbury first directed 
 his course to Niagara, to refresh himself with its inexhaustible 
 beauty, before proceeding to the great lakes of the North- 
 west. His intention was, to spend six or eight weeks amid 
 the bracing atmosphere and inspiring scenery of the Northern 
 frontier, both as a necessary change from his quiet life on the 
 farm, and in order to avoid the occasional intense heat of the 
 Atauga Valley. From Niagara he proceeded to Detroit and 
 Mackinaw, where, enchanted by the bold shores, the wild 
 woods, and the marvellous crystal of the water, he remained 
 for ten days. A change of the weather to rain and cold obli- 
 ged him to turn his back on the attractions of Lake Superior 
 and retrace his steps to Niagara. Thence, loitering down the 
 northern shore of Ontario, shooting the rapids of the Thousand 
 Isles, or delaying at the picturesque French settlements on the 
 Lower St. Lawrence, he reached Quebec in time to take one 
 of the steamboats to the Saguenay. 
 
 At first, the superb panorama over which the queenly city :B 
 yuthroned the broad, undulating shores, dotted with the cot- 
 ages ui'the habitans the green and golden fields of the Isle 
 ^'Orleans, basking in the sun the tremulous silver veil of the 
 cataract of Montinorency, fluttering down the dark rocks, and 
 the blue ranges of the distant Laurentian mountains absorbed 
 all the new keenness of his faculties. Standing on the prow of 
 the hurricane-d^ck, he inhaled the life of a breeze at once 
 resinous from interminable forests of larch and fir, and sharp
 
 270 HANNAH THURSTOflC 
 
 with the salt of the ocean, as he watched the grander sweef 
 of the slowly separating shores. Except a flock of Quebecken 
 on their way to Murray Bay and Riviere du Loup, there were 
 but few passengers on board. A professor from a college in 
 New Hampshire, rigid in his severe propriety, looked through 
 nis gold-rimmed spectacles, and meditated on the probable 
 geology of the headland of Les Eboulemens ; two Georgians, 
 who smoked incessantly, and betrayed in their accent that of 
 the negro children with whom they had played, commented, 
 with unnecessary loudness, on the miserable appearance of the 
 Canadian "peasants;" a newly-married pair from Cincinnati 
 sat apart from the rest, dissolved in tender sentiment; and 
 a tall, stately lady, of middle age, at the stern of the boat, 
 acted at the same time as mother, guide, and companion to two 
 very pretty children a girl of fourteen and a boy of twelve. 
 
 As the steamboat halted at Murray Bay to land a number of 
 passengers, Woodbury found time to bestow some notice on 
 his fellow-travellers. His attention was at once drawn to the 
 lady and children. The plain, practical manner in which they 
 were dressed for the journey denoted refinement and cultiva- 
 tion. The Cincinnati bride swept the deck with a gorgeous 
 purple silk ; but this lady wore a coarse, serviceable gray 
 cloak over her travelling-dress of brown linen, and a hat of 
 gray straw, without ornament. Her head was turned *owardf 
 the shore, and Woodbury could not see her face; but the 
 sound of her voice, as she spoke to the children, took familiar 
 hold of his ear. He had certainly heard that voice before; 
 but where, and when ? The boat at last backed away from 
 the piur, and she turned her head. Her face was a long oval, 
 with regular and noble features, the brow still smooth and 
 serene, the dark eyes soft and bright, but the -hair prematurely 
 gray on the temples. Her look had that cheerful calmnesg 
 which is the maturity of a gay, sparkling temperament of 
 youth, and which simply reserves, not loses, its fire. 
 
 Woodbury involuntarily struck his hand upon his forehead, 
 with a sudden effort of memory. Perhaps noticing this action,
 
 A STOKT OP AMERICAN LIFE. 27 1 
 
 the lady looked towards him and their eyes met. Hers, too, 
 betrayed surprise and semi-recognition. He stepped instantly 
 forward. 
 
 " I beg pardon," said he, " if I am mistaken, but I feel sure 
 that I have once known you as Miss Julia Remington. Am I 
 not right ?" 
 
 "That was my name fifteen years ago," she answered, slowly. 
 41 Why cannot I recall yours ? I remember your face." 
 
 " Do you not remember having done me the honor to attend 
 
 a soiree which I gave, at the corner of Bowery and 
 
 street ?" 
 
 " Mr. Woodbury !" she exclaimed, holding out both her 
 hands . " how glad I am to see you again ! Who could have 
 dreamed that two old friends should come from Calcutta and 
 St. Louis to meet at the mouth of the Saguenay ?" 
 
 " St. Louis !" 
 
 " Yes, St. Louis has been my home for the last ten years. 
 But you must know my present name Blake : wife of An- 
 drew Blake, and mother of Josephine and George, besides 
 twx. younger ones, waiting for me at Saratoga. Come here, 
 Josey ; come, George this is Mr. Woodbury, whom I used to 
 know many, many years ago in New York. You must be 
 good friends with him, and perhaps he will tell you of the 
 wonderful ball he once gave." 
 
 Woodbury laughed, and cordially greeted the children, who 
 came to him with modest respect, but without embarrassment. 
 Long before the boat had reached Riviere du Loup, the old 
 friendship was sweetly re-established, and two new members 
 introduced into its circle. 
 
 Mrs. Blake had been spending some weeks at Saratoga, 
 partly with her husband and partly alone, while he attended to 
 some necessary business in Xew York and Philadelphia. Thig 
 business had obliged him to give up his projected trip to the 
 Saguenay, and it was arranged that his wife should make it in 
 company with the two oldest children, the youngest being 
 left, meanwhile, in the care of a faithful servant.
 
 272 HANNAH THUESTOV 
 
 Woodbury had always held Miss Remington in gratofiu 
 remembrance, and it was a great pleasure to him to meet her 
 thus unexpectedly. He found her changed in outward appear 
 ance, but soon perceived that her admirable common sense, hxr 
 faithful, sturdily independent womanhood, were still, as for- 
 merly, the basis of her nature. She was one of those rare 
 women who are at the same time as clear and correct as pos 
 sible in their perceptions, penetrating all the disguises and 
 illusions of life, yet unerringly pure and true in instinct and 
 feeling. Such are almost the only women with whom thor- 
 oughly devdoped and cultivated men can form those intimate 
 and permanent friendships, in which both heart and brain 
 find the sweetest repose, without the necessity of posting a 
 single guard on any of the avenues which lead to danger. 
 Few women, and still fewer men, understand a friendship of 
 this kind, and those who possess it must brave suspicion and 
 misunderstanding at every turn. 
 
 The relation between Woodbury and Miss Remington hac 
 never, of course, attained this intimacy, but they now instinc- 
 tively recognized its possibility. Both had drunk of the cuj 
 of knowledge since their parting, and they met again on a 
 more frank and confidential footing than they had previously 
 known. Mrs. Blake was so unconsciously correct in her im- 
 pulses that she never weighed and doubted, before obeying 
 them. The wand of her spirit never bent except where the 
 hidden stream was both pure and strong. 
 
 That evening, as the boat halted at Riviere du Loup f:r the 
 night, they walked the hurricane-deck in the long Northern 
 twilight, and talked of the Past. Many characters had faded 
 au ay from the sight of both ; others had either fallen from 
 their early promise, or soared surprisingly far above it ; but 
 all, with their attendant loves, and jealousies, and hates, stood 
 out sharp and clear in the memory of the speakers. Mrs. 
 Blake, then, in answer to Woodbury's inquiries, gave him a 
 rapiu sketch of her own life. 
 
 "I am quite satisfied,'' sho said at the close. "My husband
 
 A STORY OP AMERICAN LIFE. 273 
 
 ifl not exactly the preux chevalier I used to imagine, as a girl, 
 but he is a true gentleman" 
 
 "You never could have married him, if he were not,' 
 Woodbury interrupted. 
 
 " a true gentleman, and an excellent man of business, 
 which is as necessary in this age as knighthood was in those 
 famous Middle ones. Our married life has been entirely happy 
 from the start, because we mutually put aside our illusions, 
 and made charitable allowances for each other. "We did not 
 attempt to cushion the sharp angles, but courageously clashed 
 them together until they were beaten into roundness." 
 
 She broke into a pleasant, quiet laugh, and then went on : 
 " I want you to know my husband. You are very different, 
 but there are points of contact which, I think, would attract both. 
 You have in common, at least, a clear, intelligent faculty of 
 judgment, which is a pretty sure sign of freemasonry be- 
 tween man and man. I don't like Carlyle as an author, yet I 
 indorse, heart and soul, his denunciation of shams. But here 
 I am at the end of my history : now tell me yours." 
 
 She listened with earnest, sympathetic interest to Wood 
 bury's narrative, and the closing portion, which related to his 
 life at Lakeside, evidently aroused her attention more than all 
 the lazy, uneventful tropical years he had spent in Calcutta. 
 When he had finished the outlines, she turned suddenly to- 
 wards him and asked : " Is there nothing more ?" 
 
 " What should there be ?" he asked in return, with a smile 
 which showed that he understood her question. 
 
 "What should be, is not, I know," said she; "I saw that 
 much, at once. You will allow me to take a liberty which 
 I aai sure cannot now give pain : she is not the cause of 
 it, 1 hope?" 
 
 She looked him full in the face, and felt relieved as she de- 
 tected no trace of a pang which her words might have called 
 up. The expression of his lips softened rather to pity as he 
 answered : " She has long ceased to have any part in my life, 
 and she has now very little in my thoughts. When I saw he/ 
 12*
 
 274 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 again, last winter, there was not a single fibre of my heart dis 
 turbed. I will confess this much, however another face, a 
 more hopeless memory, long ago displaced hers. Both ar 
 gone, and I am now trying to find a third." 
 
 Ilis tone was apparently light and indifferent, but to Mrs 
 Blake's true ear it betrayed both weariness and longing, 
 " You cannot be deceived the third time," she said, con- 
 solingly. 
 
 " I was not deceived the second time," he answered, "but 1 
 will not tell you the story, just now. It is as completely at an 
 end as if it -had never happened. Can you help me to another 
 trial?" 
 
 She shook her head. "It is strange that so few of the best 
 men and women discover each other. Nature must be op- 
 posed to the concentration of qualities, and continually striving 
 to reconcile the extremes ; I cannot account for it in any other 
 way. You are still young ; but do not carelessly depend on 
 your youth ; you are not aware how rapidly a man's habits 
 become ossified, at your age. Marriage involves certain mu- 
 tual sacrifices, under the most favorable circumstances. Don't 
 trust too long to your own strength." 
 
 " Ah, but where is the girl with your clear sense, Mrs. Blake?" 
 asked Woodbury, pausing in his walk. " My wife must be 
 strong enough to know her husband as he was and is. The de- 
 ceits which so many men habitually practise, disgust me. Who 
 would hear my confession, and then absolve me by love?" 
 
 " Who ? Almost every woman that loves ! No : I will 
 make no exceptions, because the woman who would not do so, 
 does not really love. Men are cowards, because they fancy 
 f.fcat women are, and so each sex cheats itself through want -jf 
 faith in the other. Is that a recent misgiving of yours ?" 
 
 " You are a dangerous friend, Mrs. Blake. Your husband, 
 I suspect, is forced to be candid, out of sheer despair at the 
 possibility of concealing any thing from you. Yes, you have 
 interpreted my thought correctly. I spoke with reference to 
 one particular person, whom I am very far from loving, or even
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 275 
 
 desiring to love, but whose individuality somewhat interests 
 me. A woman's ideal of man, I am afraid, rises in proportion 
 to her intellectual culture. From the same cause, she is not so 
 dependent on her emotions, and therefore more calculating and 
 exacting. Is it not so ?" 
 
 M No, it is not so !" replied Mrs. Blake, with energy. " Re- 
 collect, we are not speaking of the sham women." 
 
 " She does not helong to that class," said Woodbury. "She 
 is, in many respects, a rare and noble character ; she possesses 
 natural qualities of mind which place her far above the average 
 of women ; she is pure as a saint, bold and brave, and yet 
 thoroughly feminine in all respects save one but that one 
 exceptional feature neutralizes all the others." 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " She is strong-min'ded." 
 
 " "What !" exclaimed Mrs. Blake, " do you mean a second 
 Bessie Stryker ?" 
 
 " Something of the kind so far as I know. She is one of 
 the two or three really intelligent women in Ptolemy but 
 with the most singularly exaggerated sense of duty. Some 
 persons would have censured me more considerately for for- 
 gery or murder than she did for smoking a cigar. I discussed 
 the subject of Women's Rights with her, the last thing before 
 leaving home, and found her as intolerant as the rankest Con- 
 servative. What a life such a woman would lead one ! Yet, 
 I confess she provokes me, because, but for that one fault, she 
 would be worth winning. It is vexatious to see a fine creature 
 so spoiled." 
 
 " With all her fanaticism, she seems to have made a strong 
 impression on you." 
 
 "Yes, I do not deny it," Woodbury candidly replied. 
 ' How could it be otherwise ? In the first place, she is still 
 omething of a phenomenon to me, and therefore stimulates 
 my curiosity. Secondly, she is far above ah 1 the other girls of 
 fr'tolernv, both in intellect and in natural refinement. She 
 oiakes the others ^o tame that, while I could not possibly lovf
 
 2^6 HANNAEI THURS1OJ<: 
 
 her, she prevents me from loving any of them. What am t 
 to do ?" 
 
 " A difficult case, upon my word. If I knew the characters, 
 T might assist you to a solution. The only random suggestion 
 I can make is this : if the strong-minded woman should come 
 to love you, in spite of her strength, it will make short work 
 of her theories of women's rights. Our instincts are stronger 
 than our ideas, and the brains of some of us run wild only 
 because our hearts are unsatisfied. I should probably have 
 been making speeches through the country, in a Bloomer 
 dress, by this time, if I had not met with my good Andrew. 
 You need not laugh : I am quite serious. And I can give you 
 one drop of comfort, before you leave the confessional : I see 
 that your feelings are fresh and healthy, without a shade of 
 cynicism : as we say in the West, the latch-string of your 
 heart has not been pulled in, and I predict that somebody will 
 yet open the door. Good-night 1" 
 
 Giving his hand a hearty nonest pressure of sympathy, 
 Mrs. Blake went to her state-room. Woodbury leaned over 
 the stern-railing, and gazed upor. the sprinkles of reflected 
 starlight in the bosom of the St. Lawrence. The waves 
 lapped on the stones of the wharf with a low, liquid murmur, 
 and a boatman, floating upwards with the tide, sang at a dis- 
 tance : " Jamais je ne foublierai" Woodbury mechanically 
 caught the melody and sang the words after him, till boat and 
 voice faded together out of sight and hearing. It refreshed 
 rather than disturbed him that the eye of a true woman had 
 looked upon his heart. " Whatever may be the end," he said 
 to himself, " she shall know the whole truth, one day. When 
 WG suspect that a seed of passion may have been dropped in 
 >ur natures, we must quietly wait until we feel that it has put 
 forth roots. I did not tell her the whole truth. I am not 
 sure but that I may love that girl, with all her mistaken views. 
 Her face follows me, and calls rne back. If each of us could 
 out find the other's real self, then why, then" 
 
 lie did not follow the thought further. The old pang arose^
 
 A 'STOBY OF AMEEICAN LIFE. 277 
 
 the old hunger of the heart came over him, and brought with 
 it those sacred yearnings for the tenderer ties which follow 
 marriage, and which man, scarcely less than "woman, craves. 
 The red lights of two cigars came down the long pier, side by 
 side : it was the Georgians, returning from a visit to the vil- 
 lage. The New Hampshire Professor approached him, and 
 politely remarked : " It is singular that the Old Red Sandstone 
 reappears in this locality." 
 
 " Very singular," answered Woodbury. " Good-night, Sir I n 
 and went to bed. 
 
 The next morning the steamer crossed to Tadoussac, and 
 entered the pitch-brown waters of the savage, the sublime, the 
 mysterious Saguenay. The wonderful scenery of this river, 
 or rather fiord, made the deepest impression on the new-made 
 friends. It completely banished from their minds the conver- 
 sation of the previous evening. Who could speak or even 
 think of love, or the tender sorrow that accompanies the 
 memory of betrayed hopes, in the presence of this stern and 
 tremendous reality. Out of water which seemed thick and 
 sullen as the stagnant Styx, but broke into a myriad beads of 
 dusky amber behind the steamer's paddles, leaped now and 
 then a white porpoise, weird and solitary as the ghost of a 
 murdered fish. On either side rose the headlands of naked 
 granite, walls a thousand feet in height, cold, inaccessible, 
 terrible ; and even where, split apart by some fore-world con- 
 vulsion, they revealed glimpses up into the wilderness behind, 
 no cheating vapor, no haze of dreams, softened the distant 
 picture, but the gloomy green of the fir-forests darkened into 
 indigo blue, and stood hard and cold against the gray sky. 
 After leaving L'Anse a 1'Eau, all signs of human life ceased. 
 X<> boat floated on the black glass ; no fisher's hut crouched in 
 the sheltered coves; no settler's axe had cut away a single 
 feather from the ragged plumage of the hills. 
 
 But as they reached the awful cliffs of Trinity and Eternity, 
 rising straight as plummet falls from their bases, a thousand 
 eet below the surface, to their crests, fifteen hundred feet it
 
 278 HANNA.H THURSTON: 
 
 the air, a wind blew out of the north, tearing and rolling 
 away the gray covering of the sky, and allowing sudden flooda 
 of sunshine to rush down through the blue gaps. The hearts 
 of the travellers were lifted, as by the sound of trumpets. 
 Far back from between the two colossal portals of rock, like 
 the double propylse of some Theban temple, ran a long, deef 
 gorge of the wilderness, down which the coming sunshine 
 relied like a dazzling inundation, drowning the forests in 
 splendor, pouring in silent cataracts over the granite walls, 
 and painting the black bosom of the Saguenay with the blue 
 of heaven. It was a sudden opening of the Gates of the 
 North, and a greeting from the strong Genius who sat en 
 throned beyond the hills, not in slumber and dreams, like his 
 languid sister of the South, cooling her dusky nakedness in the 
 deepest shade, but with the sun smiting his unflinching eyes, 
 with his broad, hairy breast open to the wind, with the best 
 blood of the world beating loud and strong in his heart, and 
 the seed of empires in his virile loins ! 
 
 Woodbury was not one of your " gushing" characters, who 
 cry out " Splendid !" " Glorious !" on the slightest provocation. 
 When most deeply moved by the grander aspects of Nature. 
 he rarely spoke ; but he had an involuntary habit of singing 
 softly to himself, at such times. So he did now, quite uncon- 
 sciously, and had got as far as : 
 
 " Thy heart is in the upper world, 
 
 And where the chamois bound ; 
 
 Thy heart is where the mountain fir 
 
 Shakes to the torrent's sound ;" 
 
 when he suddenly checked himself and turned away witt 
 a laugh and a light blush of self-embarrassment. He had beer 
 picturing to himself the intense delight which Hannah Thurs 
 ton would have felt in the scene before him. 
 
 Meanwhile the boat sped on, and soon reached the end of 
 the voyage at Ha-ha Bay. Mrs. Blake and her children wer 
 delighted with their journey, to which the meeting with
 
 A. 8TOET OF AMERICAN LIFJB. 278 
 
 Woodbury had given such an additional charm. As they 
 descended the Saguenay in the afternoon, their eyes grew ac- 
 customed to the vast scale of the scenery; loftier and grander 
 arose the walls of granite, and more wild and awful yawned 
 the gorges behind them. The St. Lawrence now opened in 
 front with the freedom of the sea, and in the crimson light of 
 a superb sunset they returned to Riviere du Loup. 
 
 The companionship was not dropped after they had reached 
 Quebec. Woodbury accompanied them to the Falls of the 
 Montmorency and the Chaudiere ; to the Plains of Abraham 
 and the quaint French villages on the shores ; and their even- 
 ings were invariably spent on Durham Terrace, to enjoy, 
 over and over again, the matchless view. It was arranged 
 that they should return to Saratoga together, by way of Cham- 
 plain and Lake George; and a few more days found them 
 there, awaiting the arrival of Mr. Blake. 
 
 He came at last ; and his wife had not incorrectly judged, 
 in supposing that there were some points of mutual attraction 
 between the two men. The Western merchant, though a 
 shrewd and prudent man of business, was well educated, had 
 a natural taste for art (he had just purchased two pictures by 
 Church and Kensett), and was familiar with the literature of 
 the day. He was one of those fortunate men who are capable 
 of heartily enjoying such things, without the slightest ambition 
 to produce them. He neither complained of his own vocation, 
 nor did he lightly esteem it. He was not made for idle 
 indulgence, and was sufficiently prosperous to allow himself 
 proper recreation. His temperament, therefore, was healthy, 
 cheerful, and stimulating to those with whom he came in con- 
 tact He was by no means handsome, and had a short 
 abrupt manner of speaking, which Woodbury's repose of 
 manner threw into greater distinctness. His wife, howevei, 
 knew his true value, as he knew hers, and their mutual con 
 6denct was absolute. 
 
 Woodbury strongly ur<.re<l them to spend a few days with 
 nim at Lakeside, on their ret -.in. jo unify to St. Louis. In ad-
 
 280 -HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 dition to the pleasure he derived from their society, he had 8 
 secret desire that Mrs. Blake should see Hannah Thtirston a 
 curiosity to know the impression which the two women would 
 make on each other. What deeper motive lurked behind this, 
 he did not question. 
 
 The discussion of the proposal reminded him that he had 
 not heard from Lakeside since his departure. He immediately 
 wrote to Arbutus Wilson, announcing his speedy return, and 
 asking for news of the farming operations. Six days after- 
 wards an answer came, net from Arbutus, but from Mr 
 Waldo an answer of a nature so unexpected, that he left 
 Saratoga the same night.
 
 A 8TOKY Of AMERICAN LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXH. 
 
 AFTER Woodbury had left Lakeside for his summer tour, 
 Mrs. Fortitude Babb resumed her ancient authority. " Now," 
 she said to Bute, as they sat down to supper on the day of 
 his departure, "now we'll have a quiet time of it. A body'll 
 know what to do without waitin' to be told whether it's jist 
 to other people's likin's." 
 
 " Why, Mother Forty," said Bute, " Mr. Max. Is as quiet a 
 man as you'll find anywhere." 
 
 "Much you know about him, Bute. He lets you go on 
 farmin' in y'r own way, pretty much ; but look at my gard'n 
 tore all to pieces ! The curran' bushes away at t'other end 
 half a mile off, if you want to git a few pies and the kersan- 
 thums stuck into the yard in big bunches, among the grass ' 
 What would she say, if she could see it? And the little 
 room for bed-clo'es, all cleaned out, and a big bathin' tub in 
 the corner, and to be filled up every night. Thank the Lord, 
 he can't find nothin' to say ag'in my cookin'. If he was to 
 come pokin' his nose into the kitchen every day, I dunno what 
 I'd do !" 
 
 "It's his own garden," said Bute, sturdily. "He's paid fbi 
 it, and he's got a right to do what he pleases with it. J 
 would, if 't'was mine." 
 
 " Oh yes, you ! You're gittin' mighty independent, seems 
 to me. I 'xpect nothin' else but you'll go off some day with 
 that reedic'lous thing with the curls." 
 
 "Mother Forty!" said Bute, rising suddenly from the
 
 IBS HANNAH THUBSTOK: 
 
 table, " don't you mention her name ag'in. I don't want U 
 see her any more, nor I don't want to bear of her 1" 
 
 He strode out of the house with a fiery face. Mrs. Babt 
 sat, as if thunderstruck. Little \>y little, however, a presenti- 
 ment of the truth crept through her stiff brain : she drew her 
 thin lips firmly together and nodded her head. The sense of 
 relief which she first felt, on Bute's account, was soon lost, 
 nevertheless, in an angry feeling toward Miss Carrie Dilworth, 
 Utterly unaware of her own inconsistency, she asked herself 
 what the little fool meant by turning up her nose at such a 
 fine young fellow as Arbutus the very pick of the farmers 
 about Ptolemy, though she, Fortitude Babb, said it ! Where 
 would she find a man so well-built and sound, so honest and 
 good-hearted? Everybody liked him; there were plenty of 
 girls that would jump at the chance of having him for a hus- 
 band but no, he was not good enough for her. Ugh ! the 
 nasty, pert, stuck-up little hussy I That comes o' wearin' your 
 hair like an Injun ! But Arbutus mustn't mind ; there's as good 
 fish in the sea as ever was ketched, and better too. 'Twas 
 reasonable, after all, that he should marry some time ; a man's 
 a man, though you brought him up youiself; and the best 
 way is to take hold and help, when you can't hinder it. 
 
 Thereitpon, she set her wits to work to discover the right 
 kind of a wife for her step-step-son. It was a perplexing SUD- 
 ject : one girl was slatternly, another was unhealthy, a third 
 was too old, a fourth had disagreeable relatives, a fifth was as 
 poor as Job's turkey. Where was the compound of youth, 
 health, tidiness, thrift, and, most important of all, the proper 
 respect for Mrs. Babb's faculties ? " I'll find her yet !" she said 
 to herself, as she sat at her knitting, in the drowsy summer after- 
 noons. Meanwhile, her manner towards Bute grew kindei 
 and more considerate a change for which he was not in the 
 least grateful. lie interpreted it as the expression of her 
 satisfaction witli the disappointment under which he still 
 smarted. He became moody and silent, and before many days 
 bad elapsed Mrs. Babb was forced to confess to herself that
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFB. 288 
 
 Lakeside was lonely and uncomfortable without the presence 
 of Mr. "Woodbury. 
 
 As for Bute, though he felt that he was irritable and heavy, 
 compared with his usual cheerful mood, there was more the 
 matter with him than he supposed. The experience through 
 whil h he had passed disturbed the quiet course of his blood. 
 Tike a mechanism, the action of which is even and perfectly 
 balanced at a certain rate of speed, but tends to inevitable con- 
 fusion when the speed is increased, his physical balance was 
 sadly disarranged by the excitement of his emotional nature 
 and the sudden shock which followed it. Days of feverish 
 activity, during which he did the work of two men without 
 finding the comfort of healthy fatigue, were followed by days 
 of weariness and apathy, when the strength seemed to be gone 
 from his arm, and the good-will to labor from his heart. His 
 sleep was either restless and broken, or so unnaturally pro- 
 found that he arose from it with a stunned, heavy head. 
 
 Among the summer's work which Mr. Woodbury had or- 
 dered, after wheat-harvest, was the draining of a swampy field 
 which sloped towards Roaring Brook. An Irish ditcher had 
 been engaged to work upon it, but Bute, finding that much 
 more must be done than had been estimated, and restless 
 almost to nervousness, assisted with his own hands. Day 
 after day, with his legs bare to the thighs, he stood in the oozy 
 muck, plying pick and shovel under the burning sun. Night 
 after night, he went to bed with a curiously numb and dead- 
 ened feeling, varied only by nervous starts and thrills, as if the 
 bed \\ T ere suddenly sinking under him. 
 
 One morning, he did not get up at the usual hour. Mrs. 
 Babb went on with her labors for breakfast, expecting every 
 moment to see him come down and wash his face at tne pump 
 outside the kitchen-door. The bacon was fried, the coffee was 
 boiled, and still he did not appear. She opened the door of 
 the kitchen staircase, and called in her shrillest tones, one, 
 two, three times, until finally an answer reached her from 
 the bedroom. Five minutes afterwards, Bute blundered
 
 284 HA.NNAH THURSTON: 
 
 down the steps, and, seeing the table ready, took his accus- 
 tomed seat. 
 
 " Well, Arbutus, you have slep', sure enough. I s'pose yoa 
 was tired from yisterday, though," said Mrs. Babb, as she 
 transferred the bacon from the frying-pan to a queensware 
 dish. Hearing no answer, she turned around. " Gracious 
 alive!" she exclaimed, "are you a-goin' to set down to break- 
 fast without washin' or combin' your hair? I do believe 
 you're asleep yit." 
 
 Bute said nothing, but looked at her with a silly smile which 
 seemed to confirm her words. 
 
 "Arbutus!" she cried out, "wake up! You don't kno\ 
 what you're about. Dash some water on your face, child ; if 
 I ever saw the like !" and she took hold of his shoulder with 
 one of her bony hands. 
 
 He twisted it petulantly out of her grasp. "I'm tired, 
 Mike," he said : " if the swamp wasn't so wet, I'd like to lay 
 down and sleep a spell." 
 
 The rigid joints of Mrs. Babb's knees seemed to give way 
 suddenly. She dropped into the chair beside him, lifted hia 
 face in both her trembling hands, and looked into his eyes. 
 There was no recognition in them, and their wild, wandering 
 glance froze her blood. His cheeks burned like fire, and his 
 head dropped heavily, the next moment, on his shoulder. "This 
 tussock'll do," he murmured, and relapsed into unconsciousness. 
 
 Mrs. Babb shoved her chair nearer, and allowed his head to 
 rest on her shoulder, while she recovered her strength. There 
 was no one else in the house. Patrick, the field-hand, was at 
 the barn, and was accustomed to be called to his breakfast. 
 Once she attempted to do this, hoping that her voice might 
 reach him, but it was such an unnatural, dismal. croak, that sha 
 gave up in despair. Bute started and flung one arm around 
 her neck with a convulsive strength which almost strangled her. 
 After that, she did not dare to move or speak. The cofiee-pot 
 boiled over, and the scent of the scorched liquid filled the 
 kitchen; the fat in the frying-pan, which she had thought-
 
 A STOKI OF AMERICAN LIFE. 28A 
 
 lessly set on the stove again, on seeing Bute, slowly dried to 
 a crisp, and she knew that the bottom of the pan would be 
 ruined. These minor troubles strangely thrust themselves 
 athwart the one great, overwhelming trouble of her heart, and 
 confused her thoughts. Bute was deathly sick, and stark, 
 staring mad, was the only fact which she could realize ; an 3 
 with her left hand, which was free, she gradually and stealth- 
 ily removed his knife, fork, and plate, and pushed back the 
 table-cloth as far as she could reach. Then she sat rigidly as 
 before, listening to the heavy, irregular breathing of the inva- 
 lid, and scorched by his burning head. 
 
 Half an hour passed before Patrick's craving stomach 
 obliged him to disregard the usual call. Perhaps, he finally 
 thought, he had not heard it, and he then betook himself at 
 once t the house. The noise he made in opening the kitchen- 
 door, startled Bute, who clinched his right fist and brought it 
 down on the table. 
 
 " Holy mother !" exclaimed Patrick, as he saw the singular 
 group. 
 
 Mrs. Babb turned her head with difficulty, and shook it as 
 a sign of caution, looking at him with wide, suffering eyes, 
 trom which the tears now first flowed, when she saw that help 
 and sympathy had come to her at last. 
 
 "God preserve us! och, an' he isn't dead?" whispered 
 Patrick, advancing a step nearer, and ready to burst into a 
 ioud wail. 
 
 " He's sick ! he's crazy !" Mrs. Babb breathed hoarsely, in 
 reply : "help me to git him to bed !" 
 
 The Irishman supported Bute by the shoulders, while Mrs 
 JJabb gently and cautiously relieved herself from his choking 
 arm. "Without Pat's help ; t is difficult to say what she would 
 have done. Tender as a woman, and gifted with all the whimsi, 
 cil cunning of his race, he humored Bute's delirious fancies to 
 the utmost, soothing instead of resisting or irritating him, and 
 with infinite patience and difficulty succeeded in getting hin? 
 back into his bedroom. Here Mrs. Babb remade his bed, put
 
 286 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 ting, on fresh sheets aud pillows, and the two undressed and laid 
 him in it. The first thing she then did was to cut off his long 
 yellow locks close to the head, and apply a wet cloth ; beyond 
 that, which she had heard was always used in such cases, she 
 did not dare to go. 
 
 The next thing was, to procure medical assistance. Thera 
 were no other persons about the house, and both of them 
 together, it seemed probable, would scarcely be able to man- 
 ago the patient, if a violent paroxysm should come on. Mrs. 
 Babb insisted on remaining by him; but Patrick, who had 
 seen similar attacks of fever, would not consent to this. He 
 swore by all the saints that she would find Bute safely in bed 
 on her return. She need not go farther than black Melinda's 
 cabin, he said ; it was not over three-quarters of a mile. She 
 could send Melinda for the doctor, and for Misther Merryfield 
 too that 'ud be better ; and then come directly back, herself. 
 
 Mrs. Babb gave way to these representations, and hurried 
 forth on her errand. Her stiff old joints cracked with the 
 violence of her motion ; she was agitated by remorse as well 
 as anxiety. She had been a little hard on the lad ; what if he 
 should die without forgiving her, and should go straight to 
 heaven (as of course he would) and tell his own mother and 
 Jason Babb, who was so fond of him ? In that case, Jason 
 would certainly be angry with her, and perhaps would not 
 allow her to sit beside him on the steps of the Golden City, 
 when her time came. Fortunately, she found old Melinda 
 at home, and despatched her with the injunction to "go down 
 to Merryfield's as hard as you can scoot, and tell him to ride for 
 the doctor, and then you come directly back to the housa'* 
 Melinda at once strode away, with her eyes fixed before her, 
 muttering fragments of camp-meeting hymns. - 
 
 When Mrs. Babb returned, she found Bute still in bed, pant- 
 hag from evident exhaustion. The wet cloth was on his head 
 and the bed-clothes were straight. Patrick turned away hia 
 face from the light, and said : " Sure, an' he's been as quiet aa 
 a lamb" an assertion which was disprove;! the next day b
 
 A STOllY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 28 11 
 
 the multitude of indigo blotches, the marks of terrible blows, 
 which appeared on his own face, breast, and arras. What haj>- 
 pened while they were alone, Patrick always avoided telling, 
 except to the priest. To his mind, there was a sanctity about 
 delirium, the secrets of which it would be criminal to betray 
 
 In two or three hours more the physician arrived, accom- 
 panied by Merryfield. The former pronounced Butu to be 
 aboriug under a very dangerous attack of congestive fever, oi 
 a typhoid character. He bled him 'sufficiently to reduce the 
 excitement of the brain, prescribed the usual medicines, a little 
 increased in quantity, and recommended great care and exact- 
 ness in administering them. When he descended the stairs, 
 the housekeeper stole after him, and grasped his arm as he 
 entered the hall. 
 
 " Doctor," she asked, in her stern manner, " I jist want to 
 know the truth. Is he goiu' to git over it, or isn't he ?" 
 
 " The chances are about even, Mrs. Babb," the physician re- 
 plied. " I will not disguise from you the fact that it's a very 
 serious case. If his constitution were not so fine, I should feel 
 almost like giving him up. I will only say this : if we can 
 keep him for a week, without growing much worse, we shall 
 get the upper hand of the fever. It depends on his nurses, 
 even more than on me." 
 
 " Til nuss him!" Mrs. Babb exclaimed, defiantly. "A week, 
 djid you say ? A week a'n't a life-time, and I can stand it. 1 
 stood more'n that, when Jason was sick. Don't be concerned 
 about your orders, Sir : I'VE TOOK 'EM TO HEART, and thai 'e 
 enough said." 
 
 The housekeeper went back to the kitchen, clinching bei 
 fists and nodding her head the meaning of which was, that 
 there was to be a fair stand-up fight between Death and her- 
 sell', for the possession of Arbutus Wilson, and that Death was 
 Uot going to be the victor, no, not if he took herself instead, 
 out of spite. Then <ind there she commenced her plan of de- 
 fence. Those precautions which the physician had recommend 
 ed '.vere taken with a Draconian severity : what he had forbid
 
 $88 HANNAH 
 
 den ceased to have a possibility of existence. Quiet, of course 
 was included in his orders, and never was a household eon 
 ducted with so little noise. The sable Melinda, having let a 
 pot-lid fall on the kitchen-floor, found her arm instantly grasp- 
 ed in a bony vice, while an awful voice whispered in her ear 
 (Mrs. Babb had ceased to speak otherwise, even when she 
 wont to the garden) " Don't you dare to do that ag'in !" She 
 prepared and applied the blisters and poultices with her 
 own hands; administered the medicines punctually to the 
 second, whether by day or by night ; and the invalid could not 
 turn in his bed but she seemed to know it, by some sort of 
 clairvoyance, in whatever part of the house she might be at 
 the time. At night, although Patrick and Mr. Merryfield vol- 
 unteered to watch by turns, and tried to induce her to sleep, 
 she never undressed, but lay down on her bed in an adjoining 
 chamber, and made her appearance in the sick-room, tall, dark, 
 and rigid, every half-hour. She would listen with a fearful 
 interest to Bute's ravings, whether profane or passionate, 
 dreading to hear some accusation of herself, which, if he died, 
 ne would bear straight to Jason Babb. Her words, however, 
 had made but the slightest surface-wounds on Bute's sturdy 
 nature. No accusation or reproach directed towards her 
 passed his lips ; Miss Dilworth's name, it is true, was some- 
 times mentioned, but more in anger than in love ; but his mind 
 ran principally on farming matters, mixed with much incohe- 
 rent talk, to which Patrick only appeared to have the clue. 
 The latter, at least, was generally able to exercise a guidance 
 ovei his hallucinations, and to lead them from the more violent 
 to the gentler phases. 
 
 Half the week was gone, and no change could be detected 
 ir the invalid's rendition. The powerful assault of disease 
 had met as powerful a resisting nature, and the struggle con- 
 tinued, with no marked signs of weariness on either side. 
 Much sympathy was felt by the neighbors, when the news 
 became known, and there were kind offers of assistance. The 
 physician, however, judged that the attendance was alroadj
 
 A STOET OF AMERICAN LIFE. 289 
 
 sufficient, and as the fever was contagious in luany cases, he 
 recommended that there should be as few mjrses as possible. 
 The sympathy then took the form of recipes (every one of 
 which was infallible), dried herbs, jellies, oranges, and the like. 
 Mr. Jones, the miller, even sent a pair of trout, which he had 
 caught in Roaring Brook. The housekeeper received all these 
 articles with stern thanks, and then locked them up in her 
 cupboard, saying to herself, '"Ta'n't time for sich messes yet: 
 /can git all he wants, jist now." 
 
 Slowly the week drew to a close, and Mrs. Babb grew more 
 anxious and excited. The unusual strain upon her old frame 
 oegan to tell ; she felt her strength going, and yet the ago- 
 nizing suspense in regard to Bute's fate must be quieted be- 
 fore she could allow it to give way altogether. Her back kept 
 its straightness from long habit, but her knees tottered undei 
 her every time she mounted the stairs, and the muscles around 
 her mouth began to twitch and relax, in spite of herself. She 
 no longer questioned the physician, but silently watched his 
 face as he caine from Bute's room, and waited for him to 
 speak. 
 
 On the seventh day, what little information he voluntarily 
 gave afforded no relief to her mind, and for the first time the 
 iron will which had upheld her thus far began to waver. A 
 weariness which, it seemed to her, no amount of sleep could 
 ever heal, assailed her during the night. Slowly she struggled 
 on until morning, and through the eighth day until late in the 
 afternoon, when the physician came. This time, as he left the 
 sick-room, she detected a slight change in his expression. 
 Walking slowly towards him, striving to conceal her weakness 
 ind emotion, she said, brokenly : 
 
 "Can you tell me now?" 
 
 "I don't like to promise." he answered, "but there is a 
 ohance now that the fever will exhaust itself, before quite all 
 the power of rallying afterwards has been spent. He is not 
 out of danger, but the prospects of his recovery are better 
 than they \vere, t\vo to one. If lie gets well, your nursing,
 
 290 HANNAH THUKSION : 
 
 Mrs. Babb, will have saved him. I wish all my patients could 
 have you." 
 
 The housekeeper dropped into the nearest chair, and av 
 vent to her feelings in a single hoarse, dry sob. When the 
 doctor had gone, Melinda put the teapot on the table, arranged 
 the cups and saucers, and said : " Come, now, Miss Forty, 
 you take a cup. I sure you needs um ; you jiss' kiilin* you'self, 
 honey." 
 
 Mrs. Babb attempted to comply : she lifted the saucer to 
 her lips, and then set it down again. She felt, suddenly, very 
 taint and sick, and the next moment an icy chill seized her, 
 and shook her from head to foot : her lips were blue, and her 
 seven remaining teeth rattled violently together. Melinda, 
 alarmed, flew to her assistance ; but she pushed her back with 
 her long, thin arm, saying, " I knowed it must come so. One 
 of us had got to go. He'll git well, now." 
 
 " Oh, Missus !" cried Melinda, and threw her apron over her 
 head. 
 
 " Where's the use, Melindy ?" said the housekeeper, sternly. 
 u I guess she'll be glad of it : she'd kind o' got used to havin' 
 me with her." 
 
 Even yet, she did not wholly succumb to the attack. De- 
 liberately forcing herself to drink two cups of hot tea, in order 
 to break the violence of the chill, she slowly crept up stairs to 
 Bute's room, where Patrick was in attendance. Him she de- 
 spatched at once to Ptolemy, with a message to the Rev. Mr. 
 Waldo, whom she requested to come at as early an hour as 
 possible. She sent no word to the physician, but the old Me- 
 linda had shrewdness enough to discover this omission and 
 supply it. 
 
 Wrapped in a blanket, Mrs. Babb took her seat in the old- 
 feshioned rocking-chair at Bute's bedside, and looked long 
 and earnestly on his worn face, in the last light of day. What 
 had become of the warm, red blood which had once painted 
 his round cheeks, showing itself defiantly through th tan 
 of all the suns of summer ? Blood and tan seemed to hav
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFB. 281 
 
 suddenly vanished together, leaving a waxen paleness and a 
 mnken, pinched expression, so much like death, that his rest- 
 less movements and mutterings comforted her, because they 
 denoted life. " Yes, there's life in him still !" she whispered 
 to herself. Presently he opened his eyes, and looked at her. 
 The fierceness of his delirium had been broken, but his expres 
 sion was still strange and troubled. 
 
 44 1 guess we'll begin the oats to-day, Pat," he said, in * weak 
 voice. 
 
 "Arbutus!" she cried, "look at mel Don't you know 
 Mother Forty no more ?" 
 
 " Mother Forty's gittin' breakfast," said he, staring at her. 
 
 " Oh, Arbutus," she groaned, desperately ; " do try to know 
 me this once't ! I'm mortal sick : I'm a-goin' to die. If there 1 * 
 any thing on y'r mind ag'in me, can't you say you forgive me?" 
 And the poor old creature began to cry in a noiseless way. 
 
 " I forgive' you, Miss Carrie," answered Bute, catching ai 
 the word " forgive." " 'Ta'n't worth mindin'. You're a little 
 fool, and I'm a big one, that's all." 
 
 Mrs. Babb did not try again. She leaned back in the rock- 
 ing-chair, folding the blanket more closely around her, to keep 
 off the constantly recurring chills, and husbanding her failing 
 strength to perform the slight occasional offices which the in- 
 valid required. Thus she sat until Patrick's return, when the 
 negress helped her to bed. 
 
 In the morning the physician found her in a pitiable 
 state of debility, but with a mind as clear and determined as 
 ever. Her physical energies were completely broken, and the 
 prospect of supporting them artificially until the fever should 
 subside, seemed very slight. She understood the grave con- 
 cern upon his face. " You needn't tell me, doctor," she said ; 
 " I know all about it. I'll take the medicines, to make yvut 
 mind easy ; but it's no use." 
 
 Mr. Waldo arriving about the same time, she begged the 
 physician to wait until she had had an interview with the 
 former. He had beeu summoned for no other purpose than to
 
 292 HANNAH 
 
 draw up her will, the signing of which she wished both gentle- 
 men to witness. The document was soon prepared. She be- 
 queathed all she possessed to Arbutus Wilson, her adopted son, 
 after deducting the expenses of her funeral, and a tombstone 
 similar to that which she had erected to the memory of Jason 
 Babb. 
 
 Propped up in bed, she carefully went over the various 
 rams, obliging Mr. Waldo to repeat them after her and read 
 them aloud as he wrote them, in order that there might be no 
 mistake. " There's the four hundred dollars Jason left me," 
 said she, " out at interest with David Van Horn ; then the mor- 
 gidge for a thousand dollars on Wilmot's store ; then the three 
 hundred she willed to me, two hundred lent to Backus, and 
 two hundred and fifty to Dan' el Stevens ; let alone the int'rest 
 what I've saved. You'll find there'd ought to be twenty-seven 
 hundred and four dollars and six shillin's, altogether. The notes 
 is all in my tin box, and the int'rest tied up in my weddin' 
 stockins in the big trunk. I got it turned into gold: the banks is 
 breakin' all the time. It's enough to give Arbutus a good start 
 in the world a heap better'n either me or Jason had. Put it 
 into the will that he's to be savin' and keerful, for 'twas got by 
 hard work. I know he won't spend it for hisself, but he's to 
 keep it out drawin' int'rest, and if he gits married, he mustn't 
 let his wife put it onto her back. Ard you may put down my 
 blcssin', and that I've tried to bring him up in the right way 
 and hope he won't depart from it." 
 
 The will was finally completed. With a strong effort, she 
 signed it with a cramped, but steady hand. The physician 
 and clergyman affixed their signatures as witnesses. " Now 
 I'm ready," whispered Mrs. Babb, sinking down on the pil 
 lows, and almost instantly fell asleep. 
 
 As the two gentlemen issued from the house, the physician 
 said : " We must get somebody to take care of her." 
 
 " Of course," answered Mr. Waldo. " She cannot be in- 
 trusted to old Melinda. Leave it to me: I will see that iher 
 ie a good nurse in the Jiouse before night."
 
 A STORY OP AMERICAN LIFE. 293 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 WHICH CONTAINS BOTH LOVE AND DEATH. 
 
 GOOD Mr. Waldo drove back to Ptolemy seriously trou- 
 bled by the calamity which had come upon the household 
 of Lakeside. Its helpless condition, now that the housekeeper 
 was struck down, rendered immediate assistance necessary ; 
 but whence was the help to come? He could think of no 
 woman at the same time willing and competent to render it 
 except his wife and on her rested the entire care of his own 
 house, as they were unable to afford a servant. The benevo- 
 lent clergyman actually deliberated whether he should not let 
 her go, and ask the hospitality of one of his parishioners during 
 hei absence, in case no other nurse could be found. 
 
 As he turned into the short private lane leading to his 
 stable, a rapid little figure, in pink muslin, entered the front 
 yard. It was Miss Caroline Dil worth, who had just returned 
 from a farm-house on the road to Mulligansville, where she 
 had been sewing for a fortnight past. She entered the plain 
 iittle sitting room at the same, moment with Mr. Waldo. The 
 clergyman's wife greeted her with astonishing brevity, and 
 turned immediately to her husband. 
 
 " What was the matter ? " she asked ; " is Bute so much 
 worse ? " 
 
 " Bute worse ! " ejaculated Miss Dilworth, opening her eyes 
 in amazement. 
 
 "No," said Mr. Waldo, answering his wife, "the doctor 
 thinks his chance is a little better, though he is still out of his 
 head ; but she has the fever now, and her case seems worse 
 than his. I am distressed about them : there is nobody there
 
 V HANNAH THUBSTON: 
 
 except the old negro woman, and Mrs. Babb needs a careful 
 nurse immediately." 
 
 " What is it ? Do tell me what it is ?" cried Miss Dilworth, 
 etching hold of the clergyman's arm with both hands. 
 
 He explained the case to her in a few words. To the aston 
 ishmerit of both, the little sempstress burst into a violent flood 
 of tears. For a minute or two the agitation was so great tha* 
 she was unable to speak. 
 
 " It's d-dreadful !" she sobbed at last. " Why why didn't 
 you send w-word to me V But I'll g-go now : don't put out 
 your horse : take take me there !" 
 
 " Carrie ! do you really mean it ?" said Mrs. Waldo. 
 
 Miss Caroline Dilworth actually stamped her foot. " Do 
 you think I'd make fun about it ?" she cried. " Yes, I mean 
 to go, if I must go a-foot. He they must have somebody ', and 
 there's nobody can go so well as I can." 
 
 " I think she is right, wife," said the clergyman. 
 
 Mrs. Waldo hesitated a moment. "I know you would 
 be kind and careful, Carrie," she said at length, " and I could 
 come every day, and relieve you for a while. But are yon sure 
 you are strong enough for the task ?" 
 
 Miss Dilworth dried her eyes with her handkerchief and 
 answered : " If I'm not, you'll soon find it out. I'm going 
 over to Friend Thurston's to get some of my things to take 
 along." 
 
 " I'll call for you in a quarter of an hour, with the buggy," 
 said Mr. Waldo. 
 
 The little sempstress was off without saying good-by. As 
 she went down the plank walk towards the Widow Thurston'i 
 cottage, she pushed her tangled curls behind her ears, and then 
 held her hands clenched at her side, too much in earnest to 
 give her head a single toss or allow her feet a single mincing 
 step. All the latent firmness hi her lithe figure was suddenly 
 developed. It spoke in her rapid, elastic gait, in the com- 
 pression of the short red lips, and the earnest forward glance 
 "f her eyes, under their uplifted lids. During the spring and
 
 A STORy OF AMTraiCAN LIFE. 295 
 
 summer she had been gradually coming to the conviction that 
 she had treated Bute Wilson sh-unefully. The., failure of the 
 little arts which she had formerly employed with so much suc- 
 cess Lad hastened this conviction. The softest drooping of her 
 ?yes, tho gentlest drawl of her voice, ceased to move him from 
 his cold, grave indifference. She began to feel that these 
 charms only acquired their potency through the sentiments of 
 those upon whom they were exercised. Had she not again 
 ard again cast them forth as nets, only to haul them in at las* 
 without having entrapped the smallest fish ? 
 
 Besides, in another way, her ambition had suffered a severe 
 eheck. The mistress of the school at Mulligansville having 
 fallen sick, Miss Dilworth took her place for a fortnight. Her 
 6rst sense of triumph in having attained what she considered 
 to be her true mission, even as the proxy of another, did not 
 last long. For a day or two, the novelty of her appearance 
 kept the school quiet ; but, one by one, the rude country chil- 
 dren became familiar with her curls, with her soft green eyes, 
 and her unauthoritative voice. They grinned in answer to her 
 smile and met her frown with unconcealed derision ; they ate 
 green apples before her very lace ; pulled each other's hair or 
 tickled each other under the arms ; drew pictures on their 
 slates and upset the inkstands over their copy-books. The 
 bigger boys and girls threw saucy notes at each other across 
 the whole breadth of the school-room. They came to her with 
 " sums" which she found herself unable to solve ; they read 
 with loud, shrill voices and shocking pronunciation ; and when 
 the hour for dismissal came, instead of retiring quietly, they 
 sprang from their benches with frightful whooping and rushed 
 tumultuously out of the house. The " beautiful humanity" of 
 the occupation, which she had heard so extolled, burst like a 
 painted bubble, leaving no trace ; the " moral suasion," on 
 which she relied for maintaining discipline, failed her utterly ; 
 the "reciprocal iove'' between teacher and pupil, which she 
 fancied she would develop in the highest degree, resolved it- 
 self into hideous contempt on the one side and repugnance on
 
 296 HANNAH THUKSTON: 
 
 the other. She was finally indebted to one of the biggiat and 
 coarsest of the boys a fellow who almost made her IreiJbU 
 every time he came near her for sufficient help to prevent 
 the school from falling into chaos before the fortnight came to 
 an end. This boy, who was the bully of the school, and whose 
 voice had a cracked hoarseness denoting the phase of develop- 
 ment through which he was passing, was impressed with t 
 vague respect for her curls and her complexion, and chivalrous 
 ly threw his influence, including his fists, on her side. It was 
 not pleasant, however, to hear the older girls giggle and whis- 
 per when he came : " There's the mistress's beau !" 
 
 Bute, also, increased in value in proportion as he became 
 inaccessible. She confessed to herself that no masculine eyes 
 had ever looked at her with such honest tenderness as his : and 
 they were handsome eyes, whatever his nose might be. She 
 had always liked to hear his voice, too, in the old time: now 
 it was no longer the same. It was changed to 7ier, and she 
 had not imagined that the change could make her so restless 
 and unhappy. Still, she did not admit to herself that she really 
 loved him : their intercourse had had none of that sentimental 
 poetic coloring that atmosphere of sighs, murmurs, thrills, and 
 silent raptures which she fancied should accompany Love. 
 He was even coarsely material enough to sneer at the idea of 
 " kindred spirits !" Yet he loved her, for all that ; she felt it 
 in his altered manner, as she had never felt it before. 
 
 The unexpected shock of the news which Mr. Waldo com- 
 municated to her was a sudden betrayal of herself. Had che 
 possessed the least power of introversion, she would have been 
 amazed at it. But her nature was not broad enough to em- 
 brace more than a single sensation. The burst of tears and 
 Uie impulse to offer her services came together, and all that 
 she felt was: "If Bute dies, I shall be wretched." She con- 
 tinued to repeat this to herself, on her way to the Widow 
 Thurston's, adding : " I'll do my best to save him and his 
 stepmother, and I don't care who knows it, and I don't care 
 what they say."
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. -.297 
 
 " Why, what's the matter, child ? " exclaimed the widow, as 
 Miss Dilworth walked into the sitting-room, erect, determined, 
 and with a real expression on her usually vapid* face. 
 
 The latter explained her purpose, not without additional 
 tears. " Nobody else would be likely to go," she said : " they 
 would be afraid of catching the fever. But I'm not afraid : 
 I've seen the like before : I may be of use, and" 1 ought to be 
 there now." 
 
 The widow looked at her with a gentle scrutiny in her eyes, 
 which made Miss Dilworth drop her lids for the first time and 
 bring forward her curls from behind her ears. The glance 
 changed to one of tender sympathy, and, checking a sigh which 
 would have brought a memory with it, the old woman said : 
 
 " I think thee's right." 
 
 Thus encouraged, the necessary preparations were soon 
 made, and in an hour from that time Miss Carrie Dilworth was 
 at Lakeside. 
 
 The negress, who knew her, received her with a mixture of 
 rejoicing and grief: " Bress de Lord, honey ! " she exclaimed ; 
 " things is goin' bad. I'se mighty glad you come. Somebody's 
 got to see to 'urn, all de time, an' de cookin' mus 1 be 'tended 
 to, ye knows." 
 
 Mrs. Babb, after a long sleep, was again awake, but in a 
 .state of physical prostration which prevented her from leaving 
 her bed. Her anxiety lest Arbutus should not receive the 
 proper care, aggravated her condition. She kept his medicines 
 on a chair by her bedside, and demanded constant reports of 
 him, which neither Patrick nor Melinda could give with suf- 
 ficient exactness to satisfy her. 
 
 Miss Dilworth, somewhat nervously, ascended the kitchen 
 stairs and entered the housekeeper's room. But the sight of 
 the hazard, bony face, the wild restlessness in the sunken 
 
 O^ 
 
 eyes, and the thin gray hair streaming loosely from the queer, 
 old-fashioned night-cap, restored her courage through the in- 
 spiration of pity. She went forward with a quick, light step, 
 and stooped down beside the bed. 
 13*
 
 298 HANNAH 
 
 " I have come to help, Mrs. Babb," she said. 
 
 " Help, eh ?" answered the housekeeper, in a weak, husky 
 voice ; " well I've got to take any help that comes. Hard 
 pushed, it seems. Thought you didn't keer about none of ua 
 What are you good for, anyhow ?" 
 
 " I've helped nurse before, Mrs. Babb. I'll do my best, if 
 you'll let me try. Which medicine do you take ?" 
 
 The housekeeper lay silent for a while, with her eyes on the 
 sempstress's face. She was so weak that neither her first 
 feeling of astonishment nor her second feeling of repugnance 
 possessed a tithe of their usual force ; the sense of her own 
 helplessness overpowered them both. " That bottle with the 
 red stuff," she said at last. " A tea-spoonful every two hours. 
 Three o'clock, next. Take keer !" she gasped, as Miss Dil- 
 worth moved to the chair, " you'll knock every thing down 
 with that hair o' yourn !" 
 
 The medicines were at last carefully arranged on a smaL 
 table, the tea-spoonful administered, the pillows shaken up and 
 smoothed, and, the invalid having declared herself comfortable, 
 Miss Dilworth slipped out of the room. When she returned, 
 ten minutes afterwards, her hair was drawn over her temples 
 in masses as smooth as its former condition would allow, and 
 fastened in a knot behind. The change was nevertheless an 
 advantageous one ; it gave her an air of sober womanhood 
 which she had never before exhibited. The old woman 
 noticed it at once, but said nothing. Her eyes continuallj 
 wandered to the door, and she was growing restless. 
 
 " Shall I go and see how he is ?" wnispered Miss Carrie 
 
 A strong expression of dislike passed over the housekeeper's 
 face. For a few minutes she did not speak; then, as no one 
 C^me, she finally groaned : "1 can't go myself.-" 
 
 Miss Carrie opened the door ot Bute's room with a beating 
 heart. The curtains were down, to keep out the afternoon 
 sun, and a dim yellow light filled the chamber. The air was 
 close, and impregnated with a pungent etherous smell. In an 
 old -arm-chair, near the bed, sat Patrick, dozing. But thai
 
 A STOUY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 299 
 
 shorn head, that pale, thin face, and lean, hanging arm, did 
 they really belong to Bute? She approached on tiptoe, 
 holding her breath, and stood beside him. A rush of tender- 
 ness, such as she had never felt towards any man, came over 
 her. She longed to lay the wasted head on her bosom, and 
 bring back color into the cheeks from the warmth of her own 
 heart. He turned and mutterod, with half-closed ejes, as if 
 neither asleep nor awake, and even when &he gently took the 
 hand that lay on the coverlet, the listless fingers did not ac- 
 knowledge her touch. Once he looked full in her face, but 
 vacantly, as if not even seeing her. 
 
 A horrible fear came over her. " Is he worse ?" she whis- 
 pered to the Irishman. 
 
 "No, he's no wurrse, Miss maybe a bit better than he 
 wur." 
 
 " When must he have his medicine ?" 
 
 " I've jist guv' it to him. He'll be quieter now. Could ye 
 stay here and laive me go to the barrn for an hour, jist ?" 
 
 Miss Carrie reported to the housekeeper, and then relieved 
 Patrick. She noiselessly moved the arm-chair nearer the bed, 
 seated herself, and took Bute's feverish hand in her own. 
 From time to time she moistened his parched lips and cooled 
 his throbbing temples. His restless movements ceased and he 
 lay still, though in a state of torpor, apparently, rather than 
 sleep. It was pitiful to see him thus, stripped of his lusty 
 strength, his red blood faded, the strong fibres of his frame 
 weak and lax, and the light of human intelligence gone from 
 nis eye. His helplessness and unconsciousness now, brought 
 into strong relief the sturdy, homely qualities of his mind and 
 aeart : the solemn gulf between the two conditions disclosed 
 his real value. Miss Dil worth felt this without thinking it, 
 is she sat beside him, yearning, with all the power of her 
 limited nature, for one look of recognition, though it expressed 
 no kindness for her ; one rational word, though it might not 
 belong to the dialect of love. 
 
 No such look, no such word, came. The hour slowlj
 
 800 IIA.NNAH THURSTON: 
 
 dragged out its length ; Patrick came back and she returned 
 to the housekeeper's room. The physician paid a second visit, in 
 the evening, expressed his satisfaction with her nursing, thui 
 far, and intrusted her with the entire care of administering 
 the medicines. He advised her, however, not to be wasteful 
 of her strength at the outset, as the patients would not soon 
 be able to dispense with careful watching. It was arranged 
 that the old negress should occasionally relieve her at night. 
 In regard to the invalids, he confessed that he had some hope 
 of Bute's recovery; in a day or two the crisis of the fever 
 would be over ; but Mrs. Babb, though her attack was much 
 less violent, inspired him Avith solicitude. The apathetic con- 
 dition of her system continued, in spite of all his efforts, and 
 the strong will which might have upheld her, seemed to bo 
 suddenly broken. 
 
 Miss Dilworth fulfilled her duties with an astonishing 
 patience and gentleness. . Even the old housekeeper, no longer 
 seeing the curls and drooping eyelids, or hearing the childish 
 affectation of the voice, appeared to regard her as a different 
 creature, and finally trusted the medicines implicitly to her 
 care. On the day after her arrival, Bute, whose wan face and 
 vacant eyes haunted her with a strange attraction, fell into 
 a profound sleep. All that night he lay, apparently lifeless, 
 but for the faint, noiseless breath that came from his parted 
 lips. He could not be aroused to take his medicines. When 
 this was reported to Mrs. Babb, she said, as sternly as her 
 weakness would permit : " Let him alone ! It's the turnin' 
 p'int ; he'll either die or git well, now." 
 
 This remark only increased Miss Dilworth's anxiety. Fifty 
 ames during the night she stole into his room, only to find 
 him motionless, senseless as before. Patrick took advantage 
 of > he quiet to sleep, and snored loud and hard in his arm- 
 chair. Once, moved by an impulse which she could not 
 resist, she stooped down and kissed the sick man's forehead. 
 The touch of her lips was light as a breath, but she rose, 
 trembling and blushing at herself, and slipped out of the room
 
 A STOR\ OF AMERICAN LIFE. 301 
 
 " Quwt nothing but quiet as long as he sleeps !" said the 
 physician, next morning. Patrick was excluded from the 
 room, because, although he pulled off his boots, there were 
 two or three planks in the floor which creaked under his 
 weight. Miss Dilworth silently laid a row of bed-room rugfi 
 from the door to the bedside, and went and came as if on 
 Jown, over the enormous tufted roses. No sound entered the 
 room but that of the summer wind in the boughs of the 
 nearest elm. Hour after hour of the clouded August day 
 went by, and still no change hi the sleeper, oaless an 
 increased softness in his listless hand, as she cautiously 
 touched it. 
 
 Towards sunset, after a restless day, Mrs. Babb tell asleep, 
 and Miss Dilworth went into Bute's room and seated herself 
 in the chair. The prolonged slumber frightened her. "Oh," 
 she said to herself, "what would I do if he was to die. I've 
 treated him badly, and he would never know that I'm sorry 
 for it never know that that I love him ! Yes, I know it 
 now when it's too late. If he were well, he's done loving me 
 as he used to but he won't get well : he'll die and leave me 
 wretched !" 
 
 As these words passed through her mind, while she leaned 
 forward, with her face close to that of the invalid, she sud- 
 denly noticed a change in his breathing. Its faint, regular 
 character was interrupted : it ceased a moment, and then hia 
 breast heaved with a deeper inspiration. " Oh, he's dying !" 
 she whispered to herself in despair. Stooping down, she 
 kissed his forehead passionately, while her tears dropped fast 
 upon it. His arm moved ; she rose, and met the glance of hig 
 5 pen eyes clear, tender, happy, wondering, but not with the 
 jlank wonder of delirium. It was Bute's self that looked at her 
 it was Bute's first, faithful love that first came to the surface 
 from the very depth of his heart, before any later memory 
 could thrust itself between. He had felt the kiss on his fore- 
 head : his eyes drew uer, she knew n ;>t how, to his lips. His 
 right arm lifted itself to her neck and held the kiss a momenl
 
 802 HANNAH 
 
 fast then it slid back again, and she sank into the chair, 
 covering her face with her hands, and weeping. 
 
 After a while Bute's voice came to her weak and gentle, 
 but with its natural tone. "Carrie," said he, "what is it? 
 WJat's happened?" 
 
 ' Oh, Bute," she answered, " you've been very sick : you've 
 bet n out of your head. And Mrs. Babb's sick too, and I've 
 come to take care of you both. I thought you were going to 
 die, Bute, and now you're going to get well, and I'm so glad 
 so happy !" 
 
 " Why are you glad, Carrie ? Why did you come ?" he 
 asked, with an echo of the old reproach in his voice. Tho 
 memory of his disappointment had already returned. 
 
 Nothing was further from Miss Dilworth's mind than a re- 
 sort to her former arts. She was too profoundly and solemnly 
 moved : she would tell the truth, as if it were her own dying 
 hour She took her hands from her face, lifted her head, and 
 looked at him. " Because I have treated you badly, Bute," 
 she said : " because I trifled with you wickedly. I wanted 
 to make some atonement, and to hear you say you forgiv* 
 me." 
 
 She paused. His eyes were fixed on hers, but he did not 
 answer. 
 
 "Can you forgive me, Bute?" she faltered. "Try to do it, 
 because I love you, though I don't expect you to love me any 
 more." 
 
 " Carrie!" he cried. A new tint came to his face, a new 
 light to his eye. His hand wandered towards her on the 
 Coverlet. 
 
 " Carrie," he repeated, feebly grasping her hand with hi* 
 ringers and drawing her tow ards him, " ouce't more, now /" ID 
 th, kiss that followed there- was forgiveness, answering love, 
 and a mutual compact for the future. 
 
 "You've brought mp back ag'in to life," he murmured, 
 closing his eyes, whilt two bright tears crept out from uudei 
 the lids. She sat beside him, holding his hand, tie seemed
 
 A STOEY OF AMEBICAN LIFE. 308 
 
 too weak to say more, and thus ten minutes silently ~assed 
 nway. 
 
 " Tell me how it happened," said Bute, finally. " Where's 
 Mother Forty ?" 
 
 " I must go to her at once !" cried Miss Dilworth, starting 
 up. " She's worrying herself to death on your account. And 
 the doctor said if you got awake you were to keep quiet, and 
 not talk. I must go, Bute : do lie still and try to sleep till 
 I come back. Ob, we oughtn't to have said any thing !" 
 
 " What we've said won't do me no harm," he murmured, 
 with a patient, happy sigh. " Go, then, Came : Til keep 
 quiet." 
 
 Miss Dilworth went into the housekeeper's room so much 
 more swiftly than usual that the latter was awakened by the 
 rustling of her dress. She started and turned her head with 
 a look of terror in her eyes. 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Babb !" cried the sempstress : " Bute's awake 
 it last. And his mind's come back to him ! And he says he'll 
 get well !" 
 
 The old woman trembled visibly. Her bony hands were 
 clasped under the bed-clothes and her lips moved, but no 
 audible words came from them. Then, fixing her eyes on the 
 face of ihe kneeling girl, she asked : " What have you been 
 a-sayin' to him ?" 
 
 Miss Dilworth involuntarily drooped her lids and a deep 
 color came into her face. "I asked him," she answered, "to 
 forgive me for my bad behavior towards him." 
 
 " Nothin' else ?" 
 
 '' Yes, Mrs. Babl, I said he could do it now, because I loTt 
 him." 
 
 " You do, do ye ?" 
 
 " Yes, and he has forgiven me." 
 
 " Hnh !" 
 
 With this, her customary snort, when she was not prepared 
 to express a decided opinion, the housekeeper closed her eyes 
 and seeme 1 to meditate. Presently, however, she turned her
 
 304 HANNAH THUBSTON: 
 
 head, and said, rather sternly, though without any signs of 
 bitterness : 
 
 " Go 'way now, gal ! I want to be alone a spell." 
 
 Mi? s Dil worth obeyed. When she returned, at the time 
 appointed for administering the medicine, Mrs. Babb had re- 
 umed her state of passive patience. She made no further 
 nquiries about the conversation which had taken place, nor 
 about any which took place afterwards. A change had come 
 over her whole nature. She lay for hours, with her eyes open, 
 without speaking, evidently without suffering, yet keenly 
 alive to every thing that took place. She took her medicines 
 mechanically, with an air of listless obedience to the orders of 
 the physician, and without any apparent result. Stimulants 
 and sedatives alike failed to produce their customary effect. 
 From day to day she grew weaker, and the physician finally 
 declared that, unless she could be roused and stirred in some 
 way, to arrest the increasing prostration, he could do nothing 
 for her. As the knowledge of the favorable change in Bute's 
 case had left her as before, there was little hope that any 
 further source of excitement remained. 
 
 As for Bute, he rallied with a rapidity which amazed the 
 physician, who ascribed to an unusual vitality of his own the 
 life which the invalid had really drawn from another. The 
 only difficulty now was, to retard his impatient convalescence, 
 and Miss Dil worth was obliged to anticipate her conjugal au- 
 thority and enjoin silence when he had still a thousand happy 
 questions left unasked and unanswered. When that authority 
 failed, she was forced to absent herself from the room, on the 
 plea of watching Mrs. Babb. His impatience, in such case, 
 was almost as detrimental as his loquacity, and the little 
 sempstress was never at ease except when he 'slept. 
 
 After passing a certain stage in the fever, the housekeeper 
 oegan to sink rapidly. Her mind, nevertheless, made feeble 
 efforts to retain its ascendency efforts which reacted on her 
 body and completed the ruin of its faculties. One day she a 
 Vanished Miss Dil worth by rising in her bed with a violent effort
 
 A STOKY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 80fl 
 
 "I must go and see him!" she said: "help me into his 
 room !" 
 
 "Oh, you cannot!" cried Miss Dilworth, supporting her 
 with one arm around her waist. "Lie down: you are not 
 strong enough. He will be able to come to you in a day or 
 two," 
 
 "No, no! to-day !" gasped the housekeeper. "la'n't cer- 
 tain o' knowin' him to-morrow, or o' bein' able to say to 
 him what I've got to say." Thereupon her temporary 
 strength gave way, and she sank down on the bed in a faint 
 ing state. 
 
 After she had somewhat revived, Miss Dilworth took coun- 
 sel with herself, and soon came to a decision. She went down 
 stairs and summoned Patrick, who carefully wrapped up Bute 
 and placed him in the arm-chair. She herself then assisted in 
 carrying him into the housekeeper's room, and placing him by 
 the bedside. A look of unspeakable fondness came over Mra. 
 Babb's haggard face ; the tears silently flowed from her eyes 
 and rolled down the wrinkles in her hollow cheeks. 
 
 " Cheer up, Mother Forty," said Bute, who was the firj'c to 
 speak. " I'm gittin' on famous' and '11 soon be round agfin." 
 
 "It's as it should be, Arbutus," she whispered, hoarsely, 
 catching her breath between the words; "the old 'un 11 go 
 and the young 'un '11 stay. 'T had to be one of us." 
 
 " Don't say that ; we'll take care of you Carrie And me. 
 Won't we, Carrie ?" 
 
 " Yes, Bute," said Carrie, with her handkerchief to her 
 eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Babb looked from one to another, but without any 
 sign of reproof. She feebly shook her head. " What muut be 
 must," said she; "my time's come. P'raps I sha'n't see you 
 no more, Arbutus. Maybe I ha'n't done my duty by you 
 always ; maybe I've seemed hard, once't and a while, but 1 
 meant it for your good, and I don't want you to have any hard 
 thoughts ag'in mo when I'm gone." 
 
 " Mother Forty |" cried Bute, his eyes filling and overflow
 
 306 HANNAH TIIUKSTON: 
 
 ing, "God knows I ha'n't nothin' ag'in you! You've been 
 as good to me as you knowed how ; it's me that's been rough, 
 and forgitful o' how you took care o' me when I was a little 
 boy. Don't talk that a-way now, don't !" 
 
 " Do you really mean it, Arbutus ? Do you forgive me my 
 trespasses, as I forgive them that trespass agi'n me ? Can I go 
 to Jason and say Fve done my duty by you ?" 
 
 Bute could not answer : he was crying like a child. He 
 slid forward in the chair. Miss Dilworth put her arm around 
 his waist to steady him, and they sank down together on their 
 knees beside the bed. Bute's head fell forward on the coverlet. 
 The housekeeper placed both her hands upon it. 
 
 " Take my blessin', child !" she said, in a feebler voice. 
 " You've been a good boy, Arbutus. I'll tell her, and I'll tell 
 your mother. Maybe I'll have a seat betwixt her and Jason. 
 All I have'll be yourn. But you mustn't stay here : say good- 
 by to me and go." 
 
 " Will you bless me, with him ?" faltered Miss Carrie. 
 
 The left hand slowly moved to her head, and rested there. 
 " Be a good wife to him when the time comes, and I'll bless 
 you always. There a'n't many like him, and I hope you 
 know it." 
 
 " I do know it," she sobbed ; " there's nobody like him." 
 
 " I want you to leave the money where it is," said the 
 housekeeper, " and only draw the interest. You'll have an 
 easier time of it in your old clays than what I've had ; but 1 
 don't begrudge it to you. It's time you were goin' say 
 good-by, child!" 
 
 The sempstress, small as she was, lifted Bute until his foster- 
 mother could catch and hold his head to her bosom. Then, 
 for fhe first time in his remembrance, she kissed him, once, 
 twice, not with any violent outburst of feeling, but with a 
 tender gravity as if it were a necessary duty, the omission of 
 which would not be agreeable to Jason Babb. Then she 
 turned over on the pillow, saying " Amen !" and was silent. 
 Patrick was summoned and Bute was speedily replaced in his
 
 307 
 
 own bed, where Miss Dilworth left him to resume her place 
 by the housekeeper's side. 
 
 But that same night, about midnight, Mrs. Babb died 
 She scarcely spoke again after her interview with Bute, except 
 to ask, two hours later, whether he seemed to be any the 
 worse on account of it. On being told that he was sleeping 
 quietly, she nodded her head, straightened her gaunt form as 
 well as she was able, and clasped her fingers together over her 
 breast. Thus she lay, as if already dead, her strong eyebrows, 
 her hooked nose, and her sharp chin marking themselves with 
 ghastly distinctness as the cheeks grew more hollow and the 
 closed eyes sank deeper in their sockets. Towards midnight a 
 change in her breathing alarmed Miss Dilworth. She hastily 
 called the old negress, who was sleeping on the kitchep settee. 
 
 " Honey," said the latter, in an awe-struck whisper, *s she 
 stood by the bedside, " she's a-goin' fast. She soon see de 
 glory. Don't you wish fur her to stay, 'case dat'll interfere 
 wid her goin'." 
 
 Her breath grew fainter, and came at longer intervals, tut 
 the moment when it ceased passed unnoticed by either of tb e 
 watchers. Melinda first recognized the presence of Death. 
 " You go an' lay down," she said to Miss Carrie. " You can't 
 do no good now. I'll stay wid her till mornin'." 
 
 The sempstress obeyed, for she was, in truth, wretchedly 
 weary. For the remainder of the night Melinda sat on a low 
 chair beside the corpse, swinging her body backwards and 
 forwards as she crooned, in a low voice : 
 
 " De streets is paved wid gold, 
 Ober on de udder shore."
 
 308 HANNAH THURSTOW: 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 VABIOUS CHANGES, BUT LITTLE PBOGEES8 IN THE 8TOE7. 
 
 As soon as the news of Mrs. Babb's death became known, 
 the neighbors hastened to Lakeside to offer their help. The 
 necessary arrangements for the funeral were quietly and 
 speedily made, and, on the second day afterwards, the body of 
 the housekeeper was laid beside that of Jason Babb, in the 
 Presbyterian churchyard at Ptolemy, where he had been 
 slumbering for the last twenty-three years. The attendance 
 was very large, for all the farmers' wives in the valley had 
 known Mrs. Babb, and still held her receipts for cakes, pre- 
 serves, and pickles in high esteem. The Reverends Styles 
 and Waldo made appropriate remarks and prayers at the 
 grave, so that no token of respect was wanting. All the 
 neighbors said, as they drove homewards, " The funeral was a 
 credit to her." Her spirit must have smiled in stern satisfac- 
 tion, even from its place by Jason's side, and at the feet ol 
 Mrs. Dennison, as it looked down and saw that her last uu- 
 conscious appearance among mortals was a success. 
 
 Miss Dilworth took counsel of her friends, Hannah Thurston 
 and Mrs. Waldo, on the day of the funeral. She confessed 10 
 them, vrith returning misgivings, what had taken place be- 
 tween. Bute Wilson and herself, and was a little surprised at 
 the hearty gratification which they both expressed. 
 
 "How glad I am!" ciied Mrs. Waldo; "it is the very 
 thing!" 
 
 " Yes," said Hannah Thurston, in her grave, deliberate man- 
 ner, " I think you have made a good choice, Carrie."
 
 A STOBT OF AMERICAN LIFE. b09 
 
 If anyjspark of Miss Caroline Dilworth's old ambition still 
 burned among the ashes of her dreams, it was^ extinguished at 
 that moment. The prophets of reform were thenceforth dead 
 to her. She even took a consolation in thinking that if her 
 wish had been fulfilled, her future position might have had ita 
 embarrassments. She might have been expected to sympa- 
 thize with ideas which she did not comprehend to make use 
 of new shibboleths before she had learned to pronounce them 
 \f. counterfeit an intelligent appreciation when most con- 
 scious of her own incompetency. Now, she would be at ease. 
 Bute would never discover any deficiency in her. She spoke 
 better English and used finer words than he did, and if she 
 made a mistake now and then, he wouldn't even notice it. 
 With the disappearance of her curls her whole manner had 
 become more simple and natural. Her little affectations broke 
 out now and then, it is true, but they had already ceased to be 
 ased as baits to secure a sentimental interest. There was even 
 hope that her attachment to Bute would be the means of de- 
 veloping her somewhat slender stock of common-sense. 
 
 " Bute says we must be married as soon as he gets well," 
 she said : " he won't wait any longer. Is there any harm in 
 my staying here and taking care of him until he's entirely out 
 of danger ?" 
 
 Mrs. Waldo reflected a moment. "Certainly none until 
 Mr. Woodbury returns," she said. " Mr. Waldo has answered 
 his letter to Bute, which came this morning. If he leaves 
 Saratoga at once, he will be here in three or four days. The 
 doctor says you are an admirable nurse, aud that is reason 
 enough why you should not leave at present." 
 
 "The other reason ought to be enough," said Hannah 
 Thurston. "She owes a wife's duty towards him now, when 
 he needs help which she can give. I am sure Mr. Woodburt 
 will see it in the same light. He is noble and honorable." 
 
 " Why, Hannah !" cried Mrs. Waldo, " I thought you and 
 he were as far apart as the opposite poles !" 
 
 " Perhaps we are, in our views of certain subjects," was t>
 
 a 10 HANNAH THUKSTOW: 
 
 quiet reply. " I can, nevertheless, properly estimate his char 
 acter as a man." 
 
 Mrs. Waldo suppressed a sigh. " If you could only esti 
 mate your own true character as a woman !" she thought. 
 
 Miss Dil worth's duties were now materially lightened. Tht 
 danger of further contagion had passed, and some one of the 
 neighbors came every day to assist her. Bute only required 
 stimulating medicines, and the usual care to prevent a relapse, 
 of which there seemed to be no danger. He began to recover 
 his healthful sleep at night, and his nurse was thus enabled to 
 keep up her strength by regular periods of rest. Once or 
 twice a day she allowed him to talk, so long as there was no 
 appearance of excitement or fatigue. These half hours were 
 the happiest Bute had ever known. To the delicious languor 
 and peace of convalescence, was added the active, ever-renewed 
 bliss of his restored love, and the promises which it whispered. 
 He delighted to call Miss Carrie, in anticipation, "Little 
 wife !" pausing, each time he did so, to look for the blush 
 which was sure to come, and the smile on the short red lips, 
 which was the sweetest that ever visited a woman's face. Of 
 course it was. 
 
 One day, nevertheless, as he lay looking at her, and think- 
 ing how much more steady and sensible she seemed since her 
 curls were gathered up how much more beautiful the ripples 
 of light brown hair upon her temples a cloud came over hia 
 face. "Carrie," he said, "there's one thought worries me, and 
 I want you to put it straight, if you can. S'pose I hadn't got 
 sick, s'pose I hadn't lost my senses, would you ever ha' come 
 to your'n ?" 
 
 She was visibly embarrassed, but presently a flitting roguish 
 expression passed over her face, 'and she answered : (: Would 
 you have given me a chance to do it, Bute?" 
 
 "Likely not," said he. "You spoke plain enough last win- 
 ter, and 'twasn't for me to say the first word, after that. 
 When a man's burnt his fingers once't, he keeps away from 
 the lire. But I want to know why yon come to take keer of
 
 A, STOKY OF AMKKICAN LIFB. 311 
 
 toe and Mother Forty. Was it only because you were sorry, 
 and wanted to pay me for my disapp'intment in that way? 
 Can you lay your hand on your heart and say there was any 
 thing more ?" 
 
 Miss Carrie immediately laid her hand on her heart. " Yes. 
 Bute," she said, " there was something more. I was begin- 
 ning to find it out, before, but when I heard you were so bad, 
 it came all at once." 
 
 " Look hero, Carrie," said Bute, still very earnestly, although 
 the cloud was beginning to pass away, "some men have hearts 
 like shuttlecocks, banged back and forth from one gal to an- 
 other, and none the wuss of it. But I a'n't one of 'em. When- 
 ever I talk serious, I 'xpect to be answered serious. I believe 
 what you say to me. I believed it a'ready, but I wanted to be 
 double sure. You and me have got to live together as man 
 and wile. 'T won't be all skylarkin' : we've got to work, and 
 help one another, and take keer o' others besides, if things goes 
 right. What'll pass in a gal, won't pass in a married woman : 
 you must get shut o' your coquettin' ways. I see you ve took 
 the trap out o' your hair, and now you must take it out o' yom 
 eyes. 'T a'n't that it'll mean any thing any more if I thought 
 it did, I'd feel like killin' you but it won't look right." 
 
 "You mustn't mind my foolishness, Bute," she answered, 
 penitently, "and you mustn't think of Seth Wattles!' 
 
 u Srth be cutt-sarii'd r Bute exclaimed. "When i see you 
 
 pickin' up dead frog's, I'll believe you like to shake hanus with 
 
 Seth ! I've got agri-fabler thoughts than to have him in my 
 
 hfjid. Well I don't bear no grudge ag'in him now; but 1 
 
 m't like him." 
 
 u 1 don't like him either. Fancy such a fellow as he Uiinl 
 ng himself good enough for Hannah Thurston ! There's n 
 ra*n good enougli for her!" 
 
 "Like enough she thinks lx>r"lf ton <n><><l tor auv man, 
 Bute n-m:irk("l. ' But il: \v>m n. Carri*-, thai . 
 
 man wants i !' that gits Mi 
 
 Max."
 
 312 HANNAH THUKSTON: 
 
 "Oh, I muKt go and see to Mr. Woodbury's room I" cried 
 Miss Dilworth, starting up. " Perhaps he'll come this very 
 day. Then I suppose I must go away, Bute." 
 
 "I hope no*,, Carrie. I wouldn't mind bein' a bit sicker for 
 a day or two, o' purpose to keep you here. What ! are yon 
 goin* away in that fashion, Little Wife ?" 
 
 Miss Dilworth darted back to the bedside, stooped down, 
 like a humming-bird presenting its bill to a rather large flow- 
 er, and was about to shoot off again, when Bute caught her by 
 the neck and substituted a broad, firm kiss, full of consistency 
 and flavor, for the little sip she had given him. 
 
 " That's comfortin'," said he. " I thank the Lord my mouth 
 a'n't as little as your'u." 
 
 Before night, Mr. Woodbury arrived, having taken a carriage 
 at Tiberius and driven rapidly over the hills. Mr. Waldo's letter, 
 announcing Bute's dangerous condition and Mrs. Babb's death, 
 had greatly startled and shocked him. His summer tour was 
 nearly at an end, and he at once determined to return to Lake- 
 side for the autumn and winter. He was not surprised to find 
 his household in charge of Miss Dilworth, for the news had 
 already been communicated to him. She met him at the door, 
 blushing and slightly embarrassed, for she scarcely felt herself 
 entitled to be ranked among his acquaintances, and the calm 
 reserve of his usual manner had always overawed her. 
 
 " I am very glad to find yon still here, Miss Dilworth," he 
 said, pressing her hand warmly, "how can I repay you for 
 your courage and kindness? Bute ?" 
 
 " He is much better, Sir. He is expecting you : will you 
 walk up and see him ?" 
 
 " Immediately. I suppose I ought not to carry all this dust 
 with me. I will go to my room first." 
 
 " It is ready, Sir," said Miss Dilworth. " Let me have your 
 ooat." 
 
 Before Woodbury had finished washing his face and hands, 
 and brushing the white dust of the highway out of his hair, 
 there was a light tap on the door. He opened it and beheld
 
 A STORY OP AMERICAN LIFE. 313 
 
 his coat, neatlj dusted and folded, confronting him on the back 
 of a chair. Bute's room he found in the most perfect order 
 The weather had been warm, dry, and still, and the window 
 furthest from the bed was open. The invalid lay, propped ap 
 with two extra pillows, awaiting him. Woodbury was at first 
 shocked by his pale, wasted face, to which the close-cut hair 
 gave a strange, ascetic character. His eyes were sunken, but 
 still bright and cheerful, and two pale-blue sparks danced in 
 them as he turned his head towards the door. 
 
 " Bute, my poor fellow, how are you ? I did not dream this 
 would have happened," said Woodbury, taking the large, 
 spare hand stretched towards him. 
 
 " Oh, I'm doin' well now, Mr. Max. 'Twas queer how it 
 come all 't once't, without any warnin'. I knowed nothin' 
 about it till I was past the danger." 
 
 " And Mrs. Babb was she sick long ? Did she suffer 
 much ?" 
 
 " I don't think she suffered at all : she was never out of her 
 head. She seemed to give up at the start, I'm told, and all 
 the medicines she took was no use. She jist made up her mind 
 to die, and she always had a strong will, you know, Mr. Max." 
 Bute said this quietly and seriously, without the least thought 
 of treating the memory of his foster-mother lightly. 
 
 " She had a good nurse, at least," said Woodbury, " and you 
 seem to be equally fortunate." 
 
 "Well, I guess I am," answered Bute, his face on a broad 
 grin, and with more color in it than he had shown for many 
 days. "I've had the best o' nussin', Mr. Max. Not but 
 what Pat and Mr. Merryfield was as kind as they could be 
 'twasn't the same thing. And I may as well out with it 
 plump : there's no nuss quite ek'l to a man's own wife." 
 
 " Wife !" exclaimed Woodbury, in amazement. 
 
 " Well no not jist yit," stammered Bute ; "but she will 
 be as soon as I git well enough to marry. I'd been hankerin' 
 after her for these two years, Mr. Max., but it mightn't ha 1 
 come to nothin' i.'I hadn't got sick." 
 14
 
 314 HANXAH 
 
 " You mean Miss Dilworth, of course ?" 
 
 Bute nodded his head. 
 
 " You astonish me, Bute. I scarcely know her at all, but I 
 think you have too much good sense to make a mistake. 1 
 v ish you joy, with all my heart ; and yet" he continued in a 
 graver tone, taking Bute's hand, " I shall be almost sorry for 
 it, if this marriage should deprive me of your services on the 
 farm." 
 
 " How ?" cried Bute, instantly recovering his former pale- 
 ness, " do you mean, Mr. Max., that you wouldn't want me 
 afterwards ?" 
 
 " No, no, Bute ! On the contrary, I should be glad to see 
 you settled and contented. But it is natural, now, that you 
 should wish to have a farm of your own, and as Mrs. Babb's 
 legacy will enable you to buy a small one, I thought " 
 
 " Bless you, Mr. Max. !" interrupted Bute, " it would be a 
 small one. What's a few hundred dollars ? I've no notion o' 
 goin' into farmiu' on a ten-acre lot." 
 
 " Mr. Waldo tells me that her property amounts to about 
 twenty-seven hundred dollars." 
 
 " Twenty seven hundred!" and Bute feebly tried V 
 whistle. " Well Mother Forty always was a cute 'un who'd 
 ha' thought it ? And she's left it all to me she keered a 
 mighty sight more for me than she let on." Here something 
 rose in his throat and stopped his voice for a moment. " I'll 
 do her biddm' by it, that I will !" he resumed. " I shall leave 
 it out at interest, and not touch a cent of the capital. Time 
 enough for my children to draw that. Oh, Mr. Max., now the 
 Lord may jist send as many youngsters to me and Carrie, a- 
 lie pleases." 
 
 A dim sensation, like the memory of a conquered soirou, 
 weighed upon Woodbury's heart for an instant, and passed 
 Away. 
 
 "I know when I'm well off,'"' Buti> went on. " I'm content 
 ed to stay as I am: every tl' : > tin- farm the horses, th 
 oxen, the pigs, the fences, the apple-trees, the timber-land
 
 A 8TORT OP AMERICAN LIFB. 313 
 
 is to me as much mine as it is your'n. If I had a farm o 1 
 my own, it'd seem strange like, as if it belonged to somebody 
 else. I've got the hang of every field here, and" know jist what 
 it'll bring. I want to make a good livin' : I don't deny that ; 
 hut if I hold on to what I've got now, and don't run no resks, 
 and put out th' interest ag'in every year, it'll roll up jist about 
 as fast and a darned sight surer, than if I was to set up formy- 
 aelf. If you're willin', Mr. Max., we can fix it somehow. If 
 the tenant-house on the 'Nacreon road was patched up a little, 
 it'd do for the beginnin'." 
 
 " We can arrange it together, Bute," said Woodbury, rising. 
 "Now you have talked long enough, and must rest. I will 
 see you again before I go to bed." 
 
 As Miss Dilworth, at his request, took her seat at the table 
 and poured out the tea, Woodbury looked at her with a new 
 interest. He had scarcely noticed her on previous occasions, and 
 hence there was no first impression to be removed. It seemed 
 to him, indeed, as if he saw her for the first time now. The 
 ripples in her hair caught the light ; her complexion was un- 
 usually fair and fresh ; the soft green of her eyes became 
 almost brown under the long lashes, and the mouth was infan- 
 tine in shape and color. A trifle of affectation in her manner 
 did not disharmonize with such a face ; it was natural to her, 
 and would have been all the same, had she bein eighty years 
 old instead of twenty-six. With this affectation, however, 
 were combined two very useful qualities a most scrupulous 
 neatness and an active sense of order. " Upon my soul, it is 
 Lisette herself," said Woodbury to himself, as he furtively 
 wntched her airs and movements. Who would have expected 
 "o find so many characteristics of the Parisian grisette in one 
 of our staid American communities ? And how astonishing, 
 could he have known it, her ambitious assumption of Hannah 
 Thurston^ vie\vs ! It was a helmet of Pallas, which not only 
 covered her brow, but fell forward over her saucy retrouss6 
 nose, and weighed her slender body half-way to the earth. 
 
 She felt his scrutiny, and performed her tea-table duties witb
 
 316 HANNAH THUBSTON : 
 
 two spots of bright color in her cheeks. Woodbury Imew 
 that she suspected what Bute's principal communication to 
 him had been, and, with his usual straightforward way of 
 meeting a delicate subject, decided to speak to her at once. 
 She gave a little start of confusion not entirely natural aa 
 be commenced, but his manner was so serious, frank, and re- 
 spectful, that she soon felt ashamed of herself and was drawn 
 to her own surprise, to answer him candidly and naturally. 
 
 "Bute has told me, Miss Dilworth," said he, "of youi 
 mutual understanding. I am very glad of it, for his sake. 
 He is an honest and faithful fellow, and deserves to be happy. 
 I think he is right, also, in not unnecessarily postponing the 
 time, though perhaps I should not think so, if his marriage 
 were to deprive me of his services. But he prefers to con- 
 tinue to take charge of Lakeside, rather than buy or lease a 
 farm for himself. I hope you are satisfied with his decision ?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Woodbury," she answered : " I should not like 
 to leave this neighborhood. I have no relatives in the country, 
 except an aunt in Tiberius. My brother went to Iowa five 
 years ago." 
 
 " Bute must have a home," Woodbury continued. " He 
 spoke of my tenant-house, but besides being old and ruinous, 
 it is not well situated, either for its inmates, or for the needa 
 of the farm. I had already thought of tearing it down, and 
 building a cottage on the knoll, near the end of the lane. 
 But that would take time, and " 
 
 " Oh, we can wait, Mr. Woodbury !" 
 
 He smiled. " I doubt whether Bute would be as ready to 
 wait as you, Miss Dilworth. I am afraid if I were to propoae 
 it, he would leave me at once. No, we must make some 
 other arrangement in the mean time. I have been turning the 
 matter over in my mind and have a proposition to make to 
 you." 
 
 " To me !" 
 
 " Yes. Mrs. Babb's death leaves me without a housekeeper. 
 My habits are very simple, the household is small, and I see
 
 A STORr OF AMERICAN LIFE. 31? 
 
 already that you are capable of doing all that will be required. 
 Of course you will have whatever help you need ; I ask no- 
 thing more than a general superintendence *of my domestic 
 aifairs until your new home is ready. If you have no ob- 
 jection of your own to make, will you please mention it U 
 Bute ?" 
 
 " Bute will be so pleased !" she cried. " Only, Mr. Wood 
 bury, if it isn't more than I am capable of doing ? If I'm 
 able to give you satisfaction !" 
 
 " I shall be sure of your wish to do so, Miss Dilworth," 
 said Woodbury, rising from the table ; " and I have the fur- 
 ther guarantee that you will have Bute to please, as well as 
 myself." 
 
 He went into the library and lighted a cigar. "Lucky 
 fellow !" he said to himself, with a sigh. " He makes no in- 
 tellectual requirements from his wife, and he has no trouble in 
 picking up a nice little creature who is no doubt perfection in 
 his eyes, and who will be faithful to him all his days. If she 
 doesn't know major from minor ; if she confuses tenses and 
 doubles negatives ; if she eats peas with her knife, and trims 
 her bonnet with colors at open war with each other ; if she 
 never heard of Shakespeare, and takes Petrarch to be the name 
 of a mineral what does he care ? She makes him a tidy 
 home ; she understands and soothes his simple troubles ; she 
 warms his lonely bed, and suckles the vigorous infants that 
 spring from his loins ; she gives an object to his labor, a con- 
 tented basis to his life, and a prospect of familiar society in 
 the world beyond the grave. Simple as this relation of the 
 exes is for him, he feels its sanctity no less than I. His es- 
 pousals are no less chaste ; his wedded honor is as dear, his 
 paternal joys as pure. My nature claims all this from woman, 
 but, alas ! it claims more. The cultivated intelligence comes 
 in to question and criticize the movements of the heart. Here, 
 on one side, is goodness, tenderness, fidelity ; on the other, 
 race, beauty, refinement, intellect both needs must be ful- 
 611ed. How shall I ever reach this double marriage, except
 
 318 HANWAH THUKSTOW: 
 
 through a blind chance ? Yet here is one woman in whom it 
 would be nearly fulfilled, and a strange delusion into which 
 she has fallen warns me to think of her no more !" 
 
 The conscious thread of his thoughts broke off, and thej 
 loosened themselves into formless reverie. As he rose to re- 
 visit Bute's chamber, he paused a moment, thinking : " That 
 I can analyze her nature thus deliberately, is a proof that I do 
 not love her." 
 
 Bute was delighted with the new arrangement which Wood- 
 bury had proposed to Miss Dil worth. The latter would leave 
 in a few days, he said, and spend the subseqnent two or three 
 weeks before the wedding could take place, at the Widow 
 Thurston's. 
 
 " After it's all over, Mr. Max.," said Bute, " she shall stay 
 here and tend to the house jist as long as you want ; but- 
 you won't mind my savin' it, will you ? there's only one 
 right kind of a housekeeper for you, and I hope you won't be 
 too long a findin' her."
 
 STORY OP AMERICAN LIFE. lift 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 at WHICH HANNAH THUBSTON MAKES A NEW ACQUAINI AWC* 
 
 IN another week, Bute was able to dispense with the grate- 
 ful nursing which had more than reconciled him to the con 
 finement of his sick-room. He required no attendance at 
 night, and was able to sit, comfortably pillowed, for a great 
 part of the day. He consumed enormous quantities of chicken- 
 broth, and drank immoderately of Old Port and Albany Ale. 
 Miss Dil worth, therefore, made preparations to leave : she was 
 now obliged to sew for herself, and a proper obedience to cus 
 torn required that she should not remain at Lakeside during 
 the last fortnight of her betrothal. 
 
 On the morning of her departure, Woodbury called her 
 into the library. " You have done me a great service, Miss 
 Dihvorth," said he, "and I hope you will allow me to acknowl- 
 edge it by furnishing you with one article which I know will 
 have to be provided." With these words he opened a paper 
 parcel and displayed a folded silk, of the most charming tint 
 of silver-gray. 
 
 The little sempstress looked at it in speechless ecstasy. 
 "It's heavenly !" she at last cried, clasping her hands. " I'm 
 obliged to you a thousand times, Mr. Woodbury. It's too 
 much, indeed it is !" 
 
 " Bute won't think so," he suggested. 
 
 She snatched the parcel, and darted up-stairs in cfcret 
 bounds. " Oh, Bute !" she cried, bursting into his room, " ou y 
 look at this ! It's my \vedding-d c<s ! And he's just given it 
 to me 1"
 
 820 HANNAH 
 
 " It's the prettiest thing I ever laid my eyes on," said Bute, 
 looking at the silk reverently but not daring to touch it. 
 "That's jist like Mr. Max. what did I always tell you about 
 him?" 
 
 After Miss Dilworth's departure, the housekeeping wai 
 conducted, somewhat indifferently, by the old negress. She 
 had, however, the one merit of being an admirable cook, and 
 Woodbury might have managed to live with her assistance, 
 for a fortnight, but for one awkward circumstance. He re- 
 ceived a letter from Mrs. Blake, saying that her husband had 
 completed his business in the East and they were preparing 
 to leave Saratoga. Would it be still convenient for him to 
 entertain them for a few days at Lakeside, on their return to 
 St. Louis? If the illness in his household, which had called 
 him home so suddenly, still continued, they would, of course, 
 forego the expected pleasure ; but if not, they would be the 
 more delighted to visit him, as it was probable they would 
 not come to the East the following summer. Would he 
 answer the letter at once, as they were nearly ready to leave ? 
 
 Woodbury was uncertain what to do in this emergency. 
 There was no longer the slightest fear of contagion, and he 
 particularly desired the offered visit ; but how could he enter- 
 tain his friends without a housekeeper? He finally decided 
 that it must be arranged, somehow ; wrote an affirmative an- 
 swer, and rode into Ptolemy to post it without delay, first 
 calling at the Cimmerian Parsonage to ask the advice of a 
 sensible female friend. 
 
 " You see," said he, after stating the dilemma to Mrs. Wal- 
 do, " now that my tyrant has gone, I wish her back again. A 
 despotism is better than no government at all." 
 
 " Ah, but a republic is better than a despotism " she replied. 
 " Do you take my meaning ? I'm not certain, after all, that 
 ihe figure is quite correct. But the thing is to find a tempo- 
 rary housekeeper. I know of no single disengaged woman in 
 Ptolemy, unless it is Miss Ruhaney Goodwin, and her mourn 
 ful countenance and habit of sighing, would be very discour-
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 321 
 
 aging to your guests, even if she were willing to go. Mrs. Bu 
 is a complete intelligence office for Ptolemy, servants. Youl 
 only chance is to see her." 
 
 " And if that fails ?" 
 
 " Then there is no hope. I shall be vexed, for I want to see 
 this Mrs. Blake. If it were not for taking care of my good 
 husband, I should myself be willing to act as mistress of Lake- 
 side for a few days." 
 
 " I knew you would be able to help me !" cried Woodbury, 
 joyfully. " Let me add Mr. Waldo to the number of mj 
 guests. I shall be delighted to have him, and the change may 
 be refreshing to him. Besides, you will have us all at the 
 Cimmerian Church, if the Blakes remain over a Sunday." 
 
 " You are mistaken, if you supposed that any thing of the 
 kind was in my thoughts," said Mrs. Waldo. " But the pro- 
 posal sounds very pleasantly. I am sure we both should enjoy 
 it very much, but I cannot accept, you know, before consulting 
 with my husband." 
 
 " Leave* Mr. Waldo to me." 
 
 The matter was very easily arranged. The clergyman, faith- 
 ful to the promise of his teeth, appreciated a generous diet. 
 His own table was oftentimes sparely supplied, and he was 
 conscious of a gastric craving which gave him discouraging 
 views of life. There was no likelihood of any. immediate birth 
 or death in his congregation, and it was not the season of the 
 year when members were usually assailed by doubts and given 
 to backsliding. More fortunate clergymen went to the water- 
 ing places, or even to Europe, to rest their exhausted lungs ; 
 why should he not go to Lakeside for a week ? They had no 
 servant, and could shut up the parsonage during their absence : 
 but the old horse ? 
 
 " Wife, we must get somebody to look after Dobbin," he 
 laid, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Bring Dobbin along, Woodbury laughed, " my old Dick 
 will be glad to see him." 
 
 Although neither he nor the Waldos were aware that they 
 4*
 
 822 HANNAH THUKSTON. 
 
 had spoken to any one on the subject, the arrangement thai 
 had been made was whispered to everybody in Ptolemy be- 
 fore twenty-four hours were over. Nothing was knowu of 
 the Blakes, except that they were "fashionable," and those 
 who would have been delighted to be in the place of the pool 
 clergyman and his wife, expressed their astonishment it the 
 conduct of the latter. 
 
 " It's what I call very open communion," said the Rev. Mr 
 Pinchman, of the Campbellite Church. 
 
 Miss Ruhaney Goodwin heaved three of her most mournful 
 sighs, in succession, but said nothing. 
 
 " Merry-makings so soon after a death in the house," re- 
 marked Mrs. Hamilton Bue : " it's quite shocking to think of." 
 
 " Our friend is getting very select," said the Hou. Zeno 
 Harder, in his most pompous manner, thereby implying that 
 he should not have been overlooked. 
 
 Mr. Grindle, of course, improved the opportunity on every 
 possible occasion, and before the Blakes had been two days 
 at Lakeside, it was reported, in temperance circles, that they 
 had already consumed one hundred dollars' worth of wine. 
 
 Had these rumors been known to the pleasant little com- 
 munity of Lakeside, they would have added an additional 
 hilarity to the genial atmosphere which pervaded the house. 
 But it was quite removed from the clatter of the village gos- 
 sip, and by the time such news had gone its rounds, and been 
 conveyed to the victim by sympathizing friends, the occasion 
 which gave rise to it had entirely passed away. In our small 
 soantry communities, nothing is so much resented as an indi' 
 reel assumption of social independence. A deviation from tho 
 prevailing habits of domestic life a disregard for prevailing 
 prejudices, however temporary and absurd they may be a 
 visit from strangers who excite curiosity and are not made com- 
 mon social property : each of these circumstances is felt as an 
 act of injustice, and constitutes a legitimate excuse for assault 
 Since the railroad had reached Tiberius, and the steamer on 
 Atauga Lake began to bring summer visitors to Ptolemy
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 323 
 
 this species of despotism had somewhat relaxed, but it r.ow 
 and then flamed up with the old intensity, and Wood bury 
 was too cosmopolitan in his nature not to provoke its ex- 
 ermse. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Waldo reached Lakeside the day before the 
 ai rival of the Blakes, and the latter took immediate and easy 
 possession of her temporary authority. In addition to Me 
 linda, than whom no better cook, in a limited sphere of dishes, 
 could have been desired, Woodbury had hit upon the singular 
 expedient of borrowing a chamber-maid from the Ptolemy 
 House. Mrs. Waldo's task was thus rendered light and 
 agreeable no more, in fact, than she would have voluntarily 
 assumed in any household rather than be idle. It was more 
 than a capacity it was almost a necessity of her nature, tc 
 manage something or direct somebody. In the minor details 
 her sense of order may have been deficient ; but in regulating 
 departments and in general duties she was never at fault. 
 Her subordinates instantly felt the bounds she had drawn for 
 them, and moved instinctively therein. 
 
 The Blakes were charmed with Lakeside and the scenery 
 of the Atauga Valley. Between the boy George and Bute, 
 who was now able to sit on the shaded veranda on still, dry 
 days, there grew up an immediate friendship. Miss Josephine 
 was beginning to develop an interest in poetry and romances, 
 and took almost exclusive possession of the library. Mr. 
 Blake walked over the farm with Woodbury in the forenoons, 
 each developing theories of agriculture equally original and 
 impracticable, while the Mesdames Waldo and Blake improved 
 their acquaintance in house and garden. The two ladies un- 
 derstood each other from the start, and while there were some 
 points, in regard to which as between any two women that 
 may be selected each commiserated the other's mistaken views, 
 they soon discovered many reasons tor mutual sympathy and 
 mutual appreciation. Mrs. Blake had the greater courage, 
 Mrs. Waldo . the greater tact. The latter had more natural 
 grace and pliancy, the former more acquired refinement of
 
 324 HANNAH THTJRSTON: 
 
 naaimer. They were alike in the correctness of their instinct*, 
 but in Mrs. Blake the faculty had been more exquisitely de- 
 veloped, through her greater social experience. It was the 
 same air. in the same key, hut played an octave higher. Mrs. 
 Waldo was more inclined to receive her enjoyment of lifr 
 through impulse and immediate sensation ; Mrs. Blake through 
 a philosophic discrimination. Both, perhaps, would have 
 borne misfortune with like calmness ; but the resignation of 
 one would have sprung from her temperament, and of the 
 other from her reason. The fact that the resemblances in their 
 matured womanhood were developed from different bases of ' 
 character, increased the interest and respect which they 
 mutually felt. 
 
 On one point, at least, they were heartily in accord ; namely, 
 their friendship for Woodbury. Mrs. Blake was familiar, 
 as we have already described, with his early manhood in New 
 York, and furnished Mrs. Waldo many interesting particulars 
 in return for the description which the latter gave of his life 
 at Lakeside. They were also agreed that there was too much 
 masculine sweetness in him to be wasted on the desert air, and 
 that the place, beautiful as -it was, could never be an actual 
 aome until he had brought a mistress to it. 
 
 " He was already chafing under Mrs. Babb's rule," said Mrs 
 Waldo, as they walked up and down the broad garden-alley, 
 "and he will be less satisfied with the new housekeeper. 
 Bute's wife as she will be is a much more agreeable per- 
 son, and will no doubt try to do her best, but he will get very 
 tired of her face and her silly talk. It will be all the worse 
 because she has not a single characteristic strong enough for 
 him to seize upon and say : This offends me ! You know what 
 I mean ?" 
 
 " Perfectly ; and your remark is quite correct. Mr. Wood 
 miry is one of those men who demand positive character, of 
 some kind, in the persons with whom they associate. He likes 
 fast colors, and this new housekeeper, from you? description, 
 must be a piece that will fade the longer it is used. In thai
 
 A STORY OP AMERICAN LIF.E. 325 
 
 case, she will become intolerable to him, though she may not 
 possess one serious fault." 
 
 " That characteristic of his," said Mrs. Waldo, " is the very 
 reason, I think, why it will be difficult for him to find a wife." 
 
 " By the by," asked Mrs. Blake, pausing in her walk, " he 
 epoke to me, when we met on the Saguenay, of oue woman, 
 here, in your neighborhood, who seems to have made a strong 
 impression upon his mind." 
 
 " It was certainly Hannah Thurston !" 
 
 " He did not give me her name. He seemed to admire her 
 sincerely, except in one fatal particular she is strong-minded." 
 
 " Yes, it is Hannah !" exclaimed Mrs. Waldo. " She i* a 
 noble girl, and every way worthy of such a man as he that is, 
 if she were not prejudiced against all men." 
 
 " You quite interest me about her. I heard Bessie Stryker 
 once, when she lectured in St. Louis, and must confess that, 
 while she did not convince me, I could see very well how 
 she had convinced herself. Since then, I have been rather tole- 
 rant towards the strong-minded class. The principal mistakes 
 they make arise from the fact of their not being married, or of 
 having moral and intellectual milksops for husbands. In either 
 case, no woman can understand our sex, or the opposite." 
 
 " I have said almost the same thing to Hannah Thurston," 
 Mrs. Waldo remarked. " If she would only take one step, 
 the true knowledge would come. But she won't." 
 
 " I suspect she has not yet found her Fate," said Mrs. Blake. 
 " Was she ever in love, do you think ?" 
 
 " No, I am sure of it. She has refused two good offers 
 pf marriage to my knowledge, and one of them was from a 
 man who believed in the doctrine of Women's Rights. I can't 
 understand her, though I love her dearly, and we have been 
 intimate for years." 
 
 " Can you not contrive a way for me to make her acquaint 
 ance ?" 
 
 " Whenever you please. I have no doubt she remembers 
 the story Mr. Woodburv told as last winter. I am hostess,
 
 326 HANNAH THUBSTON: 
 
 now, you know, and I can invite her to dinner to-moirow, onlj 
 I must ask somebody else. I have it! Mr. Woodbury must 
 invite Mr. and Mrs. Styles. It will not do for him to show to* 
 inuoh partiality to our little sect, and that will keep up the bat 
 WCQ of civility." *'' 
 
 ^ oodbury accepted the proposition with more satisfaction 
 nan he judged proper to express. It was the very object he 
 lesired to accomplish, yet which he could not himself mention 
 without exciting suspicions in the minds of both the ladies, 
 tie had not seen Hannah Thurston since his return, and felt a 
 strange curiosity to test his own sensations when they should 
 meet again. Under the circumstances, the invitation could b 
 given and accepted without in the least violating the social 
 propriety of Ptolemy. 
 
 The disturbing emotion which had followed her last inter- 
 view witli Woodbury had entirely passed away from Hannah 
 Thurston's mind. Her momentary resolution to avoid seeing 
 h.'tn again, presented itself to her as a confession of weakness. 
 A studied avoidance of his society would be interpreted as 
 springing from a hostility which she did not feel. On the con- 
 trary, his culture attracted her: his bearing towards her was 
 gratefully kind and respectful, and she acknowledged a certain 
 intellectual pleasure in his conversation, even when it assailed 
 her dearest convictions. Her mother's health, always fluctu- 
 ating with the season and the weather, had somewhat improved 
 in the last calm, warm days of August, and she could safely 
 leave her for a few hours in Miss Dil worth's charge. The lat- 
 ter, indeed, begged her to go, that she might bring back a 
 minute account of Bute's grade of convalescence. In short, 
 there was no plausible excuse for declining the invitation, had 
 he been disposed to seek one. 
 
 It was a quiet but very agreeable dinner-party. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Styles were both amiable and pleasantly receptive persons, and 
 Mrs. Waldo took care that they should not be overlooked in 
 the lively flow of talk. Hannah Thurston, who was seated beside 
 Mr. Blake and opposite his wife, soon overcame her first timid
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 327 
 
 ity, and conversed freely and naturally with her new acquaint 
 ances. Woodbury's reception of her had been- frank and kind, 
 bat he hud .said less to her than on former occasions. Never- 
 theless, she occasionally had a presentiment that his ryes were 
 ijion her that he listened to her, aside, when he was engaged 
 M com ersing with his other guests. It was an absurd fancy, of 
 
 s but it constantly returned. 
 
 \ tier dinner, the company passed out upon the veranda, or 
 M.;atM themselves under the old oaks, to enjoy the last mellow 
 Mid .!ne of the afternoon. Mrs. Blake and Hannah Thurston 
 found themselves a little apart from the others an opportunity 
 which the former had sought. Each was attracted towards 
 the other by an interest which directed their thoughts to the 
 fame person, and at the same time restrained their tongues 
 from uttering his name. Hannah Thurston had immediately 
 recognized in her new acquaintance the same mental poise and 
 self-possession, which, in Woodbury, had extorted her unwil- 
 ling respect, while it so often disconcerted her. She knew 
 that the two were natives of the same social climate, and was 
 curious to ascertain whether they shared the same views of 
 life whether, in fact, those views were part of a conventional 
 creed adopted by the class to which they belonged, or, in each 
 case, the mature conclusions of an honest and trutu-peeking 
 nature. With one of her own sex she felt stronger and better 
 armed to defend herself. Mrs. Blake was not a woman of un 
 usual intellect, but what she did possess was awake and active, 
 to its smallest fibre. What she lacked in depth, she made up 
 in quickness and clearness of vision. She did not attempt to fol 
 low abstract theories, or combat them, but would let fall, as if 
 by accident, one of the sharp, positive truths, with which both 
 instinct and experience had stored her mind, and which never 
 Bailed to prick and let the wind out of every bubble bltwn to- 
 wards her. This faculty, added to the advantage of sex, made 
 her the most dangerous antagonist Hannah Thurston could 
 liave met. But the latter, unsuspecting, courted her fate. 
 
 The convocation, commencing with the beauties of tiw
 
 828 HANNAH THUKSTON: 
 
 landscape, branching thence to Ptolemy and its inhabitants, to 
 their character, their degree of literary cultivation, and the 
 means of enlightenment which they enjoyed, rapidly and 
 naturally approached the one important topic. Hannah Thurs- 
 ton mentioned, among other things, the meetings which were 
 held in the interest of Temperance, Anti-Slavery, Non-Resist- 
 ance, and Women's Rights ; Mrs. Blake gave her impressions 
 of Bessie Stryker's lecture ; Hannah Thurston grasped the 
 who-e gauntlet where only the tip of a finger had been pre 
 sented, and both women were soon in the very centre of the 
 debatable ground. 
 
 " What I most object to," said Mrs. Blake, " is that women 
 should demand a sphere of action for which they are incapaci- 
 tated understand me, not by want of intellect, but by sex." 
 
 "Do you overlook all the examples which History fur- 
 nishes ?" cried Hannah Thurston. " What is there that Wo- 
 man has not done ?" 
 
 " Commanded an army." 
 
 "Zenobia!" 
 
 " And was brought in chains to Rome. Founded an em- 
 pire ?" 
 
 " She has ruled empires !" 
 
 " After they were already made, and with the help of men. 
 Established a religion ? Originated a system of philosophy ? 
 Created an order of architecture ? Developed a science ? In- 
 vented a machine ?" 
 
 " I am sure I could find examples of her having distin- 
 guished herself in all these departments of intellect," Hannah 
 Thurston persisted. 
 
 "Distinguished herself! Ah! yes, I grant it. After the 
 raw material of knowledge has been dug up and quarried out, 
 and smelted, and hewn into blocks, she steps in with her fine 
 hand and her delicate tools, and assists man in elaborating the 
 nicer details. But she has never yet done the rough work 
 and I don't believe she ever will." 
 
 " But with the same education the same preparation the
 
 A STOEY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 329 
 
 same advantages, from birth, which man possesses ? She IB 
 taught to anticipate a contracted sphere she is told that these 
 pursuits were not meant for her sex, and the determination to 
 devote herself to them comes late, when it comes at all. Those 
 intellectual muscles which might have had the same vigor as 
 man's, receive no early training. She is thus cheated out of 
 the very basis of her natural strength : if she has done so 
 much, fettered, what might she not do if her limbs were free ?'' 
 Hannah Thurston's face glowed : her eyes kindled, and her 
 voice came sweet and strong with the intensity of a faith that 
 would not allow itself to be shaken. She was wholly lost in 
 her subject. 
 
 After a pause, Mrs. Blake quietly said : " Yes, if we bad 
 broad shoulders, and narrow hips, we could no doubt wield 
 sledge-hammers, and quarry stone, and reef sails in a storm." 
 
 Again the same chill as Woodbury's conversation had some- 
 times invoked, came over Hannah Thurston's feelings. Here 
 was the same dogged adherence to existing facts, she thought, 
 the same lack of aspiration for a better order of things ! The 
 assertion, which she would have felt inclined to resent in a 
 man, saddened her in a woman. The light faded from her 
 face, and she said, mournfully : " Yes, the physical superiority 
 of man gives him an advantage, by which our sex is overawed 
 and held in subjection. But the rule of force cannot last for- 
 ever. If woman would but assert her equality of intellect, 
 and claim her share of the rights belonging to human intelli- 
 gence, she would soon transform the world." 
 
 Mrs. Blake instantly interpreted the change in countenance 
 and tone ; it went far towards giving her the key to Hannah 
 Thurston's nature. Dropping the particular question which 
 bad been started, she commenced anew. " When I lived in 
 New York," said she, " I had many acquaintances among the 
 artists, and what I learned of them and their lives taught me 
 this lesson that there can be no sadder mistake than to mis- 
 calculate one's powers. There is very little of the ideal and 
 imaginative element in me, as you see, but I have learn '.id its
 
 880 HANNAH THUKSTON : 
 
 nature from observation. I have never met any man who in- 
 spired me with so much pity as a painter whom I knew, who 
 might have produced admirable tavern-signs, but who per- 
 sisted in giving to the world large historical pictures, which 
 were shocking to behold. No recognition came to the man, 
 For there was nothing to be recognized. If he had moderated 
 his ambition, he might at least have gained a living, but ho 
 was ruined before he could be brought to perceive the truth, 
 and then died, I am sure, of a broken heart." 
 
 "And you mean," said Miss Thurston, slowly, "that I 
 that we who advocate the just claims of our sex, are making 
 the same mistake." 
 
 " I mean," Mrs. Blake answered, " that you should be very 
 careful not to over-estimate the capacity of our sex by your 
 own, as an individual woman. You may be capable under 
 certain conditions of performing any of the special intel 
 lectual employments of Man, but to do so you must sacrifice 
 your destiny as a woman you must seal up the wells from 
 which a woman draws her purest happiness." 
 
 " Why ?" ' 
 
 " Ah, my dear," said Mrs. Blake, tend-jrly, " if your hair 
 were as gray as mine, and you had two such creatures about 
 you as Josey and George yonder, you would not ask. There 
 are times when a woman has no independent life of her own 
 when her judgment is wavering and obscured when her 
 impulses are beyond her control. The business of the world 
 must go on, in its fixed order, whether she has her share in it 
 or not. Congresses cannot be adjourned nor trials postponed, 
 nor suffering patients neglected, to await her necessities. The 
 prime of a man's activity is the period of her subjection. She 
 must then begin her political career in the decline of her 
 faculties, when she will never be able to compete succes-ifuH) 
 with man, in any occupation which he has followed from 
 youth." 
 
 Hannah Thurston felt that there must be truth in these 
 words. At least it was not for her, in her maiden ignorance
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 331 
 
 10 contradict them. But she was sure, nevertheless, that Mrs. 
 Blake's statement was not sufficient to overthrow her theory 
 of woman's equality. She reflected a moment before sh6 
 spoke again, and her tone was less earnest and confident '^han 
 usual. 
 
 *' The statesmen and jurists, the clergymen, physicians, and 
 men of science," she said, " comprise but a small number of 
 the men. Could not our sex spare an equal number ? Would 
 not some of us sacrifice a part of our lives, if it were 
 necessary ?" 
 
 "And lose the peace and repose of domestic life, which 
 consoles and supports the public life of man !" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Blake. " It is not in his nature to make this sacrifice still 
 less is it in ours. You do not thimc what you are saying. 
 There is no true woman but feels at her bosom the yearning 
 for a baby's lips. The milk that is never sucked dries into a 
 crust around her heart. There is no true woman but longs, 
 in her secret soul, for a man's breast to lay her head on, a 
 man's eyes to give her the one look which he gives to no- 
 body else in the world !" 
 
 Hannah Thurston's eyes fell before those of Mrs. Blake. 
 She painfully felt the warm flush that crept over neck, and 
 cheek, and brow, betraying her secret, but betraying it, for- 
 tunately, to a noble and earnest-hearted woman. A silence 
 ensued, which neither knew how to break. 
 
 " What are you plotting so seriously ?" broke in Wood- 
 bury's voice, close behind them. " I must interrupt this tete- 
 a-tete, Mrs. Blake. See what you are losing ?" 
 
 They both rose and turned, in obedience to the movement 
 of his hand. The sun had sunk so low that the shade of the 
 western hill filled all the bed of the valley, and began to creep 
 np the eaotern side. A light blue film was gathering over the 
 marsh at the head of the lake, where it divided into two lines, 
 pointing up the creeks. But the patches of woodland on the 
 East Atauga hill, the steep fields of tawny oat-stubble, and the 
 fronts of white farm-houses and barns in the distance, were
 
 882 HATTNAH THTlRSTOW: 
 
 drowned in a bath of airy gold, slowly deepening into flame 
 color as its tide-mark rose higher on the hills. Over Ptolemj 
 a mountain of fire divided the forking valleys, which receded 
 on either hand, southward, into dim depths of amethyst. 
 Higher and higher crept the splendor, until it blazed like a 
 fringe on the topmost forests and fields : then it suddenly wett 
 out and was transferred to a rack of broken cloud, overhead. 
 
 Mrs. Styles presently made her appearance, bonneted for 
 the return to Ptolemy. Hannah Thurston was to accompany 
 her. But as they drove homewards through the cool evening 
 air, through the ripe odors of late-flowering grasses, and the 
 golden-rods on the road-banks and the eupatoriums in the 
 meadows, it was the passionate yearning of the woman, not 
 the ambition of the man, which had entire possession of her 
 heart.
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 323 
 
 US WHICH A WEDDING TAKES PLACE. 
 
 " Do you know, Mr. Woodbury," said Mrs. Blake, the same 
 evening, as they were all gathered together in the library, 
 u that I have taken an immense liking to your strong-minded 
 woman?" 
 
 " Indeed !" he remarked, with assumed indifference. 
 
 " Yes. I had a serious talk with her. I employed a moral 
 probe, and what do you think I found ?" 
 
 " What ?'' he repeated, turning towards her with an expres- 
 sion of keen interest. , 
 
 "No, it would not be fair," tantalizingly answered Mrs. Blake, 
 in her most deliberate tones. "I shall not betray any discoveries 
 I have accidentally made. She is too earnest and genuine a 
 nature to be disposed of with a pleasantry. I will only say 
 this as far as she is wrong which, of course, is admitting 
 that she is partly right, I, woman as I am, would undertake 
 to convince her of it. A man, therefore, ought to be able to 
 restore her to the true faith more easily. Yet you have been 
 living at Lakeside nearly a year and have not succeeded." 
 
 " I have never tried, my friend," said Woodbury. 
 
 "Really?" 
 
 "Of course not. Why should I? She is relentless in her 
 prejudices, even in those which spring from her limited knowl- 
 edge of life. The only cure for such is in a wider experience. 
 She cannot understand that a humane and liberal tolerance of 
 all varieties of habit and opinion is compatible with sincerity 
 of character. She would make every stream turn some kind 
 of a mill, while I am willing to see one now and then dash
 
 884 HANNAH THUBSTOW: 
 
 itself to pieces over the rocks, for the sake of the spray, and 
 the rainbows. I confess, though, that I do not think this 
 moral rigidity is entirely natural to her ; but the very fact that 
 she has slowly reasoned herself into it, and so intrenched and 
 defended herself against attack from all quarters, makes it so 
 much the more difficult for her to strike her flag. If you 
 were to approach her position disarmed and propose a truce, 
 she would look upon it as the stratagem of an enemy." 
 
 " No, no !" cried Mrs. Blake, shaking her head, with a mis- 
 chievous sparkle in her eyes; "that is not the way at all! 
 Don't you know that a strong woman can only be overcome 
 by superior strength? No white flags no proposals of 
 truce but go, armed to the teeth, and fire a train to the 
 mine which shall blow her fortress to atoms in a moment!" 
 
 "Bravo! What a commander is lost to the world in you! 
 But suppose I don't see any train to the mine?" 
 
 "Pshaw!" exclaimed Mrs. Blake, turning away in mock 
 contempt. " You know very well that there is but one kind 
 of moral gunpowder to be used in such cases. I am going to 
 drive into Ptolemy this afternoon with Mrs. Waldo, and I 
 shall make a call at the Thurston cottage. Will you go with 
 us?" 
 
 " Thank you, not to-day. Mr. Blake and I have arranged 
 to take a boat on the Lake and fish for pickerel. It is better 
 sport than firing trains of moral gunpowder." 
 
 The two ladies drove into Ptolemy as they had proposed. 
 Mrs. Blake made herself quite at nome at the Cimmerian 
 Parsonage, where she recognized the Christus Consolator as 
 an old friend out of her own bedroom, and went into raptures 
 over Hannah Thurston's bouquet of grasses. She mentally 
 determined to procure from the donor a similar ornament for 
 her boudoir in St. Louis, and managed the matter, indeed, 
 with such skill that Miss Thurston innocently supposed the 
 offer to make and forward the bouquet came spontaneously 
 from herself. 
 
 To the "o^J'vw Thurston's cottage Mrs. Blake came like a
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFJI. 335 
 
 itrong, refreshing breeze. In other households, her sharp, 
 clear, detective nature might have uncomfortably blown 
 away the drapery from many concealed infirmities, but here it 
 encountered only naked truthfulness, and was welcome. She 
 bowed down at once before the expression of past trials in 
 the old woman's face, and her manner assumed a tenderness all 
 the sweeter and more fascinating that it rarely came to the 
 urface. She took Miss Dilworth's measure at a single glance, 
 and the result, as she afterwards expressed it to Mrs. Waldo, 
 was much more favorable than that lady had anticipated. 
 
 " He could not have a better housekeeper than she, just at 
 present." 
 
 " Why, you astonish me !" Mrs. Waldo exclaimed ; " why 
 do you think so ?" 
 
 " I have no particular reason for thinking so," Mrs. Blake 
 answered ; " it's a presentiment." 
 
 Mrs. Waldo turned away her eyes from Dobbin's ears 
 (which she always watched with some anxiety, although the 
 poor old beast had long since forgotten how to shy them back), 
 and inspected her companion's face. It was entirely grav-j 
 and serious. " Oh," she said at last, in a puzzled tone, "that's 
 all?" 
 
 "Yes, and therefore you won't think it worth much. 
 But my presentiments are generally correct : wait and see," 
 
 The Blakes remained over a Sunday, and went, as it was 
 generally surmised they would, to the Cimmerian Church. 
 The attendance -was unusually large on that day, embracing, 
 to the surprise of Mrs. Waldo, the Hamilton Bues and Miss 
 lluhaney Goodwin. On '!.< entrance of the strangers into 
 the church, a subdued rustling sound ran along the benches 
 (pews \vere not allowed by the Cimmerians), and most of the 
 heads turned stealthily towards the door. The imme- 
 diate silence that followed ha.d something of disappointment 
 m it. There was nothing remarkable in the tall, keen-eyed 
 lady in plain black silk, or the stout, shrewd-faced, gray- 
 whiskered man who followed her. Miss Josephine's flat straw
 
 386 HANNAH THUBSTON: 
 
 hat and blue silk mantilla attracted much more attention 
 among the younger members of the congregation. After the 
 hymn had been given out, however, and the first bars of the 
 triumphant choral of "Wilmot" (according to the music- 
 books, but Carl Maria, von Weber in the world of Art) were 
 heard, a new voice gradually took its place in the midst of 
 the accustomed and imperfectly according sounds, and very 
 soon assumed the right of a ru.er, forcing the others to keep 
 step with it in the majestic movement of the choral. Not 
 remarkably sweet, but of astonishing strength and metal- 
 lic sonority, it pealed like a trumpet at the head of the ill- 
 disciplined four battalions of singers, and elevated them to a 
 new confidence in themselves. 
 
 The voice was Mrs. Blake's. She professed to be no singer, 
 for she knew her own deficiencies so well, that she never at- 
 tempted to conceal them; but her voice had the one rare 
 element, in a woman, of power, and was therefore admirably 
 effective in a certain range of subjects. In society she rarely 
 sang any except Scotch songs, and of these especially such as 
 dated from the rebellion of 1745 those gloriously defiant 
 lays, breathing of the Highlands and the heather and bonnie 
 Prince Charlie, which cast an immortal poetic gleam over the 
 impotent attempt to restore a superannuated dynasty. Had 
 she lived in those days Mrs. Blake might have sung the slogan 
 to the gathering clans : as it was, these songs were the only 
 expression of the fine heroic capacity which was latent in her 
 nature. She enjoyed the singing fully as much as her auditors 
 the hearing, and, if the truth could be distinctly known, it is 
 quite probable that she had prompted Mr. Waldo in his se 
 lection of the hymn. Her participation in it threw the whole 
 Cimmerian congregation on her side, and the Hamilton Bues 
 privately expressed their belief that the clergyman had taken 
 an undue advantage of his opportunities as a guest at Lake- 
 side, to instil his heretical ideas of baptism into the minds of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Blake. It transpired afterwards, however, that 
 the latter were Episcopalian, both by faith and inheritance-
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFB. . 88? 
 
 The day at last arrived for the breaking up of the new 
 household, to the great regret of all its members. Miss Jose- 
 phine tore herself with difficulty from the library, only par- 
 tially consoled by the present of "Undine" and " Sintraim." 
 George wanted to stay with Bute and learn to trap musk-rat* 
 and snare rabbits. Mr. Waldo half sheathed his teeth witl 
 Ins insufficient lips and went back to his plain fare with a sigh 
 of resignation. The ladies kissed each other, and Woodbury 
 would assuredly have kissed them both if he had known how 
 charitably they would have received the transgression. Bute 
 was embarrassed beyond all his previous experience by the 
 present of half a dozen silver tea-spoons which Mrs. Blake 
 had bought in Ptolemy and presented to him through her boy 
 George. 
 
 " You are going to begin housekeeping, I hear," said she, 
 " and you must let George help you with the outfit." 
 
 Bute colored like a young girl. " They're wuth more'n the 
 silver, comin' to us that-a-way," he said at last. " I'll tell 
 Carrie, and we sha'n't never use 'em, without thinkin' o' you 
 ind George." 
 
 The farewells were said, and Lakeside relapsed into its ac- 
 customed quiet. The borrowed chambermaid was returned to 
 tbe Ptolemy House, and the old Melinda alone remained in 
 tlie kitchen, to prepare her incomparable corn-cake and broiled 
 chicken. Bute was now able, with proper precautions, to 
 walk about the farm and direct the necessary labor, without 
 taking part in it. Woodbury resumed his former habit of 
 horseback exercise, and visited some of his acquaintances in 
 Ptolemy and the neighborhood, but the departure of his 
 pleasant guests left a very perceptible void in his life. He 
 had sufficient resources within himself to endure solitrde, 
 but he was made, like every healthily-constituted man, for 
 society. 
 
 Thus a few days passed away, and Bute's convalescence 
 bep'an to take the hue of absolute health. He now visited 
 
 o 
 
 D tclemy every day or two, to watch the progress made in a 
 15
 
 838 m HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 certain sih er-gray dress, and to enjoy the exquisite novelty of 
 consulting Miss Dil worth about their future household ar- 
 rangements. The latter sometimes, from long habit, veassumed 
 her former air of coquetry, but it was no longer tantalizing, 
 and an earnest word or look sufficed to check her. A charm 
 ing humility took the place of her affected superiority, and 
 became her vastly better, as she had sense enough to discern. 
 Her ringlets had disappeared forever, and her eyelids grad- 
 ual 1} recovered strength for an open and steady glance. In 
 fact, her eyes were prettier than she had supposed. Their 
 pale beryl tint deepened into brown at the edges, and when 
 the pupil expanded in a subdued light, they might almost have 
 been called hazel. In Spain they would have been sung as 
 , " ojos verdes" by the poets. On the whole, Bute had chosen 
 more sensibly than we supposed, when we first made Miss 
 Dilworth's acquaintance. 
 
 The arrangements for the wedding were necessarily few and 
 simple. Woodbury first proposed that it should be solemnized 
 at Lakeside, but Mrs. Waldo urged, that, since her husband 
 was to officiate on the occasion, it would be better for many 
 reasons one of which was Mrs. Babb's recent death that it 
 should take place at the parsonage. Miss Dil worth was se- 
 cretly bent on having a bridesmaid, who should, of course, be 
 Hannah Thurston, but was obliged to relinquish her project, 
 through the unexpected resistance which it encountered on 
 the part of Bute. "None of the fellows that I could ask to 
 stand up with me would do for her" said he. 
 
 "Why not Mr. Woodbury?" suggested Miss Carrie. 
 
 " He ! Well he'd do it in a minute if I was to ask him, bu 
 I won't. Betweer you and me. Carrie, they can't bear earl 
 other ; they're like cats S-ACI dogs." 
 
 " Bute ! a'n't you ashamed ?" 
 
 " What ? O' tellin' the truth ? No, nor a'n't likely to be. 
 See here, Carrie, why can't we let it alone ? Mr. Waldo'll tie 
 us jist as tight, all the same, and when it's over you won't 
 know the difference."
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 339 
 
 ft But Bute," Miss Carrie persisted, " I think she expects 
 it of me." 
 
 " She ha'n't set her heart on it, I'll be bound. I'll ask her. 
 Miss Hannah !" 
 
 The two were in the open air, at the corner of the cottagt 
 nearest the garden. The window of the little sitting-rooua 
 was open, and Bute's call brought Miss Thurston to it. 
 
 '' Oh, Bute, don't !" pleaded Miss Dilworth, ready to cry, 
 out he had already gone too far to stop. " Miss Hannah,' 
 said he, " we're talkin' about the weddin'. I'm thinkin' it'll 
 be jist as well without waiters. Carrie'd like to have you for 
 bridesmaid, and I'm sure I'd be glad of it, only, you know, 
 you'd have to stand up with somebody on my side, and there's 
 nobody I could ask but Mr. Max, and and I'm afraid that 
 wouldn't be agreeable, like, for either o' you." 
 
 " Bute !" cried Carrie, in real distress. 
 
 Bute, however, was too sure of the truth of what he had 
 said to suspect that he could possibly give pain by uttering it. 
 The first rude shock of his words over, Hannah Thurston felt 
 greatly relieved. "You were right to tell me, Arbutus," said 
 she; "for, although I should be quite willing, at another time, 
 to do as Carrie wishes, no matter whom you might choose as 
 your, nearest friend, I think it best, at present, that there 
 should be as little ceremony as possible. I will talk with you 
 about it afterwards, Carrie." And she moved away from the 
 window. 
 
 At length the important day arrived. Bute woke when the 
 cocks crowed three o'clock, and found it impossible to get to 
 sleep a2;ain. His new clothes (not made by Seth Wattles) 
 jyere in the top drawer of the old bureau, and Melinda had 
 .akl some sprigs of lavender among them. He tried to 
 imagine how he would look in them, how he would feel during 
 the ceremony and afterwards, how curious it must be to have 
 a wife of your own, and everybody know it. He pictured to 
 himself his friends on the neighboring farms, saying : " How's 
 your wife, Bute ?" when they met, and then he thought of
 
 340 HANNAH THURSTON : 
 
 Mother Forty, aud what a pity that she had not lived long 
 enough to know Carrie Wilson who, of course, would be a 
 very different creature from Carrie Dilworth ; but he always 
 cunie back to the new clothes in the top bureau-drawer, and 
 the duty of the day that was beginning to dawn. Then, he 
 heard Pat.'s voice among the cattle at the barn ; then, a stir- 
 ring in the kitchen under him, and presently the noise of the 
 coffee-mill and still it was not light enough to shave ! More 
 slowly than ever before the sun rose ; his toilet, which usually 
 lasted five minutes, took half an hour ; he combed his hair in 
 three different ways, none of which was successful ; and finally 
 went down to breakfast, feeling more awkward and uncom- 
 fortable than ever before in his life. 
 
 Woodbury shook hands with him and complimented him on 
 his appearance, after which he felt more composed. The 
 preparations for the ride to Ptolemy, nevertheless, impressed 
 him with a certain solemnity, as if he were a culprit awaiting 
 execution or a corpse awaiting burial. A feeling of helpless- 
 aess came over him : the occasion seemed to have been 
 brought about, not so much by his own will as by an omnipo- 
 tent fate which had taken him at his word. Presently Pat. 
 came up grinning, dressed in his Sunday suit, and announced: 
 " The hosses is ready, Misther Bute, and it'll be time we're 
 off." After the ceremony Pat. was to drive the happy pair to 
 Tiberius, where they proposed spending a honeymoon of two 
 days with the bride's old aunt. He wore a bright blue coat 
 with brass buttons, and Meliuda had insisted on pinning a 
 piece of white ribbon on the left lappel, " Kase," as she re- 
 marked, " down Souf ole Missus always had 'um so." 
 
 Woodbury mounted his horse and rode off, in advance, 
 through the soft September morning. At the parsonage he 
 found every thing in readiness. Mrs. Waldo, sparkling with 
 satisfaction, rustled about in a dark-green silk (turned, and 
 with the spots carefully erased by carnphene), vibrating inces 
 santly between the little parlor where the ceremony was to 
 \uke place, and the bedroom up-stairs, where the bride
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 841 
 
 being arrayed under the direction of Hannah Tlmrston. 
 Nothing, as she candidly confessed, enlisted her sympathies so 
 completely as a wedding, and it was the great inconvenience 
 of a small congregation that her husband had so few occasion/? 
 to officiate. 
 
 <4 Promise me, Mr. Woodbury," he said, as she finally 
 paused in her movements, from the impossibility of finding 
 any thing else to do, " that you will be married by nobody but 
 Mr, Waldo." 
 
 " I can safely promise that," he answered : " but pray don't 
 ask me to fix the time when it shall take place." 
 
 " If it depended on me, I would say to-morrow. Ah, there 
 is Bute ! How nicely he looks !" With these words she went 
 to the door and admitted him. 
 
 Bute's illness had bleached the tan and subdued the defiant 
 ruddiness of his skin. In black broadcloth and the white silk 
 gloves (white kids, of the proper number, were not to be 
 found in Ptolemy) into which he had been unwillingly persuaded 
 to force his large hands, an air of semi-refinement overspread 
 the strong masculine expression of his face and body. His 
 hair, thinned by fever and closely cut, revealed the shape 
 of his well-balanced head, and the tender blue gleam in his 
 honest eyes made them positively beautiful. Mrs. Waldo 
 expressed her approval of his appearance, without the least 
 reserve. 
 
 Soon afterwards, a rustling was heard on the stairs ; the 
 door opened, and Miss Carrie Dil worth entered the parlor with 
 blushing cheeks and downcast eyes, followed by Hannah 
 fhurstOD, in the white muslin dress and pearl-colored ribbona 
 which Woodbury so well remembered. The bride was really 
 charming in her gray, silvery silk, and a light-green wreath 
 crowning her rippled hair. Orange-blossoms were not to be 
 had in Ptolemy, and there were no white garden-flowers in 
 bloom except larkspurs, which of course were not to bi 
 thought of. Hannah Thurston, therefore, persuaded her to 
 content herself with a wreath of the myrtle- leaved box, as th
 
 342 UANNAII THURSTON: 
 
 nearest approach to the conventional bridal diadem, and the 
 effect was simple and becoming. 
 
 Each of the parties was agreeably surprised at the other's 
 appearance. Bute, not a little embarrassed as to how he 
 should act, took Miss Dilworth's hand, and held it in his own, 
 deliberating whether or not it was expected that he should 
 kiss her then and there. Miss Dilworth, finding that he did 
 not let it go, boldly answered the pressure and clung to him 
 with a natural and touching air of dependence and reliance. 
 Nothing could have been more charming than the appearance 
 of the two, as they stood together in the centre of the little 
 room, he all man, she all woman, in the most sacred moment 
 of life. They expressed the sweetest relation of the sexes, he 
 yielding in his tenderness, she confiding in her trust. No 
 declaration of mutual rights, no suspicious measurement of 
 the words of the compact, no comparison of powers granted 
 with powers received, but a blind, unthinking, blissful, recipro- 
 cal self-bestowal. This expression in their attitude and their 
 faces did not escape Hannah Thurston's eye. It forced upon 
 her mind doubts which she would willingly have avoided, but 
 which she was only strong enough to postpone. 
 
 Pat. nad already slipped into the room, and stood awkwardly 
 in a corner, holding his hat in both hands. The only other 
 stranger present was Miss Sophia Stevenson, who had kindly 
 assisted :!.?. bride in the preparation of her wardrobe, and who 
 differed from her sister spinster, Miss Kuhaney Goodwin, in 
 the fact thar she was always more ready to smile than sigh. 
 All being assembled, Mr. Waldo came forward and performed 
 the simple but impressive ceremony, following it with an 
 earnest prayer. Miss Carrie lifted up her head and pronounced 
 the " I will' 5 with courage, but during the prayer she bent it 
 again so that it partly rested against Bute's shoulder. When 
 the final "Amen!" was said, Bute very gently and solemnly 
 kissed his wife, and both were then heartily congratulated by 
 the clergyman, who succeeded in closing his lips sufficiently 
 to achieve the salute which an old friend might take without
 
 A SI GET OF AMERICAN LIFE. 343 
 
 blame. Then there were hearty greetings all round : the cer- 
 tificate of marriage was signed and given to the wife for safe- 
 keeping, as if its existence were more important to her than 
 to the husband; and finally Mrs. Waldo prepared what the 
 Hon. Zeno Harder would have called a " coe-lation." Wood- 
 ')iiry had been thoughtful enough to send to the parsonage a 
 oottle or two of the old Dennison Madeira, rightly judging 
 that if Mrs. Babb had been alive, she would have desired it 
 for the reason that u she" would have done the same thing. 
 On tin's occasion all partook of the pernicious beverage except 
 Ilaimah Tlmrston, and even she was surprised to find but a 
 very mild condemnation in her feelings. The newly-wedded 
 couple beamed with a mixture of relief and contentment; 
 Carrie was delighted at hearing herself addressed as "Mrs. 
 Wilson," and even Bute found the words "your wife,'' after 
 the first ten minutes, not the least strange or embarrassing. 
 
 Presently, however, the wife slipped away to reappear in a 
 pink gingham and a plaid shawl. The horses were ready at the 
 loor, and Pat. was grinning, whip in hand, as bestowed away 
 a small c irpet-bag, containing mingled male and female articles, 
 under the seat. A few curious spectators waited on the plank 
 si<l<-walk, opposite, but Bute, having gone through the grand 
 ordeal, now felt courage to face the world. As they took 
 their seats, and Pat. sjave a preliminary flourish of his whip, 
 Mrs Waldo produced an ancient slipper of her own, ready to 
 hurl it at the riii'ht moment. The horses started ; the slippet 
 fle\\ whizzed between their heads and dropped into the bot- 
 tom of the carriage. 
 
 '" Don't look back !" she cried ; but there was no danger ol 
 
 bj.l. The road must have been very rough, for Bute wa 
 
 .bhsrwd to put his arm around his wife's waist, and the dust 
 
 mt'St have been very dense, for she had raised her handker 
 
 chief to hei eves. 
 
 " VVill you take care of me to-day?" said Woodbury to th 
 Wa;dos. u 1 shall not ir< bark to Lakeside until evening.' 1
 
 HANNAH THUB8TOTT' 
 
 CHAPTER XXVtt 
 
 DESCRIBING CERTAIN TROUBLES OF MB. WOODBUBT. 
 
 WHEN they returned to Mrs. Waldo's parl. :, the coiversa- 
 lion naturally ran upon the ceremony which ht,d just been sol- 
 emnized and the two chief actors in it. There was but one 
 judgment in regard to Bute, and his wife, also, had gained 
 steadily in the good opinion of all ever since her betrothal 
 beside the sick-bed. 
 
 " I had scarcely noticed her at all, before it happened," said 
 Woodbury, " for she impressed me as a shallow, ridiculous, 
 little creature one of those unimportant persons who seem 
 to have no other use than to fill up the cracks of society. But 
 one little spark of affection gives light and color to the most 
 insipid character. Who could have suspected the courage and 
 earnestness of purpose which took her to Lakeside, when the 
 fever had possession of the house ? Since then I have heartily 
 respected her. I have almost come to the conclusion that no 
 amount of triumphant intellect is worth so much reverence as 
 we spontaneously pay to any simple and genuine emotion, 
 common to all human beings." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so !" exclaimed Mrs. Waldo, 
 " Because then you will never fail in a proper respect to oar 
 sex. Hannah, do you remember, when you lent me Long' 
 fellow's Poems, how much I liked that line about ' affection?' 
 I don't often quote, Mr. Woodbury, because I'm never sure oi 
 getting it exactly right ; but it's this : 
 
 " ' What I esteem in woman 
 Is her affection, not her intellect,' 
 
 u And I believe all men of sense do."
 
 A STORY OP AMERICAN LIFE. 345 
 
 " I cannot indorse the sentiment, precisely in those words," 
 Woodbury answered. " I esteem both affection and intellect 
 in woman, but the first quality must be predominant. Its ab- 
 sence in man may now and then be tolerated, but to woman it 
 is ind : spen sable." 
 
 " Might not woman make the same requirement of man ?* 
 fiannah Thurston suddenly asked. 
 
 " Certainly," he answered, " and with full justice. That is 
 one point wherein no one can dispute the equal rights of the 
 sexes. But the capacity to love is a natural quality, and there 
 is no true affection where the parties are continually measuring 
 their feelings to see which loves the most. Bute and his wife 
 will be perfectly happy so long as they are satisfied with the 
 simple knowledge of giving and receiving." 
 
 " That's exactly my idea !" cried Mrs. Waldo, in great 
 delight. " Husband, do you recollect the promises we made 
 to each other on our wedding-day? There's never a wedding 
 happens but I live it all over again. We wore Navarino bon- 
 nets then, and sleeves puffed out with bags of down, and you 
 would lay your head on one of them, as we drove along, just 
 like Bute and Carrie to-day, on our way to Father Waldo's 
 I said then that I'd never doubt you, never take back an atom 
 of my trust in you and I've kept my word from that day tc 
 this, and I'll keep it in this world and the next !" 
 
 Here Mrs. Waldo actually burst into tears, but smiled 
 through them, like the sudden rush of a stream from which 
 spray and rainbow are born at the same instant. " I am a 
 silly old creature," she said : " don't mind me. Half of mj 
 heart has been in Game's breast all morning, and I knew 1 
 should make a fool of myself before the day was out." 
 
 " You're a good wife," said Mr. Waldo, patting her on t j< 
 head as if she had been a little girl. 
 
 Hannah Thurston rose, with a wild, desperate feeling in he 
 heart. A pitiless hand seemed to clutch and crush it in he) 
 bosom. So, she thought, some half-drowned sailor, floating 
 on the plank of a wreck, must feel when the sail that promised 
 16*
 
 346 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 him deliverance, tacks with the wind and slides out of nil 
 horizon. The waves of life, which had hitherto only stirred 
 for her with the grand tidal pulse which moves in their depths, 
 now heaved threateningly and dashed their bitter salt in her 
 (ace at every turn. Whence came these ominous disturb- 
 ances? What was there in the happy marriage of twc 
 gnorant and contented so'ils, to impress her with such vague 
 intolerable foreboding ? With the consciousness of her in- 
 ability to suppress it came a feeling of angry shame at the 
 deceitfulness of her own strength. But perhaps and this 
 was a gleam of hope what she experienced was the dis- 
 appointed protest of an instinct common to every human be- 
 ing, and which must therefore be felt and conquered by others 
 as well. 
 
 She stole a glance at Woodbury. His face was abstracted 
 but it expressed no signs of a struggle akin to her own. The 
 large brown eyes were veiled with the softness of a tender, 
 subdued longing ; the full, regular lips, usually closed with all 
 the firmness and decision of his character in their line of 
 junction, were slightly parted, and the corners drooped with 
 an expression unutterably sad. Even over cheeks and brow, 
 a soft, warm breath seemed to have blown. He appeared to 
 hsr, suddenly, under a new aspect. She saw the misty shadow 
 which the passion of a man's heart casts before it, and turned 
 away her eyes in dread of a deeper revelation. 
 
 As she took leave of the Waldos, he also rose and gave her 
 his hand. The tender cloud of sadness had not entirely passed 
 from his face, and she avoided meeting his gaze. Whether it 
 was the memory of a lost, or the yearning for an absent love, 
 which had thus betrayed itself, she felt that it gave him the 
 temporary power to discern something of the -emotion which 
 had mastered her. Had he done so, she never could have 
 met him again. To this man, of all men, she would continue 
 to assert her equality. Whatever weaknesses others might 
 discover, he at least should only know her in her strength. 
 
 The rest of the day passed rather tamely to Woodbury, and
 
 A BTOBT OF AMEEICAN LIFE. 847 
 
 as he rode down the valley during the sweet and solemn 
 coming-on of the twilight, he was conscious of a sensation 
 which he had not experienced since the days of his early trials 
 in New York. He well remembered the melancholy Sabbath 
 evenings, when he walked along the deserted North River 
 piers, watching the purple hills of Staten Island deepen into 
 gray as the sunset faded when all that he saw, the quiet 
 vessels, the cold bosom of the bay, the dull red houses on the 
 shores and even the dusky heaven overhead, was hollow and 
 unreal when there was no joy in the Present and no promise 
 in the Future. The same hopeless chill came over him now. 
 All the life had gone out of the landscape ; its colors were 
 cold and raw, the balmy tonic odor of the golden-rods and 
 meadow marigolds seemed only designed to conceal some 
 rank odor of decay, and the white front of Lakeside greeted 
 him with the threat of a prison rather than the welcome of a 
 home. 
 
 On the evening of the second day Bute returned, as de- 
 lighted to get back as if he had made a long journey. The 
 light of his new life still lay upon him and gave its human 
 transfiguration to his face. Woodbury studied the change, un- 
 consciously to its subject, with a curiosity which he had never 
 before acknowledged in similar cases. He saw the man's su- 
 preme content in the healthy clearness of his eye, in the light, 
 elastic movement of his limbs, and in the lively satisfaction with 
 which he projected plans of labor, in which he was to perform 
 the principal part. He had taken a fresh interest in life, and 
 was all courage and activity. In Carrie, on the other hand, 
 the trustful reliance she had exhibited appeared now to have 
 assumed the form of a willing and happy submission. She 
 recognized the ascendency of sex, in her husband, without 
 being able to discern its nature. Thus Bute's plain common- 
 sense suddenly took the form of rough native intellect in her 
 eyes, and confessing (to herself, only) her own deficiency, 
 her affection was supported by the pride of her respect. Her 
 old aunt had whispered to her, before they left Tiberius:
 
 848 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 " Can-line, you're a lucky gal. Y*r husband's a proper uio 
 man as ever I see, and so well set-up, too. You'll "both be 
 well to do, afore you die, if you take keer o' what you've got, 
 and lay up what it brings in. I shouldn't wonder if you wai 
 able to send your boys to Collidge," 
 
 This suggestion opened a new field for her ambition. Tho 
 Ihought seemed still a scarcely permitted liberty, and she did 
 not dare to look at her face in the glass when it passed 
 tn rough her mind ; but the mother's instinct, which Inrks, un 
 suspected, in every maiden's breast, boldly asserted its ex- 
 istence to the young wife, and she began to dream of the 
 future reformers or legislators whom it might be her for- 
 tunate lot to cradle. Her nature, as we have already more 
 than once explained, was so shallow that it could not contain 
 more than one set of ideas at a time. The acquired affec- 
 tations by which she had hitherto been swayed, being driven 
 from the field, her new faith in Bute possessed her wholly, 
 and she became natural by the easiest transition in the world. 
 Characters like hers rarely have justice done to them. Gen- 
 erally, they are passed over as too trivial for serious inspec- 
 tion : their follies and vanities are so evident and transparent, 
 that the petit verre is supposed to be empty, when at tho 
 bottom may lie as potent a drop of the honey of human love, 
 as one can find in a whole huge ox-horn of mead. 
 
 Now began for Woodbury a life very different from what 
 he had anticipated. Bute took possession of his old steward- 
 ship with the joyous alacrity of a man doubly restored to tho 
 world, and Mrs. Carrie Wilson fidgeted about from morning 
 until night, fearful lest some neglected duty in her department 
 might be seen. The careful respect which Woodbury ex- 
 ercised towards her gave her both courage and content in her 
 new position, while it preserved a certain distance between 
 them. She soon learned, not only to understand but to share 
 Bute's exalted opinion of his master. In this respect, Wood- 
 bury's natural tact was unerring. Without their knowledge, 
 he guided those who lived about him to the exact places,
 
 A. STOBY OF AMEEICAX LIFE. 349 
 
 which he desired them to fill. In any European household 
 such matters would have settled themselves without trouble ; 
 but in America, where the vote of the hired neutralizes that 
 of the hirer, and both have an equal chance of reaching the 
 Presidential chair where the cook and chambermaid may 
 happen to wear more costly bonnets than their mistress, and 
 to have a livelier interest in the current fashions, it requires 
 no little skill to narmonize the opposite features of absolute 
 equaMty and actual subjection. Too great a familiarity, ao 
 cording to the old proverb, breeds contempt; too strict an 
 assertion of the relative positions, breeds rebellion. 
 
 The man of true cultivation, who may fraternize at will 
 with the humblest and rudest of the human race, reserves, 
 nevertheless, the liberty of selecting his domestic associate 
 Woodbury insisted on retaining his independence to this ex- 
 tent, not from an assumption of superiority, but from a resist- 
 ance to the dictation of the uncultivated in every thing that 
 concerned his habits of life. He would not have hesitated to 
 partake of a meal in old Melinda's cottage, but it was always 
 a repugnant sensation to him, on visiting the Merryfields, 
 when an Irish laborer from the field came in his shirt-sleeves, 
 or a strapping mulatto woman, sweating from the kitchen fire, 
 to take their places at the tea-table. Bute's position was 
 above that of a common laborer, and "Woodbury, whose long 
 Indian life had not accustomed him to prefer lonely to social 
 meals, was glad to have the company of his wedded assistant* 
 at breakfast and dinner, and this became the ordinary habit ; 
 but he was careful to preserve a margin sufficient for his own 
 freedom and convenience. Carrie, though making occasions I 
 mistakes, brought so much good-will to the work, that the 
 housekeeping went on smoothly enough to a bachelor's eyes. 
 If Mrs. Blake's favorable judgment had reference to this aspect 
 of the case, she was sufficiently near the truth, but in another 
 respect she certainly made a great mistake. 
 
 It was some days before Woodbury would confess to him- 
 <elf the disturbance which the ne\v household, though so con-
 
 860 HANNAH THUKSTON: 
 
 veniently regulated, occasioned him. The sight of Bute'i 
 clear morning face, the stealthy glance of delight with which 
 he followed the movements of his beaming little wife, as sh<* 
 prepared the breakfast-table, the eager and absurd manoeuvres 
 which she perpetrated to meet him for just one second (long 
 enough for the purpose), outside the kitchen-door as he re- 
 turned from the field all these things singularly annoyed 
 Woodbury. The two were not openly demonstrative in their 
 nuptial content, but it was constantly around them like an 
 atmosphere. A thousand tokens, so minute that alone they 
 meant nothing, combined to express the eternal joy which 
 man possesses in woman, and woman in man. It pervaded 
 the mansion of Lakeside from top to bottom, like one of those 
 powerful scents which cling to the very wails and cannot be 
 washed out. When he endeavored to avoid seeing it or sur- 
 mising its existence, in one way, it presented itself to him in 
 another. When, as it sometimes happened, either of the 
 parties became conscious that he or she had betrayed a little 
 too much tenderness, the simulated indifference, the unnatural 
 gravity which followed, made the bright features of their new 
 world all the more painfully distinct by the visible wall which 
 it built up, temporarily, between him and them. He was 
 isolated in a way which left him no power of protest. They 
 were happy, and his human sympathy forbade him to resent it; 
 they were ignorant and uncultivated, in comparison to himself, 
 and his pride could give him no support ; they were sincere, 
 and his own sincerity of character was called upon to recog- 
 nize it ; their bond was sacred, and demanded his reverence. 
 Why, then, should he be disturbed by that which enlisted all 
 his better qualities, and peremptorily checked the exercise of 
 the opposite ? Why, against all common-sense, all gentle in- 
 stincts, all recognition of the loftiest human duty, should he 
 in this new Paradise of Love, be the envious serpent rather 
 than the protecting angel ? 
 
 The feeling was clearly there, whatever might be its expla- 
 nation. There were times when he sought to reason it away
 
 A STOliY OF AMERICAN lIFfi. 361 
 
 as the imaginary jealousy of a new landed proprietor, who 
 presents to himself the idea of ownership, in every pos 
 sible form in order to enjoy it the more thoroughly. Lake- 
 side was his, to the smallest stone inside his boundary fence, 
 and the mossiest shingle on the barn-roof; buv the old house 
 ~-the vital heart of the property now belonged more to 
 others than to himself. The dead had signed away their in- 
 terest in its warmth and shelter, but it was haunted in every 
 chambei by the ghosts of the living. The new-made husband 
 and wife filled it with a feeling of home, m which he had no 
 part. They had usurped his right, and stolen the comfort 
 which ought to belong to him alone. It was their house, and 
 he the tenant. As he rode down the valley, in the evenings, 
 and from the bridge over Roaring Brook glanced across the 
 meadows to the sunny knoll, the love, which was not his own, 
 looked at him from the windows glimmering in the sunset and 
 seemed to say : " You would not ask me to be your guest, but 
 I am here in spite of you !" 
 
 Woodbury, however, though his nature was softened by the 
 charm of a healthy sentiment, was not usually imaginative. He 
 was not the man to endure, for any length of time, a mental or 
 moral unrest, without attempting to solve it. His natural pow 
 ers of perception, his correct instincts, his calm judgment, and 
 his acquired knowledge of life, enabled him to interpret him- 
 self as well as others. He never shrank from any revelation 
 which his own heart might make to him. If a wound smarted, 
 tie thrust the probe to the bottom with a steady hand. Tin 
 pain was none the less, afterwards, perhaps, but he could esti 
 mate when it would heal. He possessed, moreover, the virtu* 
 BO often mistaken for egotism, of revering in himself the aspi 
 rations, the sacrifices, and the sanctities which he revered it. 
 other men. Understanding, correctly, his nature as a man, 
 his perceptions were not easily confused. There are persons 
 whose moral nature is permanently unhinged by the least 
 license: there are others who may be led, by circumstance. 
 into far graver aberrations, and then swing back, without
 
 Sfil2 HANNAH THURSTOfr: 
 
 effort, to their former integrity. He belonged to the lattei 
 class. 
 
 It was not long, therefore, before he had surveyed the whole 
 ground of his disturbance. Sitting, late into the night, in hia 
 library, he would lay down his book beside the joss-stick, 
 tvhich smouldered away into a rod of white ashes in its boat, 
 and quietly deliberate upon his position. He recalled every 
 sensation of annoyance or impatience, not disguising its injus- 
 tice or concealing from himself its inherent selfishness, while 
 on the other hand he admitted the powerful source from which 
 it sprang. He laid no particular blame to his nature, from the 
 fa ;t that it obeyed a universal law, and deceived himself by no 
 promise of resistance. Half the distress of the race is caused 
 by their fighting battles which can never be decided. Wood- 
 bury's knowledge simply taught him how to conceal his trouble, 
 and that was all he desired. He knew that the ghost which 
 had entered Lakeside must stay there until he should bring 
 another ghost to dislodge it. 
 
 Where Avas the sweet phantom to be found ? If, in some 
 impatient moment, he almost envied Bute the possession of the 
 attached, confiding, insipid creature, in whom the former was 
 so imspeakably content, his good sense told him, the next, 
 that the mere capacity to love was not enough for the needs 
 of a life. That which is the consecration of marriage does not 
 alone constitute marriage. Of all the women whom he knew, 
 but one could offer him the true reciprocal gifts. Towards 
 her, he acknowledged himself to be drawn by an interest much 
 stronger than that of intellect an interest which might grow, 
 if he allowed it, into love. The more he saw or learned of 
 ihis woman, the more admirably pure and noble his heart 
 acknowledged her to be. He had come to look upon her errors 
 with a gentle pity, which taught him to avoid assailing them, 
 whenever the assault might give her pain. Was the hard, 
 exacting manner in which she claimed delusive rights- -not, 
 indeed, specially for herself, but for all her sex the resu-t of 
 her position as a champion of those rights, or was it an inte
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 368 
 
 gral part of herself? This was the one important question 
 which it behooved him to solve. To what extent was the false 
 nature superimposed upon the true woman beneath it ? 
 
 Supposing, even, that he should come to love her, and, im- 
 probable as it might seem, should awaken an answering lore 
 in her heart, would she unite her fate, unconditionally, to his ? 
 Would she not demand, in advance, security for some unheard- 
 of domestic liberty, as a partial compensation for the legal 
 rights which were still withheld ? One of her fellow-chnmpi- 
 onesses had recently married, and had insisted on retaining her 
 maiden name. He had read, in the newspapers, a contract 
 drawn up and signed by the two, which had disgusted him by 
 its cold business character. He shuddered as the idea of 
 Hannah Thurston presenting a similar contract for his signa- 
 ture, crossed his mind. " No !" he cried, starting up : " it is 
 incredible !" Nothing in all his intercourse with her sug- 
 gested such a suspicion. Even in the grave dignity of her 
 manner she was entirely woman. The occasional harshness 
 of judgment or strength of prejudice which repealed him, were 
 faults, indeed, but faults that would melt away in the light of 
 a better knowledge of herself. She was at present in a posi- 
 tion of fancied antagonism, perhaps not wholly by her own 
 action. The few men who agreed with her gave her false ideas 
 of their own sex : the others whom she knew misunderstood 
 and misrepresented her. She thus stood alone, bearing the 
 burden of aspirations, which, however extravagant, were splen- 
 didly earnest and unselfish. 
 
 Mrs. Blake's words came back to Woodbury's memory and 
 awakened a vague confidence in his own hopes. She was too 
 clear-eyed a woman to be easily mistaken in regard to one of 
 her sex. Her bantering proposition might have been intended 
 to convey a serious counsel. " A strong woman can only be 
 overcome by superior strength." But how should this strength 
 (supposing he possessed it) be exercised ? Should he crush 
 her masculine claims under a weight of argument ? Impossi- 
 ble: if she were to be convinced at all, it must be by the
 
 354 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 knowledge that comes through love. There was another form 
 of strength, he thought a conquering magnetism of presence, 
 H force of longing which supplants will, a warmth of passion 
 which disarms resistance but such strength, again, is simply 
 Love, and he must love before he could exercise it. The ques- 
 tion, therefore, was at last narrowed to this : should he cherish 
 the interest he already felt until it grew to the passion he pre- 
 figured, and leave to fate its return, free as became a woman 
 or fettered with suspicious provisions? 
 
 This, however, was a question not so easy to decide. Were 
 he sure of exciting a reciprocal interest, the venture, he felt, 
 would be justified to his own heart; but nothing in her man- 
 ner led him to suspect that she more than tolerated him in 
 distinction to her former hostile attitude and there is no mau 
 of gentle nature but shrinks from the possibility of a failure. 
 " Ah," said he, " I am not so young as I thought. A young 
 man would not stop to consider, and doubt, and weigh proba- 
 bilities. If I fail, my secret is in sacred keeping ; if I win, I 
 must win every thing. Am I not trying to keep up a youthful 
 faculty of self-illusion which is lost forever, by demanding au 
 .deal perfection in woman ? No, no ! I must cease to cheat 
 myself: I must not demand a warmer flame than I can give." 
 
 Sometimes he attempted to thrust the subject from hia 
 mind. The deliberations in which he had indulged seemed to 
 him cold, material, and unworthy the sanction of love. They 
 had the effect, however, of making Hannah Thurston's imago 
 an abiding guest in his thoughts, and the very familiarity with 
 his own doubts rendered them less formidable than at first. A 
 life crowned with the bliss he passionately desired, might re- 
 ward the trial. If it failed, his future could not be more bar- 
 ren and lonely than it now loomed before him : how barren, 
 how lonely, every sight of Bute's face constantly resuggostcd. 
 
 The end of it all was a determination to seek Hannab 
 Thurston's society to court a friendly intimacy, in which h 
 should not allow his heart to be compromised. So far he 
 might go with safely to himself, and in no case, according to
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 656 
 
 his views, could there be danger to her. His acquaintance 
 with the widow, which had been kept up by an occasional 
 brief visit, and the present condition of the latter's health, gave 
 him aU the opportunity he needed. The Catawba grapes were 
 already ripening on the trellises at Lakeside, and he would 
 take the earliest bunches to the widow's cottage. 
 
 The impression, in Ptolemy society, of a strong antagonism 
 between himself and Hannah Thurston, was very general. 
 Even Mrs. Waldo, whose opportunities of seeing both were 
 best of all, fancied that their more cordial demeanor towards 
 each other, in their later interviews, was only a tacitly under- 
 stood armistice. Woodbury was aware of this impression, and 
 determined not to contradict it for the present. 
 
 Thus, tormented from without and within, impelled by an 
 outcry of his nature that would not be silenced, without con- 
 sciousness of love, he took the first step, knowing that it might 
 lead him to love a woman whose ideas were repugnant to all 
 his dreams of marriage and of domestic peace.
 
 866 BANK AH THURSTOV: 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIIL 
 
 IK WHICH HANNAH THTTRSTON, ALSO, HAS HER TROUBLES. 
 
 WHEN Woodbury made his first appearance at the cottage, 
 the Widow Thurston, who had not seen him since his return 
 from the Lakes, frankly expressed her pleasure in his society. 
 It was one of her favorable days, and she was sitting in her 
 well-cushioned rocking-chair, with her feet upon a stool. She 
 had grown frightfully thiu and pale during the summer, but 
 the lines of physical pain had almost entirely passed away 
 from her face. Her expression denoted great weakness and 
 languor. The calm, resigned spirit which reigned in her eyes 
 was only troubled, at times, when they rested on her daughter. 
 She had concealed from the latter, as much as possible, the 
 swiftness with which her vital force was diminishing, lest she 
 should increase the care and anxiety which was beginning to 
 tell upon her health. She knew that the end was not far off: 
 she could measure its approach, and she acknowledged in her 
 heart how welcome it would be, but for her daughter's sake. 
 
 " It's very kind of thee to come, Friend Woodbury," said 
 she. " I've been expecting thee before." 
 
 " I ourjht to have come sooner," said he, " but there have 
 been changes at Lakeside." 
 
 " Yes, I know. The two guests that will not be kept oul 
 have come to thy home, as they come to the homes of others. 
 We must be ready for either. The Lord sends them both." 
 
 " Yes," said Woodbury, with a sigh, " but one of them is 
 long in coming to me." The sweet serenity and truth of tho 
 old woman's words evoked a true reply. All that she said 
 same from n heart too sincere for disguise, and spoke to hif
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 357 
 
 undisguised self. There would have been something approach- 
 in g to sacrilege in an equivocal answer. 
 
 She looked at him with a sad, serious inquiry in her glance, 
 "I see thee's not hasty to open thy doors," she said, at 
 last, " and it's well. There's always a blessing in store for 
 them that wait. I pray that it may come to thee in the Lord's 
 good time." 
 
 " Amen !" he exclaimed, earnestly. An irresistible impulse) 
 the next moment, led him to look at Hannah Thurston. She 
 was setting in order the plants on the little flower-stand before 
 the window, and her face was turned away from him, but there 
 \ias an indefinable intentness in her attitude which told him 
 tnat no word had escaped her ears. 
 
 Presently she seated herself, and took part in the conversa- 
 tion, which turned mainly upon Bute and his wife. The light 
 from the south window fell upon her face, and Woodbury 
 noticed that it had grown somewhat thinner and wore a weary 
 anxious expression. A pale violet shade had settled under the 
 dark-gray eyes and the long lashes drooped their fringes. No 
 latent defiance lurked in her features : her manner was grave, 
 almost to sadness, and in her voice there was a gentle languor, 
 like that which follows mental exhaustion. 
 
 In all their previous interviews, Woodbury had never been 
 able entirely to banish from his mind the consciousness of her 
 exceptional position, as a woman. It had tinged, without his 
 having suspected the fact, his demeanor towards her. Some 
 thing of the asserted independence of man to man had modi- 
 fied the deferential gentleness of man to woman. She had, 
 perhaps, felt this without being able to define it, for, though 
 he had extorted her profound respect he had awakened in her 
 a disposition scarcely warmer than she gave to abstract quali- 
 ties. Now, however, she presented herself to him under a 
 different aspect. He forgot her masculine aspirations, seeing 
 in her only the faithful, anxious daughter, over whom the 
 shadow of her approaching loss deepened from day to day. 
 The former chill of his presence did not return, but in its place
 
 85fi HANNAH THURSTON. 
 
 a subtle warmth seemed to radiate from him. Before, his 
 words had excited her intellect : now, they addressed them- 
 selves to her feelings. As the conversation advanced, she re- 
 covered her usual animation, yet still preserved the purely 
 feminine character which he had addressed in her. The posi- 
 tions which they had previously occupied were temporarily 
 forgotten, and at parting each vaguely felt the existence ol 
 unsuspected qualities in the other. 
 
 During this first visit, Hannah Thurston indulged without 
 reserve, in the satisfaction which it gave to her. She always 
 found it far more agreeable to like than to dislike. Wood- 
 bury's lack of that enthusiasm which in her soul was an ever 
 burning and mounting fire his cold, dispassionate power of 
 judgment his tolerance of what she considered perverted 
 habits of the most reprehensible character, and his indifference 
 to those wants and wrongs of the race which continually appeal- 
 ed to the Reformer's aid, had at first given her the impression 
 that the basis of his character was hard and selfish. She had 
 since modified this view, granting him the high attributes of 
 truth and charity ; she had witnessed the manifestation of his 
 physical and moral courage ; but his individuality still pre- 
 served a cold, statuesque beauty. His mastery over himself, 
 she supposed, extended to his intellectual passions and his 
 affections. He would only be swayed by them so far as 
 seemed to him rational and convenient. 
 
 His words to her mother recalled to hei mind, she knew 
 not why, the description of her own father's death. It was 
 possible that an equal capacity for passion might here again be 
 hidden under a cold, immovable manner. She had sounded, 
 tolerably well, the natures of the men of whom she had seen 
 most, during the past six or eight years, ard had found that 
 their own unreserved protestations of feeling were the measure 
 of their capacity to feel. There was no necessity, indeed, to 
 throw a plummet into their streams, for they had egotistically 
 set up their own Nilometers, and the depth of the current 
 was indicated at the surface. She began to suspect, now, that
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 359 
 
 she had been mistaken in judging Woodbury by the same test 
 The thought, welcome as it was from a broad, humane point 
 of view, nevertheless almost involved a personal humiliation. 
 Her strong sense of justice commanded her to rectify the rnib 
 lake, while her recognition of it weakened her faith in b<r 
 w>l 
 
 In a few days Woodbury came again, and as before, on an 
 rraud of kindness to her mother. She saw that his visits gave 
 pleasuie to the latter, and for that reason alone it was her duty 
 to desire them, but on this occasion she detected an independ- 
 ent pleasure of her own at his appearance. A certain friendly 
 familiarity seemed to be already established between them. 
 She had been drawn into it, she scarcely knew how, and could 
 not now withdraw, yet the consciousness of it began to agitate 
 her in a singular way. A new power came from Woodbury's 
 presence, surrounded and assailed her. It was not the chill of 
 his unexcitable intellect, stinging her into a half-indignant re- 
 sistance. It was a warm, seductive, indefinable magnetism, 
 which inspired her with a feeling very much like terror. Its 
 weight lay upon her for hours after he had gone. Whatever 
 it was, its source, she feared, must lie in herself; he seemed 
 utterly unconscious of any design to produce a particular im- 
 pression upon her. His manner was as frank and natural as 
 ever : he conversed about the books which he or she had re- 
 cently read, or on subjects of general interest, addressing much 
 of his discourse to her mother rather than herself. She no- 
 ticed, indeed, that he made no reference to the one question 
 on which they differed so radically ; but a little reflection 
 showed her that he had in no former case commenced the dis- 
 mssion, nor had he ever been inclined to prolong it when 
 started. 
 
 Their talk turned for a while on the poets. Hannah Thurs 
 ton had but slight acquaintance with Tennyson, who waa 
 Woodbury's favorite among living English authors, and he 
 promised to bring her the book. He repeated the stanzas de- 
 scriptive of Jephtha's Daughter, in the "Dream of Fan
 
 560 HANNAH THURSTON . 
 
 Women," the majestic rhythm and superb Hebrew spirit of 
 which not only charmed her, but her mother also. The old 
 woman had a natural, though very uncultivated taste for 
 poetry. She enjoyed nothing which was purely imaginative : 
 verse, for her, must have a devotional, or at least an ethical 
 character. In rhythm, also her appreciation was limited. She 
 ielighted most in the stately march of the heroic measure, and 
 next to that, in the impetuous rush of the dactylic. In youtu 
 her favorite poems had been the " Davidis" of Thomas El wood, 
 Pope's " Essay on Man," and the lamenting sing-song of Re- 
 fine Weeks, a Nantncket poet, whom history has forgotten 
 The greater part of these works she knew by heart, and would 
 often repeat in a monotonous chant, resembling that in which 
 she had formerly preached. Hannah, however, had of law 
 years somewhat improved her mother's taste by the careful 
 selection of poetry of a better character, especially Milton'a 
 " Christmas Hymn," and the works of Thomson and Cow- 
 per. 
 
 Woodbury returned the very next day, bringing the prom- 
 ised volumes. He was about to leave immediately, but the 
 widow insisted on his remaining. 
 
 " Do sit down a while, won't thee ?" said she. " I wish thee 
 would read me something else : I like to hear thy voice." 
 
 Woodbury could not refuse to comply. He sat down, 
 turned over the leaves of the first volume, and finally selected 
 the lovely idyll of " Dora," which he read with a pure, dis- 
 tinct enunciation. Hannah Thurston, busy with her sewing at 
 a little stand near the eastern window, listened intently. At 
 the close she turned towards him with softened eyes, and ex- 
 claimed : " How simple ! how beautiful !" 
 
 " I'm greatly obliged tv thee, Maxwell," said the widow, 
 addressing Woodbury for the first time by his familiar name. 
 " It is always pleasant," she added, smiling, " to an old 
 woman, to receive a kindness from a young man." 
 
 ' But it ought to be the young man's pleasure, as it is hia 
 duty, to give it," lie answered. " I am glad that you like my
 
 A STOKY OF AMEBICAN LIFE 861 
 
 fevcrite author. I have brought along 'The Princess, also, 
 Miss Thurston : you have certainly heard of it-?" 
 
 " Oh yes," gaid she, " I saw several critical notices of it 
 when it was first published, and have always wished to 
 read it." 
 
 " It gives a poetical view of a subject we have sometimes 
 discussed," he added playfully, " and I am not quite sure thai 
 you will be satisfied with the close. It should not be read, 
 however, as a serious argument on either side. Tennyson, I 
 suspect, chose the subject for its picturesque effects, rather 
 than from any intentional moral purpose. I confess I think he 
 is right. "We may find sermons in poems as we find them in 
 stones, but one should be as unconscious of the fact as the 
 other. It seems to me that all poetry which the author de- 
 signs, in advance, to be excessively moral or pious, is more or 
 less a failure." 
 
 " Mr. "Woodbury ! Do you really think so ?" exclaimed 
 Hannah Thurston, in surprise. 
 
 " Yes ; but the idea is not original with me. I picked it up 
 somewhere, and finding it true, adopted it as my own. There 
 was a fanciful illustration, if I recollect rightly that poetry is 
 the blossom of Literature, not the fruit ; therefore that while 
 it suggests the fruit while its very odor foretells the future 
 flavor it must be content to be a blossom and nothing more. 
 The meaning was this : that a moral may breathe through a 
 poem from beginning to end, but must not be plumply ex- 
 pressed. I don't know the laws which govern the minds of 
 poets, but I know when they give me most pleasure. Apply 
 the test to yourself: I shall be interested to know the result. 
 Here, for instance, is ' The Princess,' which, if it has a par- 
 ticular moral, has one which you may possibly reject, but I am 
 Bare your enjoyment of pure poetry will not thereby be 
 lessened." 
 
 " I shall certainly read the book with all the more interest 
 from what you have said," she frankly replied. " You have 
 very much more literary cultivation than T, and perhaps it ?H 
 16
 
 862 HANNAH THTTRSTON: 
 
 presumptuous in me to dispute your opinion ; but my nature 
 loads me to honor an earnest feeling for truth and humanity, 
 even when its expression is not in accordance with literary 
 laws." 
 
 " I honor such a feeling also, whenever it is genuine, how 
 ever expressed," Woodbury answered, "but I make a dis 
 tJnction between the feeling and the expression. In other 
 words, the cook may have an admirable character, and yet the 
 roast may be spoiled. Pollok is considered orthodox and 
 Byron heretical, but I am sure you prefer the ' Hebrew Melo- 
 dies' to the " Course of Time.' " 
 
 " Hannah, I guess thee'd better read the book first," said 
 the widow, who did not perceive how the conversation had 
 drifted away from its subject. "It is all the better, perhaps, 
 if our friend differs a little from thee. When we agree in 
 every thing, we don't learn much from one another." 
 
 " You are quite right, Friend Thurston," said Woodbnry, 
 rising. " I should be mistaken in your daughter if she ac- 
 cepted any opinion of mine, without first satisfying her own 
 mind of its truth. Good-by !" 
 
 He took the widow's hand with a courteous respect, and 
 then extended his own to Hannah. Hers he held gently fora mo- 
 ment while he said : " Remember, I shall want to know what 
 impression the poem makes on your mind. Will you tell me?" 
 
 " Thank you. I will tell you," she said. 
 
 Strange to sav, the boldest eulogiums which had ever reached 
 
 O * ' O 
 
 Hannah Thurston's ears, never came to them with so sweet a 
 welcome as Woodbury's parting compliment. Nay, it waa 
 scarcely a compliment at all ; it was a simple recognition of 
 that earnest seeking for truth which she never hesitated to 
 claim for herself. Perhaps it was his supposed hostile attitude 
 whi<:h gave the words their value, for our enemies always have 
 us at a disadvantage when they begin to praise us. Politicians 
 go into obscurity, and statesmen fall from their high places, 
 ruined, not by the assaults but by the flatteries of the opposit* 
 oarty.
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 363 
 
 She could no longer consider Woodbury in the light of an 
 enemy. His presence, his words, his self-posgiessed manner 
 failed to excite the old antagonism, which always marred hvj) 
 intellectual pleasure in his society. One by one Tie iiscord 
 ant elements in her own nature seemed to be withdrawn, 01 
 rather, she feared, were benumbed by some new power whiol 
 lie was beginning to manifest. She found, with dismay, thai 
 instead of seeking, as formerly, for weapons to combat his 
 views, her mind rather inclined to the discovery of reasons for 
 agreeing with them. It mattered little, perhaps, which course 
 she adopted, so long as the result was Truth ; but the fact that 
 she recognized the change as agreeable gave her uneasiness. 
 It might be the commencement of a process of mental sub- 
 jection the first meshes of a net of crafty reasoning, designed 
 to ensnare her judgment and lead her away from the high aims 
 she prized. Then, on the other hand, she reflected that such 
 a process presupposed intention on Woodbury's part, and 
 how could she reconcile it with his manly honesty, his open 
 integrity of character ? Thus, the more enjoyment his visits 
 gave her while they lasted, the greater the disturbance which 
 they left behind. 
 
 That new and indescribable effluence which his presence gave 
 forth not only continued, but seemed to increase in power. 
 Sometimes it affected her with a singular mixture of fascination 
 and terror, creating a physical restlessness which it was almost 
 impossible to subdue. An oppressive weight lay upon her 
 breast; her hands burned, and the nerves in every limb trem- 
 bled with a strange impulse to start up and fly. When, at night, 
 in the seclusion of her chamber, she recalled this condition, her 
 cheeks grew hot with angry shame of herself, and she clenched 
 her hands with the determination to resist the return of such 
 weakness. But even as she did so, she felt that her power of 
 will Lad undergone a change. An insidious, corrosive doubt 
 seemed to have crept over the foundations of her mental life: 
 the forms of faith, once firm and fair as Ionic pillars under the 
 cloudless heaven, rocked and tottered as if with the first me
 
 864 HANNAH THURSTOX: 
 
 nacing throes of an earthquake. When she recalled her past 
 labors for the sacred cause of Woman, a mocking demon now 
 and then whispered to her that even in good there were the 
 seeds of harm, and that she had estimated, in vanity, the fruit* 
 of htr ministry. "God give me strength!" she whispered 
 " strength to conquer doubt, strength to keep the truth for 
 w hich I have lived and which must soon be my only life, 
 strength to rise out of a shameful weakness which I cannot 
 understand !" 
 
 Then, ere she slept, a hope to which she desperately clung, 
 came to smooth her uneasy pillow. Her own future life must 
 differ from her present. The hour was not far off, she knew, 
 when her quiet years in the cottage must come to an end. 
 She could not shut her eyes to ihe fact that her mother's time 
 on earth was short ; and short as it was, she would not cloud 
 it by anxiety for the lonely existence beyond it. She resolute- 
 ly thrust her own future from her mind, but it was nevertheless 
 always present in a vague, hovering form. The uncertainty of 
 her fate, she now thought, the dread anticipation of coming 
 sorrow had shaken and unnerved her. No doubt her old, 
 steadfast self reliance and self-confidence would assert them- 
 selves, after the period of trial had been passed. She must only 
 have patience, for the doubts which she could not now answer 
 would then surely be solved. With this consolation at her 
 heart with a determination to possess patience, which she 
 found much more easy than the attempt to possess herself of 
 will, she would close her aching eyes and court the refreshing 
 oblivion of sleep. 
 
 But sleep did not always come at her call. That idea of 
 the sad, solitary future, so near at hand, would not be exor- 
 oised. If she repelled it, it came back again in company with 
 a still more terrible ghost of the Past her early but now 
 Hopeless dream of love. When she tried to call that dream a 
 delusion, all the forces of her nature gave her the lie all the 
 fiores of her heart, trembling in divinest harmony under the 
 touch of the tormenting angel, betrayed her, despairingly, to
 
 A STOBY OP AMERICAN 1 LIFE. 365 
 
 her own self. The crown of independence which she had won 
 bruised her brows ; the throne which she claimed was carved 
 of ice ; the hands of her sister women, toiling in the same 
 path, were grateful in their help, but no positive pulse of 
 strength throbbed from them to her heart. The arm whicl 
 ilone could stay her must have firmer muscle than a woman's 
 it must uphold as well as clasp. Why did Heaven give her 
 the dream when it must be forever vain? Where was the 
 man at the same time tender enough to love, strong enough to 
 protect and assist, and just enough to acknowledge the equal 
 rights of woman ? Alas ! nowhere in tb< world. She could 
 not figure to herself his features ; he was a far-oft unattaina- 
 ble idea, only; but a secret whisper, deep in th? >& -v edest 
 shrine of her soul, told her that if he indeed ex:i*t''-!, if he 
 should find his way to her, if the pillow under her ch'.-ek were 
 his breast, if his arms held her fast in the happy subjection 
 of love but no, the picture was not to be endured. It was 
 a bliss, more terrible in its hopelessness, than the most awful 
 grief in its certainty. She shuddered and clasped her hands 
 crushingly together, as with the strength of desperation, she 
 drove it from her bosom. 
 
 Had her life been less secluded, the traces of her internal 
 struggles must have been detected by others. Her mother, 
 indeed, noticed an unusual restlessness in her manner, but at- 
 tributed it to care for her own condition. With the ex- 
 ception of Mrs. Waldo, they saw but few persons habitually. 
 .Miss Sophia Stevenson or even Mrs. Lemuel Styles occasionally 
 called, and the widow always made use of these occasions to 
 -ersuade Hannah to restore herself by a walk in the open air. 
 When the former found that their visits were thus put to good 
 service, they benevolently agreed to come regularly. The 
 relief she thus obtained, in a double sense, cheered and invig- 
 orated Hannah Thurston. Her favorite walk, out the Muin 
 gansville road, to the meadows of East Atauga Creek, took 
 her in a quarter of an hour from the primly fenced lots and 
 utiff houses of the village to the blossoming banks of th
 
 30tf HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 winding stream, to the sweet breath of the scented grass, and 
 the tangled thickets of alder, over which bittersweet and 
 clematis ran riot and strove for the monopoly of support 
 Here, all her vague mental troubles died away like the memory 
 of an oppressive dream ; she drew resignation from every as- 
 pect of Nature, and confidence in herself from the crowding 
 associations of the Past which the landscape inspired. 
 
 Mrs. Waldo, of course, soon became aware of Woodbury's fre- 
 quent visits. He had made no secret of them, as he always called 
 at the Parsonage at the same time, and she had shared equally 
 in the ripening vintage of Lakeside. But he had spoken much 
 more of the Widow Thurston than of her daughter, and the 
 former had been equally free in expressing her pleasure at his 
 visits, so that Mrs. Waldo never doubted the continuance of 
 the old antagonism between Hannah and Woodbury. Their 
 reciprocal silence in relation to each other confirmed her in 
 this supposition. She was sincerely vexed at a dislike which 
 seemed not only unreasonable, but unnatural, and grew so im- 
 patient at the delayed conciliation that she finally spoke her 
 mind on (he subject. 
 
 " Well, Hannah," she said, one day, when Woodbury's 
 name had been incidentally mentioned, " I really think it is time 
 that you and he should practise a little charity towards each 
 other. I've been waiting, and waiting, to see your prejudices 
 begin to wear away, now that you know him better. You 
 can't think how it worries me that two of my best friends, 
 who are so right and sensible in all other acts of their lives, 
 should he so stubbornly set against each other." 
 
 " Prejudices ? Does he think I am stubbornly set against 
 him ? " Hannah Thurston cried, the warm color mounting into 
 ter face. 
 
 " Not he ! He says nothing about you, and that's the worst 
 of it. You say nothing about him. either. But anybody can 
 Fee it. There, I've vexed you, and I suppose I ought not to 
 have opened my mouth, but I love you so dearly, Hannali I 
 love him, too, as a dear friend and I can't for the life of m*
 
 A STORY OP AMERICAN- LIFE. 38 1 
 
 see why you are blind to the truth and goodness in each othei 
 that I see in both of you." 
 
 Here Mrs. Waldo bent over her and kissed her cheek as a 
 mother might have done. The color faded from Hannah 
 Thurston's face, as she answered : " I know you are a dear, 
 ood friend, and as such you cannot vex me. I do not know 
 whether you have mistaken Mr. Woodbury's feelings : yon 
 certainly have mistaken mine. I did his character, at first, in- 
 justice, I will confess. Perhaps I may have had a prejudice 
 against him, but I am not aware that I have one now. I 
 honoi him as a noble-minded, just, and unselfish man. We 
 have different views of life, but in this respect he has taught 
 me, by his tolerance towards me, to be at least equally tolerant 
 towards him." 
 
 " You make me happy !" cried Mrs. Waldo, in unfei^fied 
 delight ; but, the next instant she added, with a sigh : " But, in 
 spite of all, you don't seem to me like friends." 
 
 This explanation added another trouble to Hannah Thurs- 
 ton's mind. It was very possible that Woodbury suspected 
 her of cherishing an unfriendly prejudice against him. She 
 bad assuredly given him cause for such a suspicion, and if the 
 one woman in Ptolemy, who, after her mother, knew her best, 
 had received this impression, it would not be strange if he 
 shared it. In such case, what gentle consideration, what for- 
 giving kindness had he not exhibited towards her ? What 
 other man of her acquaintance would have acted with the same 
 magnanimity? Was it not her duty to undeceive him not 
 by words, but by meeting him frankly and gratefully by ex 
 hibiting to him, in some indirect way, her confidence in 1 is 
 nobility of character ? 
 
 Thus, ?very thing conspired to make him the centre of her 
 thouo-hts, and the more she struggled to regain her freedom, 
 the more helplessly she entangled herself in the web which hia 
 presence had spun around her.
 
 862 HAXNAH TIIURSTON: 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 IN WHICH A CKISI8 APPROACHES. 
 
 ONE cannot play with fire without burning one's finger* 
 Woodbury supposed that he was pursuing an experiment, 
 which might at any moment be relinquished, long after a deep 
 and irresistible interest in its object had taken full possession 
 of him. Seeing Hannah Thurston only as a daughter con- 
 versing with her only as a woman her other character ceased 
 to be habitually present to his mind. After a few visits, the 
 question which he asked himself was not: "Will I be able to 
 love her ?" but : " Will I be able to make her love me ?" Of 
 bis own ability to answer the former question he was entirely 
 satisfied, though he steadily denied to himself the present ex- 
 istence of passion. He acknowledged that her attraction for 
 him had greatly strengthened that he detected a new pleasure 
 in her society that she was not unfemininely cold and hard, 
 as he had feared, but at least gentle and tender : yet, with all 
 (his knowledge, there came no passionate, perturbing thrill to 
 his heart, such as once had heralded the approach of ove. She 
 had now a permanent place in his thoughts, it is true: he 
 could scarcely have shut her out, if he had wished : and all 
 the new knowledge which he had acquired prompted him to 
 Stake his rising hopes upon one courageous throw, and trust 
 the future, if he gained it, to the deeper and truer develop- 
 ment of her nature which would follow. 
 
 At the next visit which he paid to the cottage after Mrs. 
 Waldo's half-reproachful complaint, the friendly warmth with 
 which Hannah Thurston received him sent a delicious throb 
 of sweetness to his heart. Poor Hannah ! In her anxiety to
 
 A STOKY OP AMERICAN LIFE. 369 
 
 be j.ist, she had totally forgotten what her treatment of Seth 
 Wattles, from a similar impulse, had brought upon her. She 
 only saw, in Woodbury's face, the grateful recognition of her 
 manner towards him, and her conscience became quiet at once 
 The key-note struck at greeting gave its character to the inter 
 new, which Woodbury prolonged much beyond his usual 
 aabit. He had never been so attractive, but at the same time, 
 Us presence had never before caused her such vague a arm. 
 All the cold indifference, which she had once imagined to be 
 his predominant characteristic, had melted like a snow-wreath 
 in the sunshine : a soft, warm, pliant grace diffused itself over 
 his features and form, and a happy under-current of feeling 
 made itself heard in his lightest words. He drew her genuine 
 self to the light, before she suspected how much she had 
 allowed him to see : she, who had resolved that he should only 
 know her in her strength, had made a voluntary confession of 
 her weakness ! 
 
 Hannah Thurston was proud as she was pure, and this weird 
 and dangerous power in the man, wounded as well as dis- 
 turbed her. She felt sure that he exercised it unconsciously, 
 and therefore he was not to be blamed; but it assailed her in- 
 dividual freedom her coveted independence of other minds-- 
 none the less. It was weakness to shrink from the encounter: 
 it was humiliation to acknowledge, as she must, that her 
 powers of resistance diminished with each attack. 
 
 Woodbury rode home that evening very slowly. For the 
 first time since Bute's marriage, as he looked across the mead- 
 ows to a dusky white speck that glimmered from the knoll in 
 the darkening twilight, there was no pang at his heart. "I 
 foresee," he said to himself, " that if I do not take care, I shall 
 love this girl madly and passionately. I know her now in her 
 true tenderness and purity ; I see what a wealth of woman- 
 hood is hidden under her mistaken aims. But is she not too 
 loftily pure too ideal in her aspirations for my winning ? 
 Can she bear the knowledge of my life ? I cannot spare her 
 the test. If she comes to me at last, it must be with every 
 16*
 
 370 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 veil of the Past lifted. There dare be no mystery betweet 
 us no skeleton in our cupboard. If she were less true, lesa 
 noble but no, there can be no real sacrament of marriagej 
 without previous confession. I am laying the basis of relation! 
 chat stretch beyond this life. It would be a greater wrong to 
 shrink, for her sake, than for my own. It must come to this, 
 and God give her strength of heart equal to her strength of 
 mind ! " 
 
 Woodbury felt that her relation to him had changed, and 
 he could estimate, very nearly, the character which it had now 
 assumed. Of hei struggles with herself of the painful im- 
 pression which his visits left behind he had, of course, nol 
 the slightest presentiment. He knew, however, that no sus- 
 picion of his feelings had entered her breast, and he had 
 reasons of his own for desiring that she should remain inno- 
 cent of their existence, for the present. His plans, here, came 
 to an end, for the change in himself interposed an anxiety 
 which obscured his thoughts. He had reached the point where 
 all calculation fails, and where the strongest man, if his pas- 
 sion be genuine, must place his destiny in the hands of 
 Chance. 
 
 But there is, fortunately, a special chance provided for cases 
 of this kind. All the moods of Nature, all the little accidents 
 of life, become the allies of love. When the lover, looking 
 back from his post of assured fortune over the steps by which 
 he attained it, thinks : " Had it not been for such or such a 
 circumstance, I might have wholly missed my happiness," he 
 does not recognize that all the powers of the earth and air 
 were really in league with him that his success was not the 
 miracle he supposed, but that his failure would have been. It 
 is well, however, that this delusion should come to silence I he 
 voice of pride, and temper his heart witL a grateful humility ; 
 for him it is necessary that " fear and sorrow fan the tire of 
 
 joy-; 
 
 Woodbury had no sooner intrusted to Chance the further 
 development of his fate, than Chance generously requited the
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 37. 
 
 It was certainly a wonderful coincidence that, as he 
 walked into Ptolemy on a golden afternoon in late September, 
 quite uncertain whether he should this time call at the widow's 
 cottage, he should meet Hannah Thurston on foot, just at the 
 junction of the Anacreon and Mulligansville highways. It 
 was Miss Sophia Stevenson's day for relieving her, and she had 
 gone out for her accustomed walk up the banks of the stream. 
 
 As Woodbury lifted his hat to greet her, his face brightened 
 with a pleasure which he did not now care to conceal. There 
 was a hearty, confiding warmth in the grasp of his hand, as he 
 stood face to face, looking into her clear, dark-gray eyes with 
 an expression as frank and unembarrassed as a boy's. It was 
 this transparent warmth and frankness which swept away her 
 cautious resolves at a touch. In spite of herself, she felt that 
 an intimate friendship was fast growing up between them, and 
 she knew not why the consciousness of it should make her so 
 uneasy. There was surely no reproach to her in the fact that 
 their ideas and habits were so different ; there was none of 
 her friends with whom she did not differ on points more or 
 less important. The current setting towards her was pure 
 and crystal-clear, yet she drew back from it as from the rush 
 of a dark and turbid torrent. 
 
 " Well-met !" cried Woodbury, with a familiar playfulness. 
 "We are both of one mind to-day, and what a day for out-of- 
 doors ! I am glad you are able to possess a part of it ; your 
 mother is better, I hope ?" 
 
 " She is much as usual, and I should not have left her, but 
 foi the kindness of a friend who comes regularly on this Jay 
 V the week to take my place for an hour or two." 
 
 ' Have yeu this relief but once in seven days ?" 
 
 " Oh, no. Mrs. Styles comes on Tuesdays, and those two 
 days, I find, are sufficient for my needs. Mrs. Waldo would 
 relieve me every afternoon if I would allow her." 
 
 "If you are half as little inclined for lonely walks as I am,'' 
 said Woodbury, " you will not refuse my companionship to 
 day. I see you are going ont the eastern road."
 
 372 HAXNAH THUBSTOH . 
 
 "My favorite walk," she answered, "is in the meadowa 
 yonder. It is the wildest and most secluded spot in the neigh- 
 borhood of the village." 
 
 " Ah, I have noticed, from the road, in passing, the beauty 
 of those elms and clumps of alder, and the picturesque curvet 
 of the creek. I should like to make a nearer acquaintance 
 with them. Do you feel sufficient confidence in my apprecia- 
 tion of Nature to perform the introduction ?" 
 
 " Nature is not exclusive," said she, adopting his gay tone, 
 " and if she were, I think she could not exclude you, who have 
 known her in her royal moods, from so simple and unpretend- 
 ing a landscape as this." 
 
 " The comparison is good," he answered, walking onward 
 by her side, "but you have drawn the wrong inference. I 
 find that every landscape has an individual character. The 
 royal moods, as you rightly term them, may impose upon us, 
 like human royalty ; but the fact that you have been presented 
 at Court does not necessarily cause the humblest man to open 
 his heart to you. What is it to yonder alder thickets that I 
 have looked on the Himalayas ? What does East Atauga Creek 
 care for the fact that I have floated on the Ganges ? If the 
 scene has a soul at all, it will recognize every one of your foot- 
 steps, and turn a cold shoulder to me, if I come with any such 
 pretensions." 
 
 Hannah Thurston laughed at the easy adroitness with which 
 he had taken up and applied her words. It was a light, grace- 
 fill play of intellect to which she was unaccustomed which, 
 indeed, a year previous, would have struck her as trivial and 
 unworthy an earnest mind. But she had learned something 
 in that time. Her own mind was no longer content to move 
 in its former rigid channels; she acknowledged the cheerfol 
 brightness which a sunbeam of fancy can diffuse over the sober 
 coloring of thought. 
 
 He let down the movable rails from the panel of fonc* 
 wliich gave admittance into the meadow, and put then up 
 again after they had entered. The turf was thick and dry
 
 A STOKi' OF AMERICAN LIFE. 878 
 
 witL a delightful elasticity which lifted the feet where they 
 pressed it. A few paces brought them to the edge of the belt 
 of thickets, or rather islands of lofty shrubbery, between which 
 the cattle had worn paths, and which here and there enclosed 
 little peninsulas of grass and mint, embraced by the swift 
 stream. The tall autumnal flowers, yellow and dusky pur- 
 ple, bloomed on all sides, and bunches of the lovely fringed 
 gentian, blue as a wave of the Mediterranean, were set among 
 the ripe grass like sapphires in gold. The elms which at in- 
 tervals towered over this picturesque jungle, had grown up 
 since the valley-bottom was cleared, and no neighboring trees 
 had marred the superb symmetry of their limbs. 
 
 Threading the winding paths to the brink of the stream, or 
 back again to the open meadow, as the glimpses through the 
 labyrinth enticed them, they slowly wandered away from the 
 road. Woodbury was not ashamed to show his delight in 
 every new fragment of landscape which their exploration dis- 
 closed, and Miss Thurston was thus led to make him acquainted 
 with her own selected gallery of pictures, although her exclu- 
 sive right of possession to them thereby passed away forever. 
 
 Across one of the bare, grassy peninsulas between the thicket 
 and the stream lay a huge log which the spring freshet had stolen 
 from some saw-mill far up the valley. Beyond it, the watery 
 windings ceased for a hundred yards or more, opening a space 
 for the hazy hills in the distance to show their purple crests. 
 Otherwise, the spot was wholly secluded: there was not a 
 dwelling in sight, nor even a fence, to recall the vicinity of 
 human life. This was the enticing limit of Hannah Thurston's 
 walks. She had not intended to go so far to-day, but "a 
 spirit in her feet" brought her to the place before she was ' 
 aware. 
 
 " Ah 1" cried Woodbury, as they emerged from the tangled 
 paths, " I see that you are recognized here. Nature has inten- 
 tionally placed this seat for you at the very spot where you 
 have at once the sight of the hills and the sound of the water. 
 How musical it is, just at this point ! I know you sing here,
 
 874 HA.NNAII THTJRSTON; 
 
 aometimes : you cannot help it, with such an accompaiii 
 ment." 
 
 She did not answer, but a flitting smile betrayed her assent. 
 They took their seats on the log, as if by a silent understand- 
 ing. The liquid gossip of the stream, in which many voices 
 seemed to mingle in shades of tone so delicate that the ear 
 lost, as soon as it caught them, sounded lullingly at their feet. 
 Now and then a golden leaf dropped from the overhanging 
 elm, and quivered slantwise to the ground. 
 
 " Ah, that reminds me," said Woodbury, finally breaking 
 the peaceful, entrancing silence "one of those exquisite songs 
 in ' The Princess' came into my head. Have you read the 
 book? You promised to tell me what impression it made 
 upon you." 
 
 " Tour judgment is correct, so far," she answered, " that it 
 is poetry, not argument. But it could never have been writ- 
 ten by one who believes in the just rights of woman. In the 
 first place, the Princess has a very faulty view of those rights, 
 and in the second place she adopts a plan to secure them which 
 is entirely impracticable. If the book had been written for a 
 serious purpose, I should have been disappointed ; but, taking 
 it for what it is, it has given me very great pleasure." 
 
 '" You say the Princess's plan of educating her sex to inde- 
 pendence is impracticable; yet pardon me if I have misunder- 
 stood you you seem to attribute your subjection to the influ- 
 ence of man an influence which must continue to exercise the 
 same power it ever has. What plan would you substitute for 
 hers?" 
 
 " I do not know," she answered, hesitatingly ; " I can only 
 hope and believe that the Truth must finally vindicate itself. 
 I have never aimed at any thiug more than to assert it." 
 
 " Then you do not place yourself in an attitude hostile to 
 man ?" he asked. 
 
 Hannah Thurston was embarrassed for a moment, but her 
 frankness conquered. " I fear, indeed, that I have done so," 
 she said. " There have been times when a cruel attack hw
 
 A STORY OP .AMERICAN LIFE. 375 
 
 driven me to resistance. You can scarcely appreciate out 
 position, Mr. Woodbury. We could bear opea and honorable 
 hostility, but the conventionalities which protect us against 
 that offer us no defence from sneers and ridicule. The very 
 term applied to us ' strong-minded' implies that weak minda 
 %re oui natural and appropriate inheritance. It is in human 
 nature I think, to forgive honest enmity sooner than covert 
 contempt." 
 
 " Would it satisfy you that the sincerity and unselfishness 
 of your aims are honored, though the aims themselves are 
 accounted mistaken." 
 
 " It is all we could ask now !" she exclaimed, her eyes grow- 
 ing darker and brighter, and her voice thrilling with its earnest 
 sweetness. " But who would give us that much ?" 
 
 " I would," said Woodbury, quietly. " Will you pardon 
 me for saying that it has seemed to me, until recently, as if 
 you suspected me of an active hostility which I have really 
 never felt. My opinions are the result of my experience of 
 men, and you cannot wonder if they differ from yours. I 
 should be very wrong to arrogate to myself any natural supe- 
 riority over you. I think there never can be any difficulty in 
 determining the relative rights of the sexes, when they truly 
 understand and respect each other. I can unite with you in 
 desiring reciprocal knowledge and reciprocal honor. If that 
 shall be Attained, will you trust to the result ?" 
 
 " Forgive me : I did misunderstand you," she said, not 
 answering his last question. 
 
 A pause ensued. The stream gurgled on, and the purple 
 hills smiled through the gaps in the autumnal foliage. " Do 
 you believe that Ida was happier with the Prince, supposing 
 he were faithful to the pictvre he drew, than if she had re- 
 mained at the head of her college ?" lie suddenly asked. 
 
 " You will acquit me of hostility to your sex when I say 'Yes.' 
 The Prince promised her equa'itv, not subjection. It is sad 
 that the noble and eloquent close of the poem should be itu 
 most imaginative part."
 
 36 HANKAK 
 
 The toue ot mournful unbelief in her voice fired Woodbury'i 
 blood. His heart protested against her words and demanded 
 to be heard. The deepening intimacy of their talk had brought 
 him to that verge of frankness where the sanctities of feeling, 
 which hide themselves from the gaze of the world, steal up to 
 the light and boldly reveal their features. "No," he said, warm- 
 ly and earnestly, " the picture is not imaginative. Its counter- 
 part exists in the heart of every true man. There can be no 
 ideal perfection in marriage because there is none in life ; but 
 it can, and should, embody the tenderest affection, the deepest 
 trust, the divinest charity, and the purest faith which human 
 aature is capable of manifesting. I, for one man, found my own 
 dream hi the words of the Prince. I have not remained un- 
 married from a selfish idea of independence or from a want of 
 reverence for woman. Because I hold her so high, because I 
 seek to set her side by side with me in love and duty and con- 
 fidence, I cannot profane her and myself by an imperfect union. 
 I do not understand love without the most absolute mutual 
 knowledge, and a trust so complete that there can be no ques- 
 tion of rights on either side. Where that is given, man will 
 never withhold, nor will woman demand, what she should or 
 should not possess. That is my dream of marriage, and it is 
 not a dream too high for attainment in this life !" 
 
 The sight of Hannah Thurston's face compelled him to 
 pause. She was deadly pale, and trembled visibly. The mo- 
 ment he ceased speaking, she rose from her seat, and, after 
 mechanically plucking some twigs of the berried bittersweet, 
 said : " It is time for me to return." 
 
 Woodbury had not intended to say so much, and was fear 
 tul, at first, that his impassioned manner had suggested the 
 secret he still determined to hide. In that case, she evidently 
 desired to escape its utterance, but he had a presentiment that 
 her agitation was owing to a different cause. Could it be 
 that he had awakened the memory of some experience of love 
 through which she had passed ? After the first jealous doubt 
 which this thought inspired, it presented itself to his mind **
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN tlPE. 377 
 
 A relief. The duty which pressed upon him would be more 
 lightly pei-formed; the test to which he must first subject 
 her would be surer of success. 
 
 As they threaded the embowered paths on their homeward 
 way, he said to her, gravely, but cheerfully : " You see, Misa 
 Thurston, your doubt of my sex has forced me to show myself 
 to you as I am, in one respect. But I will not regret the con 
 fession, unless you should think it intrusive." 
 
 " Believe me," she answered, " I know how to value it. 
 You have made me ashamed of my unbelief." 
 
 " And you have confirmed me in my belief. This is a sub- 
 ject which neither man nor woman can rightly interpret, 
 alone. Why should we never speak of that which is most 
 vital in our lives ? Here, indeed, we are governed by con- 
 ventional ideas, springing from a want of truth and purity. 
 But a man is always ennobled by allowing a noble woman to 
 look into his heart. Do you recollect my story about the 
 help Mrs. Blake gave me, under awkward circumstances, 
 before her marriage ?" 
 
 ' " Perfectly. It was that story which made me wish to 
 know her. What an admirable woman she is !" 
 
 " Admirable, indeed !" Woodbury exclaimed. " That was 
 not the only, nor the best help she gave me. I learned from 
 her that women, when they are capable of friendship don't 
 misunderstand me, I should say the same thing of men are 
 the most devoted friends in the world. She is the only con- 
 soling figure in an episode of my life which had a great influ- 
 ence upon my fate. The story is long since at an end, but I 
 should like to tell it to you, some time." 
 
 " If you are willing to do so, I shall be glad to hear anothei 
 instance of Mrs. Blake's kindness." 
 
 " Not only that," Woodbury continued, " but still another 
 portion of my history. I will not press my confidence upon 
 you, but I shall be glad, very glad, if you will kindly consent 
 to receive it. Some things in my life suggest questions which 
 I have tried to answer, and cannot. I must have a woman'f
 
 378 HANNAH THTJBSTON: 
 
 help. I know you are all truth and candor, and I am willing 
 to place my doubts in your hands." 
 
 He spoke earnestly and eagerly, walking by her side, but 
 with eyes fixed upon the ground. His words produced in 
 her a feeling of interest and curiosity, under which lurked a 
 singular reluctance. She was still unnerved by her former 
 agitation. " Why should you place such confidence in me ?" 
 ghe at length faltered. " You have other friends who deserve 
 it better." 
 
 " We cannot always explain our instincts," he answered. 
 1 I must tell you, and you alone. If I am to have help in 
 these doubts, it is you who can give it." 
 
 His words seized her and held her powerless. Her Quaker 
 blood still acknowledged the authority of those mysterious 
 impulses which are truer than reason, because they come from 
 a deeper source. He spoke with a conviction from which 
 there was no appeal, and the words of refusal vanished from 
 her lips and from her heart. 
 
 " Tell me, then," she said. " I will do my best. I hope I 
 may be able to help you." 
 
 He took her hand and held it a moment, with a warm pres- 
 sure. " God bless you !" was all he said. 
 
 They silently ururned up the road. On reaching the gate 
 of the cottage, he took leave of her, saying : " You will have 
 my story to-morrow." His face was earnest and troubled ; 
 it denoted the presence of a mystery, the character of which 
 she could not surmise. 
 
 On entering the cottage, she first went up-stairs to her own 
 room. She had a sensation of some strange expression having 
 come over her face, which must be banished from it before she 
 could meet her mother. She must have five minutes alone to 
 think upon what had passed, before she could temporarily put 
 it away from her mind. But her thoughts were an indistinct 
 chaos, through which only two palpable sensations crossed each 
 other as they moved to and fro one of unreasoning joy, one 
 of equally unreasoning terror. What either of them portend
 
 A STORY OF AiiKKICAN L1FK. J7S 
 
 ed she could not guess. She only felt that there was no stable 
 point to which she could cling, but the very base of her being 
 seemed to shift as her thoughts pierced down to it. 
 
 Her eyes fell upon the volume of " The Princess," which lay 
 upon the little table beside her bed. She took it up with a 
 sudden desire to read again the closing scene, where the 
 heroine lays her masculine ambition in the hands of love. The 
 book opened of itself, at another page : the first words ar- 
 rested her eye and she read, involuntarily : 
 
 u Ask me no more : the moon may draw the sea, 
 
 The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape, 
 With fold on fold, of mountain and of cape, 
 But oh, too fond, when have I answered thee ? 
 
 Ask me no more. 
 
 "Ask me no more: what answer could I give? 
 I love not hollow cheek and fading eye, 
 Tet oh, my friend, I would not have thee die : 
 Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live ; 
 
 Ask me no more. 
 
 " Ask me no more : thy fate and mine are sealed. 
 I strove against the stream, and strove in vain : 
 Let the great river bear me to the main ! 
 No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield 
 
 Ask me no more." 
 
 The weird, uncontrollable power which had taken possession 
 of her reached its climax. She threw down the book and 
 burst into tears.
 
 HANNAH THUB8TOH I 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 MB. WOODBUBY'S CONFESSION. 
 
 TOWABDS evening, on Saturday, Bute called al the cottage, 
 and after inquiring concerning the widow's condition, and 
 giving, in return, a most enthusiastic report of Carrie's ac- 
 complishments, he produced a package, with the remark : 
 
 " Here, Miss Hannah, 's a book that Mr. Max. give me for 
 you. He says you needn't be in a hurry to send any of 'em 
 back. He got a new lot from New York yisterday." 
 
 She laid it aside until night. It was late before her mother 
 slept and she could be certain of an hour, alone, and secure 
 from interruption. When at last all was quiet and the fire 
 was burning low on the hearth, and the little clock ticked like 
 a strong pulse of health, in mockery of the fading life in the 
 bosom of the dear invalid in the next room, she took the book 
 in her hands. She turned it over first and examined the paper 
 wrapping, as if that might suggest the nature of the unknown 
 contents; then slowly untied the string and unfolded the 
 paper. When the book appeared, she first looked at the back ; 
 it was Ware's " Zenobia" a work she had long desired to 
 possess. A thick letter slipped out from between the blank 
 'eavps and fell on her lap. On the envelope was her name 
 only " Hannah Thurston" in a clear, firm, masculine hand. 
 She laid the volume aside, broke the seal and read the letter 
 ihrough from beginning to end : 
 
 " DEA.R Miss THUKSTON : I know how much I have asked 
 ol you in begging permission to write, for your eye, the story 
 which follows. Therefore I have not allowed myself to stand
 
 A STOEY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 881 
 
 shivering on the brink of a plunge which I have determined 
 to make, or to postpone it, from the fear that, the venture of 
 confidence which I now send out will come to shipwreck 
 Since I have learned to appreciate the truth and nobleness of 
 your nature since I have dared to hope that you honor me 
 with a friendly regard most of all, since I find that the feel- 
 ings which I recognize as the most intimate and sacred portion 
 of myself seek expression in your presence, I am forced to 
 make you a participant in the knowledge of my life. Whether 
 it be that melancholy knowledge which a tender human charity 
 takes under its protecting wing and which thenceforward 
 sleeps calmly in some shadowy corner of memory, or that evil 
 knowledge which torments because it cannot be forgotten, 1 
 am not able to foresee. I will say nothing, in advance, to 
 secure a single feeling of sympathy or consideration which 
 your own nature would not spontaneously prompt you to give. 
 I know that in this step I may not be acting the part of a 
 friend ; but, whatever consequences may follow it, I entreat 
 you to believe that there is no trouble which I would not 
 voluntarily take upon myself, rather than inflict upon you a 
 moment's unnecessary pain. 
 
 " Have you ever, in some impartial scrutiny of self, dis- 
 covered to what extent your views of Woman, and your aspi- 
 rations in her behalf, were drawn from your own nature? Are 
 you not inclined to listen to your own voice as if it were the 
 collective voice of your sex ? If so, you may to some extent, 
 accept me as an interpretation of Man. I am neither better 
 nor worse than the general average of men. My principal ad- 
 vantages are, that I was most carefully and judiciously 
 educated, and that my opportunities of knowing mankind have 
 been greater than is usual. A conscientious study of human 
 nat,ure ought to be the basis of all theories of reform. I think 
 you will agree with me, thus far ; and therefore, however my 
 present confession may change your future relations towards 
 me, I shall have, at least, the partial consolation of knowing 
 that I have added something to your knowledge.
 
 382 HANNAH THUESTOSr: 
 
 " Let me ada only this, before I commence my nan-alive 
 that it treats entirely of the occurrences of my life, which have 
 Drought me near to woman through my emotions. It is mj 
 experience of the sex, so far as that experience has taken a 
 deeper hold on my heart. You are not so cold and unsympa- 
 thetic as to repel the subject. The instinct which has led me 
 to choose you as the recipient of my confidence cannot ba 
 false. That same instinct tells me that I shall neither withhold 
 nor seek to extenuate whatever directly concerns myself. I 
 dare not do either. 
 
 " My nature was once not so calm and self-subdned as it 
 may seem to you now. As a youth I was ardent, impetuous, 
 and easily controlled by my feelings. In the heart of almost 
 any boy, from seventeen to twenty, there is a train laid, and 
 waiting for the match. As I approached the latter age, mine 
 was kindled by a girl two years younger than myself, the 
 daughter of a friend of my father. I suppose all early passions 
 have very much the same character : they are intense, absorb- 
 ing, unreasoning, but generally shallow, not from want- of sin- 
 cerity but from want of development. The mutual attachment 
 necessarily showed itself, and was tacitly permitted, but with- 
 out any express engagement. I had never surprised her with 
 any sudden declaration of love : our relation had gradually 
 grown into existence, and We were both so happy therein that 
 we did not need to question and discuss our feelings. In fact, 
 we were rarely sufficiently alone to have allowed of such con- 
 fidences ; but we sought each other in society or in our re- 
 spective family circles and created for ourselves a half-privacy 
 in the presence of others. Nothing seemed more certain to 
 either of us than that our fates were already united, for we 
 accepted the tolerance of our attachment as a sanction of its 
 future seal upon our lives. 
 
 " After my father's failure and death, however, I discovered, 
 with bitterness of heart, that it was not alone my pecuniary 
 prospects which had changed. Her father, a shrewd, hard 
 man of business, was one of the very few who prospered in a
 
 A STOKY OF AMEKICA3J LIFE. 883 
 
 season of general ruin who perhaps foresaw the crash and 
 prepared himself to take advantage of the splendri >pportuni- 
 ties which it offered. His wealth was doubled, probably 
 trebled, in a year : he won advantages which compelled the 
 most exclusive circles to receive him, and his family dropped 
 their old associations as fast as they familiarized themselves 
 with the new. I saw this change, at first, without the slightest 
 tnisgh ing : my faith in human nature was warm and fresh, 
 and the satisfied bliss of my affections disposed me to judge 
 all men kindly. I only refrained from asking the father's as- 
 sistance in my straits, from a feeling of delicacy, not because 
 I had any suspicion that it would not be given. Little by 
 little, however, the conviction forced itself upon my mind that 
 I was no longer a welcome visitor at the hcmse : I was dropped 
 from the list of guests invited to dinners and entertainments, 
 and my reception became cold and constrained. From the 
 sadness and uneasiness on the face of my beloved, I saw that 
 she was suffering for my sake, and on questioning her she did 
 not deny that she had been urged to give me up. She assured 
 me, nevertheless, of her own constancy, and exhorted me to 
 have patience until my prospects should improve. 
 
 "It was at this juncture that Mtss Remington (Mrs. Blake, 
 you will remember) became a comforting angel to both of us. 
 She had remarked our attachment from its first stage, and with 
 her profound scorn of the pretensions of wealth, she deter- 
 mined to assist the course of true love. We met, as if b\ 
 accident, at her father's house, and she generally contrived that 
 we should have a few minutes alone. Thus, several months 
 passed away. My position had not advanced, because 1 had 
 every thing to learn when I first took it, but I began to havr 
 more confidence in myself, and remained cheerful and hopeful. 
 I was not disturbed by the fact that my beloved sometimes 
 failed to keep her appointments, but I could not help remark- 
 ing, now, that when she did appear, she seemed ill at ease and 
 itrove to make the interviews as short as possible. 
 
 "There was something in ILISS Remington's manner, also,
 
 384 HANNAH TStJRSTON: 
 
 which 1 could not understand. I missed the frank, hearty 
 sympathy with faithful and persecuted love, which she had 
 given me. A restless anxiety, pointing to one thing or 
 another, but never towards the truth, took possession of me. 
 One day on making my pre-arranged call, I found Miss Rcm 
 mgton alone. Her face was grave and sad. She saw my look 
 if disappointment : she allowed me to walk impatiently up and 
 clown the room three or four times, then she arose and seized 
 me by both hands. 'Am I mistaken in you?' she asked: 
 ' Are you yet a man ?' * I am trying to prove it,' I answered. 
 'Then,' she said, 'prove it to me. If you were to have a 
 tooth drawn, would you turn back a dozen times from 
 the dentist's door and bear the ache a day longer, or would 
 you go in at once and have it out?' I sat down, chilled to 
 the heart, and said, desperately : ' I am ready for the opera- 
 tion !' She smiled, but there were tears of pity in her eyes. 
 She told me as kindly and tenderly as possible, all she had 
 learned : that the girl who possessed my unquestioning faith 
 was unworthy of the gift: that the splendors of the new circle 
 into which she had ascended had become indispensable to her 
 that her attachment to me was now a simple embarrassment: 
 that her beauty had attracted wealthy admirers, one of whom, 
 a shallow-brained egotist, was reported to be especially favored 
 by her, and that any hope I might have of her constancy 
 to me must be uprooted as a delusion. 
 
 " I tried to reject this revelation, but the evidence was 
 too clear to be discredited. Nevertheless, I insisted on seeing 
 the girl once more, and Miss Remington brought about the 
 interview. I was too deeply disappointed to be indignant: 
 she showed a restless impatience to be gone, as if some rem- 
 nant of conscience still spoke in her heart. I told her, sadly, 
 that I saw she was changed. If her attachment for me had 
 faded, as I feared, I would not despotically press mine upon 
 her, but would release her from the mockery of a duty which 
 her heart no longer acknowledged. I expected a penitent 
 confession of the truth, in return, and was therefore wholly
 
 A STOBY OP AMEB1CAX LIFE. 385 
 
 unprepared for the angry reproaches she heaped upon me. 
 * Very fine !' she cried ; ' I always thought there was no m* 
 picion where there was love ! I am to be accused of false- 
 hood, from a jealous whim. It's very easy for you to give up an 
 attachment that died out long ago !' But I will not repeat 
 her expressions further. I should never have comprehended 
 them without Miss Remington's assistance. She was vexed 
 that I should have discovered her want of faith and given her 
 back her freedom : she should have been the first to break the 
 bonds. I laughed, in bitterness of heart, at her words ; 1 
 could give her no other answer. 
 
 " The shock my affections received was deeper than I cared 
 to show. It was renewed, when, three months afterwards, 
 the faithless girl married the rich fool whom she had preferred 
 to me. I should have become moody and cynical but for the 
 admirable tact with which Miss Remington, in her perfect 
 friendship, softened the blow. Many persons suppose that a 
 pure and exalted relation of this kind cannot exist between 
 man and woman, without growing into love in other words, 
 that friendship seeks its fulfilment in the same sex and love 
 in the opposite. I do not agree with this view. The thought 
 of loving Julia Remington never entered my mind, and she 
 would have considered me as wanting in sanity if I had inti- 
 mated such a thing, but there was a happy and perfect confi- 
 dence between us, which was my chief support in those days 
 of misery. 
 
 " I accepted, eagerly, the proposition to become the Calcutta 
 agent of the mercantile house in which I was employed. The 
 shadow of my disappointment still hung over me, and there 
 were now but few associations of my life in New York to 
 make the parting difficult. I went, and in the excitement of 
 new scenes, in the absorBing duties of my new situation, in 
 the mo r e masculine strength that came with maturity, I grad- 
 ually forgot the blow which had been struck or, if I did not 
 forget, the sight of the scar no longer recalled the pain of the 
 wound. Nevertheless, it had made me suspicious and fearful.
 
 886 HANNAH THUKSTON: 
 
 I questioned every rising inclination of my hear!, and sup- 
 pressed the whispers of incipient affection, determined that 
 no woman should ever again deceive me as the first had done. 
 The years glided away, one by one ; I had slowly acquired the 
 habit of self-control, on which I relied as a natural and suffi- 
 cient guard for my heart, and the longing for woman's partner- 
 ship in life, which no man can ever wholly suppress, again began 
 to make itself heard. I did not expect a recurrence of the 
 passion of youth. I knew that I had changed, and that love, 
 therefore, must come to me in a different form. I remembered 
 what I heard at home, as a boy, that when the original forest 
 is cleared away, a new forest of different trees is developed 
 from the naked soil. But I still suspected that there must be 
 a family likeness in the growth, and that I should recognize its 
 sprouting germs. 
 
 " Between five and six years ago, it was necessary that 1 
 should visit Europe, in the interest of the house. I was ab- 
 sent from India nearly a year, and during that time made my 
 first acquaintance with Switzerland, the memory of which is 
 now indissolubly connected, in my mind, with that song which 
 I have heard you sing. But it is not of this that I would 
 speak. I find myself shrinking from the new revelation which 
 must be made. The story is not one of guilt not even of 
 serious blame, in the eyes of the world. If it were necessary 
 I could tell it to any man, without reluctance for my own sake 
 Men, in certain respects, have broader and truer views of life 
 than women ; they are more tender in their judgment, more 
 guarded in their condemnation. I am not justifying myself, 
 in advance, for I can acquit myself of any intentional wrong, 
 I only feel that the venture, embodied in my confession, is about 
 to be sent forth either to pitying gales that shall waft it safely 
 back to me, or to storms in which it shall go down. Recollect, 
 dear Miss Thurston, that whatever of strength I may posses* 
 you have seen. I am now about to show you, voluntarily, my 
 weakness. 
 
 " Among the passengers on board the steamer by which 1
 
 A I/TORY 0^ AMERICAN LIFE. 887 
 
 leturned to India, there was a lady who had been recom- 
 mended to my care by some mutual acquaintance in England. 
 She was the wife of a physician in the Company's Service who 
 was sta'ioned at Benares, and who had sent her home with 
 her chil Iren a year and a half before. The latter were loft in 
 England, while she returned to share the exile of her husband 
 until ho should be entitled to a pension. She was a thoroughly 
 refined and cultivated woman, of almost my own age, and 
 shrank from contact with the young cubs of cadets and the o* 
 tentatio us indigo-planters, with their beer-drinking wives, whc 
 were almost the only other passengers. We were thus thrown 
 continually together, and the isolation of ocean-life contributed 
 to hasten our intimacy. Little by little that intimacy grew 
 deep, tender, and powerful. I told her the humiliating stor> 
 of my early love which you have just read, and she described 
 to me, with tearful reluctance, the unhappiness of her married 
 life. Her husband had gone to England eight years before, on 
 leave of absence, on purpose to n^arry. She had been found 
 to answer his requirements, and ignorant of life as she was at 
 that time, ignorant of her own heart, had been hurried into 
 the marriage by her own family. Her father was in moderate 
 circumstances, and he had many daughters to provide with 
 husbands ; this was too good a chance to let slip, and, as it 
 was known that she had no other attachment, her hesitatioc 
 was peremptorily overruled. She discovered, too late, that 
 there was not only no point of sympathy between her husband 
 and herself, but an absolute repulsion. He was bold and 
 steady-handed as a surgeon, and had performed some daring 
 operations which had distinguished him in his profession ; bvrt 
 he u as hard, selfish, and tyrannical in his domestic relations 
 and his unfortunate wife could only look forward with drea<? 
 tc the continual companionship which was her doom. 
 
 " I had been sure of recognizing any symptom of returning 
 love in my heart but 1 was mistaken. It took the form of 
 pity, and so lulled my suspicions to sleep that my power of 
 will was drugo-ed before I knew it. Her own heart was not
 
 888 HANNAH 
 
 more merciful towards her. Poor womau ! if she had evei 
 Ireamed of love the dream had been forgotten. She was ig- 
 norant of the fatal spell which had come upon us, and I did 
 not detect my own passion until its reflection was throwt 
 back to me from her innocent face. When I had discovered 
 the truth, it was too late too late, I mean, for her happiness, 
 aot too late for the honor of both our lives. I could not ex 
 plain to her a danger which she did not suspect, nor could I 
 embitter, by an enforced coldness, her few remaining happy 
 days of our voyage. With a horrible fascination, I saw her 
 drawing nearer and nearer the brink of knowledge, and my 
 lips were sealed, that only could have uttered the warning cry, 
 
 " Again I was called upon to softer, but in a way I had 
 never anticipated. The grief of betrayed love is tame, beside 
 the despair of forbidden love. This new experience showed 
 me how light was the load which I had already borne. On 
 the one side, two hearts that recognized each other and would 
 have been faithful to the end of time ; on the other, a mon- 
 strous bond, which had only the sanction of human laws. I 
 rebelled, in my very soul, against the mockery of that legal 
 marriage, which is the basis of social virtue, forgetting that 
 Good must voluntarily bind itself in order that Evil may not 
 go free. The boundless tenderness towards her which had 
 suddenly revealed itself must be stifled. I could not even 
 press her hand warmly, lest some unguarded pulse should be- 
 tray the secret ; I scarcely dared look in her eyes, lest mine 
 might stab her with the sharpness of my love and my sorrow 
 in the same glance. 
 
 " It was all in vain. Some glance, some word, or touch cf 
 hand, on either side, did come, and the thin disguise was 
 torn away forever. Then we spoke, for the 'consolation of 
 ipeech seemed less guilty than the agony of silence. In the 
 moonless nights of the Indian Ocean we walked the deck with 
 hands secretly clasped, with silent tears on our cheeks, with 
 a pang hi our souls only softened by the knowledge that it 
 was mutual. Neither of us, I think, then thought of disputing
 
 *. &TORY OF MIKTITCAN' LIFE. 889 
 
 o&/ fate. But as the voyage drew near its end, I was haunt- 
 ed by wild fancies of escape. I could not subdue my nature 
 to forego a fulfilment that seemed possible. We might find 
 a refuge,! thought, in Java, or Celebes, or some of the Indian 
 Isles, and once beyond the reach of pursuit what was the rest 
 of the world to us ? What was wealth, or name, or station ? 
 they were hollow sounds to us now, they were selfish cheats, 
 always. In the perverted logic of passion all was clear and 
 fair. 
 
 *' This idea so grew upon me that I was base enough to 
 propose it to her I who should have given reverence to that 
 gnorance of the heart which made her love doubly sacred, 
 strove to turn it into the instrument of her ruin ! She heard 
 me, in fear, not in indignation. ' Do not tempt me !' she 
 cried, with a pitiful supplication ; ' think of my children, and 
 help me to stand up against my own heart !' Thank God I 
 was not deaf to that cry of weakness ; I was armed to meet 
 resistance, but I was powerless against her own despairing 
 fear of surrender. Thank God, I overcame the relentless selfish- 
 ness of my sex I She took from my lips, that night, the only 
 kiss I ever gave her the kiss of repentance, not of triumph 
 It left no stain 011 the purity of her marriage vow. That was 
 our true parting from each other. There were still two days 
 of our voyage left, but we looked at each other as if through 
 the bars of opposite prisons, with a double wall between. Our 
 renunciation was complete, and any further words would have 
 been an unnecessary pang. We had a melancholy pleasure in 
 still being near each other, in walking side by side, in the 
 brrnal touch of hands that dared not clasp and be clasped, 
 This poor consolation soon ceased. The husband was waiting 
 for her at Calcutta, and I purposely kept my state-room when 
 we arrived, in order that I might not see him. I was not yet 
 eure of myself. 
 
 "She went to Benares, and afterwards to Meerut, and I 
 never saw her again. In a little more thar a year I heard she 
 was dead : ' the fever of the country,' they said. I was glad
 
 300 nAiorAH THURSTON: 
 
 of it death was better for her than her life had been now 
 at least, when that life had become a perpetual infidelity to hei 
 beart. Death purified the memory of my passion, and gave 
 me, perhaps, a sweeter resignation than if she had first yielded 
 to my madness. Sad and hopeless as was this episode of my 
 life, it contained an element of comfort, and restored thr 
 balance which my first disappointment had destroyed. My 
 grief for her was gentle, tender and consoling, and I never 
 turned aside from its approaches. It has now withdrawn into 
 the past, but its influence still remains, in this that the desire 
 for that fulfilment of passion, of which life has thus far cheated 
 me, has not grown cold in my heart. 
 
 " There are some natures which resemble those plants that 
 die after a single blossoming natures in which one passion 
 seems to exhaust the capacities for affection. I am not one of 
 them, yet I know that I possess the virtue of fidelity. I know 
 that I still wait for the fortune that shall enable me to manifest 
 it. Do you, as a woman, judge me unworthy to expect that for- 
 tune ? You are now acquainted with my history ; try me by 
 the sacred instincts of your own nature, and according to them, 
 pardon or condemn me. I have revealed to you my dream of 
 the true marriage that is possible a dream that prevents me fc i4 
 from stooping to a union not hallowed by perfect love and 
 faith. Have I forfeited the right to indulge this dream longer ? 
 Would I be guilty of treason towards the virgin confidence of 
 some noble woman whom God may yet send me, in offering 
 her a heart which is not fresh in its knowledge, though fresh 
 in its immortal desires ? I pray you to answer me these ques- 
 tions ? Do not blame your own truth and nobility of nature, 
 iehich have brought you this task. Blame, if you please, my 
 selfishness in taking advantage of them. 
 
 " I have now told you all I meant to confess, and might here 
 close. But one thought occurs to me, suggested by the sud- 
 den recollection of the reform to which you have devoted 
 yourself. I fear that all reformers are too much disposed to 
 cueasure the actions and outward habits of the human race,
 
 A STOKY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 39\ 
 
 without examining the hidden causes of those actions. Ther 
 is some basis in our nature for all general Customs, both of 
 body and mind. The mutual relation of man and woman, in 
 Society, is determined not by a conscious exercise of tyranny 
 on the one side, or subjection on the other. Each sex has its 
 peculiar mental and moral laws, the differences between which 
 are perhaps too subtle and indefinable to be distinctly drawn, 
 but they are as palpable in life as the white and red which 
 neighboring roses draw from the self-same soil. When we 
 have differed in regard to Woman, I have meant to speak sin- 
 cerely and earnestly, out of the knowledge gained by an ur- 
 fortunate experience, which, nevertheless, has not touched the 
 honor and reverence in which I hold the sex. I ask you to 
 remember this, in case the confidence I have forced upon you 
 should hereafter set a gulf between us. 
 
 " I have deprived myself of the right to make any request, 
 but whatever your judgment may be, will you let me hear it 
 from your own lips ? Will you allow me to see you once 
 more ? I write to you now, not because I should shrink from 
 speaking the same words, but because a history like mine is 
 not always easily or clearly told, and I wish your mind to be 
 uninfluenced by the sympathy which a living voice might 
 inspire. 
 
 " On Tuesday next you will be free to take your accustomed 
 walk. May I be your companion again, beside the stream ? 
 But, no : do not write : you will find me there if you consent 
 to see me. If you do not come, I shall expect the written evi- 
 dence, if not,of your continued respect, at least of your forgive 
 ness. But, in any case, think of me always as one man \*ha 
 having known you, will never cease to honor Woman. 
 
 " Your friend, 
 
 "MAXWELL WOODBUET."
 
 f JAJTtfAH THUB8TON .' 
 
 CHAPTER XXXL 
 
 TBT WHICH THE STRONG-MINDED WOMAN BECOMES WKAJL. 
 
 IT did not require the sound of a living voice to inspire 
 Hannah Thurston with sympathy for the story which she had 
 just read. Never before had any man so freely revealed to 
 her the sanctities of his experience of women. Completely 
 absorbed in the recital, she gave herself up to the first strong 
 impressions of alternate indignation and pity, without reflect- 
 ing upon the deeper significance of the letter. "Woodbury's 
 second episode of passion at first conflicted harshly with the 
 pure ideal in her own mind ; the shock was perhaps greater 
 to her than the confession of actual guilt would have been to 
 a woman better acquainted with the world. Having grown 
 up in the chaste atmosphere of her sect, and that subdued life 
 of the emotions which the seclusion of the country creates, it 
 startled her to contemplate a love forbidden by the world, yet 
 justifying itself to the heart. Nevertheless, the profound pity 
 which came upon her as she read took away from her the 
 power of condemnation. The wrong, she felt, was not so much 
 in the love which had unsuspectedly mastered both, as in the 
 impulse to indulge rather than suppress it; but* having been 
 BUJ (pressed passion having been purified by self-abnegation 
 and by death, she could not withhold a tender human eharity 
 even for this feature of the confession. 
 
 Woodbury's questions, however, referred to the future, no 
 iess than to the past. They hinted at the possibility of a ne\v 
 love visiting his heart. The desire for it, he confessed, had not 
 grown cold. Deceit and fate had not mastered, in him, th
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 393 
 
 immortal yearning: was be unworthy to receive it? "Try 
 me," he had written, " by the sacred instincts of your owu 
 nature, and according to them pardon or condemn me." Sho 
 had already pardoned. Perhaps, had she read the same words 
 coming from a stranger, or as an incident of a romance, she 
 would have paused and deliberated; her natural severty 
 Would have been slow to relax ; but knowing Woodbury as 
 he had latterly learned to know him, in his frankness, his 
 manly firmness and justice, his noble consideration for herself 
 her heart did not delay the answer to his questions. He had 
 put her to shame by voluntarily revealing his weakness, while 
 she had determined that she would never allow him to dis 
 cover her own. 
 
 Little by little, however, after it became clear thai her sym- 
 pathy and her charity were justifiable, the deeper questions 
 which lay hidden beneath the ostensible purpose of his lettei 
 crept to the surface. In her ignorance of the coming confes- 
 sion, she had not asked herself, in advance, why it should have 
 been made; she supposed it would be its own explanation. 
 The reason he had given was not in itself sufficient, but pre- 
 supposed something more important which he had not ex- 
 pressed. No man makes such a confidence from a mere feeling 
 of curiosity. Simultaneously with this question came another 
 why should he fancy that his act might possibly set a gulf 
 between them ? Was it simply the sensitiveness of a nature 
 which would feel itself profaned by having its secrets misun- 
 derstood ? No ; a heart thus sensitive would prefer the secu- 
 rity of silence. Was he conscious of a dawning love, and. 
 doubtful of himself, did he ask for a woman's truer interpre- 
 tation of his capacity to give and keep faith ? " It is cruel in 
 him to ask me," she said to herself; " does he think my heart 
 is insensible as marble, that I should probe it with thoughts, 
 every one of which inflicts a wound? Why does he not 
 send his confession at ono3 to her f It is she who should hear 
 it, not I ! He is already guilty of treason to her, in asking 
 the question of me /"
 
 804 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 She put the letter suddenly on the table, and half tow 
 from her chair, in the excitement of the thought. Then, as it 
 struck by a stunning blow, she dropped back again. Her face 
 grew cold and deadly pale, and her arms fell nerveless at her 
 sides. Her eyes closed, and her breath came in long, labored 
 sighs After a few minutes she sat up, placed her elbow OD 
 the table and rested her forehead on her hand. " I am grow- 
 ing idiotic," she whispered, with an attempt to smile ; " mj 
 brain is giving way it is only a woman's brain." 
 
 The fire had long been extinct. The room was cold, and a 
 chill crept over her. She rose, secured the letter and the 
 book, and went to bed. As the balmy warmth stole over her 
 frame, it seemed to soften and thaw the painful constriction 
 of her heart, and she wept herself into a sad quiet. " Oh, if 
 it should be so," she said, "I must henceforth be doubly 
 wretched ! What shall I do ? I cannot give up the truths 
 to which I have devoted my life, and they now stand between 
 my heart and the heart of the noblest man I have ever known, 
 Yes : my pride is broken at last, and I will confess to myself 
 how much I honor and esteem him not love but even there 
 I am no longer secure. We were so far apart how could I 
 dream of danger ? But I recognize it now, too late for him 
 almost too late for me!" 
 
 Then, again, she doubted every thing. The knowledge had 
 come too swiftly and suddenly to be accepted at once. He 
 could not love her ; it was preposterous. Until a few days 
 ago he had thought her cold and severe : now, he acknowl- 
 edged her to be true, and his letter simply appealed to that 
 truth, unsuspicious of the secret slumbering in her heart. He 
 had spoken of the possibility of a pure and exalted friendship 
 between the sexes, such as already existed between himself 
 and Mrs. Blake : perhaps he aimed at nothing more, in this 
 instance. Somehow, the thought was not so consoling as it 
 ought properly to have been, and the next moment the skilful 
 explanation which she had built up tumbled into ruins. 
 
 She slept but little, that night, and all the next day went
 
 JL STOKY OF AMEEICAN LIFE. 89* 
 
 about her duties as if in a dream. She knew that her mother's 
 eye sometimes rested uneasily on her pale face, and the con- 
 fession of her trouble more than once rose to her tongue, but 
 she resolutely determined to postpone it until the dreaded 
 crisis was past. She would not agitate the invalid with her 
 confused apprehensions, all of which, moreover, might prove 
 themselves to have been needless. With every fresh conflict 
 in her mind her judgment seemed to become more unsteady. 
 The thought of Woodbury's love, having once revealed itself 
 to her, would not be banished, and every time it returned, il 
 seemed to bring a gentler and tenderer feeling for him into her 
 heart. On the other hand her dreams of a career devoted to 
 the cause of Woman ranged themselves before her mental 
 vision, in an attitude of desperate resistance. " Now is the 
 test !" they seemed to say : " vindicate your sex, or yield to 
 the weakness of your heart, and add to its reproach I" 
 
 When Monday came, it brought no cessation of the struggle, 
 but she had recovered something of her usual self-control. Sht 
 had put aside, temporarily, the consideration of her doubts ; 
 the deeper she penetrated into the labyrinth, the more she 
 became entangled, and she made up her mind to wait, with as 
 much calmness as she could command, for the approaching 
 solution. The forms of terror, of longing, of defence and of 
 submission continually made their presence felt by turns, or 
 chaotically together, but the only distinct sensation she per- 
 mitted herself to acknowledge was this : that if her forebodings 
 were true, the severest trial of her life awaited her. Hei 
 pride forbade her to shrink from the trial, yet every hoiu 
 that brought her nearer to it increased her dread of the meet 
 Ing. 
 
 Her mother's strength was failing rapidly, and on this da) 
 she required Hannah's constant attendance. When, at last, 
 the latter was relieved for the night, her fatigue, combined 
 with tiie wakeful torment of the t\vo preceding nights, com- 
 pletely overpowered her and she slumbered fast and heavily 
 until morning. Her first waking thought was " The day il
 
 396 HANNAH THURSTON I 
 
 come, and I am not prepared to meet him." The morning 
 was dull and windless, and as she looked upon the valley from 
 her window, a thick blue film enveloped the distant woods, the 
 dark pines and brown oaks mingling with it indistinctly, while 
 the golden and orange tints of the maples shone through. Hei 
 physical mood corresponded with the day. The forces of hei 
 spirit were sluggish and "apathetic, and she felt that the resist- 
 ance which, in the contingency she dreaded, must be made, 
 would be obstinately passive, rather than active and self-con- 
 tamed. A sense of inexpressible weariness stole over her. 
 Oh, she thought, if she only could be spared the trial ! Yet, 
 how easily it might be avoided ! She needed only to omit her 
 accustomed walk : she could write to him, afterwards, and 
 honor his confidence as it deserved. But an instinct told her 
 that this would only postpone the avowal, not avert it. If she 
 was wrong, she had nothing to fear ; if she was right, it would 
 be cowardly, and unjust to him, to delay the answer she must 
 give. 
 
 Her mother had slightly rallied, and when Mrs. Styles 
 arrived, as usual, early in the afternoon, the invalid could be 
 safely left in her charge. Nevertheless, Hannah, after having 
 put on her bonnet and shawl, lingered in the room, with a last, 
 anxious hope that something might happen which would give 
 her a pretext to remain. 
 
 " Child, isn't thee going ?" the widow finally asked. 
 
 " Mother, perhaps I had better stay with thee this after- 
 noon ?" was the hesitating answer. 
 
 " Indeed, thee shall not do any such thing ! Thee's not been 
 thyself for the last two days, and I know thee always comes 
 back from thy walks fresher and better. Bring me a handful 
 .if gentians, won't thee ?" 
 
 " Yes, mother." She stooped and kissed the old woman's 
 forehead, and then left the house. 
 
 The sky was still heavy and gray, and there was an oppres- 
 live warmth in the air. Crickets chirped loud among the dying 
 weeds along the garden-palings, and cro"ws cawed hoarsely
 
 A 8TOBY OF AMERICAN LLFE. 897 
 
 from the tops of the elms. The road was deserted, as far aa 
 she could see, but the sound of fanners calling to their oxeu 
 came distinctly across the valley from the fields on the eastern 
 hill. Nature seemed to lie benumbed, in drowsy half-con- 
 sciousness of her being, as if under some narcotic influence. 
 
 She walked slowly forward, striving to subdue the anxious 
 beating of her heart. At the junction of the highways, she 
 stole a glance down the Anacreon road : nobody was to be 
 seen. Down the other : a farm-wagon was on its way home 
 from Ptolemy that was all. To the first throb of relief suc- 
 ceeded a feeling of disappointment. The walk through the 
 meadow-thickets would be more lonely than ever, remember- 
 ing the last time she had seen them. As she looked towards 
 their dark-green mounds, drifted over with the downy tuftt 
 of the seeded clematis, a figure suddenly emerged from the 
 nearest path and hastened towards her across the meadow ! 
 
 He let down the bars for her entrance and stood waiting 
 for her. His brown eyes shone with a still, happy light, and 
 his face brightened as if struck by a wandering sunbeam. He 
 looked so frank and kind so cheered by her coming so un- 
 embarrassed by the knowledge of the confession he had made, 
 that the wild beating of her heart was partially soothed, and 
 she grew calmer in his presence. 
 
 " Thank you !" he said, as he took her hand, both in greeting 
 and to assist her over the fallen rails. When he had put them 
 up, and regained her side, he spoke again : " Shall we not go 
 on to that lovely nook of yours beside the creek? I have 
 taken a great fancy to the spot ; I have recalled it to mjf 
 memory a thousand times since then." 
 "Yes, if you wish it," she answered. 
 
 As they threaded the tangled paths, he spoke cheerfully 
 and pleasantly, drawing her into talk of the autumnal plants, 
 of the wayward rapids and eddies of the stream, of all sights 
 and sounds around them. A balmy quiet, which she mistook 
 for strength, took possession of her heart. She reached the 
 secluded nook, with a feeling of timid expectancy, it is true.
 
 S9fr HANNAH THURSTOX: . 
 
 but with scarcely a trace of her former overpowering di ead 
 There lay the log, as if awaiting them, and the stream gurgled 
 contentedly around the point, and the hills closed loflilj 
 through blue vapor, up the valley, like the entrance to ar 
 Alpine gorge. 
 
 As soon as they were seated, Woodbury spoke. " Can you 
 inswer my questions ?" 
 
 " You have made that easy for me," she replied, in a lo\* 
 voice. " It seems to me rather a question of character than 
 of experience. A man naturally false and inconstant might 
 have the same history to relate, but I am sure you ar3 true. 
 You should ask those questions of your own heart ; where 
 you are sure of giving fidelity, you would commit no treason 
 in bestowing attachment." 
 
 She dared not utter the other word in her mind. 
 " I was not mistaken in you !" he exclaimed. " You have 
 the one quality which I demand of every man or woman in 
 whom I confide ; you distinguish between what is true in 
 human nature and what is conventionally true. I must show 
 myself to you as I am, though the knowledge should give you 
 pain. The absolution of the sinner," he added, smiling, "is 
 already half-pronounced in his confession." 
 
 "Why should I be your confessor?" she asked. "The 
 knowledge of yourself which you have confided to me, thus 
 far, does not give me pain. It has not lowered you in my 
 esteem but I feel, nevertheless, that your confidence is a gift 
 which I have done nothing to deserve, and which I ought not 
 to accept unless unless I were able to make some return. If 
 I had answered your questions otherwise, I do not think it 
 would have convinced you, against your own feelings. With 
 four integrity of heart, you do not need the aid of a woman 
 whose experience of life is so much more limited than yours." 
 She spoke very slowly and deliberately, and the sentences 
 seemed to come with an effort. Woodbury saw that her 
 clear vision had pierced through his flimsy stratagem, and 
 guessed that she must necessarily suspect the truth. Still, he
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 398 
 
 drew back from the final venture upon' which so much de- 
 pended. He would first sound the depth of her suspicions. 
 
 " No man," he said, gently, " can be independent of woman's 
 judgment, without loss to himself. Her purer nature is a 
 better guide to him than his own clouded instincts. I should 
 not have attributed a different answer to your true self, but to 
 the severe ideas of duty which I imagined you to possess. 
 You were right to suppose that I had already answered for 
 myself, but can you not understand the joy of .hearing it thus 
 confirmed ? Can you not appreciate the happy knowledge 
 that one's heart has not been opened in vain ?" 
 
 " I can understand it, though I have had little experience of 
 such knowledge. But I had not supposed that you needed it, 
 Mr. Woodbury least of all from me. We seem t<> have had 
 so little in common 
 
 "Not so!" he interrupted. "Opinions, no matter how 
 powerfully they may operate to shape our lives, are external 
 circumstances, compared with the deep, original springs of 
 character. You and I have only differed on the outside, and 
 hence we first clashed when we came in contact ; but .now I 
 recognize in you a nature for which I have sought long and 
 wearily. I seek some answering recognition, and in my haste 
 have scarcely given you time to examine whether any features 
 in myself have grown familiar to you. I see now that I was 
 hasty : I should have waited until the first false impression 
 was removed." 
 
 The memory of Mrs. Waldo's reproach arose in Hannah 
 Thurston's mind. " Oh no, you mistake me!" she cried. "I 
 am no longer unjust to you. But you surpass me in magna- 
 nimity as you have already done in justice. You surprised 
 me by a sacred confidence which is generally accorded only to 
 a tried friend. I had given you no reason to suppose that I 
 was a friend : I had almost made myself an enemy." 
 
 "Let the Past be past : I know you now. My confidence 
 was not entirely magnanimous. It was a test." 
 
 "And I have stood it?" she faltered.
 
 400 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 "Not yet," he answered, and his voice trembled into a 
 sweet and solemn strain, to which every nerve in her body 
 seemed to listen. " Not yet ! You must hear it now. I 
 questioned you, after you knew the history of my heart, .n 
 order that you might decide for yourself as well as me. Love 
 purifies itself at each return. My unfortunate experience hau 
 aot prevented me from loving again, and with a purity and in 
 tensity deeper than that of my early days, because the passion 
 was doubted and resisted instead of being received in my 
 heart as a coveted guest. I am beyond the delusions of youth, 
 but not beyond the wants of manhood. I described to you, 
 the other day, on this spot, my dream of marriage. It was 
 not an ideal picture. Hannah Thurston, I thought of you /" 
 
 The crisis had come, and she was not prepared to meet it. 
 As he paused, she pressed one hand upon her heart, as if it 
 might be controlled by physical means, and moved her lips^ 
 but no sound came from them. 
 
 "I knew you could not have anticipated this," he continued; 
 "I should have allowed you time to test me, in return, but 
 when the knowledge of your womanly purity and gentleness 
 penetrated me, to the overthrow of all antagonism based on 
 shallow impressions, I parted with judgment and will. A 
 power stronger than myself drove me onward to the point I 
 have now reached the moment of time which must decide 
 your fate and mine." 
 
 She turned upon him with a wild, desperate energy in her 
 face and words. "Why did you come," she cried, "to drive 
 me to madness ? Was it not enough to undermine the foun- 
 dations of my faith, to crush me with the cold, destroying 
 knowledge you have gained in the world? My life was fixed, 
 before I knew you ; I was sure of myself and satisfied with 
 the work that was before me : but now I am sure of nothing. 
 You have assailed me until you have discovered my weakness, 
 and yr.u cruelly tear down every prop on which I try to lean! 
 If I could hate you I should regain my strength, but I cp.nno* 
 do that you know I cannot !"
 
 A STORr OF AMERICAN LIFE. 40i 
 
 He did not misinterpret her excitement, which yielded more 
 than it assailed. " No, Hannah !" he said tenderly, " I would 
 give you strength, not take it from you the strength of my 
 love, and sympathy, and encouragement. I know how these 
 aims have taken hold upon you: they are built upon a basis 
 of earnest truth which I recognize, and though I diffci 
 with you as to the ends to be attained, we may both enlighten 
 each other, and mutual tenderness and mutual respect govern 
 our relations in this as in all else. Do not think that I would 
 make my love a fetter. I can trust to your nature working 
 itself into harmony with mine. If I find, through the dearer 
 knowledge of you, that I have misunderstood Woman, I will 
 atone for the error ; and I will ask nothing of you but that 
 which I know you will give the acknowledgment of the 
 deeper truth that is developed with the progress of life." 
 
 She trembled from head to foot. " Say no more," she mur- 
 mured, in a faint, hollow voice, " I cannot bear it. Oh, what 
 will become of me ? You are noble and generous I was 
 learning to look up to you and to accept your help, and now 
 you torture me !" 
 
 He was pitiless. He read her more truly than she read 
 herself, and he saw that the struggle must now be fought out 
 to its end. Her agitation gave him hope it was the surge 
 and swell of a rising tide of passion which she resisted with the 
 last exercise of a false strength. He must seem more cruel still, 
 though the conflict in her heart moved him to infinite pity. 
 His voice assumed a new power as he spoke again : 
 
 " Hannah," he said, " I must speak. Remember that I am 
 pleading for all the remaining years of my lifeand, it may 
 be, for yours. Here is no question of subjection ; I offer you 
 tho love that believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth 
 *L things. It is not for me to look irreverently into your 
 maiden heart : but, judging you, as woman, by myself, as man. 
 you must have dreamed of a moment like this. You must 
 have tried to imagine the face of the unknown beloved ; you 
 must have prefigured the holy confidence of love which would
 
 402 HANNAH THUKSTOtf! 
 
 force you to give your fate into his hands; you must hav 
 drawn the blessed life, united with his, the community of in- 
 terest, of feeling, and of faith, the protecting support on his 
 side, the consoling tenderness on yours " 
 
 She seized his arm with the hand nearest him, and grasped 
 it convulsively. Her head dropped towards her breast and 
 her face was hidden from his view. He gently disengaged the 
 hand and held it in his own. But he would not be silent, in 
 obedience to her dumb signal : he steeled bis heart against her 
 pain, and went on : 
 
 " You have tried to banish this dream from your heart, but 
 you have tried in vain. You have turned away from the con- 
 templation of the lonely future, and cried aloud for its fulfil- 
 ment in the silence of your soul. By day and by night it has 
 clung to you, a torment, but too dear and beautiful to be re- 
 nounced " 
 
 He paused. She did not withdraw her hand from his, 
 but she was sobbing passionately. Still, her head was turned 
 away from him. Her strength was only broken, not sub- 
 dued. 
 
 " Remember," he said, " that nothing in our lives resembles 
 the picture which anticipates its coming. I am not the man 
 of your dreams. Such as I fancy them to be, no man on the 
 earth would be worthy to represent him. But I can give you 
 the tenderness, the faith, the support you have claimed from 
 him, in your heart. Do not reject them while a single voice 
 of your nature tells you that some portion of your ideal union 
 may be possible in us. The fate of two lives depends on your 
 answer : in this hour trust every thing to the true voice of your 
 heart. You say you cannot hate me ?" 
 
 She shook her head, without speaking. She was still sob 
 bing violently. 
 
 " I do not ask -you, in this moment, if you love me I can- 
 Dot stake my future on a venture which I feel to be perilous, 
 But I will ask you this : could you love me ?" 
 
 She made no sign : her hand lay in his, and her face wa
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 408 
 
 Dent towards her bosom. He took her other hand, and hold 
 ing them both, whispered : " Hannah, look at me." 
 
 She turned her head slowly, with a helpless submission, and 
 lifted her face. Her cheeks were wet 'with tears, and her 
 lovely dark-gray eyes, dimmed by the floods that had gushed 
 from them in spite of herself, met his gaze imploringly. The 
 trong soul of manhood met and conquered the woman in that 
 glance. He read his triumph, but veiled his own consciousness 
 of it curbed his triumphant happiness, lest she should take 
 alarm. Softly and gently, he stole one arm around her waist 
 and drew her to his breast. The violence of her agitation 
 gradually ceased ; then, lifting her head, she withdrew from 
 his clasp, and spoke, very softly and falteringly, with her eyes 
 fixed on the ground : 
 
 " Yes, Maxwell, it is as I have feared. I will not say that I 
 love you now, for my heart is disturbed. It is powerless to 
 act for me, in your presence. I have felt and struggled against 
 your power, but you have conquered me. If you love me, pity 
 me also, and make a gentle use of your triumph. Do not 
 bind me by any promise at present. Be satisfied with the 
 knowledge that has come to me that I have been afraid to 
 love you, because I foresaw how easy it would be. Do not 
 ask any thing more of me now. I can bear no more to-day. 
 My strength is gone, and I am weak as a child. Be mag 
 nauimous." 
 
 He drew her once more softly to his breast and kissed her 
 lips. There was no resistance, but a timid answering pressure. 
 He kissed her again, with the passionate clinging sweetness cf 
 a heart that seals an eternal claim. She tore herself loose from 
 him and cried with a fiery vehemence : " God will curse you 
 if vou deceive me now ! You have bound me to think of you 
 day and night, to recall your looks and words, to oh, Max- 
 well, to what have you not bound my heart ! r 
 
 " I would bind you to no more than I give," he answered. 
 " I ask no promise. Let us simply be free to find our way to 
 the full knowledge of each other. When you can trust your
 
 404 HANNAH 
 
 life to me, I will take it in tender and reverent keeping. 1 
 trust mine to you now." 
 
 She did not venture to meet his eyes again, but she took his 
 outstretched hand. "He led her to the edge of the peninsula, 
 and they stood thus, side by side, while the liquid, tinkling 
 semitones of the water made a contented accompaniment to 
 the holy silence. In that silence the hearts of both were busy. 
 He "felt that though his nature had proved the stronger, she 
 was not yet completely won : she was like a bird bewildered 
 by capture, that sits tamely for a moment, afraid to try its 
 wings. He must complete by gentleness what he had begun 
 by power. She, at the moment, did not think of escape. She 
 only felt how hopeless would be the attempt, either to advance 
 or recede. She had lost the strong position in which she had 
 so long been intrenched, yet could not subdue her mind to the 
 inevitable surrender. 
 
 " I know that you are troubled," he said at last, and the 
 considerate tenderness of his voice fell like a balm upon her 
 heart, " but do not think that you alone have yielded to a 
 power which mocks human will. I spoke truly, when I said 
 that the approach of love, this time, had been met with doubt 
 and resistance in myself. I have first yielded, and thus knowl- 
 edge came to me while you were yet ignorant. From that 
 ignorance the consciousness of love cannot, perhaps, be born 
 at once. But I feel that the instinct which led me to seek 
 you, has not been false. I can now appreciate something of 
 your struggle, which is so much the more powerful than my 
 own as woman's stake in marriage is greater than man's. Let 
 us grant to each other an equally boundless trust, and in that 
 pure air all remaining doubt, or jealousy, or fear of compro- 
 mised rights, will die. Can you grant me this, much, Hannah 1 
 (t is all I ask now." 
 
 She had no strength to refuse. She trusted his manhood 
 already with her whole heart, though foreseeing what such 
 trust implied. "It is myself only, that I doubt, 1 ' she an- 
 swered.
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 405 
 
 *' Be kind to me," she added, after a pause, releasing her 
 hand from his clasp and half turning away : " Consider how I 
 have failed how I have been deceived in myself. Another 
 woman would have been justly proud and happy in my place. 
 for she would not have had the hopes of years to uproot, not 
 have had to answer to her heart the accusation of disloyalty to 
 humanity." 
 
 " We will let that accusation rest," he soothed her. " Do 
 not think that you have failed : you never seemed so strong to 
 me as now. There can be no question of conflicting power 
 between two equal hearts whom love unites in the same des- 
 tiny. The time will come when this apparent discord will ap- 
 pear to you as a ' harmony not understood.' But, until then, 
 I shall never say a word to you which shall not be meant to 
 solve doubt, and allay fear, and strengthen confidence." 
 
 " Let me go back, now, to my mother," she said. " Heaven 
 pardon me, I had almost forgotten her. She wanted me to 
 bring her some gentians. It is very late and she will be 
 alarmed." 
 
 He led her back through the tangled, briery paths. She 
 took his offered hand with a mechanical submission, but the 
 touch thrilled her through and through with a sweetness so 
 new and piercing, that she reproached herself at each return, 
 as if the sensation were forbidden. "Woodbury gathered for 
 Her a bunch of the lovely fringed gentian, with the short au- 
 tumn ferns, and the downy, fragrant silver of the life-everlast- 
 ing. They walked side by side, silently, down the meadow, 
 and slowly up the road to the widow's cottage. 
 
 " I will deliver the flowers myself," said he, as they reached 
 the gate, " Besides, is it not best that your mother should 
 know of what has passed ?" 
 
 She could not deny him. In the next moment they were in 
 the littU sitting-room. Mrs. Styles expected company to tea, 
 and took her leave as soon as they appeared. 
 
 M Mother, will thee see Mr. Woodbury?" said Hannah,
 
 406 HANNAH THTJRSTOIT: 
 
 opening the door into the adjoining room, where the invalid 
 sat, comfortably propped up in her bed. 
 
 "Thee knows I am always glad to see him," came the 
 answer, in a faint voice. 
 
 They entered together, and Woodbury laid the flowers on 
 her bed. The old woman looked from one to another with a 
 glance which, by a sudden clairvoyance, saw the truth. A 
 new light came over her face. " Maxwell !" she cried ; 
 " Hannah !" 
 
 "Mother!" answered the daughter, sinking on her knees 
 and burying her face in the bed-clothes. 
 
 Tears gushed from the widow's eyes and rolled down her 
 hollow cheeks. " I see how it is," she said ; " I prayed that 
 it might happen. The Lord blesses me once more before I 
 die. Come here, Maxwell, and take a mother's blessing. I 
 give my dear daughter freely into thy hands." 
 
 Hannah heard the words. She felt that the bond, thna 
 consecrated by the blessing of her dying mother, dared not be 
 broken.
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 407 
 
 CHAPTER XXXH 
 
 DX WHICH AT.L RETREAT IS CUT OFF. 
 
 " COME back tomorrow, Maxwell," the Widow Thurston 
 bad said, as he took an affectionate leave of her ; " come back, 
 and let me hear what thee and Hannah have to say. I am too 
 weak now to talk any more. My life has been so little ac- 
 quainted with sudden visitations of joy, that this knowledge 
 takes hold of my strength. Thee may leave me too, Hannah; 
 I think I could sleep a little." 
 
 The latter carefully smoothed and arranged the pillows, and 
 left the invalid to repose. Woodbury was waiting for her, in 
 the door leading from the sitting-room to the hall. " I am 
 going home now," he said ; " can you give me a word of hope 
 and comfort on the way ? tell me that you trust me !" 
 
 "Oh, I do, I do !" she exclaimed ; " Do not mistake either 
 my agitation or my silence. I believe that if I could once be 
 in harmony with myself, what I have heard from your lips to- 
 day would make me happy. I am like my mother," she 
 added, with a melancholy smile, "lam more accustomed to 
 contempt than honor." 
 
 He led her into the hall and closed the door behind them. 
 Fie put one arm protectingly around her, and she felt herself 
 supported against the world. " Hereafter, Hannah," he whis- 
 pered, " no one can strike at you except through me. Good- 
 by until to-morrow !" He bent his head towards her face, 
 and their eyes met. His beamed with a softened fire, a dewy 
 tenderness and sweetness, before which her soul shivered and 
 tingk-d in warm throbs of bliss, so quick and sharp as to touch 
 the verge of pain. A Avonderiul, unknown fascination drew
 
 408 HANNAH THUKSTOH: 
 
 her lips to his. She felt the passionate pressure ; her framt 
 trembled ; she heard the door open and close as in a dream, 
 and blindly felt her way to the staircase, where she sank upon 
 the lower step and buried her face in her hands. 
 
 She neither thought, nor strove to think. The kiss burned 
 on and on, and every throb of her pulses seemed to break in 
 starry radiations of light along her nerves. Dissolving ring! 
 of color and splendor formed and faded under her closed lids, 
 and the blood of a new life rustled in her ears, as if the spirits 
 of newly-opened flowers were whispering in the summer wind. 
 She was lapped in a spell too delicious to break an exquisite 
 drunkenness of her being, beside which all narcotics would 
 have been gross. External sounds appealed no more to her 
 senses ; the present, with its unfinished struggles, its torturing 
 doubts, its prophecies of coming sorrow, faded far away, and 
 her soul lay helpless and unresisting in the arms of a single 
 sensation. 
 
 All at once, a keen, excited voice, close at hand, called her 
 name. It summoned her to herself with a start which took 
 away her breath. 
 
 " My dear girl ! Good gracious, what's the matter !" ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Waldo, who stood before her. " I saw your 
 mother was asleep, and Pve been hunting you all over the 
 house. You were not asl ,>ep, too ?" 
 
 " I believe I was trying to think." 
 
 " Bless me, haven't you thought enough yet ? I should say, 
 from the look of your face, that you had seen a ghost no, it 
 must have been an angel ! Don't look so, my dear, or I shal 
 le afraid that you are going to die." 
 
 " If I were to die, it would make all things clear," Hannah 
 Thurston answered, with a strong effort of self-control ; " but 
 I must first learn to live. Do not be alarmed on my account. 
 I am troubled and anxious : I am not my old self." 
 
 "I don't wonder at it," rejoined Mrs. Waldo, tenderly 
 44 You must see the loss that is coming, as well as the rit 
 of us."
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 409 
 
 " Yes, I know that ray mother can never recover, and I begin, 
 already, to shrink from the parting, as if it were, close at hand." 
 " Oh, my dear," cried Mrs. Waldo, melting into tears, "don't 
 you see the truth yet? Don't you see that the parting u 
 close at hand ? I was afraid you did not know ; your mother, 
 T was sure, would not tell you ; but, putting myself in your 
 place, I did not think it right that you should be kept in igno 
 ranee. She is failing very fast." 
 
 Hannah Thurston grew very pale. Her friend led her 
 through the door, and out into the little garden in the rear of 
 the cottage. Some wind, far away to the west, had lifted 
 into a low arch the gray concave of cloud, and through this 
 arch the sinking sun poured an intense, angry, brassy light 
 over the tree-tops and along the hillside fields. They leaned 
 against the paling at the bottom of the garden, and looked 
 silently on the fiery landscape. Hannah was the first to speak. 
 " You are a good friend to me," she said ; " I thank you for 
 the knowledge. I knew the blow must come, but I hoped 
 it might be delayed a little longer. I must bear it with what 
 strength I may." 
 
 " God will help you, Hannah," said Mrs. Waldo, wiping 
 away her tears. " He measures the burden for the back that 
 is to bear it." 
 
 Woodbury walked home alone, without waiting, as usual, 
 for Bute and the buggy. He threw back his shoulders and in- 
 haled long draughts of the fresher evening air, with the relief 
 of u man who has performed a trying task. He had full confi- 
 dence in the completeness of his victory, yet he saw how nar- 
 rowly he had escaped defeat. Had his mind not been prp- 
 vioualy occupied with this Avoman had he not penetrated to 
 the secret of her nature had he not been bold enough to stake 
 his fortune on the inherent power of his manhood, he must 
 have failed to break down those ramparts of false pride which 
 she had built up around her heart. A man of shallower knowl- 
 edge would have endeavored to conquer by resistance would 
 have been stung by her fierce assertion of independence 
 18
 
 410 HANNAH THURSTOtf 
 
 utterly mistaking the source from whence it sprang. Li him 
 it simply aroused a glorious sense of power, which he knew 
 how to curb to the needs of the moment. It thrilled him 
 with admiration, like the magnificent resistance of some wild 
 mare of the steppes, caught in the hunter's lasso. It betrayed 
 ai/ nnsur.pected capacity for passion which could satisfy the 
 cravings of his heart. This is no tame, insipid, feminuie crea- 
 ture, he thought ; but a full-blown woman, splendid in her 
 powers splendid in her faults, and unapproachable in that 
 truth and tenderness which would yet bring her nature into 
 harmony with his own. 
 
 A part of the power he had drawn from her seemed to be 
 absorbed into his own being. The rapid flow of his blood 
 lifted his feet and bore him with wingod steps down the valley. 
 His heart ovei'leaped the uncertainties yet to be solved, and 
 stood already, deep in the domestic future. After crossing 
 Hearing Brook, he left the road and struck across his own 
 meadows and fields in order to select a site, at once convenient 
 and picturesque, for the cottage which he must build for Bute. 
 Of course there could not be two households at Lakeside. 
 
 The next day made good the threat of the brassy sunset 
 It rained in wild and driving gusts, and the sky was filled with 
 tlie rifled gold of the forests. Woodbury paced his library 
 impatiently, unable to read or write, and finally became so 
 restless that he ordered dinner an hour before his accustomed 
 time, to Mrs. Carrie Wilson's great dismay. Bute was no less 
 astonished when Diamond and the buggy were demanded, 
 " Why, Mr. Max. !" he exclaimed ; " you're not goin' out suob 
 a day as this ? Can't I go for you ?" 
 
 " I have pressing business, Bute, that nobody can attend tc 
 but myself. Don't let your tea wait for me, Mrs. Wilson : 1 
 may be late." 
 
 Leaving the happy pair happy in the rain which kept 
 them ail day to each other to their wonder and their anxious 
 surmises, Woodbury drove through the wind, and rain, and 
 splashing mud, to the Widow Thurstou's cottage. Hannah
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 411 
 
 met him with an air of touching frankness and reliance, clasp 
 ing his hand with a tender firmness which atoned for th 
 silence of her lips. She looked pale and exhausted, but 
 a soft, rosy flush passed over her face and faded away. 
 
 "I will tell mother you have come," she said. The neit 
 moment she reappeared at the door of the sick-room, and 
 beckoned him to enter. 
 
 The widow was still in bed, and it was plainly to be seen 
 that she would never leave it again. The bouquet of gentian 
 and life-everlasting stood on a little table near her head. Her 
 prim Quaker cap was uncrumpled by the pillow, and a light 
 fawn-colored shawl enveloped her shoulders. She might have 
 been placed in the gallery of the meeting-house, among her 
 sister Friends, without a single fold being changed. Her thin 
 hands rested weakly on the coverlet, and her voice was 
 scarcely above a whisper, but the strong soul which had sus- 
 tained her life was yet clear in her eye. 
 
 The daughter placed a chair for Woodbury by the bedside. 
 He sat down and took the old woman's hand in both his own. 
 She looked at him with a gentle, affectionate, motherly benig- 
 nity, which made his eyes dim with the thought of his own 
 scarcely-remembered mother. 
 
 "Maxwell," she said at last, "thee sees my days on the 
 earth are not many. Thee will be honest with me, therefore, 
 and answer me out of thy heart. I have not had many oppor- 
 tunities of seeing thee, but thee had my confidence from the 
 first. Thee has had thy struggles with the world ; thee is old 
 enough to know thyself, and I will believe that thee hast 
 learned to know Hannah, truly. She is not like other girls : 
 she was always inclined to go her own way, but she hag nevei 
 failed in her duty to me, and I am sure she will not fail in her 
 duty as thy wife." 
 
 Hannah, sitting at the foot of the bed, started at these 
 words. She looked imploringly at her mother, but did not 
 peak. 
 
 " Yes, Hannah," continued the old woman, " I have no
 
 *12 HANNAH THUKSTON: 
 
 fears f<,f thee, when thee once comes to understand thy lnu 
 place as a woman. Thee was always more like thy father than 
 like me. I see that it has not been easy for thee to give up 
 thy ideas of independence, but I am sure that thy husband 
 will he gentle and forbearing, so that thee will hardly feel the 
 yoke Will thee not, Maxwell?" 
 
 u I will," Woodbury replied. "I have told your daughter 
 that I impose no conditions upon our union. It was th 
 purity and truth of her nature which drew me almost against 
 my will, to love her. I have such entire faith in that, truth, 
 that I believe we shall gradually come into complete harmony, 
 not only in our feelings and aspirations, but even in our 
 external views of life. I am ready to sacrifice whatever 
 individual convictions may stand in the way of our mutual ap- 
 proach, and I only ask of Hannah that she will allow, not 
 resist, the natural progress of her heart in the knowledge of 
 itself." 
 
 " Thee hears what he says ?" said the old woman, turning 
 her eyes on her daughter. " Maxwell has answered the ques- 
 tion I intended to ask: he loves thee, Hannah, as thee 
 deserves to be loved. The thought of leaving thee alone in 
 the world was a cross which I could not bring my mind to 
 bear. The Lord has been merciful. He has led to thee the 
 only man into whose hands I can deliver thee, with the cer- 
 tainty that he will be thy stay and thy happiness when I am 
 gene. Tell me, my daughter, does thee answer his affection 
 in the same spirit ?" 
 
 "Mother," sobbed Hannah, "thee knows I would show 
 thee my heart if I could. Maxwell deserves all the honor and 
 gratitude I am capable of giving : he has been most noble and 
 just and tender towards me: I cannot reject him it is not in 
 my nature and yet don't think hard of me, mother it has 
 11 o <me so suddenly, it is so new and strange " 
 
 Here she paused and covered her face, unable to speak 
 further. 
 
 "It seems that I know thee better than I thought," said
 
 A STOKY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 413 
 
 the widow, and something like a smile flitted over her wasted 
 features. "Thee needn't say any thing more: my mind is 
 at rest. Come nearer to me, here, and seat thyself at Max- 
 well's side. I have a serious concern upon me, and you mast 
 both bear with me while I tell it." 
 
 The daughter came and seated herself at the head of (lie 
 bed, beside Woodbury. The mother's right hand seemed to 
 feel for hers, and she gave it. The other found its way, &hf 
 knew not how, into his. The old woman looked at them both, 
 and the expression of peace and resignation left her eyes. 
 They were filled with a tender longing which she hesitated to 
 put into words. In place of the latter came tears, and then 
 her tongue was loosed. 
 
 "My children," she whispered, "it is best to be plain with 
 you. From day to day I expect to hear the Master's call. I 
 have done with the things of this life ; my work is ov<*r, and 
 now the night .cometh, when I shall rest. The thought came 
 to me in the silent watches, when I lifted up my soul to the 
 Lord and thanked Him that He had heard my prayer. I 
 thought, then, that nothing more was wanting; and, indeed, 
 it may be unreasonable of me to ask more. But what I ask 
 seems to be included in what has already happened. I know 
 the instability of earthly things, and I should like to see with 
 these eyes, the security of my daughter's fate. Maxwell, T 
 lost the little son who would have been so near thy age had he 
 lived. Will thee give me the right to call the?, ' son' in his 
 place ? Is thee so sure of thy heart that thee could give Han- 
 nah thy name now? It is a foolish wish of mine, I kno-v ; bat 
 if you love each other, children, you may be glad, in ihe 
 Doming time, that the poor old mother lived to see and to 
 bless your union !" 
 
 Woodbury was profoundly moved. He tenderly kissed the 
 wasted hand he held, and said, in a hushed, reverential voice : 
 "I am sure of my own heart. With your daughter's consent, 
 it shall be as you say." 
 
 " Mother, mother!" cried Hannah : " I cannot leave thee !''
 
 414 HANNAH IHURSTON: 
 
 " Thee shall not, child. I would not ask it of thee. Max- 
 well knows what I mean : nothing shall be changed while 
 I live, but you will not be parted for long. Nay, perhaps, 
 I am selfish in this thing. Tell me, honestly, my children, 
 would it make your wedding sad, when it should be joy- 
 ,fiil?" 
 
 " It will make it sacred," Woodbury answered. 
 
 " I wfll not ask too much of thee, Hannah," the widow con- 
 tinued. " What I wish would give me a feeling of comfort 
 and security ; but I know I ought to be satisfied without it. I 
 have had my own concerns on thy account ; I saw a thorny 
 path before thee if thee were obliged to walk through life 
 alqpe, and I feared thee would never willingly bend thy neck 
 to wear the pleasant yoke of a wife. If I knew that thy lot 
 was fixed, in truth ; if I could hear thee speak the words 
 which tell me that I have not lost a daughter but gained a 
 son, the last remaining bitterness would be taken from death, 
 and I would gladly arise and go to my Father !" 
 
 All remaining power of resistance was taken away from 
 Hannah Thurston. She had yielded so far that she could no 
 longer retreat with honor. Woodbury had taken, almost even 
 before he claimed it, the first plaoo in her thoughts, and though 
 she still scarcely confessed to herself that she loved him ag 
 her husband should be loved, yet her whole being was pene- 
 trated with the presentiment of coming love. If she still 
 feebly strove to beat back the rising tide, it was not from fear 
 of her inability to return the trust he gave, but rather a me- 
 chanical effort to retain the independence which she felt to be 
 gradually slipping from her grasp. Her mother's words 
 showed her that she, also, foreboded this struggle and doubted 
 its solution ; she had, alas ! given her cause to mistrust the 
 unexpected emotion. Towards men towards Woodbury, 
 especially she had showed herself hard and unjust in that 
 mother's eyes. Could she refuse to remove the unspoken 
 doubt by postponing a union, which, she acknowledged to her- 
 self, was destined to come ? Could she longer hold back her
 
 A STOEY OF AMERICAN LIFfi. 415 
 
 entire faith from Woodbury, with his parting kiss of yesterday 
 Htill warm upon her lips ? 
 
 She leaned forward, and bent her head upon the old \vo 
 man's breast. " Mother," she said, in a scarcely audible voice, 
 ** it shall be as thee wishes." 
 
 The widow tenderly stroked her dark-brown hair. " If I 
 Were not sure it was right, Hannah," she said, " I would gi\ 
 thee back thy consent. Let it be soon, pray, for I see that 
 my sojourn with you is well-nigh its end." 
 
 "Let it be to-morrow, Hannah," Woodbury then said, 
 "livery thing shall be afterwards as it was before. I will not 
 take you from your mother's bedside, but you will simply give 
 me the right to offer, and her the right to receive, a son's help 
 and comfort." 
 
 It was so arranged. Only the persons most intimately con- 
 nected with both Waldos, Merryfields, Bute and Carrie- 
 were to be informed of the circumstances and invited to be 
 present. Mr. Waldo, of course, was to solemnize the union, 
 though the widow asked that the Quaker form of marriage 
 should first be repeated in her presence. She was exhausted 
 by the interview, and Woodbury soon took his leave, to give 
 the necessary announcements. 
 
 Hannah accompanied him to the dor, and when it closed 
 behind him, murmured to herself: 
 
 " I strove against the stream, and strove in vain 
 Let the great river bear me to the main 1" 
 
 The Waldos were alone in their little parlor alone, but 
 not lonely ; for they were one of those fortunate wedded paiis 
 who never tire of their own society. The appearance of 
 Woodbury, out of the wind and rain, was a welcome surprise, 
 and they both greeted him with hearty delight. 
 
 " Husband," cried Mrs. Waldo, " do put the poor horse into 
 our stable, beside Dobbin. Mr. Woodbury will not think ^f 
 going home until after tea." 
 
 The clergyman was half-way through the door before the
 
 416 HANNAH THtJRSTON: 
 
 guest could grasp his arm. " Stay, if you please," he said ; " 1 
 have something to say, at once, to both of you." 
 
 His voice was so grave and earnest, that they turned 
 towards him with a sudden alarm. Something in his face 
 tranquil! zed while it perplexed them. 
 
 " I once promised you, Mrs. Waldo," he continued, " that 
 your husband should perform the marriage ceremony for me. 
 The time has come when I can fulfil my promise. I am to be 
 married to-morrow !" 
 
 The clergyman's lips receded so as to exhibit, not only all 
 of bis teeth, but also a considerable portion of the gums. His 
 wife's dark eyes expanded, her hands involuntarily came 
 together in a violent clasp, and her breath was suspended. 
 
 " I am to be married to-morrow," Woodbury repeated. 
 " to Hannah Thurston." 
 
 Mrs. Waldo dropped into the nearest chair. " It's a poor 
 joke," she said, at last, with a feeble attempt to laugh.; " and 
 I shouldn't have believed you could make it." 
 
 In a very few words he told them the truth. The next 
 moment, Mrs. Waldo sprang upon her feet, threw both arms 
 around him, and kissed him tempestuously. " I oan't help it, 
 husband !" she cried, giving way to a mild hysterical fit of 
 laughter and tears : " It's so rarely things happen as they 
 ought, in this world ! What a fool I've been, to think you 
 hated each other ! I shall never trust my eyes again, no, nor 
 my ears, nor my stupid brains. Til warrant Mrs. Blake was 
 a deal sharper than I have been ; see if she is surprised when 
 you send her word ! Oh, you dear people, how happy you 
 have made me I'd rather it should come so than that hus- 
 band should get a thousand converts, and build the biggest 
 church in Ptolemy !" 
 
 Mr. Waldo also was moved, in his peculiar fashion. He 
 cleared his throat as if about to commence a prayer, walked 
 tlK?e times to the door and back, squeezing Woodbury's 
 hand afresh at each return, and finally went to the window 
 and remarked : " It is very stormy to-day."
 
 A STOBY OF AMERICAN LITE. 417 
 
 In proportion as the good people recovered from their 
 happy an-azement, Woodbury found it difficult-to tear himsell 
 away. They stormed him with questions about the rise and 
 progress of his attachment, which his sense of delicacy for- 
 bade him to answer. " It is enough," he said, " that we love 
 each other, and that we are to be married to-morrow." 
 As he turned his horse's head towards Ptolemy, a figure 
 wrapped in an old cloak and with a shapeless quilted hood 
 upon the head, appeared on the plank sidewalk hastening 
 in the direction of the widow's cottage. It was Mrs. 
 Waldo. 
 
 The Merryfields were also at home when he called. Their 
 life had, of late, been much more quiet and subdued than former- 
 ly, and hence they have almost vanished out of this history ; 
 but, from the friendly relation which they bore to Hannah 
 Thurston, they could not well be omitted from the morrow's 
 occasion. The news was unexpected, but did not seem to 
 astonish them greatly, as they were both persons of slow per- 
 ceptions, and had not particularly busied their minds about 
 either of the parties. 
 
 "I'm sure I'm very glad, as it were," said Mr. Merryfield. 
 " There are not many girls like Hannah Thurston, and she 
 deserves to be well provided for." 
 
 " Yes, it's a good thing for her," remarked his wife, with 
 a little touch of malice, which, however, was all upon the 
 surface; "but Women's Rights will be what they all? ay a 
 was, if their advocates give them up." 
 
 Darkness was setting down, and the rain fell in torrents, as 
 Woodbury reached Lakeside. Bute, who had been coming 
 to the door every five minutes for the last hour, had heard the 
 rattling of wheels through the storm, and the Irishman 
 was already summoned to take charge of the horse. In the 
 sitting-room it was snug, and bright, and cheerful. A wood- 
 fire blazed on the hearth, and Mrs. Carrie, with a silk handker- 
 chief tied under her chin, was dodging about the tea-table. 
 By the kindly glow in his heart to\vards these two happy 
 
 IS*
 
 418 HANNAH THURSTOS": 
 
 creatures, Woodbury felt that bis cure tvas complete; theb 
 bliss no longer had power to disturb him. 
 
 " How pleasant it is here !" he said. " You really make the 
 Louse home-like, Mrs. Wilson." 
 
 Carrie's eyes sparkled and her cheeks reddened with de 
 ight. Bute thought : " He's had no unlucky business, after 
 all." But he was discreet enough to ask no questions. 
 
 After tea, Woodbury did not go into the library, as usual, 
 He drew a chair towards the fire, and for a while watched Mrs, 
 Wilson's fingers, as they rapidly plied the needles upon a pair 
 of winter socks for Bute. The latter sat on the other side ol 
 the fire, reading Dana's " Two Years before the Mast." 
 
 "Bute," said Woodbury, suddenly, "do you think we have 
 room for another, in the house ?" 
 
 To his surprise, Bute blushed up to the temples, and seemed 
 embarrassed how to answer. He looked stealthily at Carrie. 
 
 Woodbury smiled, and hastened to release him from his 
 error. " Because," said he, " you brought something to Lake- 
 side more contagious than your fever. I have caught it, and 
 now I am going to marry." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Max., you don't mean it ! It's not Miss Amelia 
 Smith ?" 
 
 Woodbury burst into a laugh. 
 
 " How can you think of such a thing, Bute ?" exclaimed bis 
 wife. "There's only one woman in all Ptolemy worthy of 
 Mr. Woodbury, and yet I'm afraid it isn't her." 
 
 Who, Mrs. Wilson ?" 
 
 " You won't be offended, Sir, will you ? I mean Hannah 
 rhurston." 
 
 " You have guessed it !" 
 
 Carrie gave a little scream and dropped hef knitting. Bute 
 tried to laugh, but something caught in his throat, and in hil 
 stfo' ts to swallow it the water came into his eyes.
 
 A BTORY OF AMERICAN MPB. 4 1 
 
 CHAPTER XXXTTT. 
 
 MARRIAGE, DEATH, GOSSIP, AND GOING HOMB 
 
 THE occasion which called the few friends together at the 
 cottage, the next morning, was sad and touching, as well as 
 joyful. At least, each one felt that the usual cheerful sympa- 
 thy with consummated love would be out of place, in circum- 
 stances so unusual and solemn. The widow felt that she was 
 robbing her daughter's marriage of that sunshine which of 
 right belonged, to it, but in this, as in all other important de- 
 cisions of life, she was guided by " the spirit." She perceived, 
 indeed, that Hannah had not yet reached the full consciousness 
 of her love that the fixed characteristics 'of her mind fought 
 continually against her heart, and would so fight while any 
 apparent freedom of will remained ; and, precisely for this rea- 
 son, the last exercise of maternal authority was justified to her 
 own soul. In the clairvoyance of approaching death she 
 looked far enough into the future to know that, without this 
 bond, her daughter's happiness was uncertain : with it, she 
 saw the struggling elements resolve themselves into harmony. 
 
 "Woodbury suspected the mother's doubt, though he did not 
 share it to the same extent. He believed that the fierce- 
 ness of the struggle was over. The chain was forged, and by 
 careful forbearance ancl tenderness it might be imperceptiblj 
 clasped. There were still questions to be settled, but ho had 
 already abdicated the right of control ; he had intrusted their 
 solution to the natural operation of time and love. He would 
 neither offer nor accept any express stipulations of rights, for 
 this one promise embraced them all. Her nature could only 
 be soothed to content in its ue\v destiny by the deeper know!-
 
 420 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 edge which that destiny would bring, and therefore, the 
 mother's request was perhaps best for both. It only imposed 
 upon him a more guarded duty, a more watchful self-control, 
 in the newness of their relation to each other. 
 
 Mrs. Waldo, unable to sleep all night from the excitement 
 )t' her honest heart, was with Hannah Thurston early in the 
 norning. It was as well, no doubt, that the latter was allowed 
 10 time for solitary reflection, as the hour approached. Bj 
 ten o'clock the other friends, who had first driven to the Cim- 
 merian Parsonage, made their appearance in the little sitting- 
 room. Woodbury came in company with Mr. Waldo, followed 
 by Bute and Carrie. He was simply dressed in black, Avithout 
 the elaborate waistcoat and cravat of a bridegroom. But for 
 the cut of his coat collar, the Friends themselves would not 
 have found fault with his apparel. His face was calm and 
 serene : whatever emotion he felt did not appear on the 
 surface. 
 
 Mrs. Merryfield, in a lavender-colored silk, which made hei 
 sallow complexion appear worse than ever, occasionally raised 
 her handkerchief to her eyes, although there were no signs of 
 unusual moisture in them. 
 
 The door to the invalid's room was open, and the bed had 
 been moved near it, so that she could both sec and converse 
 witl the company in the sitting-room. Her spotless book- 
 muslin handkerchief and shawl of white crape-silk were 
 scarcely whiter than her face, but a deep and quiet content 
 dwelt in her eyes and gave its sweetness to her feeble voice. 
 She greeted them all with a grateful and kindly cheerfulness. 
 The solemnity of the hour was scarcely above the earnest 
 evel of her life ; it was an atmosphere in which her soul 
 moved light and free. 
 
 Presently Hannah Thurston came into the room. She was 
 dressed in white muslin, with a very plain lace collar and knot 
 of white satin ribbon. Her soft dark hair, unadorned by a 
 single flower, was brought a little further forward on the tem- 
 ples, giving a gentler feminine outline to her brow. Her fac
 
 A STORY OP AMERICAN LIFE. 42 1 
 
 composed and pale, but for a spot of red on each cheek, 
 and a singularly vague, weary expression in her eyes. When 
 Woodbury took her hand it was icy cold. She received the 
 greetings of the others quietly, and then went forward to thr 
 bedside, at the beckon of her mother. The latter had beet 
 allowed to direct the ceremony according to her wish, and 
 the time had now arrived. 
 
 The bridal pair took their seats in the sitting-room, side by 
 side, and facing the open door where the invalid lay. The 
 guests, on either side of them, formed a half-circle, so arranged 
 that she could see them ah 1 . She, indeed, seemed to be the 
 officiating priestess, on whom depended the solemnization of 
 the rite. After a few moments of silence, such as is taken for 
 worship in Quaker meetings, she began to speak. Her voice 
 gathered strength as she proceeded, and assumed the clear, 
 chanting tone with which, in former years, she had been wont 
 to preach from the gallery where she sat among the women- 
 elders of the sect. 
 
 " My friends," she said, " I feel moved to say a few words 
 to you all. I feel that you have not come here without a 
 realizing sense of the occasion which has called you together, 
 and that your hearts are prepared to sympathize with those 
 which are now to be joined in the sight of the Lord. I have 
 asked of them that they allow mine eyes, in the short time 
 that is left to me for the things of earth, to look upon their 
 union. When I have seen that, I can make my peace with 
 the world, and, although I have not been in all things a faith- 
 ful servant, I can hope that the joy of the Lord will not be 
 shut out from my soul. I feel the approach of the peace thai 
 passeth understanding, and would not wish that, for my 
 Bake, the house of gladness be made the house of mourning. 
 Let your hearts be not disturbed by the thought of me. Re- 
 joice, rather, that the son I lost so long ago is found at the 
 eleventh hour, and that the prop for which I sought, for 
 strength to walk through the Valley of the Shadow, is merci- 
 fully placed in my hands. For I say unto you all, the pure
 
 122 HANNAH THUBSTON . 
 
 affection of the human heart is likest the love c f the Heavenly 
 Father, and they who bestow most of the one shall deserve 
 most of the other !" 
 
 She ceased speaking, and made a sign with her hand. The 
 heaits of the hearers were thrilled with a solemn, reverential 
 .' we, as if something more than a human presence overshadowed 
 them. "Woodbury and Hannah arose, in obedience to her 
 wgnal, and moved a step towards her. The former had learned 
 the simple formula of the Friends, and was ready to perform 
 his part. Taking Hannah's right hand in his own, he spoke 
 in a clear, low, earnest voice : " In the presence of the Lord, 
 and these, our friends, I take Hannah Thurston by the hand, 
 promising, through Divine assistance, to be unto her a loving 
 and faithful husband, until Death shall separate us." 
 
 It was now the woman's turn. Perhaps Woodbury may 
 have felt a pulse fluttering in the hand he held, but no one saw 
 i tremor of weakness in her frame or heard it in the firm, 
 perfect sweetness of her voice. She looked in his eyes as she 
 pronounced the words, as if her look should carry to his heart 
 the significance of the vow. When she had spoken, Mr. Waldo 
 rose, and performed the scarcely less simple ceremonial of the 
 Cimmerian Church. After he had pronounced them man and 
 wife, with his hands resting on theirs linked in each other, he 
 made a benedictory prayer. He spoke manfully to the end, 
 though his eyes overflowed, and his practised voice threatened 
 at every moment to break. His hearers had melted long bo- 
 fore : only the Widow Thurston and the newly-wedded pair 
 preserved their composure. They were beyond the reach o 
 lentiment, no matter how tender. None of the others sus- 
 pected what a battle had been fought, nor what deeper issues 
 were involved in the victory. 
 
 The two then moved to the bedside, and the old wcnian 
 kissed them both. " Mother," said Woodbury, " let me be a 
 son to you in truth as in name." 
 
 "Richard!" she cried, "my dear boy! Thee is welcome! 
 tban Richard, for Hannah's sake. Children, have faith in each
 
 A STOEY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 423 
 
 other bear each other's burdens. Hannah, is there peace in 
 l,hy heart now ?" 
 
 " Mother, I have promised," she answered ; " I have given 
 my life into Maxwell's hands : peace will come to me." 
 
 " The Lord give it to thee, as He hath given it to me !" 
 Ihe closed her eyes, utterly exhausted, but happy. 
 
 The marriage certificate was then produced and signed by 
 those present, after which they took their leave. Woodbury 
 remained until evening, assisting his wife in her attendance on 
 the invalid, or keeping her company in the sitting-room, when 
 the latter slept. He said nothing of his love, or his new claim 
 upon her. Rightly judging that her nature needed rest, after 
 the severe tension of the past week, he sought to engage her 
 in talk that would call her thoughts away from herself. He 
 was so successful in this that the hours fled fast, and when he 
 left with the falling night, to return to Lakeside, she felt as if 
 
 ~ o * 
 
 a stay had been withdrawn from her. 
 
 The next morning he was back again at an early hour, taking 
 his place as one of the household, as quietly and unobtrusively 
 as if he had long been accustomed to it. Another atmosphere 
 came into the cottage with him a sense of strength and reli- 
 ance, and tender, protecting care, which was exceedingly 
 grateful to Hannah. The chaos of her emotions was already 
 beginning to subside, or, rather, to set towards her husband in 
 a current that grew swifter day after day. The knowledge 
 that her fate was already determined silenced at once what 
 would otherwise have been her severest conflict; her chief 
 remainin p task was to reconcile the cherished aims of her 
 
 O 
 
 Diind with the new sphere of duties which encompassed her 
 life. At present, however, even this task must be postponed 
 She dared think of nothing but her mother, and Wood- 
 Imry's share in the cares and duties of the moment became 
 more and more welcome and grateful. It thrilled her with a 
 iweet sense of the kinship of their hearts, when she heard him 
 address the old woman as " mother" when his arm, as ten- 
 der as strong, lifted that mother from the bed to the rocking
 
 424 HANNAH TUUKSXOX: 
 
 chair, and back again when she saw the wasted face brighten 
 at bis coming, and heard the voice of wandering memory call 
 him, in the wakeful watches of the night. She, too, counted 
 the minutes of the morning until he appeared, and felt the 
 twilight drop more darkly before the cottage- windows after 
 be had gone. 
 
 But, as the widow had promised, she did not part them 
 long. On the fifth day after the marriage she sank peacefully 
 to rest, to wards sunset, with a gradual, painless fading out of 
 life, which touched the hearts of the watchers only with the 
 solemn beauty and mystery of death, not with its terror. 
 Her external consciousness had ceased, some hours before, but 
 she foresaw the coming of the inevitable hour, and there was 
 a glad resignation in her farewell to her daughter and hei 
 newly-found son. " Love one another !" were her last, faintly- 
 whispered words, as her eyes closed on both. 
 
 Hannah shrank from leaving the cottage before the last 
 rites had been performed, and Miss Sophia Stevenson, as 
 well as Mrs. Waldo, offered to remain with her. Woodbury 
 took charge of the arrangements for the funeral, which were 
 simple and unostentatious, as became the habit of her sect. 
 
 A vague impression of what had happened was floating 
 through Ptolemy, but was generally received with an incredu- 
 lity far from consistent with the avidity of village gossip. 
 The death of the Widow Thurston had been anticipated, but 
 the previous marriage of her daughter was an event so as- 
 tounding so completely unheralded by the usual prognostica- 
 tions, and so far beyond the reach of any supposable cause 
 that the mind of Ptolemy was slow to receive it as truth. By 
 the day of the funeral, however, the evidences had accumulated 
 to an extent that challenged further doubt. But donbtei s and 
 believers alike determined to profit by the occasion to gratify 
 their curiosity under the Christian pretext of showing respect 
 to the departed. The rumor had even reached Atauga City 
 by the evening stage, and the Misses Smith, having recently 
 applied them elves with lilac dresses, which, as a half-mourn
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 425 
 
 ing color, would uot be inappropriate, resolved also to attend 
 the funeral services. 
 
 As the hour drew nigh, the road in front of the little cot- 
 tage was crowded with vehicles. It was a mild, sunny Qe- 
 tober afternoon, and as the room in which the corpse lay would 
 not contain a tenth part of the guests, they filled the yard and 
 garden and even the side- walk in front, entering the house as 
 they arrived, to take that silent look at the dead which is sug- 
 gested, let us believe, more by human sympathy than by hu- 
 man curiosity. And, indeed, a solemn loveliness of repose 
 rested on the thin, composed features of the corpse. All 
 shadow of pain had passed away, and an aspect of ineffable 
 peace and comfort had settled in its place. Her hands were 
 laid, one over the other, upon her breast not with the stony 
 pressure of death, but as if in the light unconsciousness of 
 sleep. Upon the coffin-lid lay a wreath of life-everlasting, its 
 gray, silvery leaves and rich, enduring odor, harmonizing well 
 with the subdued tastes and the quiet integrity of the sect to 
 which the old widow had belonged. Even the Rev. Lemuel 
 Styles, to whom the term " Quaker" implied a milder form 
 of infidelity, stood for a long time beside the coffin, absorbed 
 in the beauty of the calm, dead face, and murmured as he 
 tiirned away : " She hath found Peace." 
 
 Two old Friends from Tiberius, with their wives, were also 
 in attendance, and the latter devoted themselves to Hannah, 
 as if it were a special duty imposed upon them. Before the 
 coffin-lid was screwed down, they sat for some time beside the 
 corpse, with their handkerchiefs pressed tightly over their 
 mouths. Their husbands, with Mr. Waldo and Merryfield, 
 bore the coffin to the hearse. The guests gathered around 
 and in front of the house now began to open their eyes and 
 prick their ears. The daughter must presently appear, as first 
 of the mourners, and in company with her husband, if she 
 were really married. They had not long to wait. Hannah, 
 leaning on Woodbury's arm, issued from the front door of 
 the cottage, and slowly passed down the gravel walk to th#
 
 426 tA.NNA.H THUBSTON' 
 
 carriage in waiting. Her unveiled face was pale and pro 
 foundly sad ; her eyes were cast down, and none of the com 
 pany caught their full glance. Woodbury's countenance iii- 
 dicated the grave and tender sympathy which filled his heart. 
 He saw the spectators, without seeming to notice them, 
 and the keenest curiosity was baffled by his thorough self 
 possession. Both were surrounded by an atmosphere of sor 
 row and resignation, in which all expression of their new 
 nuptial relation was lost. They might have been married for 
 years, so far as any thing could be guessed from their manner. 
 
 The other carriages gradually received their occupants and 
 followed, in the order of their nearness to the deceased, 
 whether in the bonds of sect or those of friendship. Among 
 these the Waldos claimed a prominent place and the Merry- 
 fields were close behind them. The procession was unusually 
 large ; it seemed, indeed, as if all Ptolemy were present. On 
 reaching the Cimmerian churchyard, Bute and the farmers 
 whose lands adjoined Lakeside were on hand to assist the 
 mourners and their friends in alighting from the carriages, and 
 to take care of the horses. The grave was dug at a little dis- 
 tance from those of the Cimmerians, in a plot of soft, un- 
 broken turf. Supports were laid across its open mouth, and 
 when the coffin had been deposited thereon, preparatory to being 
 lowered, and the crowd had gathered in a silent ring, enclosing 
 the mourners and their immediate friends, one of the Friends 
 took off his broad-brimmed hat and in simple, eloquent words, 
 bore testimony to the truth and uprightness, to the Christian 
 trust and Christian patience of the departed. The two women 
 again pressed their handkerchiefs violently upon their mouths, 
 while he spoke. Woodbury took off his hat and reverently 
 bent his head, though the other Friend stood 'bolt upright and 
 remained covered. 
 
 Mr. Waldo then followed, with an earnest, heart-felt prayer 
 He was scarcely aware how much he risked in thus couse- 
 sratiug the burial of a Quaker woman, and it was fortunate 
 that no laxity of doctrine could be discovered in the brief sen-
 
 A STOK? OF AMERICAN LIFE. 427 
 
 tences he uttered. It was not Doctrine, but Religion, which 
 inspired his words, and the most intolerant of *his hearers felt 
 their power while secretly censuring the act. He, too, refer- 
 red to the widow's life as an example of pious resignation, ana 
 prayed that the same Christian virtue might come to dwell in 
 the hearts of all present. 
 
 When the coffin had been lowered, and the first spadeful 
 of earth, though softly let down into the grave, dropped upon 
 the lid with a muffled, hollow roll, Hannah started as if in pain, 
 and clung with both hands to her husband's arm. He bent 
 his head to her face and whispered a word ; what it was, no 
 other ear than hers succeeded in hearing. The dull, rumbling 
 sounds continued, until the crumbling whisper of the particles 
 of earth denoted that the coffin was forever covered from 
 sight. Then they turned away, leaving the mild Autumn 
 sun to shine on the new mound, and the thrush to pipe his 
 broken song over the silence of the dead. 
 
 The moment the churchyard gate was passed, Ptolemy re- 
 turned to its gossip. The incredulous fact was admitted, but 
 the mystery surrounding it was not yet explained. In the few 
 families who considered themselves " the upper circle," and 
 were blessed with many daughters, to none of whom the rich 
 owner of Lakeside had been indifferent, there was great and 
 natural exasperation. 
 
 " I consider it flying in the face of Providence," said Mrs. 
 Hamilton Bue to her husband, as they drove homewards ; 
 "for a man like him, who knows what society is, and ought 
 to help to purtect it from fanaticism, to marry a strong-minded 
 woman like she is. And after all he said against their doc- 
 trines ! I should call it hypocritical, I should !" 
 
 " Martha," her husband answered, " If I were you, I 
 wouldn't say much about it, for a while yet. He's only in- 
 sured in the Saratoga Mutual for a year, to try it." 
 
 Mrs. Styles consoled her sister, Miss Legrand, who at ona 
 time allowed herself dim hopes of interesting Woodbury in 
 her behalf. " I always feared that he was not entirely firm in
 
 428 HAifNAn THURSTON: 
 
 the faith ; he never seemed inclined to talk with Mr. Stylet 
 about it She, you know, is quite an Infidel, and, of course, 
 he could not have been ignorant of it. It's very sad to see a 
 man so misled 'the lust of the eye,' Harriet." 
 
 " I should say it was witchcraft," Harriet remarked, with a 
 snappish tone ; " she's a very plain-looking girl like an owl 
 with her big gray eyes and straight hair." Miss Legrand 
 wore aers in ropy ringlets of great length. 
 
 " 1 shouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my 
 own eyes!" exclaimed Miss Celia Smith to her sister, Miss 
 Amelia. " I always thought they were dead set against each 
 other." Miss Celia was more inclined to be emphatic than 
 choice in her expressions. 
 
 "They made believe they were," her sister replied. "She must 
 have been afraid he'd back out, after all, or they wouldn't have 
 been married so, right off the reel. It was her last chance: 
 she's on the wrong side of thirty-five, I should say." Misa 
 Amelia was thirty-three, herself, although she only confessed 
 +r> twenty-five. The memory of a certain sleigh-ride the 
 winter before, during which her incessant fears ot an overturn 
 obliged Woodbury to steady her with his arm, was fresh in 
 her mind, with all its mingled sweet and bitter. Severa 
 virgin hearts shared the same thought, as the carriages went 
 homeward that it was a shame, so it was, that this strong 
 minded woman, whom nobody imagined ever could be a rival, 
 should sneak into the fold by night and carry off the pick of 
 the masculine flock ! 
 
 Meanwhile, the objects of all this gossip returned to the 
 desolate cottage. When they entered the little sitting-room, 
 I fannah's composure gave way, under the overwhelming sense 
 of her loss which rushed upon her, as she saw that every thing 
 was restored to its usual place, and the new life, without her 
 mother, had commenced. Her tears flowed without restraint, 
 and her husband allowed the emotion to exhaust itself before 
 he attempted consolation. But at last he took her, still sob- 
 bing, to his breast, and silently upheld her.
 
 A STORY Of AMERICAN LIFE. 49 1 
 
 " Hannah," he said, " my dear wife, how can I leave you here 
 alone, to these sad associations ? This can no* longer be your 
 home. Come to me with your burden, and let me help you 
 to bear it." 
 
 " Oh, Maxwell," she answered, " you are my help and my 
 comfort. No one else has the same right to share my sorrow. 
 My place is beside you : I will try to fill it as I ought : but 
 Maxwell can I, dare I enter your home as a bride, coming 
 thus directly from the grave of my mother ?" 
 
 " You will bring her blessing in the freshness of its sanc- 
 tity," he said. "Understand me, Hannah. In the reverence 
 for your sorrow, my love is patient. Enter my home, now, ae 
 the guest of my heart, giving me only the right to soothe and 
 comfort, until you can hear, without reproach, the voice of 
 love." 
 
 His noble consideration for her grief and her loneliness 
 melted Hannah's heart. Through all the dreary sense of her 
 loss penetrated the gratitude of love. She lifted her arms 
 and clasped them about his neck. "Take me, my dear hus- 
 band," she whispered, " take me, rebellious as I have been, 
 unworthy as I am, and teach me to deserve your magnanimity." 
 
 He took her home that evening, under the light of the rising 
 moon, down the silence of the valley, through the gathering 
 mists of the meadows, and under the falling of the golden 
 Leaves. The light of Lakeside twinkled, a ruddy star, to greet 
 them, and with its brightening ray stole into her heart th 
 first presentiment of Woman's Home.
 
 HANNAH TUUBSTOV! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 CONCERNING THE NEW HOUSEHOLD OF LAKESIDE. 
 
 IN a day or two all the familiar articles of furniture which 
 Hannah desired to retain, were transferred to Lakeside with her 
 personal effects, and the cottage was closed until a new ten- 
 ant could be found. In the first combined shock of grief and 
 change, the secluded beauty of her new home was especially 
 grateful. The influences of Nature, no less than the tender at- 
 tentions of her husband, and the quiet, reverent respect of Bute 
 and Carrie, gradually soothed and consoled her. Day after 
 day the balmy southwest wind blew, hardly stirring the 
 smoky purple of the air, through which glimmered the float- 
 ing drifts of gossamer or the star-like tufts of wanderinp 
 down. The dead flowers saw their future resurrection in 
 these winged, emigrating seeds ; the trees let fall the loosened 
 splendor of their foliage, knowing that other summers were 
 sheathed in the buds left behind ; even the sweet grass of the 
 meadows bowed its dry crest submissively over the green 
 heart of its perennial life. Every object expressed the infinite 
 patience of Nature with her yearly recurring doom. The 
 BUD himself seemed to veil his beams in noonday haze, lest he 
 should smite with too severe a lustre the nakedness of the 
 landscape, as it slowly put off its garment of life. 
 
 For years past, she had been deprived of the opportunity 
 BO to breathe the enchantment of the heavenly season. As 
 soon as the chill of the morning dew had left the earth, she 
 went forth to the garden and orchard, and along the sunny
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 431 
 
 margin of the whispering pine-wood behind the house, striving 
 to comprehend the change that had come over-her, and fit her 
 views of life to harmony with it. In the afternoons she went, 
 at Woodbury's side, to a knoll overhanging the lake, whence 
 the landscape was broader and grander, opening northward, 
 beyond the point, where now and then a sail flashed dimly 
 along the blue water. Here, sitting on the grassy brink, he 
 told her of the wonderful life of the tropics, of his early hopes 
 and struggles, of the cheating illusions he had cherished, the 
 sadder knowledge he had wrested from experience, and that 
 immortal philosophy of the heart in which all things are recon- 
 ciled. He did not directly advert to his passion for herself, 
 but she felt it continually as the basis from which his confi- 
 dences grew. He was a tender, trustful friend, presenting to 
 her, leaf by leaf, the book of his life. She, too, gave him 
 much of hers in return. She found a melancholy pleasure in 
 speaking of the Past to one who had a right to know it, and 
 to whom its most trifling feature was not indifferent. Her 
 childhood, her opening girlhood, her education, her desire for 
 all possible forms of cultivation, her undeveloped artistic sym- 
 pathies and their conflict with the associations which surround- 
 ed her all these returned, little by little, and her husband re- 
 joiced to find in them fresh confirmations of the instinctive 
 judgment, on the strength of which he had ventured his 
 love. 
 
 In the evenings they generally sat in the library, where he 
 read to her from his choice stores of literature, and from the 
 reading grew earnest mutual talk which calmed and refreshed 
 her mind. The leisure of his long years in India had not been 
 thrown away : he had developed and matured his natural 
 taste for literature by the careful study of the English and 
 French classics, and was familiar with the principal German 
 and Italian authors, so far as they could be known through 
 translations. He had also revived, to somt extent, his musty 
 knowledge of the Greek and Latin poets, and his taste had thus 
 Doome pure and healthy in proportion to the variety of hjf
 
 482 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 acquirements. Hannah had, now and then, perhaps (thougk 
 this is doubtful, in the circumscribed community of Ptolemy), 
 encountered men of equal culture, but none who had spoken 
 to her as an equal, from the recognition of like capacities in 
 her own mind. She saw, in this intercourse with her husband, 
 (he commencement of a new and inexhaustible intellectual 
 jnjoyment. That clamor of her nature for the supposed rights 
 denied to her sex was, in part, the result of a baffled menta- 
 passion, which now saw the coveted satisfaction secured to 
 it ; and thus the voice of her torment grew weaker day by 
 day. 
 
 Day by day, also, with scarce a spoken word of love, the 
 relations between the two became more fond and intimate. 
 Woodbury's admirable judgment taught him patience. He 
 saw the color gradually coming back to the pale leaves of the 
 flower, and foresaw the day when he might wear it on his 
 bosom. The wind-tossed lake smoothed its surface more and 
 more, and gleams of his own image were reflected back to him 
 from the subsiding waves. The bride glided into the wife by 
 a gentle, natural transition. She assumed her place as head 
 rf the household, and Carrie, who was always nervously 
 nxious under the weight of the responsibility, transferred it 
 gladly to her hands. The sense of her ownership in the treas- 
 ures of Lakeside, which had at first seemed incredible, grew 
 real by degrees, as she came to exercise her proper authority, 
 and as her husband consulted with her in regard to the pro- 
 posed changes in the garden and grounds. All these things 
 Aspired her with a new and delightful interest. The sky of 
 -ler life brightened as the horizon grew wider. Her individ- 
 ttal sphere of action had formerly been limited on every side ; 
 Ler tastes had been necessaiily suppressed ;- and the hard, 
 utilitarian spirit, from which she shrank, in the associations of 
 bet sect, seemed to meet her equally wherever she turned. 
 Her instinct of beauty was now liberated ; for Woodbury, 
 possessing it himself, not only appreciated, but encouraged ita 
 vitality in her nature. The rooms took the impression of her
 
 A. SlORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 4&J 
 
 taste, at first in minor details and then in general arrange- 
 ments, and this external reflection of herself irt the features of 
 he'- borne reacted upon her feelings, separating her by a con- 
 stantly widening gulf from her maiden life. 
 
 The gold of the forests corroded, the misty violet bloom of 
 the Indian Summer was \vashed away by sharp winds and 
 col" I rains, and when winter set in, the fire on the domestic 
 hearth burned with a warm, steady flame. Immediately after 
 f,be marriage, Woodbury had not only picked out a very 
 pretty site for the cottage which he must now build in earnest 
 for Bute's occupancy, but had immediately engaged masons 
 and carpenters to commence the work. It was on a low knob 
 or spur of the elevation upon which stood his own house, but 
 nearer the Anacreon road. Bute and Carrie were in ecstasies 
 with the design, which was selected from " Downing's Land- 
 scape Gardening." It was a story and a half high, with over- 
 hanging balconies, in the Swiss style, and promised to be a 
 picturesque object in the view from Lakeside, especially as it 
 would just hide the only ragged and unlovely spot in the 
 landscape, to the left of Roaring Brook. By great exertion 
 on Bute's part, it was gotten under roof, and then left for a 
 winter's seasoning, before completion in the spring. This 
 house and every thing connected with it took entire possession 
 of the mind of Mrs. Carrie Wilson, and not a day passed with- 
 out her consulting Hannah in regard to some internal or 
 external arrangement. She would have flowered chintz cur- 
 tains to the windows of the " best room" blue, with small 
 pink roses : the stuff would be cheap and of course she would 
 make them herself: would it be better to have them ruffled 
 with the same, or an edging of the coarse cotton lace which 
 she had learned to knit ? Bute had promised her a carpet, 
 and they could furnish the room little by little, so that the 
 expense would not be felt. " We must economize," she inva- 
 riably added, at the close : " we are going to lay something 
 by every year, and I want to show Bute that I can manage to 
 have every thing nice and tasty, without spending much." 
 19
 
 43 4 HANNAH T 
 
 The little woman still retained her admiration for Hannah. 
 perhaps in an inci'eased degree, now that Woodbury (for whom 
 Carrie had conceived such a profound respect) had chosen 
 her to be his wife. She confided to the latter all her wonder- 
 ful pians for the future, utterly forgetful how they differed 
 from the confidences which she had been accustomed to bo 
 ttow. Hannah could not help remarking her present uncon- 
 sciousness of that ambition which she had once pitied ae 
 mistaken, though she had not the heart to check it. A similai 
 change seemed to be taking place in herself. " Is it always 
 BO ?" she reflected. " Is the fulfilment of our special destiny 
 as women really the end of that lofty part which we resolved 
 to take in the forward struggle of the race ? Was my desire 
 to vindicate the just claims of my sex only the blind result oi 
 the relinquishment of earlier dreams ? It cannot be : but this 
 much is true that the restless mind is easily cradled to sleep 
 on the beatings of a happy heart." 
 
 The strict seclusion of her life was rarely broken. The 
 Waldos and Merryfields came once or twice for a brief call, but 
 Woodbury, though he went occasionally to Ptolemy, did not 
 urge her to accompany him. Sometimes, on mild days, he 
 drove with her over the hills, re-exploring for her the pic- 
 turesque little nooks of the upland which he had discovered. 
 Hannah was contented with this ; she knew that Society 
 awaited her, after a time, but it could not now deny her that 
 grateful repose, in which she gathered strength, and hope, and 
 harmony with herself. Indeed, the life of Ptolemy flowed 
 more quietly than usual, this season. The Great Sewing-Union 
 was not reorganized, because the Cimmerians had decided on 
 a " Donation Party" for Mr. Waldo's benefit, instead of a Fair ; 
 the Abolitionists had not sufficient cohesive power without 
 the assistance of Hannah and Mrs. Merryfield, and prepared 
 their contributions separately at home ; and thus only the 
 Mission Fund remained. The latter, however, was stimulated 
 to fresh activity by the arrival of a package of letters, early 
 in December, from Mrs. Jehiel Preeks (formerly Miss Eliza
 
 a. STOKT OF AMERICAN LIFE. 436 
 
 Clancy), dated fr >m Cuddapah, in the Telugn Country. She had 
 passed a week at Jutnapore, and was shocked to find that her 
 brown namesake, for whom she had made the mousseline-de- 
 laine frock with tucks, had been married a year, although not 
 yet fourteen, and exhibited to her a spiritual grand-baby, on 
 he? arrival. She forwarded to Miss Ruhaney Goodwin a letter 
 in the Telugu language from her son Elisha, which the spinstei 
 had framed and hung up beside her looking-glass. "It's 
 more like bird tracks than any thing else," she whispered, con- 
 fidentially, "but the sight of it gives me a deal of comfort." 
 
 Thus, the labors for the Mission Fund were resumed, but 
 the young men who attended looked back to the days of 
 the Great Sewing-Union with regret. The mixed composition 
 of the latter had been its great charm, and even the ladies of 
 the Fund missed the extended comparison of stuffs and pat- 
 terns, and the wider range of mantua-making gossip which 
 they had enjoyed during the previous winter. The curiosity 
 in regard to the Woodburys still continued to be rife ; but 
 Mrs. Waldo, who was continually appealed to, as their nearest 
 friend, for an explanation of the mystery, knew no more than 
 any of the others what had passed between the two before their 
 marriage. The first sharpness of public comment on the oc- 
 currence soon gave place to a more just and reasonable feeling. 
 Both were popular, in a different way, in Ptolemy. A mod- 
 erate amount of good-luck would not have been grudged to 
 either, but that they should find it in each other was the 
 thought which astounded the community. The strangest 
 things, however, soon grow common-place, and all that had 
 oeen said or thought, in the first period of wonderment, waa 
 gradually forgotten. Both Mrs. Styles and Mrs. Hamilton 
 Bue called at Lakeside, and went home well pleased with the 
 kindly courtesy and hospitality which they received. They 
 aw that the husband and wife evidently understood each other 
 and were happy in the knowledge : any thing further than 
 this the keenest scrutiny failed to discover. Woodbury had 
 the coolness of a thorough man of the world *n turning aside
 
 436 HANNAH THUBSTOX: 
 
 impertinent questions, such as many good persons, with their 
 unformed American ideas of propriety, see no harm in asking 
 ft is true that he sometimes gave offence in this way, but hia 
 apparent unconsciousness of the fact healed the wound, while 
 I prevented a repetition of the impertinence. 
 
 Hannah admired the self-possession of her husband, as a 
 powei , the attainment of which was beyond her own reach. 
 The characteristic which had most repelled her, on their first 
 iicquaintance, was now that which threw around her a comfort- 
 ing sense of protection and defence. It was not a callous con- 
 dition of his finer sensibilities, she saw; it was a part of hia 
 matured balance and repose of character, yet the latter still 
 sometimes impressed her almost like coldness, in comparison 
 with her own warmth of sentiment. For this reason, perhaps, 
 as her love to him deepened and strengthened as his being 
 became more and more a blissful necessity his composed, un- 
 changing tenderness often failed to satisfy, in full measure, 
 the yearnings of her heart. While she was growing in- the 
 richness of her affections, he seemed to be standing still. 
 
 With all Woodbury's experience of woman, he had yet 
 much to learn. No course could have been better chosen than 
 the delicate and generous consideration which he exhibited 
 towards his wife, up to a certain point. His mistake was, that 
 he continued it long after the necessity had ceased, and when, 
 to her changed nature, it suggested a conscientious sense of 
 justice rather than the watchfulness of love. He was waiting 
 for her heart to reach the knowledge which already filled it to 
 overflowing, betraying itself daily by a subtle language which 
 he did not understand. The experiences through which he 
 had passed had familiarized him with the presence of passion 
 iu himself: his heart did not throb less powerfully, but il 
 throbbed beneath a mask of calmness which had been sternly 
 enforced upon him. He did not reflect that his wife, with all 
 the pervading passion of the ripened woman, still possessed, 
 in this her first lov., the timidity of a girl, and could not ast 
 for that independent speech of the heart which he withheld.
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 48* 
 
 Even with regard to the questions which had so nearly kept 
 them asunder, she would have preferred frank discussion to 
 silence Here, however, he had promised her full liberty of 
 action, and she could not refer to them without a seeming 
 doubt of his word. Once or twice, indeed she timidly ap- 
 proached the subject, but he had avoided it with a gentleneai 
 and kindness which she could not resist. She suffered no re- 
 pronch to rest upon him, in her inmost thought ; she reproached 
 herself for having invoked the promise for having obliged 
 him to raise the thin, impalpable screen which still interposed 
 itself between their hearts. Mrs. Styles, in reporting her 
 \isit, had said: "they look as if they had already been mar- 
 ried ten years," and she had said truly. That calm, which 
 was so grateful in the first tumult of the wife's feelings, which 
 enabled her to pass through the transition of her nature in 
 peace, now sometimes became oppressive in the rush of 
 happy emotions that sought but knew not how to find expres- 
 sion. 
 
 The knowledge that Woodbury had modified his personal 
 
 habits so as to avoid offending her prejudices, also gave her 
 
 pair*.. She learned, from Carrie, that he had been in the habit 
 
 of drinking a glass or two of claret at dinner, and of smoking 
 
 in the library after meals, or as he read in the evenings. ^ Now, 
 
 the wine had disappeared from the table, and he took his cigar 
 
 in the garden, or in the veranda. Both the habits were still 
 
 repugnant to her sense of right, but love was beginning to 
 
 'teach her tolerance. He was, perhaps, partly weaned from 
 
 ''hem,, she thought, and in that case it would be wrong in her 
 
 iolead him back to his old subjection; yet, on the other hand, 
 
 That sacrifice had he not made for her? and what had 
 
 nade for him ? 
 
 Towards the end of winter, she found that her m 
 becoming singularly confuted and uncertain, 
 siliation with her destin y> the harmony of heart and brain, 
 which she see ned to be, on the point of attaining, si 
 gnin into something ^bich appeared to be a dis
 
 488 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 temperament rather than of intellect. Things, trifling In 
 themselves, exalted or. depressed her without any apparent 
 reason; unreasonable desires presented themselves to her 
 mind, and in this perpetual wavering of the balance of her 
 nature, nothing seemed steady except her love for her hus* 
 band. She longed, at times, to throw herself upon his breast 
 and weep the 'confession she did not dare to speak; but her 
 moments of strength perversely came when he was absent, and 
 her moments of cowardice when he was present. Through 
 all the uncertain, shifting range of her sensations, ran, never- 
 theless, a dazzling thread of some vague, foreboded bliss, the 
 features of which she could not distinguish. She often re- 
 peated to herself the song of Clarchen, in Goethe's " Egmont," 
 which was among the works her husband had read with her : 
 
 Depressed, 
 
 Pensively brooding amain ; 
 
 Trembling, 
 
 Dissembling, 
 
 Hovering in fear and in pain: 
 
 Sorrowing to death, or exulting the angels abore, 
 
 Blessed alone is the heart in its lovel" 
 
 One afternoon she was seized with such an intense longing 
 for the smell of tobacco-smoke, that she could scarcely wait 
 until Woodbury, who had ridden into Ptolemy, returned 
 home. As soon as he had taken off his great-coat and 
 kissed her, as was his wont, she drew him into the library. 
 " Maxwell," she said, " I have a favor to ask of you." 
 " Have you ? I shall be delighted to grant it." 
 "You will think it strange," she continued, blushing; 
 * I wish you would light a cigar ; I think I should find the 
 nnjke agreeable." 
 
 " That is not asking a favor, Hannah ; it is granting one to 
 
 me. I'll take one of my best, and you shall have a fair trial.' 1 
 
 He laughed pleasantly at what he considered a benevolent 
 
 effort on her part to endure his favorite indulgence. He
 
 A STOKT OF AMERICAN LIFE. 481 
 
 placed easy-chairs for them, on opposite sides of the fire, lest 
 her experiment might fail from being overdone, and lighted 
 one of his choicest Cabanas. The rich, delicate, sedative 
 odor soon pervaded the air, but she held her ground. He took 
 down Sir Thomas Brcwne, one of his favorites, and read aloud 
 the pleasant passages. The snowy ashes lengthened in the 
 cigar, the flavor of the book grew more choice and ripe, and 
 ai'tur an hour he tossed the diminutive remaining end into the 
 grate, saying: 
 
 " Well, what is the result ?" 
 
 "I quite forgot the cigar, Maxwell," she answered, "in my 
 enjoyment of Sir Thomas. But the odor at first you will 
 laugh at me was delightful. I am so sorry that you have 
 been so long deprived of what must be to you an agreeable 
 habit, on my account." 
 
 "I have only been acting up to my principles," he said, 
 " that we have a right to exercise our individual freedom in 
 such matters, when they do not interfere directly with the 
 comfort of others. But here, I am afraid, Sir Thomas helped 
 to neutralize your repugnance. Shall we go on with him, a 
 chapter and a cigar at a time? Afterwards I can take 
 Barton and Montaigne, if you are not fully acclimated." 
 
 He spoke gayly, with a dancing light in his eyes, but the 
 plan was seriously carried out. Hannah was surprised to find 
 in Montaigne a reference to the modern doctrine (as she sup- 
 posed it to be) of " Women's Rights." It was not a pleasant 
 reflection that the cause had made so little progress in three 
 centuries. The reading of this passage brought up the subject 
 in a natural way, and she could not help remarking : 
 
 "Discussions on the subject will never come to an end, 
 nntil we have some practical application of the theory, which 
 will be an actual and satisfactory test of its truth." 
 
 "I, for one, would not object to that," Woodbury answered, 
 ''provided it could be tried without disturbing too much the 
 established order of Society. If a large class of women 
 should at any time demand these rights, a refusal to let the
 
 440 ftANKAH THtmSTOtf t 
 
 experiment be tested would imply a fear of its success. Now. 
 T do not believe that any system can be successful which does 
 not contain a large proportion of absolute truth, and while 1 
 cannot think, as you know, that woman is fitted for the same 
 career as man, I am not afraid to see her make the trial I 
 will pledge myself to abide by the result." 
 
 " If all men were as just, Maxwell, we should have no cause 
 to complain. After all, it is the right to try, rather than the 
 right to be, which we ask. The refusal to grant us that does 
 not seem either like the magnanimity of the stronger, or even 
 an assured faith in his strength." 
 
 "Men do not seriously consider the subject," said he. 
 "The simple instinct of sex dictates their opposition. They 
 attribute to a distorted, unfeminine ambition, what is often 
 in you, Hannah, I know it a pure and unselfish aspiration. 
 The basis of instinct is generally correct, but it does not ab- 
 solve us from respect for the sincerity of that which assails it." 
 
 "I will try to be as just to you, in return !" she exclaimed. 
 " I feel that my knowledge has been limited that I have been 
 self-boastful of the light granted to my mind, when it was 
 only groping in twilight, towards the dawn. My heart drew 
 back from you, because it feared a clashing of opinions which 
 could never harmonize. 
 
 She was on the verge of a tenderer confession, but he did 
 not perceive it. His words, unwittingly, interrupted the cur- 
 rent of her feelings. His voice was unintentionally grave and 
 his brow earnest, as he said : " I trust, more than ever, to the 
 true woman's nature in you, Hannah. Let me say one thing 
 to set your mind at rest forever. It was my profound appre- 
 ciation of those very elements in your character which led you 
 to take up these claims of Woman and make them your own, 
 that opened the way for you to my heart. I reverence the 
 qualities without accepting all the conclusions born of them. 
 I thank God that I was superior to shallow prejudice, which 
 would have hindered me from approaching you, and thus have 
 lost me the blessing of my life !"
 
 A STOfcY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 1 1 1 
 
 He rose and laid away the book. Every word he had said 
 was just and noble, but it was not the fervid, impassioned 
 utterance which Her heart craved to hear. There were tears 
 in her eyes, but he misinterpreted them. 
 
 Ah, the " true woman's nature !" Did he trust to it ? Did 
 he know it, in its timidity, in its exacting fondness, in its pride 
 ff Devotion and its joy of sacrifice? 
 
 N ot yet. 
 19*
 
 442 HAJJNAH THtJBSTOJT 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 IK WHICH WE ATTEND ANOTHER ALKKTING IN FAVOB O* 
 " WOMEN'S EIGHT'S," 
 
 EARLY in April, Mr. Isaiah Bemis again made his appearance 
 in Ptolemy. He had adopted REFORM as his profession, and 
 in the course of fifteen years' practice had become a Jack-of- 
 all-trades in philanthropy and morals. He was ready, at the 
 shortest notice, to give an address on Total Abstinence, Vege- 
 tarianism (or " Vegetality," as he termed it, with a desire to 
 be original), Slavery, Women's Rights, or Non-Resistance, ac- 
 cording to the particular need of the community he visited. 
 
 He also preached, occasionally, before those independent, 
 religious bodies which spring up now and then in a spasmodic 
 protest against church organization, and which are the natural 
 complement of the Perfectionists in Government and Society, 
 who believe that the race is better off without either. In 
 regard to Spiritualism he was still undecided : it was not yet 
 ingrafted upon the trunk of the other Reforms as an accepted 
 branch of the same mighty tree, and a premature adherence 
 to it might loosen his hold on those boughs from which he 
 sucked sustenance, fame, and authority. 
 
 By slender contributions from the Executive Committees of 
 the various Societies, and the free hospitality of the prose'ytei 
 of one or the other, all through the country, Mr. Bemis waa 
 in the possession of a tolerable income, which came to niia 
 through the simple gratification of his natural tendencies. To 
 harangue the public was a necessity rather than a fatigue. 
 He was well stored with superficial logic wherewith to over 
 whelm ordinary disputants, while with his hosts, from whom 
 no opposition was to be expected, he assumed in air of arro-
 
 A STOBY OF AMERICAN LIPE. 443 
 
 gant superiority. This was principally their own fault. A 
 man who hears himself habitually called an Apostle and a 
 Martyr, very soon learns to put on his robes of saintship. 
 None of his subjects was bold enough to dispute the intel- 
 lectual and moral autocracy which he assumed. Thus, for fif- 
 teen years, a Moral Gypsy, he had led a roving life through the 
 country, from Maine to Indiana, interrupted only by a trip to 
 England, in 1841, as a "delegate at large" to the "World's 
 Anti-Slavery Convention." During all this time his wife had 
 supported herself by keeping a boarding-house in a small town 
 in New Jersey. He was accustomed to visit her once a year, 
 and at such times scrupulously paid his board during the few 
 weeks of his stay which circumstance was exploited as an 
 illustration of his strict sense of justice and his constancy to 
 the doctrine of Women's Rights. 
 
 Central New York was a favorite field for Mr. Bemis, and 
 he ranged its productive surface annually. His meetings being 
 announced in advance in the Annihilator^ his friends were 
 accustomed to have all the arrangements made on his arrival. 
 On reaching Ptolemy, however, two or three days still inter- 
 vened before the meeting could be held, on account of Turn 
 blety Hall having been previously engaged by the "Mozart 
 Ethiopian Opera," and the " Apalachicolan Singers." Mr. 
 Bemis, as a matter of course, claimed the hospitality of the 
 Merryfields in the interval. He was not received with the 
 expected empressement, nor were his Orphic utterances listened 
 to with the reverence to which he was used. The other 
 friends of the cause foremost among them Seth Wattles 
 nevertheless paid their court as soon as his arrival became 
 known, and (spiritually) on bended knees kissed the hand of 
 the master. 
 
 The arrangements for the coming meeting were first to be 
 discussed. Attention had been drawn away from the reform 
 during the previous summer by the renewed agitation in favor 
 of Temperance, and it was desirable to renovate the faded 
 impression. The Rev. Amelia Parkes had been invited
 
 444 HANNAH THUKSTON: 
 
 but was unable to leave her congregation ; and Bessie Strykei 
 was more profitably engaged in lecturing before various 
 literary associations, at one hundred dollars a night (payable 
 only in gold). Mr. Chubbuck, of Miranda, could be depended 
 upon, but he was only a star of the second magnitude, and 
 something more was absolutely required. 
 
 " We must get Miss Thurston I mean Mrs. Woodbury 
 again. There is nothing else to be done," remarked Mr. 
 Bemis, drawing down his brows. He had not forgotten that 
 the people of Ptolemy had freely given to her the applause 
 which they had withheld from his more vigorous oratory. 
 
 " I rather doubt, as it were," said Mr. Merryfield, " whether 
 Hannah will be willing to speak." 
 
 " Why not ?" thundered Bemis. 
 
 "She's lived very quietly since her marriage, and I 
 shouldn't wonder if she'd changed her notions somewhat." 
 
 "I shouldn't wonder," said Seth, drawing up his thici 
 nostrils, u if her husband had forbidden her ever to speak 
 again. If he could bully her into marrying him, he could do 
 that, too." 
 
 " You're mistaken, Seth," exclaimed Mr. Merryfield, color- 
 ing with a mild indignation, " there's nothing of the bully 
 about Woodbury. And if they two don't love each other 
 sincerely, why, Sarah and me don't !" 
 
 "We can easily find out all about it," said Mr. Bemis, 
 rising and buttoning his coat over his broad chest. "Mr. 
 Wattles, will . you come with me ? We will constitute our 
 selves a Committee of Invitation." 
 
 Seth, nothing loath, put on his hat, and the two started on 
 their errand. It was but a short walk to Lakeside, which 
 they reached soon after Woodbury had taken his customary 
 place in the library, with a cigar in his mouth and a volume 
 of Pepys' Diary in his hand. Hannah sat near him, quiet and 
 happy : she was not only reconciled to her husband's habit, 
 but enjoyed the book and talk which accompanied it more 
 than any other part of the day. On this occasion they wer
 
 A STOEY OF AMEEICAN LIFE. 448 
 
 interrupted by Bute, who announced the visitors in the fol- 
 lowing style : 
 
 "Miss' Woodbury, here's Setb Wattles and another man 
 has come to see you." 
 
 Hannah rose with a look of disappointment, and turned 
 towards her husband, hesitatingly. 
 
 " Shall I go, also ?" he asked. 
 
 "I would prefer it, Maxwell; I have no private business 
 with any one." 
 
 Bute had ushered the visitors into the tea-room. The door 
 to the library was closed, but a faint Cuban perfume was per- 
 ceptible. Seth turned towards Mr. Bemis with elevated eye- 
 brows, and gave a loud sniff, as much as to say : " Do you 
 notice that ?" The latter gentleman scowled and shook his 
 head, but said nothing. 
 
 Presently the door opened and Hannah made her appearance, 
 followed by her husband. She concealed whatever embarrass- 
 ment she may have felt at the sight of Mr. Bemis, frankly 
 gave him her hand, and introduced him to her husband. 
 
 "Be seated, gentlemen," said the latter, courteously. "I 
 would ask you into the library, but I have been smoking there, 
 and the room may not be agreeable to you." 
 
 "Hem! we are not exactly accustomed to such an at- 
 mosphere," said Mr. Bemis, taking a chair. 
 
 Woodbury began talking upon general topics, to allow his 
 guests time to recover from a slight awkwardness which was 
 evident in their manner. It was not long, however, before 
 Mr. Bemis broached the purpose of his visit. " Mrs. Wood- 
 bury," said he, " you have heard that we are to have a meet- 
 ng on Wednesday evening ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " We have been disappointed in getting the Rev. Amelia 
 Parkes, and the advocacy of The Cause is incomplete unless a 
 woman takes part in it. I have therefore come to ask your 
 assistance. We wish, this time, to create an impression." 
 
 It was not a welcome message. She knew that such a teat
 
 44ft HANNAH rHUKSTOBT: 
 
 must come, some time ; but of late she had been unable t 
 apply her mind steadily to any subject, and had postponed, 
 by an agreement with herself, the consideration of all disturb- 
 ing questions. She looked at her husband, but his calm face 
 expressed no counsel. He was determined that she should 
 act independently, and he would allow no word or glance to 
 influence her decision. 
 
 " It is long since I have spoken," she said at last ; " I am 
 not sure that I should be of service." She wished to gain 
 time by an undecided answer, still hoping that Woodbury 
 would come to her assistance. 
 
 " We are the best judges of that," said Mr. Bemis, with 
 something of his old dictatorial tone. "I trust you will not 
 fail us, now when we have such need. The interest in The 
 Cause has very much fallen off, in this neighborhood, and if 
 you desert us, to whom shall we look for help ?" 
 
 "Yes, Hannah," chimed in Seth, "you know we have 
 always looked upon you as one of the Pillars of Progress." 
 
 It grated rather harshly upon Woodbury's feelings to hear 
 his wife addressed so familiarly by the ambitious tailor ; but 
 she was accustomed to it, from the practice of her sect to 
 bear testimony against what they call " compliments." 
 
 " 1 have not lost my interest in the cause," Hannah answered, 
 after another vain attempt to read Woodbury's face ; " but I 
 have freely uttered my thoughts on the subject, and I could 
 say nothing that has not been already heard." 
 
 " Nothing else is wanted," said Mr. Bemis, eagerly. " The 
 Truth only gains by repetition ; it still remains eternally new. 
 How many thousand times have the same Bible texts been 
 preached from, and yet their meaning is not exhausted it ia 
 noi even fully comprehended. How much of the speaker's 
 discourse do yoa suppose the hearers carry home with them ? 
 Not a tenth part and even that tenth part must -be repeated 
 ten times before it penetrates beneath the surface of their 
 uatures. Truth is a nail that you cannot drive into ordinary 
 comprehensions with one blow of the hammer : you must pile
 
 A StORY OF AMERICAN LIFB. 44? 
 
 troke upon stroke, before it enters far enough to be clinched 
 fast. It is not the time for you to draw back now, in a season 
 of faint-heartedness and discouragement. If you fail, it will 
 be said that your views have changed with the change in 
 your life, and you will thus neutralize all your labors hereto- 
 fore." 
 
 " That cannot be said of me !" exclaimed Hannah, thor- 
 oughly aroused and indignant. " My husband has been too 
 just too generous, diflfering with me as he does to impose 
 any restrictions upon my action !" She turned towards him, 
 He answered her glance with a frank, kindly smile, which 
 thanked her for her words, but said no more. " Well, then !" 
 she continued; "I will come, if only to save him from an 
 unjust suspicion. I will not promise to say much. You over- 
 estimate my value as an advocate of the reform." 
 
 " It is not for me," said Mr. Bemis, with affected humility, 
 " to speak of what I have done; but I consider myself com- 
 petent to judge of the services of others. Your influence will 
 be vastly increased when your consistency to The Cause shah 1 
 be known and appreciated. I now have great hopes that we 
 shall inaugurate an earnest moral awakening." 
 
 Little more was said upon the subject, and in a short time 
 the two reformers took their leave. After Woodbury had 
 returned from the door, whither he had politely accompanied 
 them, he said, in his usual cheerful tone: "Well, Hannah, 
 shall we return to Old Pepys ?" 
 
 Her momentary excitement had already died away. She 
 appeared perplexed and restless, but she mechanically rose and 
 followed him into the library. As he took up the book, sLe 
 interrupted him: "Tell me, Maxwell, have I done right?'* 
 
 "You should know, Hannah," he answered. "I wish you 
 to act entirely as your own nature shall prompt, without 
 reference to me. I saw that you had not much desire to 
 accept the invitation, but, having accepted it, I suppose you 
 must fulfil your promise." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so," she said ; but her tone was weary and
 
 44$ HANttAH 
 
 disappointed. How gladly would she hare yielded to hii 
 slightest wish, if he would only speak it! What a sweet 
 comfort it would have been to her heart, to know that she 
 had sacrificed something belonging to herself, even were it 
 that higher duty which had almost become a portion of her 
 conscience, for his sake ! The independence which he, with 
 nn over-considerate love, had assured to her, seemed to isolate 
 her nature when it should draw nearer to his. His perfect 
 justice crushed her with a cold, unyielding weight of not 
 obligation, for that cannot coexist with love but something 
 almost as oppressive. She had secured her freedom from 
 man's dictation that freedom which once had seemed so rare 
 and so beautiful and now her heart cried aloud for one word 
 of authority. It would be so easy to yield, so blissful to 
 be able to say: "Maxwell, I do this willingly, for your 
 sake !" but he cruelly hid the very shadow of his wish from 
 her sight and denied her the sacrifice ! He forced her in- 
 dependence back upon her when she would have laid it down, 
 trusting all she was and all she might be to the proved nobility 
 of his nature 1 Self-abnegation, she now felt, is the heart of 
 love ; but the rising flood of her being was stayed by the 
 barriers which she had herself raised. 
 
 All the next day her uneasiness increased. It was not onlv 
 her instinctive fear of thwarting her husband's hidden desire 
 which tormented her, but a singular dread of agj\in making 
 her appearance before the public. She was not conscious of 
 any change in her views on the question of Woman, but they 
 failed to give her strength and courage. A terrible sinking 
 of the heart assailed her as often as she tried to collect her 
 thoughts and arrange the expected discourse in her mind. 
 Every thing seemed to shift and slide before the phantasm of 
 her inexplicable fear. Woodbury could not help noticing hei 
 agitation, but he understood neither its origin nor its nature. 
 He was tender as ever, and strove to soothe her without ad- 
 verting to the coming task. It was the only inhappy dxy she 
 bad known since she had come to Lakeside.
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 44k 
 
 The next morning dawned the morning of Wednesday- 
 rid noon came swiftly as a flash, since she dreaded its ap 
 proach. The dinner had been ordered earlier than usual, foi 
 the meeting was to commence at two o'clock; and as soon as 
 it was over, Woodbury said to her : " It is time you were 
 ready, Hannah. I will take you to Ptolemy, of course, and 
 will attend the meeting, or not, as you desire." 
 
 She drew him into the library. " Oh, Maxwell!" she cried j 
 " will you not tell me what you wish me to do ?" 
 
 "My clear wife," he said, "do not torment yourself on 
 my_account I have tried to fulfil to the utmost my promise 
 to you : have I said or done any thing to make you suspect 
 my sincerity ?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing, nothing ! You have kept it only too well. 
 But, Maxwell, my heart fails me : I cannot go ! the very 
 thought of standing where I once stood makes me grow faint. 
 I have no courage to do it again." 
 
 " Then do not," he answered ; " I will make a suitable 
 apology for your failure. Or, if that is not enough, shall I 
 take your place ? I will not promise," he added, smiling, 
 " to go quite so far as you might have done, but I will at least 
 say a few earnest words which can do no harm. Who has so 
 good a right to be your substitute as your husband ?" 
 
 " Maxwell," she sobbed, " how you put me to shame !" It 
 was all she could say. He took her in his arms, kissed her 
 tenderly, and then drove into Ptolemy. 
 
 Tumblety Hall was crowded. The few advocates of the 
 cause had taken good care to spread the news that Mrs. 
 Woodbury was to be one of the speakers, and there was a 
 general, though indefinite curiosity to hear her again, now that 
 she was married. Mr. Bemis rubbed his hands as he saw how 
 rapidly the benches were filling, and observed to Seth Wat- 
 tles : " The iron is hot, and we have only to strike hard." After 
 the audience bad assembled, the latter was chosen Chairman oi 
 the meeting, Mr. Merrvfield declining, on account of liis having 
 BO frequently filled that oflice, " as it were."
 
 450 HANNAH THUBSTON : 
 
 Seth called the meeting to order with a pompous, satisfied 
 air. His phrases were especially grandiloquent; for, like 
 many semi-intelligent persons, he supposed that the power of 
 oratory depended on the sound of the words. If the latter 
 were not always exactly in the right place, it made little di 
 ference. " Be ye convinced, my brethren," he concluded, 
 " that absoloot Right will conquer, hi spite of the concatena- 
 tions and the hostile discrepancies of Urrur (Error) ! Our 
 opponents have attempted to shut up every door, every vein 
 and artery, and every ramification of our reform, but the angel 
 of Progress bursts the prison-doors of Paul and Silas, and 
 when the morning dawns, the volcano is extinct 1" 
 
 Mr. Bemis followed, in what he called his " sledge -hammer 
 style," which really suggested a large hammer, so far as voice 
 and gesture were concerned, but the blows did not seem to 
 make much impression. He had, however, procured a few 
 new anecdotes, both of the wrongs and the capacities of wo- 
 man, and these prevented his harangue from being tedious to 
 the audience. They were stepping-stones, upon which the 
 latter could wade through the rushing and turbid flood of hia 
 discourse. 
 
 It had been arranged that Hannah should follow him, and 
 Mr. Chubbuck, of Miranda, close the performance. When, 
 therefore, Mr. Bemis sat down, he looked around for his suc- 
 cessor, and the audience began to stir and buzz, in eager 
 expectation. She was not upon the platform, but Woodbury 
 was seen, pressing down the crowded side-aisle, apparently 
 endeavoring to make his way to the steps. He finally reached 
 them and mounted upon the platform, where a whispered 
 consultation took place between himself and Mr. Bemis. " Th 
 countenance of the latter gentleman grew dark, and he in turn 
 whispered to Seth, who, after some hesitation, arose and 
 addressed the meeting : 
 
 O 
 
 "-' We have again an illustration," he said, " of the vanity of 
 human wishes. We expected to present to you the illustrious 
 prototype of her sex, to whose cerulean accents you have oftej
 
 A STOKY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 461 
 
 listened and applauded, but disappointment has chilled the 
 genial current of our souls. She has sent a" subsidy in her 
 place, and he is prepared to await your pleasure, if you will 
 hear the spontaneous vindication." 
 
 A movement of surprise ran through the audience, but 
 their disappointment at once gave place to a new curiosity, 
 *nd a noise of stamping arose, in token of satisfaction. "Wood- 
 bury, whose demeanor was perfectly serious and collected, in 
 spite of a strong tendency to laugh at Seth, stepped forward 
 to the front of the platform, and, as soon as silence returned, 
 began to speak. His manner was easy and natural, and his 
 voice unusually clear and distinct, though the correctness of 
 his pronunciation struck his hearers, at first, like affectation. 
 
 " I appear voluntarily before you, my friends," he said, " as 
 a substitute for one whom you know. She had promised to 
 speak to you on a subject to which she has given much earn- 
 est thought, not so much for her own sake as for that of her 
 sex. Being unable to fulfil that promise, I have offered to 
 take her place, not as the representative of her views, or of 
 the views of any particular association of persons, but as a 
 man who reveres woman, and who owes her respect in all 
 cases, though he may not always agree with her assertion of 
 right. ('Good!' cried some one in the audience.) I stand 
 between both parties ; between you who denounce the tyranny 
 of man (turning to Mr. Bemis), and you who meet with con- 
 tempt and abuse (turning back towards the audience) all earn- 
 est appeals of woman for a freer exercise of her natural facul- 
 ties. No true reform grows out of reciprocal denunciation. 
 When your angry thunders have been launched, and the 
 opposing clouds dissolve from the exhaustion of their supply, 
 the sunshine of tolerance and charity shines between, and the 
 lowering fragments fuse gently togetbjr in the goldeu gleam 
 of the twilight. Let me speak to you from the neutral ground 
 of universal humanity ; let me tell you of some wrongs of 
 woman which none of you need go far to see some lights 
 which each man of you, to whom God has given a help-meet
 
 4f2 HANNAH THURSTON: 
 
 may grant beside his own hearth-stone and the cradle of hii 
 children ! We Americans boast of our superior civilization ; 
 we look down with a superb commiseration not only upon the 
 political, but the social and domestic life of other lands. 
 Let us not forget that the position which woman holds in the 
 State always supposing that it does not transcend the des 
 tiny of her sex is the unerring index on the dial of civiliza 
 tion. It behooves us, therefore, in order to make good on. 
 boast, to examine her condition among us. We are famed, 
 and perhaps justly, for the chivalrous respect which we ex- 
 hibit towards her in public ; do we grant her an equal con- 
 sideration in our domestic life ? Do we seek to understand her 
 finer nature, her more delicate sensibilities, her self-sacrificing 
 desire to share our burdens by being permitted to understand 
 them?" 
 
 The attention of the audience was profoundly enlisted by 
 these words. The calm, dispassionate, yet earnest tone of the 
 speaker was something new. It was an agreeable variation 
 from the anathemas with which they not only did not sympa- 
 thize, but which they were too indifferent to resent. Mr. Bemis, 
 it is true, fidgeted uneasily in his arm-chair, but he was now 
 quite a secondary person. Woodbury went on to advocate a 
 private as well as public respect for woman ; he painted, in 
 strong colors, those moral qualities in which she is superior to 
 man ; urged her claim to a completer trust, a more genero.ua 
 confidence on his part ; and, while pronouncing no word that 
 could indicate an actual sympathy with the peculiar right? 
 which were the object of the meeting, demanded that they 
 should receive, at least, a respectful consideration. He 
 repeated the same manly views which we have already heard 
 in his conversations with his wife, expressing his faith in the 
 impossibility of any permanent development not in accordance 
 with nature, and his confidence that the sex, under whatever 
 conditions of liberty, would instinctively find its true place. 
 
 His address, which lasted nearly an hour, was received wit! 
 bearty satisfaction by his auditors. To the advocates of th
 
 A STORT OF AMERICAN LlFfi. 453 
 
 reform it was a mixture of honey and galk He Lad started, 
 apparently, from nearly the same point; his path, for a while, 
 had run parallel with theirs, and then, without any sensible 
 divergence, had reached a widely different goal. Somehow, 
 he had taken, in advance, all the strength out of Mr. Chub- 
 buck's oration ; for, although the latter commenced with an 
 (,tack on Woodbury's neutral attitude, declaring that "we 
 cannot serve two masters," the effort was too sophistical to 
 deceive anybody. His speech, at least, had the effect to 
 restore Mr. Bemis to good humor. Miss Silsbee, a maiden 
 lady from Atauga City, was then persuaded to say a few 
 words. She recommended the audience to " preserve their 
 individuality : when that is gone, all is gone," said she. " Be 
 not like the foolish virgins, that left their lamps untrimmed. 
 O trim your wicks before the eleventh hour comes, and the 
 Master finds you sleeping !" 
 
 There seemed to be but a very remote connection between 
 these expressions and the doctrine of Women's Rights, and 
 the audience, much enlivened by the fact, dispersed, after 
 adopting the customary resolutions by an overwhelming major- 
 ity. " We have sowed the field afresh," cried Mr. Bemis, 
 rubbing his hands, as he turned to his friends on the platform, 
 "in spite of the tares of the Enemy." This was a figurative 
 allusion to Woodbury. 
 
 The latter resisted an invitation to take tea with the Wal- 
 dos, in order to hurry home to his wife. Mrs. Waldo had 
 been one of his most delighted hearers, and her parting worda 
 were : " Remember, if you don't tell Hannah every thing you 
 said, I shall do it, myself!" 
 
 On reaching Lakeside, Hannah came to the door to meet 
 him. Her troubled expression had passed away, and a deep, 
 wonderful light of happiness was on her face. Her eyes trem- 
 bled in their soft splendor, like stars through the veil of falling 
 dew, and some new, inexpressible grace clung around hei 
 form. She caught his hands eagerly, and her voice came low 
 and vibrant with its own sweetness.
 
 454 HANNAH THUESTON: 
 
 " Did you take my place, Maxwell ?" she asked. 
 
 He laughed cheerfully. " Of course I did. I made the 
 longest speech of my life. It did not satisfy Bemis, I am sure, 
 but the audience took it kindly, and you, Hannah, if you had 
 been there, would have accepted the most of it." 
 
 " I know I should !" she exclaimed. " You must tell me all 
 but not now. Now you must have your reward oh, Max 
 well, I think I can reward you I" 
 
 " Give me another kiss, then." 
 
 He stooped and took it. She laid her arms around his neck, 
 and drew his ear to her lips. Then she whispered a few flut- 
 tering words. When he lifted his face she saw upon it the 
 light and beauty of unspeakable joy.
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 455 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 IX WHICH THE MAX AND WOMAN COUE TO AX UXDERSTANDING. 
 
 WOODBURY, without having intended it, very much increased 
 his popularity in Ptolemy by the part he had taken in the 
 meeting. His address was marked by a delicate tact which 
 enabled him to speak for Woman, on behalf of his wife, while 
 preserving his own independence of her peculiar views. The 
 men suspected that her opinions had been modified by his 
 stronger mind, and that this was the secret of her non-appear- 
 ance : they were proud that he had conquered the championess. 
 The women, without exception, were delighted with his 
 defence of their domestic rights ; most of them had had more 
 or less experience of that misapprehension of their nature 
 which he portrayed, and the kindness, the considerate justice 
 which dictated his words came very gratefully to their ears. 
 Even Mrs. Hamilton Bue remarked to a neighbor, at the close 
 of his speech : " Well, if he's learned all that from her, she's 
 done some good, after all !" 
 
 Thus it happened that the marriage came to be regarded 
 with favor. Ptolemy not only submitted with a good grace 
 to what was irrevocable, but readily invented a sufficient justi- 
 fication for it. Hannah found a friendly disposition towards 
 her, as she began to mingle a little more with the society of 
 the place : the women, now that they recognized her as one of 
 themselves, approached her more genially and naturally than 
 hitherto, and the men treated her with a respect, under which 
 no reserved hostility was concealed. The phenomenon was 
 adopted, as is always the case, into the ordinary processes of 
 nature.
 
 456 HANNAH THUKSTON: 
 
 But a new life had commenced at Lakeside, and this and all 
 other changes in the temper of the community passed unno- 
 ticed. The spring advanced with a lovelier mystery in every 
 sprouting germ, in every unfolding bud. In those long, sunny 
 days when the trodden leaves of the last year stir and rustle 
 undor the upward pressure of the shooting grass, when new 
 riolets and buttercups open from hour to hour, and the shim 
 mering, gauzy tints of the woodlands deepen visibly betweu 
 dawn and sunset, the husband and wife saw but the external 
 expression of the rich ripening of their own lives. The season 
 could not impart its wonted tender yearnings, for they slept 
 in the bliss of the possession they had only prefigured before, 
 but it brought, in place of them, a holier and more wonderful 
 promise. Here, the wife's nature at last found a point of 
 repose : around this secret, shining consciousness, the strug- 
 gling elements ranged themselves in harmonious forms. A 
 power not her own, yet inseparable from both, and as welcome 
 as it was unforeboded, had usurped her life, and the remem- 
 brance of the most hardly- won triumphs which her mind had 
 ever achieved grew colorless and vain. 
 
 By the end of May the cottage for Bute was completed. It 
 was all that Downing had promised from the design, except in 
 regard to the expense, which was nearly double his estimate. 
 However, it formed a very picturesque feature in the fore- 
 ground of the landscape from Lakeside, and was conveniently 
 situated for the needs of the farm. It was a day of jubilee for 
 Bute and Carrie when they took possession of it. Mrs. Waldo 
 must needs be present at the migration, and assist with her 
 advice in the arrangement of the furniture. Fortunately, the 
 little " best room" had but two windows, and Mrs. Wilson's 
 dream of the chintz curtains was realized. Bute had bought 
 ft brownish ingrain carpet, somewhat worn, at an auction sale 
 in Ptolemy, for a very trifling sum ; and in addition to the por- 
 traits of General and Lady Washington, which Mrs. Babb had 
 inherited from Jason, and bequeathed to him in turn, Wood 
 bury had given him a splendidly-colored lithograph of an
 
 A STUKY OF AJUJiltlCAN J.1FE. 457 
 
 **Amerhan Homestead," with any quantity of cattle and 
 poultry. It is impossible to describe the pride of Sirs. Wilson 
 in this room. One window commanded a cheerful view of the 
 valley towards Ptolemy, while the white front of Lakeside 
 louked in at the other. Bute had surrounded the looking-glasa 
 and picture-frames with wreaths of winter-green, which 
 reminded Woodbury of his impromptu ball-room in the B >w 
 ery, and in the fireplace stood a huge pitcher filled with 
 asparagus, blossoming lilacs, and snow-balls. It was Mrs. 
 Wilson's ambition to consecrate the house by inviting them all 
 to tea, and a very pleasant party they were. 
 
 "When the guests had left, and the happy tenants found 
 themselves alone, the little wife exclaimed : " Oh, Bute, to 
 think that we should have a house of our own !" 
 
 "Yes," said he, "'" our'n, jist as much as though we 
 owned it, as long as we think so. Property's pretty much in 
 thinkin\ onless you've got to raise money on it. I know 
 \vhen I'm well off, and if you'll hitch teams with me in savin', 
 Carrie, we can leastways put back all the interest, and it'll roll 
 up as fast as we want it." 
 
 " You'll see, Bute," his wife answered, with a cheerful de- 
 termination; "it's a life that will suit me so much better than 
 sewing around from house to house. I'll raise chickens and 
 
 O 
 
 turkeys, and we can sell what we don't want ; and then there's 
 (lie garden; and the cow; and we won't spend much for 
 clothes. I wish you'd let me make yours, Bute ; I'm sure I 
 could do it as well as Seth Wattles." 
 
 The grin on Bute's face broadened, as he listened to tho 
 lively little creature, and when she stopped speaking, he took. 
 !>er around the waist by both arms and lilted her into the air. 
 She was not alarmed at this proceeding, fur she kuv.\v sh(; 
 would come down gently, getting a square, downright kiss 
 on the way. Never were two persons better satisfied witL 
 each oilier. 
 
 At Lakeside there were also changes and improvements 
 The garden was remodelled, the gnnujds were extended, and 
 90
 
 468 HANXAH TUUKSTOfcJ 
 
 fresh consignments of trees and plants continually amvert frorii 
 the Rochester nurseries. Both Woodbury and his wife 
 delighted in the out-door occupation which these changes gs * 
 and the spring deepened into summer before they were aware. 
 To a thoroughly cultivated man, there is no life compared tc 
 chat of the country, with its independent. , its healthy enjoy- 
 ments, its grateful repose provided that he is so situated that 
 his intellectual needs can be satisfied. Woodbury's life in 
 Calcutta had accustomed him to seek this satisfaction iu him- 
 self, or, at best, to be content with few friends. In Hannah, 
 he had now the eager, sympathetic companion of his mind, no 
 less than the partner of his affections. The newest literature 
 came to him regularly from New York and Boston, and there 
 was no delight greater than to perceive how rapidly her tastes 
 and her intellectual perceptions matured with the increase of 
 her opportunities of culture. 
 
 The tender secret which bound them so closely soothed her 
 heart for the time, without relieving its need of the expression 
 and the answer which still failed. His watchful fondness was 
 always around her, folding her more closely and warmly, day 
 by day ; but he still seemed to assert, in her name, that free- 
 dom which her love no longer demanded nay, which stood 
 between her and the fulfilment of her ideal union with him. 
 She craved that uncalculating passion which is as ready to 
 ask as to give the joy of mutual demand and mutual surren- 
 der. The calm, deep, and untroubled trust which filled his 
 nature was not enough. Perhaps love, she thought, in the 
 self poised, self-controlled being of ma7i, takes this form; per 
 haps it lies secure and steadfast below the tender agitations, 
 the passionate impulses, the voiceful yearnings which stir the 
 soul of woman. If so, she must be content'; but one thing 
 she must yet do, to satisfy the conscience of love. She must 
 disabuse liis mind of the necessity of granting her that inde- 
 pendence which she had iguorantly claimed ; she must confess 
 to him the truer consciousness of her woman's nature; and 
 it' her tuuid heart would allow she must ouce, though only
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 459 
 
 Dnce, put in words all the passionate devotion of her heart 
 for him. 
 
 The days went by, the fresh splendor of the foliage 
 darkened, the chasing billows of golden grain drifted away 
 and left a strand of tawny stubble behind, and the emerald 
 bunches on the trellises at Lakeside began to gather an 
 tmethystine bloom. And the joy, and the fear, and the 
 mystery increased, and the shadow of a coming fate, bright 
 with the freshest radiance of Heaven, or dark with unhnagiued 
 desolation but which, no one could guess lay upon the 
 household. Woodbury had picked up in the county paper, 
 published at Tiberius, a little poem by Stoddard, of which 
 these lines clung to his memory and would not be banished : 
 
 " The laden summer will giro me 
 
 What it never gave before, 
 Or take from me what a thousand 
 Summers can give no more I" 
 
 Thus, as the approach of Death is not an nnminglod sorrow, 
 the approach of Life is not an nnmingled joy. But, as we 
 rarely breathe, even to those we best love, the fear that at 
 such times haunts our hearts, chased away as soon as recog- 
 nized, so to her he was always calm and joyfully confident. 
 
 September came, and fiery touches of change were seen on 
 the woods. The tuberoses she had planted in the spring 
 poured from their creamy cups an intoxicating dream of the 
 isles of nutmeg-orchards and cinnamon-groves ; the strong, 
 ripe blooms of autumn lined the garden walks, and the breath 
 of the imprisoned wine dimmed the purple crystal of the 
 grapes. Then, one morning, there was a hushed gliding to 
 nd fro in the mansion of Lakeside ; there was anxious wait- 
 Ing in the shaded rooms ; there were heart -wrung prayers, 
 as the shadows of the different fates sank lower upon the 
 house, and fitfully shifted, like the rapid, alternate variations 
 of cloud and sunshine in a broken sky. Death stood by to 
 dispute the consummation of life ; but. as the evening drew
 
 460 HANXAH THURSTON: 
 
 on, a faint, wailing cry of victory was heard, and Life had 
 triumphed. 
 
 Woodbury's strong nature was shaken to its centre, both 
 by the horrible weight of the fears which had been growing 
 ipon him throughout the day, and the lightning-flash of over- 
 whelming gladness which dispersed them. As he took the 
 helpless, scarcely human creature in his arms, and bent his 
 fcce over it, his tears fell fast. He knelt beside the bed, and 
 held it before the half-closed eyes of the mother, who lay 
 silent, pale, as if flung back, broken, from the deeps of Death. 
 The unfeeling authority which reigned in the chamber drove 
 him away. The utmost caution, the most profound repose, 
 was indispensable, the physician said. All night long he 
 watched in the next room, slowly gathering hope from the 
 whispered bulletins of the nurse. In the morning, he left his 
 post for a little while, but soon returned to it. But a single 
 'interview was granted that day, and he was forbidden to 
 speak. He could only take his wife's hand, and look upon 
 the white, saintly beauty of her face. She smiled faintly, with 
 a look of ineffable love, which he could not bear unmoved, and 
 he was forbidden to agitate her. 
 
 Gradually the severity of the orders was relaxed, and he 
 was allowed to enter the room occasionally, in a quiet way, 
 and look upon the unformed features of his son. The mother 
 was slowly gaining strength, and the mere sight of hor hus- 
 band was so evident a comfort to her that it ^ould not now 
 be denied. In the silent looks they interchanged there was a 
 profounder language than they had yet spoken. In him, tlm 
 strong agitation of the man's heart made itself felt through th* 
 mask of his habitual calm ; in her, the woman's all-yielding love 
 .confessed its existence, and pleaded for recognition. Wood- 
 bury, too grateful for the fact that the crisis of imminent 
 danger was slowly passing away, contented himself with these 
 voiceless interviews, and forcibly shut for a while within his 
 heart the words of blessing and of cheer which he longed to 
 utter.
 
 A STORY OF AMEBICAfl ^iirB. 461 
 
 On the fifth day the physician said to him : " She is now 
 safe, with the ordinary precautions. I have* perhaps been a 
 little over-despotic, because I know "the value of the life al 
 stake. You have been patient and obedient, and you shall 
 have your reward. You may see her as often as you like, and 
 I will allow you to talk, on condition that you break off on 
 the lc % ast appearance of fatigue." 
 
 After his departure, Woodbury, glad at heart, hastened to 
 his wife's chamber. She lay perfectly still, and the curtains 
 were drawn to shield her face from the light. " She is asleep," 
 ^aid the nurse. 
 
 " Leave me a while here, if you please," said he, " I will 
 watch until she wakes." 
 
 The nurse left the room. He knelt beside the cradle, and 
 bent over the sleeping babe, giving way, undisturbed by a 
 watching eye, to the blissful pride of a father's heart. Pres- 
 ently his eyes overflowed with happy tears, and be whis- 
 pered to the unconscious child : " Richard 1 my son, my dar- 
 ling!" 
 
 The babe stirred and gave out a broken wail of waking. 
 He moved the cradle gently, still murmuring : *' Richard, my 
 darling ! God make me worthy to possess tliee !" 
 
 But he was not unseen ; he was not unheard. Hannah's 
 light slumber had been dissolved by the magnetism of his 
 presence, but so gently that her consciousness of things, re- 
 turning before the awaking of the will, impressed her like a 
 more distinct dream. As in a dream, through her partially- 
 closed lids, she saw her husband kneel beside the cradle. She 
 saw the dim sparkle of his tears, as they fell upon the child ; 
 she heard his soliloquy of love and gratitude heard him call 
 ihnt child by her father's name ! Her mother's words flashed 
 across her mind with a meaning which she had never thought 
 of applying to her own case. Her father, too, had wept over 
 his lirst-born ; in his heart passion had smouldered with in- 
 tensest heat under a deceitful calm ; and her mother had only 
 learned to know him when the knowlc lu'c r:uuc too lute. To
 
 462 HANNAH THUR8TON : 
 
 nersolf, that knowledge had come now : she had caught on 
 glimpse of her husband's heart, when he supposed that only 
 God's ear had beard him. In return for that sacred, though 
 involuntary confession, she would voluntarily make one aa 
 sacred. The duty of a woman gave her strength ; the dignity 
 of a mother gave her conrage. 
 
 When the babe was again lulled into quiet, she gentlj 
 called: "Maxwell!" 
 
 He rose, came to the bed, softly put his arms around her, 
 and laid his lips to hers. " My dear wife," he said. 
 
 " Maxwell, I have seen your heart," she whispered ; " would 
 you see mine ? Do you recollect what you asked me that 
 afternoon, in the meadows not whether I loved, but whether 
 I could love ? You have never repeated the other question 
 since." 
 
 " There was no need to ask," said he ; "I saw it answered." 
 
 "My dear husband, do you not know that feeling, in a 
 woman, must be born through speech, and become a living 
 joy, instead of lying as a happy, yet anxious weight beneath 
 the heart? Maxwell, the truth has been on my tongue a 
 thousand times, waiting for some sign of encouragement from 
 you ; but you have been so careful to keep the promise which 
 I accepted nay, almost exacted, I fear that you could not 
 see what a burden it had become to me. You have been too 
 just to me; your motive was generous and noble: I complain 
 of myself only in having made it necessary. You did right to 
 trust to the natural development of my nature through my 
 better knowledge of life ; but, oh, can you not see that the 
 development is reached? Can you not feel that you arc 
 released from a duty towards me which is inconsistent witb 
 love ?" 
 
 "Dc you release me willingly, my wife?" he cried, an eager 
 light coming into his eyes. "I have always felt that you were 
 carried to me by a current against wliich you struggled. I 
 could not resist the last wish of your mother, though I should 
 never, alone, have dared to hasten our union. I would hav
 
 A STORY OF AMERICAN LIFE. 464 
 
 Baited \* oiud have given you time to know your heart tinu 
 to feel that the only true freedom for man or woman is reach- 
 ed through the willing submission of love." 
 
 " jgnorant as I was," she answered, " I might never have 
 
 come to that knowledge. I should have misunderstood the 
 
 ubmission, and fought against it to the last. Mother was 
 
 ight. She knew me better than I knew myself. Maxwell, 
 
 will you take back your promise of independence ? Will you 
 
 cease to allow that cold spectre of justice to come between 
 
 our hearts ?" 
 
 "Tell me why you ask it ?" said he. 
 
 " Because I love you ! Because the dream whose hopeless- 
 ness made my heart sick has taken your features, and is no more 
 a dream, but a blessed, blessed truth ! Ask yourself what that 
 means, and you will understand me. If you but knew how I 
 have pined to discover your wish, in order that I might follow 
 it ! You have denied me the holiest joy of love the joy of 
 sacrifice. As you have done it for my sake, so for my sake 
 abandon the unfair obligation. Think what you would most 
 desire to receive from the woman you love, and demand that 
 of me !" 
 
 " My darling, I have waited for this hour, but I could not 
 seem to prematurely hasten it. I have held back my arms 
 when they would have clasped you ; I have turned away my 
 eyes, lest they might confuse you by some involuntary attrac- 
 tion ; I have been content with silence, les>, the voice of my love 
 might have seemed to urge the surrender which your heart 
 must first suggest. Do you forgive me, now, for the pitiless 
 passion with which I stormed you ?" 
 
 "There is your forgiveness," she murmured, through her 
 fears, pointing to the cradle. 
 
 lie tenderly lifted the sleeping babe, and laid it upon hei 
 bosom. Then he knelt down at the bed, and bent his face 
 upon the pillow, beside her own. " Darling," he whispered, "I 
 accept ;ill that you give: I take the full measure of your love, 
 in its sacred integrity. If any question of our mutual right*
 
 464 HANNAH Nil UhToN. 
 
 remain, I lay it in these precious little hands, warm with th 
 ne\v life in which our beings have become one." 
 
 " And they will forever lead me back to the tnie path, if ' 
 ihorJd sometimes wander from it," was her answer. 
 
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