GIFT OF 
 MICHAEL REESE 
 
 /\ K t f. 
 
DOCTOE JOHNS 
 
 BY DON? G, MITCHELL 
 
DOCTOR JOHNS 
 
 BEING 
 
 A NARRATIVE 
 
 OF CERTAIN EVENTS IN THE LIFE OF 
 
 AN ORTHODOX MINISTER OF 
 
 CONNECTICUT 
 
 v 
 
 BY THE AUTHOB OF 
 
 "REVERIES OF A BACHELOR" 
 
 NEW AND REVISED EDITION 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER S SOWS 
 1895 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1866, 1888, 189& 
 BY DONALD G. MITCHELL 
 
 TROW DIRECTORY 
 
 PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY 
 NEW YORK 
 
/ 
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 TO MY OLD AND CONSTANT FRIEND 
 
 WILLIAM HENRY HUNTING TON, 
 
 OF THE RUB DE LA BRUY&RE, PARIS: 
 
 WHO SAT WITH ME HALF A CENTURY AGO UPON THE BENCHES 
 
 OF A NEW ENGLAND SCHOOL ; AND WHO I HOPE WILL 
 
 RELISH WHATEVER FRAGRANT WHIFF OF 
 
 THOSE OLD TIMES AND SCENES MA T 
 
 COME TO HIM FROM OFF THE 
 
 PAGES OF THIS NEW 
 
 ENGLAND STORY. 
 
 EDGEWOOD : 
 THANKSGIVING DAT, 1883. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. THE MAJOR, i 
 
 IL WHITHER GONE? 6 
 
 IIL RACHEL, 9 
 
 IV. ASHFIELD, 14 
 
 V. TOWN WORTHIES, 18 
 
 VL HOME ESTABLISHED, 22 
 
 VIL THE OWL AND SPARROW, 28 
 
 VIIL AN ACCOMPLISHED SINNER, 35 
 
 IX. REUBEN, 45 
 
 X. A CLOUD, 50 
 
 XL PARISH SYMPATHIES, 55 
 
 XII. THE PARSON S CONSOLATION, .... 60 
 
 XIIL PRACTICAL SYMPATHIES 63 
 
 XIV. A NEW MISTRESS, 71 
 
 XV. BOY DEVELOPMENT, 78 
 
 XVL A SURPRISE, 84 
 
 XVIL SKIRMISHINGS, 9 1 
 
 XVIII. EXPECTATION, 97 
 
 XIX. THE ARRIVAL, 100 
 
viii CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 XX. ADELE MEETS REUBEN, 107 
 
 XXI. Miss ONTHANK, 114 
 
 XXII. RELIGIOUS TEACHING, 120 
 
 XXIII. REUBEN LEAVES HOME, ..... 126 
 
 XXIV. REUBEN ESCAPES, 136 
 
 XXV. REUBEN S VOYAGE, I4 1 
 
 XXVI. A ROSARY, 148 
 
 XXVII. REUBEN IN NEW YORK, 153 
 
 XXVIII. ASHFIELD AGAIN, 160 
 
 XXIX. EVERY-DAY LIFE, 166 
 
 XXX. NEW PROSPECTS, 176 
 
 XXXI. A NEW PERSONAGE, 181 
 
 XXXII. MAVERICK RE-APPEARS, 185 
 
 XXXIII. IN THE CITY, 194 
 
 XXXIV. THE NEW REUBEN, 201 
 
 XXXV. TRAVEL, 207 
 
 XXXVI. ILLNESS, 214 
 
 XXXVII. SHORTCOMINGS OF REUBEN/ . . . .222 
 
 XXXVIII. A NEW EXPERIENCE, 229 
 
 XXXIX. REUBEN MAKES A PROSELYTE, . . . .236 
 
 XL. DEATH, 243 
 
 XLI. REUBEN S STRUGGLE, 251 
 
 XLII. A REVELATION, 259 
 
 XLIII. THE SPINSTER S INDIGNATION 265 
 
 XLIV. PHILIP ELDERKIN, 274 
 
 XLV. THE SPINSTER S POLICY, 281 
 
 XLVI. A PHRENZY, 290 
 
 XLVII. WILL SHE? 299 
 
 XLVIII. CAFE DE L ORIENT, 39 
 
 XLIX. ADELE LEAVES THE PARSONAGE, . . .316 
 L, PHILIP S CHANCES, 3 2 3 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 IX 
 
 PACK 
 
 LI. CONCERNING A COLLEAGUE, 327 
 
 LIL NEWS FROM MAVERICK, 331 
 
 LIII. CLEAR BUT DARK, 336 
 
 LIV. CLEARER AND DARKER, ..... 342 
 
 LV. CONFIDENCES, 347 
 
 LVI. ADELE REUBEN MAVERICK, .... 354 
 
 LVIL MAVERICK is MARRIED, 359 
 
 LVIII. NEW COMPLICATIONS, 365 
 
 LIX. A TRUST FOR PHIL, 370 
 
 LX. FATHER AND CHILD, ...... 376 
 
 LXI. THE TRUTH AT LAST, 382 
 
 LXII. REUBEN AT ROME, 389 
 
 LXIIL THE VOYAGE, 395 
 
 LXIV. A WRECK 402 
 
 LXV. THE SAVED AND LOST, 412 
 
 LXVL LAST SCENES, 418 
 
 LXVIL THE END, 426 
 
DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 The Major. 
 
 TN the summer of 1812, when the good people of Con- 
 -*- necticut were feeling uncommonly bitter about the 
 declaration of war against England, and were abusing 
 Mr. Madison in the roundest terms, there lived in the 
 town of Canterbury a fiery old gentleman, of near sixty 
 years, and a sterling Democrat, who took up the cudgels 
 bravely for the Administration, and stoutly belabored 
 Governor Roger Griswold for his tardy obedience to 
 the President in calling out the militia, and for what he 
 called his absurd pretensions in regard to State sover 
 eignty. He was a mm, too. who meant all that he said, 
 and gave the best proof of it by offering his military 
 services, first to the Governor, and then to the United 
 States General commanding the Department. 
 
 Nor was he wholly unfitted : he was erect, stanch. 
 
2 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 well knit together, and had served with immense credit 
 in the local militia, in which he wore the title of Major. 
 It does not appear that his offer was immediately accept 
 ed ; but the following season he was invested with the 
 command of a company, and was ordered back and forth 
 to various threatened points along the sea-board. His 
 home affairs, meantime, were left in charge of his son, 
 a quiet young man of four-and- twenty, who for three 
 years had been stumbling with a very reluctant spirit 
 through the law-books in the Major s office, and who 
 shared neither his father s ardor of temperament nor his 
 political opinions. Eliza, a daughter of twenty summers, 
 acted as mistress of the house, and stood in place of 
 mother to a black-eyed little girl of thirteen, the Ma 
 jor s daughter by a second wife, who had died only a few 
 years before. 
 
 Notwithstanding the lack of political sympathy, there 
 was yet a strong attachment between father and son. 
 The latter admired exceedingly the energy and full-souled 
 ardor of the old gentleman ; and the father, in turn, was 
 proud of the calm, meditative habit of mind which the 
 son had inherited from his mother. " There is metal in 
 the boy to make a judge of," the Major used to say. 
 And when Benjamin, shortly after his graduation at one 
 of the lesser New England colleges, had given a hint of 
 his possible study of theology, the Major answered with 
 a "Pooh! pooh! " which disturbed the son possibly 
 weighed with him more than the longest opposing 
 argument could have done. 
 
 The Major, like all sound Democrats, had always been 
 
THE MAJOR. 3 
 
 an ardent admirer of Mr. Jefferson and of the French 
 political school. Benjamin had a wholesome horror of 
 both ; not so much from any intimate knowledge of 
 their theories, as by reason of a strong religious instinct, 
 which had been developed under his mother s counsels 
 into a rigid and exacting Puritanism. 
 
 The first wife of the Major had left behind her the 
 reputation of "a saint." It was not undeserved: her 
 quiet, constant charities, her kindliness of look and 
 manner, which were in themselves the best of charities, 
 - a gentle, Christian way she had of dealing with all 
 the vagrant humors of her husband, and the con 
 stancy of her devotion to all duties, whether religious or 
 domestic, gave her better claim to the saintly title than 
 most who wear it. The Major knew this, and was very 
 proud of it. "If, "he was accustomed to say, "I am 
 the most godless man in the parish, my wife is the most 
 godly woman." Yet his godlessness was, after all, rather 
 outside than real ; it was a kind of effrontery, provoked 
 into noisy display by the extravagant bigotries of those 
 about him. He did not believe in monopolies of opin 
 ion, but in good average dispersion of all sorts of think 
 ing. On one occasion he had horrified his poor wife by 
 bringing home a full set of Voltaire s Works ; but hav 
 ing reasoned her or fancying he had into a belief in 
 the entire harmlessness of the offending books, he grati 
 fied her immensely by placing them out of all sight and 
 reach of the boy Benjamin. 
 
 He never interfered with the severe home course oi 
 religious instruction entered upon by the mother. On 
 
 UNIVERSITY J 
 OF r ~ 
 
4 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 the contrary, he said, "The boy will need it all as an 
 offset to the bedevilments that will overtake him in our 
 profession." The Major had a very considerable country 
 practice, and had been twice a member of the Legisla 
 ture. 
 
 His second wife, a frivolous, indolent person, who 
 had brought him a handsome dowry, and left him the 
 pretty black-eyed Mabel, never held equal position with 
 the first. It was observed, how r ever, with some surprise, 
 that under the sway of the latter he was more punctili 
 ous and regular in religious observances than before, 
 a fact which the shrewd ones explained by his old doc 
 trine of adjusting averages. 
 
 Benjamin, Eliza, and Mabel, each in their way, 
 waited news from the military campaign of the Major 
 with great anxiety ; all the more because he was under 
 stood to be a severe disciplinarian ; and it had been ru 
 mored in the parish that two or three of his company, of 
 rank Federal opinions, had vowed they w r ould sooner 
 shoot the captain than any foreign enemy of the State. 
 The Major, however, heard no guns in either front or 
 rear up to the time of the British attack upon the 
 borough of Stonington, in midsummer of 1814 In the 
 defence here he was very active, in connection with a 
 certain artillery force that had come down the river 
 from Norwich ; and although the attack of the British 
 Admiral was a mere feint, yet for a while there was a 
 very lively sprinkling of shot. The people of the little 
 borough were duly frightened, the Ramilies seventy-four 
 gun-ship of his Majesty enjoyed an excellent oppor- 
 
THE MAJOR. 5 
 
 tunity for long-range practice, and the militia gave an 
 honest ailing to their patriotism. The Major was 
 wholly himself. " If the rascals would only attempt a 
 landing ! " said he ; and as he spoke, a fragment of 
 shell struck his sword-arm at the elbow. The wound 
 was a grievous one, and the surgeon in attendance de 
 clared amputation to be necessary. The Major com 
 bated the decision for a while, but loss of blood weak 
 ened his firmness, and the operation was gone through 
 with very bunglingly. Next morning a country wagon 
 was procured to transport him home. The drive was 
 an exceeding rough one, and the stump fell to bleed 
 ing. Most men would have lain by for a day or two, 
 but the Major insisted upon pushing on for Canter 
 bury, where he arrived late at night, very much ex 
 hausted. 
 
 The country physician declared, on examination next 
 morning, that some readjustment of the amputated limb 
 was necessary, which was submitted to by the Major in 
 a very irritable humor. Friends and enemies of the 
 wounded man were all kind and full of sympathy. Miss 
 Eliza was in a flutter of dreary apprehension that ren 
 dered her incapable of doing anything effectively. Ben 
 jamin was as tender and as devoted as a woman. The 
 wound healed in due time, but the Major did not rally. 
 The drain upon his vitality had been too great ; he fell 
 into a general decline, which within a fortnight gave 
 promise of fatal results. The Major met the truth like a 
 veteran ; he arranged his affairs, by the aid of his son, 
 with a great show of method, closed all in due time ; 
 
6 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 and when he felt his breath growing short, called Ben 
 jamin, and like a good officer gave his last orders. 
 
 "Mabel," said he, "is provided for; it is but just 
 that her mother s property should be settled on her ; I 
 have done so. For yourself and Eliza, you will have 
 need of a close economy. I don t think j-ou ll do much 
 at law ; you once thought of preaching ; if you think so 
 now, preach, Benjamin ; there s something in it ; at 
 least it s better than Fed Federalism." 
 
 A fit of coughing seized him here, from which he 
 never fairly rallied. Benjamin took his hand when he 
 grew quiet, and prayed silently, while the Major slipped 
 off the roll militant forever. 
 
 n. 
 
 Whither Gone? 
 
 THE funeral was appointed for the second day there 
 after. The house was set in order for the occasion. 
 Chairs were brought in from the neighbors. A little 
 table, with a Bible upon it, was placed in the entrance- 
 way at the foot of the stairs, that all might hear what 
 the clergyman should say. The body lay in the parlor, 
 with the Major s sword and cocked hat upon the coffin ; 
 and the old gentleman s face had never worn an air of 
 so much dignity as it wore now. Death had refined 
 away ah 1 trace of his irritable humors, of his passionate, 
 hasty speech. It looked like the face of a good man, - 
 
WHITHER GONE? 7 
 
 so said nine out of ten who gazed on it that day ; yet 
 when the immediate family came up to take their last 
 glimpse, the two girls being in tears, in that dreary 
 half -hour after all was arranged, and the flocking-in of 
 the neighbors was waited for, Benjamin, as calm as the 
 dead face below him, was asking himself if the poor 
 gentleman, his father, had not gone away to a place of 
 torment. He feared it ; nay, was he not bound to believe 
 it by the whole force of his education ? and his heart, 
 in that hour, made only a feeble revolt against the be 
 lief. In the very presence of the grim messenger of the 
 Eternal, who had come to seal the books and close the 
 account, what right had human afiection to make out 
 cry? Death had wrought the work given him to do, 
 like a good servant ; had not he, too, Benjamin, a 
 duty to fulfil ? the purposes of Eternal Justice to recog 
 nize, to sanction, to approve ? In the exaltation of his 
 religious sentiment it seemed to him, for one crazy mo 
 ment at least, that he would be justified in taking his 
 place at the little table where prayer was to be said, and 
 in setting forth, as one who knew so intimately the 
 shortcomings of the deceased, all those weaknesses of 
 the flesh and spirit by which the^evil had triumphed, 
 and in warning all those who came to his burial of the 
 judgments of God which would surely fall on them as 
 on him, except they repented and believed. 
 
 Happily, however, the officiating clergyman was of a 
 more even temper ; and he said w r hat little he had to say 
 in way of " improvement of the occasion " to the text of 
 "Judge not, that ye be not judged." 
 
DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " We are too apt," said he (and he was now address 
 ing a company that crowded the parlors and flowed over 
 into the yard in front, where the men stood with heads 
 uncovered), " we are too apt to measure a man s position 
 in the eye of God, and to assign him his rank in the 
 future, by his conformity to the external observances of 
 religion, not remembering, in our complacency, that 
 we see differently from those who look on from beyond 
 the world, and that there are mysterious and secret re 
 lations of God with the conscience of every man, which 
 we cannot measure or adjust. Let us hope that our 
 deceased friend profited by such to insure his entrance 
 into the Eternal City, whose streets are of gold, and the 
 Lamb the light thereof." 
 
 The listeners said "Amen" to this in their hearts; 
 but the son, still exalted by the fervor of that new pur 
 pose which he had formed by the father s death-bed, and 
 riveted more surely as he looked last on his face, asked 
 himself, if the old preacher had not allowed a kindly 
 worldly prudence to blunt the sharpness of the Word. 
 
 Sudden contact with Death had refined all his old 
 religious impressions to an intensity that shaped itself 
 into a flaming sword of retribution. All this, however, 
 as yet, lay within his own mind, not beating down his 
 natural affection, or his grief, but struggling for recon 
 cilement with them ; no outward expression, even to 
 those who clung to him so nearly, revealed it. The 
 memorial-stone which he placed over his father s grave, 
 and which possibly is standing now within the old 
 church-yard of Canterbury, bore only this : 
 
RACHEL. 
 
 HERE LIES THE BODY OF 
 
 REUBEN JOHNS. 
 
 A GOOD HUSBAND; A KIND FATHER; 
 
 A PATRIOT, WHO DIED FOR HIS COUNTRY, 
 
 1st SEPT., 1814. 
 
 And a little below, 
 
 "Christ died for all." 
 
 m. 
 
 Racket. 
 
 IT will be no contravention of the truth of this epitaph, 
 to say that the Major had been always a most miser 
 able manager of his private business affairs ; it is 
 even doubtful if the kindest fathers and best husbands 
 are not apt to be. Certain it is, that, when Benjamin 
 came to examine, in connection with a village attorney 
 (for the son had inherited the father s inaccessibility to 
 " profit and loss " statements), such loose accounts as 
 the Major had left, it was found that the poor gentle 
 man had lived up so closely to his income whether as 
 lawyer or military chieftain as to leave his little home 
 property subject to the payment of a good many out 
 standing debts. There appeared, indeed, a great parade 
 of ledgers and day-books and statements of accounts ; 
 but it is by no means unusual for those who are careless 
 
io DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 or ignorant of business system to make a pretty show 
 of the requisite implements, and to confuse themselves 
 in a pleasant way with the intricacy of their own figures. 
 
 The Major sinned pretty largely in this way ; so that 
 it was plain that, after the sale of all his available effects, 
 including the library with its inhibited Voltaire, there 
 would remain only enough to secure a respectable main 
 tenance for Miss Eliza. To this end, Benjamin deter 
 mined at once that the residue of the estate should be 
 settled upon her, reserving only so much as would 
 comfortably maintain him during a three years course 
 of battling with Theology. 
 
 The younger sister, Mabel, as has already been in 
 timated, was provided for by an interest in certain 
 distinct and dividend-bearing securities, which to the 
 honor of the Major had never been submitted to the 
 alembic of his figures and " accounts current." She 
 was placed at a school where she accomplished herself 
 for three or four years ; and put the seal to her accom 
 plishments by marrying very suddenly, and without 
 family consultation, under which she usually proved 
 restive, a young fellow, who by aid of her snug for 
 tune succeeded in establishing himself in a thriving 
 business ; and as early as the year 1820, Mabel, under 
 her new name of Mrs. Brindlock, was the mistress of 
 one of those fine merchant-palaces at the lower end of 
 Greenwich Street, in New York City, which commanded 
 a view of the elegant Battery, and were the admiration 
 of all country visitors. 
 
 Benjamin had needed only his father s hint (for 
 
RACHEL. ii 
 
 which he was ever grateful), and the solemn scenes of 
 his death and burial, to lead him to an entire renuncia 
 tion of his law-craft and to an engagement in fervid 
 study for the ministry. This he prosecuted at first with 
 a devout old gentleman who had been a pupil of Pres 
 ident Edwards ; and this private reading was finished 
 off by a course at Andover. His studies completed, he 
 was licensed to preach ; and not long after, without any 
 consideration of what the future of this world might 
 have in store for him, he committed the error which so 
 many grave and serious men are prone to commit, that 
 is to say, he married hastily, after only two or three 
 months of solemn courtship, a charming girl of nineteen, 
 whose only idea of meeting the difficulties of this life 
 was to love her dear Benjamin with her whole heart, and 
 to keep the parlor dusted. 
 
 But unfortunately there was no parlor to dust. The 
 consequence was that the newly married couple were 
 compelled to establish a temporary home upon the sec 
 ond floor of the comfortable house of Mr. Handby, a 
 well-to-do farmer, and the father of the bride. Here 
 the new clergyman devoted himself resolutely to Tillot- 
 son, to Edwards, to John Newton, and in the intervals 
 prepared some score or more of sermons, to all which 
 Mrs. Johns devoutly listening in their fresh state, with 
 out ever a wink, entered upon the conscientious duties 
 of a wife. From time to time some old clergyman of 
 the neighborhood would ask the Major s son to assist 
 him in the Sabbath services ; and at rarer intervals the 
 Reverend Mr. Johns was invited to some far-away town* 
 
12 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 ship where the illness or absence of the settled minister 
 might keep the new licentiate for four or five weeks ; on 
 which occasions the late Miss Hanclby was most zealous 
 in preparing a world of comforts for the journey, and 
 invariably followed him up with one or two double let 
 ters, "hoping her dear Benjamin was careful to wear 
 the muffler which his Eachel had knit for him, and not 
 to expose his precious throat," or "longing for that 
 quiet home of their own, which would not make necessary 
 these cruel separations, and where she should have the 
 uninterrupted society of her dear Benjamin." 
 
 To all such the conscientious husband dutifully re 
 plied, " thankful for his Rachel s expression of interest 
 in such a sinner as himself, and trusting that she would 
 not forget that health or the comforts of this world were 
 but of comparatively small importance, since this w r as 
 not our abiding city. He trusted, too, that she would 
 not allow the transitory affections of this life, however 
 dear they might be, to engross her to the neglect of those 
 which were far more important. He permitted himself 
 to hope that Rachel " (he was chary of endearing epi 
 thets) " would not murmur against the dispensations oi 
 Providence, and would be content with whatever He 
 might provide ; and hoping that Mr. Handby and fam 
 ily were in their usual health, remained her Christian 
 friend and devoted husband, Benjamin Johns." 
 
 It so happened, that, after this discursive life had 
 lasted for some ten months, a serious difficulty arose 
 between the clergyman and the parish of the neighbor 
 ing town of Ashfield. The person who served as the 
 
RACHEL, 13 
 
 spiritual director of the people was suspected of leaning 
 strongly toward some current heresy of the day ; and 
 the suspicion being once set on foot, there was not a 
 sermon the poor man could preach but some quidnunc 
 of the parish snuffed somewhere in it the taint of the 
 false doctrine. The due convocations and committees 
 of inquiry followed sharply after, and the incumbent 
 received his dismissal in due form at the hands of some 
 "brother in the bonds of the Gospel." 
 
 A few weeks later, Giles Elderkin, of Ashfield, "So 
 ciety s Committee," invited, by letter, the Reverend 
 Benjamin Johns to come and " fill their pulpit the fol 
 lowing Lord s day ;" and added, "If you conclude to 
 preach for us, I shall be pleased to have you put up at 
 my house over the Sabbath." 
 
 " There you are," said Mr. Handby, when the matter 
 was announced in family conclave, " just the man for 
 them. They like sober, solid preaching in Ashfield." 
 
 "I call it real providential," said Mrs. Handby ; "fust- 
 rate folks, and ta n t a long drive over for EacheL" 
 
 Little Mrs. Johns looked upon the grave, earnest 
 face of her husband with delight and pride, but said 
 nothing. 
 
 "I know Squire Elderkin," says Mr. Handby, medi 
 tatively, "a clever man, and a forehanded man, 
 very. It s a rich parish, son-in-law ; they ought to do 
 well by you." 
 
 "I don t like," says Mr. Johns, "to look at what may 
 become my spiritual duty in that light." 
 
 I wouldn t, returned Mr. Handby ; " but when you 
 
i 4 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 are as old as I am, son-in-law, you ll know that we have 
 to keep a kind of side look upon the good things of 
 this world, else we shouldn t be placed in it." 
 
 "He heareth the young ravens when they cry," said 
 the minister, gravely. 
 
 " Just it," says Mr. Handby ; " but I don t want your 
 young ravens to be crying." 
 
 At which Rachel, with the slightest possible suffusion 
 of color, and a pretty affectation of horror, said, 
 
 " Now, papa ! " 
 
 There was an interruption here, and the conclave 
 broke up ; but Rachel, stepping briskly to the place she 
 loved so well, beside the minister, said, softly, 
 
 " I hope you ll go, Benjamin ; and do, please, preach 
 that beautiful sermon on Revelations." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ashfield. 
 
 THIRTY or forty years ago there lay scattered about 
 over Southern New England a great many quiet in 
 land towns, numbering from a thousand to two or three 
 thousand inhabitants, which boasted a little old-fash 
 ioned " society " of their own, which had their impor 
 tant men who were heirs to some snug country property, 
 and their gambrel-roofed houses odorous with traditions 
 of old-time visits by some worthies of the Colonial 
 period, or of the Revolution. The good, prim dames, 
 
ASH FIELD. 15 
 
 in starched caps and spectacles, who presided over such 
 houses, were proud of their tidy parlors, of their old 
 India china, of their beds of thyme and sage in the 
 garden, of their big Family Bible with brazen clasps, 
 and, most times, of their minister. 
 
 One Orthodox Congregational Society extended its 
 benignant patronage over all the people of such town ; 
 or, if a stray Episcopalian or Seven-Day Baptist were 
 here and there living under the wing of the parish, 
 they were regarded with a serene and stately gravity, 
 as necessary exceptions to the law of Divine Provi 
 dence, like scattered instances of red hair or of bow- 
 legs in otherwise well-favored families. 
 
 There were no wires stretching over the country to 
 shock the nerves of the good gossips with the thought 
 that their neighbors knew more than they. There were 
 no heathenisms of the cities, no tenpins, no travelling 
 circus, no progressive young men of heretical tenden 
 cies. Such towns were as quiet as a sheepfold. Saun 
 tering down their broad central street, along which all 
 the houses were clustered with a somewhat dreary uni 
 formity of aspect, one might of a summer s day hear the 
 rumble of the town mill in some adjoining valley, busy 
 with the town grist ; in autumn, the flip-flap of the 
 flails came pulsing on the ear from half a score of wide- 
 open barns that yawned with plenty ; and in winter, the 
 clang of axes on the near hills smote sharply upon the 
 frosty stillness, and would be straightway followed by 
 the booming crash of some great tree. 
 
 But civilization and the railways have debauched all 
 
1 6 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 such quiet, stately, steady towns. There are none of 
 them left. If the iron cordon of travel, by a little diver 
 gence, has spared their quietude, leaving them stranded 
 upon a beach where the tide of active business never 
 flows, all their dignities are gone. The men of fore 
 sight and enterprise have drifted away to new centres 
 of influence. The bustling dames in starched caps have 
 gone down childless to their graves, or, disgusted with 
 gossip at second hand, have sought more immediate 
 contact w r ith the world. A German tailor, may be, has 
 hung out his sign over the door of some mouldering 
 mansion, where, in other days, a doughty judge of the 
 county court, with a great raft of children, kept his hon 
 ors and his family warm. A slatternly " carry-all," with 
 a driver who reeks of bad spirit, keeps up uneasy com 
 munication with the outside world, traversing twice or 
 three times a day the league of drive which lies between 
 the post-office and the railway-station. A few iron- 
 pated farmers, and a few gentlemen of Irish extraction 
 who keep tavern and stores, divide among themselves 
 the official honors of the town. 
 
 If, on the other hand, the people maintain their old 
 thrift and importance by actual contact with some 
 great thoroughfare of travel, their old quietude is ex 
 ploded ; a mushroom station has sprung up ; mush 
 room villas flank all the hills ; the girls wear mushroom 
 hats. A turreted monster of a chapel from some flam 
 boyant tower bellows out its Sunday warning to a ne\v 
 set of church-goers. There is a little coterie of " supe 
 rior intelligences," who talk of the humanities, and 
 
ASHFIELD. 17 
 
 diffuse their airy rationalism over here and there a circle 
 of the progressive town. Even the meeting-house, 
 which was the great congregational centre of the town 
 religion, has lost its venerable air, taken off by some 
 new fancy of variegated painting. The high, square 
 pews are turned into low-backed seats, that flame on a 
 summer Sunday with such gorgeous millinery as would 
 have shocked the grave people of thirty years ago. The 
 deep bass note which once pealed from the belfry with 
 a solemn and solitary dignity of sound has now lost it 
 all amid the jangle of a half-dozen bells of lighter and 
 airier twang. Even the parson himself will not be that 
 grave man of stately bearing, who met the rarest fun 
 only benignantly, and to whom all the villagers bowed ; 
 but some new creature full of the logic of the schools 
 and the latest conventionalisms of manner. The home 
 spun disciples of other days would be brought griev 
 ously to the blush, if some deep note of the old bell 
 should suddenly summon them to the presence of so 
 fine a teacher, encompassed with such pretty appliances 
 of upholstery ; and, counting their chances better in the 
 strait path they knew on uncarpeted floors and between 
 high pews, they W 7 ould slink back into their graves con 
 tent, all the more content, perhaps, if they should 
 listen to the service of the new teacher, and, in their 
 common-sense way, reckon what chance the dapper 
 talker might have as compared with the solemn so 
 berness of the old pastor in opening the ponderous 
 doors for them upon the courts above. 
 
 Into this metamorphosed condition the town of Ash- 
 
( i8 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 field has possibly fallen in these latter days ; but in the 
 good year 1819, when the Reverend Benjamin Johns 
 was invited for the first time to fill its pulpit of an early 
 autumn Sunday, it was still in possession of all its palmy 
 quietude and of its ancient cheery importance. And to 
 that old date we will now transfer ourselves. 
 
 V. 
 
 Town Worthies. 
 
 T71VEKY other day the stage-coach comes into Ash- 
 J-^ field from the north, on the Hartford turnpike, and 
 rumbles through the main street of the town, seesaw 
 ing upon its leathern thoroughbraces. Just where the 
 pike forks into the main northern road, and where the 
 scattered farm-houses begin to group more thickly along 
 the way, the country Jehu prepares for a triumphant 
 entry by giving a long, clean cut to the lead-horses, and 
 two or three shortened, sharp blows with his doubled 
 lash to those upon the wheel ; then, moistening his lip, 
 he disengages the tin horn from its socket, and, with 
 one more spirited " chirrup " to his team and a petulant 
 flirt of the lines, he gives out, with tremendous explosive 
 efforts, a series of blasts that are heard all down the 
 street. Here and there a blind is coyly opened, and 
 some old dame in rufHed cap peers out, or some stout 
 wench at a backdoor stands gazing with her arms a- 
 kimbo. The horn rattles back into its socket again ; 
 
TOWN WORTHIES. 19 
 
 the lines are tightened, and the long lash smacks once 
 more around the reeking flanks of the leaders. Yonder, 
 in his sooty shop, stands the smith, keeping up with hi.i 
 elbow a lazy sway upon his bellows, while he looks ad 
 miringly over coach and team, and gives an inquisitive 
 glance at the nigh leader s foot, that he shod only yes 
 terday. A flock of geese, startled from a mud-puddle 
 through which the coach dashes on, rush away with out 
 stretched necks, and wings at their widest, and a great 
 uproar of gabble. Two school-girls home for the 
 nooning are idling over a gateway, half swinging, half 
 musing, gazing intently. There is a garnbrel-roofed 
 mansion, with a balustrade along its upper pitch, and 
 quaint ogees of ancient joinery over the hall-door ; and 
 through the cleanly scrubbed parlor-windows is to be 
 seen a prim dame, who turns one spectacled glance upon 
 the passing coach, and then resumes her sewing. There 
 are red houses, with their corners and barge-boards 
 dressed off with white, and on the door-step of one a 
 green tub that flames with a great pink hydrangea. 
 Scattered along the way are huge ashes, sycamores, elms, 
 in somewhat devious line ; and from a pendent bough 
 of one of these last a trio of school-boys are seeking to 
 beat down the swaying nest of an oriole with a conver 
 gent fire of pebbles. 
 
 The coach flounders on, past an old house with 
 stone chimney (on which an old date stands coarsely 
 cut), and with front door divided down its middle, with 
 a huge brazen knocker upon its right half, with two 
 St. Luke s crosses in its lower panels, and two diamond- 
 
20 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 shaped " lights " above. Hereabout the street widens 
 into what seems a common ; and not far below, sitting 
 squarely and authoritatively in the middle of the com 
 mon, is the red-roofed meeting-house, with tall spire, 
 and in its shadow the humble belfry of the town acad 
 emy. Opposite these there comes into the main street 
 a highway from the east ; and upon one of the corners 
 thus formed stands the Eagle Tavern, its sign creaking 
 appetizingly on a branch of an overhanging sycamore, 
 under which the stage-coach dashes up to the tavern- 
 door, to unlade its passengers for dinner, and to find a 
 fresh relay of horses. 
 
 Upon the opposite corner is the country store of Abner 
 Tew, Esq., postmaster during the successive administra 
 tions of Mr. Madison and Mr. Monroe. He comes out 
 presently from his shop-door, which is divided horizon 
 tally, the upper half being open in all ordinary weathers ; 
 and the lower half, as he closes it after him, gives a 
 warning jingle to a little bell within. A spare, short, 
 hatchet-faced man is Abner Tew, who walks over with a 
 prompt business-step to receive a leathern pouch from 
 the stage-driver. He returns with it, a few eager 
 towns-people following upon his steps, recnters his 
 shop, and delivers the pouch within a glazed door in 
 the corner, where the postmistress ex qfficio, Mrs. Ab 
 ner Tew, a tall, gaunt woman in black bombazine and 
 spectacles, proceeds to assort the Ashfield mail. By 
 reason of this division of duties, the shop is known fa 
 miliarly as the shop of "the Tew partners." 
 
 Among the waiting expectants who loiter about among 
 
TOWN WORTHIES. 21 
 
 the sugar-barrels of the grocery department, there pres 
 ently appears with a new tinkle of the little bell 
 a stout, ruddy man, just past middle age, in broad- 
 brimmed white beaver and sober homespun suit, who 
 is met with a deferential " Good day, Squire," from one 
 and another, as he falls successively into short parley 
 with them : a self-possessed, cheery man, who has strong 
 opinions, and does not fear to express them ; Selectman 
 for the^last eight years, who has presided in town-meet 
 ing time out of mind ; member of the Legislature, and 
 once a Senator for the district. This was Giles Elder- 
 kin, Esq., the gentleman who, on behalf of the Ecclesi 
 astical Society, had conducted the correspondence with 
 the Reverend Mr. Johns ; and he was now waiting his 
 reply. This is presently brought to him by the post 
 mistress, who, catching a glimpse of the Squire through 
 the glazed door, has taken the precaution to adjust her 
 cap-strings and dexterously to flirt one or two of the 
 more apparent creases out of her dingy bombazine. 
 The letter brings acceptance, which the Squire, having 
 made out by piivate study near to the dusky window, 
 announces to Mrs. Tew T , begging her to inform the 
 people w r ho should happen in from "up the road." 
 
 "I hope he ll suit, Squire," says Mrs. Tew. 
 
 " I hope he may, hope he may, Mrs. Tew ; I hear 
 well of him ; there s good blood in him. I knew his 
 father, the Major, likely man. I hope he may, Mrs. 
 Tew." 
 
 And the Squire, having penned a little notice, by 
 favor of one of the Tew partners, proceeds to affix it to 
 
22 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 the meeting-house door ; after which he walks to his 
 own house, with the assured step of a man who is con 
 scious of having accomplished an important duty. It 
 is the very house we just now saw with the ponderous 
 ogees over its front, the balustrade upon its roof, and 
 the dame in spectacles at the window ; this latter being 
 the spinster, Miss Meacham, elder sister to the wife of 
 the Squire, and taking upon herself, with active zeal 
 and a neatness that knew no bounds, the office of house 
 keeper. This was rendered necessary in a manner by 
 the engagement of Mrs. Elderkin with a group of young 
 flax-haired children, and periodic threats of addition to 
 the same. The hospitalities of the house were fully es 
 tablished, and no state official could visit the town with 
 out hearty invitation to the Squire s table. The spinster 
 received the announcement of the minister s coming 
 with a quiet gravity, and betook herself to the needed 
 preparation. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Home Established. 
 
 MR. JOHNS, meanwhile, when he had left the 
 Handby parlor, where we saw him last, and was 
 fairly upon the stair, had replied to the suggestion of 
 his little wife about the sermon on Revelations with a 
 fugitive kiss, and said, "I will think of it, Rachel." 
 And he did think of it, thought of it so well, that 
 
HOME ESTABLISHED. 23 
 
 he left the beautiful sermon in his drawer, and took 
 with him a couple of strong doctrinal discourses, upon 
 the private hearing of which his charming wife had 
 commented by dropping asleep (poor thing !) in her 
 chair. 
 
 But the strong men and women of Ashfield relished 
 them better. There was a sermon for the morning on 
 " Regeneration the work only of grace ; " and another 
 for the afternoon, on the outer leaf of which was writ 
 ten, in the parson s bold hand, " The doctrine of Elec 
 tion compatible with the infinite goodness of God." It 
 is hard to say which of the two was the better, or which 
 commended itself most to the church full of people who 
 listened. Deacon Tourtelot, a short, wiry man, with 
 reddish whiskers brushed primly forward, sitting un 
 der the very droppings of the pulpit, with painful erect- 
 ness, and listening grimly throughout, was inclined to 
 the sermon of the morning. Dame Tourtelot, who over 
 topped her husband by half a head, and from her great 
 scoop hat, trimmed with green, kept her keen eyes fas 
 tened intently upon the minister on trial, was enlisted 
 in the same belief, until she heard the Deacon s timid 
 expression of preference, when she pounced upon him, 
 and declared for the Election discourse. It was not her 
 way to allow him to enjoy an opinion of his own get 
 ting. Miss Alrnira, their only child, and now grown 
 into a spare womanhood, that was decorated with an 
 other scoop hat akin to the mother s, from under 
 which hung two yeUow festoons of ringlets tied with 
 lively blue ribbons, was steadfastly observant ; 
 
24 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 though wearing a fagged air before the day was over, 
 and consulting on one or two occasions a little phial of 
 " salts," with a side movement of the head, and an in 
 quiring nostril. 
 
 Squire Elderkin, having thrown himself into a com 
 fortable position in the corner of his square pew, is 
 cheerfully attentive ; and at one or two of the more 
 marked passages of the sermon bestows a nod of ap 
 proval, and a glance at Miss Meacham and Mrs. Elder- 
 kin, to receive their acknowledgment of the same. The 
 young Elderkins (of whom three are of meeting-house 
 size) are variously affected ; Miss Dora, being turned 
 of six, wears an air of some weariness, and having 
 despatched all the edible matter upon a stalk of cara 
 way, she uses the despoiled brush in keeping the 
 youngest boy, Ned, in a state of uneasy wakefulness. 
 Bob, ranking between the two in point of years, and 
 being mechanically inclined, devotes himself to turning 
 in their sockets the little bobbins which form a balus 
 trade around the top of the pew ; but being diverted 
 from this very suddenly by a sharp squeak that calls 
 the attention of his Aunt Joanna, he assumes the peni 
 tential air of listener for full five minutes ; afterward he 
 relieves himself by constructing a small meeting-house 
 out of the psalm-books and Bible, his Aunt Joanna s 
 spectacle-case serving for a steeple. 
 
 There was an air of subdued reverence in the new 
 clergyman, which was not only agreeable to the people 
 in itself, but seemed to very many thoughtful ones to 
 imply a certain respect for them and for the parish. 
 
HOME ESTABLISHED. 25 
 
 Deacon Tourtelot, sidling down the aisle after service, 
 out of hearing of his consort, says to Elderkin, " Smart 
 man, Squire." 
 
 And the Squire nods acquiescence. " Sound ser- 
 monizer, sound sermonizer, Deacon. " 
 
 These two opinions were as good as a majority-vote 
 in the town of Ashfield, all the more since the Squire 
 was a thorough-going Jeffersonian Democrat, and the 
 Deacon a warm Federalist, so far as the poor man 
 could be warm at any thing, who was on the alert every 
 hour of his life to escape the hammer of his wife s 
 reproaches. 
 
 So it happened that the parish was called together, 
 and an invitation extended to Brother Johns to con 
 tinue his ministrations for a month further. Of course 
 the novitiate understood this to be the crucial test ; and 
 he accepted it with a composure, and a lack of imperti 
 nent effort to please them overmuch, which altogether 
 charmed them. On four successive Saturdays he drove 
 over to Ashfield, sometimes stopping with one or the 
 other of the two deacons, and at other times with Squire 
 Elderkin, and on one or two occasions taking his 
 wife by special invitation. Of her, too, the people of 
 Ashfield had but one opinion : that she was of a ductile 
 temper was most easy to be seen ; and there was not a 
 strong-minded woman of the parish but anticipated 
 with delight the power and pleasure of moulding her to 
 her wishes. The husband continued to preach agree 
 ably to their notions of orthodoxy, and at the end of the 
 month they gave him a " call," with the promise of four 
 
26 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 hundred dollars a year, besides sundry odds and ends 
 made up by donation visits and otherwise. 
 
 This sum, which was not an inconsiderable one for 
 those days, enabled the clergyman to rent as a parson 
 age the old house we have seen, with the big brazen 
 knocker, and diamond lights in either half of its green 
 door. It stood under the shade of two huge ashes, at 
 a little remove back from the street, and within easy 
 walk from the central common. A heavy dentilated 
 cornice, from which the paint was peeling away in flaky 
 patches, hung over the windows of the second floor. 
 Within the door was a little entry (for years and 
 years the pastor s hat and cane used to lie upon a table 
 that stood just within the door) ; from the entry a 
 cramped stairway, by three sharp angles, led to the 
 floor above. To the right and left were two low par 
 lors. The sun was shining broadly in the south one 
 when the couple first entered the house. 
 
 " Good ! " said Rachel, with her pleasant, brisk tone, 
 this shall be your study, Benjamin ; the bookcase 
 here, the table there, a nice warm carpet, w r e ll paper 
 it with blue, the Major s sword shall be hung over the 
 mantel." 
 
 " Tut ! tut ! " says the clergyman ; " a sword, Eachel, 
 in my study ? " 
 
 "To be sure! why not?" says Eachel. "And if 
 you like, I will hang my picture, with the doves and the 
 olive-branch, above it ; and there shall be a shelf for 
 hyacinths in the window." 
 
 Thus she ran on in her pretty housewifely manner, 
 
HOME ESTABLISHED. 27 
 
 cooing like the doves she talked of, plotting the ar 
 rangement of the parlor opposite, of the long dining- 
 room stretching athwart the house in the rear, and of 
 the kitchen under a roof of its own, still farther back, 
 he all the while giving grave assent, as if he listened 
 to her contrivance ; he was only listening to the music 
 of a sweet voice that somehow charmed his ear, and 
 thanking God in his heart that such music was be 
 stowed upon a sinful world, and praying that he might 
 never listen too fondly. 
 
 Behind the house were yard, garden, orchard, and 
 this last drooping away to a meadow. Over all these 
 the paii* of light feet pattered beside the master. 
 "Here shall be lilies," she said; "there, a great bun cli 
 of mother s peonies ; and by the gate, hollyhocks ;" 
 he, by this time, plotting a sermon upon the vanities of 
 the world. 
 
 Yet in due time it came to pass that the parsonage 
 was all arranged according to the fancies of its mis 
 tress, even to the Major s sword and the twin doves. 
 Esther, a stout middle-aged dame, and stanch Congre- 
 gationalist, recommended by the good women of the 
 parish, is installed in the kitchen as maid-of-all-work. 
 As gardener, groom (a sedate pony and square-topped 
 chaise forming part of the establishment), factotum, in 
 short, there is the frowzy-headed man Larkin, who 
 has his quarters in an airy loft above the kitchen. 
 
 The brass knocker is scoured to its brightest. The 
 parish is neighborly. Dame Tourtelot is impressive in 
 her proffers of advice. The Tew partners, Elderkin, 
 
28 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Meacham, and all the rest, meet the new housekeeper* 
 open-handed. Before mid- winter, the smoke of this 
 new home was piling lazily into the sky above the tree- 
 tops of Ashfield, a home, as we shall find by and by, 
 of much trial and much cheer. Twenty years after, 
 and the master of it was master of it still, strong, 
 seemingly, as ever ; the brass knocker shining on the 
 door ; the sword and the doves in place. But the pat 
 tering feet, the voice that made music, the tender, 
 wifely plotting, the cheery sunshine that smote upon 
 her as she talked, alas for us ! " All is Vanity ! " 
 
 vn. 
 
 The Owl and Sparrow. 
 
 IT was not easy in that day to bring together the 
 opinions of a Connecticut parish that had been 
 jostled apart by a parochial quarrel, and where old 
 grievances were festering. Indeed, it is never easy to 
 do this, and unite opinions upon a new-comer, unless he 
 have some rare gift of eloquence, which so dazes the good 
 people that they can no longer remember their petty 
 griefs, or unless he manage with rare tact to pass lightly 
 over the sore points, and to anoint them by a careful 
 hand with such healing salves as he can concoct out of 
 his pastoral charities. Mr. Johns had neither art nor 
 eloquence, as commonly understood ; yet he effected a 
 blending of all interests by the simple, earnest gravity of 
 
THE Oll L AXD SPARROW. 29 
 
 his character. He ignored all angry disputation ; he 
 ignored its results. He canie as a shepherd to a deserted 
 sheepfold ; he came to preach the Bible doctrines in 
 their literalness. He had no reproofs, save for those 
 who refused the offers of God s mercy, no commenda 
 tion, save for those who sought His grace whose favor is 
 life e^^ lasting. There were no metaphysical niceties in 
 his discourses, athwart which keen disputants might 
 poise themselves for close and angry conflict ; he recog 
 nized no necessities but the great ones of repentance 
 and faith ; and all the mysteries of the "Will he was ac 
 customed to solve by grand utterance of that text which 
 he loved above all others, however much it may have 
 troubled him in his discussion of Election, " "Whosoever 
 will, let him come and drink of the water of life freely." 
 Inheriting as he did ail the religious affinities of his 
 mother, these were compacted and made sensitive by 
 years of silent protest against the proud worldly suffi 
 ciency of his father, the Major. Such qualities and ex 
 perience found repose in the unyielding dogmas of the 
 Westminster divines. At thirty the clergyman was as 
 aged as most men of forty-five, seared by the severity 
 of his opinions, and the unshaken tenacity with which 
 he held them. He was by nature a quiet, almost a timid 
 man ; but over the old white desk and crimson cushion, 
 with the choir of singers in his front and the Bible under 
 his hand, he grew into wonderful boldness. He cher 
 ished an exalted idea of the dignity of his office, a 
 dignity which he determined to maintain to the utmost 
 of his power ; but in the pulpit only did the full meas- 
 
30 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 ure of this exaltation come over him. Thence he looked 
 down serenely upon the flock of which he was the ap 
 pointed guide, and among whom his duty lay. The 
 shepherd leading his sheep was no figure of speech for 
 him ; he was commissioned to their care, and was con 
 ducting them old men and maidens, boys and gray- 
 haired women athwart the dangers of the world, 
 toward the great fold. On one side always the fires of 
 hell were gaping ; and on the other were blazing the 
 great candlesticks around the throne. 
 
 But when, on some occasion, he had, under the full 
 weight of his office, inveighed against a damning evil, 
 and, as he fondly hoped by the stillness in the old meet 
 ing-house, wrought upon sinners effectually, it was dis 
 heartening to be met by some hoary member of his 
 flock, whom perhaps he had borne particularly in mind, 
 and to be greeted cheerfully with, " Capital sermon, Mr. 
 Johns ! those are the sort that do the business ! I like 
 those, parson ! " The poor man, humiliated, would bo,w 
 his thanks. He lacked the art (if it be an art) to press 
 the matter home, when he met one of his parishioners 
 thus. Not that he forgot the dignity of his position for 
 a moment, but he wore it too trenchantly ; he could 
 never unbend to the free play of side-talk. Always the 
 weight of his solemn duties pressed sorely on him ; al 
 ways amid pitfalls he was conducting his little flock 
 toward the glories of the Great Court. 
 
 It is quite possible that by reason of this grave taci 
 turnity the clergyman won more surely upon the respect 
 of his people. "He is engrossed," said they, "with 
 
THE OWL AND SPARROW. 31 
 
 greater matters ; and in all secular affairs he recognizes 
 our superior discernment. * Thus his inaptitude in cur 
 rent speech was construed by them into a delicate 
 flattery, and it happened that good Mr. Johns carne to 
 win the good-will of all the parish of Ashfield, while he 
 challenged their respect by his uniform gravity. It 
 is even possible that a consciousness of a certain stateli- 
 ness and stiffness of manner became in some measure a 
 source of pride to him, and that he enjoyed, in his sub 
 dued way, the disposition of the lads of the town to give 
 him a wide pass, instead of brushing brusquely against 
 him, as if he were some other than the parson. 
 In those days he wrote to his sister Eliza, 
 " We are fairly settled in a pleasant home upon the 
 main street. The meeting-house, which you will re 
 member, is near by ; and I have, by the blessing of 
 God, a full attendance every Lord s day. They listen 
 to my poor sermons with commendable earnestness ; 
 and I trust they may prove to them a savor of life unto 
 life. We also find the people of the town neighborly 
 and kind. Squire Elderkin has proved particularly so, 
 and is a very energetic man in all matters relating to 
 the parish. I fear greatly, however, that he still lacks 
 the intimate favor of God, and has not humbled himself 
 to entire submission. Yet he is constant in his obser 
 vance of nearly all the outward forms of devotion and 
 of worship ; and we hear of his charities in every house 
 we enter. Strange mystery of Providence, that he should 
 not long since have been broken down by grace, and 
 become in all things a devout follower of the Master ! 
 
32 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 His wife is a most excellent person, lowly in her faith, 
 and zealous of good works. The same may also be said 
 of their worthy maiden sister, Miss Joanna Meacham, 
 who is, of a truth, a matron in Israel. Rachel and my 
 self frequently take tea at their house ; and she is much 
 interested in the little family of Elderkins, who, I am 
 glad to say, enjoy excellent advantages, and such of 
 them as are of proper age are duly taught in the Short 
 er Westminster Catechism. 
 
 "Deacon Tourtelot, another of our neighbors, is a 
 devout man ; and Dame Tourtelot (as she is commonly 
 called) is a woman of quite extraordinary zeal and ca 
 pacity. Their daughter Almira is untiring in atten 
 dance, and aids the services by singing treble. Deacon 
 Simmons, who lives at quite a distance from us, is re 
 presented to be a man of large means and earnest in the 
 faith. He has a large farm, and also a distillery, both 
 of which are said to be managed with great foresight 
 and prudence. I trust that the reports which I hear 
 occasionally of his penuriousness are not wholly true, 
 and that in due time his hand will be opened by divine 
 grace to a more effectual showing forth of the deeds of 
 charity. Our home aifairs are, I believe, managed pru 
 dently, the two servants being most excellent persons, 
 and my little Rachel a very sunbeam in the house." 
 
 And the little sunbeam writes to Mrs. Handby at 
 about the same date, we will say from six to eight 
 months after their entry, 
 
 " Everything goes on delightfully, dear mamma. Es 
 ther is a good creature, and helps me wonderfully. You 
 
THE OWL AND SPARROW. 
 
 33 
 
 would laugh to see me fingering the raw meats at the 
 butcher s cart to choose nice pieces, which I really can 
 do now ; and it is fortunate I can, for the goodman Ben 
 jamin knows positively nothing of such things, and I am 
 sure wouldn t be able to tell mutton from beef. 
 
 "The little parlor is nicely furnished; there is an 
 elegant hair sofa, and over the mantel is the portrait 
 of Major Johns ; and then the goodman has insisted 
 upon hanging under the looking-glass my old sampler 
 in crewel, with a gilt frame around it ; on the table is 
 the illustrated Pilgrim s Progress papa gave me, and 
 a volume of Calmet s Dictionary I have taken out of 
 the study, it is full of such beautiful pictures, and 
 * Mrs. Hannah More in full gilt. The big Bible you 
 gave us, the goodman says, is too large for easy hand 
 ling ; so it is kept on a stand in the corner, with the 
 great fly-brush of peacock s feathers hanging over it. I 
 have put charming blue chintz curtains in the spare 
 chamber, and arranged every thing there very nicely ; 
 so that before a certain event, you must be sure to come 
 and take possession. 
 
 "Last night we took tea again with the Elderkins, 
 and ]\Irs. Elderkin was as kind to me as ever, and Miss 
 Meacham is an excellent woman, and the little ones are 
 loves of children ; and I wish you could see them. But 
 you will, you know, quite soo??. Sometimes I fall to 
 crying, when I think of it all ; and then the goodman 
 comes and puts his hand on my head, and says, 
 Eachel ! Rachel, my dear ! is this your gratitude for 
 all God s mercies ? And then I jump up, and kiss his 
 3 
 
34 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 grave face, and laugh through my tears. He is a dear 
 good man. This is all very foolish, I suppose ; but, 
 mamma, isn t it the way with all women ? 
 
 " Dame Tourtelot is a great storm of a creature, and 
 she comes down upon us every now and then, and ad 
 vises me about the housekeeping and the table, and the 
 servants, and Benjamin, giving me a great many 
 good hints, I suppose ; but in such a way, and calling 
 me my child/ as makes me feel good for nothing, and 
 as if I were not fit to be mistress. Miss Almira is a 
 quiet thing, and has a piano. She dresses very queerly, 
 and, I have been told, has written poetry for the Hart 
 ford Courant, over two stars * *. She seems a good 
 creature, though, and comes to see us often. The 
 chaise is a great comfort, and our old horse Dobbins is 
 a good, sober horse. Benjamin often takes me with 
 him in his drives to see the parishioners who live out 
 of town. He tells me about the trees and the flowers, 
 and a thousand matters I never heard of. Indeed, he is 
 a good man, and he knows a world of things." 
 
 The tender-hearted, kind soul makes her way into the 
 best graces of the people of Ashfield; the older ones 
 charmed with that blithe spirit of hers, and all the 
 younger ones mating easily with her simple, outspoken 
 naturalness. She goes freely everywhere ; she is not 
 stiffened by any ceremony, nor does she carry any 
 stately notions of the dignity of her office, some few 
 there may be who wish that she had a keener sense of 
 the importance of her position ; she even bursts unan 
 nounced into the little glazed corner of the Tew part- 
 
AN ACCOMPLISHED SINNER. 
 
 35 
 
 ners, where she prattles away with the sedate Mistress 
 Tew in good, kindly fashion, winning that stiff old 
 lady s heart, and moving her to declare to all customers 
 that the parson s wife has no pride about her, and is " a 
 dear little thing, to be sure ! " 
 
 On summer evenings, Dobbins is to be seen, two or 
 three times in the week, jogging along before the 
 square-topped chaise, upon some highway that leads 
 into the town, with the parson seated within, with slack 
 ened rein, and in thoughtful mood, from which he rouses 
 himself from time to time with a testy twitch and noisy 
 chirrup that urge the poor beast into a faster gait. All 
 the while the little wife sits beside him, as if a twitter 
 ing sparrow had nestled itself upon the same perch with 
 some grave owl, and sat with him side by side, watching 
 for the big eyes to turn upon her, and chirping some 
 pretty response for every solemn utterance of the wise 
 old bird beside her. 
 
 vni. 
 
 An Accomplished Sinner. 
 
 ON the return from one of these parochial drives, 
 not long after their establishment at Ashfield, it- 
 happened that the good parson and his wife were not a 
 little startled at sight of a stranger lounging familiarly 
 at their door. A little roof jutted out over the entrance 
 to the parsonage, without any apparent support, and 
 
36 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 flanking the door were two plank seats, with their ends 
 toward the street, cut away into the shape of those " set 
 tles" which used to be seen in country taverns, and 
 which here seemed to invite a quiet out-of-door gossip. 
 But the grave manner of the parson had never invited 
 to a very familiar use of this loitering-place, even by 
 the most devoted of the parishioners ; and the appear 
 ance of a stranger of some two-and-thirty years, with 
 something in his manner, as much as in his dress, which 
 told of large familiarity with the world, lounging upon 
 this little porch, had amazed the passers-by, as much as it 
 now did the couple who drove up slowly in the square- 
 topped chaise. 
 
 " Who can it be, Benjamin ? " says Rachel. 
 
 "I really can t say," returns the parson. 
 
 " He seems very much at home, my dear," as indeed 
 he does, with his feet stretched out upon the bench, and 
 eying curiously the approaching vehicle. 
 
 As it draws near, his observation being apparently 
 satisfactory, he walks briskly down to the gate, and 
 greets the parson with, 
 
 " My dear Johns, I m delighted to see you ! " 
 
 At this the parson knew him. 
 
 " Maverick, upon my word ! " and he offers his hand. 
 
 "And this is Mrs. Johns, I suppose," says the stran 
 ger, bowing graciously. " Allow me, madam ; " and he 
 assists her to alight. "Your husband and myself were 
 old college-friends, partners of the same bench, and I Ve 
 used no ceremony, you see, in finding him out." 
 
 Rachel, eying him furtively, and with a little rustic 
 
AN ACCOMPLISHED SINNER. 37 
 
 courtesy, "is glad to see any of her husband s old 
 friends." 
 
 The parson upon his feet now shakes the stran 
 ger s hand heartily again. 
 
 " I am very glad to see you, Maverick ; but I thought 
 you were out of the country." 
 
 " So I have been, Johns ; am home only upon a visit, 
 and hearing by accident that you had become a clergy 
 man as I always thought you would and were set 
 tled hereabout, I determined to run down and see you 
 before sailing again." 
 
 "You must stop with me. Rachel, dear, will you have 
 the spare room made ready for Mr. Maverick ? " 
 
 "My dear madam, don t give yourself the least 
 trouble ; I am an old traveller, and can make myself 
 quite comfortable at the tavern yonder ; but if it s alto 
 gether convenient, I shall be delighted to pass the night 
 under the roof of my old friend. I shall be off to-morrow 
 noon," continued he, turning to the parson, " and until 
 then I want you to put off your sermons and make me 
 one of your parishioners." 
 
 So they all went into the parsonage together. 
 
 Frank Maverick, as he had said, had shared the same 
 bench with Johns in college ; and between them, unlike 
 as they were in character, there had grown up a strong 
 friendship, one of those singular intimacies which 
 bind the gravest men to the most cheery and reckless. 
 Maverick was forever running into scrapes and consult 
 ing the cool head of Johns to help him out of them. 
 Johns advised with him (giving as serious advice then as 
 
38 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 he could now), and added from time to time such assis 
 tance in his studies as a plodding man can always lend 
 to one of quick brain, who makes no reckoning of 
 time. 
 
 Upon a certain occasion Maverick had gone over with 
 Johns to his home, and the Major had taken an immense 
 fancy to the buoyant young fellow, so full of spirits, and 
 so charmingly frank. " If your characters could only be 
 welded together," he used to say to his son, " you would 
 both be the better for it ; he a little of your gravity, and 
 you something of his rollicking carelessness." This 
 bound Johns to his friend more closely than ever. There 
 was, moreover, great honesty and conscientiousness in 
 the lad s composition ; he could beat in a tutor s window 
 for the frolic of the thing, and by way of paying ofi 
 some old grudge for a black mark ; but there was a 
 strong spice of humanity at the bottom even of his 
 frolics. It happened one. day, that his friend Ben Johns 
 told him that one of the bats which had done terrible 
 execution on the tutor s windows had also played havoc 
 on his table, breaking a bottle of ink, and deluging some 
 half-dozen of the tutor s books ; " and do you know," 
 said Johns," the poor man who has made such a loss is 
 saving up all his pay here for a mother and two or three 
 fatherless children ? " 
 
 " The Deuce he is ! " said Maverick, and his hand 
 went to his pocket, which was always pretty full. " I 
 say, Johns, don t peach on me, but I think I must have 
 thrown that bat (which Johns knew to be hardly possi 
 ble, for he had only come up at the end of the row), 
 
AN ACCOMPLISHED SINNER. 39 
 
 and I want you to get this money to him, to make those 
 books good again. Will you do it, old fellow ? " 
 
 This was the sort of character to win upon the quiet 
 son of the Major. "If he were only more earnest," he 
 used to say, "if he could give up his trifling, if he 
 would only buckle down to serious study, as some of us 
 do, what great things he might accomplish ! " 
 
 Maverick was altogether his old self this night at the 
 parsonage. Rachel listened admiringly, as he told of his 
 travel and of his foreign experiences. He was the sou of 
 a merchant of an Eastern seaport who had been long en 
 gaged in the Mediterranean trade, with a branch house 
 at Marseilles ; and thither Frank had gone two or three 
 years after leaving college, to fill some subordinate post, 
 and finally to work his way into a partnership, which he 
 now held. Of course he had not lived there those seven 
 or eight years last past without his visit to Paris ; and 
 his easy, careless way of describing what he had seen 
 there in Napoleon s day the fetes, the processions, the 
 display was a kind of talk not often heard in a New 
 England village, and which took a strong hold upon the 
 imagination of Eachel. 
 
 " And to think," says the parson, "that such a people 
 are wholly infidel ! " 
 
 " Well, well, I don t know, " says Maverick ; " I think 
 I have seen a good deal of faith in the Popish churches." 
 
 " Faith in images ; faith in the Virgin ; faith in mum 
 mery," says Johns, with a sigh. " Tis always the scar 
 let woman of Babylon ! " 
 
 "I know," says Maverick, smiling, "these things are 
 
4 o DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 not much to your taste ; but we have our Protestant 
 chapels, too." 
 
 "Not much better, I fear," says Johns. "They are 
 sadly impregnated with the Genevese Socinianism. " 
 
 This was about the time that the orthodox Louis 
 Empaytaz was suffering the rebuke of the Swiss church 
 authorities for his " Considerations upon the Divinity of 
 Jesus Christ." Aside from this, all the parson s notions 
 of French religion and of French philosophy were of the 
 most aggravated degree of bitterness. All Frenchmen 
 he had learned to look upon as the children of Satan, 
 and their language as the language of hell. With these 
 sentiments very sincerely entertained, he regarded his 
 poor friend as one living at the very door-posts of Pan 
 demonium. It seemed to him that his easy refinement 
 of manner, in such contrast with the ceremonious stiff 
 ness of the New England customs of speech, was but 
 the sliming over of the Serpent s tongue, preparatory to 
 a dreadful swallowing of soul and body ; and the care 
 less grace of talk, which so charmed the innocent 
 Rachel, appeared to the exacting Puritan a token of the 
 enslavement of his old friend to sense and the guile of 
 this world. 
 
 Nine o clock was the time for evening prayers at the 
 parsonage, which under no circumstances were ever 
 omitted ; and as the little clock in the dining-room 
 chimed the hour, Mr. Johns rose to lead the way from 
 his study, where they had passed the evening. 
 
 "It s our hour for family prayer," says Johns ; "will 
 you come with us ? " 
 
AN ACCOMPLISHED SINNER. 41 
 
 " Most certainly," says Maverick, rising. " I should be 
 sorry not to have this little scene of New England life 
 to take back with me ; it will recall home pleasantly." 
 
 The servants were summoned, and the parson read 
 in his wonted way a chapter, not selected, but desig 
 nated by the old book-mark, which was earned forward 
 from day to day throughout the sacred volume. In his 
 prayer the parson asked specially for Divine Grace to 
 overshadow all those journeying from their homes, 
 to protect them, to keep alive in their hearts the 
 teachings of their youth, to shield them from the in 
 sidious influences of sin and of the world. 
 
 Shortly after prayers Rachel retired for the night. 
 The parson and his old friend talked for an hour or 
 more in the study, but always as men whose thoughts 
 were unlike : Maverick filled and exuberant with the 
 prospects of this life ; and the parson, by a settled pur 
 pose, which seemed like instinct, making all his obser 
 vations bear upon futurity. 
 
 "The poor man has grown very narrow," thought 
 Maverick. 
 
 And yet Johns entered with friendly interest into the 
 schemes of his companion. 
 
 " So you count upon spending your life there ? " said 
 the parson. 
 
 "It is quite probable " said Maverick. " I am doing 
 exceedingly well ; the climate, bating some harsh winds 
 in winter, is enjoyable. Why shouldn t I ? " 
 
 "It s a question to put to your conscience," says 
 Johns, "not to me. A man can but do his duty, as 
 
42 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 well there as here perhaps. Do you mean to marry in 
 France, Maverick ? " 
 
 A shade passed over the face of his friend ; but re 
 covering himself, with a little musical laugh, he said, 
 
 "I really can t say : there are very charming women 
 there, Johns." 
 
 "I am afraid so," uttered the parson, dryly. 
 
 "By the way," said Maverick, "you will excuse 
 me, but you will be having a family by and by," at 
 which the parson fairly blushed, "you must let me 
 send over some little gift for your first boy ; it sha n t 
 be one that will harm him, though it comes from our 
 heathen side of the world." 
 
 " There s a gift you might bestow, Maverick, that I 
 should value beyond price." 
 
 "Pray what is it?" 
 
 " Live such a life, my friend, that I could say to any 
 boy of mine, Follow the example of that man. " 
 
 " Ah," said Maverick, with his easy, infectious laugh, 
 " that s more than I can promise. To tell the truth, 
 Johns, I don t believe I could by any possibility fall into 
 the prim, stiff ways which make a man commendable 
 hereabout. Even if I were religiously disposed, or 
 should ever think of adopting your profession, I fancy 
 I should take to the gown and liturgy, as giving a little 
 freer movement to my taste. You don t like to think 
 of that, I ll wager." 
 
 " You might do worse things," said the parson, sadly. 
 
 "I know I might," said Maverick, thoughtfully ; "I 
 greatly fefir I shall. Yet it s not altogether a bad life 
 
AN ACCOMPLISHED SINNER. 43 
 
 I m looking forward to, Johns ; we ll say ten or fifteen 
 more years of business on the other side ; marrying 
 sometime in the interval, certainly not until I have a 
 good revenue ; then, possibly, I may come over among 
 you again, establish a pretty home in the neighborhood 
 of one of your towns ; look after a girl and boy or two, 
 who may have come into the family ; get the title of 
 Squire ; give fairly to the missionary societies ; take my 
 place in a good big family-pew ; dabble in politics, per 
 haps, so that people shall dub me Honorable ; isn t 
 that a fair show, Johns ? " 
 
 There was a thief in the candle, which the parson re 
 moved with the snuffers. 
 
 "As for yourself," continued Maverick, "they ll give 
 you the title of Doctor after a few years ! " The par 
 son raised his hand, as if to put away the thought. "I 
 know," continued his friend, "you don t seek worldly 
 honors : but they will drift upon you ; they ll all love 
 you hereabout, in spite of your seriousness (the parson 
 smiled) ; you ll have your house full of children ; you ll 
 be putting a wing here and a wing there ; and when I 
 come back, twenty years hence, if I live, I shall find 
 you comfortably gray, and your pretty wife in specta 
 cles, knitting mittens for the youngest boy, and the old 
 est at college, and your girls grown into tall village 
 belles; but, Johns, don t, I beg, be too strict with 
 them ; you can t make a merry young creature the bet 
 ter by insisting upon seriousness ; you can t crowd 
 goodness into a body by pounding upon it. What are 
 you thinking of, Johns ? " 
 
44 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 The parson was sitting with his eyes bent upon a cer 
 tain figure in the green and red Scotch carpet. 
 
 "Thinking, Maverick, that in twenty years time, if 
 alive, we may be less fit for heaven than we are to-day." 
 
 There was a pitying kindliness in the tone of the 
 minister, as he said this, which touched Maverick. 
 
 " There s no doubt on your score, Johns, God bless 
 you ! But we must paddle our own boats ; I dare say 
 you ll come out a long way before me ; you always did, 
 you know. Every man to his path." 
 
 " There s but one" said Johns, solemnly, " that lead- 
 eth to eternal rest." 
 
 With these words they parted for the night. 
 
 Next morning, before the minister was astir, Maver 
 ick was strolling about the garden and the village street, 
 and at breakfast appeared with a little bunch of violets 
 he had gathered from Eachel s flower-patch, and laid 
 them by her plate. (It was a graceful attention, that 
 not even the clergyman had ever paid to her.) 
 
 At noon Maverick left upon the old swaying stage 
 coach, looking out, as he passed, upon the parsonage, 
 with its quaintly panelled door, and its diamond lights, 
 of which he long kept the image in his mind. 
 
 "I think Mr. Frank Maverick is a most charming 
 man," said the pretty Mrs. Johns to her husband. 
 
 " He is, Rachel, and generous and open-hearted, 
 and yet, in the sight of Heaven, I fear, a miserable sin 
 ner." 
 
 "But, Benjamin, my dear, we are all sinners." 
 
 All, all, Rachel, God help us ! " 
 
REUBEN. 45 
 
 IX. 
 
 Reuben. 
 
 IN December of the year 1820 came about a certain 
 event of which hint has been already given by the 
 party chiefly concerned ; and Mrs. Johns presented her 
 husband with a fine boy, who was in due time chris 
 tened Eeuben. 
 
 Mrs. Handby was present at this eventful period, oc 
 cupying the guest-chamber, and delighting in all the 
 little adornments that had been prepared by the loving 
 hands of her daughter; and upon the following Sab 
 bath, Mr. Johns, for the first time since his entrance 
 upon the pastoral duties of Ashfield, ventured to repeat 
 an old sermon. Dame Tourtelot had been present on 
 the momentous occasion, with such a tempest of sug 
 gestions in regard to the wrappings and feeding of the 
 new-comer, that the poor mother had quietly begged 
 the good clergyman to decoy her, on her next visit, into 
 his study. This he did, and succeeded in fastening her 
 with a discussion upon the import of the word baptize, 
 in which he was in a fair way of being carried by storm, 
 if he had not retreated under cover of his Greek 
 Lexicon. 
 
 Mrs. Elderkin had been zealous in neighborly offices, 
 and had brought, in addition to a great basket of needed 
 appliances, a silver porringer, which, with wonderful 
 
46 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 foresight, had been ordered from a Hartford jeweller 
 in advance. The out-of-door man, Larkin, took a well- 
 meaning pride in this accession to the family, walk 
 ing up and down the street with a broad grin upon his 
 face. He also became the bearer, in behalf of the Tew 
 partners, of a certain artful contrivance of tinware for 
 the speedy stewing of pap, which, considering that the 
 donors were childless people, was esteemed a very great 
 mark of respect for the minister. 
 
 Would it be strange, if the father felt a new ambition 
 stirring in him, as he listened from his study to that cry 
 of a child in the house ? He does feel it, and struggles 
 against it. Shall these human ties supplant the spirit 
 ual ones by which we are all coheirs of eternal death or 
 of eternal life ? 
 
 For all this, however, there is many a walk which 
 would have been taken of old under the orchard trees 
 now transferred to the chamber, where he paces back 
 and forth with the babe in his arms, soothing its out 
 cry, as he thinks out his discourse for the following 
 Sabbath. 
 
 In due time Mrs. Handby returns to her home. The 
 little child pushes through its first month of venture 
 some encounter with the rough world it has entered 
 upon bravely ; and the household is restored to its uni 
 form placidity. The affairs of the parish follow their 
 accustomed course. From time to time there are meet 
 ings of the " Consociation," or other ministerial assem 
 blages, in the town, when the parsonage is overflowing, 
 and Rachel, with a simple grace, is compelled to do the 
 
REUBEN. 47 
 
 honors to a corps of the Congregational brotherhood. 
 As for the parson, he was like a child in all household 
 matters. Over and over he would invite his brethren 
 flocking in from the neighboring villages to pass the 
 night with him, when Rachel would decoy him into a 
 corner, and declare, with a most pitiable look of dis 
 tress, that not a bed was unoccupied in the house. 
 Whereupon the goodman would quietly take his hat, 
 and trudge away to Squire Elderkin s, or, on rarer oc 
 casions to Deacon Tourtelot s, and ask the favor of 
 lodging with them one of his clerical brethren. 
 
 At other times, before some such occasion of clerical 
 entertainment, the little housewife, supported by Esther 
 with broom and a great array of mops, would wait upon 
 the parson in his study and order him away to his walk 
 in the orchard, an order which the poor man never 
 ventured to resist ; but, taking perhaps a pocket vol 
 ume of Doddridge, or of Cowper, the only poet he 
 habitually read, he would sally out with hat and 
 cane, this latter a gift of an admiring parishioner, 
 which it pleased Rachel he should use, and which she 
 always brought to him at such times, with a winning, 
 mischievous look of half-entreaty and half-command that 
 it was not in his heart to resist, and which on rare oc 
 casions (that were subject of self -accusation afterward) 
 provoked him to an answering kiss. At which Rachel : 
 
 "Now go and leave us, please ; there s a good man! 
 And mind " (shaking her forefinger at him), " dinner at 
 half past twelve ; Larkin will blow the shell" 
 
 The parson, as he paced back and forth under the 
 
48 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 apple-trees, out of sight, and feeling the need of more 
 vigorous exercise than his usual meditative gait af 
 forded, would on occasions brandish his cane and as 
 sume a military air and stride (he remembered the 
 Major s only too well), getting in a glow with the un 
 usual movement, and in the heat of it thanking God 
 for all the blessings that had befallen him : a pleasant 
 home ; a loving wife ; a little boy to bear the name in 
 which, with all his spiritual tendencies, he yet took a 
 very human pride ; health, and he whisked his cane 
 as vigorously as ever the Major had done his cumbrous 
 sword, the world s comforts ; a congregation that met 
 him kindly, that listened kindly. Was he not leading 
 them in the path of salvation, and rejoicing in the 
 leadership ? 
 
 And then, to himself, " Be careful, careful, Benja 
 min Johns, that you take not too great a pride in this 
 work and home of yours. You are but an instrument in 
 greater hands ; He doeth with you what seemeth Him 
 best." 
 
 As the boy Keuben grows, and gains a firmer footing, 
 he sometimes totters beside the clergyman in these or 
 chard walks, clinging blindly to his hand, and lifting his 
 uncertain feet with great effort over the interrupting 
 tufts of grass, unheeded by the minister, who is ponder 
 ing some late editorial of the "Boston Recorder." But 
 far oftener the boy is with the mother, burying his face 
 in that dear lap of hers, lifting the wet face to have 
 tears kissed away and forgotten. And as he thrives and 
 takes the strength of three or four years, he walks be- 
 
REUBEN. 49 
 
 side her under the trees of the Tillage street, clad in 
 such humble finery as the Handby grandparents m;;y 
 have bestowed ; and he happens oftenest, on these strolls 
 with Rachel, into the hospitable home of the Elderkins, 
 where there are little ones to romp with the boy. Most 
 noticeable of all, just now, one Philip Elderkin (of whom 
 more will have to be said as this story progresses), only 
 a year the senior of Reuben, but of far stouter frame, 
 who looks admiringly on the minister s child, and as he 
 grows warm in play frights him with some show of 
 threat, which makes the little Reuben run for cover to 
 the arms of Rachel. 
 
 Often, too, in the square-topped chaise, the child is 
 seated on a little stool between the parson and his wife, 
 as they drive away upon their visits to the outskirts of 
 the parish, - puzzling them with those strange questions 
 which come from a boy just exploring his way into the 
 world of talk. 
 
 " Benjamin," says Rachel, as they were nearing home 
 upon one of these drives, " Reuben is quite a large boy 
 now, you know ; have you ever written to your friend, 
 Mr. Maverick ? You remember he promised a gift for 
 him." 
 
 "Never," said the minister, whose goodness rarely 
 took the shape of letter-writing, least of all where the 
 task would seem to remind of a promised favor. 
 
 " You ve not forgotten it ? You ve not forgotten Mr. 
 Maverick ? " 
 
 "Not forgotten, Rachel, not forgotten to pray for 
 him." 
 
 4 
 
50 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Ci I would write, Benjamin ; it might be something that 
 would be of service to Keuben. Please don t forget it, 
 Benjamin." 
 
 And the minister promised. 
 
 X. 
 
 A Cloud. 
 
 IN the autumn of 1824, the minister of Ashfield be 
 ing still in good favor with nearly all his parishion 
 ers, and his wife Rachel being still greatly beloved, a 
 rumor ran through the town, one day, that there was* 
 serious illness at the parsonage, the Doctor s horse and 
 saddle-bags being observed in "waiting at the front gate 
 for two hours together. Following close upon this, the 
 Tew partners reported having received undoubted in 
 formation from Larkin, who still kept in his old service 
 that a daughter was born to the minister, but so fee 
 ble that there were grave doubts if the young Rachel 
 could survive. The report was well founded ; and after 
 three or four days of desperate struggle with life, the 
 poor child dropped away. Thus death came into the 
 parsonage with so faint and shadowy a tread, it hardly 
 startled one. The babe had been christened in the 
 midst of its short struggle, and in this the father found 
 such comfort as he could ; yet reckoning the poor, flut 
 tering little soul as a sinner in Adam, through whom all 
 men fell, he confided it with a great sigh to God. 
 
UK 
 
 5 
 
 It would have been well, if his grief had rested there. 
 But two days thereafter there was a rumor on the village 
 street, flying like the wind, as such rumors do, from 
 house to house, "The minister s wife is dead ! " 
 
 " I want to know ! " said Mrs. Tew, lifting herself from 
 her task of assorting the mail, and removing her specta 
 cles in nervous haste. " Do tell ! It a n t possible ! 
 Miss Johns dead ? " 
 
 "Yes," says Larkin, "as true as I live, she s dead;" 
 and his voice broke as he said it, the kind little 
 woman had so won upon him. 
 
 Squire Elderkiu, like a good Christian, came hurrying 
 to the parsonage to know what this strange report could 
 mean. The study was unoccupied. With the familiar 
 ity of an old friend he made his way up the cramped 
 stairs. The chamber-door was flung wide open ; there 
 was no reason why the whole parish might not come in. 
 The nurse, sobbing in a corner, was swaying back and 
 forth, her hands folded across her lap. Reuben, cling 
 ing to the coverlet, was feeling his way along the bed, if 
 by chance his mother s hand might catch hold upon his ; 
 and the minister standing with a chair before him, his 
 eyes turned to heaven (the same calm attitude which he 
 took at his evening prayer-meeting), was entreating God 
 to "be over his house, to strengthen him, to pour down 
 his Spirit on him, to bind up the bruised hearts, to 
 spare, spare " 
 
 Even the stout Squire Elderkin withdraws outside the 
 door, that he may the better conceal his emotion. . 
 
 The death happened on a Friday. The Squire, after 
 
52 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 a few faltering expressions of sympathy, asked regarding 
 the burial. " Should it not be on Sunday ? " 
 
 " Not on Sunday," said Mr. Johns ; " God help me, 
 Squire, but this is not a work of necessity or mercy. 
 Let it be on Monday." 
 
 " On Monday, then, " said Elderkin, " and let me 
 take the arrangement of it all off your thought ; and we 
 will provide some one to preach for you on the Sabbath." 
 
 " No, Mr. Elderkin, no ; I am always myself in the 
 pulpit. I shall find courage there." 
 
 And he did. A stranger would not have suspected 
 that the preacher s wife lay dead at home ; the same 
 unction and earnestness that had always characterized 
 him ; the same unyielding rigidity of doctrine : "Except 
 ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish." 
 . Once only it was in the reading of the last hymn in 
 the afternoon service his voice broke, and he sat down 
 half through. But as the song rose under the old roof 
 of the meeting-house, his courage rose with it. He seem 
 ed ashamed of the transitory weakness. What light had 
 he to bring private griefs to such a place ? What right had 
 the leader to faint, when the army were pressing forward 
 to the triumph God had promised to the faithful? So 
 it was in a kind of ecstacy that he rose, and joined with 
 a firm, loud voice in the final doxology. 
 
 One or two of the good old ladies, with a sad miscon 
 ception of the force that was in him, and of the divine 
 aid which seemed vouchsafed to him during the sendee, 
 came to him, as he passed out, to give him greeting and a 
 word of condolence. For that time only he passed them. 
 
A CLOUD. 53 
 
 by, as if they had been wooden images. His spirit had 
 been strained to its uttermost, and would bear no more. 
 He made his way home with an ungainly, swift gait, 
 home to the dear bedside, down upon his knees, 
 struggling with his weakness, praying. 
 
 At the tea-hour Esther knocked ; but in vain. An 
 hour after, his boy came, came at the old woman s 
 suggestion (who had now the care of him), and knelt by 
 his side. 
 
 "Reuben, my boy ! " 
 
 "She s in heaven, isn t she, father?" 
 
 "God only knows, my son. He hath mercy on whom 
 He will have mercy." 
 
 Small as he was, the boy flushed at this : 
 
 " I think it s a bad God, if she isn t in heaven." 
 
 " Xay, Reuben, little one, blaspheme not : His ways 
 are not as our ways. Kiss her now, and we will sit down 
 to our supper." 
 
 And so they passed out together to their lonely repast. 
 It had been a cheerful meal in days gone, this Sunday s 
 supper. For the dinner, owing to the scruples of the 
 parson, was but a cold lunch always ; and in the excited 
 state in which the preacher found himself between ser 
 vices, there was little of speech ; even Reuben s prattle, 
 if he ventured upon it, caught a quick "Hist ! " from the 
 mamma. But with the return of Esther from the after 
 noon Bible-class, there was a big fire lighted in the 
 kitchen, and some warm dishes served, such as diffused 
 an appetizing odor through the house. The clergyman, 
 too, wore an air of relief, having preached his two ser- 
 
54 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 mons, and showing a capital appetite, like most men who 
 have acquitted themselves of a fatiguing duty. Besides 
 which, the parson guarded that old New England cus 
 tom of beginning his Sabbath at sundown on Saturday, 
 so that, by the time the supper of Sunday was fairly 
 over, Eeuben could be counting it no sin, if he should 
 steal a run into the orchard. Nay, it is quite probable 
 that the poor little woman who was dead had always 
 welcomed cheerily the opened door of Sunday evening, 
 and the relaxing gravity, as night fell, of her husband s 
 starched look. 
 
 What wonder, if she had loved, even as much as the 
 congregational singing, the music of the birds at the 
 dusk of a summer s day ? It is certain that the poor 
 woman had enjoyed immensely those Sabbath-evening 
 strolls through the garden and orchard, hand in hand 
 with Keuben and the minister, with such keen and ex 
 hilarating sense of God s goodness, of trust in Him, of 
 hope, as was not invariably wakened by the sermons of 
 her Benjamin. 
 
 On the evening of which we speak, the father and son 
 walked down the orchard alone. The birds sang their 
 merriest as day closed in ; and as they turned upon their 
 walk, and the good man saw through the vista of garden 
 and orchard a bright light flitting across an upper win 
 dow of his house, the mad hope flashed upon him for an 
 instant (such baseless fancies will sometimes possess the 
 calmest minds) that she had waked, his Rachel, 
 and was there to meet him. The next moment the 
 Mght and hope were gone. His fingers gave such a con- 
 
PARISH SYMPATHIES. 55 
 
 vulsive grip upon the hand of his little boy that Reuben 
 cried out with pain, " Papa, papa, you hurt me ! " 
 The parson bent down and kissed him. 
 
 XL 
 
 Parish Sympathies. 
 
 THEEE were scores of people in Ashfield who would 
 have been delighted to speak consolation to the be 
 reaved clergyman ; but he was not a man to be ap 
 proached easily with the ordinary phrases of sympathy. 
 He bore himself too sternly under his grief. What, in 
 deed, can be said in the face of affliction, where the 
 manner of the sufferer seems to say, "God has done it, 
 and God does all things weU ? " 
 
 Yet there are those who delight in breaking in upon 
 the serene dignity which this condition of mind implies 
 with a noisy proffer of consolation, and an aggravating 
 rehearsal of the occasion for it ; as if such comforters 
 entertained a certain jealousy of the serenity they do not 
 comprehend, and were determined to test its sufficiency. 
 Dame Tourtelot was eminently such a person. 
 
 " It s a dreadful blow to ye, Mr. Johns," said she ; " I 
 know it is. Almiry is a most as much took down by it 
 as you are. She was such a lovely woman, she says ; 
 and the poor, dear little boy, won t you let him come 
 and pass a day or two with us ? Almiry is very fond of 
 children." 
 
56 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 "Later, later, my good woman," said the parson. "I 
 can t spare the boy now ; the house is too empty." 
 
 "O Mr. Johns, the poor lonely thing !" (And she 
 says this, with her hands in black mits, clasped to 
 gether.) " It s a bitter blow ! As I was a-sayin to the 
 Deacon, Such a lovely young woman, and such a good 
 comfortable home, and she, poor thing, enjoyin it so 
 much ! I do hope you 11 bear up under it, Mr. Johns." 
 
 "By God s help, I will, my good woman." 
 
 Dame Tourtelot was disappointed to find the parson 
 wincing so little as he did under her stimulative sympa 
 thy. On returning home, she opened her views to the 
 Deacon in this style : 
 
 " Tourtelot, the parson is not so much broke down by 
 this as we ve been thinkin ; he was as cool, when I spoke 
 to him to-day, as any man I ever see in my life. The 
 truth is, she was a flighty young person, noways equal 
 to the parson. I ve been a-suspectin it, this long while ; 
 she never, in my opinion, took a real hard hold upon 
 him. But, Tourtelot, you should go and see Mr. Johns ; 
 and I hope you ll talk consolingly and Scripterally to 
 him. It s your duty." 
 
 And hereupon she shifted the needles in her knitting, 
 and, smoothing down the big blue stocking-leg over her 
 knee, cast a glance at the Deacon which signified com 
 mand. Long before, the meek, mild-mannered little 
 man who was her husband had by her active and resolute 
 negotiation been made a deacon of the parish, for 
 which office he was not indeed ill-fitted, being religiously 
 disposed, strict in his observance of all duties, and well- 
 
PARISH SYMPATHIES. 57 
 
 grounded in the Larger Catechism. He had, moreover, 
 certain secular endowments which were even more 
 marked, among them, a wonderful instinct at a bar 
 gain, which had been polished by Dame Tourtelot s su 
 perior address to a wonderful degree of sharpness ; and 
 by reason of this the less respectful of the townspeople 
 were accustomed to say, " The Deacon is very small at 
 home, but great in a trade." 
 
 " Squire," he would say, addressing a neighbor on the 
 Common, " what do you s pose I paid for that brindle 
 ye rlin o mine ? Give us a guess." 
 
 " Waul, Deacon, I guess you paid about ten dollars." 
 
 " Only eight ! " the Deacon would say, with a smile 
 that was fairly luminous, "and a pootty likely critter 
 I call it for eight dollars." 
 
 " Five hogs this year " (in this way the Deacon was 
 used to soliloquize), "I hope to make em three hun 
 dred apiece. The price works up about Christmas ; 
 Deacon Simmons has sold his n at five, distillery- 
 pork ; that s sleezy, wastes in bilin ; folks know it ; 
 mine, bein corn-fed, ought to bring half a cent more, 
 and say, for Christmas, six ; that 11 give a gain of a cent, 
 on five hogs, at three hundred apiece, will be fifteen 
 dollars. That 11 pay half my pew-rent, and leave some- 
 thin over for Almiry, who s always wantin fresh rib 
 bons about New-Year s." 
 
 The Deacon cherished a strong dread of formal visits 
 to the parsonage ; first, because it involved his Sunday 
 toilet, in which he was never easy, except at conference 
 or in his pew at the meeting-house ; and next, because 
 
$8 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 he counted it necessary on such occasions to give a 
 Scriptural garnish to his talk, in which attempt he al 
 most always, under the authoritative look of the parson, 
 blundered into difficulty. Yet Tourtelot, in obedience 
 to his wife s suggestion, and primed with a text from 
 Matthew, undertook the visit of condolence, and, be 
 ing a really kind-hearted man, bore himself well in it. 
 Over and over the good parson shook his hand in 
 thanks. 
 
 " It 11 all be right," says the Deacon. " Blessed are 
 the mourners, is the Scripteral language, for they shall 
 inherit the earth. " 
 
 " No, not that, Deacon," says the minister, to whom a 
 misquotation was like a wound in the flesh ; " the last 
 thing I want is to inherit the earth. They shall be 
 comforted, that s the promise, Deacon, and I count 
 on it." 
 
 It was mortifying to his visitor to be caught napping 
 on so familiar a text ; the parson saw it, and spoke con 
 solingly. But if not strong in texts, the Deacon knew 
 what his strong points were ; so, before leaving, he in 
 vites a little off-hand discussion of more familiar topics. 
 
 "Pootty tight spell o weather we ve been havin , 
 Parson." 
 
 "Kather cool, certainly," says the unsuspecting clergy 
 man. 
 
 " Got all your winter s stock o wood in yit ? " 
 
 " No, I have n t," says the parson. 
 
 " Waal, Mr. Johns, I ve got a lot of pastur -hickory cut 
 and corded, that s well seared over now, and if you d 
 
PARISH SYMPATHIES. 59 
 
 like some of it, I can let you have it very reasonable 
 indeed." 
 
 The sympathy of the Elderkins, if less formal, was 
 none the less hearty. Nay, the very religion of the 
 Squire, which the parson had looked upon as somewhat 
 discursive and human, giving too large a place to 
 good works, was decisive and to the point in the 
 present emergency. 
 
 " It s God s doing," said he ; " we must take the cup 
 He gives us. For the best, is n t it, Parson ? " 
 
 "I do, Squire. Thank God, I can." 
 
 There was good Mrs. Elderkin who made up by 
 her devotion to the special tenets of the clergyman 
 many of the shortcomings of the Squire insisted upon 
 sending for the poor boy Reuben, that he might forget 
 his grief in her kindness, and in frolic with the Elder- 
 kins through that famous garden, with its huge hedges 
 of box, such a garden as was certainly not to be 
 matched elsewhere in Ashfield. The same good woman, 
 too, sends down a wagon-load of substantial things from 
 her larder, for the present relief of the stricken house 
 hold ; to wlu ch the Squire has added a little round jug 
 of choice Santa Cruz rum, remembering the long 
 watches of the parson. Those old people nestled under 
 no cover of liver specifics or bitters. Reform has made 
 a grand march indeed ; but the Devil, with his square 
 bottles and Scheidam schnapps, has kept a pretty even 
 pace with it. 
 
60 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 XTL 
 
 The Par sorts Consolation. 
 
 nnHE boy Reuben, in those first weeks after his loss, 
 -*- wandered about as if in a maze, wondering at the 
 great blank that death had made ; or, warming himself 
 at some out-door sport, he rushed in with a pleasant for- 
 getfulness, shouting, up the stairs, to the accus 
 tomed door, and bursts in upon the cold chamber, so 
 long closed, where the bitter knowledge comes upon 
 him fresh once more. Esther, good soul that she is, has 
 heard his clatter upon the floor, his bound at the old 
 latch, and, fancying what it may mean, has come up in 
 time to soothe him and bear him off with her. The 
 parson, forging some sermon for the next Sabbath, in 
 the room at the foot of the stairs, hears, may be, the 
 stifled sobbing of the boy, as the good Esther half leads 
 and half drags him down, and opens his door upon 
 them. 
 
 " What now, Esther ? Has Reuben caught a fall ? " 
 " No, sir, no fall ; he s not harmed, sir. It s only the 
 old room, you know, sir, and he quite forgot himself." 
 " Poor boy ! Will he come with me, Esther ? " 
 "No, Mr. Johns. I ll find something 11 amuse him ; 
 hey, Ruby ? " 
 
 And the parson goes back to his desk, where he for 
 gets himself in the glow of that great work of his. He 
 
THE PARSON S CONSOLATION. 61 
 
 has been taught, as never before, that " all flesh is 
 grass." He accepts his loss as a punishment for having 
 thought too much and fondly of the blessings of this life. 
 He has transferred his bed to a little chamber which 
 opens from his study in the rear, and which is at the end 
 of the long dining-room, where every morning and even 
 ing the prayers are said, as before. The parishioners see a 
 light burning in the window of his study far into the night. 
 
 For a time his sermons are more emotional than before. 
 
 "We ask ourselves," said he, "my brethren, if we 
 shall knowingly meet there where we trust His grace 
 may give us entrance those from whom you and I 
 have parted ; whether a fond and joyous welcome shall 
 greet us, not alone from Him whom to love is life, but 
 from those dear ones who seem to our poor senses to be 
 resting under the sod yonder. Sometimes I believe that 
 by God s great goodness," (and here he looked, not at 
 his people, but above, and kept his eye fixed there) 
 " I believe that we shall ; that His great love shall so de 
 light in making complete our happiness, even by such 
 little memorials of our earthly affections (which must 
 seem like waifs of thistle-doWn beside the great harvest 
 of His abounding grace), that all the dear faces of those 
 written in the Golden Book shall beam a welcome, all 
 the more bounteous because reflecting His joy who has 
 died to save." 
 
 And the listeners whispered each other as he paused, 
 " He thinks of Rachel." 
 
 With his eyes still fixed above, he goes on, 
 
 " Sometimes I think thus ; but oftener I ask myself, 
 
62 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Of what value shall human ties be, or their memories, 
 in His august presence whom to look upon is life ? 
 What room shall there be for other affections, what room 
 for other memories, than those of " the Lamb that was 
 slain " ? 
 
 " Does this sound harshly, my brethren ? Ah, let us 
 beware, let us beware how we entertain any opinions 
 of that future condition of holiness and of joy promised 
 to the elect, which are dependent upon the gross attach 
 ments of earth. " 
 
 "This man lives above the world," said the people ; 
 and if some of them did not give very cordial assent to 
 these latter views, they smothered their dissent by a 
 lofty expression of admiration. It is doubtful, indeed, 
 if they did not make a merit of their placid intellectual 
 admission of such beliefs as most violated the natural 
 sensibilities of the heart. As if mere intellectual adhe 
 sion to theological formulas were to pave our way to a 
 knowledge of the Infinite, as if our sensibilities were 
 to be outraged in the march to heaven, as if all the 
 emotional nature were to be clipped away by the shears 
 of the doctors, leaving only the metaphysic ghost of a 
 soul to enter upon the joys of Paradise ! 
 
 Within eight months after his loss, Mr. Johns thought 
 of Rachel only as a gift that God had bestowed to try 
 him, and had taken away to work in him a humiliation 
 of the heart. More severely than ever he wrestled with 
 the dogmas of his chosen divines, harnessed them to his 
 purposes as preacher, and wrought on with a zeal that 
 knew no abatement and no rest. 
 
PRACTICAL SYMPATHIES. 63 
 
 XIIL 
 
 Practical Sympathies. 
 
 IN the latter part of the summer of 1826, a reason 
 able time having now elapsed since the death of 
 poor Rachel, the gossips of Ashfield began to discuss 
 the lonely condition of their pastor, in connection with 
 some desirable or feasible amendment of it. 
 
 There were some invidious persons in the town who 
 had remarked that Miss Almira Tourtelot had brought 
 quite a new fervor to her devotional exercises in the par 
 ish within the last year, as well as a new set of ribbons 
 to her hat ; and two maiden ladies opposite, of distin 
 guished pretensions and long experience of life, had ob 
 served that the young Reuben, on his passage back and 
 forth from the Elderkins, had sometimes been decoyed 
 within the Tourtelot yard, and presented by the admir 
 ing Dame Tourtelot with fresh doughnuts. 
 
 Dame Tourtelot had crowned with success all her 
 schemes in life, save one. Almira, her daughter, now 
 verging upon her thirty-second year, had long been upon 
 the anxious-seat as regarded matrimony ; and with a 
 sentimental turn that incited much reading of Cowper 
 and Montgomery and (if it must be told) " Thaddeus of 
 Warsaw," the poor girl united a sickly, in-door look, 
 and a peaked countenance, which had not attracted 
 wooers. The wonderful executive capacity of the mother 
 
64 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 had unfortunately debarred her from any active interest 
 in the household ; and though the Tourtelots had act 
 ually been at the expense of providing a piano for 
 Almira, (the only one in Ashfield, ) upon which the 
 poor girl thrummed, thinking of " Thaddeus," and, we 
 trust, of better things, this had not won a roseate 
 hue to her face, or quickened in any perceptible degree 
 the alacrity of her admirers. 
 
 Upon a certain night of later October, after Almira 
 has retired, and when the Tourtelots are seated by the 
 little fire, which the autumn chills have rendered neces 
 sary, and into the embers of which the Deacon has cau 
 tiously thrust the leg of one of the fire-dogs, preparatory 
 to a modest mug of flip, (with which, by his wife s per 
 mission, he occasionally indulges himself,) the good dame 
 calls out to her husband, who is dozing in his chair, 
 
 "Tourtelot !" 
 
 But she is not loud enough. 
 
 " TOURTELOT ! you re asleep ! " 
 
 "No," says the Deacon, rousing himself, "only 
 thinkin ." 
 
 " What are you thinkin of, Tourtelot ?" 
 
 "Thinkin thinkin ," says the Deacon, rasped by 
 the dame s sharpness into sudden mental effort, 
 "thinkin , Huldy, if it a n t about time to butcher : we 
 butchered last year nigh on the twentieth." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " says the dame ; " what about the par 
 son?" 
 
 " The parson ? Oh ! Why, I guess the parson ll take 
 a side and two hams." 
 
PRACTICAL SYMPATHIES. 65 
 
 " Nonsense ! " says the dame, with a great voice ; 
 " you re asleep, Tourtelot. Is the parson a-goin to 
 marry, or a n t he ? that s what I want to know ;" and 
 she rethreads her needle. 
 
 (She can do it by candle-light at fifty-five, that 
 woman ! ) 
 
 " Oh, marry ?" replies the Deacon, rousing him 
 self more thoroughly, " waal, I don t see no signs, 
 Huldy. If he doos mean to, he s sly about it ; don t you 
 think so, Huldy?" 
 
 The dame, who is intent upon her sewing again, 
 she is never without her work, that woman ! does not 
 deign a reply. 
 
 The Deacon, after lifting the fire-dog, blowing off the 
 ashes, and holding it to his face to try the heat, 
 says, 
 
 "I guess Almiry ha n t much of a chance." 
 
 "What s the use of your guessin ?" says the dame ; 
 "better mind your flip." 
 
 Which the Deacon accordingly does, stirring it in a 
 mild manner, until the dame breaks out upon him again 
 explosively : 
 
 " Tourtelot. A ou men of the parish ought to talk to 
 the parson ; it a n t right for things to go on this way. 
 That boy Reuben is growiii up wild ; he wants a wom 
 an in the house to look arter him. Besides, a minister 
 ought to have a wife ; it a n t decent to have the 
 house empty, and only Esther there. Women want to 
 feel they can drop in at the parsonage for a chat, or to 
 take tea. But who s to serve tea, I want to know ? 
 5 
 
66 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Who s to mind Keuben in meetin ? He broke the 
 cover off the best hymn-book in the parson s pew last 
 Sunday. Who s to prevent him a-breakin all the hymn- 
 books that belong to the parish ? You men ought to 
 speak to the parson ; and, Tourtelot, if the others won t 
 do it, you must." 
 
 The Deacon was fairly awake now. He pulled at his 
 whiskers deprecatingly. Yet he clearly foresaw that the 
 emergency was one to be met ; the manner of Dame 
 Tourtelot left no room for doubt ; and he was casting 
 about for such Scriptural injunctions as might be made 
 available, when the dame interrupted his reflections in 
 more amiable humor, 
 
 "It a n t Almiry, Samuel, I m thinkin of, but Mr. Johns 
 and the good o the parish. I really don t know if Almiry 
 would fancy the parson ; the girl is a good deal taken 
 up with her pianny and books ; but there s the Hap- 
 goods, opposite ; there s Joanny Meacham " 
 
 "You ll never make that do, Huldy," said the Dea 
 con, stirring his flip composedly ; " they re nigh on as 
 old as the parson." 
 
 "Never you mind, Tourtelot," said the dame, sharp 
 ly; " only you hint to the parson that they re good, 
 pious women, all of em, and would make proper min 
 isters wives. Do you think I don t know what a man 
 is, Tourtelot ! Humph ! " And she threads her needle 
 again. 
 
 The Deacon was apt to keep in mind his wife s ad 
 vices, whatever he might do with Scripture quotations. 
 So when he called at the parsonage, a few days after, 
 
PRACTICAL SYMPATHIES. 67 
 
 ostensibly to learn how the minister would like his 
 pork cut, it happened that little Reuben came bound 
 ing in, and that the Deacon gave him a fatherly pat 
 upon the shoulder. 
 
 " Likely boy you ve got here, Mr. Johns, likely 
 boy. But, Parson, don t you think he must feel a kind 
 o hankerin arter somebody to be motherly to him ? I 
 a most wonder you don t feel that way yourself, Mr. 
 Johns." 
 
 " God comforts the mourners," said the clergyman, 
 seriously. 
 
 " No doubt on t, no doubt on t, Parson ; but the 
 Lord sometimes provides comforts ag in which we shet 
 our eyes. You won t think hard o me, Parson, but I ve 
 heerd say about the village that Miss Meacham or one 
 of the Miss Hapgoods would make a pooty good minis 
 ter s wife." 
 
 The parson is suddenly very grave. 
 
 " Don t repeat such idle gossip, Deacon. I m mar 
 ried to my work. The Gospel is my bride now." 
 
 " And a very good un it is, Parson. But don t you 
 rather think, naow, that a godly woman for helpmeet 
 would make the work more effectooal ? Miss Meacham 
 is a pattern of a body in the Sunday-school I guess 
 the women o the parish would rather like to find the 
 doors of the parsonage openin for em ag in." 
 
 " That is to be thought of, certainly," said the minis 
 ter, musingly. 
 
 " You won t think hard o me, Mr. Johns, for droppin 
 a word about this matter ? " says the Deacon, rising to 
 
68 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 leave. "And while I think on t, Parson, I see the sill 
 under the no theast corner o the meetin -house has a 
 little settle to t. I ve jest been cuttin a few sticks o 
 good smart chestnut timber ; and if the Committee 
 thinks best, I could haul down one or two on em for 
 repairs. It won t cost nigh as much as pine lumber, 
 and it s every bit as good." 
 
 Even Dame Tourtelot would have been satisfied with 
 the politic way of the Deacon, both as regarded the 
 wife and the prospective bargain. The next evening 
 the good woman invited the clergyman begging him 
 " not to forget the dear little boy " to tea. 
 
 This was by no means the first hint which the min 
 ister had had of the tendency of village gossip. The 
 Tew partners, with whom he had fallen upon very easy 
 terms of familiarity, both by reason of frequent visits 
 at their little shop, and by reason of their steady attend 
 ance upon his ministrations, often dropped hints of 
 the smalhiess of the good man s grocery account, and 
 insidious hopes that it might be doubled in size at some 
 day not far off. 
 
 Squire Elderkin, too, in his bluff, hearty way, had 
 occasionally complimented the clergyman upon the in 
 creased attendance latterly of ladies of a certain age, and 
 had drawn his attention particularly to the ardent zeal 
 of a buxom, middle-aged widow, who lived upon the 
 skirts of the town, and was " the owner," he said, " of 
 as pretty a piece of property as lay in the county." 
 
 "Have you any knack at farming, Mr. Johns?" con 
 tinued he, playfully. 
 
PRACTICAL SYMPATHIES. 69 
 
 "Farming? why?" says the innocent parson, in a 
 maze. 
 
 " Because I am of opinion, Mr. Johns, that the wid 
 ow s little property might be rented by you, under con 
 ditions of joint occupancy, on very easy terms." 
 
 Such badinage was so warded off by the ponderous 
 gravity which the parson habitually wore, that men like 
 Elderkin loved occasionally to launch a quiet joke at 
 him, for the pleasure of watching the rebound. 
 
 When, however, the wide-spread gossip of the town 
 had taken the shape (as in the talk of Deacon Tourte- 
 lot) of an incentive to duty, the grave clergyman gave 
 to it his undivided and prayerful attention. It was 
 over-true that the boy Reuben was running wild. No 
 lad in Ashfield, of his years, could match him in mis 
 chief. There was surely need of womanly direction 
 and remonstrance. It was eminently proper, too, that 
 the parsonage, so long closed, should be opened freely 
 to all his flock ; and the truth was so plain, he won 
 dered it could have escaped him so long. Duty re 
 quired that his home should have an established mis 
 tress ; and a mistress he forthwith determined it should 
 have. 
 
 Within three weeks from the day of the tea-drink 
 ing with the Tourtelots, the minister suggested certain 
 changes in the long-deserted chamber which should 
 bring it into more habitable condition. He hinted to 
 his man Larkin that an additional fire might probably 
 be needed in the house during the latter part of winter ; 
 and before January had gone out, he had most agree- 
 
70 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 ably surprised the delighted and curious Tew partners 
 with a very large addition to his usual orders, em 
 bracing certain condiments in the way of spices, dried 
 fruits, and cordials, which had for a long time been 
 foreign to the larder of the parsonage. 
 
 Such indications, duly commented on, as they were 
 most zealously, could not fail to excite a great buzz of 
 talk and of curiosity throughout the town. 
 
 " I knew it," says Mrs. Tew, authoritatively, setting 
 back her spectacles from her postal duties; "these 
 ere grave widowers are allers the first to pop off, and 
 git married." 
 
 "Tourtelot!" said the dame, on a January night, 
 when the evidence had come in overwhelmingly, 
 " Tourtelot ! what does it all mean ? " 
 
 " D n know," says the Deacon, stirring his flip, 
 " d n know. It s my opinion the parson has his sly 
 humors about him." 
 
 " Do you think it s true, Samuel ? " 
 
 "Waal, Huldy, I du." 
 
 "Tourtelot! finish your flip, and go to bed: it s past 
 ten." 
 
 And the Deacon went. 
 
A NEW MISTRESS. 71 
 
 XIV. 
 
 A New Mistress. 
 
 the latter end of the winter there arrived 
 at the parsonage the new mistress, in the per 
 son of Miss Eliza Johns, the elder sister of the incum 
 bent, and a spinster of the ripe age of three-and-thirty. 
 For the last twelve years she had maintained a lonely, 
 but matronly, command of the old homestead of the 
 late Major Johns, in the town of Canterbury. She was 
 intensely proud of the memory of her father, and of 
 h is father before him, every inch a Johns. No light 
 cause could have provoked her to a sacrifice of the 
 name ; and of weightier causes she had been spared 
 the trial. The marriage of her brother had always 
 been more or less a source of mortification to her. 
 The Handbys, though excellent plain people, were of 
 no particular distinction. Rachel had a pretty face, 
 with which Benjamin had grown suddenly demented. 
 That source of mortification and of disturbed intimacy 
 was now buried in the grave. Benjamin had won a 
 reputation for dignity and ability which was immenseh r 
 gratifying to her. She had assured him of it again 
 and again in her occasional letters. The success of 
 an Election Sermon he had preached at the invitation 
 of Gov. TTolcott had been an event of the greatest 
 interest to her, which she had expressed in an epistle 
 
72 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 of three pages, with every comma in its place, and full 
 of gratulations. Her commas were always in place ; 
 so were her stops of all kinds. This precision had en 
 abled her to manage the little property which had been 
 left her in such a way as to maintain always about her 
 establishment an air of well-ordered thrift. She con 
 cealed adroitly all the shifts if there were any by 
 which she avoided the reproach of seeming poor. 
 
 In person she was not unlike her father, the Ma 
 jor, tall, erect, with a dignified bearing, and so trim 
 a figure, and so elastic a step even at her years, as 
 would have provoked an inquisitive follower to catch 
 sight of the face. This was by no means attractive. 
 Her features were thin, her nose unduly prominent ; 
 and both eye and mouth, though well formed, carried 
 about them a kind of hard positiveness that would have 
 challenged respect, perhaps, but no warmer feeling. 
 Two little curls were flattened upon either temple; 
 and her necktie, dress, gloves, hat, were always most 
 neatly arranged, and ordered with the same precision 
 that governed all her action. In the town of Canter 
 bury she was an institution. Her charities and all her 
 religious observances were methodical, and never omit 
 ted. Her whole life, indeed, was a discipline. With 
 out any great love for children, she still had her Bible- 
 class ; and it was rare that the weather or any other 
 cause forbade attendance upon its duties. Nor was 
 there one of the little ones who listened to that clear, 
 sharp, metallic voice of hers but stood in awe of her ; 
 not one that could say she was unkind ; not one who 
 
A NEW MISTRESS. 73 
 
 had ever bestowed a childish gift upon her, such little 
 gifts as children love to heap on those who have found 
 the way to their hearts. 
 
 Sentiment had never been effusive in her ; and it was 
 now limited to quick sparkles, that sometimes flashed 
 into a page of her reading. As regarded the serious 
 question of marriage, implying a home, position, the mar 
 ried dignities, it had rarely disturbed her ; and now her 
 imaginative forecast did not grapple it with any vigor or 
 longing. If, indeed, it had been possible that a man 
 of high standing, character, cultivation, equal, in 
 short, to the Johnses in every way, should woo her 
 with pertinacity, she might have been disposed to yield 
 a dignified assent ; but not unless he could be made 
 to understand and adequately appreciate the immense 
 favor she was conferring. In short, the suitor who could 
 abide and admit her exalted pretensions, and submit 
 to them, would most infallibly be one of a character 
 and temper so far inferior to her own that she would 
 scorn him from the outset. This dilemma, imposed by 
 the rigidity of her smaller dignities, that were never 
 mastered or overshadowed either by her sentiment or 
 her passion, not only involved a life of celibacy, but 
 was a constant justification of it, and made it eminently 
 easy to be borne. There are not a few maiden ladies 
 who are thus lightered over the shoals of a solitary 
 existence by the buoyancy of their own intemperate 
 vanities. 
 
 Miss Johns did not accept the invitation of her 
 brother to undertake the charge of his household 
 

 74 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 without due consideration. She by no means left out 
 of view the contingency of his possible future mar^ 
 riage ; but she trusted largely to her own influences in 
 making it such a one, if inevitable, as should not be 
 discreditable to the family name. And under such 
 conditions she would retire with serene contentment to 
 her ow r n more private sphere of Canterbury, or, if 
 circumstances should demand, would accept the posi 
 tion of guest in the house of her brother. Nor did 
 she leave out of view her influence in the training 
 of the boy Keuben. She cherished her own hopes of 
 moulding him to her will, and of making him a pride 
 to the family. 
 
 There was of course prodigious excitement in the 
 parsonage upon her arrival. Esther had done her best 
 at all household appliances, whether of kitchen or 
 chamber. The minister received her with his wonted 
 quietude, and a brotherly kiss of salutation. Reuben 
 gazed wonderingly at her, and was thinking dreamily 
 if he should ever love her, while he felt the dreary 
 rustle of her black silk dress swooping round as she 
 stooped to embrace him. "I hope Master Reuben is a 
 good boy," said she ; " your Aunt Eliza loves all good 
 boys." 
 
 He had nothing to say ; but only looked back into 
 that cold gray eye, as she lifted his chin with her 
 gloved hand. 
 
 " Benjamin, there s a strong look of the Handbys ; 
 but it s your forehead. He s a little man, I hope," 
 and she patted him on the head. 
 
A NEW MISTRESS. 75 
 
 Still Reuben looked wonderingly at her shining 
 silk dress, at her hat, at the little curls on either temple, 
 at the guard-chain which hung from her neck with a 
 glittering watch-key upon it, at the bright buckle in her 
 belt, and most of all at the gray eye which seemed \o 
 look on him from far away. And with the same stare 
 of wonderment, he followed her up and down through 
 out the house. 
 
 At night, Esther, who has a chamber near him, 
 creeps in to say good-night to the lad, and asks, 
 
 " Do you like her, Ruby, boy ? Do you like your 
 Aunt Eliza?" 
 
 " I d n know," says Reuben. " She says she likes 
 good boys ; don t you like bad uns, Esther ? " 
 
 "But you re not very bad," says Esther, whose or 
 thodoxy does not forbid kindly praise. 
 
 " Didn t mamma like bad uns, Esther ? " 
 
 " Dear heart ! " and the good creature gives the boy 
 a great hug ; it could not have been warmer, if he had 
 been her child. 
 
 The household speedily felt the presence of the new 
 comer. Her precision, her method, her clear, sharp 
 voice, never raised in anger, never falling to tender 
 ness, ruled the establishment. Under all the cheeri- 
 ness of the old management, there had been a sad lack 
 of any economic system, by reason of which the minis 
 ter was constantly overrunning his little stipend, and 
 making awkward appeals from time to time to the Par* 
 ish Committee for advances. A small legacy that had 
 befallen the late Mrs. Johns, and which had gone to the 
 
76 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 purchase of the parsonage, had brought relief at a very 
 perplexing crisis ; but against all similar troubles Miss 
 Johns set her face most resolutely. There was a daily 
 examination of butchers and grocers accounts, that 
 had been previously unknown to the household. The 
 kitchen was placed under strict regimen, into the 
 observance of which the good Esther slipped, not so 
 much from love of it, as from total inability to cope 
 with the magnetic authority of the new mistress. 
 
 " Esther, my good woman, it will be best, I think, to 
 have breakfast a little more promptly, at half-past 
 six, we will say, so that prayers may be over and the 
 room free by eight ; the minister, you know, must have 
 his morning in his study undisturbed." 
 
 " Yes, marm," says Esther ; and she would as soon 
 have thought of flying over the house-top in her short 
 gown as of questioning the plan. 
 
 Again, the mistress says, " Larkin, I think it 
 would be well to take up those scattered bunches of 
 lilies, and place them upon either side of the walk in 
 the garden, so that the flowers may be all together." 
 
 " Yes, marm," says Larkin. 
 
 And much as he had loved the little woman now 
 sleeping in her grave, who had scattered flowers with an 
 errant fancy, he would have thought it preposterous to 
 object to an order so calmly spoken, so evidently intend 
 ed for execution. 
 
 The parishioners were not slow to perceive that new 
 order prevailed at the quiet parsonage. Curiosity, no 
 less than the staid proprieties which governed the 
 
A NEW MISTRESS. 77 
 
 action of the chief inhabitants, had brought them early 
 into contact with the new mistress. She received all 
 with dignity and with an exactitude of deportment 
 that charmed the precise ones and that awed the young 
 er folks. The bustling Dame Tourtelot had come among 
 the earliest, and her brief report was, " Tourtelot, 
 Miss Johns s as smart as a steel trap." 
 
 Nor was the spinster sister without a degree of cul 
 tivation which commended her to the more intellectual 
 people of Ashfield. She was a reader of "Rokeby" 
 and of Miss Austen s novels, of Josephus and of Eollin s 
 "Ancient History. The Misses Hapgoods, who were 
 the blue-stockings of the place, were charmed to have 
 such an addition to the cultivated circle of the parish. To 
 make the success of Miss Johns still more decided, she 
 brought with her a certain knowledge of the convention 
 alisms of the city, by reason of her occasional visits to 
 her sister Mabel, (now Mrs. Brindlock, of Greenwich 
 Street,) which to many excellent women gave larger as 
 surance of her position and dignity than all besides. 
 Before the first year of her advent had gone by, it was 
 quite plain that she was to become one of the prominent 
 directors of the female world of Ashfield. 
 
 Only in the parsonage itself did her influence find its 
 most serious limitations, and these in connection with 
 the boy Reuben. 
 
78 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Boy Development. 
 
 rjlHEKE is a deep emotional nature in the lad, which, 
 -*- by the time he has reached his eighth year, 
 Miss Eliza having now been in the position of mistress 
 of the household a twelvemonth, works itself off in 
 explosive tempests of feeling, with which the prim 
 spinster has but faint sympathy. No care could be 
 more studious and complete than that with which she 
 looks after the boy s wardrobe and the ordering of his 
 little chamber ; nay, his caprices of the table are not 
 wholly overlooked, and she hopes to win upon him by 
 the dishes that are most toothsome ; but, however grate 
 ful for the moment, his boyish affections can never make 
 their way with any force or passionate flow through the 
 stately proprieties of manner with which the spinster 
 aunt is always hedged about. 
 
 He wanders away after school-hours to the home of 
 the Elderkins, Phil and he being sworn friends, and 
 the good mother of Phil always having ready for him 
 a beaming look of welcome and a tender word or two 
 that somehow always find their way straight to his 
 heart. He loiters with Larkin, too, by the great stable- 
 yard of the inn, though it is forbidden ground. He 
 breaks in upon the precise woman s rule of punctuality 
 
BOY DEVELOPMENT. 79 
 
 sadly ; many a cold dish he eats sulkily, she sitting 
 bolt upright in her place at the table, looking down at 
 him with glances which are every one a punishment. 
 Other times he is straying in the orchard at the hour of 
 some home-duty, and the active spinster goes to seek 
 him, and not threateningly, but with an assured step 
 and a firm grip upon the hand of the loiterer, which he 
 knows not whether to count a favor or a punishment, 
 (and she as much at a loss, so inextricably interwoven 
 are her notions of duty and of kindness,) leads him 
 homeward, plying him with stately precepts upon the 
 sin of negligence, and with earnest story of the dreadful 
 fate which is sure to overtake all bad boys who do not 
 obey and keep "by the rules." 
 
 ""Who was it they called bald-head, Reuben? Elisha 
 or Elijah?" 
 
 He, in no mood for reply, is sulkily beating off the 
 daisies with his feet, as she drags him on ; sometimes 
 hanging back, with impotent, yet concealed struggle, 
 which she not deigning to notice overcomes with 
 even sharper step, and plies him the more closely with 
 the dire results of badness, has not finished her talk, 
 indeed, when they reach the door-step and enter. 
 There he, fuming now with that long struggle, fuming 
 the more because he has concealed it, makes one violent 
 discharge with a great frown on his little face, "You re 
 an ugly old thing, and I don t like you one bit ! " 
 
 Esther, good soul, within hearing of it, lifts her hands 
 in apparent horror, but inwardly indulges in a wicked 
 chuckle over the boy s spirit. 
 
80 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 But the minister has heard him, too, and gravely 
 summons the offender into his study. 
 
 "My son, Reuben, this is very wrong." 
 
 And the boy breaks into a sob at this stage, which is 
 a great relief. 
 
 "My boy, you ought to love your aunt." 
 
 "But I can t make myself love her, if I don t," says 
 the boy. 
 
 "It is your duty to love her, Reuben ; and we can all 
 do our duty." 
 
 Even the staid clergyman enjoys the boy s discom 
 fiture under so orthodox a proposition. Miss Johns, 
 however, breaks in here, having overheard the latter 
 part of the talk : 
 
 " No, Benjamin, I wish no love that is given from a 
 sense of duty. Reuben sh an t be forced into loving his 
 Aunt Eliza." 
 
 And there is a subdued tone in her speech which 
 touches the boy. But he is not ready yet for surren 
 der; he watches gravely her retirement, and for an 
 hour shows a certain preoccupation at his play ; then 
 his piping voice is heard at the foot of the stairway, 
 
 " Aunt Eliza ! Are you there ? " 
 
 "Yes, Master Reuben !" 
 
 Master ! It cools somewhat his generous intent ; but 
 he is in for it ; and he climbs the stair, sidles uneasily 
 into the chamber where she sits at her work, stealing a 
 swift, inquiring look into that gray eye of hers, 
 
 "I say Aunt Eliza I m sorry I said that you 
 know what/ 
 
BOY DEVELOPMENT. 81 
 
 And he looks up with a little of the old yearning, 
 the yearning he used to feel when another sat in that 
 place. 
 
 "Ah, that is right, Master Reuben ! I hope we shall 
 be friends, now." 
 
 Another disturbed look at her, remembering the 
 time when he would have leaped into a mother s arms, 
 after such struggle with his self-will, and found glad 
 ness. That is gone ; no swift embrace, no tender hand 
 toying with his hair, beguiling him from play. And he 
 sidles out again, half shamefaced at a surrender that has 
 wrought so little. Loitering, and playing with the 
 balusters as he descends, the swift, keen voice comes 
 after him, 
 
 " Don t soil the paint, Reuben ! " 
 
 "I have n t." 
 
 And the swift command and as swift retort put him 
 in his old, wicked mood again, and he breaks out into 
 a defiant whistle. (Over and over the spinster has 
 told him it was improper to whistle in-doors.) Yet, 
 with a lingering desire for sympathy, Reuben makes 
 his way into his father s study ; and the minister lays 
 down his great folio, it is Poole s " Annotations," 
 and says, 
 
 "Well, Reuben!" 
 
 " I told her I was sorry," says the boy ; "but I don t 
 believe she likes me much." 
 
 "Why, my son?" 
 
 " Because she called me Master, and said it was very 
 proper." 
 
 6 
 
82 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 "But does n t that show an interest in you ?" 
 
 " Mamma never called me Master," said Reuben. 
 
 The grave minister bites his lip, beckons his boy to 
 him, " Here, my son ! " passes his arm around him, 
 had almost drawn him to his heart, 
 
 " There, there, Reuben ; leave me now ; I have my 
 sermon to finish. I hope you won t be disrespectful to 
 your aunt again. Shut the door." 
 
 In the summer of 1828 Mr. Johns was called upon 
 to preach a special discourse at the Commencement 
 exercises of the college from which he had received 
 his degree ; and so sterlingly orthodox was his sermon, 
 at a crisis when some sister colleges were bolstering up 
 certain new theological tenets which had a strong taint 
 of heresy, that the old gentlemen who held rank as 
 fellows of his college, in a burst of zeal, bestowed upon 
 the worthy man the title of D. D. 
 
 The spinster sister, with an ill-concealed pride, was 
 most zealous in the bestowal of it ; and before a 
 month had passed, she had forced it into current use 
 throughout the world of Ashfield. 
 
 Did a neglectful neighbor speak of the good health 
 of " Mr. Johns," the mistress of the parsonage said, 
 " Why, yes, the Doctor is working very hard, it is true ; 
 but he is quite well ; the Doctor is remarkably well." 
 
 As for Larkin and Esther, w r ho stumbled dismally 
 over the new title, the spinster plied them urgently. 
 
 "Esther, my good woman, make the Doctor s tea 
 very strong to-night." 
 
 " Larkin, the Doctor won t ride to-day ; and mind, 
 
BOY DEVELOPMENT. F 3 
 
 you must cut the wood for the Doctor s fire a little 
 shorter." 
 
 To the quiet, staid man himself it was a wholly in 
 different matter. In the solitude of his study, how 
 ever, it recalled a neglected duty, and in so far seemed 
 a blessing. By such paltry threads are the colors 
 woven into our life ! It recalled his friend Maverick 
 and his jaunty prediction ; and upon that came to him 
 a recollection of the promise which he had made to 
 Rachel, that he would write to Maverick. 
 
 So the minister wrote, telling his old friend what 
 grief had stricken his house, how his boy and he 
 were left alone, how the church, by favor of Provi 
 dence, had grown under his preaching, how his sister 
 had come to be mistress of the parsonage, how he 
 had -wrought the Master s work in fear and trembling ; 
 and after this came godly counsel for the exile. 
 
 "My friend," he wrote, God s Word is true ; God s 
 laws are just ; He will come some day in a chariot of 
 fire. Neither moneys nor high places nor worldly hon 
 ors nor pleasures can stay or avert the stroke of that 
 sword of divine justice which will pierce even to the 
 dividing asunder of the joints and marrow/ " 
 
 "Whether these words of the minister were met* after 
 their transmission over seas, with a smile of derision, 
 with an empty gratitude, that said, " Good fellow ! " 
 and forgot their burden, we will not say. 
 
 The cross-ocean mails were slow in those days ; and 
 it was not until nearly four months after the transmis 
 sion of the Doctor s letter he having almost forgotten 
 
84 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 it that Reuben came one day bounding in from the 
 snow in mid-winter, his cheeks aflame with the keen, 
 frosty air, his eyes dancing with boyish excitement : 
 
 " A letter, papa ! a letter ! and Mr. Troop " (it is 
 the new postmaster under the Adams dynasty) " says it 
 came all the way from Europe. It s got a funny post 
 mark." 
 
 The minister lays down his book, takes the letter, 
 opens it, reads, paces up and down his study 
 thoughtfully, reads again, to the end. 
 
 "Reuben, call your Aunt Eliza." 
 
 There is matter in the letter that concerns her, 
 that in its issues will concern the boy, that may pos 
 sibly give a new color to the life of the parsonage, and 
 a new direction to our story. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 A Surprise. 
 
 MISS ELIZA being fairly seated in the Doctor s 
 study, with great eagerness to hear what might 
 be the subject of his communication, the parson, with 
 die letter in his hand, asked if she remembered an old 
 college friend, Maverick, who had once paid them a va 
 cation visit at Canterbury. 
 
 " Perfectly," said Miss Eliza, whose memoiy was both 
 keen and retentive ; " and I remember that you have said 
 he once passed a night with you, during the lifetime of 
 
A SURPRISE. 85 
 
 poor Rachel, here at Ashfield. You have a letter from 
 him?" 
 
 "I have," said the parson ; " and it brings a proposal 
 about which I wish your opinion." And the Doctor 
 cast his eye over the letter. 
 
 " He expresses deep sympathy at my loss, and alludes 
 very pleasantly to the visit you speak of, all which I will 
 not read ; after this he says, I little thought, when 
 bantering you in your little study upon your family 
 prospects, that I too was destined to become the father of 
 a child, within a couple of years. Yet it is even so ; and 
 the responsibility weighs upon me greatly. I love my 
 Adele with my whole heart ; I am sure you cannot love 
 your boy more, though perhaps more wisely. " 
 
 " And he had never told you of his marriage?" said 
 the spinster. 
 
 " Never ; it is the only line I have had from him since 
 his visit ten years ago." 
 
 The doctor goes on with the reading : 
 
 " It may be from a recollection of your warnings and 
 your distrust of the French character, or possibly it may 
 be from the prejudices of my New England education, but 
 I can t entertain pleasantly the thought of her growing 
 up under the influences about her here. I am sure it will 
 be enough to win upon your sympathy to say that those 
 influences are Popish and thoroughly French. I feel a 
 strong wish, therefore, much as I am attached to the 
 dear child, to give her the advantages of a New Eng 
 land education and training. And with this wish, my 
 thought goes back naturally to the quiet of your little 
 
86 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 town and of your household ; for I cannot doubt that it 
 is the same under the care of your sister as in the old 
 time." 
 
 " I am glad he thinks so well of me," said Miss Eliza, 
 but with an irony in her tone that she was sure the good 
 parson would never detect. 
 
 The doctor looks at her thoughtfully a moment, over 
 the edge of the letter, as if he, too, had his quiet com 
 parisons to make, then goes on with the letter : 
 
 " This wish may surprise you, since you remember my 
 old battlings with what I counted the rigors of a New 
 England bringing-up ; but in this case I should not 
 fear them, provided I could assure myself of your kindly 
 supervision. For my little Adele, besides inheriting a 
 great flow of spirits (from her father, you will say) and 
 French blood, has been used thus far to a catholic lati 
 tude of talk and manner in all about her, which will so 
 far counterbalance the gravities of your region as to 
 leave her, I think, upon a safe middle ground. At any 
 rate, I see enough to persuade me to choose rather the 
 errors that may grow upon her girlhood there than those 
 that would grow upon it here. 
 
 "Frankly, now, may I ask you to undertake, with 
 your good sister, for a few years, the responsibility 
 which I have suggested ? " 
 
 The Doctor looked over the edge of the sheet toward 
 Miss Eliza. 
 
 "Read on, Benjamin," said she. 
 
 " The matter of expenses, I am happy to say, is one 
 which need not enter into your consideration of the 
 
A SURPRISE. 87 
 
 question. My business successes have been such 
 that any estimate which you may make of the moneys 
 required will be at your call at the office of our house 
 in Xewburyport. 
 
 " I have the utmost faith in you, my dear Johns ; 
 and I want you to have faith in the earnestness with 
 which I press this proposal on your notice. You will 
 wonder, perhaps, how the mother of my little Adele 
 can be a party to such a plan ; but I may assure you, 
 that, if your consent be gained, it will meet with no 
 opposition in that quarter. This fact may possibly 
 confirm some of your worst theories in regard to 
 French character ; and in this letter, at least, you will 
 not expect me to combat them. 
 
 " I have said that she has lived thus far under Popish 
 influences ; but her religious character is of course un 
 formed ; indeed, she has as yet developed in no serious 
 direction whatever ; I think you will find a tabula rasa 
 to write your tenets upon. But, if she comes to you, 
 do not, I beg of you, grave them too harshly ; she is 
 too bird-like to be treated with severity; and I know 
 that under all your gravity, my dear Johns, there is a 
 kindliness of heart which, if you only allowed it utter 
 ance, would win greatly upon this little fondling of 
 mine. And I think that her open, laughing face may 
 win upon you. 
 
 "Adele has been taught English, and I have pur 
 posely held all my prattle with her in the same tongue, 
 and her familiarity with it is such that you would 
 hardly detect a French accent. I am not particularly 
 
88 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 anxious that she should maintain her knowledge of 
 French; still, should a good opportunity occur, and a 
 competent teacher be available, it might be well for her 
 to do so. In all such matters I should rely greatly on 
 your judgment. 
 
 " Now, my dear Johns," 
 
 Miss Eliza interrupts by saying, " I think your friend 
 is very familiar, Benjamin." 
 
 "Why not? why not, Eliza? We were boys to 
 gether." 
 
 And he continues with the letter : 
 
 "My dear Johns, I want you to consider this matter 
 fairly ; I need not tell you that it is one that lies very 
 near my heart. Should you determine to accept the 
 trust, there is a ship which wih 1 be due at this port some 
 four or five months from now, whose master I know 
 well, and with whom I should feel safe to trust my 
 little Adele for the voyage, providing at the same time 
 a female attendant upon whom I can rely, and who will 
 not leave the little voyager until she is fairly under 
 your wing. In two or three years thereafter, at most, 
 I hope to come to receive her from you ; and then, 
 when she shall have made a return visit to Europe, it is 
 quite possible that I may establish myself in my own 
 country again. Should you wish it, I could arrange 
 for the attendant to remain with her ; but I confess 
 that I should prefer the contrary. I want to separate 
 her for the time, so far as I can, from all the influences 
 to which she has been subject here ; and further than 
 this, I have a strong faith in that self-dependence which 
 
A SURPRISE. 89 
 
 seems to me to grow out of your old-fashioned New 
 England training." 
 
 " That is all," said the Doctor, quietly folding the 
 letter. " What do you think of the proposal, Eliza? " 
 
 " I like it, Benjamin." 
 
 The spinster was a woman of quick decision. Had 
 it been proposed to receive an ordinary pupil in the 
 house for any pecuniary consideration, her pride would 
 have revolted on the instant. But here was a child of 
 an old friend of the Doctor, a little Christian waif, as it 
 were, floating toward them from that unbelieving world 
 of France. 
 
 " Surely it will be a worthy and an honorable task 
 for Benjamin " (so thought Miss Eliza) "to redeem this 
 little creature from its graceless fortune ; possibly, too, 
 the companionship may soften that wild boy, Reuben. 
 This French girl, Adele, is rich, well-born ; what if, 
 from being inmates of the same house, the two should 
 come by and by to be joined by some tenderer tie ? " 
 
 The possibility, even, of such a dawn of sentiment 
 under the spinster s watchful tutelage was a delightful 
 subject of reflection to her. 
 
 Miss Johns, too, without being imaginative, pre 
 figured in her mind the image of the little French 
 stranger, with foreign air and dress, tripping beside 
 her up the meeting-house aisle, looking into her face 
 confidingly for guidance, attracting the attention of the 
 simple towns-people in such sort that a distinction 
 would belong to her protegee which would be pleasantly 
 reflected upon herself. 
 
90 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 (( I think," said she, " that you can hardly decline 
 the proposal of Mr. Maverick, Benjamin." 
 
 " And you will take the home care of her ? " asked 
 the Doctor. 
 
 " Certainly. She would at first, I suppose, attend 
 school with Beuben and the young Elderkins ? " 
 
 "Probably," returned the Doctor; "but the more 
 special religious training which I fear the poor girl 
 needs must be given at home, Eliza." 
 
 " Of course, Benjamin." 
 
 It was further agreed between the two that a French 
 attendant would make a very undesirable addition to the 
 household, as well as sadly compromise their efforts to 
 build up the little stranger in full knowledge of the faith. 
 
 The Doctor was earnest in his convictions of the duty 
 that lay before him, and his sister s consent to share the 
 charge left him free to act. He felt all the best im 
 pulses of his nature challenged by the proposal. Here, 
 at least, was one chance to snatch a brand from the 
 burning, to lead this poor little misguided wayfarer 
 into those paths which are "paths of pleasantness." 
 No image of French grace or of French modes was pre 
 figured to the mind of the parson ; his imagination had 
 different range. He saw a young innocent (so far as 
 any child in his view could be innocent) who prattled in 
 the terrible language of Rousseau and Voltaire, who by 
 the providence of God had been born in a realm where 
 all iniquities nourished, and to whom, by the further 
 and richer providence of God, a means of escape was 
 now offered. 
 
SfC/RAflSHlNGS. 91 
 
 Within that very week the Doctor wrote his reply to 
 Maverick. He assured him that he would most gladly 
 undertake the trust he had proposed, " hoping, by 
 God s grace, to lead the little one away from the delu 
 sions of sense and the abominations of Antichrist, to 
 the fold of the faithful." 
 
 "My sister has promised," he continued, "to give 
 home care to the little stranger, and will, I am sure, 
 welcome her with zeal It wijl be our purpose to place 
 your daughter at the day-school of a worthy person, 
 Miss Betsey Onthank, who has had large experience, 
 and under whose tuition my boy Eeuben has been for 
 some time established. My sister and myself are both 
 of opinion that the presence of any French attendant 
 upon the child would be undesirable. 
 
 " I hope that God may have mercy upon the French 
 people, and that those who dwell temporarily among 
 them may be watched over and be graciously snatched 
 from the great destruction that awaits the ungodly." 
 
 xm 
 
 Skirmishings. 
 
 MEANTIME Eeuben grew into a knowledge of all 
 the town mischief, and into the practice of such 
 as came within the scope of his years. The proposed 
 introduction of the young stranger from abroad to the 
 advantages of the parsonage home did not weigh upon 
 
92 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 his thought greatly. In his private talk with Esther, he 
 had said, " I hope that French girl 11 be a clever un ; if 
 
 she a n t, I 11 " and he doubled up a little fist, and 
 
 shook it, so that Esther laughed outright. 
 
 Not that the boy had any cruelty in him, but he was 
 just now learning from his older companions of the 
 village, who were more steeped in iniquity, that defiant 
 manner by which the Devil in all of us makes his first 
 pose preparatory to the onslaught that is to come. 
 
 " Nay, Ruby, boy," said Esther, when she had re 
 covered from her laughter, "you would n t hurt the 
 little un, would ye ? Don t ye want a little playfellow, 
 Euby ? " 
 
 "I don t play with girls, I don t," said Reuben. "But, 
 I say, Esther, what 11 papa do, if she dances ? " 
 
 " What makes the boy think she ll dance ? " said Es 
 ther. 
 
 "Because the Geography says the French people 
 dance ; and Phil Elderkin showed me a picture with 
 girls dancing under a tree, and, says he, That s the sort 
 that s comin to y r house. " 
 
 "Well, I don t know," said Esther, "but I guess your 
 Aunt Eliza d cure the dancin ." 
 
 " She would n t cure me, if I wanted to," said Reuben, 
 who thought it needful to speak in terms of bravado 
 about the spinster, with whom he kept up a series of 
 skirmishing fights from week to week. Over and over, 
 she warned him against the evil associates whom he 
 would find about the village tavern, where he strayed 
 from time to time to be witness to some dog-fight, or to 
 
SKIRMISHINGS. 93 
 
 receive a commendatory glance of recognition from one 
 Nat Boody, the tavern-keeper s son, who had run away 
 two years before and made a voyage down the river in a 
 sloop laden with apples and onions to " York." He was 
 a head taller than Reuben, and the latter admired him 
 intensely. Reuben absolutely pined in longing wonder 
 ment at the way in which Nat Boody could crack a coach- 
 whip, and with a couple of hickory sticks co uld " call the 
 roll " upon a pine table equal to a drum-major. Such an 
 air, too, as this Boody had, leaning against the pump- 
 handle by his father s door, and making cuts at an im 
 aginary span of horses ! such a pair of twilled trousers, 
 cut like a man s ! such a jacket, with lapels to the 
 pockets, which he said " the sailors wore on the sloops, 
 and called em monkey-jackets ! " 
 
 The truth is, that it was not altogether from admira 
 tion of the accomplished Nat Boody that Reuben was 
 prone to linger about the tavern neighborhood. The 
 spinster had so strongly and constantly impressed it 
 upon him that it was a low and vulgar and wicked place, 
 that the boy, growing vastly inquisitive in these years, 
 was curious to find out what shape the wickedness took ; 
 and as he walked by, sometimes at dusk, when thoroughly 
 infused with the last teachings of Miss Eliza, it seemed 
 to him that he might possibly catch a glimpse of the 
 hoofs of some devil (as he had seen devils pictured in an 
 illustrated Milton) capering about the doorway, and 
 if he had seen them, truth compels us to say that he 
 would have felt a strong inclination to follow them up, 
 at a safe distance, in order to see what kind of creatures 
 
94 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 might be wearing them. But he was far more apt to 
 see the lounging figure of the shoemaker from down 
 the street, or of Mr. Postmaster Troop, coming thither 
 to have an evening s chat about Vice-President Calhoun, 
 or William Wirt and the Anti-Masons. Or possibly, it 
 might be, he would see the light heels of Suke Boody, 
 the pretty daughter of the tavern-keeper, who had been 
 pronounced by Phil Elderkin, who knew (being a year 
 his senior), the handsomest girl in the town. This 
 might weh 1 be ; for Suke was just turned of fifteen, with 
 pink arms and pink cheeks and blue eyes and a great 
 flock of brown hair : not very startling in her beauty on 
 ordinary days, when she appeared in a pinned-up quilted 
 petticoat, and her curls in papers, sweeping the tavern- 
 steps ; but of a Saturday afternoon, in red and white 
 calico, with the curls all streaming, no wonder Phil 
 Elderkin, who was tall of his age, thought her handsome. 
 Pondering, as Reuben, did, upon the repeated warn 
 ings of the spinster against any familiarity with the 
 tavern or tavern people, he came in time to reckon the 
 old creaking sign-board, and the pump in the inn-yard, 
 as the pivotal points of ah 1 the town wickedness, just as 
 the meeting-house was the centre of all the town good 
 ness ; and since the great world was very wicked, as he 
 knew from overmuch iteration at home, and since com 
 munication with that wicked world was kept up mostly 
 by the stage-coach that stopped every noon at the tav 
 ern-door, it seemed to him that relays of wickedness 
 must flow into the tavern and town daily upon that old 
 swaying stage-coach, just as relays of goodness might 
 
SKIRMISHINGS. 95 
 
 come to the meeting-house on some old lumbering 
 chaise of a neighboring parson, who once a month, 
 perhaps, would " exchange " with the Doctor. And it 
 confirmed in Reuben s mind a good deal that was 
 taught him about natural depravity, when he found 
 himself looking out with very much more eagerness for 
 the rumbling coach, that kept up a daily wicked activity 
 about the tavern, than he did for Parson Hobson, who 
 snuffled in his reading, and who drove an old, thin- 
 tailed sorrel mare, with lopped ears and lank jaws, that 
 made passes at himself and Phil, if they teased her, 
 as they always did. 
 
 So, too, he came to regard, in virtue of misplaced 
 home instruction, the monkey-jacket of Nat Boody, and 
 his fighting-dog " Scamp," and the pink arms and pink 
 cheeks and brown ringlets of Suke Boody, as so many 
 types of human wickedness ; and, by parity of reason 
 ing, he came to look upon the two flat curls on either 
 temple of his Aunt Eliza, and her pragmatic way, and 
 upon the yellow ribbons within the scoop-hat of Almira 
 Tourtelot, who sang treble and never went to the tav 
 ern, as the types of goodness. What wonder, if he 
 swayed more and more toward the broad and easy path 
 that lay around the tavern-pump (" Scamp" lying there 
 biting at the flies), and toward the bar-room, with its 
 flaming pictures of some past menagerie-show, and big 
 tumblers with lemons atop, rather than to the strait 
 and narrow path in which his Aunt Eliza and Miss Al 
 mira would guide him with sharp voices, thin faces, and 
 decoy of dyspeptic doughnuts? 
 
96 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Phil and he sauntering by one day, Phil says, 
 
 " Darst you go in, Reub ? " 
 
 Phil was under no law of prohibition. And Reuben, 
 glancing around the Common, says, 
 
 "Yes, 7 11 go." 
 
 " Then," says Phil, " we 11 call for a glass of lemon 
 ade. Fellows most always order something when they 
 go in." 
 
 So Phil, swelling with his ten years, and tall of his 
 age, walks to the bar and calls for two tumblers of lem 
 onade, which Old Boody stirs with an appetizing rattle 
 of the toddy- stick, dropping, meantime, a query or 
 two about the Squire, and a look askance at the parson s 
 boy, who is trying very hard to wear an air as if he, too, 
 were ten, and knew the ropes. 
 
 "It s good, a n t it?" says Phil, putting down his 
 money, of which he always had a good stock. 
 
 "Prime ! " says Reuben, with a smack of the lips. 
 
 And then Suke comes in, hunting over the room for 
 last week s " Courant ; " and the boys, with furtive 
 glances at those pink cheeks and brown ringlets, go 
 down the steps. 
 
 " A n t she handsome ? " says Phil. 
 
EXPECTATION. 97 
 
 xvm. 
 
 Expectation. 
 
 IT was some four or five months after the despatch of 
 the Doctor s letter to Maverick before the reply 
 came. His friend expressed the utmost gratitude for 
 the Doctor s prompt and hearty acceptance of his pro 
 posal. 
 
 " I want," said Maverick in his letter, " that Adele, 
 while having a thorough womanly education, should 
 grow up with simple tastes. I think I see a little ten 
 dency in her to a good many idle coquetries of dress 
 (these you will set down, I know, to her French blood), 
 which I trust your good sister will see the prudence of 
 correcting. My fortune is now such that I may reason 
 ably hope to put luxuries within her reach, if they be 
 desirable ; but of this I should prefer that she remain 
 ignorant. I want to see established in her what you 
 would call those moral and religious bases of character 
 that will sustain her under any possible reverses or dis 
 appointments. 
 
 " And now, my dear Johns, I come to refer to a cer 
 tain allusion in your letter with some embarrassment. 
 You speak of the weight of a mother s religious influ 
 ence, and ask what it may have been. Since extreme 
 childhood, Adele has been almost entirely under the 
 
 care of her godmother, a quiet old lady, who, though a 
 
 7 
 
98 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 devotee of the Popish Church, you must allow me to 
 say, is a downright good Christian woman. I am quite 
 sure that she has not pressed upon the conscience of 
 little Adele any bigotries of the Church. Why it is that 
 the mother s relations with the child have been so bro 
 ken you will spare me the pain of explaining. 
 
 " Would to God, I think at times, that I had married 
 years ago one nurtured in our old-fashioned faith of 
 New England, some gentle, pure, loving soul ! Shall 
 I confess it, Johns ? the little glimpse of your lost 
 Eachel gave me an idea of the tenderness and depth 
 of devotion and charming womanliness of many of those 
 whom I had counted stiff and repulsive, which I never 
 possessed before. 
 
 " Pardon me, my friend, for an allusion which may 
 provoke your grief, and which may seem utterly out of 
 place in the talk of one who is just now confiding to you 
 his daughter. 
 
 " When little Adele comes to me, and sits upon my 
 knee, as I write, I almost lose courage. 
 
 " Adele, I say, will you leave your father, and go 
 far away over seas, to stay perhaps for years ? 
 
 " You talk nonsense, papa, she says, and leaps into 
 my arms. 
 
 " My heart cleaves strangely to her : I do not know 
 wholly why. And yet she must go : it is best. 
 
 " The vessel of which I spoke will sail in three weeks 
 from the date of my letter for the port of New York. 
 I have made ample provision for her comfort on the 
 passage ; and as the date of the ship s arrival in New 
 
EXPECTATION. 99 
 
 York is uncertain, I must beg you to arrange with some 
 friend there, if possible, to protect the little stranger, 
 until you are ready to receive her. I inclose my draft 
 for three hundred dollars, which I trust may be suffi 
 cient for a year s maintenance, seeing that she goes 
 well provided with clothing : if otherwise, you will 
 please inform me." 
 
 Dr. Johns was not a man to puzzle himself with idle 
 conjectures in regard to the private affairs of his friend. 
 With all kind feeling for him, and Maverick s con 
 fidence in the Doctor had insensibly given large growth 
 to it, the parson dismissed the whole affair with this 
 logical reflection : 
 
 My poor friend has been decoyed into marrying a 
 Frenchwoman. Frenchwomen (like Frenchmen) are all 
 children of Satan. He is now reaping the bitter re 
 sults. 
 
 "As for the poor child," thought the Doctor, and his 
 heart glowed at the thought, " I will plant her little feet 
 upon safe places." 
 
 He arranges with Mrs. Brindlock to receive the child 
 temporarily upon her arrival. Miss Eliza puts even 
 more than her usual vigor and system into her arrange 
 ments for the reception of the new-comer. Nothing 
 could be neater than the little chamber, provided with 
 its white curtains, its spotless linen, its dark old mahog 
 any furniture, its Testament and Catechism upon the 
 toilet-table ; one or two vases of old china had been 
 brought up and placed upon brackets out of reach of 
 the little hands that might have been tempted by their 
 
ioo DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 beauty, and a coquettish porcelain image of a flower* 
 girl had been added to the other simple adornments 
 which the ambitious spinster had lavished upon the 
 chamber. 
 
 " There," said she to Esther, as she gave a finishing 
 touch to the disposal of the blue and white hangings 
 about the high-post bedstead, " I wonder if that will be 
 to the taste of the little French lady ! " 
 
 " I should think it might, inarm ; it s the beautiful- 
 lest room I ever see, marm." 
 
 Reuben, boy-like, passes in and out with an air of 
 affected indifference, as if the arrangements for the new 
 arrival had no interest for him ; and he whistles more 
 defiantly than ever. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The Arrival. 
 
 TN early September of 1829, when the orchard behind 
 -- the parsonage was glowing with its burden of fruit, 
 when the white and crimson hollyhocks were lifting 
 their slanted pagodas of bloom all down the garden, 
 and the buckwheat was whitening with its blossoms 
 broad patches of the hill-sides east and west of Ashfield, 
 news came to the Doctor that his expected guest had ar 
 rived safely in New York, and was waiting his presence 
 there at the elegant home of Mrs. Brindlock. And Sis 
 ter Mabel writes to the Doctor, in the letter which con 
 veys intelligence of the arrival, " She s a charming 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 101 
 
 little witch ; and if you don t like to take her with 
 you, she may stay here." Mrs. Brindlock had no chil 
 dren. 
 
 A visit to New York was an event for the parson. 
 The spinster, eager for his good appearance at the home 
 of her stylish sister, insisted upon a toilet that made the 
 poor man more awkward than ever. 
 
 The Biindlocks received the parson with an efferves 
 cence of kindness that disturbed him almost as much 
 as the stiff garniture in which he had been invested by 
 the solicitude of Miss Eliza ; and when, in addition to 
 his double embarrassment, a little saucy-eyed, brown- 
 faced girl, full of mirthful exuberance, with her dark 
 hair banded in a way that was utterly strange to him, 
 and with coquettish bows of ribbon at her throat, at 
 either armlet of her jaunty frock, and all down either 
 side of her silk pinafore, came toward him with a smil 
 ing air, as if she were confident of his caresses, the 
 awkwardness of the poor Doctor was complete. 
 
 But, catching sight of a certain frank outlook in the 
 little face which reminded him of his fiiend Maverick, 
 he felt his heart stirred within him, and in his grave way 
 dropped a kiss upon her forehead, while he took both 
 her hands in his. 
 
 "This, then, is little Adaly?" 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " laughed Adele, merrily, and, turning 
 round to her new-found friends, says, " My new papa 
 calls me Adaly ! " 
 
 The straightforward parson was, indeed, as inaccessi 
 ble to French words as to French principles. Adele had 
 
102 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 somehow a smack in it of the Gallic Pandemonium-. 
 Adaly, to his ear, was a far honester sound. 
 
 And the child seemed to fancy it, whether for its 
 novelty, or the kindliness that beamed on her from the 
 gravest face she had ever seen, it would be hard to say. 
 
 " Call me Adaly, and I will call you New Papa," said 
 she. 
 
 And though the parson was not a bargaining man, 
 every impulse of his heart went to confirm this ar 
 rangement. It was flattering to his self-love, if not to 
 his principles, to have apparent sanction to his preju 
 dices against French forms of speech ; and the " New 
 Papa " on the lips of this young girl touched him to 
 the quick. 
 
 From all this it chanced that the best possible under 
 standing was speedily established between the Doctor 
 and his little ward from beyond the seas. For an hour 
 after his arrival, the little creature hung upon his chair, 
 asking questions about her new home, about the schools, 
 about her playmates, patting the great hand of the 
 Doctor with her little fingers, and reminding him sadly 
 of days utterly gone. 
 
 Mrs. Brindlock, with her woman s curiosity, seizes an 
 occasion, before they leave, to say privately to the Doc 
 tor, 
 
 " Benjamin, the child must have a strange mother to 
 allow this long separation, and the little creature so lov 
 ing as she is." 
 
 " It would be strange enough for any but a French 
 woman," said he. 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 103 
 
 "But Adc-le is full of talk about her father and her 
 godmother ; yet she can tell me scarce anything of her 
 mother. There s a mystery about it, Benjamin." 
 
 " There s a mystery in all our lives, Mabel, and will 
 be until the last day shall come." 
 
 The parson said this with extreme gravity, and then 
 added, "He has written me regarding it, a very un 
 fortunate marriage, I fear. Only this much he has been 
 disposed to communicate ; and for myself, I am only 
 concerned to redeem his little girl from gross worldly 
 attachments and to lead her to the truths which take 
 hold upon heaven." 
 
 The next day the Doctor set off homeward upon the 
 magnificent new steamboat Victory, which, with two 
 wonderful smoke -pipes, was then plying through the 
 Sound and up the Connecticut Kiver. It was an ob 
 ject of almost as much interest to the parson as to his 
 little companion. A sober costume had now replaced 
 the coquettish one with its furbelows, which Adele had 
 worn in the city ; but there was a bright lining to her 
 little hat that made her brown face more piquant than 
 ever. And as she inclined her head jauntily to this 
 side or that, in order to a better listening to the old 
 gentleman s somewhat tedious explanations, or with a 
 saucy smile cut him short in the midst of them, the 
 parson felt his heart warming more and more toward 
 this poor child of heathen France. Nay, he felt almost 
 tempted to lay his lips to the little white ears that 
 peeped forth from the masses of dark hair and seemed 
 fairly to quiver with the eagerness of their listening. 
 
104 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 With daylight of next morning came sight of the 
 rambling old towns that lay at the river s mouth, 
 being little more than patches of gray and white, 
 strewed over an almost treeless country, with some 
 central spire rising above them. Then came great 
 stretches of open pasture, scattered over with huge 
 gray rocks, amid which little flocks of sheep were ram 
 bling ; or some herd of young cattle, startled by the 
 splashing of the paddles, and the great plumes of 
 smoke, tossed their tails in the air, and galloped away 
 in a fright, at which Adele clapped her hands, and 
 broke into a laugh that was as cheery as the new dawn. 
 Next came low, flat meadows of sedge, over which the 
 tide oozed slowly, and where flocks of wild ducks, 
 scared from their feeding-ground, rose by scores, and 
 went flapping off seaward in long, black lines. And 
 from between the hills on either side came glimpses of 
 swamp woodland, in the midst of which some maple, 
 earlier than its green fellow r s, had taken a tinge of 
 orange, and flamed in the eyes of the little traveller 
 with a gorgeousness she had never seen in the woods 
 of Provence. Then came towns nestling under bluffs 
 of red quarry-stones, towns upon wooded plains, all 
 with a white newness about them ; and a brig, with horses 
 on its deck, piled over with bales of hay, comes drifting 
 lazily down with the tide, to catch an offing for the 
 West Indies ; and queer-shaped flat-boats, propelled by 
 broad-bladed oars, surge slowly athwart the stream, 
 ferrying over some traveller, or some fish- peddler bound 
 to the " P int " for " sea-food." 
 
THE ARRIVAL. 105 
 
 Toward noon the travelers land at a shambling dock 
 that juts into the river, from which point they are to 
 make their way. in such country vehicle as the little 
 village will supply, across to Ashfield. And when they 
 are fairly seated within, the parson, judging that ac 
 quaintance has ripened sufficiently to be put to serious 
 uses, says, with more than usual gravity, 
 
 I trust Adaly, that you are grateful to God for hav 
 ing protected you from all the dangers of the deep." 
 
 " Do you think there was much danger, New Papa? " 
 
 " There s always danger," said the parson, gravely. 
 "The Victory might have been blown in pieces last 
 night, and we all been killed, Adaly." 
 
 " Oh, terrible ! " says Adele. "And did such a thing 
 ever really happen ? " 
 
 "Yes, my child." 
 
 " Tell me all about it, New Papa, please ; " and she 
 put her little hand in his. 
 
 " Not now, Adaly, not now. I want to know if 
 you have been taught about God, in your old home." 
 
 " Oh, the good God ! To be sure I have, over and 
 over and over ; " and she made a little piquant gesture, 
 as if the teaching had been sometimes wearisome. 
 
 This gayety of speech on such a theme was painful to 
 the Doctor. 
 
 " And have you been taught to pray, Adaly ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes! Listen now. Shall I tell you one of my 
 prayers. New Papa ? Voyons, how is it " 
 
 " Never mind, never mind, Adaly ; not here, not here, 
 We are taught to enter into our closets when we pray." 
 
106 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 "Closets?" 
 
 " Yes, my child, to be by ourselves, and to be 
 solemn." 
 
 "I don t like solemn people much," said Adele, in a 
 quiet tone. 
 
 "But do you love God, my child ? " 
 
 "Love Him? To be sure I do;" and after a little 
 pause, " All good children love Him ; and I m good, 
 you know, New Papa, don t you ? " and she turned 
 her eyes up toward him with a half-coaxing, half-mis 
 chievous look that came near to drive away all his 
 solemnity. 
 
 " Ah, Adaly ! Adaly ! we are all wicked ! " said he. 
 
 Adele stared at him in amazement. 
 
 " You, too ! Yet papa told me you were so good ! 
 Ah, you are telling me now a little what you call 
 lie ! a n t you, New Papa ? " 
 
 And she looked at him with such a frank, arch 
 smile, so like the memory he cherished of the college- 
 boy, Maverick, that he could argue the matter no 
 further, but only patted her little hand, as it lay upon 
 the cushion of the carriage, as much as to say, " Poor 
 thing ! poor thing ! " 
 
 Upon this, he fell away into a train of grave reflec 
 tions on the method which it would be best to pursue in 
 bringing this little benighted wanderer into the fold of 
 the faithful. 
 
 And he was still musing thus, when suddenly the 
 spire of Ash field broke upon the view. 
 
 " There it is, Adaly ! There is to be your new home ! * 
 
ADELE MEETS REUBEN. 107 
 
 " Where ? where ? " says Adele, eagerly. 
 
 And straightway she is all aglow with excitement. 
 Her swift questions patter on the ears of the old gen 
 tleman thick as rain-drops. She looks at the houses, 
 the hills, the trees, the face of every passer-by, won 
 dering how she shall like them all ; fashioning to her 
 self some image of the boy Reuben and of the Aunt 
 Eliza who are to meet her ; yet, through all the torrent 
 of her vexed fancies, carrying a great glow of hope, and 
 entering, with all her fresh, girlish enthusiasms un 
 checked, upon that new phase of life, so widely different 
 from any thing she has yet experienced, under the 
 grave atmosphere of a New England parsonage. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Adele Meets Reiibcn. 
 
 ISS JOHNS meets the new-comer with as large 
 a share of kindness as she can force into her 
 manner; but her welcome lacks, somehow, the sympa 
 thetic glow to which Adele has been used ; it has not 
 even the spontaneity and heartiness which had belonged 
 to the greeting of that worldly woman, Mrs. Brindlock. 
 And as the wondering little stranger passes up the 
 path, and into the door of the parsonage, with her hand 
 in that of the spinster, she cannot help contrasting the 
 one cold kiss of the tall lady in black with the shower 
 of warm ones which her old godmother had bestowed 
 
io8 DOCTOR JOHNS, 
 
 at parting. Yet in the eye of the Doctor sister Eliza 
 had hardly ever worn a more beaming look, and he was 
 duly grateful for the strong interest which she evidently 
 showed in the child of his poor friend. She had 
 equipped herself indeed in her best silk and with her 
 most elaborate toilet, and had exhausted all her strat 
 egy, whether in respect of dress, of decorations for 
 the chamber, or of the profuse supper which was in 
 course of preparation, to make a profound and favor 
 able impression upon the heart of the stranger. 
 
 The spinster was not a little mortified at her evident 
 want of success, most notably in respect to the elabo 
 rate arrangements of the chamber of the young guest, 
 who seemed to regard the dainty hangings of the little 
 bed, and the scattered ornaments, as matters of course ; 
 but making her way to the window which commanded 
 a view of both garden and orchard, Adele clapped her 
 hands with glee at sight of the naming hollyhocks and 
 the trees laden with golden pippins. It was, indeed, a 
 pretty scene : silvery traces of the brook sparkled in the 
 green meadow below the orchard, and the hills be} r ond 
 were checkered by the fields of buckwheat in broad 
 patches of white bloom, and these again were skirted 
 by masses of luxuriant wood that crowned all the 
 heights. To the eye of Adele, used only to the bare 
 hill-sides and scanty olive-orchards of Marseilles, the 
 view was marvelously fair. 
 
 " Tiens ! there are chickens and doves," said she, 
 still gazing eagerly out ; " oh, I am sure I shall love this 
 new home ! " 
 
ADELE MEETS REUBEN. 109 
 
 And thus saving, she tripped back from the window 
 to where Miss Eliza was admiringly intent upon the un 
 packing and arranging of the little wardrobe of her 
 guest. Adele, in the flush of her joyful expectations 
 from the scene that had burst upon her out of doors, 
 now prattled more freely with the spinster, tossing 
 out the folds of her dresses, as they successively came 
 to light, with her dainty fingers, and giving some quick, 
 girlish judgment upon each. 
 
 "This, godmother gave me, dear, good soul! and 
 she sewed this bow upon it ; is n t it coquette ? And 
 there s the white muslin, oh, how crushed ! that 
 was for my church-dress, first communion, you know ; 
 but papa said, Better wait/ so I never wore it." 
 
 Thus woman and child grew into easy acquaintance 
 over the great trunk of Adele : the latter plunging her 
 little hands among the silken folds of dress after dress 
 with the careless air of one whose every wish had been 
 petted ; and the spinster forecasting the pride she 
 would herself take in accompanying this little sprite, in 
 these French robes, to the house of her good friends, 
 the Hapgoods, or in exciting the wonderment of those 
 most excellent people, the Tourtelots. 
 
 Meantime Reuben, with a resolute show of boyish in 
 difference, has been straying off with Phil Elderkin, 
 although he has caught a glimpse of the carriage at the 
 door. Later he makes his way into the study, where 
 the Doctor, after giving him kindly reproof for not 
 being at home to welcome them, urges upon him the 
 duty of kindness to the young stranger who has come 
 
i io DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 to make her home with them, and trusts that Provi 
 dence may overrule her presence there to the improve 
 ment and blessing of both. It is, in fact, a little lecture 
 which the good, but prosy Doctor pronounces to the 
 boy ; from which he slipping away, so soon as a good 
 gap occurs in the discourse, strolls with a jaunty affec 
 tation of carelessness into the parlor. His Aunt Eliza 
 is there now, seated at the table, and Adele standing by 
 the hearth, on which a fire has just been kindled. She 
 gives a quick, eager look at him, under which his as 
 sumed carelessness vanishes in an instant. 
 
 "This is Adele, our little French guest, Reuben." 
 
 The lad throws a quick, searching glance upon her, 
 but is abashed by the look of half-confidence and half- 
 merriment that he sees twinkling in her eye. The 
 boy s awkwardness seems to infect her, too, for a 
 moment. 
 
 " I should think, Reuben, you would welcome Adele 
 to the parsonage," said the spinster. 
 
 And Reuben, glancing again from under his brow, 
 sidles along the table, with far less of ease than he had 
 worn when he came whistling through the hall, sidles 
 nearer and nearer, till she, with a coy approach that 
 seems to be full of doubt, meets him with a little furtive 
 hand- shake. Then he, retiring a step, leans with one 
 elbow on the friendly table, eying her curiously, and 
 more boldly when he discovers that her look is down 
 cast and that she seems to be warming her feet at the 
 blaze. 
 
 Miss Johns has watched narrowly this approach of 
 
AfJELE MEETS REUBEN. in 
 
 her two proteges, with an interest quite uncommon to 
 her ; and now r , with a policy that would have honored a 
 more adroit tactician, she slips quietly from the room. 
 
 Reuben feels freer at this, knowing that the gray eye 
 is not upon the watch ; Adele too, perhaps ; at any rate, 
 she lifts her face with a look that inyites Reuben to 
 speech. 
 
 " You came in a ship, did n t you ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, a big, big ship ! " 
 
 "I should like to sail in a ship," said Reuben ; " did 
 you like it?" 
 
 "Not yery much," said Adele, "the deck was so slip 
 pery, and the waves were so high, oh, so high ! " and 
 the little maid makes an explanatory gesture with her 
 two hands, the like of which for grace and expressive 
 ness Reuben had certainly never seen in any girl of 
 Ashfield. His eyes twinkled at it. 
 
 " Were you afraid ? " said he. 
 
 "Oh, not much." 
 
 "Because you know," said Reuben, consolingly, "if 
 the ship had sunk, you could have come on shore in 
 the small boats." He saw a merry laugh of wonder 
 ment threatening in her face, and continued authorita 
 tively, "Nat Boody has been in a sloop, and he says 
 they always carry small boats to pick up people when 
 the big ships go down." 
 
 Adele laughed outright. " But how would they carry 
 the bread, and the stove, and the water, and the anchor, 
 and all the things? Besides, the great waves would 
 knock a small boat in pieces." 
 
112 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Reuben felt a humiliating sense of being no match 
 for the little stranger on sea topics, so he changed the 
 theme. 
 
 " Are you going tcfMiss Onthank s ? " 
 
 " Tfiat s a funny name," says Adele ; "that s the 
 school, is n t it ? Yes, I suppose I 11 go there : you go, 
 don t you ? " 
 
 " Yes," says Eeuben, " but I don t think I 11 go very 
 long." 
 
 " Why not ? " says Adele. 
 
 "I m getting too big to go to a girls school," said 
 Reuben. 
 
 " Oh ! " and there was a little playful malice in the 
 girl s observation that piqued the boy. 
 
 " Do the scholars like her ? " continued Adele. 
 
 "Pretty well," said Reuben; "but she hung up a 
 little girl about as big as you, once, upon a nail in a 
 corner of the school-room." 
 
 " Quelle bete ! " exclaimed Adele. 
 
 " That s French, is n t it ? " 
 
 " Yes, and it means she s a bad woman to do such 
 things." 
 
 In this way they prattled on, and grew into a certain 
 familiarity ; the boy entertaining an immense respect 
 for her French, and for her knowledge of the sea and 
 ships ; but stubbornly determined to maintain the 
 superiority which he thought justly to belong to his 
 superior age and sex. 
 
 That evening, after the little people were asleep, the 
 spinster and the Doctor conferred together in regard to 
 
AD&LE MEETS REUBEN. 113 
 
 Adele. It was agreed between them that she should 
 enter at once upon her school duties, and that particular 
 inquiry concerning her religious beliefs, or particular 
 instruction on that score, further than what belonged 
 to the judicious system of Miss Onthank, should be 
 deferred for the present. At the same time the Doctor 
 enjoined upon his sister the propriety of commencing 
 upon the next Saturday evening the usual instructions 
 in the Shorter Catechism, and of insisting upon punctual 
 attendance upon the family devotions. 
 
 The spinster had been so captivated by a certain air 
 of modish elegance in Adele as to lead her almost to 
 forget the weightier obligations of her Christian duty 
 toward her. She conceived that she would find in her 
 a means of recovering some influence over Reuben, 
 never doubting that the boy would be attracted by her 
 frolicsome humor, and would be eager for her compan 
 ionship. It was possible, moreover, that there might be 
 some appeal to the boy s jealousies, when he found the 
 favors which he had spurned were lavished upon Adele. 
 It was therefore in the best of temper and with the 
 airiest of hopes (though not altogether spiritual ones) 
 that Miss Eliza conducted the discussion with the 
 Doctor. In two things only they had differed, and in 
 this each had gained and each lost a point. The 
 Doctor utterly refused to conform his pronunciation to 
 the rigors which Miss Eliza prescribed ; for him Adele 
 should be always and only Adaly. On the other hand, 
 the parson s exactions in regard to sundry modifications 
 of the little girl s dress miscarried ; the spinster insisted 
 8 
 
114 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 upon all the furbelows as they had come from the hands 
 of the French modiste; and in this she left the field 
 with flying colors. 
 
 The next day Doctor Johns wrote to his friend 
 Maverick, announcing the safe arrival of his child at 
 Ashfield, and spoke in terms which were warm for him, 
 of the interest which both his sister and himself felt in 
 her welfare. "He was pained," he said, "to perceive 
 that she spoke almost with gayety of serious things, 
 and feared greatly that her keen relish for the beauties 
 and delights of this sinful world, and her exuberant en 
 joyment of mere temporal blessings, would make it 
 hard to wean her from them and to center her desires 
 upon the eternal world." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Miss Onthank. 
 
 such event could take place in Ashfield as the 
 arrival of this young stranger at the parsonage, 
 without exciting a world of talk up and down the street. 
 There were stories that she came of a vile Popish family, 
 and there were those who gravely believed that the poor 
 little creature had made only a hair-breadth escape from 
 the thongs of the Inquisition. There were few even of 
 those who knew that she was the daughter of a wealthy 
 gentleman, now domiciled in France, and an old friend 
 of the Doctor s, who did not look upon her with a tender 
 interest, as one miraculously snatched by the hands of 
 
MISS ONTHAXK. 115 
 
 the good Doctor from the snares of perdition. The gay 
 trappings of silks and ribbons in which she paced up the 
 aisle of the meeting-house upon her first Sunday, under 
 the patronizing eye of the stern spinster, were looked 
 upon by the more elderly worshipers most of all by 
 the mothers of young daughters as the badges of the 
 Woman of Babylon, and as fit belongings to those ac 
 customed to dwell in the tents of wickedness. Even 
 Dame Tourtelot, in whose pew the face of Miss Alrnira 
 waxes yellow between two great saffron bows, commiser 
 ates the poor heathen child who has been decked like a 
 lamb for the sacrifice. "I wonder Miss Eliza don t 
 pull off them ribbons from the little minx," said she, as 
 she marched home in the intermission," locked coin- 
 mandingly to the arm of the Deacon. 
 
 " Wai.il, I s pose they re paid for," returns the Deacon. 
 
 "What s that to do with it, Tourtelot?" 
 
 " Waal, Huldy, we do pootty much all we can for Al- 
 miry in that line : this ere Maverick, I guess, doos the 
 same. What s the odds, arter all ? " 
 
 " Odds enough, Tourtelot," as the poor man found be 
 fore bedtime : he had no flip. 
 
 The Elderkins, however, were more considerate. Very 
 early after her arrival, Adele had found her way to their 
 homestead, under the guidance of Miss Eliza, and by her 
 frank, demonstrative manner had established herself at 
 once in the affections of the whole family. The Squire, 
 indeed, had rallied the parson not a little, in his boister 
 ous, hearty fashion, upon his introduction of such a dan 
 gerous young Jesuit into so orthodox a parish. 
 
u6 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 At all which, so seriously uttered as to take the Doc 
 tor fairly aback, good Mrs. Elderkin shook her finger 
 warningly at the head of the Squire, and said, " Now, 
 for shame, Giles ! " 
 
 Good Mrs. Elderkin was, indeed, the pattern woman 
 of the parish in all charitable deeds ; not only outside, 
 (where so many charitable natures find their limits,) but 
 in-doors. With gentle speech and gentle manner, she 
 gave, may be, her occasional closet-counsel to the Squire ; 
 but most times her efforts to win him to a more serious 
 habit of thought are covered under the shape of some 
 charming plea for a kindness to herself or the " dear 
 girls," which she knows that he will not have the hardi 
 hood to resist, 
 
 No wonder that the little half-orphaned creature, 
 Adele, with her explosive warmth of heart, is kindly re 
 ceived among the Elderkins. Phil was some three years 
 her senior, a ruddy-faced, open-hearted fellow, who had 
 been well-nurtured, like his two elder brothers, but in 
 whom a certain waywardness just now appearing was at 
 tributed very much, by the closely observing mother, to 
 the influence of that interesting, but mischievous boy, 
 Reuben. Phil was the superior in age, indeed, and in 
 muscle, (as we may find proof,) but in nerve-power the 
 more delicate-featured boy of the parson outranked him. 
 
 Rose Elderkin was a year } T ounger than the French 
 stranger, and a marvelously fair type of New England 
 girl-beauty : light brown hair hi unwieldy masses ; skin 
 wonderfully clear and transparent, and that flushed at a 
 rebuke, or a run down the village street, till her cheeks 
 
MISS OX THANK. 117 
 
 blazed with scarlet ; a lip delicately thin, but blood-red, 
 and exquisitely cut ; a great hazel eye, that in her mo 
 ments of glee, or any occasional excitement, fairly danced 
 and sparkled with a kind of insane merriment, and at 
 other times took on a demure and pensive look, which 
 to future wooers might possibly prove the more danger 
 ous of the two. Adele thinks her very charming ; Reu 
 ben is disposed to rank her whatever Phil may think 
 or say far above Suke Boody. And in his reading of 
 the delightful "Children of the Abbey," which he has 
 stolen, (by fayor of Phil, who owns the book,) he has 
 thought of Rose when Amanda first appeared ; and when 
 the diyiue Amanda is in tears, he has thought of Rose ; 
 and when Amanda smiles, with Mortimer kneeling at 
 her feet, he has still thought of Rose. 
 
 These four, Adele, Phil, Rose, and Reuben, are fel 
 low-attendants at the school of the excellent Miss Betsy 
 Onthank, who is a type of a schoolmistress which is 
 found no longer : grave, stately, with two great moppets 
 of hair on either side her brow, (as in the old engrav 
 ings of Louis Philippe s good queen Amelia,) very res 
 olute, very learned in the boundaries of all Christian 
 and heathen countries, patient to a fault, with a marvel 
 ous capacity for pointing out with her bodkin every let 
 ter to some wee thing at its first stage of spelling, and 
 yet keeping an eye upon all the school-room ; reading a 
 chapter from the Bible, and saying a prayer each morn 
 ing upon her bended knees, the little ones all kneel 
 ing in concert, with an air that would have adorned 
 the most stately prioress of a convent ; using her red 
 
u8 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 ferule betimes on little, mischievous, smarting hands, 
 yet not over- severe, and kind beneath all her gravity. 
 She regards Adele with a peculiar tenderness, and hopes 
 to make herself the humble and unworthy instrument of 
 redeeming her from the wicked estate in which she has 
 been reared. 
 
 Phil and Eeuben, being the oldest boys of the school, 
 resent the indignity of being still subject to woman rule 
 by a concerted series of rebellious outbreaks. Some six 
 or eight months after the arrival of Adele upon the scene, 
 this rebel attitude culminates in an incident that occa 
 sions a change of programme. The rebels on their way 
 to school espy a few clam-shells before some huckster s 
 door, and, putting two or three in their pockets, seize 
 the opportunity when the good lady s eyes are closed in 
 the morning prayer to send two or three scaling about 
 the room, which fall with a clatter among the startled 
 little ones. One, aimed more justly by Reuben, strikes 
 the grave mistress full upon the forehead, and leaves a 
 red cut from which one or two beads of blood trickle 
 down. 
 
 Adele, who has not learned yet that obstinate closing 
 of the eyes which most of the scholars have been taught, 
 and to whom the sight recalls the painted heads of mar 
 tyrs in an old church at Marseilles, gives a little hysteric 
 scream. But the mistress, with face unchanged and 
 voice uplifted and unmoved, completes her religious 
 duty. 
 
 The whole school is horrified, on rising from their 
 knees, at sight of the old lady s bleeding head. The 
 
MISS OXTHANK. 119 
 
 mistress wipes her forehead calmly, and, picking up the 
 shell at her feet, says, " Who threw this ? " 
 
 There is silence in the room. 
 
 "Adele," she continues, "I heard you scream, child ; 
 do you know who threw this ? " 
 
 Adele gives a quick, inquiring glance at Reuben, 
 whose face is imperturbable, rallies her courage for a 
 struggle against the will of the mistress, and then bursts 
 into tears. 
 
 Reuben cannot stand this. 
 
 " 7 threw it, marrn," says he, with a great tremor in 
 his voice. 
 
 The mistress beckons him to her, and, as he walks 
 thither, motions to a bench near her, and says grave- 
 
 iy,- 
 
 " Sit by me, Reuben." 
 
 There he keeps till school-hours are over, wondering 
 what shape the punishment will take. At last, when all 
 are gone, the mistress leads him into her private closet, 
 and says solemnly, 
 
 "Reuben, this is a crime against God. I forgive 
 you ; I hope He may ; " and she bids him kneel beside 
 her, while she prays in a way that makes the tears start 
 to the eyes of the boy. 
 
 Then, home, she walking by his side, and leading 
 him straight into the study of the grave Doctor, to 
 whom she unfolds the story, begging him not to punish 
 the lad, believing that he is penitent. And the meek 
 ness and kindliness of the good woman make a Chris 
 tian picture for the mind of Reuben, in sad contrast 
 
120 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 with the prim austerity of Aunt Eliza, a picture that 
 he never loses, that keeps him meekly obedient for 
 the rest of the quarter ; after which, by the advice of 
 Miss Onthank, both Phil and Eeuben are transferred to 
 the boys academy upon the Common. 
 
 xxn. 
 
 Religious Teaching. 
 
 MEANTIME, Adcle is making friends in Ashfield 
 and in the parsonage. The irrepressible buoy 
 ancy of her character cannot be kept under even by the 
 severity of conduct which belongs to the home of the 
 Doctor. If she yields rigid obedience to all the laws of 
 the household, as she is taught to do, her vivacity 
 sparkles all the more in those short intervals of time 
 when the laws are silent. There is something in this 
 beaming mirth of hers which the Doctor loves, though 
 he struggles against the love. He shuts his door fast, 
 that the snatches of some profane song from her little 
 lips (with him all French songs are profane) may not 
 come in to disturb him ; but as her voice rises cheerily, 
 higher and higher, in the summer dusk, he catches him 
 self lending a profane ear ; the blitheness, the sweet 
 ness, the mellowness of her tones win upon his dreary 
 solitude ; there is something softer in them than in the 
 measured vocables of sister Eliza ; it brings a souvenir 
 of the girlish Kachel, and his memory floats back upon 
 
RELIGIOUS TEACHING. 121 
 
 the strains of the new singer, to the days when that 
 dear voice filled his heart; and he thinks thanking 
 Adaly for the thought she is singing with the angels 
 now ! 
 
 But the spinster, who has no ear for music, in the 
 midst of such a carol, will cry out in sharp tones from 
 her chamber, "Adele, Adele, not so loud, child! you 
 will disturb the Doctor ! " 
 
 Even then Adele has her resource in the garden and 
 the orchard, where she never tires of wandering up and 
 down, and never wandering there but some fragment 
 of a song breaks from her lips. 
 
 From time to time the Doctor summons her to his 
 study to have serious talk with her. She has, indeed, 
 shared the Saturday-night instruction in the Catechism, 
 in company with Reuben, and being quick at words, no 
 matter how long they may be, she has learned it all ; 
 and Reuben and she dash through "what is required " 
 and " what is forbidden " and " the reasons annexed " 
 like a pair of prancing horses, kept diligently in hand 
 by that excellent whip, Miss Johns. But the study 
 has not wrought that gravity in the mind of the child 
 which the good parson had hoped for ; he therefore, as 
 we have said, summons her from time to time to his 
 sfeidy. 
 
 And Adele comes, always at the first summons, with 
 a tripping step, and with a little coquettish adjustment 
 of her dress and hah*, flings herself into the big chair 
 before him, 
 
 " Now. Xew Papa, here I am ! " 
 
122 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " Ah, Adaly ! I wish, child, that you could be more 
 serious than you are." 
 
 " Serious ! ha ! ha ! " (she sees a look of pain on the 
 face of the Doctor) "but I will be, I am ;" and with 
 great effort she throws a most unnatural expression of 
 repose into her face. 
 
 " You are a good girl, Adaly ; but this is not the se 
 riousness I want to find in you. I want you to feel, my 
 child, that you are walking on the brink of a precipice, 
 that your heart is desperately wicked." 
 
 "Oh, no, New Papa ! you don t think I m desperately 
 wicked ? " and she says it with a charming eagerness 
 of manner. 
 
 "Yes, desperately wicked, Adaly, leaning to the 
 things of this world, and not fastening your affections 
 on things above, on the realities beyond the grave." 
 
 "But all that is so far away, New Papa ! " 
 
 "Not so far as you think, child ; they may come 
 to-day." 
 
 Adele is sobered in earnest now, and tosses her little 
 feet back and forth, in an agony of apprehension. 
 
 The Doctor continues, 
 
 " To-day, if ye will hear his voice, harden not your 
 hearts ; " and the sentiment and utterance are so like to 
 the usual ones of the pulpit, that Adele takes courage 
 again. 
 
 The little girl has a profound respect for the Doctor ; 
 his calmness, his equanimity, his persistent zeal in his 
 work, would alone provoke it. She sees, furthermore, 
 what she does not see always in " Aunt Eliza," a 
 
RELIGIOUS TEACHING. 123 
 
 dignity of character that is proof against all irritating 
 humors ; then, too, he has appeared to Adele a very 
 pattern of justice. She had taken exceptions, indeed, 
 when, on one or two rare occasions, he had reached down 
 the birch rod which lay upon the same hooks with the 
 sword of Major Johns, in the study, and had called in 
 Eeuben for extraordinary discipline ; but the boy s man 
 ifest acquiescence in the affair when his cool moments 
 came next morning, and the melancholy air of kindness 
 with which the Doctor went in to kiss him a good-night, 
 after such regimen, kept alive her faith in the unvarying 
 justice of the parson. Therefore she tried hard to tor 
 ture her poor little heart into a feeling of its own black 
 ness, (for that it was very black she had the good man s 
 averment,) she listened gravely to all he had to urge, 
 and when he had fairly overburdened her with the 
 enumeration of her wicked, worldly appetites, she could 
 only say, with a burst of emotion, 
 
 "Well, but, New Papa, the good God will forgive 
 me." 
 
 " Yes, Adaly, yes, I trust so, if forgiveness be 
 sought in fear and trembling. But remember, When 
 God created man, he entered into a covenant of life with 
 him upon condition of perfect obedience. " 
 
 This brings back to poor Adele the drudgery of the 
 Saturday s Catechism, associated with the sharp correc 
 tives of Aunt Eliza ; and she can only offer a pleading 
 kiss to the Doctor, and ask plaintively, 
 
 "May I go now?" 
 
 "One moment, Adaly," and he makes her kneel 
 
124 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 beside him, while he prays, fervently, passionately, draw 
 ing her frail little figure to himself, even as he prays, as 
 if he would carry her with him in his arms into the 
 celestial presence. 
 
 The boy Reuben, too, has had his seasons of this 
 closet struggle ; but they are rarer now ; the lad has 
 shrewdly learned to adjust himself to all the require 
 ments of such occasions. He has put on a leaden acqui 
 escence in the Doctor s theories, whether with regard to 
 sanctification or redemption, that is most disheartening 
 to the parson. Does any question of the Doctor s, by 
 any catch-word, suggest an answer from the "Shorter 
 Catechism " as applicable, Reuben is ready with it on 
 the instant. 
 
 Does the Doctor ask, 
 
 "Do you know, my son, the sinfulness of the estate in 
 which you are living ? " 
 
 " Sinfulness of the estate whereunto man fell ? " says 
 Reuben, briskly. " Know it like a book : Consists- 
 in-the-guilt-of-^4 dam s -first - sin - the - want - of - original- 
 righteousness-and-the-corruption- of- his - whole - nature- 
 which-is-commonly-called - original-sin-together- with-all- 
 actual-transgressions-which-proceed-from-it. There s a 
 wasp on your shoulder, father, there s two of em. 
 I 11 kill em." 
 
 No wonder the good Doctor is disheartened. 
 
 Adele has no open quarrels with Miss Johns ; she is 
 obedient ; she, too, has fallen under the influence of 
 that magnetic voice, and accepts the orders and the 
 commendations conveyed by it as if they were utter- 
 
RELIGIOUS TEACHING. 125 
 
 ances of Fate. Yet, with her childish instincts, she 
 has formed a very fair estimate of the character of Miss 
 Eliza ; it is doubtful even if she has not fathomed it in 
 certain directions more correctly and profoundly than 
 the grave Doctor. She sees clearly that the spinster s 
 unvarying solicitude in regard to the dress and appear 
 ance of " dear Adele " is due more to that hard pride of 
 character which she nurses every day of her life than to 
 any tenderness for the little stranger. 
 
 "Adele, my dear, you look charmingly to-day, with 
 that pink bow in your hair. Do you know, I think pink 
 is becoming to you, my child ? " 
 
 And Adele listens with a composed smile, not un 
 willing to be admired. 
 
 In the bright belt-buckle, in the big leg-of-mutton 
 sleeves, in the glittering brooch containing coils of the 
 Johns haii*, in the jaunty walk and authoritative air of 
 the spinster, the quick, keen eye of Adele sees some 
 thing more than the meek Christian teacher and friend. 
 It is a sin in her to see it, perhaps ; but she cannot 
 help it. 
 
 Miss Johns has not succeeded in exciting the jeal 
 ousy of Reuben, at least, not in the manner she had 
 hoped. He sees, indeed, her exaggerated devotion to 
 the little stranger, which serves in her presence, at 
 least, to call out all his indifference. 
 
 But when they meet down the orchard, away from 
 the lynx eye of Aunt Eliza, there are rare apples far out 
 upon overhanging limbs that he can pluck, by dint of 
 venturous climbing, for her ; and as he sees through 
 
126 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 the boughs her delicate figure tripping through the 
 grass, and lingers to watch it, there comes a thought 
 that she must be the Amanda of the story, and not 
 Eose, and he, perched in the apple-tree, a glowing 
 Mortimer. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Iteuben leaves Home. 
 
 TN the year 183-, Mr. Maverick writes to his friend 
 Johns that the disturbed condition of public affairs 
 in France will compel him to postpone his intended 
 visit to America, and may possibly detain him for a 
 long time to come. He further says, "In order to 
 prevent all possible hazards which may grow out of our 
 revolutionary fervor on this side of the water, I have 
 invested in United States securities, for the benefit of 
 my dear little Adele, a sum of money w r hich will yield 
 some seven hundred dollars a year. Of this I propose 
 to make you trustee, and desire that you should draw 
 so much of the yearly interest as you may determine to 
 be for her best good, denying her no reasonable re 
 quests, and making your household reckoning clear of 
 all possible deficit on her account. 
 
 " I am charmed with the improved tone of her letters, 
 and am delighted to see by them that even under your 
 grave regimen she has not lost her old buoyancy of 
 spirits. My dear Johns, I owe you a debt in this mat 
 ter which I shall never be able to repay. Kiss the little 
 
REUBEN LEAVES HOME. 127 
 
 flitch for me ; tell her that e Papa always thinks of her, 
 as he sits solitary upon the green bench under the 
 arbor." 
 
 She, gaining in height now month by month, wins 
 more and more* upon the grave Doctor, wins upon 
 Rose, who loves her as she loves her sisters, wins upon 
 Phil, whose liking for her is becoming demonstrative to 
 a degree that prompts a little jealousy in the warm 
 blooded Reuben. Day after day, in summer weather, 
 Rose and Adele idle together along the embowered paths 
 of the village ; the Tew partners greet the pair with 
 smiles ; good Mistress Elderkin has always a cordial 
 welcome ; the stout Squire stoops to kiss the little Jesuit, 
 who blushes at the tender affront through all the brown- 
 ness of her cheek, like a rose. Day after day the rum 
 ble of the mill breaks on the country quietude ; and as 
 autumn comes in, burning with all its forest fires, the 
 farmer s flails beat time together, as they did ten years 
 before. 
 
 At the academy, Phil and Reuben plot mischief, and 
 they cement their friendship with not a few boyish 
 quaiTels. 
 
 Thus, Reuben, in the way of the boyish pomologists 
 of those days, has buried at midsummer in the orchard 
 a dozen or more of the finest windfalls from the early 
 apple-trees, that they may mellow, away from the air, 
 into good eating condition ; and he has marked the spot 
 in his boyish way with a little pyramid of stones. Stroll 
 ing down the orchard a few days later, he sees Phil com 
 ing away from that locality, with his pockets bulging 
 
128 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 out ominously, and munching a great apple with extra* 
 ordinary relish. Perhaps there is a thought that he 
 may design a gift out of the stolen stores for Adele ; at 
 any rate, Reuben flies at him. 
 
 " I say, Phil, that s doosed mean now, to be stealing 
 my apples ! " 
 
 " Who s stole your apples ? " says Phil, with a great 
 roar of voice. 
 
 " You have," says Eeuben ; and having now come near 
 enough to find his pyramid of stones all laid low, he 
 says more angrily, " You re a thief ! and you ve got 
 em in your pocket ! " 
 
 "Thief ! " says Phil, looking threateningly, and throw 
 ing away his apple half-eaten ; " if you call me a thief, I 
 say you re a you know what." 
 
 " Well, blast you," says Eeuben, boiling with rage, 
 " say it ! Call me a liar, if you dare ! " 
 
 "I do dare," says Phil, "if you accuse me of stealing 
 your apples ; and I say you re a liar, and be hanged to 
 you ! " 
 
 At this, Reuben, though he is the shorter by two 
 or three inches, and no match for his foe at fisticuffs, 
 plants a blow straight in Philip s face. (He said after 
 ward, when all was settled, that he was ten times more 
 mortified to think that he had done such a thing in his 
 father s orchard.) 
 
 But Phil closed upon him, and kneading him with his 
 knuckles in the back, and with a trip, threw him heavily, 
 falling prone upon him. Reuben, in a frenzy, and with 
 a torrent of much worse language than he was in the 
 
REUBEN LEAVES HOME. 129 
 
 habit of using, was struggling to turn him, when a sharp, 
 loud voice, which they both knew only too well, came 
 down the wind, " Boys ! boys ! " and presently the 
 Doctor comes up panting. 
 
 " AVhat does this mean ? Philip, I m ashamed of 
 you ! " he continues ; and Philip rises. 
 
 Reuben, rising, too, the instant after, and with his 
 fury unchecked, dashes at Phil again ; when the Doctor 
 seizes him by the collar and drags him aside. 
 
 " He struck me," says PhiL 
 
 "And he stole my apples and called me a liar," says 
 Reuben, with the tears starting, though he tries desper 
 ately to keep them back, seeing that Phil shows no such 
 evidence of emotion. 
 
 " Tut ! tut ! " says the Doctor, " you are both too 
 angry for a straight story. Come with me." 
 
 And taking each by the hand, he led them through 
 the garden and house, directly into his study. There 
 he opens a closet-door, with the sharp order, "Step in 
 here, Reuben, until I hear Philip s story." This Phil 
 tells straightforwardly, how he was passing through 
 the orchard with a pocketful of apples, which a neigh 
 bor s boy had given, and how Reuben* came upon him 
 with swift accusation, and then the fight. " But he 
 hurt me more than I hurt him," says Phil, wiping his 
 nose, which showed a little ooze of blood. 
 
 " Good ! " says the Doctor, "I think you tell the 
 truth." 
 
 " Thank you," says Phil, " I know I do, Doctor." 
 
 Next Reuben is called out. 
 9 
 
130 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 "Do you know he took the apples?" asks the Doctor. 
 
 "Don t know," says Reuben, "but he was by the 
 place, and the stones thrown down." 
 
 "And is that sufficient cause, Eeuben, for accusing 
 your friend ? " 
 
 At which, Reuben, shifting his position uneasily from 
 one foot to the other, says, 
 
 " I believe he did, though." 
 
 " Stop, sir ! " says the Doctor in a voice that makes 
 Reuben sidle away. 
 
 " Here," says Phil, commiserating him in a grand 
 way, and beginning to discharge his pockets on the 
 Doctor s table, "he may have them, if he wants them." 
 
 Reuben stares at them a moment in astonishment, 
 then breaks out with a great tremor in his voice, but 
 roundly enough, 
 
 " By George ! they re not the same apples at all. 
 I m sorry I told you that, Phil." 
 
 "Don t say By George before me, or anywhere 
 else," says the Doctor, sharply. "It s but a sneaking 
 oath, sir ; yet " (more gently) " I m glad of your hon 
 esty, Reuben." 
 
 At the instigation of the parson the} r shake hands ; 
 after which he leads them both into his closet, beckon 
 ing them to kneel on either side of him, as he com 
 mends them in his stately way to heaven, trusting that 
 they may live in good fellowship henceforth, and keep 
 His counsel, who was the great Peacemaker, always in 
 their hearts. 
 
 Next morning, when Reuben goes to reconnoiter the 
 

 REUBEN LEAVES HOME. 131 
 
 place of his buried treasure, he finds all safe, and taking 
 the better half of the fruit, he marches away with a 
 proud step to the Elderkin house. The basket is for 
 Phil. But Phil is not at home ; so he leaves the .gift, 
 and a message, with a short story of it all, with the 
 tender Rose, whose eyes dance with girlish admiration 
 at this stammered tale of his, and her fingers tremble 
 when they touch the boy s in the transfer of his little 
 burden. 
 
 Reuben walks away prouder yet ; is not this sweet- 
 faced girl, after all, Amanda ? 
 
 There come quarrels, however, with the academy 
 teacher not so easily smoothed over. The Doctor and 
 the master hold long consultations. Reuben, it is to 
 be feared, has bad associates. The boy makes interest, 
 through Nat Boody, with the stage-driver ; and one day 
 the old ladies are horrified at seeing the parson s son 
 mounted on the box of the coach beside the driver, and 
 putting his boyish fingers to the test of four-in-hand. 
 Of course he is a truant that day from school, and toil 
 ing back footsore and weary, after tea, he can give but 
 a lame account of himself. He brings, another time, 
 a horrid fighting cur, (as Miss Eliza terms it in her dis 
 gust,) for which he has bartered away the new muffler 
 that the spinster has knit. He thinks it a splendid bar 
 gain. Miss Johns and the Doctor do not. 
 
 He is reported by credible witnesses as loitering 
 about the tavern in the summer nights, long after 
 prayers are over at the parsonage, and the lights are 
 out; thus it is discovered, to the great horror of the 
 
132 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 household, that by connivance with. Phil he makes his 
 way over the roof of the kitchen from his chamber- 
 window to join in these night forays. After long con 
 sideration, in which Grandfather Handby is brought into 
 consultation, it is decided to place the boy for a while 
 under the charge of the latter for discipline, and with 
 the hope that removal from his town associates may 
 work good. But within a fortnight after the change is 
 made, Grandfather Handby drives across the country 
 in his wagon, with Reuben seated beside him with a 
 comic gravity on his face ; and the old gentleman, plead 
 ing the infirmities of age, and giving the boy a farewell 
 tap on the cheek, (for he loves him, though he has 
 whipped him almost daily,) restores him to the pater 
 nal roof. 
 
 At this crisis, Squire Elderkin who, to tell truth, 
 has a little fear of the wayward propensities of the par 
 son s son in misleading Phil recommends trial of the 
 discipline of a certain Parson Brummem who fills the 
 parish-pulpit upon Bolton Hill. This dignitary was a 
 tall, lank, leathern -faced man, of incorruptible zeal and 
 stately gravity, who held under his stern dominion a 
 little flock of two hundred souls, and who, eking out 
 a narrow parochial stipend by the week-day office of 
 teaching, had gained large repute for his subjugation 
 of refractory boys. 
 
 A feeble little invalid wife cringed beside him along 
 the journey of life ; and it would be pitiful to think 
 that she had not long ago entered, in way of remuner 
 ation, upon paths of pleasantness beyond the grave. 
 
REUBEN LEASES HOME. 133 
 
 Parson Brumniem received Brother Johns, \\hen he 
 drove with Reuben to the parsonage-door, on that wild 
 waste of Bolton Hill, with all the unction of manner 
 that belonged to him ; but it was so grave an unction 
 as to chill poor Reuben to the marrow of his bones. 
 A week s experience only dispersed the chill when the 
 tingle of the parson s big rod wrought a glow in him 
 that was almost madness. Yet Reuben chafed not so 
 much at the whippings to which he was well used 
 as at the dreariness of the new home, the melancholy 
 waste of common over which March winds blew all the 
 year, the pinched faces that met him without other rec 
 ognition than, "One o Parson Bruinrnem s b ys." Xor 
 in-doors was the aspect more inviting : a big red table 
 around which sat six fellow-martyrs with their slates 
 and geographies, a tall desk at which Brnmmem in 
 dited his sermons, and from time to time a little side- 
 door opening timidly, through which came a weary 
 woman s voice, " Ezekiel, dear, one minute ! " at which 
 the great man strides thither, and lends his great ear 
 to the family council 
 
 Ah, the long, weary mornings, when the sun, pouring 
 through the curtainless south windows a great blaze 
 upon the oaken floor, lights up for Reuben only the cob- 
 webbed corners, the faded roundabouts of fellow-mar 
 tyrs, the dismal figures of Daboll, the shining tail-coat 
 of Master Brummero, as he stalks up and down from 
 horn* to hour, collecting in this way his scattered 
 thoughts for some new argumentative thrust of the quill 
 into the sixthly or the seventhly of his next week s ser- 
 
134 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 mon ! And the long and weary afternoons, when the 
 sun with a mocking bounty pours through the dusty 
 and curtainless windows to the west, lighting only again 
 the gray and speckled roundabouts of the fagging boys, 
 the maps of Malte-Brun, and the shining forehead of 
 the Brummem ! 
 
 There is a dismal, graceless, bald air about town and 
 house and master, which is utterly revolting to the lad, 
 whose childish feet had pattered beside the tender 
 Rachel along the embowered paths of Ashfield. The 
 lack of congeniality affronts his whole nature. In the 
 keenness of his martyrdom, (none the less real because 
 fancied,) the leathern-faced, gaunt Brummem takes the 
 shape of some Giant Despair with bloody maw and 
 mace, and he, the child of some Christiana, for whose 
 guiding hand he gropes vainly : she has gone before to 
 the Celestial City! 
 
 The rod of the master does not cure the chronic state 
 of moody rebellion into which Reuben lapses, with these 
 fancies on him. It drives him at last to an act of 
 desperation. The lesson in Daboll that day was a hard 
 one ; but it was not the lesson, or his short-comings in 
 it, it was not the hand of the master, which had been 
 heavy on him, but it was a vague, dismal sense of 
 the dreariness of his surroundings, of the starched looks 
 that met him, of the weary monotony, of the lack of 
 sympathy, which goaded him to the final overt act of 
 rebellion, which made him dash his leathern-bound 
 arithmetic full into the face of the master, and then sit 
 down, burying his face in his hands. 
 
REUBEN LEAVES HOME. 
 
 35 
 
 The stern doctrines of Parson Brummern had taught 
 him, at least, a rigid self-command. He did not strike 
 the lad. But recovering from his amazement, he says, 
 "Very well, very well, Master Beuben, we will sleep 
 upon this;" and then, tapping at the inner door, 
 "Keziah, make ready the little chamber over the hall 
 for Master Johns : he must be by himself to-night : 
 give him a glass of water and a slice of dry bread : 
 nothing else, sir, (turning to Reuben now,) until you 
 come to me to-morrow at nine, in this place, and ask my 
 pardon ;" and he motions him to the door. 
 
 Reuben staggers out, staggers up-stairs into the 
 dismal chamber. It looks out only upon a bald waste 
 of common. Shortly after, a slatternly maid brings his 
 prison fare, and, with a little kindly discretion, has 
 added secretly a roll of gingerbread. Reuben thanks 
 her, and says, " You re a good woman, Keziah ; and I 
 say, won t you fetch me my cap, there s a good un ; 
 it s cold here." The maid, with great show of caution, 
 complies ; a few minutes after, the parson comes, and 
 looking in warningly, closes and locks the door outside. 
 
136 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Reuben Escapes. 
 
 AWEARY evening follows, in which thoughts of 
 Adele, of nights at the Elderkins , of Phil, of Rose, 
 flash upon him, and spend their richness, leaving him 
 more madly disconsolate. Then come thoughts of the 
 morning humiliation, of the boys pointing their fingers 
 at him after school. 
 
 " No, they sha n t, by George ! " 
 
 And with this decision he dropped asleep ; with this 
 decision ripened in him, he woke at three in the morn 
 ing, waited for the hall clock to strike, that he might 
 be sure of his hour, tied together the two sheets of 
 Mistress Brummem s bed, opened the window gently, 
 dropped out his improvised cable, slid upon it safely to 
 the ground, and before day had broken or any of the 
 towns-folk were astir, had crossed all the more open 
 portion of the village, and by sunrise had plunged into 
 the wooded swamp-land which lay three miles westward 
 toward the river. 
 
 At nine next morning, prayers and breakfast being 
 dispatched, during which Parson Brummem had de 
 termined to leave Reuben to the sting of his con 
 science, the master appears in the school-room with 
 his wristbands turned up, and his ferule in hand, to 
 enforce judgment upon the culprit. It had been a 
 
REUBEN ESCAPES. 137 
 
 frosty night, and the cool October air had not tempted 
 the boys to any wide movement out of doors, so that no 
 occupant of the parsonage had as yet detected the drag 
 gled white banner that hung from the prison- window. 
 
 Through Keziah, the parson gave orders for Master 
 Johns to report himself at once in the school-room. 
 The maid returned presently, clattering down the stairs 
 in a great fright, 
 
 " Reuben s gone, sir ! " 
 
 "Gone?" says the tall master, astounded. He re 
 presses a wriggle of healthful satisfaction on the part 
 of his pupils by a significant lift of his ferule, then 
 moves ponderously up the stairs for a personal visit to 
 the chamber of the culprit. The maid had given true 
 report; there was no one there. Never had he been 
 met with such barefaced rebellion. Truants, indeed, 
 there had been in days gone by ; but that a pupil under 
 discipline should have tied together Mistress Brurnrnenrs 
 linen and left it draggling in this way, in the sight of 
 every passer-by, was an affront to his authority which 
 he had not deemed possible. 
 
 An hour thereafter, and he had assigned the morn 
 ing s task to the boys (which he had ventured to 
 lengthen by a third, in view as he said, with a grim 
 humor of their extremely cheerful spirits) ; estab 
 lished Mistress Brummem in temporary charge, and 
 was driving his white-faced nag down the road which 
 led toward Ashfield. The frosted pools crackled un^ 
 der the wheels of the old chaise ; the heaving horsq 
 wheezed as the stern parson gave his loins a thwaclj 
 
138 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 with the slackened reins, and urged him down the turn 
 pike which led away through the ill-kept fields, from 
 the rambling, slatternly town. Stone walls that had 
 borne the upheaval of twenty winters reeled beside the 
 way. Broad scars of ocherous earth, from which the 
 turnpike-menders had dug material to patch the wheel- 
 track, showed ooze of yellow mud with honeycombs of 
 ice rimming their edges, and supporting a thin film of 
 sod made up of lichens and the roots of five-fingers. 
 Kaw, shapeless stones, and bald, gray rocks, only half 
 unearthed, cumbered the road ; while bunches of 
 dwarfed birches, browsed by straying cattle, added to 
 the repulsiveness of the scene. Nor were the enclosed 
 lands scarcely more inviting. Lean shocks of corn that 
 had swayed under the autumn winds stretched at long 
 intervals across fields of thin stubble ; a few half- 
 ripened pumpkins, hanging yet to the seared vines, 
 whose leaves had long since been shriveled by the frost, 
 showed their shining green faces on the dank soil. 
 In other fields, overrun with a great shaggy growth of 
 rag- weed, some of the parson s flock father and blue- 
 nosed boys were lifting poor crops of "bile-whites" 
 or "merinos." From time to time, a tall house jutted 
 upon the road, with unctuous pig-sty under the lee of 
 the garden-fence and wood-pile sprawling into the high 
 way, where the parson would rein up his nag, and make 
 inquiry after the truant Reuben. 
 
 A half-dozen of these stops and inquiries proved 
 wholly vain ; yet the sturdy parson urged his poor, 
 heaving nag forward, until he had come to the little 
 
REUBEN ESCAPES. 139 
 
 gate-house which thrust itself quite acioss the high 
 road at some six miles distance from Bolton Church. 
 No stray boy had passed that day. Thereupon the 
 parson turned, and, after retracing his way for two 
 miles or more, struck into a cross-road which led west 
 ward. There were the same fruitless inquiries here 
 at the scattered houses, and when he came at length 
 upon the great river-road along which the boy had 
 passed at the first dawn, there was no one who could 
 tell any thing of him ; and by noon the parson reen- 
 tered the village, disconsolate and hungry. He was by 
 no means a vindictive man, and could very likely have 
 forgiven Reuben the blow he had struck. He had no 
 conception of the hidden causes which had wrought in 
 the lad such burst of anger. He conceived only that 
 Satan had taken hold of him, and he had strong faith in 
 the efficacy of the rod for driving Satan out. 
 
 After dinner he administered a sharp lecture to his 
 pupils, admonishing them of the evils of disobedience, 
 and warning them that " God sometimes left bad boys 
 to their own evil courses, and to run like the herd of 
 swine into which the unclean spirits entered, of 
 which account might be found in Mark v. 13, down 
 a steep place, and be choked." 
 
 The parson still had hope that Reuben might appear 
 at evening ; and he forecast a good turn which he 
 would make, in such event, upon the parable of the 
 Prodigal Son (with the omission, however, of the fatted 
 calf). But the prodigal did not return. Next day 
 there was the same hope, but fainter. Still, the prodi- 
 
140 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 gal Reuben did not return. Whereupon the parson 
 thought it his duty to write to Brother Johns, advising 
 him of the escape of Reuben, "he having stolen 
 away in the night, tying together and much draggling 
 Mrs. Brummem s pair of company sheets, (no other 
 being out of wash,) and myself following after vainly, 
 the best portion of a day, much perturbed in spirit, in 
 my chaise. I duly instructed my parishioners to report 
 him, if found, which has not been the case. I trust 
 that in the paternal home, if he has made his way 
 thither, he may be taught to open his ear to dis 
 cipline, and return from iniquity. Job xxxvi. 10." 
 
 The good parson was a type of not a few retired 
 country ministers in New England forty years ago : a 
 heavy-minded, right-meaning man ; utterly inaccessible 
 to any of the graces of life ; no bird ever sang in his 
 ear ; no flower ever bloomed for his eye ; a man to 
 whom life was only a serious spiritual toil, and all 
 human joys a vanity to be spurned ; preaching tediously 
 long sermons, and counting the fatigue of the listeners 
 a fitting oblation to spiritual truth ; staggering through 
 life with a great burden of theologies on his back, 
 which it was his constant struggle to pack into smaller 
 and smaller compass, not so much, we fear, for the 
 relief of others as of himself. Let us hope that the 
 burden like that of Christian in the "Pilgrim s Prog 
 ress " slipped away before he entered the Celestial 
 Presence, and left him free to enjoy and admire, more 
 than he found time to do on earth, the beauty of that 
 blessed angel in the higher courts whose name is Charity 
 
REUBEN S VOYAGE. 141 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Reuberis Voyage. 
 
 TT)EUBEN, meantime, pushed boldly down the open 
 J-*^ road, until broad sunlight warned him to a safer 
 path across the fields. He had been too much of a ram 
 bler during those long Saturday afternoons at Ashfield, 
 to have any dread of a tramp through swamp-land or 
 briers. "Who cared for wet feet or a scratch? "Who 
 cared for a rough scramble through the bush, or a wade 
 (if it came to that) through ever so big a brook ? "Who 
 cared for old Brummem and his white-faced nag ? " In 
 fact, he had the pleasure of seeing the parson s venerable 
 chaise lumbering along the public road at a safe distance 
 away, an hour before noon ; and he half wished he were 
 near enough to give the jolly old nag a good switching 
 across the flanks. He had begged a bit of warm break 
 fast in the morning at an outlying house, and at the 
 hour when he caught sight of his pursuer he was lying 
 under the edge of a wood, lunching upon the ginger 
 bread Keziah had provided, and beginning to reckon up 
 soberly what was to be done. 
 
 His first impulse had been simply to escape a good 
 flogging and the taunts of the boys. He had shunned 
 the direct Ashfield turnpike, because he knew pursuit 
 if there were any would lead off in that direction. 
 
142 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 From the river road he might diverge into that, if he 
 chose. But if he went home, what then ? The big 
 gray eyes of Aunt Eliza he knew would greet him at the 
 door, looking thunderbolts. Adele, and may be Rose, 
 would welcome him in kindly way enough, but very 
 pityingly, when the Doctor should summon him quietly 
 into his low study. For they knew, and he knew, that 
 the big rod would presently come down from its place 
 by the Major s sword, a rod that never came down, 
 except it had some swift office to perform. And next 
 day, perhaps, whatever might be the kindly pleadings 
 of Adele, (thus far he nattered himself,) the old horse 
 Dobbins would be in harness to carry him back to Bol- 
 ton Hill, where of a surety some new birch was already 
 in pickle for the transgressor. Or, if this mortification 
 were spared, there would be the same weary round of 
 limitations and exactions from which he longed to break 
 away. And as he sits there under the lee of the wood, 
 seeing presently Brummem s heavy cavalry wheel and 
 retire from pursuit, the whole scene of his last alter 
 cation in the study at Ashfield drifts before him again 
 clear as day. 
 
 After it had closed the Doctor, in an agony of spirit, 
 (the boy recalled it perfectry,) had risen and paced back 
 and forth in his study ; then, after a little, threw himself 
 upon his knees near to Reuben, and prayed silently, 
 with his hands clasped. 
 
 The boy had melted somewhat at this, and still more 
 when the father rose with traces of a tear in his eye. 
 
 " Are you not softened now, my son ? " 
 
REUBEN S VOYAGE. 143 
 
 "I always am when I see you going on that way/ 
 said Reuben. 
 
 " My poor son ! " and he had drawn the boy to him, 
 gazing into the face from which the blue eyes of the lost 
 Rachel looked calmly out, moved beyond himself. 
 
 If, indeed, the lost Rachel had been really there between 
 the two, to interpret the heart of the son to the father ! 
 
 Is Reuben whimpering as the memory of this last ten 
 der episode comes to his memory ? What would Phil or 
 the rest of the Ashfield fellows say to a runaway boy snif 
 fling under the edge of the wood ? Not he, by George ! 
 And he munches at his roll of gingerbread with a new 
 zest, confirming his vagabond purpose, that just now 
 wavered, with a thought of those tedious Saturday nights 
 and the " reasons annexed," and Aunt Eliza s sharp elbow 
 nudging him upon the hard pew-benches, as she gives 
 a muffled, warning whisper, "Attend to the sermon, 
 Reuben ! " 
 
 Aud so, with glorious visions of Sindbad the Sailor in 
 his mind, and a cheery remembrance of Crusoe when he 
 cut himself adrift from home and family for his won 
 derful adventures, Reuben pushes gallantly on through 
 the woods in the direction of the river. He knows that 
 somewhere, up or down, a sloop will be found bound 
 for New York. From the heights around Ashfield, he 
 has seen, time and again, their white sails specking some 
 distant field of blue. Once, too, upon a drive with the 
 Doctor, he had seen these marvelous vessels from a 
 nearer point, and had looked wistfully upon their white 
 decks and green companion-ways. 
 
144 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Overhead the jays cried from the bare chestnut-trees; 
 from time to time the whirr of a brood of partridges 
 startled him ; the red squirrels chattered ; still he 
 pushed on, catching a chance dinner at a wayside farm 
 house, and by night had come within plain sight of the 
 water. The sloop Princess lay at the Glastonbury dock 
 close by, laden with wood and potatoes, and bound for 
 New York the next moniing. The kind-hearted skipper, 
 who was also the owner of the vessel, took a sudden 
 fancy to the sore-footed, blue-eyed boy who came aboard 
 to bargain for a passage to the city. The truant was 
 not, indeed, overstocked with ready money, but was 
 willing to pawn what valuables he had about him, and 
 hinted at a rich aunt in the city who would make good 
 what moneys were lacking. The skipper has a shrewd 
 suspicion how the matter stands, and, with a kindly 
 sympathy for the lad, consents to give him passage on 
 condition he drops a line into the mail to tell his friends 
 which way he has gone ; and taking a dingy sheet of 
 paper from the locker under his berth, he seats Eeuben 
 with pen in hand at the cabin-table, whereupon the 
 boy writes, 
 
 " DEAR FATHER, I have come away from school. I 
 don t know as you will like it much. I walked all the 
 way from Bolton, and my feet are very sore ; I don t 
 think I could walk home. Captain Saul says he will 
 take me by the way of New York. I can go and see 
 Aunt Mabel. I will tell her you are all well. 
 
 " How is Adele and Phil and Rose and the others ? I 
 
REL BEX S VOYAGE. 145 
 
 hope you won t be very angry. I don t think Mr. Brum- 
 mem s is much of a school. I don t learn so much there 
 as I learned at home. I don t think the boys there are 
 good companions. I think they are wicked boys some 
 times. Mr. Brummem says they are. And he whips 
 awful hard. 
 
 " Yr affect, son, 
 
 " REUBEN." 
 
 And the skipper, taking the letter ashore to post it, 
 adds upon the margin, 
 
 "I opened the Within to see who the boy was ; and 
 This is to say, I shall take him Aboard, and shall be off 
 Chatham Red Quarries to-morrow night and next day 
 morning, and, if you signal from the dock, can send him 
 Ashore. Or, if this don t Come in time, my berth is 
 Peck Slip, in York. 
 
 " JOHN SAUL, Sloop Princess" 
 
 Next day they go drifting down the river. A quiet, 
 smoky October day ; the distant hills all softened in the 
 haze ; the near shores green with the fresh-springing 
 aftermath. Reuben lounged upon the sunny side of the 
 mainsail, thinking, with respectful pity, of the poor 
 fagged fellows in roundabouts who were seated at that 
 hour before the red desks in Parson Brurnrneni s school 
 room. At length he was enjoying a taste of that out 
 side life of which he had known only from travelers 
 books, or from such lucky ones as the accomplished 
 10 
 
146 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Tavern Boody. Henceforth he, too, would have his 
 stories to tell. The very rustle of the water around the 
 prow of the good sloop Princess was full of Sindbad 
 echoes. For ten hours the Captain lies off Chatham 
 Quarries, taking on additional freight there ; but there 
 is no signal from the passenger dock. The next morn 
 ing the hawsers were cast off, and the mainsail run up 
 again while the Princess surged away into the middle 
 of the current. 
 
 " Now, my boy, we re in for a sail ! " said Captain 
 Saul. 
 
 "I m glad," said Reuben, who would have been 
 doubly glad, if he had known of his narrow escape at 
 the last landing. 
 
 "I suppose you haven t much of a kit?" said the 
 Captain. 
 
 The truth is, that a pocket-comb was the extent of 
 Reuben s equipment for the voyage. It came out on 
 further talk with the Captain ; and the boy was morti 
 fied to make such small show of appliances. 
 
 "Well, well," says the Captain, "we must keep this 
 toggery for the city, you know ;" and he finds a blue 
 woolen shirt, for the boy is of good height for his 
 years, and a foremast hand shortens in a pair of old 
 duck trousers for him, in which Reuben paces up and 
 down the deck, with a mortal dread at first lest the 
 boom may make a dash against the wind and knock him 
 overboard, in quite sailorly fashion. The beef is hard 
 indeed ; but a page or two out of " Dampier s Voyages," 
 of which an old copy is in the cabin, makes it seem all 
 
REUBEX S VOYAGE. 147 
 
 right. The shores, too, are changing from hour to 
 hour ; a brig drifts within hail of them, which Reuben 
 watches, half envying the fortunate fellows in red shirts 
 and tasseled caps aboard, who are bound to Cuba, and 
 in a fortnight s time can pluck oranges off the trees 
 there, to say nothing of pine-apples and sugar-cane. 
 
 Over the Saybrook Bar there is a plunging of the ves 
 sel which horrifies him somewhat ; but smooth weather 
 follows, with long lines of hills half-faded on the rim of 
 the water, and the country sounds at last all dead. A 
 day or two of this, with only a mild autumnal breeze, 
 and then a sharp wind, with the foam flying over 
 forecastle and wood-pile, between the winding shores, 
 toward Flushing Bay, brings sight of great white 
 houses with green turf coming down to the rocks, where 
 the waves play and break among the drifted sea-weed. 
 Captain Saul is fast at his helm, while the big boom 
 creaks and crashes from side to side as he beats up the 
 narrowing channel, rounding Throg s Point, where the 
 light-house and old whitewashed fort stand shining in 
 the sun, skirting low rocky islands, doubling other 
 points, dashing at half-tide through the roar and whirl 
 of Hell Gate, Reuben glowing with excitement, and 
 mindful of Kidd and of his buried treasure along these 
 shores. Then came the turreted Bridewell, and at last 
 the spires, the forest of masts, with all that prodigious, 
 crushing, bewildering effect with which the first sight of 
 a great city weighs upon the thought of a country- 
 taught boy. 
 
 "Now mind the rogues, Reuben," said Captain Saul, 
 
148 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 when they were fairly alongside the dock ; " and keep 
 by your bunk for a day or two, boy. Don t stray too 
 far from the vessel, Princess, Captain Saul, remember." 
 
 XXVI 
 
 A Rosary. 
 
 r|lHE Doctor is not a little shocked by the note which 
 J- he receives from Reuben, and w T hich comes too 
 late for the interception of the boy upon the river. He 
 writes to Mrs. Brindlock, begging the kind offices of 
 her husband in looking after the lad, until such time 
 as he can come down for his recovery. The next day, 
 to complete his mortification, he receives the epistle of 
 Brother Brummem. 
 
 The growing vagabondage of the boy distressed him 
 the more by reason of his own responsible connection 
 with the little daughter of his French friend. How 
 should he, who could not guide in even courses the child 
 of his own loins, presume to conduct the little exile from 
 the heathen into paths of piety ? 
 
 And yet, strange to say, the character of the blithe 
 Adcle, notwithstanding the terrible nature of her early 
 associations, seems to fuse more readily into agreement 
 with the moral atmosphere about her than does that of 
 the recreant boy. If the lithe spirit of the girl bends 
 under the grave teachings of the Doctor, it bends with 
 a charming grace, and rises again smilingly, when sober 
 
A ROSARY. 149 
 
 speech is done, like the floweret she is. And if her 
 mirth is sometimes irrepressible through the long hours 
 of their solemn Sundays, it breaks up like bubbles 
 from the deep quiet bosom of a river, cheating even the 
 grave parson to a smile that seems scarcely sinful. 
 
 " Oh, that sermon was so long, so long to-day, New 
 Papa ! I am sure Dame Tourtelot pinched the Deacon, or 
 he would never, never have been awake through it alL" 
 
 Or, may be, she steals a foot out of doors on a Sun 
 day to the patch of violets, gathering a little bunch, and 
 appeals to the Doctor, who conies with a great frown on 
 his face, 
 
 "Xew Papa, is it most wicked to carry flowers or 
 fennel to church ? Godmother always gave me a flower 
 on holy days." 
 
 And the Doctor is cheated of his rebuke ; nay, he some 
 times wonders, in his self-accusing moments, if the Arch- 
 Enemy himself has not lodged under cover of that smiling 
 face of hers, and is thus winning him to a sinful gayety. 
 
 There were snatches, too, of Latin hymns, taught her 
 by the godmother, and only half remembered, hymns 
 of glorious rhythm, which, as they tripped from her 
 halting tongue, brought a great burden of sacred mean 
 ings, and were full of the tenderest associations of her 
 childhood. To these, too, the Doctor was half pained to 
 find himself listening, sometimes at nightfall of a Sun 
 day, with an indulgent ear, and stoutly querying with 
 himself if Satan could fairly lurk in such holy words as 
 
 * Dulcis memoria Jesu." 
 
ISO DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Adele, with that strong leaning which exists in every 
 womanly nature toward religious faith of some kind, 
 had grown into a respect for even the weightiest of the 
 Christian gravities around her. And if sometimes, as the 
 shrill treble of Miss Almira smote upon her ear, she 
 craved a better music, and remembered the fragrant 
 cloud rising from silver censers as something more grate 
 ful than the smoke leaking from the joints of the stove 
 pipe in Ashfield meeting-house, and would have willing 
 ly given up Miss Eliza s stately praises of her recitation 
 for one good hug of the godmother, she yet saw, or 
 thought she saw, the same serene trust that belonged to 
 her in the eyes of good Mistress Onthank, in the kind 
 face of Mrs. Elderkin, and in the calm look of the Doc 
 tor when he lifted his voice every night at the parsonage 
 in prayer for "all God s people." 
 
 Would it be strange, too, if in the heart of a gir} 
 taught as she has been, who had never known a mother s 
 tenderness, there should be some hidden leaning toward 
 those traditions of the Romish faith in which a holy 
 mother appeared as one whose favor was to be sup 
 plicated ? The worship of the Virgin was, indeed, too 
 salient an object of attack among the heresies which 
 the New England teachers combated, not to inspire 
 a salutary caution in Adele and entire concealment of 
 any respect she might still feel for the Holy Mary. 
 Nor was it so much a respect that shaped itself tangibly 
 among her religious beliefs as a secret craving for that 
 outpouring of maternal love denied her on earth, a 
 craving which found a certain repose and tender allevi- 
 
A ROSARY. 151 
 
 ation in entertaining fond regard for the sainted mother 
 of Christ. 
 
 When, therefore, on one occasion, Miss Eliza had 
 found among the toilet treasures of Adele a little litho 
 graphic print of the Virgin, with the Christ s head 
 surrounded by a nimbus of glory, and in her chilling 
 way had sneered at it as a heathen vanity, the poor 
 child had burst into tears, and carried the treasure to 
 her bosom to guard it from sacrilegious touch. 
 
 The spinster, rendered watchful, perhaps, by this cir 
 cumstance, had on another day been still more shocked 
 to find in a corner of the escritoire of Adele a rosary, 
 and with a very grave face had borne it down for the 
 condemnation of the Doctor. 
 
 " Adaly, my child, I trust you do not let this bauble 
 bear any part in your devotions ? " 
 
 And the Doctor made a movement as if he would 
 have thrown it out of the window. 
 
 " No, New Papa ! " said Adele, darting toward him, 
 and snatching it from his hand, with a fire in her eye 
 he had never seen there before, a weUing-up for a 
 moment of the hot Provencal blood in her veins ; "de 
 grace! je vous en prie ! " (in ecstatic moments her 
 tongue ran to her own land and took up the echo of her 
 first speech,) then growing calm, as she held it, and 
 looked into the pitying, wondering eyes of the poor 
 Doctor, said only, "It was my mother s." 
 
 Of course the kind old gentleman never sought to 
 reclaim such a treasure, but in his evening prayer be 
 sought God fervently "to overrule all things, our joys, 
 
152 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 our sorrows, our vain affections, our delight in the 
 vanities of this world, our misplaced longings, to 
 overrule all to His glory and the good of those that 
 love Him." 
 
 The Doctor writes to his friend Maverick at about 
 this date, 
 
 " Your daughter is still in the enjoyment of excellent 
 health, and is progressing with praiseworthy zeal in her 
 studies. I cannot too highly commend her general de 
 portment, by which she has secured the affection and 
 esteem of all in the parish who have formed an ac 
 quaintance with her. In respect of her religious duties, 
 she is cheerful and punctual in the performance of 
 them ; and I find it hard to believe that they should 
 prove only a savor of death unto death. 
 
 " She is fast becoming a tall and graceful girl, and 
 it may soon be advisable to warn her against the van 
 ities that overtake those of her age who are still en 
 grossed with carnal things. 
 
 " A little rosary found among her effects has been 
 the occasion of some anxieties to my sister and myself, 
 lest she might still have a leaning toward the mockeries 
 of the Scarlet Woman of Babylon ; and I was at first 
 disposed to remove it out of her way. But being ad 
 vised that it is cherished as a gift of her mother, I have 
 thought it not well to take from her the only memento 
 of so near and, I trust, dear a relative. 
 
 "May God have you, my friend, in His holy keep- 
 ing!" 
 
REUBEN IN NEW YORK, 153 
 
 xxvn. 
 
 Reuben in New York. 
 
 REUBEN, taking the advice of Captain Saul, with 
 whom he would cheerfully have gone to China, 
 had the sloop been bound thither, came back to his 
 bunk on the first night after a wandering stroll through 
 the lower part of the city. It is quite possible that he 
 would have done the same, viewing the narrowness of 
 his purse, upon the second night, had he not encoun 
 tered at noon a gentleman in close conversation with the 
 Captain, whom he immediately recognized though he 
 had seen him but once before as Mr. Brindlock. 
 This person met him very kindly, and with a hearty 
 shake of the hand, " hoped he would do his Aunt Mabel 
 the honor of coming to stay with them." 
 
 There was an air of irony in this speech which Reu 
 ben was quick to perceive : and the knowing look of 
 Captain Saul at once informed him that all the romance 
 of his runaway voyage was at an end. Both Mr. and 
 Mrs. Brindlock received him at their home with the ut 
 most kindness, and were vastly entertained by his story 
 of the dismal life upon Bolton Hill, the pursuit of the 
 parson with his white-faced nag, and the subsequent 
 cruise in the sloop Princess. Mrs. Brindlock, a good- 
 natured, self-indulgent woman, was greatly taken with 
 the unaffected country naturalness of the lad, and was 
 
154 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 agreeably surprised at his very presentable appearance : 
 for Reuben at this date he may have been thirteen or 
 fourteen was of good height for his years, with a pro 
 fusion of light, wavy hair, a thoughtful, blue eye, and a 
 lurking humor about the lip which told of a great faculty 
 for mischief. There was such an absence, moreover, in 
 this city home, of that stiffness with which his Aunt Eliza 
 had such a marvelous capacity for investing everything 
 about her, that the lad found himself at once strangely 
 at his ease. 
 
 "Aunt Mabel," he had said, " I suppose you 11 be writ 
 ing to the old gentleman, and do please take my part. 
 I can t go back to that abominable Brummem ; if I do, I 
 shall only run away again, and go farther : do tell him 
 so." 
 
 " But why could n t you have stayed at home, pray ? 
 Did you quarrel with the little French girl? eh, Reu 
 ben ? " 
 
 The boy flushed. 
 
 " Not with Adele, never ! " 
 
 Brindlock, a shrewd, successful merchant, was, on his 
 part, charmed with the adventurous spirit of the boy, 
 and with the Captain s report of the way in which the 
 truant had conducted negotiations for the trip. From 
 all which it came about, that Mrs. Brindlock, in writing 
 to the Doctor to inform him of Reuben s safe arrival, 
 added an urgent request that the boy might be allowed 
 to pass the winter with them in New York ; in which 
 event he could either attend school, (there being an ex 
 cellent one in her neighborhood,) or, if the Doctor pre- 
 
REUBEN IN NEW YORK. 155 
 
 ferred, Mr. Brindlock could give him some light employ 
 ment in the counting-room, and try his capacity for 
 business. 
 
 At first thought, this proposition appeared very shock 
 ing to the Doctor ; but, to his surprise, Miss Eliza was 
 strongly disposed to entertain it. 
 
 The Doctor was not fully persuaded by her, and took 
 occasion to consult, as was his wont in practical affairs, 
 his friend Squire Elderkin. 
 
 "I rather like the plan," said the Squire, after some 
 consideration, " quite like it, Doctor, quite like 
 it. 
 
 "You see, Doctor," and he slipped a finger into a 
 button-hole of the good parson s, (the only man in the 
 parish who would have ventured upon such familiarity,) 
 "I think we ve been a little strict with Reuben, a 
 little strict. He s a fine, frank, straightfor ard lad, but 
 impulsive, impulsive, Doctor. Your father, the Major, 
 had a little of it, quicker blood than you or I, Doctor. 
 We can t wind up every boy like a clock ; there s some 
 that go with weights, and there s some that go with 
 springs. Then, too, I think, Doctor, there s a little of 
 the old Major s fight in the boy. I think he has broken 
 over a good many of our rules very much because the 
 rules were there, and provoked him to try his strength. 
 
 "Now, Doctor, there s been a good deal of this kind 
 of thing, and our Aunt Eliza puts her foot down rather 
 strongly, which won t be a bugbear to the boy with Mrs. 
 Brindlock ; besides which, there s your old friend, Rev. 
 Dr. Mowry, at the Fulton-Street Church close by " 
 
156 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " So lie is, so he is," said the Doctor ; "I had forgot 
 ten that." 
 
 "And then, to tell the truth, Doctor, between you and 
 I," (and the Squire was working himself into some ear 
 nestness,) " I don t believe that all the wickedness in the 
 world is cooped up in the cities. In my opinion, the 
 small towns have a pretty fair sprinkling, a pretty 
 fair sprinkling, Doctor. And I tell you what it is, Doc 
 tor, the Devil " (and he twitched upon the Doctor s coat 
 as if he were in a political argument) "does n t confine 
 himself to large towns. He goes into the rural dees- 
 tricts, in my opinion, about as regularly as the newspa 
 pers." 
 
 The result was, that permission was given for the stay 
 of Reuben, on condition that Mr. Brindlock could give 
 him constant occupation, and that he should be regular 
 in his attendance on the Sabbath at the Fulton-Street 
 Church. Shortly after, the Doctor goes to the city, 
 provided, by the watchful care of Miss Eliza, with a 
 complete wardrobe for the truant boy, and bearing kind 
 messages from the household. But chiefly it is the 
 Doctor s object to give his poor boy due admonition for 
 his great breach of duty, and to insist upon his writing 
 to the worthy Mr. Brummem a full apology for his con 
 duct. He also engages his friend of the Fulton-Street 
 parish to have an eye upon his son, and to report to him 
 at once any wide departure from the good conduct he 
 promises. 
 
 Reuben writes the apology insisted upon to Mr, 
 Brummem in this style : 
 
REUBEN IN NEW YORK. 157 
 
 " MY DEAR SIR, I arn sorry that I threw Daboll in 
 your face as I did, and hope you will forgive the same. 
 " Yours respectfully." 
 
 But after the Doctor s approval of this, the lad cannot 
 help adding a postscript of his own to this effect : 
 
 " P. S. I hope old Whiteface did n t lose a shoe 
 when you drove out on the river road ? I saw you ; for 
 I was sitting in the edge of the woods, eating Keziah s 
 gingerbread. Please thank her, and give my respects 
 to all the fellows." 
 
 Miss Johns considers it her duty to write a line of ex 
 postulation to her nephew, which she does, with fault 
 less penmanship, in this strain : 
 
 "AVe were shocked to hea*. of your misconduct toward 
 the worthy Mr. Brummem. Your running away was, I 
 think, uncalled for, and the embarkment upon the sloop, 
 under the circumstances, was certainly very reprehensi 
 ble. I trust that we shall hear only good accounts of 
 you from this period forth, and that you will be duly 
 grateful for your father s distinguished kindness in al 
 lowing you to stay in New York. I shall be happy to 
 have you write to me an occasional epistle, and hope to 
 see manifest a considerable improvement in your hand 
 writing. Does Sister Mabel wear her ermine cape this 
 winter ? Adele speaks of you often, and I think misses 
 you very much indeed." 
 
 Yet the spinster aunt was not used to natter Reuben 
 
158 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 with any such mention as this. "What can she mean," 
 said he, musingly, " by talking such stuff to me ? " 
 
 Phil Elderkin, too, after a little, writes long letters 
 that are full of the daily boy-life at Ashfield : how 
 "the chestnutting has been first-rate this year," and he 
 has a bushel of prime ones seasoning in the garret ; 
 
 how Sam Troop, the stout son of the old postmaster, 
 has had a regular tussle with the master in school, " hot 
 and heavy, over the benches, and all about, and Sam 
 was expelled, and old Crocker got a black eye, and, 
 darn him, he s got it yet"; and how "somebody 
 (name unknown) tied a smallish tin kettle to old Hob- 
 son s sorrel mare s tail last Saturday night, and the way 
 she went down the street w r as a caution ! " and how 
 Nat Boody has got a new fighting-dog, and such a ratter ! 
 
 and how Suke, " the divine Suke, is, they say, going 
 
 to marry the stage-driver. Sic transit gloria mulie 
 
 something, for I 11 be hanged, if I know the proper 
 case." 
 
 And there are some things this boisterous Phil writes 
 in tenderer mood : how "Rose and Adele are as thick 
 as ever, and Adele comes up pretty often to pass an 
 evening, glad enough, I guess, to get away from Aunt 
 Eliza, and I see her home, of course. She plays a 
 stiff game of backgammon ; she never throws but she 
 makes a point ; she beats me." 
 
 And from such letters the joyous shouts and merry 
 halloos of the Ashfield boys come back to him again ; 
 he hears the rustling of the brook, the rumbling of the 
 mill ; he sees the wood standing on the hills, and the 
 
REUBEN IN NEW YORK. 159 
 
 girls at the door-yard gates ; and he watches again the 
 glancing feet of Eose who was once Amanda trip 
 ping away under the sycamores ; and the city Mortimer 
 bethinks him of another Amanda, of browner hue and 
 in coquettish straw, idling along the same street, with 
 reticule lightly swung upon her finger ; and the boy be 
 thinks him of tender things he might have said in the 
 character of Mortimer, but never did say, and of kisses 
 he might have stolen, (in the character of Mortimer,) 
 but never did steal. 
 
 And now these sights, voices, vagaries, as month 
 after month passes in his new home, fade, fade, yet 
 somehow abide. The patter of a thousand feet are 011 
 the pavement around him. What wonder, if in the 
 surrounding din, the tranquillity of Ashfield, its scenes, 
 its sounds, should seem a mere dream of the past? 
 What wonder, if the solemn utterances from the old 
 pulpit should be lost in the roar of the new voices? 
 The few months he was to spend in their hearing run 
 into a score, and again into another score. Two or 
 three years hence we shall meet him again, changed, 
 certainly ; but whether for better or for worse the 
 sequel will show. 
 
 And Rose ? and Adele ? 
 
 Well, well, we must not overleap the quiet current 
 of our story. While the May violets are in bloom, let 
 us enjoy them and be thankful ; and when the autumn 
 flowers are come to take their places, let us enjoy those, 
 too, and thank God. 
 
160 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 xxvm. 
 
 Askfield Again. 
 
 DOCTOB, we miss Reuby," said the Tew partners. 
 And the good old people said it with feeling, 
 though, over and over, at winter s dusk, the boy had 
 given a sharp rattle to their shop-door, and the warning 
 bell called them away from their snug fire only to see his 
 light pair of heels whisking around the corner of the 
 Eagle Tavern. The mischief in the lad was, indeed, of 
 such elastic, irrepressible temper, that even the gravest 
 of the parishioners were disposed to regard it with a 
 frown in which a comic pardon was always lurking. 
 
 Even the Tourtelots " quite missed the boy ; " though 
 over and over the brindled cow of the Deacon was found 
 to have slipped the bars, (a thing the orderly creature 
 was never known to do of her own head,) and was re 
 ported at twilight by the sober-faced Reuben as stroll 
 ing far down upon the Common. 
 
 It is but a small bit of canvas we have chosen for the 
 painting in of these figures of ours ; and returning to 
 the old town of Ashfield, as we do now, where the cen 
 tral interest must lie, there is little of change to de 
 clare, still less of dramatic incident. 
 
 The old blear-eyed Boody is not so cheery as we have 
 seen him, although his party has won brilliant success. 
 There is a sad story of domestic grief that has marked 
 
ASHFIELD AGAIX, 161 
 
 a new wrinkle in his forehead and given a droop to his 
 eye, which, had all gone fairly, he might have weathered 
 for ten years more. The glory of the ringleted Suke 
 has indeed gone, as Phil had told ; but it has not gone 
 in the way of marriage. God only knows where those 
 pink cheeks are showing their graces just now, not, 
 surely, in any home of hers, not in any home at all. 
 But have not the starched, good women of the parish 
 been a little disposed to count the pretty tavern-keeper s 
 daughter as outside the fold so far as all social in 
 fluences were concerned from the beginning? 
 
 Certain it is, that Miss Johns indulged in such scath 
 ing condemnation of the poor sinner as made Adele 
 shiver : with the spinster at least, there would be little 
 hope for a Magdalen, or a child of a Magdalen. Nor 
 could such as she fully understand the measured and 
 subdued tone with which the good Doctor talked of a 
 lapse from virtue which had so shocked the little com 
 munity. But the parson lived so closel}* in that spirit 
 ual world where all his labor and love centered, that he 
 saw under its ineffable light only two great ranks of 
 people pressing toward the inevitable goal : a lesser 
 rank, which had found favor of God ; and a greater, 
 tumultuous one, toward whom his heart yearned, that 
 with wavering and doubt and evil intention pressed on 
 to destruction. What mattered to him the color of the 
 sin, or who was he to judge it ? "\Yhen the secret places 
 of the heart were so full of wickedness, why anathema 
 tize above the rest those plague-spots which revealed 
 themselves to mortals? "Fearful above all others," he 
 11 
 
1 62 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 was wont to say, " will be those sins which, being kept 
 cautiously smoldering through life, will, at the blast of 
 the Archangel s trump, blaze out in inextinguishable 
 fire ! " 
 
 Though slow to accept theological reforms, the Doc 
 tor was not slow to advocate those which promised good 
 influence upon public morals. Thus he had entered 
 with zeal into the Temperance movement ; and after 
 1830, or 1832 at the latest, there was no private locker 
 in the parsonage for any black bottle of choice Santa 
 Cruz. His example had its bearing upon others of the 
 parish ; and whether by dint of the Doctor s effective 
 preaching, or whether it were by reason of the dilapi 
 dated state of the buildings and the leaky condition of the 
 stills, it is certain that about this time Deacon Simmons, 
 of whom casual mention has been made, abandoned his 
 distillery, and invested such spare capital as he chose to 
 keep afloat, in the business of his son-in-law, Mr. Bow- 
 rigg of New York, who had up to this time sold the 
 Deacon s gin upon commission. 
 
 Mr. Bowrigg was a thriving merchant, and continued 
 his wholesale traffic with eminent success. In proof of 
 this success, he astonished the good people of Ashfield 
 by building, in the summer of 1833, at the instigation 
 of his wife, an elegant country residence upon the main 
 street of the town ; and the following year, the young Bow- 
 riggs two daughters of blooming girl age brought 
 such a flutter of city ribbons and silks into the main 
 aisle of the meeting-house as had not been seen in many 
 a day. Anne and Sophia Bowrigg, aged respectively 
 
ASH FIELD AGAIN. 163 
 
 thirteen and fifteen, fell naturally into somewhat intimate 
 associations with our little friends, Adele and Rose : an 
 association that was not much to the taste of the Doc 
 tor, who feared that under it Adele might launch again 
 into those old coquetries of dress against which Maver 
 ick had cautioned him, and which in their quiet coun 
 try atmosphere had been subdued into a modest home 
 liness that was certainly very charming. 
 
 Miss Sophia, however, the elder of the two Bowrigg 
 daughters, was a young lady not easily balked of her 
 intent ; and conceiving a violent fondness for Adele, 
 whether by reason of the graces of her character, or by 
 reason of her foreign speech, in which she could stam- 
 meringly join, to the great mystification of all others, 
 she soon forced herself into a patronizing intimacy with 
 Adele, and was a frequent visitor at the parsonage. 
 With a great fund of assurance, a rare and unappeasa 
 ble glibness of tongue, and that lack of refined delicacy 
 which invariably belongs to such noisy demonstrative- 
 ness, Miss Sophia had after only one or two interviews 
 ferreted out from Adele ah 1 that the little stranger her 
 self knew respecting her history. 
 
 "And not to know your mother, Adele! that s so 
 very queer ! " 
 
 Adele winces at this, but seems to so coarse an ob 
 server only preoccupied with her work. 
 
 "Isn t it queer?" persists the garrulous creature. 
 " I knew a girl in the city who did not see her mother 
 after she was three, think of that ! But then, you 
 know, she was a bad woman." 
 
1 64 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 The hot Proven9al blood mounts to the cheek and 
 brow of Adele in an instant, and her eye flashes. But it 
 is quite impossible to show anger in view of the stolid 
 face of her companion, with nothing in it but an un 
 thinking, girlish curiosity. 
 
 " We will talk of something else, Sophia." 
 
 " Oh ! then you don t like to speak of it ! Dear me ! 
 I certainly won t, then." 
 
 But it is by no means the first time the sensibilities 
 of Adele have been touched to the quick. She is ap 
 proaching that age when they ripen with marvelous 
 rapidity. There is never an evening now at that cheer 
 ful home of the Elderkins lighted up as it is with 
 the beaming smiles of that Christian mother, Mrs. 
 Elderkin but there sweeps over the mind of the poor 
 girl, at some interval in the games or the chat, a terrible 
 sense of some great loss she has suffered, of which she 
 knows not the limits, a cruel sense of isolation in 
 which she wanders, and on which comes betimes the 
 recollection of a father s kindly face, that in the grow 
 ing distance makes her isolation seem even more ap 
 palling. 
 
 Hose, good soul, detects these humors by a keen, 
 girlish instinct, and gliding up to her, passes her arm 
 around her, 
 
 "What is it now, Adele, dear ? " 
 
 And she, looking down at her, (for Adele was the 
 taller by half a head,) says, 
 
 " What a good mother you have, Rose ! " 
 
 " Only that ! " and Rose laughs gleefully for a mo- 
 
ASH FIELD AGAIN. 165 
 
 ment ; when bethinking herself where the secret grief 
 lay, her sweet face is overcast in an instant, and reach 
 ing up her two hands, she draws down the face of 
 Adele to hers, and kisses her on either cheek. 
 
 Phil, who is at a game of chess with Grace, pretends 
 not to see this side demonstration ; but his next move 
 is to sacrifice his only remaining castle in the most 
 needless manner. 
 
 Dame Tourtelot, too, has pressed her womanly pre 
 rogative of knowing whatever could be known about the 
 French girl who comes occasionally with Miss Eliza to 
 her tea-driukings, and who, with a native taste for music, 
 is specially interested in the piano of Miss Almira. 
 
 " It must be very tedious," says the Dame, "to be so 
 long away from home and from those that love you. 
 Almiry, now, hardly goes for a week to Cousin Jeru- 
 shy s at Har ford but she is a-frettiu to be back in her 
 old home. Don t you feel it, Adeel ? " (The Dame is 
 not to be driven out of her own notions of pronun 
 ciation by any French accents.) "But don t be down 
 hearted, my child ; it s God s providence that s brought 
 you away from a Popish country." 
 
 The spinster, also, who is mistress of the parsonage, 
 though never giving up her admiring patronage of 
 Adele, and governing her curiosity with far more tact 
 than belongs to Dame Tourtelot, has yet shown a per 
 sistent zeal in pushing her investigations in regard to 
 all that concerned the family history of her little pro 
 tegee. She has lent an eager ear to all the communica 
 tions which Maverick has addressed to the Doctor ; and 
 
1 66 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 in moments of what seemed exceptional fondness, when 
 she has toyed with the head-gear of Adele, has plied 
 the little brain with motherly questions that have some 
 how widely failed of their intent. 
 
 Under all this, Adele ripens into a certain reserve and 
 individuality of character which might never have be 
 longed to her, had the earlier circumstances of her life 
 been altogether familiar to the circle in which she was 
 placed. The Doctor fastens, perhaps, an undue reli 
 ance upon this growing reserve of hers : sure it is that 
 an increasing confidence is establishing itself between 
 them, which it is to be hoped nothing will shake. 
 
 And as for Phil, when the Squire teases him with his 
 growing fondness for the little Jesuit of the parsonage, 
 the boy, though past seventeen now, and " with views 
 of his own," (as most young men have at that age,) 
 blushes like a girl. 
 
 Rose, seeing it, and her eyes flashing with sisterly 
 pride, says to herself, 
 
 " Oh, I hope it may come true ! " 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Every-day Life. 
 
 time to time Maverick had written in reply to 
 the periodical reports of the Doctor, and always 
 with unabating confidence in his discretion and kind 
 ness. 
 
EVERY-DAY LIFE. 167 
 
 " I have remarked what you say " (he had written 
 thus in a letter which had elicited the close attention of 
 Miss Eliza) " in regard to the rosary found among the 
 girlish treasures of Adele. I am not aware how she can 
 have come by such a trinket from the source named ; 
 but I must beg you to take as little notice as possible 
 of the matter, and please allow her possession of it to 
 remain entirely unmarked." 
 
 Heavy losses incident to the political changes of the 
 year 1831 in France had kept him fastened at his post ; 
 and with the reviving trade under the peaceful regime 
 of Louis Philippe, he had been more actively engaged 
 even than before. Yet there was no interruption to his 
 correspondence with Adele, and no falling off in its ex 
 pressions of earnest affection and devotion. 
 
 "I fancy you almost a woman grown now, dear Adele. 
 Those cheeks of yours have, I hope, not lost their round 
 ness or their rosiness. But, however much you may 
 have grown. I am sure that my heart would guide me so 
 truly that I could single you out from a great crowd of 
 the little Puritan people about you. I can fancy you in 
 some simple New England dress, gliding up the path 
 way that leads to the door of the old parsonage ; I can 
 fancy you dropping a word of greeting to the good Doc 
 tor within his study (he must be wearing spectacles 
 now) ; and at evening I seem to see you kneeling in the 
 long back dining-room, as the parson leads in family 
 prayer. Well, well, don t forget to pray for your old 
 father, my child. I shall be all the safer for it, in what 
 the Doctor calls this wicked land. And what of Reu- 
 
1 68 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 ben, whose mischief, you told me, threatened such fear 
 ful results ? Sobered down, I suppose, long before this, 
 wearing a stout jacket of homespun, driving home the 
 keow at night, and singing in the choir of a Sunday. 
 Don t lose your heart, Adele, with any of the youngsters 
 about you. I claim the whole of it. " 
 
 And Adele writes back : 
 
 " My heart is all yours, papa, only why do you 
 never come and take it ? So many, many years that I 
 have not seen you ! 
 
 "Yes, I like Ashfield still ; it is almost a home to me 
 now, you know. New Papa is very kind, but just as 
 grave and stiff as at the first. I know he loves me, 
 but he never tells me so. But when I sing some song 
 that he loves to hear, I see a little quirk by his temple, 
 and a glistening in his eye, as he thanks me, that tells it 
 plain enough ; and most of all when he prays, as he 
 sometimes does after talking to me very gravely, with 
 his arm tight clasped around me, oh, I am sure that he 
 loves me ! and indeed, and indeed, I love him back 
 again ! 
 
 " It was funny what you said of Reuben ; for you 
 must know that he is living in the city now, and hap 
 pens upon us here sometimes with a very grand air, 
 as fine, I dare say, as the people about Marseilles. But 
 I don t think I like him any better ; I don t know if I 
 like him as well. Miss Eliza is, of course, very proud 
 of him, as she always was." 
 
 As the nicer observing faculties of his child develop, 
 of which ample traces appear in her letters, Maver- 
 
E VER Y-DA Y LIFE. 169 
 
 ick begs her to detail to him as fully as she can all the 
 little events of her every-clay life. Sheet after sheet of 
 this simple, girlish narrative of hers Maverick delights 
 himself with, as he sits upon his balcony, after business 
 hours, looking down upon the harbor of Marseilles. 
 
 "After morning prayers, which are very early, you 
 know, Esther places the smoking dishes on the table, 
 and New Papa asks a blessing, always. Then he says, 
 I hope Adaly has not forgotten her text of yesterday. 
 And I repeat it to him. Such a quantity of tests as I 
 can repeat now ! Then Aunt Eliza says, I hope, too, 
 that Adele will make no mistake in her " Paradise Lost" 
 to-day. Are you sure you Ye not forgotten that lesson 
 in the parsing, child ? Indeed, papa, I can parse al 
 most any page in the book. 
 
 " * I think, says New Papa, appealing to Miss Eliza, 
 that Larkin may grease the wheels of the chaise this 
 morning, and, if it should be fair, I will make a visit or 
 two at the north end of the town ; and I guess Adaly 
 would like to go with me. 
 
 " Yes, dearly, New Papa, I say, which is very 
 true. 
 
 "And Miss Eliza says, very gravely, lam perfectly 
 willing, Doctor. 
 
 "After breakfast is over, Miss Eliza will sometimes 
 walk with me a short way down the street, and will 
 say to me, Hold yourself erect, Adele; walk trimly. 
 She walks very trimly. Then we pass by the Hapgood 
 house, which is one of the grand houses ; and I know 
 the old Miss Hapgood s are looking through the blinds 
 
i?o DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 at us, though they never show themselves until they 
 have taken out their curl-papers in the afternoon. 
 
 " Dame Tourtelot is n t so shy ; and we see her great, 
 gaunt figure in a broad sun-bonnet, stooping down 
 with her trowel, at work among the flower-patches be 
 fore her door; and Miss Almira is reading at an upper 
 window, in pink muslin. And when the Dame hears us, 
 she lifts herself straight, sets her old flapping bonnet as 
 square as she can, and stares through her spectacles 
 until she has made us out ; then says, 
 
 "Good mornin , Miss Johns. You re arly this 
 inornin . 
 
 " Quite early, says Miss Eliza. Your flowers are 
 looking nicely, Mrs. Tourtelot. 
 
 " Well, the pi nys is blowed pretty good. Wouldn t 
 Adeel like a pi ny ? 
 
 " It s a great red monster of a flower, papa ; but I 
 thank her for it, and put it in my belt. Then the Dame 
 goes on to tell how she has shifted the striped grass, 
 and how the bouncing-Bets are spreading, and where 
 she means to put her Nasturtiums the next year, and 
 brandishes her trowel, as the brigands in the story-books 
 Sjrandish their swords. 
 
 " And Miss Eliza says, Almira is at her reading, I 
 see. 
 
 " Dear me ! says the Dame, glancing up ; she s 
 always a-readin . What with novils and histories, she s 
 injurin her health, Miss Johns, as sure as you re alive. 
 
 Then, as we set off again, the Dame calling out 
 last word, and brandishing her trowel over the 
 
E VER Y-DA Y LIFE. 1 7 1 
 
 fence, old Squire Elderkin comes swinging up the 
 street with the Courant in his hand ; and he lifts his 
 hat, and says, Good morning to you, Miss Johns ; and 
 how is the little French lady this morning ? Bright as 
 ever, I see, (for he does n t wait to be answered,) * a 
 peony in her belt, and two roses in her cheeks. Yet 
 my cheeks are not very red, papa ; but it s his way. . . 
 
 "After school, I go for the drive with the Doctor, which 
 I enjoy very much. I ask him about all the flowers 
 along the way, and he tells me every thing, and I have 
 learned the names of all the birds ; and it is much bet 
 ter, I think, than learning at school. And he always 
 says, It s God s infinite love, my child, that has given 
 us all these beautiful things. When I hear him say it, I 
 believe it, papa. 
 
 " Then, very often, he lifts my hand in his, and says, 
 * Adaly, niy dear, God is very good to us. We cannot 
 tell His meaning always, but w r e may be very sure that 
 He has only a good meaning. You do not know it, 
 Adaly, but there was once a dear one, whom I loved per 
 haps too well ; she was the mother of my poor Keu- 
 ben ; God only knows how I loved her ! But He took 
 her from me. Oh, how the hand of New Papa griped 
 on mine, when he said this ! He took her from me, 
 my child ; He has carried her to His home. He is just 
 Learn to love Him, Adaly. 
 
 " I do ! I do ! I said. 
 
 " But then, directly after, he repeated to me some of 
 those dreary things I had been used to hear in the Cate 
 chism week after week. 
 
172 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " Don t tell me that, New Papa, said I, it is so old ; 
 talk to me as you were talking. 
 
 " And then the Doctor looked at me with the keenest 
 eyes I ever saw, and said, 
 
 " My child, are you right, and are the Doctors wrong? 3 
 
 " Is it the Catechism that you call the Doctors ? said I. 
 
 " Yes, said he. 
 
 " But were they better men than you, New Papa ? 
 
 " All men alike, Adaly, all straggling toward the 
 truth, all wearying themselves to interpret it in such 
 way that the world may accept it. And at this he took 
 my hand and said, t Adaly, trust Him ! 
 
 " By this time" (for Adele s letter is a true transcript 
 of a day) "we have reached the door of some one of his 
 people to whom he is to pay a visit. The blinds are all 
 closed, and nothing seems to be stirring but a gray cat 
 that is prowling about under the lilac bushes. Dobbins 
 is hitched to the post, and the Doctor pounds away at 
 the big knocker. Presently two or three white-headed 
 children come peeping around the bushes, and rush 
 away to tell who has come. After a little the stout 
 mistress opens the door, and wipes her fingers on her 
 apron, and shakes hands, and bounces into the keeping- 
 room to throw up the window and open the blinds, and 
 dusts off the great rocking chair for the Doctor, and 
 keeps saying all the while that they are very back ard 
 with the spring work, and she really had no time to 
 slick up, and asks after Miss Eliza and Reuben, and the 
 Tourtelots, and all the people on the street, so fast that 
 I wonder she can keep her breath ; and the Doctor looks 
 
E VER Y-DA Y LIFE. 1 73 
 
 so calm, and has no time to say anything yet. Then she 
 looks at me, Sissy is looking well/ says she, and dashes 
 out to bring in a great plate of gingerbread, which I 
 never like at all, and say, No. But she says, It won t 
 hurt ye ; it a n t p ison, child. So I find I must eat a 
 little ; and while I sit mumbling it, the Doctor and she 
 talk on about a great deal I don t understand, and I am 
 glad when she bounces up again, and says, Sis would 
 like to get some posies, p raps, and leads me out of 
 doors. There s lalocs, child, and flower-de-luce, pick 
 what you want. 
 
 "So I go wandering among the beds along the gar 
 den, with the bees humming around me ; and there are 
 great tufts of blue-bell, and spider-wort, and moss- 
 pink ; and the white-haired grandchildren come and put 
 their faces to the paling, looking at me through the 
 bars like animals in a cage ; and if I beckon to them, 
 they glance at each other, and dash away." 
 
 Thus much of Adele s account. But there are three 
 or four more visits to complete the parson s day. Pos 
 sibly he comes upon some member of his flock in the 
 field, when he draws up Dobbins to the fence, and his 
 parishioner, spying the old chaise, leaves his team to 
 blow a moment while he strides forward with his long 
 ox-goad in hand, and, seating himself upon a stump 
 within easy earshot, says, 
 
 "Good momin , Doctor." 
 
 And the parson, in his kindly way, " Good morning, 
 Mr. Pettibone. Your family pretty well ? " 
 
 "Waal, middlin , Doctor, only middlin . Miss Pet- 
 
174 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 tibone is a-havin faintish spells along back ; complains 
 o pain in her side." 
 
 " Sorry, sorry," says the good man : and then, " Your 
 team is looking pretty well, Mr. Pettibone." 
 
 " Waal, only tol able, Doctor. That nigh ox, what 
 with spring work an grass feed is gittin kind o thin in 
 the flesh. Any news abaout, Doctor ? " 
 
 "Not that I learn, Mr. Pettibone. We re having fine 
 growing weather for your crops." 
 
 "Waal, only tol able, Doctor. You see, arter them 
 heavy spring rains, the sun has kind o baked the 
 graound ; the seed don t seem to start well. I don t 
 know as you remember, but in 29, along in the spring, 
 we had jist sich a spell o wet, an corn hung back that 
 season amazin ly." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Pettibone, we must hope for the best : 
 it s all in God s hands." 
 
 " Waal, I s pose it is, Doctor, I s pose it is." And 
 he makes a cut at a clover-head with the lash upon his 
 ox-goad ; then as if in recognition of the change of 
 subject he says, 
 
 "Any more talk on the street abaout repairin the 
 ruff o the meetin -house, Doctor ? " 
 
 At sundown, all visits being paid, they go jogging 
 into town again, the Doctor silent by this time, and 
 thinking of his sermon. Dobbins is tied always at the 
 same post, always the hitch-rein buckled in the third 
 hole from the end. 
 
 After tea, perhaps, Phil and Rose come sauntering by, 
 and ask if Adele will go up " to the house " ? Which 
 
E VER Y-DA Y LIFE. 1 7 5 
 
 request, if Miss Eliza meet it with a nod of approval, 
 puts Adele by their side ; Rose, with a beautiful reck 
 lessness common to New England girls of that day, 
 wearing her hat drooping half down her neck, and bar 
 ing her clear forehead to the falling night-dews. Phil, 
 with a pebble in his hand, makes a feint of throwing into 
 a flock of goslings that are waddling disturbedly after a 
 pair of staid old geese, but is arrested by Rose s prompt 
 " Behave, Phil ! " 
 
 The Squire is reading his paper by the evening lamp, 
 but cannot forbear a greeting to Adt-le : 
 
 " Ah, here we are again ! and how is Madamoizel ? " 
 (this is the Squire s style of French,) "and has she 
 brought me the peony? Phil would have given his 
 head for it, eh, Phil?" 
 
 Rose is so bright, and glowing, and happy ! 
 
 Mrs. Elderkin in her rocking-chair, with her gray hair 
 carefully plaited under the white lace cap whose broad 
 strings fall on either shoulder, is a picture of motherly 
 dignity. Her pleasant " Good-evening, Adele," would 
 alone have paid the warm-hearted exile for her walk. 
 
 Then follow games, chat, and an occasional noisy joke 
 from the Squire, until the nine o clock town -bell gives 
 warning, and Adele wends homeward under convoy of 
 the gallant Phil. 
 
 "Good-night,, Adele !" 
 
 "Good-night, Phil!" 
 
 Only this at the gate. Then the Doctor s evening 
 prayer ; and after it, in the quiet chamber, where her 
 sweet head lay upon the pillow, drean 
 
1 76 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 New Prospects. 
 
 IN the autumn of 1836, Maverick wrote to his friend, 
 the Doctor, that in view of the settled condition of 
 business, he intended to visit America some time in the 
 course of the following season. 
 
 "Above all," he writes, "I wish to see Adele as she is, 
 without any note of preparation. You will therefore, 
 I beg, my dear Johns, keep from her scrupulously all 
 knowledge of my present intentions, (which may pos 
 sibly miscarry, after all,) and let me see, to the very 
 finest touch, whether of a ribbon or of a ringlet, how 
 far you have New-Englandized my dear girl. 
 
 " It is quite possible that I may manage for her return 
 with me, (of this plan, too, I beg you to give no hint,) 
 and in view of it I would suggest that any available oc 
 casion be seized upon to revive her knowledge of French, 
 which, I fear, in your staid household, she may almost 
 have forgotten. Tell dear Adele that I am sometimes at 
 Le Pin, where her godmother never fails to inquire after 
 her, and bless the dear child." 
 
 Upon this the Doctor and Miss Johns take counsel. 
 Bofch are not a little disturbed. The grave Doctor finds 
 his heart wrapped about by the winning ways of the lit 
 tle stranger in a manner he could hardly have conceived 
 possible. 
 
NEW PROSPECTS. 177 
 
 The spinster, though she has become unconsciously 
 attached to Adele is yet not so much disconcerted by the 
 thought of any violence to her affections, for all vio 
 lence of this kind she has schooled herself to regard 
 with cool stoicism, but the possible interruption of her 
 ambitious schemes with respect to Reuben and Adele 
 discomposes her. Such a scheme she has never given 
 over for one moment. No plan of hers is ever given over 
 lightly. The growing intercourse with the Elderkins, in 
 view of the evident devotion of Phil, has been, indeed, 
 the source of a little uneasiness ; but even this intimacy 
 she has moderated to a certain degree by occasional ju 
 dicious fears in regard to Adele s exposure to the night 
 air ; and has made the most in her quiet manner 
 of Phil s exceptional, but somewhat noisy, attentions to 
 that dashing girl, Sophia Bowrigg. 
 
 But, like most cool schemers in what concerns the af 
 fections, she makes her errors. Her assurance in regard 
 to the improved habits and character of Reuben, and 
 her iteration of the wonderful attachment which the 
 Brindlocks bear to the lad, have a somewhat strained 
 air to the ear of Adele. And when the spinster says, 
 folding up his last letter, " Good fellow ! always some 
 tender little message for you, my dear," Adele thinks 
 as most girls of her age would be apt to think that she 
 would like to see the tender message with her own eyes. 
 
 But what of the French ? Where is there to be found 
 a competent teacher? Not, surely, in Ashfield. Miss 
 Eliza, with grave doubts, however, suggests a winter in 
 New York with the Brindlocks. 
 12 
 
178 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Even Adele, attracted by the novelty of the proposed 
 situation, urged her claim in the cheeriest little manner 
 conceivable. 
 
 " Only for the winter, New Papa ; please say Yes ! " 
 
 And the tender hands patted the grave face, as she 
 seated herself with a childish coquetry upon the elbow 
 of his chair. 
 
 "Impossible, quite impossible," says the Doctor. 
 " You are too dear to me, Adaly." 
 
 " Oh, now, New Papa, you don t mean that, not 
 positively?" and the winning fingers tap his cheek 
 again. 
 
 But for this time, at least, Adele is to lose her claim ; 
 the Doctor well knows that to suffer such endearments 
 were to yield ; so he rises brusquely, 
 
 " I must be just, my child, to the charge your father 
 has imposed upon me. It cannot be." 
 
 It will not be counted strange, if a little ill-disguised 
 petulance appeared in the face of Adele that day and 
 the next. 
 
 The winter of 1836-7 was a very severe one through 
 out New England. Perhaps it was in view of its sever 
 ity, that, on or about New Year s Day, there cams to the 
 parsonage a gift from Reuben for Adele, in the shape of 
 a fur tippet, very much to the gratification of Miss Eliza 
 and to the pleasant surprise of the Doctor. 
 
 Rose and Phil, sitting by the fire next day, Rose says, 
 in a timid voice, with less than her usual sprightliness, 
 
 "Do you know who has sent a beautiful fur tippet to 
 Adele, Phil?" 
 
NEW PROSPECTS. 179 
 
 " No, " says Phil, briskly. " Who ? " 
 
 " Eeuben," says Rose, in a tone as if a blush ran 
 over her face at the utterance. 
 
 If there was one, however, Phil could not have seen it ; 
 he was looking steadfastly into the fire, and said only, 
 
 "I don t care." 
 
 A little after, (nothing having been said, meantime,) 
 he has occasion to rearrange the wood upon the hearth, 
 and does it with such preposterous violence that the 
 timid little voice beside him says, 
 
 " Don t, Phil, be angry with the fire ! " 
 
 It was a winter, as we have said, for fur tippets and 
 for glowing cheeks ; and Adele had now been long 
 enough under a Northern sky to partake of that exhil 
 aration of spirits which belongs to every true-born New 
 Englander in presence of one of those old-fashioned 
 snow-storms, which, all through the day and through 
 the night, sifts out from the gray sky its fleecy crystals, 
 covering the frosted high-roads, covering the withered 
 grasses, covering the whole summer s wreck in one glori 
 ous white burial ; and after it, keen frosty mornings, 
 the pleasant jingling of scores of bells, jets of white va 
 por from the nostrils of the prancing horses, and a quick 
 electric tingle to the blood, that makes every pulse beat 
 a thanksgiving. 
 
 In the midst of all this a black shadow fell upon the 
 little town. News came overland (the river being 
 closed), that Mrs Bowrigg, after an illness of three days, 
 was dead ; and the body of the poor woman was to come 
 home for burial. 
 
i8o DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 With the opening of the spring the towns-people were 
 busy with the question, if the Bowriggs would come 
 again to occupy their summer residence, that, with its 
 closed doors and windows, was mournfully silent. But 
 soon the gardeners were set to work ; it was understood 
 that a housekeeper had been engaged, and the family 
 were to occupy it as usual. Sophia writes to Adele, con 
 firming it all, and adding, " Madame Aries, our new 
 French teacher delightful accent only a li ttle time 
 arrived, has proposed to make us a visit ; which papa 
 hearing, and wishing us to keep up our studies, has 
 given her an invitation to pass the summer with us. She 
 says she will. I am so glad ! We had told her very 
 much of you, and I know she will be delighted to have 
 you as a scholar." 
 
 At this Adele feels a thrill of satisfaction, and looks 
 longingly forward to the time when she shall hear again 
 from native lips the language of her childhood. 
 
 "Mafille! mafille!" 
 
 The voices of her early home seem to ring again in 
 her ear. She basks once more in the delicious flow of 
 the sunshine, and the perfume of the orange-blossoms 
 regales her. 
 
 Mafille!" 
 
 Is it the echo of your voice, good old godmother, that 
 comes rocking over the great reach of the sea, and so 
 touches the heart of the exile ? 
 
A NEW PERSONAGE. 181 
 
 XXYT. 
 
 A New Personage. 
 
 MADAME ARLES was a mild and quiet little 
 woman, with a singular absence of that vivacity 
 which most people are disposed to attribute to all of 
 French blood. Her age so far as one could judge 
 from outward indications might have been anywhere 
 from twenty-eight to forty. There were no wrinkles in 
 that smooth, calm forehead of hers; and if there were 
 lines of gray amid her hair, this indication of age was so 
 contradicted by the youthfulness of her eye, that a keen 
 observer would have been disposed to attribute it rather 
 to some weight of past grief that had left its silvery im 
 print than to the mere burden of her years. 
 
 If past griefs have belonged to her, however, they 
 have become long since a part of her character ; they 
 are in no way obtrusive. There was, indeed, a singular 
 cast in one of her eyes, w r hich in moments of excitement 
 such few as came over her impressed the observer 
 very strangely ; as if, while she looked straight upon you 
 and calmly with one eye, the other were bent upon some 
 scene far remote and out of range, some past episode it 
 might be of her own life, by over-dwelling upon which 
 she had brought her organs of sight into this tortured 
 condition. Nine out of ten observers, however, would 
 never have remarked the peculiarity we have mentioned, 
 
i82 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 and would only have commented upon Madame Aries 
 if they had commented at all as a quiet person, in 
 whom youth and age seemed just now to struggle for 
 the mastery, and in whom no trace of French birth and 
 rearing was apparent, save her speech, and a certain 
 wonderful aptitude in the arrangement of her dress. The 
 poor lady, moreover, who showed traces of a vanished 
 beauty, was not strong, and for this reason, perhaps, had 
 readily accepted the relief afforded by this summer vaca 
 tion with two of her city pupils. A violent palpitation 
 of the heart, after sudden or undue exertion or excite 
 ment, shook the poor woman s frail hold upon life. 
 Possibly from this cause as is the case with many who 
 are compelled to listen to those premonitory raps of the 
 grim visitor at the very seat of life Madame Aries was 
 a person of strong religious proclivities. 
 
 Adele, accompanied by her friend Rose, who, not 
 withstanding the quiet remonstrances of the Doctor, had 
 won her mother s permission for such equipment in 
 French as she could gain from a summer s teaching, 
 went with early greeting to the Bowriggs. The curios 
 ity of Adele was intense to listen to the music of her 
 native speech once more ; and when Madame Aries 
 slipped quietly into the room, Adele darted toward her 
 with warm, girlish impulse, and the poor woman, excited 
 beyond bounds by this heartiness of greeting, and mur 
 muring some tender words of endearment, had present 
 ly folded her to her bosom. 
 
 Adele, blushing as much with pleasure as with a 
 half-feeling of mortification at the wild show of feeling 
 
A XEW PERSONAGE. 183 
 
 she had made, was stammering her apology, when she 
 was arrested by a sudden change in the aspect of her 
 new friend. 
 
 " MY dear Madame, you are suffering ? " 
 
 "A little, my child!" 
 
 It was too true, as the quick glance of her old pupils 
 saw in an instant. Her lips were pinched and blue ; 
 that strange double look in her eyes, one fastened 
 upon Adele, and the other upon vacancy ; her hands 
 clasped over hor heart as if to stay its mad throbbings. 
 While Sophia supported and conducted the sufferer to 
 her own chamber, the younger sister explained to Adele 
 that such spasmodic attacks were of frequent occurrence. 
 
 Nothing more was needed to enlist Adele s sympathies 
 to the full. She carried home the story of it to the Doc 
 tor, and detailed it in such an impassioned way, and 
 with such interpretation of the kind lady s reception of 
 herself, that the Doctor was touched, and abated no 
 small measure of the prejudice he had been disposed to 
 entertain against the Frenchwoman. 
 
 But her heresies in the matter of religion remained, 
 it being no secret that Madame Aries was thoroughly 
 Popish ; and these disturbed the good Doctor the more, 
 as he perceived the growing and tender intimacy which 
 was establishing itself, week by week, between Adele 
 and her new teacher. Indeed, he has not sanctioned 
 this without his own private conversation with Madame, 
 in which he has set forth his responsibility respecting 
 Adele and the wishes of her father, and insisted upon 
 entire reserve of Madame s religious opinions in her 
 
i 84 DOCTOR JOHNS, 
 
 intercourse with his protegee. All which the poor lady 
 had promised with a ready zeal that surprised the 
 minister. 
 
 "It is that I know too little. Doctor ; I could wish 
 she might be better than I. May God make her so ! " 
 
 " I do not judge you, Madame ; it is not ours to 
 judge ; but I would keep Adaly securely, if God permit, 
 in the faith which we reverence here, and which I much 
 fear she could never learn in her own land or her own 
 language." 
 
 " May be, may be, my good Doctor ; her faith shall 
 not be overset by me ; I promise it." 
 
 Adele, with her quick ear and eye, has no difficulty in 
 discovering the ground of the Doctor s uneasiness and 
 of Miss Eliza s frequent questionings in regard to her 
 intercourse with the new teacher. 
 
 "I am sure they think you very bad," she said to 
 Madame Aries, one day, in a spirit of mischief. 
 
 " Bad ! bad ! Adele, why ? how ? " and that strange 
 tortuous look came to her eye, with a quick flush to her 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Ah, now, dear Madame, don t be disturbed ; t is 
 only your religion they think so bad, and fear you will 
 mislead me. Tenez ! this little rosary " (and she displays 
 it to the eye of the wondering Madame Aries) " they 
 would have taken from me." 
 
 Madame pressed the beads reverently to her lips. 
 
 " And you did demand it, my child ? " 
 
 " Not for any faith I had in it ; but it was my 
 mother s." 
 
MAVERICK RE-APPEARS. 185 
 
 The good woman kissed Adele. 
 
 " It must be that you long to see her, my child ! 
 
 A shade of sorrow and doubt ran over the face of the 
 girl. This did not escape the notice of Madame Aries, 
 who, with a dejected and distracted air, replaced the 
 rosary in her hands. 
 
 " Mon ange ! " (in this winsome way she was accus 
 tomed at times to address Adele) "we cannot talk of 
 these things. I have promised so much to the Doctor ; 
 it is better so ; he is a good man." 
 
 Adele sat toying for a moment with the rosary upon 
 her fingers, looking down ; then, seeing that woe-begone 
 expression that had fastened upon the face of her com 
 panion, she sprang up, kissed her forehead, and, restor 
 ing thus as she knew she could do a cheeriness to 
 her manner, resumed her lesson. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Maverick He-appears. 
 
 TN the summer of 1837, Maverick determined to sail 
 -*- for America, and to make good his promise of a 
 visit to the Doctor and Adele. 
 
 He shows no more appearance of age than when we 
 saw him years before, placing his little offering of 
 flowers upon the breakfast-table of poor Rachel, an 
 excellently well-preserved man, dressed always in that 
 
1 86 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 close conformity to the existing mode which of itself 
 gives a young air, regulating all his table indulgences 
 with the same precision with which he governs his busi 
 ness, using all the appliances of flesh-brushes and salt- 
 baths to baffle any insidious ailment, a strong, hale, 
 cheery man, who would have ranked by a score (judging 
 from his exterior) younger than the Doctor. 
 
 Shall we look for a moment at the French home 
 which Maverick is leaving? A compact country-house 
 of yellow stone upon a niche of the hills that overlook 
 the blue Bay of Lyons ; a green arbor over the walk 
 leading to the door ; clumps of pittosporum and of 
 jessamine, with two or three straggling fig-trees, within 
 the inclosure ; a billiard-room and salle-a-manger in the 
 basement, and on the first floor a salon, opening by its 
 long, heavily draped windows, upon a balcony shielded 
 with striped awning. Here on many an evening, when 
 the night-wind comes in from the sea, Maverick lounges 
 sipping at his demi-tasse, whiffing at a fragrant Havana, 
 (imported to order,) and chatting with some friend he 
 has driven out from the stifling streets of Marseilles 
 about the business chances of the morrow. A tall, agile 
 Alsatian woman, with a gilt crucifix about her neck, and 
 a great deal of the peasant beauty still in her face, glides 
 into the salon from time to time, acting apparently in 
 the capacity of mistress of the establishment, respect 
 fully courteous to Maverick and his friend, yet showing 
 something more than the usual familiarity of a depend 
 ent housekeeper. 
 
 The friend who sits with him enjoying the night 
 
MAVERICK RE-APPEARS. 187 
 
 breeze and those rare Havanas is an open-faced, iniddle- 
 aged companion of the city, with whom Maverick has 
 sometimes gone to a bourgeois home near to Montauban, 
 where a wrinkle-faced old Frenchman in velvet skull 
 cap the father of his friend has received him with 
 profound obeisance, brought out for him his best cru of 
 St. Peray, and bored him with long stories of the times 
 of 1798, in which he was a participant. Yet the home- 
 scenes there, with the wrinkled old father and the 
 stately mamma for partners at whist or Boston, have 
 been grateful to Maverick, as reminders of other home- 
 scenes long passed out of reach ; and he has opened his 
 heart to this son of the house. 
 
 "Monsieur Papiol," (it is the Alsatian woman who is 
 addressing the friend of Maverick,) " ask, then, why it 
 is Monsieur Frank is going to America." 
 
 " Ah, Lucille, do you not know, then, there is a cer 
 tain Puritan belle he goes to look after ? " 
 
 " Pah ! " says the Alsatian. " Monsieur is not so 
 young ! " 
 
 Maverick puffs at his cigar thoughtfully, a thought- 
 fulness that does not encourage the Alsatian to other 
 speech, and in a moment more she is gone. 
 
 " Seriously, Maverick," says Papiol, when they are 
 alone again, " what will you do with this Puritan 
 daughter of yours ? " 
 
 " Keep her from ways of wickedness," said Maverick, 
 without losing his thoughtfulness. 
 
 "Excellent!" said the friend, laughing; "but you 
 will hardly bring her to this home of yours, then ? " 
 
1 88 DOCTOR JOHNS, 
 
 "Hardly to this country of yours, Pierre." 
 
 "Nonsense, Maverick ! You will be too proud of her, 
 mon ami. I m sure of that. You 11 never keep her 
 cribbed yonder. We shall see you escorting her some 
 clay up and down the Prado, and all the fine young 
 fellows hereabout paying court to the belle Americaine. 
 My faith ! I shall be wishing myself twenty years 
 younger ! " 
 
 Maverick is still very thoughtful. 
 
 "What is it, my good fellow? Is it that the 
 family question gives annoyance among your friends 
 yonder ? " 
 
 "On the contrary," says Maverick, and reaching a 
 file of letters in his cabinet, he lays before his companion 
 that fragment of the Doctor s epistle which had spoken 
 of the rosary, and of his discovery that it had been the 
 gift of the mother, " so near, and he trusted dear a rela 
 tive." 
 
 "Mais, comme il est innocent, your good old friend 
 there ! " 
 
 "I wish to God, Pierre, I were as innocent as he," 
 said Maverick, and tossed his cigar over the edge of the 
 balcony. 
 
 Upon his arrival at New York, Maverick did not 
 communicate directly with the Doctor, enjoying the 
 thought, very likely, of surprising his old friend by his 
 visit, very much as he had surprised him many years 
 before. He takes boat to a convenient point upon the 
 shore of the Sound, and thence chooses to approach the 
 
MAVERICK RE-APPEARS. 189 
 
 town that holds what is most dear to him by an old, 
 lumbering stage-coach, which still plies across the hills, 
 as twenty years before, through the parish of Ashfield. 
 The same patches of tasseled corn, (it is August,) the 
 same outlying bushy pastures, the same reeling walls 
 of mossy cobble-stones meet his eye that he remem 
 bered on his previous visit. But he looks upon all 
 wayside views carelessly, as one seeing, and yet not see 
 ing them. 
 
 His daughter Adele, she who parted from him a toy- 
 child eight years gone, whom a new ribbon would 
 amuse hi that day, must have changed. That she has 
 not lost her love of him, those letters have told ; that 
 she has not lost her girlish buoyancy, he knows. She 
 must be tall now, and womanly in stature, he thinks. 
 She promised to be graceful. That he will love her, he 
 feels; but will he be proud of her? A fine figure, a 
 sweet, womanly voice, an arch look, a winning smile, a 
 pretty coquetry of glance, will he find these ? Will 
 she be clever ? Will there be traces, ripened in these 
 last years, of the mother, offensive traces possibly ? 
 
 But Maverick is what the world calls a philosopher ; 
 he hums, unconsciously, a snatch of a French song, by 
 which he rouses the attention of the spectacled old lady, 
 (the only other occupant of the coach,) with whom he 
 has already made some conversational ventures, and 
 who has just finished a lunch which she has drawn from 
 her capacious work-bag. Reviving now under the in 
 fluence of Maverick s chance fragment of song, and 
 dusting the crumbs from her lap, she says, 
 
190 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 "We don t have very good singin no win the Glosten- 
 bury meetin ." 
 
 "Ah ! " says Maverick. 
 
 " No ; Squire Peter s darters have been gittin mar 
 ried, and the young girls ha n t come on yit." 
 
 " You attend the Glostenbury Church, then, madam ? " 
 says Maverick, who enjoys the provincialisms of her 
 speech, like a whiff of the lilac perfume which he once 
 loved. 
 
 "In gineral, sir; but we come down odd spells to 
 hear Dr. Johns, who preaches at the Ashfield meetin - 
 house. He s a real smart man." 
 
 " Ah ! And this Dr. Johns has a family, I think ? " 
 
 1 Waal, the Doctor lost his wife, you see, quite airly ; 
 and Miss Johns that s his sister has bin a-keepin 
 house for him ever sence. I m not acquainted with her, 
 but I ve heerd she s a very smart woman. And there s 
 a French girl that came to live with em, goin on now 
 seven or eight year, who was a reglar Koman Catholic ; 
 but I kind o guess the old folks has tamed her down 
 afore now." 
 
 " Ah ! I should think that a Roman Catholic would 
 have but a poor chance in a New England village." 
 
 "Not much of a chance anywhere, I guess," said the 
 old lady, wiping her spectacles, " if folks only preached 
 the Gospil." 
 
 Even now the coach is creaking along through tho 
 outskirts of Ashfield ; and presently the driver s horn 
 wakes the echoes of the hills, while the horses plunge 
 forward at a doubled pace. The eyes of Maverick are 
 
MAVERICK RE-APPEARS. 191 
 
 intent upon every house, every open window, every 
 moving figure. 
 
 "It s a most a beautiful town," said the old lady. 
 
 " Charming, charming, madam ! " and even as he 
 spoke, Maverick s eye fastens upon two figures before 
 them with a strange yearning in his gaze, two figures 
 of almost equal height ; a little, coquetish play of rib 
 bons about the head of one, which on the other are 
 absent ; a girlish, elastic step to one, that does not 
 belong to the other. 
 
 Is there something in the gait, something in the poise 
 of the head, to which the memory of Maverick so 
 cleaves? It is, indeed, Adele, taking her noon-day 
 walk with Madame Aries ; a lithe figure and a buoyant 
 step, holding themselves tenderly in check for the slower 
 pace of the companion. Maverick s gaze keeps fast 
 upon them, fast upon them, until the old coach is 
 fairly abreast, fast upon them ; until by a glance back 
 he has caught full sight of the faces. 
 
 " Man Dieu I " he exclaims, and throws himself back 
 in the coach. 
 
 " Haow ? " says the old lady. 
 
 " Mon Dieu, it is she! " continues Maverick, speaking 
 under intense excitement to himself, as if unconscious 
 of any other presence. 
 
 "Haow," urged the old lady, more persistently. 
 
 " Damn it, nothing, madam ! " 
 
 And the old lady drew the strings of her bag closely, 
 and looked full out of the opposite window. 
 
 Within a half-hour the stage-coach arrived at the 
 
192 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Eagle Tavern. Maverick demanded a chamber, and 
 asked to see the landlord. The stout, blear-eyed Boody 
 presently made his appearance. 
 
 " How can I reach New York soonest, my friend ? " 
 
 Mr. Boody consulted his watch. 
 
 " Well, by fast driving you might catch the night-boat 
 on the river." 
 
 " Can you get me there in time ? " 
 
 "Well, sir," reflecting a moment, "I guess I can." 
 
 " Very good. Have your carriage ready as soon as 
 possible." 
 
 And within an hour, Maverick, dejected, and with an 
 anxious air, was on his return to the city. 
 
 Three days after, the Doctor summons Adele into his 
 study. 
 
 "Adaly, here is a letter from your father, which I 
 wish you to read." 
 
 The girl takes it eagerly, and at the first line ex 
 claims, 
 
 "He is in New York ! Why does n t he come here ? " 
 
 "MY DEAR JOHNS," (so his letter runs,) "I had counted 
 on surprising you completely by dropping in upon you 
 at your parsonage, in Ashfield ; but circumstances have 
 prevented. Can I ask so large a favor of you as to 
 bring my dear Adele to meet me here ? I fancy her 
 now so accomplished a young lady, that there will be 
 needed some ceremony of presentation at your hands ; 
 besides which, I want a long talk with you. We are 
 both many years older since we have met ; you have had 
 
MAVERICK RE-APPEARS. 193 
 
 your trials, and I have escaped with only a few rubs. 
 Let us talk them over. Slip away quietly, if you can ; 
 beyond Adele and your good sister, can t you conceal 
 your errand to the city ? Your country villagers are so 
 prone to gossip, that I would wish to clasp my little 
 Adele before your towns-folk shall have talked the 
 matter over. Pray ask your good sister to prepare 
 the , wardrobe of Adele for a month or two of absence, 
 since I mean she shall be my attendant on a little 
 jaunt through the country. I long to greet her ; and 
 your grave face, my dear Johns, is always a welcome 
 sight." 
 
 Adele is in a fever of excitement. In her happy glee 
 she would have gone out to tell all the village what 
 pleasure was before her. Even the caution she receives 
 from the Doctor cannot control her spirits absolutely. 
 
 " I suppose you will see Reuben in the city," Rose 
 had said, in a chance way. 
 
 " Oh, I hope so ! " said Adele. 
 
 And of Reuben neither of them said any thing more. 
 
 Then with what a great storm of embraces Adele 
 parted from Rose ! A parting only for a month, per 
 haps ; both knew that. But the friendship of young- 
 girls can build a week into a monstrous void. 
 
 Phil, who is a sturdy and somewhat timid lover, 
 without knowing it, affects an air of composure, and 
 says, 
 
 " I hope you 11 have a good time, Adele ; and I sup 
 pose you 11 forget us all here in Ashfield/ 
 13 
 
194 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 "No, you don t suppose any such thing, Mister 
 Philip," says Adele, roundly, and with a frank, full look 
 at him that makes the color come to his face ; and he 
 laughs, but not easily. 
 
 " Well, good-by, Adele." 
 
 She takes his hand, eagerly. 
 
 " Good-by, Phil ; you re a dear, good fellow ; and 
 you ve been very kind to me." 
 
 xxxm. 
 
 In ike City. 
 
 IT is at Jennings s old City Hotel, far down Broadway, 
 that Maverick has taken rooms and awaits the arri 
 val of Adele. That glimpse of her upon the street of 
 Ashfield (ay, he knew it must be she !) has added pride 
 to the instinctive love of the parent. The elastic step, 
 the graceful figure, the beaming, sunny face, they all 
 haunt him ; they put him in a fever of expectation. He 
 reads over again the few last letters of hers under a new 
 light ; up and down along the page, that lithe, tall fig 
 ure is always coming forward, and the words of endear 
 ment are coupled with that sunny face. 
 
 He even prepares his toilet to meet her, as a lover 
 might do to meet his affianced. And the meeting, when 
 it comes, only deepens the pride. Graceful ? Yes ! 
 That bound toward him, can any thing be fuller of 
 grace ? Natural ? The look and the speech of Adele 
 
IN THE CITY. 195 
 
 are to Maverick a new revelation of Nature. Loving ? 
 That clinging kiss of hers was worth his voyage over the 
 sea. 
 
 And she, too, is so beautifully proud of her father ! 
 She has loved the Doctor for his serenity, his large jus 
 tice, notwithstanding his stiffness and his awkward 
 gravity ; but she regards with new eyes the manly 
 grace of her father, his easy self-possession, his pliabil 
 ity of talk, his tender attention to her comfort, his wist 
 ful gaze at her, so full of a yearning affection, which, if 
 the Doctor had ever felt, he had counted it a duty to 
 conceal Nay, the daughter, with a womanly eye, took 
 pride in the aptitude and becomingness of his dress, 
 so different from what she had been used to see in the 
 clumsy toilet of the Doctor, or of the good-natured 
 Squire Elderkin. Henceforth she will have a new 
 standard of comparison, to which her lovers, if they 
 ever declare themselves, must submit. 
 
 "And so you have stolen a march upon them all, 
 Adele ? I suppose they have n t a hint of the person 
 you were to meet ? " 
 
 " All, at least nearly all, dear papa ; there was only 
 good Madame Aries, to whom I could not help saying 
 that I was coming to see you." 
 
 A shade passed over the face of Maverick, which it 
 required all his self-possession to conceal from the quick 
 eye of his daughter. 
 
 "And who, pray, is this Madame Aries, Adele? " 
 
 " Oh, a good creature ! She has taught me French ; 
 no proper teaching, to be sure ; but in my talk with 
 
196 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 her, all the old idioms have come back to me ; at least, 
 I hope so." 
 
 And she rattles on in French speech, explaining how 
 it was, how they walked together in those sunny 
 noontides at Ashfield ; and taking a girlish pride in the 
 easy adaptation of her language to forms which her 
 father must know so well, she rounds off a little torrent of 
 swift narrative with a piquant, coquettish look, and says, 
 
 " N est ce pas, quefy suis, mon ptre ?" 
 
 " Parfaitement, ma chre," says the father, and drops 
 an admiring kiss upon the glowing cheeks of Adele. 
 
 But the shade of anxiety has not passed from the face 
 of Maverick. 
 
 " This Madame Aries, Adele, has she been long in 
 the country ? " 
 
 " I don t know, papa ; yet it must be some time ; she 
 speaks English passably well. " 
 
 "And she has told you, I suppose, very much about 
 the people among whom you were born, Adele ? " 
 
 " Not much, papa, and never any thing about her 
 self or her history ; yet I have been so curious ! " 
 
 "Don t be too curious, petite ; you might learn only 
 of badness." 
 
 " Not badness, I am very, very sure, papa ! " 
 
 Adele is sitting on the arm of his chair, fondling 
 those sparse locks of his, sprinkled with gray. It is a 
 wholly new sensation for him ; charming, doubtless ; but 
 even under the caresses of this daughter, of whom he has 
 reason to be proud, anxious thoughts crowd upon him. 
 
 The Doctor is met very warmly by Maverick, and 
 
IN THE CITY. 197 
 
 feels something like a revival of the glow of his youth- 
 fiil days as he takes his hand ; and yet they are wider 
 apart by far than when they met in the lifetime of 
 Rachel. Both feel it ; they have traveled divergent 
 roads, these last twenty years. The Doctor is satisfied 
 by the bearing and talk of Maverick (whatever kindness 
 may he in it) that his worldliness is more engrossing 
 and decided than ever. And Maverick, on his part, 
 scrutinizing carelessly, but unerringly, that embarrassed 
 country manner of the parson s, that stark linen in 
 which he is arrayed by the foresight of the spinster 
 sister, and the constraint of his speech, is sure that his 
 old friend more than ever bounds his thought by the 
 duties of his sacred office. 
 
 The Doctor is, moreover, sadly out of place in that 
 little parlor of the hotel, looking out upon Broadway ; 
 there is no adaptiveuess in his nature : he comes out 
 from the little world of his study, where Tillotson and 
 Poole and Newton have been his companions, athwart 
 the roar of the city street, and it sounds in his ear like 
 an echo of the murmurs of Pandemonium. Under 
 these circumstances he scarce dares to expostulate so 
 boldly as he would wish with Maverick upon the world 
 liness of his career ; it would seem like bearding the 
 lion in his own den. Nor, indeed, does Maverick pro 
 voke such expostulation ; he is so considerate of the 
 Doctor s feelings, so grateful for his attentions to Adele, 
 so religiously disposed (it must be said) in ah 1 that con 
 cerns the daughter s education and future, and waives 
 the Doctor s personal advices with so kind and easy a 
 
198 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 grace, that the poor parson despairs of reaching him 
 with the point of the sword of Divine truth. 
 
 "My good friend," says Maverick, "you have been a 
 father to my child, a better one than I have made, 
 I wish I could repay you." 
 
 The Doctor bows stiffly ; he has lost the familiarity 
 which at their last interview had lingered from their 
 boyish days at coUege. 
 
 " I suppose that under your teaching," continues 
 Maverick, " she is so fixed in the New England faith of 
 our fathers, that she might be trusted now even to my 
 bad guidance." 
 
 "I have tried to do my duty, Maverick. I could 
 have wished to see more of ^self-abasement in her, and 
 a clearer acceptance of the doctrine we are called upon 
 to teach." 
 
 " But she has been constant to the duties you have 
 enjoined, has n t she, Doctor?" 
 
 " Entirely so, entirely ; but, my friend, our poor 
 worldly efforts at duty do not always call down the gift 
 of Grace." 
 
 "By Jove, Doctor, but that seems hard doctrine." 
 
 " Hard to carnal minds, Maverick ; but the evi 
 dences " 
 
 "Nay, na^," said Maverick, interrupting him; "you 
 know I m not strong in theology ; I don t want to be 
 put hors du combat by you. But about that little affair 
 of the rosary, no harm came of it, I hope ? " 
 
 " None, I believe," said the Doctor ; " but I must not 
 conceal from you, Maverick, that a late teacher of hers, 
 
IN THE CITY. 199 
 
 to whom, unfortunately, she seems very much attached, 
 is strongly wedded to the Komish Church." 
 
 "That would seem a very awkward risk to take, Doc 
 tor," said Maverick, with more of seriousness than he 
 had yet shown. 
 
 " A risk, certainly ; but I took the precaution of 
 warning Madame Aries, who is the party in question, 
 against any conversation with Adaly upon religious 
 subjects." 
 
 "And you ventured to trust her? Upon my word, 
 Johns, you give me a lesson in faith. I should have 
 been more severe than you. I would n t have admitted 
 such intercourse ; and, my good friend, if I should ask 
 permission to reinstate Adele in your household for a 
 time, promise me please that all intercourse with Ma 
 dame Aries shall be cut off. I know Frenchwomen better 
 than you, my friend." 
 
 " No doubt no doubt ! " 
 
 And the Doctor assured him that he would do as he 
 desired, and would be glad to have the father s authority 
 for the interruption of an intercourse which had almost 
 the proportions of a tender friendship. 
 
 Maverick was thoughtful for a moment 
 
 " Well, yes, Doctor, be gentle I know you are always 
 with the dear girl ; but if there be any demur on her 
 part, pray give her to understand that what you will ask 
 in this respect lias my express sanction. If I know my 
 self, Johns, there is no object I have so near at heart a3 
 the happiness of my child ; not alone now ; but in her 
 future, I hope to God (I speak reverently, Doctor) that 
 
200 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 she may have immunity from suffering of whatever kind. 
 I wish wealth could buy it ; but it can t. Mind the 
 promise, Johns ; keep her away from this French 
 woman." 
 
 The Brindlocks, of course, with whom the Doctor was 
 quartered during his stay, took an early occasion to 
 show civilities to Mr. Maverick and his daughter ; and 
 Mrs. Brindlock kindly offered her services to Adele in 
 negotiating such additions to her wardrobe as the proud 
 father insisted upon her making ; and in the necessary 
 excursions up and down the city, Reuben, by the pleas 
 ant devices of Mrs. Brindlock, was an almost constant 
 out-of-door attendant. 
 
 He was no longer the shy boy Adele had at first en 
 countered. Nay, grown bold by his city experiences, 
 he was disposed to assume a somewhat patronizing air 
 toward the bright-eyed country-girl who was just now 
 equipping herself for somewhat larger contact with the 
 world. Adele did not openly resent the proffered patron 
 age, but, on the contrary, accepted it with an excess of 
 grateful expressions, whose piquant irony, for two whole 
 days, Reuben, with his blunter perceptions, never sus 
 pected. What boy of eighteen is a match for a girl of 
 sixteen? Patronize, indeed ! But suspicion came at 
 last, and full knowledge broke upon him under a musical 
 little laugh of Adele s, (half smothered in her kerchief,) 
 when the gallant young man had blundered into some 
 idle compliment. 
 
 But if the laugh of Adele cured Reuben of his patron 
 age, it did not cure him of thought about her. It kindled 
 
THE NEW REUBEN. 201 
 
 a new train, indeed, of whose drift he was himself un 
 conscious. 
 
 Hs is not altogether the same lad we saw upon the 
 deck of the Princess, under Captain Saul. He would 
 hardly sail for China now in a tasseled cap. He never 
 will, this much we can say, at least, without anticipa 
 ting the burden of our story. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 The New Reiiben. 
 
 REUBEN has in many respects vastly improved under 
 his city education. It would be wrong to say 
 that the good Doctor did not take a very human pride 
 in his increased alertness of mind, in his vivacity, in his 
 self-possession, nay, even in that very air of world- 
 acquaintance which now covered entirely the old homely 
 manner of the country lad. He thought within himself, 
 what a glad smile of triumph would have been kindled 
 upon the face of the lost Rachel, could she but have seen 
 this tall youth with his kindly attentions and his grace 
 ful speech. May be she did see it all. 
 
 But the Doctor underneath all his pride carried a 
 great deal of anxious doubt ; and as he walked beside 
 his boy upon the thronged street, elated in some strange 
 way by the touch of that strong arm of the youth, whose 
 blood was his own, so dearly his own, he pondered 
 gravely with himself, if the mocking delusions of the 
 
202 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Evil One were not the occasion of his pride? Was 
 not Satan setting himself artfully to the work of quiet 
 ing all sense of responsibility in regard to the lad s 
 future, by thus kindling in his old heart anew the van 
 ities of the flesh and the pride of life ? 
 
 "I say, father, I want to put you through now. It 11 
 do you a great deal of good to see some of the wonders 
 here in the city." 
 
 "The very voice, the very voice of Rachel!" says 
 the Doctor to himself, quickening his laggard step to 
 keep pace with Reuben. 
 
 " There are such lots of things to show you, father ! 
 Look in this store, now. You can step in, if you like. 
 It s the largest carpet-store in the "United States, 
 three stories packed full. There s the head man of the 
 firm, the stout man in a white choker ; with half a 
 million, they say : he s a deacon in Mo wry s Church." 
 
 "I hope, Reuben, that he makes a worthy use of his 
 wealth." 
 
 Oh, he gives thunderingly to the missionary socie 
 ties," said Reuben, with a glibness that grated on the 
 father s ear. 
 
 "You see that building yonder? That s Gothic. 
 They ve got the finest bowling-alleys in the world 
 there." 
 
 "I hope, my son, you never go to such places ? " 
 
 " Bowl ? Oh, yes, I bowl sometimes : the physicians 
 recommend it ; good exercise for the chest. Besides, 
 it s kept by a fine man, and he s got one of the pretti 
 est little trotting horses you ever saw in your life." 
 
THE NEW REUBEN. 203 
 
 " Why, my son, you don t mean to tell nie that you 
 have acquaintance with the keeper of this bowling- 
 alley?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, father, we fellows all know him ; and 
 his cigars are tip-top." 
 
 "You don t mean to say that you smoke, Reuben?" 
 said the old gentleman, gravely. 
 
 " Not much, father : but then, everybody smokes now 
 and then. Mo wry Dr. Mo wry smokes, you know." 
 
 " Is it possible ? Well, well ! " 
 
 " You see that fine building over there ? " said Reu 
 ben, as they passed on. 
 
 " Yes, my son." 
 
 " That s the theater, the Old Park." 
 
 The Doctor ran his eye over it, and its effigy of Shaks- 
 peare upon the niche in the wall, as Gabriel might have 
 looked upon the armor of Beelzebub. 
 
 " I hope, Reuben, you never enter those doors? " 
 
 " Well, father, since Kean and Mathews are gone, 
 there s really nothing worth the seeing." 
 
 " Kean ! Mathews ! " said the Doctor, stopping in his 
 walk and confronting Reuben with a stern brow, " is 
 it possible, my son, that I hear you talking in this famil 
 iar way of play-actors ? You don t tell me that you 
 have been a participant in such orgies of Satan ? " 
 
 "Why, father!" said Reuben, a little startled by the 
 Doctor s earnestness, " the truth is, Aunt Mabel goes oc 
 casionally, like most all the ladies ; but we go, you 
 know, to see the moral pieces, generally." 
 
 "Moral pieces!" said the Doctor with a withering 
 
204 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 scowl. " Reuben ! those who go thither take hold on 
 the door-posts of hell ! " 
 
 " That s the Tract Society building yonder," said 
 Reuben, wishing to divert the Doctor, if possible, from 
 the special objects of his reflections. 
 
 " Rachel s voice ! always Rachel s voice ! " said 
 the Doctor to himself. 
 
 "Would you like to go in, father?" 
 
 "No, my son, we have no time ; arid yet" meditat 
 ing, and thrusting his hand in his pocket " there is a 
 tract or two I would like to buy for you, Reuben." 
 
 "Go in, then," says Reuben. " Let me tell them who 
 you are, father, and you can get them at wholesale 
 prices. It s the merest song." 
 
 "No, my son, no," said the Doctor, disheartened by 
 the blithe air of Reuben. " I fear it would be wasted 
 effort. Yet I trust that you do not wholly neglect the 
 opportunities for religious instruction on the Sab 
 bath?" 
 
 "Oh, no," says Reuben, gayly. "I see Dr. Mowry 
 off and on, pretty often. He s a clever old gentleman, 
 Dr. Mowry." 
 
 Clever old gentleman ! 
 
 The Doctor walked on, oppressed with grief, silent, 
 but with lips moving in prayer, beseeching God to 
 take away the stony heart from this poor child of his, 
 and to give him a heart of flesh. 
 
 The city Doctor was a ponderously good man, preach 
 ing for the most part ponderous sermons, and possessed 
 of a most imposing friendliness of manner. When Reu- 
 
THE NEW REUBEN. 205 
 
 ben had presented to him the credentials from his fa 
 ther, (which he could hardly have done, save for the ur 
 gency of the Brindlocks,) the ponderous Doctor had 
 patted him upon the shoulder, and said, 
 
 My young friend, your father is a most worthy man, 
 most worthy. I should be delighted to see you fol 
 lowing in his steps. I shall be most glad to be of ser 
 vice to you. Our meetings for Bible instruction are on 
 Wednesdays, at seven : the young men upon the left, 
 the young ladies on the right." 
 
 The memory of old teachings did, for a year or more, 
 make any divergence from the severe path of boyhood 
 seem to Reuben a sin. 
 
 The first visit to the theater was like a bold push into 
 the very domain of Satan. Even the ticket-seller at the 
 door seemed to him on that eventful night an under 
 strapper of Beelzebub, who looked out at him with the 
 goggle eyes of a demon. That such a man could have a 
 family, or family affections, or friendships, or any sense 
 of duty or honor, was to him a thing incomprehensible ; 
 and when he passed the wicket for the first time into 
 the vestibule of the old Park Theater, the very usher 
 in the corridor had to his eye a look like the Giant Da- 
 gon, and he conceived of him as mumbling, in his leisure 
 moments, the flesh from human bones. And when at 
 last the curtain rose, and the damp air came out upon 
 him from behind the scenes as he sat in the pit, and the 
 play began with some wonderful creature in tight bod 
 ice and painted cheeks, sailing across the stage, it seemed 
 to him that the flames of Divine wrath might presently 
 
206 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 be bursting out over the house, or a great judgment of 
 God break down the roof and destroy them all. 
 
 But it did not ; and he took courage. If in his mo 
 ments of reflection these being not yet wholly crowded 
 out from his life there came a shadowy hope of better 
 things, of some moral poise that should be in keeping 
 with the tenderer recollections of his boyhood, all this 
 can never be, (he bethinks himself, in view of his old 
 teaching, ) except on the heel of some terrible conviction 
 of sin ; and the conviction will hardly come without some 
 deeper and more damning weight of it than he feels as 
 yet. 
 
 The minister s son had no love for gross vices ; there 
 were human instincts in him (if it may be said) that re 
 belled against his more deliberate sinnings. But the 
 father, as we have seen, could not reach down to any 
 religious convictions of the son ; and Reuben keeps him 
 at bay with a banter, and an exaggerated attention to 
 the personal comforts of the old gentleman, that utterly 
 baffle him. 
 
 So it was with a profound sigh that the father bade 
 his son adieu after this city visit. 
 
 "Good-by, father ! Love to them all in Ashfield." 
 
 So like Eachel s voice ! So like Eachel s ! And the 
 heart of the old man yearned toward him and ached 
 bitterly for him. " my son Absalom ! my son ! " 
 
TRA VEL. 207 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Travel. 
 
 MAVERICK hurried his departure from the city; 
 and Adele, writing to Rose to announce the pro 
 gramme of her journey, says only this much of Reu 
 ben : "We have of course seen R , who was very 
 
 attentive and kind. He has grown tall, taller, I 
 should think, than Phil ; and he is quite well-looking, 
 and gentlemanly. I think he has a very good opinion 
 of himself." 
 
 The summer s travel offered a season of rare enjoy 
 ment to Adele. The lively sentiment of girlhood was 
 not yet wholly gone, and the thoughtfulness of woman 
 hood was just beginning to tone, without controlling, 
 her sensibilities. The delicate attentions of Maverick 
 were more like those of a lover than of a father. 
 Through his ever-watchful eyes, Adele looked upon the 
 beauties of Nature with a new halo on them. How the 
 water sparkled to her vision ! How the days came and 
 went like golden dreams ! 
 
 Ah, happy youth-time ! The Hudson, Lake George, 
 Saratoga, the Mountains, the Beach, to us old stagers, 
 who have breasted the tide of so many years, and flung 
 off long ago all the iridescent sparkles of our sentiment, 
 these are only names of summer thronging-places. 
 Upon the river we watch the growth of the crops, or 
 
208 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 ask our neighbors about the cost of our friend Faro s 
 new country-seat ; we lounge upon the piazzas of the 
 hotels, reading price-lists, or (if not too old) an edi 
 torial ; we complain of the windy currents upon the 
 lake, and find our chiefest pleasure in a trout boiled 
 plain, with a dressing of champagne sauce ; we linger 
 at Fabian s on a sunny porch, talking politics with a 
 rheumatic old gentleman in his overcoat, while the 
 youngest go ambling through the fir w r oods and up the 
 mountains with shouts and laughter. Yet it was not 
 always thus. There were times in the lives of us old 
 travelers let us say from sixteen to twenty when 
 the great river was a glorious legend trailing its storied 
 length through the Highlands ; when in every open 
 ing valley there lay purple shadows whereon we paint 
 ed castles : when the corridors and shaded walks of 
 the " United States " were like a fairy land, with flit 
 ting skirts and waving plumes, and some delicately 
 gloved hand beating its reveille upon the heart ; and 
 when every floating film of the mist along the sea, 
 whether at New r port or Nahant, tenderly entreated the 
 fancy. 
 
 But we forget ourselves, and we forget Adele. In 
 her wild exuberance of joy Maverick shares with a 
 spirit that he had believed to be dead in him utterly. 
 And if he finds it necessary to check from time to time 
 the noisy effervescence of her pleasure, as he certainly 
 does at the first, he does it in the most tender and con 
 siderate way ; and Adele learns, what many of her 
 warm-hearted sisters never do learn, that a well-bred 
 
TRAVEL. 209 
 
 control over our enthusiasms in no way diminishes the 
 exquisiteness of their savor. 
 
 Maverick should be something over fifty now, and his 
 keenness of observation in respect to feminine charms 
 is not perhaps so great as it once was ; but even he can 
 not fail to see. with a pride that he makes no great ef 
 fort to conceal, the admiring looks that follow the lithe, 
 graceful figure of Adele, wherever their journey may 
 lead them. Nor, indeed, were there any more comely 
 toilets for a young girl to be met with anywhere than 
 those which had been provided for the young traveler 
 under the advices of Mrs. Brindlock. 
 
 It may be true what his friend Papiol had pre 
 dicted that Maverick will be too proud of his child to 
 keep her in a secluded corner of New England. 
 
 Yet weeks had run by, and Maverick had never once 
 broached the question of a return. The truth was, that 
 the new experience was so charming and so engrossing 
 for him, the sweet, intelligent face ever at his side was 
 so full of eager wonder, and he so delightfully intent 
 upon providing new sources of pleasure, and calling out 
 again and again the gushes of her girlish enthusiasm, 
 that he shrunk instinctively from a decision in which 
 must be involved so largely her future happiness. 
 
 At last it was Adele herself who suggested the in 
 quiry, 
 
 " Is it true, dear papa, what the Doctor tells me, that 
 you may possibly take me back to France with you ? " 
 
 " What say you, Adele ? Would you like to go ? " 
 
 " Dearly ! " 
 14 
 
210 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " But," said Maverick, " your friends here, can you 
 so easily cast them away ? " 
 
 "No, no, no! " said Adele, "not cast them away ! 
 Could n t I come again some day ? Besides, there is 
 your home, papa ; I should love any home of yours, and 
 love your friends." 
 
 " For instance, Adele, there is my book-keeper, a lean 
 Savoyard, who wears a red wig and spectacles, and 
 Lucille, a great, gaunt woman, with a golden crucifix 
 about her neck, who keeps my little parlor in order, 
 and Papiol, a fat Frenchman, with a bristly mustache 
 and iron-gray hair, who, I dare say, would want to kiss 
 the pet of his dear friend, and Jeannette, who washes 
 the dishes for us, and wears great wooden sabots " 
 
 " Nonsense, papa ! I am sure you have other friends ; 
 and then there s the good Godmother." 
 
 "Ah, yes, she indeed," said Maverick; "what a 
 precious hug she would give you, Adele ! " 
 
 "And then and then should I see mamma ? " 
 
 The pleasant humor died out of the face of Maverick 
 on the instant ; and then, in a slow, measured tone, 
 
 " Impossible, Adele, impossible ! Come here, dar 
 ling ! " and as he fondled her in a wild, passionate way, 
 " I will love you for both, Adele ; she was not worthy of 
 you, child." 
 
 Adele, too, is overcome with a sudden seriousness. 
 
 " Is she living, papa ? " And she gives him an ap 
 pealing look that must be answered. 
 
 And Maverick seems somehow appalled by that inno- 
 confiding expression of hers. 
 
TRAVEL. 211 
 
 "May be, may be, my darling ; she was living not 
 long since ; yet it can never matter to you or me more. 
 You will trust me in this, Adele ? " And he kisses her 
 tenderly. 
 
 And she, returning the caress, but bursting into tears 
 as she does so, says, 
 
 " I will, I do, papa." 
 
 "There, there, darling!" as he folds her to him; 
 " no more tears, no more tears, cherie ! " 
 
 But even while he says it, he is nervously struggling 
 with his own emotion. 
 
 Meantime Adele is not without her little mementos 
 of the life at Ashneld, which come in the shape of thick 
 double letters from that good girl Rose, her dear, 
 dear friend, who has been advised by the little traveler 
 to what towns she should direct these tender missives ; 
 and Adele is no sooner arrived at these postal stations 
 than she sends for the budget which she knows must be 
 waiting for her. And of course she has her own little 
 pen in a certain traveling-escritoire the good papa has 
 given her ; and she plies her white fingers witli it often 
 and often of an evening, after the day s sight-seeing is 
 over, to tell Rose in return what a charming journey she 
 is having, and how kind papa is, and what a world of 
 strange things she is seeing ; and there are descriptions 
 of sunsets and sunrises, and of lakes and of mountains, 
 on those close- writ ten sheets of hers, which Rose, in her 
 enthusiasm, declares to be equal to many descriptions 
 in print. 
 
 Poor Rose feels that she has only very humdrum 
 
212 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 stories to tell in return for these ; but she ekes out her 
 letters pretty well, after all, and what they lack in nov 
 elty is made up in affection. 
 
 "There is really nothing new to tell," she writes, " ex 
 cept it be that our old friend, Miss Almira Tourtelot, 
 astonished us all with a new bonnet last Sunday, and 
 with new saffron ribbons ; and she has come out, too, 
 in the new tight sleeves, in which she looks drolly 
 enough. Phil is very uneasy, now that his schooling is 
 done, and talks of going to the West Indies about some 
 business in which papa is concerned. I hope he will go, 
 if he does n t stay too long. He is such a dear, good 
 fellow ! Madam Aries asks after you, when I see her, 
 which is not very often now ; for since the Doctor has 
 come back from New York, he has had a new talk with 
 mamma, and has quite won her over to his view of the 
 matter. So good-by to French for the present ! Heigho ! 
 But I don t know that I m sorry, now that you are not 
 here, dear Ady. 
 
 " Another queer thing I had almost forgotten to tell 
 you. The poor Boody girl, you must remember her ? 
 Well, she has come back on a sudden ; and they say 
 her father will not receive her in his house, there are 
 terrible stories about it ! and now she is living with an 
 old woman far out upon the river-road, only a little 
 garret-chamber for herself and the child she brought back 
 with her. Of course nobody goes near her, or looks at 
 her, if she comes on the street. But the queerest 
 thing ! when Madame Aries heard of it and of her 
 story, what does she do but walk far out to visit her, and 
 
TRAVEL. 213 
 
 talked with her in her broken English for an hour, they 
 say. Papa says she (Madame A.) must be a very bad 
 woman or a very good woman. But good or bad 
 she goes away presently ; rumor says to France." 
 
 And again, at a later date, Rose writes, 
 
 "The Bowriggs are ail off for the winter, and the 
 house closed. Reuben has been here on a flyiDg visit to 
 the parsonage ; and how proud Miss Eliza was of her 
 nephew ! He came over to see Phil, I suppose ; but 
 Phil had gone two weeks before. Mamma thinks he is 
 fine-look ing. I fancy he will never live in the country 
 again. When shall I see you again, dear, DEAB Ady? 
 I have so m itch to talk to you about ! " 
 
 A month thereafter Maverick and his daughter find 
 their way to Ashfield. Of course Miss Johns has made 
 magnificent preparations to receive them. She sur 
 passed herself in her toilet on the day of their arrival, 
 and fairly astonished Maverick with the warmth of her 
 welcome to his child. Yet he could not help observ 
 ing that Adele met it more coolly than was her wont, 
 and that her tenderest words were reserved for the good 
 Doctor. And how proud she was to walk with her 
 father upon the village street, glancing timidly up at the 
 windows from which she knew those stiff old Miss 
 Hapgoocls must be peeping out ! How proud to sit be 
 side him in the parson s pew, feeling that the eyes of 
 half the congregation were fastened on the tall gentle 
 man beside her ! 
 
 Important business letters command Maverick s early 
 presence abroad ; and, after conference with the Doctor, 
 
214 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 he decides to leave Adele once more under the roof of 
 the parsonage. 
 
 "Under God, I will do for her what I can," said the 
 Doctor. 
 
 "I know it, I know it, my good friend," says Mav 
 erick. " Teach her self-reliance ; she may need it some 
 day. And mind what I have said of this French woman, 
 should she appear again. Adele seems to have a ten- 
 dresse that way. Those French women are very in 
 sidious, Johns." 
 
 " You know their ways better than I," said the Doc 
 tor. 
 
 A little afterwards Maverick was humming a snatch 
 from an opera under the trees of the orchard ; and 
 Adele went bounding toward him, to take the last walk 
 with him for so long, so long ! 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Illness. 
 
 AUTUMN and winter passed by, and the summer of 
 1838 opened upon the old quiet life of Ashneld. 
 The stiff Miss Johns, busy with her household duties, or 
 with her stately visitings. The Doctor s hat and cane 
 in their usual place upon the little table within the 
 door, and of a Sunday his voice is lifted up under the 
 old meeting-house roof in earnest expostulation. The 
 birds pipe their old songs, and the orchard has shown 
 
ILLNESS. 215 
 
 once more its wondrous glory of bloom. But all these 
 things have lost their novelty for Adele. Would it be 
 strange, if the tranquil life of the little town had lost 
 something of its early charm ? That swift French blood 
 of hers has been stirred by contact with the outside 
 world. She has, perhaps, not been wholly insensible to 
 those admiring glances which so quickened the pride of 
 the father. 
 
 The young girl is, moreover, greatly disturbed at the 
 thought of separation from her father continued and in 
 definite. It is all the worse that she does not clearly 
 perceive the necessity for it. Is she not of an age now 
 to contribute to the cheer of whatever home he may 
 have beyond the sea? Why, pray, has he given her 
 such uninviting pictures of his companions there ? Or 
 is it that her religious education ^s not yet thoroughly 
 complete, and that she still holds out against a full and 
 public avowal of all the doctrines which the Doctor 
 urges upon her acceptance ? And the thought of this 
 makes his kindly severities appear more irksome than 
 ever. 
 
 Another cause of grief to Adele is the extreme dis 
 favor in which she finds that Madame Aries (who has now 
 re-appeared in Ashfield) is regarded by the towns-people. 
 Her sympathies had run towards the unfortunate woman 
 in some inexplicable way, and held there even now, so 
 strongly that contemptuous mention of her stung like a 
 reproach to herself. 
 
 " I never liked her countenance, Adele," said the 
 spinster, in her solemn manner ; " and I am rejoiced 
 
216 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 that you will not be under her influence the present 
 summer." 
 
 " And I m sorry," said Adele, petulantly. 
 
 "It is gratifying to me," continued Miss Eliza, with 
 out notice of Adele s interruption, "that Mr. Maverick 
 has confirmed my own impressions, and urged the Doc 
 tor against permitting so unwise association." 
 
 "When? how?" said Adele, sharply. "Papa has 
 never seen her." 
 
 " But he has seen other French women, Adele, and 
 he fears their influence." 
 
 Adele looked keenly at the spinster for a moment, as if 
 to fathom the depth of this reply, then burst into tears. 
 
 " Oh, why, why did n t he take me with him ? " But 
 this she says under breath, and to herself, as she rushes 
 into the Doctor s stuc^r to question him. 
 
 "Is it true, New Papa, that papa thought badly of 
 Madame Aries ? " 
 
 " Not personally, my child, since he had never seen 
 her. But, Adaly, your father, though I fear he is far 
 away from the true path, wishes you to find it, my child. 
 He has faith in the religon we teach so imperfectly ; he 
 wishes you to be exposed to no influences that will for 
 bid your full acceptance of it." 
 
 " But Madame Aries never talked of religion to me ;" 
 and Adele taps impatiently upon the floor. 
 
 " That may be true, Adaly, it may be true ; but we 
 cannot be thrown into habits of intimacy with those 
 reared in iniquity without fear of contracting stain. I 
 could wish, my child, that you would so far subdue 
 
2I> 
 
 your rebellious heart, and put on the complete armor of 
 righteousness, as to be able to resist all attacks." 
 
 " And it was for this papa left me here ? " And Adele 
 says it with a smile of mockery that alarms the good 
 Doctor. 
 
 " I trust Adaly, that he had that hope." 
 
 The little foot taps more and more impatiently as he 
 goes on to set forth (as he had so often done) the hei- 
 nousuess of her offences and the weight of her just con 
 demnation. Yet the antagonism did not incline her to 
 open doubt ; but after she had said her eveniog prayer 
 that night, (taught her by the parson,) she drew out her 
 little rosary and kissed reverently the crucifix. It is so 
 much easier at this juncture for her tried and distracted 
 spirit to bolster its faith upon such material symbol 
 than to find repose in any merely intellectual conviction 
 of truth. 
 
 Adele s intimacy with Eose and with her family re 
 tained all its old tenderness, but that good feUow Phil 
 was gone. Adele missed his kindly attentions more than 
 she would have believed. The Bowriggs have come again 
 to Ashfielcl, but their clamorous friendship is more than 
 ever distasteful to Adele. Over and over she makes a 
 faint of illness to escape the noisy hilarit} . Nor, indeed, 
 is it wholly a feint. Whether it were that her state of 
 moral perturbation and unrest reacted upon the physi 
 cal system, or that there were other disturbing causes, 
 certain it was that the roses were fading from her cheeks, 
 rind that her step was losing day by day something of 
 its old buoyancy. It is even thought best to summon 
 
2i8 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 the village doctor to the family council. He is a gossip 
 ing, kindly old gentleman, who spends an easy life, free 
 from much mental strain, in trying k> make his daily 
 experiences tally with the little fund of medical science 
 which he accumulated thirty years before. 
 
 The serene old gentleman feels the pulse, with his 
 head reflectively on one side, tells his little jokelet 
 about Sir Astley Cooper, or some other worthy of the 
 profession, shakes his fat sides with a cheery laugh, 
 
 " And now, my dear," he says, " let us look at the 
 tongue. Ah, I see, I see, the stomach lacks tone." 
 
 "And there s dreadful lassitude, sometimes, Doctor," 
 speaks up Miss Eliza. 
 
 "Ah I see, a little exhaustion after a long walk, 
 
 is n t it so, Miss Maverick ? I see, I see ; we must 
 brace up the system, Miss Johns, brace up the system." 
 
 And the kindly old gentleman prescribes his little 
 tonics, of which Adele takes some, and throws more out 
 of the window. 
 
 Adele does not mend, and the rumor is presently cur 
 rent upon the street that " Miss Adeel is in a decline." 
 The spinster shows a solicitude in the matter which al 
 most touches the heart of the French girl. 
 
 Weeks pass by, but still the tonics of the kindly old 
 physician prove of little efficacy. 
 
 Adele has strength however for an occasional stroll 
 with Eose, and, in the course of one of them, comes 
 upon Madame Aries, whom she meets with a good deal 
 of her old effusion. And Madame, touched by her ap 
 parent weakness, more than reciprocates it. 
 
ILLNESS. 219 
 
 " But you suffer, you are unhappy, my child, tis the 
 sun of Provence yon need. Is n t it so, mon ange ? No, 
 no, you were never meant to grow up among these cold 
 people. You must see the vineyards, and the olives, 
 and the sea, Adele ; you must ! you must ! " 
 
 All this, uttered in a torrent, which, with its tutoie- 
 ments, Eose can poorly comprehend. 
 
 Yet it goes straight to the heart of Adele, and her 
 tongue is loosened to a little petulant, fiery, roulade 
 against the severities of the life around her, which it 
 would have greatly pained poor Rose to listen to in any 
 speech of her own. 
 
 But such interviews, once or twice repeated, come to 
 the knowledge of the watchful spinster, who clearly per 
 ceives that Adele is chafing more and more under the 
 wonted family regimen. With an affectation of tender 
 solicitude, she volunteers to attend Adele upon her short 
 morning strolls, and she learns presently, with great tri 
 umph, that Madam Aries has established herself at last 
 under the same roof which gives refuge to the outcast 
 Boody woman. Nothing more was needed to seal the 
 opinion of the spinster, and to confirm the current village 
 belief in the heathenish character of the French lady. 
 Dame Tourtelot was shrewdly of the opinion that the 
 woman represented some Popish plot for the abduction 
 of Adele, and for her incarceration in a nunnery, a 
 theory which Miss Almira, with her natural tendency i,o 
 romance, industriously propagated. 
 
 Before July is ended a serious illness has declared it 
 self, and Adele is confined to her chamber. Madame 
 
220 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Aries is among the earliest who come with eager in 
 quiries, and begs to see the sufferer. But she is con 
 fronted by the indefatigable spinster. Madame with 
 draws, sadly ; but the visit and the claim are repeated 
 from time to time, until the stately civility of Miss Johns 
 arouses her suspicions. 
 
 " You deny me, Madame. You do wrong. I love 
 Adele ; she loves me. I know that I could comfort her. 
 You do not understand her nature. She was born where 
 the sky is soft and warm. You are all cold and harsh, 
 she has told rue as much. I know how she suffers. I 
 wish I could carry her back to France with me. I pray 
 you, let me see her, good Madame ! " 
 
 "It is quite impossible, I assure you," said the spin 
 ster, in her most aggravating manner. "It would be 
 quite against the wishes of my brother, the Doctor, as 
 well as of Mr. Maverick." 
 
 " Monsieur Maverick ! Mon Dieu, Madame ! He is 
 no father to her ; he leaves her to die with strangers ; 
 he has no heart ; I have better right : I love her. I 
 must see her ! " 
 
 And with a passionate step, those eyes of hers glar 
 ing in that strange double way upon the amazed Miss 
 Eliza, she strides toward the door, as if she would 
 overcome all opposition. But before she has gone out, 
 that cruel pain has seized her, and she sinks upon a 
 chair, quite prostrated, and with hands clasped wildly 
 over that burden of a heart. 
 
 " Too hard ! too hard ! " she murmurs, scarce above 
 her breath. 
 
ILLNESS. 221 
 
 The spinster is attentive, but is untouched. 
 
 The good Doctor is greatly troubled by the report of 
 Miss Eliza. Can it be possible that Adele has given a 
 confidence to this strange woman that she has not given 
 to them ? Cold and harsh ! Can Adele, indeed, have 
 said this ? Has he not labored with a full heart ? Has 
 he not agonized in prayer to draw in this wandering 
 lamb to the fold ? 
 
 It touches him to the quick to think that her childlike, 
 trustful confidence is at last alienated from him, that 
 her affection for him is so distempered by dread and 
 weariness. For, unconsciously, he has grown to love 
 her as he loves no one save his boy Reuben. Through 
 her winning, playful talk, he has taken up that old trail 
 of worldly affections which he had thought buried for 
 ever in Rachel s grave. That tender touch of her little 
 fingers upon his cheek has seemed to say, " Life has its 
 joys, old man ! " The patter of her feet along the house 
 has kindled the memories of other gentle steps that tread 
 now silently in the courts of air. Those songs of hers, 
 how he has loved them ! 
 
 And the good man, with such thoughts thronging on 
 him, falls upon his knees, beseeching God to " be over 
 the sick child, to comfort her, to heal her, to pour down 
 His divine grace upon her, to open her blind eyes to the 
 richness of His truth. " 
 
 Rising from his attitude of prayer, and going toward 
 the little window of his study to arrange it for the night, 
 the Doctor sees a slight figure in black pacing up and 
 down upon the opposite side of the way, and looking 
 
222 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 up from time to time to the light that is burning in the 
 window of Adele. He knows on the instant who it must 
 be, and fears more than ever the possible influence 
 which this strange woman, who is so persistent in her 
 attention, may have upon the heart of the girl. 
 
 Like most holy men, ignorant of the crafts and devices 
 of the world, he no sooner blundered into a suspicion of 
 some deep Devil s cunning than every footfall and every 
 floating zephyr seemed to confirm it. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Shortcomings of Reuben. 
 
 MEANTIME Reuben was gaining, month by month, 
 in a knowledge of the world, at least of such 
 portion of it as came within the range of his vision in 
 New York. He thought with due commiseration of the 
 humble people of Ashfield. He wonders how he could 
 have tolerated so long their simple ways. The Eagle 
 Tavern, with its creaking sign-board, does not loom so 
 largely as it once did upon the horizon of his thought. 
 
 He has put Phil through some of the " sights : " for 
 that great lout of a country lad (as Reuben could not 
 help counting him, though he liked his big, honest 
 heart for all that) had found him out, when he came to 
 New York to take ship for the West Indies. 
 
 "I say, Phil," Reuben had said, as he marched his 
 old schoolmate up Broadway, " it s rather a touch be- 
 
SHORTCOMINGS OF REUBEN. 223 
 
 yond Ashfield, this, is n t it ? How do you think Old 
 Boody s tavern and sign-board would look along here ? " 
 
 And Phil laughed, quietly. 
 
 " I should like to see old Deacon Tourtelot," continued 
 Reuben, " with Huldy on his arm, sloping down Broad 
 way. Would n t the old people stare ? " 
 
 " I guess they would," Phil said, demurely. 
 
 " I wonder if they d knock off at sundown Saturday 
 night," continued Reuben, mockingly. 
 
 And his tone somehow hurt Phil, who had the mem 
 ories of the old home a very dear one to him fresh 
 upon him. 
 
 " And I suppose Miss Almiry keeps at her singing ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Phil, straining a point in favor of his 
 townswoman ; "and I think she sings pretty well." 
 
 It seemed to him, in his honesty, that Reuben was 
 wantonly cutting asunder all the ties that once bound 
 him to the old home. It pained him, moreover, to think 
 as he did, with a good deal of restiveness that his 
 blessed mother, and Rose perhaps, and the old Squire, 
 his father, were among the Ashfield people at whom 
 Reuben sneered so glibly. And when he parted with 
 him upon the dock, for Reuben had gone down to 
 see him oif, it was with a secret conviction that their 
 old friendship had come to an end, and that thenceforth 
 they two could have no sympathies in common. 
 
 But in this Phil was by no means wholly right. The 
 talk of Reuben was. after all, but the ebullition of a city 
 conceit, a conceit which is apt to belong to all young 
 men at some period of their novitiate in city life. 
 
224 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 On the very night after Reuben had parted from Phil, 
 when he came late to his chamber, dazed with some new 
 scene at the theater, and his brain flighty with a cup too 
 much, it may well have happened, that in his fevered 
 restlessness, as the clock near by chimed midnight, his 
 thoughts ran back to that other chamber where once 
 sweet sleep always greeted him, to the overhanging 
 boughs that rustled in the evening air at the window, 
 to the shaded street that stretched away between the 
 silent houses, to the song of the katydids, chattering 
 their noisy chorus, to the golden noons when light feet 
 tripped along the village walks, to the sunny smiles of 
 Hose, to the kindly entreaty of good Mrs. Elderkin, 
 and more faintly, yet more tenderly, than elsewhere, to a 
 figure and face far remote, and so glorified by distance 
 that they seem almost divine, a figure and face that 
 are somehow associated with the utterance of his first 
 prayer, and with the tender vision before him, he 
 mumbles the same prayer and falls asleep with it upon 
 his lip. 
 
 Only on his lip, however, and the next day, when 
 he steals a half-hour for a stroll upon Broadway with 
 that dashing girl, Miss Sophia Bowrigg, (she is really a 
 stylish creature, ) he has very little thought of the dreamy 
 sentiments of the night before, which seemed for the 
 time to keep his wilder vagaries in subjection, and to 
 kindle aspirations toward a better life. It is doubtful, 
 even, if he did not indulge in an artful compliment or 
 two to the dashing Miss Sophia, the point of which lay 
 in a cleverly covered contrast of herself with the hum- 
 
SHORTCOMINGS OF REUBEN. 225 
 
 drum manners of the fair ones of Ashfield. Yet, to tell 
 truth, he is not wholly untouched by certain little ral 
 lying, coquettish speeches of Miss Sophia in respect to 
 Adele, who, in her open, girl-like way, has very likely 
 told the full story of Reuben s city attentions. 
 
 Reuben had, indeed, been piqued by the French 
 girl s reception of his patronage, and he had been fairly 
 carried off his feet in view of her easy adaptation to the 
 ways of the city, and of her graceful carriage under all 
 the toilet equipments which had been lavished upon her, 
 under the advice of Mrs. Brindlock. A raw 7 boy comes 
 only by long aptitude into the freedom of a worldly 
 manner ; but a girl most of all a French girl, in whom 
 the instincts of her race are strong leaps to such con 
 quest in a day. Of course he had intimated to Adele no 
 wonder at the change ; but he had thrust a stray glove 
 of hers into his pocket, counting it only a gallant theft ; 
 and there had been days when he had drawn out that 
 little relic of her visit from its hidden receptacle, and 
 smoothed it upon his table, and pressed it, very likely, 
 to his lips, in the same way in which youth of nineteen or 
 twenty are used to treat such feminine tokens of grace. 
 
 It was a dainty glove, to be sure. It conjured up her 
 presence in its most alluring aspect. The rustle of her 
 silk, the glow of her cheek, the coyness of her touch, 
 whenever she has dropped that delicate hand on his, 
 came with the sight of it. He ventures, in a moment of 
 gallant exuberance, to purchase a half-dozen of the same 
 number, of very charming tints, (to his eye,) and sends 
 them as a gift to Adele, saying, 
 15 
 
226 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " I found your stray glove we had a search for in 
 the carriage, but did not tell of it. I hope these will 
 fit," 
 
 "They fit nicely," said Adele, writing back to him, 
 " so nicely, I may be tempted to throw another old 
 glove of mine some time in your way." 
 
 Miss Eliza Johns was of course delighted with this at 
 tention of Reuben s, and made it the occasion of writing 
 him a long letter, (and her letters were very rare, by 
 reason of the elaboration she counted necessary,) in 
 which she set forth the excellence of Adele s character, 
 her " propriety of speech," her " lady-like deportment," 
 her " cheerful observance of duty," and her " eminent 
 moral worth," in such terms as stripped all romance 
 from Reuben s recollection of her, and made him more 
 than half regret his gallant generosity. 
 
 The Doctor writes to him regularly once a fortnight ; 
 of which missives Reuben reads as regularly the last 
 third, containing, as it does usually, a little home news 
 or casual mention of Miss Rose Elderldn or of the family 
 circle. The other two thirds, mainly expostulatory, he 
 skips, only allowing his eye to glance over them, and 
 catch such scattered admonitions as these : " Be stead 
 fast in the truth Be not tempted of the Devil ; 
 
 for if you resist him, he will flee from you " 
 
 Ah, how much of such good advice had been twisted 
 into tapers for the lighting of Reuben s cigars ! It is 
 certain that he loved his father ; it is certain that he ven 
 erated him ; and yet, and yet, (he said to himself,) " I 
 do wish he would keep this solemn stuff for his sermons. 
 
SHORTCOMINGS OF REUBEN. 227 
 
 Who cares to read it ? Who cares to hear it, except on 
 Sundays?" 
 
 And when Mr. Brindlock wrote, as he took occasion 
 to do about this period, regretting the extravagance of 
 Reuben and the bad associations into which he had fal 
 len, and urging the Doctor to impress upon him the ad 
 vantages of regularity and of promptitude, and to warn 
 him that a very advantageous business career which was 
 opening upon him would be blighted by his present 
 habits, the poor gentleman was fairly taken aback. 
 
 What admonition could the Doctor add to those which 
 he had addressed to his poor son fortnightly for years 
 past ? Had he not unfolded the terrors of God s wrath 
 upon sinners ? However, the Doctor wrote to Eeuben 
 with even more than his usual unction. But he could 
 not bring himself to warn his boy of the mere blight to 
 his worldly career, that was so small a matter ! Yet 
 he laid before him in graver terms than he had ever 
 done before the weight of the judgment of an offended 
 God. Reuben lighted his cigar with the letter, not un 
 feelingly, but indifferently. 
 
 " It ought to burn," he says. " There s plenty of 
 brimstone in it ! " 
 
 It would have crazed the minister of Ashfield to have 
 heard the speech. In his agony of mind he went to 
 consult Squire Elderkin, and laid before him the dire 
 accounts he had heard. 
 
 " Ah, young men will be young men, Doctor. There s 
 time for him to come out right yet. It s the blood of 
 the old Major ; it must have vent." 
 
228 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 As the Doctor recalled what he counted his father s 
 godless death, he shuddered. Presently he talked of 
 summoning his boy home immediately. 
 
 "Well, Doctor," said the Squire, meditatively, "there 
 are two sides to that matter. There are great temp 
 tations in the city, to be sure ; but if God puts a 
 man in the way of great temptations, I suppose He 
 gives him strength to resist them. Is n t that good 
 theology ? " 
 
 The parson nodded assent. 
 
 " We can always resist, if we will, Squire," said he. 
 
 " Very good, Doctor. Suppose, now, you bring your 
 boy home ; he 11 fret desperately under your long lec 
 tures, and with Miss Eliza, and perhaps run off into 
 deviltries that will make him worse than those of the 
 city. You must humor him a little, Doctor ; touch his 
 pride ; there s a fine, frank spirit at the bottom ; give 
 him a good word now and then." 
 
 "I knownow r ord so good as prayer," said the Doc 
 tor, gravely. 
 
 " That s very well, Doctor, very well. Mrs. Elderkin 
 gives him help that way ; and between you and me, 
 Doctor, if any woman s prayers can call down blessings, 
 I think that little woman s can." 
 
 " An estimable lady, most estimable ! " said the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " Pray, if you will, Doctor ; it s all right ; and for my 
 part, 1 11 drop him a line, telling him the town feels an 
 ownership in him, and hopes he 11 do us all credit. I 
 think we can bring him out all right." 
 
A NEW EXPERIENCE. 229 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, Squire," said the Doctor, 
 with an unusual warmth. 
 
 And he wrought fervently in prayer that night ; may 
 be, too, the hearty invocation of that good woman, Mrs. 
 Elderkiu, joined with his in the Celestial Presence ; and 
 if the kindly letter of the Squire did not rank with the 
 prayers, we may believe, without hardihood, that the re 
 cording angel took note of it, and gave credit on the 
 account current of human charities. 
 
 xxxvm. 
 
 A New Experience. 
 
 MR BRIXDLOCK had, may be, exaggerated some 
 what the story of Reuben s extravagances, but 
 he was anxious that a word of caution should be 
 dropped in his ear from some other lips than his own. 
 The allowance from the Doctor, notwithstanding all the 
 economies of Miss Eliza s frugal administration, would 
 have been, indeed, somewhat narrow, and could by no 
 means have kept Reuben upon his feet in the ambitious 
 city-career upon which he had entered. But Mr. Brind- 
 lock had taken a great fancy to the lad, and besides the 
 stipend granted for his duties about the counting-room, 
 had given him certain shares in a few private ventures 
 which had resulted very prosperously, so prosper 
 ously, indeed, that the prudent merchant had deter 
 mined to hold the full knowledge of the success in 
 
230 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 reserve. The prospects of Reuben, however, he being 
 the favorite nephew of a well-established merchant, 
 were regarded by the most indifferent observers as ex 
 tremely flattering ; and Mr. Bowrigg was not disposed 
 to look unfavorably upon the young man s occasional 
 attentions to the dashing Sophia. 
 
 It was some time in the month of September, of the 
 same autumn in which poor Adele lay sick at the par 
 sonage, that Reuben came in one night, at twelve or 
 thereabout, to his home at the Brindlocks , (living at 
 this time in the neighborhood of Washington Square,) 
 with his head cruelly battered, and altogether in a very 
 piteous plight. Mrs. Brindlock, terribly frightened, 
 in her woman s way, was for summoning the Doctor 
 at once ; but Reuben pleaded against it ; he had been 
 in a row, that was all, and had caught a big knock or 
 two. The truth was, he had been upon one of his 
 frolics with his old boon companions ; and it so hap 
 pened that one had spoken sneeringly of the parson s 
 son, in a way which to the fiery young fellow seemed to 
 cast ridicule upon the old gentleman. And thereupon 
 Reuben, though somewhat maudlin with wine, yet 
 with the generous spirit not wholly quenched in him, 
 had entered upon a glowing little speech in praise of 
 the old gentleman and of his profession, a speech 
 which, if it were garnished with here and there an 
 objectionable expletive, was very earnest and did him 
 credit. 
 
 " Good for Reuben ! " the party had cried out. " Get 
 him a pulpit ! " 
 
A NEW EXPERIENCE. 231 
 
 "Hang me, if he would n t preach better now than the 
 old man ! " said one. 
 
 "And a deuced sight livelier," said another. 
 
 "Hold your tongue, you blackguard !" burst out 
 Reuben. 
 
 And from this the matter came very shortly to blows, 
 in the course of which poor Reuben was severely pun 
 ished, though he must have hit some hard blows ; for he 
 was wondrously active, and not a few boxing-lessons had 
 gone to make up the tale of his city accomplishments. 
 
 Howbeit. he was housed now, in view of his black eye, 
 for many days, and had ample time for reflection. In 
 aid of this came a full sheet of serious expostulations 
 from the Doctor, and that letter of advice which Squire 
 Elderkin had promised, with a little warm-hearted 
 postscript from good Mrs. Elderkin, so unlike to the 
 carefully modulated letters of Aunt Eliza ! The Doc 
 tor s missive, very likely, did not impress him more than 
 the scores that had gone before it ; but there was a 
 practical tact, and good-natured, common-sense home 
 liness, in the urgence of the Squire, which engaged all 
 Reuben s attention ; and the words of the good woman, 
 his wife, were worth more than a sermon to him. " We 
 all want," she writes, "to think well of you, Reuben ; 
 we do think well of you. Don t disappoint us. I can t 
 think of the cheery, bright face, that for so many an 
 evening shone amid our household, as any thing but 
 bright and cheery now. We all pray for your well-being 
 and happiness, Reuben ; and I do hope you have not 
 forgotten to pray for it yourself." 
 
232 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 And with the memory of the kindly woman which 
 this letter called up came a pleasant vision of the win 
 some face of Rose, as she used to sit, with downcast eyes, 
 beside her mother in the old house of Ashfield, of 
 Rose, as she used to lower upon him in their frolic, with 
 those great hazel eyes sparkling with indignation. And 
 if the vision did not quicken any lingering sentiment, it 
 at the least gave a mellow tint to his thought, a mel 
 lowness w r hich even the hardness of Aunt Eliza could 
 not wholly do aw r ay. 
 
 "I feel it my duty to write you, Reuben," she says, 
 " and to inform you how very much we have all been 
 shocked and astonished by the accounts which reach us 
 of your continued indifference to religious duties, and 
 your reckless extravagance. Let me implore you to be 
 frugal and virtuous. If you learn to save now, the 
 habit will be of very great service when you come to 
 take your stand on the arena of life. I am aware that 
 the temptations of a great city are almost innumerable ; 
 but I need hardly inform you that you will greatly con 
 sult your own interests and mitigate our harassment of 
 feeling by practising a strict economy with your funds, 
 and by attending regularly at church. You will excuse 
 all errors in my writing, since I indite this by the sick 
 bed of Adele." 
 
 Adele, then, is ill ; and upon that point alone in the 
 Aunt s letter the thought of Reuben fastens. Adole is 
 ill ! He knows where she must be lying, in that little 
 room at the parsonage looking out upon the orchard ; 
 there are white hangings to the bed ; careful steps go 
 
A NEW EXPERIENCE. 233 
 
 up and down the stair-way. There had never been 
 much illness in the parson s home, indeed, but certain 
 early awful days Reuben just remembers ; there were 
 white bed-curtains, (he recalls those,) and a face as whits 
 lying beneath ; the nurse, too, lifting a warning finger 
 at him with alow "hist ! " the knocker tied over thickly 
 with a great muffler of cloth, lest the sound might come 
 into the chamber ; and then, awful stillness. On a 
 morning later, all the windows were suddenly thrown 
 open, and strange men brought a red coffin into the 
 house, which, after a day or two, went out borne by 
 different people, who trod uneasily and awkwardly un 
 der the weight, but very softly ; and after this a weary 
 loneliness. All which drifting over the mind of Reuben, 
 and stirring his sensibilities with a quick rush of vague, 
 boyish griefs, induces a train of melancholy religious 
 musings, which, if they do no good, can hardly, it would 
 seem, work harm. Under their influence, indeed, 
 (which lasted for several days,) he astonished his Aunt 
 Mabel, on the next Sunday, by declaring his intention to 
 attend church. 
 
 It is not the ponderous Dr. Mowry, fortunately or un 
 fortunately, that he is called upon to listen to ; but a 
 younger man, of ripe age, indeed, but full of fervor and* 
 earnestness, and with a piercing magnetic quality of 
 voice that electrifies from the beginning. And Eeuben 
 listens to his reading of the hymn, 
 
 " Return, O wanderer! now return ! " 
 with parted lips, and with an exaltation of feeling that is 
 
234 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 wholly strange to him. With the prayer it seems to him 
 that all the religious influences to which he has ever 
 been subject are slowly and surely converging their 
 forces upon his mind ; and, rapt as he is in the preach 
 er s utterance, there come to him shadowy recollections 
 of some tender admonition addressed to him by dear 
 w r omanly lips in boyhood, which now, on a sudden, 
 flames into the semblance of a Divine summons. Then 
 comes the sermon, from the text, " My son, give me 
 thine heart." There is no repulsive formality, no array 
 of logical presentments to arouse antagonism of thought, 
 but only inglowing enthusiasm, that transfuses the 
 Scriptural appeal, and illuminates it with winning illus 
 tration. Reuben sees that the evangelist feels in his in 
 most soul what he utters ; the thrill of his voice and the 
 touching earnestness of his manner declare it. It is as 
 if our eager listener were, by every successive appeal, 
 placed in full rapport with a great battery of religious 
 emotions, and at every touch were growing into fuller 
 and fuller entertainment of the truths which so fired and 
 sublimed the speaker s utterance. 
 
 All thought of God the Avenger and of God the 
 Judge, which had been so linked with most of his boyish 
 instructions, seemed now to melt away in an aureole of 
 golden light, through which he saw only God the Fa 
 ther. And the first prayer he ever learned comes to his 
 mind with a grace and a meaning arad a power that he 
 never felt before. 
 
 "Whether we obey Him," (it is the preacher we 
 quote,) " or distrust Him, or revile Him, or forget Him, 
 
A NEW EXPERIENCE. 235 
 
 or struggle to ignore Him, always, always He is our 
 Father. And whatever we may do, however we may sin, 
 however recreant we may be to early faith or early teach 
 ing, however unmoved by the voice of conscience, 
 which is smiting on your hearts as it is on mine to-day, 
 whatever we are, or whatever we may be, yet, ever 
 while life is in us, that great, serene voice of the All- 
 Merciful is sounding in our ears, My son, give me thine 
 heart ! " 
 
 And Reuben says to himself, yet almost audibly, " I 
 will." 
 
 The sermon was altogether such a one as to act with 
 prodigious force upon so emotional a nature as that of 
 Reuben. Yet w T e dare say there were gray-haired men 
 in the church, and sallow-faced young men, who nodded 
 their heads wisely and coolly, as they went out, saying, 
 " An eloquent sermon, quite ; but not much argument 
 in it." As if all men were to plod to heaven on the ver- 
 tebne of an inexorable logic, and not God willing 
 to be rapt away thitherward by the clinging force of a 
 glowing and confiding heart ! 
 
 " Is this religion ? " Reuben asked himself, as he went 
 out of the church, with his pride all subdued. And the 
 very atmosphere seemed to wear a new glory, and a new 
 lien of brotherhood to tie him to every creature he met 
 upon the thronged streets. All the time, too, was 
 sounding in his ear (as if he had yielded full assent) the 
 mellow and grateful cadence of the hymn, 
 
 " Return, O wanderer ! now return ! " 
 
236 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Reuben makes a Proselyte. 
 
 REUBEN wrote to the Doctor, under the influence 
 of this new glow of feeling, in a way that at once 
 amazed and delighted the good old gentleman. And 
 yet there were ill-defined, but very decided, terrors and 
 doubts in his delight. Dr. Johns, by nature as well as 
 by education, was disposed to look distrustfully upon a 
 sudden conviction of duty which had its spring in any 
 extraordinary exaltation of feeling, rather than in that- 
 full intellectual seizure of the Word, which it seemed 
 to him could come only after a determined wrestling 
 with those dogmas that to his mind were the aptest and 
 compactest expression of the truth toward which we 
 must agonize. The day of Pentecost showed a great 
 miracle, indeed ; but was not the day of miracles past ? 
 
 The Doctor, however, did not allow his entertainment 
 of a secret fear to color in any way his letters of earnest 
 gratulation to his son. If God has miraculously snatched 
 him from the ways that lead to destruction, (such was his 
 thought,) let us rejoice. 
 
 Be steadfast, my clear Reuben," he writes. "You 
 have now a cross to bear. Do not dishonor its holy 
 character ; do not faint upon the way. Our beloved 
 Adele, as you have been told, is trembling upon the 
 verge of the grave. May God in His mercy spare her, 
 
REUBEN MAKES A PROSELYTE, 237 
 
 until, at least, she gain some more fitting sense of the 
 great mission of His Son ! It pains me beyond belief to 
 find her indifferent to the godly counsels of your pious 
 aunt, which she does not fail to urge upon her, in sea 
 son and out of season ; and she has shown a tenacity in 
 guarding that wretched relic of her early life, the rosary 
 and crucifix, which, I fear, augurs the worst. Pray for 
 her, my son ; pray that all the vanities and idolatries of 
 this world may be swept from her thoughts." 
 
 And Reuben, still living in that roseate atmosphere of 
 religious meditation, is shocked by this story of the dan 
 ger of Adele. Is he not himself in some measure ac 
 countable ? In those days when they raced through the 
 Catechism together, did he never provoke her mocking 
 smiles by his sneers at the ponderous language ? Did 
 he not tempt her to some mischievous sally of mirth, on 
 many a day when they were kneeling in couple about 
 the family altar? 
 
 And in the flush of his exalted feeling he writes her 
 how bitterly he deplores all this, and borrowing his lan 
 guage from the sermons he now listens to with greed, 
 he urges Adele " to plant her feet upon the Rock of 
 Ages." 
 
 Indeed, there is a fervor in his feeling which pushes 
 him into such extravagances of expression as the Doc 
 tor would have found it necessary to qualify, if Adele, 
 poor child, had not been by far too weak for their com 
 prehension. 
 
 The Brindlocks were, of course, utterly amazed at this 
 new aspect in the character of their young protege. 
 
238 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Mr. Brindlock said, however, consolingly to his wife, 
 " My dear, it s atmospheric, I think. It s a revival 
 season ; there was such a one, I remember, in my young 
 days. " 
 
 (Mrs. Brindlock laughed at this quite merrily.) 
 
 "To be sure there was, my dear, and I was really 
 quite deeply affected. Reuben will come out all right ; 
 we shall see him settling down soon to good merchant 
 habits again." 
 
 But the animus of the new tendency was far stronger 
 than Brindlock had supposed ; and within a month Reu- 
 ben had come to a quiet rupture with his city patron. 
 The smack of worldliness was too strong for him. He 
 felt that he must go back to his old home, and place 
 himself again under the instructions of the father whose 
 counsels he had once spurned. 
 
 " You don t say you mean to become a parson? " said 
 Mr. Brindlock, more than ever astounded. 
 
 " It is very likely," said Reuben. 
 
 " Well, Reuben, if you must, you must. But I don t 
 see things in that light. However, my boy, we 11 keep 
 our little private ventures astir ; you may need them 
 some day." 
 
 And so they parted. 
 
 Reuben had thought in his wild days, that, when he 
 should go back to Ashfield for any lengthened stay, (for 
 thus far his visits had been few and flying ones,) he 
 should considerably astonish the old people there by his 
 air and city cultivation. It is quite possible that he had 
 laid by certain naming cravats which he thought would 
 
REUBEN MAKES A PROSELYTE. 239 
 
 have a killing effect in the country church, and antici 
 pated a very handsome triumph by the easy swagger 
 with which he would greet old Deacon Tourtelot and 
 ask after the health of Miss Ahnira. But the hope of all 
 such triumphs was now dropped utterly. Such things 
 clearly belonged to the lusts of the eye and the pride of 
 life. He even left behind him. some of the most flashy 
 articles of his attire, with the request to Aunt Mabel that 
 she would bestow them upon some needy person, or, in 
 default of this, make them over to the Missionary Society 
 for distribution among the heathen, a purpose for 
 which some of them, by reason of their brilliant colors, 
 were certainly most admirably adapted. 
 
 All in Ashfield meet him kindly. Old Squire Elder- 
 kin, who chances to be the first to greet him as he 
 alights from the coach, shakes him warmly by the hand, 
 and taps him patronizingly upon the shoulder. 
 
 "Welcome home again, Reuben! Well, well, they 
 thought you were given over to bad courses ; but it s 
 all right now, I hear ; quite upon the other tack, eh, 
 Keuben ? " 
 
 And Reuben thanked him, thinking perhaps how odd 
 it was that this worldly old gentleman, of whom he had 
 thought, since his late revulsion of feeling, with a good 
 deal of quiet pity, should commend what was so foreign 
 to his own habit. There were, then, some streaks of 
 good-natured worldliness which tallied with Christian 
 duty. The serene, kindly look of Mrs. Elderkin was 
 in itself the tenderest welcome ; and it was an ennobling 
 thought to Reuben, that he had at last placed himself 
 
240 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 (or fancied he had) upon the same moral plane "with that 
 good woman. As for Rose, the joyous, frolicsome, 
 charming Rose, whom he had thought at one time to 
 electrify by his elegant city accomplishments, was not 
 even the graceful Rose a veteran in the Christian army 
 in which he had but now enlisted ? Why, then, should 
 she show timidity and shyness at this meeting with him ? 
 Yet her little fingers had a quick tremor in them as she 
 took his hand, and a swift change of color (he knew it of 
 old) ran over her face like a rosy cloud. 
 
 " It is delightful to think that Reuben is safe at last," 
 said Mrs. Elderkin, after he had gone. 
 
 "Yes, mamma," said Rose. 
 
 " It must be a great delight to them all at the par 
 sonage." 
 
 "I suppose so, mamma ; and yet it s so very sudden. 
 I wish Phil were here," said Rose again, in a plaintive 
 little tone. 
 
 " I wish he were, my child ; it might have a good 
 influence upon him ; and poor Adele too ; she must 
 surely listen to Reuben, he is so earnest and impas 
 sioned." 
 
 Rose is working with nervous rapidity. 
 
 "But, my child," says the mother, " are you not sew 
 ing that breadth upon the wrong side ? " 
 
 True enough, upon the wrong side, so many weary 
 stitches to undo ! 
 
 Miss Eliza had shown a well-considered approval of 
 Reuben s change of opinions ; but this had not forbidden 
 a certain reserve of worldly regret that he should give 
 
REUBEN MAKES A PROSELYTE. 241 
 
 up so promising a business career. She had half hinted 
 as much to the Doctor. 
 
 "I do not see, brother," she had said, "that his piety 
 will involve the abandonment of mercantile life." 
 
 "His piety," said the Doctor, "if it be of the right 
 stamp, will involve an obedience to conscience." 
 
 And there the discussion had rested. The spinster 
 received Reuben with much warmth, in which her state 
 ly proprieties of manner, however, were never for one 
 moment forgotten. 
 
 Adele, who was now fortunately in a fail* way of re 
 covery, but who was still very weak, and who looked 
 charmingly in her white chamber-dress, received him 
 with a tender-heartedness of manner which he had never 
 met in her before. 
 
 For a long time she had been hovering (how nearly 
 she did not know) upon the confines of the other world ; 
 but with a vague sense that its mysteries might open 
 upon her in any hour, she had, in her sane intervals, 
 ranked together the promises and penalties that had 
 been set before her by the good Doctor ; now worrying 
 her spirit, as it confronted some awful catechismal dogma 
 that it sought vainly to solve ; and then, from sheer 
 weakness and disappointment, seizing upon the symbol 
 of the cross, (of which the effigy was always near at 
 hand,) and by a kiss and a tear seeking to allay her 
 fainting heart with the mystic company of the elect who 
 would find admission to the joys of paradise. But the 
 dogmas were vain, because she could not grapple them 
 to her heart ; the cross was vain, because it was an empty 
 16 
 
242 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 symbol ; the kisses and the tears left her groping blind 
 ly for the key that would surely unlock for her the 
 wealth of the celestial kingdom. In this attitude of 
 mind, wearied by struggle and by fantasies, came to her 
 the letter of Reuben, the joyous outburst of a pioneer 
 who had found the way. 
 
 She had listened, in those fatiguing and terrible days 
 of illness, to psalms long drawn out, and wearily ; but 
 here was some wild bird that chanted a glorious carol in 
 her ear, a carol that seemed touched with heaven s 
 own joy. And under its influence exaggerated as it 
 was by extreme youthful emotion she seemed to see 
 the celestial gates of jasper and pearl swing open before 
 her, and the beckonings of the great crowd of celestial 
 inhabitants to enter and enjoy. 
 
 "I thank you very much for your letter, Reuben," 
 said Adele, and she looked eagerly into his face for 
 traces of that triumph which so glittered throughout his 
 letter. 
 
 And she did not look in vain ; for, whether it were 
 from the warm, electric touch of those white, thin fin 
 gers of hers, or the eager welcome in her eyes, or from 
 more sacred cause, a great joy shone in his face, a joy 
 that from thenceforward they began to share in common. 
 Not a doubt, not a penalty, not a mystic, blind utter 
 ance of the Catechism, but the glowing enthusiasm of 
 Reuben invested it with cheery promise, or covered it 
 with the wonderful glamour of his hope. Between these 
 two young hearts the one, till then, all doubt and 
 weariness, and the other, just now, all impassioned ex- 
 
DEATH. 243 
 
 uberance there came a grafting, by virtue of which 
 the religious sentiment in Adele shot away from all the 
 severities around her into an atmosphere of peace and joy. 
 
 The Doctor saw it, and wondered at the abounding 
 mercies of God. The spinster saw it, and rejoiced at 
 the welding of this new link in the chain of her pur 
 poses. The village people all saw it, and said among 
 themselves, "If he has won her from the iniquities of 
 the world, he can win her for a wife, if he will." 
 
 And the echoes of such speeches come, as they needs 
 must, to the ear of Rose, without surprising her, so 
 much do they seem the echo of her own thought ; and 
 if her heart may droop a little under it, she conceals it 
 bravely, and abates no jot in her abounding love for 
 Adele. 
 
 " I wish Phil were here," she says in the privacy of 
 her home. 
 
 " So do I, darling," says the mother, and looks at her 
 with a tender inquisitiveness that makes the sweet girl 
 flinch, and affect for a moment a noisy gayety, which is 
 not in her heart. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Death. 
 
 MADAME ARLES did not forego either her soli 
 citude or the persistence of her inquiry under 
 the harsh rebuffs of the spinster. The village physician, 
 too, had been addressed by this anxious lady with a tu- 
 
244 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 mult of questionings ; and the old gentleman upon 
 whose sympathies the eager inquirer had won an easy ap 
 proach had taken hearty satisfaction in assuring her, 
 that the poor girl was mending, was out of danger, in fact, 
 and would be presently in a condition to report for herself. 
 
 After this, and through the long convalescence, Ma 
 dame Aries was seen more rarely upon the village street. 
 Yet the town gossips were busy with the character and 
 habits of the " foreign lady." Her devotion to the little 
 child of the outcast was searchingly discussed at all the 
 tea-tables of the place; and it was special object of 
 scandal that, neglectful of the Sabbath ministrations, 
 she was frequently wandering about the fields in " meet 
 ing-time," attended by that poor wee thing of a child, 
 upon whose head the good people all visited the sins of 
 the parents. Dame Tourtelot enjoyed a good sharp 
 fling at the " trollop." 
 
 " I allers said she was a bad woman," submitted the 
 stout Dame ; and her audience (consisting of the Dea 
 con and Miss Almira) would have had no more thought 
 of questioning the implied decision than of cutting 
 down the meeting-house steeple. 
 
 " And I m afeard," continued the Dame, " that 
 Adeel is n t much better ; she keeps a crucifix in her 
 chamber ! need n t to look at me, Tourtelot ! Miss 
 Johns told me all about it, and I don t think the parson 
 should allow it. I think you oughter speak to the par 
 son, Tourtelot." 
 
 The good Deacon scratched his head, over the left 
 ear, in a deprecating manner. 
 
DEA TH. 245 
 
 "And I ve heercl this Miss Aries has been receiviri 
 fui-ren letters, need n t to look at me, Tourtelot ! ^ 
 the postmaster told me ; and they re filled with Pop. 
 ery, I ha n t a doubt." 
 
 In short, the poor woman bore a sad reputation ; and 
 Doctor Johns, good as he was, took a little secret pride 
 in such startling confirmation of his theories in respect 
 to French character. He wrote to his friend Maverick, 
 informing him that his suspicions in regard to Madame 
 Aries were, he feared, " only too well founded. 
 
 Indeed, Miss Eliza and the Doctor (the latter from 
 the best of motives) had scrupulously kept from AdMe 
 all knowledge of Madame Aries s impatient solicitude 
 during her illness. 
 
 When, therefore, Adele, on one of her early walks 
 with Reuben, after her recovery was fully established, 
 encountered, in a remote part of the village, Madame 
 Aries, trailing after her the little child of shame, and 
 yet darting toward the French girl, at first sight, with 
 her old effusion, Adele met her coolly ; so coolly, in 
 deed, that the poor woman was overcome, and hurrying 
 the little child after her, disappeared with a look of 
 wretchedness upon her face that haunted Adele for 
 weeks and months. A moment of chilling indifference 
 on the part of Adele had worked stronger repulse than 
 all the harsh rebuffs of the elder people ; but of this the 
 kind-hearted French girl was no way conscious ; yet she 
 icas painfully conscious of a shadowy figure that still, 
 from time to time, stole after her in her twilight walks, 
 and that, if she turned upon it, shrank stealthily from 
 
246 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 observation. There was a mystery about the whole 
 matter which oppressed the poor girl with a sense of 
 terror. 
 
 Rumor, one day, brought the story, that the foreign 
 woman who had been the subject of so much village 
 scandal, lay ill, and was fast failing ; and on hearing 
 this, Adele would have broken away from all the par 
 sonage restraints, to offer what consolations she could ; 
 nor would the good Doctor have repelled her ; but the 
 rumor, if not false, was, in his view, grossly exagger 
 ated ; since, on the Sunday previous only, some offi 
 cious member of his parish had reported the French 
 woman as strolling over the hills, decoying with her 
 that little child of her fellow-lodger, which she had 
 tricked out in the remnants of her French finery, and 
 was thus wantoning throughout the holy hours of service. 
 
 A few days later, however, the Doctor came in with 
 a serious and perplexed air ; he laid his cane and hat 
 upon the little table within the door, and summoned 
 Adele to the study. 
 
 "Adaly, my child," said he, "this unfortunate coun 
 trywoman of yours is really failing. I learn as much 
 from the physician. She has asked to see you. She 
 intimates that she has an important message to give 
 you." 
 
 A strange tremor ran over the frame of Adele. 
 
 " I fear, my child, that she is still bound to her idol 
 atries; she has asked that you bring to her the little 
 bauble of a rosary, which, I trust, Adaly, you have 
 learned to regard as a vanity." 
 
DEATH. 247 
 
 " Yet I have it still, New Papa ; she shall have it ; " 
 and she turned to go. 
 
 " My child, I cannot bear that you should go as the 
 messenger of a false faith, and to carry to her, as it 
 were, the seal of her idolatries. You shall follow her 
 wishes, Adaly ; but I must attend you, my child, were it 
 only to protest against such vanities, and to declare to 
 her, if it be not too late, the truth as it is in the Gos 
 pel." 
 
 Adele was only too willing ; for she was impressed 
 with a vague terror at thought of this interview, and of 
 its possible revelations ; and they set off presently in 
 company. It was a chilly day of later autumn. Only a 
 few scattered, tawny remnants of the summer verdure 
 were hanging upon the village trees, and great rows of the 
 dead and fallen leaves were heaped here and there 
 athwart the path, where some high wall kept them clear 
 of the winds ; and as the walkers tramped through them, 
 they made a ghostly rustle, and whole platoons of them 
 were set astir to drift again until some new eddy caught 
 and stranded them in other heaps. Adele, more and 
 more disturbed in mind, said, 
 
 " It s such a dreary day, New Papa ! " 
 
 "Is it the thought that one you know may lie dying 
 now makes it dreary, my child ? " 
 
 " Partly that, I dare say," returned Adele ; " and then 
 the wind so tosses about these dead leaves. I wish it 
 were spring." 
 
 "There is a country/ said the parson, "where spring 
 reigns eternal. I hope you may find it, Adaly ; I hope 
 
248 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 your poor countrywoman may find it ; but I fear, I 
 fear." 
 
 "Is it, then, so dreadful to be a Romanist?" 
 
 "It is dreadful, Adaly, to doubt the free grace of 
 God, dreadful to trust in any offices of men, or in 
 tithes of mint and anise and cumin. I have a conviction, 
 my child," continued he, in a tone even more serious, 
 " that the poor woman has not lived a pure life before 
 God, or even before the world." 
 
 Adele, trembling, partly with the chilling wind, and 
 partly with an ill-defined terror of she knew not what, 
 nestled more closely to the side of the old gentleman ; 
 and he, taking her little hand in his, as tenderly as a 
 lover might have done, said, 
 
 " Adaly, at least your trust in God is firm, is it not ? " 
 
 "It is! it is ! " said she. 
 
 The house, as we have said, lay far out upon the river- 
 road, within a strip of ill-tended garden-ground, sur 
 rounded by a rocky pasture. A solitary white-oak stood 
 in the line of straggling wall that separated garden from 
 pasture, and showed still a great crown of leaves 
 blanched by the frosts, and shivering in the wind. An 
 artemisia, with blackened stalks, nodded its draggled 
 yellow blossoms at one angle of the house, while a little 
 company of barn-door fowls stood closely grouped under 
 the southern lea, with heads close drawn upon their 
 breasts, idling and winking in the sunshine. 
 
 The young mother of the vagrant one who had at 
 tracted latterly so much of the solitary woman s regard 
 received them with an awkward welcome. 
 
DEA TH. 249 
 
 " Miss Aries is poorly to-day," she said, "and she s 
 flighty. She keeps Arthur " (the child) " with her. You 
 hear how she s a-chatteriu now." (The door of her 
 chamber stood half open.) " Arty seems to understand 
 her. I in sure I don t." 
 
 Nor, indeed, did the Doctor, to whose ear a torrent of 
 rapid French speech was like the gibberish of demons. 
 Not so Adele. There were sweet sounds to her ear in 
 that swift flow of Provencal speech, tender, endeaiing 
 epithets, that seemed like the echo of music heard long ago. 
 
 "Ah, you re a gay one! Now put on your velvet 
 cap so. We 11 find a bride for you some day, some 
 day, when you re a tall, proud man. Who s your father, 
 Arty ? Pah ! it s nothing. You 11 make somebody s 
 heart ache all the same, eh, Arty, boy ? " 
 
 "Do you understand her, Miss Maverick?" says the 
 mother. 
 
 "Not wholly," said Adele; and the two visitors 
 stepped in noiselessly. 
 
 The child, bedizened with finery, was standing upon 
 the bed where the sick woman lay, with a long feather 
 from the cock s tail waving from his cap. Madame 
 Aries, with the hot flush of the fever upon her, looked 
 saving the thinness as she might have looked 
 twenty years before. And as her flashing eye caught 
 the new comers, her voice broke out wildly again, 
 
 " Here s the bride, and here s the priest ! Where s 
 the groom ? Where s the groom, I say ? " 
 
 The violence of her manner made poor Adele shiver. 
 
 The boy laughed as he saw it, and said, 
 
250 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " She s afraid ! / m not afraid." 
 
 "Oh, no !" said the crazed woman, turning on him. 
 " You re a man, Arty ; men are not afraid, you wan 
 ton, you wild one ! Where s the groom ? " said she 
 again, addressing the Doctor, fiercely. 
 
 "My good woman," says the old gentleman, " we have 
 come to offer you the consolations that are only to be 
 found in the Gospel of Christ." 
 
 " Pah ! you re a false priest ! " defiantly. " Where s 
 the groom ? " 
 
 And Adele, hoping to pacify the poor woman, draws 
 from her reticule the little rosary, and holding it before 
 the eyes of the sufferer, says, timidly, 
 
 " My dear Madam, it is I, Adele ; I have brought 
 what you asked of me ; I have come to comfort you." 
 
 And the woman, over whose face there ran instantly 
 a marvelous change, snatched the rosary, and pressed it 
 convulsively to her lips ; then, looking for a moment 
 yearningly, with that strange double gaze of hers, upon 
 the face of Adele, she sprang toward her, and, wreath 
 ing her arms about her, drew her fast upon her bosom, 
 
 " Mafille ! ma pauvre file ! " 
 
 The boy slipped down from the bed, his little im 
 portance being over, and was gone. The Doctor s lips 
 moved in silent prayer for five minutes or more, wholly 
 undisturbed, while the twain were locked in that em 
 brace. Then the old gentleman, stooping, said, 
 
 " Adaly, will she listen to me now ? " 
 
 And Adele, turning a frightened face to him, whis 
 pered, 
 
REUBEN S STRUGGLE. 251 
 
 " She s sleeping ; uuclasp her hands ; she holds me 
 tightly." 
 
 The Doctor, with tremulous fingers, does her bidding. 
 
 Adele, still whispering, says, 
 
 " She s calm now, she 11 talk with us when she wakes, 
 New Papa." 
 
 "My poor child," said the Doctor, solemnly, and with 
 a full voice, " she 11 never wake again." 
 
 And Adele turning, in a maze of terror, as she 
 thought of that death-clasp, saw that her eyes had 
 fallen open, open, and fixed, and lusterless. So 
 quietly Death had come upon his errand, and accom 
 plished it, and gone ; while without, the fowls, undis 
 turbed, were still blinking idly in the sunshine under 
 the lea of the wall, and the yellow chrysanthemums were 
 fluttering in the wind. 
 
 XLL 
 
 Reuberfs Struggle. 
 
 TN the winter of 1838-39, Adele, much to the delight 
 -*- of Dr. Johns, avowed at last her wish to join her 
 self to the little church-flock over which the good par 
 son still held serenely his office of shepherd. And as 
 she told him quietly of her desire, sitting before him 
 there in the study of the parsonage, without urgence 
 upon his part, it was as if a bright gleam of sunshine 
 had darted suddenly through the wintry clouds, and 
 bathed both of them in its warm effulgence. The good 
 
252 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 man, rising from his chair and crossing over to her 
 place, touched her forehead with as tender and loving a 
 kiss as ever he had bestowed upon the lost Rachel. 
 
 He had seen too closely the development of her Chris 
 tian faith to disturb her with various questionings. She 
 rejoiced in this ; for even then, with all the calm serenity 
 of her trust, it was doubtful if her answers could have 
 fully satisfied the austerities of his theological traditions. 
 Even the little rosary, so obnoxious to the household 
 of the parsonage, was, by its terrible association with 
 the death-scene of Madame Aries, endeared to her ten 
 fold ; and she could not forbear the hope that the poor 
 w r oman, at the very last, by that clinging kiss upon the 
 image of Christ, told a prayer that might give access to 
 His abounding mercy. 
 
 Meantime Reuben has a vague notion creeping over 
 him, with fearfully chilling effect, that his sensibilities 
 have been wrought upon rather than his reason ; a con 
 fused sense of having yielded to enthusiasms which, if 
 they once grow cool, will leave him to slump back into 
 a mire worse than the old. He looked with something- 
 like envy upon the serene contentment of Adele. He 
 lived like an ascetic ; he sought, by reading of all man 
 ner of exultant religious experience, to keep alive the 
 ferment of the autumn. " If only death were near," he 
 said to himself, " with what a blaze of hope one might 
 go out ! " But death was not near, or, at least, life 
 and its perplexing duties were nearer. If the glory of 
 the promises and the tenderness of Divine entreaty were 
 to be always dropping mellifluously on his ear, as upon 
 
REUBEN S STRUGGLE. 253 
 
 that solemn Sunday of the summer, it might be well. 
 But it is not thus ; and even were the severe quiet of 
 the Ashfield Sundays lighted up by the swift and burn 
 ing words of such fiery evangelism, yet six solid working- 
 days roll over upon the heel of every Sunday, in which 
 he sees good Deacon Tourtelot in shirt-sleeves driving 
 some sharp bargain for his two-year-old steers, or the 
 stout Dame hectoring some stray peddler by the hour 
 for the fall of a penny upon his wares, and wonders 
 where their Christian largeness of soul is gone. Shall he 
 consult the good Doctor ? He is met straightway with 
 an array of the old catechisinal formulas, clearly stated, 
 well argued, but brushing athwart his mind like a dusty 
 wind. In this strait, he wanders over the hills in search 
 of loneliness, and a volume of Tillotson he carries with 
 him is all unread. Nature speaks more winningly, but 
 scarce more helpfully. 
 
 Adele, with a quick eye, sees the growing unrest, and 
 with a great weight of gratitude upon her heart, says, 
 timidly, 
 
 " Can I help you, Reuben ? " 
 
 " No, thank you, Adele. I understand you ; I m in a 
 boggle, that s all." 
 
 The father, too, at a hint from Adele, (whose percep 
 tions are so much quicker,) sees at last how the matter 
 stands. 
 
 " Reuben," he says, " these struggles of yours are 
 struggles with the Great Adversary. 
 
 It was kindly said and earnestly said, but touched the 
 core of the son s moral disquietude no more than if it 
 
254 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 were the hooting of an owl. It pains him grievously to 
 think what humiliation would possess the old Doctor, if 
 he but knew into what crazy currents his boy s thoughts 
 were drifting over the pages of his beloved teachers. 
 
 But a man cannot live a deceit, even for charity s sake, 
 without its making outburst some day, and wrecking all 
 the fine preventive barriers which kept it in. The out 
 burst came at last in the quiet of the Ashfield study. 
 Reuben had been poring for hours how wearily ! how 
 vainly ! over the turgid dogmas of one of the elder di 
 vines, when he suddenly dashed the book upon the floor. 
 
 " Confound the theologies ! I 11 have no more of 
 them ! " 
 
 The Doctor dropped his pen, and stared as if a ser 
 pent had stung him. 
 
 " My son ! Reuben ! Reuben ! " 
 
 "I can t help it, father. It s the Evil One, per 
 haps. If it be, 1 11 cheat him, by making a clean breast 
 of it. I can t abide the stuff; I can t see my way 
 through it." 
 
 " My son, it is your sin that blinds you." 
 
 "Very likely," says Reuben. 
 
 "It was not thus with you three months ago, Reuben," 
 continues the Doctor, in a softened tone. 
 
 " No, father, there was a strange light around me in 
 those days. It seemed to me that the path lay clear 
 and shining through all the maze. If Death had caught 
 me then, I think I could have sung hosannas with the 
 saints. It s faded dismally, father, as if the Devil had 
 painted it." 
 
REUBEN S STRUGGLE. 255 
 
 The old man shuddered. 
 
 " The muddle of the world and the theologies has come 
 in since," continued Reuben, " and the base professions I 
 see around me, and the hypocrisies and the cant, have 
 taken away the glow. It s all a weariness and a confusion, 
 and that s the solemn truth." 
 
 The Doctor said, measuredly, (as if the Book were be 
 fore him,) 
 
 " Some seeds fell upon stony places, where they had 
 not much earth ; and forthwith they sprung up, because 
 they had no deepness of earth. And ivhen the sun icas up, 
 they were scorched ; and because they had no root, they 
 withered away. Reuben ! Reuben ! we must agonize to 
 enter into the strait gate ! " 
 
 "It s a long agony," said Reuben ; and he rose and 
 paced back and forth for a time ; then suddenly stopping 
 before the Doctor, he laid his hand upon his shoulder, 
 (the boy was of manly height now, and overtopped the 
 old gentleman by an inch,) ; Father, it grieves me to 
 pain you, indeed it does ; but truth is truth. I have 
 told you my story ; but if you wish it, I will live out 
 wardly as if no such talk had passed." 
 
 " I would not have you practise hypocrisy, my son ; 
 but I would not have you withdraw yourself from any of 
 the appointed means of grace." 
 
 And at this Reuben went out, out far upon the hills, 
 from which he saw the village roofs, and the spire, and 
 the naked tree-tops, the fields all bare and brown, the 
 smoke of a near house curling lazily into the sky ; and 
 the only sound that broke the solemn stillness was the 
 
256 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 drumming of a partridge in the woods or the harsh 
 scream of a belated jay. 
 
 Never had Reuben been more kind or attentive to the 
 personal wants of the old gentleman than on the days 
 which followed upon this interview. There was some 
 thing almost like a daughter s solicitude in his watchful 
 ness. On the next Sunday the Doctor preached with 
 an emotion that was but poorly controlled, and which 
 greatly mystified his people. Twice in the afternoon 
 his voice came near to failing. Reuben knew where 
 the grief lay, but wore a composed face ; and as he 
 supported the old gentleman home after service, he said, 
 (but not so loudly that Adele could hear, who was trip 
 ping closely behind,) 
 
 "Father, I grieve for you, upon my soul I do ; but 
 it J s fate." 
 
 " Fate, Reuben ? " said the Doctor, but with a less 
 guarded voice, " fate ? God only is fate ! " 
 
 The Doctor was too much mortified by this revelation 
 of Reuben s present state of feeling to make it the sub 
 ject of conversation, even with Miss Eliza, and much less 
 with the elders of his flock. To Squire Elderkin, 
 indeed, whose shrewd common sense he had learned to 
 value even in its bearings upon the "weightier matters 
 of the law," he had dropped some desponding reflections 
 in regard to the wilful impetuosity of his poor son Reu 
 ben, from which the shrewd Squire at once suspected 
 the difficulty. 
 
 "It s the blood of the old Major," he said. "Let it 
 work, Doctor, let it work ! " 
 
REUBEX S STRUGGLE. 257 
 
 From which observation, it must be confessed, the 
 good man derived very little comfort. 
 
 Miss Eliza, though she is not made a confidante in 
 these latter secrets of the study, cannot, however, fail to 
 see that Reuben s constancy to the Doctor s big folios is 
 on the wane, and that symptoms of his old boyish reck 
 lessness occasionally show themselves under the reserve 
 which has grown out of his later experiences. But her 
 moral perceptions are not delicate enough to discover 
 the great and tormenting wrangle of his thought. She 
 ventures from time to time, as on his return, and from 
 sharp sense of duty, some wiry, stereotyped religious re 
 flections, which set his whole moral nature on edge. 
 Nor is this the limit of her blindness : perceiving, as she 
 imagines she does, the ripening of all her plans with re 
 spect to himself and Adele, she thinks to further the 
 matter by dropping hints of the rare graces of Adele and 
 of her brilliant prospects, assuring him how much 
 that young lady s regard for him has been increased 
 since his conversion, (which w^ord has to Reuben just 
 now a dreary and most detestable sound,) and in a way 
 which she counts playful, but which to him is agacant to 
 the last degree, she forecasts the time when Reuben will 
 have his pretty French wife, and a rich one. 
 
 Left to himself, the youth would very likely have 
 found enough to admire in the face and figure and 
 pleasantly subdued enthusiasm of Adele ; but the coun 
 ter-irritant of the spinster s speech drove him away on 
 many an evening to the charming fireside of the Elder- 
 kins, where he spent not a few beguiling hours in listen- 
 17 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 OF rI7, 
 
258 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 ing to the talk of the motherly mistress of the house 
 hold, and in watching the soft hazel eyes of Rose, as they 
 lifted in eager wonderment at some of his stories of the 
 town, or fell (the long lashes hiding them with other 
 beauty) upon the work where her delicate fingers plied 
 with a white swiftness that teazed him into trains of 
 thought which were not wholly French. 
 
 Adele has taken a melancholy interest in decking the 
 grave of the exiled lady, which she has insisted upon 
 doing out of her own resources, and thus has doubled 
 the little legacy which. Madame Aries had left to the out 
 cast woman and child with whom she had joined her 
 fate, and who, with good reason, wept her death bitter 
 ly. Hour upon hour Adele pondered over that tragic 
 episode, tasking herself to imagine what message the 
 dying woman could have had to communicate, and won 
 dering if the future would ever clear up the mystery. 
 With all the stimulus of her new Christian endeavor, 
 Adele sought to think charitably of Miss Eliza. Yet it 
 was hard ; always, that occasional cold kiss of the spin 
 ster had for Adele an iron imprint, which drove her warm 
 blood away, instead of summoning it to response. 
 
 For her, Miss Eliza s staple praises of Eeuben, and 
 her adroit stories of the admiration and attachment of 
 Mrs. Brindlock for her nephew, were distasteful to the 
 last degree. Coarse natures never can learn upon what 
 fine threads the souls of the sensitive are strung. 
 
 As yet there was a ripe fulness in her heart that felt 
 no wound, at least no wound in which her hope 
 rankled. Whether Eeuben were present or away, her 
 
A REVELATION. 259 
 
 songs rose, with a sweeter, a serener, and a loftier cheer 
 than of old under the roof of the parsonage ; and, as of 
 old, the Doctor laid down his book and listened, as if an 
 angel sang. 
 
 XTJT. 
 
 A JRevda.tion. 
 
 IN the summer of 1840 the Doctor received a letter 
 from Maverick which overwhelmed him with con 
 sternation. 
 
 "My good friend Johns," he wrote, "I owe you a 
 debt of gratitude which I can never repay ; you have 
 shown such fatherly interest in my deal- child, you 
 have so guided and guarded her, you have so abun 
 dantly filled the place which, though it was nay duty, I 
 had never the worthiness to fill, that I have no words to 
 thank you. 
 
 " I hear, from what sources it will be unnecessary 
 for me now to explain, that a close intimacy has grown 
 up latterly between your son Reuben and my dear 
 Adele, and that this intimacy has provoked village 
 rumors of the possibility of some nearer tie. These 
 rumors may be, perhaps, wholly untrue ; but the knowl 
 edge of them, vague as they are, has stimulated me to 
 a task which I ought far sooner to have accomplished, 
 and which, as a man of honor, I can no longer defer. 
 
 " I go back to the time when I first paid you a visit 
 at your parsonage. I never shall forget the cheery joy- 
 
260 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 ousness of that little family scene at your fireside, the 
 winning modesty and womanliness of your lost Eachel, 
 and the serenity and peace that lay about your house 
 hold. It was to me, fresh from the vices of Europe, 
 like some charming Christian idyl, in whose atmosphere 
 I felt myself not only an alien, but a profane intruder ; 
 for, at that very time, I was bound by one of those cri 
 minal liaisons to which so many strangers on the Con 
 tinent are victims. Your household and your conver 
 sation prompted a hope and a struggle for better things. 
 But, my dear Johns, the struggle was against a whole at 
 mosphere of vice. And it was only when I had broken 
 free of entanglement, that I learned, with a dreary pang, 
 that I was the father of a child, my poor, dear Adele ! " 
 
 The Doctor crumpled the letter in his hand, and smote 
 upon his forehead. Never, in his whole life, had he 
 known such strange revulsion of feeling. With re 
 turning calmness he smooths the letter upon his desk, 
 and continues : 
 
 " I expect your condemnation, of course ; yet listen 
 to my story throughout. That child I might have left to 
 the tender mercies of the world, might have ignored it, 
 and possibly forgotten its existence. Many a man, with 
 fewer stains on his conscience than I have, would have 
 done this, and met the w r orld and old friends cheerily. 
 But then the memory of you and of your teachings 
 somehow kindled in me what I counted a worthier 
 purpose. I vowed that the child should, if possible, 
 lead a guileless life, and should no way suffer, so 
 far as human efforts could prevent, for the sins of the 
 
A REVELATION. 261 
 
 parents. The mother assented, with what I counted a 
 guilty willingness, to my design, and I placed her se 
 cretly under the charge of the old godmother of whom 
 Adele must often have spoken. 
 
 " But I was no way content that she should grow up 
 under French influences, and to the future knowledge 
 (inevitable in these scenes) of the ignominy of her birth. 
 And if that knowledge were ever to come, I could think 
 of no associations more fitted to make her character 
 stanch to bear it than those that belong to the rigid and 
 self-denying virtues which are taught in a New England 
 parish. Is it strange that I recurred at once to your 
 kindness, Johns? Is it strange that I threw the poor 
 child upon your charity ? 
 
 "It is true, I used deceit, true that I did not 
 frankly reveal the truth ; but see how much was at 
 stake ! I knew in what odium such trespasses were 
 held in the serenity of your little towns ; I knew that, 
 if you, with Spartan courage, should propose accept 
 ance of the office, your family would reject it. I knew 
 that your love of truth would be incapable of the con 
 cealments or subterfuges which might be needed to pro 
 tect the poor child from the tongue of scandal. In short, 
 I was not willing to take the risk of a repulse. Such 
 deceit as there may be, I said, is my own. My friend 
 Johns can never impute it as a sin to Adele. I am sure 
 you will not now. Again, I felt that I was using deceit 
 (if you will allow me to say it) in a good cause, and that 
 you yourself, when once the shock of discovery should 
 be past, could never reprimand yourself for your faithful 
 
262 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 teachings to an erring child, but must count her, in your 
 secret heart, only another of the wandering lambs 
 which it was your duty and pleasure to lead into the 
 true fold. Had she come to you avowedly as the child 
 of sin, with all the father s and mother s guilt reeking 
 upon her innocent head, could you have secured to her, 
 my dear Johns, that care and consideration and devotion 
 which have at last ripened her Christian character, and 
 made her proof against slander ? " 
 
 Here the Doctor threw down the letter again, and 
 paced up and down the room. 
 
 " The child of sin ! the child of sin ! "Who could have 
 thought it ? Yet does not Maverick reason true ? Does 
 not Beelzebub at times reason true ? Adaly ! my poor, 
 poor Adaly ! " 
 
 "It seemed to me," the letter continued, " that there 
 might possibly be no need that either you or my poor 
 child should ever know the whole truth in this matter ; 
 and I pray (with your leave) that it may be kept from 
 her even now. You will understand, perhaps, from what 
 I have said, why my visits have been more rare than a 
 fatherly feeling would seem to demand ; to tell truth, I 
 have feared the familiar questionings of her prattling 
 girlhood. Mature years shrink from perilous inquiry, I 
 think, with an instinct which does not belong to the 
 freshness of youth. 
 
 "But from your ears, in view of the rumors that have 
 come to my hearing, I could not keep the knowledge 
 longer. I cannot, my dear Johns, read your heart, and 
 say whether or not you will revolt at the idea of any pos- 
 
A REVELATION. 263 
 
 Bible family tie between your son and my poor Adele. 
 But whatever aspect such possibility may present to your 
 mind, I can regard it only with aversion. Whatever 
 your Christian forgiveness or your love for Adele (and 
 I know she is capable of winning your love) may suggest, 
 I can never consent that any stain should be carried 
 upon your family record by any instrumentality of mine. 
 I must beg, therefore, that, if the rumor be true, you 
 use all practicable means, even to the use of your 
 parental authority, in discountenancing and forbidding 
 such intimacy. If necessary to this end, and Reuben be 
 still resident at the parsonage, I pray you to place Adele 
 with Mrs. Brindlock, or other proper person, until such 
 time as I am able to come and take her once more under 
 my own protection. 
 
 "If you were a more worldly man, my dear Johns, I 
 should hope to win your heartier co-operation in my 
 views by telling you that recent business misfortunes 
 have placed my whole estate in peril, so that it is ex 
 tremely doubtful if Adele will have any ultimate mon 
 eyed dependence beyond the pittance which I have 
 placed in trust for her in your hands. Should it be ne 
 cessary, in furtherance of the objects I have named, to 
 make communication of the disclosures in this letter to 
 your son or to Miss Johns, you have my full liberty 
 to do so. Farther than this, I trust you may not find 
 it necessary to make known the facts so harmful to the 
 prospects and peace of my innocent child. 
 
 " I have thus made a clean breast to you, my dear 
 Johns, and await your condemnation. But let not any 
 
264 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 portion of it, I pray, be visited upon poor Adele. 1 
 know with what wrathful eyes you, from your New Eng 
 land stand-point, are accustomed to look upon such 
 shortcomings ; and I know, too, that you are sometimes 
 disposed to visit the sins of the fathers upon the chil 
 dren ; but I beg that your anathemas may all rest 
 where they belong, upon my head, and that you will 
 spare the motherless girl you have taught to love you." 
 
 Up and down the study the Doctor paced, with a 
 feverish, restless step, which in all the history of the 
 parsonage had never been heard in it before. 
 
 "Such untruth!" is his exclamation. "Yet no, 
 there has been no positive untruth ; the deception he 
 admits. " 
 
 But the great fact comes back upon his thought, that 
 the child of sin and shame is with him. All his old dis 
 trust and hatred of the French are revived on the instant ; 
 the stain of their iniquities is thrust upon his serene 
 and quiet household. And yet what a sweet face, what 
 a confiding nature God has given to this creature con 
 ceived in sin ! In his simplicity, the good Doctor would 
 have fancied that some mark of Cain should be fixed on 
 the poor child. 
 
 Again, the Doctor had somewhere in his heart a little 
 of the old family pride. The spinster had ministered 
 to it, coyly indeed by word, but always by manner and 
 conduct. How it would have shocked the stout Major, 
 or his good mother, even, to know that he had thus 
 fondled and fostered the vagrant offspring of iniquity 
 upon his hearth ! A still larger and worthier pride the 
 
THE SPINSTER S INDIGNATION. 265 
 
 Doctor cherished in his own dignity, so long the hon 
 ored pastor of Ashfield, so long the esteemed guide of 
 this people in paths of piety. 
 
 What if it should appear that, during almost the en 
 tire period of his holy ministrations, he had, as would 
 seem, colluded with an old acquaintance of his youth a 
 brazen reprobate to shield him from the shame of his 
 own misdeeds, and to cover with the mantle of respect 
 ability and with all the pastoral dignities this French- 
 speaking child, who, under God, was the seal of the 
 father s iniquities ? 
 
 As he paced back and forth, there was a timid knock 
 at the door ; and in a moment more Adele, blooming 
 with health, and radiant with hope, stood before him. 
 Her face had never beamed with a more wondrous 
 frankness and sweetness. 
 
 XTJTT. 
 
 The Spinsters Indignation. 
 
 THE foreign letters rarely came singly ; and Adele 
 had already accomplished the reading of her own 
 missive, in which Maverick had spoken of his having 
 taken occasion to address, by the same mail, a line to 
 the Doctor on matters of business, " in regard to which," 
 (he had said,) " don t, my dear Adele, be too inquisitive, 
 even if you observe that it is cause of some perplexity 
 to the good Doctor. Indeed, in such case, I hope you 
 
266 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 will contribute to his cheer, as I am sure you have often 
 done. We owe him a large debt of gratitude, my child, 
 and I rely upon you to add your thankfulness to mine, 
 and speak for both." 
 
 " You look troubled, New Papa," said Adele. " Can 
 I help you ? Eh, Doctor ? " 
 
 And she came toward him in her playful manner, and 
 patted the old gentleman on the shoulder, while he sat 
 with his face buried in his hands. 
 
 " I don t think papa writes very cheerfully, do you ? 
 Eh, Doctor Benjamin Johns ? " (Tapping him 
 with more spirit.) " Why, New Papa, what does this 
 mean ? " 
 
 For the Doctor had raised his head now, and regarded 
 her with a look of mingled yearning and distrust that 
 was wholly new to her. 
 
 " Pray, New Papa, what is it ? " 
 
 The old gentleman so utterly guileless was puz 
 zled for an answer ; but his ingenuity came to his relief 
 at length. 
 
 "No, Adaly, your father does not write cheerfully, 
 certainly not ; he speaks of the probable loss of his for 
 tune." 
 
 Now Adele, with her parsonage training, had really 
 very little idea of fortune. 
 
 " That means I won t be rich, New Papa, I suppose. 
 But I don t believe it ; he will have money enough, I m 
 sure. It don t disturb me, New Papa, not one whit." 
 
 The Doctor was so poor a hand at duplicity that he 
 hardly knew what to say, but meantime was keeping 
 
THE SPINSTER S INDIGNATION. 267 
 
 his eye with the same dazed look upon the charming 
 Adele. 
 
 "You look so oddly, New Papa, indeed you do! 
 You have some sermon in your head, now have n t you, 
 that I have broken in upon ? some sermon about - 
 about let us see." 
 
 And she moved toward his desk, where the letter of 
 Maverick still lay unfolded. 
 
 The Doctor, lost in thought, did not observe her 
 movement until she had the letter fairly in her hand ; 
 then he seized it with a suddenness of gesture that in 
 stantly caught the attention of Adele. 
 
 A swift, deep color ran over her face. 
 
 " It is for my eye only, Adah*," said the Doctor, ex 
 citedly, folding it and placing it in his pocket. 
 
 Adele, with her curiosity strangely piqued, said, 
 
 "I remember now, papa told me as much." 
 
 " What did he teU you, my child ? " 
 
 " Not to be too curious about some business affairs of 
 which he had written you." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the Doctor, with a sigh of relief. 
 
 " But why should n t I be ? TeU me, New Papa," (toy 
 ing now with the silvered hair upon the forehead of the 
 old gentleman,) "is he really in trouble ? 
 
 "No new trouble, my child, no new trouble." 
 
 For a moment Adele s thought flashed upon that mys- 
 tery of the mother she had never seen, and an uncon 
 trollable sadness came over her. 
 
 " Yet if there be bad news, why should n t I know it ? " 
 said she. " I must know it some day." 
 
268 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, " said 
 the Doctor, gravely. " And if bad news should ever 
 come to you, my dear Adaly, though I have none to 
 tell you now, may you have strength to bear it like a 
 Christian ! " 
 
 " I will ! I can ! " said she, with a great glow upon 
 her face. 
 
 Never more than in that moment had the heart of the 
 old gentleman warmed toward the little stranger. 
 
 When Reuben came presently to summon Adele to 
 their evening engagement at the Elderkins , the Doctor 
 followed their retreating figures, as they strolled out of 
 the parsonage-gate, with a new and strange interest. 
 Most inscrutable and perplexing was the fact, that this 
 outcast child, whom scarce one in his parish would have 
 been willing to admit to the familiarities of home, this 
 daughter of infidel France, about whose mind the tra 
 ditions of the Babylonish harlot had so long lingered, 
 who had never known motherly counsel or a father s re 
 proof, that she, with the stain of heathenism upon 
 her skirts, should have grown into the possession of such 
 a holy, placid, and joyous trust. And there was his 
 poor son beside her, the child of so many hopes, reared, 
 as it were, under the very droppings of the altar, still 
 wandering befogged in the mazes of error, if indeed, he 
 were not in his secret heart a scoffer. Now that such 
 a result was wholly impracticable and impossible, it did 
 occur to him that perhaps no helpmeet for Reuben could 
 so surely guide him in the way of truth. But of any 
 perplexity of judgment on this score he was now wholly 
 
THE SPINSTER S INDIGNATION. 269 
 
 relieved. If his own worldly pride had not stood in the 
 way, (and he was dimly conscious of a weakness of this 
 kind,) the wish of Maverick was authoritative and final. 
 The good man had not the slightest conception of how 
 matters might really stand between the two young par 
 ties ; he had discovered the anxieties of Miss Eliza in re 
 gard to them, and had often queried with himself if too 
 large a taint of worldliness were not coloring the man 
 oeuvres of his good sister. For himself he chose rather 
 to leave the formation of all such ties in the hands of 
 Providence ; and entertained singularly old-fashioned 
 notions in regard to the sacredness of the rnarriage- 
 bond and the mystery of its establishment. 
 
 In view, however, of possible eventualities, it was ne 
 cessary that he should come to a full understanding 
 with the spinster in regard to the state of affairs between 
 Adcle and Reuben, and that he should make disclosure 
 to her of the confessions of Maverick. For the second 
 time in his life the Doctor dreaded the necessity of tak 
 ing his sister into full confidence. The first was on that 
 remarkable occasion so long past by when he had 
 declared his youthful love for Rachel, and feared the op 
 position which would grow out of the spinster s family 
 pride. Now, as then, he apprehended some violent out 
 break. 
 
 After clue reflection on the letter of Maverick, the 
 Doctor stepped softly to the stairs, and said, 
 
 " Eliza, may I speak with you for a few moments in 
 the study ? " 
 
 There was something in the parson s tone that prom- 
 
270 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 ised an important communication ; and Miss Johns pres 
 ently appeared and seated herself, work in hand, over 
 against the parson, at the study-table. Older than when 
 we took occasion to describe her appearance in the 
 earlier portion of this narrative, and if it could be 
 more prim and stately. A pair of delicately bowed gold 
 spectacles were now called into requisition by her, for 
 the nicer needle-work on which she specially prided her 
 self. Yet her eye had lost none of its apparent keen 
 ness, and inclining her head slightly, she threw an in 
 quiring glance over her spectacles at the Doctor, who 
 was now as composed as if the startling news of the day 
 had been wholly unheard. 
 
 "Eliza," said he, "you have sometimes spoken of the 
 possibility of an attachment between Adaly and our 
 poor Reuben." 
 
 "Yes, I have, Benjamin," said the spinster, with an 
 air of confidence that seemed to imply full knowledge 
 of the circumstances. 
 
 "Do you see any strong indications of such attach 
 ment, Eliza ? " 
 
 "Well, really, Benjamin," said she, holding her 
 needle to the light, and bringing her spectacles to bear 
 upon the somewhat difficult operation (at her age) of 
 threading it, " really, I think you may leave that mat 
 ter to my management." 
 
 "The letter which I have received to-day from Mr. 
 Maverick alludes to a rumor of such intimacy." 
 
 " Really ! " and the lady eyes the Doctor with a 
 look of keen expectation. 
 
THE SPINSTER S INDIGNATION. 271 
 
 "Mr. Maverick," continued the Doctor, " in referring to 
 the matter, speaks of the probable loss of his fortune." 
 
 "Is it possible, brother? Loss of his fortune!" 
 And the spinster gives over attention to her work, while 
 she taps with her thimble, reflectively, upon the elbow 
 of her chair. "I don t think, Benjamin," said she, "that 
 Reuben has committed himself in any way." 
 
 " That is well, perhaps, Eliza ; it is quite as I had 
 supposed." 
 
 " And so the poor man s fortune is gone ! " continued 
 the spinster plaintively. 
 
 " Not gone absolutely, Eliza. Maverick s language is, 
 that his estate is in great peril," returned the Doctor. 
 
 " Ah ! " The spinster is thoughtful and silent for a 
 while, during which the thimble-linger is also quiet. 
 " Does your friend Maverick speak approvingly of such 
 an attachment, brother ? " 
 
 " By no means, Eliza ; he condemns it in the strong 
 est terms." 
 
 Miss Johns is amazed at this revelation ; and having 
 taken off her golden-bowed spectacles, she passes them 
 in a nervous way, from end to end, upon the Doctor s 
 table. 
 
 " Benjamin," says she presently, with a shrewd look 
 and her sharpest tone, " I don t think his fortune is in 
 any peril whatever. I think Reuben Johns is a good 
 match for Miss Adele Maverick, any day." 
 
 " Tut, tut, Eliza ! we must not glorify ourselves 
 vainly. If Maverick disapproves, and Reuben shows no 
 inclination, our course is both plain and easy." 
 
272 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " But I am not so sure about the inclination, Benja 
 min," said the spinster, sharply ; and she replaced her 
 spectacles. 
 
 " If that is the case, I am very sorry," said the 
 parson. 
 
 The good man had hoped that by only a partial rev 
 elation of the contents of the letter he might divert his 
 sister effectually from any matrimonial schemes she 
 might have in hand, and so spare himself the pain of a 
 full disclosure. It was quite evident to him, however, 
 that his plan had miscarried. There was nothing for it 
 but to lay before her the whole disagreeable truth. 
 
 When the Doctor commenced the reading of the let 
 ter, Miss Johns resumed her needle-work with a resolute 
 composure that seemed to imply, " The Johns view of 
 the case has been stated ; let us now listen to what Mr. 
 Maverick may have to say." 
 
 For a while her fingers plied nimbly ; but there came 
 a pause, an exclamation of amazement, and her work 
 (it was a bit of embroidery for poor Adele) was dashed 
 upon the floor. 
 
 " Benjamin, this is monstrous ! The French hussy ! 
 Reuben, indeed ! " 
 
 The Doctor returned composedly to his reading. 
 
 " No, brother, I want to hear no more. What a wretch 
 this Maverick must be ! " 
 
 " A sinner, doubtless, Eliza ; yet not a sinner before 
 all others." 
 
 The spinster was now striding up and down the room 
 in a state of extraordinary excitement. With a strange 
 
THE SPINSTER S INDIGNATION. 273 
 
 inconsequence, she seized the letter from the Doctor s 
 hands, and read it through to the end. 
 
 "I am bewildered, Benjamin. To think that the 
 Johns name should be associated with such shame and 
 guilt ! " 
 
 "Whosoever exalteth himself shall be abased." mur 
 mured the Doctor. 
 
 But the spinster was in no mood for listening to 
 Scriptural applications. 
 
 "And that he should dare to ask us to cloak for him 
 this great scandal ! " continued she, wrathfully. 
 
 " For the child s sake, Eliza, for poor Adaly." 
 
 " While I am mistress of your household, brother, I 
 shall try to maintain its dignity and respectability. Do 
 you consider, Benjamin, how much these are necessary 
 to your influence ? " 
 
 " Without doubt, Eliza ; yet I cannot perceive how 
 these would suffer by dealing gently with this unfortu 
 nate child. A very tender affection for her has grown 
 upon me, Eliza ; it would sadden me grievously, if she 
 were to go out from among us bearing unkind 
 thoughts." 
 
 " And is your affection strong enough, Benjamin, to 
 make you forget all social proprieties, and the honor 
 able name of our family, and to wish her stay here as 
 the wife of Keuben ? " 
 
 The Doctor may have winced a little at this ; and 
 possibly a touch of worldly pride entered into his reply. 
 
 " In this matter, Eliza, I think the wish of Maverick 
 is to be respected. 
 18 
 
274 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " Pah ! For my part, I respect much more the Johns 
 
 name." 
 
 As the spinster retired to her room, after being over 
 heated in the discussion, in which the calmness of the 
 Doctor, and the news he had communicated, contributed 
 almost equally to her frenzy, she cast a look, in pass 
 ing, upon the bed-chamber of Adele. There were all 
 the delicate fixtures, in which she had taken such a 
 motherly pride, the spotless curtains, the cherished 
 vases, and certain toilet adornments, her gifts, by 
 each one of which she had hoped to win a point in the 
 accomplishment of her ambitious project. In the flush 
 of her disappointment she could almost have torn down 
 the neatly adjusted drapery, and put to confusion this 
 triumph of her housewifely skill. But cooler thoughts 
 succeeded ; and, passing on into her own chamber, she 
 threw herself into her familiar rocking-chair and enter 
 ed upon a long train of reflections, whose result will 
 very likely have their bearing upon the development of 
 our story. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Philip Elderkin. 
 
 ABOUT this time, Phil Elderkin had come back from 
 his trip to the West Indies, not a little bronzed 
 by the fierce suns he had met there, but stalwart as ever, 
 with his old free, frank manner, to which he had super- 
 added a little of that easy confidence and self-poise which 
 
PHILIP ELDERKIX. 275 
 
 come of wide intercourse with the world. The old 
 Squire took a pride he had never anticipated in walking 
 down the street arm in arm with his stalwart son, (whoa? 
 support, indeed, the old gentleman was beginning to 
 need,) and in watching the admiring glances of the 
 passers-by, and of such old cronies as stopped to shake 
 hands and pass a word or two with the Squire s youngest 
 boy. 
 
 Even the Doctor had said, " You have reason to be 
 proud of your boy, Squire. I trust that in time he may 
 join piety to prudence." 
 
 "Hope he may, hope he may, Doctor," said the Squire. 
 "Fine stout lad, is n t he, Doctor?" 
 
 Of course Phil had met early with Eeuben, and with 
 the fresh spirit of their old school-days. Phil had very 
 likely been advised of the experiences which had brought 
 Eeuben again to Ashfield, and of the questionable re 
 sult, for even this had become subject of village gos 
 sip ; but of such matters there was yery coy mention on 
 the part of young Elderkin. Phil s world-knowledge 
 had given him wise hints on this score. And as for Eeu 
 ben, the encounter with such frank, outspoken hearti 
 ness and manliness as belonged to his old school-friend 
 was, after his weary mental struggle of the last few 
 months, immensely refreshing. 
 
 " Phil, my good fellow, your coming is a great god-send 
 to me. I ve been worrying at the theologies here ; but it s 
 blind work. I think I shall get back to business again." 
 
 "But you have n t made it blind for Adele, Eeuben, 
 so thev tell me." 
 
276 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 "And it is true. Faith, Phil, if I could win her 
 beautiful trust I would give my right arm, indeed, I 
 would." 
 
 Sister Rose had, of course, met Phil on his return 
 most gushingly. There is something very beautiful in 
 that warm sisterly affection which at a certain age can 
 put no bounds to its admiring pride. There is a fading 
 away of it as the years progress, and as the sisters drop 
 into little private clamorous circles of their own, and 
 look out upon other people through the spectacles of 
 their husband s eyes, as they are pretty apt to do ; but 
 for a long period following upon the school age it is 
 very tender and beautiful. If Phil had been coarse, or 
 selfish, or awkward, or ten times the sinner in any way 
 that he was, Rose would most surely have found some 
 charming little excuse for each and every sin, and de 
 lighted in reflecting upon him the glow of her own 
 purity. 
 
 Of course she insists coyly upon his making the village 
 rounds with her. Those intellectual ladies, the Misses 
 Hapgood, must have an opportunity of admiring his 
 grand air, and the easy manner he has brought back 
 with him of entering a parlor, or of passing the compli 
 ments of the day ; and, indeed, those respectable old 
 ladies do pay him the honor of keeping him in waiting, 
 until they can arrange their best frontlets, and present 
 themselves in their black silks and in kerchiefs wet with 
 lavender. 
 
 Then with what a bewildering success the traveler, 
 under convoy of the delighted Rose, comes down upon 
 
PHILIP ELDERKIN. 277 
 
 the family of the Tourtelots ! What an elaborate toilet 
 Almira matures for his reception ! and how the Dame 
 nervously dusts and redusts her bombazine at sight of 
 his grand manner, as she peeps through the half-opened 
 blinds ! 
 
 The Deacon is not, indeed, so much " taken off the 
 hooks " by Phil, but entertains him in the old way. 
 
 " Pooty well on t for beef cattle in Cuby, Philip ? " 
 
 And Eose s eyes glisten, as Brother Philip goes on to set 
 forth some of the wonders of the crops, and the culture. 
 
 "Waal, they re smart farmers, I ve heerd," says the 
 Deacon ; "but we re rnakin improvements here in Ash- 
 field. Doiin t know as you ve seen Square Wilkinson s 
 new string o wall he s been a-buildin all the way be 
 tween his home pastur and the west inedders ? " 
 
 Phil has not. 
 
 "Waal, it s wuth seein . I doiin t know what they 
 pretend to have in Cuby ; but in my opinion there a n t 
 such another string o stone fence, not in the whole 
 caounty ! " 
 
 And Phil has had his little private talks with Eose, 
 about Adele, among other people. 
 
 " She is more charming than ever," Rose had said. 
 
 "I suppose so." 
 
 And there had been a pause here. 
 
 " I suppose Eeuben is as tender upon her as ever," 
 Phil had said at last, in his off-hand way. 
 
 " He has been very devoted ; but I m not sure that it 
 means anything, Phil, dear. 
 
 "I should think it meant a great deal," said PhiL 
 
27^ DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 "I mean," continued Rose, reflectingly, and with 
 eome embarrassment of speech, "I don t think Adele 
 speaks of Reuben as if as I should think " 
 
 " As you would, Rose, is that it ? " 
 
 "For shame, Phil!" 
 
 And Phil begged pardon with a kiss. 
 
 "Do you think, Phil," said Rose, concealing a little 
 mattering of the heart under very smoothly spoken words, 
 " do you think that Reuben really loves Adele ? " 
 
 "Think so? To be sure, Rose. How can he help 
 it? It s enough for me to see her as I do, odd whiles 
 in our parlor, or walking up and down the garden with 
 you, Rose ; if I were to meet her every night and morn 
 ing, as Reuben must, I should go mad." 
 
 " Aha ! " said Rose, laughingly ; " that s not the way 
 lovers talk, at least, not in books. I think you are 
 safe, Phil. And yet" (with a soberer air) "I did think, 
 Phil, one while, that yon thought very, very often, and 
 a great deal, of Adele ; and I was not sorry." 
 
 "Did you, Rose?" said Phil, eagerly; "did you 
 truly ? Then I 11 tell you a secret, Rose, mind, Rose, 
 a great secret, never to be lisped, not to mother even. 
 I did love Adele as far back as I can remember. You 
 know the strange little French hat she used to wear? 
 Well, I used to draw it on my slate at school, Rose ; it 
 was all I could draw that belonged to her. Many s the 
 time when, if a boy came near, I would dash in some 
 little nourishes about it, and call it a basket or a coal- 
 scoop ; but all the while, for me, her little dark eyes 
 were shining under it. But there was Reuben, and 
 
PHILIP ELDERKIN. -79 
 
 he beat me in reading and writing, and everything, 1 
 think, but fisticuffs." 
 
 " Did he ? " said Hose, with the prettily arched brow 
 which mostly accompanied only her mischievous sallies ; 
 and it seemed to Phil afterwards that she would have re 
 sented the statement, if he had made it concerning any 
 other young fellow in Ashfield. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," continued he. "I knew he must beat 
 me out and out with Adele. Do you remember, Rose, 
 how you told me once that he had sent a gift of furs to 
 her ? Well, Rose, I had my own little gift hidden away 
 for her for that same New- Year s Day, and I burned it. 
 Those furs kept me awake an awful time. And when I 
 went away, Rose, I prayed that I might learn to forget 
 her ; but there was never a letter of yours that came 
 with her name in it, (and most of them had it, you 
 know,) but I saw her as plainly as ever, with her arm 
 laced in yours, as I used to see you many a time from 
 my window, strolling down the garden. And now that 
 I have come back, Rose, it s the same confounded thing. 
 By Jove, I feel as if I could pitch into Reuben, as I used 
 to do at school. But then he s a good fellow." 
 
 "I m sure he is," said Rose. "But, Phil," continued 
 she, meditatively, "it seems to me, if I were a man, and 
 loved a woman as you love Adele, I should find some way 
 of letting her know it." 
 
 " Would you, Rosy ? Do you think there s a ghost 
 of a chance ? " 
 
 " I don t know, Phil ; Adele is not one who talks of 
 such things." 
 
280 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " Nor you, I think, Eose." 
 
 Now it happened that this private conversation took 
 place upon the same day on which had transpired the 
 interview we have already chronicled between the Doc 
 tor and Miss Johns. Reuben and Adele were to pass 
 the evening at the Elderkins . Adele was not of a tem 
 per to be greatly disturbed by the rumor at which the 
 Doctor had hinted of a lost fortune. (We write, it must 
 be remembered, of a time nearly thirty years gone by.) 
 Indeed, as she tripped along beside Reuben, it seemed 
 to him that she had never been in a more jocular and 
 vivacious humor. A reason for this (and it is what, pos 
 sibly, many of our readers may count a very unnatural 
 one) lay in the letter which she had that day received 
 from her father, in which Maverick, in alluding to a 
 possible affaire de cceur in connection with Reuben, had 
 counseled her, with great earnestness, to hold her affec 
 tions in reserve, and, above all, to control most rigidly 
 any fancy which she might entertain for the son of their 
 friend the Doctor. 
 
 It amused Adele ; for Reuben had been so totally un 
 demonstrative in matters of sentiment, (possibly keep 
 ing his deeper feelings in reserve,) that Adele had felt 
 over and over a girl s mischievous propensity to provoke 
 it. Not that she was in any sense heartless ; not that 
 she did not esteem him, and feel a keen sense of grati 
 tude ; but his kindest and largest favors were always at 
 tended with such demureness and reticence of manner 
 as piqued her womanly vanity. For these reasons there 
 was something exhilarating to her in the intimation coiy 
 
THE SPINSTER S POLICY. 281* 
 
 veyed by Maverick s letters, that she was the party, after 
 all, upon whose decision must rest the peace of mind of 
 the two, and that she must cultivate the virtue of treat 
 ing him with coolness. 
 
 Possibly it would have been an easy virtue to cultivate, 
 even though Reuben s attentions had shown the warmth 
 which the blood of nineteen feminine years craves in a 
 lover ; but as the matter stood, there w T as something 
 amusing to her in Maverick s injunction. As if there 
 were any danger ! As if there could be ! Should it 
 grow r serious some day, it would be time enough then 
 to consider her good papa s injunction ; very possibly she 
 would pay the utmost heed to it, since a respect for Mr. 
 Maverick s opinions and advice was almost a part of 
 Adele s religion. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 The Spinsters Policy. 
 
 WE left Miss Eliza Johns in her chamber, swaying 
 back and forth in her rocking-chair, and reso 
 lutely confronting the dire news which the Doctor had 
 communicated. What was to be done ? 
 
 Adele was to be discarded, but not suddenly. All her 
 art must be employed to disabuse Reuben of any linger 
 ing tenderness. The Doctors old prejudice against 
 French blood must be worked to its utmost. But there 
 must be no violent clamor, above all, no disclosure of 
 the humiliating truth. Maverick (the false man !) must 
 
182 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 be instructed that it would be agreeable to the Johns 
 family nay, that their sense of dignity demanded 
 that he should reclaim his child at an early day. 
 
 She was not the woman to sleep upon her plans, when 
 once they were decided on ; and she had no sooner fore 
 cast her programme than she took advantage of the lin 
 gering twilight to arrange her toilet for a call upon the 
 Elderkins. Of course she led off the Doctor in her trail. 
 The spinster s "marching orders," as he jocularly termed 
 them, the good man was as incapable of resisting as if 
 he had been twenty years a husband. 
 
 In a few swift words she unfolded her design. 
 
 " And now, Benjamin, don t, .pray, let your sentiment 
 get the better of you, in regard to this French girl. 
 Think of the proprieties in the case, Benjamin, the 
 proprieties," which she enforced by a little shake of 
 her forefinger. 
 
 Whenever it came to a question of the " proprieties," 
 the Doctor was conscious of his weakness. 
 
 What, indeed, can any man do, when a woman bases 
 herself on the " proprieties"? 
 
 It was summer weather, and the windows of the hos 
 pitable Elderkin mansion were wide open. As the Doc 
 tor and spinster drew near, little gusts of cheery music 
 came out to greet their ears. For, at this time, Miss 
 Almira had her rival pianos about the village ; and the 
 pretty Eose had been taught a deft way of touching the 
 " first-class " instrument, which the kind-hearted Squire 
 had bestowed upon her. Indeed, if it must be told, 
 little sparkling waltzes had from time to time waked 
 
THE SPINSTER S POLICY. 283 
 
 the parlor solitude, and the kind Mistress Elderkin had 
 winked at little furtive parlor-dances on the part of Rose 
 and Adele, they had so charmed the old Squire, and 
 set all his blood (as he said, with a gallant kiss upon the 
 brow of Mrs. Elderkin) flowing in the old school-boy 
 currents. Now it happened upon this very evening, that 
 the Squire, though past seventy now, was in the humor 
 to see a good old-fashioned frolic; so while Rose was 
 rattling off some crazy waltz, Phil, at a hint from the old 
 gentleman, had taken possession of Adele, and was show 
 ing off with a good deal of grace, and more spirit, the 
 dancing-steps of which he had had experience with the 
 Spanish seiioritas. 
 
 Dame Tourtelot, who chanced to be present, wore a 
 long face, which (it is conceivable) the hearty old Squire 
 enjoyed as much as the dancing. But Mrs. Elderkin 
 must have looked with a warm maternal pride upon the 
 fine athletic figure of her boy, as he went twirling down 
 the floor with that graceful figure of Adele. 
 
 Upon the very midst of it, however, the Doctor and 
 Miss Johns came like a cloud. The fingers of Rose 
 rested idly on the keys. Adele, who was gay beyond 
 her wont, alone of all the company could not give over 
 her light-heartedness on the instant : so she makes 
 away to greet the Doctor, Miss Johns standing hor 
 rified. 
 
 " New Papa, you have surprised us. Phil was show 
 ing me some new steps. Do you think it very, very 
 wrong ? " 
 
 " Adaly ! Adaly ! " 
 
284 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " Ah, you dear old man, it is n t wrong ; say it is n t 
 wrong." 
 
 By this time the Squire has come forward. 
 
 " Ah, Doctor, young folks will be young folks ; but I 
 think you won t have a quarrel with Mrs. Elderkin yon 
 der. My dear," (addressing Mrs. Elderkin,) " you must 
 set this matter right with the Doctor. We must keep 
 our young people in his good books." 
 
 " The good books are not kept by me, Squire," said 
 the parson. 
 
 Ileuben, who had been loitering about Rose, and who, 
 to do him justice, had seen Phil s gallant attention to 
 Adele without one spark of jealousy, was specially in 
 terested in this interruption of the festivities. In his 
 present state of mind, he was most eager to know how 
 far the evening s hilarity would be imputed as a sin to 
 the new convert, and how far religious severities (if she 
 met any) would control the ardor of Adele. The Doc 
 tor s face softened, even while he talked with the charm 
 ing errant, Reuben observed that ; but with Aunt 
 Eliza the case was different. Never had he seen such a 
 threatening darkness in her face. 
 
 "We have interrupted a ball, I fear," she said to the hos 
 tess, in a tone which was as virulent as a masculine oath. 
 
 " Oh ! no ! no ! " said Mrs. Elderkin. "Indeed, now, 
 you must not scold Adele too much ; t was only a bit 
 of the Squire s foolery." 
 
 " Oh, certainly not ; she is quite her own mistress. 
 I should be very sorry to consider myself responsible for 
 all her tastes." 
 
THE SPINSTER S POLICY. 285 
 
 Reuben, hearing this, felt his heart leap toward 
 Adele in a way which the spinster s praises had never 
 provoked. 
 
 Dame Tourtelot here says, in her most aggravating 
 manner, 
 
 "I think she dances beautiful, Miss Johns. She dooz 
 yer credit, upon my word she dooz." 
 
 And thereupon there followed a somewhat lively al 
 tercation between those two sedate ladies, in the 
 course of which a good deal of stinging mockery was 
 covered with unctuous compliment. But the spinster 
 did not lose sight of her chief aim, to wit, the refusal 
 of all responsibility as attaching to the conduct of Adele, 
 and a most decided intimation that the rumors which 
 associated her name with Reuben were unfounded, and 
 were likely to prove altogether false. 
 
 This last hint was a revelation to the gossiping Dame ; 
 there had been trouble, then, at the parsonage : things 
 were clearly not upon their old footing. Was it Adele ? 
 Was it Reuben ? Yet never had either shown greater 
 cheer than on this very night. But the Dame none the 
 less eagerly had communicated her story, before the 
 evening closed, to Mrs. Elderkin, who received it 
 doubtingly, to Rose, who heard it with wonder and a 
 pretty confusion, and to the old Squire, who said 
 only, Pooh ! pooh ! it s a lover s quarrel ; we shall be 
 all straight to-morrow." 
 
 Adele, by her own choice, was convoyed home, when 
 the evening was over, by the good Doctor, and had not 
 only teazed him into pardon of her wild mirth, before 
 
286 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 they had reached the parsonage-gate, but had kindled 
 in him a glow of tenderness that made him utterly for 
 getful of the terrible news of the day. Reuben and 
 the spinster, as they followed, talked of Rose ; never had 
 Aunt Eliza spoken so warmly of her charms ; but be 
 fore him was tripping along, in the moonlight, the grace 
 ful figure of Adele, clinging to the old gentleman s arm, 
 and it is doubtful if his eye did not feast more upon that 
 vision than his ear upon the new praises of the spinster. 
 
 Yet, for all that, Rose was really charming. The 
 young gentleman, it would seem, hardly knew his own 
 heart ; and he had a wondrous dream that night. 
 There was a church, (such as he had seen in the city,) 
 and a delicately gloved hand, which lay nestling in his ; 
 and Mr. Maverick, oddly enough, appeared to give away 
 a bride, and all waited only for the ceremony, which the 
 Doctor (with his old white hat and cane) refused to per 
 form ; whereat Phil s voice was heard bursting out in a 
 great laugh ; and the face of Rose, too, appeared ; but 
 it was only as a saint upon a painted window. And yet 
 the face of the saint upon the window was more distinct 
 than any thing in his dream. 
 
 The next morning found Miss Eliza harsh and cold. 
 Even the constrained smile with which she had been 
 used to qualify her " good-morning " for Adele was 
 wanting ; and when the family prayers were said, in 
 which the good Doctor had pleaded, with unction, that 
 the Christian grace of charity might reign in all hearts, 
 the poor girl had sidled up to Miss Eliza, and put her 
 hand in the spinster s, 
 
THE SPINSTER S POLICY. 287 
 
 " You think our little frolic last night to be very 
 wrong, I dare say ? " 
 
 "Oh, no," said the spinster. "I dare say Mr, Maver 
 ick and your French relatives would approve." 
 
 It was not so much the language as the tone which 
 smote on poor Adele, and brought the tears welling into 
 her eyes. 
 
 Reuben, seeing it all, and forgetful of the good par 
 son s plea, gnawed his lip to keep back certain very 
 harsh utterances. 
 
 " Don t think of it, Ady," said he, watching his chance 
 a little later ; " the old lady is in one of her blue moods 
 to-day." 
 
 "Do you think I did wrong, Reuben? "said Adele, 
 earnestly. 
 
 "I? Wrong, Adele? Pray, what should I have to 
 say about the right or wrong ? and I think the old la 
 dies are beginning to think I have no clear idea of the 
 difference between them." 
 
 " You have, Reuben ! you have ! And, Reuben," 
 (more tenderly,) "I have promised solemnly to live as 
 you thought a little while ago that you would live. And 
 if I were to break my promise, Reuben, I know that you 
 would never renew yours." 
 
 "I believe you are speaking God s truth, Adele," said 
 he. 
 
 The summer months passed by, and for Adele the lit 
 tle table at the parsonage had become as bleak and 
 cheerless as the autumn. Miss Johns maintained the 
 rigid severity of manner, with which she had undertaken 
 
288 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 to treat the outcast child, with a constancy that would 
 have clone credit to a worthier intent. Even the good 
 Doctor was unconsciously oppressed by it, and by the 
 spinster s insistance upon the due proprieties he was 
 weaned away from his old tenderness of speech ; but 
 every morning and every evening his voice trembled 
 with emotion as he prayed for God s grace and mercy 
 upon all sinners and outcasts. 
 
 He had written to Maverick, advising him of the great 
 grief which his confession had caused him, and implor 
 ing him to make what reparation he yet might do, by 
 uniting in the holy bonds of matrimony with the erring 
 mother of his child. He had further advised him that 
 his apprehensions with regard to Reuben were, so far 
 as was known, groundless. He further wrote, " Upon 
 consultation with Miss Johns, who is still at the head of 
 our little household, I am constrained to ask that you 
 take as early a time as may be convenient to relieve her 
 of the further care of your daughter. Age is beginning 
 to tell somewhat upon my sister ; and the embarrassment 
 of her position with respect to Adele is a source, I be 
 lieve, of great mental distress." 
 
 All which the good Doctor honestly believed, upon 
 Miss Eliza s averment, and in his own honest way he 
 assured his friend, that, though his sins were as scarlet 
 he should still implore Heaven in his favor, and should 
 part from Adele whenever the parting might come 
 with real grief, and with an outpouring of his heart. 
 
 As for Reuben, a wanton levity had come over him 
 in those latter days of summer that galled the poor Doc- 
 
THE SPINSTER S POLICY. 289 
 
 tor to the quick, and that strangely perplexed the obser 
 vant spinster. It was not the mischievous spirit of his 
 boyhood revived again, but a cold, passionless, deter 
 mined levity, such as men wear who have secret griefs 
 to conceal. He talked in a free and easy way about the 
 Doctor s Sunday discourses, that fairly shocked the old 
 people of the parish ; rumor said that he had passed 
 some unhallowed jokes with the stolid Deacon Tourtelot 
 about his official duties ; and it was further reported 
 that he had talked open infidelity with a young physi 
 cian who had recently established himself in Ashfield, 
 and who plumed himself until his tardy practice 
 taught him better upon certain arrogant physiological 
 notions with regard to death and disease that were quite 
 unbiblical. Long ago the Doctor had given over open 
 expostulation ; every such talk seemed to evoke a new 
 and more airy and more adventurous demon in the back 
 slidden Reuben. The good man half feared to cast his 
 eye over the books he might be reading. If it were Vol 
 taire, if it were Hume, he feared lest his rebuke and 
 anathema should give a more appetizing zest. 
 
 But he prayed ah, how he prayed ! with the dead 
 Rachel in his thought as if (and this surely cannot be 
 Popishly wicked) as if she, too, in some sphere far 
 remote, might with angel voice add tender entreaty to 
 the prayer, whose burden, morning after morning and 
 night after night, was the name and the hope of her 
 boy. 
 
 And Adele ? Well, Reuben pitied Adele. pitied her 
 subjection to the iron frowns of Miss Eliza ; and almost 
 19 
 
290 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 the only earnest words he spoke in those days were little 
 quiet words of good cheer for the French girl. And 
 when Miss Eliza whispered him, as she did, that the poor 
 child s fortune was gone, and her future insecure, Eeu- 
 ben, with a brave sort of antagonism, made his words of 
 cheer and good-feeling even more frequent. But about 
 his passing and kindly attentions to Adele there was that 
 air of gay mockery which overlaid his whole life, and 
 which neither invited nor admitted of any profound ac 
 knowledgment. His kindest words and some of 
 them, so far as mere language went, were exuberantly 
 tender were met always by a half -saddened air of 
 thankfulness and a little restrained pressure of the hand, 
 as if Adele had said, "Not in earnest yet, Eeuben 
 earnest in nothing ! " 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 A Pkrenzy. 
 
 IT would have been strange, if Adele had not some day 
 formed her ideal of a lover. Who cannot recall the 
 sweet illusions of those tripping youthful years, when, 
 for the first time, Sir William W T allace strode so gallant 
 ly with waving plume and glittering falchion down the 
 pages of Miss Porter, when the sun-browned Ivanhoe 
 dashed so grandly into that famous tilting-ground near 
 to Ashby-de-la-Zouch, and brought the wicked Sir Brian 
 de Bois-Guilbert to a reckoning, when we wished the 
 
A PHRENZY. 291 
 
 disinherited knight better things than the cold love of 
 the passionless Eowena, and sighed over the fate of poor 
 Fergus Mac-Ivor ? With all these characters, and inany 
 other such, Adele had made acquaintance, in company 
 with her dear Eose, and by the light of them, they had 
 fashioned such ideals in their little heads as do not often 
 appeal- in the flesh. Not that the two Mends always 
 agreed in their dreamy fancies ; but for either, a hero 
 must have been handsome and brave and true and kind 
 and sagacious and learned. If only a few hundred of 
 men should be patterned after the design of a young 
 girl of sixteen or eighteen, what an absurd figure we 
 old sinners should cut in the comparison ! 
 
 But the ideal of our friend Adele had not been con 
 stant. Three years back, the open, frank, brave front 
 which Phil Elderkin w r ore had almost reached it ; and 
 when Eose had said, as she was wont to say, in her 
 sisterly pride, " He s a noble fellow," there had been 
 a little tingling of the heart in Adele, which seemed to 
 echo the words. Afterward had come that glimpse of 
 the world which her journey and intercourse with Mav 
 erick had afforded ; and the country awkwardness of the 
 Elderkins had somehow worked an eclipse of his virtues. 
 Eeuben, indeed, had comeliness, and had caught at that 
 time some of the graces of the city ; but Eeuben was a 
 tease, and failed in a certain quality of respect for her, 
 (at least, she fancied it,) in default of which she met all 
 his favors with a sisterly tenderness, in which there was 
 none of the reserve that tempts passion to declare itself. 
 
 Later, when Eeuben so opened the way to her belief, 
 
292 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 and associated himself so intimately with the culmina 
 tion of her religious faith, he seemed to her for a time 
 the very impersonation of her girlish fancy, so tender, 
 so true, so trustful. Her religious enthusiasm blended 
 with and warmed her sentiment ; and never had she 
 known such hours of calm enjoyment, or such hopeful 
 forecast of her worldly future, as in those golden days 
 \vhen the hearts of both were glowing (or seemed to be) 
 with a common love. It was not that this sentiment in 
 her took any open form of expression ; her instinctive 
 delicacy so kept it under control that she was but half 
 conscious of its existence. But it was none the less true 
 that the sad young pilgrim, who had been a brother, and 
 who had unlocked for her the Beautiful Gate, wore a 
 new aspect. Her heart was full of those glittering esti 
 mates of life, which come at rare intervals, in w r hich 
 duties and affections all seem in delightful accord, work 
 ing each their task, and glowing through all the reach of 
 years, until the glow is absorbed in the greater light 
 which shines upon Christian graves. But Reuben s de 
 sertion from the faith broke this phantasm. Her faith, 
 standing higher, never shook ; but the sentiment which 
 grew under its cover found nothing positive w r hereby to 
 cling, and perished with the shock. Besides which, her 
 father s injunction came to the support of her religious 
 convictions, and made her disposition to shake off that 
 empty fancy tenfold strong. Had Reuben, in those days 
 of his exaltation, made declaration of his attachment, it 
 would have met with a response that could have admit 
 ted of no withdrawal, and her heart would have been 
 
A PHREXZY. 293 
 
 leashed to his, whatever outlawry might threaten him. 
 She thanked Heaven that it had not been thus. Her 
 ideal was still sustained and unbroken ; but it no long 
 er found its type in the backsliding Reuben. It is doubt 
 ful, indeed, if her sentiment at this period, by mere 
 force of rebound, and encouraged by her native charities 
 and old proclivities, did not rally about young Elder- 
 kin, who had equipped himself with many accomplish 
 ments of the world, and who, if he made no pretensions 
 to the faith she had embraced, manifested an habitual 
 respect that challenged her gratitude. 
 
 As for Reuben, after his enthusiasm of the summer 
 had vanished, he felt a prodigious mortification in re 
 flecting that Adele had been so closely the witness of 
 his shortlived hallucination. It humiliated him bit 
 terly to think that all his religious zeal had proved in 
 her regard but the empty crackling of a fire of thorns. 
 No matter what may be a youth s sentiment for girl 
 hood, he never likes it to be witness of any thing dis 
 paraging to his sturdy resolution and manly purpose. 
 But Adele had seen him shake like a reed under the 
 deepest emotions that could give tone to character ; and 
 in his mortification at the thought, he transferred to 
 her a share of the resentment he felt against himself. It 
 had been a relief to treat her with a dignified coolness, 
 and to meet all her tender inquiries, which she did not 
 forbear, with an icy assurance of manner that was more 
 than half affected, yet not unkind, but assiduously and 
 intensely and provokingly civil. 
 
 Seeing this, the Doctor and Miss Eliza had given over 
 
294 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 any fear of a possibly dangerous interest on the part oi 
 Eeuben ; and yet keen observers might well have scented 
 a danger in this very studied indifference, if they reflected 
 that its motive lay exclusively in a mortified pride. We 
 are not careful to conceal our mortifications from those 
 whose regard we rate humbly. 
 
 At any rate, it happened that, with the coming of the 
 autumn months, Eeuben, still floating drearily on a sea 
 of religious speculation, and veering more and more into 
 open mockery of the beliefs of all about him, grew weary 
 of his affectations with respect to Adele. He fretted 
 under the kindly manner with which she met his august 
 civilities. They did not wound her sensibilities, as he 
 hoped they might have done. Either this disappoint 
 ment or the need of relief provoked a change of tactics. 
 With a sudden zeal that was half earnest and half a freak 
 of vanity, he devoted himself to Adele. The father s 
 sympathy with him was just now dead ; that of the aunt 
 had never been kindled to such a degree as to meet his 
 craving ; with the Elderkins he was reluctant to unfold 
 his opinions so far as to demand sympathy. As for 
 Adele, if he could light up again the sentiment which 
 he once saw beaming in her face, he could at least find 
 in it a charming beguilement of his unrest. She had a 
 passion for flowers : every day he gathered for her some 
 floral gift ; every day she thanked him with a kindness 
 that meant only kindness. She had a passion for poe 
 try : every day he read to her such as he knew she must 
 admire ; every day she thanked him with a warmth upon 
 which he could build no hopes. 
 
A PHRENZY. 295 
 
 Both the Doctor and Miss Eliza were disturbed by 
 this new zeal of his. At the instance of the spinster, the 
 Doctor undertook to lay before Reuben the information 
 conveyed in the letter of Maverick, and that gentleman s 
 disapproval of any association between the young people 
 looking to marriage. It was not an easy or an agreeable 
 task for the Doctor ; and he went about it in a very 
 halting manner. 
 
 " Your Aunt Eliza has observed, Reuben, that you 
 have lately become more pointed in your attentions to 
 Adaly." 
 
 " I dare say, father ; worries her, does n t it ? " 
 
 " We do not know how far these attentions may be 
 serious, Reuben." 
 
 " Nor I, father." 
 
 The Doctor was shocked at this new evidence of his 
 son s indifference to an} fixed rule of conduct. 
 
 " How long is it, father," continued Reuben, " since 
 Aunt Eliza has commenced her plottings against 
 Adele?" 
 
 " Xot plottings against her, I trust, Reuben." 
 
 " Yes, she has, father. She s badgering her in her 
 quiet way incessantly, as far back as when she caught 
 sight of her in that dance at the ELderkins . For my 
 part, I think it was a charming thing to see." 
 
 We have graver reasons for our anxiety in regard to 
 your relations with her, my son ; and not the least of 
 them is Mr. Maverick s entire disapproval of aiDy such 
 attachment." 
 
 And thereupon the Doctor had proceeded to lay before 
 
296 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Reuben (who now showed a most lively interest) a full 
 revelation of the facts announced in Maverick s letter. 
 
 The son had a strong smack of the father s family 
 pride, and the strange news was bewildering to him ; 
 but in his present stage of distrust, he felt a strong dis 
 position to protest against all the respectable conven 
 tionalities that hedged him in. A generous instinct in 
 him, too, as he thought of the poor girl under the ban 
 of the towns folk, craved some chivalric expression ; and 
 whatever sentiment he may really have entertained for 
 her in past days took new force in view of the sudden 
 barriers that rose between him and the tender, graceful, 
 confiding, charming Adele, whose image had so long 
 and (as he now thought) so constantly dwelt in the 
 dreamy mirage of his future. Under the spur of these 
 feelings, he presently gave over his excited walk up and 
 down the study, and, coming close to the Doctor, whis 
 pered, with a grave earnestness that made the old gen 
 tleman recognize a man in his boy, 
 
 " Father, I have doubted my own feelings about 
 Adele : now I do riot. I love her ; I love her madly. I 
 shall protect her ; if she will marry me," (and he touched 
 the Doctor on the shoulder with a quick, nervous tap of 
 his hand,) " I shall marry her, God bless her ! " 
 
 And Reuben, by the very speech, as well as by the 
 thoughts that had gone before, had worked himself into 
 a passion of devotion. 
 
 "Be careful, my son," said the old gentleman; re 
 member how your enthusiasm has betrayed you in a still 
 more serious matter." 
 
A PHREXAY. 297 
 
 Reuben smiled bitterly. 
 
 "Don t reproach me with that, father. It seems to 
 me that I am acting now more on the side of the Chris 
 tian charities than either you or Aunt Eliza." 
 
 And with this he strode out, leaving the Doctor in an 
 agony of apprehension. 
 
 A moment after, Miss Eliza, who was ever on the alert, 
 and without whose knowledge a swallow could not dart 
 into the chimneys of the parsonage, came rustling into 
 the study. 
 
 " Well, Benjamin, what does Reuben say? " 
 
 Given over to his idols, Eliza, given over to his 
 idols. We can only pray God to have him in His holy 
 keeping." 
 
 It would be impossible to fathom all the emotions of 
 Reuben during that interview with his father. It would 
 be wrong to say that the view of future marriage had 
 not often held up its brilliant illusions before him ; it 
 would be wrong to say that they had never been asso 
 ciated with the charming vivacity of Adele, as well as, 
 at other times, with the sweet graces of Rose El Jerkin. 
 But these illusions had been of a character so transitory, 
 so fleeting, that he had come to love their brilliant 
 changes, and to look forward with some dread to the 
 possible permanence of them, or such fixedness as 
 should take away the charming drift of his vagaries. If, 
 in some wanton and quite impossible moment, the mod 
 est Rose had conquered her delicacy so far as to put her 
 hand in his, and say, " Will you be my husband ? " he 
 would not have been so much outraged bv her boldness 
 
298 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 as disturbed by the reflection that a pleasant little dream 
 of love was broken up, and that his thought must come to 
 that practical solution of a yes or no which would make 
 an end of his delightful doubts and yearnings. The 
 positive and the known are, after all, so much less under 
 imaginative measure, than the uncertain and the dreamy! 
 
 And if he could have taken the spinster s old tales of 
 Adele s regard for him and devotion to him at their high 
 est truth, (which he never did, because of the girl s pro 
 voking familiarity and indifference,) he would have felt 
 a great charm in his life cut off. Yet now he wanders 
 in search of her with his heart upon his lip and a great 
 fire in his brain. Not a little pride in affronting opinion 
 may have kindled the glow of his sudden resolve. 
 There was an audacity in it that tempted and regaled 
 him. Why should he, whose beliefs were so uncertain, 
 who had grown into doubts of that faith on which all 
 the conventional proprieties about him reposed, why 
 should he not discard them, and obey a single, strong, 
 generous instinct ? When a man s religious sensibilities 
 suffer recoil as Reuben s had done, there grows up a new 
 pride in the natural emotions of generosity ; the humane 
 instincts show exceptional force ; the skeptics become 
 the teachers of an exaggerated philanthropy. 
 
 Did he love her beyond all others? Yesterday he 
 could not have told ; to-day, under the fervor of his au 
 dacity and of his pride, his love blazes up in a fiery 
 flame. It seethes around the memory of her lithe, grace 
 ful figure in a whirl of passion. Those ripe red lips 
 shall taste the burning heat of his love and tenderness. 
 
WILL SHE? . 299 
 
 He will guard, cherish, protect, and the iron aunt may 
 protest, or the world talk as it will " Adele ! Adele ! " 
 His heart is full of the utterance, and his step wild with 
 tumultuous feeling, as he rushes away to find her, to 
 win her, to bind together their destinies forever ! 
 
 XLVIL 
 
 WiU She? 
 
 IT was a mellow evening of later October. Mists 
 hung in all the hollows of the hills. Within the 
 orchard, where Adele was strolling, a few golden apples 
 still shone among the bronzed leaves. She saw Reuben 
 coming swiftly through the garden ; but his eager step 
 faltered as he came near her. Even the serene look of 
 girlhood has a power in it to make impassioned confi 
 dence waver, and enthusiasms suffer recoil. He meets 
 her at last with an assumption of his every-day manner, 
 which she cannot but see presently is underlaid with a 
 tempest of struggling feeling to which he is a stranger. 
 He has taken her hand and placed it within his arm, 
 a little coquettish device to which he was wont ; but he 
 keeps the little hand in his with a nervous clasp that is 
 new, and that makes her tremble all the more when his 
 speech grows impassioned, and the easy compliments of 
 his past days of frolicsome humor take a depth of tone 
 which makes her heart thrill strangely. Meantime, they 
 had come to the garden-end of the walk. 
 
300 . DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 "It s late, Reuben, and I must go in-doors," said she, 
 with a quiet that she did not feel. 
 
 " We 11 take one more turn, Ad&le ; you must." And 
 her hand trembled in the eager clasp he fastened upon 
 it. 
 
 Not once did it come into her mind that Reuben was 
 to make a declaration of passion for her. She had 
 feared only some burst of feeling in the direction of the 
 spinster, or of the Doctor, which should compromise 
 him even more seriously. When, therefore, he burst 
 forth, as he did presently, with a passionate avowal of 
 his love, she was overwhelmed with confusion. 
 
 " This is so sudden, so strange, Reuben ! indeed it 
 is!" 
 
 Tenderly as she may have felt toward him in days 
 gone, and gratefully as she always felt, this sudden at 
 tempt to carry by storm the very citadel of her affections 
 was not alone a surprise, but seemed like sacrilege. 
 The mystery and doubt that overhung the relations be 
 tween her own father and mother and which she felt 
 keenly had made her regard with awe any possible 
 marriage of her own, investing the thought of it with a 
 terrible sanctity, and as something to be approached 
 only with a reverent fear. If in this connection she had 
 ever thought of Reuben, it was in those days when he 
 seemed so earnest in the faith, and when their feelings 
 were blent by some superhuman agency. But at his 
 divergence into the paths of skepticism, it seemed to her 
 simple and intense faith that thenceforth their pilgrim 
 ages must be wholly distinct: his and she trembled 
 
WILL SHE? 301 
 
 at the thought of it through some terrible maze of 
 error, where she could not follow ; and hers by God s 
 grace straight to the city whose gates are of pearl. 
 
 When, therefore, she had replied to the passionate 
 address of Reuben, " You must not talk thus," it was 
 with a tear in her eye. 
 
 " It grieves you, then, Adele ? " 
 
 " Yes, it grieves me, Reuben. Our paths are differ 
 ent now ; " and she bethought herself of her father s in 
 junction, which seemed to make her duty still plainer, 
 and forbade her to encourage that parley with her heart 
 which with her hand still fast in Reuben s, and his eyes 
 beaming with a fierce heat upon her she was begin 
 ning to entertain. 
 
 " Adele, tell me, can I go on ? " 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, you must not, Reuben ! " and 
 withdrawing her hand suddenly, she passed it over brow 
 and eyes, as if to rally her thoughts to measure the situ 
 ation. 
 
 " You are weeping, Adele ? " said Reuben. 
 
 "No, not weeping," said she, dashing the merest film 
 of mist from her eyes, " but so troubled ! so 
 troubled ! " And she looked yearningly, but vainly, in 
 his face for that illumination which had belonged to his 
 enthusiasm of the summer. 
 
 They walked for a moment in silence, he, with a 
 scowl upon his face. Seeing this, Adele said, plaintive 
 ly, 
 
 " It seems to me, Reuben, as if this might be only a 
 solemn mockery of yours." 
 
302 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " You doubt me, then ? " returned lie like a flash. 
 
 " Do you not doubt yourself, Reuben ? Have you 
 never doubted yourself? " This with a glance that 
 pierced him through. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! are you turned preacher ? " said he, 
 bitterly. "Will you measure a heart by its dogmatic 
 beliefs?" 
 
 " For shame, Eeuben ! " 
 
 And for a time both were silent. At last Adele spoke 
 again, 
 
 " There is a sense of coming trouble that oppresses 
 me strangely, that tells me I must not listen to you, 
 Reuben." 
 
 " I know it, Adele ; and it is for this I would cherish 
 you, and protect you against all possible shame or iD dig 
 nities " 
 
 " Shame ! Indignities ! What does this mean ? 
 What do you know, Reuben ? " 
 
 Reuben blushed scarlet. His speech had outrun his 
 discretion ; but seizing her hand, and pressing it more 
 tenderly than ever, he said, 
 
 " Only this, Adele : I see that a coolness has grown 
 up toward you in the parsonage ; the old prejudice 
 against French blood may revive again ; besides which, 
 there is, you know, Adele, that little family cloud 
 
 " Is this the old, kind Reuben, my brother, who 
 reminds me of a trouble so shadowy I cannot fairly 
 measure it?" And Adele covered her face with her 
 hands. 
 
 " Forgive me, Adele, for God s sake ! " 
 
WILL SHE? 303 
 
 " There is a cloud, Reuben ; thank you for the word," 
 said Adele, recovering herself ; "and there is, I fear, an 
 even darker cloud upon your faith. Until both are 
 passed, I can never listen to such talk as you would urge 
 upon roe, never ! never ! " 
 
 And there was a spirit in her words now that awed 
 Reuben. 
 
 Would you impute my unbelief to me as a crime, 
 Adele ? is this your Christian charity ? Do you think 
 that I enjoy this fierce wrestling with doubts? or, having 
 them, would you bid me play false and conceal them ? 
 "What if I am a final castaway, as your good books tell 
 us some must be, would you make me a castaway before 
 my time, and balk all my hopes in life ? Is this your 
 charity? " 
 
 " I would not, you know I would not, Reuben." 
 
 " Listen to me, Adele. If there be any hope of mak 
 ing my way out of this weary wrangle, it seems to me 
 that it would be in the constant presence of your simple, 
 exultant faith. Will you be my teacher, Adele ? " 
 
 "Teacher, yes, with all my heart, Reuben." 
 
 "Then be mine," said he, seizing her hand again, 
 " from this very hour ! " 
 
 An instant she seemed to waver ; then came over her 
 the memory of her father s injunction, the mystery, 
 too, that overshadowed her own life. 
 
 " I cannot, I cannot, Reuben ! " 
 
 "Is this final?" said he, calmly. 
 
 "Final." 
 
 She sighed it rather than spoke aloud ; the next in^ 
 
304 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 stant she had slipped away through the shrubbery, with 
 a swift, cruel rustle of her silken dress, toward the par 
 sonage. 
 
 Keuben lingered in the orchard until he saw the light 
 flashing through the muslin hangings of her window. 
 She had gone early to her chamber. She had kissed 
 the crucifix that was her mother s with a fervor that 
 sprang as much from devotion as from sentiment. She 
 had sobbed out her prayer, and with sobs had buried 
 her sweet face in the pillow. 
 
 Could Keuben have seen or conceived all this, he 
 might have acted differently. 
 
 As it was, he entered the Doctor s study an hour 
 later, with the utmost apparent coolness. 
 
 " Well, father," said he, " I have offered marriage to your 
 motherless and pious French protegee, and she declines." 
 
 " My poor son ! " said the Doctor. 
 
 But his sympathy was not so much with any possible 
 feeling of disappointment as with the chilling heartless- 
 ness and unbelief that seemed to boast themselves in his 
 speech. 
 
 " It will be rather dull in Ashfield now, I fancy," con 
 tinued Reuben, " and I shall slip off to New York to 
 morrow and take a new taste of the world." 
 
 And the Doctor (as if to himself) said despairingly, 
 " Whom He will He hardeneth. " 
 
 "But, father, said Eeuben, (without notice of the old 
 gentleman s ejaculation,) " don t let Aunt Eliza know of 
 this, not a word, or she will be fearfully cruel to the 
 poor child." 
 
WILL SHE? 305 
 
 There was a grave household in the parsonage next 
 morning. Reuben rebelled in heart, in face, and in 
 action against the tediously long prayer of the parson, 
 though the old gentleman s spirit was writhing painfully 
 in his pleadings. The aunt was more pious and austere 
 than ever. Adele, timid and shrinking, yet with a beau 
 tiful and a trustful illumination in her eye, that for days, 
 and weeks, and months, lingered in the memory of the 
 parson s son. 
 
 Later in the day Reuben went to make his adieus to 
 the Elderkins. The old Squire was seated in his door 
 busied with the "Weekly Courant," which had just come 
 in. 
 
 "Aha, Master Reuben," (this was his old-fashioned 
 way,) "you re looking for that lazy fellow, Phil, I sup 
 pose. You 11 find him up-stairs with his cigar and his 
 Spanish, I 11 venture." 
 
 Reuben made his way up to Phil s chamber after the 
 unceremonious manner to which he has been used in 
 that hospitable home, while a snatch of a little songlet 
 from Rose came floating after him along the stairs. It 
 was very sweet. But what were sweet songlets to him 
 now ? It being a mild autumn day, Phil sat at the open 
 window, from which he had many a time seen the old 
 Doctor jogging past in his chaise, and sometimes the 
 tall Almira picking her maidenly way along the walk 
 with her green parasol daintily held aloft with thumb and 
 two fingers, while from the lesser fingers dangled a little 
 embroidered bag which was the wonder of all the school 
 girls. Other times, too, from this eyrie of his, he had 
 20 
 
306 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 seen Adele tripping past, with Eeuben beside her, and 
 had wondered what their chat might be, while he had 
 feasted his eyes upon her fair figure. 
 
 Reuben was always a welcome visitor, and was pres 
 ently in full flow of talk, and puffing nervously at one of 
 Phil s choice Havanas (which in that day were true to 
 their titles). 
 
 " I m off, Phil," said Eeuben at last, breaking in upon 
 his host s ecstasy over a ballad he had been reciting, with 
 what he counted the true Castilian magniloquence. 
 
 "Off where? "said Phil. 
 
 " Off for the city. I in weary of this do-nothing life, 
 weary of the town, weary of the good people." 
 
 " There s nothing you care for, then, in Ashfield ? " 
 said Phil. And at that moment a little burst of the 
 singing of Rose came floating up the stair, so sweet ! 
 so sweet ! 
 
 " Care for ? Yes," said Reuben, " but they are all so 
 good ! so devilish good ! " and he puffed at his cigar 
 with a nervous violence. 
 
 " I thought there would have been at least one mag 
 net that would have kept you here," said Phil. 
 
 "What magnet, pray?" says Reuben, somewhat 
 calm again. 
 
 "There she goes," says Phil, looking out of the win 
 dow. And at the moment Adele tripped by, with the 
 old Doctor walking gravely at her side. 
 
 " Humph ! " said Reuben, with a composure that was 
 feigned, " she s too much of a Puritan for me, Phil : or 
 rather, I m too little of a Puritan for her." 
 
WILL SHE? 307 
 
 Philip looked at his companion keenly. And Reuben, 
 looking back at him as keenly, said, after a silence of a 
 few moments, 
 
 " I don t think you 11 ever marry her either, Phil." 
 
 Marry!" said Phil, with a deep, honest blush, 
 "who talks of that?" 
 
 " You, in your heart, Phil. Do you think I am blind? 
 Do you think I have not seen that you have loved her, 
 Phil, ever since you knew what it was to love a woman ? 
 Do you think, that, as a boy, you ever imposed upon me 
 with your talk about the tavern-keeper s daughter ? 
 Good Heavens ! Phil, I think there were never two men 
 in the world who talked their thoughts plainly to each 
 other ! Do you think I do not know that you have 
 played the shy lover, because with your big heart you 
 have yielded to what you counted a prior claim of mine, 
 because Adele was one of us at the parsonage ? " 
 
 "In such affairs, " said Phil, with some constraint and 
 not a little wounded pride, ; I don t think men are apt 
 to recognize prior claims." 
 
 Reuben replied only by a faint sardonic smile. 
 
 " You re a good fellow, Phil, but you won t marry her." 
 
 "Of course, then, you know why," said Phil, with 
 something very like a sneer. 
 
 "Certainly," said Reuben. "Because you can t af 
 front the world, because you are bound by its conven 
 tionalities and respectabilities, as I am not. I spurn 
 them." 
 
 " Respectabilities ! " said Phil, in amazement. "What 
 does this mean ? Just now she was a Puritan. " 
 
3 o8 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " It means, Phil," (and here Reuben reflected a mo 
 ment or two, puffing with savage energy,) "it means 
 what I can t wholly explain to you. You know her 
 French blood ; you know all the prejudices against the 
 faith in which she was reared ; you know she has an in 
 stinct and will of her own. In short, Phil, I don t think 
 you 11 ever marry her ; but if you can, you may." 
 
 "May!" said Phil, whose pride was now touched to 
 the quick. " And what authority have you, pray ? " 
 
 "The authority of one who has loved her," said Reu 
 ben, with a fierce, quick tone, and dashing his half-burnt 
 cigar from the window ; "the authority of one who, if he 
 had chosen to perjure himself and profess a faith which 
 he could not entertain, and wear sanctimonious airs, 
 might have won her heart." 
 
 "I don t believe it! " said Phil, with a great burst of 
 voice. " There s no hypocrisy could win Adele." 
 
 Reuben paced up and down the chamber, then came 
 and took the hand of his old friend : 
 
 " Phil, you re a noble-hearted fellow. I never thought 
 any one could convict me of injustice to Adele. You 
 have done it. I hope you 11 always defend her ; and 
 whatever may betide, I hope your mother and Rose 
 will always befriend her. She may need it." 
 
 Again there was a little burst of song from below, and 
 it lingered upon the ear of Reuben long after he had 
 left the Elderkin homestead. 
 
 The next day he was gone, to try his new taste of 
 the world. 
 
CAFE DE UORIEXT. 309 
 
 XLvm. 
 
 Cafe de V Orient. 
 
 TT was in no way possible for the simple-hearted Doc- 
 -*- tor to conceal from the astute spinster the particular 
 circumstances which had hurried Reuben s departure, 
 and the knowledge of them made her humiliation com 
 plete. During all the latter months of Reuben s stay 
 she had not scrupled to drop occasional praises of him 
 in the ear of Adele, as in the old times. It was in agree 
 ment with her rigid notions of retribution, that this 
 poor social outlaw should love vainly ; and a baffling dis 
 appointment would have seemed to the spinster s narrow 
 mind a highly proper and most logical result of the ter 
 rible ignominy which overhung the unconscious victim. 
 Indeed, the innocent unconsciousness of any thing de 
 rogatory to her name or character which belonged to 
 Adele, and her consequent cheery mirthfulness, were 
 sources of infinite annoyance to Miss Eliza. 
 
 The Doctor showed all his old, grave kindness ; but 
 he was sadly broken by his anxieties with respect to 
 his son ; nor was he ever demonstrative enough to sup 
 ply the craving of Adele s heart, under her present greed 
 for sympathy. Even the villagers looked upon her more 
 coldly since the sharpened speech of the spinster had 
 dropped widely, but very quietly, its damaging inuen- 
 does, and since her well-calculated surmises, that 
 
3 io DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 French blood was, after all, not to be wholly trusted. 
 It was clear to the towns-people that all was at an end 
 between Adele and Reuben, clear that she had fallen 
 away from the old favor in which she once stood at the 
 parsonage ; and Miss Eliza, by her adroit hints, and 
 without any palpable violation of truth, found means of 
 associating these results with certain suspicious circum 
 stances which had come to light respecting the poor 
 girl s character, circumstances for which she herself 
 (Miss Eliza was kind enough to say) was not altogether 
 accountable, perhaps, but yet sufficient to warrant a lit 
 tle reserve of confidence, and of course putting an end 
 to any thought of intimate alliance with "the Johns 
 family." She even whispered in her most insidious 
 manner into the ear of old Mistress Tew, who, being 
 somewhat deaf, was the most inveterate village gossip, 
 that "it was hard for the poor thing, when Reuben 
 left so suddenly." 
 
 Adele writes in these times to her father, that he need 
 put himself in no fear in regard to marriage. " I have 
 had an eclair cissement " (she says) " with friend Reuben. 
 His declaration of attachment (I think I may tell you 
 this, dear papa) was so wholly unexpected that I could 
 not count it real. He seemed actuated by some sudden 
 controlling sympathy (as he often is) that I could not 
 explain ; and had it been otherwise, your injunction, 
 dear papa, and the fact that he has become a bitter 
 skeptic in regard to our most holy religion, would have 
 made me pause. He dropped a hint, too, of the mys 
 tery attaching to my family, (not unkindly, for he is, 
 
CAFE DE UORIEXT. 311 
 
 after all, a dear, good-hearted fellow.) which kindled not 
 a little indignation in me ; and I told him with some 
 of the pride, I think, I must have inherited from you, 
 papa that, until that mystery was cleared, I would 
 marry neither him nor another. Was I not right ? 
 
 11 1 want so much to be with you again, dear papa, 
 to tell you all I hope and fear, to feel your kiss 
 again ! Miss Johns, whom I have tried hard to love, 
 but cannot, is changed wofully in her manner toward 
 me. I feel it is only my home now by sufferance, 
 not such a home as you would choose for me, I am 
 sure. The Doctor good soul is as kind as he knows 
 how to be, but I want oh, how I want ! to leap into 
 your arms, dear papa, and find home there. Why can I 
 not ? I am sure over and over sure that I could 
 bring some sunlight into a home of yours, if you would 
 but let me. And when you come, as you say you mean 
 to do soon, do not put me off with such stories as you 
 once told me, of a lean Savoyard in red wig and spec 
 tacles, and of a fat Frenchman with bristly mustache 
 (you see I remember all) ; tell me I may come to be the 
 mistress of your parlor and your salon, and I will keep 
 all in such order, that, I am sure, you w r ill not want me 
 to leave you again ; and you will love me so much that I 
 shall never want to leave you. 
 
 "Indeed, indeed, it is very wearisome to me here. 
 The village people seem all of them to have caught the 
 coolness of Miss Johns, and look askance at me. Only 
 the Eklerkins show their old kindness, and it is unfail 
 ing. Do not, I pray, disturb yourself about any lost 
 
3 12 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 fortune of which you wrote to the Doctor, but never 
 cruel papa ! a word to me. I am rich : I can t tell 
 you how many dollars are in the Savings Bank for me, 
 and for you, if you w r ish them, I have so little occasion 
 to spend anything. But I have committed the extrava 
 gance of placing a beautiful tablet over the grave of poor 
 Madame Aries, and, much to the horror of the good Doc 
 tor, insisted upon having a little cross inscribed upon 
 its front. You have never told me, dear papa, if you 
 received the long account I gave you of her sudden 
 death, and how she died without ever telling me any 
 thing of herself, though I believe it was in her mind 
 to do so, at the last." 
 
 No, of a truth, such letter had never been received by 
 Maverick, and he cursed the mails royally for it, since it 
 might have prevented the need of any such disclosure as 
 he had made to his friend Johns. When the present 
 missive of Adele came to him, he was entering the 
 brilliant Cafe de L Orient at Marseilles, in company 
 with his friend Papiol. The news staggered him for a 
 moment. 
 
 "Papiol ! " said he, " mon ami, Julie is dead ! " 
 
 " Parbleu ! And among your Puritans, yonder ? She 
 must have made a piquant story of it all ! " 
 
 " Not a word, Papiol ! She has kept by her promise 
 bravely." 
 
 " Tant mieux : it will give you good appetite, mon 
 ami." 
 
 For a moment the better nature of Maverick had been 
 roused, and he turned a look of loathing upon the com- 
 
CAF DE L ORIENT. 313 
 
 placent Frenchman seated by him (which fortunately 
 the stolid Papiol did not comprehend). For a moment, 
 his thought ran back to a sunny hill-side near to the old 
 town of Aries, where lines of stunted, tawny olives crept 
 down the fields, where fig-trees showed their purple 
 nodules of fruit, where a bright-faced young peasant - 
 girl, with a gay kerchief turbaned about her head with a 
 coquettish tie, lay basking in the sunshine. He heard 
 once more the trip of her voice warbling a Provenyal 
 song, while the great ruin of the Roman arbie came once 
 more to his vision, with its tufting shrubs and battered 
 arches rising grim and gaunt into the soft Southern sky ; 
 the church-bells of the town poured their sweet jangle 
 on his ear again, the murmur of distant voices came 
 floating down the wind,. and again the pretty Provencal 
 song fluttered on the balmy air ; the coquettish turban 
 was in his eye, the plump, soft hand of the pretty Pro 
 vencal girl in his grasp, and her glossy locks touched his 
 burning cheek. So much, at least, that was Arcadian ; 
 and then (in his glowing memory still) the loves, the 
 jealousies, the delusions, the concealments, the faithless 
 ness, the desertion, the parting ! And now, now the 
 chief actress in this drama that had touched him so 
 nearly lay buried in a New England grave, with his own 
 Adele her solitary mourner ! 
 
 "It was your friend the Doctor who gave the good 
 woman absolution, I suppose," said Papiol, tapping his 
 snuff-box, and gathering a huge pinch between thumb 
 and finger. 
 
 " Not even that comfort, I suspect," said Maverick. 
 
314 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " Bah ! pauvre femme ! " 
 
 And the philosopher titillated his nostril until he 
 sneezed again and again. 
 
 "And the Doctor," continued Papiol, "does he 
 suspect nothing ? " 
 
 "Nothing. He has counselled me to make what 
 amends I may by marrying you know whom." 
 
 "Pardieu! he is a good innocent, that old friend of 
 yours ! " 
 
 "Better than you or I, Papiol." 
 
 " That goes without saying, my friend. And la petite, 
 the little bright-eyes, what of her? " 
 
 "She is unsuspicious, but hints at a little cloud that 
 overshadows her domestic history, and tells her lover 
 that it shah 1 be cleared up before she will marry him, or 
 any other." 
 
 " Ta, ta ! It s an inquisitive sex, Maverick ! I could 
 never quite understand how Julie should have learned 
 that her little one was stih 1 alive, and been able to trace 
 her as she did. I think the death was set forth in the 
 Gazette/ eh, Maverick?" 
 
 " It certainly was," said Maverick, " honestly, for the 
 child s good." 
 
 "Ha ! honestly, bon ! I beg pardon, mon ami" 
 
 And Papiol took snuff again. 
 
 "Set forth in the Gazette, en regie, and came to 
 Julie s knowledge, as I am sure ; and she sailed for the 
 East with her brother, who was a small trader in Smyrna, 
 I believe, poor woman ! To tell truth, Papiol, had she 
 been alive, loving Adele as I do, I believe I should have 
 
CAF DE D ORIENT, 315 
 
 been tempted to follow the parson s admonition, cost 
 what it might." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "And then I should give petite an honest name to 
 bear, honest as I could, at least ; and would have 
 lavished wealth upon her, as I mean to do ; and made 
 the last half of my life better than the first." 
 
 "Excellent ! most excellent ! considering that the lady 
 is dead, pauvrefemme ! And now, my dear fellow, you 
 might go over to t your country and play the good Puri 
 tan by marrying Mees Eliza, hein ?" 
 
 And he called out obstreperously, 
 
 " Gar ?on!" 
 
 " Void, Messieurs!" 
 
 " Absinthe, deux verres." 
 
 And he drummed with his fat fingers upon the edge 
 of the marble slab. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! " said Maverick, with a sudden pallor on 
 his face, " who is she ? " 
 
 The eyes of Papiol fastened upon the figure which 
 had arrested the attention of Maverick, a lady, of, may 
 be, forty years, fashionably and gracefully attired, with 
 olive-brown complexion, hair still glossy black, and at 
 tended by a strange gentleman with a brusk and foreign 
 aii\ 
 
 " Who is she ? " says Maverick, in a great tremor. 
 " Do the dead come to haunt us ? " 
 
 "You are facetious, my friend," said Papiol. 
 
 But in the next moment the lady opposite had raised 
 her eyes, showing that strange double look which had 
 
3 i6 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 been so characteristic of Madame Aries, and poor Papiol 
 was himself fearfully distraught. 
 
 "It s true! it s true, mon ami!" he whispered his 
 friend. " It s Julie ! elle mme, Julie ! " 
 
 Maverick, too, had met that glance, and he trembled 
 like a leaf. He gazed upon the stranger like one who 
 sees a specter. And she met his glance, boldly at the 
 first ; then the light faded from her eyes, her head 
 drooped, and she fell in a swoon upon the shoulder of 
 her companion. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Adele leaves the Parsonage. 
 
 AT about the date of this interview which we have 
 described as having taken place beyond the seas, 
 upon one of those warm days of early winter, which, 
 even in New England, sometimes cheat one into a feel 
 ing of spring, Adele came strolling up the little path 
 that led from the parsonage gate to the door, twirling 
 her muff upon her hand, and thinking thinking 
 
 The chance villagers, seeing her lithe figure, her well- 
 fitting pelisse, her jaunty hat, her blooming cheeks, may 
 have said, " There goes a fortunate one ! " But if the 
 thought of poor Adele took one shape more than another, 
 as she returned that day from a visit to her sweet friend 
 Rose, it was this : " How drearily unfortunate I am ! " 
 And here a little burst of childish laughter breaks on 
 her ear. AdMe, turning to the sound, sees that poor 
 
AD&LE LEAVES THE PARSONAGE. 317 
 
 outcast woman who had been the last and most con 
 stant attendant upon Madame Aries coming down the 
 street, with her little boy frolicking beside her. Obey 
 ing an impulse she was in no mood to resist, she turns 
 back to the gate to greet them ; she caresses the boy ; 
 she has kindly words for the mother, who could have 
 worshiped her for the kiss she has given to her outcast 
 child. 
 
 " I likes you," says the sturdy urchin, sidling closer to 
 the parsonage gate, over which Adele leans. " You s 
 like the French ooman." 
 
 Whereupon Adele, in the exuberance of her kindly 
 feelings, can only lean over and kiss the child again. 
 
 Miss Johns, looking from her chamber, is horrified. 
 Had it been summer, she would have lifted her window 
 and summoned Adele. But she never forgot that ex 
 emplary woman the proprieties of the seasons, any 
 more than other proprieties ; she tapped upon the glass 
 with her thimble, and beckoned the innocent offender 
 int3 the parsonage. 
 
 "I am astonished, Adele!" these were her first 
 words ; and she went on to belabor the poor girl in fear 
 ful ways, all the more fearful because she spoke in 
 the calmest possible tones. 
 
 Adele made no reply, too wise now for that ; but 
 she winced, and bit her lips severely, as the irate spin 
 ster " gave Miss Maverick to understand that an inter 
 course which might possibly be agreeable to her French 
 associations could never be tolerated at the home of Dr. 
 Johns. " 
 
3i8 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 No reply, as we have said, unless it may have been 
 by an impatient stamp of her little foot, which the spin 
 ster could not perceive. 
 
 But it is the signal, in her quick, fiery nature, of a de 
 termination to leave the parsonage, if the thing be pos 
 sible. From, her chamber, where she goes only to ar 
 range her hair and to wipe off an angry tear or two, she 
 walks straight into the study of the parson. 
 
 "Doctor," (the " New Papa" is reserved for her ten 
 derer or playful moments now), "are you quite sure 
 that papa will come for me in the spring ? " 
 
 " He writes me so, Adaly. Why ? " 
 
 Adele seeks to control herself, but she cannot wholly. 
 " It s not pleasant for me any longer here, New Papa, 
 indeed it is not ; " and her voice breaks utterly. 
 
 "But, Adaly ! child ! " says the Doctor, closing his 
 book. 
 
 " It s wholly different from what it once was ; it s irk 
 some to Miss Eliza, I know it is ; it s irksome to me. 
 I want to leave. Why does n t papa come for me at 
 once ? Why should n t he ? What is this mystery, New 
 Papa? Will you not tell me ? " and she comes toward 
 him, and lays her hand upon his shoulder in her old 
 winning, fond way. " Why may I not know ? Do you 
 think I am not brave to bear whatever must some day 
 be known ? What if my poor mother be unworthy ? I 
 can love her ! I can love her ! " 
 
 "Ah, Adaly," said the parson, "whatever may have 
 been her unworthiness, it can never afflict you more ; 
 I believe that she is in her grave, Adaly." 
 
ADELE LEAVES THE PARSONAGE. 319 
 
 Adele sunk upon her knees, with her hands clasped as 
 if in prayer. 
 
 From the day when Maverick had declared her un- 
 worthiness, Adele had cherished secretly the hope of 
 some day meeting her, of winning her by her loye, of 
 clasping her arms about her neck and whispering in her 
 ear, " God is good, and we are all God s children ! " 
 But in her grave ! 
 
 The Doctor has not spoken without authority ; since 
 Maverick, in his reply to the parson s suggestions re 
 specting marriage, has urged that the party was totally 
 unfit, to a degree of which the parson himself was a wit 
 ness ; and by further hints he had served fully to iden 
 tify, in the mind of the old gentleman, poor Madame 
 Aries with the mother of Adele. " Adaly, my child, 
 you are very dear to me," said he ; and she stood by him 
 now, toying with those gray locks of his, in a caressing 
 manner. "If it be your wish to change your home 
 for the little time that remains, it shall be. I have 
 your father s authority to do so. " 
 
 " Indeed I do wish it, New Papa;" and she 
 dropped a kiss upon his forehead, upon the forehead 
 where so few tender tokens of love had ever fallen, or 
 ever would fall. 
 
 The Doctor talked over the affair with Miss Eliza, 
 who avowed herself as eager as Adele for a change in 
 her home, and suggested that Benjamin should take 
 counsel with his old friend, Mr. Elderkin ; it is quite 
 possible that she shrewdly anticipated the result of such 
 a consultation. 
 
320 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Certain it is that the old Squire caught at the sugges 
 tion in a moment. 
 
 " The very thing, Doctor ! I see how it is. Miss Eliza 
 is getting on in years ; a little irritable, possibly, 
 though a most excellent person, Doctor, most excel 
 lent ! and there being no young people in the house, it s. 
 a little dull for Miss Adele, eh, Doctor ? Grace, you 
 know, is not with us this winter ; so your lodger shall 
 come straight to my house, and she shall take the room 
 of Grace, and Rose will be delighted, and Mrs. Elderkin 
 will be delighted ; and as for Phil, when he happens 
 with us, as he does only off and on now, he 11 be 
 falling in love with her, I have n t a doubt ; or, if he 
 does n t, I shall be tempted to myself. She s a fine girl, 
 eh, Doctor?" 
 
 "She s a good Christian, I believe," said the Doctor 
 gravely. 
 
 "I haven t a doubt of it," said the Squire; "and I 
 hope that a bit of a dance about Christmas time, if we 
 should fall into that wickedness, would n t harm her on 
 that score, eh, Doctor ? " 
 
 "I should wish, Mr. Elderkin, that she maintain her 
 usual propriety of conduct, until she is again in her 
 father s charge." 
 
 "Well, well, Doctor, you shall talk with Mrs. Elder- 
 kin of that matter." 
 
 So, it is all arranged. Rose is overjoyed, and can 
 hardly do enough to make the new home agreeable to 
 Adele ; while the mistress of the house mild, and 
 cheerful, and sunny, diffusing content every evening 
 
ADELE LEAVES THE PARSONAGE. 321 
 
 over the little circle around her hearth wins Adele to 
 a new cheer. 
 
 Phil is away at her coming ; but a week after he 
 bursts into the house on a snowy December night, and 
 there is a great stamping in the hall, and a little grand 
 child of the house pipes from the half-opened door, " It s 
 Uncle Phil ! " and there is a loud smack upon the cheek 
 of Eose, who runs to give him. welcome, and a hearty, 
 honest grapple with the hand of the old Squire, and 
 then another kiss upon the cheek of the old mother, 
 who meets him before he is fairly in the room, a kiss 
 upon her cheek, and another, and another. Phil loves 
 the old lady with an honest warmth that kindles the 
 admiration of poor Adele, who, amid all this demon 
 stration of family affection, feels herself more cruelly 
 than ever a stranger in the household, a stranger, 
 indeed, to the interior and private joys of any house 
 hold. 
 
 Yet such enthusiasm is, somehow, contagious ; and 
 w r hen Phil meets Adele with a shake of the hand and a 
 hearty greeting, she returns it with an out-spoken, 
 homely warmth, at thought of which she finds herself 
 blushing a moment after. To tell truth. Phil is rather a 
 fine-looking fellow at this time, strong, manly, with a 
 comfortable assurance of manner, a face beaming 
 with bonhomie, cheeks glowing with that sharp Decem 
 ber drive, and a wild, glad sparkle in his eye, as Rose 
 whispers him that Adele has become one of the house 
 hold. Phil, meantime, dashes on, in his own open, 
 frank way, about his drive, and the state of the ice in 
 
322 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 the river, and some shipments he had made from New 
 York to Porto Rico, on capital terms, too. 
 
 "And did you see much of Reuben?" asks Mrs. El- 
 derkin. 
 
 " Not much ; " and Phil (glancing that way) sees that 
 Adele is studying her crimsons ; " but he tells me he is 
 doing splendidly in some business venture to the Medi 
 terranean with Brindlock ; he could hardly talk of any 
 thing else. It s odd to find him so wrapped up in 
 money-making. " 
 
 " I hope he 11 not be wrapped up in anything worse," 
 said Mrs. Elderkin, with a sigh. 
 
 " Nonsense, mother ! " burst in the old Squire ; 
 "Reuben 11 come out all right yet." 
 
 "He says he means to know all sides of the world, 
 now," says Phil, with a little laugh. 
 
 " He s not so bad as he pretends to be, Phil," an 
 swered the Squire. " I knew the Major s hot ways ; so 
 did you, Grace (turning to the wife). It s a boy s talk. 
 There s good blood in him." 
 
 And the two girls, yonder, the other side of the 
 hearth, Adele and Rose, have given over their little 
 earnest comparison of views about the colors, and sifc 
 stitching, and stitching, and thinking - and thinking < 
 
PHILIP S CHANCES. 323 
 
 Philips Chances. 
 
 PTTTTj had at no time given over his thought of Adele, 
 and of the possibility of some day winning her 
 for himself, though he had been somewhat staggered 
 by the interview already described with Reuben. It 
 is doubtful, even, if the quiet permission which this 
 latter had granted (or, with an affectation of arrogance, 
 had seemed to grant) had not itself made him pause. 
 There are some things which a man never wants any 
 permission to do ; and one of those is to love a 
 woman. 
 
 But now, when on coming back, he found her in his 
 own home, so tenderly cared for by mother and by 
 sister, so coy and reticent in his presence, the old 
 fever burned again. It was not now a simple watching 
 of her figure upon the street that told upon him ; but 
 her constant presence ; her fresh, fair face every day at 
 table ; the tapping of her light feet along the hall ; the 
 little n^isical bursts of laughter (not Eose s, oh, no ! ) 
 that came from time to time floating through the open 
 door of his chamber. For an honest lover, propinquity 
 is always dangerous, most of all, in one s own home. 
 The sister s caresses of the charmer, the mother s kind 
 looks, the father s playful banter, and the whisk of a 
 silken dress (with a new music in it) along the balusters 
 
324 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 you have passed night and morning for years, have a 
 terrible executive power. 
 
 In short, Adele had not been a month with the Elder- 
 kins before Phil was tied there by bonds he had never 
 known the force of before. 
 
 And how was it with Adele ? 
 
 That strong, religious element in her, abating no 
 jot in its fervor, which had found a shock in the case 
 of Reuben, met none with Philip. He had slipped into 
 the mother s belief and reverence, not by any spell of 
 suffering or harrowing convictions, but by a kind of in 
 sensible growth toward them, and an easy, deliberate, 
 moderate living by them, which more active and incisive 
 minds cannot comprehend. 
 
 It would have been strange if the calm, mature repose 
 of Phil s manner, never disturbed except when Adele 
 broke upon him suddenly and put him to a momentary 
 confusion, of which the pleasant fluttering of her own 
 heart gave account, strange, if this had not won upon 
 her regard, strange, if it had not given hint of that 
 cool, masculine superiority in him, with which even 
 the most ethereal of women like to be impressed. Nor 
 will it seem strange, if, by contrast, it made the excita 
 ble Eeuben seem more dismally afloat and vagrant. 
 Yet how could she forget the passionate pressure of his 
 hand, the appealing depth of that gray eye of the par 
 son s son, and the burning words of his that stuck in 
 her memory like thorns ? 
 
 Phil, indeed, might have spoken in a way that would 
 have driven the blood back upon her heart ; for there 
 
PHILIP S CHANCES. 325 
 
 was a world of passionate capability under his calm ex 
 terior. She dreaded lest he might. She shunned all 
 provoking occasion, as a bird shuns the grasp of even 
 the most tender hand, under whose clasp the pinions 
 will nutter vainly. 
 
 "\Vken Rose said now, as she was wont to say, after 
 some generous deed of his, "Phil is a good, kind, noble 
 fellow ! " Adele affected not to hear, and asked Rose, 
 with a bustling air, if she was " quite sure that she had 
 the right shade of brown " in the worsted work they 
 were upon. 
 
 So the Christmas season caine and went. The Squire 
 cherished a traditional regard for its old festivities, not 
 only by reason of a general festive inclination that was 
 very strong in him, but from a desire to protest in a 
 quiet way against what he called the pestilent religious 
 severities of a great many of the parish, who ignored 
 the day because it was a high holiday in the Popish 
 Church, and in that other, which, under the wing of 
 Episcopacy, was following, in their view, fast after the 
 Babylonish traditions. There was Deacon Tourtelot, 
 for instance, who never failed on a Christmas morning 
 if weather and sledding were good to get up his 
 long team (the restive two-year-olds upon the neap) and 
 drive through the main street, with a great clamor of 
 " Haw, Diamond ! " and " Gee, Buck and Bright ! " as 
 if to insist upon the secular character of the day. Even 
 the good Doctor pointed his Christmas prayer with no 
 special unction. What, indeed, were anniversaries, or a 
 yearly proclamation of peace and good-will to men, with 
 
326 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 those who, on every Sabbath morning, saw the heavens 
 open above the sacred desk, and heard the golden prom 
 ises expounded, and the thunders of coming retribu 
 tion echo under the ceiling of the Tabernacle ? 
 
 The Christmas came and went with a great lighting- 
 up of the Elderkin house ; and there were green gar 
 lands which Rose and Adele have plaited over the man 
 tel, and over the stiff family portraits ; and good Phil 
 in the character of Santa Claus has stuffed the stock 
 ings of all the grandchildren, and in the character of 
 the bashful lover has played like a moth about the 
 blazing eyes of Adele. 
 
 Yet the current of the village gossip has it, that they 
 are to marry. Miss Eliza, indeed, shakes her head 
 wisely, and keeps her own counsel. But Dame Tour- 
 telot reports to old Mistress Tew, " Phil Elderkin is 
 goin to marry the French girl." 
 
 " Haow ? " says Mrs. Tew, adjusting her tin trumpet. 
 
 "Phil Elderkin is a-goin to marry the French 
 girl," screams the Dame. 
 
 " Du tell ! Goin to settle in Ashfield ? " 
 
 "I don t know." 
 
 " No ! Where, then ? " says Mistress Tew. 
 
 "I don t KNOW," shrieks the Dame. 
 
 " Oh ! " chimes Mrs. Tew ; and, after reflecting awhile 
 and smoothing out her cap-strings, she says, " I ve 
 heerd the French gurl keeps a cross in her chamber." 
 
 " She DOOZ," explodes the Dame. 
 
 " I want to know ! I wonder the Squire don t put a 
 stop to t," 
 
CONCERNING A COLLEAGUE. 327 
 
 "Doan t believe he would if he COULD," says the Dame, 
 snappishly. 
 
 " "\Vaiil, waul ! it s a wicked world we re a-livin in, 
 3Iiss Tourtelot." And she elevates her trumpet, expec 
 tantly. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Concerning a Colleague. 
 
 IN the days which our narrative has now reached, the 
 Doctor has grown feeble. His pace has slackened, 
 and there is an occasional totter in his step. There are 
 those among his parishioners who say that his memory 
 is failing. On one or two Sabbaths of the winter he has 
 preached sermons scarce two years old. There are acute 
 listeners who are sure of it. And the spinster has been 
 horrified on learning that, once or twice, the old gentle 
 man escaping her eye has taken his walk to the 
 post-office, unwittingly wearing his best cloak wrong- 
 side out ; as if for so good a man the green baize 
 were not as proper a covering as the brown camlet. 
 
 The parson is himself conscious of these short-com 
 ings, and speaks with resignation of the growing infirm 
 ities which, as he modestly hints, will compel him shortly 
 to give place to some younger and more zealous expound 
 er of the faith. His parochial visits grow more and 
 more rare. All other failings could be more easily par 
 doned than this ; but in a country parish like Ashfield, 
 it was quite imperative that the old chaise should keep 
 
328 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 up its familiar rounds, and the occasional tea-fights in 
 the out-lying houses be honored by the gray head of 
 the Doctor or by his evening benediction. Two hour- 
 long sermons a week and a Wednesday evening discourse 
 were very well in their way, but by no means met all 
 the requirements of those steadfast old ladies whose so 
 cialities were both exhaustive and exacting. Indeed, it 
 is doubtful if there do not exist even now, in most coun 
 try parishes of New England, a few most excellent and 
 notable women, who delight in an overworked parson, 
 for the pleasure they take in recommending their teas, 
 and plasters, and nostrums. The more frail and attenu 
 ated the teacher, the more he takes hold upon their pity ; 
 and in losing the vigor of the flesh, he seems to their 
 compassionate eyes to grow into the spiritualities they 
 pine for. But he must not give over his visitings ; that 
 hair-cloth shirt of penance he must wear to the end, if 
 he would achieve saintship. 
 
 Now, just at this crisis, it happens that there is a tall, 
 thin, pale young man Rev. Theophilus Catesby by 
 name, and nephew of the late Deacon Simmons (now un 
 happily deceased) who has preached in Ashfield on 
 several occasions to the " great acceptance" of the peo 
 ple. Talk is imminent of naming him colleague to Dr. 
 Johns. The matter is discussed, at first, (agreeably to 
 custom,) in the sewing-circle of the town. After this, it 
 comes informally before the church brethren. The duty 
 to the Doctor and to the parish is plain enough. The 
 practical question is, how cheaply can the matter be ac 
 complished ? 
 
COXCERNLVG A COLLEAGUE. 329 
 
 The salary of the good Doctor has grown, by progres 
 sive increase, to be at this date some seven hundred dol 
 lars a year, a very considerable stipend for a country 
 parish in that day. It was understood that the proposed 
 colleague would expect six hundred. The two joined 
 made a somewhat appalling sum for the people of Ash- 
 field. They tried to combat it in a variety of ways, 
 over tea-tables and barn-yard gates, as well as in their 
 formal conclaves ; earnest for a good thing in the way 
 of preaching, but earnest for a good bargain, too. 
 
 " I say, Huldy," said the Deacon, in discussion of the 
 affair over his wife s fireside, " I wouldn t wonder if the 
 Doctor ad put up somethin handsome between the 
 French girl s boardin , and odds and ends." 
 
 ""What if he ha n t, Tourtelot ? Miss John s got 
 property, and what s she goin to do with it, I want to 
 know?" 
 
 " On this hint the Deacon spoke, in his next encounter 
 with the Squire upon the street, with more boldness. 
 
 " It s my opinion, Squire, the Doctor s folks are pooty 
 well off, now ; and if we make a trade with the new 
 minister, so s he 11 take the biggest half o the hard work 
 of the parish, I think the old Doctor ud worry along 
 tol able well on three or four hundred a year ; heh, 
 Squire ? " 
 
 " Well Deacon, I don t know about that ; don t know. 
 Butcher s meat is always butcher s meat, Deacon."* 
 
 "So it is, Squire ; and not so dreadful high, nuther. 
 I ve got a likely two-year-old in the yard, that 11 dress 
 about a hundred to a quarter, and I don t pretend to ask 
 
330 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 more n twenty-five dollars ; know any body that wants 
 such a critter, Squire ? " 
 
 These discussions come to the ear of Reuben, who 
 writes back in a very brusk way to the Doctor : "Why 
 on earth, father, don t you cut all connection with the 
 parish ? Don t let the minister s pay be any hindrance 
 to you, for I am getting on swimmingly in my business 
 ventures, thanks to Mr. Brindlock ; I enclose a check 
 for two hundred dollars, and can send you one of equal 
 amount every quarter, without feeling it. Why should 
 n t a man of your years have rest ? " 
 
 Correspondence between the father and son is not in 
 frequent in these days ; for, since Reuben has slipped 
 away from home control utterly, being now well past 
 one and twenty, the Doctor has forborne that magis 
 terial tone which, in his old-fashioned way, it was his 
 wont to employ. Under these conditions, Reuben is 
 won into more communicativeness, even upon those 
 religious topics which are always prominent in the Doc 
 tor s letters ; indeed, it would seem that the son rather 
 enjoyed a little logical fence with the old gentleman, 
 and a passing lunge, now and then, at his severities. 
 
 "I see the honesty of your faith, father," he writes, 
 though there seems a strained harshness in it when I 
 think of the complacency with which you must needs 
 contemplate the irremediable perdition of such hosts of 
 outcasts. In Adele, too, there seems a beautiful single 
 ness of trust ; but I suppose God made the birds to live 
 in the sky. 
 
 " You need not fear my falling into what you call the 
 
NEWS FROM MAVERICK. 331 
 
 Pantheism of the moralists ; it is every way too cold for 
 my hot blood. It seems to me that the moral icicles 
 with which their doctrine is fringed (and the fringe is 
 the beauty of it) must needs melt under any passionate 
 human clasp, such clasp as I should want to give (if I 
 gave any) to a great hope for the future. I should feel 
 more like groping my way into such hope by the light 
 of the golden candlesticks of Koine even. But do not 
 be disturbed, father ; I fear I should make, just now, no 
 better Papist than Presbyterian." 
 
 The Doctor reads such letters in a maze. Can it in 
 deed be a son of his own loins who thus bandies lan 
 guage about the solemn truths of Christianity ? " How 
 shall I give thee up, Ephraim ! " 
 
 UL 
 
 News from Maverick. 
 
 IN the early spring of 1842, we are not quite sure 
 of the date, but it was at any rate shortly after the 
 establishment of the Reverend Theophilus Catesby at 
 Ashfield, the Doctor was in the receipt of a new letter 
 from his friend Maverick, which set all his old calcula 
 tions adrift. 
 
 " I find, my dear Johns," he writes, " that my suspicious 
 in regard to a matter of which I wrote you very fully in 
 my last were wholly untrue. How I could have been 
 so deceived, I cannot even now fairly explain ; but noth- 
 
332 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 ing is more certain, than that the person calling herself 
 Madame Aries (since dead, as I learn from Adele) was 
 not the mother of my child. My mistake in this will 
 the more surprise you, when I state that I had a glimpse 
 of this personage (unknown to you) upon my visit to 
 America ; and though it was but a passing glimpse, it 
 seemed to me though many years had gone by since 
 my last sight of her that I could have sworn to her 
 identity. And coupling this resemblance, as I very nat 
 urally did, with her devotion to my poor Adele, I could 
 form but one conclusion. 
 
 " The mother of my child, however, still lives. I 
 have seen her. You will commiserate me in advance 
 with the thought that I have found her among the vile 
 ones of what you count this vile land. But you are 
 wrong, my dear Johns. So far as appearance and pres 
 ent conduct go, no more reputable lady ever crossed 
 your own threshold. The meeting was accidental, but 
 the recognition on both sides absolute and, on the part 
 of the lady, so emotional as to draw the attention of the 
 habitues of the cafe where I chanced to be dining. Her 
 manner and bearing, indeed, were such as to provoke 
 me to a renewal of our old acquaintance, with honorable 
 intentions, even independent of those suggestions of 
 duty to herself and to Adele which you have urged. 
 
 " But I have to give you, my dear Johns, a new sur 
 prise. All overtures of my own toward a renewal of ac 
 quaintance have been decisively repulsed. I learn that 
 she has been living for the past fifteen years or more 
 with her brother, now a wealthy merchant of Smyrna, 
 
NEWS FROM MAVERICK. 333 
 
 and that she has a reputation there as a devote and is 
 widely known for the charities which her brother s 
 means place within her reach. It would thus seem that 
 even this French woman, contrary to your old theory, 
 is atoning for an early sin by a life of penance. 
 
 " And now, my dear Johns, I have to confess to you 
 another deceit of mine. This woman Julie Chalet 
 when I knew her of old, and still wearing the name 
 has no knowledge that she has a child now living. To 
 divert all inquiry, and to insure entire alienation of iny 
 little girl from all French ties, I caused a false mention 
 of the death of Adele to be inserted in the Gazette of 
 Marseilles. I know you will be very much shocked at 
 this, my dear Johns, and perhaps count it as large a sin 
 as the grosser one ; that I committed it for the child s 
 sake will be no excuse in your eye. I know. 
 
 " If Julie, the mother of Adele, knew to-clay of her 
 existence, if I should carry that information to her, 
 I am sure that all her rigidities would be consumed 
 like flax in a flame. Shall I do so ? I ask you as one 
 who, I am sure, has learned to love Adele, and who, I 
 hope, has not wholly given over a friendly feeling toward 
 me. Consider well, however, that the mother is now 
 one of the most rigid of Catholics ; I learn that she is even 
 thinking of conventual life. I know her spirit and tem 
 per well enough to be sure that, if she were to meet the 
 child again which she believes lost, it would be with an 
 impetuosity of f eeling and a devotion that would absorb 
 every aim of her life. This disclosure is the only one by 
 which I could hope to win her to any consideration of 
 
334 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 marriage ; and with a mother s rights and a mother s 
 love, would she not sweep away all that Protestant faith 
 which you, for so many years, have been laboring to 
 build up in the mind of my child ? And inasmuch as I 
 am making you my father confessor, I may as well tell 
 you, my dear Johns, that no particular self-denial would 
 be involved in a marriage with Mademoiselle Chalet. 
 For myself, I am past the age of sentiment ; my fortune 
 is now established ; neither myself nor my child can 
 want for any luxury. The mother, by her present 
 associations and by the propriety of her life, is above all 
 suspicion ; and her air and bearing are such as would be 
 a passport to friendly association with refined people 
 here or elsewhere. You may count this a failure of Pro 
 vidence to fix its punishment upon transgressors : I 
 count it only one of those accidents of life which are all 
 the while surprising us. 
 
 "There was a time when I would have had ambition 
 to do otherwise ; but now, with my love for Adele es 
 tablished by my intercourse with her and by her letters, 
 I have no other aim, if I know my own heart, than her 
 welfare. It should be kept in mind, I think, that the 
 marriage spoken of, if it ever take place, will probably 
 involve, sooner or later, a fuh 1 exposure to Adele of all 
 the circumstances of her birth and history. I say this 
 will be involved, because I am sure that the warm affec 
 tions of Mademoiselle Chalet will never allow of the con 
 cealment of her maternal relations, and that her present 
 religious perversity (if you will excuse the word) will not 
 admit of further deceits. I tremble to think of the pos- 
 
XEIVS FROM MAVERICK. 335 
 
 sible consequences to Adele, and query very much in my 
 own mind, if her present blissful ignorance be not better 
 than reunion with a mother through whom she must 
 learn of the ignominy of her birth. Of Adele s fortitude 
 to bear such a shock, and to maintain any elasticity of 
 spirits under it, you can judge better than L 
 
 "I propose to delay action, my dear Johns, and of 
 course my sailing for America, until I shall hear from 
 you." 
 
 Our readers can surely anticipate the tone of the Doc 
 tor s reply. He writes : 
 
 "Duty, Maverick, is always duty. The issues we 
 must leave in the hands of Providence. One sin makes 
 a crowd of entanglements ; it is never weary of disguises 
 and deceits. We must come out from them all, if we 
 would aim at purity. From my heart s core I shall feel 
 whatever shock may come to poor, innocent Adele by 
 reason of the light that may be thrown upon her history ; 
 but if it be a light that flows from the performance of 
 Christian duty, I shah 1 never fear its revelations. If we 
 had been always true, such dark corners would never 
 have existed to fright us with their goblins of terror. It 
 is never too late, Maverick, to begin to be true. 
 
 " I find a strange comfort, too, in what you tell me 
 of that religious perversity of Mademoiselle Chalet 
 which so chafes you. I have never ceased to believe 
 that most of the Roinish traditions are of the Devil , 
 but with waning years I have learned that the Divine 
 mysteries are beyond our comprehension, and that 
 we cannot map out His purposes by any human chart. 
 
336 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 The pure faitli of your child, joined to her buoyant 
 elasticity, I freely confess it, has smoothed away the 
 harshness of many opinions I once held. 
 
 " Maverick, do your duty. Leave the rest to Heaven." 
 
 Lin. 
 
 Clear but Dark. 
 
 EUBEN, meantime, is leading a dashing life in the 
 city. The Brindlock family have taken him to 
 their arms again as freely and heartily as if he had never 
 entered the fold over which the good Doctor exercised 
 pastoral care, and as if he had never strayed from it again. 
 
 " I told you twould be all right, Mabel," said Mr. 
 Brindlock to his wife ; and neither of them ever rallied 
 him upon his bootless experience in that direction. 
 
 But the kindly aunt had not foreborne (how could 
 she ?) certain pertinent inquiries in regard to the pretty 
 Miss Maverick, under which Keuben had shown consid 
 erable disposition to flinch. Mrs. Brindlock drew her 
 own conclusions, but was not greatly disturbed by them. 
 Why should she be, indeed ? Reuben, with his present 
 most promising establishment in business, and with a 
 face and air that insured him a cordial welcome in that 
 circle of wealthy acquaintances which Mrs. Brindlock 
 especially cultivated, was counted a bon parti, independ 
 ent of his position as presumptive heir to a large share 
 of the Brindlock estate. 
 
CLEAR BUT DARK. 337 
 
 Once or twice since his leave of Ashfield he has aston 
 ished the good people there by a dashing visit. It is 
 even possible that he may have entertained agreeably 
 the fancy of dazing the eyes of both Rose and Adele 
 with the glitter of his city distinctions. But their ad 
 miration, if they felt any, was not flatteringly expressed. 
 Adele, indeed, was always graciously kind, and, seeing 
 his confirmed godlessness, tortured herself secretly with 
 the thought that, but for her rebuff, he might have 
 made a better fight against the bedevilments of the 
 world, and lived a truer and purer life. All that, how 
 ever, was irrevocably past. As for Rose, if there crept 
 into her little prayers a touch of sentiment as she plead 
 ed for the backslidden son of the minister, her prayers 
 were none the worse for it. Such trace of sentimental 
 color like the blush upon her fair cheek gave a 
 completed beauty to her appeals. 
 
 Eeuben saw that Phil was terribly in earnest in his 
 love, and he fancied, with some twinges, that he saw in 
 dications on the part of Adele of its being not wholly 
 unacceptable. Rose, too, seemed not disinclined to re 
 ceive the assiduous attentions of the young minister, 
 who had become a frequent visitor in the Elderkin 
 household, and who preached with an unction and an 
 earnestness that touched her heart, and that made her 
 sigh despondingly over the outcast son of the old pas 
 tor. Watching these things with a look studiedly care 
 less and indifferent, Reuben felt himself cut off more 
 than ever from such charms or virtues as might possi 
 bly have belonged to continued association with the 
 22 
 
338 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 companions of his boyhood. There were moments 
 mostly drifting over him in silent night-hours, within 
 his old chamber at the parsonage when it seemed to 
 him that he had made a losing game of it. The spark 
 ling eyes of Adele, suffused with tears, as in that 
 memorable interview of the garden, beam upon him, 
 promising, as then, other guidance ; they gain new bril 
 liance, and wear stronger entreaty, as they shine loving 
 ly upon him from the distance growing greater and 
 greater which now lies between them. Her beauty, 
 her grace, her tenderness, now that they are utterly be 
 yond reach, are tenfold enticing ; and in that other 
 sphere to which, in his night reverie, they seem trans 
 lated, the joyous face of Rose, like that of an attendant 
 angel, looks down regretfully, full of a capacity for love 
 to which he must be a stranger. 
 
 He is wakened by the bells next morning, a Sunday 
 morning, may be. There they go, he sees them from 
 the window, the two comely damsels, picking their 
 way through the light, fresh- fallen snow of March. Go 
 ing possibly to teach the catechism ; he sneers at this 
 thought, for he is awake now. Has the world no richer 
 gift in store for him ? That Sophia Bowrigg is a great 
 fortune, a superb dancer, a gorgeous armful of a woman. 
 What if they were to join their fortunes and come back 
 some day to dazzle these quiet townsfolk with the splen 
 dor of their life ? His visits in Ashfield grow shorter and 
 more rare. We shall not meet him there again until we 
 meet him for the last time. 
 
 Mr. Catesby is an "acceptable preacher." He unfolds 
 
CLEAR BUT DARK. 339 
 
 the orthodox doctrines with more grace than had belonged 
 to the manner of the Doctor. The old ladies befriend 
 him and pet him in their kindly way ; and if at times 
 his speculative humor (which he is not wholly without) 
 leads him beyond the bounds of the accepted doctrines, 
 he compounds the matter by strong assertion of those 
 sturdy generalities which lie at the bottom of the ortho 
 dox creed. 
 
 But his self-control is not so apparent in his social in 
 tercourse ; and before he has been three months in Ash- 
 field, he has given tongue to gossip, and all the old la 
 dies comment upon his enslavement to the pretty Kose 
 Elderkin. Young clergymen have this way of falling, 
 at sight, into the toils, which is vastly refreshing to mid 
 dle-aged observers. An incident only of his recreative 
 pursuits in this direction belongs to our narrative. 
 
 Upon one of the botanical excursions of later spring 
 which he had inaugurated, and to which the maidenly 
 modesty of Eose had suggested that Adele should make 
 a party, the young Catesby (who was a native of Eastern 
 Massachusetts) had asked in his naive manner after her 
 family connections. An uncle of his had known a Mr. 
 Maverick, who had long been a resident of Europe. 
 
 "It may possibly be some relation of yours, Miss 
 Maverick," said the young minister. 
 
 " Do you recall the first name ? " said Rose. 
 
 Mr. Catesby hesitated in that interesting way in which 
 lovers are wont to hesitate. No, he did not remember ; 
 but he was a jovial, generous-hearted man, (he had heard 
 his uncle often describe him,) who must be now some 
 
 iwx 
 
 UNIVERSITY 1 
 
340 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 fifty or sixty years old. "Frank Maverick, to be sure; 
 I have the name." 
 
 "Why, it is my father," said Adele with a swift, happy 
 rush of color to her face. 
 
 " Oh no, Miss Maverick," said the young Catesby with 
 a smile, "that is quite impossible. The gentleman of 
 whom I speak, and my uncle visited him only three years 
 ago, is a confirmed bnchelor, and he had rallied him, I 
 remember, upon never having married." 
 
 The color left the cheeks of Adele. 
 
 " Frank, did you say ? " persisted Rose. 
 
 "Frank was the name," said the innocent young 
 clergyman ; " and he was a merchant, if I remember 
 rightly, somewhere upon the Mediterranean." 
 
 "It s very strange," said Rose, turning to Adele. 
 
 And Adele, all her color gone, had the fortitude to pat 
 Rose lovingly upon the shoulder, and to say, with a 
 forced smile, " Life is very strange, Rose." 
 
 But from this time till they reached home, fortu 
 nately not far away, Adele said nothing more. Rose 
 remarked the unwonted pallor in her cheeks. 
 
 " You are tired, Adele," said she ; "you are so pale ! " 
 
 " Child," said Adele, tapping her again, in a womanly 
 way that was strange to her companion, " you have color 
 for us both." 
 
 At this, her reserve of dignity and fortitude being 
 now well-nigh spent, she rushed away to her chamber. 
 What wonder if she sought the little crucifix, sole me 
 mento of the unknown mother, and glued it to her lips, 
 as she fell upon her knees by the bedside, and uttered 
 
CLEAR BUT DARK. 341 
 
 such a prayer for help and strength as she had never 
 uttered before ? 
 
 " It is true ! it is true ! I see it now. The child of 
 shame ! The child of shame ! O my father, my father ! 
 what wrong have you done me ! " 
 
 There is not a doubt in her mind where the truth lies. 
 In a moment her thought has flashed over the whole 
 chain of evidence. The father s studied silence ; her 
 alienation from any home of her own ; the mysterious 
 hints of the Doctor ; and the strange communication of 
 Reuben, all come up in stately array and confound 
 her with the bitter truth.- There is a little miniature of 
 her father which she has kept among her choicest treas 
 ures. She seeks it now. Is it to throw it away in scorn ? 
 No, no, no ! Our affections are after all not submissible 
 to strict moral regimen. It is with set teeth and a hard 
 look in her eye that she regards it at first ; then her 
 eyes suffuse with tears while she looks, and she kisses it 
 passionately again and again. 
 
 " Can there be some horrible mistake in all this ? " she 
 asks herself. At the thought she slips on hat and shawl 
 and glides noiselessly down the stairs, (not for the world 
 would she have been interrupted !) and walks swiftly away 
 to her old home at the parsonage. 
 
 Dame Tourtelot meets her and says, " Good evening, 
 Miss Adeel." 
 
 And Adele, in a voice so firm that it does not seem her 
 own, says, " Good evening, Mrs. Tourtelot. She won 
 ders greatly at her own calmness. 
 
342 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 uv. 
 
 Clearer and Darker. 
 
 fT^HE Doctor is alone in his study when Adele comes 
 -*- in upon him, and she has reached his chair and 
 dropped upon her knees beside him before he has time 
 to rise. 
 
 "New Papa, you have been so kind to me ! I know 
 the truth now, the mystery, the shame ; " and she 
 dropped her head upon his knees. 
 
 " Adaly, Adaly, my dear child ! " said the old man 
 with a great tremor in his voice, " what does this 
 mean ? " 
 
 She was sobbing, sobbing. 
 
 " Adaly, my child, what can I do for you ? " 
 
 " Pray for me, New Papa ! " and she lifted her eyes 
 upon him with a tender, appealing look. 
 
 " Always, always, Adaly ! " 
 
 " Tell me, New Papa, tell me honestly, is it not 
 true that I can call no one mother, that I never 
 could?" 
 
 The Doctor trembled : he would have given ten years 
 of his life to have been able to challenge her story, to 
 disabuse her mind of the belief which he saw was fast 
 ened past all recall. " Adaly," said he, " Christ be 
 friended the Magdalen, how much more you, then, 
 if so be you are the unoffending child of " 
 
CLEARER AND DARKER. 343 
 
 " I knew it ! I knew it ! " and she fell to sobbing 
 again upon the knee of the old gentleman, in a wild, 
 passionate way. 
 
 In such supreme moments the mind reaches its de 
 cisions with electrical rapidity. Even as she leaned 
 there, her thought flashed upon that poor Madame 
 Aries who had so befriended her, against whom they 
 had cautioned her, who had shown such intense emo 
 tion at their first meeting, who had summoned her at the 
 last, and who had died with that wailing cry, " Mafille ! " 
 upon her lip. Yes, yes, her mother indeed, who died in 
 her arms ! (she can never forget that death-clasp.) 
 
 She hints as much to the Doctor, who, in view of his 
 recent communication from Maverick, will not gainsay 
 her. 
 
 When she moved away at last, as if for a leave-taking, 
 silent and humiliated, the old man said to her, "My 
 child, are you not still my Adaly? God is no respecter 
 of persons ; His ministers should be like Him." 
 
 Whereupon Adele came and kissed him with a warmth 
 that reminded him of days long past. 
 
 She rejoiced in not having encountered the gray, keen 
 eyes of the spinster. She knew they would read un 
 failingly the whole extent of the revelation that had 
 dawned upon her. That the spinster herself knew the 
 truth, and had long known it, she was sure ; and she 
 recalled with a shudder the look of those uncanny eyes 
 upon the evening of their little frolic at the Elderkins . 
 She dreaded the thought of ever meeting them again, 
 and still more the thought of listening to the stiff, cold 
 
344 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 words of consolation which she knew she would count it 
 her duty to administer. 
 
 It was dusk when she left the Doctor s door ; he 
 would have attended, but she begged to be alone. It 
 was an April evening, the chilliness of the earth just 
 yielding to the coming summer ; the frogs clamorous in 
 all the near pools, and filling the ah* with the harsh up 
 roar of their voices ; the delicate grass-blades were just 
 thrusting their tips through the brown web of the old 
 year s growth, and in sunny, close-trodden spots show 
 ing a mat of green ; while the fleecy brown blossoms of 
 the elm were tufting all the spray of the embowering 
 trees. Here and there a village loiterer greeted her 
 kindly. They all knew Miss Adele. "They will all 
 know it to-morrow," she thought, " and then then" 
 
 With a swift but unsteady step she makes her way to 
 the little grave-yard ; she had gone there often, and 
 there were those who said wantonly that she went to say 
 her prayers before the little cross upon the tomb-stone 
 she had placed over the grave of Madame Aries. Now 
 she threw herself prone upon the little hillock, with a low, 
 sharp cry of distress, like that of a wounded bird, 
 " My mother ! my mother ! " 
 
 Every word, every look of tenderness which the dead 
 woman had lavished, she recalls now with a terrible dis 
 tinctness. Those loud, vague appeals of her delirium 
 come to her recollection with a meaning in them that is 
 only too plain ; and then the tight, passionate clasp, 
 when, strained to her bosom, relief came at last. Adele 
 lies there unconscious of the time, until the night dews 
 
CLEARER AND DARKER. 345 
 
 warn her away ; she staggers through the gate. Where 
 next ? She fancies they must know it all at the Elder- 
 kins , that she has no right there. Is she not an es- 
 tray upon the world ? Shall she not as well first as 
 last wander forth, homeless as she is, into the night ? 
 And true to these despairing thoughts, she hurries away 
 farther and farther from the town. The frogs croak 
 monotonously in all the marshes, as if in mockery of her 
 grief. On some near tree an owl is hooting, with a voice 
 that is strangely and pitifully human. Presently an 
 outlying farm-house shows its cheery, hospitable light 
 through the window-panes, and she is tempted to short 
 en her steps and steal a look into the room where the 
 family sits grouped around the firelight. No such sanc 
 tuary for her ever was or ever can be. Even the lowing 
 of a cow in the yard, and the answering bleat of a calf 
 within the barn, seem to mock the outcast. 
 
 On she passes, scarce knowing whither her hurrying 
 steps are bearing her, until at last she spies a low build 
 ing in the fields away upon her right, which she knows. 
 It is the home of that outlawed woman where Madame 
 Aries had died. Here at least she will be met with 
 sympathy, even if the truth were wholly known ; and 
 yet perhaps last of all places would she have it known 
 there. She taps at the door ; she has wandered out of 
 her way, and asks for a moment s rest. The little boy 
 of the house, when he has made out the visitor by a few 
 furtive peeps from behind the mother s chair, comes to 
 her fawningly and familiarly ; and as Adele looks into 
 his bright, fearless eyes, a new courage seems to possess 
 
346 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 her. God s children, all of us ; and He careth even for 
 the sparrows. She will conquer her despairing weak 
 ness ; she will accept her cross and bear it resolutely. 
 By slow degrees she is won over by the frolicsome humor 
 of the curly-pated boy, who never once quits her side, 
 into cheerful prattle with him. And when at last, fairly 
 rested, she would set off on her return, the lone woman 
 says she will see her safely as far as the village street ; 
 the boy, too, insists doggedly upon attending them ; 
 and so, with her hand tightly clasped in the hand of the 
 lad, Adele makes her way back into the town. Along 
 the street she passes, even under the windows of the 
 parsonage, with her hand still locked in that of the out 
 lawed boy ; and she wonders if in broad day the same 
 courage would be ineted to her ? They only part when 
 within sight of the broad glow of light from the Elder- 
 kin windows ; and here Adele, taking out her purse, 
 counts out the half of her money and places it in the 
 hands of the boy. 
 
 "We will share and share alike, Arthur," said she. 
 " But never tell who gave you this." 
 
 "But, Miss Maverick, it s too much," said the woman. 
 
 "No, it s not," said the boy, clutching it eagerly. 
 
 With a parting good-night, Adele darted within the 
 gate, and opened softly the door, determined to meet 
 courageously whatever rebuffs might be in store for her. 
 
CONFIDENCES. 347 
 
 LV. 
 
 Confidences. 
 
 ROSE has detailed the story of the occurrence, with 
 the innocent curiosity of girlhood, to the Squire 
 and Mrs. Elderkin (Phil being just now away). The 
 Squire, as he hears it, has passed a significant look 
 across to Mrs. Elderkin. 
 
 " It s very queer, is n t it? " asked Rose. 
 
 " Very," said the Squire, who had for some time cher 
 ished suspicions of certain awkward relations existing 
 between Maverick and the mother of Adele, but never 
 so decided as this story would seem to warrant. " And 
 what said Adele ? " continued he. 
 
 "It disturbed her, I think, papa ; she did n t seem at 
 all herself." 
 
 "Rose, my dear," said the kindly old gentleman, 
 " there is some unlucky family difference between Mr. 
 and Mrs. Maverick, and I dare say the talk was unpleas 
 ant to Adele ; if I were you, I would n t allude to it 
 again ; don t mention it, please, Rose." 
 
 If it could be possible, good Mrs. Elderkin greeted 
 Adele as she came in more warmly than ever. "You 
 must be careful, my dear, of these first spring days of 
 oui*s ; you are late to-night." 
 
 "Yes," says Adele, "I was gone longer than I 
 thought. I rambled off to the churchyard, and I have 
 been at the Doctor s." 
 
348 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Again the old people exchanged glances. 
 
 Why does she find herself watcning their looks so 
 curiously ? Yet there is nothing but kindness in them. 
 She is glad Phil is not there. 
 
 The next morning the Squire stepped over at an early 
 hour to the parsonage, and by ail adroit question or 
 two, which the good Doctor had neither the art nor the 
 disposition to evade, unriddled the whole truth with re 
 spect to the parentage of Adele. The Doctor also ad 
 vised him of the delusion of the poor girl with respect 
 to Madame Aries, and how he had considered it unwise 
 to attempt any explanation until he should hear further 
 from Mr. Maverick, whose recent letter he counted it his 
 duty to lay before Mr. Elderkin. 
 
 " It s a sad business," said he. 
 
 And the Doctor, " The way of the wicked is as dark 
 ness ; they know not at what they stumble. " 
 
 The Squire walks home in a brown study. Like all 
 the rest, he has been charmed with the liveliness and 
 grace of Adele ; over and over he has said to his boy, 
 "How fares it, Phil? Why, at your age, my boy, I 
 should have had her in the toils long ago." 
 
 Since her domestication under his own roof, the 
 old gentleman s liking for her had grown tenfold 
 strong ; he had familiarized himself with the idea of 
 counting her one of his own flock. But, the child of a 
 French 
 
 " Well, well, we will see what the old lady may say," 
 reflected he. And he took the first private occasion to 
 lay the matter before Mrs. Elderkin. 
 
CONFIDENCES. 549 
 
 "Well, mother, the suspicions of last night are all 
 true, true as a book." 
 
 "God help the poor child, then ! " said Madam, hold 
 ing up her hands. 
 
 " Of course He 11 do that, wife. But what say you 
 to Phil s marriage, now ? " 
 
 The old lady reflected a moment, lifting her hand to 
 smooth the hair upon her temple, as if in aid of her 
 thought, then said, " Giles, you know the world 
 better than I ; you know best what may be well for the 
 boy. I love Adele very much ; I do not believe that I 
 should love her any less if she were the wife of PhiL 
 But you know best, Giles ; you must decide." 
 
 " There s a good woman ! " said the Squire ; and he 
 stayed his pace up and down the room to lay his hand 
 approvingly upon the head of the old lady, touching as 
 tenderly those gray locks as ever he had done in earlier 
 years the ripples of golden brown. 
 
 In a few days Phil returns, blithe, hopeful, winsome 
 as ever. He is puzzled, however, by the grave manner 
 of the Squire, when he takes him aside, after the first 
 hearty greetings, and says, "Phil, my lad, how fares it 
 with the love-matter? Have things come to a crisis, 
 eh?" 
 
 " What do you mean, father?" and Phil blushes like 
 a boy of ten. 
 
 " I mean to ask, Philip," said the old gentleman, 
 measuredly, " if you have made any positive declaration 
 to Miss Maverick." 
 
 "Not yet," said Phil, with a modest frankness. 
 
350 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 "Very good, my son, very good. And now, Phil, I 
 would wait a little, take time for reflection ; don t do 
 any thing rashly. It s an important step to take." 
 
 "But, father," says Phil, puzzled by the old gentle 
 man s manner, " what does this mean ? " 
 
 "Philip," said the Squire, with a seriousness that 
 seemed almost comical by its excess, "would you really 
 marry Adele ? " 
 
 " To-morrow, if I could," said Phil. 
 
 "Tut, tut, Phil! It s the old hot blood in him ! " 
 (He says this, as if to himself.) "Philip, I would n t 
 hurry the matter, my boy." 
 
 And thereupon he gives him in his way a story of the 
 revelations of the last few days. 
 
 At the first, Phil is disposed to an indignant denial, 
 as if by no possibility any indignity could attach to the 
 name or associations of Adele. But in the whirl of his 
 feeling he remembered that interview with Reuben, and 
 his boast that Phil could not affront the conventionalities 
 of the world. It confirmed the truth to him in a mo 
 ment. Reuben then had known the whole, and had been 
 disinterestedly generous. Should he be any less so ? 
 
 "Well, father," said Phil, after a minute or two of 
 silence, "I don t think the story changes my mind one 
 whit. I would marry her to-morrow, if I could," and 
 he looked the Squire fairly and squarely in the face. 
 
 "Gad, boy," said the old gentleman, "you must love 
 her as I loved your mother ! " 
 
 "I hope I do," said Phil, " that is, if I win her. I 
 don t think she s to be had for the asking." 
 
CONFIDENCES. 351 
 
 "Aha ! the pinch lies there, eh ? " said the Squire, and 
 he said it in better humor than he would have said it 
 ten days before. " What s the trouble, Philip ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, I think she always had a tenderness for 
 Reuben ; I think she loves him now in her heart." 
 
 " So, so ! The wind lies there, eh ? WeU, let it bide, 
 my boy ; let it bide awhile." 
 
 And there the discourse of the Squire ended. 
 
 Meantime, however, Rose and Adele are having a 
 little private interview above stairs, which in its subject- 
 matter is not wholly unrelated to the same theme. 
 
 " Rose," Adele had said, as she fondled her in her win 
 ning way, "your brother Phil has been very kind to me." 
 
 "He always meant to be," said Rose, with a charming 
 glow upon her face. 
 
 " He always has been," said Adele ; " but, dear Rose, 
 I know I can talk as plainly to you as to another self 
 almost." 
 
 " You can, you can, Ady," said she. 
 
 "I have thought," continued Adele, "though I know 
 it is very unmaidenly in me to say it, that Phil was dis 
 posed sometimes to talk even more warmly than he has 
 ever talked, and to ask me to be a nearer friend to him 
 even than you, deal* Rose. May be it is only my own 
 vanity that leads me sometimes to suspect this." 
 
 " Oh, I hope it may be time ! " burst forth Rose. 
 
 " I hope o," said Adele, with a voice so gravely ear 
 nest that Rose shuddered. 
 
 " O Ady, you don t mean it ! you who are so good, so 
 kind ! Phil s heart will break." 
 
352 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " I don t think that," said Adele, with a faint hard 
 smile, in which her womanly vanity struggled with her 
 resolution. " And whatever might have been, that 
 which I have hinted at must not be now, dear Kose. 
 You will know some day why why it would be un 
 grateful in me to determine otherwise. Promise me, 
 darling, that you will discourage any inclination toward 
 it, wherever you can. Promise me, dear Rose ! " 
 
 "Do you really, truly mean it ? " said the other, with 
 a disappointment she but poorly concealed. 
 
 With all my heart, I do," said Adele. 
 
 And Eose promised, while she threw herself upon the 
 neck of Adele and said, " I am so sorry ! It will be such 
 a blow to poor Phil ! " 
 
 After this, things went on very much in their old way. 
 To the great relief of Adele there was no explosive vil 
 lage demonstration of the news which had come home 
 so cruelly to herself. The Doctor had given an admoni 
 tion to tSe young minister, and the old Squire had told 
 him, in a pointed and confidential wa}% that he had heard 
 of his inquiries and assertions with respect to Mr. Maver 
 ick, and begged to hint that the relations between the 
 father and mother of Adele were not of the happiest, and 
 it was quite possible that Mr. Maverick had assumed lat 
 terly the name of a bachelor ; it was not, however, a very 
 profitable subject of speculation or of gossip, and if he 
 valued the favor of the young ladies he would forbear all 
 allusion to it. A suggestion which Mr. Catesby was not 
 slow to accept religiously, and scrupulously to bear in 
 mind. 
 
CONFIDENCES. 353 
 
 Phil was as hot a lover as ever, though for a time a 
 little more distant : and the poor fellow remarked a new 
 timidity and reserve about Adele, which, so far from 
 abating, only fed the flame ; and there is no knowing to 
 what reach it might have blazed out, if a trifling little 
 circumstance had not paralyzed his zeal. 
 
 From time to time, Phil had been used to bring home 
 a rare flower or two as a gift for Adele, which Rose had 
 always lovingly arranged in some coquettish fashion, 
 either upon the bosom or in the hair of Adele ; but a 
 new and late gift of this kind a little tuft of the trail 
 ing arbutus which he has clambered over miles of wood 
 land to secure is not worn by Adele, but by Hose, 
 who glances into the astounded face of Phil with a 
 pretty, demure look of penitence. 
 
 "I say, Rose," says he, seizing his chance for a private 
 word, " that s not for you." 
 
 " I know it, Phil; Adele gave it to me." 
 
 "And that s her favorite flower." 
 
 " Yes, Phil," and there is a shake in her voice now. " I 
 think she s grown tired of such gifts, Phil ; " whereat 
 she glances keenly and pitifully at him. 
 
 " Truly, Rose ? " says Phil, with the color on a sudden 
 quitting his cheeks. 
 
 " Truly, truly, Phil," and in spite of herself the 
 pretty hazel eyes are brimming full, and, under pretence 
 of some household duty, she dashes away. For a moment 
 Phil stands confounded. Then, through his set teeth, he 
 growls, "I was a fool not to have known it ! " 
 23 
 
354 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Adele Reuben Maverick. 
 
 AD^LE sees clearly now the full burden of Reuben s 
 proposal to cherish and guard her against what 
 ever indignities might threaten ; she sees more clearly 
 than ever the rich, impulsive generosity of his nature re 
 flected, and it disturbs her grievously to think that she 
 had met it only with reproach. The thought of the mad, 
 wild, godless career upon which he may have entered, 
 and of which the village gossips are full, is hardly more 
 afflictive to her than her recollection of that frank, self- 
 sacrificing generosity, so ignobly requited. She longs 
 in her heart to clear the debt, to tell him what grate 
 ful sense she has of his intended kindness. But how ? 
 Should she, being what she is, even by a w r ord, 
 seem to invite a return of that devotion which may be 
 was but the passion of an hour, and which it were fatal 
 to renew ? And yet and yet so brave a generosity 
 shall not be wholly unacknowledged. She writes : 
 
 " Eeuben, I know now the full weight of the favor 
 you promised to bestow upon me when I so blindly re 
 proached you with intrusion upon my private griefs. 
 Forgive me, Reuben ! I thank you now, late as it is, 
 with my whole heart. It is needless to tell you how I 
 came to know what, perhaps, I had better never have 
 known, but which must always have overhung me as a 
 
ADELERE U BEN MA VERICK. 3 5 5 
 
 dark cloud. This knowledge, clear Reuben, which sepa 
 rates us so surely and so widely, takes away the embar 
 rassment I might have felt in telling you of my lasting 
 gratitude, and (if as a sister I may say it) my love. If 
 your kind heart could so overflow with pity then, you 
 will surely pity me the more now ; yet not too much, 
 Reuben, for my pride is as strong as ever. The world 
 was made for me, as much as it was made for others ; 
 and if I bear its blight, I will find some flowers yet to 
 cherish. I do not count it altogether so grim and odious 
 a world, even under the broken light which shines 
 upon it for me, as in your last visits you seemed dis 
 posed to reckon it 
 
 "How is it with the cloud that lay in those times 
 upon you ? Is there any light ? Ah, Reuben, when I 
 recall those days in which long ago your faith in some 
 thing better beyond this world than lies in it seemed to 
 be so much stronger and firmer than mine, and when 
 your trust was so confident as to make mine stronger, it 
 seems like a strange dream to me, all the more when 
 now you, who should reason more justly than I, believe 
 in nothing, (was not that your last word ?) and yet, 
 dear Reuben, I cling, I cling. Do you remember the 
 old hymn I sung in those days : 
 
 * Ingemisco tanquam reus. 
 
 Even your good father, who was so troubled by the 
 Romish hymns, said it must have been written by 9- 
 good man." 
 
 Much more she writes in this vein, but returns ever 
 
356 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 and again to that noble generosity of his, her delicacy 
 struggling throughout with her tender gratitude, yet 
 she fails not to show a deep, earnest undercurrent of af 
 fection, which surely might develop under sympathy 
 into a very fever of love. Will it not touch the heart of 
 Reuben ? Will it not divert him from the trail where he 
 wanders blindly ? 
 
 God send that the letter may reach him safely. 
 
 For a long time Adele has not written to Eeuben, and 
 it occurs to her, as she strolls away toward the village 
 post, that to mail it herself may possibly provoke new 
 town gossip. In this perplexity she presently encoun 
 ters her boy friend, Arthur, who for a handful of pen 
 nies, and under an injunction of secrecy, cheerfully un 
 dertakes the duty. To the house of the lad s mother, 
 far away as it was, Adele had wandered frequently of 
 late, and had borne away from time to time some tri 
 fling memento of the dead one whose memory so en 
 deared the spot. It happens that she continues her 
 stroll thither on this occasion ; and the poor woman, to 
 ward whom Adele s charities have flowed with a profu 
 sion that has astounded the Doctor, repays some new 
 gift by placing in her hands a little embroidered ker 
 chief, "too fine for such as she," which had belonged to 
 Madame Aries. A flimsy bit of muslin daintily embroid 
 ered ; but there is a name stitched upon its corner, for 
 which Adele treasures it past all reckoning, the name 
 of Julie Chalet. 
 
 It was as if the dead one had suddenly come back and 
 whispered it in her ear, Julie Chalet. The spring 
 
AD&LEREUBEN-^UA I ERICK. 357 
 
 birds sung the name in chorus as she walked home ; and 
 on the grave-stone, under the cross, she seemed to see 
 it cut upon the marble, Julie Chalet. 
 
 Adele has written to her father, of course, in those 
 days when the first shock of the new revelation had 
 passed. How could she do otherwise ? 
 
 I think I now understand," she writes, "the reason 
 of your long absence from me. Whatever other griefs I 
 bear, I will not believe that it has been from lack of af 
 fection for me. I recall that day, dear papa, when, with 
 my head lying on your bosom, you said to me, She is 
 unworthy ; I will love you for both. You must ! But 
 was she, papa, so utterly unworthy ? I think I have 
 known her ; nay, I feel almost sure, sure that these 
 arms held her in the moment when she breathed adieu 
 to the world. If ever bad, I am sure that she must have 
 grown into goodness. I cannot, I will not, think other 
 wise. I can tell you so many of her kind deeds as will 
 take away your condemnation. In this hope I live, dear 
 papa. 
 
 "I have found her true name too, at last, Julie 
 Chalet, is it not so ? I wonder with what feeling you 
 will read it ; will it be with awakened fondness ? will 
 it be with loathing ? I tremble while I ask. You shall 
 go with me (will you not?) to her grave; and there a 
 kind Heaven will put in our hearts what memories are 
 best. 
 
 " I know now the secret of your caution in respect to 
 Reuben ; you have been unwilling that your child should 
 bring shame to the household of a friend ! Trust to me, 
 
358 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 trust to me, papa. Yet I have never told you what 
 I have since learned of the unselfish devotion of Reu 
 ben, which declared itself when he knew all, all. Would 
 I not be almost tempted to thank him with myself ? 
 Yet, if I have written him with an almost unrnaidenly 
 warmth, I have called to his mind the great gulf that 
 must lie between us. 
 
 " Is the old godmother, of whom you used to speak, 
 still alive ? It seems that I should love to hang about 
 her neck in memory of days gone ; it seems that I should 
 love the warm sky under which I was born, I am sure 
 I should love the olive-orchards, and the vines, and the 
 light upon the sea. I feel as if I were living in chains 
 now. When, when will you come to break them, and 
 set me free ? " 
 
 In those days of May, when the leaflets were unfolding, 
 and when the downy bluebells were lifting their clus 
 tered blossoms filled with a mysterious fragrance, like 
 the breath of young babes, Adele loved to linger in the 
 study of the parsonage ; more than ever the good 
 Doctor seemed a " New Papa," more than ever his eye 
 dwelt upon her with a parental smile. It was not that 
 she loved Rose less, that she lingered here so long ; but 
 she could not shake off the conviction that some day 
 soon Rose might shrink from her. 
 
 The Doctor was always gravely kind. " Have cour 
 age, Adaly, have courage ! " he was wont to say ; " God 
 orders all things right." 
 
 And somehow, when she hears him say it, she believes 
 it more than ever. 
 
MAVERICK IS MARRIED. 359 
 
 Ten days, a fortnight, and a month pass, and there is 
 no acknowledgment from Reuben of her grateful letter. 
 He does not count it worth his while, apparently, to 
 break his long silence ; or, possibly, he is too much en 
 grossed with livelier interests to give a thought to this 
 episode of his old life in Ashfield. Adele is disturbed 
 by it ; but the very disturbance gives her new courage 
 to combat faithfully the difficulties of her position. 
 " One cheering word I would have thought he might 
 have given me," said she. 
 
 The appeal to her father, too, has no answer. Be 
 fore it reaches its destination, Maverick has taken ship 
 for America ; and, singularly enough, it is fated that the 
 letter of Adele should be first opened and read by her 
 mother. 
 
 LVIL 
 
 Maverick is Married. 
 
 SOME time in mid-May of this year Maverick 
 writes : 
 
 "My dear Johns, I shall again greet you, God will 
 ing, in your own home, some forty days hence, and I 
 shall come as a repentant Benedick ; for I now wear the 
 dignities of a married man. Your kind letter counted 
 for a great deal toward my determination ; but I will 
 not affect to conceal from you, that my tender interest 
 in the f uture of Adele counted for a great deal more. 
 As I had supposed, the communication to Julie (which I 
 
360 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 effected through her brother) that her child was still 
 living, and living motherless, woke all the tenderness of 
 her nature. I cannot say that the sudden change in her 
 inclinations was any way flattering to me ; but knowing 
 her recent religious austerities, I was prepared for this. 
 I shall not undertake to describe to you our first inter 
 view, which I can never forget. It belongs to those 
 heart-secrets which cannot be spoken of ; but this much 
 I may tell you, that, if there was no kindling of the 
 old and wayward love, there grew out of it a respect for 
 her present severity and elevation of character that I 
 had never anticipated. At our age, indeed, (though, 
 when I think of it, I must be many years your junior,) 
 a respect for womanly character most legitimately takes 
 the place of that disorderly sentiment which . twenty 
 years ago blazed out in passion. 
 
 " We have been married according to the rites of the 
 Romish Church. If I had proposed other ceremony, 
 more agreeable to your views, I am confident that she 
 would not have listened to me. She is wrapped as 
 steadfastly in her creed as ever you in yours. To do 
 otherwise in so sacred a matter and with her it wore 
 solely that aspect than as her Church commands, 
 would have been to do foully and vainly. The only 
 trace of worldliness which I see in her is her intense 
 yearning toward our dear Adele, and her passionate 
 longing to clasp the child once more to her heart. Nor 
 will I conceal from you that she hopes, with all the fer 
 vor of a mother s hope, to wean her from what she counts 
 the heretical opinions under which she has been reared. 
 
MAVERICK IS MARRIED. 361 
 
 " You will naturally ask, my dear Johns, why I do 
 not combat this ; but I am too old and too far spent for 
 a fight about creeds. I should have made a lame fight 
 on that score at any clay ; but now my main concern, it 
 would seem, should be to look out personally for the 
 creed which has most of mercy in it. If I seem to speak 
 triflingly, my dear Johns, I pray you excuse me ; it is 
 only my business way of stating the actual facts in the 
 case. As for Madame Maverick, I am sure you will find 
 no trifling in her (if you ever meet her) ; she is terribly 
 in earnest. Yet I should do wrong if I were to represent 
 her as always severe, even upon such a theme ; there 
 certainly belongs to her a tender, appealing manner 
 (reminding of Adele in a way that brings tears to my 
 eyes) but it is always bounded by allegiance to her sworn 
 faith. My home near to Marseilles, which has been but 
 a gypsy home for so many years, she has taken under her 
 hand, and by its new appointments and order has con 
 victed me of the losses I have felt so long. True, you 
 might object to the oratoire ; but in all else I am confi 
 dent you would approve, and in all else felicitate Adele. 
 
 "Madame Maverick will not sail with me for America ; 
 although the marriage, under French law, may have ad 
 mitted Adele to all rights and even social immunities, 
 yet I have represented that another law and custom rule 
 with you. Whatever opprobrium might attach to the 
 mother, Julie, with her exalted religious sentiment, 
 would not weigh for a moment ; but as regards Adele, 
 she manifests a strange tenderness. But while she as- 
 sents with some reluctance, I must admit to this 
 
362 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 plan of deferring her meeting with Adele, she insists in 
 a way that I find it difficult to combat, upon her child s 
 speedy return. That her passionate love will insure en 
 tire devotion on the part of Adele, I cannot doubt. And 
 how the anti-Romish faith instilled in the dear girl by 
 your teachings, as well as by her associations, may with 
 stand the earnest attack of Madame Maverick, I cannot 
 tell. I have a fear it may lead to some dismal compli 
 cations. You know what the earnestness of your own 
 faith is ; but I don t think you yet know the earnestness 
 of an opposing faith, with a Frenchwoman to back it. 
 Even as I write, she comes to cast a glance at my work, 
 and says Monsieur Maverick, (she called me Frank 
 once, ) what are you saying there to the heretical Doc 
 tor? 
 
 " Whereupon I translate for her ear a sentence or two. 
 Tell him, says she, that I thank him for his kindness ; 
 tell him besides, that I can in no way better atone for 
 the guiltiness of the past, than by bringing back this 
 wandering lamb into the true fold. Only when we 
 kneel before the same altar, her hand in mine, can I feel 
 that she is truly my child. 
 
 " I fear greatly this zeal may prove infectious. 
 
 "And now, my dear Johns, in regard to the revela 
 tion to Adele of what is written here, I must throw my 
 self on your charity. For Heaven s sake, tell the story 
 as kindly as you can. See to it, I pray, that my name 
 don t become a bugbear in the village. I have pretty 
 broad shoulders, and could bear it, if I only were to be 
 sufferer ; but I am sure t would react fearfully on the 
 
MA VERICK IS MARRIED. 363 
 
 sensibilities of poor Adele. Do me this favor, Johns, 
 and you will find me a more willing listener in what is 
 to come. I can t promise, indeed, to accept all your 
 dogmas ; there is a thick crust of the world on me, and 
 I doubt if you could force them through it ; but, for 
 Adele s sake, I think I could become a very orderly and 
 presentable person, even for a New England meeting 
 house. I will make a beginning now by turning over 
 the little property which you hold for Adele, in trust, 
 for disbursement in your parish charities. The dear 
 child won t need it, and the parish may." 
 
 The Doctor was happy to be relieved of the worst 
 part of the revelation ; but he had yet to communicate 
 the fact that the mother was still alive, and (what was to 
 him worst of all) that she was irnbruted with the delu 
 sions of the Romish Church. He chose his hour, and, 
 meeting her upon the village street, asked her into his 
 study. 
 
 "Adaly, your father is coming. He will be here 
 within a month." 
 
 " At last ! at last ! " said she, with a cry of joy. 
 
 But, Adaly," continued he, with great gravity, "I 
 have perhaps led you into error. Your mother, Adaly, 
 your mother is still living." 
 
 " Living ! " and an expression almost of radiance shot 
 over the fair face. But in an instant it was gone. "Was 
 not the poor lady she had so religiously mourned over 
 her mother ? That death embrace and the tomb were, 
 then, only solemn mockeries ! With a frightful alert 
 ness her thought ran to them, weighed them. " Ne\v 
 
364 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Papa, said she, approaching him with a gravity that 
 matched his own, "is this some new delusion? Is it 
 true ? Has he written me ? " 
 
 " He has not written you, my child ; but I have a let 
 ter, informing me of his marriage, and begging me to 
 make the revelation to you as kindly as I might." 
 
 "Marriage! Marriage to whom?" says Adele, her 
 eyes flashing fire, and her lips showing a tempest of 
 scarce controllable feeling. 
 
 " Marriage to your mother, Adaly. He would be 
 just at last." 
 
 " O my God ! " exclaimed Adele, with a burst of tears. 
 " It s false ! I shall never see my mother again in this 
 world. I know it ! I know it ! " 
 
 " But, Adaly, my child, consider ! " said the old gen 
 tleman. 
 
 Adele did not heed him. She was lost in her own 
 griefs. She could only exclaim, "O my father! my 
 father ! " 
 
 The old Doctor was greatly moved : he laid down his 
 spectacles, and paced up and down the room. The ear 
 nestness of her doubt made him almost believe that he 
 was himself deceived. 
 
 " Can it be ? can it be ? " he muttered, half under 
 breath, while Adele sat drooping in her chair. " May 
 be the instinct of the poor girl is right, after all," 
 thought he, " sin is so full of disguises." 
 
 At this moment there is a sharp tap at the door, and 
 Miss Eliza steps in, the bearer of a letter from Reuben. 
 
NEW COMPLICATIONS. 365 
 
 Lvm. 
 
 New Complications. 
 
 A LETTER from Reuben indeed has come ; but not 
 for Miss Adele. The Doctor is glad of the relief 
 its perusal will give him. Meantime Miss Eliza, in her 
 stately, patronizing manner, and with a coolness that 
 was worse than a sneer, says, "I hope you have pleasant 
 news from your various friends abroad, Miss Maverick ? " 
 
 Adele lifted her eyes with a glitter in them that for 
 a moment was almost serpent-like ; then, as if regretting 
 her show of vexation, and with an evasive reply, bowed 
 her head again to brood over the strange suspicions that 
 haunted her. Miss Johns, totally unmoved, thinking 
 all the grief but a righteous dispensation for the sin in 
 which the poor child had been born, next addressed 
 the Doctor, who had run his eye with extraordinary 
 eagerness through the letter of his son. 
 
 " What does Reuben say, Benjamin ? " 
 
 " His idols, again, Eliza ; t is always the flesh-pots 
 of Egypt. " 
 
 And the Doctor reads : " There is just now rare prom 
 ise of a good venture in our trade at one of the ports 
 of Sicily, and we have freighted two ships for immediate 
 dispatch. At the last moment our supercargo has failed 
 us, and Brindlock has suggested that I go myself ; it is 
 short notice, as the ship is in the stream, and may sail 
 
366 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 to-morrow, but I rather fancy the idea, and have deter 
 mined to go. I hope you will approve. Of course, I 
 shall have no time to run up to Ashfield to say good-by. 
 I shall try for a freight back from Naples, otherwise 
 shall make some excuse to run across the Straits for a 
 look at Vesuvius and the matters thereabout. St. Paul, 
 you know, voyaged in those seas, which will interest you 
 in my trip. I dare say I shall find where he landed ; 
 it s not far from Naples, Mrs. Brindlock tells me. Give 
 love to the people who ever ask about me in Ashfield. 
 I inclose a check of five hundred dollars for parish con 
 tingencies till I come back ; hoping to find you clean out 
 of harness by that time." (The Doctor cannot for his 
 life repress a little smile here.) " Tell Adele I shall see 
 her blue Mediterranean at last, and will bring her back 
 an olive leaf, if I find any growing within reach. Tell 
 Phil I love him, and that he deserves all the good he will 
 surely get in this world, or in any other. Ditto for Rose. 
 Ditto for good old Mrs. Elderkin, whom I could almost 
 kiss for the love she s shown me. What high old 
 romps have n t we had in her garden ! Eh, Adele ? (I 
 suppose you 11 show her this letter, father.) 
 
 " Good-by, again. 
 
 " N. B. We hope to make a cool thirty thousand out 
 of this venture ! " 
 
 Adele had half roused herself at the hearing of her 
 name, but the careless, jocular mention of it, (so it 
 seemed at least,) in contrast with the warmer leave-tak 
 ing of other friends, added a new pang to her distress. 
 She wished, for a moment, that she had never written 
 
NEW COMPLICATIONS. 367 
 
 her letter of thanks. What if she wished in that hour 
 of terrible suspicion and of vain search after any object 
 upon which her future happiness might rest that she 
 had never been bora ? 
 
 " It will be of service to Eeuben, I think, Benjamin," 
 said Aunt Eliza ; "I quite approve," and slipped away 
 noiselessly. 
 
 The Doctor was still musing, the letter in his hand, 
 
 when Adele rose, and, approaching him, said in her 
 gentlest way, " It s a great grief to you, New Papa, I 
 know it is, but God orders all things well, except 
 for me." 
 
 " Adaly ! my child, I am shocked! " 
 She had roused the preacher in him unwittingly. 
 "I can t listen now," said she, impatiently ; "and tell 
 me, you must, did papa give you the name of this 
 
 new person he is to many ? " 
 
 " Yes, Adaly, yes," but he has forgotten it ; and search 
 ing for the previous letter, he presently finds it, and sets 
 it before her, "Mademoiselle Chalet." 
 
 " Chalet ! " screams she. " There is some horrible 
 mistake, New Papa. More than ever I am in the dark, 
 
 in the dark ! " And with a hasty adieu she rushed 
 away, taking her course straight for the house of that 
 outlawed woman, with whom now, more than ever, 
 she must have so many sympathies in common. Her 
 present object, however, was to learn if any more defin 
 ite evidence could be found that the deceased lady 
 mother still, in her thought bore the name of Chalet. 
 She found the evidence. One or two little books (de- 
 
368 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 votional books they prove to be), which the mistress of 
 the house had thrown by as valueless, were brought out, 
 upon the fly-leaves of which the keen eyes of Adele de 
 tected the name, crossed and recrossed indeed, as if 
 the poor woman would have destroyed all traces of her 
 identity, but still showing when held to the light a 
 portion of the name she so cherished in her heart, 
 Chalet. 
 
 Adele was more than ever incensed at thought of the 
 delusion or the deception of her father. But, by de 
 grees, her indignation yielded to her affection. He was 
 himself to come, he w r ould make it clear ; this new 
 mother whom she was sure she should not love was 
 to remain ; the Doctor had told her this much. She 
 would have rushed to her arms ; no fear of idle tongues 
 could have kept her back. And though she j T earned for 
 the time when she should be clasped once more in her 
 father s arms, she dreaded the thought of crossing the 
 seas with him upon such empty pilgrimage. She half 
 wished for some excuse to detain her here, some fast 
 anchor by which her love might cling, within reach of 
 that grave where her holier affections had centered. 
 
 This wish was confirmed by the more cordial manner 
 in which she was received by the Elderkins, and, indeed, 
 by the whole village, so soon as the Doctor had made 
 known the fact as he did upon the earliest occasion 
 that Mr. Maverick was speedily to come for Adele, 
 and to restore her to the embraces of a mother whom she 
 had not seen for years. 
 
 Even the spinster, at the parsonage, was disposed to 
 
NEW COMPLICATIONS. 369 
 
 credit something to the rigid legal aspects which the af 
 fair was taking, and to find in them a shelter for her 
 wounded dignities. Nor did she share the inquietude 
 of the Doctor at thought of the new and terrible relig 
 ious influences to which Adele must presently be ex 
 posed. T was right, in her exalted view, that she 
 should struggle and agonize and wrestle with Satan for 
 much time to come, before she should fully cleanse her 
 bedraggled skirts of all taint of heathenism, and stand 
 upon the high plane with herself, among the elect. 
 
 "It is satisfactory to reflect, Benjamin," said she, 
 "that during her residence with us the poor girl has 
 been imbued with right principles ; at least I trust 
 so." 
 
 And as she spoke, the exemplary old lady plucked 
 a little waif of down from her bombazine dress, and 
 snapped it away jauntily upon the air, even as through 
 out her life, she had snapped from her the temptations 
 of the world. And when, in his Scripture reading 
 that very night, the Doctor came upon the passage, 
 "Woe unto you, Pharisees!" the mind of the spinster 
 was cheerfully intent upon the wretched sinners of 
 Judea. 
 
 M 
 
370 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 A Trust for Phil. 
 
 riTHJD news of Maverick s prospective arrival, and the 
 -*- comments of the good Doctor, as we have said, 
 shed a new light upon the position of Adele. Old 
 Squire Elderkin, with a fatherly interest, was not unaf 
 fected by it ; indeed, the Doctor had been communica 
 tive with him to a degree that had enlisted very warmly 
 the old gentleman s sympathies. 
 
 " Better late than never, Doctor," had been his com 
 ment ; and he had thought it worth his while to drop a 
 hint or two in the ear of Phil. 
 
 "I say, Phil, my boy, I gave you a word of caution 
 not long ago in regard to to Miss Maverick. There 
 were some bad stories afloat, my boy ; but they are 
 cleared up, quite cleared up, Phil." 
 
 " I m glad of it, sir," says Phil. 
 
 "So am I, so am I, my boy. She s a fine girl, 
 Phil, eh ? " 
 
 "I think she is, sir." 
 
 " The deuce you do ! Well, and what then ? " 
 
 Phil blushed, but the smile that came on his face was 
 not a hearty one. 
 
 "Well, Phil?" 
 
 " I said she was a fine girl, sir," said he, measuredly. 
 
 " But she s an uncommon fine girl, Phil, eh ? " 
 
A TRUST FOR PHIL. 371 
 
 "I think she is, sir." 
 "Weft? 1 
 
 Phil was twirling his hat in an abstracted way be 
 tween his knees. " I don t think she s to be won very 
 easily," said he at last. 
 
 " Nonsense, Phil ! Faint heart never won. Make a 
 bold push for it, my boy. The best birds drop at a 
 quick shot" 
 
 " Do they ? " said Phil, with a smile of incredulity 
 that the old gentleman did not comprehend. 
 
 He found, indeed, a much larger measure of hope in 
 a little hint that was let fall by Rose two days after. " I 
 would n t despair if I were you, Phil," she had whispered 
 in his ear. 
 
 Phil, indeed, had never given over most devoted and 
 respectful attentions to Adele ; but he had shown them 
 latterly with a subdued and half-distrustful air, which 
 Adele with her keen insight had not been slow to un 
 derstand. 
 
 Yet it was not easy for Phil, or indeed for any other, 
 to comprehend or explain the manner of Adele at this 
 time. Elated she certainly was in the highest degree at 
 the thought of meeting and welcoming her father ; and 
 there was an exuberance in her spirits when she talked 
 of it, that seemed almost unnatural ; but the coming 
 shadow of the new mother whom she was bound to wel 
 come dampened all. The Doctor indeed had warned her 
 against the Romish prejudices of this newly found rela 
 tive, and had entreated her to cling by the faith in which 
 she had been reared ; but it was no fear of any such con- 
 
372 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 flict that oppressed her ; creeds all vanished under the 
 blaze of that natural affection which craved a motherly 
 embrace and which foresaw only falsity. 
 
 What wonder if her thought ran back, in its craving, 
 to the days long gone, to the land where the olive 
 grew upon the hills, and the sunshine lay upon the 
 sea, where an old godmother, with withered hands 
 clasped and raised, lifted up her voice at nightfall and 
 chanted, 
 
 " sanctissima, 
 O piissima, 
 Dulcis virgo Maria ! " 
 
 The Doctor would have been shocked had he heard 
 the words tripping from the tongue of Adele ; yet, for 
 her, they had no meaning save as expressive of a deep 
 yearning for motherly guidance and motherly affec 
 tion. 
 
 Mrs. Elderkin, with her kindly instinct, had seen the 
 perplexity of Adele, and had said to her one day, " Ady, 
 my dear, is the thought not grateful to you that you will 
 meet your mother once more, and be clasped in her 
 arms?" 
 
 "If I could, if I could ! " said Adele, with a burst of 
 tears. 
 
 "But you will, my child, you will. The Doctor has 
 shown us the letters of your father. Even now she 
 must be longing to greet you." 
 
 " Why does she not come then ? " with a tone that 
 was almost taunting. 
 
 "But, Adele, my dear, there may be reasons of 
 
A TRUST FOR PHIL. 373 
 
 which you do not know or which you could not under 
 stand." 
 
 " I could, I do ! n said Adele, with spirit mastering 
 her grief. " T is not my mother, my true mother ; she 
 is in the grave-yard ; I know it ! " 
 
 " My dear child, do not decide hastily. We love you ; 
 we all love you. And whatever may happen, you shall 
 have a home with us. I will be a mother to you, Adele. " 
 
 The girl kissed her good hostess, and the words lin 
 gered on her ear long after nightfall. Why not her 
 mother ? What home more grateful ? And should she 
 bring dishonor to it then ? Could she be less sensitive 
 to that thought than her father had already shown him 
 self ? She perceives, indeed, that within a short time, 
 and since the latter communications from her father, the 
 manner of those who had looked most suspiciously upon 
 her has changed. But they do not know the secret of 
 that broidered kerchief the secret of that terrible 
 death-clasp, which she never, never can forget. She 
 will be true to her own sense of honor ; she will be true, 
 too, to her own faith, the faith in which she has been 
 reared, whatever may be the persuasions of that new 
 relative beyond the seas whom she so dreads to meet. 
 
 Indeed, it is with dreary anticipations that she fore 
 casts now her return to that belle France which has so 
 long borne olive-branches along its shores for welcome ; 
 she foresees struggle, change, hypocrisies, may be, 
 who can tell ? and she begins to count the weeks of 
 her stay amid the quiet of Ashfield in the same spirit in 
 which youngsters score off the remaining days of the long 
 
374 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 vacation. Adele finds herself gathering, and pressing 
 within the leaves of some cherished book, little sprays of 
 dead bloom that shall be, in the dim and mysterious 
 future, mementos of the walks, the frolics, the joys that 
 have belonged to this staid New England home. From 
 the very parsonage door she has brought away a sprig 
 of a rampant sweet-brier that has grown there this many 
 a year, and its delicate leaflets are among her chiefesfc 
 treasures. 
 
 More eagerly than ever she listens to the kindly voices 
 that greet her and speak cheer to her in the home of the 
 Elderkins, voices which she feels bitterly will soon be 
 heard no more by her. Even the delicate and always 
 respectful attentions of Phil have an added, though a 
 painful charm, since they are so soon to have an end. 
 She knows that she will remember him always, though 
 his tender est words can waken no hopes of a brighter 
 future for her. She even takes him partially into her 
 confidence, and, strolling with him down the street one 
 day, she decoys him to the churchyard gate, where she 
 points out to him the stone she had placed over the grave 
 that was so sacred to her. 
 
 "Phil," said she, " you have always been full of kind 
 ness for me. When I am gone, have a care of that stone 
 and grave, please, PhiL My best friend lies there." 
 
 " I don t think you know your best friends," stam 
 mered Phil. 
 
 " I know you are one," said Adele, calmly, " and that 
 I can trust you to do what I ask about this grave. Can 
 I, Phil?" 
 
A TRUST FOR PHIL. 375 
 
 " You know you can, Adele ; but I don t like this talk 
 of your going, as if you were never to be among us 
 again. Do you think you can be happiest yonder with 
 strangers, Adele ? " 
 
 " It s not where I can be happiest, Phil ; I don t 
 ask myself that question ; I fear I never can ; " and 
 her lips trembled as she said it. 
 
 " You can, you ought," burst out Phil, fired at sight 
 of her emotion, and would have gone on bravely and 
 gallantly, may be, with the passion that was surging in 
 him, if a look of hers and a warning finger had not 
 stayed him. 
 
 ""We ll talk no more of this, Phil;" and her lips 
 were as firm as iron now. 
 
 Both of them serious and silent for a while ; until at 
 length Adele, in quite her old manner, says : " Of course, 
 Phil, father may bring me to America again some day ; 
 and if so, I shall certainly beg for a little visit in Ashfield. 
 It would be very ungrateful in me not to remember the 
 pleasant times I ve had here." 
 
 But Phil cannot so deftly change the color of his talk ; 
 his chattiness has all gone from him. Nor does it revive 
 on reaching home. Good Mrs. Elderkin says, " What 
 makes you so crusty, Phil ? " 
 
376 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Father and Child. 
 
 MAVERICK arrives, as he had promised to do, some 
 time in early July ; comes up from the city 
 without announcing himself in advance ; and, leaving 
 the old coach, which still makes its periodical trips from 
 the river, a mile out from the town, strolls along the 
 highway. He remembers well the old outline of the 
 hills ; and the straggling hedge-rows, the scattered 
 granite boulders, the whistling of a quail from a near 
 fence in the meadow, all recall the old scenes which 
 he knew in boyhood. At a solitary house by the wayside 
 a flaxen-haired youngster is blowing off soap-bubbles 
 into the air, with obstreperous glee whenever one rises 
 above the house-tops, while the mother, with arms 
 akimbo, looks admiringly from the open window. It 
 was the home to which the feet of Adele had latterly so 
 often wandered. 
 
 Maverick is anxious for a word with the Doctor before 
 his interview with Adele even. He does not know her 
 present home ; but he is sure he can recall the old par 
 sonage, in whose exterior, indeed, there have been no 
 changes for years. The shade of the embowering elms 
 is grateful as he strolls on into the main street of the 
 town. It is early afternoon, and there are few passers-by. 
 Here and there a blind is coyty turned, and a sly glance 
 
FATHER AXD CHILD. 377 
 
 cast upon the stranger. A trio of school-boys look won- 
 deringly at his foreign air and dress. A few loiterers 
 upon the tavern steps instructed, doubtless, by the 
 stage-driver, who has duly delivered his portmanteau 
 remark upon him as he passes. 
 
 And now at last he sees the old porch, the diamond 
 lights in the door. Twenty and more years ago, and he 
 had lounged there, as the pretty Rachel drove up in the 
 parson s chaise. The same rose-brier is nodding its uu- 
 trimmed boughs by the door. From the open window 
 above he catches a glimpse of a hard, thin face, with 
 spectacles on nose, that scans him curiously. The Doc 
 tor s hat and cane are upon the table at the foot of 
 the stairs within. He taps with his knuckles upon the 
 study-door, and again the two college mates are met 
 together. At sight of the visitor, whom he recognizes 
 at a glance, the heart of the old man is stirred by a lit 
 tle of the old youthful feeling. 
 
 "Maverick ! " and he greets him with open hand. 
 
 " Johns, God bless you ! " 
 
 The parson was white-haired, and was feeble to a de 
 gree that shocked Maverick ; while the latter was still 
 erect and prim. His coquettings for sixty years with the 
 world, the flesh, and the Devil had not yet reduced his 
 physique to that degree of weakness which the multiplied 
 spiritual wrestlings had entailed upon the good Doctor. 
 The minister recognized this with a look rather of pity 
 than of envy, and may possibly have bethought himself 
 of that Dives who " in his lifetime received good things," 
 but "now is tormented." 
 
378 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 Yet he ventured upon no warning ; there is, indeed, a 
 certain assured manner about the man of the world who 
 has passed middle age, which a country parson, however 
 good or earnest he may be, would no more attempt to 
 pierce than he would attempt a thrust of his pen through 
 ice. 
 
 Their conversation, after the first greetings, naturally 
 centers upon Adele. Maverick is relieved to find that 
 she knows, even now, the worst ; but he is grievously 
 pained to learn that she is still in doubt, by reason of 
 that strange episode which had grown out of the pres 
 ence and death of Madame Aries, an episode which, 
 even now, he is at a loss to explain. 
 
 " She will be unwilling to return with me then," said 
 Maverick, in a troubled manner. 
 
 " No," said the Doctor, "she expects that. You will find 
 in her, Maverick, a beautiful respect for your authority ; 
 and, I think, a still higher respect for the truth." 
 
 So it was with disturbed and conflicting feelings that 
 Maverick made his way to the present home of Adele. 
 
 The windows and doors of the Elderkin mansion were 
 all open upon that July day. Adele had seen him, even 
 as he entered the little gate, and, recognizing him on 
 the instant, had rushed down to meet him in the hall. 
 
 "Papa ! papa ! " and she had buried her face upon his 
 bosom. 
 
 "Adele, darling! you are glad to welcome me then?" 
 
 "Delighted, papa." 
 
 And Maverick kissed, again and again, that fair face 
 of which he was so proud. 
 
FATHER AND CHILD. 379 
 
 We recoil from the attempt to transcribe the glowing 
 intimacy of their first talk. 
 
 After a time, Maverick says, "You will be glad to re 
 turn with me, glad to embrace again your mother ? " 
 
 "My own, true mother?" said Adele, the blood run 
 ning now swift over cheek and brow. 
 
 " Your own, Adele, your own ! As God is true ! " 
 
 Adele grows calm, an unwonted calmness. " Tell 
 me how she looks, papa," said she. 
 
 "Your figure, Adele ; not so tall, perhaps, but slight 
 like you ; and her hair, you have her hair, darling 
 (and he kissed it). Your eye too, for color, with a slight, 
 hardly noticeable cast in it" And as Adele turned an 
 inquiring glance upon him, he exclaimed : " You have 
 that too, my darling, as you look at me now." 
 
 Adele, still calm, says : "I know it, papa ; I have seen 
 her. Do not deceive me. She died in these arms, 
 papa ! " and with that her calmness is gone. She can 
 only weep upon his shoulder. 
 
 " But, Adele, child, this cannot be ; do not trust to so 
 wild a fancy. You surely believe me, darling ? " 
 
 Had she argued the matter, he would have been bet 
 ter satisfied. She did not, however. Her old tranquil 
 lity came again. 
 
 " I will go with you, papa, cheerfully," said she. 
 
 It was only too evident to Maverick that there was a 
 cause of distrust between them. Under all of Adele s 
 earnest demonstrations of affection, which were intense 
 ly grateful to him, there was still a certain apparent 
 reserve of confidence, as if some great inward leaning 
 
380 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 of her heart found no support in him or his. This 
 touched him to the quick. The Doctor had he un 
 folded the matter to him fully would have called it, 
 may be, the sting of retribution. Nor was Maverick at 
 all certain that the shadowy doubt which seemed to rest 
 upon the mind of Adele with respect to the identity of 
 her mother was the sole cause of this secret reserve of 
 confidence. It might be, he thought, that her affections 
 were otherwise engaged, and that the change to which 
 she assented with so little fervor would be at the cost of 
 other ties to which he was a stranger. 
 
 On this score he consulted with the Doctor. As re 
 garded Reuben, there could be no doubt. Whatever tie 
 may have existed there was long since broken. With 
 respect to Phil Elderkin the parson w 7 as not so certain. 
 Maverick had been attracted by his fine, frank manner, 
 and was not blind to his capital business capacities and 
 prospects. If the happiness of Adcle were in question, 
 he could entertain the affair. He even ventured to ap 
 proach the topic coyly as he could in a talk with 
 Adele ; and she, as the first glimmer of his meaning 
 dawned upon her, says, "Don t whisper it, papa. It 
 can never be." 
 
 And so Maverick not a little disconcerted at the 
 thought that he cannot now, as once, fathom all the 
 depths of his child s sensibilities sets himself resolute 
 ly to the work of preparation for departure. His affaires 
 may keep him a month, and involve a visit to one or 
 two of the principal cities ; then, ho for la belle France ! 
 Adele certainly lends seemingly a cheerful assent. He 
 
FATHER AND CHILD. 381 
 
 cannot doubt with those repeated kisses on his cheek 
 and brow her earnest filial affection ; and if her senti 
 ment slips beyond his control, or parries all his keenness 
 of vision, what else has a father, verging upon sixty, 
 to expect in a daughter, tenderly affectionate as she 
 may be? Maverick s philosophy taught him to "take 
 the world as it is." Only one serious apprehension of 
 disquietude oppressed him ; the doubts and vagaries 
 of Adele would clear themselves under the embrace of 
 Julie ; but in respect to the harmony of their religious 
 beliefs he had grave doubts. There had grown upon 
 Adele, since he had last seen her, a womanly dignity, 
 which even a mother must respect ; and into that dignity 
 into the woof and warp of it were inwrought all 
 her religious sympathies. Was his home yonder across 
 the seas to become the scene of struggles about creeds ? 
 It certainly was not the sort of domestic picture he had 
 foreshadowed to himself at twenty-five. But at sixty a 
 man blows bubbles no longer except that of his own 
 conceit. The heart of Maverick was not dead in him ; 
 a kiss of Adele wakened a thrilling, delicious sensation 
 there, of which he had forgotten his capability. He 
 followed her graceful step and figure with an eye that 
 looked beyond and haunted the past vainly, vainly ! 
 Her " Papa ! " sweetly uttered stirred sensibilities 
 in him that amazed himself, and seemed like the phan 
 toms of dreams he dreamed long ago. 
 
 But in the midst of Maverick s preparations for de 
 parture a letter came to hand from Mrs. Maverick, 
 which complicated once more the situation. 
 
382 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 The Truth at Last. 
 
 rflHE mother has read the letter of her child, the 
 -- letter in which appeal had been made to the father 
 in behalf of the " unworthy " one whom the daughter 
 believed to be sleeping in her grave. The tenderness 
 of the appeal smote the poor woman to the heart. It 
 bound her to the child she scarce had seen by bonds into 
 which her whole moral being was knitted anew. But 
 we must give the letter entire, as offering explanations 
 which can in no way be better set forth. The very 
 language kindles the ardor of Adele. Her own old 
 speech again, with the French echo of her childhood in 
 every line. 
 
 "Mon cher Monsieur," in this way she begins ; for 
 her religious severities, if not her years, have curbed any 
 disposition to explosive tenderness, "I have received 
 the letter of our child, which was addressed to you. I 
 cannot tell you the feelings with which I have read it. 
 I long to clasp her to my heart. And she appeals to you, 
 for me, the dear child ! Yes, you have well done in 
 telling her that I was unworthy (mechante). It is true, 
 unworthy in forgetting duty, unworthy in loving 
 too well. O Monsieur ! if I could live over again that 
 life, that dear young life among the olive orchards I 
 
THE TRUTH AT LAST. 383 
 
 But the good Christ (thank Him !) leads back the re 
 pentant wanderers into the fold of His Church. 
 
 Laus tibi, Christe ! 
 
 " And the poor child believes that I am in my grave. 
 May be that were better for her and better for me. 
 But no, I shall clasp her to my heart once more, she, 
 the poor babe ! But I forget myself ; it is a woman s 
 letter I have been reading. What earnestness ! what 
 maturity ! what dignity ! what tenderness ! And will 
 she be as tender to the living as to the erring one whom 
 she believes dead ? My heart stops when I ask myself. 
 Yes, I know she will. The Blessed Virgin whispers me 
 that she will, and I fly to greet her ! A month, two 
 months, three months, four months ? It is an age. 
 
 " Monsieur ! I cannot wait. I must take ship sail 
 
 wings (if I could find them), and go to meet my child. 
 Until I do there is a tempest in my brain heart every 
 where. You are surprised, Monsieur : but there is an 
 other reason why I should go to this land where Adele has 
 lived. Do you wish to know it ? Listen, then, Monsieur ! 
 
 "Do you know who this poor sufferer was whom our 
 child had learned so to love, who died in her arms, who 
 sleeps in the grave-yard there, and of whom Adele thinks 
 as of a mother ? I have inquired, I have searched high 
 and low, I have fathomed all Ah, my poor, good sister 
 Marie ! Only Marie ! You have never known her. In 
 those other days at dear Aries she was too good for you 
 to know her. Yet even then she was a guardian angel, 
 
 a guardian too late. Mea culpa ! Mea culpa ! 
 
384 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " I know it can be only Marie ; I know it can be 
 
 only she, who sleeps under the sod in Ash (ce nom 
 
 m echappe). 
 
 "Listen again : in those early, bitter, charming days, 
 when you, Monsieur, knew the hill-sides and the drives 
 about our dear old town of Aries, poor Marie was away ; 
 had she been there, I had never listened, as I did listen, 
 to the words you whispered in my ear. Only when it 
 was too late, she came. Poor, good Marie ! how she 
 pleaded with me ! How her tender, good face spoke re 
 proaches to me! If I was the pride of our household, 
 she was the angel. She it was, who, knowing the worst, 
 said, Julie, this must end ! She it was who labored 
 day and night to set me free from the wicked web that 
 bound me. I reproached her, the poor, good Marie, in 
 saying that she was the plainer, that she had no beauty, 
 that she was devoured with envy. But the Blessed Vir 
 gin was working ever by her side. Whatever doubts you 
 may have entertained of me, Monsieur, she created 
 them ; whatever suspicions tortured you, she fed 
 them, but always with the holiest of motives. And when 
 shame came, as it did come, the poor Marie would have 
 screened me, would have carried the odium herself. 
 Good Marie ! the angels have her in keeping ! 
 
 " Listen again, Monsieur ! When that story, that false 
 story, of the death of my poor child, came to light in the 
 journals, who but Marie should come to me deceived 
 herself as I was deceived and say, Julie, dear one, 
 God has taken the child in mercy ; there is no stigma 
 can rest upon you in the eyes of the world. Live now 
 
THE TRUTH AT LAST. 385 
 
 as the Blessed Magdalen lived when Christ had befriend 
 ed her. And by her strength I was made strong ; the 
 Blessed Virgin be thanked ! 
 
 " Finally, it came to her knowledge one day, the 
 dear Marie ! that the rumor of the death was untrue, 
 
 that the babe was living, that the poor child had 
 been sent over the seas to your home, Monsieur. "Well, I 
 was far away in the East. Does Marie tell me ? No, the 
 dear one ! She writes me, that she is going over seas, 
 
 tired of la belle France, she who loved it so dearly ! 
 And she went, to watch, to pray, to console. And I, 
 the mother! Mon Dieu, Monsieur, the words fail me. 
 Xo wonder our child loved her ; no wonder she seems a 
 mother to her. 
 
 " Listen yet again, Monsieur. My poor sister died 
 yonder, in that heretical land, may be without absolu 
 tion. I must go, if it be only to find her grave, and to 
 secure her burial in some consecrated spot. She w r aits 
 for me, her ghost, her spirit, I must go ; the holy 
 water must be sprinkled ; the priestly rites be said. 
 Marie, poor Marie, I will not fail you. 
 
 " Monsieur, I must go ! not alone to greet our child 
 but to do justice to my sainted sister ! Listen well ! All 
 that has been devotional in my poor life centers here. I 
 must go, I must do what I may to hallow my poor sis 
 ter s grave. Adele will not give up her welcome surely, 
 if I am moved by such religious purpose. She, too, 
 must join me in an A ve Maria over that resting-place of 
 the departed. 
 
 "I shall send this letter by the overland and Brit- 
 25 
 
386 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 ish mail, that it may come to you very swiftty. It will 
 come to you while you are with the poor child, our 
 Adele. Greet her for me as warmly as you can. Tell 
 her I shall hope, God willing, to bring her into the 
 bosom of his Holy Church Catholic. I shall try and 
 love her, though she remain a heretic ; but this will not 
 be. 
 
 " If I can enough curb myself, I shall wait for your 
 answer, Monsieur ; but it is necessary that I go yonder. 
 Look for me ; kiss our child for me. And if you ever 
 prayed, Monsieur, I should say, pray for 
 
 " Votre amie, 
 
 " JULIE." 
 
 The letter is of the nature of a revelation to Adele ; 
 her doubts respecting Madame Aries vanish on the in 
 stant. The truth, as set forth in her mother s language, 
 blazes upon her mind like a flame. She loves the grave 
 none the less, but the mother by far the more. She, 
 too, wishes to greet her amid the scenes which she has 
 known so long. Nor is Maverick himself averse to 
 this new disposition of affairs, if indeed he possessed 
 any power (which he somewhat doubts) of readjusting 
 it. 
 
 Adele, after her first period of exultation over the re 
 cent news is passed, relapses perhaps by reason of its 
 excess into something of her old vague doubt and ap 
 prehension of coming evil. The truth if it be truth 
 is so strange ! so mysteriously strange that she 
 shall indeed clasp her mother to her heart ; the grave 
 
Ulv 
 
 THE TRUTH J*^0^^ 387 
 
 yonder is so real ! and that fearful embrace in death so 
 present to her! Or it may be an anticipation of the 
 fearful spiritual estrangement that must ensue, and of 
 which she seems to find confirmation in the earnest talk 
 and gloomy forebodings of the Doctor. 
 
 Maverick effects a diversion by proposing a jaunt of 
 travel, in which Rose shall be their companion. Adele 
 accepts the scheme with delight, a delight, after all, 
 which lies as much in the thought of watching the eager 
 enjoyment of Rose as in any pleasant distractions of her 
 own. The pleasure of Maverick is by no means so great 
 as in that trip of a few years back. Then he had for 
 companion an enthusiastic girl, to whom life was fresh, 
 and all the clouds that seemed to rest upon it so 
 shadowy, that each morning sun lifting among the 
 mountains dispersed them utterly. 
 
 Now, Adele showed the thoughtfuluess of a woman, 
 her enthusiasms held in check by a more calm estimate 
 of the life that opened before her, her sportiveness 
 overborne by a soberness, which, if it gave dignity, gave 
 also a womanly gravity. Yet she did not lack filial de 
 votion ; she admired still that easy world-manner of his 
 which had once called out her enthusiastic regard, but 
 now queried in her secret heart if its acquisition had not 
 involved cost of purity of conscience. She loved him 
 too, yes, she loved him ; and her evening and morn 
 ing kiss and embrace were reminders to him of a joy he 
 might have won, but had not, of a home peace that 
 might have been his, but whose image now only lifted 
 above his horizon like some splendid mirage crowded 
 
388 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 with floating fairy shapes, and like the mirage melted 
 presently into idle vapor. 
 
 It was a novel experience for Maverick to find himself 
 (as he did time and again upon this summer trip in New 
 England) sandwiched, of a Sunday, between his two 
 blooming companions and some sober-sided deacon, in 
 the pew of a country meeting-house. How his friend 
 Papiol would have stared ! And the suggestion, com 
 ing to him with the buzz of a summer fly through the 
 open windows, did not add to his devotional sentiment. 
 Yet Maverick would follow gravely the scramble of the 
 singers through the appointed hymn with a sober self- 
 denial, counting the self-denial a virtue. We all make 
 memoranda of the small religious virtues when the large 
 ones are missing. 
 
 Upon the return to Ashfield there is found a new let 
 ter from Madame Maverick. She can restrain herself no 
 longer. Under the advice of her brother, she will, with 
 her maid, take the first safe ship leaving Marseilles for 
 New York. She longs to bring Adele with herself, by 
 special consecration, under the guardianship of the Holy 
 Virgin. 
 
 The Doctor is greatly grieved in view of the speedy 
 departure of Adele, and tenfold grieved when Maverick 
 lays before him the letter of the mother, and he sees the 
 fiery zeal which the poor child must confront. 
 
 Over and over in those last interviews he seeks to for 
 tify her faith ; he warns her against the delusions, the 
 falsities, the idolatries of Home ; he warns her to dis 
 trust a religion of creeds, of human authority, of tradi- 
 
REUBEN AT ROME. 389 
 
 tions. Christ, the Bible, these are the true monitors ; 
 and "Mind, Adaly," says he, "hold fast always to the 
 Doctrine of the Westminster Divines. That is sound, 
 that is sound ! " 
 
 LXIL 
 
 Reuben at Rome. 
 
 REUBEN went with a light heart upon his voyage. 
 The tender memories of Ashfield were mostly 
 lived down. (Had the letter of Adele ever reached him, 
 it might have been far different. ) Rose, Phil, the Tour- 
 telots, the Tew partners (still worrying through a green 
 old age), the meeting-house, even the Doctor himself 
 and Adele, seemed to belong to a sphere whose interests 
 were widely separate from his own, and in which he 
 should appear henceforth only as a casual spectator. The 
 fascinations of his brilliant business successes had a firm 
 grip upon him. He indulges himself, indeed, from time 
 to time, with the fancy that some day, far off now, he 
 will return to the scenes of his boyhood, and astonish 
 some of the old landholders by buying them out at a 
 fabulous price, and by erecting a " castle " of his own, 
 to be enlivened by the fairy graces of some sylph not 
 yet fairly determined upon. Surely not Rose, who would 
 hardly be equal to the grandeur of his proposed establish 
 ment, if she were not already engrossed by that "noodle" 
 (his thought expressing itself thus wrathfully) of an 
 assistant minister. Adele, and the name has some- 
 
390 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 thing in it that electrifies, in spite of himself, Adele, if 
 she ever overcomes her qualms of conscience, will yield 
 to the tender persuasions of Phil. " Gooil luck to him ! " 
 and he says this, too, with a kind of wrathful glee. 
 
 Still, he builds his cloud castles ; some one must 
 needs inhabit them. Some paragon of refinement and 
 of beauty will one day appear, for whose tripping feet 
 his wealth will lay down a path of pearls and gold. The 
 lonely, star-lit nights at sea encourage such phantasms ; 
 and the break of the waves upon the bow, with their 
 myriad of phosphorescent sparkles, cheats and illumines 
 the fancy. We will not follow him throughout his voy 
 age. On a balmy morning of July he wakes with the 
 great cliff of Gibraltar frowning on him. After this 
 come light, baffling winds, and for a week he looks 
 southward upon the mysterious, violet lift of the Barbary 
 shores, and pushes slowly eastward into the blue ex 
 panse of the Mediterranean. In the Sicilian ports he is 
 abundantly successful. He has ample time to cross over 
 to Naples, to ascend Vesuvius, and to explore Hercula- 
 neum and Pompeii. But he does not forget the other 
 side of the beautiful bay, Baise and Pozzuoli. He takes, 
 indeed, a healthful pleasure in writing to the Doctor a 
 description of this latter, and of his walk in the vicinity 
 of the great seaport where St. Paul must have landed 
 from his ship of the Castor and Pollux, on his way from 
 Syracuse. But he does not tell the Doctor that, on the 
 same evening, he attended an opera at the San Carlo in 
 Naples, of which the ballet, if nothing else, would have 
 called down the good man s anathema. 
 
REUBEN AT ROME. 391 
 
 An American of twenty-five, placed for the first time 
 upon the sunny pavements of Naples, takes a new lease 
 of life, at least of its imaginative part. The beauti 
 ful blue stretch of sea, the lava streets, the buried towns 
 and cities, the baths and ruins of Baia?, the burning 
 mountain, pih ng its smoke and fire into the serene sky, 
 the memories of Tiberius, of Cicero, of Virgil, aH 
 these enchant him. And beside these are the things of 
 to-day, the luscious melons, the oranges, the figs, the 
 war-ships lying on the bay, the bloody miracle of St. 
 Januarius, the Lazzaroni upon the church steps, the pro 
 cessions of friars, and always the window of his cham 
 ber, looking one way upon blue Capri, and the other 
 upon smouldering Vesuvius. 
 
 At Naples Reuben hears from the captain of the Me 
 teor in which good ship he has made his voyage, and 
 counts upon making his return that the vessel can 
 take up half her cargo at a better freight by touching 
 at Marseilles. "Whereupon Reuben orders him to go 
 thither, promising to join him at that port in a fortnight. 
 A fortnight only for Rome, for Florence, for Pisa, for the 
 City of Palaces, and then the marvelous Cornice road 
 along the shores of the sea. Terraciua brought back to 
 him the story of Mr. Alderman Popkins and the Prin- 
 cipessa, and the bandits ; after this came the heights of 
 Albano and Soracte, and there, at last, the Tiber, the 
 pyramid tomb, the great church dome, the stone pines 
 of the Janiculan hill, Rome itself. Reuben was not 
 strong or curious in his classics ; the galleries and the 
 churches took a deeper hold upon him than the Forum 
 
392 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 and the ruins. He wandered for hours together under 
 the arches of St. Peter s. He wished he might have 
 led the Doctor along its pavement into the very presence 
 of the mysteries of the Scarlet Woman of Babylon. He 
 wished Miss Almira, with her saffron ribbons, might be 
 there, sniffing at her little phial of salts, and may be 
 singing treble. The very meeting-house upon the green, 
 that was so held in reverence, with its belfry and spire 
 atop, would hardly make a scaffolding from which to 
 brush the cobwebs from the frieze below the vaulting of 
 this grandest of temples. Oddly enough, he fancies 
 Deacon Tourtelot, in his snuff-colored surtout, pacing 
 down the nave with him, and saying, as he would be 
 like to say, "Must ha been a smart man that built it ; 
 but I guess they don t have better preachin , as a gineral 
 thing, than the old Doctor gives us on Fast-Days or in 
 protracted meetin s." 
 
 Such queer humors and droll comparisons flash into 
 the mind of Keuben, even under all his sense of awe, - 
 a swift, disorderly mingling of the themes and offices 
 which kindled his first sense of religious awe under a 
 home atmosphere with the wondrous forms and splen 
 dor which kindle a new awe now. The great dome en- 
 walling with glittering mosaics a heaven of its own, and 
 blazing with figured saints, and the golden distich, 
 " Thou art Peter, to thee will I give the keys of the 
 kingdom of heaven," all this seems too grand to be 
 untrue. Are not the keys verily here ? Can falsehood 
 build up so august a lie ? A couple of friars shuffle past 
 him, and go to their prayers at some near altar ; he does 
 
REUBEN AT ROME. 393 
 
 not even smile at their shaven pates and their dowdy, 
 coarse gowns of serge. Low music from some far-away 
 chapel comes floating under the paneled vaultings, and 
 loses itself under the great dome, with a sound so gen 
 tle, so full of entreaty, that it seems to him the dove on 
 the high altar might have made it with a cooing and a 
 flutter of her white wings. A mother and two daugh 
 ters, in black, glide past him, and drop upon their knees 
 before some saintly shrine, and murmur their thanks 
 givings, or their entreaty. And he, with no aim of wor 
 ship, yet somehow shocked out of his unbelief by the 
 very material influences around him. 
 
 Reuben s old wranglings and struggles with doubt had 
 ended where so many are apt to end, when the world 
 is sunny and success weaves its silken meshes for the 
 disport of self in a quiet disbelief that angered him no 
 longer, because he had given over all fight with it. But 
 the great dome, flaming with its letters, JEdificabo meam 
 Ecdesiam, shining there for ages, kindled the fight anew. 
 And strange as it may seem, and perplexing as it was to 
 the Doctor (when he received Reuben s story of it), he 
 came out from his first visit to the great Romish temple 
 with his religious nature more deeply stirred than it had 
 been for years. 
 
 jEckficabo meam Ecdesiam. He had uttered it. 
 There was then something to build, something that 
 had been built, at whose shrine millions worshiped 
 trustingly. 
 
 Under the somber vaultings of the great Florentine 
 Cathedral, the impression was not weakened. The au- 
 
394 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 stere gloom of it chimed more nearly with his state of 
 unrest. Then there are the galleries, the painted ceil 
 ings, angels, saints, martyrs, holy families, can art 
 have been leashed through so many ages with a pleasant 
 fiction ? Is there not somewhere at bottom an earnest, 
 vital truth, which men must needs cling by if they be 
 healthful and earnest themselves ? Even the meretri 
 cious adornments of the churches of Genoa afford new 
 evidence of the way in which the heart of a people has 
 lavished itself upon belief ; and if belief, why, then, 
 hope. 
 
 Upon the Cornice road, with Italy behind him and 
 home" before (such home as he knows), he thinks once 
 jQore of those he has left. Not that he has forgotten 
 them altogether ; he has purchased a rich coral necklace 
 in Naples, which will be the very thing for his old friend 
 Hose ; and, in Rome, the richest cameos to be found in 
 the Via Condotti he has secured for Adele ; even for 
 Aunt Eliza he has brought away from Florence a bit of 
 the pietra dura, a few olive-leaves upon a black ground. 
 Nor has he forgotten a rich piece of the Genoese velvet 
 for Mrs. Brindlock ; and, for his father, an old missal, 
 which, he trusts, dates back far enough to save it from the 
 odium he attaches to the present Church, and to give it 
 an early Christian sanctity. He has counted upon see 
 ing Mr. Maverick at Marseilles, but learns, with surprise, 
 upon his arrival there, that this gentleman had sailed for 
 America some months previously. The ship is making 
 a capital freight, and the captain informs him that appli 
 cation has been made for the only vacant state-room in 
 
THE VOYAGE. 395 
 
 their little cabin by a lady attended by her maid. Keu- 
 ben assents cheerfully to this accession of companion 
 ship ; and, running off for a sight of the ruins at Xismes 
 and Aries, returns only in time to catch the ship upon 
 the day of its departure. As they pass out of harbor, 
 the lady passenger, in deep black, (the face seems half 
 familiar to him,) watches wistfully the receding shores, 
 and as they run abreast the chapel of Notre Dame de la 
 Garde, she devoutly crosses herself and tells her beads. 
 
 Reuben is to make the voyage with the mother of 
 Adele. Both bound to the same quiet township of Xew 
 England ; he, to reach Ashfield once more, there to un 
 dergo swiftly a new experience, an experience that 
 can come to no man but once ; she, to be clasped in the 
 arms of Adele, a cold embrace and the last ! 
 
 Lxm. 
 
 The Voyage. 
 
 ETTBEN had heard latterly very little of domestic 
 affairs at Ashfield. He knew scarce more of the 
 family relations of Adele than was covered by that con 
 fidential announcement of the parson s which had so set 
 on fire his generous zeal. The spinster, indeed, in one 
 of her later letters had hinted, in a roundabout manner, 
 that Adele s family misfortunes were not looking so 
 badly as they once did, that the poor girl (she be 
 lieved) felt tenderly still toward her old playmate, and 
 
39^ DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 that Mr. Maverick was, beyond all question, a gentle 
 man of very easy fortune. But Eeuben was not in a 
 mood to be caught by any chaff administered by his 
 most respectable aunt. If, indeed, he had known all, 
 if that hearty burst of Adele s gratitude had come to him, 
 if he could once have met her with the old freedom of 
 manner, ah ! then then 
 
 But no ; he thinks of her now as one under social 
 blight, which he would have lifted or borne with her 
 had not her religious squeamishness forbidden. He 
 tries to forget what was most charming in her, and has 
 succeeded passably well. 
 
 "I suppose she is still modeling her heroes on the 
 Catechism," he thought, " and Phil will very likely pass 
 muster." 
 
 The name of Madame Maverick as attaching to their 
 fellow-passenger which came to his ear for the first 
 time on the second day out from port considerably 
 startled him. Madame Maverick is, he learns, on her 
 way to join her husband and child in America. But he 
 is by no means disposed to entertain a very exalted re 
 spect for any claimant of such name and title. He finds, 
 indeed, the prejudices of his education (so he calls them) 
 asserting themselves with a fiery heat ; and most of all 
 he is astounded by the artfully arranged religious drapery 
 with which this poor woman as it appears to him 
 seeks to cover her shortcomings. He had brought 
 away from the atmosphere of the old cathedrals a cer 
 tain quickened religious sentiment, by the aid of which 
 he had grown into a respect, not only for the Romish 
 
THE VOYAGE. 397 
 
 faith, but for Christian faith of whatever degree. And 
 now he encountered what seemed to him its gross pros 
 titution. The old Doctor then was right : this Popish 
 form of heathenism was but a device of Satan, a scar 
 let covering of iniquity. It was easy for him to match 
 the present hypocrisy with hypocrisies that he had seen 
 of old. 
 
 Meantime, the good ship Meteor was skirting the 
 shores of Spain, and had make a good hundred leagues 
 of her voyage before Reuben had ventured to make him 
 self known as the old schoolmate and friend of the child 
 whom Madame Maverick was on her way to greet after 
 so many years of separation. The truth was, that Reu 
 ben, his first disgust being overcome, could not shake 
 off the influence of something attractive and winning in 
 the manner of Madame Maverick. In her step and in 
 her lithe figure he saw the step and figure of Adele. All 
 her orisons and aves, which she failed not to murmur 
 each morning and evening, were reminders of the earnest 
 faith of her poor child. It is impossible to treat her 
 with disrespect. Nay, it is impossible, as Reuben be 
 gins to associate more intimately the figure and the voice 
 of this quiet lady with his memories of another and a 
 younger one, quite impossible, that he should not feel 
 his whole chivalrous nature stirred in him, and become 
 prodigal of attentions. If there were hypocrisy, it some 
 how cheated him into reverence. 
 
 The lady is, of course, astounded at Reuben s dis 
 closure to her. " Mon Dieu ! you, then, are the son of 
 that good priest of whom I have heard so much ! And 
 
398 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 you are Puritan? I would not have thought that. 
 They love the vanities of the world then," and her eye 
 flashed over the well-appointed dress of Reuben, who 
 felt half an inclination to hide, if it had been possible, 
 the cluster of garish charms which hung at his watch- 
 chain. " You have shown great kindness to my child, 
 Monsieur. I thank you with my whole heart." 
 
 " She is very charming, Madame," said Reuben, in an 
 easy, degage manner, which, to tell truth, he put on to 
 cover a little embarrassing revival of his old sentiment. 
 
 Madame Maverick looked at him keenly. "Describe 
 her to me, if you will be so good, Monsieur." 
 
 Whereupon Reuben ran on, jauntily, at first, as if 
 it had been a ballet-girl of San Carlo whose picture he 
 was making out ; but his old hearty warmth declared 
 itself by degrees ; and his admiration and his tenderness 
 gave such warm color to his language as it might have 
 shown if her little gloved hand had been shivering even 
 then in his own passionate clasp. And as he closed, 
 with a great glow upon his face, Madame Maverick burst 
 forth, - 
 
 " Mon Dieu, how I love her ! Yet is it not a thing 
 astonishing that I should ask you, a stranger, Monsieur, 
 how my own child is looking ? Culpa mea ! Culpa 
 mea ! " and she clutched at her rosary, and mumbled 
 an ave, with her eyes lifted and streaming tears. 
 
 Reuben looked upon her in wonder, amazed at the 
 depth of her emotion. 
 
 " 2fenez / " said she, recovering herself, and reading, 
 as it were, his doubts. " You count these " (lifting her 
 
THE VOYAGE. 399 
 
 rosary) " baubles yonder, and our prayers pagan prayers; 
 my husband has told me, and that she, Adele, is taught 
 thus, and that the Bon Dien has forsaken our Holy 
 Church, that He conies near now only to your what 
 shall I call them ? meeting-houses ? Tell me, Mon 
 sieur, does Adele think this ? " 
 
 "I think," said Reuben, "that your daughter would 
 have charity for any religious faith which was earnest." 
 
 "Charity! Mon Dieu! Charity for sins, charity for 
 failings, yes, I ask it ; but for my faith ! No, Mon 
 sieur, no no a thousand times, no ! " 
 
 "This is real," thought Reuben. 
 
 " Tell me, Monsieur," continued she, with a heat of 
 language that excited his admiration, " what is it you 
 believe there ? What is the horror against which your 
 New England teachers would warn my poor Adele? 
 May the Blessed Virgin be near her ! " 
 
 Whereupon, Reuben undertook to lay down the 
 grounds of distrust in which he had been educated ; 
 not, surely, with the fervor or the logical sequence 
 which the old Doctor would have given to the same, 
 but yet inveighing in good set terms against the vain 
 ceremonials, the idolatries, the mummeries, the confes 
 sional, the empty absolution ; and summing up all with 
 the formula (may be he had heard the Doctor use the 
 same language) that the piety of the Romanist was not 
 so much a deep religious conviction of the truth, as a 
 sentiment. 
 
 " Sentiment ! " exclaims Madame Maverick. " What 
 else ? What but love of the good God ? " 
 
400 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 But not so much by her talk as by the everyday sight 
 of her serene, unfaltering devotion is Reuben won into a 
 deep respect for her faith. 
 
 Those are rare days and rare nights for him, as the 
 good ship Meteor slips down past the shores of Spain to 
 the Straits, days all sunny, nights moonlit. To the 
 right, not discernible, but he knows they are there, 
 the swelling hills of Catalonia and of Andalusia, the mar 
 velous Moorish ruins, the murmurs of the Guadalquivir ; 
 to the left, a broad sweep of burnished sea, on which, 
 late into the night, the moon pours a stream of molten 
 silver, that comes rocking and widening toward him, 
 and vanishes in the shadow of the ship. The cruise 
 has been a splendid venture for him, twenty-five thou 
 sand at the least. And as he paces the decks, in the 
 view only of the silent man at the wheel and of the silent 
 stars, he forecasts again the palaces he will build. 
 The feeble Doctor shall have ease and every luxury ; he 
 will be gracious in his charities ; he will astonish the old 
 people by his affluence ; he will live 
 
 Just here, he spies a female figure stealing from the 
 companion-way, and gliding beyond the shelter of the 
 wheel-house. Half concealed as he chances to be in the 
 shadow of the rigging, he sees her fall upon her knees, 
 and, with head uplifted, cross her hands upon her bosom. 
 T is a short prayer, and the instant after she glides 
 below. 
 
 " Good God ! what trust ! " it is an ejaculatory 
 prayer of Reuben s, rather than an oath. And with it, 
 swift as the wind, comes a drearv sense of unrest. The 
 
THE VOYAGE. 401 
 
 palaces he had built vanish. The stars blink upon him 
 kindly, and from their wondrous depths challenge his 
 thought. The sea swashes idly against the floating ship. 
 He too afloat, afloat. Whither bound ? Yearning 
 still for a belief on which he may repose. And he be 
 thinks himself, does it lie somewhere under the harsh 
 and dogmatic utterances of the Ashfield pulpit ? At the 
 thought, he recalls the weary iteration of cumbersome 
 formulas, that passed through his brain like leaden plum 
 mets, and the swift lashings of rebuke, if he but reached 
 over for a single worldly floweret, blooming beside the 
 narrow path ; and yet, and yet, from the leaden atmos 
 phere of that past, saintly faces beam upon him, a 
 mother s, Adele s, nay, the kindly fixed gray eyes of 
 the old Doctor glow upon him with a fire that must have 
 been kindled with truth. 
 
 Does it He in the melodious cues, and under the robes 
 of Rome ? The sordid friars, with their shaven pates, 
 grin at him ; some Rabelais head of a priest in the con 
 fessional-stall leers at him with mocker}* : and yet the 
 golden letters of the great dome gleam again with their 
 blazing legend, and the figure of the Magdalen yonder 
 has just now murmured, in tones that must surely have 
 reached a gracious ear, 
 
 "Tibi Christe, redemptori, 
 Xostro vero salvatori ! " 
 
 Is the truth between ? Is it in both ? Is it real ? And 
 if real, why may not the same lips declare it under the 
 cathedral or the meeting-house roof? 
 2fi 
 
402 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 A Wreck. 
 
 rMH-bi Meteor is a snug ship, well found, well manned, 
 -*- and, as the times go, well officered. The captain, 
 indeed, is not over-alert or fitted for high emergencies ; 
 but what emergencies can belong to so placid a voyage ? 
 For a week after the headlands of Tarifa and Spartel 
 have sunk under the eastern horizon, the vessel is kept 
 every day upon her course, her top-gallant and stud 
 ding sails all distent with the wind blowing freely from 
 over Biscay. After this come light, baffling, westerly 
 breezes, with sometimes a clear sky, and then all is 
 overclouded by the drifting trade-mists. Zigzagging 
 on, quietly as ever, save the bustle and whiz and flap 
 ping canvas of the ship "in stays," the good Meteor 
 pushes gradually westward. 
 
 Meantime a singular and almost tender intimacy grew 
 up between Reuben and the lady voyager. It is always 
 agreeable to a young man to find a listening ear in a 
 lady whose age puts her out of the range of any flurry 
 of sentiment, and whose sympathy gives kindly welcome 
 to his confidence. All that early life of his he detailed 
 to her with a particularity and a warmth (himself un 
 conscious of the warmth) which brought the childish as 
 sociations of her daughter fresh to the mind of poor 
 Madame Maverick. No wonder that she gave a willing 
 
A WRECK. 403 
 
 ear ! no wonder that the glow of his language kindled 
 her sympathy ! Nor with such a listener does he stop 
 with the boyish life of Ashfield. He unfolds his city 
 career, and the bright promises that are before him, 
 promises of business success, which (he would make it 
 appear) are all that fill his heart now. In the pride of 
 his twenty-five years he loves to represent himself as 
 blase in sentiment. 
 
 Madame Maverick has been taught, in these latter 
 years, a large amount of self-control ; so she can listen 
 with a grave, nay, even a kindly face, to Reuben s sweep 
 ing declarations. And if, at a hint from her, which 
 he shrewdly counts Jesuitical, his thought is turned 
 in the direction of his religious experiences, he has his 
 axioms, his common-sense formulas, his irreproachable 
 coolness, and, at times, a noisy show of distrust, under 
 which it is easy to see an eager groping after the ends 
 of that great tangled skein of thought within, which is 
 a weariness. 
 
 "If you could only have a talk with Father Ambrose ! " 
 says Madame Maverick with half a sigh. 
 
 " I should like that of all things," says Reuben, with 
 a touch of merriment. " I suppose he s a jolly old fel 
 low, with rosy cheeks and full of humor. By Jove ! 
 there go the beads again ! " (He says this latter to 
 himself, however, as he sees the nervous fingers of the 
 poor lady plying her rosary, and her lips murmuring 
 some catch of a prayer.) 
 
 Yet he cannot but respect her devotion profoundly, 
 wondering how it can have grown up under the hea- 
 
404 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 then isms of her life ; wondering perhaps, too, how his 
 own heathenism could have grown up under the roof of 
 a parsonage. It will be an odd encounter, he thinks, for 
 this woman, with the people of Ashfield, with the Doc 
 tor, with Adele. 
 
 There are gales, but the good ship rides them out 
 jauntily, with but a single reef in her topsails. "Within 
 five weeks from the date of her leaving Marseilles she is 
 within a few days sail of New York. A few days sail ! 
 It may mean over-much ; for there are mists and hazy 
 weather, which forbid any observation. The last was 
 taken a hundred miles to the eastward of George s Shoal. 
 Under an easy off-shore wind the ship is beating westward. 
 But the clouds hang low, and there is no opportunity for 
 determining position. At last, one evening, there is a lit 
 tle lift, and, for a moment only, a bright light blazes over 
 the starboard bow. The captain counts it a light upon 
 one of the headlands of the Jersey shore ; and he orders 
 the helmsman (she is sailing in the eye of an easy westerly 
 breeze) to give her a couple of points more " northing ; " 
 and the yards and sheets are trimmed accordingly. The 
 ship pushes on more steadily as she opens to the wind, 
 and the mists and coming night conceal all around them. 
 
 "What do you make of the light, Mr. Yardley ?" says 
 the captain, addressing the mate. 
 
 " Can t say, sir, with such a bit of a look. If it should 
 be Fire Island, we re in a bad course, sir." 
 
 "That s true enough," said the captain, thoughtfully. 
 " Put a man in the chains, Mr. Yardley, and give us the 
 water." 
 
A WRECK. 405 
 
 "I hope we shall be in the bay by morning, Captain/ 
 said Reuben, who stood smoking leisurely near the 
 wheel. But the captain was preoccupied, and answered 
 nothing. 
 
 A little after, a voice from the chains came chanting 
 full and loud, " By the mark nine ! " 
 
 "This 11 never do, Mr. Yardley/ said the captain, 
 "Jersey shore or any other. Let all hands keep by 
 to put the ship about." 
 
 A voice forward was heard to say something of a roar 
 that sounded like the beat of surf ; at which the mate 
 stepped to the side of the ship and listened anxiously. 
 
 "It s true, sir," said he, coming aft. "Captain, 
 there s something very like the beat of surf, here away 
 to the no th ard." 
 
 A nutter in the canvas caught the captain s attention. 
 "It s the wind slacking ; there s a bare capful," said the 
 mate, " and I m afeard there s mischief brewing yon 
 der." He pointed as he spoke a little to the south of 
 east, where the darkness seemed to be giving way to a 
 luminous gray cloud of mi at-. 
 
 " And a half six ! " shouts again the man in the 
 chains. 
 
 The captain meets it with a swelling oath, which be 
 trays clearly enough his anxiety. " There s not a mo 
 ment to lose, Yardley ; see all ready there ! Keep her 
 a good full, my boy ! " (to the man at the wheel.) 
 
 The darkness was profound. Reuben, not a little 
 startled by the new aspect of affairs, still kept his place 
 upon the quarter-deck. He saw objects flitting across 
 
4o6 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 the waist of the ship, and heard distinctly the coils flung 
 down with a clang upon the wet decks. There was 
 something weird and ghostly in those half -seen figures, 
 in the indistinct maze of cordage and canvas above, and 
 the phosphorescent streaks of spray streaming away 
 from either bow. 
 
 " Are you ready there ? " says the captain. 
 
 "Ay, ay, sir," responds the mate. 
 
 " Put your helm a-lee, my man ! Hard down ! " 
 
 " Hard down it is, sir ! " 
 
 The ship veers up into the wind ; and, as the cap 
 tain shouts his order, " Mainsail haul ! " the canvas 
 shakes ; the long, cumbrous yard groans upon its bear 
 ings ; there is a great whizzing of the cordage through 
 the blocks ; but, in the midst of it all, coming keenly 
 to the captain s ear, a voice from the fore-hatch ex 
 claims, " By G , she touches ! " 
 
 The next moment proved it true. The good ship 
 minded her helm no more. The fore-yards are brought 
 round by the run and the mizzen, but the light wind 
 growing lighter hardly clears the flapping canvas from 
 the spars. 
 
 In the sunshine, with so moderate a sea, t would 
 seem little ; in so little depth of water they might warp 
 her off ; but the darkness magnifies the danger ; besides 
 which, an ominous sighing and murmur are coming from 
 that luminous misty mass to the southward. Through 
 all this, Keuben has continued smoking upon the quar 
 ter-deck ; a landsman under a light wind, and with a 
 light sea, hardly estimates at their true worth such in^ 
 
A WRECK. 407 
 
 timations as had been given of the near breaking of the 
 surf, and of the shoaling water. Even the touch upon 
 bottom, of which the grating evidence had come home 
 to his own perceptions, brought up more the fate of 
 his business venture than any sense of personal peril. 
 We can surely warp her off in the morning, he thought ; 
 or, if the worst came, insurance was full, and it would 
 be easy boating to the shore. 
 
 " It s lucky there s no wind," said he to Yardley. 
 
 " Will you obleege me, Mr. Johns ? Take a good 
 strong puff of your cigar, here, upon the larboard 
 rail, sir," and he took the lantern from the companion- 
 way that he might see the drift of the smoke. For a 
 moment it lifted steadily ; then, with a toss it vanished 
 away shoreward. The first angry puffs of the south 
 easter were coming. 
 
 The captain had seen all, and with an excited voice said, 
 " Mr. Yardley, clew up, fore and aft, clew up every 
 thing ; put all snug, and make ready the best bower." 
 
 "Mr. Johns," said he, approaching Reuben, "we are 
 on a lee shore ; it should be Long Islind beach by the 
 soundings ; with calm weather, and a kedge, we might 
 work her off with the lift of the tide. But the Devil 
 and all is in that puff from the sou east." 
 
 " Oh, well, we can anchor," says Reuben. 
 
 " Yes, we can anchor, Mr. Johns ; but if that sou 
 easter turns out the gale it promises, the best anchor 
 aboard won t be so good as a gridiron." 
 
 " Do you advise taking to the boats, then ? " asked 
 Reuben, a little nervously. 
 
408 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 "I advise nothing, Mr. Johns. Do you hear the mur 
 mur of the surf yonder? It s bad landing under such 
 a pounding of the surf, with daylight ; in the dark, 
 where one can t catch the drift of the waves, it might be 
 - hell ! " 
 
 The word startled Reuben. His philosophy had al 
 ways contemplated death at a distance, toward which 
 easy and gradual approaches might be made : but here 
 it was, now, at a cable s length ! 
 
 And yet it was very strange ; the sea was not high ; 
 no gale as yet ; only an occasional grating chump of the 
 keel was a reminder that the good Meteor was not still 
 afloat. But the darkness ! Yes, the darkness was com 
 plete, (hardly a sight even of the topmen who were aloft 
 as in the sunniest of weather stowing the canvas,) 
 and to the northward that groan and echo of the re 
 sounding surf ; to the southward, the whirling white of 
 waves that are lifting now, topped with phosphorescent 
 foam. 
 
 The anchor is let go, but even this does not bring the 
 ship s head to the wind. Those griping sands hold her 
 keel fast. 
 
 Three hours more of watching, of waiting, of weary 
 anxieties ; then the force of the rising gale strikes her 
 full abeam, giving her a great list to shore. It is in vain 
 the masts are cut away, and the rigging drifts free ; the 
 hulk lifts only to settle anew in the grasping sands. 
 Every old seaman upon her deck knows that she is a 
 doomed ship. 
 
 From time to time, as the crashing spars or the 
 
A WRECK. 409 
 
 leaden thump upon the sands have startled those below, 
 Madame Maverick and her maid have made their appear 
 ance, in a wild flutter of anxiety, asking eager questions ; 
 (Reuben alone can understand them or answer them :) 
 but as the southeaster grows, as it does, into a fury of 
 wind, and the poor hulk reels vainly, and is overlaid 
 with a torrent of biting salt spray, Madame Maverick 
 becomes calm. Instinctively, she sees the worst. 
 
 " Could I only clasp Adele once more in these arms, 
 I would say cheerfully, Nunc dimittis. " 
 
 Reuben regarded her calm faith with a hungry eager 
 ness. Not, indeed, that calmness was lacking in himself. 
 Great danger, in many instances, sublimates the facul 
 ties of keenly strung minds. But underneath his calm 
 ness there was an unrest, hungering for repose, the 
 repose of a fixed belief. If even then the breaking 
 waves had whelmed him in their mad career, he would 
 have made no wailing outcry, but would have clutched 
 how eagerly ! at the merest shred of that faith 
 which, in other days and times, he had seen illuminate 
 the calm face of the father. Something to believe, 
 on which to float upon such a sea ! 
 
 But the waves and winds make sport of beliefs. 
 Prayers count nothing against that angry surge. Two 
 boats are already swept from the davits, and are gone 
 upon the whirling waters. A third, with infinite pains, 
 is dropped into the yeast. It is hard to tell who gives 
 the orders. But, once afloat, there is a rush upon it, 
 and away it goes, overcrowded, and within eyeshot 
 lifts, turns, and a crowd of swimmers float for a mo- 
 
410 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 ment, one with an oar, another with a thwart that 
 the waves have torn out, and in the yeast of waters 
 they vanish. 
 
 One boat only remains, and it is launched with more 
 careful handling ; three cling by the wreck ; the rest 
 
 save only Madame Maverick and Reuben are with 
 in her, as she tosses still in the lee of the vessel. 
 
 " There s room ! " cries some one ; " jump quick! for 
 God s sake ! " 
 
 And Reuben, with some strange, generous impulse, 
 seizes upon Madame Maverick, and before she can rebel 
 or resist, has dropped her over the rail. The men 
 grapple her and drag her in ; but in the next moment 
 the little cockle of a boat is drifted yards away. 
 
 The few who are left the boatswain among them 
 
 are toiling on the wet deck to give a last signal from 
 the little brass howitzer on the forecastle. As the sharp 
 crack breaks on the air, a miniature sound in that 
 howl of the storm, the red flash of the gun gives Reu 
 ben, as the boat lurches toward the wreck again, a last 
 glance of Madame Maverick, her hands clasped, her 
 eyes lifted, and calm as ever. More than ever too her 
 face was like the face of Adele, such as the face of 
 Adele must surely become, when years have sobered her, 
 and her buoyant faith has ripened into calm. And 
 from that momentary glance of the serene countenance, 
 and that flashing associated memory of Adele, a subtile, 
 mystic influence is born in him, by which he seems sud 
 denly transfused with the same trustful serenity which 
 just now he gazed upon with wonder. If indeed the 
 
A WRECK. 411 
 
 poor lady is already lost, he thinks it for a moment, 
 her spirit has fanned and cheered him as it passed. 
 Once more, as if some mysterious hand had brought 
 them to his reach, he grapples with those lost lines of 
 hope and trust which in that youthful year of his ex 
 uberant emotional experience he had held and lost, 
 once more, now, in hand, once more he is elated 
 with that wonderful sense of a religious poise, that, it 
 would seem, no doubts or terrors could overbalance. 
 
 The boom of a gun is heard to the northward. It 
 must be from shore. There are helpers at work, then. 
 Some hope yet for this narrow tide of life, which just 
 seemed losing itself in some infinite flow beyond. Life 
 is, after all, so sweet ! The boatswain forward labors 
 desperately to return an answering signal ; but the spray, 
 the slanted deck, the overleaping waves, are too much 
 for him. Darkness and storm and despair rule again. 
 
 The wind, indeed, has fallen ; the force of the gale is 
 broken ; but the waves are making deeper and more 
 desperate surges. The wreck, which had remained fixed 
 in the fury of the wind, lifts again under the great swell 
 of the sea, and is dashed anew and anew upon the shoal. 
 With every lift her timbers writhe and creak, and all 
 the remaining upper works crack and burst open with 
 the strain. 
 
 Reuben chances to espy an old-fashioned round life 
 buoy lashed to the taffrail, and, cutting it loose, makes 
 himself fast to it. He overhears the boatswain say, 
 yonder by the forecastle, " These thumpings will break 
 her in two in an hour. Cling to a spar, Jack." 
 
412 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 The gray light of dawn at last breaks, and shows a 
 dim line of shore, on which parties are moving, dragging 
 some machine, with which they hope to cast a line over 
 the wreck. But the swell is heavier than ever, the tim 
 bers nearer to parting. At last a flash of lurid light from 
 the dim shore-line, a great boom of sound, and a line 
 goes spinning out like a spider s web up into the gray, 
 bleak sky. Too far ! too short ! and the line tumbles, 
 plashing into the water. A new and fearful lift of the 
 sea shatters the wreck, the fore part of the ship still 
 holding fast to the sands ; but all abaft the mainmast 
 lifts, surges, reels, topples over ; with the wreck, and in 
 the angry swirl and torment of waters, Reuben goes 
 down. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 The Saved and Lost. 
 
 THAT morning, it was the 22cl of September, in 
 the year 1842, Mr. Brindlock came into his 
 counting-room some two hours before noon, and says to 
 his porter and factotum, as he enters the door, "Well, 
 Roger, I suppose you 11 be counting this puff of a south 
 easter the equinoctial, eh ? " 
 
 "Indeed, sir, and it s an awful one. The Meteor s 
 gone ashore on Long Beach ; and there s talk of young 
 Mr. Johns being lost." 
 
 "Good heavens!" said Brindlock, "you don t tell 
 me so ! " 
 
THE SAVED AND LOST. 413 
 
 By half-past three he was upon the spot ; a little re- 
 mainiDg fragment only of the Meteor hanging to the sands, 
 and a great debris of bales, spars, shattered timbers, 
 bodies, drifted along the shore, Reuben s among them. 
 
 But he is not dead ; at least so say the wreckers, who 
 throng upon the beach ; the life-buoy is still fast to him, 
 though he is fearfully shattered and bruised. He is 
 borne away under the orders of Brindlock to some near 
 house, and presently revives enough to ask that he may 
 be carried " home." 
 
 As, in the opening of this story, his old grandfather, 
 the Major, was borne away from the scene of his first 
 battle by easy stages homeward, so now the grandson, 
 far feebler and after more terrible encounter with death, 
 is carried by " easy stages " to his home in Ashfield. 
 Again the city, the boat, the river, with its banks yel 
 lowing with harvests, and brightened with the glowing 
 tints of autumn ; again the sluggish brigs drifting down 
 with the tide, and sailors in tasseled caps leaning over 
 the bulwarks ; again the flocks feeding leisurely on the 
 rock-strewn hills ; again the ferryman, in his broad, 
 cumbrous scow, oaring across ; again the stoppage at 
 the wharf of the little town, from which the coach still 
 plies over the hills to Ashfield. 
 
 On the way thither, a carriage passes them, in which 
 are Adele and her father. The news of disaster flies 
 fast ; they have learned of the wreck, and the names of 
 passengers. They go to learn what they can of the 
 mother, whom the daughter has scarce known. The 
 passing is too hasty for recognition. Brindlock arrives 
 
414 DOCTOR JOHNS 
 
 at last with his helpless charge at the door of the par 
 sonage. The Doctor is overwhelmed afc once with grief 
 and with joy. The news had come to him. and he had 
 anticipated the worst. But " Thank God ! Joseph, rny 
 son, is yet alive ! Still a probationer ; there is yet 
 hope that he may be brought into the fold." 
 
 He insists that he shall be placed below, upon his own 
 bed, just out of his study. For himself, he shall need 
 none until the crisis is past. But the crisis does not 
 pass ; it is hard to say when it will. The wounds are 
 not so much ; but a low fever has set in, (the physician 
 says,) owing to exposure and excitement, and he can 
 predict nothing as to the result. Even Aunt Eliza is 
 warmed into unwonted attention as she sees that poor 
 battered hulk of humanity lying there. 
 
 Days and days pass. Reuben hovering between life 
 and death ; and the old Doctor, catching chance rest 
 upon the little cot they have placed for him in the study, 
 looks yearningly by the dim light of the sick-lamp upon 
 that dove which his lost Eachel had hung upon his wall 
 above the sword of his father. He fancies that the face 
 of Reuben, pinched with suffering, resembles more than 
 ever the mother. Of sickness, or of the little offices of 
 friends which cheat it of pains, the old gentleman knows 
 nothing : sick souls only have been his care. And it is 
 pitiful to see his blundering, eager efforts to do some 
 thing, as he totters round the sick-chamber, where Reu 
 ben, with very much of youthful vigor left in him, makes 
 fight against the arch-enemy who one day conquers ua 
 all. For many days after his arrival there is no con- 
 
THE SAVED AND LOST. 415 
 
 sciousness, only wild words (at times words that sound 
 to the ears of the good Doctor strangely wicked, and 
 that make him groan in spirit), tender words, too, of 
 dalliance, and eager, loving glances, murmurs of boy 
 ish things, of sunny, school-day noonings, hearing 
 which, the Doctor thinks that, if this light must go out, 
 it had better have gone out in those days of comparative 
 innocence. 
 
 Over and over the father appeals to the village phy 
 sician to know what the chances may be, to which 
 that old gentleman, fumbling his watch-key, and look 
 ing grave, makes very doubtful response. He hints at 
 a possible undermining of the constitution in these later 
 years of city life. 
 
 God only knows what habits the young man may 
 have formed in these last years ; surely the Doctor does 
 not ; and he tells the physician as much, with a groan 
 of anguish. 
 
 Meantime, Maverick and Adele have gone upon their 
 melancholy search ; and, as they course over the island 
 to the southern beach, the sands, the plains, the houses, 
 the pines, drift by the eye of Adele as in a dream. At 
 last she sees a great reach of water, piling up, as it 
 rolls lazily in from seaward, into high walls of waves, 
 that are no sooner lifted than they break and send spark 
 ling floods of foam over the sands. Bits of wreck, dark 
 clots of weed, are strewed here and there, stragglers 
 scanning every noticeable heap, every floating thing that 
 comes in. 
 
4i 6 DOCTOR JOHNS, 
 
 Is she dead ? is she living ? They have heard only on 
 the way that many bodies are lying in the near houses, 
 many bruised and suffering ones ; while some have 
 come safe to land, and gone to their homes. They make 
 their way from that dismal surf -beaten shore to the near 
 est house. There are loiterers about the door ; and with 
 in, within, Adele finds her mother at last, clasps her to 
 her heart, kisses the poor dumb lips that will never more 
 open, never say to her rapt ears, " My child ! my dar 
 ling ! " 
 
 Maverick is touched as he has never been touched be 
 fore ; the age of early sentiment comes drifting back to 
 his world-haunted mind ; nay, tears come to those eyes 
 that have not known them for years. The grief, the pas 
 sionate, vain tenderness of Adele, somehow seems to 
 sanctify the memory of the dead one who lies before him, 
 her great wealth of hair streaming dank and fetterless 
 over the floor. 
 
 Not more tenderly, scarce more tearfully, could he 
 have ministered to one who had been his life-long com 
 panion. Where shall the poor lady be buried ? Adele 
 answers that, with eyes flashing through her tears, 
 nowhere but in Ashfield, nowhere except beside the sis 
 ter, Marie. 
 
 It is a dismal journey for the father and the daughter ; 
 it is almost a silent journey. Does she love him less ? 
 No, a thousand times, no. Does he love her less ? No, a 
 thousand times, no. In such presence love is awed into 
 silence. As the mournful cortege enters the town of 
 Ashfield, it passes the home of that fatherless boy, Ar- 
 
THE SAVED AND LOST. 417 
 
 thur, for whom Adele had shown such sympathy. The 
 youngster is there swinging upon the gate, his cap gayly 
 set off with feathers, and he looking wonderingly upon 
 the bier. He sees, too, the sad face of Adele, and, by 
 some strange rush of memory, recalls, as he looks on 
 her, the letter which she had given him long ago, and 
 which till then had been forgotten. He runs to his 
 mother : it is in his pocket, it is in that of some sum 
 mer jacket. At last it is found ; and the poor woman 
 herself, that very morning, with numberless apologies, 
 delivers it at the door of the parsonage. 
 
 Phil is the first to meet this exceptional funeral com 
 pany, and is the first to tell Adele how Reuben lies 
 stricken almost to death at the parsonage. She thanks 
 him : she thanks him again for the tender care which 
 he shows in all relating to the approaching burial. We 
 never forget such offices. 
 
 Of course, the arrival of this strange freight in Ash- 
 field gives rise to a world of gossip. We cannot follow 
 it ; we cannot rehearse it. The poor woman is buried, 
 as Adele had wished, beside her sister. No De Pro- 
 fundis except the murmur of the winds through the 
 crimson and the scarlet leaves of later September. 
 
 The Tourtelots have been eager with their gossip. 
 The dame has queried if there should not be some town 
 demonstration against the burial of the Papist. But 
 the little Deacon has been milder ; and we give our last 
 glimpse of him altogether characteristic in a sug 
 gestion which he makes in a friendly way to Squire 
 Elderkin, who is the host of the French strangers. 
 27 
 
4i 8 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 " Square, have they ordered a moniment yit for Miss 
 Maverick ? " 
 
 " Not that I m aware of, Deacon." 
 
 "Waal, my newy s got a good slab of Varmont mar 
 ble, which he ordered for his fust wife ; but the old 
 folks did n t like it, and it s in his barn on the heater- 
 piece. T ain t engraved, nor iiothin . If it should suit 
 the Mavericks, I dare say they could git it tol able 
 low." 
 
 LXVL 
 
 Last Scenes. 
 
 REUBEN is still floating between death and life. 
 There is doubt whether the master of the long 
 course or of the short course will win. However that may 
 be, his consciousness has returned ; and it has been 
 with a great glow of gratitude that the poor Doctor has 
 welcomed that look of recognition in his eye, the eye 
 of Eachel ! 
 
 He is calm, he knows all. That calmness which 
 had flashed into his soul when last he saw the serene 
 face of his fellow-voyager upon that mad sea is his 
 still. 
 
 The poor father had been moved unwontedly by that 
 unconsciousness which was blind to all his efforts at 
 spiritual consolation ; but he is not less moved when 
 he sees reason stirring again, a light of eager in 
 quiry in those eyes fearfully sunken, but from their 
 
LAST SCENES. 419 
 
 cavernous depths seeing farther and more keenly than 
 ever. 
 
 " Adele s mother, was she lost ? " He whispers it 
 to the Doctor ; and Miss Eliza, who is sewing yonder, 
 is quickened into eager listening. 
 
 " Lost ! my son, lost ! Lost, I apprehend, in the 
 other world as well as this. I fear the true light never 
 dawned upon her." 
 
 A faint smile as of one who sees things others do 
 not see broke over the face of Reuben. " T is a 
 broad light, father ; it reaches beyond our blind reck 
 oning." 
 
 There was a trustfulness in his manner that delighted 
 the Doctor. " And you see it, my son ? Repentance, 
 Justification by Faith, Adoption, Sanctification ? " 
 
 " Those words are a weariness to me, father ; they 
 suggest methods, dogmas, perplexities. Christian hope, 
 pure and simple, I love better." 
 
 The Doctor is disturbed ; he cannot rightly under 
 stand how one who seems inspired by so calm a trust 
 the son of his own loins too should find the au 
 thoritative declarations of the divines a weariness. 
 
 Of course the letter of Adele, which had been so long 
 upon its way, Miss Eliza had handed to Reuben after 
 such time as her caution suggested, and she had ex 
 plained to him its long delay. 
 
 Reading is no easy matter for him ; but he races 
 through those delicately penned lines with quite a new 
 strength. The spinster sees the color come and go 
 upon his wan cheek, and with what a trembling eager- 
 
420 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 ness he folds the letter at the end, and, making a pain 
 ful effort, tries to thrust it under his pillow. The good 
 woman has to aid him in this. He thanks her, but says 
 nothing more. His fingers are toying nervously at a 
 bit of torn fringe upon the coverlet. It seems a relief 
 to him to make the rent wider and wider. A little 
 glimpse of the world has come back to him, which dis 
 turbs the repose with which but now he would have 
 quitted it forever. 
 
 Adele has been into the sick-chamber from time to 
 time, once led away weeping by the good Doctor, 
 when the son had fallen upon his wild talk of school 
 days ; once, too, since consciousness has come to him 
 again, but before her letter had been read. He had 
 met her with scarce more than a touch of those fevered 
 fingers, and a hard, uncertain quiver of a smile, which 
 had both shocked and disappointed the poor girl. She 
 thought he would have spoken some friendly consoling 
 word of her mother ; but his heart, more than his 
 strength, failed him. Her mournful, pitying eyes were 
 a reproach to him ; they had haunted him through the 
 wakeful hours of two succeeding nights, and now, under 
 the light of that laggard letter, they blaze with a new 
 and an appealing tenderness. His fingers still puzzle 
 wearily with that tangle of the fringe. The noon 
 passes. The aunt advises a little broth. But no, his 
 strength is feeding itself on other aliment. The Doctor 
 comes in with a curiously awkward attempt at gentle 
 ness and noiselessness of tread, and, seeing his excited 
 condition, repeats to him some texts which he believes 
 
LAST SCENES. 421 
 
 must be consoling. Reuben utters no open dissent; 
 but through and back of all he sees the tender eyes of 
 Adele, which, for the moment, outshine the promises, of 
 at the least illuminate them with a new meaning. 
 
 " I must see Adele," he says to the Doctor ; and the 
 message is carried, she herself presently bringing an 
 swer, with a rich glow upon her cheek. 
 
 " Reuben has sent for me," she murmurs it to her 
 self with pride and joy. 
 
 She is in full black now ; but never had she looked 
 more radiantly beautiful than when she stepped to the 
 side of the sick-bed, and took the hand of Reuben with 
 an eager clasp that was met, and met again. The 
 Doctor is in his study, (the open door between,) and the 
 spinster is fortunately just now busy at some of her 
 household duties. 
 
 Reuben fumbles under his pillow nervously for that 
 cherished bit of paper, (Adele knows already its history,) 
 and when he has found it and shown it (his thin fingers 
 crumpling it nervously) he says, " Thank you for this, 
 Adele ! " 
 
 She answers only by clasping his hand with a sudden 
 mad pressure of content, while the blood mounted into 
 either cheek with a rosy exuberance that magnified her 
 beauty tenfold. 
 
 He saw it, he felt it all ; and through her beaming 
 eyes, so full of tendernes and love, saw the world to 
 which he had bidden adieu shining before him more 
 beguilingly than ever. Yesterday it was a dim and 
 weary world that he could leave without a pang ; to-day 
 
422 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 it is a brilliant world, where hopes, promises, joys pile 
 in splendid proportions. 
 
 He tells her this. " Yesterday I would have died 
 with scarce a regret ; to-day, Adele, I would live." 
 
 " You will, you will, Reuben ! " and she grappled 
 more and more passionately those shrunken fingers. 
 " T is not hopeless ! " (sobbing.) 
 
 "No, no, Adele, darling, not hopeless. The cloud is 
 lifted, not hopeless ! " 
 
 "Thank God, thank God ! " said she, dropping upon 
 her knees beside him, and with a smile of ecstasy he 
 gathered that fair head to his bosom. 
 
 The Doctor, hearing her sobs, came softly in. The 
 son s smile, as he met his father s inquiring look, was 
 more than ever like the smile of Eachel. He has been 
 telling the poor girl of her mother s death, thinks the 
 old gentleman ; yet the Doctor wonders that he could 
 have kept so radiant a face with such a story. 
 
 Of these things, however, Eeuben goes on presently 
 to speak : of his first sight of the mother of Adele, and 
 of her devotional attitude as they floated down past the 
 little chapel of Notre Dame to enter upon the fateful 
 voyage ; he recounts their talks upon the tranquil moon 
 lit nights of ocean ; he tells of the mother s eager listen 
 ing to his description of her child. 
 
 "I did not tell her the half, Adele ; yet she loved me 
 for what I told her." 
 
 And Adele smiles through her tears. 
 
 At last he comes to those dismal scenes of the wreck, 
 relating all with a strange vividness ; living ovei again, 
 
LAST SCENES. 423 
 
 as it were, that fearful episode, till his brain whirled, his 
 self-possession was lost, and he broke out into a torrent 
 of delirious raving. 
 
 He sleeps brokenly that night, and the next day is 
 feebler than ever. The physician warns against any 
 causes of excitement. He is calm only at intervals. 
 The old school -days seem present to him again ; he 
 
 1] <s of his fight with Phil Elderkiu as if it happened 
 
 ,sterday. 
 
 "Yet I like Phil," he says (to himself), "and Eose is 
 like Amanda, the divine Amanda. No not she. I ve 
 
 forgotten : it s the French girL She s a Pah ! who 
 
 cares ? She s as pure as heaven ; she s an angeL 
 Adele ! Adele ! Not good enough ! I m not good 
 enough. Very well, very well, now 1 11 be bad enough ! 
 Clouds, wrangles, doubts ! Is it my fault ? Meam Ec- 
 desiam ! How they kneel ! Puppets ! mummers ! No, 
 not mummers ; they see a Christ. What if they see 
 it in a picture? You see Him in words. Both in 
 earnest. Belief belief! That is best. Adele, Adele, 
 I believe ! " 
 
 The Doctor is a pained listener of this incoherent talk 
 of his son. "I am afraid, I am. afraid," he murmurs 
 to himself, "that he has no clear views of the great 
 scheme of the Atonement." 
 
 The next day Reuben is himself once more, but fee 
 ble, to a degree that startles the household. It is a 
 charming morning of later September ; the window is 
 wide open, and the sick one looks out over a stretch of 
 orchard (he knew its every tree), and upon wooded hills 
 
424 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 beyond (he knew every coppice and thicket), and upon a 
 background of sky over which a few dappled white 
 clouds floated at rest. 
 
 " It is most beautiful ! " said Reuben. 
 
 " All things that He has made are beautiful," said the 
 Doctor ; and thereupon he seeks to explore his way in 
 to the secrets of Reuben s religious experience, em 
 ploying, as he was wont to do, all the Westminster for 
 mulas by which his own belief stood fast. 
 
 " Father, father, the words are stumbling-blocks to 
 me," says the son. 
 
 " I would to God, Eeuben, that I could make my lan 
 guage always clear." 
 
 " No, father, no man can, in measuring the Divine 
 mysteries. We must carry this draggled earth-dress 
 with us always, always in some sort fashionists, even 
 in our soberest opinions. The robes of light are worn 
 only Beyond. Thought, at the best, is hampered by 
 this clog of language, that tempts, obscures, misleads." 
 
 "And do you see any light, my son? " 
 
 " I hope and tremble. A great light is before me ; it 
 shines back upon outlines of doctrines and creeds where 
 I have floundered for many a year." 
 
 "But some are clear, some are clear, Eeuben ! ** 
 
 " Before, all seems clear ; but behind " 
 
 " And yet, Reuben," (the Doctor cannot forbear the 
 discussion,) "there is the cross, Election, Adoption, 
 Sanctification " 
 
 " Stop, father ; the cross, indeed, with a blaze oi 
 glory, I see ; but the teachers of this or that special 
 
LAST SCENES. 425 
 
 form of doctrine I see catching only radiations of the 
 light. The men who teach, and argue, and exorcise, 
 are using human weapons ; the great light only strikes 
 here and there upon some sword-point which is nearest 
 to the cross." 
 
 "He wanders," says the Doctor to Adele, who has 
 slipped in and stands beside the sick-bed. 
 
 " No wandering, father ; on the brink where I stand, 
 I cannot." 
 
 "And what do you see, Reuben, my boy?" (tenderly.) 
 
 Is it the presence of Adele that gives a new fervor, a 
 kind of crazy inspiration to his talk ? "I see the light- 
 hearted clashing cymbals ; and those who love art, kneel 
 ing under blazing temples and shrines ; but the great 
 light touches the gold no more effulgently than the 
 steeple of your meeting-house, father, but no less. I 
 see eyes of chanting girls streaming with joy in the 
 light ; and haggard men with ponderous foreheads 
 working out contrivances to bridge the gap between the 
 finite and the infinite. Father, they are no nearer to a 
 passage than the radiant girls who chant and tell their 
 beads. Angels in all shapes of beauty flit o-ver and amid 
 the throngs I see, in shape of fleecy clouds that fan 
 them, in shape of brooks that murmur praise, in 
 shape of leafy shadows that tremble and flicker, in 
 shape of birds that make a concert of song." The birds 
 even then were singing, the clouds floating in his eye, 
 the leafy shadows trailing on the chamber floor, and 
 from the valley, the murmur of the brook came to his 
 sensitive ear. 
 
426 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 11 He wanders, lie wanders ! " said the poor Doctor. 
 
 Reuben turns to Adele. "Adele, kiss me ! " A ros^ 
 tint ran over her face as she stooped and kissed him 
 with a freedom a mother might have shown, leaving 
 one hand toying caressingly with his hair. "The cloud 
 is passing, Adele, passing ! God is Justice ; Christ 
 is Mercy. In Him I trust." 
 
 "Reuben, darling," says Adele, "come back to us ! " 
 
 " Darling, darling ! " he repeated with a strange, 
 eager, satisfied smile, so sweet a sound it was. 
 
 The chamber was filled with the delightful perfume of 
 a violet bed beneath the window. Suddenly there came 
 from the Doctor, whose old eyes caught sooner than any 
 the change, a passionate outcry. " Great God ! Thy 
 will be done ! " 
 
 With that one loud, clear utterance, his firmness gave 
 way, for the first time in sixty years broke utterly ; 
 and big tears streamed down his face as he gazed yearn 
 ingly upon the dead body of his first-born. 
 
 Lxvn. 
 
 The End. 
 
 IN the autumn of 1845, three years after the incidents 
 related in our last chapter, Mr. Philip Elderkin., 
 being at that time president of a railroad company, 
 which was establishing an important connection of travel 
 that was to pass within a few miles of the quiet town oj 
 
THE END. 427 
 
 Ashfield, was a passenger on the steamer Caledonia for 
 Europe. He sailed, partly in the interest of the com 
 pany, to place certain bonds, and partly in his own 
 interest, as an intelligent man, eager to add to his knowl 
 edge of the world. 
 
 At Paris, where he passed some time, it chanced that 
 he was one evening invited to the house of a resident 
 American, where, he was gayly assured, he would meet 
 with a very attractive American heiress, the only daugh 
 ter of a merchant of large fortune. 
 
 Philip Elderkin brave, straightforward fellow that 
 he was had never forgotten his early sentiment. He 
 had cared for those French graves in Ashfield with an 
 almost religious attention. In all the churchyard there 
 was not such scrupulously shorn turf, or such orderly 
 array of bloom. He counted in a fever of doubt 
 upon a visit to Marseilles before his sail for home. 
 
 But at the soiree we have mentioned he was amazed 
 and delighted to meet, in the person of the heiress, 
 Adele Maverick, not changed essentially since the 
 time he had known her. That life at Marseilles even 
 in the well-appointed home of her father has none of 
 that domesticity which she had learned to love ; and this 
 first winter in Paris for her does not supply the lack. 
 That she has a great company of admirers it is easy to 
 understand ; but yet she gives a most cordial greeting 
 to Phil Elderkin, a greeting that by its manner makes 
 the pretenders doubtful. Philip finds it possible to 
 reconcile the demands of his business with a week s visit 
 to Marseilles. To the general traveler it is not a charm- 
 
428 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 ing region. The dust abounds ; the winds are terrible ; 
 the sun is scalding. But Mr. Philip Elderkin found it 
 delightful. And, indeed, the country-house of Mr. Mav 
 erick had attractions of its own ; attractions so great 
 that his week runs over into two, into three. There 
 are excursions to the Pont du Gard, to the Arene of 
 Aries. And, before he leaves, he has an engagement 
 there (which he has enforced by very peremptory pro 
 posals) for the next spring. 
 
 On his return to Ashfield, he reports a very successful 
 trip. To his sister Rose (now Mrs. Catesby, with a 
 blooming little infant, called Grace Catesby) he is spe 
 cially communicative. And she thinks it was a glorious 
 trip, and longs for the time when he will make the next. 
 He, furthermore, to the astonishment of Dame Tourtelot 
 (whose husband sleeps now under the sod), has com 
 menced the establishment of a fine home, upon a charm 
 ing site, overlooking all Ashfield. The Squire, still 
 stalwart, cannot resist giving a hint of what is expected 
 to the old Doctor, who still wearily goes his rounds, and 
 prays for the welfare of his flock. 
 
 He is delighted at the thought of meeting again with 
 Adele, though he thinks with a sigh of his lost boy. 
 Yet he says in his old manner, " T is the hand of Prov 
 idence : she first bloomed into grace under the roof of 
 our church ; she comes back to adorn it with her faith 
 and her works." 
 
 At a date three years later we take one more glimpse 
 at that quiet village of Ashfield, where we began our 
 
THE END. 429 
 
 story. The near railway has brought it into more inti 
 mate connection with the shore towns and the great 
 cities. But there is no noisy clatter of the cars to break 
 the quietude. On still days, indeed, the shriek of the 
 steam-whistle or the roar of a distant train is heard 
 bursting over the hills, and dying in strange echoes up 
 and down the valley. The stage -driver s horn is heard 
 no longer ; no longer the coach whirls into the village 
 and delivers its leathern pouch of letters. The Tew 
 partners we once met are now partners in the grave. 
 Deacon Tourtelot (as we have already hinted) has gone 
 to his long home ; and the dame has planted over him 
 the slab of Yarmont " marble, which she has bought 
 at a bargain from his " nevvy." 
 
 The Boody tavern-keeper has long since disappeared ; 
 no teams wheel up with the old dash at the doors of the 
 Eagle Tavern. The creaking sign-board even is gone 
 from the overhanging sycamore. 
 
 Miss Almira is still among the living. She sings treble, 
 however, no longer ; she wears spectacles ; she writes no 
 more over mystical asterisks for the "Hartford Courant." 
 Age has brought to her at least this much of wisdom. 
 
 The mill groans, as of old, in the valley. A new race 
 of boys pelt the hanging nests of the orioles ; a new race 
 of school-giils hang swinging on the village gates at the 
 noonings. 
 
 As for Miss Johns, she lives still, scarce older to ap 
 pearance than twenty years before, prim, wiry, active, 
 proof against all ailments, it would seem. It is hard 
 to conceive of her as yielding to the great conqueror. 
 
430 DOCTOR JOHNS. 
 
 If the tongue and an inflexibility of temper were the 
 weapons, she would whip Death from her chamber at the 
 last. It seems like amiability almost to hear such a one 
 as she talk of her approaching, inevitable dissolution, 
 so kindly in her to yield that point ! 
 
 And she does ; she declares it over and over ; there 
 are far feebler ones who do not declare it half so often. 
 If she is to be conquered and the Johns banner go down, 
 she will accept the defeat so courageously and so long in 
 advance that the defeat shall become a victorious con 
 firmation of the Johns prophecy. 
 
 She is still earnest in all her duties ; she gives cast 
 away clothing to the poor, and good advice with it. She 
 is rigorous in the observance of every propriety ; no 
 storm keeps her from church. If the children of a new 
 generation climb unduly upon the pew-backs, or shake 
 their curly heads too wantonly, she lifts a prim fore 
 finger at them, which has lost none of its authoritative 
 meaning. She is the impersonation of all good severities. 
 A strange character ! Let us hope that, as it sloughs 
 off its earthly cerements, it may in the Divine pres 
 ence scintillate charities and draw toward it the love of 
 others. A good kind, bad gentlewoman, unwearied 
 in performance of duties. We wonder as we think of 
 her ! So steadfast, we cannot sneer at her, so true 
 to her line of faith, we cannot condenfn her, so utterly 
 forbidding, we cannot love her ! May God give rest 
 to her good stubborn soul ! 
 
 Upon Sundays of August and September there may be 
 
THE EXD. 431 
 
 occasionally seen in the pew of Elderkin Junior a gray- 
 haired old gentleman, dressed with scrupulous care, and 
 still carrying an erect figure, though somewhat gouty in 
 his step. This should be Mr. Maverick, a retired mer 
 chant, who is on a visit to his daughter. He makes won 
 derful gifts to a certain little boy who bears a Puritan 
 name, and gives occasional ponderous sums to the parish. 
 In winter, his head-quarters are at the Union Club. 
 
 And Doctor Johns ? Yes, he is living still, making 
 his way wearily each morning along the street with his 
 cane. Going oftenest, perhaps, to the home of Adele, 
 who is now a matron, a tender, and most womanly 
 and joyful matron, and with her little boy Reuben 
 Elderkin by name he wanders often to the graves 
 where sleep his best beloved, Rachel, so early lost, 
 the son, in respect to whom he feels at last a " reasonable 
 assurance " that the youth has entered upon a glorious 
 inheritance in those courts where one day he will join 
 him, and the sainted Rachel too, and clasp again in his 
 arms (if it be God s will) the babe that was his but for 
 an hour on earth. 
 
 THE END. 
 

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