OP CALIP. LIBRARY, LOS AHGKLES
 
 QUAKER IDYLS 
 
 BY 
 
 SARAH M. H. GARDNER 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 1894
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1894, 
 
 BY 
 HENRY HOLT & CO. 
 
 THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS, 
 RAHWAY, N. J.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 TWELFTH STREET MEETING, . . i 
 
 A QUAKER WEDDING, ... 17 
 
 Two GENTLEWOMEN, 33 
 
 OUR LITTLE NEIGHBORS, . . 53 
 
 PAMELIA TEWKSBURY'S COURTSHIP, 65 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS FROM 
 
 A QUAKER GIRL 87 
 
 UNCLE JOSEPH, .... 159 
 
 MY GRANDAME'S SECRET, . . . 175 
 
 2130558
 
 This little book is 
 affectionately dedicated to two 
 
 dear "Friends/' 
 E, W. P. and M. M. T.
 
 TWELFTH STREET 
 MEETING.
 
 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 TWELFTH STREET 
 MEETING. 
 
 RE the summer mornings 
 longer in Philadelphia 
 than elsewhere, or is it 
 the admirable Quaker custom of 
 breaking the fast at the usual hour 
 on Sunday that gives such delight 
 ful leisure before the calm walk to 
 meeting at half past ten ? 
 
 Certain it is that the Sabbath 
 of June ii was no exception to 
 the general rule, and when John 
 and Martha Wilson, with their 
 daughter Gassy, passed beyond
 
 4 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 the brick wall which separates the 
 sanctuary from the street, there 
 were groups of Friends kindly in- 
 quiring after the welfare of each 
 other, and offering greeting to 
 such as were unaccustomed to the 
 place. 
 
 John passed to the right, where 
 he extended his hand to a fellow- 
 worshiper. Martha paused in the 
 doorway to stroke the shining 
 curls of a pretty child, whose gen 
 tle mother had failed in her efforts 
 to subdue Dame Nature. And 
 Gassy, sweet Gassy, who was no 
 longer very young, felt the color 
 rise, and modestly dropped her 
 eyes, as she noticed the pleased 
 observance of her entrance de 
 picted on the face of George 
 Evans, already occupying a seat 
 on the "men's side" of the meet 
 ing-house. 
 
 Several elderly Friends were in
 
 TWELFTH STREET MEETING. 5 
 
 their place on the floor, and in the 
 gallery were those who held the 
 positions of elders and accepted 
 ministers. Their hands were 
 folded, and one or two of the men, 
 who held walking sticks, rested 
 their hands on the rounded tops. 
 But the faces of all wore a far 
 away look, as if the present sur 
 roundings could never disturb the 
 sweet serenity of their souls. 
 
 Quietly the congregation gath 
 ered. There was not a large com 
 pany. But few wore the garb of 
 the past generation. There was, 
 among the middle-aged, a disposi 
 tion to grow a little plainer with 
 increasing years, but the soft felt 
 hat was conspicuous in the room, 
 and the stiff bonnets were re 
 lieved by silk shirrs of brown or 
 gray. 
 
 Cassy, this warm day, has as 
 sumed a gown of white stuff, the
 
 O QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 very essence of simplicity ; a straw 
 bonnet of half modern date, desti 
 tute of embellishment, unless the 
 satin ties, reaching halfway to 
 the crown, and the blond pleating 
 surrounding her face, could be 
 called trimming. The dress was 
 closed at the throat by a small 
 gold clasp, which confined also 
 the edges of the linen collar ; 
 drab, openwork mitts covered her 
 well-shaped hands hands that 
 were never weary with good work, 
 nor ever fearful of losing their 
 beauty in the performance of 
 the daily toils that fell upon 
 them. 
 
 As the house grew silent, and 
 more silent, a gentle prayer went 
 up from her heart that she might 
 keep her spirit undefiled, and 
 when, after a little, the stillness 
 was broken by the voice of an 
 aged man in the upper seat, she
 
 TWELFTH S TREE T MEE TING. 7 
 
 raised her head and paid the 
 strictest attention to his opening 
 words. 
 
 " Like as a father pitieth his 
 children," he began, his pale face 
 reflecting the purity of his aspira 
 tions, and the trembling voice, 
 growing in volume as he pro 
 ceeded, until after a few moments 
 it had fallen into that peculiar 
 cadence, a sort of half melancholy 
 rising and falling inflection, meas 
 ured and monotonous, that afflicts 
 the unaccustomed ear, and so 
 often in these holy assemblies de 
 stroys their solemnity. 
 
 Philo Thomas was a trial to 
 poor Gassy ; she revered his pa 
 tient life of tribulation, she caught 
 the reflection of the light which 
 glowed within his soul, but his 
 outward manifestations were 
 singularly unacceptable to her ; 
 she wished that so good a man
 
 8 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 might feel called upon to keep 
 silence in public places, and yet 
 she half rebuked herself for the 
 seeming disrespect. 
 
 Patiently she tried to keep pace 
 with the thought that so slowly 
 fell from the sing-song utterance, 
 but gradually she drifted into a 
 different channel. The glowing 
 face of the man who had rejoiced 
 at her coming was rising before 
 her. Educated, as she had been, 
 to the strictest truthfulness, she 
 could not even seek to shut out 
 from herself the knowledge that 
 she felt and enjoyed his satisfac 
 tion at her presence there, nor, in 
 deed, her own pleasure and com 
 fort in this state of affairs. Her 
 heart beat a trifle faster than it 
 ought, and the blush burned again 
 as she forgot the preacher and the 
 company and only remembered 
 the one face across the narrow
 
 TWELFTH S TREE T MEE TING. 9 
 
 line which divided the women from 
 the men. 
 
 Suddenly the voice ceased, and 
 the solemn silence smote her like 
 a sword. 
 
 " What have I done ! " she cried 
 out in spirit, " I have desecrated 
 the holy place. My thoughts are 
 the thoughts of a worldling ! Can 
 I bear through the week the recol 
 lection that I wasted my oppor 
 tunity on the first day ? that any 
 human being can have the power 
 to turn me from my path, can de 
 stroy my self-respect, can make 
 me forget my Creator?" 
 
 " The Lord is in his holy tem 
 ple, blessed be the name of the 
 Lord," passed through her heart, 
 and formed on her trembling lips. 
 Hot tears filled her eyes and fell 
 unheeded on her handkerchief, 
 tears of shame and humiliation. 
 
 A faint rustle aroused her. In
 
 10 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 the gallery a slight pale woman 
 arose, untied the strings of her 
 stiff bonnet, and laid it on the 
 bench beside her. Stepping for 
 ward until her hand rested on the 
 rail in front, she spoke softly, dis 
 tinctly, and the happy change 
 from the droning tones of the 
 earlier speaker riveted the atten 
 tion of the wandering. 
 
 She spoke of the pure in heart; 
 defining her terms, dwelling on 
 the growth of sin if permitted to 
 linger, emphasizing the truth that 
 we must be ever on the alert to 
 discern the shadow of transgres 
 sion, until poor Cassy who had 
 at once entered into the spirit of 
 the sermon poor Cassy felt that 
 this was being spoken directly to 
 her. 
 
 Then as the sweet voice paused, 
 a new measure filled it. She 
 turned from admonition to ador-
 
 TWELFTH STREET MEETING. II 
 
 ation, depicting the joy there is 
 in heaven over one sinner who 
 returns from his ways, and as 
 if carrying out the thought of 
 the aged man who had preceded 
 her, and which he had so sorely 
 missed in his illustration, she 
 urged the tenderness of an earthly 
 parent to an erring child, and the 
 abounding love and beneficence 
 of our Heavenly Father. 
 
 " Dear children," she cried, 
 " do not fear to approach him. 
 Open your hearts ! Search out 
 the hidden places ! Let the light 
 stream in and your sins shall be 
 wiped away. Fear not man ; that 
 which it is impressed upon you 
 to reveal, dare not to keep 
 secret." 
 
 She resumed her seat and her 
 bonnet, but the seed she had 
 sown took deep root in Cassy's 
 heart. All through the remaining
 
 12 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 hour she revolved its teaching in 
 her soul. It was clear the mean 
 ing for her was a stronger and 
 heartier purification of her 
 thoughts. Not that George Evans 
 was an unholy object, nor that his 
 affection was to be despised, but 
 that the meeting-house was not 
 the place for human admiration. 
 And oh ! what did these words 
 mean, " Not to keep silent ? " 
 Was she bidden to unfold this 
 page to George, to tell him that 
 the lesson was for him also ? 
 
 What pain it cost her to dream 
 of such a task ! yet was not this 
 one of those hidden places that 
 should be flooded with light? 
 What if he did deem her un 
 womanly who could speak on 
 such a matter without having been 
 spoken to ? Were not the com 
 mands of the Lord to be preferred 
 to any earthly comfort ? She
 
 TWELFTH STREET MEETING. 13 
 
 should perhaps lose her lover see 
 herself dethroned, for. never a 
 word had he vouchsafed her but of 
 the plainest courtesy, but she 
 should gain the respect of her own 
 conscience. The fires that purify, 
 also blister and burn. How could 
 she refuse ? Perhaps George 
 Evans' soul was in peril too, for 
 well she knew that upon his ear 
 had fallen unheeded the words of 
 the first preacher. 
 
 Solemnly the two men friends 
 at the head of the gallery clasped 
 hands, and immediately a little 
 hum of neighborly inquiry went 
 round. 
 
 Cassy dreaded to move. She 
 felt, rather than saw, her lover 
 waiting for her outside the door, 
 and silently asking help in her 
 time of trouble, she walked down 
 the aisle. She did not omit any 
 of the customary greetings ; she
 
 14 QUA KEK IDYLS. 
 
 promised to meet with the sewing 
 committee the next day, to carry 
 jelly to an aged friend, and turned 
 and shook the hand which George 
 Evans held out to her. 
 
 There was nothing strange that 
 he walked beside her down Arch 
 Street, but he gave her little 
 opportunity to open her heart. 
 They had passed but a short dis 
 tance when he broke the silence 
 by saying : 
 
 " Cassy, does thee know I almost 
 felt that Mary Elwood's sermon 
 was intended for me ? And per 
 haps for thee, too. I have thought 
 for some time that the Lord had 
 designed thy path and mine to 
 run side by side. Thee knows 
 that this morning was the first 
 opportunity I have had to attend 
 meeting for several weeks, but 
 when I saw thy face it was so 
 pleasant to me that I fell into a
 
 TWELFTH S TREE T MEE TING. 1 5 
 
 worldly train of thought how I 
 might tell thee of my great hope, 
 that thee would respond to my 
 affection for thee. Mary El- 
 wood's voice broke my reverie, 
 and showed me where my way 
 led. I resolved then to speak to 
 thee at once, for something in thy 
 look betrayed thy feeling, and I 
 feared I had led thee into evil ; 
 that my glance, as I entered meet 
 ing, had possessed the power of 
 withdrawing thy meditation from 
 the Lord, and the voice of his ser 
 vant warned me to repent, and 
 hesitate not to reveal to thee the 
 source of my inquietude." 
 
 Gravely she laid her hand upon 
 his arm, and with but one shy up 
 ward glance at his earnest face, 
 she said solemnly : 
 
 " Blessed be the name of the 
 Lord. This lesson was also re 
 vealed unto me. Had thee not
 
 16 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 felt called upon to warn me against 
 such temptation, I should have 
 dwelt upon it to thee at the first 
 opportunity, but our Heavenly 
 Father hath spared me the trial."
 
 A QUAKER WEDDING.
 
 A QUAKER WEDDING. 
 
 RENOWNED foreigner 
 characterized Philadel 
 phia as a " city of magnif 
 icent sameness." Possibly this is 
 true of the older portions of the 
 town, and surely there is little in 
 the exterior of the compactly built 
 houses on upper Arch Street to 
 distinguish the dwelling of the 
 Twelfth Street Friend from that of 
 a more worldly citizen. 
 
 On a certain morning in Octo 
 ber, the same atmosphere of seclu 
 sion surrounded the whole block 
 between Sixteenth and Seven 
 teenth streets. No possible hint 
 came forth from No. that within 
 its red brick walls, outlined with
 
 20 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 the cold precision of white marble 
 sills and doorsteps and guarded 
 by heavy shutters, there was about 
 to be consummated a tender little 
 drama. The narrow door,' with its 
 painted icy glare and glistening 
 knob, opened at short intervals to 
 admit tall figures in long coats, 
 cut with straight collars, and bea 
 ver hats in gray or black, whose 
 broad brims shadowed smooth- 
 shaven, manly faces. Trim little 
 maidens too, and their quaint 
 feminine relatives, waited de 
 murely on the spotless step, for 
 the opening touch of a dark- 
 skinned hand within. 
 
 It rarely happened that a new 
 comer entered without a pleasant 
 greeting to the elderly colored 
 woman : " How is thee to-day, 
 Hannah ? " or, " I am glad to find 
 thee has conquered thy rheuma 
 tism"; which brought a low-voiced
 
 A QUAKER WEDDING. 21 
 
 answer : " Thank thee ; will thee 
 go up to the second story, or can 
 I send thy bonnet ? " This to 
 the elder women, while the sweet 
 young damsels, in a happy sub 
 dued flutter, have turned to the 
 guest chamber to smooth their 
 silken raiment, or possibly to ven 
 ture so far toward personal adorn 
 ment as the fastening of a few 
 white buds over the dainty cor 
 sage. There was a little murmur 
 of soft voices : the expression of 
 joy that Cassy and George had 
 been blessed with such a beautiful 
 wedding day ; the hope that 
 Mary Anna Landers would be able 
 to reach there in time for the 
 ceremony. " She always speaks 
 so acceptably to the young." 
 One told of a certain aged Friend 
 in deep affliction and the message 
 that she bore from the dying bed 
 to the gentle bride whose helpful
 
 22 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 hands had so often soothed the 
 pain away. And thus, in groups, 
 the guests descended to the par 
 lor, the straight long room where 
 a strong light from tall windows 
 in front and rear was modified by 
 means of drab Venetian blinds. 
 Between these windows hung, on 
 one hand, a modest engraving of 
 William Penn, and upon the oppo 
 site wall that of Elizabeth Fry. 
 Both were framed in dark-colored 
 wood, and the benign expression 
 of the gifted man, and the wealth 
 of dignity in the face of the cele 
 brated philanthropist charmed in 
 spite of their austere surround 
 ings. Upon a marble mantel, 
 under a glass shade, rested a 
 clock, as white and cold as the 
 slab beneath ; a small basket of 
 delicate ferns, as if half ashamed 
 of their vivid green, retired be 
 hind the solemn mouth of a tall
 
 A QUAKER WEDDING. 23 
 
 undecorated silver candlestick. 
 The" room was well-nigh filled 
 with chairs placed in regular 
 order, and two hair-cloth sofas 
 whose broad seats accommodat 
 ed the elders of the meeting. 
 Directly below the picture of the 
 venerable Perm were the places 
 designed for George and Cassy, 
 straight-backed old oaken chairs, 
 that would be a delight to the 
 antiquarian of to-day, and near 
 the right wall stood a small table 
 upon which rested a roll of parch 
 ment, a pen, and a substantial 
 ink-well. 
 
 One of the windows was open, 
 and the fresh sweet air came in 
 laden with the noises of the street : 
 the rumble of the carts, the 
 click of hoofs upon the sharp 
 stone pavements, the distant 
 cries of venders, and the whistle 
 of the locomotive. The light
 
 24 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 breeze stirred the cap borders and 
 the kerchiefs of the placid women, 
 who lifted their soft hands to re 
 arrange the muslin with the same 
 instinct that prompts the care of 
 curl and ornament in their fashion 
 able sisters. The parchment flut 
 tered to the ground, and in re 
 placing it there was exposed to 
 view a page of exquisite penman 
 ship, the great letters in ornate 
 Old English hardly belonging to 
 Quaker simplicity. 
 
 Meanwhile in the sitting room at 
 the head of the first flight of stairs 
 there was a sweet picture. This 
 apartment was so entirely an ema 
 nation from the home life that the 
 stiffness and coldness of the lower 
 room was totally lacking. The 
 very loud tick of the old-fashioned 
 mahogany clock that stood in the 
 corner had a sound of cheer. 
 The little wood fire on the hearth
 
 A QUAKER WEDDING. 2$ 
 
 gave out a welcome, and the half 
 dozen rockers and lounging chairs 
 in gray and brown dress held 
 open arms. A big Maltese cat 
 crouched by the rug, a few pencil 
 sketches from the hand of a favor 
 ite nephew graced the wall, and 
 a heavy bookcase gave evidence 
 thro' its glass door, of much sub 
 stantial learning. There was a 
 cluster of periodicals on a stand, 
 the clear title of " The Friend " 
 recalling their import ; a stereo 
 scope with a tray of views, a 
 basket of knitting work, and, 
 hanging on the back of a peculiar 
 easy-chair, the round pillow that 
 betokens snatches of rest. 
 
 Gassy was standing by the east 
 window. The broad beams of the 
 morning sun were growing more 
 direct, and fell with force over 
 her delicate form. Her gown of 
 silver gray enveloped her like
 
 26 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 mist, and chastened the rising 
 color. As she turned toward 
 the advancing figure of the 
 bridegroom, her eyes suffused 
 with tears. She held forth her 
 hands and said tremblingly, " Dear 
 George, how earnestly I pray that 
 our Heavenly Father may ever 
 guide me so that I walk aright, 
 and fulfill toward thee all the re 
 quirements of this holy relation." 
 Tenderly he kissed her as he re 
 plied, " My soul is assured that 
 thee never would have been drawn 
 so close to me were it not the 
 will of the Divine Master : " and 
 presently when John and Martha 
 entered they pressed the daughter 
 to their hearts and breathed upon 
 the stalwart young man a bless 
 ing, so full of emotion that the 
 patience of awaiting Friends was 
 quite forgotten. Then the tall 
 monitor on the corner, that had
 
 A QUAKER WEDDING. 27 
 
 marked the hour of Cassy's birth, 
 gave warning of another epoch 
 in her life. 
 
 The company was seated as 
 the little party entered the parlor. 
 George and Gassy advanced to 
 the chairs assigned them, John and 
 Martha next their daughter, and 
 the parents of George occupied a 
 similar position on the other side. 
 There were a few minutes of ab 
 solute silence, then the younger 
 pair arose, joined hands, and in a 
 clear unbroken voice the bride 
 groom spoke these words : 
 
 " In the presence of the Lord 
 and this assembly, I, George 
 Evans take Gassy Wilson to be 
 my wife, promising with Divine 
 assistance to be unto her a faith 
 ful and loving husband until death 
 shall separate us ;" and -after an 
 instant's pause, the bride, with a 
 far-away look in her sweet eyes,
 
 28 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 calmly repeated the same tender 
 promise. Then they sat down 
 again, and presently a white- 
 haired man, with so great revela 
 tion of power in his face that it 
 might almost have been called con 
 scious strength, appeared in sup 
 plication before the throne of 
 grace. He asked that the twain 
 now made onemight become nearer 
 and dearer to each other as time 
 went on, and that in fulfillment of 
 the claims of the spirit, they 
 might ever be ready to respond to 
 the call of the Bridegroom who 
 cometh while it is yet night. For 
 some moments after the prayer 
 had ended the company remained 
 with bowed heads, and the still 
 ness was but gently broken by the 
 movement of another honored 
 Friend, who came forward as a 
 member of the committee ap 
 pointed by the monthly meeting,
 
 A QUAKER WEDDING. 29 
 
 to be present at the marriage and 
 report that all proceedings had 
 taken place in strict accordance 
 with the rules of the society. He 
 now read aloud the certificate, 
 heretofore lying on the table, 
 testifying to such regularity, and 
 advancing to the bridal pair re 
 quested them to affix their signa 
 tures. The pen was then passed 
 to the parents, and as each person 
 present gave hands to the happy 
 George and Gassy, the same favor 
 was extended. During the con 
 clusion of this ceremony, Cassy's 
 color had brightened with the con- 
 gratulations and gentle admoni 
 tions of these so dear to her, and 
 before it was finished the little buzz 
 of friendly interest had wreathed 
 the placid face in smiles, and dried 
 the tears that were almost too 
 ready to start to the eyes of the 
 tender mother. No one was for-
 
 3 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 gotten ; even the faithful Hannah 
 and the Cassius of long service 
 added their irregular strokes to 
 the certificate, and Gassy caught 
 up on her arm the three-year-old 
 guest, and guided his playful 
 fingers over the smooth page. 
 
 There was a quiet intimation 
 that a collation was spread in an 
 adjoining apartment, and the 
 thrifty folk, who scorn the embel 
 lishments but not the substan- 
 tials of life, did ample justice to 
 the bounteous repast, daintily 
 served from the finest of linen, 
 the clearest of glasses, and the 
 frailest of china. There was no 
 spoken word of thanksgiving, only 
 a pause wherein their hearts 
 might acknowledge the mercies 
 of the Giver of all Good. There 
 was no haste, no indecorous in 
 dulgence in the temptations of 
 the table, but a cheerful, happy
 
 A QUAKER WEDDING. 31 
 
 tone pervaded the company who 
 regarded marriage not as the ab 
 sorption of one life by another, 
 but as a true union of strong souls 
 for the furtherance of God's holy 
 purpose. 
 
 As each guest departed, he or 
 she was freighted with a package 
 of wedding cake for some friend 
 or servant : " Maria, will thee 
 kindly give this to Eldridge 
 Percy ? We all feel to regret his 
 absence, and trust that he may be 
 spared to meet with us once again." 
 " Philip, thee knows how dear 
 our Gassy was to Hagar the sum 
 mer we spent at your home : thee 
 will not mind carrying her a bit 
 of cake ? " 
 
 And when at length the hour 
 of parting came, there was no 
 long line of merrymakers to hurl 
 slippers and showers of rice after 
 the retreating carriage, but there
 
 32 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 were last words spoken that dwelt 
 in the hearts of the earnest young 
 husband and wife, and the injunc 
 tion of the father was a simple 
 admonition to " search ever for 
 the light that is revealed in the 
 soul"; and the loving children 
 heard his brave voice reply to the 
 neighbor that regretted the dis 
 tance that must henceforth sep- 
 rate them : " I can safely trust 
 my son and daughter in the hands 
 of the Lord, wheresoever he may 
 lead them."
 
 TWO GENTLEWOMEN.
 
 TWO GENTLEWOMEN. 
 
 HE square brick house 
 with many windows, in 
 the little village of W., 
 was called the " Mountain Place," 
 both from the name of one of its 
 occupants, and also from its situ 
 ation, which was the most con 
 spicuous point in town. 
 
 The owner was a rich manu 
 facturer, who had for many years 
 placed it at the disposal of his 
 two widowed sisters less prosper 
 ous, financially, than himself. 
 
 Mrs. Letitia Mountain's family 
 lived on the lower floor in a com 
 modious suite of " apartments," 
 hardly known as such in that day, 
 
 35
 
 36 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 when any respectable person was 
 supposed to occupy, or furnish, 
 an entire dwelling, but the idiosyn- 
 cracy was in this case excused on 
 ground of a peculiar attachment 
 existing between the sisters. 
 
 The double parlors, with high 
 ceiling and heavy folding doors, 
 were forever resplendent in white 
 china paint and velvet paper, and 
 the visitor felt almost obliged to 
 observe the extreme complexity 
 of the figure on the carpet, evi 
 dently designed for homes of 
 heroic proportions. 
 
 The upper rooms were far less 
 imposing, and thus better-suited 
 to the smaller purse and house 
 hold of the elder sister, Mrs. 
 Honora Plum. This poor lady 
 endured much from the com 
 panionship of a stepdaughter, 
 ill-tempered and idle, and reflect 
 ing the blaze of an ancient es-
 
 TWO GENTLEWOMEN. 37 
 
 cutcheon stained by vice, for Mrs. 
 Plum had married the younger 
 son of a titled English gentleman. 
 
 Nothing of the regret from 
 which she must have suffered 
 ever passed her lips, and her pa 
 tient smile sweetened the loaf 
 which she so generously shared 
 with the woman whose only claim 
 was the name she bore. 
 
 Mrs. Mountain's past, on the 
 contrary, was delightful to con- 
 template. A happy marriage in 
 early life shed a halo over even 
 the long illness and death of a be 
 loved husband ; but neither this 
 break in the tide of joy, nor the 
 sorrows of Honora, ever darkened 
 the light of true sister love that 
 doubled their present portion of 
 helpfulness and cheer. 
 
 Both ladies were short and dark, 
 with large brown eyes which never 
 lost their sparkle, and well-formed
 
 38 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 lips that kept a rosy color into 
 late years. 
 
 Fashion forever stamps some 
 part of Nature's work as repre 
 hensible, and at the period of 
 which I write, the gray locks that 
 represent intensity of feeling as 
 often as age were considered 
 unfit to be seen by the world. So 
 the heavy silken bands that graced 
 the brows of both sisters were 
 closely covered with beribboned 
 caps, and bordered with " false 
 fronts" of dusky hair, coiled on 
 each side over two small combs, 
 forming stiff and ungainly puffs 
 that did not seem to belong to the 
 little women, but to which they 
 were so much attached that one 
 never admitted the other to her 
 chamber until the structure was 
 erected, or a huge nightcap en 
 tirely concealed the absence of it. 
 
 Far more suitable would have
 
 TWO GENTLEWOMEN. 39 
 
 been the simplicity of the Friend's 
 costume, which bore a wondrous 
 charm for them, as the dress of 
 their beloved mother. But the sis 
 ters had wandered from the fold, 
 each had married " out of meet 
 ing" and thereby forfeited her 
 birthright membership; and hav 
 ing renounced the worship of 
 their fathers, they also felt it in 
 cumbent to robe themselves some 
 what according to the fashion of 
 the world's people, but the " Stran 
 ger " air which marked their devo 
 tions before a " hireling ministry " 
 also clung to their garments. 
 
 It was a little pitiful, this 
 estrangement from their early 
 religious associations, and per 
 chance it might have been their 
 greatest pleasure to return to the 
 fold when the days of their widow 
 hood came, but the meeting was 
 held in a remote district of the
 
 40 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 township, and neither of the sisters 
 was robust. For this reason they 
 made a church home in the nearest 
 house of worship, and carried 
 thither so much of their elemen 
 tary religion as wrought daily 
 miracles of love and patience. 
 
 They were charitable to a degree 
 almost beyond praise, and the fine 
 bearing, the impressive presence 
 of the little pair, could have come 
 from nothing else than a realiza 
 tion of noble attributes. 
 
 The annals of New York indeed 
 would be incomplete without men 
 tion of the exceeding service ren 
 dered the State in time of need by 
 a rich Quaker, who steadfastly 
 refused any public recognition, 
 but whose death was everywhere 
 heralded as that of a man com 
 bining in his character modesty 
 and rare worth. 
 
 Perhaps it was the conscious-
 
 TWO GENTLEWOMEN. 41 
 
 ness of being heir to these virtues 
 that led Honora into a false con 
 ception of the inheritance of her 
 husband, but the painful knowl 
 edge of her error never lessened 
 her understanding of the motto 
 " Noblesse oblige." 
 
 Everybody forgave the sisters 
 their touch of pride since both its 
 source and outcome were of such 
 purity, but it was almost pathetic 
 to hear their personal disavowal 
 of merit, attributing all things of 
 worth in their admirable woman 
 hood to their ancestry, and when, 
 in the days of her children's youth, 
 Mrs. Mountain found it necessary 
 to chastise them, the rod was con 
 sidered far less severe than a re 
 minder that through misdemeanor 
 they were sullying the family 
 record. 
 
 It was a matter of deep regret 
 to both Honora and Letitia that
 
 42 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 they had no sons. The former 
 was childless, and the latter had 
 buried her boys in infancy, but it 
 was a consolation that the mar 
 riage of their brother, late in life, 
 had resulted in securing a continu 
 ance of the honored line. 
 
 Hospitality was one of the in 
 herited virtues. The fruit cake 
 jar was never allowed to become 
 empty, and on such holidays as 
 were not bespoken by their 
 brother, their separate tables were 
 surrounded by the impecunious 
 old and young of their acquaint 
 ance. 
 
 So long as Mrs. Mountain's 
 daughters remained unmarried 
 there was an abundance of merry 
 making, but after they had gone 
 to homes of their own this youth 
 ful element was greatly missed. 
 Mrs. Plum's stepdaughter was 
 too grim to be social, and gradu-
 
 TWO GENTLEWOMEN. 43 
 
 ally the lives of the sisters fell 
 into a routine. 
 
 Certain days in the month were 
 devoted to family visits. The 
 rector was entertained by them 
 alternately, at stated periods, and 
 once every fortnight they dressed 
 themselves in stiff silks and real 
 laces, and went through the formal 
 ity of returning calls. No doubt 
 the conversation was as little varied 
 as the wardrobe, yet it was a pleas 
 ing duty, faithfully performed. 
 
 They had been educated like 
 the majority of well-to-do women 
 of that period, but this was far 
 from developing a love of study 
 that progressive intelligence which 
 furnishes the ladies of the present 
 with unfailing entertainment. 
 
 Nothing, therefore, was a 
 greater satisfaction to them than 
 the daily visits of an old and re 
 spected colonel, living on a large
 
 44 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 farm just beyond the border of 
 the town. 
 
 He rode to the post office every 
 morning on a white horse, quite 
 as stiff in his joints as his master, 
 and it was one of the duties of the 
 postman to respond to the timely 
 cough of the colonel by carrying 
 out the scanty mail, if such there 
 chanced to be. The soldierly 
 salutation repaid him a hundred 
 fold for this small attention, 
 while the colonel turned his horse 
 toward Mountain Place. 
 
 He was so prompt in all his 
 proceedings that the servant pre 
 pared herself, at ten o'clock, to 
 answer the summons of the enor 
 mous brass knocker, and with as 
 much dignity as if he had come 
 with a message of state, the ruddy 
 man inquired for " the ladies." 
 Then, as he entered the hall, he 
 graciously relieved any embarrass-
 
 TWO GENTLEWOMEN. 45 
 
 merit by mentioning " Mrs. Moun 
 tain's parlor, if you please," or 
 " Mrs. Plum's drawing room," 
 alternating day by day. Immedi 
 ately the lady presiding arose and 
 greeted him as though he was re 
 cently returned from a foreign 
 mission, and in the next breath 
 spoke to the servant, who had 
 long ago learned to await this 
 direction : " Ask Mrs. Plum if it 
 will be convenient to come down, 
 Colonel Gray is here," or " My 
 compliments to Mrs. Mountain." 
 
 The newcomer then formally 
 welcomed the second sister, care 
 fully asked after her health, and 
 conversation became general. 
 
 An hour, sometimes two, the 
 colonel's horse stood in the wind 
 and weather awaiting his agree 
 able master, but if, as rarely hap 
 pened, the latter limit was trans 
 gressed, a loud neighing brought
 
 46 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 the gentleman to his feet. 
 " Ladies, I have had a most enter 
 taining morning ; duty alone calls 
 me from your side. Allow me to 
 wish you good-day." 
 
 In the afternoon as the sisters 
 sat by the front window knitting 
 socks for the poor, or daintily 
 stitching some fine muslin for a 
 baby's outfit, they discussed the 
 Colonel's visit. 
 
 " Letitia, I am sorry brother 
 does not like the Colonel." 
 
 They never disagreed, and from 
 a constant desire to emphasize, 
 each the opinion of the other, 
 there had grown a habit of repe 
 tition. 
 
 " Yes, Honora, I wish brother 
 did incline toward the Colonel." 
 
 " I cannot understand his objec 
 tion. Colonel Grey is a gentle 
 man, and an excellent provider." 
 
 This term embraced a multitude
 
 TWO GENTLEWOMEN. 47 
 
 of small virtues, chiefly that of 
 generosity toward his immediate 
 family, and to Mrs. Mountain and 
 Mrs. Plum, the man who failed in 
 this respect had better not be al 
 luded to. 
 
 It was a little strange that they 
 knew the Colonel's household 
 habits, for he lived alone with an 
 aged housekeeper and her hus 
 band, and it was only at long in 
 tervals that he opened his doors 
 to his friends, albeit he was justly 
 proud of the frequent honor he 
 enjoyed of " drinking a dish of 
 tea " at the Mountain Place, and 
 on these occasions he never for 
 got to be strictly impartial in his 
 attentions, and addressed his con 
 versation first to one, then to the 
 other of the sisters. 
 
 Like the entire village popula 
 tion, he was well aware that to 
 these ladies everyone looked for
 
 48 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 advice, and indeed for intelligent 
 nursing. So frequent were the 
 midnight calls for services that 
 one of the servant's regular duties 
 was the disposition at nightfall of 
 their hoods, cloaks, and lantern 
 conveniently near the front door. 
 
 A reference to this formed a 
 staple joke between the friends, 
 and Letitia frequently asserted 
 (and it was repeated by Honora) 
 that in case of illness at " Moss 
 Farm, " they would consider 
 themselves engaged. 
 
 Perhaps the good Colonel had 
 more than a jest at heart when he 
 referred to the matter, for the ills 
 of life come surely in train of age, 
 and the summons reached Moun 
 tain Place on an early morning of 
 September. It was a shock to the 
 ladies, this forerunner of a part 
 ing from one who had been so 
 stanch a friend, and so incon-
 
 TWO GENTLEWOMEN. 49 
 
 fiiderate a visitor, as their brother 
 insisted. 
 
 Just as the carryall came in 
 sight of the Colonel's homestead, 
 the first twitter of awakening birds 
 brought a new sense of life and 
 activity into the world. The dark 
 forest behind the house sent forth 
 a thousand notes of welcome to 
 the day, and the clear spring, 
 where the old horse turned to 
 drink, added its gentle murmur. 
 
 Mrs. Mountain was touched, her 
 eyes moistened. 
 
 " Alas ! " she said, noting the 
 movement of the old gray, " the 
 world never stops for any of us. 
 The birds sing, the horse wants to 
 drink, the sunlight flashes over 
 the farm, just as if the good man 
 that has lived so long to lighten 
 the cares of others, was not pass 
 ing away." 
 
 " Passing away ! Yes, passing
 
 50 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 away," and the solemn voice of 
 her sister, seemed like an echo 
 from the hills. 
 
 It was the usual trouble, a shock 
 of paralysis, and the faithful doctor 
 gave little encouragement, yet he 
 thought it possible the Colonel's 
 speech might become clear again, 
 and when the stupor that en 
 thralled the poor man had passed, 
 the pale eye wandered about the 
 room. Words were unnecessary, 
 the watchers understood that he 
 wanted a hand laid in his own, 
 and Letitia gently slid her soft 
 palm beneath the chilled fingers. 
 Honora as promptly took her place 
 at the other side, stroking the 
 withered arm that lay motionless 
 upon the bed. 
 
 The doctor opened the window, 
 and as the delicious breath of the 
 pines crept in, the sick man 
 stirred. He moved his head rest-
 
 TWO GENTLEWOMEN. 5* 
 
 lessly. But when Mrs. Mountain 
 would have left her place to re 
 arrange his pillows, suddenly his 
 tongue loosed and he spoke, fee 
 bly indeed, and with an effort, but 
 the words fell distinctly upon the 
 listeners. 
 
 " Years ago, I wanted I in 
 tended she should be my wife 
 
 if " He stopped. Presently 
 
 he gave evidence that the same 
 thought was still in his mind. 
 
 " Yes," he murmured, " but I 
 love her just as well." 
 
 The doctor moistened the dry 
 lips, and the sisters both moved as 
 if to assist, but one lifeless hand 
 pressed heavily, and the poor 
 member with a little vitality 
 motioned Mrs. Mountain not to 
 stir. 
 
 So they remained, while hour 
 after hour went by. 
 
 The noonday was upon them
 
 52 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 when again the old face bright 
 ened and the quavering voice 
 said slowly : 
 
 " Yes, yes, I love her just as 
 well." 
 
 The silence that followed was 
 not broken again, and soon the 
 faithful sisters spread the white 
 sheet over the dear dead. 
 
 That night, as they sat together 
 in Mrs. Mountain's stately parlor, 
 Honora said with a sigh : 
 
 " Perhaps, Letitia, it is just as 
 well the Colonel never spoke to 
 you about marriage. His family 
 was not so good as our own, but 
 I thought it strange he could see 
 you so often and not love you." 
 
 And Letitia startled Mrs. Plum 
 by contradicting her. 
 
 " Child alive, Honora ! I al 
 ways knew the Colonel loved the 
 ground you trod on."
 
 OUR LITTLE NEIGHBORS.
 
 OUR LITTLE NEIGHBORS. 
 B first of Bpril store. 
 
 ERRY came in one spring 
 morning wearing a very 
 triumphant air. He 
 caught the baby from the floor 
 and tossed him as he said : 
 
 " Well, Kittie, I have taken the 
 house." 
 
 " Have you, dear ? Now do just 
 tell me all about it. Is it ' The 
 Cottage by the Sea' or a 'cobble 
 stone front ' at Riverdale ? Have 
 you plenty of neighbors, and a 
 garden spot, and what rent? Pray 
 don't keep me in suspense ! " 
 
 An amused smile passed over 
 his face as he seated himself. 
 
 55
 
 56 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 " Let me see, question No. i. Is 
 it the ' Cottage by the Sea ? ' 
 Yes, if you choose, for the ocean 
 is only three miles away ; just a 
 lovely drive or even walk through 
 delicious pine wood. A ' cobble 
 stone front?' No, thank you. 
 A small plain wooden box, of a 
 dull gray color, well suited to its 
 neighbors, for there is quite a 
 community of Quakers in the 
 vicinity. Neighbors near ? Yes, 
 decidedly, as our share is only 
 half the box, after all. It was 
 built for a summer home for two 
 brothers, the Aliens, next door to 
 us, you know. Caleb cannot leave 
 town this year, so we can occupy 
 his quarters. Garden spot ? Oh, 
 yes; abundantly large, but all in 
 one inclosure. The house is 
 regularly divided, but the grounds 
 are not. Don't look worried, little 
 wife; you and I and the baby are
 
 OUR LITTLE NEIGHBORS. 57 
 
 not likely to be troublesome, and 
 I am sure Joseph Allen's staid 
 household will behave itself." 
 
 And so on the " First of April" 
 we moved. My costume was con 
 siderably demoralized when we 
 reached our summer home. The 
 baby had quite destroyed all the 
 beauty my hat ever had, and my 
 small nephew, who 'had insisted 
 upon going to visit us the first 
 day, was so timid in crossing the 
 river that he clung to my draperies 
 with too much fervor, and I pre 
 sume that I was an object of pity 
 to the few ladies in the cabin. 
 Certain it is that I felt decidedly 
 shabby, tired, and perhaps a trifle 
 out of humor as I entered the cot 
 tage door and dropped my heavy 
 boy on the clean, but carpetless 
 floor. Bridget soon made her ap 
 pearance with a list of the casual 
 ties, and as Jerry had not yet ar-
 
 58 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 rived, I was growing very gloomy 
 when a light tap at the side 
 entrance caused me to spring to 
 my feet. 
 
 What a picture of simplicity 
 and purity stood before me ! I 
 blushed at the contrast which my 
 disordered finery presented ! 
 Here on my doorstep were two 
 little wrens (I could call them 
 nothing else, although they were 
 certainly girls), one just a trifle 
 taller and larger than the other ; 
 both with soft pink cheeks and 
 brown hair cut close on the neck 
 and parted smoothly and evenly, 
 without a suggestion of crimp or 
 curl. Their dresses were of a 
 drab color, just visible below long 
 white aprons, on which there was 
 not even a superfluous button ! 
 Their linen sunbonnets boasted of 
 no ruffles, and the colored stock 
 ings, which peeped from beneath
 
 OUR LITTLE NEIGHBORS. 59 
 
 their rather long dresses, were of 
 the same shade. Little gray birds, 
 with just such shy little ways ! 
 
 The elder one looked up timidly 
 and held toward me a basket, say 
 ing: 
 
 "Mother sent thee this lunch," 
 
 " And don't forget, Sallie," 
 whispered the younger, " don't 
 forget about the baby." 
 
 " Thee can ask that, Debby." 
 
 The only worldly looking fea 
 ture between them was Debby's 
 blue eyes, and they sparkled and 
 ran riot in spite of her, but her 
 mouth was very serious as she 
 asked : 
 
 " Would it not relieve thee if 
 Sally and I were to 'tend the 
 baby ? " then glancing at my 
 company, " the children, I mean, 
 while thee lies down on mother's 
 bed." 
 
 My eyes filled with tears at the
 
 60 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 thoughtfulness of these strangers. 
 I had never known anything about 
 " Quakers " before. 
 
 The baby was ready enough to 
 exchange Bridget's charms for the 
 dainty little ladies', and I clasped 
 each of his small hands in Debby's, 
 but instantly she transferred one- 
 half her treasure to sister Sally, 
 who turned demurely, and said : 
 
 " Thank thee. We will watch 
 over him, and presently, if thee 
 thinks best, I can give him some 
 milk." 
 
 They had not quite reached the 
 garden when Johnny burst forth. 
 In great wrath he was indeed. 
 
 " Do they fink I am a baby ! " 
 he roared out. " Get my cap, I 
 want to go on the boat again ! " 
 
 " On the boat, Johnny ! " 
 
 He colored, and remembering 
 his terror, revenged himself ujx>n 
 me by saying ;
 
 OUR LITTLE NEIGHBORS. 6l 
 
 " I s'pose the reason they calls 
 me chillen is 'cause they's such 
 ole womans demselves ;" and hav 
 ing flung his parting shot he 
 walked off with great dignity. 
 
 A moment later he was lunch 
 ing superbly from cold chicken 
 and apple tart out of the " 'ole 
 womans' " basket ! Such is mor 
 tal man ! 
 
 Although I felt inclined to de 
 cline my little neighbor's invitation 
 to " lie down on mother's bed," it 
 was a great help to me to have 
 the baby so well cared for, and 
 Bridget's stout arms ready to 
 stretch and nail carpets. Down 
 they went rapidly, and was it the 
 fresh breeze from the ocean, wafted 
 through the pine trees, or was it 
 the glass of rich Jersey milk that 
 toned me up to such a cheery con 
 dition that, when Jerry's step 
 sounded on the gravel. I rushed
 
 62 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 to meet him, singing " Home, 
 Sweet Home " ? 
 
 The good man was delighted 
 with my progress, and especially 
 with my report of the lovely little 
 neighbors, which I lingered 
 over. 
 
 "And where are they now, 
 Kittie ? " 
 
 " Let us go quietly out to the 
 garden and see, for I am sure I 
 do not intend to impose on good 
 nature by giving over baby en 
 tirely to them." 
 
 The tall drooping willow tree 
 in the grass plot sheltered a lovely 
 group. Baby mine, sound asleep 
 in the big clothes basket, was 
 snugly tucked up and protected 
 by the little ladies, attended by 
 that fickle youth, Master Johnny. 
 His squeaky voice was plainly 
 heard explaining the mysteries of 
 Cat's Cradle and Wood Sawyer.
 
 OUR LITTLE NEIGHBORS. 63 
 
 But in a moment more he called 
 wildly : 
 
 " Aint that a big snake on the 
 baby?" His companions sprang 
 forward hurriedly, but the vicious 
 boy only replied, " April Fool." 
 The two girls hung their heads 
 and colored. I held my breath. 
 I could not believe they did not 
 understand the joke. It was only 
 an instant, and then Sally, laying 
 her soft hand on stupid little 
 Johnny's head, said in the silvery 
 voice, so low and clear : 
 
 " Dear, could thee not just as 
 well say ' Fourth Month Dunce ' ? "
 
 PAMELIA TEWKSBURY'S 
 COURTSHIP.
 
 PAMELIA TEWKSBURY'S 
 COURTSHIP. 
 
 N a certain section of 
 Central New York the 
 contour of the hills forms 
 a remarkable resemblance to a 
 huge/jfc/w, and by this name the 
 region has long been known. 
 
 A few years since my husband 
 and I, with a young son, took a 
 delightful outing through that 
 locality. Having our own horses 
 and carriage, we made a very 
 leisurely journey, aiming always 
 for a comfortable resting place at 
 night, and bearing away with us 
 each morning a hamper contain 
 ing luncheon for ourselves and a
 
 68 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 bag of oats for the ponies. Thus 
 equipped, we traversed the dis 
 tance to our next lodging accord 
 ing to our daily whim ; picnicking 
 at noon, in true gypsy fashion, 
 beneath some pine trees, or beside 
 a rippling stream ; turning from 
 coffee and sandwiches to a deli 
 cious course of " Humorous 
 Sketches," or a siesta upon pine 
 boughs. 
 
 Many comical adventures had 
 we. It was difficult to convince 
 the country people, who often 
 stopped to chat with us, that this 
 was recreation. They invariably 
 demanded a legitimate reason for 
 such unusual proceedings, and 
 more than one inquiring visitor 
 searched the light vehicle for some 
 wares that he had " made sure '* 
 we were peddling. 
 
 Genuine offers of hospitality 
 were not wanting, and many a
 
 PAMELIA'S COURTSHIP. 69 
 
 pedestrian found a seat in the 
 comfortable little carriage. 
 
 It so happened one morning 
 that my husband was somewhat 
 bewildered by the conjunction of 
 several roads, and seeing in ad 
 vance of us a sturdy figure moving 
 forward at a good pace we hur 
 ried to overtake it. At the sound 
 of approaching wheels, and the 
 words " My friend, can thee tell 
 me just where Pitcher lies ? " a 
 genial countenance was turned 
 toward us. 
 
 " Wai, I reckon, this here," in 
 dicating the abrupt hills just before 
 us, " is the handle. What part be 
 ye looking fer ? " 
 
 He had a ruddy face, very 
 grizzly as to beard, and when he 
 removed his weather-worn hat his 
 smooth, bald crown, with a fringe 
 of white curls, seemed an unfit 
 accompaniment for the twinkling
 
 70 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 eyes of deep blue such eyes as 
 one sometimes sees in babies, 
 wholly undimmed by care or tears. 
 
 "Why, I really don't know," 
 laughed my husband ; " I was 
 directed to Hosmer's Inn." 
 
 " Oh, ho ! that's atwixt the nose 
 and the swell. Now ye are smil 
 ing, and well ye may ; but just 
 step out here and ye can see that 
 God A'mighty shaped a perfecter 
 pitcher out of them hills than 
 most men can turn on a wheel 
 no, ye can't drive nigh to this 
 stump, and that's whar yer woman 
 wants to stand." 
 
 He helped us all to alight, gave 
 me his hand as I climbed to the 
 top of the stump, and pointed 
 with his thumb to a rise of ground 
 far in the rear. 
 
 " That thar's the rim, being 
 what the pitcher ought to rest on 
 if the Lord had sot it on end."
 
 PA M ELI A' S COURTSHIP. 71 
 
 There was no possible irreverence 
 in his tone. " Hereabouts," a 
 rolling section nearer us, " is the 
 swell. Just across Bub's left 
 shoulder lies the nose, and here 
 right for'ard is the beginning of 
 the handle. Foller it see it 
 curves jest so." 
 
 It was very plain, and we all 
 expressed our complete under 
 standing of the " lay of the land." 
 
 " There is jest four p'ints where 
 you can see the whole figger to 
 onct. Here, by this hick'ry 
 stump ; yander, north of the 
 nose ; south of them pines ye see, 
 and kinder back of the rim. 
 Them's all, but it's worth a 
 journey and I take it ye are 
 travelers to see how darned per 
 fect the thing is. Looked to right, 
 it couldn't be beat ; and I reckon, 
 somehow, it's about so with the 
 most of God A'mighty's doin's
 
 72 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 ef we look to 'em right they're 
 about perfect, that's all there is of 
 it." 
 
 My husband thanked the old 
 man cordially and invited him to 
 ride with us if his route lay that 
 way. 
 
 " Wai, now, I don't care ef I do, 
 squire. Ye hev the speech of the 
 Quakers and them's mighty good 
 folk, and it haint often nowadays 
 that I get behind two such spankin' 
 roans as them be. Nor," as he 
 clambered into the front seat, 
 " nor nigh so sensible a looking 
 woman yer wife, maybe ? " 
 
 " Yes ; this is my wife and son." 
 
 " It's a darned good thing to 
 hev yer wife with ye, along in life. 
 I haint never had one yit," he 
 added evasively. 
 
 We all smiled, but the old man 
 didn't notice it. My husband 
 spoke of the crops, of the fine air
 
 PAMELIA'S COURTSHIP. 73 
 
 and good water. Our visitor an 
 swered in monosyllables. At last, 
 pointing to a white gleam in the 
 distance, he said, almost gleefully : 
 
 " Now, thar's a woman livin in 
 that house, that I cal'late to call 
 my wife one o' these days ; but 
 time an't come yet." 
 
 " How so ? " asked I, rather 
 hastily, I fear, for I scented a ro 
 mance. 
 
 " Wai, it's a long story, but ef 
 ye an't amiss I'd jest as lief tell it. 
 We're mor'n six miles from Hos- 
 mer's." And with this little intro 
 duction the story proceeded. 
 
 " It was in 1846 that I first come 
 to the nose. Our farm lay afar 
 off to the rim a little mite further. 
 But our deestric wa'n't a-goin' to 
 keep no school that winter ; so I 
 up and asked father ef I dassent 
 go off somewheres and get a job 
 o' chores fer my board, and so
 
 74 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 git one more term of schoolin*. 
 He hadn't no objections, and 
 kinder thought it over, and spoke 
 about Deacon Hinman at the nose 
 being laid up with teesick and 
 reckoned how he might want me. 
 So I packed my big red han'ker- 
 cher full o' traps and socks and 
 shirts, and away I come. I can 
 see myself now a-bobbin' up and 
 down this very lane. It wa'n't 
 worked by team then, and it was 
 full o' yaller-rod and spikenet, for 
 it had been an awful pretty fall. 
 So I, like a boy and I love to 
 pick 'em yit hung a posy bed 
 around my neck, and clean forgot 
 it when I knocked at the deacon's 
 side door. And what do ye 
 think ? The durndest prettiest 
 gal up and opened it. I never 
 was so took back. I allers knowed 
 Deacon Hinman hadn't no 
 darters ; and there she stood and
 
 PAMELIA'S COURTSHIP. 75 
 
 me a-meachin", till all at once she 
 said : 
 
 " ' A-peddlin' posies?' 
 
 "Then my feelin' came back, 
 and I answered her quick : ' Do 
 you like 'em ? ' 
 
 " And she took 'em, and was a- 
 turnin' away as red as a piny her 
 self when I recollected the dea 
 con's teesick. So I stepped in the 
 room and sot down on the settee, 
 and says I : ' How's the dea 
 con ?' 
 
 " ' He's abed, 1 says she. 
 
 " ' Got a man around ?' 
 
 " ' Ef we haint it's none o' your 
 business. I'm man enough to tell 
 ye that, and if ye haint got nothin' 
 better to do than to sass folks and 
 string posies 'round yer neck, I'd 
 thank ye to git up and go.' 
 
 " I do not know as I ever heard 
 Pamely Tewksbury say so much 
 to onct in all my days since, fer
 
 76 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 she a'nt no talker ; but, land's 
 sake, didn't she skeer me, and 
 didn't she look purty ! I kinder 
 shook all over, so I scarce got 
 tongue to tell her who I was and 
 what fetched me. She was 
 ashamed enough then ; I see it in 
 her eyes, but she didn't never tell 
 me. No, sir. That a'nt her way. 
 
 " The deacon's wife came in jest 
 then, half a-cryin', for the cow 
 had kicked her, and it didn't take 
 long afore we struck a bargain, 
 and in the evenin's she told me 
 all about the deacon's teesick and 
 her rheumatiz ; but the only thing 
 I could remember was that the 
 gal was the deacon's niece come 
 to live with them, and her name 
 was Pamely. 
 
 " My ! how that winter flew by. 
 I don't reckon I 1'arned a great 
 deal to school, but I knew jest 
 how many sticks of wood het the
 
 PAMELIA^S COURTSHIP. 77 
 
 stove up right to bake, and how 
 to plan to git time fer the churn 
 ing Saturdays, and to turn out the 
 wash-water Monday nights fer a 
 gal who never said tire but I 
 couldn't a-bear to see them little 
 arms a-liftin* so. 
 
 " Summer time come, and the 
 deacon wa'n't no better, and father 
 said how I'd better stay and hire 
 out for hayin'. I was a powerful 
 worker then I can mow my swath 
 pretty reg'lar now and I was a 
 powerful big eater, too ; but there 
 wa'n't no lack of vittles. The 
 deacon wasallers a good provider, 
 and Pamely was a rare cook." 
 
 Here he paused, and turning to 
 ward the white speck, now grown 
 into a distinct homestead, he said 
 gravely : 
 
 " Ef ye was to put up there this 
 very day, and no one a-knowin' 
 of yer comin', she'd set ye afore
 
 ?8 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 as good a meal at an hour's notice 
 as ever Hosmer sot for two dollars 
 and a half a day." Then the 
 story went on. 
 
 "At first I used to talk to 
 Pamely some, but after a while 
 every time I tried to speak some- 
 thin* crammed in my throat, and 
 it got to be so that I dassent try 
 to talk. Evenin's I jest sot and 
 whittled mush-sticks out of white 
 pine, till she bu'st out one night, 
 and says she : " S'pose you think 
 I'm goin' to spile my mush every 
 time with a new tastin' stirrer." 
 And she laughed till she had to 
 go out the room ; but what did I 
 care ef she used them stirrers fer 
 kindlin' ? I'd had my luck lookin' 
 at her fingers fly a-sewin* or 
 a-knittin', and I've got a pair of 
 double blue and white streaked 
 mittens now that she made that 
 winter. It went along so fer 'bout
 
 P AMELIA'S COURTSHIP. 79 
 
 three year and more. I don't 
 think I keered much fer time. I 
 jest wanted to be a-earnin', winter 
 and summer, and that was what 
 it had come to, fer the deacon 
 didn't git much better, and the 
 wimmen folks couldn't git along 
 without me very well. They do 
 say now I'm dreffle handy ; and 
 so long's Pamely set store by me, 
 I was all right. I declare to 
 goodness, I clean forgot there was 
 another young man in Pitcher but 
 me ! But I had to wake up to it, 
 arter all, and I've wished a thou 
 sand times I had waked up 
 sooner. 
 
 " Pamely went off on a visit to 
 her folks, and when she come 
 back, onexpected like, a feller 
 fetched her. When I see him 
 a-liftin' her outen the sleigh I felt 
 like a-heavin* a claw-hammer at 
 him ; but when he turned round,
 
 8o QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 and I saw what a putty-face he 
 was, says I to myself, ' Pshaw ! ' 
 Several times that winter he come, 
 and set and set, and onct I got up 
 and was a-goin* up the kitchen 
 stairs when I felt somethin' in my 
 heel. I sot down on the top step 
 and pulled my stockin' off, a-look- 
 in' fer a tack or perhaps a broke- 
 off needle, when all of a sudden 
 the door was ajar and they hadn't 
 spoke a word afore I heard Jim 
 Whiffles say : ' I knowed a feller 
 as went a-courtin' one gal fer a 
 whole year.' 
 
 " ' P'r'aps,' said Pamely. 
 
 " ' And she didn't chuck him off 
 neither.' 
 
 " ' S'pose not.' 
 
 " I tell you I listened close after 
 that, but there was not a sound 
 until Jim shove his chair and got 
 up to go and she took the candle 
 to the outside door, and then she
 
 PAMELIA'S COURTSHIP. 8l 
 
 come in and went right off to 
 bed. 
 
 " Next mornin' I looked at her 
 sharper'n ever but I couldn't see 
 a shadder on her cheek. She was 
 jest as bloomin' and as quiet as 
 ever, and I knowed she cared 
 more fer my leetle finger than fer 
 the whole of Jim Whiffles' body. 
 
 " Next time he came it was near 
 New Year's and he sot a big red 
 apple plump in her lap ; but she 
 did not so much as say ' thankee.' 
 I thought she kinder of turned 
 toward me, as much as to say, 
 ' Ef ye had done it, all right.' 
 
 " ' But I didn't know, and I 
 reckoned I needn't begrudge Jim 
 an evenin's lookin' at her. So I 
 off to bed ag'in. I was thinkin' 
 how mean I had been about lis- 
 tenin' on the stairs, when up 
 through the big stovepipe hole 
 come these words, jerked out as
 
 82 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 usual : ' I think sometime there's 
 goin' to be a weddin' up to our 
 meetin'-house.' 
 
 " ' Like as not.' 
 
 " ' And I reckon Jim Whiffles is 
 goin' to pay the dominee.' 
 
 " l Likely.' 
 
 " That was all. My heart beat 
 so I thought they must hear it, so 
 I covered my head with the bed 
 clothes, and in five minutes more 
 he went away, callin' out as he 
 drove off, ' Good-night ! ' 
 
 " I did not sleep much, but I kep' 
 up a thinkin' ; and at last I made 
 out that nobody'd be such a fool 
 as to ask a woman to have him 
 that way ; and it must be Jim felt 
 kinder sneakin', arter visitin 1 of 
 her, and let her know he was a-goin 
 to marry Ary Edwards that I had 
 heard tell he went with. So I 
 was comforted ag'in. 
 
 "It wa'n't more'n two weeks
 
 PAMELIA'S COURTSHIP. 83 
 
 afore I was took down with a fever- 
 Pamely nursed me night and day, 
 and every time I see her I said to 
 myself, ' Jest the first time I've 
 got strength to walk to the domi- 
 nee's house we'll be made happy.' 
 Dear little soul ! What a good 
 supper she laid on the table the 
 night I was so tired out with doin 1 
 of the milkin', havin' done nothin' 
 fer so long. 
 
 " ' Ezra,' she says, and her face 
 flushed up ; ' Ezra eat. I've 
 cooked it fer you.' 
 
 " I wanted to blurt right out then 
 that I loved her, but I didn't. 
 
 " I had to tuck myself up mighty 
 early, for I was clean beat out, 
 and I declare fer it, but I was jest 
 fallin' into a doze like when I 
 heard Jim Whiffles come. Pamely 
 wa'n't done the dishes, so she 
 clattered away, and at last sot 
 down to knittin'. Nary one spoke
 
 84 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 much, only to tell a word or two 
 about the snow storm that was a- 
 brewin'. And I was comforted 
 ag'in, but it was short measure. 
 When the clock had struck nine 
 Jim got up, and while he was put- 
 tin' on his top coat I heard him 
 say : 
 
 " ' Pamely, I was a-tellin' ye last 
 time I was here about Jim Whif 
 fles paying the preacher?' 
 
 " ' Jest so.' 
 
 " ' And you was the gal that the 
 dominee told to love and obey her 
 man.' 
 
 " ' Jest so.' 
 
 " J was breathless ! Was there 
 nothin' more to come ? I had 
 almost made up my mind that Jim 
 was gone, when I caught the 
 sound of a very decided smack. 
 Good Lord forgive me, but I 
 fought with the devil that night ! 
 
 " Pamely and Jim Whiffles was
 
 PAMELIA'S COURTSHIP. 85 
 
 made one April 6, 1850. He fell 
 heir to some property, and she 
 got a thousand dollars when her 
 uncle died, and a couple thousand 
 more in land when Mrs. Hin- 
 man went off. So things pros 
 pered with them. He was hard- 
 workin' kind of a putterer, but 
 she was a master hand to save, and 
 them children all was like her 
 smart as a steel trap. 
 
 " Eight years come next Tues 
 day Jim Whiffles died. I didn't 
 need a second lesson Lord 
 A'mighty knows how hard it 
 come to me onct ! and I had 
 loved Pamely right straight 
 through. So, jest six months 
 arter Jim was laid away I made a 
 kind of an errant up to her house, 
 and the very minnit I see her, it 
 all came over me so I couldn't 
 help it, and I screeched right 
 out :
 
 86 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 " ' Pamely, hev me ; do, fer 
 goodness sake, say yes ! Don't 
 you know I allers wanted ye ? ' 
 
 " She turned 'round, and her 
 eyes was a-flashin' when she an 
 swered : 
 
 "'Allers? And lived in the 
 same house nigh onto four years ? 
 You had first chance, and now you 
 come whinin' afore Jim's cold.' 
 
 " I sneaked off. I thought the 
 Lord was ag'in me this time, but I 
 jest couldn't give her up. I kep' 
 right on goin'. All the children 
 one arter another, has married 
 and done well, and she boosted 
 'em all. 
 
 " Last Sunday I was over there 
 ag'in, and, somehow, I thought 
 she kind o' squeezed my hand at 
 meetin' ; so I swelled up, and 
 says I, ' Pamely, is Jim cold?' 
 
 " And she answered back, 
 ' Yes.' "
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LET 
 TERS FROM A QUAKER 
 GIRL.
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LET 
 TERS FROM A QUAKER 
 GIRL. 
 
 Ninth Mo., 27th. 
 OTHER DEAR: When 
 first thy loved face faded 
 from view as our carriage 
 left the crooked lane, my tears 
 were inclined to flow, but Uncle 
 Joseph has much of dear father's 
 gentle manner, and he sought to 
 turn my attention to the objects 
 around us. 
 
 I will not pause now, to tell 
 thee about the pleasures and pains 
 of the journey, for my poor head 
 ached sadly ere we reached Bos 
 ton, but with all the interests that
 
 90 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 surrounded my first long ride in 
 the railroad cars, I could not for 
 get that I was going among com 
 parative strangers, and leaving 
 the dearest spot on earth. I want 
 now to give thee a glimpse, if I 
 can, of the life here, and ask 
 whether or not thee approves of 
 the course I am pursuing. 
 
 It was quite dark when we got 
 to Uncle Joseph's house, and I 
 think I had a little fear of meeting 
 his wife, whom I can scarcely call 
 "Aunt " without an effort, so dif 
 ferent is she from the simple wo 
 men that I love. Her very first 
 greeting disturbed me, it was so 
 extravagant, and as full of em 
 braces as if she had always known 
 me ; but she was very kind when 
 she learned that my head ached, 
 and supported me tenderly to my 
 chamber, where she helped me 
 undress, and then with her own
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. QI 
 
 hands, although they have several 
 domestics, brought me a bit of 
 toast and tea. I was sorry to 
 disappoint her but I could not 
 taste it, and she exclaimed petu 
 lantly, yet I may have mistaken 
 the tone : 
 
 " Bless me, child, you are too 
 young to have whims and it is 
 my duty to see that you keep the 
 roses in your cheeks, or where will 
 the lovers be ? Sit up now, and 
 eat your supper." 
 
 I am afraid I betrayed the as- 
 tonishmentl felt, but, dear mother, 
 thee could never speak thus, and 
 I did not eat the toast ! 
 
 Next morning I was out in the 
 garden marveling over the won 
 drous beauty of their surroundings, 
 when Uncle Joseph came to look 
 for me. His is a very sweet 
 spirit, and I may be wrong, but 
 there is pity in my heart for him.
 
 92 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 Not that Aunt Elise (as she calls 
 it, although I should pronounce it 
 Eliza) does not try to do her duty 
 by him, but that her education 
 has given her false standards. 
 
 She was surprised to see me at 
 breakfast, and asked why I had 
 not called " the maid " to help me 
 dress. I replied that I needed no 
 one, and that thee and father be 
 lieved that it was best to wait 
 upon ourselves; then she held up 
 her finger glistening with jewels, 
 and said : 
 
 " Tut, tut ! I fear we have a 
 rebel to deal with, and rebels are 
 never attractive. No, no, ma pe 
 tite (which means little one), the 
 maid must assist you. She is from 
 Paris, and knows the art of dress 
 ing, which country girls know 
 nothing about, and I want to send 
 you home with a lover and a trous 
 seau, and that could never be if
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 93 
 
 you comb your curls out, and 
 wear a gray frock. " 
 
 I believe she means to be kind 
 to me, and is not at all disagree 
 able, even though I cannot seem 
 pleased. 
 
 Well the day passed quickly by, 
 for I was charmed with their green 
 lawn running down to the river 
 side, and a little hedge of white 
 hawthorn, that I am sure would 
 delight thee. Toward evening 
 aunt invited me to drive into the 
 city with her and bring Uncle 
 Joseph home. They do not have 
 dinner until seven o'clock, which 
 seems very late to me ; but about 
 one, or a little before, we have a 
 nice meal which I thought was 
 dinner, until I was told to call it 
 lunch. Aunt herself says it is 
 breakfast. 
 
 The roads are so pretty, fine 
 houses on every hand. It only
 
 94 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 seems to me that there is an air of 
 extravagance, which I deprecate, 
 for there seem to be no small and 
 unpretentious homes, until the 
 city is reached, and there every 
 thing is so dreary ! I am sure I 
 should get lost very easily, for 
 Boston's streets are as crooked as 
 Philadelphia's are straight. I 
 said to aunt that I should hardly 
 dare for some time to come to 
 town alone, and she answered : 
 
 " Never, I trust. It is highly 
 improper for a pretty young girl 
 to go out without an attendant." 
 
 I am sure thee never thought 
 thus. Perhaps she was but try 
 ing to play upon my vanity. 
 
 I think the neighborhood must 
 be a pleasant one just about 
 Uncle Joseph, for yesterday a 
 number of persons called, and 
 spoke kindly to me. Toward four 
 o'clock one of the young women
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 95 
 
 asked aunt's permission for me to 
 accompany her in a walk by the 
 river. Soon after we left the 
 house we came upon a group of 
 young men, and my companion 
 explained to them that she had 
 succeeded in getting me away 
 from my guardian, and then she 
 gave me the names of the party, 
 and I was surprised to know that 
 two of them belonged to the old 
 and respected families of A. and 
 H. It seemed strange to mingle 
 with the descendants of revolu 
 tionary times, and perhaps I ex 
 pressed a little of the awe I felt, 
 when I acknowledged their 
 presence. 
 
 Thee has often told me that the 
 Lord is no respecter of persons, 
 and warned me against doing 
 honor to anything mortal. Per 
 haps I have received a severe 
 lesson, for I soon found that this
 
 96 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 was a premeditated excursion on 
 the water, and there was a deal 
 of laughter over the ease with 
 which Anna W. had outwitted my 
 aunt. Thee can imagine my dis 
 comfiture, both at finding my 
 self in a false position and also at 
 the discovery of their willingness 
 to engage in deceit. Oh, mother, 
 how have the mighty fallen ! 
 When I became conscious of the 
 whole situation I said, just as I 
 would have said to thee : 
 
 " If there is any doubt about 
 my aunt's willingness to have me 
 go with you, I must go back at 
 once." And can thee believe it ? 
 they laughed, and off the boat 
 started. 
 
 Of course there was nothing to 
 do but make the best of it. I 
 tried to talk to young A. about 
 his famous great-grandfather 
 but he seemed not to know much
 
 SOME A NTE-BELL UM LE TTERS. 97 
 
 about him, and when I spoke of 
 his nobility of character, the 
 young man looked bewildered, 
 and said if there had ever been 
 anything of that kind in the family, 
 it had died out. 
 
 I began to think so, too, as the 
 afternoon went on for he puzzled 
 me greatly. All of these young 
 men are being educated at Har 
 vard College, yet they did not ap 
 pear to regard their opportunities 
 as unusual, and their references to 
 the professors were not respectful. 
 Edward H. inquired whether I 
 read French and on my saying 
 yes, he at once asked me if I had 
 a good pony and I told him I 
 did not ride on horseback at all, 
 which seemed to amuse them 
 greatly, and Anna afterward ex 
 plained that a pony was a transla 
 tion a key of the whole lesson 
 which the teachers do not expect
 
 98 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 them to use, but which nearly the 
 entire class possess. 
 
 We talked about the matter a 
 little, and I said I should not 
 think one could learn anything 
 thus, and Edward H. replied 
 " That is not what we go to Har 
 vard for ! " 
 
 How strange it sounded ! And 
 yet it was not so distressing to me 
 as the discovery that these young 
 men have absolutely no interest in 
 anti-slavery movements. They 
 talked about Garrison and Phillips 
 as fanatics, and said " This med 
 dling with other people's concerns 
 is a very dangerous business." 
 
 I ventured to ask " And was it 
 not ' meddling ' to throw the tea 
 overboard." 
 
 But they said I was getting too 
 deep for them. And then F. A. 
 told me that only a very insignifi 
 cant part of Boston people re-
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 99 
 
 spected the Abolitionists. This 
 new party they admitted has an 
 anti-slavery wing, but that it 
 must be clipped or we shall have 
 trouble. " Trouble " I cried and 
 I admit, mother dear, that I talked 
 perhaps, more than I ought " how 
 can a man rest easy without trou 
 bling the public conscience about 
 the poor slaves." A. tried to 
 show me that the best way to 
 eradicate slavery is to be on good 
 terms with the slaveholders, and 
 have no concern for the black 
 man, who is only an animal I 
 think he said after all, and when 
 it proves itself a failure in a busi 
 ness sense, as he admitted it must 
 be, then slavery will die out ! 
 
 Not a spark of humanity about 
 him, not a thought of God's suf 
 fering children, only a fear of 
 disturbing business relations with 
 a rich section ! My heart stood
 
 100 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 almost still with astonishment. 
 Here in Boston, where I had 
 looked for the broadest humanity 
 and the clearest intelligence, here 
 on the lips of the descendant of a 
 great patriot were words of cow 
 ardice and self-seeking ! 
 
 When at last the boat turned 
 about, and the young men gave 
 Anna W. and myself lessons in 
 rowing, we came again to the 
 little landing, and there on the 
 bank stood aunt in search of us. 
 
 I felt mortified, and would have 
 explained only that I could not 
 reproach others, and I expected 
 her to reprimand me, but lo ! she 
 only shook her finger and said : 
 
 " Well, girls will be girls, and 
 even a pretty Quakeress is not 
 proof against temptation." How 
 I wanted to tell the whole story ! 
 But, mother dear, I did not. Was 
 I wrong ? And the young men
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. loi 
 
 went away and my cheeks burned 
 as aunt called after them, " I 
 know you will want to see those 
 roses again." 
 Good-night dear, dear mother. 
 
 Tenth Mo., 3oth. 
 MY DEAR MOTHER : I know 
 thee will not feel it to be wrong 
 for me to tell thee of my trials as 
 well as my pleasures, for thee has 
 taught me that nothing is too 
 small a matter to lay before our 
 Heavenly Father, and in many 
 respects I am puzzled by the new 
 life I am leading here. Particu 
 larly do I regret having to think, 
 and even to dwell upon, questions 
 concerning money. That is, as 
 thee has said, a necessity of our 
 physical being, but must ever be 
 relegated to the background in 
 our thoughts. Uncle Joseph has 
 asked me several times already
 
 102 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 whether my purse was not empty, 
 but although I have answered 
 with a laugh that I did not see 
 the bottom yet, I feel that I have 
 been a little lavish, and of course 
 I cannot permit another to pur 
 chase for me the luxuries which 
 my pleasure-loving heart alone 
 demands. 
 
 If thee wishes thee may send 
 me some more, but should it prove 
 inconvenient to do so, merely 
 mention such to be the case, and 
 I will absent myself from those 
 excursions that are likely to be 
 expensive. 
 
 I have been much mortified 
 more than once already, by Ed 
 ward H. or F. A. paying where I 
 am concerned. 
 
 The first time this occurred was 
 the day we sailed in the harbor. 
 There were car fares, and boat 
 tickets to be purchased, and I
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 103 
 
 awaited Anna W.'s movement, 
 before getting out my purse. To 
 my surprise she said nothing 
 about it, and the young men 
 bought everything for us all. I 
 estimated the cost at about a dollar 
 apiece, which thee sees is quite 
 an item when figured for four. 
 So at the close of the day, for we 
 had lunch and all, I spoke to 
 Edward about it. We were walk 
 ing at the time, and he stopped 
 and laughed so immoderately that 
 I was hurt. Perceiving this, he 
 turned and taking my hand, said 
 gently : " Do not deny me this 
 pleasure. Oh, if I could always 
 do it for you ! Your gratitude is 
 so sweet." 
 
 What does thee think he meant, 
 mother dear ? I was so perplexed 
 by his speech that I was almost 
 glad when Anna and F. A. turned 
 to ask the cause of the laughter.
 
 104 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 But how thoughtful Edward was 
 not to expose me to others' mer 
 riment, for he turned the talk in 
 another way immediately. 
 
 Was it not right and womanly 
 in me to offer to pay the expense 
 I had incurred ? I want thy 
 opinion, for I think it was, only, 
 from his manner and that of Anna 
 before, I fear such is not the cus 
 tom ; but I shall greatly hesitate 
 to place myself under similar cir 
 cumstances again. 
 
 It was with this thought in mind 
 that I declined to go with them 
 the next Seventh day. Everyone 
 thought I was sick, and aunt be 
 gan to imagine that I had looked 
 pale all day ! I denied feeling 
 poorly, and was beginning to get 
 embarrassed, when Edward H. 
 walked to the window and asked 
 me to come and see a peculiar 
 cloud. This drew away the atten-
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 10$ 
 
 tion of the others and he said very 
 gently : 
 
 " That cloud is no more pecu 
 liar than the one which has arisen 
 between us, and it does not 
 threaten half the harm." Then 
 he went on to tell me that he sus 
 pected the reason of my refusal, 
 and asked me to consider whether 
 I would not like to do some small 
 favor for him. I replied " Cer 
 tainly." " Then," he said, " never 
 speak of money where I am con 
 cerned, again. I have much more 
 than I need, and I could not spend 
 it in any manner that could both 
 profit and please me more than 
 by taking you about this region. 
 Consider, too, the favors our 
 family have had from your 
 uncles.** 
 
 Was it not kindly done ? And 
 too, does thee not agree with my 
 opinion that it soundcd\\ke Friends'
 
 106 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 teaching ? I shall await thy judg 
 ment impatiently but I went 
 with him. 
 
 Another curious thing has hap 
 pened too. I expect thee will 
 laugh at the many adventures that 
 befall me. On Sixth-day evening 
 it rained very 4iard, but Uncle 
 Joseph had tickets for a con 
 cert, which they wished very 
 much that I should hear. I 
 thought it would be discour 
 teous to decline, although I 
 do feel that vast sums are thus 
 frittered away, which might bene 
 fit the poor. To my surprise 
 aunt said I should wear a wool 
 frock, as we were not going to 
 take the horses on account of the 
 rain, but would be driven only to 
 a point where we can meet the 
 horse railroad, which is often a 
 very great convenience. 
 
 Notwithstanding the bad
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 107 
 
 weather there was a large 
 number of persons present in the 
 hall. I cannot pronounce judg 
 ment upon the concert, for I have 
 no knowledge concerning these 
 things. One lady who sang 
 seemed to have, naturally, a sweet 
 voice, but it was overstrained, and 
 the long drawn notes were quite 
 offensive. I am sure, however, 
 that the audience was satisfied, 
 and uncle and aunt have re 
 peatedly signified their delight, 
 and hope to have another oppor 
 tunity to listen to her. I did my 
 best to express my thanks for the 
 kindness in taking me, without 
 mentioning my distaste for such 
 entertainments, but my aunt sus 
 pected me, and laughingly said " I 
 believe you are sleepy, child." 
 And in truth I was! However, I 
 was soon wide enough awake. 
 We missed the car we had hoped
 
 108 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 to gain, and had to wait in a little 
 room, nearly half an hour. All 
 sorts of people were there. More 
 than once aunt said wearily, " I 
 hate these mixed crowds, and I 
 shall not let my pity for the 
 horses inconvenience us like this 
 again." 
 
 For my part I was quite inter 
 ested in watching the people. Just 
 as the car came there was a 
 new throng, and we found it nec 
 essary to separate our seats. In 
 deed uncle, with many other gen 
 tlemen, was forced to stand the 
 whole way. Just in front of me 
 was a group of Harvard students, 
 and the moment of starting added 
 to their numbers some who were 
 evidently under the influence of 
 liquor. One of them was a very 
 young fellow, neatly dressed and 
 with a sweet expression of counte 
 nance, but, mother dear, he was
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. IOQ 
 
 really intoxicated. He staggered 
 into the door, and leaning against 
 the post actually snored. Many 
 of the persons present laughed, 
 but the sight was very sad to me, 
 and a nice young man, tall and 
 straight as Cousin Benjamin, who 
 was close beside me, said, no 
 doubt observing my distress : 
 "This troubles you." I answered: 
 " Indeed it does ; think of the 
 boy's parents ! " He assented, 
 and remarked that the lad was evi 
 dently a " Freshman " that is, a 
 newcomer at college for that is 
 what they are called in their first 
 year. 
 
 "And what will become of him 
 when he gets out of the car ?" I 
 asked, for I could plainly see 
 that the poor boy was too much 
 befogged to find his way home 
 alone. 
 
 " If he has no friend with him,
 
 HO QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 a policeman may get hold of 
 him." 
 
 " How terrible," I said, with 
 some warmth perhaps. 
 
 " I suppose," continued the 
 young man after quite a pause, 
 " that I could take him to his room 
 if he has any way to indicate where 
 that is, or to mine until morning, 
 if that will relieve your mind." 
 
 I supposed I brightened up a 
 good deal at this, and I urged it 
 upon him, but he did not posi 
 tively promise, for he quite 
 shocked me by bending close to 
 me and saying almost in a whisper : 
 
 " If I do, it will be done for 
 your sake, remember, and one 
 good turn deserves another, so 
 tell me where you go to church." 
 I was so much surprised that for a 
 moment I could not answer ; then 
 he repeated his request, but the car 
 stopped with a jerk that it usually
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. Ill 
 
 has, and my uncle and aunt 
 signified that we were to get out. 
 
 The carriage was waiting, but 
 we had scarcely made ourselves 
 comfortable, when my aunt ex 
 claimed : 
 
 " Sallie, I do believe you were 
 talking to those strange men in 
 the car. What will you do next 
 to astonish me ? " 
 
 I saw my uncle closely regard 
 ing me, and with a more severe 
 expression than I had ever seen 
 him wear, but I could not believe I 
 had done wrong to take a humane 
 interest in the tipsy boy. So I 
 told them all about it except 
 that I did not repeat the foolish 
 speech of the tall young man ; it 
 was not worth remembering. 
 
 My uncle's face softened as he 
 heard me out, and he patted my 
 aunt's plump hand and said, smil 
 ing at me :
 
 112 QUA KER ID YLS. 
 
 " I guess she means well always, 
 6lise. Customs differ, you know." 
 
 But I do not think she regarded 
 it so lightly, for she sighed 
 heavily, and on First day when I 
 stood ready to accompany her to 
 meeting I mean church she 
 came into the entry leading to my 
 room, and began : 
 
 " Sallie, child, I beg you not to 
 talk to the minister between 
 prayers," and then she suddenly 
 turned, took my cheeks between 
 her hands and kissed each of 
 them, saying rather wildly I 
 thought, " But I declare, ma 
 petite, you are pretty enough to 
 turn the head of any male crea 
 ture." 
 
 She is a strange person ! So 
 full of moods and tenses I might 
 say but very very kind to thy 
 simple Sallie. 
 
 Of course thee understands
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. "3 
 
 that I gave no clew whatever to 
 the place of worship where I was 
 in the way of going. 
 
 Nevertheless, last First - day 
 night, when I walked to the " Ves 
 per Service," I think it is called, in 
 company with our young friends, 
 Anna, F. A., and Edward H., whom 
 should I see standing in the vesti 
 bule, but the tall young man ! I 
 assure thee I wanted to ask him 
 how it fared with the poor tipsy 
 boy, but I dared not, particularly 
 after what aunt had said to me. 
 Still, I could not be unmindful of 
 his presence all through the hour, 
 for he followed us into the room 
 and sat just where he could see 
 us all the time. I resolved to 
 banish worldly thoughts, but I am 
 afraid I did not, so that I grew 
 very uncomfortable, and was glad 
 when the end came, but even then 
 I was pained by Edward asking
 
 114 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 me where in the world I had met 
 Jack D. I answered that I was 
 not acquainted with any person so 
 named. 
 
 " Well, that is a puzzle," he said, 
 " for he has been in Europe six 
 months, and this is the first time 
 I have laid eyes on him, yet I 
 could have declared [he really 
 said sworn, but I don't think 
 he means evil by it] that he 
 recognized you as we went 
 in." 
 
 I had to say something, so I in 
 quired what class " Jack D." be 
 longed to, and this was his re 
 sponse : 
 
 " Great Jehosephat ! Jack D. 
 is the swellest senior on record. 
 If once you get into his cave he 
 sports his oak, and treats you like 
 a nabob." 
 
 The Harvard vernacular is 
 sometimes hard to translate !
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 11$ 
 
 But I am burning too much 
 gas. 
 
 Affectionately, 
 
 THY DAUGHTER. 
 
 Eleventh Mo., 3d. 
 
 MOTHER DEAR : Anna W. and 
 I have just returned from what was 
 in many respects a most interest 
 ing excursion, and yet it had its 
 dark side. 
 
 Almost immediately after I had 
 written to thee last week, aunt 
 carried me to town and insisted 
 upon my choosing several nice 
 garments. It was wholly unneces 
 sary, for my wardrobe, thee knows, 
 was very comfortable, and I did 
 not care to be under so great obli 
 gation to her, but I found that to 
 do otherwise would hurt her feel 
 ings, so I chose, very reluctantly, a 
 white merino that she said I must 
 have to wear in the evening, and
 
 Il6 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 aunt herself selected a pretty pale 
 blue silk. It seems gay for me, 
 but she has promised that it shall 
 be made in a plain way. I am 
 afraid, however, that her ideas and 
 mine concerning those things will 
 not agree. Lastly, she bought a 
 gown and cloak of a heavy texture, 
 and trimmed with beautiful gray 
 fur. There is a muff too. I sub 
 mit rather than enjoy taking so 
 much, pretty as the things are. I 
 am not certain that I can trust my 
 pride, which gets the better of 
 poor mortals so soon, but thee told 
 me to do as nearly as possible 
 without troubling my conscience, 
 as aunt desires, therefore I shall 
 wear the expensive garments 
 with less thought of the unneces 
 sary outlay than I otherwise 
 could. Uncle Joseph says the 
 color of the fur is the only thing 
 that reconciles me to the purchase.
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. II? 
 
 Indeed I am ashamed to tell thee 
 that the making of each dress 
 for I saw the bill has cost about 
 seven dollars ! 
 
 Well, I will add to this worldly 
 record, that when the cloak and 
 muff came home, there was also a 
 round hat, with a long soft 
 feather on it ! Of course, I could 
 not be comfortable in that, and as 
 it is quite a new thing for me to 
 wear aught but a bonnet, aunt 
 was persuaded by dear Uncle 
 Joseph to substitute a bit of rib 
 bon and a band of the fur for the 
 feather, but I almost wish thee 
 could have seen it just as I first 
 did, it was beautiful ! 
 
 The young men come home 
 from Harvard College every Sev 
 enth day at noon, and we mostly 
 go together, Anna W., F. A., 
 Edward H., and myself for a drive 
 or a walk. It is getting rather
 
 1 1 8 QUA KER ID YLS. 
 
 cool for boating. Aunt seems to 
 find it quite "proper " for four of 
 us to be together. She says (I 
 hate to tell thee this) that either 
 of the boys would be a very desir 
 able "parti!" Such suggestions 
 drive away all the pleasure that 
 would come from their companion 
 ship, so I try to turn a deaf ear 
 when she approaches the subject. 
 
 To-day we went to Nahant, a 
 beautiful rocky beach, where there 
 is a large hotel in summer, and 
 many charming seaside homes. 
 One of the cottages is owned by 
 a relative of F. A. and is still 
 open, so we agreed to accept an 
 invitation to dine. 
 
 It was so cool that I wore my 
 new gown and hat, but they all 
 had so much to say concerning 
 their perfections and becoming- 
 ness that I felt pained, and told 
 them so. Edward H. was quite
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. HQ 
 
 serious over it and asked me why 
 I should not enjoy knowing I had 
 fine eyes, unusual hair, and a 
 bright color. Of course I could 
 only answer that if God had 
 given me honest eyes and healthy 
 color I was very glad, but that" I 
 believed he did not wish me to 
 think too much about them and 
 Edward said, " Well, you need not. 
 We will do the thinking." So then 
 I blushed more and more, but I 
 managed to ask him not to do any 
 more talking about it. 
 
 We left Uncle Joseph's at eight 
 o'clock in the morning, F. A. driv 
 ing his father's horses, which are 
 very fleet. I never had a more 
 exhilarating ride. The air was 
 delicious and we were a long time 
 directly by the ocean. Oh, I 
 wished for thee continually ! Anna 
 wanted to drive part way. So 
 Edward got back in the seat with
 
 120 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 me, and presently our conversa- 
 tion drifted into politics. Thee 
 knows I am no politician, and that 
 I adhere to the belief of Garrison, 
 that the Constitution of the United 
 States is a "Covenant with Hell," 
 but I confess 1 am greatly inter 
 ested in the Republican party. If 
 Charles Sumner is right in his 
 opinion of the Constitution, then 
 through political action we may 
 look for the final overthrow of 
 slavery, but Edward is not even a 
 Republican ! He says the very 
 foundations of our government 
 will be shaken if they elect their 
 president, and I am not sure that 
 he is wrong ! Let them be shaken, 
 and relaid say I. He calls me a 
 rebel, and warns me that if another 
 Anthony Burrs appears in Boston, 
 I may walk the streets in chains, 
 as a conspirator against the peace 
 and well-being of society. I can
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 121 
 
 see that he goes to greater length 
 than he otherwise might, because 
 he thinks it teases me. 
 
 I asked F. A. to what party he 
 belonged, and he quickly answered, 
 " The Know Nothings." I could 
 not help joining in the laugh that 
 followed, although it is a serious 
 matter to me, and the levity with 
 which these young men, of stanch 
 old revolutionary blood, treat 
 such questions astonishes me be 
 yond measure. 
 
 Indeed I have as yet met no 
 one whom I could characterize as 
 other than " conservative." One 
 evening I said this in the parlor, 
 and aunt quickly answered that to 
 be erratic was always unpopular, 
 and young people cannot afford 
 to forego the pleasures of society. 
 So she begged me not to say 
 much even though I felt a great 
 deal.
 
 122 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 No doubt she intended to do 
 me a kindness by this warning, 
 but the contrast between this 
 teaching and thine, dear mother 
 mine, brought tears to my eyes. 
 I think Uncle Joseph must have 
 observed them, for when aunt was 
 called out of the room, he patted 
 me on the head and whispered, 
 " Next week I am going to give 
 my little girl a treat. We will not 
 talk about it now, but she shall 
 see and hear some Bostonians who 
 are not conservatives." I kissed 
 him, and then we both laughed ; 
 and when aunt came in again he 
 proposed a game of authors, which 
 we play very often. It is quite 
 new, and I am sure they have 
 learned it in kindness to me, since 
 they have discovered that I do not 
 play cards. Did I ever tell thee 
 my experience on this matter ? 
 It was soon after my arrival that
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 123 
 
 a party of friends came in to 
 spend the evening, and cards were 
 proposed. It seems that aunt is 
 a great card player whist I be 
 lieve they call it and prides her 
 self not a little on teaching it to 
 others. It needs a certain number 
 to perfect the game, and includ 
 ing myself there was just enough 
 for two parties. When I found 
 how matters were I am afraid I 
 felt cowardly about avowing my 
 principles. It is so unpleasant to 
 make others uncomfortable, but I 
 did not hesitate long. I spoke 
 quietly to Uncle Joseph and asked 
 him please not to count me, as I 
 could not play. Aunt heard me 
 and answered before he had time 
 to do so : " Oh, that does not 
 amount to much. You shall be 
 my partner, and as you are sur 
 prisingly quick to learn, I will 
 guarantee that another time you
 
 124 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 can lead a game." I know my 
 poor cheeks burned, but I had to 
 tell her more. " Dear aunt," I said, 
 " it is not that I am ignorant, for 
 you are both ever ready to help 
 me, but that I believe it is wrong." 
 I wish thee could have seen the 
 astonishment on her face. Her 
 tone changed at once, and she 
 spoke rather harshly, " Come, 
 come, child, let us have no whims. 
 How often do you have to be told 
 that the judgment of your elders 
 is enough. This is no concern of 
 yours save to do as you are bid ; 
 take your place." I am sure I do 
 not know what would have fol 
 lowed for I certainly could never 
 have yielded and even for peace' 
 sake touched the pasteboard that 
 is connected in my mind with all 
 that is low and of evil report. 
 But our struggles are never for 
 gotten, and a friend was raised
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 12$ 
 
 up. One of the ladies appealed 
 to her brother to know if he had 
 the new game in his pocket 
 authors and then very graciously 
 aunt permitted half of us to play 
 this very simple and innocent 
 amusement. Why is it to do right 
 sometimes costs so much trouble 
 to others? I think thee would 
 say : We cannot solve all the 
 problems of life ; this is one that 
 must rest with a higher intelli 
 gence than our own. 
 
 Uncle Joseph has just brought 
 me a card of invitation to a party 
 at the house of John B.'s mother. 
 A queer little dark woman full of 
 learning* ! With the card was a 
 penciled note : " Our liberal enter 
 tainment will not take place until 
 the week following Thanksgiv 
 ing." I suppose uncle wrote this, 
 rather than talk about it before 
 my aunt. But how sad it must
 
 126 QUAKER IDYLS, 
 
 be for two really well-meaning 
 people not to agree in their prin 
 ciples. 
 
 Dear mother, I have kept this 
 letter until after the party in order 
 to tell thee about it, but I am afraid 
 neither of us will quite enjoy my 
 relation of it. 
 
 In the first place aunt insisted 
 upon dressing my hair and arrang 
 ing some flowers about my blue 
 silk frock. She is really an artist 
 in those things, and with the help 
 of the maid I scarcely knew my 
 self ! Forgive me, if I say I could 
 but admire the creature they had 
 constructed. And yet it made 
 me cry, I looked like a stranger ! 
 I thought best not to say a word 
 but to go just as I was, in order to 
 please her. Every time I passed 
 a glass I felt like an imposter ! 
 Dear Uncle Joseph drove with me 
 in the carriage and came after me
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 127 
 
 at what they regard as an early 
 hour, eleven o'clock. On the way 
 he said, " Little girl, try and for 
 get your furbelows, and next time 
 I will persuade aunt to let you go 
 in your simple white frock." So 
 I was comforted. And indeed I 
 tried hard to forget, but I could 
 not. People looked at me on every 
 hand, and I thought it must be 
 because it was as if I was trying 
 to be someone else than a Friend. 
 Then came another trial. There 
 was a large room with a linen cover 
 over the rich carpet, and dancing 
 going on. The musicians sat in 
 the upper hall, and supper was 
 served from ten on. I had no 
 sooner gone through with the 
 ceremony of various introductions, 
 than I was surrounded by young 
 men, who asked me to dance. I 
 suppose they did so out of kind 
 ness to a stranger, but Anna W.
 
 128 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 helped me in my trouble, by say- 
 ing " Yes " to each one that asked 
 me, and then I explained that 
 Friends did not think it right to 
 dance, and one young man made 
 us laugh heartily by saying : 
 
 " Why, I thought you were a 
 Quaker or a Shaker, or something 
 that dances all the time, even when 
 they go to church ! " Did not that 
 show gross ignorance ? 
 
 The supper, too, tried me, for 
 everyone, almost without an excep 
 tion, took a glass of wine ! Anna 
 told me it was a " light wine," but 
 that could make no difference to 
 me. 
 
 Edward H. was my escort, and 
 when I declined taking it, he put 
 his glass down untouched. I 
 thought it was very wise in him. 
 Perhaps the thought of its inju 
 rious influence was new to him. 
 We did not talk about it, but half
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 1 29 
 
 a dozen times we were urged to 
 drink. It really made me sad, 
 for these young men are not proof, 
 always, against temptation, and 
 indeed I had reason to fear before 
 I left, that the wine had affected 
 one of them at least; for as I stood 
 waiting to say Good-night, he 
 asked if he might accompany me 
 home, and when I told him uncle 
 was coming for me, he added : " I 
 do not blame him for trying to 
 keep such a beauty to himself as 
 long as possible ! " 
 
 During the evening a young 
 matron living near here told me 
 some of their friends had proposed 
 to have a series of " sociables," 
 meeting at their houses alter 
 nately, and wished me to join. I 
 am sure it is very kind, although 
 I do not know what sort of enter 
 tainments these are to be, but I 
 thanked her and said I would ask
 
 13 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 aunt's permission, and to my sur 
 prise, as she threw my shawl 
 about my shoulders, she stooped 
 and kissed me, " Good-by for 
 the present ! " That is what they 
 use here as the form of farewell. 
 THY LOVING DAUGHTER. 
 
 Eleventh Mo., 24th. 
 DEAR MOTHER : Oh, what a 
 treat I have had! Nothing that 
 Uncle Joseph could have done 
 would have given me more pleas 
 ure than attending the Anti- 
 Slavery Fair, held in Music Hall 
 last week. I think thee cannot 
 estimate aright the effort which it 
 cost him, unless thee calls to mind 
 all that I have told thee concern 
 ing the real relation of the business 
 men of Boston to the compara 
 tively small number belonging to 
 the A. S. Society. Of course 
 aunt knew about our attendance,
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 131 
 
 although I doubt whether she had 
 an invitation to join us, and she 
 made merry continually over what 
 she called our " escapade." 
 
 When I went upstairs to get my 
 cloak, she called to me, " Girly, 
 put on all your outre" garments; you 
 must look odd, or you will not be 
 in harmony with your surround 
 ings. Only queer people belong." 
 
 The entertainment began at 
 half-past seven with a tea ; that is, 
 small tables were scattered about, 
 where one could sit down, and the 
 ladies handed around tea and 
 cakes. My pleasure began at 
 once, for we had scarcely entered 
 the hall, which, by the way, is very 
 large, when we met Uncle Joseph's 
 old friend, Daniel K. I had seen 
 him before, and he told me how 
 much I was like grandmother. 
 So now, as soon as he saw us, he 
 tucked my hand under his arm
 
 132 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 and bore me across the room, 
 where, behind one of the tables 
 sat a stout elderly woman, in a 
 very queer cap. I have seen pic 
 tures like it, and does thee re 
 member Elizabeth Jones, who did 
 our laundry work one summer ? 
 She wore a similar one. It was 
 not thin like thine, but rather 
 heavy in texture, with a wide frill 
 about the face. But the woman 
 beneath it was very attractive. 
 She had such bright eyes and a 
 most winning smile. 
 
 She spoke with Friend Daniel, 
 and I did not catch his words, but 
 immediately she came around to 
 us, stroked my hair and invited 
 me to pour tea. Then someone 
 else came and called her by name, 
 and who does thee think it was ? 
 Lydia Maria Child. When I 
 realized that I was helping the 
 writer of those beautiful stories, I
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 133 
 
 had to turn and look at her more 
 closely and I could not help say 
 ing, " Did thee ever know David 
 and Jonathan ? " We laughed 
 together, and she seemed pleased 
 that I had read her works. For 
 an hour or more we waited on the 
 cake and tea, and then Uncle 
 Joseph took me over to the other 
 side where articles were exposed 
 for sale. I bought a few trifles, 
 which uncle insisted upon paying 
 for, but thee knows just about 
 what Philadelphia fairs are, so I 
 will not repeat. One thing how 
 ever I must speak of. I selected 
 a tiny package of visiting cards 
 tied together with a bit of ribbon, 
 and each one was inscribed with 
 the name of a prominent Abolish- 
 ionist written by himself. Wil 
 liam Loyd Garrison, Wendell 
 Phillips, Charles Remond, Stephen 
 Foster, and so on. I thought I
 
 134 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 should like to keep them until I 
 am old, and tell my children how 
 I came to have them. I also 
 bought a pocket pincushion with 
 alternate black and white pins. 
 Presently there was some music, 
 for which I did not care, and then 
 a gentleman announced Wendell 
 Phillips as a speaker. My ! but 
 I wish thee had been there ! Such 
 enthusiasm ! and with good rea 
 son. I do not believe I ever saw 
 a finer looking man. He has a 
 little look of a man of the world, 
 but one forgets that as soon as he 
 opens his lips. Then came forth 
 no uncertain sounds, but genuwie 
 thunderbolts of truth and elo 
 quence. Oh, it was grand ! 
 Uncle says he spoke over half an 
 hour, but it seemed short to me, 
 and as he left the platform I 
 sighed. Uncle Joseph inquired 
 what I would like next, and I an-
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 135 
 
 swered " Either Sumner or Emer 
 son," and lo ! as if I had touched 
 a magic spring, both of them ap 
 peared. The former, thee is 
 aware, is not able to do duty, but 
 his magnificent presence was 
 enough, and he smiled down at 
 the audience with a great friend 
 liness as he said he " wanted to 
 introduce Ralph Waldo Emerson." 
 Everybody laughed and cheered, 
 and the gentle philosopher spoke 
 only a little time, about human 
 rights and human wrongs. I was 
 much impressed by his manner, 
 which is that of one who solilo 
 quizes rather than of an orator. 
 He is a great contrast in appear 
 ance too, to those who preceded 
 him tall and slender, his head 
 bowing just a little, as if it was 
 heavy with great thought, but 
 there is not much fire about him, 
 and thee would undoubtedly like
 
 136 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 him the better for it. He is very 
 genial, for I saw him talking and 
 smiling with all who approached. 
 I hear that he has a great rever 
 ence for the individual, and looks 
 not for the foibles, but the majesty 
 of the man. 
 
 I asked Uncle Joseph if he 
 thought it would be right for me 
 to speak with William Lloyd Gar 
 rison, of whom dear grandfather 
 had so much to say, and I soon 
 found that the very name of my 
 good ancestor was a passport 
 everywhere in the room. I was 
 introduced to the Garrison young 
 people, three sons at least ; and 
 the mother asked me to come and 
 see her, which I should like to do, 
 but it is scarcely probable. I do 
 not wish to offend aunt's prej 
 udices, unnecessarily, and my 
 visit there could be of no real 
 use.
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 137 
 
 I saw Elizabeth Peabody, who 
 is trying to interest people in the 
 kindergarten methods of teaching 
 young children, by playing and 
 talking with them, rather than 
 through books, and it certainly 
 seems a most reasonable system. 
 
 It seems to me now as if I had 
 seen Boston, for the people who 
 were at the Fair were the very 
 people I have heard about, and 
 read about all my life the people 
 indeed, whom / supposed con 
 stituted Boston, and yet outside 
 their own circle, few know or care 
 whether they exist. I am wrong. 
 They have been raised up for a 
 holy purpose, and if, as it seems, 
 the busy mart is deaf to their en 
 treaties for universal liberty, un 
 conditional emancipation, the sin 
 will lie at its own door should 
 bloodshed follow. 
 
 I am afraid this meeting with
 
 133 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 those in whom I am so much 
 interested will rather spoil me 
 for our everyday routine. It is 
 pleasant enough, but it seems 
 selfish to devote so large a share 
 of time to one's entertainment. I 
 sometimes long for active work; 
 but aunt says it spoils the domes 
 tics (servants is her word) to help 
 them, and it spoils a " lady's 
 hands " ! I never heard thee com 
 plain in that way, and there are 
 no dearer or daintier hands than 
 thine, which are ready for pot or 
 pan, needle or butter mold. Per 
 haps it is a little Pharisaical to 
 thank God we are " not like other 
 men," but I am thankful that I 
 was sent into thy arms ! 
 
 I have been tempted to say that 
 I had a complete pleasure at the 
 Anti-Slavery Fair, but as I was 
 about to write it thus, a reminder 
 came to me of one thing that \
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 139 
 
 wanted and did not get, and that 
 was a piece of temperance mince 
 pie j for I heard it said that there 
 were such in an adjoining room, 
 and much as I like pies, I have 
 steadfastly declined tasting those 
 that looked so nice at uncle's 
 table, for I know full well they are 
 made with a strong infusion of 
 brandy. 
 
 We came out home by the horse 
 railroad again, and I somehow 
 could not help thinking about the 
 poor tipsy boy and the tall young 
 man, and strange enough, the 
 latter got into our car ! I did not 
 lift my eyes once, on the whole 
 route, for he sat directly opposite 
 me, and I thought it would be dis 
 courteous not to acknowledge his 
 presence, and to do so would 
 trouble my uncle. So I was espe 
 cially weary when we got out, and 
 I thought the young man went n
 
 140 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 further, but just as we stopped 
 he sprang up as though he had 
 been asleep and in hurrying out 
 he jostled me, and begged me to 
 excuse it. He has a fair voice, 
 manly, and direct, and but what 
 does thee think ? after he had 
 passed, there was a scrap of paper 
 lying on my muff ! Perhaps I 
 ought to have thrown it away with 
 out reading, but I did want to 
 know about the poor lad, and so 
 I crumpled it up in my glove, 
 until I got into my quiet chamber, 
 and then I saw that it was a bit 
 torn from a newspaper border, 
 and beautifully written with a lead 
 pencil. It said : " I took him 
 home and have talked with him 
 since about the wrong he has 
 done. I think it will not happen 
 again." 
 
 Was it not kind in " Jack D." 
 to let me know in this way, with-
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 141 
 
 out intruding upon me, or even 
 signing his name ? 
 
 I intended to bring home the 
 little cushion I bought at the fair, 
 but when I told Edward H. all 
 about it, he said that he would 
 like a memento to recall what I 
 have told him about the sin of 
 slavery, which I really believe he 
 had never been taught to consider. 
 So I gave him the pinball. 
 
 I must tell thee about my 
 French lessons next time. Aunt 
 speaks with a fine accent, they tell 
 me ; and she thinks I have been 
 well taught. 
 
 I wish I could kiss thy dear 
 cheek. Farewell, 
 
 SALLIE. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA, 
 
 Fourth Mo., 26th. 
 MOTHER DEAR : Thy presence 
 has been roundabout me through-
 
 142 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 out the day, and I cannot sleep 
 until I have availed myself of this 
 poor medium, my pen, to convey 
 to thee some of the thoughts that 
 fill my mind. 
 
 Cousin Henry went with me to 
 attend the morning meeting at 
 Race Street, where we listened to 
 words of warning and words of 
 comfort from the lips of Friend B. 
 and Friend T., and I was quite lost 
 in meditation following the dis 
 course of the latter, whose fine 
 voice I ofttimes fear has an influ 
 ence over me that should only be 
 the result of his spiritual teaching. 
 Then Lucretia Mott arose and 
 spoke very acceptably, as she has 
 ever done, to me. Yet it was not 
 the words that fell from her lips 
 that so greatly affected me, it was 
 the memory of a strange scene 
 that I have recently witnessed 
 that endeared her to me, and it is
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 143 
 
 of this that I am anxious thee 
 should know. 
 
 On Second day, while we were 
 awaiting Cousin Henry at the cus 
 tomary dinner hour, a lad brought 
 in a note asking aunt to excuse his 
 non-appearance and begging her 
 to bring some friends and join 
 him at the office of the U. S. 
 Commissioner on Fourth Street 
 as soon after two o'clock as pos 
 sible. 
 
 It seems that a colored man had 
 been claimed as a fugitive slave 
 by a Southerner staying in the 
 city, and this reaching the ears of 
 a prominent Abolitionist, a few 
 persons resolved to make a strenu 
 ous effort to have the case pub 
 licly tried. 
 
 Such, as thee knows, is not the 
 usual proceeding, for the poor 
 creatures are generally given over 
 to the hands of their taskmasters
 
 144 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 with very little noise or show of 
 justice. 
 
 The watchword was quickly 
 passed, and when the case was 
 opened the small room was densely 
 packed and it was made evident 
 to the commissioner that consider 
 able excitement prevailed. He 
 therefore judged it best to delay 
 further trial until 2 p. M., at 
 which hour the court would sit in 
 the large hall just around the cor 
 ner, by Independence Square, and 
 it was there that aunt took me. 
 
 Friend J. and his wife, Eliza 
 beth C. and two sons, and four or 
 five other "plain bonnets and 
 broad brims," entered the room 
 about the same time that we did. 
 A. L., whom thee remembers, was 
 present and arranged comfortable 
 seats for us, some having benches, 
 others chairs, while a large table 
 in the middle of the hall was sur-
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 145 
 
 rounded with the roughest looking 
 men I ever saw ! They were 
 armed with pistols and bowie 
 knives and handled their weapons 
 too freely to make me comfortable. 
 And yet how cowardly I felt when 
 I glanced at the poor slave face so 
 full of terrible anticipation ! 
 
 The room was fast filling up 
 with Southern sympathizers when 
 Lucretia Mott quietly took her 
 place beside the colored man, and 
 after speaking kindly with him 
 drew forth her knitting work ! I 
 never saw anything so diabolical 
 as the countenances of the com 
 pany about the table, as they com 
 mented to each other upon her 
 appearance there. Evidently they 
 resolved to render her situation as 
 trying as possible, which, I assure 
 thee, they never failed to do during 
 the whole session. 
 
 Of course thee knows I had
 
 146 QUA KER ID YLS. 
 
 never been in a court room before, 
 and so I am afraid I shall not be 
 able to give thee anything more 
 than a very meager account of the 
 regular proceedings. It seems 
 that the identity of the slave had 
 first to be proved, with the date of 
 his escape. Then the poor man 
 brought what .testimony he could 
 quickly gather as to his having 
 lived near Lancaster for a greater 
 length of time than his would-be 
 owner asserted. The evidence 
 was given under great difficulties 
 because the strong Southern bias 
 of the crowd broke forth in wild 
 cries and oaths, whenever the 
 adverse testimony came on. 
 Sometimes the noise was deafen 
 ing. The commissioner is a frail 
 man of middle age, and l>y the 
 way, a descendant of 'Friends. 
 He made great exertion to main 
 tain order, but frequently looked
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 147 
 
 as if he feared the result of inter 
 ference. 
 
 Hour after hour went on. The 
 twilight had grown into darkness 
 and midnight finally drew near. 
 None of the anti-slavery party 
 had been allowed to leave the 
 room, or rather having left it, to 
 return. Everyone was getting 
 hungry, yet I think we all thought 
 especially of the good woman who 
 sat so calmly beside the not over 
 cleanly colored man, but I am 
 bound to add, with a group of 
 tried and true friends close around 
 her. 
 
 In one of the pauses loud voices 
 were heard outside, and a rush 
 toward the door gave us fear that 
 a measure was on foot to seize the 
 prisoner and carry him off under 
 the very eye of the law, but we 
 found the trouble arose from a 
 young man insisting upon being
 
 148 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 allowed to enter with refreshments 
 for Lucretia Mott. He was actu 
 ally driven away by force, and 
 only after a hazardous entry, by 
 means of a water pipe and win 
 dow, was he able to present the 
 modest supper to her. Thee will 
 not be surprised to know that she 
 at once shared it with other Friends 
 in attendance. 
 
 Soon after daylight the com 
 missioner announced that the tes 
 timony had all been taken and he 
 found himself too much fatigued 
 to continue the sitting, therefore 
 the court was adjourned until 
 2 p. M. of that day. I had grown 
 very restless, as thee may imagine, 
 and turning to aunt I said, " I 
 scarcely dare breathe for fear the 
 poor man must go back to his 
 chains." A. L., who sat near, 
 touched me lightly on the shoul 
 der, and replied : " Prepare thy-
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 149 
 
 self calmly for the worst in life, 
 and thus thee will not be over 
 whelmed when disaster comes, 
 and should the best be realized 
 thy joy will be proportion 
 ate." 
 
 I think I shall never forget his 
 remark. The whole scene is so 
 vivid before me. I cannot close 
 my eyes without seeing every 
 detail of the crowded room, dimly 
 lighted, and the shadowy figures 
 in the shady corners leaning anx 
 iously forward to catch the expres 
 sion as well as the words of an 
 earnest old black man, who was 
 questioned and cross-questioned 
 for hours on the witness stand. 
 I know, mother, that had it been 
 I, I should certainly have made 
 some mistake, but he did not get 
 greatly confused, only wandered 
 slowly over and over again in his 
 statements and settled down upon
 
 ISO QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 what proved to be the absolute 
 truth. 
 
 It seems he was a small gar 
 dener in the neighborhood where 
 the prisoner worked, and had 
 written down in his rough note 
 book the date of the stranger's 
 arrival. This book was the only 
 direct testimony in favor of free 
 dom, for all the other witnesses 
 became confused, or else exhibited 
 clearly the falsity of their state 
 ments. As it turned out, the 
 good, conscientious gardener had 
 made a mistake in his date, and 
 the commissioner suspected it, 
 but as A. L. told us they could not 
 go behind the written facts and 
 we all thought he was, indeed, 
 greatly harassed by the situation 
 and was glad enough to be able 
 " to give the prisoner the benefit 
 of the doubt," which I suppose is 
 a formal phrase that applies to
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 151 
 
 causes decided upon suspicious 
 evidence, and thee knows, it is 
 often said that English law leans 
 toward mercy. 
 
 Alas ! that it should not always 
 be based upon justice ! And, 
 mother dear, thee will recall here 
 a great deal that I have written 
 thee about the young men of New 
 England with whom I have been 
 thrown during the year. I cannot 
 bring myself back to the old 
 thought that I bore concerning 
 them. I expected the H. and A. 
 families were as eager for the 
 abolition of slavery as their fore 
 fathers were to found a " free 
 and independent nation," and be 
 hold ! they jeer at Garrison and 
 Phillips and hesitate to do any 
 thing that will hurt Southern 
 pride. 
 
 Thee has ever taught me to 
 " judge not," yet I would that the
 
 152 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 youth of distinguished patriot 
 families now enjoying every edu 
 cational advantage at the great 
 seat of learning Harvard Col 
 lege might also feel the throb of 
 sympathy for the oppressed. But 
 we must turn back to the terrible 
 slave trial. 
 
 At times, toward dawn espe 
 cially, when the men grew weary, I 
 suppose, the pistols were flourished 
 as if they were harmless things. I 
 drew very near to dear aunt once, 
 but she quietly pointed to Lu- 
 cretia Mott, whose age required 
 rest, but whose motion betrayed 
 neither her weariness nor deep 
 concern. It was a relief when a 
 little before nine o'clock the 
 court was adjourned. It seems 
 there was some thought of at 
 tempting a forcible capture of the 
 man on trial, but his anti-slavery 
 friends gathered close about him
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 153 
 
 and thus remained until he was in 
 the hands of the officers of the 
 law. 
 
 Of course we were very tired, 
 but nothing of small importance 
 could have kept us from rejoin 
 ing the throng, for such it had now 
 become, when court opened again 
 that afternoon. 
 
 What is called the " argument " 
 began as soon as order was es 
 tablished. First the lawyer on 
 one side, a much disfigured man 
 named B. B., tried to show that 
 all the evidence was in favor of 
 the slaveholder. That is, that the 
 man claimed was really the es 
 caped slave, and this being so, the 
 commissioner ought to give him 
 up. Then the other, G. E., made 
 a most satisfactory response, stat 
 ing that the only evidence to be 
 relied upon was the gardener's 
 account book, and that distinctly
 
 154 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 showed the man to have been free 
 at the time he was said to have 
 run away. Oh, mother ! I wish 
 thee could have heard him. I 
 know it is dangerous to allow 
 one's enthusiasm too great liberty, 
 but I never felt so well satisfied 
 with any speaker before. 
 
 At last it was over and a long 
 reading from the commissioner 
 closed the matter. Even aunt, I 
 think, was in doubt how it might 
 end, until the very last sentence, 
 and then although I did not ap 
 prove of the sentiment I could 
 not help a touch of sympathy with 
 a man near me who shouted ex 
 citedly, " You have saved your 
 soul, commissioner ! " 
 
 Such excitement ! People shook 
 hands and cried and the slave 
 had disappeared ! No one saw 
 him go, no one seemed to know 
 where he went, but aunt whis-
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 155 
 
 pered to me that it was all right, 
 he was taken in charge by a friend 
 and would be immediately out of 
 harm's way. I think it was an 
 hour before we could get down to 
 the street, so thronged was the 
 staircase, and everyone seemed 
 happy over the result. 
 
 I am inclined to think my mind 
 dwelt as much on the awful re 
 sponsibility of the commissioner 
 as upon the released man. How 
 can one bind himself by an oath 
 to serve a government that has 
 made this iniquitous bond with 
 the slaveholders ? I almost hope 
 to learn later that this dreadful 
 experience has led to the resigna 
 tion of Commissioner L. 
 
 There was one other thing, 
 mother dear, that gave me great 
 joy. In the midst of the enthusi 
 asm, someone seized my hand. I 
 was not astonished at the move-
 
 156 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 merit for every heart seemed to be 
 throbbing with sympathy and 
 brother love, but I assure thee I 
 was very happy when I lifted my 
 eyes and saw bending over me the 
 familiar face of Edward H.! 
 What a fine face it is ! And on 
 this occasion burning with new 
 born devotion to principle ! It 
 is needless to say that he has 
 since been to visit us, and that 
 he is going to return to Penn 
 sylvania during the summer 
 and has kindly responded to 
 my invitation to come to our 
 home. 
 
 Thee cannot help loving him, I 
 know, nor can dear father either, 
 and you will both rejoice that 
 for Edward has so expressed it 
 through your simple Sallie's teach 
 ing a strong man has been led to 
 see the enormity of our national 
 sin, and pledged himself to leave
 
 SOME ANTE-BELLUM LETTERS. 157 
 
 no stone unturned toward its 
 abolishment. 
 
 In firm affection, I remain 
 
 THY DAUGHTER. 
 
 N. B. I think perhaps I ought 
 to tell thee about a letter I have 
 recently had from F. A. A kind 
 letter, but with a tone of flattery 
 that I do not quite like, nor, in 
 deed, understand. He speaks as 
 if I was much in his thought and 
 can it be, dear mother, that I 
 gave him a wrong impression of 
 my friendship ? My cheeks burn 
 as I write this, but it is delight 
 ful to know good Edward H. was 
 thoroughly inspired through my 
 mere suggestion that these are 
 serious times to do a great deal 
 of honest thinking. I shall be 
 right glad to welcome him within 
 our home !
 
 UNCLE JOSEPH.
 
 UNCLE JOSEPH. 
 
 NE of the prominent fig 
 ures in our meeting 
 house for many years 
 was that of Uncle Joseph for 
 thus was he known by the young 
 and old who frequented our re 
 ligious gatherings. 
 
 He occupied the second seat in 
 the men's gallery and it was with 
 him that the Elder shook hands in 
 sign that Friends should separate, 
 when it seemed likely that the 
 spirit would move no others to 
 utter gentle words of blessing or 
 stern warning against the wiles of 
 the tempter. 
 
 As children we regarded Uncle 
 Joseph in the light of a patriarch, 
 
 161
 
 162 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 although I now know that his 
 years, at the time of which I write, 
 had scarce reached the limit of a 
 half century. 
 
 He was a comely man, straight 
 and tall, his smooth- shaven face 
 beaming with good nature, and 
 his soft blue eye lighted with sym 
 pathy, but he was not intellectual. 
 Slow of movement and uncertain 
 in expression, his hearers were 
 often troubled to follow his excel 
 lent thought, and it was no un 
 common thing for my parents to 
 refer to his ministrations as being 
 " labored." We had a conscious 
 ness, based perhaps upon acci 
 dental knowledge, that he was 
 uncommonly well to do, and also 
 that there was considerable feel 
 ing in the society that Sarah 
 Sidney, with her clear insight and 
 facile speech, would be a fit life 
 companion for the good man.
 
 UNCLE JOSEPH. 163 
 
 But time wore on and there seemed 
 no likelihood of a realization of 
 this desire. 
 
 I can remember one occasion 
 when the subject really assumed 
 the importance that is usually 
 given to gossip, but it was so lov 
 ingly and conscientiously touched 
 upon that I was greatly impressed. 
 
 My father and mother were in 
 the way of inviting many friends 
 to dine with them on monthly 
 meeting day. Quarterly meeting 
 brought even more persons from a 
 distance, and among the children 
 little unaccustomed dutiesweredis- 
 tributed. I was frequently desired 
 to remain for a time in the front 
 chamber and assist our women 
 visitors in removing their wraps 
 and adjusting the cap crowns that 
 often met with disaster beneath 
 the stiff bonnets. It was always 
 a pleasurable duty, for Friends
 
 164 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 never forget the young, and as 
 each one grasped my little palm, 
 she did not neglect to speak an 
 encouraging word. 
 
 On the occasion to which I have 
 alluded, meeting broke up some 
 what later than usual. I hurried 
 home, warmed my chilled fingers, 
 and ran upstairs, where a bright 
 fire was burning on the hearth. I 
 glanced about to see that the 
 wood box was full, and looked out 
 of the window where my eye rested 
 upon a short line of carriages all 
 bent in the direction of our home. 
 First came father and mother, 
 grandfather and the three younger 
 children ; then a vehicle well 
 known to me as that of Elias Chase 
 from Derry Quarter ; and thus I 
 counted them off, as one by one 
 they drew up beside the horse 
 block. 
 
 I missed Sarah Sidney, who
 
 UNCLE JOSEPH. 165 
 
 generally came with Theophilus 
 Baldwin's family, and having seen 
 her placid face in its usual place 
 on the seat beneath the gallery, 
 fronting the meeting, I was at a 
 loss to explain her absence. She 
 was tenderly attached to mother, 
 and I could not believe any light 
 matter would take her to another's 
 table. 
 
 A gentle voice called me to 
 my duties : 
 
 " Why, Katherine dear, thee 
 must have been very spry to get 
 home before us. I was pleased to 
 see thy interest in the meeting 
 to-day." 
 
 The good woman kissed me 
 and thanked me for the little aid 
 I was able to give in unpinning 
 her great shawl. 
 
 Directly afterward, sweet Jane 
 Spencer came tripping up the 
 stairs. She was frequently spoken
 
 166 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 of as exhibiting " overmuch ardor " 
 in all her good works, but we 
 children loved the enthusiastic 
 little woman. 
 
 " O Katherine, I am glad to 
 make use of thy quick fingers. 
 My cap strings are sadly awry. I 
 have been most uncomfortable in 
 them all through meeting. Our 
 breakfast was a trifle late this 
 morning, and we had far to 
 drive." 
 
 One and another arrived, each 
 with a thought of me. " How 
 thee grows, child," or "Thy mother 
 is blessed in hec little helpers." 
 
 The room was well-nigh full, 
 when someone asked the question 
 that had been trembling on my lips. 
 
 " Where is Sarah Sidney ? " 
 
 No one directly replied, but 
 after a moment's reflection nearly 
 all had a suggestion or a little 
 interest in her to express.
 
 UNCLE JOSEPH, 167 
 
 " Methought her face bore 
 traces of anxiety this morning. I 
 trust she has met with no further 
 financial disaster. Thee knows, 
 Rhoda, she is benevolent to a sur 
 prising degree in one whose purse 
 is not lengthy, and it is therefore 
 a serious matter to be forced to 
 curtail in her giving." 
 
 " Sarah is too true a follower 
 of the Great Teacher to be long 
 afflicted by the things of this 
 world," replied an aged friend. 
 
 " Ah, Hannah dear," answered 
 the first speaker, " thee has never 
 had the bread and butter trouble, 
 and therefore thee can hardly 
 compass its misery." 
 
 I think we all felt the force of 
 this argument, for Hannah was 
 richly dowered. Presently Jane 
 Spencer sighed : 
 
 " I cannot help wishing that 
 Uncle Joseph would recognize
 
 168 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 that the hand of the Lord is point 
 ing him to Sarah Sidney." 
 
 " If such be the will of our 
 Heavenly Father, I doubt not it 
 will be revealed in due time," and 
 Hannah spoke with great deliber 
 ation. 
 
 " That is quite true, and un 
 doubtedly it is only those among 
 us who are a trifle worldly minded, 
 that show a disposition to 
 hasten these things." Jane 
 Spencer was always very meek 
 under reproof, and I felt glad 
 that others sustained her desire 
 that Uncle Joseph should be a 
 little less deliberate in his action. 
 
 " I can hardly think that he 
 realizes Sarah's worth," said a 
 late comer. 
 
 " On the contrary," it was 
 Rhoda Longstreet's voice, " I am 
 sometimes inclined to believe that 
 his doubt rests upon his own
 
 UNCL E JOSEPH. 169 
 
 merit. If he were one of the 
 world's people I should say he 
 was bashful. As it is, I shall call 
 him slow in perceiving his adapta 
 tion to any peculiar calling." 
 
 " Thee may be right," responded 
 Jane Spencer, and I was struck 
 with the note of merrymaking that 
 accompanied her words. " If so, 
 I can only wish that somebody 
 would give him a hint, for I really 
 believe that Sarah has perceived 
 their true relationship, and that 
 her spirit is troubled with doubt 
 since no sign is given unto her." 
 
 "Ah," interrupted Hannah, 
 " shall we never learn that God 
 does not wish us to call upon him 
 for signs ? " 
 
 Now it had chanced, although 
 none of those present were at that 
 time conscious of it, that Sarah 
 Sidney had given up her seat in a 
 friend's carriage to a person who
 
 17 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 was suffering from a weak limb, 
 and had walked briskly along the 
 frozen road toward our house. 
 
 Uncle Joseph, too, had chosen 
 to leave his vehicle at home, and 
 seeing in the distance a familiar 
 plump little figure, he made haste 
 to overtake her. 
 
 For a few moments they talked 
 together of the lesser things of 
 life. Then they fell into silence, 
 which was at last broken by Uncle 
 Joseph's voice. 
 
 " My mind has dwelt much to 
 day upon the Bible teaching of 
 the relation of Ruth and Boaz." 
 
 I am sure the throbbing heart 
 beneath the clear muslin kerchief 
 of Sarah Sidney must have 
 bounded a little at this. He went 
 on : " Has thee ever thought it 
 over, and applied the test to our 
 own lives ? " 
 
 It certainly was not strange
 
 UNCLE JOSEPH. 1 71 
 
 that the good woman hesitated 
 before she answered : 
 
 " If thee means to ask whether 
 it has been shown to me that I am 
 chosen of the Lord to be thy com 
 panion, I will admit that it has; 
 but, Joseph, thee is not an old 
 man, nor am I a young hand 
 maiden." 
 
 Uncle Joseph stopped short in 
 his walk, and catching a fright 
 ened look upon the honest face 
 beside him, he gravely said : 
 
 " It was not upon that relation 
 my mind ran. I thought rather of 
 the increased duty in this day and 
 generation which must belong to 
 the husbandman and his gleaners ; 
 or in other words the responsi 
 bility of him upon whom the bene 
 fits of this world have been 
 showered, and the loud call that 
 is ever sounding in my ear to ex 
 tend help to those who need; and
 
 i? 2 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 it has been whispered to me that 
 thy material goods have been 
 slipping from thee, and and, I 
 wished to offer my aid." 
 
 Could one marvel if a feeling of 
 faintness crept over the gentle 
 Sarah, or that a beseeching look 
 set the seal upon the awful still 
 ness that followed ? Her face 
 grew first scarlet, then very, very 
 white. Uncle Joseph's voice 
 sounded strange in her ear. She 
 feared she should fall, but as the 
 tones grew clearer, something 
 else impressed her. 
 
 " Sarah, thee has a more re 
 ceptive spirit than my own. I 
 have sometimes longed to see 
 aright in regard to the formation 
 of a closer bond with thee, and I 
 rejoice that through my own ill- 
 chosen speech thee has been led 
 to point the way." 
 
 He took her trembling hand
 
 UNCLE JOSEPH. 1 73 
 
 between his own, and smiled 
 down upon the sweet but tearful 
 face; then her lips were opened, 
 the pain went forever out of her 
 heart, and she whispered only : 
 
 " Dear Joseph." 
 
 But her trial was not quite over. 
 We were already summoned to 
 the dining room when Uncle 
 Joseph and Sarah Sidney entered 
 the door together. I glanced 
 about me, and was certain that I 
 saw more than one look of satis 
 faction exchanged by the company 
 present. 
 
 The moment of silent blessing 
 was past. My mother moved as 
 if to begin serving the soup, but 
 she caught Uncle Joseph's eye, 
 and awaited his slow words : 
 
 " Dear friends," he said with a 
 little tremor in his voice, " re 
 joice with me, for to-day has our 
 beloved Sarah Sidney revealed to
 
 174 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 me the message that the Lord has 
 given into her keeping." 
 
 He paused, and with a flush 
 brightening her soft cheeks Sarah 
 asked calmly : 
 
 " Joseph, will thee kindly ex 
 plain thyself ? " 
 
 I never knew him to do any 
 thing so well as he now related 
 to us the manner in which he had 
 obtained an insight into the secret 
 knowledge of Sarah Sidney's 
 heart. 
 
 As he ceased speaking, her own 
 rhythmic tones filled the room in 
 tender thanksgiving to the Lord 
 for his gift of companionship, and 
 this has evermore remained in 
 my memory as one of the most 
 beautiful supplications I have 
 been privileged to heal
 
 MY GRANDAME'S SECRET.
 
 MY GRANDAME'S SECRET. 
 
 LMOST a hundred years 
 ago, there was born into 
 a staid Quaker household 
 a child whose very physique set at 
 defiance all the rules of the orderly 
 family. 
 
 The father, Daniel, and the 
 mother, Lucretia Chester, were 
 fair, colorless persons, and the 
 brown hair of the latter was 
 severely banded beneath her clear 
 muslin cap. One can imagine the 
 tinge of dismay that must have 
 clouded the fatherly affection for 
 his firstborn, when Daniel per 
 ceived that the babe was a 
 dimpled, dark-eyed daughter, 
 whose wealth of raven locks
 
 I?8 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 fell into soft rings about her 
 brow. 
 
 As she grew into recognition of 
 her immediate surroundings, her 
 abounding vivacity made her sin 
 gularly attractive. Her great eyes 
 sparkled as she cooed in sympathy 
 with the soft-toned stroke of the 
 tall clock that had rung out the 
 hour of her mother's birth, and 
 the play of the firelight on the 
 pale wall inspired her to feverish 
 exhibitions of delight. At such 
 times Daniel laid his hand ten 
 derly on the refractory curls, and 
 vainly smoothing-away their pretty 
 curves, he said, " Alas, Lucretia, 
 a very worldling has been given 
 to our charge. It behooves thee 
 and me to keep an untiring watch 
 over the little one." " She is the 
 Lord's own, is she not ? " was the 
 gentle reply. But to guide and to 
 guard her after the fashion of the
 
 MY GRA NDA M'S SECRE T. 1 79 
 
 stern orthodox rule was the unre 
 lenting training that the father 
 practiced. More than once as the 
 years went on, he took the scissors 
 from the hand of his wife, with a 
 strange misgiving lest she har 
 bored a secret pleasure in the 
 child's ringlets, and severely he 
 cut away so much of the crowning 
 glory as scissors could cut, only 
 to find an immediate renewal of 
 nature's willfulness, and it was 
 with something like reproach that 
 he spoke of her brilliant color. 
 
 " I wish, Dorcas, thee had more 
 of the mother's tint about thee," 
 he said, emphasizing the plain 
 Quaker name they had given the 
 girl, as if to counteract the im 
 pression of her brilliant beauty 
 which increased with time. 
 
 One day as she sat at dinner, 
 flushed by a wild scamper across 
 the lawn with her playfellow, a
 
 1 80 QUA KER ID YLS. 
 
 soft-eyed collie, straight before 
 her hung a looking-glass which 
 served her father in his frequent 
 shaving triajs, and the child, catch 
 ing the reflection of her bright 
 face, cried out : 
 
 " I do not see, dear father, why 
 thee should wish me to be pale 
 like mother. Mine is far the 
 prettier color. She is a snowdrop, 
 but I am the rose." 
 
 The pain Daniel felt darkened 
 his brow. " Dorcas," he said, 
 " thee speaks as the daughter of 
 sin ; thy words reveal the wiles of 
 the devil." 
 
 The sensitive girl trembled, 
 then her brave spirit rose and 
 despite her tears she had answer : 
 
 " Did not our Heavenly Father 
 make us a//, and why may I not 
 admire myself, if I am his handi 
 work, as much as thee admires 
 dear mother ? "
 
 My GRA NDA ME'S SECRE T. 1 8 1 
 
 Her innocence touched Lu- 
 cretia, who made haste to fore 
 stall a severe reproof from her 
 husband : 
 
 " The love of the flesh is unholy, 
 my daughter. We are bidden to 
 strive with all the might which the 
 Lord vouchsafes against the 
 things of this world. To purify 
 the heart through the working of 
 the Holy Spirit, this is the highest 
 good." 
 
 " I think I do not understand 
 thee, mother. Is the rose blush 
 ing for its sin in not being made 
 like snowdrops ? " 
 
 " Dorcas, restrain thy tongue ; 
 and, Lucretia, perhaps we are in 
 error not to take the child more 
 persistently to meeting. That she 
 is restless and disturbing to the 
 meditations of others must not be 
 allowed to have too much weight." 
 
 From that time forward the
 
 182 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 active girl placed herself under 
 bonds to subdue her natural in 
 clinations, and many a bright 
 spring morning she sighed as she 
 watched the lambs frisking in the 
 fields, and noted the disappoint 
 ment of the collie as she refused 
 his invitation to a race, and with 
 dripping hands she smoothed and 
 resmoothed her curls, preparatory 
 to the ride to meeting. It was 
 hard work, too, for her to keep 
 awake during the long silence or 
 the droning tones of the preacher, 
 that seemed arranged in order to 
 lull the restless children to sleep, 
 but she formulated a private code 
 of morals, under which this trial 
 figured as a dispensation to school 
 the spirit in its early encounters 
 with the tempter. 
 
 Occasionally the sermon inter 
 ested her. Far more frequent 
 was her retirement within herself,
 
 MY GRA NDA ME'S SECRE T. 183 
 
 and in misery of spirit she re 
 counted the long list of her sins, 
 sincerely soliciting aid from on 
 high that they might be over 
 come. Among the chief of her 
 trials was to make the honest con 
 fession that she was not averse to 
 looking at her own image, and 
 from this constant sense of the 
 enormity of the transgression grew 
 an absolute intolerance of her 
 beauty. She would have become 
 morbid over it, but for the thor 
 oughly healthful nature which 
 reveled in outdoor exercise, and 
 was of no mean assistance to the 
 busy father in his lesser tasks. 
 Dorcas was unselfish, too, and her 
 mind turned readily into other 
 channels than that of self-con 
 sciousness. She was a deft little 
 housemaid, and imitated her 
 mother's kindly ways with the ser 
 vants ; but perhaps the absence
 
 1 84 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 of childish companions gave her 
 an air of maturity hardly in accord 
 with her years. She was dreamy 
 too. Somewhere in her nature 
 lurked a drop of Southern blood ; 
 that which colored her rich dark 
 skin colored also her mental con 
 stitution. She was filled with 
 romance and yet she had never 
 heard a fairy-tale or listened to a 
 troubadour's song, but her soul 
 was on fire at the relation of a 
 heroic deed, or the unspoken sen 
 timent of a pair of lovers. 
 
 Lucretia had chosen to teach 
 the little maiden at home; perhaps 
 the staid father had hesitated to 
 send the worldling into the midst 
 of temptations such as lurk behind 
 the schoolroom door. His pride 
 in her ready insight must have 
 been great for he did not scorn 
 knowledge, although he scorned 
 honors, and Dorcas displayed a
 
 Mr GRANDAME'S SECRET. 185 
 
 marvelous aptitude for study. 
 Even this bore a cross to him. 
 " She is more like a boy than a 
 girl at books," he thought, and 
 cherished the memory of every 
 gentle womanly exhibition. 
 
 Daniel dearly loved Lucretia. 
 She was to him a type of the true 
 wife, and undemonstrative as he 
 was, little as she would have ac 
 knowledged the wish, there lurked 
 in the heart of each an unspeakable 
 sorrow that the only child which 
 God had given* to their arms should 
 be so unlike the meek and patient 
 woman, the sweet orthodox saint, 
 who had borne her. 
 
 In 1815 prison reform was a 
 dim dream in the hearts of a few. 
 Men incline toward a theory of 
 retributive justice, and are keen 
 to assume the judgment role and 
 fasten a stigma to sin, forgetful 
 that although the sin may be out-
 
 1 86 QUA KER ID YLS. 
 
 grown, the stigma rarely is wiped 
 away. 
 
 The orthodoxy of society was 
 as fixed as the theological dogma 
 of that early day ; leniency was 
 license to the common mind ; and 
 the culprit was faced with con 
 tinual reminders of his guilt as a 
 necessary step toward repentance. 
 
 The wrath of man, like the 
 wrath of God, was to be known 
 and feared ; the evil-doer was 
 beaten into the path of the right 
 eous, not led by the law of love. 
 Too much of this spirit exists at 
 the present time, but seventy-five 
 years ago the force of public 
 opinion tended in that direction. 
 
 The prisoners were permitted 
 to come forth on Sabbath morning 
 and listen, many of them with 
 bound limbs, to a long exhortation 
 from the strait - laced clergy, 
 who pointed a finger of scorn as
 
 My GRANDAME'S SECRET. 187 
 
 well as reproach at the guilty, and 
 it was little wonder that their 
 hearts were hardened by what 
 they heard, and that when they 
 went forth again into the world it 
 was often with a determination to 
 revenge themselves on society at 
 large. 
 
 The home of Daniel and Lu- 
 cretia Chester was a resting place 
 for such Friends as repaired to 
 that locality for religious purposes, 
 and Daniel was frequently charged 
 with bearing one of them company 
 to the county jail, which stood 
 on the outskirts of their little 
 town. Here he never failed to be 
 impressed with the terrors of sin, 
 and to exhort his family afterward 
 to tread the straight and narrow 
 way. More than once Dorcas had 
 been allowed to accompany heir 
 father on such visits, with the idea 
 of permeating the maiden's con-
 
 1 88 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 sciousness with a correct view of 
 righteous punishment. On such 
 an occasion, when she had just 
 passed her sixteenth birthday, the 
 Friend who had a " concern " to 
 speak to the erring, aroused her 
 indignation by his harsh denunci 
 ations. So touched was she that 
 her sympathies far outran her 
 judgment, and in passing through 
 the room where the prisoners had 
 assembled for worship, Dorcas let 
 her eyes rove over the throng and 
 tender smiles play about her 
 mouth. One face among the 
 many never faded from her 
 memory. He was but a lad, 
 scarcely greater in years than her- 
 self, but tall and well built. His 
 keen glance was riveted to her 
 face from the instant of her en 
 trance, and when she kindly 
 nodded to the sullen group, this 
 youth fairly started from his seat.
 
 My GRA NDA ME'S SECRE T. 189 
 
 His bronze brow, his piercing 
 black eyes, his clean-cut limbs 
 all were instantly photographed 
 upon her mind. 
 
 She lingered a moment at the 
 door, while Daniel turned his 
 carryall, and as she paused, she 
 was conscious that the boy had 
 reached far over his companions 
 and was eagerly watching her. 
 
 " Father," she said, " does thee 
 suppose all those prisoners are 
 really guilty ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly, Dorcas. It is 
 a sad sight a sad sight; but there 
 is no room to doubt that punish 
 ment awaits them hereafter as 
 well as here." 
 
 " I do not believe it," she said 
 sternly; " that is, dear father, I do 
 not think our Heavenly Parent 
 will afflict them always, because 
 they have done wrong once. 
 Would not thee take one of them
 
 1 90 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 to thy home and heart after his 
 release just as eagerly as thee 
 would have done before he was 
 put in prison ? " 
 
 " No, I would not. Are we not 
 told that the way of the trans 
 gressor is hard, and are we to set 
 our judgment in defiance of that 
 of the Lord our God ? It is our 
 duty to enforce punishment for 
 sin, to make the sinner feel his 
 peril, his exclusion, in order that 
 he may repent." 
 
 " But suppose he has repented ? " 
 
 " Then let him come before his 
 Maker and confess." 
 
 "I think it would be awfully 
 hard, dear father, for me to go 
 before thee and mother and say I 
 was sorry, after you had so severely 
 shown your displeasure with me. 
 Now if we held out our hands and 
 welcomed the sinner home, would 
 he not be more likely to come ?
 
 MY GRANDAME'S SECRET. IQI 
 
 Was it not so in the parable of the 
 Prodigal Son ?" 
 
 " There be those," Daniel an 
 swered, as if in protest, " who thus 
 construe the passage, but I believe 
 it not. No man may even turn to 
 his father's house until he has 
 been fed on husks." 
 
 The midsummer heat was upon 
 the land. The red sun set in 
 splendor, and the blood-dyed 
 moon rose as in wrath. 
 
 The simple little chamber which 
 was Dorcas' own, had a broad 
 window opening upon the upper 
 veranda. The small white cot 
 was close at its side, and the 
 sweet night wind that bore the 
 breath of the wild rose and the 
 clustering honeysuckle, softly 
 stirred the dark curls that strayed 
 beneath the border of the muslin 
 cap which the sleeper wore. The 
 heat was so great that she had
 
 IQ2 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 suffered the strings to remain un 
 tied, and the collar of her plain 
 gown was turned away from the 
 white throat. She stirred. Was 
 the breath from the garden too 
 free upon her cheek ? Conscious 
 ness of some invasion made her 
 restless. Presently her eyelids 
 quivered and lifted; surely Dorcas 
 was dreaming ! and yet, no ; there 
 was a manly figure resting on the 
 sill of the open window. She sat 
 up, making a quick motion to close 
 the neck of her gown, and tie the 
 cap strings, but as quickly a voice 
 broke upon her ear. 
 
 " Do not be afraid. I have been 
 here several minutes wanting to 
 tear off one of those strings, but I 
 knew it would disturb you." 
 
 Dorcas was never a coward, and 
 her astonishment at this matter-of- 
 fact statement forbade any out 
 cry.
 
 Mr GRA NDA ME>S SECRE T. IQ3 
 
 " Who is thee, and what does 
 thee want ? " was her commonplace 
 exclamation. 
 
 " I am Henri Beauclaire. I 
 have escaped from the jail. You 
 saw me there. I found out who 
 you were after I was certain that 
 it was not an angel who smiled on 
 me last Sunday, and do not stop 
 me. I only want to tell you this : 
 when I made up my mind to get 
 out of that mad house, I made up 
 my mind, too, that I would see you 
 and talk to you before I went 
 away." 
 
 The girl was fascinated by the 
 picture. A handsome youth with 
 his soul blazing in his eyes, sit 
 ting upright in the brilliant moon 
 light that fell across her bed. 
 There was no evil in his face. 
 She kept silent and let him speak 
 on. 
 
 " Your name is Dorcas Chester,
 
 194 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 and I want you to know that I 
 never stole the money I was put 
 in jail for stealing ; but they 
 proved I did, and so I had two 
 whole years to serve if I did not 
 get away from them. Would not 
 you have tried to get out ? That 
 is hell over there." 
 
 " Yes," she half whispered. 
 
 " I knew you would. Nothing I 
 can ever do or say will make me 
 anything in this world but a jail 
 bird unless I hide. So I am going 
 to France for a while. My grand- 
 ptre is there. By and by I will 
 come back, and you must give me 
 something that I can show you 
 then so that you will know me, for 
 I shall not look like this." 
 
 He glanced disdainfully at the 
 poor clothes he wore, and reached 
 out a hand as if to receive an 
 offering. 
 
 "What shall I give thee? I
 
 MY GRAND A ME'S SECRET. IQ5 
 
 have nothing." A thought of a 
 lock of her hair was in Dorcas' 
 mind, but she knew it would be 
 missed, cut as cleverly as she 
 might. Then came the doubt, too, 
 whether it were right to thus en- 
 courage a culprit ! 
 
 " Give me," Henri said, and his 
 voice was melodious, " give me 
 that cap string." 
 
 She shrank back into the 
 shadow. It seemed indelicate to 
 let him touch her nightgarb. 
 
 " Would it, would it make thee 
 think of leading a better life, of 
 God and forgiveness and " 
 
 " It would make me think of 
 you, and that is of God. Forgive 
 ness I need not, for I never did the 
 deed. No better life ask I than 
 such one as my grandptre lives." 
 
 He reached for the cap string. 
 
 Mechanically Dorcas tore it off 
 and lifted it to his height.
 
 196 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 The boy looked out at the sweet 
 stars paling under the tropical 
 moon, then he bent his eyes upon 
 the beautiful girl, and slowly said : 
 
 " I am going now. Remember, 
 I never did it, and keep yourself 
 just as you are until that day 
 when the white cap string shall 
 come home again." He was gone, 
 and Dorcas sat silent for a 
 moment; then the painful con- 
 sciousness forced itself upon her 
 that her father's voice was calling. 
 She dropped her head upon the 
 pillow, wrapped the sheet about 
 her throat, and closed her eyes. 
 The voice came nearer. " Dor 
 cas, Dorcas," it said ; but she did 
 not stir. Her heart was wildly 
 beating with fear lest the youth 
 of her dream should be pursued, 
 but her parent went calmly away, 
 and only at breakfast was there 
 any allusion to the circumstance.
 
 MY GRA NDA MES SECRE T. IQ7 
 
 " Dorcas, thee talked strangely, 
 last night, in thy sleep." 
 
 The girl's face crimsoned as she 
 felt the untruthfulness of her re 
 ply : " How funny that is ! " but 
 the motherly eye was not long 
 without discovering the loss of 
 the nightcap string. 
 
 " Daughter," she said, " how 
 was it possible for thee to tear thy 
 cap in this way ? It is as though 
 thee had willed to do it and done 
 it with all thy might." 
 
 And the girl replied, with some 
 of her hoydenish spirit : " Throw 
 the old thing away ; I have 
 plenty more," for it seemed as if 
 she could not tolerate the witness 
 to her secret compact. 
 
 " I am surprised," answered the 
 gentle mother. " Waste not, 
 want not. Get thy thimble and 
 thread ; here is some muslin, thee 
 can hem another string."
 
 198 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 Dorcas did not allow herself to 
 brood over her midnight adven 
 ture. Perhaps she was pained by 
 the part of concealment that she 
 played toward her parents; perhaps 
 she was troubled, too, by a recol 
 lection of the rebuke contained in 
 the boy's words. She was some 
 times inclined to feel that he was 
 right and her own little world was 
 wrong in so strictly upholding law, 
 and in believing the ways of God 
 were at utter variance from the 
 ways of generous men. 
 
 " I care not to live any better 
 life than that man grandptrc 
 lives." 
 
 These words were ringing in 
 her ears, and she pictured to her 
 self the detail of that life, far 
 enough from reality, no doubt, but 
 a pretty idyl. She began to read 
 much history, and once asked her 
 mother to allow her to take French
 
 My GRANDAME'S SECRET. IQ9 
 
 lessons from a villager. Lu- 
 cretia was shocked. 
 
 " Ah, my child ! there is little to 
 be read in that tongue that could 
 benefit thee. Blasphemers and 
 winebibbers they are, with no 
 sense of shame in their idolatry of 
 sensual things." 
 
 " Then they are an evil-minded 
 people, mother ? " 
 
 " Yea, yea; a frivolous and false 
 hearted race." 
 
 Then Dorcas turned away 
 sorrowfully. Could it be that 
 Henri Beauclaire had told what 
 was not true ? If he could steal 
 he might also lie. He was base 
 had he done both; and if that race 
 was false why was he an excep 
 tion among Frenchmen ? When 
 this mood was upon her she 
 blushed alone in her chamber at 
 the thought of the bit of muslin 
 that he so carefully rolled about
 
 200 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 his finger and put from sight. 
 Mostly, however, her meditations 
 were concluded with the memory 
 of his respect for the clean life of 
 his grandptre, and, do as she 
 might, to think him guilty she 
 could not. 
 
 The years went quickly by. It 
 was a round of simple duties to 
 Dorcas, enlivened by a keen sense 
 of the beautiful and a quick re 
 sponse to sympathetic needs. 
 The weeks were much alike. 
 First-day meeting, followed by the 
 household laundry work. Fourth- 
 day meeting, succeeded by the 
 mending, sweeping, and baking. 
 This was varied by monthly meet 
 ing day dinner, when several 
 Friends were apt to be seated at 
 their board, or a drive to a 
 quarterly meeting in a larger 
 community ; and the crowning 
 event not often enjoyed by Lu-
 
 MY GRANDAME'S SECRET. 2OI 
 
 cretia and Dorcas of passing a 
 week in the great city at the time 
 of the yearly gathering. It was 
 on one of the latter occasions that 
 Dorcas met and became much in 
 terested in a young man who was 
 welcomed by Daniel as the son of 
 a dear and distant friend. She 
 had never mingled with youth a 
 great deal, and George Town- 
 send's quick wit and good temper 
 were a source of great pleasure to 
 her. She had no idea of marriage 
 in her mind, and when, after 
 months of intimate acquaintance, 
 he directly asked her to become 
 his wife, she shrank from him as 
 if he had struck her. 
 
 " Does thee feel that I have 
 done wrong ? " he gently ques 
 tioned. 
 
 " No," she stammered ; but a 
 strange vision of flashing dark 
 eyes and an earnest injunction to
 
 202 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 " keep just as you are now " made 
 her faint. 
 
 " Will thee let me dwell upon 
 thy request in solitude ? " she 
 said, and the honest-hearted man 
 made answer : 
 
 "Thee is right to question thy 
 own soul. If there thee finds a 
 single cloud, wait until the light 
 cometh." 
 
 When Dorcas sat alone she cov 
 ered her face with both hands 
 and a few tears trickled between 
 her fingers. Presently she wiped 
 them away, and began to question 
 herself as she would have ques 
 tioned another. 
 
 " Why do I hesitate ? I am 
 greatly drawn toward George 
 Townsend. Father and mother 
 regard him highly ; he is a God 
 fearing man, capable and con 
 scientious ; he is a member of 
 our meeting ; his business can
 
 My GRANDAME'S SECRET. 203 
 
 be readily arranged so that we may 
 live near my dear parents and 
 bless their declining years. Why 
 not ?" 
 
 To so pure a maiden, one whose 
 affections had never keenly as 
 serted themselves nor been lightly 
 trifled with, the idea of having 
 granted unasked the treasure of 
 her love was in itself a reproach. 
 
 Dorcas paled in view of the 
 thought to which she felt it right 
 to give definite shape ; then she 
 walked restlessly toward the win 
 dow where once sat the dark- 
 eyed lad, and she said, honestly 
 and bravely : 
 
 " Until to-day the actual mean 
 ing of that charge, to ' keep as 
 you are,' never occurred to me. 
 Am I certain that he intended 
 that bit of muslin to typify my 
 faith faith to him personally ? or 
 was it, as I vaguely comprehended
 
 204 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 it then, faith that I would be the 
 same in my just dealing with his 
 apparent shortcomings ? Who 
 can tell ? It is six years since he 
 went away. Perhaps he died be 
 fore seeing his grandptrc again. 
 Perhaps he forgot the place where 
 he suffered so much ; or found his 
 beautiful ancestral home too 
 lovely to leave. Perhaps " and 
 this hurt her, but she thought it 
 fair to admit the doubt, " perhaps 
 he fell into evil ways again. And, 
 indeed, had he been all that my 
 dream pictured, would he not, 
 within six years, have found an 
 opportunity to communicate with 
 me? Surely I deserved it." 
 
 Then came another question ; 
 " Would I have married him, had 
 he come back with a clean record 
 and a demand for my love? 
 Could I have given my life into 
 the hand of an utter stranger, a
 
 M Y GRA NDA HE'S SECRE T. 2O$ 
 
 foreigner of whose race I know no 
 good ? Would my father and 
 mother have blessed me and bade 
 me go to my husband's arms with 
 joy? No, it could not have been, 
 and I could not have done it with 
 out. Should Henri return to 
 morrow for the fulfillment of such 
 a desire, I should bid him leave 
 me. Is it right to marry George 
 Townsend with this secret in my 
 heart ? Ought I to reveal it, re 
 veal my doubts and struggles con 
 cerning it? No. I should be 
 quite willing to place my hand in 
 his and say, ' George, whatever 
 thee has in thy heart that thee 
 wishes to tell me, that do I wish to 
 hear ; but whatever trials thee has 
 passed through and honestly left 
 behind thee, with those I have no 
 question.' 
 
 " Could I let George go from 
 me and live my life alone, without
 
 206 QUA KER ID YLS. 
 
 a pang because of his absence ? 
 No, I could not. Therefore, O 
 Lord, with a clean heart I will 
 walk beside him, asking daily 
 grace from thy hand, and humbly 
 seeking to serve thee through 
 serving him." 
 
 She bathed her flushed face, 
 smoothed the curls away, and 
 went into the garden. There 
 among the sweet-peas and the 
 rich clove-pinks, she laid her hand 
 in that of her lover and simply 
 said : 
 
 " My heart tells me I will be a 
 true wife unto thee." 
 
 The next decade wrought a 
 great change in Dorcas. The 
 vivacity that she had seemed so 
 likely to lose under the stern 
 repression of her parents, assumed 
 the semblance of loving good 
 cheer. Her beauty as a matron 
 surpassed that of her girlhood,
 
 MY GRANDAMES SECRET. 2OJ 
 
 and it became a matter of merry- 
 making in the household that a 
 stranger never passed her with 
 out turning to look a second time. 
 Her sweet spirit was overflowing 
 with thankfulness for the great 
 blessing of fetvid affection from 
 so manly and upright a compan 
 ion as George Townsend. In 
 deed, if rver the taint of pride 
 clung to Dorcas it was when she 
 thought of her husband. 
 
 A little maiden had for eight 
 years walked beside her. A faith 
 ful representative of the Chester 
 household. Truly, if Daniel had 
 regretted his own daughter's alien 
 features, he was content now in 
 the miniature Lncretia whose de 
 mure air was a marked contrast 
 to the flashing wit of her dark- 
 eyed mother. 
 
 The village, too, was changed. 
 Through George Townsend's exer-
 
 208 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 tions manufacturing interests 
 flourished, and although wealth 
 was pouring into his coffers, the 
 comfort of a thousand lesser 
 households told of just dealing 
 between man and man. But the 
 old jail still stood on the highway, 
 and its barred windows were 
 lengthened to a half score. The 
 same fiery brick walls, the same 
 foul atmosphere, the same class 
 of inhabitants were closed behind 
 the multitudinous bolts and bars. 
 The passer-by winced as he heard 
 the loud laugh or the fearful curse ; 
 and the faces that pressed against 
 the iron casement were faces of 
 the young and the old, of women 
 as well as men, and gathered from 
 the ranks of first offenders as well 
 as those of the hardened criminals. 
 One morning, while yet Dorcas 
 sat at the head of the breakfast 
 table, dispensing as much of cheer
 
 Mr GRA NDA Af'S SECRE T. 209 
 
 by her sunny face as from the 
 viands, a message was brought 
 requesting her presence at the 
 county jail. It was no unusual 
 occurrence for the mother to be 
 thus summoned from her peaceful 
 home to smooth the path of the 
 unrighteous, and very shortly she 
 stepped from her carriage into the 
 door of the plague spot of the 
 neat village. She was met by the 
 jailer's wife, a coarse woman, but 
 not untouched with good inten 
 tions. 
 
 " I was sorry to send for you," 
 she said, "but a queer-looking 
 man was let in last night, who has 
 been bleeding at the lungs, and 
 all I could do and say was nothing 
 till I promised to fetch you early 
 this morning. He hadn't ought 
 to been here, I 'spose, but Thomas 
 found him sitting on the door 
 step, and rattling the latch, and
 
 210 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 when he asked to be let in and 
 Thomas said as it was a jail, he up 
 and told a queer story about once 
 having broke out ; and anyways 
 it wasn't right to leave him out 
 there a-bleedin', so I put him in 
 one of my rooms ; he seemed de- 
 cent-like." 
 
 An unaccustomed horror crept 
 over Dorcas. She had to steady 
 herself against the door-post for 
 a moment before following the 
 woman into the cramped little 
 chamber. 
 
 Half-sitting upon the bed, sur 
 rounded with pillows and cloths 
 stained with blood, was Henri 
 Beauclaire. His eyes flashed with 
 the old intensity, but from amid 
 the pallor of a countenance wasted 
 with disease. 
 
 "Stand there," he whispered 
 hoarsely ; and motioning to the 
 jailer's wife to go out, he fastened
 
 M Y GRA NDA ME" S SECRET. 211 
 
 his gaze on Dorcas' half-fright 
 ened face. 
 
 " Look at me, woman ; do you 
 know me ?" 
 
 She bowed her head. 
 
 " Do you know what this is ? " 
 he said again, as he drew from 
 his breast a bit of soiled and 
 yellow muslin. 
 
 " This is a betrothal ring. Yes, 
 I tell you, by this you plighted 
 your troth to me, and by the 
 heavens above, you have broken 
 your faith." 
 
 Dorcas made motion as if to 
 answer. 
 
 "Stop," he said. "You can 
 have nothing to say ; it is I who 
 must relieve my bursting heart. 
 Do you know what this is?" lay 
 ing his finger on the bright stains. 
 " This is my life-blood, and you 
 have spilled it. When I came 
 over sea I had a cough, and they
 
 212 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 told me I needed care, but I 
 laughed them to scorn, for I said 
 to myself, when once I am there, 
 where her gentle hands can smooth 
 the pain away and her sweet smile 
 bring back the light to my eyes, 
 all will be well. Do you know 
 how it was with me during these 
 years ? When, after being hunted 
 like a wild beast from wood to 
 cavern, from hill to seaport, at last 
 I stood by my grandpere^ his heart 
 was filled with joy for I was his 
 only descendant left on earth, and 
 on me he leaned feeble and child 
 ish. I could not leave him for 
 an hour without reproach ; how 
 could I come to you ? Year after 
 year he lingered, and although I 
 starved for your smile, I believed 
 in you, and God knows, had I sus 
 pected the awful truth of your un 
 faithfulness, I should have done 
 the same. Heaven itself could
 
 Mr GRA NDA ME"S SECRE T. 213 
 
 not have lured me from that poor 
 man, whose dying blessing is 
 sounding in my ears this day. 
 When I had laid him away, scarce 
 three months ago, and found that 
 the old chateau with its thousands 
 of meters of rich garden and til 
 lage was mine, I bounded for 
 my passport, I dreamed of naught 
 else than a return to build a fam 
 ily worthy of the saintly dead. 
 
 "Would you know the rest? 
 How I came in the dusk to the 
 village street and crept in the 
 shadow to your father's door, feel 
 ing that I could not at once bear 
 the blaze of your beauty. When I 
 had seen the old man open the 
 casement and sit in the moonlight 
 with a child upon his knee, my 
 heart misgave me. Fainting for 
 food, for I had been too eager to 
 eat, I crept back to the inn. Slowly 
 I questioned the garfon concern-
 
 314 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 ing the people of the village, and 
 gradually the truth dawned you 
 were untrue ! I was like a mad 
 man that night. I wore a track 
 in the floor, I doubt not, with my 
 restless pacing, and when day 
 broke I went forth with a wild 
 intent to do murderous work. 
 All through the hours of sunlight 
 I examined the mill, and the 
 dwelling-place where a false heart 
 was beating, and at night I planned 
 to carry out my work of destruc 
 tion. I would fire the mill and 
 the house and take care that, so 
 quick would leap the flames, that 
 no escape would be possible. And 
 if, through some strange fatality, 
 my plot was defeated, there, in the 
 fierce distraction of a great con 
 flagration, I would rush upon you 
 with my knife and stab you to 
 your death ! Yes," he leaned 
 forward and hissed the words,
 
 M Y GRA NDA HE'S SECRE T. 21$ 
 
 " the woman who has taught me 
 that there is no faith, that God 
 and honor and love are myths, 
 ought to die by the hand of the 
 man whom she has wrecked." 
 
 Again Dorcas stirred, and again 
 he waved her into silence. 
 
 " And what was your excuse ? 
 Six years of silence. What were 
 they to me ? Six centuries might 
 have waned, and 1 should have 
 kept my faith. When I looked at 
 this trysting string, I said alway 
 and ever the same : ' She is as 
 strong as the threads she tore 
 with so great an effort ; she will 
 never waver.' 
 
 " What was the good of nature's 
 brand that you bear : the mark of 
 unyielding purpose, of faith and 
 love as firm as God's foundation, 
 as broad as the firmament you 
 belie them all. There you stand 
 now with your great eyes shining
 
 2l6 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 as if a soul dwelt behind them; 
 your rich smooth skin blooming 
 with the color and purity of 
 nature, not artifice ; your red 
 lips curved with a smile you can 
 not repress, and yet I swear you 
 are as false as hell ! 
 
 " Only this " he touched the 
 crimson stains " only this de 
 feated my plan, and enabled you to 
 breath the sweet spring air once 
 more; only this has made it possible 
 for me to die cursing you with my 
 latest breath without dealing that 
 blow at your heart that should have 
 mingled our blood in one stream." 
 
 The exhausted man fell back 
 upon his pillows, and Dorcas crept 
 to his side and smoothed the rich 
 waves of jet-black hair, and with 
 a wet sponge moistened his lips. 
 Presently he opened his eyes, and 
 before he could speak she said 
 calmly :
 
 My GRA NDA ME'S SECRE T. 2 1 7 
 
 " I am going to take thee to our 
 home. George Townsend will 
 help me to nurse thee back to life 
 and peace. I will tell thee, now, 
 that I never knew thy full intent 
 in asking me for the cap string ; 
 had I known it I should not have 
 given it, for thy reason and my 
 own would have rebelled against 
 an alliance wholly at variance with 
 Nature's laws. Thee did not love 
 me, the girl ; thee loved my faith, 
 my trust in thy honesty ; and I 
 bid thee go on loving it, for I shall 
 trust thee now, just as I trusted 
 thee then. I believed thee inno 
 cent of the crime for which thee 
 had been confined. I believed it 
 only because thee said it was so, 
 and thy face told the same story. 
 I believe in thee now, in despite 
 thy words, for thy soul is speaking 
 more truly through thy glance, and 
 that tells me that thy devotion to
 
 2l8 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 thy grandptre was no myth, while 
 thy frenzy is. Thee shall find thy 
 faith in me is rewarded, for thee 
 shall live to be one of our house 
 hold and to bless us all with thy 
 goodness." 
 
 She ceased speaking, summoned 
 the jailer's wife, and had the sick 
 man borne to her carriage. 
 
 When she had reached her own 
 door Dorcas entered alone, and 
 quietly spoke to her husband, who 
 still sat by the breakfast table. 
 
 " George, I have brought home 
 a very ill man ; will thee please 
 attend to his removal from the 
 carriage while I prepare a bed ? 
 I shall put him into the little room 
 next our own that I may the more 
 carefully tend him." 
 
 That night, as Dorcas sat late 
 by the invalid's side, the only word 
 that he spoke was the whispered 
 question :
 
 MY GRANDAME'S SECRET. 219 
 
 " Are you not afraid ? " 
 
 And as she bent over him 
 tenderly she answered : 
 
 " Not for a moment do I fear 
 thee ; I only wish thee well." 
 
 Slowly the strength came to the 
 feeble pulse, but when the frail 
 man was permitted to leave his 
 sick bed, it was found that his 
 cough became less frequent and 
 his fever had subsided. Then, too, 
 he was moved into a large upper 
 chamber, the best the house 
 afforded, and although the kind 
 attentions of Dorcas were unre- 
 mitted, he lost all sense of care or 
 espionage. Gradually he recog 
 nized himself as a member of the 
 family, and never was there any 
 allusion to his advent or expected 
 departure. Before many months 
 he was the dear " uncle," of the 
 household, taking his part in all 
 that went on ; teaching the little
 
 220 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 Lucretia ; reading aloud bits of 
 quaint wisdom or humor, from 
 " Le Roman de la Rose," and " Le 
 Roman du Renart ; " pages from 
 Froissart, his beloved Pascal, 
 and La Bruyere ; or listening to 
 the many schemes for lifting the 
 burdens of others that were con 
 stantly suggested by George or 
 Dorcas. 
 
 From 1820 to 1830 there was a 
 great awakening on the subject of 
 Prison Reform. The work of 
 England's noble Howard had been 
 supplemented by that of the de 
 voted Elizabeth Fry, and the 
 whole world rang with their 
 achievements. Slow, alas ! was 
 the motion across the water, but 
 sure in its coming. 
 
 Henri Beauclaire, too feeble to 
 exert great physical effort, was 
 keenly alive to the necessity of 
 introducing humanitarian methods
 
 My GRA NDA ME'S SECRE T. 221 
 
 in all places for the confinement 
 of the accused. 
 
 He labored unceasingly toward 
 an enlargement and purification 
 of the county jail, for separate 
 day rooms for the men and 
 women, for decent food and lava 
 tories, and for constant occupation. 
 In all he did Henri was warmly 
 seconded by his true friends, and 
 when at last the summons came 
 that called him from their midst, 
 no one among the villagers was 
 more regretted. 
 
 In the short will which was 
 found amid his small effects, he 
 had bequeathed the old chateau 
 to his native town as a home for 
 such discharged prisoners as were 
 friendless and aged, and the clos 
 ing clause read thus : 
 
 " To my more than sister, my 
 earthly savior, Dorcas Townsend, 
 I leave the testimony of my later
 
 222 QUAKER IDYLS. 
 
 years, and the contents of my 
 strong-box." 
 
 This contained some valuable 
 silver and household linen bear 
 ing a coronet, and a sandalwood 
 casket wherein reposed a yellow 
 muslin cap string. 
 
 In the evening following the 
 burial Dorcas sat with her family 
 about her on the moonlit porch. 
 She slid her hand softly into that 
 of her husband, and said : 
 
 " George dear, thee has never 
 asked me, but I should like to tell 
 thee, the secret of my peculiar 
 interest in our brother who has 
 passed away." 
 
 Then my grandame told the 
 story, and the accurate memory 
 of my mother gave it unto me as 
 it is written. 
 
 At its conclusion her husband 
 kissed her flushed cheek, saying : 
 
 "Thine was ever a romantic
 
 MY GRANDAM&S SECRET. 223 
 
 nature, and were romance always 
 controlled by reason, how many 
 lives might blossom into joy and 
 usefulness, as did that of our be- 
 loved Henri." 
 
 THE END.
 
 IN UNIFORM STYLE: 
 
 THE PRISONER OF ZENDA: 
 
 Being the History of Three Months in the 
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 Contents : A Suburban Pastoral A Midwinter 
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 l6mo, 75 cents. 
 
 Contents : John Ingerfield The Woman of the 
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 , Lease of the Cross-keys. The title- 
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